It's all right, cuz I'm Saved By the Bell: Part 2

I left off with my parents wearing down Mr. Headset enough that he reluctantly agreed to get one of the more important Headsets. By this point, a crowd of people had formed around us, probably thinking that we were much more interesting than a taping of Saved By the Bell.

After waiting for a few minutes, the more important Headset approached us. Mr. Important Headset was much more sympathetic and apologetic than the first. Maybe he had been given a heads up by the first Headset that playing hardball with my parents was not a successful tactic and they decided that it was time to play a little "good headset wearer, bad headset wearer." He started by saying he understood our frustration, and that horrible guy back at the Chinese Theater did not work for the show directly, but worked for an independent company that they hired and that he made money based on how many people he got to the studio. He soothed the wild parental two-headed beast, and my parents began to speak at a normal decibel level again.

Important Sympathetic Headset offered to take me into the studio for a little while, and my parents and sisters could wait in a green room for me. Without even thinking that my family probably wanted to sit in a room with no windows almost as much as they wanted to sit on a smelly bus, I gave my parents the sad-eyed look that had been working for me all day long. With a little bit of hesitation, they agreed.

I was in! ISH brought me into the studio and I was standing in the same room as Zack Morris! ISH left me with Indifferent Clipboard Lady and went back to take care of my family. Indifferent Clipboard Lady told me that I could stand next to her at the camera. It was a little bit surreal seeing the television set in person. I was looking at a classroom, and to the left of where I was standing, I could see a little bit of another classroom. Beyond that wall, I'm assuming was Mr. Belding's office, and while I couldn't see around the classroom wall, I could see what happened there on a little screen next to me.

Tiffani Theissen and Screech were sitting in the classroom. Mario Lopez was standing off to the side. When he saw me, he came over and said, "hi there, I'm Mario." And I politely said, "Nice to meet you", while thinking, "Yeah, that's great, Mario. Where's Mark-Paul?" They were filming the episode where the students and teachers switch places. Zack became the principal and was sitting at Mr. Belding's desk. I could only see him on the little screen, but it was amazing...the only thing standing between Zack Morris and me was a fake cardboard wall! I had made it.

After a half-hour or so, ISH came back to get me to bring me to my parents. He handed me a packet of paper and said, "I was able to scrounge this up for you." It was Mark-Paul Gosselaar's copy of the script...complete with his coffee (I hope) stains on the cover. My sisters and I also got autographed pictures of the cast. And Stacy and Lori didn't mind that they didn't get to go into the studio because they had seen and talked to Jessica Spano in the bathroom.

ISH still felt bad about what had happened, so he told my family that he had arranged for us to go to a taping of Blossom that night. Blossom was a lot less strict about age-limits. After Blossom, as we headed back the hotel, my parents asked me what I thought of our day in LA, and whether I was sad that I didn't get to meet Zack Morris in person. To which I replied, "Zack Morris who? I'm in love with Joey Lawrence!!! whoa."

It's all right, cuz I'm Saved By the Bell: Part 1

I was in the perfect demographic for the television show Saved By the Bell. Good Morning, Miss Bliss, its predecessor, debuted in 1988, when I was turning 10 years old. And Saved By the Bell aired between 1989 and 1993, the midst of my tween years. I was completely in love with Zack Morris, played by Mark-Paul Gosselaar, to the point where I was directly responding to him whenever he broke the fourth wall.

When we took a family vacation to California in the summer of 1992, I was thirteen years old and in the peak of Saved By The Bell fandom. For one of the days during our trip, my mother and father had planned a day of sightseeing in Hollywood. We had just reached Grauman’s Chinese Theater when a man with a clipboard approached us. “Would you and your family be interested in attending a taping of Saved By the Bell,” he asked. My mouth dropped open and I looked at my parents with wide eyes, willing them with all my might to say yes. My mother asked the man, “I looked into this and I thought that my six- and eight-year old were too young.” The man casually responded, “Just tell the guy at the studio that they’re both eight. But, the bus is leaving, so let me know now.”

I can imagine that my face and pleading eyes were really hard to ignore. My parents were skeptical, as we had a lot planned for the day, but they had to give in when they saw me drop to my knees and grovel. (Note: I’m not sure if I actually did that, but that would have been my next step if they had said no.)

The five of us got on this bus that was meant to be sandy colored, but was more like the color of barf, with a big sphinx head on top. It was loud and smelly, and filled with loud and smelly people. My parents looked at each other with uncertainty, but decided to just go with it. After an hour and a half of driving around, as the driver was hopelessly lost and kept radioing for help yet misunderstanding the directions, we finally arrived at the studio for the taping. We and the loud, smelly people unloaded from the bus and stood in a line. A guy with a headset started moving down the line. He reached a few people ahead of us, said something to them, and they turned and went back on the bus. Then, he came to my family.

“Those girls are too young,” he said pointing at my sisters. “The bus will bring you back to the Chinese theater in a few minutes.” Now, for those of you who don’t know my parents, when they don’t like how something is being handled, they speak up. I can’t say that I blame them for getting upset about this one. We had cancelled our other plans and just spent an hour and a half of our day on a pukey Sphinx bus, only to be told to spend another hour and a half on the pukey Sphinx bus. I started to cry because I saw my chances of getting Mark-Paul Gosselaar to fall madly and hopelessly in love with me slowly fading away. I’m sure that my tears also fueled the Mom and Dad fire. They began to protest. My mother said, “Now, wait a minute. We specifically asked back in Hollywood if the girls’ ages would be a problem, and the man said no.” Headset Guy didn’t seem very sympathetic and said “sorry” with a not-very-sorry shrug. My parents began to protest in louder voices; then they demanded to see the producer or whoever was in charge. Headset Guy replied, “Look, why can’t you be like that other family and just get back on the bus?” Wrong thing to say, Headset Guy.

When my father gets really mad at people, the whites of his eyes blaze like Judge Doom’s after his fake eyeballs pop out in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Dad’s very kind and pretty mild-mannered typically (My mother’s the pitbull of the duo.) But, my father was white-eyed Judge Doom mad at Headset Guy. I don’t remember the actual words that were said. I just know that my mother and father tag-teamed and lit into this guy for a solid five-ten minutes, until he agreed that he would get one of the producers to come out and talk to us.

Tune in next time to find out if we made it!

Written in the %@$%-ing stars: Part II

When we last left our heroine, she was marveling at fate and how it had managed to bring her potential soul mate back into her life...

After my parents and Mike's friend hung up with me, they went back to the campsite to tell Mike about what had happened. Toward the end of the week, my mother called me to tell me how great Mike was. He stopped by my parents' campsite for lunch every other day; he accompanied them to the general store; he built their fire for them. He was really winning them over! I was pleased to hear all of this, yet a little bit miffed that I was missing my own wooing. But, my parents gave Mike our phone number when the week was up.

He had told them that he had always wanted to go to King Richard's Faire, a renaissance fair that comes to my hometown of Carver every fall. Here's the sitch on KRF: 1.) My entire high school worked there. 2.) An actual Faire person was about one step up from a carny--crazy eyes that stared at you for too long after you ended a conversation with him, but no pedophile tendencies. 3.) On opening weekend, Carver residents could get in for free, which was pretty much the only reason that my mother took us there.

Anyway, soon after my parents came home, he called to speak with me. He seemed great on the phone and we made plans for him to come down to the Faire for opening weekend. That week, I kept expecting him to call, so we could finalize our plans. We had spoken a few times on the phone, but we hadn't pinned down the details. Saturday came...I still hadn't heard from him. So, I called him. He picked up and I said, "Hi!" And he said, "Hi." And then there was total silence. I asked him, "So, what time are you coming?" And he said, "I'm working today." There was no "sorry, I have to cancel" or "Let's get together next week instead." It was a little bit baffling. Could it be that he was actually only interested in my parents?? I said to him, "When are you thinking of coming down?" And he said sardonically, "When I'm not working..." I had no idea what else to say, so I hung up, completely confused and wondering what it was that I had done wrong.

I didn't talk to him for a year following that. I graduated from high school, and then the following September, I started college. I began to think about him. That last conversation that we had was weird. Why would he bother impressing my parents, or making plans with me, if he didn't want to get to know me? And look at how we had found each other! Clearly, we were meant to be! I wasn't going to give up that easily. I decided to write him a letter. In the letter, I let him know that I was living in the Boston area and if he ever wanted to get together, he could give me a call and I gave him my new number.

Two days later, he called. He explained that he had had a girlfriend the last time we had talked, and he thought that he could just hang out as friends, but it occurred to him that it wouldn't be a good idea. So, he blew me off. He knew it was stupid. He wished he had been honest. But, he wasn't dating her anymore and he wanted to get together. That sounded reasonable. We made plans for that Friday night and I felt that we were back on track!

That Friday, he actually showed up! We ended up having a great night! We went out to dinner. We walked around my campus. We shared a kiss on the rooftop of the university library with the Boston skyline in the background. I was thrilled. Now, the stars were talking! As he was leaving, we made plans to see each other the next day.

The next day, I gave him a call to see what time he was coming to get me. He picked up and I said, "Hi!" And he said, "Hi." And then there was total silence. I asked him, "So, what time are you coming?" And he said, "I'm working today." I said to him, "When are you thinking of coming down?" And he said sardonically, "Um, when I'm not working..." I thought, "This guy is giving me the EXACT same blowoff!" And even though I was upset that he was blowing me off after such a great date the night before, I was even more upset that he wasn't even bothering to think up another excuse!

I hung up, frustrated. We never spoke again. I looked up at the stars and said, "What the hell?" And they just shrugged their shoulders and said, "meh. there's only so much we can do."

Written in the %@$%-ing Stars

I'm about to tell you a tale that you will be convinced has the happiest of endings. After all, it would seem that this romance was written in the stars.

The summer before my sophomore year of high school, I went camping with my family in the White Mountains. I'll just let that sink in for a second. Me...camping. I've already mentioned that I hate bugs. Some other things that I hate...wilderness, sleeping outside, community bathrooms. All of these things can be found camping. Although I love smores and the smell of a burning campfire, I love them in the comfort of a living room. Think less sitting on a fallen log and more sitting in a comfy armchair. So, add this to the fact that I was 15 years old and in my "Parents-are-so-embarrassing-little-sisters-are-so-annoying-I'm-angsty-where's-my-journal" phase, you have one sullen teenager on your hands.

The first day we got there, I went to mope by the lake, thinking of the awesome time that my friends at home were probably having without me and all the parties and trips to the mall that I was missing. My mother sat down beside me and said, "I have good news! Six sixteen-year-old boys just moved into the campsite next door." Before she even finished her sentence, I jumped up and Usain Bolted back to our campsite to examine the goods. Not only were they sixteen-year-old boys, they were hot, jocky, football-tossing sixteen-year-old boys. This nightmare was quickly becoming the best dream ever.

I spent the rest of the week trying to look cute and be wherever they were, hoping they would call me over to throw the old pigskin around. One particularly caught my eye. He was always wearing a UNLV sweatshirt. Of course, I didn't have the nerve to go talk to him. So, I settled for creepily gazing at him from afar, and laughing really loudly at all of my parents' stupid jokes, so that he could see how much fun I was to hang out with.

They were with one parental chaperone, a woman about my mother's age. One morning, I waited until I saw her leave for the shower. I grabbed my caddy, hoping to time it so that I would be standing behind her in line. Once there, I casually tapped her on the shoulder and said, "Oh hi! I think you're in the site next to mine." Soon we were engaged in conversation. I learned that they were from Haverhill, MA. They were all going to be juniors in high school. They were all on the football team. I was hoping that she would invite me to stop by, but she didn't take my many hints. A few days later, they left. As they drove away, I saw UNLV in the back of the minivan and he smiled. And I cried. That boy could have been the love of my life and there was nothing I could do to see him again! This was before Missed Connections of course.

Two years later, my parents and sisters returned to the campground. As I would soon be a high school senior, I was allowed to make the decision to stay home this time. Up at the campground, as my family was setting up their campsite, my mother began to talk to the guys in the next site over. She asked them where they were from: Haverhill. She asked them how old they were: 18. She asked them if they'd ever been to the White Mountains before: a couple of summers ago. She said, "That's really funny. We were here a couple of summers ago and we were next to a bunch of kids from Haverhill." And he responded, "That was us. I thought you guys looked familiar." And of course, my mother being the wing woman that she is said, "You need to come to the payphone [Note: haha, payphone] and we have to call my daughter."

They called me. I answered. I spoke to the guy that she had brought over to the payphone [Note: still can't write that with a straight face]. I asked him, "You probably won't know who I'm talking about, but one of you guys wore a black UNLV sweatshirt." And he responded, "Oh man, that's Mike. He still wears that f-in sweatshirt like every day."

I couldn't believe my luck! I thought that Mike and I must have been meant to be! So, why am I not married to him, you ask? Tune in next post!

A Christmas Story

Yes, I know that it's August. But, if there can be Halloween goodies in the stores, I can talk about Christmas Past. In my family, we celebrate Christmakah. The Chanukah part is religious; the Christmas part is not. We have a traditional Chanukah where we light the candles, say the blessing, exchange gifts each night. Then, on Christmas, we play Christmas music, watch A Christmas Story at least three times and open presents. It's the presents that are the basis of this story...

One Christmas, my sisters, with excited looks on their faces gave me a big gift. They told me that this was only part of the gift and the other part hadn't arrived yet. They looked so thrilled with themselves, that I couldn't wait to open it! When I did, I pulled out a canvas bag with an unexplainable circular piece of paper inside. My mom exclaimed, "It's a cooler!" Now, for those who don't know me very well. I don't cook. I haven't been grocery shopping since March 2009. That's absolutely true. I will run in and get a cookie plate for a party or something, but other than that I avoid the supermarket like the guys on match.com who take shirtless pictures of themselves in bathroom mirrors. Also, I don't really sit on grass. I hate ants, I hate beetles, I hate spiders. It seems that whenever I sit on grass, one of those is crawling on me. So, you can see why I was confused that my sisters who know me so well, would get me a cooler as a present and be excited about it.

My face fell. I tried not to let it show, but I have one of those "open book" faces. It makes it really hard to hide disappointment. My sisters looked baffled. Until Lori said, "It's not really a cooler! Are you serious?? Do you not know what that is?"  I looked at it again, and realized that the circular piece of paper had three holes in it. It was a bowling ball bag! My sisters had bought me my own bowling ball! After that, I was much happier. And my family laughed and laughed at what a spoiled brat I am. I wanted to name my bowling ball Peter the Purple Pin Eater, but a friend told me that was too long. So, I named her Beth.

One other Christmas story comes to mind. My father is one of the best people in this world. He's sweet; he's kind; he's a fantastic dad! He's also horrible at listening. He had asked my mother what she wanted for Christmas and my mother said that she really needed a  new winter coat and that she'd like it to be brown. I'm sure my mom was expecting something like this:

 

My dad bought her this: