February 3, 2011

this is thursday

Back for more Thursday?  Excellent!  Please open your books to chapter three.  Today's topic will be...

the strange and all-encompassing obsession of an 11 year old girl.

I can remember the moment it started.  I was home from school and the FX movie channel was hosting an all day Monroe marathon.  Gentlemen Prefer Blonds started and I was hooked.  The opening scene began and she stood beside Jane Russel in that sparkly red dress and I knew I had found something amazing.

From that moment on I was on the hunt for anything and everything Marilyn.  My eleven year old mindset was extreme.  I started collecting hoarding every single piece of Marilyn memorabilia I could get my prepubescent hands on.

She was my new-found (and long-gone) hero and she could do no wrong.  Soon enough the kids at school picked up on my obsession and began making fun of her in order to get under my skin.  Seriously, can you picture this?  A small town school yard in the early 90's with kids slurring Monroe related insults to torture my movie star loving soul.  Actually, that's kind of funny now that I think of it.  And honestly, the teachers kind of made fun of me too.

I studied my VHS library with fervor.  Any time I felt upset or lonely I would come back to my first Monroe movie.  In no time I had memorized every line in this movie, but also every choreographed and facial expression of this number.

At some discount book store I found this ghostly and conspiracy filled read and I reached a whole new level of crazy.  I began to tell anyone who would listen that Marilyn Monroe was murdered!!!  We need to so something about this.  There's proof you know, a red book or something.  Anyway, her ghost told that psychic and that Ouija board never lies!!!

There was something about this obsession that made me so happy as a teenager.  No one else had a thing for a dead movie starlet (I said starlet, Brandon Lee is a whole other story).  It made me feel kind of special.  

And I got such a thrill out of collecting the very, very weird stuff that was branded with her name.  Probably one of my favourites was found at a Kmart in some unknown American city - a golden pair of lace underwear emblazoned with her very famous signature.  

It's hard to say when the full blown craziness ended.  As I neared my twenties her grip began to loosen and we drifted apart.  I gift my massive biography collection to a co-worker.  I didn't hang my dozens of photos when I moved to a new place.  And when I found that yellow pair of underwear stolen and sullied by my new roommate I knew that it was over.

I still adore you Marilyn, but I think I'll obsess on someone else now.