Jennifer Inglis - I Work Better With An Audience: Thoughts on Life, Love, Food and Jiggly Bits

Copyright 2013 by Jennifer Inglis

All Rights Reserved

ISBN-13: 978-0615730004

ISBN-10: 0615730000

eBook ISBN: 978-1-63001-835-1

Disclaimer: I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories. In order to maintain certain individuals anonymity, in some instances I have changed the names of individuals and places, and I may have changed some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations and places of residence. Some dialogue may have been edited or condensed for pace.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without expressed written consent of the author except in cases of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

www.jenniferinglis.com

For my mother. Always.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my many wonderful friends who came along with me on the journey of writing and putting together this book, including: Emily Tucker, Maggie Clennon Reberg, Nadine Gomes, Joni Crotty, Karen Gannon, Tawn Makela, Paul Taylor, Jennie Reinish, Naomi Gurt Lind, Holly Roberts, Laurie Hoffman Sjostrom, Laura Fiste, Alexander East, Stephanie Murphy, David Peryam, and Erin Inglis. Their encouragement and support was invaluable.

A special thank you to Jean Gottlieb, who pushed me each step of the way to keep going and to believe in myself. I would not have finished this project without her.

Thank you to my father and brother, who never once rolled their eyes when I said I was going to be a writer.

Lastly, I would like to give a heartfelt thanks to the many, many funny women who have inspired me over the years. Too many to mention, you have all taught me that you can make people laugh and still be a lady. And to not trip over the punch line.

More than several years ago, I was born. The particulars are a bit hazy, but I did arrive at some point, and the people around me were generally pretty happy about it. Id like to say that I was born to European aristocrats or British intellectuals, but really, I just joined a couple of nice, regular folks who fed me, changed me, and gave me stuff to play with.

All in all, not a bad deal.

I was a very round, chubby baby (my creases had creases, my Mom used to say) with lots of dark curls. I always joke that the first word I ever uttered was not Mama or Daddy, but in fact, Entenmanns.

True or not, Im sure the next thing I said shortly thereafter was, I haveconcerns

My father said I used to look around with my dark, serious eyes, as if I was thinking, Ive done this before I often felt old before my time, worrying about things that shouldnt even cross the mind of the average kid. When I was in first grade, for example, my class went on a field trip to a local farm. Despite the sunshine and the weather reporters robust proclamation of a beautiful day, I insisted on going on the voyage armed with my raincoat, rain hat, and an umbrella. My reasoning? It could rain. You just never know, I said. You just never know.

It became a way of life. Like most other kids, I wrote letters to Santa Claus. Unlike most kids, I wanted to send them certified mail.

Why? my mother would say, Its not necessary, and its expensive. Just tape it to the front door. Hell get it.

I was not deterred.

I dont think thats a good idea, I said. What if the wind blows it away? What if someone else takes it? What if he doesnt know to look for it here? Were Jewish. Maybe Im not on his list. You just never know.

To this day, I dont know what my Mom did with that letter, but I did get the Superstar Barbie doll that I asked for, so well call it square.

It was a tough way to grow up. I was always afraid of something. There are kids who go through their childhood with abandon, running and jumping, scraping knees and going back for more. That wasnt me.

I might fall.

I might get lost.

I might not be able to do it.

I might get hurt.

It might break.

You just never know.

I spent a lot of time reading, which seemed a safe enough activity. I started very early, whether it was due to Sesame Street, being read to by my parents, or just a natural need to find out if there was something I was missing. I had a pretty good vocabulary for a little kid. Words such as disenchantment, congregate, and engage were early additions to my conversations. Some might call it precociousness. My Dad had a different take on my abilities:

It was kind of creepy, he once said. But I figured as long as you werent mentioning the words Bell Jar or Child Protective Services, we were doing OK.

Fair enough.

Not surprisingly, my general disposition made it difficult to make friends. Not impossible, but challenging. I didnt quite fit in with the other kids, and I always felt just on the outside of regular, whether it was due to my height (tallest kid in the class for quite a few years), my outward lack of femininity (my Mom kept my curly hair cropped to make it easier to manage), or my interest in other, non-kid-like things reading, creating stories, watching cooking shows, or even discovering Star Trek at the age of seven. It was a thin line I still dug Josie and the Pussycats; I also liked picking up my Moms copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare and picking out words like forsooth.

As a toddler, I had a habit of saying, What am I doing? I could be drawing at my little chalk easel, and I would stop suddenly and say, to no one in particular, What am I doing? I have no idea if I was asking for outside validation, instruction or direction, or if I was just having some sort of existential toddler crisis.

General note: Lest anyone think Im portraying myself as a baby Kierkegaard, I was also fond of picking mashed potatoes up off my plate and pretending it was a telephone, so were not talking continuous Mensa-level behavior here.

So I was weird, and to add to the pile, we moved a lot when I was a kid. My mother tells of a time when I was very small, and she, my father and I went for a Sunday drive. I looked out the window, and with more than a little concern in my voice, queried, Are we coming back? (That time, we did.) So I was always starting over. New school, new kidsit was tiring. Often Id choose to just stay in my room, imagining myself into the plot of favorite movies or TV shows. (Lets just say The Return of the Jedi would have turned out very differently had I gotten my hands on it.) Sometimes Id spend time with my younger brother David (usually against my will) and Id be amazed by the differences between us he was a real rough-and-tumble kid, athletic, and always seemed to have lots of friends. I figured that obviously the normal person gene was there somewhere in my DNA, but I seemed unable to access it like he did.

All of this paved the way for a lot of What the hell? moments.

The whole point, I guess, is that I spent a lot of time on my own as an Observer of Life, if you will. And I have observed a lot. Ive seen people pick on others (and me), watched them develop friendships, break friendships, fight, gossip, fall in love, wonder, Will he call? and helped them get through the pain when he didnt. Ive seen jealousy, rage, stupidity, bliss, and the absurdity of everyday life. (Stepped in it a few times, myself.) And its that absurdity thing that gets me every time. Every. Time. The funny thing is, we bring it on ourselves. We could choose to act differently to not go out with that guy, to not wear that pair of day-glo chaps but most times, we dont. We go ass-end over teakettle into the abyss of ridiculousness, brush ourselves off, and do it again and again.