TGIBWCF

Is it sad that I truly dig Beer-Wine-Cake Fridays at my office?

It's the little things.

"I've seen fire and I've seen rain..."

Excuse me...I think I have some weird power here...not that I really think I am more special than the next guy...but as of yesterday O.J. Simpson IS in jail!!!

I awoke at some ungodly hour this morning because fire trucks were racing down our street, one after another and so loud. And yesterday I was taking a lazy Sunday afternoon nap and I awoke to squealing tires and the sound of crunching metal. After both incidents, I closed my eyes again, rolled over and thought the same thing we all do here: "ah, life in New York".

However, both times, when I closed my eyes again I dreamt that the President had been assassinated. Homeland Security might come get me for saying this, but with my new-found, super-hero blog powers I thought I would plead my innocence before it happens.

I watched part of a little political show last night called Now...from what Greg (my news authority) tells me, it is a Liberal slanted show...and they were doing a little documentary about the war in Iraq. It was sad and confusing. I'm not going off on a political rant here...but I just don't understand the sense of using violence to gain peace. Puhlease, I realize nothing necessarily makes sense about this war...2+2=5 in ALL aspects...and we swallow it...but war to spread a democratic agenda?....isn't that like punching someone in the face to get them to be nice? I don't get it.

Oh and by-the-by, last night on the Emmy's, the Fox network (whom Greg continually expresses his disgust regarding their Republican slant) apparently censored Sally Field when she subtly spoke out against the war. She was saying something about mothers running the country which directly reflects her character on the show she WON AN EMMY FOR...and they censored her. I was in the tub when I was listening to her speech. The sound went out. I thought Greg changed the channel. "Nope," he said, "flippin' Fox Network!" Creepy.

[There are about 10 big tangents sitting in my brain. Probably why I napped so much this weekend.]

I talked to a new friend who had driven to D.C. on Saturday to march in a rally. He said when the world looks back on this era and the mess it is causing...he wanted to be able to tell his grandchildren that he tried to do something, anything. I guess even a yelling parade.

About eight years ago in L.A. when I was working at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, part of my duties were to visit the homes of the families of the interred. I remember driving to Northridge, in the Valley, and realizing I was about 45 minutes early (that in itself should have been the clue...I was clearly possessed). I pulled into a drive-thru and got some lunch. I drove by the home where I was to visit and parked a few blocks away so they wouldn't see me pounding a Quarter-Pounder before I talked to them about what they wanted to do with their dead grandfather.

I take a bite out of my burger and look to the right at the house directly next to me. And it BURSTS INTO FLAMES. No kidding. I happened to look at the house at the exact moment before and at the exact moment it was instantly engulfed. My mouth dropped, I held my burger and froze.

When I came to about two seconds later, I was on the phone dialing 911...which really is a joke...at least at that time...I was on hold for over 20 minutes while this house was burning down right in front of my eyes...I jump out of the car, cell phone in hand...I run to the house to ring the door bell over and over just in case someone in the house wasn't aware they were surrounded by flames......I run to each neighbors' house yelling for them to evacuate...I run to the neighbor across the street so they can call 911 in vain as well.

Looking back, I don't know where I got the gumption to do this but I turned around and saw that the four-lane, decently busy street had come to a complete stop with onlookers...there was traffic in all lanes in both directions as far as I could see...I ran to the intersection waving at cars and yelling "come on...get going...move out...let's go!!" All I could think was 'how are the fire trucks going to get through?!!'. I literally start directing traffic, I get through to 911 (they had already gotten the call) and eventually the fire trucks come.

The fire chief replaced my traffic directing with a trained professional, neighbors stopped coming to me for instructions and I found myself answering the new man-in-charge...a man in a uniform... "I don't know any of these people. I just pulled over to eat a hamburger." We look at each other oddly. How did I get to this point? What now? It seemed useless for me to stay. Everyone was ok...I was just eating some fast food...so...I said goodbye and I went to my car I had previously moved around the corner and left. After that I just went to my appointment. I wasn't even late. So strange.

My boyfriend at the time told me it was proof I was the devil.

Maybe I should go to a rally with Drew Barrymore.

O.J. Simpson is not in jail

"I don't know, but I have a hunch that what you're gonna find can't be categorized or easily referenced."

- F. Mulder (C. Carter)

I was standing in the middle of 23rd street last night. I stopped to take a note. Then I thought, "wait a minute, I think my cell phone records memos...I'll use technology!" I start scrolling through the menus. 'Voice mail.' Nope. 'Messaging.' Nope. Scrolly scrolly. I decide I should keep a notepad. It was 10:30p. Someone scary zig-zags by me forcefully kicking a squashed soda can. I look up. What am I doing? I put the phone away and continue looking for a place...wine bar-y...quiet pub-y...after dinner desert-y place to meet Greg for a wind down whatever. He's been in tech rehearsals all day and I just came from a friend's show that really wound me up.

I keep wandering, up Broadway closer to Greg's rehearsal?...no...too dark...back down 5th...across 20th...back up 6th...where am I going? I find that each time I cross 5th, Broadway, 6th, 7th...I look South. Huge, beautiful white beams light up the sky. I try to take a picture. My phone alerts me this option is full. I decide I should get a real camera. I keep wandering and feel myself hit an endurance wall. I've been walking an awful lot today. I just got over the flu. I'm exhausted. I leave Greg another message, "I'm sorry honey, I just couldn't find a place and now I'm tired. I'll meet you at home. I love you." I head West. I think.

Everytime I pass an avenue I overhear someone mention the lights. I stand opposite a group of well-fed couples on the other side of the street. They are waiting to cross. I look down the way and no cars are coming so I walk towards them. I hear a Southern drawl, "well, I don't know what we're waitin' for...she's goin'...". They all laugh. Cute. I notice all of the women have perfect hair. I smile at them and as we pass I hear one gasp at the lights downtown.

I keep going.

I come upon The 10th Precinct and some young cops are standing outside. My belly jumps. I walked this way on purpose thinking it was smart. I suddenly feel like I'm about to step in a church. Reverance. Respect. Relief. As I pass, I glance sideways and catch the oldest one's eyes. He loudly clasps his hands, looks at me and says, "Yes. It is a beautiful night". I giggle, embarrassed that he read my mind.

You see...I wanted to thank him and I think he knew that.

My brother told me the other day he felt like being back home was like being in a sitcom. He is having trouble tolerating his friends and his clients...as if their concerns can't be real...they have swimming pools and malls and cars and buy in bulk. "Dallas just isn't New York."

I don't think anything is.

When I compare myself to say...anyone else in the world...I feel this advantage...for getting to grow up in the USA. For winning the birth-location lottery. Yes, there are struggles...yes, good health is a privilege, not a right...yes, if you don't have money or fame or big boobs it is hard to feel worthy...but I love this place. Like I love my Dad and Superman.

I have goals in my life and they don't revolve around survival. There are such things as 'come backs' and second, third, fourth chances. If you don't see those chances the second, third or fourth time...SOME one will STILL believe in you.

First impressions last as long as a commercial. This is America, bitch.

I still want to be really skinny if I ever run into my ex.

Guts

A very good friend of mine mentioned to me today that he noticed how funny it was that I was so happy and he was so happy these days and yet we both are flat broke. Of course, he mentioned this over our lunch. I had an $8 bowl of soup. I hope I looked good eating it.

My brother is moving back to Dallas this weekend. We plan on hanging out all day this Friday (My company has the day off...one more time...how much do I love my job?...). The plan is to start the day with a little color and cut. Apparently I'm going brunette. My head is often my brother's canvas. And then...well...not sure what else we can do but sit around and talk and then get ready to go out so he can say goodbye to all his fans at the boy bars. It will take us at least a couple of hours to get in full drag. I mean me.

When someone arrives somewhere you usually show them around. What do you do when they leave? I've been his foundation here but that is about it. I wasn't his tour-guide, I didn't go bar-hopping with him (much) while he was here, I didn't hang out at his friends' apartments or at his salons. He had his life here just as I have mine.

I'm so proud of him for that. I think it is hard to be alone in NYC when you are used to never being alone. But NYC is probably the best place to be alone. No one expects you to entertain them. Unless you are all painted in silver and standing really really still on a silver cardboard box.

I used to think about love in a logical way. Someone does something nice for you, you do something nice for them. Until one day you want to hug them, hang out with them, buy them stuff, maybe even sleep with them and share pets. Now, I can't explain my love for certain people. I met Greg, we talked about a movie and even though he hadn't done anything nice for me (yet) I was already falling in love. I wasn't even sure he liked girls. He wasn't even sure I was from this planet.

I've asked people before why they love me. I've been asked that before as well. And in the movies people say, "your dimples, the way you laugh, how cute you are when you get grumpy...your eyes, hair, soul...desires, passions..." Tangible stuff. The people in my life that I say I love you to...well...now-a-days...I can't really explain 'why', I just do. Because you are you. I haven't a clue why I have an urge to hold you or hug you, touch you or take care of you...look in your eyes and make you want to feel good. But that is what I want to do and it is because something about you makes me love you.

I love my little dog and he doesn't necessarily do nice things for me...he can't even keep from poking himself in the eye when he scratches his ear with his hind leg.

DaDa

Just had lunch. Had the pink thing. I knew it would be good but come on...I'm going to turn into a pink blob since discovering the sacred Mochi.


Today is a little boring. Not in a bad way. I guess I shouldn't use the word 'boring'. I meant to say, 'quiet' or 'creatively challenging'. I'm thinking about new hair color. I just had my hair done last Thursday.


I've been sketching again and I am having such a great time doing it. I've discovered that I enjoy it not because of the outcome but because of the process. Whoa. That is a new one for me. Aries and all. I'm easily distracted by shiny things. I mean glittery things. Diamonds. Tiaras. Stars. Shooting Stars. Jupiter. The milky-way. Chocolate. Puppies. Ribs. Feet. Prada. Vanilla. Beans. David Lynch. Ebay...


Thank the Lord for Google.


In the late 90's (can't believe I just typed that) I was a Mary Kay lady (that too). I thought this company was the greatest thing since, well, concealor. I still think about that job everyday. I learned a lot about myself.


It is a big deal to go for something and accomplish it...and at the same time, all you have to do is make up your mind to go for something and do it. Chosing a career, chosing toothpaste. Both choices...technically typing...


When someone makes a choice, and things don't go as planned...outside forces and all...then what?


I think most of my life I've changed the plans before someone could change them for me. I think I never wanted to know what it felt like to commit to something (someone?) and have IT not go as I planned.


That must be what I mean by 'boring'. I'm letting go AND making choices.

Scary. Berry. Fairy. Wings. Bells. Christmas. Jesus. Mary. Salvador Dali. Washington D.C....

Green Tea Mochi

So. I'm having lunch with myself in a little Asian deli around the corner from my new job. Third day. I love the place. I will rue the first day I don't. I mean come on, I'm typing my bloggy thing out right, here at my desk 'cause 1. I can and 2. it is encouraged. Dig it.

Anyhoo...lunch...in Soho, Asian deli...I choose sushi (yes, I'm starving now) and next to odd shaped cookies and sweet things I see this cute little green blob that says something about cream filling and green tea on the label. Why not?

I buy my food, sit down by the window and break out my book (thank you Mom) . I eat my Dragon Sushi remembering that I always have the following issue with sushi and never remember it until I'm eating it:

"Do you put the whole thing in your mouth or bite it in half?"

I recall having many little pretty sushii disassemble and fall to their deaths down my chin and on my plate...after I've struggled trying to use my front teeth to cut through the outer seaweed layer thing.

I put the whole piece in. I feel like the fat guy in the Monty Python sketch. I should look this up. What is the flippin' sushi etiquette for silly Americans using disposable chop sticks?

Again, I digress...after I decide to mangle each piece before I place them in my mouth, I finish the sushi and I unwrap the green blob.

Mochi, I think.

I wipe the avocado off the sticks and poke the blob. It doesn't rupture. So I pick it up and take a bite. Weird, like semi-sweet dough and then, yum, cream, like, fresh-from-a-cow, no, angel, no, Madonna's breast, ok, ew, angelic-cow-cream-filling. I didn't notice a Green Tea theme though. But then again, I wouldn't have noticed Clive Owen dancing on my head. I was a little distracted by the cream. New to my palette and yum.

I decide to walk around as I have another 15 minutes and I round the block.

There. Is. The 'Ohio Theater'.

I'm suddenly blasted back to last year. The last show I worked on, Largo Desolato. In the Vaclav Havel Festival. Where I met Greg. Performed with many of my favorite folks. Really nice memories. Aren't those great?

Then I realize, the very back of the building I'm calling my 'job-home' now...the back of the building I have keys to...IS the VERY little spot we, the Largo cast, used to hang out at before the show and run lines. Every night. Such tantalizing times. Flirting with Greg while we thought no one was looking. Laughing and joking and loving my colleagues. Within minutes we were all about to take some big risks together...in a couple of hours...you gotta trust, respect and love those folks and we did! Such good memories. Such good folks. Good times, good times...

And to think...almost exactly a year ago...I was standing on those little stairs...not knowing my happy future...not knowing I would be inside that very building typing these words and having these good memories. Crazy!

New flavors and old. That is so New York man.

I'm going to try the pink blob tomorrow.

Picneral

Everyone should grill raw meat over a charcoal pit outdoors at least once a year with their family.

If every family did this, I think we could end wars. And I think you should have to invite people you don't necessarily want to see, maybe even people who aren't in your family anymore. This way, everything is out in the open...literally. You are faced to be with your kin and make a choice, "do I forgive, forget...do I even care..." And you are faced to look at yourself, "do I forgive, forget...care?" It almost makes things that everyone makes such a big stink about become as dark as a cartoon in a free newspaper.

What really matters is that moment, outside, in nature...staring at the lineage and seeing where your small small world came from and where it might go. The kids can watch, listen and learn. Grandma might give strange advice about caterpillar bites, they might watch their grumbly Dad actually hug his estranged brother, Uncle Calvin may have certain secrets to life only someone like he could share...having just gotten out of prison for the fourth time.

Then, of course, there are the babies. All of the adults huddle and smile, giggle and wave for Baby Ashley's attention. When she picks you out of the paparazzi circle, hands you her little pink sunglasses and waddles away clapping her hands, your heart turns to mashed potatoes and you are Queen for a moment. Then you go stuff more brownies in your mouth. Life is good.

I used to work in the funeral industry at a cemetery in Los Angeles. People used to ask me how I could stand working in such a depressing environment. Well.... 1. Thanks to my awesomely strange parents, I love cemeteries. We used to visit them as often as we could. I have great memories of walking around and reading the tombstones and wondering about how Mrs. Marion Laughly made it to 89 during the depression and if she had a good sense of humor...and isn't that what cemeteries are about?...2. Good memories. Rarely do you attend a funeral and sit around and bitch about the dead guy. He's dead. That is as bad as it can get, so everyone agrees to talk about his good points. Even if he was a Crip. 3. Friends and Families come together to forgive and forget...sure to gossip too...but they are all face-to-face with the fact that there is only so much time on this earth so they better get their stuff together...including getting over the fact Janie wasn't a bridesmaid in Erin's wedding...she's divorced now anyway. Funerals are such an everyday thing in life - we die, we do - and funerals are a big going-out party. How honorable is that? Plus the food and the occasional kooky happening...the delayed viewing 'cause the wig was missing, the voodoo doctor that insisted on sacrificing 'something' (it was Los Angeles), the mocking bird that wouldn't stop circling and chirping over "Birdy's" casket. Cool stuff, man.

Family picnics are like funerals with out the dead guy. We should do them more often.