My favorite form of punctuation is the ellipse. Because so...much can happen betwixt those three little dots...
Monday, March 31, 2008
I give it a 3.1
I think I just meet people from Craig's List so that I can say "Eh. At least I got a blog post out of it." Sigh.
It was fine. I guess. He was a total dork, seemed like a total dork. Being a total dork, I tend to lean toward the total dork. He showed up on time with a shaved head. He had hair in his photo. I say, "So, what's with the shaved head? Are you balding?" He demonstrates this for me by leaning over. But I'm fine with that, he has nice bright blue eyes. And he's smart. And he has a booger. He knows he has a booger because he keeps wiping at his nose trying not to be too obvious, but it's one of those terribly sticky affairs that just gathers glob with every wipe until it turns an even greyer glue. That booger was on there for all 3 beers that he bought me.
So, we have the general getting to know you bullshit conversation about what do you do and why are you here and where are you from and I go ahead and get the "Are you clinically depressed?" question out of the way, right? I mean, I figure why not. He mentions his therapist and the fact that he is on meds and that the meds are working. So at least there was that. He says he knows he needs them, he's been on them for years, but he knows he needs them because the other day, he had gone a couple days without refilling his prescription and he cries 3 times during American Idol. When they were interviewing the parents. That pride! Ha.
Early on he initiates a point system. I lost one point for... Something. Gained another point for.... What was it? Oh, not liking New York. Then I gained a few more for just being me, you know. Because I'm all about the bonus points. He kept rating things too, experiences, establishments. "I give it a 7.5." Umm... I'm not so keen with the numbers. Maybe you could just tell me what you thought about something instead of leaving me to decipher some actual meaning from your "7.5".
He has a dog though. He got a point for that. We both have our dogs as the photo that appears when you open your phone. Is that called wallpaper too? Surely not.
Oh, but he's a smoker. He says he smokes 4-5 cigarettes a day, never more than 2 packs a week. If I date a smoker, I know I'm going to smoke. I say, "Hey, let's go outside and smoke a cigarette." We do. It's sunny and he has a nice little hat to cover his shaved balding head.
Still has that booger.
He invites me over for some Rock Band. I say I have to go home and take the dog out, but maybe... He gives me directions.
Because it was an early Sunday afternoon and because the sun was shining and because I have an insatiable amount of curiosity and he said I could bring my dog, I went over.
The Nashville Knucklehead is always swearing by the Sunday afternoon date. I think he met all his wives and fiances that way. The Sunday afternoon date bodes well for the long term relationship, I suppose. Though not the lasting one apparently. So, I had high hopes for how this particular afternoon might turn out. I was curious to see if the magic of the Saturday afternoon date would manifest.
I go over. His dog is adorable. There are television and computer screens everywhere. I'm overwhelmed with technological devices. My ex-boyfriend didn't even own a television. This is different. And the screens are so BIG! In every room and they're ON. I'm experiencing sensory overload, the dogs are sniffing each other's butts, he offers me the chair in his bedroom (how I got into the bedroom in the first place is beyond me, I must have been led in there by all the flashing lights) and I sit down, pat his dog on the head and then I see them...
Nestled behind the Brobdingnagian flat screen with the basketball game on in high def, not on display but not not. Two. Emmys. Yeah. I know! I've never seen an Emmy before in the same room with me. He's not an actor or anything, I guess he was a production manager for some special thing for that major cable sports channel. Still. I mean... That's kind of impressive. Very. Kind of. They were dusty and he had dropped one, so its wing had broken off and he had it stuck back on with scotch tape. And he kept all his juggling balls stuffed into the golden sphere thing that Emmy is holding high. You juggle too?! Wow! Heh.
So, then I had to get out of the smoke filled room and the reason I came over was to play that Rock Band game which I have never played and I wanted to play the drums, but it was hard as hell! And I was intimidated by the enormity of the screen and I ASKED HIM if there was a horrible buzzing or something if you messed up and he said, "No! It just does this click sound and then that is it." But you guys? You know what happens when you suck balls at Rock Band? The CROWD BOOS YOU OFF THE STAGE! That was awful. I about couldn't stand it. Much much worse than a click sound. Hmm. He must have forgotten that part. It was humiliating. Then I tried singing. I rocked out the following:
Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi
Don't fear the Reaper
Roam if you want to by the B52s
Creep by Radiohead
Oh, in between singing, he made his move on me. I was sitting on his couch and he came and sat next to me. I scooted over. Then he brought up his legs and sat facing me, me facing forward. Then he just starts coming at me and I'm all, "Yeah, no." And he leans back and makes an "Awwww!" sound and I say, I'm sorry, I'm shy. Let's go smoke another cigarette. And so we do. He didn't try any more of his fantastic moves on me (thank Emmy) and the whole time I'm singing Creep, there was just so much more meaning to those lyrics...
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here
I don't beeeelooong heeeeeeeeeere
Ah cha cha cha.
My dog ate his dog's bone, I flirted with his one hot roommate a little too much, his other roommate discovered mold inside a pepper he had just bought yesterday (!) and decided to take it back to the store and get his pepper's worth and then The Bucket and I thanked them for their hospitality and went home. The crowd was still cheering....
I don't belong heeeere
Yay.
I wonder how much tail those Emmys get him...
Sentences of the Weekend
3/28
"Resident Parking 6PM-8AM"
3/29
"What is a 'real life'? That's like asking, 'What is a real carrot?'. A carrot is a carrot."
3/30
"A play is a poem standing up."
Labels: sentence
Friday, March 28, 2008
Hi, my name is Dolores, what can I get you folks to drink?
So it turns out my girl who turns into an owl is 12, not 7 and then she turns 14. But still...she's a little bit younger than me.
The whole focus of this thingy is the playwrights, right? The women who are playwrights, women's voices, all that juicy good stuff. So, it seems like they may want to actually hear the words they came to hear probably.
I've only had laryngitis once before in my life. It was the Big E's 21st birthday when she came to visit me. It was kind of funny because we kept going places where you had to sing along with the piano player in the German bar or scream at a Red Sox game. I did interpretive mime "singing" and talking that weekend. It was humorous. We went on a tour of the Sam Adams brewery and they were telling us about how yeast is ALIVE and I was alarmed and had to raise my hand and croak out a question, "You mean what makes beer good is the yeasty poop and pee and SEX JUICES?!!!"
That was such a fun weekend. I kept E good and wasted the whole time like a big sister should. That's the last time she came to visit me. She's about to turn 26. I wonder if it's something I said... (I'm kidding! I see the Big E all the time, just not in my city.) Anyhow!
I remember thinking the whole time, what the hell would I do if I were in a play right now? Thank goodness I'm not! It was a scary scary thought.
I think I'm coming down with laryngitis. There's definitely a break in my voice and I remember the furry throat swallow feeling from the last time. I've been popping vitamin C like it's going out of style. I've drunk about 3 gallons of hot tea in the past 2 days. Fuck. Even if I AM able to croak out some lines tomorrow, do you know any 12-year-olds that sound like chain-smoking whiskey-drinking diner waitresses named Dolores?
Oh dear.
Sentence of the Day 3/27
"What kind of music moves your soul?"
Honorable Mention:
"I don't know, oolong....somethin."
Labels: sentence
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Celia Plimco in The Case of the Lesbians Next Door
There are windows toward the top of the walls lining the basement. It's nice to get some natural light down there when I'm working out. The driveway of the lesbians next door goes right by the window by my "gym". I was startled once to look up and see feet.
I guess people sometimes get gym memberships to be encouraged by the other people working out there, to work out together, get inspired by their work out, let their energy push them on. I've never had a gym membership, I think I would be shy. I don't think it would have that effect on me, stranger's presence would just make me more self-conscious.
But with the lesbians next door...
It's really stupid because I don't even know if they know that I'm down there or that there is a gym down there or anything. I mean, I guess all they would have to do would be to look over...
So, I've started working out with my shirt off. I'm still wearing a sports bra and everything, I mean people run down the street in public in their sports bras so it's not like I'm being all that scandalous, but still. I feel like I'm being scandalous. And I lift weights with my back to the window and there's a small part of my brain that likes to imagine the lesbians next door watching me. And then when I'm on the elliptical listening to Prince's "Sexy Motherfucker", I pretend that I am a sexy mother fucker and that the lesbians next door may have stolen a peek at me sweating in my bra on the elliptical.
I don't know, it just helps me work out with more oomph.
Kind of like when I masturbate and imagine somebody standing outside watching me through the window with his cock in his hand.
It makes no sense and it's kind of scary, but hey. If it works for you, it works for you.
In other news, I'm getting these weird neck muscle bump things that go from my neck to my shoulders and I'm not sure I like them one bit. I'm trying to get rid of arm flab, but in the process I'm starting to get American Gladiator neck. Ew.
Sentence of the Day 3/26
"yes, i know it was you. it's always been you."
Labels: sentence
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Sentence of the Day 3/25
"You'd be such a cute egg."
Labels: sentence
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Can we talk about penis size for a moment?
Thank you.
My ex boyfriend had an enormous penis. It was huge. The first time I saw it, I winced and said a very small "wow". Now, I was all about this giant cock until it came to actually putting the sucker inside me. Ow. It hurt. Kind of like when I bought my vibrator. My eyes are often bigger than my chuchita. I'm all, "AWWWWW YEAH! SIGN ME UP FOR THE BIG ONE! YEAH, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!" And then I got it home and ... Umm. Ow. I never use it.
We used lube, we had to, but even still, I would bleed. I mean, I guess you always bleed a little bit when you have intercourse, little tiny scratches. But this was not like that. I mean, in the moment of the act, I was enjoying myself, it wasn't particularly painful. A good hurt. But I would be sore. And afterward I'd see the blood on my sheets and go wipe myself in the bathroom and... Just, ow.
So, you know what? I praise the average sized dick. I gotta say, bring the averaged sized dick on! I don't see why men are all about trying to get bigger and enhance enhance enhance. And then those posts on Craig's List? Not that I ever read the personals on Craig's List, but those photos? Of those giant peckers? Ow. I see them and I just wince and run away. It does not impress me, it makes me cross my legs and hurt. Put the giant shlong away. Give me Mr. Average. I will pet him and watch him grow to an average size and have fun with him and not bleed so much and be so sore the next day that I can't have sex again because I'm healing the tears in my chuchita from shoving a giant penis inside it all night.
Now, as we all know, I enjoy checking out a nice package now and again. I like seeing enormous penises lying dormant in packages still, I suppose. That way they are tucked nicely out of sight and I can admire their sleeping girth and paunch. But I also know now to steer clear of the mighty sleeping dragon. Only average dragons for me, thanks.
Oof.
Well, I'm glad we got that out of the way just in time for prime package-admiring baseball season. Go Sox!
Sentence of the Day 3/24
"I hold the record for 10 aliens."
Labels: sentence
Monday, March 24, 2008
The new mini one day role
Dr. J joked that I was playing younger and younger that eventually I would be playing an egg floating in a uterus. I'm playing a 7-year-old on Saturday. I'm not sure what is up with this. It's just for a women playwrights thing and she's a MAGICAL 7-year-old who just refuses to grow, to grow up, but still.
We had rehearsal a couple days ago and I introduce myself to the other actor and I ask her what she does and she says she's in high school. Oh. She's a sophomore. She's playing the older daughter.
Umm...?
I'm not complaining! I swear. It's just weird. Because I'm getting older, not younger, and yet I continue to get cast as younger...and younger...and younger.
I get to transform into an owl though in the scene, so that's fun. Who! Whoo! Whoo! And I get to fly. I like playing a magical flying owl girl. If only for a day.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Sentences of Weekend town
3/21
"Oh me oh my, that's a blow job!"
3/22
"Are your eyes brown or black? They're black, aren't they. Like shiny black marbles."
3/23
"My brother would take a bite and say, 'Nice cake, but where'd the sugar walk off to?' and we'd all laugh."
Labels: sentence
Friday, March 21, 2008
Lickety Split Strikes Again!
Oh my gracious. People! Get this. Remember back a couple years ago or so when I was studying how to dance on a box like a gogo dancer while at a Pride block party? Yeah. Ha. OK. Someone took my photograph at that party with this very cute lesbian who jumped up on the block to dance with me.
Guess whose photo somehow ended up in the largest GLBT magazine on the east coast?
Me! Isn't that hilarious? I'm in color and glossy! And a lesbian apparently. Yay.
You know? I just looked at that photograph again and our boobs are totally touching. Hee hee!
Sentence of the Day 3/20
"I thought you said 'Cowboy Monkeys'."
Labels: sentence
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Clip Clop
Dr. J and I used to play with model horses. Some of them were my mom's horses, so they were pretty old. Occasionally we'd mix things up and play with Barbies AND horses, but mostly we just played with horses.
We had different names and personalities for each of them. I remember I always had to be mom's old horse, Clip Clop. He looked like a much older version of the model horse, you could see his seams in the plastic. Dr. J got to be Phantom. I never got to be Phantom. Phantom was so cool, she was this grayish white horse whose mane and tail were flowing because she was always running around everywhere at top speeds. Her tail was kind of pokey though. Then there was Merry Legs. She was this dappled white and grey horse with a long white mane and tail. She was called Merry Legs because one of her front legs was up like she was prancing and being merry. I guess. Then there was one that was kind of peach, I can't remember its name. Peaches and Cream? That's kind of lame if that was its name. Anyhow, it was in this constant state of shock and rearing back on its hind legs, so he was kind of difficult to play with because he looked stupid when you put him back on all fours. He would usually be the sentinel on the mountain that would alert the other ponies if trouble was coming. That's kind of all he was good for. Then there was a chestnut pony... I forget her name. She was nice. He. Whichever. They didn't really make the ponies anatomically correct, they just had a hard plastic triangle that you could click with your fingernail. Those we usually made the boys. But I think the gender was pretty interchangeable.
Then there was Runner. Runner was a baby. I forget who Runner's parents were, but that was usually part of our pony story, the love story of Runner's parents and then the birth of Runner and then.... Oh. The horrible twist of fate.
One of Runner's hoofs broke off one summer when we were playing by the creek. It flowed down the creek and was lost forever. Or maybe we found it. I don't remember, I was very small when we lived by that creek. (I love how creeks are everywhere in middle Tennessee. You seem to always live close to one.) Anyhow, so Runner was a cripple. It was very sad, his name being Runner and all. We'd drape him over the shoulders of his mother or father and they would carry him from place to place to graze. Poor pony.
We had a stable too. It was fairly shoddy. I remember it not staying together very well and the trough not holding water, so we had to line the thing with syran wrap which looked entirely tacky and not realistic at all.
We'd play outside on the grass usually. Horses eat grass, you know. And... Well. I guess they all had personalities and would...talk. Would they talk? Ha. Usually the conflict would be the lack of people to tend to us (unless we were playing with Barbies which we usually didn't). So, the farmers would be killed in some kind of tornado or something and the horses would be hungry and so they'd have to figure out a way to get out of the stable and so we'd kick the fence over. That was the best part. Bam! Escape!
But yeah, I guess mostly we'd just eat grass and drink out of our syran wrap trough and jump over jumps and hang out. Then there was the Runner saga, maybe an occasional storm but...other than that? Yeah.
Dr. J kept all the model horses in her room. They were all lined up very very carefully on the top shelf of her bookshelf. If one fell over, they all fell over. I liked going in there and looking at them. We got another pony eventually, one with all its hoofs. He was white and grey with black spots and a black mane and tail. I forget his name though.
Then, by the time the Big E was big enough, she got a real horse. We all got real horses. So, we didn't play with them so much anymore.
I wonder what happened to those model ponies when we sold the house.
Sentence of the Day 3/19
"As A Working Mom, It's Hard To Find Time To Masturbate"
Labels: sentence
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Sentence of the Day 3/18
(sung) "Shook a little turd out of the bottom of your pants."
Labels: sentence
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
A new game
I had this fucked up dream last night.
(Poof! There go half of my 3 readers...)
Yes. I'm going to tell you about it. Shut up.
So, it was some kind of instructional session about a game. Very informative. The purpose of the session was to set up the rules. I'm not sure if I volunteered or if I was in charge of teaching everyone or what, but the game went like this. Two girls would tie the strings of their tampons together...and step away. Whoever pulled out the other's tampon first, won. I remember the sensation of tugging out the other person's tampon, but I don't remember who she was and it wasn't embarrassing or sexual, just... Informative.
Bizarre though, right?
I honestly have no idea where it came from. I mean, I'm not even employing the use of such objects for another few weeks.
Sentence of the Day 3/17
"Oh, they're for me; I'm always buying flowers for myself."
Labels: sentence
Monday, March 17, 2008
Green beer or green tea?
I'm thinking maybe I shouldn't drink so much. How's that for getting in the St. Patrick's Day spirit? Happy St. Patrick's Day! I'm going to try not to drink so much. Heh.
When a play is in production, you have to go out and drink and schmooze and make connections with people and crap. You don't HAVE to, but it's just what you do. You go out and be social and drink. Glug glug.
I think it's probably not so good to drink so much all the time. There is a history of alcoholism in my family. Plus, booze is fattening. And it screws with your liver. Oh and it's expensive.
I don't drink to the point of getting drunk every time I have a drink, mind you. Not at all. I rarely get "wasted". During the show, I'd just go out and have a glass of wine or a beer, a glass of scotch, you know. Just a drink.
Still.
Every night is every night and that's unnecessary.
And I don't have a show going on now.
So, maybe if I just cut the drinking down to the weekends, I'm thinking. I just have alcohol so clearly attached to "being social". I blame my family because it's just so much easier to blame your family for such things, isn't it? Whenever we get together for holidays or vacations or what not, there is almost always a drink in someones hand. Let's drink! And be merry! I know it IS possible to be social WITHOUT an alcoholic beverage, I don't know, it just... Makes things more fun? More festive? That's kind of a dangerous permanent connection though. Fun social times = alcohol. Screw that. You don't have to take your clothes off to have a good time. Oh no. So, you don't have to drink to have a good time.
Maybe I'll just go back to smoking weed.
Ha! Me and my vices.
I'm thinking I'll make a cup of tea when I would usually have a glass of wine. A nice cup of jasmine green tea or Earl Grey or Sleepy Time.
Or maybe I'll just stop hanging out with people. If I take the social out of it... Hmmm. I am kind of burnt out on the whole "people" thing anyhow.
Well, I guess we'll see. I just needed to say this out loud, write this out loud so that I'd maybe actually start doing something differently.
Cheers.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Sentences of el Weekendo
3/14
"Give me the fucking baby."
3/15
"Forget about the syrup."
3/16
"Bye Bye robot family!"
Labels: sentence
Friday, March 14, 2008
A mish mash reflection on the events of yesterday
I performed a little show for close to 2000 teenagers yesterday. I went potty before hand and was standing in line at this convention center bathroom and there were floor length mirrors across from the line of me and 7 or 8 teenagers. And you know? I was in my "costume" and all, but I don't look SO different from them. I mean, I'm 29. I've been getting a little self-conscious about all of these teenagers people are asking me to play lately. Seriously? 17? Are people really going to buy that? But standing there in that line and looking at our reflections, I think maybe I can. Not for much longer though... But for now.
It's mostly my hair probably. It's down to my waist in the back. I should cut it. It's out of control see weed moss swamp girl hair. It's heavy. I shut it in the door to my car the other day. That's when you know it's gotten a leeeeetle out of control.
There were mic problems in that convention center. I HATE performing with mics. Hate it. So much. It takes so much away from everything. Oh hey. Looky. I'm standing here just having a natural conversation with my grandma while HOLDING A MICROPHONE. No big thing. Ugh. There was feedback and someone had to run on stage and reposition something and I ended up having to change my blocking and just talk into a microphone, but I think the piece served its purpose. The teenagers actually laughed, so that's good.
You know what gets me though? These are supposedly 2000 of the best and brightest youth in the city, right? They're all there to learn about shit and make a difference and such. How do they start out their entire day of learning? Old. White. Rich people speaking. What the hell is that about? No one cares! Why do old white rich people feel the need to speak monotonous diatribes to our best and brightest youth? Because they foot the bill for the conference and gathered all the big name sponsors? I guess so. Still. Shut up already. You are not what this day is about, don't make it about you. You're losing their attention. Just let the actors get up there and do their thing. Please?
Yesterday also got me thinking about audience size. I wonder if that's the biggest audience I've ever performed for. When I was doing my internship in NC at this outdoor amphitheatre, I think we had bigger audiences. And once I played that Nutcracker girl downtown in the middle of the street. There were thousands of people there. Hmm. I think I'm forgetting something though. Nope, that other place was a big theatre, but they only had 500 seats or so... Hm.
Sentence of the Day 3/13
"Good thing you got rid of mr distracty-pants then, eh?"
Labels: sentence
Thursday, March 13, 2008
So, my boyfriend and I broke up last night.
I'm sorry? What's that you say? You didn't even know I had a boyfriend? Ha! Right. That's because I was waiting until we broke up so that I could write a post about how we just broke up. Aren't I clever?
It's very interesting because I knew I'd be composing this post and it would be the first time you would hear about my new boyfriend and it would be me telling you that we broke up.
He was depressed. So very depressed. It was exhausting. I spent much of our time together doing dog and pony tricks to make sure he remained in a good mood or got back in a good mood. My show would be in performance and I'd go over to his house in my only free window late Saturday night and just hold him while he cried in my arms...Telling him that it would be OK, that he'd get through it.
He wasn't taking meds though and didn't have any plans to start.
I could understand being that kind of support for someone that I'd been with for several years, that I had a history with, but we were just starting out, you know? I didn't sign up for that shit.
It was doomed from the beginning. Like I said, I had the break-up post in mind. I actually predicted our inevitable parting when I read his tarot cards. That's the second time I've done that. I should stop reading my boyfriend's cards probably. Of course I didn't phrase it as such in the reading, just tucked it under my hat.
He's actually, hold onto your horses, the guy from this post. I know. I know. Shut up. It was... I have no idea why I continued with that, why I gave him a second and third chance. No clue. I guess I was just lonely.
And that part was the nice part, I'll admit. The "boyfriend" part. Being able to use that word, letting him use my toothbrush, watching him play with my dog, knowing he'd come over for dinner, having someone to help me take the recycling out, cuddle with on the couch. But that wasn't because he was him, anyone could do those little things.
It's hard not to take things personally when you're emotionally involved with someone who is clinically depressed. I got the feeling the whole time that he just didn't like me very much. I mean, he liked me alright, but... And that was the depression. Still. It's hard not to take it personally, easy to make it about me, that something was wrong with me that I'm ugly or no fun or the reason why he's not having a good time etc.
Perhaps the most difficult is the fact that he felt the need to state that he didn't think he'd gotten over his ex-girlfriend yet.
Ouch.
That was totally unnecessary. It just feeds fuel to my "other woman" complex. Every boyfriend I've had in the past 7 years has had another woman. A different woman, a better woman, a recent divorce, a wife, a fiance. And me, I've never felt like the one girl for anyone. The one magnificent special one.
Then again, maybe there's a reason for this. Less commitment that way, to fuck a married man. It's safer.
Still. I would like to find someone who is crazy about me and I'm crazy about them. I would like to find someone who is happy, who cracks me up. Someone who laughs at my jokes. I'd like to go out on a date with my boyfriend and know, be absolutely assured that it will be a good time, that we will have fun. I'd like to hang out with them without the fear that something could switch inside them and we have to walk around town in the dark in the rain while they have another breakdown and I have to be the strong one talking them through it talking them out of it. I want a boyfriend who wants to fuck me all the time. Who is not too depressed to fuck me.
But I really don't have time for it anyhow. I look forward to having some of that time back, that time for myself. I look forward to the extra room in my bed.
I had to allow him to do it though, you know? Because he was in such a fragile state of mind, if I had dumped him... I just worry about him. So, I went over knowing full well what he was going to say. I think he was surprised at my lack of emotion. He really doesn't know me that well at all. I said if he wanted to get back with his ex-girlfriend, then I hoped that worked out for him and told him to take care of himself and then I said I had to take a Star Wars DVD back because it was due by midnight.
I wonder if we just stayed together that little bit longer because he saw me in the last play(s). I've found that guys kind of dig that, seeing the girl they're having sex with get on stage and dress up in little costumes and put on a show. I bet that's why.
You know what's interesting? I never told my friends his name. I just called him by his profession. The ______. I really knew this wasn't going to last, huh. And you know what else? I just told my sisters this past weekend. What I said to each of them after I told them? "Now that I told you about him, we're going to break up. Just watch." Just watch.
Wow, that's a whole new bunch of items to add to my relationship superstition list.
1. Don't tell your family until you are ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN it is solid. Or else you'll have to untell them all. This is now more than 2 months into it.
B. Don't ever read his cards.
I'm sad, sure. A little bit. I'll miss the physical company. But I woke up this morning and I felt relieved. Like suddenly I didn't have a big responsibility anymore. So, that's nice. Boyfriends should be a pleasure, not a burden probably.
So, hey look everybody! Plimco is single again! You didn't even know she wasn't, but POOF! She wasn't, but now she's BACK! Awww yeah.
I do have quite a crush on that tape worm playwright guy. He was totally twitchy and nerdy and cute...
Sentence of the Day 3/12
"This isn't going to work out."
Labels: sentence
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
There she goes
I love my new elliptical. "My" new elliptical. The elliptical that is in the basement of the house that I am living in for the next 6 months.
Oh sweet sweet elliptical. EllllllllLIPtical... I look forward to our times together. And the weight bench and the pull up thingy and all the dumb bells. I'm already starting to see results. I'm going to be totally buff by the end of my stay there. Then I guess I'll have to get a gym membership because slap my ass and call me Annie, I'm digging this, how do you say... "exercise equipment". Especially my elliptical. She needs a name.
So, after day 3 or so of grooving my slidy bouncy roundy grove on Ms. Elliptical, I realized that I could be making better use of my time there. I mean, I'm listening to music and working my body, sure, but I figured I could be learning something at the same time. You know? I mean, you're just bouncing in the same place and I'm staring at this blank wall. What if I stuck something ON that blank wall? So, I started thinking about something detailed and tedious that would be valuable information to have, that no one ever has the time to learn. My first thought was the periodic table of elements. I could probably study that. And it's pretty. But, I don't know... I wanted something a little more practical. I'm horrible with geography, so maybe a map of the world.
I ended up sticking a bunch of vocabulary words on the wall. Yes, vocabulary words. I am a total dork. I don't care though! I'm learning them and they are great. I didn't even look at the clocky counter guy yesterday, so enthralled I was in the study of my new words.
I was going to list them for you here, but I think I'll just spring them on you in subtle ways in the context of other things so that you can be invidious that way.
Hee!
What's funny is an hour after I worked out, I couldn't remember a single word. I could remember the definitions, but not the words themselves. So, I figure I'll keep those words up for another round of ellipticaling. Then this morning? I remember them! I composed an aubade of victory while my dog and I perambulated the neighborhood.
This is going to be fun. I can't wait to elliptical again this afternoon.
Oh and Blondie. Blondie helps too. And oh my gracious! Right when I was about to hang up my exercise hat for the day, that "There she goes" song came on. I went another ten minutes! Fun. There she goes! There she goes again! Doo doo doot doo doo dooo doo. The something something something. (bah dat dat!) There she goes!
Sentence of the Day 3/11
"Do you have a problem using extremely graphic language or kissing and being in scenes with another actor involving a sizable amount of physical intimacy?"
(To which I responded with a mighty "Fuck no!")
Labels: sentence
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Read and Write
Last night I got paid to read some stuff. This pleases me to no end. I love to read things, especially out loud. I love writers too. They're so nerdy and self-conscious in a different way than actors. Through this last series of plays I was in, I somehow got the invitation to sub for the let's-hear-the-stuff-we're-working-on-out-loud night for the creme de la creme of the playwrighting community. It was very super neat. I love getting in on that end of the process, everything seems so raw and juicy. I hope one of their regular actors gets sick again so that I can come more often.
They said we could give feedback, but I'm afraid I may have talked too much. I'm not a writer after all, but I just had to say a few things about a few things. I hope I didn't hurt that one lady's feelings. I suppose it is very scary hearing something you've written out loud for the first time in front of people that you respect and expect to be gentle. I could have been more gentle. I'm sorry, lady. I think you have some really great stuff going on with your piece, just... Well, there's some definite shaping you can do, that's all.
Ahem.
My favorite was this sci-fi piece where I got to have several conversations with the vegan tape worm inside me. Yay.
Sentence of the Day 3/10
"Stupid vegan tape worm."
Labels: sentence
Monday, March 10, 2008
Check out my pot roast, yo
Thank you to everyone (Peg) who contributed their bits of encouragement and believe in my gossamer capabilities as a cook.
A history of mental illness
My grandfather suffered from depression. This was back in the 50s when no one knew what the hell to do about it, so they gave him shock treatments. My mother is the oldest of 4 and probably the most aware as to what was going on, though she still wasn't completely sure. She remembers walking into a room on a Sunday afternoon, my grandfather sitting in a chair, no lights on while the sun was setting, reading a book. She came closer and realized the book was upside down. That kind of thing.
There's a lot of guilt that comes with depression, I suppose. He felt he was worthless, that his family deserved a much better, more active father. One day he just left, started walking away. My grandmother put the baby in the stroller, grabbed the toddler's hand and told my mom to run. "Run, Jenny. You're really fast. Run catch Daddy." She thought it was a game, but recognized something more under the surface, a sense of urgency. So off she runs through the neighborhood, I'm not sure how far he'd gotten. She catches up to him and simply slips her hand in his. That's all. She takes his hand. That breaks my heart, that moment. It's equally brave and childish and complicated. I know it had an impact on her as well, a huge impact. It was the first time she realized that she could help ease someones mental suffering.
My mother is about to graduate with her master's in counselling at age 58.
She's really good at what she does.
Though I never pursued a career in counseling like she has, I think I have inherited much of her empathy, much of her desire to ease mental suffering, her sense of responsibility almost when it comes to that.
This manifests mostly with friendships and relationships, but with total strangers as well.
My mom used to call my friends in High School my "Lost Boys". Like Wendy and the Lost Boys. They were all pretty much homeless, motherless, dropped out of school, ran away from home, drug experimenting, hippies suffering from one sort of mental illness or another. I'd bring them over and feed them. Make sure they had a place to stay, make sure they were eating, at least interviewing for jobs.
I'm not saying I'm qualified at all, I just... Wonder why sometimes, where it comes from and I'm just talking it out.
Perhaps the most challenging is when I get involved with {intensely neurotic, immensely depressed, manic-depressive, schizophrenic, etc.} people on an intimate and emotional level. Gracious, if you look at my track record, they've all been insane. Not insane! Just really sad. Or moody. Or artistic to the point of intense neurosis.
I wonder if I would be bored if I met someone who had no history of mental illness, someone who was happy and fine and dandy and not crazy all the time.
Probably.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this, just that... I get what my mom was going through in that moment when she took her father's hand. I get it that it was the best thing she could have done for him in that moment. Take his hand and just... Quietly walk for a while. Just walk.
Sentences of the Weekend
3/7
"Livin the dream. Livin the dream."
3/8
"I'll have the rabbit."
3/9
"The Thing that Wasn't There."
Labels: sentence
Friday, March 07, 2008
What a crock
I discovered a giant crock pot in my cabinet last night.
I wish to use this giant crock pot.
I am having a small Argentinean family over for dinner.
What should I make?
Pot roast?
Peg?
Help.
Sentence of the Day 3/6
"I just saw a duck boat drive by the studio. There was no one in it, probably just a trial run, but it must mean spring is coming."
Labels: sentence
Thursday, March 06, 2008
The story I shouldn't have told over a slice the other night that the entire theatre community has heard by now:
One time, I was sucking this guy's dick, right? And we were on his couch, so he was half sitting, half lying down and... There was some gag reflex so I had to pull back and... At that precise moment, he came. And it shot up my nose and all over my face. I kid you not. I was so surprised. I just sat there sputtering and then laughing and then... You know what it feels like when you get pool water up your nose, that chlorine burn? Yeah. It was like that. And he's all spent and relieved and I'm sitting there with his come all over my face and up my nose just laughing at him. Penises are funny.
---o---
Well, I suppose there are worse rumors that could be going around about me. At least this one involves me giving good head.
Sentence of the Day 3/5
(sung) "I wash my face with soap, shining through with a ray of hope."
Labels: sentence
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Sentence of the Day 3/4
"I had this father of a 16-year-old pull me aside and say, 'Whatever you do, do NOT tell him he has a brain tumor'."
Honorable Mention:
"Yes, I probably will. It's all part of life's rich pageant, you know."
Labels: sentence
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
You're going to die
Well, my show is over and I am in the throes of PSD.
Today I am celebrating by playing a teenager with cancer who is going to be told that she is going to die. Soon.
I've done these scenarios before where I was told my baby would probably die or be a vegetable, but never me. I have a feeling it is going to be difficult. I have to ask questions about the pain, what it's like, what it feels like to die. Nothing like facing your own mortality on a Tuesday afternoon.
It sucks that people have to practice telling kids this, you know? That means it happens. Frequently. They have to figure out how to look a teenager in the eyes and tell her that she's going to die. No future, no college, no growing up and getting an apartment and a little car and working a decent job. Just, that's it, honey. That is your life. It's over now.
Christ.
I'm playing another teenager next week who is a victim of severe Internet bullying. She's a little more fun though. We had to create an entire fake MySpace page using my photographs. Since we're performing for a large group of youth, we had to soften it down and just use fat and stupid jokes. My fake MySpace page involves a giant cartoon pig and an altered photograph of my head. It's pretty horrible. I'm having flashbacks to middle school being knocked over in the hall and hearing "oink oink"s while I pick up all my stuff.
Ahhh...nothing like theatre to allow you to relive some of the happiest moments from your youth.
I need to go do some research on cancer now.
Sentence of the Day 3/3
"and you know whats the worst? when people find
something interesting. god, that drives me nuts."
Labels: sentence
Monday, March 03, 2008
Sentences of the Weekend
2/29
"I kept thinking, I wonder what my play would have been like if you were in it."
3/1
"All actors are self-conscious."
3/2
"You have to take a breath because we're losing 'pussy'."
Labels: sentence