Tag Archives: birthdays

Dear Kid I Used To Know

27 Apr


Dear Kid I Used To Know,

If life is like one giant road trip, with a series of sightseeing tours along the way, you are seeing what 34 years and 364 days looks like, talking back at you, right now.

…And I need you to listen to me.

Tomorrow is a big day for you. It was supposed to be this giant arrival on a certain shore of new world launching and possibility. But from where I sit now, in the drivers seat, looking back at you through the rearview mirror, I gotta be real, and tell you: “I know you planned far ahead and worked really hard to prepare for every contingency, but we aren’t gonna make that boat, kid.”

…We’re still miles and miles behind on an interstate in the middle of two towns called  “Somewhere” and “Somewhere Else.” But tomorrow when you wake up all excited in the back seat and ask, “Are we ‘There’ yet?!?!” I’m gonna have to say “no.” And you are really gonna be pissed about it.

…But that’s why I’m writing you this letter.

I need you to hear me out.

Back when you were…well, you.…when you picked this specific destination and this specific age, it was decades before GPS and traffic bing alerts on Smartphones. Back then it was just you, a paper map, and a fist full of highlighters, attacking it with gusto and specifying the route you wanted to take to get to this big destination.

..Like everything else in life…like the homework you always did immediately to get it out of the way like the overly long essays you wrote, like the month-long projects you did in a day…like all that prep and plotting would fill every contingency.

But then, you were just a damn kid.

…You didn’t even know how to drive, let alone realize the effects of pissing down rain on the roadways, or flat tires, rocks smashing your windshield, or rush hour. You had no way of knowing, with just your paper map, the fierce amount of road work, and detours taking you five miles out of your way, that would come up over and over and over again…not to mention accidents, (yours and other people’s) which would affect heavily your mileage per day average …until year after year, little by little, these life hazards and biways had inadvertently brought you to today: miles and miles still out from your x-marked spot, circled and highlighted all to hell, like it was the 4th of July on parchment.

…Well, kid…what I can tell from here, right now in this drivers seat, to you in the rearview reflection behind me, is that shit happens. Life doesn’t always pan out how you want it to, even if you preplan the hell out of it.

(…And had you learned THAT sooner, we BOTH would have had an easier time of it…)

…But I don’t wanna beat up on you about it…I can’t charge you for the landslide (or twelve) we hit on the way. It isn’t your fault. And it’s only partially mine.

I can take some of the blame, but I will not take all of it. I am only human, and I made some wrong turns and bad detours, but we all do. And this is me, telling you: Kid I Used To Know, I am tired of feeling like a failure because every green light wasn’t with us, and every day wasn’t sunny and clear with nothing but miles of open road ahead.

…Life didn’t turn out that way.

…But what at six years old and sixteen looks like some kind of end-all, be-all place forever away enough to have reached and figured all of life out (aka: age 35), looks a whole hell of a lot different in viewpoint when you look at it from 34 and 364 days.

…I don’t wanna scare the hell out of you, but the amount of shit that is gonna hit the fan for you, ‘tween then and now, is pretty significant and life-altering. But what you can take some solace in, is that you will have made it this far, and the motor’s still running…so we have that working for us.

…We may not have reached this sailing, but the trip isn’t over yet. I’m not done fighting to get there, and it isn’t the only boat, nor is a boat the only way to get where you and I wanna be. So let’s be a team in this thing, grant me some slack tomorrow…it’ll be hard enough to face…I need you on my team.


…Now get back to your book, we’ve got a lot of road to cover, and it’s a clear, sunny day.

I’ll tell you when we get there.

…Til then, enjoy the read. You always did.


On The Piss…Then Off

1 May


I shall survive! This MONSTER bout of general grossness from seemingly all walks of my life, up to (and including) my Birthday, is almost over.

…And now that I am finally coming out of this two week cycle of woe…like passing a really shitty kidney stone from hell…I can report that the world is not ending after all…while showered and shaved, dyed painted and plucked…sitting in some sunshine. 

…Sure, I’ve gained weight back…which is to be expected when you spend three days and nights on-end eating everything you can get your hands on, and getting pissed on every kind of fermented substance known to man.  But it’s over and done…I survived the bitch, and it’s time to collect myself, and hit the waves of “better things” now.

It all began on Saturday night.  This was when I closed the latest show with a particularly terrible performance, possibly due to the collective 4 hours of sleep I’d had in the past 24 hours leading up to it.  Or possibly not.  Maybe I just blew it full-turkey-out-the-ass all on my own.  I dunno.  But I’m never one to just roll over and let those kind of things just run off my back, whether it’s my actual fault or not.  This only put more fuel behind the next 12 or so hours of supreme hormonal meltdown, leading into my 34th birthday on Monday.

…It basically ended in a Nora Ephron comedic sketch of me blubbering to myself in between hot flashes, whilst refusing anything to do with celebrations by anyone with good intentions, and instead closeting myself away in pajamas, to watch nonstop film alone, on loop, and consider the travesties of my youth, with a bottle (or several) of booze…and how I’ve accomplished nothing I set out to, or will, and I might as well eat this pizza and get even fatter, cuz who cares?

I like to call it “Bridget Jonesing.”

…Add to that the fact I’m pretty sure I was (and am) peri-menopausing on top of it.

…Like an idiot, I did research online. This is ruinous for people like me, with anxiety issues that won’t sleep for weeks at a time cuz a zit on my elbow might actually be a cancerous growth I don’t know about yet, but am too scared to really check out.

…So I fester.

…Only lately, it’s been: “fester and sweat.”

…Now, don’t get me wrong, I have always been a clammy sweater. Its in the Latino DNA. Only for the past…oh…year or so, I’ve had these random night-sweats-from-hell that I try to pretend aren’t really there. Except when they wake me at 3 am because I have to strip every fucking thing I’m wearing due to the fact they are doused and soaking wet with sweat. It’s been really special…lemme tell you…

…And as my BD got closer, and I brought it up to Ma, she was all, “Well, yeah…I mean, me and two generations back all had hysterectomies by your age…so who KNOWS when menopause hits this side of the family?”


…And she said, “Well…maybe peri…”


…And she said, “Reasons.”

…So, needless to say, after a really shitty performance, in my really not best show, with streaks of white waiting to be dyed out of my temples, a bitchingly horrid period, and (apparently) peri-menopausal sweats, I decided to be terribly terribly depressed on the day of my birth.

I’m usually anxiety bound…so this was a new thing. It sucks too. Especially the involuntary bursting into tears bit. You know…the, “I should take a shower, but what’s the point, I’m fat anyway…my back hurts like I’ve been punched in the kidneys…I think I’ve bled so much I may have turned anemic and SUNOFABITCH it’s HOT IN HERE!”

…That kind of thing.

…Wrapped up in: ” All my LIFE I wanted to be EQUITY and pro, doing only theatre by age 35, and now its only one year away and I’ll never make it…or if I do, I’d only work like once every five years…there aren’t enough houses here to support it anymore…and I’m a coward…totally unlike The BFF who just opened her first solo company in freakin’ New Orleans last week…you know…cuz she SAID so…and also, no matter WHAT I do, these last ten pounds just won’t go away. It’s like my body is STARVING for the fat…to keep it warm and sweaty (apparently)…also my mood swings could basically be categorized as step-one bipolar disorder…if that’s even a thing…and I’m in my mid-thirties…and STILL struggling to pay bills and live life and figure out my head…and sometimes am maybe a little lonely…but never enough to deal with the shit that people have to deal with when they come in twos…”

…And also: “CHOCOLATE!”

…And, “Maybe I need some sex IMMEDIATELY, or at least more often…or maybe not ever again. But definitely salt. Like NOW!”

…And, “How DARE my mother call me menopausal! Peri or otherwise!!!’

{gentle sob}

…It’s been an interesting few weeks, to say the least. And by “interesting” I mean: “viciously feminine and horrifying.” And though the actual REAL heat outside is not helping my body’s imaginary already over-indulgence, the sunlight does. So I’m trying my best to use it as a guide…to get out in it and sweat more (on purpose) and hydrate like a sonofabitch…and try, try, try to find the humor hiding in all my personal little woes. It’s there. They are the original basis of Rom-Coms (minus the love story bit)…which is totally fine with me…cuz I obviously have enough shit to deal with right now without adding secondary subplots into the mess.

…And whatever all THAT means/achieves in outting crap for some better self mental-help: so be it. Consider it writ. You can now commence to make fun of me. Meanwhile…I’m packing up and going for a walk. Like a person.

Hurrah for me.


The Final Hurrah!

6 Apr


I have no idea why I’m awake already on a Saturday, but I might as well put it to good use, and hope for a nap, later.

…All that matters right now, is that I’m 14.5 pounds down, as of this morning, with 6 days left to Opening Night, and the completion of my original February 12th weight goal.

6 days.

Can I do it?

…Moving myself slowly and healthily from “Big Daddy” toward “Oliver Twist (after more)” on the scale, has not been easy.  But lets be real: it never is.  All I know is that I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer and give up, but I’ve been working on this last 4 pounds of loss three times longer than all the rest, and don’t see how it is even mathematically possible to reach the final number at this point in this many days, short of a major intestinal upset. 

…Granted, this last week was all but a wash due to monthly hormones, which I have zero control over…but to launch into the hell that is Tech Week, and expect weight loss, is straight up insane.  All that stress?  The late, long hours? Less time distance between work and call? No time to cook things and barely time to drive through a place and wait for a greasy bag of stuff to be handed to you?  Eating in pockets of break times beyond 10 pm, of necessity? 

I mean, come on.

Lets be real.

…But I am so fucking close.

…I’m almost there, you guys!

…20 pounds in 2 months.

…So close I can taste it.

Make it by deadline, or not, I’ll still keep pushing toward the goal.  But then, the new final goal on top of it, will feel (and be) further away…harder to push toward…without that buzzing high of having reached what I wanted to reach, the first time.

I tell myself, it is all for a good cause.  Health, and BMI charts, and all of  that has something to do with it, sure.  But honestly, this is mostly about my own sense of self. And an oncoming birthday. And security in my instrument to be able to tell the kind of stories I want to tell with it.

…My rules, my time.

…It’s about realizing and saying, “I don’t want this anymore, I don’t like it,” then going about changing things from that day on, at your own bidding. 

…It’s about taking control and killing the feeling of restless “stuck.”

…It’s about denying yourself the easy comforts in lieu of the well-earned ones, which somehow mean twice as much, feel more extravagant, and bring a whole new level of appreciation.

It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t readily dive into a 7-course Italian spread right now, if you offered it to me.

…It means, I simply don’t have room to wolf it all down anymore, so have to content myself with the supreme pleasure of a thousand beautiful smells, (which cost nothing), and one helping…chosen painstakingly, specific in its lust for every flavor, planned out in expectation, for a perfect…single..plate…of “omygod-yum.”


Now I’m hungry.

Dammit.  Why do I do these things to me?


Harriet, Marty & Roz “Do” Canada

7 Feb


So this is my “Friday.”

…Tomorrow, in the early morning times, I’m driving Harriet south to pick up Marty (and her Sailor Moon pillow and her Snooki slippers), and then we are OFF! Northbound for the border to the end of our lands…where Canadia lives.

…Oh, Canadia.

Canadia and your cheap booze, and UK book stock, and tiny port towns where you film all our American TV shows…we love you so.

…We love how you’re just there, at the top, like that.

…We love your funny money, and how you stamp maple leaves on everything…even McDonalds salt packets.

…We love how you have a Queen and are related to those people on the other side of the water, which is the best place in the world.

…We love how you talk funny and are charming about it, not “white-trashy.”

…We love how this is your idea of crime:


Together, we girls are gonna explore your world for two days, in celebration of Marty’s Birthday! (As 99% funded by her brilliantly generous parents and siblings.) I dunno why I getta tag along for free, but dammit if I ain’t gonna grab that opportunity and jump on board while it whooshes by!!! To celebrate a Marty SHOULD take an out-of-country experience! And it’ll give a neat little ending to Karen and Martha’s finally getting to take their vacation together…after all.

…It’ll also be the last time we’ll get to see each other in a good chunk of time for a while after that. On account of being in two shows in two different counties, with another one in between, and both starting rehearsals the same week. Course we’ll still find a way to annoy our neighbors with loud wino nights of glory whenever we can manage it…lets not be ridiculous…this is anything but “the end.”

…But it is “the end” for our four-show, back-to-back, run of joy together. It was a helluva ride…we even eventually got to speak lines to one another and everything!

And what lines.

…Can’t wait for our ‘venture.

Hey Marty…is it tomorrow yet????


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