Ask Rosie Part 1

This is the first installment of Ask Rosie, where several of you have posed questions for me to answer.
Here we go:

The first two come from Debbie:
1- What is your greatest achievement so far?
2- And do you think Marilyn committed suicide or was murdered?

1- This is probably one of the hardest to answer because I guess I've grown up in the "Pass the Credit/Take the Blame" mindset where I rarely take credit for anything.
I've been thinking about this for a while, and though I would like to give a broader answer, being "everything that brought me up to this point" I'm going to go with waking up after my surgery.
I remember random things about that incredibly strange day, but the one thing I do remember, after my surgery is saying to my Mom "I'm Going to be Fine."

I know that sounds a little odd, but it's not just about weight loss, it's about completing a stage in my life I never thought I would get to, and something I never thought I was worthy of.
I associated myself, for most of my life, with mediocrity, and believed that because of the way I looked , that at best, it was what I should have.
It wasn't just about how other people looked at me. I have had some people tell me that I was the most amazing, most wonderful and beautiful person they had ever met, and this was way before I ever put down the Twinkies. I never believed it, and that's where the deepest fault was.
I always wanted to have a great career, a College Education, to be in love and married, successful, and last, but not least, thin. You know...To look like a normal, pretty girl, and to be treated like one, too.

I knew who I could be, but never knew what I could uncover once I changed my life. This surgery, to me, was much more than that. It was an award for everything I vowed to change about myself. To be free... To give myself everything I've ever dreamed of.
There was a string of events that went on when I decided to embark on weight loss. I went up for a promotion, and became serious about my career. I moved out on my own, bought myself a new car, learned to live as an adult, and began to realize that I had to end the most abusive relationship I had ever had.. .And that's the one I had with myself. Every day, I deprived myself of what I wanted so desperately, and "overfed" myself with any negativity that would guarantee my not thinking I was worthy of greatness. Does that make sense?
From that moment on, I worked SO HARD to get to every goal, but the closer I got, the more scared I became. I was leaving my security blanket behind, and my training wheels. That was some scary shit.
Almost three long years later, I was over 150 pounds thinner... And on stage again, as a Leading Lady, instead of "Fat, Funny Friend." I was closer to getting my career, and living with the love of my life... Who, coincidentally, convinced me that I was ready for this. As a matter of fact, I fully believe that without him, my life wouldn't mean 1/4 of what it is now (and if I haven't said thank you for that, then... THANK YOU.)

I found a Doctor I trusted, and to my complete surprise, found out I was the perfect candidate for the surgery.
When I was getting ready for the big day, I still didn't believe that I was going to go through with it. I didn't think I'd get the money, or I would lose the nerve, not be able to get off of work (silly things, I know), or be able to quit smoking, but I did. I came down with a cold about a week before and thought I would get rejected. I thought my tests would show that I had breast cancer, or that I would have one of the many viruses that prevent you from being cleared. No viruses, no illnesses... Nothing. I had two deaths right before my surgery... One of them being my Great-Aunt, and one of them being my Grandfather, whom I was so incredibly close to, I still can't deal with the reality that he's gone. ) That almost did me in.

When I left for the Hospital that morning, I kissed Annoyed good-bye and told him I'd probably see him later that day. I was sure of it.
When I met with the Anesthesiologist that morning, he gave me final clearance & told he would see me in the O.R. in about 10 minutes. I looked at my mom, who jumped up and smiled, and I began to shake and cry uncontrollably. I was going to kiss my old self goodbye... Everything that I hated about myself, I associated with that old body I was still dragging around...Imagine being a fuck up for most of your life, and cleaning yourself up and making yourself a better person. Now imagine having to lug around a clear bag, containing all of your fuckups, every day, for the world to see its contents. That's what my old body was to me, and by the end of the day, it would be gone, forever.
It is something I have wished for almost all of my life, but when I was about to go through with it, I suddenly wasn't sure I was ready to kiss "me" goodbye. Suddenly, there would be nothing for me to hold onto and before the day was through, I would have nothing to hide behind. Was I good enough to stand in front of the world? I dried my tears, but couldn't stop the shaking as I was wheeled into the O.R. I was switched from one bed to the other, wiped head to toe with Betadine, naked and shaking like a leaf. I bit my tongue and lips countless times because I couldn't control the violent shaking. I tried to speak but couldn't form a single word. I actually had to hold my chin to ask the Doctor to promise me that I would wake up from the surgery. I thought that the irony of it all would be me dying under the knife. My Anesthesiologist made a joke about how he was going to ask me out on a date as soon as I came through. I began to tell him that he was shit outta luck, but before I knew it, I saw the brightest colors ever, and heard two things that I'll never forget, two phrases that signified I made it through:
"Surgical Bra"
"Abdominal Binder"

How the hell did that happen?
I later found out that I lost 9 hours and 56 minutes of my life... That's almost 10 hours of rebirth, of allowing me to live the rest of my life the way I wanted. 10 hours was an incredibly small price to pay for me to have my life back.

I remember bits and pieces, but then feeling the motion of the bed as I was wheeled into what was to be my room for the next 5 days. I opened my eyes, and saw my Father, then my Mother. She took my swollen hand into hers, and stroked my face with her other hand. She put my glasses on my face and asked me how I was doing.
I thought for a minute, and realized that I got my wish. Here I was, at my finish line. I mustered up the words "I'm going to be Fine"
and I meant it.

So far, my greatest achievement. I'm working on outdoing myself, though :)


And for the second question:
2- And do you think Marilyn committed suicide or was murdered?
"I think that when you are famous every weakness is exaggerated" - Marilyn Monroe

I'm going to start by recommending a documentary called "Say Goodbye to the President" made by a British film documentary, that confirms everything I've ever believed. You can find it on Amazon.com.
She was murdered, without a doubt in my mind.
IN NO WAY AM I AN EXPERT! I am not privy to information that no one else has access to. This has all been formulated through my own years of research on my Marilyn. I have looked at autopsy reports, seen documentaries, read partial government files... Books... Nothing points to overdose... Wait, I should correct myself. Nothing points to Self-Induced Overdose. Most reports even only weakly point to accidental overdose.

First(boy now you've got me going), you've got to look at the players, which were:
Marilyn, Joe DiMaggio, JFK, RFK, Peter Lawford, Eunice Murray(her maid) Dr Greenson ( her Therapist), Deborah Gould (Pat's then-wife), Frank Sinatra, Jeannie Carmen (her fiend)

According to several reports:
Monroe's last home was in Brentwood, California, at 12305 5th Helena Drive. She was found dead by her housekeeper on August 5, 1962. Her death was ruled as an overdose of the sleeping pill Nembutal. Several conspiracy theories have surfaced in the decades after her death, some involving President John F. Kennedy and/or Robert Kennedy. There is also speculation that her death was accidental, but the official cause of death was "probable suicide" by acute barbiturate poisoning.


Marilyn recently became estranged from both Kennedy brothers, whom she had been romantically involved with. Marilyn, never one to shy away from politics (she supported and stood by 3rd husband Arthur Miller during his blacklisting and possible Communist links) loved to be around political figures. Her Idol was Abraham Lincoln. Whatever questions she had, she always wrote down, and whatever conversations she had regarding Politics, she recorded into a series of journals. Being so close to the Kennedys, you could imagine the "wealth of information" she was privy to. Everyone thought she was a dumb blonde who had little to no retention. This couldn't have been farther from the truth.

This was a time in her life where she was kicking her drug habit. She was going to Therapy every day without fail, and was working with her Psychiatrist, Dr Greenson, 24/7. She had trouble sleeping, and always kept a bottle (or two) of Nembutal on her. We all know about her numerous suicide attempts and her numerous accidental overdoses. This, however, was not one of them.

She had the fantasy of romancing JFK, and he sensed that she was becoming too attached, so he sent his brother to do his dirty work. RFK took that literally, and then discarded Marilyn as well. She was relentless, and tired of being used and abused. She tried to reach out to them, to no avail. It has also been rumored that Frank Sinatra, friend of the Kennedys, invited her up to his Cal-Neva ranch to help her get away for a little while. When she arrived, she was drugged, abused, and her life was threatened. No one wanted her to "speak" about what she knew, or whom she had been with.

She took this seriously, and tried to go back to normal life, and sought this normalcy in the arms of Joe DiMaggio (no that her relationship with him was normal- he was in fact, abusive and controlling, but they loved each other fully) She fought hard to clean up. They were secretly planning to remarry, and she was taking trips back and forth to Mexico to but new tiles for their "nest."She had ordered her Wedding Dress secretly, and it was close to completion.

Something happened... She began to boil over about how she had been discarded. She scheduled a Press conference for that next Monday, to reveal all that she knew about the corrupt President and his even more corrupt brother and friends. She felt strong, level-headed, and ready to move on with her life.

The night of her death is foggy. It is said that she died of an accidental overdose, and that she died naked and in her bed. Not true.
The standard theory is that she took an overdose of Nembutal, dragged her phone into the room with her and made several "goodbye phonecalls" all of which were disregarded. Her Maid, Eunice Murray, found her and somehow called her Therapist. She was found naked and dead in her room, alone.
Here are the facts:
1- She died with an overdose of Nembutals in her system. In fact more than 45 pills were found in her system. They were stuffed down her throat, dry and lodged together. They never dissolved. Her stomach and digestive system were empty. She didn't die from lack of oxygen, and had no track marks to prove that she had administered the drugs intravenously. Further studies show another entry, which were most likely, a Nembutal enema.
2- Jeannie Carmen cries about the night that Marilyn died. Marilyn begged Jeannie to come over, and Jeannie was tired. Marilyn said she had received threatening phonecalls from the Kennedy clan, and she didn't want to be alone. Jeannie ignored them and went to sleep. Marilyn was not suicidal. She was scared.
3- Deborah Gould, Peter Lawford's ex wife, recalls a drunken phonecall from Peter regarding that night. Peter and RFK were to have been at the Kennedy Compound on the East coast the night that Marilyn died. Why were they seen, landing in a Helicopter at a nearby port, with a third man carrying a Doctor's bag, and why were they seen entering Marilyn's home in CA?
Why did Deborah get a phonecall from a drunken Peter Lawford crying saying "we killed her" over and over again?

4- Further records indicate that Marilyn did not die naked in her room. She died in a hospital. She was taken, pronounced dead, and brought back to her home, stripped naked, and positioned with Nembutals stuffed (stupidly) down her throat. Her stomach was also empty, which is inconceivable, after taking 45 pills.

Eunice Murray, her maid, still has conflicting stories. First, she was in the house and couldn't get to the phone. How could she have called the cops? Then, she arrived early and couldn't get into the house, so she broke the window of Marilyn's room to get in. Why does the report show that the glass was broken from the INSIDE? Even better still...You may even be able to call up the footage of an 80 year old Eunice crying, asking why she still has to cover up what really happened? She's the only one still alive... Why keep the lies going? I'm looking into finding the exact location of that footage.

Paperwork was cleaned up by Eunice Murray and Dr Greenson the early morning Marilyn was found dead. Journals, maybe? What is noted is that there was approximately a 4 hour lapse from the time she was "found" and the time that the Doctors were called. No one can be sure, almost everything was burned.
There are so many conspiracies regarding Miss Monroe's death. I wasn't there, I don't know what happened. What I do know is that so many Police Officers, Detectives, Doctors, Ex-Spouses, Maids and Greenson family members (Greenson Family were the only ones who were not present at the scene of the crime, all others were documented as being present and being forced to "Cooperate") keep insisting that this girl was murdered.

Here is something that I was able to find that had credible witnesses. Please excuse the fact that it was found on Youtube. Not to bias your opinion, but please note how Eunice Murray keeps glancing up and to the right. That is a sign that you are not remembering, but calling upon a lie, or making something up.
Notice how Police Chief Jack Clemmons is staring straight into the camera, and his motions are completely at ease. He is telling the truth. He is remembering facts, and speaking candidly and honestly:
here is Part 1:


And Part 2:

We may never know. I got another book for Christmas, an investigation of the Death of Marilyn Monroe, where all information found available is matched up against every theory involving her death. I'll let you know what I think of that (book report, anyone?)
Now that I'm done, I probably sound like a complete Conspiracy Theory Whackadoo.
Oh well. It's what I believe, and I know I'm not the only one.

Thanks Deb, for such awesome questions! Now I have to start pouring over my new book!

That's it for Ask Rosie Part 1. I have several more questions to answer, and happily working on those... more soon.

Till then,
xoxoxo
Rosie

Rosie, on the Couch

I have been having such a hard time writing lately.
I don't know if I'm overly stressed, or if I'm tired, or pre-occupied with day-to-day life, but I can't seem to find my "voice" (if I ever had one to begin with) so I figured I would update with what's been going on, both good and bad.


Let's see: I was recently passed up for a promotion at work. I understand the reasoning behind why I didn't get it, but it still stung once it hit me.
I'm OK now. I fall down, dust myself off, and get back up.
UPDATE: I just got put in as the point person for a huge project. Excuse me for NOT jumping up and down.

I am working on two One-Woman Shows. One is personal, written 1/2 in book form and 1/2 in monologue. The other is another project that I've had in my head for quite some time. It's time that she's born.

Curious...Has anyone had any experience doing this? This is the first time I've written for theatre, I don't count the thousands of re-writes I've done for the Sinatra show, it wasn't my idea, and I didn't really have creative control of it. Why two at one time, you ask? It's because I can't seem to separate myself from one or the other. It's like I start to work on one, and the other one gets jealous. I also never do anything the easy way. This is my "Sophie's Choice".


In conjunction with me taking on two projects at once (and almost guaranteeing my personal creative demise)
Here is a list of things I seem to take the hard road on:

Driving
My passion (and future career)
My headshots (because I never believe that I'm camera-ready)
Writing
Myself, in general
Lately, THE GYM
Telling people I care about to fuck off when they're wrong
Self-praise
Saving my "millions"

I'm sure anyone else who knows me well can add to this list. On Christmas Eve, as I was driving home (of course, finding the most winding, indirect way), Annoyed played Dixie Chicks "Taking the Long Way" for me and began to sing along. I broke out laughing. Thank you, Natalie Maines. I now have a theme song.

You might argue that I'm lazy, but I'm not. That's not the case at all. I just seem to get caught up in "priorities." Unfortunately, none of these put me on the front burner. I have made a conscious decision to change this.


I've been so tired lately. I've been working doubles, and trying to square things away creatively at the same time. My problem is, I've been stressing myself out royally, and that's a recipe for disaster. When I get stressed to this point, I can't rest. Even in my sleep, I have non-stop violent nightmares, followed my dreams where I am walking in a house, discovering secret rooms. It's always in this order.

My nightmares are horribly realistic, and viciously violent.
In real life, I am a very emotional person, and can't stand to watch or hear about torture or suffering of any kind. In my dreams, I witness scenarios that make The Passion look like a cartoon. I have dreams that I witness or commit murders, and go through them from start to finish. In these dreams, I am as calm as a cucumber, completely unaffected and unemotional. I am also unable to wake myself up from these dreams. I have also had dreams of scenarios so embarrassing and out of left field, I won't ever write them down.

The second part, or the "secret room" dreams that always follow, are one of 5 scenarios:

1- I find a room in the back of a house: the room is so dirty & disgustingly filthy I want to wake up and jump in a boiling hot shower. I actually feel like I take the filth of that room with me into real life.

2- I find a room in my childhood home, hidden in my old walk-in closet. The passageway to the hidden room is in the front left-hand corner of my closet. The passageways are dark, paper-thin and LOOONNNGGG. There are rooms one after another... All long and thin. Sometimes the rooms are nicely decorated; sometimes they are filled with trespass filled with old clothes, pots, pans, furniture, and pillows... Like things you would store in a basement.

3- I find a room in a home I've never been in before. The home is decadent. I want to move in, or someone I know and like lives there already. I've been invited to look around. I walk into each room and it's warm and inviting. I want to see more. I go into the attic and revel in the gorgeous antiques and treasures. I look up to the roof and discover YET ANOTHER part of the attic... A floating loft-like level with an invisible or glass floor. I can see through the floor/ceiling and I can see the most pristine, perfect items ever created. I try to climb the stairs, and I'm either too heavy and the stairs break underneath me, or a force keeps knocking me down. It's an ominous feeling and it scares the shit out of me every time. I usually run from the house thinking it's haunted.

4- and the most recent (I had this one for the first time two or three nights ago, but not since): I discover two rooms hidden in the front right part of our present home. My landlord forgot to tell me about them, and my Future mother In Law discovers them. I walk in and there are two HUGE rooms that are attached to each other. The first one is a simple, large, almost circular empty sitting room with a huge bathroom with a huge Jacuzzi with a waterfall... It's decorated very sensually. The second room is a huge square-ish room with curved walls. The floors are hardwood and perfectly polished. There are floor to ceiling windows. Outside of the room is a perfect view of the boardwalk and water. I immediately transfer all of my fiancé’s office furniture into this room, and make sure his desk has the best view possible. I then begin to re-arrange all of our other rooms, and move my dressing room to the back of the house, where his office is currently. I wake up feeling like this dream is so real. I'm sad when I discover that it's not.

5- I seem to envision this "bathroom" and Jacuzzi in a lot of places. I'm either on vacation to a place that I visit always in my dreams, but never in real life. It is always dark, lit with candles, has tons of waterfalls, and has such a sensual feeling. I'm so confused because the bathroom also has several "rooms" or alcoves that open one into the other. Each one feels sexier than the other.

What does this all mean? Some may say that I'm crazy, but I think it means I've got to lay off a little bit and start making myself happy instead of stressing myself out and internalizing everything. Either that, or just not go to sleep for a while.


In Other and Better Rosie News...
I visited the famously renowned Kleinfelds in New York City on Monday for a Wedding gown sample sale. (Most designer dresses are 85-90% off). They hold this event once or twice a year. I know a girl who bought a $10,000.00 dress last year for $1,100.00, including her veil. I also know women who have gone in and bought Vera Wangs for a mere few hundred dollars. I've also known women who have run out of the salon showroom, crying. It’s basically hit or miss there.
Regardless, every woman in the New York City area is pressed, as soon as the ring goes on her finger, to have the "Kleinfelds" experience. You walk in to this HUGE showroom, are given a powder-pink silk robe and are shuffled from designer rack to designer rack by one of many Yentas, dressed head-to-toe in black. You are doted on, put on a pedestal (literally and figuratively) and made to feel like a Jewish Princess... even if you're not.

Anyway, I just happened to be off the morning of the Sample Sale. I put in my reservation early and got there on time. I expected to try on a dress or two, and best case scenario, walk out with a sample sale dress.
That didn't happen. Instead, I walked out with an Anne Barge Custom Designer Original. How this happened, I'll never ever know.
Men, beware. This is girly wedding stuff!!!

I signed in and sat among a sea of hopeful Brides-to-Be. As each girl tried to peer into the Legendary Bridal Showroom, prisms projected on almost every inch of the ceiling or wall from the 30 or so Diamond rings on each ring finger. Each girl silently sized up the girl next to her, wondering if she would be a roadblock in finding her dream dress in her size.

Suddenly, my name was called, and I was ushered past the room of hopefuls. Some shot me dirty looks, but all eyes followed me until l I disappeared from their sight. I was brought into a back room, and was "interviewed" what my ideal Wedding Gown would be. I was shown dress after dress, and hated them all. I was beginning to feel completely discouraged.

I guess my Sales Rep saw the look on my face, because she touched my hand and asked me if I had ever heard of Wedding Gown Designer Anne Barge. (Of course, I have! She's a gorgeous Georgia Peach who has created some of the more beautiful gowns I've seen.)

Incredibly, she happened to be in the store, premiering her Fall 2007 line, still not featured in magazines or to the general public. We were introduced, and I was given the opportunity to try on her new gowns. This was my grown-up playground.
After several dresses, I was asked my opinion. I happened to have fallen in love with the top of one dress, but hated the bottom. Anne came back into my room and started asking questions about what I envisioned as the perfect bottom for the dress. She left the room and minutes later came back with several wedding gowns that had different bottoms and fabrics. They pinned back the skirt of the dress I was wearing with huge clips, and kept folding and flipping different gown bottoms in front of me until I found one I loved. Then, they added the most gorgeous veil I have ever seen, then a blusher... and I looked in the mirror and felt something come over me. This was it!

We designed color, fabric, train size, buttons, and back height... everything. I can't get into details (obviously) but we created it!!! Kleinfelds even threw in a free blusher, and Anne threw in alterations and many other things that would have racked up quite a bill as a "Wedding Gift." We then laid out a credit card, and took more measurements for more body parts that I knew I had.

I insisted on keeping my veil on while I signed the dress contract.
I don't know what I did to deserve such a wonderful thing!

I had my first measuring that day. Anne's people, based on the design, will then begin to cut the pattern and locate the material from the same batch. They will begin to get pieces for the dress that will be needed to assemble. I then have to go in at the end of May to be re-measured to confirm that I still have the same measurements.
The dress will then start to be crafted. Since it's a custom, it will take a very long time to create. It will be ready to try on for the first fitting in (get this) about a year from now.

Anne said she'd like to put a picture of me in it on my wedding day on her website, where she features "Real Brides" on their Wedding Day in her gowns. The woman at Kleinfelds said that if she really likes the way it looks maybe she’d add it to her repertoire of dresses for the future season.
She was wonderful. I was in shock. 3 1/2 hours later, we left Kleinfelds and sat down for lunch. I downed 2 martinis like they were shots and a glass of Merlot...and was still completely sober.

I did some research on Anne, and found that she goes out into the field and creates an original Wedding gown every now and then for a Bride-To-Be. I just can't believe my fortune! I don't even know how to put it into words.

Other positive Rosie updates:
I start rehearsals for Sinatra/Marilyn in February. Get ready for tales of frustration, re-casting, costume fittings, off key-singing and overall mayhem. I will post pictures for shits and giggles. I will present links for press and advertisements, good AND bad.

I'm also hoping that I get to do the Hair Show again this year. In June 2006, I was chosen to play "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World" in a Hair Show for Dramatics. In between this gay disco-operetta, there is fierce hair and choreography. They bleached me platinum and added lots of extensions. I took tons of pictures and had a blast! I'll let you know if that becomes available to me again.

So that's it for now... I'll update shortly on my big public commitment, and anything else that comes my way.
Until then, if anyone has any questions, comments... free psychotherapy or dream analysis sessions... send 'em on over my way.

I'm also opening up the floor for "Ask Rosie"

Just like everyone has done in the past with other bloggers, feel free to ask me whatever you like. I’ll answer as best as I can.

Xoxoxo,
Rosiegal

Baby, You're a Superstar.

Happy New Year, Everyone!

I have to say that I've been a bit absent from blogging, because of a few pet projects of my own, and I really haven't had much to say.
I don't want to continue to be the Cranky Old Goat that complains about everything, and I don't want to keep harping on my body image issues, etc.
My momma always told me that if I don't have anything nice to say... Well, her ending is quite different, but I chose the old stand-by to not say anything at all.
Now, I return back to the stage with something good.

Tonight, I had a very strange thing happen to me, something that's never happened before... And I don't know if the joke is on me, but it was a reaffirmation that the goals I've been working toward have been right all along.

I worked in Bryant Park tonight, and if I work past a certain number of hours, I'm allowed to take a car ride home. You'd better believe that I called that car service to take me tonight.
I walked out to the car, and to my surprise, the Driver actually came over and offered to open my car door for me.
We drove to the corner, and I went to pull my seatbelt over me. My back window was cracked a bit, so I looked up when I heard a woman exclaim "Oh my God, it's her! It's her!"
Being as start-struck as I am, I look up to see who they were talking about.

Me. They were talking about me.

I know this, because when I looked up, the woman in her early 30s, was nudging her boyfriend, also in his early 30s, and he waved at me. I nervously smiled and waved back, thinking that they knew me. I looked over at the woman to make sure that she wasn't pissed that I waved at her boyfriend, and her shoulders lifted up to her ears, she lifted both arms up, smiled the BIGGEST smile, and then SHE waved at me too! The guys standing with THEM began to wave, and I looked over my left shoulder to make surethey were really waving at me. Yup, they were. One guy in the small crowd starts pumping his hands into fists, shaking them both at the car screaming "You're Great! I love you! You're SO GREAT!"
Then, the car started to move. I smiled the biggest smile, waved back, and watched them as they turned their bodies toward the car as it pulled away, smiling like they just saw a celebrity.

This just made me completely giddy that even one person would think that I was famous... Let alone like 5 people??? Oh my gosh...!!!

I smiled like an idiot the whole way home.
Then it got me thinking... hmmm.... People see limos and towncars all throughout the City, and they yell things at them all the time. Maybe it's a joke.

Or maybe, these were tourists who think that anyone in a Town Car is Donald Trump or a Model... But who did they think I am???
...Or maybe they caught my wonderfully amazingly talented (and soon to be reprised again, kids!) Marilyn Monroe performance at the 13th Street repertory Theatre and had to pay their respects.

Or... They just wanted to wave.

Either way, it was a wonderful way to once again convince me that I am doing the right thing in pursuing my dream. It felt damn good. I'm driving(literally) in the right direction.

I came home and told my Fiance' about it. He beamed and said "Baby, You're a Superstar."

I will now wrap up this post, put on my new sunglasses and practice my autograph
I already got that "wave thing" down pat.

Kisses... Let's Do Lunch.

xoxoxo,
Rosiegal

Y'all Laughed at Me & Didn't Even Know It!

If you laughed at the above post, then I'm here to tell you that you suck.

It's OK, I do too.


That post was inspired by the above item being on my Christmas List. Annoyed told me my list was HORRENDOUS and I had to re-do it. So I did. My original list is no more, and everyone had a chuckle. Good times.

Oh, sure. Laugh it up.

Here's the deal. I haven't been able to work out lately, and I miss dancing. I went on Amazon.com and this was looking at me when I put in my request for tap and excercise. How could I go wrong? Who would make fun of me?

Geez...don't all raise your hands at once.


I bet if it had a picture of Valerie Bertinelli in a Chorus Line getup during her One Day at a Time/Eddie Van Halen courting phase it would have been A-OK ...







.....but NOOOOOOO.
Bonnie F-ing Franklin, dressed up like a back-up dancer for the Emmet Kelly Vegas Show Extravaganza is on the cover and now people all over Blogger have been permanantly damaged by the mere sight of hte picture posted on my Fiance's website.

I guess I should apologize for wanting to do a little soft shoe when no one is home. I would love to learn from the "greats" but Bob Fosse and Sammy Davis Jr. never made an instructional video like this for lugs like me who dropped out of Dance Academy at a young age.
You're gonna argue that Sammy and Bob had something called DIGNITY, and therefore never HAD to make an instructional video for lugs like me who dropped out of Dance Academy at a young age.

Well... You're right.

Feel free to post your amazing gift ideas, or feel free to email your ideas to: Rosiewantsapony@yahoo.com

I suck, and I'm a dork. So be it. And I'll be a sucky dork WITHOUT a "I Hate to Excercise, I Love to Tap" DVD, because no one can bring themselves to buy it for me.

I guess it's just as well. I still have yet to open my Carmen Electra Strip Tease Excercise videos.
(umm... that's not a joke, either.)

The Devil Wears Pay-Less (Let the Glorious News be Spread, the Wicked Old Witch, At Last is Dead!)

Our good friend A.S.S. inspired me to write this.

After almost three long months of being out on disability, I will be re-entering the work-force tomorrow morning. I am both excited and full of dread at the same time.
Excited because the first few days will be more of a social calling, going through 3 months of emails in my inbox, and catching up with people. Plus, I'm going back to work. hey, I can only be home-bound with nothing to do for so long!

I am also grateful that my former boss is no longer with the company.

She left on my last day, and I've yet to know what life is like without her Wicked presence, and that makes me anxious to go back in and breathe normally.
It's been noted by every person who has ever worked with her-- even if only for one day - that no one person, has ever torn through a department (and a large one, at that) and done more damage in as little time as she did. Picture, if you will:
Moth-ra, riding Godzilla's back, who is riding King Kong as they tear through New York City. (And I was the little blonde in the big monkey's hand as she scales the Empire State Building)


She came to us, as a "gift", someone who could rocket out already #1 Network into astronomically huge success a little over a year ago.
She was quite chatty, sweet, young but motherly, and beautiful yet natural. She reminded me a bit of my cousin, with Gina Gershon's mouth. She wore glasses and was always a little messy, but it seemed endearing.

I was excited to work with her, and she sang my praises almost every day. I adored her... Annoyed warned me about her. "Watch out,' he said, after meeting her for about 5 minutes, 'She's a cunt."

About 2 months in, I was asked to take over for someone whose position I had previously, while they were out. I didn't mind, as this was a position that I left in order to take my promotion, but I knew I was good at it and they needed me.

One late night, we discovered that Paul, the guy whom i was covering for, made mistakes that were costing our department precious time and money. I helped her sort it out and she was grateful. She spoke of me moving up in the company.

We would spend late nights going over invoices, me with my tired eyes and hair tied back in a bun, her with her glasses crooked on her face, a scrunchy holding half of her hair back, and her husband's old short sleeved dress shirt on (she was short and skinny, he was tall and a large man). I thought she looked that way because of all of the hours she was putting in. Surely, no one PLANS to look like this, especially a high ranking boss...Right?

The next morning, I get into work and I get called into her office.
She tells me calmly that she fired Paul that morning, and I WILL be his replacement for the next month, until she gets someone to take over the position.

I didn't want to be the next on her executioner list, so I agreed to take over. Heck, wasn't like I had a choice.
They brought in someone to take over my position in the meantime and promised me that subbing for the month wouldn't interfere with my Production. We shook on it, and she bought me a Starbucks.

Six months later...
No Production Lxperience...
And the Guy That I Trained, Now Working as the #1 Producer in my Department later...

I was in her office almost once a week getting yelled at for Paul's old mistakes.
She was ravenous, always looking to dig her claws into me or anyone else who crossed her path. This was a woman drunk on power, and someone who was not afraid to use it.
Once, I saw a book sticking out of her bag titled "Nice Girls Don't Get the Corner Office."
Sad... She had to read a book in order to be successful at her job.
One of her new names was "Cujo." She loved to go after the jugular.

She talked to people, all the time. She criticized our Head Writer, who is comic brilliance, at every meeting. Loudly. With glee. She clashed with my old Director, and was doing everything in her power to get her fired. She eventually did. That was a sad day. She was kissing any ass that held a title over her, and would brag to everyone under her about it.

She made an ass of herself almost daily, traipsing through the office with her glasses, that were always crooked (how did she SEE?) her shoulder-length Sun-In-streaked hair falling out of an old ratty scrunchy... yup... a SCRUNCHY... and wearing hideous concotions like a mango colored turtleneck 3 sizes too big, beige cropped pants, and Tevas. In March. She would also wear a backpack that you would use hiking... One that closed in the front, across your chest, like a dog harness. She would often pull out a bottle of water from it, and reach in with dirty fingers into the side pocket for a warm string-cheese, which she would eat in front of you.
Imagine... a buck-toothed woman, kind of dressed like Mike Meyers in the Hyper/Hypo sketch from SNL, dawging a Poly-O in front of you.










And she had the nerve to complain about my tuna, which was always fresh, always discreet, and always eaten at my desk, in privacy. She would actually come out of her office, come OVER to me and complain that it looked like I was eating cat food.

In winter, she would wear silk short flowery skirts, printed tights with pills and dings all over them, her husband's big white undershirt, a vest, and a black faux-fur bowler hat.

It looked like she bit her nails to the point of bleeding every say, then dug in the dirt for about an hour or so.

She also had a habit of twisting her hair in one hand, and in the other, applying fushia/violet lip gloss WITHOUT A MIRROR. Between that lipgloss landing all over her huge teeth every day and her hands being bitten to the quick, I don't know how she was ever hungry for lunch.

She assembled (read: called in her friends and made up titles and got them jobs) and sat them all, like gargoyles, outside of her glass office door, in little cubicles. Cause she was the Queen, you know.

She must have been the type of girl that not only got stuffed in lockers in middle school, but grew up to be the girl in High School that cozied up to you, then started afight between you and your best friend, then ran home as you both fought in the schoolyard at three o'clock.

She used her power to try to form a little "clique" or girls that she would parade down the halls in front of everyone, waving her credit card exclaiming "salads and Starbucks, on me... whhoooo hoooo!" and she's smile cattily, at everyone as if to say "You're not invited to my party... na na na na na...."

She would scream at the drop of a hat, curse like a sailor, and would never apologize if she was wrong... Which was often. Until I was moved back into my position (where I sit and rot, currently) I got the brunt of it.
I'll never forget the day she dragged our poor coworker into a machine/facility closet to yell at him... for nothing that was even his fault. She yelled at him in that little room until the lights went off (it had a sensor that turned the light on once you entered the room, and off after twenty minutes) she left the room in a rage, and he looked like he was about to laugh his ass off.

She interrupted my Christmas break last year by constantly calling me Upstate New York and complaining why, in the blizzard, I could not get to a computer.

She promised me - and other people- things she never delivered. She was madly in love with her, and never stopped mentally masturbating herselflong enough to see that she was the only one who felt that way.

My department went from a high stressed but LOVING and HAPPY and FUN department that worked long hours... Sometimes 3 doubles or more a week to a high stressed, high strung, Xanax-popping, Monster.com searching trainwreck that smoked too much, hated their boss and saw no end in sight. She worked us to the bone, and then back again, then called us at home, and yelled for the pleasure of hearing her own voice. If 5 doubles weren't enough to get a last minute job done (that SHE forgot to disperse), then you were expected to work doubles Saturday and Sunday. One week, I worked 9am till 2am Monday through that following Sunday. The only exception was Friday, when we were in edits until 3:30am.
I gotta hand it to her, we were soaring. From the tippity top, she was one hell of a mover an shaker. She knew how to get what results she wanted... but she lost everyone's respect in the process.

People would skeeve whenever she walked by. People nicknamed her the "Hot Mess" because she was always sweaty, and well... She looked like she got dressed in the trunk of someone's car.

She once sent me on location for a shoot. When I got there, I was told that per her request, the crew was to put "The Princess" (me) to work "like a slave horse." That day, I worked from 5:45 AM until 10pm. I offered to stay and help the crew wrap up. Because I'd rather eat shit and die than to have anyone think that she was right and that I was, in fact, a Princess.

Freelancers refused to come into the office, except for when she took her many vacations. Then, it was like the set of the Wizard of Oz, when all of the Munchkins slowly come out from hiding to see that the Wicked Witch is in fact, dead and under a house.

One day, she called me out of session because of all of the mistakes I was making. I had to leave session and come in for a conference IMMEDIATELY She yelled "RIGHT NOW" about three times in a row before she hung up. Petrified that I was about to get fired, I started to get my stuff together. My stomach was in knots and my throat felt like it was closing. I almost threw up, & I had just eaten, when it hit me. I did nothing wrong, and I don't care anymore.

I went back into the office and she refused to see me. Apparently, her little crew having a latte party in her office was more important than calling me out of session for a beheading.
I waited from 2pm until 7pm that night... I was late for an evening session because she had her little flying monkey make me wait around to see if she had an "avail"
at 7:05 pm, she emailed me with the following:

"Can't see you tonight, will fit you in tomorrow if I can. In the meantime, why don't you sit and think about what you might have done?"

Ominous! I laughed. I haven't been spoken to like that since... Well, NEVER!

From that night on, I realized she was the reason we all hated our job. Unfortunately, I still automatically cringed at the sound of her voice or the sight of torn up scrunchies on the floor (they would fall out of her head and be all over the office... Like a marker).

Within a week, people started quitting. I'm not talking 2 people. I'm talking 7. It was a Mass-Exodus. I couldn't get over it. She didn't care...She just fiddled while our Rome burned.

Shortly after, she called me in her office. I thought I was about to get fired. Well, that's what everyone thought, every day of the week. As I neared her office, I saw it was filled with my co-workers. "Great, Public Hanging."

She offered me a beer... (not unusual) and announced that she was leaving. I almost dropped my bottle of water. As she talked about her great offer, triple the salary she makes now.... Couldn't refuse it... Blah blah fucking BLAH... I heard birds chirping. The dark cloud lifted and the angles sang. Shackles from my wrists, ankles and neck magically unlocked and fell to the floor in a "whump."
Talk about a mental orgasm.

Her remaining days were filled with...You know, I don't remember. I don't even care. I had too much going on in my life to worry about her. She wasn't my boss any more, and I was about to go out for major surgery. I didn't care. I was free.

I was forced to go to her goodbye party...And she hugged me goodbye. I said so sweetly, with a smile on my face a mile wide "Goodbye... And May a House Fall on you... And All of Your Sisters!"
(sadly, we were in a bar, so I don't think she heard me. Too bad, huh?)


Then, I clicked my ruby red heels together three times (I really wore ruby red heels that day...Just for the occasion), went home, and boiled my skin.

I've since checked in, and there's not even a trace of her. There's laughter throughout the halls, no one gets ridiculed publicly in meetings, and people are actually getting along.
Tomorrow, I go back to a Payless-Free Zone.
Wish me luck...

xoxoxo,
Rosie

Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid - UPDATED!

I'm sorry to be such a downer after a hiatus from blogging, and on the cusp of the Holiday season, but I've got to talk about something that happened to me yesterday that was quite hurtful for two reasons:
1- that someone would want to say something like this to me at all
2 - That I didn't have the guts to say what I wanted to, in response.

Yesterday, as we all know, was Thanksgiving. My friend and her husband usually host a Desert Feast to all those who want to stop over after Thanksgiving dinner. I went alone last night, mostly because my Fiance can't stand my two friends, for several reasons.
Anyway, this was one of my first times out in front of people since my major surgery, and I was quite excited and feeling pretty. This should have been Warning # 1 that something was bound to go wrong. (The last time I made the mistake of "feeling pretty" was when I went to work wearing a new Ivory sun dress, and felt like a doll. The new Intern promptly killed my buzz when he asked me when I was "due".)
Anyway, I ignored the signs and went over to my friend's home. Her whole family was there, along with her In-Laws and some mutual friends. I've known her family since I was a kid, so I feel like a part of the family when I'm with them all.

I need to interrupt the story here to give you some background on her mom. God Love her, I know I do, but she's hurt me more times than I could count based on weight-related comments. She knew me at my heaviest, and saw me go up and down the scale. Being about 5 feet tall and morbidly obese herself, she talks freely about weight issues. All The Time. I remember when her daughter was getting married, and we were trying on Bridesmaid Dresses. I sat down in the large dressing room, and watched as one of the girls put on a dress. Her mom came over to me and whispered in my ear "I know what it feels like to be the only fat girl in a room full of thin pretty women. Don't let it get to you."

I'm all about solidarity, but please, don't break my heart while trying to side with me. Seriously.

Back to the story.
Last night, her mom cornered me in the kitchen and congratulated me on my weight loss and surgery. As I was saying Thank You, she grabbed my arm and said:
"Now, don't screw it up. You've come too far to go back and make your old mistakes. Food isn't worth it, and no one wants to see you blow back up again."

I interrupted with "I'm not an idiot, I can handle myself."

She continued with "Not for nothing, but you better not gain weight again. You had a lot of work done and it would be a shame to see you get that way again. You need to think about that."

(I need to think about that? Is she crazy?)

As calmly as I could, I repeated myself. "I'm not an idiot. I know how to handle myself. I don't make the same mistake over and over."

With that, I walked away, and strongly considered leaving.

What I wanted to say was "How DARE YOU sit there and tell me that I can't fuck up what I've worked so hard for? I have been on constant diet and exercise for almost 3 years with no screw-up! I lost almost 160 pounds ON MY OWN and just had to have major body surgery! I didn't have it all sucked out! It was ME that did it! You don't have to tell me how hard it was... I DID IT! THREE FUCKING YEARS I ALONE DID IT WITH NO HELP FROM YOU OR ANYONE ELSE!!! NOT YOU, ME! AND HOW FUCKING DARE YOU REMIND ME OF WHAT I WAS? WHY CAN'T YOU LET A COMPLIMENT BE A COMPLIMENT AND LEAVE IT AT THAT? DO YOU SEE ME HERE WITH 5 PLATES OF DESERT IN FRONT OF ME? NO!!! CONCENTRATE ON YOURSELF, YOUR WEIGHT, YOUR HEALTH AND YOUR MISTAKES, NOT MINE!!!"
Then, I would have left, gotten into my car and cried my eyes out.
I felt like John Lennon, after that reporter called him "The Fat Beatle."
I never want to eat again.

Instead, I sucked it up and I stayed and pretended, once again, like nothing was wrong. I didn't want to cause any issues with the family, or my friend, because, bottom line, that is her mother. I let it go, but my heart was broken.
As I drove the few blocks home last night, I realized that this is going to be the typical response I'll get from her probably for the rest of my life. She's obsessed with weight. I can't help that. She's constantly talking about her own weight issues, and I can understand. For whatever reason she feels that she needs to remind me not to be fat, and not to have desert ever again in my life, well, that's her issue. I've just got to work on me not being affected by it any more. That will take some time.

I haven't told anyone on my Dad's side of the family about my surgery, because, well, they're fucking mean. They subscribe to the "You Never Can be Too Thin" way of life, and damn anyone who is even one pound overweight. That mentality went hand in hand with cattiness...You can imagine this was hell for me, growing up. After I finally lost a ton of weight, they started describing me as "Beautiful." As I lost more, the rumors flew that I had a Gastric Bypass... Which I didn't. My one cousin said "There's no way I can ever handle you ever being thinner than ME." "Her brother responded with "The only way she could lose weight was is you sewed her lips together or removed her stomach. I see her lips moving, so it had to have been her stomach. She could never do it on her own."
My biggest fans.
If they had known that I had the lift surgery, then they would automatically discredit all of the work I've done for all of these years and chalked it up to Plastic Surgery. I guess I don't understand, and I never will.

As much as I feel the need to make my voice heard as far as my life has been, my weight loss journey (as hokey as that may sound) I still wish I could go someplace where people didn't know. That way, I wouldn't be introduced to a group of people, followed by "She used to be SO FAT! How much weight did you lose?"
I also wouldn't have all eyes on me if I reached for a cracker, either. That would be nice.

I guess I'm thankful that I'm no longer where I used to be, and that I'm also not of the close-minded set. I just wish more people would look at me as a person, and not as someone who is about to fall. I've proven that I won't... To myself. That's all that should matter. It just hurts like hell when someone reminds you of what you used to be.

UPDATE:
While I'm on a roll...
Here are some of the terrible things that were said to me as an Obese person.

When my friend was getting married in 2002, we all went to try on Bridesmaid dresses, and my God, they were beautiful.
I just finished trying on the sample dress, and gave it to another girl to try on. I sat down and watched everyone getting excited about the upcoming nuptials.
All of the sudden, I hear the following words whispered in my ear
"Don't worry, honey. I know what it's like to be the only FAT GIRL in a room full of pretty, thin girls."
(You guessed it, my friend's mother, who felt the need to remind me not to be fat again Thanksgiving Night.)

I worked 10 hours at the Pharmacy one day, and didn't take a break. I only had one cup of coffee in the AM, and my Pharmacist bought me a slice of pizza. I put it in the fridge so that when I had a break ,I could eat it.
Two hours later, I felt like I was going to pass out. I reached into the fridge and pulled out the one slice and went to go into our side room.
"Hey, honey' I heard, as a customer, a quite UGLY male tried to get my attention ' You Don't wanna eat that." Excuse me? "You're too fat to eat that!"

In college, I embarked on one of my MANY diets. I would drop 20 pounds in no time, but gain it all back. One girl, a short, snout-like actress who thought she was the epitome of Beauty (her name? Esther - and I don't feel bad mentioning her name because I fucking hate her) said to me in a sing-song-y voice filled with fake support and enthusiasm:
"Ooohhh, you'll be so pretty if you ever lose weight!"

If?!?!? Fuck you, pig!


Overheard from a childhood friend that I had known since I was three:
"When she's around, I can do no wrong. If some bitch wants to fight me, all I have to do is ask Rossi to get out of the car. They'll take one look at her and run away."


And this one hurt more than anyone could have ever imagined.
This came from my Father, who, at the time, was heavy into alcohol.
We were sitting down, talking about how his sisters and mom treated me differently because of my weight.
He said to me that I was special, and if I never get married - because I'm so heavy - , he'll still love me.
He also told me that I'll never be beautiful in a Marilyn Monroe or Supermodel kind of way. I will be an Oprah, or a Camryn Manheim...Maybe a Kathy Bates, but never a Supermodel. And that's the way it's going to be.

(Note, there is nothing wrong with Oprah, or Camryn, or Kathy. I think they're all amazing, gorgeous women. The statement hurt because it was in the manner in which those people were used.)

Can you IMAGINE your own father telling you that you'll never be a beauty? Wow. Daddies are supposed to tell their daughters they are beautiful and all that jazz.
The bottom fell out on me that day.

There have been many more things that have been said to me.
Maybe this is why I almost never see myself as "Beautiful", or talented, or anything positive. It takes a lot to look in the mirror some days. I've always had a problem thinking that other people see me as I always have... As a fat turd with messy hair, or sometimes as a bleach-blonde caricature of Anna Nicole Smith, who for a long time I was constantly compared to (via the Anna Nicole Show)
Do you really want to be compared to THIS???


These are all layers-deep issues that I'm working on. People may think that I'm lazy, that I can now have whatever career I want, and that I could be unstoppable if I only got up off my ass and did it. That's not the case.
I'm not lazy, I'm just shit-scared.
Every time I try to sing, I hear "It's not over till the Fat Lady Sings" in my head. This used to be said to me in camp, and in the shows I used have solos in. I'm scared to sing. Sometimes, nothing comes out.
I can't see myself as a model or an actress most times, because I've played character roles for so long. I used to make audiences laugh just by walking out. I felt like I was cast to be delivered to the audience, on a platter, as the fat girl comic relief.


This was me then... deep down, it IS still me. I lived through all of this. I don't need to be reminded. I don't need to be ridiculed. No one does.


Well, that's my rant for today. Sorry to get "activist" on all y'all... It was on my mind, and I needed to say it.
I promise the next post will be funny. I hope. :)

xoxoxo,
Rosiegal

Crabs and Pigeons and Bullshit, Oh My!

It's been a little dry in my blogging well nowadays, so I pulled out an old story from my days as a Pharmacy Technician in good old Hoboken, New Jersey.
I hope you enjoy.

A fun staff and environment is key because of all of the insane characters you meet, and the lengths they go to get their medicine.
One, in particular, will always stand out in my mind for the rest of my life.

It was a typical Autumn day... The kind that puts you automatically into the "Back To School" mode. It was around 5 or 6pm and we had a rush of patients coming in for their "back to allergies" medication... I was heavily involved making a topical solution for a patient when I heard "Excuse me, Miss?"
I looked up, and coming toward me was JFK Jr. No, wait... I think this guy is even better looking... And he's smiling at me. Instantly, a light glowed from behind him and angels sang. I smiled ("Thank God I put on my good labcoat" I thought, and smiled back.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," said this handsome man "but I was hoping I could speak to you... In private?"

Oh shit. I thought I hit the jackpot. Gorgeous man in a suit, smiling at me... Sweet, too! Of course, I smoothed my hands down over my hair and walked over to the side consulting board.
"Hi, I'm Jack," he said with a smile that could melt a Dictator's heart. "I live on the other side of town, but it was such a nice day that I figured I'd walk home, and thought I'd stop in to do some shopping."

(my knees buckled)
"Well, anyway, I was hoping you could help me... I'm looking for a product."
I smiled nervously. Of course I would help this hunk of man!

" See, I live in a penthouse, all by myself, and I... Well, I tend to sleep with my windows open, and I u, well, I sleep in the nude..."

(I almost passed out.)

"So, last night was breezy, and of course, I slept, NUDE, with the window open. Well, here's where it gets weird. I woke up this morning, and a PIGEON was sitting on the window ledge... And I woke up with CRABS."

(WHOA... FANTASY OVER...BACK TO REALITY. YOU HAD WHAT???)

I guess he saw the look on my face. He actually repeated "I think the pigeon gave me crabs." then flashed me a dazzling smile.

Before I knew it, before I could stop it, the following comment flew out of my mouth. Picture Megan Mullaly from Will and Grace, before there WAS a Will & Grace)
"Haha, haha! Oh honey, I don't think that's the only thing that flew in your window last night!"

Oh shit!

As soon as it came out of my mouth, I slapped both hands to my face to cover another Tourette's outbreak. He looked at me, and the Human Petri Dish gave me the coldest harshest look I've ever seen in my life. He turned, like a stone...Away from me, spewing hatred in my direction with every step.

I stood, in stunned silence, not quite comprehending what happened. I then began to laugh, out loud, until I began to cry, pointing toward the door where the crab infestation exited.


I blessed that day, in which I learned several life lessons.

1- I had the edge over the average girl. I could look into each Patient's history, and if they ever went to the Pharmacy chain I worked at, I would be able to health screen, which always came in handy.

2- Don't be impressed by hot men in penthouses.

3- If a man's crotch is jumping, it does NOT always mean he is happy to see me. It might just be the 3-ring circus on his crotch.

And the Number 1 important thing is...

"I REALLY need to look into curbing the things that come out of my mouth."

I'm still working on that one.