Dear Diary

October 26, 2011

Dreamy picnics, dreamy boys, dreamy dreams, and daydreams that go on and on and ON.


Ahh, fall. It’s the season where girls write Facebook statuses about loving crisp autumn leaves and sweater weather only to turn around two days later and complain about how much they hate the cold in real life. It’s the season where I get dandruff and nosebleeds and deplete drugstores’ stocks of ChapStick. Apparently it’s the season where I overshare, as well.

Fall is also the time where a bunch of like-minded theater geeks gather every night and rehearse for a play. Right now I’m supposed to be memorizing lines for my part in The Matchmaker (Hello, Dolly! without the music), but I’d rather just think back on last year’s play, because it was jam-packed with drama. Fall is for driving down winding roads and reminiscing about what used to be. And dandruff.

Last year I came to auditions expecting a letdown. I remember sitting in the theater and feeling like I had to vomit. I kept on thinking to myself, I have to make this, I have to. I had to be cast in The Diary of Anne Frank. I can’t explain why a little high school play, especially one that had been performed thousands of times the world over, was so important to me. It just was. I read the part for Edith Frank, Anne’s mother, and went back to my seat, sure I had failed. I had stumbled. I accidentally read one of Mr. Frank’s lines when I was supposed to read Mrs. Frank’s. The girl who read before me was better. At the end of the auditions, the director announced there would be no callbacks. The cast list would be posted Friday. This was on Monday.

When Friday finally came, my friend Emily rushed over to my locker, grinning madly. “We all made iiiiiiit,” she squeaked. I then did something that I never do. I ran. I ran all the way across the school with Emily to go look at the cast list. Emily was Anne Frank, and I was her mother. At this point I may have jumped up and down with excitement. I was going to be allowed to yell and cry and be loud onstage! I would be actually be in of the plays that I loved to watch so much. (I’ve had an unhealthy obsession with school productions since elementary school.)

The first rehearsal was great. The second rehearsal was swell. I don’t think it was until the third rehearsal when it started. Nothing huge, just the first signs of brewing drama. There was this kid, whom for my purposes I’ll call Buttface. Buttface was pretty cool at first. Buttface also, coincidentally, had a really nice butt. One day in rehearsal I was staring at said butt. Here’s what my face looked like, with an added smidgeon of drool:

My face was stuck like this until Buttface turned around and said, “Oh, admiring?” Here’s the face I made in response:

All butts aside, Buttface only got worse. (BUTT.) He was always saying confidence-boosting things such as “This will be a lot better when you learn how to act,” or my favorite (imagine this delivered in the most sarcastic way possible), “And the award for best actress goes to…” Some people just make it really easy to be onstage, especially when you’re super self-conscious about that kind of thing anyway. Thanks, Buttface.

It didn’t end there. Another cast member told me I was holding the play back. Maybe I was, though. The last time I was onstage, I was playing a poppy in our elementary school production of The Wizard of Oz. Compare the emotional range of a flower with that of a woman forced to hide in an attic with her family from people who wanted them exterminated. So I struggled. I felt like I had no idea what I was doing, and Buttface and Co. were just making me more uncomfortable. I went home let my eyes sweat it out a little bit before resolving to get it right. I said my lines a thousand times. I yelled them in order to feel more comfortable. I cranked up the tunes and sang my lines at the top of my lungs. I’m no actress, but I wasn’t going to be fake or boring or hold anyone back.

The night before the play opened I had a dream. We were all onstage and I said one of my lines and waited for a response. When none came, I repeated my line. Buttface then informed me that we had actually switched plays and that, in fact, we were all going to be performing different plays at the same time. Everyone started speaking. Panicking, I looked out into the audience. Everyone was leaving. Everyone was leaving except my family. That was the worst, because they looked utterly disappointed. When nothing could get worse, the walls of the set started to fall in on us as the theater started to burn down.

That was awful. Here’s a bunny.

Opening night came and went that November, and the theater didn’t burn down. After the final night, the director’s husband approached me and said, “You weren’t as bad as they said you would be.” To me, that’s a success. Let’s hope this year is different. ♦


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  • moonchild October 26th, 2011 7:47 PM

    I love your thoughts. Thank you.

    I especially like the buttface story. Thank you again

  • Juniper October 26th, 2011 7:56 PM

    I <3 all you guys.

  • Whatsername October 26th, 2011 8:45 PM

    @Naomi, I think it’s very brave of you to be able to write about your anxiety. You shouldn’t feel ashamed at all. C:

    @Katherine’s, I’m in my own school play, but only a crappy side character with like five lines. I’m happy for this though, I’d never be able to memorize the amount of lines the others were given.

  • Naomi October 26th, 2011 9:54 PM

    i just realised freddie looks kind of evil in that photo

  • chloelrd October 27th, 2011 2:27 AM

    I feel the same thing toward boys that look like they stepped right out of the seventies! They are just so gorgeous ahhh

  • giov October 27th, 2011 7:39 AM

    I think from now on I will carry a picture of a bunny in my wallet at any time, and whenever my friends share a depressing story I’ll take it out saying: that was awful, here’s a bunny.

  • Hedwig October 27th, 2011 10:27 AM

    Go Katherine! superstarrsz

  • fizzingwhizbees October 27th, 2011 1:32 PM

    Naomi, I feel you, girl. The fact that I am in college terrifies me because it means that eventually I will graduate from college, and then my real life will start and I’ll have to get a job and make decisions and generally be a responsible person. Ick.

  • Gretchyn October 27th, 2011 5:26 PM

    Omg Dylan, I have the greatest obsession for long-hair-don’t-care guys too. It’s bad. And sometimes I’ll see one walking down the halls WITH A GUITAR IN HIS HAND + I really just lose it + my insides undergo mini explosions while on the outside I keep a marble mask on…….

    • Dylan October 27th, 2011 6:19 PM

      Hahahaha so glad to hear I’m not the only one. When they come in TROUPES!…I kind of don’t know how to handle my body, and just stand paralyzed.

  • erin October 28th, 2011 10:48 AM

    she probably won’t read this, but naomi, you should totally watch the french film Amelie. With subtitles, unless you secretly speak french. but then, that would have been in this super secretive post, wouldn’t it? Anyways, you and Amelie could totally relate.

    • Naomi October 29th, 2011 7:13 AM

      that is one of the best compliments i’ve ever received. (if that is a compliment)

  • Mom October 28th, 2011 2:50 PM

    whoa your Mom was in high school AND college in the 70′s for real. I am thinking about the cutest guy I had a huge crush on in the junior class, long light brown shag and John Lennon glasses

  • cancercowboy November 1st, 2011 1:41 PM

    no idea if you ever tried behaviour therapy for what sounds like an anxiety disorder, but maybe you should. its friggin hard and demanding and painful, but its got comparatively good results.
    all the best