Renée Zellweger Monologues

Stories don't always end where their authors intended. But there is joy in following them, wherever they take us.

There's something delicious about writing those first few words of a story. You can never quite tell where they will take you. Mine took me here, where I belong.

My mother and I have come to an understanding. We've agreed not understand each other.

We did it! Did you hear my heart? It was a kettle drum! You see, we can't stay home all our lives! We must present ourselves to the world, and we must look upon it as an adventure!

And I didn't fall in love with Zip Martin. I fell in love with Catcher Block. And that was a year ago, when for three and a half weeks, I worked as your secretary. I don't expect you to remember me. I wasn't a blond then. But you did ask me out. And it broke my heart to say no, but I loved you too much. I couldn't bear to become just another notch in your bedpost. With your dating habits, I knew that even if I was lucky enough to get a regular spot on your rotating schedule… I would never have your undivided attention long enough for you to fall in love with me. I knew I had to do something to set myself apart. I knew I had to quit my job as your secretary… and write an international best-seller controversial enough… to get the attention of a New York publisher as well as "KNOW" magazine… but insignificant enough that as long as I went unseen, "KNOW" magazine's star journalist would refuse to do a cover story about it. I knew that every time we were supposed to meet, you would get distracted by one of your many girlfriends and stand me up… and this would give me a reason to fight with you over the phone… and declare that I wouldn't meet with you for a hundred years. And then all I would have to do was be patient and wait… the two or three weeks it would take for everyone in the world to buy a copy of my best-seller - and then I would begin to get the publicity I would need for you… to, one, see what I look like, and, two, see me denounce you in public as the worst kind of man. I knew that this would make you wanna get even by writing one of your exposés. And in order to do that, you would have to go undercover, assume a false identity and pretend to be the kind of man who would make the kind of girl I was pretending to be fall in love. And I knew that since I was pretending to be a girl who would have sex on the first date you would have pretend to be a man who wouldn't have sex for several dates. And in doing so, we would go out on lots of dates to all the best places and all the hit shows until finally, one night, you would take me back to your place - that you were pretending was someone else's - in order to get the evidence you needed to write your exposé… by seducing me until I said, "I love you." But saying "I love you" was also my plan. I just wanted to tell you the truth so that when you heard me say, "I love you" you would know that I knew who you were, and you would know who I was. Then you, the great Catcher Block, would know that you'd been beaten at your own game… by me, Nancy Brown, your former secretary. And I would have, once and for all, set myself apart from all the other girls you've known, all those other girls that you never really cared about, by making myself someone like the one person you really love and admire above all others: you. Then, when you realized that you had finally met your match… I would have at last gained the respect that would make you wanna marry me first and seduce me later.

Every piece of this is man's bullshit. They call this war "a cloud over the land" but they made the weather and then they stand in the rain and say "Shit, it's rainin'!"

Number one - shut this door, it's freezing. Number two - shut that door, it's freezing. I'm laying on my back, with my fingers poked in my ears trying to shut out who's got a bag of diamonds and who's carrying a tray. If you want to get three feet up a bull's ass, listen to what sweethearts whisper to each other. Now, if you're going to wimble wimble all night, I'm going to sleep in with him.

Every piece of this is man's bullshit. They call this war a cloud over the land. But they made the weather and then they stand in the rain and say 'Shit, it's raining!'

Just so you know - you're not eating inside. Number one: they hang people round here for taking in deserters. Number two: even if they gave out prizes you'd still eat outside.

We got our own story. Called Black Cove Farm: a catastrophe. I can spell it, too. Learned it the same place you did, in the school room. One of the first words they taught me. "Ruby Thewes, you are a c-a-t-a-s-t-r-o-p-h-e!"