Desperately Seeking Rosie
I have a confession to make. It is pretty embarrassing. I can’t decide if it’s as embarrassing or more embarrassing than admitting to being ah honest to god born again Christian when born again Christian is- to my mind- a swear word, not to be uttered in polite company; akin to admitting I eat small children for breakfast -no small thanks to George Bush, Pat Robertson, Jerry Falwell , et al.
But here it is: On Thursday I overnighted a letter and a bunch of my writing to Rosie O’Donnell c/o the Minskoff Theatre where she is in her last performances of Fiddler on the Roof. I asked (translation: begged) her to read my blog and the children’s story and volumes of other stuff I sent along. Like she asked. Like she cares.
I read a book she wrote a few years ago about some crazy fan who duped her into an intense save-me-please-save-me relationship that went really bad and I can only imagine she doesn’t even read her mail now and even if she does will probably either pee her pants laughing or say “Oh no-not another one” and throw my from-the-gut letter in the trash. And I certainly can’t blame her as she is a total stranger with a life of her own and millions of people who probably send her crap all the time.
But you know, I’ve always thought we’d be great pals. And isn’t that the magic of Rosie- the gift she has- to make so many, many women feel like she could sit right down in their cheerio-strewn kitchen, drink out of a glass with dishwasher spots and be right at home sharing a swiss roll and some chocolate milk.
So what is it with me? Why all of a sudden am I willing to mortify myself to get someone to READ ME??! Because if Rosie doesn’t read my blog and email me and at least say,” you crazy woman leave me alone will you please??!” then I have other famous people I think would like me, really like me, if only they could read the real me.
Maybe this has something to do with feeling like I’ve always been hiding in these pounds and mounds of flesh. Ever since I was- well- ever since I felt like people could be right on top of me- literally- and have no idea I was even there. So that pretty early I knew that me- the me I desperately wanted someone to encounter and love- was not connected to the me that someone was bearing down on and well- I think I’ve been looking for that INSIDE me for about 40 years now and somehow this “heart event” has compelled me to reach way inside and reach back, back, back to where I used to be able to feel things and what I keep coming up with is this little girl who just wants to be really really seen and even more- really, really, heard. So God bless poor Rosie O’Donnell who if she receives her own mail will be holding my gut in her hands, I suppose I am not desperately seeking Rosie at all, but am desperately seeking me.
