A Star is Born

Jean Marie Walters was born on January 14th, 1981. I think this happened somewhere in Texas. I am sure her mother was in a lot of pain, because Jean is very tall. She probably thought "Good God! Will this baby ever END?"

I like to think that the world breathed a collective sigh of relief when her toes were finally cleared. Finally, it sighed to itself, Jean was here.

Over the years, Jean learned how to tie her shoes, ride a bike , kiss a boy and find bras that fit. A year and a half ago she packed all of her stuff into an Enterprise Rent-A-Van and moved to Brooklyn, New York where we now share a few small symmetrical squares of space. Most of this space is covered in hair because we both lose a lot of hair. A LOT! I vacuumed this weekend and the vacuum choked and sputtered until I pulled out something that look like a dead cat. (it wasn't).

In April, we blew up an air mattress, plopped onto our living room floor and said "Stephanie! Why don't you sleep here?" Stephanie is blond and makes creepy things like linoleum, tinfoil and plastic mattresses somehow pretty and not so bad after all.

After a few months, God or Fate or that book THE SECRET decided that Stephanie should live downstairs, one floor below us.

The three of us have known each other since we were 14. We have pictures to prove it. Our eyebrows were massive back then. I , for one, was a little afraid of tweezers.

Sure, we're best friends. BFFs, as popular culture might deem. But really, words fail us when pressed to describe. I think it may fall somewhere between "sister" and "lover." Only because sisters hate each other more and Stephanie once had that dream about Jean in the shower.

Several times, we've made the highly conceited statement that the three of us have ruined men for other women. The combination of our humor, our hair or just the alchemy of our dynamic is staggering to men who may have thought that women are boring, or stupid, or think bowel movements aren't interesting. But I think we may have also ruined other women for ourselves. So, we're stuck.

I use this instance of a birthday to usher in a new project. Being who we are, grasping at our upper twenties, kicking off the remnants of girlhood, our brains rattle madly inside our heads. We are itchy and twitchy and we wait something to begin.

In the midst of this, though, things do happen. They happen slowly, or suddenly. All at once , or bit by bit. The world changes, people come and go, what was once true turns out to be false. Thoughts, opinions, experiences, fly out our mouths, into our ears and then fall away. At Apartment 3R we can capture them, right before we forget, before we move on yet again.

Here, the personal can meet the political! Exterior lives can meet interior lives! Ambition comes face to face with lethargy. Sentimentality meets irony. Immeasurable love meets untended disgust. Cynicism. Defeat. Joy. Songs. Menstruation. Jesus. Anger. Babies. Death. Burritos.

Lightning in a bottle.

A record of our time.

In the words of Walt Whitman "Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes."

And, so do we.

Jean, Happy Birthday sweet girl.

Start now.