I ♥ Stephen Colbert

And yes, that is a picture of Hugh Laurie on the wall. Sigh.

That is all.

It's that time again, kids

That's right it's pride week. And the Big Gay Pride Parade in Chicago is this Sunday. And I'm totally going to be there, like the hag that I am, shilling out beads for Hats! and babysitting a costume that is travelling down the parade route. (And hopefully staying on Ms. Manchester.) I'll post pics because Bil's totally going to have to bring his camera. That's right, Bil's going to be walking the route too, sneaky breeder.
Honestly, though, I think this may be one of the funniest promotions I've seen in a while. And Melissa's only in the show for another week before the new star comes in...drum roll please.....

Betsy Randle.

"Who?" you might ask. "Why, this woman, fair reader," I might answer. Yep, that's right; the mom from "Boy Meets World." She seems nice enough, but we shall see.....

This should be one hell of weekend... I'll leave you with an image of ChicagoPride past:

Something about those socks.....
That is all.

shit

It's nearly 5 am. i started writing a post for the other blog, Tip Your Waiter and haven't finished it yet. i'll work on it in the morning.... errr.. afternoon as the case may be. i may repost here, but just as a sample, it's about why i am bothered by the following paragraph:

McCartney challenged the Class of 2007 to return to their 10year high school reunion without one divorce among them. He told the young men to fight for their wives and lay down their lives if necessary. He told women to "submit" to their husbands. "It's the only way it works," he said.

And here's an awesome picture of a pregnant unicorn (thanks, Google!).



Talk amongst yourselves.

the sky is light and i'm having trouble hitting hte "shift" key. i'm going to bed.

That is all.

Missing the Ocean

I guess it's seasonal, but once it gets nice and warm out and the sky is sunny and blue again, I want to go to the beach. Now, I know there's a perfectly good beach 2 miles away.... I could walk there, for Christ's sake. But Lake Michigan is a LAKE... and it smells wrong. And this bothers me. It's not quite right. I miss the ocean, the smell and taste of wet salt in the air, the sand beaten to fine sugar by the endless cycle of waves. I miss kelp for fuck's sake!

I think really, that--despite this being my second day off in a row(!)--I need an honest-to-gawd vacation. Something exotic and different... and oceany. Hawaii, Guam, Australia, New Zealand. I want to say, "Fuck Hats! I'm outta here!" And I want to have the financial wherewithall to do just that.



We are going to California for Tom and Diane's wedding at the end of the month but... we're going to rush into town, Bil will rush around with groomsman stuff, I will grab an afternoon to see my folks, we'll go to the wedding, we'll party and drink while there, we'll get up the next morning and drive all the way to Sacramento to visit his grandparents and sister, we'll be there for like 2 days, and then we're back in Chicago. Not exactly the most relaxing trip ever. And it's not like I don't want to see everyone or anything, but I would absolutely love to just take a trip to somewhere new. I want to have time to explore, to hike and swim and be outside and watch sunsets (and sunrises when I happen to still be awake) and enjoy local color and experience SOMETHING NEW... Gah.

I want to go explore Italy, and Greece, and Japan, and Thailand, and ALASKA! ....sigh..... I love Chicago, please don't get me wrong, but I want to get out and see the world some, too.

I know what's really going on here: I have lived in the same city for almost 2 years. I have lived in the same apartment for almost 1 of those years. The last time I lived in one place for so long was when I lived --ok, scratch that... I can't remember the last time I lived continuously in one domicile for this long (11 months!).

Shall we examine my living habits a bit? Prior to here: Albany Park, Chicago-10 months; transitional period (New York to Boston to Chicago bounce)-2 weeks; Loch Sheldrake, New York-almost 2 months; Somerville, Massachusetts-10 months; Whitefield, New Hampshire-3 months; Homeless cross-country trek-1 week; house on Spruce Street, Riverside, California-10 months; studio apartment on Spruce Street, Riverside, California-9 months; crappy apartment in Oak Park Apartment complex with a dodgy lodger who shall not be named (AKA "Asshole", for these and other purposes) and meth lab neighbors, Riverside, California-9 months; sketchy room in school librarian's cat-filled abode, Santa Rose, California-3 months; Bannockburn apartment (with no door on my bedroom), Riverside, California-9 months; parents' house for summer after freshman year of college-3 months; Aberdeen and Inverness Dormitories, Riverside, California-9 months; parents' house (sometimes just Mom's house)-14 years; parents' old house, Woodland Hills, California-4 years.

Okay, so the last time I lived in one place for longer than 11 months was 8 years ago, before I went to college. Jesus. No wonder my feet are getting itchy with anticipation of a summertime move. Sheesh.

The thing is that I like where I live; I like the neighbors, the area, the location, the place itself and the price. I hope that the rent doesn't skyrocket next month when the lease is up, because I really don't want to move... I just want a vacation. Somewhere with an ocean. Mmmmm....



That is all.

A for Effort

I got out of the shower and went to get dressed the other day. It was there, in front of my closet that I ran into a problem. I knew it was coming, I knew it was happening, I've been sticking my head in the sand for a while, pretending that it's all okay. But there it was, right there in the mirror, staring back at me.

My bras don't fit me anymore. I thought about stuffing some tissues into the giant cavern of space between bra and boob. I returned to the bathroom, with that single-minded purpose. I gathered my wits together, sighed, and grabbed for the extra soft 3-ply with lotion...and realized I had an empty box. Damn. I thought about the old blonde joke with the Kleenex® boxes and her bra, and remembered that for the last decade, I have mostly dyed my once blonde hair anything else.

I thought, "Maybe no one will notice if I put a shirt on over the sadly empty bra." I put on a t-shirt. It was a little tight and smashed down the empty bra cup, making it look like I had deflated and warped boobs. This was definitely not going to work. Damn. I thought some more and decided I'd give the bra the day off. But all the shirts I had clean and available at the time were were thin, light-colored and therefore, um, revealing. Not good. I dug through the very back of the shelf and found a black cami with built-in mono-boob shelf bra. Perfect!

I decided to draw attention away from my floundering breasts, so I selected a skirt, and went back yet again to the bathroom. I shaved my legs faster than the speed of light, liberally applied nice, eucalyptus-scented lotion, threw the skirt on and started digging for skirt-appropriate shoes. I found my old-standby kitten heels and was ready to go.

I drove to work and had to pay $10 for Valet parking. I justified this unnecessary expense as "necessary evil to ward off boob thieves in the night," the valet just looked at me as though I was crazy and small-chested. Oh well.

I walked into work 5 minutes late (which no one noticed), and as each member of the cast or crew arrived, they asked what the special occasion was. I wanted to say, "Oh, you know, I can't seem to fit into my B-cup from Victoria's Secret anymore because MY BOOBS ARE TOO FUCKING SMALL so I dolled myself up all nice so maybe you wouldn't notice!" but what I really said was, "Oh, you know, I was stuck in the apartment all day, cleaning up and I just was tired of feeling all gross."

One lady in the cast said to me, "You have such a nice little waist." I thought, "Yes, and little boobs too, and you know why? Because I've lost all my body fat by chasing after you backstage because your 'senior moments' keep you from remembering what you're supposed to wear when!" I smiled nonchalantly, "Oh, you know, I used to do a lot of sit-ups when Bil was training for the marathon." LIES!

At 5 minutes to places, I put my blacks on, just another backstage ninja whose primary responsibility is to remain invisible, boobs and all.

* * *

Monday, I had the day off. I decided that I needed to take care of the impending bra/boob debacle. Bil was home, so I dragged him off to Kohl's with me, ostensibly so that he could look at work clothes, but mostly for moral support.

I dove into the intimates department with gusto, determined to find the friendliest bra around. And things were on sale, which made me excited. I decided to just try a couple of non-Victoria's Secret B-cups on, just in case Victoria's Secret is wrong about their sizing.

Sadly, they are not.

I decided that I would check out the new "nearly B" size, in hopes that I hadn't lost all that much of the girls.

No such luck.

After over an hour and 25 different bras, I finally found one that worked. An A-cup. I took advantage of the sale, figured that this is how it's gonna be for a while, and bought three for the price of two. Sigh.

I remember the days when I had a C+. God, that was beautiful.

Bil buys me a milkshake later that night, in hopes that it'll go straight to my boobs. Whilst enjoying my fatty chocolatey treat, I think of Nora Mae. She's an actor I had the pleasure of working with early on in the process of Hats!. She was a late arrival, in from New York, with a giant personality and 60 nodes of breast cancer, back for a second round in one breast. She took a week off to fly back to New York to have a mastectomy on one side. But she was back onstage and performing, one week later, drains and tape partially filling out what used to be fat and tissue and mammary glands and cancer. I wanted to cry at the sight of it. She said it was a selfish maneuver, that she felt better when she was onstage and performing, that it helped her psyche. She told everyone she met in the green room, the ladies room, all over the theatre to go out ASAP and have a mammogram. She started calling herself the "One Tit Wonder" and we joyfully ripped the stuffing out of a pillow to add some padding to the right side, all the while giggling like children with a secret.

She went back to New York a couple of weeks later, at the end of her contract. I haven't heard anything from her since. I hope she's well. I hope she doesn't give in. She's lost far more than I.

That is all.

For Kimberly....

I promise I have got a new post in the works STOP
Do not hate me STOP
Updates to follow STOP
Was working on two shows and as a result have only had two days off all month STOP
Please do not break my knee caps please STOP
THAT IS ALL STOP