Two Dead and a Concussion: The Name of My Next Band

Twice the in the past two months Greg and I have been on the Long Island Rail Road and heard the following announcement over the PA system:

Do to a pedestrian fatality we will be stopped indefinitely. Buses are en route.

In the silence after those words. Your head goes to strange places.

Man or woman?

Tied to the tracks?

Headphones up too loud?

Dare?

How long did he/she stay alive?

The buses are for us right?

Are they taking us to the mall?

How many buses?

How often does this happen?

Last Saturday night we heard this, the train stopped, the eight inches of snow started and after many frantic phone calls his parents diverted their vehicle to pick us up where we landed. We were headed to a family party. Greg navigated his mother through rights and lefts. We made one wrong turn and BAM!...my vision comes back and I'm laying on my future Father-in-law. He is about the size of my thigh.

I feel like I have a constant hang-over but on the ceiling. Gravity is a bit challenging.

New Campaign for Seat Belts:

Close your eyes and think about your first toilet-hugging hang over. Now imagine that feeling every waking moment of your day because you didn't wear your seat belt.

Concussions feel like a bad hang over that won't go away. Wear your seat belt. Or a helmet. And don't drink and stuff kids.

I hope those two pedestrians are in heaven shaking their fingers at me.

Smile, It is Friday.

Everyone loves Friday.

...except maybe strippers and people who have a bad 'F' stutter.

I happen to be one of the robots who type "TGIF" at the end of most of my emails on this day.

It is universal. Like, I don't know...stuttering strippers working hard on a Friday night.

Mission From God

I've been watching Big Love. What a great show. The first three episodes made me gag but then I was forced into watching the rest and now I find myself humming that tune. I don't even like the Beach Boys. I know that makes me a communist.

What I find most interesting about this show is that it isn't Deadwood, it isn't The Wire, it isn't Twin Peaks or X-Files, The Sopranos or Huff or Six Feet Under but...it kind of is. It has all the elements of a really thoughtful show but it also has the elements of a Lifetime movie-of-the-week. I hear folks around the office talking about this show and I think, "Either nothing else worth 'water-cooler' talk is on, or this show is really hitting a sentimental spot in all of us."

I like to think the latter.

I've noticed many folks were happy to say goodbye to 2008 and are looking forward to giving 2009 a real running start. Even my parents started an exercise program yesterday.

I think we are all ready to believe in the power of something bigger and frankly better than us. And I think that is what Big Love is about. Regardless of how many times a human can take advantage of a good thing...sometimes a good thing is just that. Even if it is an ideal. Why not shoot for the stars?

Every time Barb gets embarrassed about her three anniversaries or Bill lies to deny his beliefs I feel the pain. I feel the difficulty of wearing a dirty, heavy, itchy mask. I think everyone does. But I have to say, "I don't get it."

I still don't quite understand what say our government has in who we partner with. I get the underage thing, I'm not psycho. I don't think kids should be left with ignorant pedophiles. But as I think the show is supposed to do, I relate it to gay marriage, inter-racial marriage, divorce and re-marriage.

Is it just a tax thing?

Can we start a religion to have certain kinds of marriages?

Clearly I don't have a real train of thought going here.

I could EASILY be in the Henrickson home if I could pick my sister-wives and Greg never got to sleep with them.

Get Into The Groove

After lay-offs at work and trying to get the heroin addict kicked out of our basement we settled down for our Long Winter's Nap late in December.

"These holiDAZE we will rest."

"Except we have to plan our wedding."

"Right."

"And schedule all those doctor's appointments to discuss 'family planning'."

"Of course."

"And I should start working out more."

"We all should."

"And write more."

"Uh. Huh."

"And get the papers together for the audit."

"Yep."

"And the new Hotel Room project."

"Sure."

"Catch up on my books. Get a plan together for a new career. Clean out the closet. And sewing. Cook a little more. Take the dog to the vet. New Year's resolutions. Be better."

"Here is the gun."

"Thank you."

I am finding that two weeks paid vacation is absolutely all I dreamt it would be and more. I am feeling more rested, focused, creative and actually looking forward to joining the world again.

After I watch Desperately Seeking Susan.

One. More. Time.

You gotta know when to hold 'em.

While sitting down to a gourmet left-over Thanksgiving dinner, we were being entertained by a story about a certain little girl who'd gotten a spanking earlier that day. This adorable certain little girl was alternately sitting with us at the end of the table enjoying the feast and running over to the piano to practice one side of Heart & Soul. Nobody seemed to flinch that her father's story included a minor beating and yet I remember the time I publicly mentioned I thought spanking a child was a good idea and I think I saw people pulling out their cell phones and dialing CPS. I don't even have a kid.

I was spanked when I was small and so was most of my friends. My cousin got smacks on the face and I know some folks who got their hair pulled and THE BELT. I don't in any way condone child abuse but I've witnessed that a smack on a young butt seems to instantly get a kid to focus instead of turning down the volume on Mary Poppins to explain the dangerous consequences of bolting into traffic. I don't think young minds comprehend the notion of consequences, much less 'danger'.

But again. I don't have kids. I have a dog. That I pat on the butt when he pees on the floor. And he still pees on the floor.

I guess I just think kids should be a little afraid of their parents. Just a little. Just enough to learn things to rebel against so they can learn even more things about themselves and the kind of person they want to be.

Britney Spears needed more spankings. Not the MTV kind. Her over-bearing father should have let her find her way after she shaved her head rather than institutionalizing her and telling people she was mentally ill.

Not only is she ridiculously famous and has had to deal with all that comes with that job...this young woman has had two children with a boy who didn't seem interested in her evolution...and then he left her and tried to take her kids away. The world watched her slide into implosion and self destruction so massive America's sweetheart of pop repeatedly showed all of us her car accidents, her crotch and her middle finger. On purpose.

Pick up the current Rolling Stone and really stare at her spread. There is nothing behind those eyes in any of those photos that suggest everything she has been through has changed her. She is right back where she started. Same blonde locks...only they're extensions...same sexy clothes...only she looks a little too old for them.

I'm sad for her. I know I'm not alone. But there was some little part of me that was rooting for her when she starting flipping off cameras. I realize self destruction is not exactly pleasant for anyone to go through let alone witness happen to a child star, but it seems like that is the M. O. for now and if the people in charge of those little fame factories don't stop over-parenting how can a person fully develop? Let her make her own choices and stop calling them mistakes. Let her pick herself up for once. She doesn't seem very smart but no one is letting her learn anything.

Why is it a "good thing" she is exactly where she was before? Her new album is atrociously empty and downright pathetic. Just like before. I saw the music video to her 'Womanizer' song and my jaw dropped. I couldn't believe the sad irony of her own expression. She is confidently singing about calling out a supposedly well-hidden womanizer while she gives him a lap dance. In an office. Don't get me started.

This is the most famous pop artist we celebrate? What in the world are we celebrating? What is she famous for? Good PR?

Come on Britney. I really really want you to make it. And I don't even like your music. Change the definition of what it means to be...well...you. Teach yourself and everyone who watches you that an ignorant little girl with good looks can do something...else.

But, I don't have a famous kid. I don't really even know anyone famous. Which is probably why I will beat my child and let her shave her head. MENSA will be calling.

You Can Take the Girl Out of the Theatre...

I'm an... office-managery-reception-adminy-creativey-wannabe type person at my office. It is advertising. Thanks to Hollywood and the way the creatives around here dress, one could think we are a casual, boutique, SoHo shop, but in fact we are a part of a large international corporation. The man. Big Brotha. Good insurance.

Since graduation from higher learning I had to find a way to make a living not acting so I've learned how to act 'corporate'.

Or so I thought.

I recall the time I was working as an executive admin for an upscale real estate development company. I was taken into the President's office and told I was getting a hefty Holiday bonus. I was absolutely convinced they were punking me.

CEO: Jennifer, we think you're great and you deserve this.

Me: OHHHhhh-kay. Good one guys.

President: This isn't a joke.

After a lot of eye rolling, I shut the door behind me and went to my desk. Then I sat and thought about all of the other folks who'd been called into that office before me and after. They probably wouldn't take too kindly to a joke about their income. Especially the grumbly VP's. I called the Office Manager. She assured me they wouldn't joke about such things. Reality hit, I burst into tears and the first chance I got, I ran back into the President's office to give him a bear hug.

Corporate gal. That's me.

One time the President of our sister production company walked up to my desk asking me a question.

Me: 34

President: What?

Me: I'm 34. Wait. What did you ask me?

He only wanted to know what time it was, but I obviously heard something else and well...in corporate-land you can't go around asking folks their age. In thespian-land they'll ask the circumference of your cervix. Old habit...putting it out there...whether they want it or not.

At least I didn't hug him.

I was recently in a conversation with the President of my present employer and was asked my opinion on a touchy subject. I hope she either accidentally lobotomized this part of her memory or she thinks I'm cute.

President: Would you mind sharing your thoughts? What do you think about my decision? How have others responded?

Me: Well I'm impressed you had the balls to do it!

I don't recall her smiling and I remember looking for one. I decided I had to own what I'd just said so I sat there quietly. I thought about hugging her, then I changed the subject.

I should have learned to wait tables. I think you can cuss and hug more.

The Invitation

As I took this picture, I remember thinking, "I'm going to marry this man."

Greg has asked me to do many things from going to have a drink to going to Amsterdam. He has asked me if I wanted to watch a show he's taped. He's asked me to baseball games, concerts, surprise dinners, movies, his parents' house, his shows, lunch. He has shared with me his thoughts, feelings, articles off the Internet, excerpts from his favorite books, movies, music, plays, art.

"Baby, you wanna hear this?"

Greg has asked me to live with him, help him with lines, sew on a button or two, not add too much salt to his mother's chicken parm, walk the dog, help him get the laundry, enjoy myself, my job, my life and not to be too scared of how much he loves me.

"You are my life."

I can honestly say with each experience big or small he has single-handedly taken a brick out of all of the other paths I could be on, spray painted them yellow and added them to one road. I've started gathering the bricks myself and I'm now adding sequins and gold lame.

Last Friday night, Greg asked me to be his life-partner, his wife. When I came-to I said I would. Actually, I said, "YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES!!!!" Then sobbed for about fifteen minutes straight. Then I said a few more resounding 'yes's', stumbled around the streets he led me on, alternately crying, laughing and pausing under every store-front light to look down at my hand.

I still can't think straight. I've never felt so grounded and at the same time I'm floating at 'such great heights' I just smile at everything below. I wish everyone could feel this way. [Stupid California.]