Reaching Out to the Stars (6 page)

I remember in college having a small crush on actor Andrew Shue. As most people were watching Beverly Hills 90210, I was a Melrose Place junkie. Sometimes when I watch Desperate Housewives, I get flashbacks of Melrose Place. I still think of Bree Hodge as Kimberly and Tom Scavo as Matt.

I also had a short lived crush on Leonardo DiCaprio after Romeo and Juliet came out. The Titanic was just another whole phenomenon leading to a pink and silver angel fish named Jack and Rose. I’ll give you one guess as to who went belly up first.

I really have not had an idol since junior high school and wondered if it was even normal or healthy to have one at age twenty-eight. At first I kept my feelings very quiet because I was afraid that everyone would think I was crazy. I am definitely a kid at heart and feel that you are never too old for anything. After all, life would be pretty boring if we didn’t have that inner child.

Maria, my best friend, was someone I felt I could talk to about anything. We met in college and lived across the hall from each other in our senior year. We always had a lot in common besides the fact that we were the same height, wore the same size and we were both blonde. We had our ups and our downs, but we always had each other’s back. We had lost a few years between college graduation and marriage, along with the birth of her first child, due to a falling out. I always regretted letting anything come in between the friendship and I wrote her a letter apologizing. As we started to get together again, things soon got back to where they were. We enjoyed karaoke, never in a public place, and loved reminiscing about the college days when pouring as much salt as we could on the others food without getting caught until the other took a bite was hysterical.

I started to confide in Maria about the secret love affair that was going on only inside my mind revolving around a celebrity obsession. She was the one who convinced me that I was not crazy.

Although it has taken me years, I feel as if I can talk about my ongoing experience as a fan, including some of the crazy thoughts and feelings that led me to do some crazy things.

It all started in January of 2003 when I found myself getting lost in the reality show, American Idol. I never watched season one but I was a fan of the winner, Kelly Clarkson. I always heard people talking about season one, especially Maria.

As I have always had a passion for singing, I thought I would tune in to season two of American Idol. I watched the show week after week and grew from liking it to loving it, and then to loving him.

From the first time I laid eyes on him, I was intrigued. As I liked many of the top twelve contestants, for some reason I was really drawn to him. I looked forward to his particular performance every week and found myself getting excited when it was his turn to perform. My strong liking grew into what I would consider a small crush.

I had assumed the role of junior high guidance counselor at a small school in Massachusetts for four years. Previously, I had worked with special education students for two years. Knowing that my idol had a similar experience in the work field before he rose to stardom, I felt that we automatically shared something in common.

I had built a lot of great relationships with most of my students and a few selective co-workers. Therefore, it was not unusual for me to come into work in the morning and have a picture of my obsession on my office door or the most recent People magazine sitting on my desk.

I even had one student come into my office after a doctor’s appointment and hand me a picture that she had torn out of one of the magazines in the waiting area at the doctor’s office. After I told her that I had appreciated that she was thinking of me and that I knew she meant well, I had to explain to her why it was wrong for her to tear the picture out of a magazine that was not hers. After she left my office, I smiled and laughed to myself.

Although some people despise the junior high age, the middle school student, in my opinion, is the best. This is because they are always making me laugh even when they are not trying to be funny.

As I sat back down at my desk, I felt that I was being watched from every direction with all of the pictures collected from students. As a guidance counselor, it was my main priority to be there for the kids but in a lot of ways, they were also there for me. These kids kept me going and kept the excitement alive in my life. As a twenty-eight year old, more times than not I was mistaken for a student.

When I was a junior high and high school student, I was not the most popular girl in the class. I did not fit into cliques well because I felt I should be able to be friends with who I want, date who I want and not be judged for it. I was also the good girl and there were times when my own friends did not want to take “mom” to the party. I paid for this my first three years of high school. You would think things would be different in a Catholic school but when I changed schools two weeks into my senior year, it ended up being one of the best years of my life.

I felt that I did my job as a counselor well because my students saw me as a cool friend rather than a teacher or counselor. When the junior high students came to visit me in my office, it was because they looked up to me and my advice was important to them. I felt that I got through to a lot of them because I didn’t look the part of mom, but I still preached the part of mom.

When the high school boys dropped in to visit, it was not for advice but just to flirt. I even had one student ask me out. As I looked at him in disbelief, he told me he would get a note from his mother. As it made me feel young at heart, this was the one time I felt it may be better to look the part of mom. Bryce always joked about the students having crushes on me and would start to sing that David Lee Roth song, “Hot for Teacher.” I would get all uptight because it just made me uncomfortable.

Throughout my obsession with music, movies, celebrities and American Idol, there was one time in the school year that allowed me to indulge in the roots of what I thoroughly enjoyed. In April, on the last day of Spirit Week, was the annual lip sync contest. Not only did I help the kids create an American Idol performance, but I also coordinated the faculty production two years in a row. The first year was a compilation of music through the decades. I not only got to play Madonna by performing “Material Girl,” but also made a cute Baby Spice performing “Wanna Be” with four other members of the faculty as, none other than, the Spice Girls.

The second year, I moved to movies. I played Foxy Cleopatra with Austin Powers, and Garth from Wayne’s World, singing “Bohemian Rhapsody.” The kids loved it both years. They love to see it when you actually take a step back from the role of teacher/counselor and reach them at a different level of craziness.

As the month of May grew closer, the finale of American Idol neared. I watched the last show and called in to place my vote like every other week. Unfortunately, I was not able to watch the final show live on results night.

Bryce and I had tickets to a Red Sox game on the same night. I remember having to tape it and would not let him listen to the radio on the way home because I did not want to know who won until I could go home and watch it. This, of course, was a tape that I should have burned rather than watched. This is because what I had waited all night to be excited about turned into total disappointment. I reacted to it with such anger as my husband laughed at me with disbelief. My anger then turned to tears. I had sworn I would never watch the show again, which obviously, I quickly got over.

I think that we all act as if it were we that lost a major competition when that dedicated to a particular artist. We act so ridiculously. I mean, really, it is not like anybody died or lost a limb or something, so is there any excuse for us to act like this at all? Probably not, but we do.

I had a hard time getting to work the morning after. This was because not only was I exhausted from being in Boston for a Sox game and then coming home to watch a two hour tape, but I was also royally pissed off.

I sat in my office that morning and I thought, “How crazy would it be for me to write a fan letter?” This is something that I had never done, and probably under most circumstances would never do. I always thought that writing a fan letter was silly. Do we really know where it is that they actually go? Does it ever really reach them? Do they really read it, if it does reach them? If it does reach them, do they really read it or does someone else read it for them, which to me would be a total waste of my time? I went online wondering, “What are the chances of the address being other than the Los Angeles one where all of the fans send their mail?” I thought that maybe because he is not that big yet, it would be possible that I could find another address where he would maybe actually receive it. Then, I found an address that looked like it might be worth a try, so I figured, “What the hell?” and began typing.

After the letter was completed, I put it into an envelope with my school’s return address on it and thought, If he sees that it is coming from a school will it be more important? Would he come to perform here, at a school, where he has so many admirers, including myself? How cool would that be? Am I a dreamer or what? Who cares? The dream lives.

I mailed it that afternoon from the town post office the next street over. I even went as far as to joke with the postman about it being very important and as he looked at it he chuckled. I definitely joked with him as a cover because I was so embarrassed about what I was doing. I was a twenty-eight year old married woman sending a fan letter to a twenty-four year old who had no idea who I was and probably did not care. I did not even mention being married in the letter. Then, the waiting and waiting and more waiting began. Would I get a response?

I think the worst feeling in the world for a fan is the anticipation.

Finally, a time comes when all the hype wears down and you are faced with the big reality slap that it’s not going to happen. I wondered what I was thinking and if I was a complete idiot, or have I lost my mind? After getting my head out of the clouds and coming somewhat back down to Earth, I concluded that the letter had never reached him and someone else must have had a good laugh on me. At least, this is what I wanted to think.

Chapter 6

Life Goes On

It is July 25th, 2003, my twenty-ninth birthday, and “This is the Night!” I have never been so excited! We arrived at the Worcester

Centrum early so that we could get our programs and find our seats. Our seats were located center stage but they were pretty far back. We had a good view but you definitely needed binoculars to see detail. Luckily, I had borrowed some from my cousin, Marge. I was feeling a lot of anxiety from the anticipation and excitement. As the show began, they started off with the first idol to leave the show and worked their way up. I remember Bryce turning to me and saying, “You have a long wait.” In a way, it was good because I had something to anticipate. After the idols all had a chance to perform, they finished the show with a bunch of group performances.