bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY

herstory

May 18th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Me, the other night:

  • Stands at bar waiting to be served
  • Notices that all of the dudes at the bar are straight up staring at her
  • Marvels at this, assumes that it must be the fact that she curled her hair. At first gets a little angry, like, just because she kinda looks like a Barbie, NOW she gets attention? But also, or mostly, she feels flattered, if not drop dead gorgeous; Muses over what a difference a little self care can make, you just have to —
  • Realizes there is a giant TV playing sports right behind her head

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dîtes-moi

May 17th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Last night a friend  opened up to me about some life nonsense she was dealing with, like all of it, which was truly a lot. And after, she told me that she hadn’t shared all of this with anyone other than me — but she felt like she could tell me anything, because she knows I won’t judge her, and well, that was one of the best things I’ve ever heard. Maybe sharing this here is braggadocious, but hearing that from her just really moved me. I’m not brave, per se, and I’m not so much strong. I’m anxious and I’m a worrier and I’m conflict averse, I’m easily swayed,  and I never and I do mean NEVER clean out the coffee maker. But:  you can tell me anything. And I will not judge you. I will hold your hand and listen. I will go home and NOT clean out my coffee maker.

Posted in a lot, generally, horn tooting, what my friends are doing, women | No Comments »

I’M OFFRAID

May 5th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

As I’ve previously noted in this space, I like to discover things a year or two after every one has, so that I might burst into a room like, HAVE YOU GUYS TRIED AVOCADO ON TOAST?! IT IS LIT! Only to discover that everyone has been eating avocado toast and calling it Lit for at least five years. Most recently on this list of ‘discoveries:’ I’ve finally started watching the Handmaid’s Tale on Hulu. Honestly when it first came out, I watched the first few, and was unable to casually hang with genital mutilation on a school night. But I kept hearing how incredible it is, and so nevertheless she persisted, and I must say, it is stunning (and disturbing) and brilliant (and nightmare giving.) Now that I’m all caught up, I have to wait FIVE DAYS to see what will happen to dear Offred next. I’M SO OFFRAID FOR HER / AM I FIRST ONE TO SAY THIS? NO? WE’VE ALL BEEN SAYING THIS FOR TWO YEARS? WELL, HERE WE ARE AGAIN.

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Posted in the future, TV, women, words, worrying | No Comments »

the Big Questions

April 30th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

God bless Julien for keeping every note we wrote to each other in high school, even though some of them reflect a rift between us that neither of us can fully recall or explain. Mostly it seems that I rambled to her about my low self-esteem, how embarrassing it was to try and pass the push up test in gym, then asked her important life questions, just as I strive to do in my adult life.

How many cups of sugar does it take to get to the moon?

What kind of jeans does mustard wear?

What kind of cat goes best with pasta?

Do pickles go to the bathroom?

Whatever.

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this young fellow

April 27th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Yesterday someone decided to post their old headshot and then natch, everyone started do it, and though Morrison does NOT like to engage in Things that Everyone are Doing on the Internet, he decided to make an exception, because THIS:

Look at this sharp and pensive soul! BACK OFF, WOMEN OF 2009. BACK TO YOUR JEAN SHORTS OVER TIGHTS. HE’S MINE. HE JUST DOESN’T KNOW IT YET.

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Posted in i am lucky, what i am NOT wearing, what I'm wearing, women | No Comments »

Andrea G.

April 24th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

As I may have mentioned here before, I tend to read most of my reviews because a.) GOSH, I LOVE PAIN  and b.) I truly feel like I can learn from them,  if I read them with one eye open  (keeping the other eye that scans every moment and room I’m in for reasons to doubt myself carefully closed.) I happened upon this review of the Chicago production of the Cake the other day, and for reasons I decided NOT to unpack in a middle of the night email to the critic, it upset me deeply. I let it go for a few days, then yesterday, decided to revisit it, because again, I LOVE PAIN and also because with the initial sting having settled, I wanted to see what I could learn, as I’m still tweaking the play. And lo and behold, an angel woman named Andrea G. had left this beautifully articulated comment on the review  (my favorite parts in bold):

You are missing the point. Hear me out. There it was- my life on the stage. That NEVER happens. The real side of being a gay woman. Finally something REAL. You still have to love your family. You still have to reach across the table. Because we still need to live in our current lives. Della is lovable because most of the time your family member is lovable. I have a ton of Dellas in my live. And I wish I could be braver like Jen and work through them all. But you choose those like Della who really love you and you work it through. So you both grow. And it HURTS. Are you not gay? Or are you not a woman? Because that is the way women deal with things. Slowly and painfully. I’ll give this, then you give that, slowly. If you are really really lucky it ends well. I am still bruised as I am sure every lesbian who left the theater. You say it is intellectually and emotionally unnutritious. That is INSANE. This is family not the government or your job. You have to give people time to change, reevaluate and change some more. Dissuading others from seeing it because it doesn’t fit into the cookie cutter liberal “should,” is keeping people from actually seeing their lives in art. Not a fantasy of how life should be, but how it is. Because the play you are asking for wouldn’t hit home for me. It is a fantasy for me- where I sit down with my aunt and have a conversation about identities It wouldn’t be emotional because it would never happen. Because that is what your said privileged people do- conversations about identities. Not us poor blue collar folks. And your attitude towards Della is elitist and condescending. Yes she is a bigot. But your (and Macy’s attitude) is not so nice either.

ANDREA G., you are why I write plays. Thank you for speaking for me, with me.

 

Posted in arrogant art things, awesome, faith, family, generally, hmmmmm, how interesting, i am a grown up, i am lucky, the writing of drama plays, theater, women, words | No Comments »

this is who I am now (?)

March 31st, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

There comes a time in every person’s life when they realize they’ve become the person they swore they would never be. TODAY I FIND MYSELF IN THAT MOMENT, having just spent a slightly absurd amount of money on an intentionally sort of dirty looking, distressed sweatshirt that some girl in Los Feliz probably spent ten hours artfully covering in specks of paint, so that I might look like I am actually not myself, but Her.

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Posted in what I'm wearing, women, YAY | No Comments »

GROWN UP DEMANDS STICKER

March 14th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

THIS grown up forehead-carrier left her house for work this morning not only NOT with wet hair, but with DRY hair that she even managed to run a curling iron through. WHERE IS MY PRIZE? IT WASN’T AT MY DESK SO I  GUESS IT’S IN THE MAIL? NO SERIOUSLY WHERE IS IT WHY WOULD I PUT MYSELF THROUGH THAT IF NOT FOR PRIZE?

WHAT’S THAT, YOU SAY? THE PRIZE IS INSIDE OF ME? IT’S THE CONFIDENCE NOW FOUND WITHIN? NO THANKS I’LL TRADE FOR STICKER

 

Posted in horn tooting, how interesting, i am a grown up, things, things that I Have, tout, whining, women, YAY | No Comments »

Martha

March 12th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Today, on Using Other’s People’s Writing to Stand in for my Own, or, Live Every Day like you’re in a really good Sophomore English Class: I’m finally reading  The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien’s memoir about the Vietnam War. I just can’t (read: I can) with his incredible descriptions of one Lieutenant’s thoughts of a girl he left back home, who doesn’t really love him, who he loves: Martha.

And then suddenly, without willing it, he was thinking about Martha. The stresses and fractures, the quick collapse, the two of them buried alive under all that weight. Dense, crushing love. Kneeling, watching the hole, he tried to concentrate on Lee Strunk and the war, all the dangers, but his love was too much for him, he felt paralyzed, he wanted to sleep inside her lungs and breathe her blood and be smothered. He wanted her to be a virgin and not a virgin, all at once. He wanted to know her. Intimate secrets: Why poetry? Why so sad? Why that grayness in her eyes? Why so alone? Not lonely, just alone—riding her bike across campus or sitting off by herself in the cafeteria—even dancing, she danced alone—and it was the aloneness that filled him with love. He remembered telling her that one evening. How she nodded and looked away. And how, later, when he kissed her, she received the kiss without returning it, her eyes wide open, not afraid, not a virgin’s eyes, just flat and uninvolved. Lieutenant Cross gazed at the tunnel. But he was not there. He was buried with Martha under the white sand at the Jersey shore. They were pressed together, and the pebble in his mouth was her tongue. He was smiling. Vaguely, he was aware of how quiet the day was, the sullen paddies, yet he could not bring himself to worry about matters of security. He was beyond that. He was just a kid at war, in love. He was twenty-four years old. He couldn’t help it.

I think every girl, or at least high school or college age girl, or at least definitely me at that age, longs to be Martha:  so loved while giving nothing in return, so deeply lonely and silent and still and yet so beautiful that brave strong boys want to live inside of her lungs.

Posted in books, hmmmmm, how interesting, life, women | No Comments »

sistermotherdaughter

March 11th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Facial giving person (technical term?): Aw, You guys look like sisters! 

Later, my Mom snickers.

Me: What?

Mom: Sorry!

Me: For what?

Mom: That’s an insult for you, and a compliment for me! 

(BUT REALLY MOM THANKS FOR THE SKIN.)

Posted in a lot, family, ha, love, women, YAY | No Comments »

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