Interesting

I filmed my first regional commercial two days ago, in the wilds of Indiana. Great time, nice people, a very lucky and good experience. Everyone was cordial - cast, crew, the people who owned the houses that served as locations.

The most fascinating part was to see people who DON'T normally interact with the industry of acting for commercials, and to watch those people get excited. I'm not immune to it - there's something kind of thrilling about knowing that I will actually be on tv in the next couple of months. Ok, in Indiana, but everybody starts somewhere.

But the folks who owned these houses were so excited. And want to know about you, in that they hope when you make it big, they can remember you were at their house.

In the meantime, of course, the crew has heard it alllll before, and could care less. It's a 30 second spot - everyone is professional, but the people who nit-pick over the details are the client (fair enough) and whoever the client hired to write and design the spot.

Now, the interesting thing is Indiana isn't a huge market, so the crew and even most of the actors have worked together before. This is business - we're all trained monkeys who move when our button is pushed because that's how we get food. And the "real" people are astonished we're nice. Of course we're nice - this is tedious work, not great art.

The girl who plays my daughter is beyond excited. I can tell because she says almost nothing, eats only fruit from the craft services table, and her eyes are as big as dinner plates. She's adorable, and she's working very hard to do everything she's told.

The guy who plays my husband shows up with his bluetooth in his ear and his sunglasses on and I think, oh, no, I wouldn't be married to that. But of course when he pulls the bluetooth out and gets into wardrobe, he turns out to be a person whose story I wish I could hear in full. Five years in LA, then gave it up to come back to Indy and be near he daughter he fathered in college and ran out on. He says, "Yeah, I'm that guy, that got a girl pregnant and then split." Now he's back and still does commercials, and misses LA but feels it sure is nice owning a house. He sells dental implants. No, seriously.

It was a great time. I'd make money like that any day. Although the snacks will kill me. I can't stop eating them.

Day 16, No crises since Day 4

Ok, marriage is improving, and though I have moments of fright, I am settling down. Day to day life is currently back to normal, which is comforting. We have to move soon, but we've found a place that may not be available until the middle or end of May, which to me feels much more manageable than moving in about a week.

We've also found a place with a maximum of harmony between us, which comforts me a great deal. My sweetness and I are on the same page about this: basically, at this point we'll sacrifice some space and some location in order to have a place we can afford - and not just afford at the top of our range, but afford even if we have a rough month or so. We are on the path to living within our means. It'll take the next six months before I know what money patterns we're developing, but at least hurdle one is toast: we can afford it.

I did have a moment's twinge of uh-oh when I discovered my partner for life HATES moving, so much that he longs for us to buy a place and live there forever.

As a recovering wanderer, I feel differently. I'm pretty jealous of the actors I know on tour and I am shocked to discover I have lived in the same city for 7 years. I have itchy feet. Now, I'd like to take my muffin top with me while I wander, but I still have a good bit of wander left in me.

I'm feeling stirrings of ambition again, as well. I'm thrilled I was able to return to commercial work almost immediately -I'm a recurring character in a traning manual, and I just found out today that after getting booked about 6 or 8 times (keep in mind, sometimes I can make $500-$600 in a day doing this), this company has only finished Volume 1 of their training. They plan 4 Volumes. I can't tell you what a jump that would mean to both my income and my day to day life. It's MUCH more fun to go to a photo shoot or a video shoot or a VO recording than it is to go to work. I think it would be a great step forward to do so much of this print/vo work that I get bored of it.

So all of this makes me think, ok, get a cheap apartment, sock the money away, and knuckle down to audition, audition, audition.

And in the meantime try to keep my husband happy. That may prove simple, or it may prove much harder than expected.

In general, though, the threat level for my mental health is back between yellow, high risk of freak out attack, and blue, general risk of freak out attack. I'm happy to report my let down about the wedding is starting to ease, and being replaced with happy memories, partly supplied by others, and partly recalled now that the stress is over.

We might stay married a whole three weeks. I'm beating Britney...well, her first, and I'll work up to the second.

Where to start...

I had no idea I was foreshawdowing my own self, but I'm here to tell you again that getting married does not solve even one of your problems.

The wedding - I was terrified. I shouldn't admit that, but I was, as the ceremony progressed, completely terrified. I'm even now just starting to process what happened and whether or not I can handle it. Someday I will probably look back on it with laughter and pleasure, though not today.

However, the past few days have pretty much trumped all of that. I'm sure more things could have gone wrong, but quite a few actually have. I got food poisoning the first night of our honeymoon, and then my new husband came down with something flu-like, with lots of coughing, and the weather never did give us a great sunny day to just lie on the beach. It was cool and windy and cloudy.

But none of that is as bad as the fact that my sweetie's brother had a stroke the Monday after the wedding, while he and his lovely wife were in South Carolina trying to sightsee. We were "honeymooning" (such as it was with both of us ill) about five miles away, and ended up spending an extra night in the area in hopes of being helpful. I'm not sure we were helpful, but we tried to be.

I have so many conflicting feelings towards so many different people for the moment that I really could cry at any moment, and I considered calling at least some of you on Wednesday when I was sobbing in the car on the way from Charleston to Charlotte. I feel a huge sense of anti-climax that the wedding is over and that so much of it didn't turn out the way I'd hoped. I feel so worried for H's brother, and so sad that this should happen at such a time so the wedding will always be "when Mark had a stroke" instead of just the wedding - for them as much as for me.

I feel like I made a thousand mistakes in the run up to the wedding. I feel terrified lest this whole thing has been a horrible mistake. I feel terrified that my family will never accept my husband, since AT THE WEDDING my mother apparently lamented to a friend of mine, "But he's not a southerner..." (Even though he grew up in Pensacola...)

I feel completely overwhelmed by the number of people who were at the wedding, and horribly guilty that so many of them left without even attempting to speak to me. I feel disappointed that it was nearly impossible to take pictures at any time, since either it was raining or people were talking to us or my mother wasn't even dressed yet or there just wasn't a good place to do it. I feel disappointed that I never got a picture with all of my aunts.

I feel worried about whether or not I can even DO this whole marriage thing, and still be myself. I'm keeping my name (for now), but even that doesn't stop how frightened I feel at losing my identity into this new "us".

I feel exhausted from driving 12 hours yesterday.

I feel entirely flawed for feeling any of these things, since most brides seem to be delirious with happiness and contentment. Well, surprise surprise, I screwed that up.

I feel a whole batch of other things I don't think I should write down, because now I have another family that I might offend. What if H's family ever came across this?? Now I have two sets of muzzles...

I feel incapable of telling entertaining stories about the wedding, but everyone at work was expecting me to do so. The "surprise" congrats they threw me was exhausting, and it only lasted about 15 minutes.

Despite my deep sadness that apparently I did nothing but disappoint my mother at the wedding, I feel incredibly proud of her for driving down to Charleston yesterday to visit Mark and his wife and be a resource for them in a strange land.

I feel I failed everyone in trying to keep everyone happy. But no one would have been at all happy had I tried to make myself happy - no win no matter what.

I feel so so so disappointed that it rained.

I feel like all the bad things that keep going wrong are the universe's way of telling me: you've made a terrible mistake.

I feel like I would like to run away. I think I would like to take my honey with me, but I would like to run away.

I think I need some sleep, a cookie, and probably a couple of sessions with our therapist, but sadly (for us, not her), she's out of town this week. I feel resentful that she picked this week to be off on a holiday.

The funny thing is, I didn't see any of this coming.

So much for being a well-adjusted adult.

Girlfriend has some things to SAY

I've had some things said to me recently and kept my response to myself because I didn't want to offend or it wasn't appropriate. But last night I did a performance that reanimated my ass-kicking part of myself and now I'd like to unload a few of these lingering comments.

The comments reference multiple discussions with multiple people. If you're reading this, I probably wasn't talking to you, though there's a chance I am talking about you.

***

First: I don't need you to feel bad for me to feel better. We're not playing stand-stoop-sit, where only one of us can be happy at a time and if it's me, that means you've got to be lowly. I'm just living my life - it doesn't need to effect your status. I might even be happier knowing that you're ok, too.

Second: Yeah, I was a serial want-what-I-can't-haver. It's plenty safe, and easy too - you don't have to change a thing about yourself and your lifestyle if you fall in love with someone you can't make progress with. It works with locations and jobs, too - spend your days knowing you're walking out the door, and it gets a lot easier to treat people poorly or just leave the essential courtesies undone. But don't expect life to deepen and grow if you're cheating yourself out of the possible next. Mine didn't for a long time.

Third: If you get a kick out of being unhappy, don't let me stop you. But don't make me commiserate if it's what you created and decided to keep.

Fourth: I can't speak for everyone, but I do not like to know we had the same experience with the same boy. I like to pretend to myself that I am a unique individual, and that I encounter others uniquely, that I bring some spark or fire that only I have. Frankly, it pisses me off that I wasted brain space on someone who opted out of the experience that is me, so I really don't like the idea that I was just pugged in to the same lame schtick he's been pulling on everyone else. I am not thrilled by the idea that we share that experience. Especially if yours was in high school and mine was 10 years later.

Let's be clear - it's fine that he opted out, that's his right, I just wish I'd been able to opt out right after that point. It's the time _I_ wasted that I mind.

Five: I am indeed getting married. But to make this perfectly clear, it does not actually solve any of my problems. I have company during them, perhaps, if it's a good marriage, but I don't get a get-out-of-unhappiness-free card. You see how all the married people are naturally happier than the non-married people? No? Exactly.

As well, I was single for a long, long, long time (about 10 years), and I was perfectly capable of living with just myself. Getting married now does not magically wipe that experience from my life.

Six: I cannot imagine not being able to spend time with myself. If I could not be in a room alone and read or watch tv or work on a project or otherwise just be fine coping with myself, I would not be in any shape to marry, let alone function.

Seven: I am indeed lucky in my fiance. He's great. But like any relationship, there are some tradeoffs. The things he offers are much greater than the things I have to relinquish, but there's no one out there who has everything in one other person.

I will never get him to reproduce the dance from the Thriller video at our wedding, for instance. And really, wouldn't that kick ass? I'm having trouble getting him to dance for 4 minutes with everyone watching. Don't get me started on the stubbornness either. It's a good thing he's so cute and such a champion snuggler.

Damn. I ruined the Damn Straight! tone right then, didn't I.

Better...

So after a lot of talking with my (our) therapist, things are much better with my mother. We've had two very very long talks on the phone about wedding details, and they've been cooperative and civil. All our conflict has been assigned to my bad temper ("are YOU feeling better?"), but let's do whatever it takes to get this show up with as many people feeling happy about it as possible.

And I've gotten exctied about it again! Hooray! And there are so many things to take care of that, far from being bored, I am getting about 5 hours of sleep a night. I like the things that get completed, though, we're actually trying to inject our personality into the gifts we give people. I'm sure as soon as the wedding is over we'll think of hundreds of ways to do this that would have been better than what we're doing, but hey, we're having fun working on this stuff together. Actually, we sat down and made a budget and a plan for the gifts we're trying to give at the wedding, and I am soooo happy we did that.

Now, the down side is that I have no real time for anything else. So the friend of mine who has called me every night for 5 nights in a row needs to stop. Why on earth does she need to talk to me before the wedding?? Wouldn't it be better to talk to me after the wedding and hear how it went? I never really thought about it before, but the very last time you need to be pestering someone is in the month before their wedding.

Of course, I have other problems with this particular person, mostly that I don't really care about talking to her. Another friend of mine has been trying to reach me, and it still won't happen, I still won't have time to talk to her before the wedding, but she doesn't irritate me. She's actually going to be at the wedding, so that's great.

I think when I leave town for the wedding I'll have to change my voicemail:

"Hi, you've reached Elizabeth. I'm getting married in a week, and you should know that if you leave me a message, I will not call you back, no matter who you are or how much I may love you. If this is one of my agents, I have booked out for this time and will not have time to call you back and remind you about it, so DON'T leave me a message about an audition. Unless it's after April 10, I can't make it. Not negotiable.
Now, don't get offended, I am unable to call you back because I am either a) desperately working to finish some inane task, like putting together gift bags for all guests, b) desperately trying to balance the agenda of my mother, my father, my fiance, and everyone else who gives us such "helpful" advice, c) desperately trying to get some sleep so I do not look like a zombie bride, or d) all of the above, and some more "surprise" tasks I didn't know about until I got home.

If you're invited to the wedding, I'll see you there. If you weren't, please know that I wasn't able to invite who I wanted because my parents are throwing their one and only wedding and they had to invite hundreds of people that don't matter at all to me but after all, I'm just the one getting married! It doesn't matter what I'd want!

Thanks, and in case I didn't make it clear, don't leave me a message. I won't be able to respond. If I did, you wouldn't like my response."

Well, well...

If there's anyone who has been wondering why they haven't heard from me, I've been in bed sick for four days. Well, three. I should have gone home to bed the first day I felt horrible, but I had a whole progressive dinner celebrating Valentine's planned and couldn't bear to give it up.

I mean, of course, if you've wondered why you haven't heard from me in real life. Of course I rarely keep solid tabs on this blog.

While ill, I've had my first substantial talks with my mother since the series of meltdowns recently. Naturally, by substantial I mean "lengthy", as I have not had the mental capacity to try to discuss issues that upset me. And being sick, I was hard pressed to care. You have to believe some change will come of the dicussion in order to put much into it.

She keeps making the most confusing comments, placatory (is that a word? it should be), as if to make up to me. As if, seriously, someone had gotten ahold of her and read her the riot act. Which is possible - my dad's done it before, and not just on my behalf. He wades in to protect my brother and sister-in-law, too.

The sickness has made it worse, too, because she's fussing over me. Or does that make it better? That's the impression I have, without having any hard facts. I suppose it could just be that, having gotten mostly her way, she can afford to jolly me along? That's the cynic's view.

By the way, when I say "gotten her way" I mean that I'm getting response cards from people who were NOT ON the invitation list we put together. If I knew THAT was allowed, there are quite a few of you reading who would have gotten an invitation.

So now my mom, who hates paying more than $12 for a haircut (which is what she paid back in 1988 and why should it get more expensive?) is talking about going to the swanky salon where I'm getting my hair done for some wedding photos. It does seem like a spy tactic. Why on earth doesn't she just ask if she can come with? I mean, right now I sigh a little sigh, because there's nothing quite like my Mom's disapproval to take the joy out of spending money she thinks I'm wasting, but I can at least appreciate that she might want to join in, even find it a lovely gesture.

Or better yet, her opening salley (sally? hmmm) this weekend was something like, "We've cleared our calendars and we're all set to adore you." I didn't even touch this one, I wasn't sure what kind of firecracker that was. She's talking about me going to SC this coming weekend. Firstly, the weekend is a) about my brother's birthday and b) the weekend of the church retreat for my parents, so it is a weekend anything but clear. Secondly, I don't really need adoring. Respecting, as I detailed in an earlier post, but adoring, ehn, no.

Her whole demeanor has me deeply puzzled, and really just a whisker shy of suspicous. I'm not sure what I'm being buttered up for, or more importantly, why on earth this is the brand of buttering up?

In other news, although coughing up a lung while deathly ill turns out to be a fairly consistent way of losing that last pesky five pounds, I really, really can't recommend it. From now on, my advice to others will be in favor of altering the dress and retouching the photos.

Departure

There's this girl who goes to the same gym I do. Our gym is small, fairly cheap, and in an area with a large student population, and there's a particularly high number of actors and students who use this gym. A few years ago (before joining the gym) I saw a sketch comedy performance with a group who was making fun of yoga. Vaguely amusing, one of the performers was a small Asian-American girl whose body was tiny. She was wearing a leotard and tights so you could see that there was simply no extra meat on her anywhere. And in the sketches, she played a particularly irritating person.

I disliked watching her, and her tiny body made me dislike her even more.

When I started going to this gym, I saw her, recognized who she was from the performance, and began to settle in to my irrational and completely based-on-fiction dislike. And she was in there ALL THE TIME. And she was always using the ellipitcal machine veeerrrrryyyy slowly. Much later it finally occurred to me she probably had it set on a very taxing resistance, meaning her body was working too hard to move quickly, but for some reason the slowness just bugged me.

A year or so ago, I was reading a profile of a young actress in a smash hit of a new play. Now, these make me jealous anyway, because of course I wish *I* could be in a smash hit and had people interview *me*. But suddenly I realized that this must be the girl from the gym. I looked up the production photos online and yep, it was her.

But in the profile, she'd revealed several beguiling and tantalizing pieces of information. She is estranged from her mother - that's word the article used, "estranged", she thought she'd gained weight because she ate incessantly while doing the show, she felt there weren't a lot of roles available to an Asian. I suddenly had a great deal of intimate knowledge about someone I have yet to speak to.

She only rarely irritates me anymore. It's so fascinating, knowing I have a window into who she is (though perhaps a cloudy window - who knows how much the article got right), knowing I have information about her and she has no idea I know these things. And I can see the danger in being a person that gets interviewed, in the paper or anywhere else. When everyone has your secrets at their fingertips, where is your mystery? But it's also true that the information I know now has humanized this person to me, and I find myself sympathetic with her instead of irritated by her.

Which sympathy is equally false, of course, because I don't know her at all.

Interesting...I wish

I've opted out of theatre projects in order to make sure I can deal with my own wedding, and I gotta tell you...

I'm walking that tightrope between indolence and boredom.

I mean, yes, it's nice to sit and watch television.

For an evening. And then I get bored. I do a lot of running from job to job and audition to rehearsal and it gets really tiring. But it doesn't take that long without all the rushed pace to be bored.

I'm less likely to use the time to do anything for anyone else, either, which is lousy of me, but true. I have time on my hands, I get lazy.

Now, I have enjoyed some lounging, don't get me wrong. A little indolence is a beautiful experience, and I like doing my impression of a cat in a sunny window. And some of my boredom is the weather - I had somewhere to be on Saturday night that would have been highly entertaining, but it was -20 wind chill and gusts of up to 50 mph were projected. The best route I could find to this party involved walking for a mile. I just could not do it. I lay on the couch and went nowhere for about 6 hours. (I had gone to the gym earlier, I'll have you know.)

So if it were 45 degrees out, I'd be much more able to amuse myself. I'd probably bike somewhere interesting and look around and have an adventure.

But not when it is -20. Just...no...

All's right with the world

Ok, so it's just a wedding, and although Martha Stewart has programmed us to think it has to be *just so*, it's actually just a day when the love-pumpkin and I promise to each other that we'll be faithful and true. While other people watch. And though I wish I had endless time to make thousands of little paper boxes or a personalized stamp on everyone's "favor" gift of a bag of grits, I don't really care if this turns out to be the wedding of the season. Like any woman alive, if I had unlimited money and time and the ability to do whatever I wanted, I would probably put together an amazing celebration that all the attendees would talk about for years.

However, three things:

1) The most beautiful wedding I have ever been to, a stunning, romantic, unforgettable event, sealed a relationship that has already ended with the divorce of the couple. Less than five years.

2) The most horrible wedding I have ever been to - and I base this judgment partly on the fact that none of the participants looked as if they were enjoying it, not merely that I didn't enjoy it - produced a marriage that is still going strong, producing children and making the couple happy like a pair of clams.

3) No matter what happens, at least one attendee will be bored and not like it. No matter what. The numerical odds are too high.

That being said, the butternut squash and I are going to have a beautiful wedding, and I am happy we're getting married. We started some pre-marital counseling this week, and it made me realize how lucky I am/we are. My sugarfoot was willing but less that thrilled - why call the repair guy if nothing is broken? was his analysis. I countered with the concept of getting medical screens to prevent problems before they become fatal. My pigeon said as long as the therapist was hot, he'd be fine. After rolling my eyes, I explained I preferred to refer to this experience as "counseling" because I didn't want to imply I believed something was wrong that we needed to fix.

Both a little nervous, we braved a winter storm to head off to counseling.

The first thing our undeniably hot counselor asked was, "So, what brings you to therapy?"

I should have seen the smirk from across the room - my word jammer was thinking a) this woman is hot, and b) see, it IS called therapy.

Anyway, the process should be interesting, and I don't plan to detail it from now on, but the whole evening made me think, hey, I know this man pretty well, and I trust him. I know we aren't perfect (there are stories, some of them already on here somewhere) and our relationship isn't everyone's dream, but it makes me really happy, and bonzo really happy.

When asked, how would you characterize the relationship, what leapt to mind was, "Well, there's a lot of snuggling."

I've been doing a lot of venting and complaining here, and sometimes I miss the chance to remind myself how lucky I am.

Also, I watched Teen Witch last night, and who can resist that?

Two Months and counting...

I'm alternately excited and stressed out by the wedding. We're days away from the two month mark. That's great in some ways - in less than three months, it will be over. Hurrah.

The part that is a hassle is a trillion little decisions and details. I mean, I still haven't decided what the wedding cake will look like. Do these decisions really matter?? No, of course not. And yet I'm interested enough to have an opinion. I've left the flowers entirely in my mother's hands, because she has good taste and I'm certain whatever she decides will be beautiful. I have claimed not to care what the flowers look like. But, as someone pointed out the other day, if the flowers are yellow carnations and red roses, yes, I think I would hate that. After all, my dress is pink champagne - yellow will clash.

I don't really expect yellow carnations from my mother. However, I'm learning my expectations are sometimes wrong. I had expected...well, for her to be excited, and happy about the wedding, but I have yet to feel that. There's a big part of my mother that spends time pressing me - as in, to keep me from being irrepressible, she presses. She hushes and shushes and generally tries to tone me down. I think she wants to make sure I don't think I'm too big for my britches. I should probably tell her the constant shushing has convinced me no one cares what I have to say, but she'd probably just criticize my negativity.

A good example that she believes her own shushing - she and my Dad bought a BMW a while back, because they were retiring and my Dad wanted a car that would last ten years. My mother decided they shouldn't drive it to visit her family, as her family would view it as her rubbing it in that they make more money. She didn't want her success to make anyone feel bad.

Now, this is nonsense, of course, and she eventually relaxed this rule as it became impratical. (Now they drive the BMW everywhere and she apologizes for it.) But I feel like the wedding is being treated the same way - this big, potentially fun event has to be hidden away and kept quiet so that no one feels bad and so that Elizabeth doesn't get too obnoxious.

My fiance is worried that no one is making enough of a fuss of me. His buddies are talking about a weekend in Vegas for him, and he frets constantly that I'm not having a shower or a bachelorette party, or various other things. I don't mind about the parties - his relatives very sweetly want me to go north to throw me a shower, but I'm not a huge shower fan, and now there's just no time to get up there before I have to be in SC. I might organize a bachelorette party, but since both my bridesmaids are very far away, they can't come, so that's kind of a bummer. And who really wants to throw a party for yourself?

What is hard is that everyone, my parents included, has so much going on right now that I feel guilty asking for attention. My friends are dealing with their own crises, my brother's family just redid their carpets (NOT a ephemism) and have two small children, my Dad just lost his mother, my mother's got 40 years worth of stuff to clean and is trying to keep her own mother happy. There are other weddings, brand new babies, sick family members, breakups, job upheaval, and aging parents. EVERYONE has stuff. I want to be respectful of all the stuff. I want to hear about it, to commiserate, to advise, to listen.

But there is a part of me that just wants to find an open space and scream:

THIS IS THE ONLY WEDDING I AM PLANNING TO HAVE AND WOULD YOU SHUT UP FOR JUST ONE SECOND AND ASK ME ABOUT IT??????

Now, before you get all huffy and write me a nasty post, know this: both my bridesmaids are wonderful, and I talked to both of them last week. They listened, they asked questions - they had both called me, even. They both said all the right things, and I am thrilled they'll be with me when the wedding rolls around.

I never expected everyone's life to stop just because I was getting married. Heck, I'm just happy some of my friends can come to the wedding.

I don't need a party or to go off to Vegas (that would be fun, but we're all too broke right now). But I think I need my mother to be excited. To pay attention. To be concerned with what might make me happy.

And I don't think she will be.

Christmas

I'd like a do-over of Christmas, please. I have told too many people too much of this story, and I can't quite face putting it all down in type, so let's do a swift bullet list of highlights and then we'll move on to happier topics, shall we?

• If you spend the holiday with people who are lacking any Christmas excitement, it's best to bring it with you (in a box purchased at the Dollar Store if necessary) and shove it down their throats. I did not do this, and should have. You have to make the Christmas you want - I should have worked harder.
• Devon Avenue as a Christmas dinner option is a great idea - so good many other people have had it. When it takes over half an hour to find parking, nothing good will come from the evening.
• Similarly, if it is a frustrating headache to rewire the VCR, you will probably not enjoy whatever you end up watching on it.
• If you turn your head sharply and your companion happens to be sitting very close to you, your skulls will crash together. It will be painful. If you are the type that under periods of great stress and exhaustion collapses into tears, it will happen along with this pain. It may cause a breakdown that includes the sobbed phrase: "I can't make you happy...."
• If you are banking on visiting your own family to bring the joy of the holiday season back to your life, don't.
• No really, they're busy people, and they've already done Christmas without you.
• If you rush to your hometown in order to FINALLY get wedding invitations ordered, all the shops will be closed.
• When they open, all of the people who could get your invitations ordered will be absent.
• Your mother, would could have avoided all this by calling beforehand and making an appointment, will be busy babysitting her grandchildren.
• Her grandchildren, who are adorable, could have been somewhere else, leaving her free to help with these very time-sensitive wedding plans.
• Oh, wait, that's right, the grandchildren, who will hopefully be with us for many years to come, are more important than getting this once-in-a-lifetime event off the ground. I mean, it's just her daughter's wedding, nothing as cute and fun as grandchildren.
• Your mother, by the way, will have changed her mind about where she wants the invitations ordered, but not bothered to tell you that.
• All of this "helpful" behavior will enrage your fiance. Have fun smoothing those feathers.
• When you get back, having dutifully written out mentally, "Even though I am the one getting married, what I want is of no consequence" a LEAST one hundred times, you will need at least two weeks for any part of your life to feel like yours.
• Merry Christmas.

Not So Angry

So, anyone with half an ounce of sense probably could have looked at the "angry" entry and told me it would work out all right. Ounces of sense are in short supply on four hours sleep, though.

It turned out fine. I'll post the link when the show goes up, and you can judge for yourself. The essay went over pretty well, and I didn't throw up (a very real possibility at one point) and although it wasn't the most fantastic essay ever written by anyone, it was entertaining and made a very nice bridge between the two guests on the show. (Well, three guests - a duo was interviewed together.) I ended up quoting the first guest, nearly verbatim, since I'd taken a class from him, and then the duo that went afterwards ended up quoting me in their interview! It made for a very cohesive evening.

I actually enjoyed performing the essay, which is crazy, because for two days it made me sick. Now I'm thinking about writing and performing more, which is also crazy because I clearly turn into a harridan/insane person/bitch from hell/lacking any smidgen of self-confidence during the writing process. No, not during the writing as much as the critique/revising process.

But you tend to forget the pain of the creation and focus on the end result, right? Isn't that what happens when women give birth? I'm not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing...

I can't believe I went from feeling like I'd been kicked repeatedly to such a happy buzz of success that I am thinking about finally writing my one woman show, but somehow it niggles at the back of my mind.

I guess I'd better get through the holidays first.

Angry

I am exhausted from going to bed at two and getting up for the gym at 6. But I'm also angry at my sweetheart, and I'm not sure exactly how this is going to pan out.

The crux of the matter is an essay I wrote. My pumpkinhead produces an interview radio show about Chicago theatre (The Callback) and each week the show features a ten minute personal essay about whatever topic or theme that week's guests are discussing. Usually the essayist has a week or two to write an essay, have it critiqued, and re-write it.

I've had 36 hours. Three separate people have given me feeback, all more than once on more than one draft. I've torn this thing to Tuesday and back. I have to read this *(^&^$^*% essay in front of people tonight, all four and a half pages, and I have lost any conviction I ever had in it. Plus, three to four hours of sleep doesn't help with confidence.

And I'm furious at my boyfriend for going all stern and "professional" at 2 o'clock in the bloody morning when I was beyond frustrated.

Anyway. Interested in the Callback? Want to hear me fail miserably? Check out the following to listen to the shows. Mine won't be up for a while, but it will give you an idea. www.callbackchicago.com (I can't get this stupid link thing to work today.)

How Do You Like Your Blue-Eyed Boy, Mr. Death?

My grandmother died. She was 91, and she'd been sinking into oblivion for months now, a gradual decline from three years ago when she broke her hip. She had a good life, a long life, and until the hip, she had a great time. After the hip broke, she did not have a good time. She was frightened of dying and just aware enough of how her faculties were slipping to be upset by it. She would mumble and then get agitated that she couldn't make herself understood. I saw her in October, a frail, tiny shrunken woman, and it was the first time I'm not sure she recognized who I was.

Last Christmas I went to see her and her face lit up when I came in the door. She was already into good days and bad days by this point, but this was a good one. We sang Christmas Carols with the man who'd come to play piano for them. When we chatted, she asked how Chicago was. I told the nurse she'd been a beauty queen (Miss Marion 1933) and she got this impish look in her eye and said, "You know why I won? Dresses back then had a shift under them, and I went out in just the shift." So apparently Grandma was sporting the slip dress way back in the day. As I left that day, the nurse said, "You must be a favorite of hers, the way she lit up when you came in." I said, "Well, she's certainly a favorite of mine."

The funeral was Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I know she was older, that she was in poor health, that we knew she was nearing the end, but it was still sad. Good, but sad. I got to be a pallbearer, which felt helpful. A death touches you differently when you help carry the body. My grandmother had asked that all the grandchildren be pallbearers. It just so happened I was the only girl (some of my cousins couldn't be there), and I'd like to think my Grandma would have liked that.

During the service, which was exceptionally simple and short, the minister talked about something I knew but had never thought about. My grandmother was christened, confirmed, married, had all her children confirmed, and was buried from the same church. The pall we used over her coffin had been bought for the church as a memorial for my grandfather's funeral nearly twenty five years before. It was a deep moment, the passing of this woman, and we lost a connection to all that has gone before.

I am glad for my grandma's sake that she has gone. No matter what I (or you) may think of an afterlife, she was by the last few months merely suffering, not living at all. But I am surprised to find I really miss her, now that I know I can't ever see her again. I am not sure how well I knew her, as of course I missed a lot of her life, but I liked her. I did love her, but more than that, I genuinely liked her. She was spunky and feisty and enjoyed her life. She wasn't afraid of love or work or pain. The gentleman who took her to the hospital when she was having a stroke (a close friend) told me she said to him, "I never cry, but I feel like crying now," and when he told her to go ahead, she just sobbed. I don't like to think of her that scared, but I love that she held on without giving in as long as possible, and I am so grateful her friend was with her when she couldn't hold it back.

She was a flirt, from first to last. She married my grandfather, the story goes, because he was the first man to tell her no. She called him to break a date - a bandleader had asked her to a dance, and she always loved to go out with that bandleader because while he was directing the band, she could dance with everyone else. My grandfather told her that if she broke the date, it was their last. One of her nurses from her nursing home came to the funeral and told us she used to flirt with this nurse's husband, then wink, point to the nurse, and say, "Don't tell her."

I loved doing things she enjoyed because she was fun to watch when she was happy. I wish I'd been older a little sooner, but as I got to driving age I would go over to see her and take her out to lunch - by then she was carless, so I was "springing" her, I'd say. Once, she let me take her to visit her old friends, and it was one of the happiest days of my life to watch her chat and flirt and show up unexpectedly on friends' doorsteps. Her best friend came to the door and was so thrilled and delighted to see her I think they both had tears in their eyes. "Oh, Libby," she sighed, "the bridge club just isn't the same without you."

I was her namesake. I'm Elizabeth after her, though she was always called Libby. I had her car for a few years, too, which I named after her mother: Inez. On the way to the gravesite I was sitting next to my nephew, Ward, who is named after my grandfather, Edward, and I realized we were next to each other the way they would be soon. It was a graveyard full of the names of the attendees.

It's odd enough that she's really gone. But strange things will bring her back to me, little slivers of memory that I thought I'd lost, and then I tear up. Thanksgiving, 1999, My sister-in-law and I went over to pick her up to drive her to our house, and she was thrilled we were there because she thought she'd just be stranded for the holiday. (She had been told someone would pick her up, but she got confused.) I remember knocking on the door several times before she heard us, and being frightened something had happened to her. Then she was so happy we'd come, and we were so happy she was fine, and I can remember her standing on the red carpet in the dining room telling us she'd just be a minute getting ready. The dining room, in the midst of her tea cup collection and in view of her kitchen, where she made blueberry pies (huckleberry pies, really) and fed us Froot Loops as children and drank copious amounts of blush wine and hosted Thanksgiving feasts for thirty, maybe fourty years.

She hasn't lived in that house for 8 years, and much of her left this earth months or even years ago, but I miss her. The only consolation I can think of is that it's better to miss her than not to have appreciated her, for we all find the dirt farm eventually. At least she remains as she can, feisty flirt that she is, sharp and happy in my memory, with that mischevious twinkle firmly glittering in her eye.

Goodbye, Libby.

Never Brag

So, I really had been running for about two, three miles a day for about 6 weeks, but as soon as I mentioned it out loud, BAM! I got sick. Horribly, hacking, coughing nastiness sick. I admit, the first day I knocked off running because I was just in the mood for a break, but the rest of the week, I WANTED to go run and just couldn't even get out of bed.

I skipped performing one of my shows at one point, I was so out of it - my voice wasn't working very well, so my very gracious and phenomenally well-prepared understudy went on. Thank goodness she was there.

I went back to running last week. It was great. Unfortunately, we're just hitting that point where it's too cool to run outside. I mean, I know lots of people run outside in freezing weather - I see them all the time in snow and ice, jogging away, but not me. Nosiree. It doesn't seem healthy for someone who ALWAYS has a runny nose in cold weather.

But other than that, I am shocked at myself for so much running. I mean, I've been running every day for two months, minus a week for sickness and a day off here and there (never more than one day off in a week, however). Is this the same girl that laughed out loud three years ago when her trainer explained the best time for cardio would be in the morning before eating breakfast? I thought it was comical, and I looked him in the face and said, "That probably won't be happening." And yet it is!

Granted, the most I've run is 4.5 miles. And that only once. I normally do 2.5 or 3, and push it to four if I'm feeling extra strong or I have a lot of time. But it's an interesting habit for me to develop, fairly late in life. My dad was always a runner when I was growing up, still is, except his knees have gone, so the doctor has decreed he can only run every other day. He always did 3 miles, no matter what (at one point, he did 3 miles in 21 minutes...which I find amazing). Sometimes we would get in the car to go somewhere, and find ourselves taking some odd, circuitous route, and when I finally said, where on earth are we going? My dad would explain he was clocking the mileage on some new route. He nearly always came home from work and went out to run right away - never in the mornings, though, unless it was a weekend.

But I always HATED running of any kind! I was a walker, when I deigned to exercise, which was pretty seldom, actually, over 30 years. When I turned thirty I just somehow thought, hmmm. I weigh about 15 pounds more than I want to. Why? Oh, that's right, I have never done anything about it. So I joined a gym and went the elliptical/weight lifting route for a while. Except I hated weightlifting. Still do. The whole point is lifting weights should never be easy - if it gets easy, you have to add more weight. So I never like it because it never gets any easier.

While I was away for the summer over a year ago, a friend set up a gym-free cardio plan for me which involved running intervals. I didn't take to it initially, but when I got back to Chicago and the autumn weather was warm and sunny and I wasn't doing a show for a month or so, I started running the plan - 30 minutes in odd intervals of walking and running. And slowly, very slowly, I got to where I could run more than the interval. And I cracked a mile one day, then two. Not that I would run a mile and stop. My route was usually 3 miles, and I walked however much of it I couldn't run. I kept running off and on through the year. Then in Septemebr I decided the only way to really get in shape was to exercise every single day, even if it meant getting up early to do it.

This is too long a post, but seriously, I am shocked to find myself being disciplined enough to be consistent. And I like running! Crazy! I find it much easier to convince myself to go run for 30 minutes than to ever lift weights. (I should, of course, go back to doing some mild weightlifting, but I can't face it yet. Ugh.)

In the interest of fairness, I should mention I'm slow. Sooo slooowww. A friend told me he used to make his running a game - he got a point for every male he passed, and half point for every female, but lost a point when he got passed by a male, or two for being passed by a female. (I don't deny this is sexist - it's not my game, people.) After his story I realize I get passed by EVERYONE. I mean it, everyone passes me, and I rarely, rarely pass anyone else...unless that person is walking. I've passed walkers who blew right past me minutes later when they went back to running. I am slow.

But I'm still at it, and I cannot believe it. I got up at 6:30 this morning so I go get to the gym and run?! Crazy!!

Eventually my plan is to scale back to running 3-4 times a week. After all, the bad knees run in the family. But for the moment, I'm just trying to be consistent, to build up after 30 years of never exercising much at all.

Wow

I'm having fun, mostly. The weather is gorgeous, I'm up to running between 2 and 3 miles a day, my recent bike accident has only produced bruises, the kid's show I am doing has a phenomenally lovely cast, and my fiance remains steadily awesome, eliminating much second guessing.

But trawling around on facebook and the internet, I see, well, a lot of people that I miss. (And it could be you, reader.) Also, I am enjoying just enough of my days to realize how little I enjoy working at a desk unless it's payday. Ironically, this month is financially quite tense as I am working much less at a desk. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

My mother is full of completely irrational and impractical schemes for the weekend of the wedding, like having everyone over to our condo for breakfast on Sunday morning. HUNH? How, pray tell, will we have time to cook? Aren't we all a little BUSY being in a wedding on Saturday?

Anyway, she's away in Africa at the moment, so I will try to avoid that headache for a moment.

But back to the people I miss.

I miss them.

Hmm. That was succinct.

Maybe I should have lunch and continue this later.

TLAPD

It's International Talk Like a Pirate Day! Really!

YAAARRRRR!!!!!!!

White shoes

Ok, how did life get so busy and frightening? And why do my white shoes look so very odd? I mean, I know it's after Labor Day, but these are Keds, people.

First, having big life discussions is scary. When you and your (still somewhat prospective) life partner sit down and make a timeline for a) buying property b) having children and c) whatever else you want, it's pretty overwhelming. Because I can't deny the fact that I am getting older, and I feel trapped between all the things I have yet to accomplish for myself and the compromises inherent in having a family. Let me break that down for you:

I have so little money, really, it's pitiful. This shortage is partly due to my attempt to be a working actress, which still doesn't yet pay. It may, oh, how I want it to, but then again it may not.

It's hard to have children with no money.

It's even harder to buy property with no money.

So it feels like if I ever want property or children, I have to give up on being a working actor. Oh, I don't have to give up acting entirely, I just have to get a 9-5 real job, one that brings in the money more consistently.

But I can't help it, I still hope the ACTING can bring in the money. I mean, that would just solve everything. Then my life gets to be a) AND b), not a) OR b).

That's what I want, I want an AND life.

When I sat down (ok, lay down) and had this monumental conversation this weekend, I realized I'm closing in on needing it make the acting pay. I'm not talking about fortunes, I mean a living wage. I'm running out of time to call this a profession.

Because if I can't, I come to a crossroads, and no matter which way I go, I'll spend some time thinking about the direction I never got to explore. Maybe, knowing me, a lot of time.



Come on, wheel of fate.....no whammies, no whammies....

Sigh

I sent my mother pictures of the wedding dress I bought. And her comment to my Dad was, well, it needs to be altered.

Yes. I think about 99% of all wedding dresses are altered. (Another 75% of them are altared. Ha!) Why is this such a surprise? Or for that matter, why does this reflect badly on the dress? Because let me assure you, this comment does indicate dissatisfaction with the dress. My mother has infinite code words, like a real estate agent hiding the true nature of a house, to obfuscate and mask her displeasure, but the displeasure is clear even when its causes are not. The sentence, "Well, you're the one who needs to be happy with it" might as well end with, "because I certainly am not."

I know what you're thinking, you think I'm being paranoid. Perhaps. And in the end, it doesn't matter because a) I've already bought the dress, and b) she's not the one wearing it. But it's sort of the same niggly fretfulness I have about my lovely finance. I'm not entirely, 100% sure my parents adore him. I think they like him, I think they're happy for me, but there are a few well-placed silences that could have multiple causes, and I can't quite decipher them.

Let me be clear that the same a) and b) apply. I love the man, I picked him, no one has to marry him but me. If they DON'T adore him, I'm still going for it. And the reticence I notice might be more because they don't want to lose their little girl (though, at 33, I would think they'd be more than happy to get me off their hands) or because who wants their artist daughter marrying another artist? We are definitely signed up for a hard row to hoe together. A nice architect might have made things a little easier, especially one who lived south of the Mason-Dixon line.

I love and respect my parents, so I can't help that their opinion matters to me. But they've never come right out with that opinion. A friend of mine wanted to know, "Can't you just ask them?"

Hahaahahahahaahahaahaahaha.

No. They're from the South. Direct questioning is not effective. It's like going deer hunting and asking, "Why don't you just walk right up to the deer and shoot it?" Because it runs away, silly.

Anyway, they like my honey. I know that. He's funny, and caring, and he clearly cares about me, and they know I love him enough to marry him, and anything they don't say is to stay out of the way of our chance at a happy marriage. Which I can appreciate.

All of which is why I would really have been glad if my mother REALLY LOVED my wedding dress.

Maybe once it's been altered.

I did it.

So, I made the coconut cake. Half a coconut cake. With no actual coconut on top, but whatever. And now I have just eaten the last piece, and will start getting Serious about health and exercising. Not because I am unattractive, no. I'm a moderately sized person. Nice features. But there's no getting around the fact that in 7 months, I will pay someone loads of money to take endless pictures of me and my family and friends. And I will spend the rest of my life being confronted by said photos. And cameras are not always kind. So I'd like to insure, however vain it may be of me, that when I look at the photos in the future, I am happy about them.

So begins the vanity that is getting ready for a wedding.

In a more cheerful vein, recently I have vowed to be less worried and fretful about the wedding. The guest list was the worst part, but since we ended up coming to a place where we think we can afford the people we think are coming, why remain upset? I haven't had to delete my friends in order to accomodate my parents friends, so why work at remember how nasty the whole conversation got? Why not just let it fade into the background and move on?

Double back

I had lunch with a friend yesterday who admitted he actually reads this blog (wow) and I had the surreal experience of talking about something I already wrote. As if I've already become someone who repeats the same stories over and over. Also, I feel I should be more entertaining if people I run into in daily life are perusing. Here's my chance to be the more scintilating version of myself, me with the witty and urbane complexity a script can provide, and mostly I just bitch and moan in a particularly dramatic, self-indulgent way.

But I realize that's pretty much what I do anyway! I had a golden opportunity last night to downplay something, and I completely blew it. In fact, I didn't even recognize the opportunity when it came along. A brand new fellow cast member and I have a mutual acquaitance. She asked, how do you know X? All I had to do is say, oh, we met doing a show, or wow, I've known him for a long time. But what did I do instead? What, you ask?

No, you don't ask, you already know. I said, "oh, we dated once a long time ago and he broke my heart and dumped me."

Which, actually, isn't exactly true and I then had to back pedal to make myself less ridiculous. I had to back pedal because I couldn't just keep my mouth shut. What happened is we went out, he got bored so we stopped going out, and I went into a completely pointless tailspin. Pointless because he wasn't a very good match for me. But that didn't stop me being dramatic...NO! And deciding I would never date again.

It makes me roll my eyes at myself.

In the meantime, I have two problems.

One: I cannot get myself to do any work. For about 7 days now. I am FINALLY relieved of the stress of the position working for 3 lawyers full time when I only come in part time. Hurrah. After four months of wall to wall work that I couldn't keep up with, for people I wasn't very fond of, I am back to my low stress, part time pinch-hitting position. I do overflow work and when I don't have any, I work bit by bit on a huge project.

Except I can't make myself work on the project and I'm doing a trillion other things instead. I know I can get away with this for a while, but it will bite me in the butt sooner or later.

Problem Two: Coconut cake. I made one this weekend, and it was amazing. But I took it to a party, and had to leave the party early, and I only got to try a little of it. So I am secretly obsessed with the idea of making another cake, or at least making a half a coconut cake, so I can eat as much of it as I want. I am trying not to do that, as it will play havoc with the idea of losing weight for the wedding, or really, just being a healthy person. (It's hard to exercise enough to counteract eating an entire coconut cake.) Healthy people, it's undeniable, do not eat entire cakes at a sitting. There's something called moderation. But the insidious coconut cake will not be banished. I'm not a huge fan of coconut, we just had a bunch in the house and I wanted to use it up. But now...

What do you think, gentle readers? Should I make Coconut Cake #2 this coming weekend? Will I look at wedding pictures in later years and wince, thinking, if only it hadn't been for the coconut cake?

Ah, yes

My grandmother recently moved out of her house, the house in which she has lived since 1941 when she got married. No one in my family thought she would ever leave that house, and she certainly talked as if she didn't relish the idea. In the last year, however, her health really has worsened to the point that a 5 bedroom house in the country just wasn't a feasible residence.

She's had her name on a list at an assisted living place for about two years, and has found excuses every time a room came up not to take it, but suddenly, in June, a room came free and she snapped it up.

I went to visit her, and far from being sad or angry at the move, she seems suddenly sprightly! She was introducing me to her friends, chatting up the staff, going to exercise class in the mornings. After I visited with her, I went to the house to help with some of the final cleaning. It was strange, seeing the place mostly empty.

But here's the strangest part. It wasn't sad. I thought it would be sad, but it was all sort of hopeful. As if, tied together, my grandma and the house were sinking, but separated, they both have possibilities. Someone has bought that house, and might have a joyful life in it. It will get cleaned and spruced up and taken care of, and so will my grandma!

It can be an unexpected happiness to let something go.

Change of Scene

I thought it would be nice to talk about something besides the wedding, so I won't detail any of the nightmares I've had about it in the last week. Although I will say they've been vivid and frequent.

Hmmm.

What to say....

I'll get back to you.

So true

I know you won't believe me, but honestly, I really, truly wish I could elope. And I know you're all thinking, well, Elsbeth, you can do whatever you want to. And while that should be true, there are just some demands on a southern girl living away from home that can't be denied. I've won a few battles, and am trying to gear up to lose a few, but the person I really don't want to cheat out of a wedding is my fiance. Who will turn 40 this year, and is the last of several of his groups of friends to get married. And who dutifully or joyfully or resentfully went to all of those weddings and cheered on the brides and grooms. Who is the youngest by 14 years of all his siblings, and pretty much gets treated as the baby by them all.

And by god, that man deserves an event where everyone is there for him.

That said, I actually almost told my dad this past week that we were eloping and we'd call him when and IF we ever have children, since that's what he cares about.

This to a man I have called my best friend. This wedding stuff is for the birds.

And they just don't let you do it as simply as you want. I mean, even if we went the happy meal route, we'd probably find we had to keep the meals in silver chafing dishes.

I'm still trying to keep it sane. Originally, I wanted to do away with attendants, but since I have realized no bridesmaids = no one to hang out with as I'm freaking out before my wedding, I went for 2. TWO, I tell you, it shouldn't be this hard to find an inexpensive dress for them!

No wedding favors. Sorry, I just think there is no need for me to hand out an object so that people can remember they went to my wedding. If they forget, so be it.

I'm already tired of bitching about it. I'm gonna change the subject.

Aw, shucks

This will be a revelation for approximately three of you:

I got engaged. (I keep meaning to call habermas girl to tell her...)

Now, it was romantic. We were in Key West (neither of us had ever been there before), it was beautiful and lovely and my beau did a beautiful job of chosing a time and a place that make a good story.

It's just that, when you get married, you end up having to have a wedding. And while I enjoy attending weddings, and plan to be thrilled with my own, I've never longed to PLAN one.

Also, the wedding will be, well, a long way away from where I curently live. So that makes planning more awkward as well.

But, still, I am getting married, and we've actually picked a place to have the wedding.

I have to stop talking about it right now. Because I've spent all day reading brides posts on theknot.com and I must admit it mostly makes me want to vomit. "Where did you get YOUR monogrammed tea towel favors??" "Oh, I luuuuv the way my bridesmaid's dresses look, and my colors are champagne, olive, and peach!" I mean, I have to trawl through these looking for recommendations for service people like photographers, bakers, etc, but you should read this stuff! AGH! How many people are happily married today who never had the following ridiculous things:

1) Wedding favors. Do guests need a small trinket to remind them YOU got married?

2) A wedding logo or monogram. Seriously. AND people make AISLE RUNNERS from these. So your wedding is a design event, and you brand that wedding with these images. How about the image of you in a dress and your groom in a tux? Isn't that enough wedding branding for you??

3) I will call down the rage of the recently wed now, but...matching bridesmaids dresses. And from the photos, many women force their nearest and dearest to wear really elaborate dresses, that probably cost $200-$300. That's INSANE!

4) Along the same lines, all the women today had a cutesy gift made up in order to ask their bridesmaids to be bridemaids. Like a cookie bouquet. I feel sort of guilty about this one - I mean, I just called my friend and my sister-in-law and flat out ASKED them. I didn't know I was supposed to use it as an excuse to make a huge production.

5) Chair covers. What, you'd prefer it didn't look like a chair?

6) A color scheme at all. Sure, your flowers will look prettier if they match, but is it necessary to have a four color SCHEME??

I am just skimming the surface here. I wish I could have an insanely beautiful intricate SMALL wedding, but I have certain impediments.

1) Money
2) Time
3) Common Sense

I have a feeling the next nine months are going to be full of decisions that will drive me nuts.

Katy Trails, and I'm trailing too

Where have I been? Under a pile of obligations. Two family trips later, I'm still vunerable to manipulation and sighing over a seemingly bizarre shift in the advice of my hitherto greatest ally - my Dad. It's like going over to your coach during a rough quarter and having them tell you, "You know, you should take up knitting."

Ok, it's not like that, but I haven't got time for the whole story.

I've got too many balls in the air, too many side dishes on the plate. And it's snowing. It's April, and yet it is snowing.

Also, my office has come up with the genius idea of having me stand in for the lady on maternity leave. I currently work no more than three days a week, sometimes less. My schedule changes, sometimes daily. But they expect me to get 5 days of work packed into those brief times I'm actually in the office.

I'm trying to be calm about this, but the added stress comes a terrible time. I just started rehearsals for a new show. I have to memorize a 67 page script. I have to rehearse and perform about 30 miles outside the city. And yet I have no car. So now I will pretty much spend from 8 am to 12 midnight away from my house five days a week. And one day a weekend.

It would have been nice if something could have gone on autopilot, but apparently that isn't to be.

Now, I've left myself less that six minutes to tell you about something I actually ENJOYED, something I relished! My lovely beau and I tried to bike the Katy Trail this past weekend. The Katy Trail is the old railroad from Missouri through Kansas and Texas (MKT - nicknamed "Katy" for the KT). It's flat, because a train used to have to travel it. The Trail runs from St. Charles, MO to Clinton, MO, but we didn't bike 220 miles in two days. We didn't end up biking that much at all, but the unseasonable cold made us more cautious. You know, this cold weather is the PITS.

It was a lovely time, made all the more lovely by the brilliant, the resourceful, the enchanting Habermas Girl! You know, finding out the people you've always adored remain both interesting and friendly is worth at least sixty miles of biking.

All right, part II tomorrow, and I'll tell tales of midnight bike rides and theose dreaded beasts, scourge of all riders....steep hills...

Drinking on an empty stomach

People, I am surprised I made it home last night, honestly. And the reason I was completely unsteady on my feet and joyous at incredibly small details, not to mention essentially asleep while seeming to be awake, the reason was a single drink. One, people. Granted, it was a kick-your-behind martini big enough to count as two martinis, and as promised, it did indeed kick my behind. The bigger factor in Elizabeth's oh-so-inexpensive toastness was the lack of food. I know this, absolutely: I should not drink without eating. But it was late, and we'd just finished the first run of my new show with an audience, and by the time I enlisted someone to pay for the food (I myself having one dollar of cash on me, and knowing the nightmare of group payment situations with a card), the kitchen had closed.

I think the restaurant/bar across the street hates us, by the way, since it took far, far too long for us to get a drink. Then, you see, I had to drink it much faster, to get it down by closing time.

Regardless, I drank my one drink and about half-way through, everything became somewhat fuzzy and much more entertaining. I became less capable of walking around and longed only to lie down in the restaurant and sleep.

I figured it was time to go home.

Now, at noon the next day, I can feel the alcohol still lingering in my bloodstream, probably because it so rarely gets free reign like that. It's enjoying the stay.

I am such a lightweight.

Happy New Year!

I have been having a frustrating life recently. Now, I should note that in comparison to, say, political prisoners or people captured by mad stalker-killers, my life carries on like a great big party. But in the normal day to day, I have a few rants building up, some of which may be familiar.

1. PLEASE DO NOT RUN INTO CYCLISTS. I don't even understand the car that tried to pull out right as I was passing it this morning. The car was poised to pull out, and HAD to be looking behind to see when the cars cleared, and as it was broad daylight, I had to be visible, but somehow, as I tried to clear the car, it started to move in my direction! THEN the person driving the car made gestures at me! What, exactly, was I meant to do differently? Magically take flight? Suddenly disappear from the trajectory on which I was clearly embarked the last time the motorist looked back? Should I let them pull out onto me because I am not a car?

2. If I wrote you a memo in a business context, wouldn't it be smart to read it? That action would stop you from asking questions WHICH WERE ALREADY ANSWERED IN THE TEXT OF THE MEMO. Although then I wouldn't have the joy of wasting time by answering the question twice.

Seriously, I need a new day job. Which leads me to:

3. Gloating is unattractive. Accidental gloating is even more irritating, because not only are you rubbing something in, you don't even have the common decency to recognize that someone might have a different experience. I grant you, this happens to all of us on occasion, but there are certain topics that shouldn't be raised in certain groups of people. Case in point: young actors bragging how lucky they are to be supported (financially and emotionally) by their parents. To other actors. Who are clearly NOT supported by their parents. Listen, folks, I'm at least partially happy for you and all, but could you shut up about it? Also, can I have permission to bitch-slap the next person who wonders out loud why I have to balance my own checkbook, something they've never considered since mommy and daddy pay all their bills?

Ok, that clears the shelves a bit. Those are all petty (except for the bike thing - I really would not have enjoyed getting hit by a car this morning), and hopefully I can return to a feeling of happiness and well-being. I myself am pretty fortunate, all told.

I won't explain why, however. I don't want to rub it in.

Have I mentioned?

That I am hip and urban? I went out to a concert last night (on a school night! how daring!) and it was a truly eclectic artist, the harpist Joanna Newsom. She plays a massive harp, it's at least twice as big as she is, but she plays folk/pop/magic songs with the harp, and sometimes additional guitar or drums. She's got a new album on which she plays with an entire orchestra, but she's touring with a 5 piece, stripped down version of that orchestration. Amazing - she played a few tunes alone from earlier albums, then sat down with her band and played her entire new album start to finish.

When I say she plays the harp, she PLAYS. It is astonishing to watch how fast her fingers move - you can't even distinguish how the notes you hear match up with the movement of her hands. Her lyrics also stun me. A review I read described her lyrics as "lapidary", and I confess I had to look that up (it was a Brit writing, naturally, my mother is right, they DO have better vocabularies than Americans), but it turns out the word is perfect. Lapidary is an adjective describing the conciseness, precision, and refinement of expression associated with the cutting of gems. So, yes, her lyrics are like precisely cut jewels. The words shimmer because of where she places them, how she shapes them.

So why is she not storming the airwaves? Well, of course, she plays folk sounding music on a harp, it's hardly mainstream, but also, her voice is unusual, reedy, peircing. I like it enormously myself but my boyfriend does liken her to a drunk Appalachian white trash child. He is NOT hip and urban, like myself, and did not go see her play.

As you might expect, such an alternative player attracts an alternative crowd - not even an Alternative crowd, not your stereotypical urban music goer (who, for some reason in my mind, looks like a member of Panic! at the Disco without, or possibly with, the makeup). No, this was a meshing of people who might play Dungeons and Dragons and people who just came from work at the bank, a mom and dad with their five year old child next to a poseur with vintage leather jacket.

It was heartening, because Joanna Newsom is really alluring, and it was nice to see that her music has enough appeal to sell out two shows at the Logan Auditorium.

Also, I like feeling hip enough to be on the inside of a music sensation.

Juggle, juggle....drop

I spent yesterday fielding calls from agents. You'd think this would be good, right?

Agent A puts me on hold for a gig on Tuesday.
Agent B comes along and asks if I'd be available for a Tues/Wed/Thurs job.
I call and bug Agent A, wait around for about an hour and discover I've been "released" for Tuesday, so now I am actually available.
While waiting for that job to come through, Agent C calls and asks could I work a gig on Wednesday.
So I start harassing Agent B to find out if the Tues/Wed/Thurs job came through.

The dust has settled and the answer is that after all that frantic phoning, I've been released from all three jobs. As in, I didn't book any of them.

I've noticed an odd convergence is happening regarding this blog. It's being read by people who could feasibly feature in it. Now, as a general rule, that very phenomenon is the reason I kept a blog and didn't tell anyone it was here for a long time. I remember very clearly telling a new aquaintance about the blog and later realizing that I had effectively nixed writing about her. (And trust me, she would have been an interesting subject.)

But when I headed off to NY this summer, I thought - perfect! Here's a time and place where no one knows I'm writing about them, as long as I keep my mouth shut about it to them. Hurrah! The shackles were off and I was free to bitch and moan, and what's more, there were people reading! True, I was probably only up to about 10, maybe 15 readers, but still, that's heady stuff for a girl whose page was once written with the sole intent of amusing and provoking the one person who knew it existed. That's an increase of 1500%!

I think. My math is rusty.

However, now I am back in my daily life, and the cat is out of the bag, but I am interacting with people who could read the blog. It was satisfying this summer to attempt to be polite and then unleash all my cattiness for the blog, but when the people you want to be snarky about can look up what you said about them, you are no longer even attempting to be polite.

It's quite a bind for a good southern girl. Here I am, politely waiting for certain family characters to die in order not to offend them when I write about them and make a fortune, but if I keep chattering on about my daily life on the blog, I'm potentially offending those with whom I live and work. It's troubling. I see why people turn to fiction. Or even, *ahem*, completely unintelligible obsfucation of the insanely quotidian nature of their lives. (You know, they make it sound elaborate when it's just boring.)

But I'm off the subject. Or am I? See, I could be talking about someone who is actually reading the blog right now! It could be YOU!

It probably isn't, though. You had to look up "quotidian", didn't you?

Maybe that's the solution...I should be snarky to people right to their faces.

Beyond my means

The street I now live on is swanky. This condo is not entirely swanky - it's fairly modest, though very confortable and well fitted out. But the street itself has big masions and outrageous implications of wealth. This weekend, someone had a valet stand outside their house for their private party. How convenient. Apparently, George Bush had lunch with someone on the street last week when he was in town.

I am, clearly, living beyond my own income.

Also, I am grumpy and ill at ease. The weather makes me long for other times and places, and I get mired in nostaglia. But with no specific project on the horizon, I'm discouraged. I went to an audition last night, which was great, and have been doing a series of commercial ones, but no actual work has turned up yet. It's nice to have a rest, but now I'd like to get back to doing the things I love.

Which means I really should get out of my pajamas before noon, right?

Strange

So, I must admit I'm something of a stalker. I get obsessed about certain people or details, and I hunt them down, without malice.

There's some stalking in my past. I'm not proud of it, but it makes a good story. A week ago I was at my 10-year college reunion - enjoyable, and less strewn with emotional land mines than I might have guessed. I saw a friend I haven't seen in all of the ten years, and who I have wanted to see, because I felt she would appreciate the fact that I fell madly in love with an ex-boyfriend of hers and...well, there's stalking involved, but I won't get into that. (Becky knows this story...)

Last weekend, I told my college friend that story, and it was so strange...in the story was a person in whom I had invested much emotion and thought, and no matter how you looked at it, I had been completely wrong to do so, clearly obsessive and pretty wacky. I did finally move on from thinking about him, but a few years ago I tried to get in touch with a bunch of friends I'd lost track of, and he was one of them. I googled his name, got what I think was a current office address and sent a letter in a batch of about 40 letters. (To 40 different people - I didn't send him 40 letters. That WOULD be crazy.) I never heard anything from him, but the google revealed that we actually lived in the same city. Maybe. His office was here, I didn't try to find a home address. I wasn't surprised he didn't respond - I did not come off well in the story, and in his place, I'm not sure I would have responded to someone like myself. But I kept thinking someday we'd run into each other.

Well, telling that story brought it up in my mind and I googled anew today. He's working in St. Louis (ironic), and he's done quite well and he looks...washed out and drab. Jowly. Seeing that face, I can't escape the fact that I don't know him at all, that he has pretty much been a fictional character in my life. It's like being released from captivity, a captivity that kept me safe. I'm sure he's very happy...no, I'm not sure of that, how can I be? But I hope he's happy, and not sad or drab or washed out.

Not that I was that attractive in them, but I sure am glad that the most recent photos of me online are in flamboyant red wigs. I prefer looking puffy and overmadeup to drab.

I don't advise

....moving via Red Ryder wagon. Oh, sure, they're festive, sturdy, and well-wheeled, but to drag your belongings across three blocks (one the treacherous dog-leg from Larabee to Willow - rich people cars will mow you down) using a children's wagon is a labor-intensive, if quaint, way of getting boxes from point A to point B.

Sadly, it takes lots of trips, and pulling four boxes in a wagon is hard on the arm muscles. (Four is about the limit for a Red Ryder load. Any more and they fall off.)

I'm tired of moving, and I've only barely started. I suppose I feel as if I've been moving since January, when I left my apartment of 3 and a half years. It still feels weird not to go back to Cornelia, although there isn't any there there, as it's been gutted for condos. 3 and 1/2 years is a big commitment for me - it felt like home.

So in January I moved out of there, to house-sit. Then I ended up moving out of the house-sit early (February) to live in a back-room, keeping most of my things in boxes. Then I spent the summer away, with one car load of stuff that I loaded myself, added to over the months, and then re-loaded myself to get back to Chicago. Now, after five weeks out of a suitcase, I am finally moving my boxes into my next living space.

Except it isn't mine. It's another house-sitting situation. Which is great but I'm getting antsy for something that is mine.

Have I mentioned I hate money? I should tell you that although I don't regret being an actor, there are days when I would like to haul off and slap every man, woman, or child who professes to be jealous of my pursuit of an artistic career and then trots off to the house they own, or perhaps drives there in a working vehicle they own, or, really worst yet, buys me dinner because they make more money than I do. I can EAT, people, I just can't make a down payment on a condo right now! Geez!

Regret is a luxury of those who have earned enough money to sit down and rest.

I should start replying, Wow, it's funny you say you wish you'd followed your dream, because I really wish I'd sold out and had a pension plan in place right now! Well, you might not feel artistically fulfilled but your insurance will cover the therapy to talk it through, don't you think?

Good question, Ms. Meisenbach

I made it back to Chicago. Hurrah! It was a long drive (I started at 4 pm on Monday and dropped the car off at the airport at 5 pm the following day) and I still feel tired. Suddenly the summer seems to have been great fun! Of course it was fun, it just had other elements that were not so fun. As the lovely habermas gal commented, why DO some people feel the need to exclude others?

Ironically, I feel that as a communications specialist, habermas gal ought to have a better answer than mine. Mine, however, is that the people I was up against are small people with small destinies, and they throw their weight around because summer stock, and that particular company, is the only place they can. Honestly, I felt like I was in high school. Curiously, some of these people had gone to high school together. Or perhaps that isn't so curious.

I enjoyed performing, and I think we produced watchable productions, but it was no Broadway, despite what the aged fans purported. But a few of our actors have been working there every summer for 10-20 years. They're from the area, they grew up there, and they either don't have the gumption or don't have the talent to go on to better things. They've made that theatre their playground, and when a batch of really talented, new folks come wheeling in, with little interest in how things have "Always" been done, it causes some raised hackles.

The funny thing, I think, is that all the tension and nastiness and caste-building was unnecessary. If you've been working somewhere 20 years, and are clearly in charge, you don't NEED to be nasty - you already run everything! You can afford to be nice! Also, I'd think you'd welcome a change from the "traditions" of a place if you've been stuck doing the same thing for 20 years. I figure the only way you can tell the summers apart is to enjoy the new people that are there, not alienate them. What a waste.

I'm interested to find I've already blocked out a lot of the nastiness in my memory. I'm already nostaglic for the summer. I'm pleased it has finally ended, but I gained a lot of valuable experience.

We had a cabaret performance on the final Saturday, with an hour of solos and duets and some group numbers and then a 30-40 minute recap of the season, a medley, if you will. It was sold out, and full of people who really had seen most of the shows throughout the season. As much as I resented the setup (really??? you need us to rehearse something EVEN NOW at the end of the season?? Even now, after putting up 7 shows you NEED us to rehearse all day for a 1 hour cabaret??? REALLYYY????), in the end I truly enjoyed the performance. We sat around the stage for the medley, and people cheered for their favorite numbers from the season, and while other people sang solos, I had a chance to really look at the audience. From the audience's point of view, here was a group of young, attractive people, singing their hearts out, and we'd been theirs all summer. We'd been dancing and singing and acting up there just to entertain them, show after show.

And suddenly, I realized how glamourous it - we - must look to certain people. We do go on to Broadway and national tours and theatre in the cities, we go on to tv and films on occasion as well. And if that happens, these people, who watched the shows so faithfully, have a little ownership in that success, a little grin to themselves that they could see it back before anyone else could. It was a lovely moment for me to realize that through cleaning the bathrooms and putting up with foolish people and being away from my other life, what I was performing meant something to the audience.

It made me happy. So that's what I'm choosing to remember.

Sooo close

I'm tipsy and almost done. Man, I want to think the best of people, but there are a couple of people here who truly act like bitches! The sad part is how great most of these people are and how a few insecure, sad people have made us feel unwelcome. We performed in a cabaret today and so many people asked afterwards whether we would be coming back next year. I hardly knew how to tell them that a couple of our fellow cast members had made us feel so unwelcome that it would be stupid to subject ourselves to such treatment again!

So, I'm drinking through my alcohol because...well, we're almost done, so I have to use it up, right? Heh.

I really have to fall into bed now. But I have a feeling that when I've finally finished and left here, I might have to do an expose in blog form to work through the shit that has been piled upon me this summer.

Tomorrow is our last day. I'm pleased. I've been looking forward to it. But there are people I'll miss, so it is bittersweet.

G'night for now.

It's a Wig

My hair wouldn't do that of it's own accord. The odd, deer-in-headlights look on my face is because an audience member just flashed me. No, no, just poor freeze technique.

Many thanks to Sarah and Jackie for checking out performances!!

Nearing the end

The last few weeks have been packed with all sorts of events and emotions. Guys and Dolls ended, and we lost all the people who had to go back to school in one big, depressing sweep. There are a good many people left, but it's much quieter and very weird without the rest of "us". I got to move dressing rooms, which has been great, but has made me dwell on the weird position of not belonging that I was both forced into and created this summer. I was in the "principal" dressing room for the rest of the summer, and everyone else in there had been at this theatre before, and I always felt I didn't belong, as a "first-year" and I think the old-timers meant for me to feel that way. It wouldn't be "tadition" if I was made to feel welcome. These girls have created a caste system, and I was of another caste.

In the meantime, time was passing in the other dressing room and a certain camraderie was developed that I wasn't a part of either. I've moved in there now, and it is a great relief because I can feel I belong there, but I'm still not part of the world they created. I probably won't get to be in the last two weeks. I wish I didn't feel it - I wish I was impervious. Instead I feel isolated, and I wonder what mistakes I made to foster that isolation. How much of it is me, and how much is the situation?

So I abandoned the bike and I'm hitching rides instead, and I've been drinking and staying up with folks more. There's a nice camaraderie of the left behind - we have to stick together because we're the only ones left. I'm trying to enjoy the time we have left.

Gigi opens today. I do very little in the show. I have more scene changes than scenes. Really - I'm in four scenes, I change the scenery 11 times. But I feel like this is what everyone else did for me when I was in South Pacific, and I'm enjoying paying my dues a bit. After Cats, I just am happy to be IN the show, not sitting on the sidelines.

All right, I'm off to sweep and mop the theatre....

Echoes of Sleeping Beauty

We open Sleeping Beauty on Friday morning, and as of today I've had three rehearsals. Ha! All the kid's shows get shoved in as time permits, and it hasn't really permitted at all, so we are scrambling to learn everything, which means all night I've been hearing people frantically practicing their lines all around the house. It's funny - in the living room one of the fairies is creaking out her lines in a fake British accent, and upstairs I can hear the bad fairy ranting and raving.

It makes me sigh a little, the fake British accent - not because I'm a snob, no, but because I had one myself, and now I think two in one show might be too much. The other fairy isn't entirely aware how she's producing said accent - she just spits the words out in this voice, which to be fair is funny, and would be classic if she could hold on to the fake accent at all times.

I'm sure the same can be said for mine, but since I do know how I'm making it, I can remove it, which makes me sad. I guess if I'm honest: I thought it sounded funny, but hers sounds odd, and since I have to admit I'm trying the same tactic (a funny fussy voice), there's nothing to convince me my own accent isn't equally inexplicable and spotty.

I'm sucking my teeth at her a bit because she keeps complaining about doing a kid's show, although this is her first, and MY SECOND. Yeah, it's a bummer, because almost all the rehearsal comes during dinner and all your free time disappears. But we've all had to do it, and some of us more than once (and one poor girl more than twice).

Guys and Dolls continues. I clocked it - I spend 16 and a half minutes on stage during a 2 hour 50 minute show. It's restful, and that has advantages - when else do I have time to learn my kid's show lines? Every so often I have a twinge of ego, because it is disheartening to get good parts for three shows in a row and then get nothing for the last three shows. I don't mind, overall, and politically I'm thrilled to fade into the woodwork, but of course underneath there are those niggling doubts: did they decide I wasn't that good?

Case in point: I am barely in Gigi at all, the final show. I think it may be that I do not sing a single note in the show, which I find funny. I love the director and I don't resent being there, and I am happy to watch other people have a chance to shine. The only role I could feasibly have been cast in was the 50 year old grandmother, and since I have already done a series of older women this season, I don't feel I lost out. But there are regrets, and I do wonder on occasion what politics or just plain judgment of my talent there might have been.

On the other hand, I can pretty much drink for the next three weeks, since I don't need to memorize more than a handful of lines.

It's much easier to be here knowing the end is in sight. I have gotten calls to audition for theatres and commercial gigs in the last month or so, and that reminds me I have something to go back to, and in many ways, something better. This is not the apex of my career. Knowing that, perhaps I should get some sleep.

Long Ride Home

Long days. I'm having more fun, in between times where I get really tired of being here and a little depressed at the politics. More on that next time, I'm too fretful about it today, and have talked about it enough in other parts of my life.

A little healthy melancholy creeps across me, as I'm listening to Patty Griffin's Long Ride Home, a beautiful folk song that I sang in snatches to myself for years without realizing it is about a funeral.

The lovely boyfriend comes to visit tomorrow. It is worrisome. I tend to be a very out-of-sight, out-of-mind person (much like a two-year-old, if I can't see it, it doesn't exist), and we've been apart for nearly two months, so the relationship feels very fuzzy right this moment. The last two weeks of phone conversations have felt very distant and odd, and I have great hopes that being physically together will magically fix all of that, though of course "magically" is always a dangerous word if you want to live a life based in reality.

Being away from a partner is tricky, certainly. I can't pretend to know what Hollywood life is really like, but I suspect the mere fact of living away from your partner contributes to most Hollywood breakups. How do actors go on tour? How on earth did sailors go away to sea these last hundred years? How do military spouses do it?

(now I'm listening to Aretha Franklin's "Dr. Feelgood", which disperses any gloom)

It's getting towards the end of my own tour of duty - We're opening our next to last show. I play General Cartwright in Guys and Dolls, which plays for two weeks, and then we do Gigi for two weeks, and then I skedaddle for the Midwest and sanity again.
Guys and Dolls is....well, it's partly fun, mostly idle, and somewhat dreadful. In a three hour show (ANOTHER ONE??!) I think I clock in ten minutes of time onstage. That's it. But then again, I am enjoying all ten minutes - it's very liesurely, and I know what I'm doing with them. I can be freer and less worried about this bit part than something larger. And it's nice to be IN the show again, after Cats. I feel useful again.

We lose all the college people after this show, and a few others as well, which makes me sad. I do bitch about these people, but I like them, and have that sort of soldierly comradeship you find among fellow battlers. It's hard to lose some. A lot of them live in NYC as well, and they will be seeing each other in the coming year, whereas I head elsewhere and lose out a bit. I don't know that I would go to weekly reunions, but there are people I hate to lose track of.

It's getting late -we teched Guys and Dolls more quickly than any other show, but it is much more boring and more poorly performed than any of our other shows. Politics have given the 4 lead roles away to two sheerly bad actors, one fairly good actor poorly cast, and one very fun actor who just can't do the work of all four, no matter how hard he tries. It's a little hard to watch some of the scenes - even the costume people just want to sleep through the runthroughs. Our director is a dancer, and yet the choreography is boring. So actors sleepwalk through the scenes, and dancers meander through the songs, and the whole thing is a waste of a really fun play.

I do have an amazing costume, which I wear for probably a minute thirty seconds onstage (one minute in the opening, and thirty seconds in the end - I promise I am not exaggerating), and then an fairly hideous costume for the other 8 1/2 minutes of my time. The amazing costume includes sunglasses, slinky black dress, a turban, and long black gloves. The hideous costume involves an elastic waistband. I don't mind it, really.

I'll see if I can get photos. You'll see...

Addendum

There are a few things you can't see in the Cinderella photo below.

1) I drew in a unibrow for my character Gladiola, the younger stepsister. It didn't quite meet in the middle but it got closer everytime we did the show.

2) I performed the show with a lisp. "sThinderella!"

3) That's a wig.

Photo test

I keep trying to put photos on here. Thought I'd try again. This should be me in Cinderella, playing a stepsister trying on the shoe. Ironically, the girl playing Cinderella has the same shoe size as I do, so her shoe does actually fit. I have to "Act" as if it does not. It's hard work, these shows!

It turns out that although it is hard to get up early to do the children's shows, they are SO MUCH FUN!

Restoration

Thanks for the comments, concern, emails, and presents contributed to the Save Elsbeth From Despair Campaign. I am happy to report that after Two Entire Days Off with my parents feeding me and being highly entertaining, my body has packed up and refused to cooperate, but my mind is much clearer and more cheerful.

I can appreciate my fellow actors, make small talk, crack jokes, and go back to enjoying myself instead of being Ms. Grumpy Pants. Today I sat in my corner while everyone else put on gobs of makeup and hummed a little tune of thanks that I don't have to be in Cats. Hurrah! I was able to purge a lot of the anger the other night making the list in the last post, so for everyone who has expressed concern, keep in mind that if I can vent my anger and bitterness here, usually I can leave it behind me.

My Mom and Dad came to visit, which was a fantastic aid to soul repair. First, they are the cutest ever, especially after 41 years of marriage and 10 days of a road trip. All sorts of petty arguments to be witnessed there, let me tell you. But they so clearly can't do without each other, that it is sort of sweet. They had great family stories (I've been missing weddings and births galore), they make good companions, and while they don't always agree with everything I say, they always love me. My mother made a birthday cake and brought it across five states in a cooler that had to be re-iced every day.

Also, my mother takes great pride in being s Southerner outside of the South, and often chats away with perfect strangers in a bid, she says, to make sure everyone in the country thinks Southerners are kooky. We had a hit and miss success with this: the tour guide from the Martin Van Buren house was from Georgia, and did all sorts of things to impress fellow compatriots - unlocking the orginal 1797 dutch door, letting my mother take pictures, offering to email photos. However, my mother's friendliness in a shop later led the woman inside to unburden herself. I could tell you all about this shopkeeper's marriage, divorce, recent car wreck, etc.

I won't.

We also went exploring in the beautiful countryside. It is nice to spend time with my parents and remember that I have certain beliefs because I was raised by them. I would happily spend a fortune to buy an antique sleigh bedstead like the ones we saw in Martin Van Buren's house but an expensive Coach bag or jewelry would be a waste of money on me.

Now I just need a good night's sleep and a few very small healthy meals, and I might be a person again, instead of a complete bore.

Oh, and my Dad had a great addition to my list when someone says, hey, you're not in Cats:

"Sorry, I've already been in one kid's show."