Tag Archives: M

Dear SWAL…

25 Oct


“M” happens to have a fantastic job as a sort of expert relationship rejuvenation texting therapist, for a specific brand of products.  It’s a legit gig, for which she gets paid, and is the source of many wonders in conversations we have, day-to-day.

…The fact that this is a “thing” in today’s day and age, is mind-blowing to me. The fact she gets to sit at home in PJ’s and talk about sex, while eating a whole tube of Pringles in one sitting, and get paid for it, seems not quite fair.  And I told her this.  Often. When we first started hanging out.

…Which is when she started posting me actual questions that she fields day-to-day, via text, FB and private IM. 

And that’s when I stopped being covetous of her. 

…Because her “people” are actually much worse than my “people”…and the fact that she has to get them with others of their kind to procreate…as like “her job,” and things…made me feel less envious and hateful toward her.

…If nothing else, it always offers a laugh to my day…and makes me feel less of a personal disaster area than I thought previously.  And because she is a good egg and all, she thought it might be an amusing anecdote to carry around with you from time to time, as well.  Which is how this: the FIRST of a series we will be calling “Dear SWAL,” came to be.

…The questions will be plucked directly from her inbox, and the answers: from my brain.  The final product should be a terrifying look at why you should never ask me relationship advice.  And also (hopefully) spin some of her headache days into a new field of appreciation in idiocy.  No changes will be made to spelling or content.  This is particularly important, as you will soon see.

This one’s for the “Marty” to my “Roz.”

Dearest “Marty”: Here is why I could never do your job…


Question: “I fil lyk m tryin so hard in mi afair thou i no dat he ain’t a talker.”

Answer: ” Lt mi giv 2 u str8: eye donut tink are progrm will hlp u much. we bass r produck on txt skilz and the anglish lingo. if u aint of the haven it, we aint able 2 hlp. sorry 4 realz.”


Question: “I sent my first ‘crossing the bridge’ text to my ex girlfriend and her response was ‘Fuck off’. What does that mean?”

Answer: “She just blew up the bridge. Put the phone down. Attached is your refund code.”


Question: “A man who’s very capable of clipping his own fingernails and toenails but still asks you to do it for him. Is that any indication that he’s into me?”

Answer: “This is only indicative of him having a certain grooming/mothering fetish, or just being a lazy bastard. My advice in both instances: run.”


Question: “Can you tell me why a man would be so wrapped up in hobbies and cats and have 400 cat pics and be too stubborn to take pics of me or want to have any pics of me on his computer or Facebook?”

Answer: “The Greeks called it ‘Zoophilia,’ a sheep calls it ‘the back 40,’ I call it: ‘prob’ly not what you’re looking for.’ Trust me. Move on.”


Question: “I am 16 years old and she is 17 we had a relationship for almost 3 years and she claimed she fell out of love with me or just was not feeling it. She said i was just immature. I want her to fall in love with me again because we had promise rings and everything to spend the rest of our lives together and i loved the thought of that. i\’ve tried other girls but she is the only girl for me. I am meant for her, wha do i do?”

Answer: “Dear ’16’: I remember you. So I’m not gonna tell you all the things everyone else is going to…about how ‘you’re young,’ and ‘things will change,’ and ‘time will pass,’ and ‘you’ll move on,’ and ‘there will be others,’ and ‘you can’t make people love you.’ Instead I’m just gonna state: ‘Yeah. What they said.'”


Question: “why is my account auaoened?”

Answer: “Because gerfuoded.”


Question: “what are the first 3 methods to getting her back into my life”

Answer: “Have you tried asking her yet.”


Question: “Plz help I won\’t something to say to my ex to win her back plzzz with u help me”

Answer: “I need you to put the bottle down, calmly turn around, and walk away from the car. I have her on the other line, she’s locked herself in, and you’re really freaking her out right now…”


Question: “Am a virgin, and we both agreed that i keep the virginity. But recently, he started cheating on me. I confronted him and he denied it. And since then, he has been acting so mean to me. Am so confused do not know what to do, because i still love him”

Answer: “Yes. You keep your virginity. He’s obviously already got several others’ and there’s no reason to let him be a pig about it. Meanwhile, the local chapters of Catholic and Jewish Mothers With Of-Age Sons, would like to field your interest in dating registrations…”


Question: “i hate my ex i think i should kill him….i hate this feeling”

Answer: “I’m afraid I don’t know what you are asking. Please clarify in a ‘question’ format. Or for all ‘general statements,’ please press ‘4’ to re-send text to appropriate mailbox.”


Question: “you mention ’emotional intimacy’. What is that exactly?”

Answer: “Funny, that’s what my date said last night…”


Question: “When a man says to you ‘lets get together soon…’ what does he mean by ‘soon’? days ? weeks ? months ?”

Answer: “On the twelfth. Of never.”


Question: “How forward is too forward for a woman to be?”

Answer: “Are you the only one naked, and is he calling the Police…?”


Question: “When a guy is ignorant I get attracted to him , as soon as he gets attracted to me n show he is interested I lose interest !? why is it so? am I normal?”

Answer: “Sadly, normal. But we have ten or twelve products that can fix that!”


Question: “What can you reply when someone tell you this: ‘I’ll never be happy unless I cheat from time to time’.”

Answer: “Goodbye.”


…That’s all for now, Cuties. Happy texting!


Post On The Move

21 Oct


I’m taking you with me today. Out into the streets and rehearsal and friend meets and pub hang time.

…Its a sunny fall day in the Metropolis. I’m currently sitting in the UW district, drinking hot vanilla bubble tea (minus the bubbles), waiting for “K” and “A” to meet up. They just finished a 5k for Charity. I just finished brushing my teeth and putting a hat over my gross unshowered hair. Clearly, they are better people than me. This has never been disputed.

…Also, they are more hip and adventurous.

…For instance, I would never suggest consuming Bubble Tea on purpose. Usually, when shit gets gelatinous and gooey at the bottom of a fucking glass, you don’t drink whatever’s in there, cuz its obviously gone bad. But “K” and “A” are like, “Fuck that noise, ya’ll! This shit is delicious! I love chewing what I drink!” (They don’t really talk that way, P.S…but in my head, when I “write” them, they do.)

…Ooo! Bonus! “J” and Mr. Cuteness are enroute as well, I hear!


We sit, (they chewing, me drinking), our teas as Mr. Cuteness is passed hand-to-hand. We, all commenting on how big he’s getting, and how red, the red hair has become, now the peach fuzzes have disappeared. He gnaws on me with his sharp new baby teeth, and I keep interrupting the line of conversation to stop and smell him constantly.

…His smell is like nothing else more delicious on earth.

Every time we all get together, it gobsmacks me that for months across this time last year, we were all working on a show together, and he was merely a robust belly bump we all petted and talked to and admired daily. We know this boy more intimately than legit blood family babies. We are his Aunties, and dote and pinch and play and love on him (and Mama), by turn, to ridiculous levels of necessity. Because we cannot help ourselves.

…It’s good to know that kind of pure, total, instinctual love and devotion can exist, in old maidenish, never-want-to-have-children-of-my-own-in-a-million-years, people like me.

…I missed these guys. We gotta figure out our rehearsal schedules to fit in meets between. I only live one block from their theatre, so we should figure something out, I hope. Life gets so busy and complicated, and suddenly it’s two or three months since you’ve seen people that pass your door every day. We need to fix that somehow, I think.


A walk. Too good out there to pass it up. I’m already dressed, (and prob’ly smell), so to hell with it! Grab the phone, cue up Pandora and get out it in. Breathe deep. Snuggle into the fleece, zip-up, launch out, crunch leaves and those strange pokey nut thing seeds that go three layers deep and roll all over the pavement, screwing with the joggers who try to step between them. Read the new poem post at that one house. Then back home to shower and motor to rehearsal for final Act 5 review (in which I do not figure largely, so will be all the more able to observe and report back to the yous.)


Sun has gone way suddenly, and a spit shower starts. I turn around and speed up back towards home. Two fellas building a trellis stop their band saws and “Hullo” me with matchin’ grins. Brothers, very obviously. I nod back, marching and thumb typing on, wiping the screen by turn, as the smell of wet sawdust follows me on the wind’s breeze.

…Raining harder now. Away goes the phone, as I tug my knit hat down further and push on.


Change of rehearsal schedule due to flu-deaths already peppering the cast. We are all in socks and slippers (because the stage floor is being diagrammed for an intricate painting process that we keep fucking up with our shoes.) “M” is in Snookie slippers, marching around being indignant in great swarthes of Shakespearean language, with cartoon feet. My god, I love her so much right now.

…In the lobby, eating cake and BSing on-call, perpetually. Plans have been made for La Palma eats after. And I’m totally ignoring them all in the corner to write this, but they keep wandering over, by turn, to see what I’m doing. Talkin’ shit, you guys. Talkin’ shit. About YOU. Oh the power I wield.

…Off to go play…


Line runs to infinity. We are absolutely puking meter in brilliance right now…changing accents by turn, cuz we can. Midwestern, Bronx, Boston, variety of English, and cartoon voices. If theatre shows had outtake reels, they would be twelve times longer than the legit show. And funnier. And grosser. And sexually explicit. And politically incorrect. Which is why we do this shit to begin with. We are encouraged to do things at our job that other people get sued and fired for, at theirs. We may live off condiments and stale popcorn left over in concessions from last weekend’s show, but we have a good time, damn it!


Pub time with cast-ies, after fittings. We all order different shit and eat off each other’s plates. The Fella (a particular Ninja check-paying master) grabs my dinner and drinks off the list before I even have time to take my card out. We set a gamer/pizza/movie night together with “M” for next Saturday, (post optional add-on rehearsal), and talk shop the rest of the night.

…By 10:30, I am home, contemplating PJ’s and face-washing. Maybe some book reading. Or I’ll just catch up on my subscription posts. Either way, it’s time for me to get outta these pants, and free-bird from m’bra…so, “Goodnight, say I to the yous.”

…Tomorrow is only a couple hours away, and it’s gonna take all I got, to pretend it ain’t.

Gawd, how I hate Mondays…


The Butt Bio

14 Oct


If I loved you less, I would pretend I didn’t have time to write tonight’s blog. Truth be told: I’m just not feelin’ it.

…I’m a pretty decent actor, and a hell of a liar (some would say, its the same thing), so I would totally pull it off right now, if I said, “Yeah…I can’t write my blog tonight, cuz I’m too busy writing multiple program bios for my anatomy pieces. I’d do one for my face, but no one would give a shit…they won’t be looking there anyway.”


Instead, I’m going to be only slightly more responsible by not lying. And writing a super short post.

Tonight was first run of the show, top-to-bottom, even with like fifteen days or whatever till Opening. Get to work some stuff tomorrow, which is awesome, (cuz working is the good part.)

…Broke in the new Crockpot today. Four hours on a roast and veggies, served directly after a soaking walk in the rain down on the waterfront.

…Which brings up (again)…WHY make a hooded coat that isn’t waterproof, and forget to tell people that when they buy it. One ASSUMES that “hood” = “a purpose for a hood.” It’s just this idea that MOST people have.

…Yesterday, “M” and I spent a part of the day shopping for girl clothes with no luck at all. But we didn’t care, because we were too busy eating fat amounts of cheese and salami, while guzzling red wine and watching tag-team stand up from the Nexflix stream, doing in-depth “Iliad” Collegiate paper theory Q &A sessions, and watching a “LOTR” documentary on historical sourcing, so I have something to focus on during the next movie, when the plot lines get so stretched out that my eyeballs start rolling back into their sockets, and I pass out. (Mercifully.)

We chicks know how to mix it up, friends.

…Right now, I’m bundled on the couch, it’s raining outside, my contacts are all blurry from too many hours on the clock, and “How I Met You Mother,” is playing on the T.V..

I’m tired, and don’t want to face tomorrow.

I’m wondering if now is a good time to mention this one new thing.

I’m deciding it isn’t.

I would like to hope this will be a productive week…less fires in the workplace, more scenes worked and nailed in rehearsal, general confidence building all-round, and less frequency in freaking out about things that I freak out about for a variety of reasons…each and every day.

It could totally happen.


Default Underwear & A Day Off

13 Oct


Here is a sweeping blanket statement of truth: I am not a procrastinator, unless it scares me, or has something to do with laundry.

I only go to Doctor offices when I feel like I am actually dieing. And I only do laundry once I’m down to nothing but hair dying towels and my default underwear.

…I’m just gonna let that  last sentence sit there for a bit, wide open, so you can have plenty of time to fill in the pause with every one-liner that I know you want to slap in there.  Because I care about you, is why I give you these opportunities of joy.  Remember that later, people…at Christmas and on my Birthday (for instance.)


…So the deal is: for the past…I dunno…seven or eight years, I haven’t lived in an apartment with its own washer and dryer.  Even though EVERY TIME I moved out of one place that didn’t provide those things, I swore up, down, and sideways…with booming voice and grand hand gestures, that I would: “…NEVER LIVE IN ANOTHER APARTMENT WITHOUT A DISHWASHER OR LAUNDRY CLOSET OF ITS OWN, SO HELP ME GOD!”

…And about a week later I’d be signing a lease without one or the other…except for my current place, where I’ve lived for five years now, which provides neither

Basically I was wooed by facial esthetics, like a giant whore, and didn’t give a shit about what was on the “inside.”  And this is what materialistic sunsabitches get, my friends…they get beauty with limited actual “functionality.”

…Anyway, this is all to show that the procrastination in the “laundry” instance, is not entirely my fault.  Not having my own facility makes it more difficult, because I keep odd hours with two jobs and don’t actually feel like standing in the toxic orange, badly lit, storefront laundrymat at 2 A.M. with some creepy toothless dude sitting one chair over from me, waiting til I’m done pairing up all my socks, before he rapes and kills me,  then stuffs my body into the turbo spinner where people clean all their sleeping bags and comforters.

…So I opt out of that.

…But then, I can’t exactly use the basement laundry room connected to our building either, cuz there are apartments just next door and we have cleaning curfew rules. And only three washers for the entire complex to share. Also, I never have quarters. And (I find) in a world where people depend on mass amounts of them for things like parking, and video games at pizza restaurants, and laundry…that people who HAVE all the quarters never want to SHARE them with you, and it becomes like a scavenger hunt, just to get enough out of the gas station, the grocery store, and the mini mart on the way home…to do one and a half fucking loads. And when I finally actually get around to doing laundry, I’m lookin’ at five loads minimum. How the hell does that even help me at all?

…So that’s out.

…Which leaves my Mom’s house.

….Yes. At 32 years of age, I am still doing laundry at my Mother’s.

I spend half an hour separating all my colors out across my entire front hallway, then pack them up in several giant IKEA bags, grab the soap and a book, and motor over to Ma’s, where I will spend (I kid you not) my ENTIRE day, just doing laundry. (And scavenging her food cupboards, like a High School babysitter.)

….Which means that I have to pick a total day off (from work AND theatre) in order to accomplish all this. And those days come roughly once per month, on average. And when they do, the last thing I wanna do is my fucking LAUNDRY.

…The long-story anecdote of which, I’ll now end by stating: Today is a day off. Entirely.

And I am not doing laundry.

…I’m going to play with “M” and “K.L.,” instead.

…So my default, uncomfortable-but-still-technically-functional-once-upon-a-time-bad-idea-buy-mostly-on-a-joke underwear are just gonna have to deal with it.

The end.


Shh…I’m Writing This From Rehearsal

8 Oct


The swords are crossed on stage and I’m huddled in the corner, picking this out at speed.  I should be running lines, but those last fucking four just WILL NOT STICK, and I’ve been chanting them nonstop for like an hour.  It’s stupid.  Also, I have to start out with my laughing hysterics scene today, from outta nowhere.  Do you even know how hard it is to BE in laughing hysterics from out of nowhere and even more so when the Production Manager is in her seat over there, watching us for the first time?  A lot “hard” is the answer.  Also, I feel like a giant idiot when I do it, cuz I’m like half way through it before people can even understand what in the hell I’m talking about and can finally start laughing with me.

…People, few things in life are more awkward than scenes like that with a house full of eyes watching you, as you pray to all that is Holy, that it WILL be funny and work.  Cuz if NOT…wow.

I am drinking hot passion fruit tea, which isn’t at all what I’m feeling, but is keeping me warm, so it’s doing a job.

…Why is it always cold in the theatre?  Stuffed with humans and lights et al, and it’s still fucking freezing in here.  That is, if it isn’t melting you with excessive heat.  There is no happy medium. 


Later: Cocked it up. Fuuuuuuck.  Well, there was that.  Brain is just not “having” it today.  Monday’s being what they are, I don’t know why I even expected it.  Sometimes it’s just best to pick up the script, say “fuck it” and just go with the book…don’t try to save it, there IS no saving it.  And it’s okay.  We have only just blocked it, and shit happens.


Later Even Still: I am off the stage for the duration.  Plenty of time to lick my wounds through the next scene and entire act, finish this, run more lines and review entrances and exits.  Act four will be my bitch.  My bitch, I tell you!!! 

…Running things out of order is like filming scenes out of continuity….’specially when it’s the weakest acts in lines and so new to my brain parts.  Am looking forward to finishing our first runs, and getting back to the digging and working of French scenes.  That’s the speed I need to be at right now…just one chunk at a time, and working it till I kill it, before moving onto the next.  I feel no sense of accomplishment or gain any ground on early runs when everything is still a hodge-podge…however necessary they may be.

…Also, I owe “M” like four glasses of wine now, ‘tween all these past post-rehearsal days of pub tabs.  And she’s making me go out and get “girl clothes” for the Opening, so that she can wear her “girl clothes,” and feel like she hasn’t over-dressed.  And also, just to torture me.  I already explained The BFF’s and my last expedition in this realm, but she not only refused to feel sorry for me, she said it doesn’t get me off the hook at all in any way, and that I have to do this thing, it is just the rules.  Because she “said” so. 

…It’s kinda hard to fight that.

…Mostly cuz it isn’t a “cause,” to believe in or not.  It’s just “fact.”

…That dame is sly.  I’ll need to keep an eye on her.

Tired.  Going to bed now. 

…For reasons I will never understand, none of my scenes got picked to “work” tomorrow, so I’m no longer called.  Prob’ly cuz the Director pities me.  And she knows I’ll spend all that time working on lines and running them until my brain bleeds.  Which is no doubt her entire intent.  Director’s are crafty creatures.  It’s like they know you will fit your own punishment far worse than anything they could dig up themselves. 

…Well played, Madam.  Well played.


Epic Talk Times

7 Oct


One of the greatest parts of making a new close friend is catching up on the intimate details of life, I think.  The things you don’t share with just everyone.  The “naked” stuff, with all the real uglinesses that say, “This is the ‘real’ me, for better or worse, and I’m totally trusting right now that you will be honorable with the knowledge I am about to impart on you.”

I am not a very trusting person, so friendships like this are few and far between.

…But “M” has graduated to this status on more than one occasion, and it is nice to have those people to check in with in essential life, “come to Jesus” moments, to say, “Am I totally wacked here, or do you see this thing too?”

…”M” is all over that shit.  And it’s comforting to have a person, live before me, to be like, “Listen up, things are happening right now that frankly scare the shit out of me, and what do you think about it?”  Also, “You know the history and the personal quirks and where I’m coming from, so am I totally outta line here, or is this normal shit that will take care of itself?”

…Sometimes I’m just terrible with “perspective,” and need a dude-chick without overt emotion to say, “yes, you are totally outta control,” or “no, you are doing exactly what you should.”  I’m fiercely independent, all, but when it comes to certain aspects of life, I become more backward than a teenage boy.  And that is the truth.

…But what is another truth is that “friends” were put on this earth, to save you.  From others AND yourself, in equal measure.  If you are smart, you will listen to their counsel, because they are aware of more  things than you think, just by watching and listening, when you don’t.  They are the true holders of the “truth,’ will (hopefully) call you on your own bullshit, and recommend you in high favor when the time is ripe.  Because it is what friends do.

Also, they will build even further trust by being a comfort and lending a laugh and insisting that you aren’t NEARLY as fucked up as you have every right to be, and ANYONE would be lucky to be stuck with all your weird quirks for life.

…It’s a special level of truth and lying to you…which isn’t really lying, because they really believe it (for some odd reason), which makes them totally endearing humans, when (by and large) you could do very easily without the entire race, if given the option right now.

What I’m saying is: I had another hugely helpful talk, with a person in the know about all the ism’s that make up a “me.” And I feel a lot better now.  And that’s a good thing.  And I’m lucky.

…That’s all.


How Things Are From Here

6 Oct


I am counter-acting last night’s chick-fest with a shit ton of James Bond hotness. It’s all about finding totally realistic balance in life, between men who will ride up on a white horse and pine for you, and men who beat the shit out of people while wearing Armani.  This is all I want.  And frankly, I don’t understand why it’s so difficult for the guy upstairs to get it right.

…And speaking of Bond.  How about a hand for my girl, Adele’s, epic leap into all-time cult status for her newest track to hit the “Oops, it leaked” viral rage.  Love it, babe.  Keep ’em coming.

Since last night actually ended mid this morning, spent the better part of the day working myself up to the point where I would be inspired enough to take a shower and get dressed. This happened eventually, around four…after making “breakfast” and finishing my book. Then a walk n’ talk with a bud, and now home to Bond.

…Oh Bond. There is something about men of extremes. Really does it for this dame, I gotta say. Cuz there’s a time and place for the roguish pretty-boy Willoughby, the right moment for the deeply devoted Brandon, and plenty of space for the sexy “I will fuck you up and look hot while doing it” Bond. Manly men. It’s all we want. Am I right?

…This would be the opposite to “M’s” current obsession of grilled-out rappers, who spend all their time pointing at the camera and tossing their dreadlocks like really disturbing shampoo ads. I only know this, as rounding the corner from 3:00 to 3:30, this is what she was playing on her ipad while zumbaing, to a tag-mix with JLo’s latest album. I giggled a lot in between eating chips. (And anything else that wasn’t glued to the coffee table.) Fun was had. It’s how we roll.

…It makes me miss The BFF…who is alive and well and currently residing on the books of Central Casting. And though I have rehearsals to keep me busy, and buddies to keep me company, you can’t replace a person who is “your person.” The Fella and I both know this to be true. It’s hard when other-halfs move two fucking states away…and you can’t just roll back and forth to one another’s houses anymore, for a talk, or do the weekly dinner makings, or go on ‘ventures. You realize how much a PART of your daily life they had become, and how important that family bond is…even though it’s stretching from casting agent offices right now, to me in sweats, tapping away at my blog per usual.

…It’s weird not to smell garlic cooking on the stove simultaneously…or corks popping. It’s weird to have a Saturday and not text almost first thing in the morning: “Dude, whatchu doin’ today?” And weird to not have our usual play-by-play conversations, over a walk, end-of-the-day.

I’m really proud of her to have made such a huge jump to such a different place. And I know she will make of it the best that can be made, cuz the woman doesn’t waste ANYTHING…least of all time, talent, or resources. She’s gonna be okay. And so am I, (in the current new position of private matters I’ve found myself in, since her leaving. ) It’s just…I wish there was a bridge that could be built to fill the gap, a time blip that could be established…so that no matter where on earth your people happen to live, at the end of the day, all it would take is a button pressing to zap you both into the same kitchen (whoever’s that is) and get back to the way things are supposed to be, when catching up takes place.


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