from the neck up

Ask Rosie Part 1

2007-01-26T17:44:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-18T16:11:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-01-09T19:21:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-12-12T10:51:00.000-08:00

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!)

2006-11-28T14:41:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-11-24T22:04:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-11-07T10:34:00.000-08:00

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.

I've Been Tagged!!!

2006-11-04T20:19:00.000-08:00

I've been tagged by

Ramblin Rose

to play a fun game called "5 Interesting Things About Me."

1- I laugh in my sleep. Out of nowhere I will come out with an uproar of giggles. I never remember doing it, or if I'm laughing at a particular dream, but apparently, I do it often.

2 - I have a tattoo on my left foot of a Monarch Butterfly and a Japanese symbol, which only a few people know the meaning of. Those are the only tattoos I have, and I am not looking to add to them at all.

3- I swear I've seen a ghost. My mother's boyfriend's restaurant is haunted...No, more like INFESTED.
I'll blog about it, if I ever get the nerve.

4- I seriously regret not continuing dance lessons. I started very young and quit very young. To this day, whenever I was a Gene Kelly movie, or a Broadway show with tap dancing, my heart aches just a little bit. I plan on picking them up again soon, once I'm up and running.

5- I am absolutely terrified of ...Roaches. I can't even look at them on TV commercials without practically crawling out of my own skin.

The Chicken Turns Toymaker and The S.F.C. Hits an All-New Low

2006-10-31T13:25:00.000-08:00

I don't even know why I'm going to tell this story.
I'm sure that for this one, somebody is going to be shoveling Hitler's shit in Hell for all of Eternity.
Here goes...

As a joke one year, I made a gag-gift for one of the people in the Sick Fuck Club for his birthday. I made a doll to resemble this girl we all used to be friends with but were no longer speaking to. It was a Mary-Kate (or Ashley) Olsen doll I dressed up in cheap clothes and made it to this girl's likeness. I bought silly things to include in the doll's box, like cheap cigarettes, monopoly money (cause she stole from us), clear Baribe heels (cause she was a 'ho)... You get the picture.

Well, come time for gift-opening, and my doll was a hit. People were pee-ing in their pants laughing & passing it around, amazed at the likeness. Our friend...The Chicken, however, became rather quiet. He took the doll and studied it for a really long time. I didn't know it, but I opened the biggest Pandora's box by letting him see that gift.

Everyone, except for me at the time, worked together in Midtown, and would office-gossip after work. I had heard snippets about a woman that was giving them all trouble, whom no one liked. I also heard Chicken say that she was "pretending" to be sick to get attention. I don't remember the whole story, as I didn't know her. I do remember The Chicken had it out for her, especially since she recently moved into his neighborhood and thought nothing of it to stop by his apartment and torment him about work related issues, even on the weekends.

Fast forward to the Holidays.
Chicken's birthday is December 26th, and we celebrate Christmas and his birthday together every year. It's a big thing.
He was especially secretive but anxious about it that year. He kept mentioning something about a "Surprise" . He's wickedly funny, so we couldn't wait to see what he had in store for us.

It's now Christmas night.
I remember everything at that moment. We were listening to The Jackson 5 Christmas Album, and Nic and I were starting coffee and arranging deserts in her old apartment. There was a small kitchen with a 1/2 wall/bar window overlooking the living room, where everyone was. We were loading up the bar ledge with Italian pastries, and Nic was putting the candles in the Birthday Cake. We sat down on the couch with plates of desert, and Chicken reached into his sack and pulled out several presents and sneered like the Grinch.
My present was on back-order, he said, so he got me a DVD set to "tide me over." What the others got was beyond anything I could have ever imagined anyone making.

Remember the woman that worked with them and lived near the Chicken? The one that tortured him at home and always claimed to be ill? Well... He made a doll of her, complete with props:

1- binoculars to look into his window when he's home
2- H.R. files on everyone at work so she can "rat" on them
...And a bunch of other "things" that made no significance to me.

One thing was strangely obvious about this doll. It had no hair.
Apparently... (I can't believe I'm typing this) one of the last conversations that this poor woman had had with Chicken was that she thought she had Cancer.
So he, with all of his hate, shaved the doll's head.

Ever see something so horribly wrong you don't know how to react to it? Like, you want to laugh out of nervousness, but your stomach is turning so badly that you're not sure if you're going to shit your pants or vomit? Well, that's how I felt... Especially when he took the floor and began "showing off" the features that the "doll" had.

Our friend S. stopped him mid-cluck.

"You know...umm... Chicken,' he said, in a completely somber tone ' This...Cancer... Thing you're claiming she's made up? Well, she has Cancer. And she's not doing well."

The deafening silence was broken by a drunken piece of poultry falling into a heap and crying like a little girl.
Hell of a Night.

The next year blew by us so quickly. Before we knew it, the Holidays were upon us again and we were to celebrate New Year's Eve at Nic and S.'s new apartment. They had just gotten married a few months earlier, and were excited to throw their first party as and "official" married couple.

The guilt for making that damn doll the year before had been looming over Chicken's feathers for quite some time. The woman, whom he had made fun of, passed away, of course, to cancer.
I remember Chicken calling up S. the day he found out and screaming at him "You better get rid of that fucking doll! I'm going to Hell for making it, and you're even worse for letting me give you that doll!"

I guess his way of getting out from under the huge guilt cloud was blaming us... I was at fault because I put the idea into his head because I made one as a gag gift.
Nic and S were at fault because they didn't tell him the woman had cancer until after he made it.
He kept insisting that he was drunk when he made the doll and couldn't be held accountable for the doll's existence. I guess people deal with guilt differently, but this kid was out of control, and impossible to be around.

That Christmas and New Year's was hard because the Chicken was bitchy beyond belief. He almost "cancelled" Christmas because of his little gift-giving fiasco the year before. He was however, still coming to the New Year's party.
That afternoon, I went over the the apartment to help Nic get ready. We were sitting around, baking like bandits, when we got onto the subject of the doll, and the controversy that surrounded it.

"You know, we hit an all-time low, just being in the room when the doll was revealed." I said, as I pressed out snowflake cookies.

"He screamed at us to get rid of that doll, you know. He demanded we throw it out, but I can't throw that thing out! What if children found it? Could you imagine, the Police showing up to our house with a fleet of angry parents behind them?" Nic exclaimed.

"You still have that doll? He's gonna kill you if he ever finds out!" I said, shocked. I thought that thing was long gone.

"Fuck him,' she said " do you know how many other dolls we had to hide for his ass?" ... then she stopped short and turned white.

"What... Other ...Dolls?" I asked, and the moment that questions left my lips, I already knew the answer.

She took a deep breath, and told me a story that held as much spook as the scene from Nightmare on Elm Street, when Nancy's mother takes her to the basement to reveal she stole Freddy Krueger's finger-knives.

"When Chicken saw the doll you made, he became inspired. Obsessed, actually. Remember how he said your gift was backordered? Well, it wasn't."

I felt every part of my body go numb as she got up from the table and went into the home office adjacent to the kitchen.
"We all decided to make one of you... but a good one! We were going to get you a Marilyn Monroe doll, but he insisted that he get the doll since it was his idea. He was in charge of this thing and wouldn't let us help. He was a total bitch... as he has been."

She went into the closet and pulled out a brown box and held it in her trembling hands.

"Well, he "special ordered" it, and one day, it arrived. He wouldn't let us open it at work and he took the box from us to ensure ewe wouldn't peek. He came over... Late as usual... On a Saturday... With this box. We opened it... And this was inside."

She gingerly handed me the box, like a servant about to be beaten, and stepped away. Scared shitless as to what I may find, I went on to find this EXACT DOLL, staring back at me:
(scroll down)

"That MUTHERFUCKER!!!' I went ape-shit ' This FUCKFACE goes to make a doll of ME and THIS is what he comes up with? THIS IS WHAT I LOOK LIKE TO HIM???"
"Now, calm down...When he saw it he knew he couldn't do anything with it...He said they sent the wrong one! Come on, it really doesn't look anything like you!" she insisted, and took the doll away from me.

"Give me the doll' I said calmly. 'Give me the doll, and any other doll he's ever made. Including that cancer doll."

Then, we went to a very bad place.

Per usual, we enlisted the help of our other cohorts, who have had it up to here with chicken's antics.
Plus, he was so insistent about everyone else destroying this horrible cancer doll...He was gonna get it full force that night. We had about an hour or so before he was supposed to get there, so we made a plan.

We planted the doll in the freezer, so as soon as Chick went in, the doll would come falling on top of him. After several "rehearsals" we mapped out where he would go next (turning and running towards the front door was our guess) so we rigged the "me" doll to come hanging from the ceiling as soon as he turned on his feathers to run the other way.
Then we each had a drink.

On cue, Chicken showed up and was cranky. He put on his New Year's Tiara (yes, he had one) and the grouchy fuck told me I looked like shit as soon as he walked in. I was justified in my plan to get back at him.

Finally... It was time.
"Chicken, my drink needs some refreshing. Can you get me an ice cube?" I asked... So nicely.
"Get it yourself... Bitch." he came back with.

(Ooooh, it's ON.)

Nic's father walked into the kitchen (who KNEW about the plan and supported us) and said to him "Actually, can you get me some ice too? I'd really appreciate it."

Chicken wasn't going to disrespect Nic's father, so he got up and went to the Fridge. I held my breath and almost passed out from the anticipation.

All I remember was a gust of cold wind, a scream, a crash, another scream, ice crashing, two feet running, another scream, then a rather LARGE crash.

When it was recapped several minutes later, this is what was told to me:

Chicken went to the fridge, and flung open the freezer door. The doll took an extra few seconds to fall, since it was starting to freeze and "keep" to the bag of frozen peas it was propped on top of. The light from the freezer came from behind the doll's box and gave it that "ahhhhh!" feel. Chick's eyes widened and he screamed like a bitch socked in the tits. He dropped his glass, ice cubes fell all over, and turned and began to run, still screaming. Like clockwork, he saw the Bride of Chucky doll...( And let me tell you something, if you're not expecting it, it'll scare the Bejesus out of you.)
He then ran into a wall in a frenzy, feathers lying everywhere, clucking, and hit the ground.

AND HE NEVER FUCKED WITH US AGAIN..
(yeah, right.)

Truthfully, he cried a little over seeing that doll again. We promised to really get rid of it this time if he would stop being so cunty. We reached an agreement and started the New Year off fresh.

The following year, I wound up taking over that very apartment when Nic and S bought a house. To my surprise, in the closet was a housewarming gift...They left me the dolls (that they never threw out) as leverage, if Chicken ever ever got out of line again.
I actually took a liking to the "Me" doll. I still have her... She's now a part of me.

Oddly enough...The doll... The one we are never to speak of again... Disappeared.
I didn't throw it out, I didn't give it to anyone. I moved into an empty apartment with the dolls in the closet.
Two weeks later, I went into the closet to put away a vacuum, and the doll was gone.

No one knows what happened. I just hope I never see that thing again.

Officially out of the Doll-Making Industry,
xoxoxo,
Rosie

Happy Halloween!

2006-10-31T13:11:00.000-08:00

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I'm such a child.

I've Updated!!! WITH LINKS!!!

2006-10-30T08:56:00.000-08:00

Well, I've finally figured out how to add links to my favorite blogs on my site.
It's true. When it comes to computers, I'm a bit of an idiot.
In fact, when I first started, Annoyed was the one who linked several blogs to mine.
So, please let me know if I'm forgetting anything or anyone...
xoxoxo,
Rosie

My Friend, The Chicken

2006-10-27T16:29:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I would like to introduce you all a dear friend of mine. His name is...The Chicken.

No, I'm not friends with a piece of poultry. And no, I did not conjure up this nickname for him. In fact, he named himself. I don't know why... It's not that I haven't asked, I just don't understand his reasoning behind it...And as you read along, you'll understand - that not understanding him- just comes with the territory.
I met him the night of my 24th Birthday at a Drag-Queen themed restaurant named Lucky Chengs.
He walked in with my best friend, looked around the room with wide blue kitten eyes and delivered an opening line that I'll never forget:
"These girls are so ugly I would think they were men!" I laughed, because I thought he was making a joke. Later, I discovered that he wasn't.

I believe he was birthed... Or hatched... From the result of a drunken threesome consisting of Rose from The Golden Girls, Chrissy Snow and Edward Norton (circa Death to Smoochy). He was raised on a strict diet of After School Specials (starring Kristy McNichol) and the movie Saturday Night Fever. Add a soundtrack provided by Barry Manilow and you've got a special kind of man.

He spent most of his early adult years in an acting conservatory until coming to New York City in his late 20s to try to make it as an actor. 180 degrees later, He is currently a Detective. How that happened, I'll never know.
Somewhere in between, he was a Lifeguard and a Processor for a banking firm.
He is so intelligent, and can master anything that comes his way. You would never know it by 1/2 of the things that come out of his beak, though. You see, everything in The Chicken's life is a wonderful oxymoron, and strangely, beautifully unexplainable. The gem of it is his explanation. I'll give you a few examples:

In High School, like most gay men, he dated women. One girl, whom he dated throughout his sophomore year wound up becoming one of his best friends. In fact, that when he got into a fight with his mom, he moved in with her and her family. He wound up calling then his adopted family, and the girl as his "sister".
You can only imagine the looks he got one day at a restaurant when he was reminiscing & he said " I remember in High School, when I dated my sister... Before I was gay..."
and that's not all, folks.

Some famous "Chickenisms", as we call them around here have been:
(on turning down a night out that would have made him a Third Wheel) "Uh-uh... no way... I'm not going to be the Yoko who broke up your Sonny and Cher!"

(when I called him up to tell him I just passed Clay Aiken in my lobby) "(gasp) Was he invisible???"
(note: The Chicken is an American Idol aficionado. Clay Aiken, an Idol runner-up, put out a single titled "Invisible" I only know this because of him)

(on the job at a high profile bank, trying to calm an angry client down while introducing him to the Manager) " He's Superman. I'm Robin. You're in good hands."

(when he realized that the above comment did NOT, in fact, calm down the irate client, he tried to assure him that he would handle the situation by saying) "You're the bagel, I'm the cream cheese. I'm here to make you look good."

One of my all time favorite Chickenisms was while he was at work. A (clueless) buy gorgeous girl started hitting on Chicken. He was, too, oblivious to the mating calls of the Woman (remember, the only woman he ever dated was his sister). Our friend, also a co-worker, turned to Chicken and joked "Too Bad. Maybe she has a brother?"
Without missing a beat, Chicken looks up from his computer monitor and proclaims "Or a sister!!" then went right back to typing.

It doesn't stop at that. Someone as colorful as his catch phrases also comes complete with equally odd life experiences:

After a bad night at the gay club, he staggered outside after too many drinks, and threw up... On a Midget.

He once drove off of a Main Road into what looked like a swamp because he was too busy "dancing" (instead of driving) to Madonna's song, True Blue. (This was two years ago).

At a mutual friend's wedding, he smashed his face into the wedding cake. With his face FULL of white frosting, proclaimed "I swear to God, Daddy, he didn't touch me!" (this was the same wedding he helped highjack a Rascal Scooter onto the dance floor)

When we were helping our friends paint their apartment, we made a Dunkin' Donuts run and stopped off at Home Depot. Chick decided it was time to joust, however, he failed to tell anyone. From one aisle over, we hear a scream that KIND of sounded like a chicken's clucking. With a 3 foot Roller Extender in hand, he came running down the aisle and practically IMPALED our friend Nic, who is 5 feet tall and weighed 108 pounds. She flew up in the air and landed on her back. When we asked him why he accosted her, he blamed it on the Power of the French Roast.

When an older coworker made cupcakes for Elvis Presley's Birthday, Chickie-Pie took it upon himself to take over the conference room and throw Tina Turner a birthday party, complete with her videos on the projector, "Simply The Best" on repeat, and a huge sheetcake with an airbrush image of Miss Tina herself. He sent out a mass email to his friends who worked in the department and invited them in. He was never prouder.

...And when he taught himself the Evils of Photoshop... Oh Lord. His Christmas card one year was his face photoshopped over a 1/2 naked J-Lo's in that infamous picture of Ben Affleck kissing her ass. The card read "Peace...of Ass"
That was probably the only thing he has ever said that didn't need explaining.

Despite the "Gay" rules... They have impeccable style, love to cook, have impressive gay-Dar... He has none of these. Myself and Nic have to buy his wardrobe each year because he cries that he doesn't know what to wear. He can't cook, and orders take-out every night. He was shocked when one of our other best friends came out of the closet. He admits that he's broken.

As "broken" as he says he is, I couldn't be happier to call him my friend. He's the most wonderful person I know, and loves with his whole heart.
I raise a wing... And a glass... To him tonight...For no special reason, other than I love him.

Cluck- I mean - clink!

...And the Bride Wore Pink to the Telethon

2006-10-22T12:26:00.000-07:00

Ever feel like karma is going to bite you in the ass? Well, I've been feeling the proverbial teeth-marks at my panty line since yesterday. Let me explain why.

My mom has a friend named Joanne that she has known since she was in diapers. When they had children, we all grew up together. Her eldest son got married several years ago and we were all there for every step. Since her second child announced that she was getting married, we were, of course, included.
To further the "wedding celebration" ties, in late August, she broke free from her daughter's wedding planning to come over to celebrate my Grandmother's 82nd Birthday, which also happened to be the day that my beau and I became engaged.
See? The wedding forces are strong.

Yesterday was her daughter's much-anticipated wedding day.
My mom insisted that we had to attend the long Church ceremony and not just the reception. Since we are next in line to get married, it was the "right thing" to do.

I have several problems with this:
1- Churches (forgive me for saying this) creep me out. Maybe it's the statues, or the 30 foot high crucifix, or maybe it's knowing that the Priest just played "Hide the Foreskin" with the Altar Boy. I don't know.

2- It's OK if people just want to come to our reception. I'm not going to be taking attendance that day. As long as my Fiance and I are present, it's all good.

3- I hate this "tit for tat" stuff. I have to do good so they'll do double good...When will it ever end???

Anyway, back to yesterday.
We rolled our tired asses into our best clothes and went to the church like good little children. Of course, there aren't too many people in the church because MOST PEOPLE ONLY ATTEND THE CEREMONY. (Note to Mom: Told you so.)
We park it in hard, cold pews and wait.
Out of nowhere, the organ player grinds something that sounds entirely too much like the Queen theme song for Flash Gordon! (as I was thinking it, Annoyed was saying it.)
We all hold in our laughter as a procession unlike any other began.
Little children dressed in monkey suits... Little children who looked like monkeys in red dresses... A 400 pound midget in a low cut bridesmaid dress... Are we at a wedding or a freak show?
At this point, either God is mad at me, or he is in total agreement. I can't tell.

Everyone takes their place at the altar as the tone-deaf organist starts banging out Here Comes the Bride, and I get my camera ready.

Aren't the lyrics "Here Comes the Bride... All Dressed in White?"

Then why the fuck is she wearing pink? Not Ice Pink, not soft pink, but Cotillion pink. In fact, it looks like she raided Glenda the Good Witch's wardrobe and came bouncing into the church in a big pink bubble.
She takes her place at the altar, as her aunt, a lesbian who looks like Danny Kaye, begins cracking jokes to my mother. Loudly. However, not loud enough to drown out the Priest's voice, who apparently didn't know he was going to be Officiating a ceremony until that exact moment.

This priest used "Uhh, and umm" more than a second grader forced to read his book report aloud to the class.

"Jaime and ummm....Louie?" (his name is Louis)

"Marriage is uhhhh... Sacred" (then why are YOU marrying them?)

"They uhhh.... Need your help... Not for today, but for the rest of their ....uhhhh.... Lives" (Am I at a wedding or a Jerry Lewis Telethon???)

"Louis and uhhh... James... Jaime" (I would have socked him)

At one point, he actually said "
"Jaime may want to leave ummm... Louis... Because he snares too loud (I think he meant "Snore") and that Louis may want to leave Jaime because aaa... She make-a cookies too hard. Please... They need your help. Not just today, but every day."

I expected the phone lines to begin lighting up and for Ben Vereen to take the stage.

Anyway, they finally got to uhhh... Kiss the uhh... Bride... And we all went outside.
We all piled up into my mom's car.

This was at 4pm. The cocktail hour began at 6:30pm. It was a 30 minute drive to the reception hall. We had some time to kill so we went back to my mom's house to powder our noses. I was the last one back in the car. I don't know how or why, but the lethal combination of my Fiance, my Mom and my Grandmother somehow came together and decided that we were going to DITCH THE RECEPTION.
!!!!!!!
This, coming from my "you MUST go to the Church, it's wrong if you don't!" Mother.

This coming from my "Head up, lipstick on, shoulders back, etiquette first" Grandmother.

This coming from my... Well, you all know Annoyed pretty well. The thought to ditch a wedding isn't completely out of character for him.
I was nervous, but down. We rode down the street with the wind in our hair and my fiance proclaiming "I love my mother-in-law!!!"
Ooohh, this was gonna be good.

We wound up at our local Italian restaurant, ordering calamari, drinking red wine, and me trying to pump my mom for an explanation as to how on earth 4 people could have missed her best friend's only daughter's reception.

Blown tire? No, everyone would have driven by us during the procession and someone would see us.

Grandma doesn't feel good and I had to stay with her (OK, but what about the rest of us? That just clears you and my Grandmother)

Grandma fell down the stairs and split her head open (and would you BELIEVE this came from Grandma herself???)

We tossed around excuses and tossed back wine & good food until we all were verging on comatose.

"Fine,' my mother concluded, while a rather drunken Annoyed cackled and said inappropriate things in my ear, ' I'll sleep on it and figure out TOMORROW how to get us all off the hook."
And that was it.
We got into the car at 6:47pm. I had a fleeting feeling of anxiety and thought "We can still make the reception! Cocktail hour only started 17 minutes ago!!!"
I was almost laughed out of the car.

Back home, he fell into a wine-induced cat nap and of course, left alone to my own devices, my mind began to race.
What if they're really pissed? What if I get a call from one of them before my mom makes up the lie? What if I screw up the lie and we get caught? WHAT IF???"

I still can't drive, so I couldn't have hopped into the car myself. I still can't do much of anything...Except think of how karma is going to get me good on this one.

I woke up today in a semi-nervous sweat. We did wrong.

I spoke to my mom today, and she came up with this focacta story about how we all got locked out of my mom's house... Or something. I screwed it up when I tried to tell it, but listening to my mom explain it... Well, I even believed it.
Which makes me nervous.
I don't have a witty ending, or a response to how the lie was received. I started this post this afternoon, and it's now 7:49pm and my mom still hasn't delivered her heap of shit story to her friend.

I'll let you know what happens.

This is What I Miss Being on Disability

2006-10-19T12:31:00.000-07:00

Taken from Overheard in New York:

Seven Months Later, she Complains About Having to Step Around the Amniotic Fluid to Get to the Door

Hobo woman: Excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for...
Non-hobo man: Oh, hell no!
Hobo woman: ... for interupting you during your trip. I'm homeless...
Non-hobo man: I'm homeless, too! Shut-up!
Homeless woman: And I'm two months pregnant...
Non-hobo man: You ain't pregnant! You just fat! Sit-down and shut-up!

--F train

Overheard by: Brooklyn Dodgy

via Overheard in New York, Oct 19, 2006

All About Rosie 25-1

2006-10-16T09:22:00.000-07:00

I decided that I've complained enough for me to last through the year with these past few posts, so last night, I decided to take a cue (Ramblin Rose, and Hotwire, to name a few) and put up a couple of interesting (and maybe not so interesting) facts about me.
Feel free to comment or ask anything you want.

25- - I am clumsy. I fall and bump into things like it's my job. My blog name should actually be "Crash."

24- I love to wake up on a Sunday with the windows open and the rain pouring down. I pull up the covers and cuddle in bed with the smell of rain all throughout our bedroom. You couldn't get me to trade that moment for anything.

23- I become highly offended whenever I hear someone say to anyone "You have such a pretty face..." Because it implies that the rest of them are not attractive, and that's in no way a compliment.

22 - I was originally going to become a Pharmacist. I have 3 1/2 years of benchwork completed. I left because, though I was excellent at my job, I was no longer in love with it. I left and jumped back into Acting and Media, where I am today. I made the right decision.

21- I support the mindless Reality Show Corporation because I watch religiously (and TiVo) "Bridezilla." It's on the WE Network about crazy, nasty, hysterical Brides and it's fucking funny.

20- I found out the hard way that I'm allergic to pineapples.

19- The last time I went on vacation was in 1997. I don't count our trip last winter to visit family in Upstate NY a vacation because:
a- it was to see family
b- we had a horrible time and
c- work wouldn't stop calling me the whole trip

18- When I meet people for the first time, I am extremely shy. I blush and may even stutter.

17- When I was little, I had the gappiest baby teeth EVER. My mom told me I had an Alligator Smile. My teeth eventually became straight sans braces, but whenever I see one of those little guys open their mouths, I have to smile along with them.

16- If people-watching were a sport, I'd be an Olympic Gold medal winner.

15- Silence of the Lambs, to me, is one of the funniest movies ever made.

14- Despite what many people think, I believe that Marilyn Monroe was one of the most talented, intelligent and beautiful women of our time. I also believe that it was her intelligence and her beauty that got her into trouble and ultimately had her murdered. Yup, I said it. MURDERED.

13- I have been told, on more than one occasion, by more than one person, that when I'm stressed or working really hard, my right iris will change from green to blue. My left eye stays the same.

12- I am a really good baker but an average cook. I want to take Gourmet Cooking lessons, and am giving myself until the end of 2007 to do so.

11- I like to bake listening to Swing music, crooners and Standards while wearing my favorite apron. I embrace my inner Donna Reed.

10- I am addicted to Starbucks coffee and Chapstick. (not together)

9-When I was 5 years old, I hated my name. I knocked on the door of the Judge that lived on the corner of my block, gave him my Piggybank, and asked him to legally change my name to "Dorothy Gail, of Kansas." He laughed, took both me and my piggybank home to my mom. I got stuck with the name I was born with, & now, I love it.

8-Rosie is not my real name. Nothing even close to it! Rosie happens to be the name of one of our cats, and she jumped up on my lap the night I wrote my first post.

7-I usually can't go a day without cleaning SOMETHING. I also love to spend Sundays ripping the house apart and scrubbing from floor to ceiling. It gives me a tremendous feeling.

6-I took voice lessons at a young age and sang throughout my life in school concerts, for session musicians, etc. However, I have a fear of singing in front of people I know.

5-I have an obsession with Ace Frehley. Not in a sexual way, but in a "I can't believe this guy is for real!" kind of way. I'm stunned he's still alive!

4-Whenever someone near me eats with their mouth open, I have a near-uncontrollable urge to beat the piss out of them. Can't help it, it's a knee-jerk reaction.

3-I've thought about it, and came to the conclusion that Walt Disney & and his staff were some of the most sadistic storytellers for children EVER. Want proof? Bambi. Dumbo. Old Yeller.

2-The phrase "Not for nothin'..." Really gets under my skin.

1-Chances are, if I'm introducing people, I will forget at least one of the people's names, even if I've known them almost all of my life.

Me & The Girls

2006-10-11T16:47:00.000-07:00

The below post may be really boring. I know, I'm sorry, but I haven't been that active lately, and I'm I felt a lot better today. My swelling has gone down a lot, and although I'm still pretty banged up, and can't do too much, I decided (yesterday) that I was going to go shopping for bras, first time Post-Surgery.

Luckily, my Mom and Grandma came with me, since I can't carry too much, let alone drive a car just yet. Off we go to Macy*s!

My Surgeon told me that for the first 3 months post-op, I can't wear anything with an underwire, so I'm kind of excited. This is unchartered territory for me. The last time I wore something without an underwire was in third grade (I'm being totally serious!)
I did research on all lingerie(I'm a regular brasmith now, wouldn't you know) and found a select few that would be compatible for me and my new breasts.
There were several musts:

Must have support. I didn't get implants, but I still have a bodacious rack. Therefore, I can't go with a training bra.

Must have really really soft material. I'm only a month and a few days out from surgery, so I've got to be kind. No synthetic material for me!

Must be easy to put on. I mustn't forget, I'm newly cotoure. My body is still tight, and I'm not flexible. YET.

MUST be attractive. Hey, I'm a girl.

I wandered around, feeling textures, checking straps, eyeing design, contour, stitching. I must have looked like Inspector #12.
I found several good ones in the Calvin Klein area, as well as Vanity Fare, and a few others.
I walked into the dressing room armed with about 15 bras... And froze.

I actually forgot how to put a bra on! I've been walking around - for what seems like forever - in surgical bras that velcro in the front. There's no though that goes into it, no acrobatic feat. These, however were going to be lot more than I thought. I forgot how to move my arms, also fresh from surgery. I didn't know if I should close up my bras in the back, or in the front and swing em around! What about bra straps?
If there were security cameras, some people got a really good laugh. I must have looked like an idiot. I had to sit down, I had to mime how to put one on, I had to take a breather to clear my head for a moment. If my new boob's came with instructions, I would have had to read up on my Owner's Manual!
I actually had a good laugh at myself when I was putting a front closure bra on, and forgot to let out the straps That bra was so tight around the back that it pinned my arms back at the elbows, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Picture this: I haven't been to the hairdresser in forever, so my black roots have now grown almost as long as I am tall. I'm grimacing as my pants, which are now too big for me, are falling off my hips, and my arms are pinned and flailing, like a T-Rex.
Go ahead, laugh. I sure did.
Luckily, when I finally got out of the Calvin Klein Camel Clutch I was in, it looked pretty damn good on. I'm no where near where I need to be, but I was able to put on something normal. In fact, out of 15 choices, I was able to agree on 4, with panties to match.
I was so excited that I bought a pair of yoga pants that actually fit (fancy that) and a really sexy leopard print v-neck sweater.

All in all, not a bad day. I'd like to say that I made great strides, in fact.
In really cute lingerie.

That's Life... - UPDATED

2006-10-10T12:15:00.000-07:00

I originally wrote this today, right after reading the advertisement to the show.
Since then, I have calmed down, and had time to clear my head a little.
The cast who went up tonight and opened this show have worked very hard on this, and they deserve the press for it. To them, I apologize for my rant. I sound very bratty and bitchy.
I hope they get rave reviews, and I hope that I can start to work on something that I have wanted to for a while. I'll keep you posted on that.

I thought the Pity Party over my Surgery was enough, apparently I didn't realize I am supposed to Multi Task shitty situations.

Some of you have read that I've been working like crazy on a musical for over 2 years now, called "That's Life", a musical about the life and friends of Frank Sinatra. For over 2 years, I have played Marilyn Monroe. I have worked my fingers to the bone, traveled into the City to perform to almost empty audiences, dealt with a sticky fingered Director and Crazy theatre owner, put up with several different "owners of the show", had the 2nd owner steal all of our costumes, and finally, with the little cast that we had left, rebuilt this fucker from the ground up, and worked my ass off to sew new costumes, worked on script changes, casted talented people, a few times even ran rehearsals on my own, acted as liason between new cast members and the new Producer, who also plays Frank Sinatra, and wanted more than anything to feel that it was worth it.

More than several times, I doubted it could suceed. I thought about walking away from it, but being able to play Marilyn, and the work I selflessly put into it for all of this time was enough to keep myself in.

I knew when I had my surgery that I would be out for a couple of weeks. Maybe I was dilusional in thinking that I could be in the show after all, since when I went out for surgery, we still weren't ready to go up. The last time I was in rehersal, which was the last Tuesday in August, we had cancelled our October open and still had a TBD opening date. No one thought I would miss a step.
Maybe I'm just dumb. Really stupidly, horribly fucking dumb.
Now, I'm just completely broken hearted.
I went online and saw this article in the paper. Please note, tonight is the opening for That's Life.
Wanna know why there is press and advertising for the show? Because of me. Because I told the Producer that in order to get this show up and running, he would have to get advertising. I had it all mapped out. Every website, every Theatreblog to go to.

Please note there is no mention of me in the article. There is no mention of me in the website. I can't put my bio on the website because I'm not in the performances, which are only to run until the end of October.

Feel free to go on the website, listed above in the article.
Hell, go see the show.
It promises to be a good one.

I was promised IF they put it up again, they're going to want me in it, after I'm healed from my surgery. They also said that because I've been so important to the show, they want me in the audience on the last night.

Wow. I feel about as worthless as a used tampon.

And Now... From the Neck Down

2006-10-06T16:06:00.000-07:00

WARNING: THIS IS A LOOOONNNNGGGG ONE.

OK.
I haven't told many people, because I don't want anyone to know(especially those at work, or catty family members) but I need to blog about this for several reasons:

1 I have to get this off my my chest
2 I need to talk to some people who I hope to God won't judge me
3 To steal a line from one of my favorite movies "If I don't share it with you, it's like it never even happened!" (name the movie, I'll send you a gift!)

I had surgery. Yes, I know you know.
You don't know what kind. It falls under hernia surgery.
However, that's not all of it. My first post mentioned that I used to be quite large (about 300 pounds). I lost it all through diet and exercise only, but unfortunately, because I was so big for so long, my skin lost all elasticity and I still wore my old body, like a deflated Sumo costume, on my small frame. I looked horrible, and felt like shit. It was so tremendously discouraging for me to work so hard, but still have my old fat body staring me in the face every time I disrobed. I had to do something about it because I was unhappy, embarrassed, uncomfortable, and in a lot of pain. (back, abs, etc) After a ton (excuse the pun) of research, consults, etc, I went for it and had...
(For the Faint of Heart, don't read below)

a Lower Body Lift
Brachioplasty (arm lift)
Breast Lift

in one day.

This means that on September 7th, I was literally cut in half, had 20 pounds of excess skin taken from my middle, had my lower half lifted like a pair of pantyhose, had my abdominal wall meshed, sutured and rebuilt, was given a new belly button, and sewed back together.

And it doesn't stop there, friends.

My Doctor then cut both arms, from elbow to armpit, and removed the skin that hung there, making me look like a Flying Squirrel. He then continued the cut through my underarm, tightening my upper back under my arms, into a full-on breast lift.

Holy shit.
Sounds like a lot, huh? Well, it was. I didn't have time to think about it beforehand, with work being crazy, 2 deaths in the family, and the one good thing that happened before all of this, our Engagement. In fact, up until the morning of my surgery, I didn't think it would happen at all. I had allergies, and wasn't sure if I would be able to go under if I was stuffy.
About 5 minutes before I was wheeled into the O.R., I got clearance from the Anesthesiologist. I immediately became terrified and started to cry.

I stopped when we reached the O.R., and met with my Surgeon, whom I completely trust. I was already marked from head to toe with a Sharpie, when I had to stand up and be coated head to toe with Betadine. I was shaking so badly, I must have bitten my tongue 10 times in 5 minutes.

The whole team tried to make me comfortable, seeing how nervous I was, and the Anesthesiologist even made a joke about taking me out on a date as soon as it was over. I told him my Fiance would not appreciate that very much, but thanked him anyway. (I had to be nice, he was holding the drugs- and my life - in his hands!)

I saw some needle go into my IV. I don't remember much after that.

9 hours and 56 minutes later, to be exact, I heard:
"Abdominal Binder? Abdominal Binder."
"Surgical Bra? Surgical Bra"

Then it felt like someone put me on a Rollercoaster made of primary colors and white lights. I started to freak out a little.

The next thing I remember is throwing up, then being wheeled into my Hospital room. My parents were waiting for me. My mom asked how I was and I said quietly "I'll be fine."
I was given a morphine pump, and I hit that little sucker like a crack head. My left breast stung slightly, but not really any pain.

The next morning I was greeted by my Doctor who came in to check up on me. I had lost a lot of blood, and the surgery went 2 hours over. I would have to have at least one blood transfusion, (2 total) and would have to stay in the Hospital a few days longer than expected, but I had actually come out of it very well, considering all of the work I just had done.
(People normally go in for one procedure at a time. Not me.)
My arms and hands were so blown up at first I didn't recognize them. I had 8 drains inside of me to expel excess blood and fluid, and a catheter. I couldn't walk, and couldn't keep my eyes open for long periods of time.

I was so out of it, I don't remember much, except for that first drink of water they let me have, and when my Fiance came in to see me. I remember being so happy.

I couldn't believe I had the surgery.

When I was awake, I was weepy. Very emotional & happy at the same time. I had a CRAZY older woman as a roommate (they all seem to find me) who stole my Bridal Magazine and wrote the definitions of all of her medical conditions all over the covers. I'll blog about her later on.

The first time I had to walk, I almost died. (Not literally!) I just thought the Nursing Staff was completely out of their tree for suggesting such a thing.

I was getting better, but still was required to stay in the Hospital for about a week. My family and my Fiance never left my side. I don't know how they did it, with the tubes, the blood tranfusions, everything. It was too much.

I was finally discharged and went to stay at my mom's for a few weeks. I needed round the clock care, and our two cats would have been too much for me to deal with.

My recovery was sketchy. I developed a Hemotoma in my left breast, and had to go back and forth to my Doctor constantly. It wasn't life threatening, but it still scared the shit out of me. I had pain with my drains, and had a Charlie Horse for almost 3 days.

One thing that happens with major surgery is that Depression hits hard.
I became Homesick for my old body. I feared that because I hadn't been home in almost a month, nothing would be the same when I got back. I hated the fact that I had the surgery done and referred to myself as Frankenstein. I cried. I barely slept. I was scared. I regretted the day I had the surgery. I felt like I had been kidnapped, and got sick to my stomach every time someone came over. It sucked being me.

I hate to say that, because it makes me sound ungrateful. I love my life, and I'm priveleged to be able to have everything that I have. I've got it pretty good. Everything just hit me pretty hard. The loss of my Grandfather several days before my Surgery affected me so strongly on top of everything. Being out of my element, and not knowing how I would feel from moment to moment sucked, too. I had to get off of the pain meds early because of nausea, and I felt like I had been hit by a Mack Truck.

Everyone kept telling me I was brave. I didn't believe them. My cousin found out about my surgery because my Grandmother, who told my Uncle in confidence, spilled the beans, and she sent me a card telling me that I needed to realize that I was beautiful inside and out, and not to feel so badly about myself. Fuck. I never felt like that. This was why I didn't want people to know. I didn't have the surgery because I was sitting home, crying about my ugliness. I wasn't the girl who couldn't get a date, who wished for a Fairy Godmother to take me away from all of this pain. I was a girl who corrected her mistake of overeating, and was sick of looking at her old self in the mirror. I was a girl who was ready to move on, who wanted to wear a gorgeous dress on her Wedding Day, who had been offered extensive Talent work, but knew I needed to have the surgery in order to proceed further. That's all it was. It made me so mad.

On the bright side, I have had so much support from both family members and friends who knew. I couldn't have gotten through it without them all. My Mom was a dream. My Grandmother was too. My Dad dealt with it the best he could. He can't see me in pain, and I know that. He was always calling me though. My Fiance was there, holding my hand the whole time. My future Mother-In-Law called constantly, and sent me cards. His family called to check up on me. Friends sent flowers and brought Bridal magazines and dropped in.

I was able to finally come home last week, and have been feeling a little bit better each day. I still have had some setbacks, and can't go back to work for at least another 3 weeks, but I'm getting there. It's the depression that is the biggest bitch of it all. I'm a 30 year old woman who feels like a 5 year old homesick girl at least 10 times a day. A commercial can make me cry. Every time I have to change clothes or take a shower, I can't look in the mirror. Every nerve is reconnecting, and my body keeps jumping all day long. I just have to tell myself that I'm getting better.
So, on the eve of my one month out of surgery, I post this long, gorily graphic, incredibly exposing blog.
I'll be following up, sometimes to bitch, sometimes to escape that depressed feeling. Mostly, because it is easier for me to sit at a desk than stand. Just kidding, I missed blogging so much!

So there you have it. You all know my secret. I'm a Plastic Surgery Queen from the neck down.

From The Neck Up, it's all me. (Well, except my hair. I'm not a natural blonde.)

Thank you all for listening. Really.

Happy, Part 2

2006-10-05T11:37:00.000-07:00

For those who don't know, I recently became Engaged. Happiest day of my life, no doubt. Unfortunately, due to major surgery, I have not been able to blog about it until now.

My wonderful boyfriend and I have been working like crazy. His weekly hours usually rack up to 95 hours per week, and mine, with travel, and rehearsal for the show, are not too far behind. Come the weekend, we're fucking tired! Imagine my excitement when he came home one night and told me that he was going to take me out to this really nice steakhouse that weekend. Unfortunately, my Grandmother's Surprise 82nd Birthday was that next Saturday, so we postponed our dinner for the following weekend.

That next Saturday, we dragged our tired asses from bed and went to my Mom's for the party. I was so crazy with work and with my upcoming surgery to realize that I had several hints thrown at me all week and never caught on.
Some of those being:
"Can you take my clothes to the Dry Cleaners?" coupled with "Go buy a new dress for dinner...Nothing special, we just haven't been out in a while" should make someone stop and think. Me? Nothing. Nadia. No pulse.

There were probably clues that day that may have given it away that something was brewing, but I was too busy chasing after my friend's demon babies (who weren't supposed to be at the party at all, by the way)to really catch on.
We get through dinner, cake, and presents. I notice my boyfriend get up and go to the window, then go out to the front porch. About 10 minutes later, he comes back with a package from the USPS.
"Babe' he says, 'The package my mom sent finally arrived."
"Oh, OK!" (Hmm...I didn't remember him telling me a package was being sent.)
I continued to help my Grandmother clean up gift wrap.

"Actually, I think... I think this is for you." he said, with a weird look on his face.
I gingerly took the package and opened it. I saw a small ring box inside.

A voice inside of me began yelling "Don't think, just open it! Don't think, just open it!"
I pulled it out, and there was a note on it, written from his Mom.
His Great grandparents names were written on the note, along with "Married April 1918" underneath their names.
The voice inside my head began to scream "DON'T READ, JUST OPEN IT! JUST FUCKING OPEN THE DAMN BOX!"

So I did.

And inside of it was the most beautiful, shiny diamond ring I have ever seen. In fact, it winked at me when I opened it.
I almost said "YES!" right then, but a new voice inside of my head cut me off.

"Don't say yes yet! He hasn't asked yet! Maybe he doesn't know there's a diamond ring in the box! He said his mom sent it!! What if you say yes, and he doesn't know there's a Diamond ring in the box, and then he doesn't propose, and you have egg on your face in front of your whole family???"

Oh, how my stupid mind works.

Luckily for me, the next voice I heard was my boyfriend.

"I was wondering..." Then I saw him get down on one knee next to me. I looked over, but just saw the top of his head. I began to realize what was going on.

He had the ring in his hand and I saw his hand was trembling.

"Will You Marry Me?"

I swear, I thought I said yes.
Someone, I don't remember who, asked me what my answer was. I looked over at him and he said "I've been kneeling here for 3 minutes!" in the sweetest voice I ever heard.
"Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes!"

And the ring was slipped on my finger, and he kissed me.

Toasts all around were made, phones began dialing furiously all over the US, and I was in shock. I couldn't stop staring at my fiance, who happens to be the most Amazing and Beautiful person I know.
Then, it kind of hit me. I get to spend my life with him. I get to walk down the aisle to meet him. That whole day is going to mean more than I can ever put into words because it will be the day that I marry HIM. How on earth did this happen to me? And it's not just the day, it's every moment! How did I become the luckiest girl in the world?
I'm still wondering.

To answer a few questions:
1 - No, we haven't set a date yet. We'll probably do that around the Holidays.

2 - The Ring? The most gorgeous I've ever seen. It's an antique ring from his Great Grandparents that I have the honor of wearing. It's from 1918, a Platinum and White gold ring, holding a round (possible European crisscut) diamond in the middle with bezel, with round diamonds on each side, 6 in all. It's so overwhelming. I often wonder what it was like, the day his Great Grandmother received it, and if she felt the same way I did the day it was put on my finger. It amazes me to know that this was the ring that held the hand of his family members so many years ago. It really is overwhelming. I can't find another word to describe it.

3- It hasn't hit yet, entirely. Every time I look down on my left hand, I feel a surge, and every time I look at him, I'm hit with emotion. In fact, today, we had someone fixing our cable lines today, and I had to say "My Fiance" and it was the most exciting thing ever. I'm such a geek! I still can't comprehend it. When I do, it'll be like a huge wonderful amazing explosion heard around the world.

4- I'll post a picture of the ring ASAP.

5- Yes, you're all invited.

Happy, Part One

2006-10-04T18:14:00.000-07:00

It was September, 1998 when I walked into Acting II. Having succeeded in the past classes and with rave reviews of my role in the Spring play the Semester before, I was pretty on top of my game, like I was ready for my close-up. As every actor greeted the next with dramatic side-to-side hugs and copies of their updated headshots from Summer Stock, I air-kissed my way through the Actorazzi and dug into my handbag for a cigarette. I walked over to my favorite spot on the floor of the dance studio, but unfortunately, someone was already sitting there.
Head down, Knicks hat on, I couldn't make out his face, but I could tell that he was very tall with dark hair. I cocked my head to the side, trying to figure out how, if at all, I knew him, as I approached, gingerly. I got about 5 feet away when he looked up at me, and it was at that very moment that I forgot how to breathe. The most handsome face that I have ever seen, with a pair of light blue eyes that made me blush on contact, looked back at me, and I swear, I forgot everything I had ever learned.
I said nothing and walked away quickly. I left the Studio to the breezeway & popped that cigarette into my mouth, attempted to light it, and realized that I had yet to exhale. That guy in there took my breath away.
Sweating slightly, I regained my composure, all the while telling myself that as long as I didn't make a fool out of myself that first day of class in front of this hunk-a-man, I might have a fighting chance in getting to know him.
I was finally able to breathe without assistance when I heard a voice behind me:
"Do you have a light?"
I turned, handed him my matches, and introduced myself.

And THAT was how I met my Fiance.

Fast forward to 2006. I'm not going to bore you all with the details,(that would just be silly!) but it wasn't perfect from that exact moment on. We were kids, dammitt! (and we both weren't anywhere near ready for that kind of commitment) We did, however, become friends, date briefly once or twice, lost contact, became friends again, lost contact again. That was in 2000, I believe.

It was right before Christmas, 2003, that I saw him again. We were both dating other people, and were cordial to each other. We ran into each other a few months later, and slowly built up a friendship that turned into the most healthy, beautiful relationship I have ever heard of. In fact, I don't know of anyone who has it better than I do.

instrumental to my every smile, supportive of my independance and to my every dream, I've got someone so incredible, I still have to pinch myself daily, and have the welts to prove it.

He is STILL the most handsome, loving, most sincere, kindest, caring, most Intelligent and most talented person I know. I have more adjectives for him, but if I continue, I would be obnoxiously carrying on.
I will be posting how it happened shortly (you can read his version, if you haven't already on his blog from August), but i wanted to take a moment to reflect, and to gush, about how I met the wonderful Man I get the pleasure and honor of sharing my life with.

Mr. Annoyed, you may take your bow.
I love you.

Freak Magnet Much?

2006-08-24T20:28:00.000-07:00

Within the past few days, people have been saying the strangest things to me. I think I must be a freak-magnet.

On the way home, I got stuck sitting next to a rather large, almost blind drunk man (I know he was drunk because a- he reeked of Bud and b- I know for a fact it was Bud because I looked over and saw it peeking out of a paper bag). Seeing this, I should have moved. Right? Right.
WRONG.
I sat there with my little iPod ears on, hoping to get home without altercation.
He taps me on the shoulder and shows me a piece of paper. I braced myself for a note that says "GIVE ME ALL OF YOUR MONEY" but, thankfully, it had "THIS IS JUST A GIFT" written in almost illegible scratch. In his other hand, he was offering me a small beat-up Bible.
Now, I've been around enough drunk Born-Agains before (you laugh, but it's true!) and I know NOT to fight about Religion. So as not to make a scene, I thanked him, took the Bible, and looked for a hole in the floor that I could drop into just to get away from this guy.
5 Minutes later, he nudges me. "Excuse me, I don't even know you' he slurs 'but I needed to give you that Bible because something so strong came from you promising to be Great."
WHAT???
"Something told me that if I gave you my Bible, you would be even greater and more powerful than you are now."

He sounded like a D&D Master. A really, really DRUNK D&D Master.

Luckily, my stop was announced, and I jumped off the train.

I take two steps and hear "Excuse me, I don't want you to think I'm crazy, but..."

I turn around, AND IT'S SOMEONE ELSE!
(and that someone looks like Timothy McVeigh)
Timothy introduces himself as Brandon and asks if he can call me.

Poor Brandon.

I made him refer to a huge picture of Annoyed that I carry with me on a pike. He got the message.
I get home and call my One and Only, who is still at work.

"Babe.' he says 'You really have got to start carrying Mace."

Great.
I could see the headline now: "Blonde Devil Maces Blind Cleric"

Guess Someone Didn't Get the Memo...

2006-08-17T09:36:00.000-07:00

OK, so we've reviewed that I don't like anyone invading my personal space at work, especially when I'm trying to eat, and we're all aware of a certain poop-hating whackadoo that I share a floor with.
Put those two together and you have a crazy person who climbs on my back while I'm trying to eat.
Literally.

I have to tell this right away, cause if I can't share it with you... hey, it's like it didn't even happen.

I'm heating up my Lean Cuisine in the microwave, and as the buzzer sounds, I lean over to take it out of the microwave.
I have a VERY HOT plastic flimsy dish of Mac and cheese in my hand, and out of nowhere, I feel TITS ON MY BACK!

Now, I know I didn't put an extra set there this morning, so something's up. And I see a childlike hand come out of my peripheral vision, over my head, and grab a coffee cup on top of the microwave.
Immediately, I hear someone whisper in my ear " Hi".

PLEASE NOTE THERE ARE STILL A SET OF JUGS ON MY BACK! AND THEY'RE SMALL, SO I KNOW FOR A FACT THEY'RE NOT MINE!!!

I turn around to see who's riding me like a mechanical bull... And it's Everbody's Favorite Lunatic. On my back. Still.

And in an instant, she was gone. Like it never happened.
I walk over to my P.A. and start to tell her about it. I fear that I was either violated by a Miss bellboy 2006, or I am now dilusional from lack of coffee.
She interrupts me and says " Yeah, I saw her violate you. She looked like a fucking flying squirrel on your back."

I usually know what to say and how to react in a situation, but I'm seriously spooked out right now. I don't know what to say, what to do, and how to react.
And I think my back may now be pregnant.

Memo to All of my Co-Workers

2006-08-14T12:13:00.000-07:00

It's bad enough that from the time I come in to work until the time I'm safely tucked away in the town that I live in, my soul is not my own. For some unknown reason, people think it's OK to ignore boundaries at work. Everyone goes through it... and it sucks. To help me keep my sanity, I'm thinking of passing these rules out to my co-workers (a'la Jerry Maguire):

I understand that people are busy, but please refrain from the following before I lose my mind:

1- Even though I have a phone to one ear, and the other ear is free, that doesn't mean that the free ear is available for your petty conversations.

2- I refuse to eat with my mouth full, period. That's because I have manners. Do you know what those are?
That also means that no matter what you are asking me (unless you're asking me if I want a million dollars) I will not answer you. I will glare at you. I resolve to no longer burn the roof of my mouth, shoveling food into my mouth in record speed to answer your questions. If this happens again, I will have no choice but to take the food I am trying to eat, slam it into your face, knock you down, then go into your wallet and take out money owed for my new meal, because you made me ruin my old lunch. I'm not playing games with you people.

3 - To the rather large, annoying person who only talks to me to ask me what I'm eating: No, you can't have my food. I don't care how good it smells. I don't care that you haven't eaten in two hours and you're hungry again. I don't care. Go away or else I'll spray you with a water bottle.

4- The next time you smell my food and ask if I'm eating tuna and I tell you I'm not, please don't second guess me and ask me if I'm sure. When I firmly tell you that it is, in fact, chicken that I'm eating, please don't look at my dish longingly and say "I've never had chicken like THAT before." Yes you have, you lying bastard. Oh, yes, you have.

5- Every time I see you hovering over my desk, I will love you a little less. Please see below on how I keep score:

hovering because you're bored = 1 point
hovering while I'm on the phone to tell me something (doesn't matter what it is) = 2 points
hovering over my desk while I'm on the phone and discreetly looking at my computer screen = 5 points plus a slap in the head
hovering while eating popcorn that spills from your mouth all over my desk while I'm on the phone & accidentally knocking something over at my desk that eventually leads to my hot coffee spilling all over my polka-dot skirt = death by a combination of Donkey Punch and Bukkake.

6- If you eat or rustle paper in the elevator, I will take it away from you. Like a child. No one needs to hear you chew loudly or smell your curried onion rings out of a bag while we're all in close quarters. Can't you wait one minute till you get to your floor, you slovenly prick?

7- If you come anywhere near my desk/general area with bad breath or body odor, you will be hit with a tazer.

8- WHEN YOU SEE ME GO INTO THE BATHROOM STALL AND CLOSE THE DOOR, THIS IS YOUR CUE TO STOP TALKING TO ME UNTIL I EMERGE ONCE AGAIN.
- Really. This is something that bothers me more than anything. There is no need to carry on a conversation with a co-worker while I'm peeing. It actually makes me sad that I have to point this out to certain people. It's work. It can wait until I wipe. And no, I cannot spare a square.

I don't think this is too much to ask, for the sake of a little peace and sanity at work. As it is, we all spend at least 8-10 plus hours a day together. It's bad enough that this has to be mentioned at all, yes?

Thanks for lending your ear, as I blog from my cell.

Decisions, Purple Feathers, and Marilyn on a Friday Night

2006-08-04T21:45:00.000-07:00

It's almost midnight on a Friday, and I'm happy to be home. I did a few loads of laundry, scoured the kitchen and the bathroom... And then myself. Got out of the shower, threw on a wifebeater and a pair of yoga pants, and decided to blog.

I find it odd how I can be so ambitious about some things, feel as if I can get everything done, and wind up realizing that sometimes I just can't do it all. Take for example, the show I'm in. Our choreographer has fallen sick, and was not able to take our chorus girls to get fitted for costumes for the big number that opens up the second act. It somehow fell on me, and I'm now in the middle of making 4 very elaborate Showgirl costumes... By hand. So, with a stiff neck and a sore back, I'm sewing purple feathers on one, Mardi-gras sequins, beads and peacock feathers on another one, the third is a chain bikini, and the last one, a white beaded two-piece. I found out yesterday that feathers are the hardest thing to sew onto a nude bodysuit. I wasn't sure if I was going to laugh or cry.

For those who don't know, I am in an Off Broadway show at night that started about 2 years ago... This show, a musical, has been passed around like a cheap joint from Director to Director so many times,mangled, dis-and re-assembled so much that it completely fell apart on the last run. The star of the show decided take it into his hands & fund it, as an attempt to make it work. After a few rewrites, recasting, a new theatre, and some awesome new choreography, we're looking at going on again. Sadly, aside from the amazing dancing, and the acting, several things are lacking so badly that I think we're just repolishing a turd. I'm just scared I'm wasting my time hanging on to something that is destined only to be a great idea, and not such a great show. My boyfriend jokes and calls it "Waiting for Guffman, The Musical" and he's not so far off. I feel horrible saying it, but it needs much more than a slight rewrite and a tweak, this show needs a new show! I hope I'm wrong, because I've been pouring my heart and soul into this. I guess that's why I'm making these damn costumes. This project is also so near and dear to my heart, because I'm playing Marilyn Monroe, who has been a Goddess to me since I was a little little girl. She was the epitome of beauty, and I had always wanted to be like her. Guess my wish came true, except I'm playing her in a musical that reads more like a 5th grade book report rather than anything else. I remember when I was asked to audition for this role, that I was almost too scared to do it, thinking I could never give Marilyn justice, but here I am, in this bad play, sometimes feeling like I'm shaming her, but yet, I am not ready to let anyone else take her over. I can't throw in the hat yet, and I can't give you a clear reason why. I don't even know myself. I've got to keep working at this gig and trying to make it work. Maybe I'm crazy. Should I stick this out, or should I walk away from playing something so near and dear to me, that could turn out fabulous, to go where the obvious better shows are?
I'll let you know how it goes.

Something Beautiful

2006-07-28T16:58:00.000-07:00

I've always had a fascination with women, and not in a sexual way. Since I was a little girl, I always wanted to be beautiful. Looking at my mom, with her long, dark hair and heart-shaped face, and my Grandmother, who is still more beautiful than any woman I've ever known, I was born with the bar already raised. I constantly studied myself, searching for beauty in a freckle, the shape of a fingernail, the curl of an eyelash. I had to find some parallel, something that would link me one day to finally be gorgeous.

Right around my 7th Birthday, I entered the world's longest ugly duckling faze.
My hair was in my face, I needed glasses, and had gappy white chiclets where teeth were supposed to be. I begged for braces to hide my "Alligator smile" as my mother called it. I was one of the tallest girls in my class. I became pitifully uncoordinated and couldn't complete a sentence without nervously clearing my throat 1/2 way through. I was a mess and I knew it.
It was at this time that I also started watching movies and TV, and saw beautiful women on screen. Everything from Judy Garland in Wizard of Oz, to Ann Reinking in Annie, even Ann Jillian when she played a Starlet-turned-ghost in a short lived sitcom called "Jennifer Slept Here".
They moved with such grace, were lit so perfectly...God, I wanted to be like that. When the movie was on, "she" (the Beauty) is whom I became. Every move I made was graceful, and every note in my voice carried like a symphony. When the credits rolled, my Cinderella pumpkin never failed to take me back to reality. I looked in the mirror and I was a disappointed, chubby freak. Unfortunately, this was my self-inflicted stigmata that I try to heal, even to this day.

One day, channel-surfing I found Madonna. Holy shit, she was my world. I took a navy blue eyeliner pencil from my mom and used to draw a mole on my face.
I remember exactly when she made the Material Girl video... the tribute to Miss Marilyn Monroe. The day I saw that video changed me forever, and it had nothing to do with Madonna.
They started hyping her as the new Marilyn. But who was Marilyn? Everywhere you looked, there she was, this mythical, hauntingly stunning blonde. Intoxicating. Was she a legend? Was she a beauty? Was she murdered? Was it suicide? Was she really dumb, or smart? How many lovers? Why are people still mourning? WHAT'S GOING ON?
I caught some of her movies on television on a Sunday, and I understood. This was every ounce of everything I had ever wanted to be. As a young child, I felt drawn to her, and maybe it was because I was the opposite, and boy, you will always want what you haven't got.

I don't want to make it sound like I didn't care about anything else... my real-life heroes were my family, and in the real world, I worked hard in school, had real aspirations, and well, in acting, I was usually the best damn chorus girl you ever saw. When it came to auditioning, I didn't have the confidence. I had the issue with constantly turning a mirror on myself and thinking people saw what I saw, which was the worst. Children are cruel, they don't make it any easier. In fact, they only magnified it. I was so naive, I never knew to stick up for myself. I took it with a smile and a private tear, and I wished and I wished to be anything and anyone other than who I was because I thought I was so ugly, and to kids, ugly = worthless.
It's so painful and embarrassing to write this down now. I wish I could go back in time, now, as a 30 year old woman, find those kids, take them into a dark alley and kick the shit out of them, until they were barely breathing, for me. I could do it now, as we're all adults, but they wouldn't remember, and I would want them to know exactly why.

I became accustomed to daydreaming, and was alright with the comforts of knowing I'll someday be beautiful. So I kind of kept "Marilyn" in my back pocket, feeling silly. I never really told anyone about that, I was scared people would laugh at me.
Through high school, I felt bad about everything I was. That damn mirror kept turning on me. I felt dumb about my weight because. I felt dumb about my being part of the popular group. I was in the "click", but why would they want me around? I felt stupid about taking pride in myself, cause why should I? I wasn't a pretty little thing. I was Baby Fucking Huey.
For some reason I never felt I had "it" although I saw "it" in just about everyone I ever had the pleasure of meeting.

I tried to work the Hollywood Glamour, and took such pride when people would tell me that I looked like Marilyn Monroe. Its was a mental and emotional orgasm every time. Unfortunately, battling weight the way that I did made people tell me things like "Oh, you'll be so pretty once you lose weight" and "If you'd only drop some, you'd be gorgeous!"

Weird, how my looks made me feel worthy. Why couldn't it have been that I had studied Medicine for 3 1/2 years, or that I was a good person, loved my family, was loyal to my friends... talented? Nah... it was my looks. I was a truly damaged person.
I must have been crazy.
I finally began to get my shit together in terms of me, and gave myself both credit and blame for the way I looked, and the importance that I placed on it. I had to just start to get to know and like me. Maybe I'd even fall in love with myself, if all went well.
The crazy part about it all is once I let go of trying so hard to look perfect, and embraced me, I was offered a part - I swear, I was approached with absolutely no doings of my own - to play Marilyn Monroe Off Broadway. That was almost 2 years ago.
So once a week, I can pretend to be the most beautiful woman, and get away with it. Hell, it's part of my job.

I want to make it clear that I am not obsessed with Marilyn Monroe. I've always been fascinated. I know she was human, and made some terrible choices, one in particular that ended her life. (Although I will always stand by that it was murder) Now, as an adult, I understand her on a level that I couldn't back then.
She came from nothing, and fought like Hell not to have it imprison her. She had dreams to be bigger than what everyone told her she could ever be, and she did it. She was quite smart. She knew what she was doing. And, anyone who starts with the "she slept to the top" game seems to forget how Old Hollywood was back then. Every starlet was exposed to it, even a young Shirley Temple.
She was strong enough, and focused to get herself to that highest level. She was, however, the most insecure person when it came to herself, but when it came down to it, she was able to separate herself from her demons and get to where she needed to go. I admire the hell out of that.
For myself, it's a work in progress.
I still have days where I'm turning the mirror on myself, and then some days ain't so bad.
But I guess I wound up finding "It" in myself after all, I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

A Whole Lot of Nothings

2006-07-28T12:50:00.000-07:00

I didn't have much sleep last night, as confirmed by Annoyed, so I'm a little bit punchy today.

I have so many sill things going through my head today, and I'm having a hard time keeping a straight face.
One of the first things someone at work mentioned to me was the fact that Brangelina and child have now become a permanent fixture blocks away from me at Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum.

Look, I understand the whole celebrity "Holier Than Thou" mystique, hell even I get seriously start struck at times, but this is now ridiculous with the damn baby.
First of all, anyone who has ever gone to the Wax Museum knows that the people are so freakishly realistic they look like they just died and forgot to lie down. Now to add a baby to the picture... That's just gonna be weird.
To top it all off, Madame Tussaud's is right next to Port Authority, which houses the strangest of the strange. I can just see it now... Someone's gonna kidnap that wax baby. (At Christmas, I'm planning to move them to the underneath of the Rockefeller Center Tree and they can double as a Nativity scene)
On second thought, maybe Angelina will try to adopt that one too.

Further proof that my mind is not working right today:
I can't get this one fucking video out of my head. One of my friend/coworkers turned me on to the strangest things I've ever seen in my life. More than mildly disturbing, more than kind of funny, I've been getting into fits of laughter all day long (including the crowded subway... so I really look like a crazy person, thank you very much)
I don't know what to call it, or him, (except that he goes by the name of Mr. Pregnant) so I'll just show you what my mind is been wrestling with all day.

This would have been especially helpful if I had an important meeting to go to this morning, which, thankfully, I haven't.

I also almost witnessed a mass suicide due to the temporary crash on my Myspace.
Dim, did you have anything to do with this?

And for an even more fun Friday, I got the following email from my younger Ghetto cousin, whom I haven't spoken to (my choice) who is whiter than white, can't sing, can't dance, and can't speak properly. This is a mass email (I'm guessing this is to her "bitches")with my comments below:

Come on ladies... let's get it together! The Summer is more then 1/2 way done and I know I haven't seen ya'll in a minute! Why don't we all get together and hit up the Bar? Show them we haven't gotten too old, or too many kids, or too married or too dull & boring to go out and party like we used to! If this Saturday coming (July 29th) is too soon then how about the 5th of August? Either way let's get it together proper like and make this happen! Hit me up to let me know what's good! I hope we can all make this happen! Talk to ya soon.

I'm thinking of sending back this response:
G-
I've got it together, that's why I haven't spoken to you in at least one year. Which would explain why you haven't seen me in a "minute."
I am no longer "hit up" the bar. I know this may sound sad to you, at your age (26) but you'll understand if you ever live long enough to reach my age.
I love how you put "too many kids" before "too married." How much like your life. Or are you married now? To which Baby Daddy? I'm sorry, I've lost count.

The last time I partied with you I was 11 years old. You ate all of my ice cream and tried to set my cat on fire. I punched you so hard you still shows signs of rage toward me. I don't trust you and never, ever will.

"Proper-like"? Gosh, If I bought you a book on Etiquette, you'd wipe your ass with the pages.

You ruined it for me when you followed "hit me" with "up".

It's stuff like this that makes me wonder how we both swam in the same gene pool.

I'm sure more to come, I'm here alone until 9 pm.
I welcome your comments. They will keep me company.

What day does the Eurotrash go out?

2006-07-27T08:56:00.000-07:00

Eurotrash, God Love 'Em. They amaze me to the point that I forget to be mad and revel in all of their obnoxious glory.
Especially when they reek of cigs and caffeine... two things I haven't had in over a week.

I get on my first of three trains to get to work and sit down. Two little kids get on, and no one offers them a seat. Now these poor kids are getting bumped around like pinballs, and I feel horrible, so I give them my chair and wind up standing over Miss Eurotrash 1998.

This one had such a long face she looked like she broke free off her pole at the carousel at the Park, and boarded the train.

...And the nose job... Done by a Back Alley Doctor in Cosovo.

She's sitting in the Handicapped seat, while a Pregnant woman stands, and she's putting on her makeup in full view of everyone around her. As she's applying with the expertise of someone who graduated first in her class at Clown School, she's swinging her legs back and forth with the ugliest French pedicure I've ever seen on a pair of crusty pig feet. Please keep in mind, this is a VERY crowded train. I have now become so engrossed with this woman and in awe of her rudeness that I can't stop staring at her.
After she's done putting her drag face on, she then reaches down on the floor and picks up a red solo plastic cup with no cover and starts drinking something that looks like coffee but smells like hot liquid farts.
I'm not even sure it was hers to begin with.
She's spilling it all over the floor, in fact, she spills some on the pregnant lady's skirt. She clearly noticed but never apologized. Amazing.
She finally gets up, drops the cup on the floor, and raises an armpit to steady herself. That's when I came face to face with the stench.
Her smell was fresh out of the shower, no deodorant. It reminded me of "storms a'brewin".
10 out of 10.

I'm now boarding my 2nd train, and I'm the last one to squeeze in... Or so I thought. The doors start to close behind me, and as I am about to lean back, the doors open again, and I'm hit by a 10 ton brick wall. No "sorry", no "excuse me"... Nothing! I try to turn around and his newspaper hits me in the face. So I said "Oww, you asshole!" loudly.
Crickets.
It was as if he didn't understand or didn't care... he was Eurotrash as well. I didn't get a good look at this prickless wonder until 9th Street, but when I turned around, there he was.
Built like a Russian mobster in a Soccer jersey (isn't that shit over? Oh, wait. Eurotrash aren't always up in the times), with hair that he obviously box bleached himself. His black eyebrows were thicker than my thighs, and his nails were bitten to the cuticles. On top of that, he looked like he was digging in dirt. And his underarm stench.. That was thick. And he's staring at me. Like he knows I hate him and doesn't care. As if someone calls him an asshole every day and he's no longer fazed by it. So I stare back with my "Uh-huh, I'm onto you... You're playing this Eurotrash shit for all it's worth" face, and he's still not getting it! I don't understand it! So finally I get off, and he's behind me. I'm transferring trains, we're underground, and HE LIGHTS A CIGARETTE! Now, anyone who knows me knows that up until a week and 1/2 ago, I was a smoker, I'm not a hypocrite. Smoke em if you got em... But even I had respect for the rules. But again, I'm back in awe of the Eurotrash.

So, I'm speeding my way into work and cut through this little deli that is right by my escalator to stop for some Herbal tea. This 55 year old douche in a bushiness suit bellyflops his fat body into the crowd and cuts the line. His face looks red, like he's sucked down a whole jug of wine, and he's holding a muffin in his hand. "Buddy" he said (in an AMERICAN ACCENT!) Could ya put some butter on this bad boy?" (he must be drunk, and it's not even 9 am yet)
He then turns to the pretty young petite girl he cut in front of in line and says "You know, it would help if you smiled."

If I had the tea in my hand, I would have walked over to him, unbuttoned his pants, and scorched his scrotum with my beverage.

So, my observation for today:
Both Eurotrash and Americans are hopelessly rude. Eurotrash, however, will never tell me that I should smile.

Eurotrash: 1
Americans :0

Thank you, little kitty, for making me smile

2006-07-26T14:20:00.000-07:00

I discovered this picture and it made me happy.

I share the wealth. Enjoy.

Oh-bla-dee, oh-bla-da...

2006-07-24T11:43:00.000-07:00

Who are they, why are they hugging Corky, and why is he wearing Cliff Huxtable's sweater???

Release the Idiots & Let Them Play!

2006-07-20T12:45:00.000-07:00

I've got so much to do today that I'm bouncing off the walls. I have also been listening to Gnarls Barkley all day:

I feel like it fits my current situation just perfectly (with the exception of my relationship with my beau, which is already wonderful... every aspect of my life that I haven't been happy with is about to change, and in a domino-effect good way, but I feel like I'm nuts to even try to do what I'm about to embark on. It's not stopping me though.)
On top of it all, I think I've come in contact with more stupid people today that I ever had in my life. It's like every village sent their Idiot to me at the same time. Strangely enough, I haven't seen my crazy girl all day. hmmm
My friend, an ER Psychologist, sometimes lets her manic interact (like Rock'Em Sock 'Em Robots) when she's bored and they're in a ">
One day, she called me up wheezing from laughter.
One manic used to get brought in all the time for appearing at his window, or on his porch, nude, and singing Elvis tunes at all hours of the night. He was a favorite of the ward. One night, after 3 self-evoked encores of "Teddy Bear" while using his penis as a mic, we was brought in.
At the same time, they brought in a manic chick, on a high note, as well. (she was a crack-head though)
They saw each other and started dancing. (apparently, manics also are like Furbees. They "turn the switch" of the other one, and are able to raise or lower the level of the other person, depending on their mood.)
She quickly put them into their confined units and started paperwork.
As she's processing, she hears Elvis in his unit:
"Caught in a trap..."
2 SECONDS LATER
the crack head chick answers him from HER confinement unit
"I Can't walk out..."

Another Saturday night, down the toilet (or, What Goes Down, MUST COME UP)

2006-07-16T08:56:00.000-07:00

Literally. I'm a mess. Let's face it, I should be executed for my sophomoric behavior.

Last night I drank too much and spent the night in a really great dress, hugging the bowl, engaged in a Throw-up Tsunami, all the while trying to convince my beloved to stop taking video of me. Which I'm sure will be featured on his next blog. Hey, I deserve it.

I have to say that I am a lightweight who rarely drinks. I go out of my way to eat healthy, much like Dim. So, last night, when a good friend met me and Annoyed at a restaurant for Spanish food and SANGRIA, (aka the Devil) I overdid it like an amateur fool.
I was too busy laughing and having a good time to notice that I've had too much to drink. I should have thought when I ordered garlic chicken that oil, garlic, alcohol and sugar won't mix well in my dainty little stomach. Fuck, I thought... Throw some bread in there and you'll be fine. (MISTAKE # 1)
I might have considered stopping when I started slapping people's hands away from the empty pitcher for fear they would take the wine-drenched fruit. So what do I do? I sucked the alcohol out of a LEMON! (Mistake # 2, you big wino-freak.)
The following fore-shadowing went unnoticed by me when my boyfriend tried to help me up from the table to go smoke a cigarette, and I told him in a drunken stupor "Noooo, not me, not now."

When you can't feel your legs, & the table suddenly transforms right before your eyes from 3 people to looking like a table full of Midgets, you should stop. Especially when everyone else at the table (except for me) is 6 foot or taller. There should be no commanding the waiter to bring over another pitcher... And finishing it. And telling him to bring on the Flan. Apparently, I didn't get that memo.
I ignored the waiter's horrified faces as I walked by, like a dainty little water buffalo in 4 inch heels, and proceeded to try to open the wall to leave. I was redirected to the door, got outside, and we walked home. Somewhere in between kicking off my right shoe and wrestling with the left, I realized it was "Go Time". Somehow, I neatly and quietly purged, brushed my teeth and walked into the living room.
Don't know what happened after that, but I do remember coffee, ginger ale, chocolate graham crackers and waking up hugging the bowl. I heard my beau saying "Babe, you want me to hold your hair back?" and my friend laughing maniacally. That's when I noticed the camera phone. I think I said "nooooo" and proceeded to disguise myself with a towel over my head, much like the sexual deviants in "To Catch a Predator" do when they realize they've been caught on tape, and finished my business.
I belly-flopped into bed, shivering & apologizing, and then I think I tried to solicit sex from my better half. Luckily for him, he declined. No one wants to bang a chick with regurgitated dinner on her face.
He somehow got me changed and sleeping. That poor bastard just went to bed an hour ago.
Who wants to risk sleeping in a bed next to a Vomitorium?
Gosh, I'm such a lady.

Fun Friday #1 Celebrity sightings in your own mirror!

2006-07-14T08:39:00.000-07:00

This link was sent to me yesterday, and I was hooked within seconds. You will be too, if you have a couple of pictures downloaded, some down time, and pride yourself on looking like a certain celebrity.
Here's your chance to prove your case:
http://www.myheritage.com

Click on and fill out a few simple questions. (It's a free site, so don't worry). Within seconds, you'll be directed to upload a picture. They scan your face and match it up with over 200,000 celeb faces to give you the closest match.

*Note to Dim: You should put in your photoshoot from your Myspace blog, and see if you resemble K-Fed in that one picture.

I plan on going on and seeing whom I resemble today, then live in character for the weekend as that celeb.

(Please God, don't let it tell me I look like Paris Hilton!)

My Boyfriend Made a Music Video!!!

2006-07-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

...and I'm his backup singer!
Well, not really, but I made ya'll look! Now watch and learn how the Candy Master makes all the ladies run away from home "with their mattresses on their backs"!

Man, this dude's Pimp Hand is strong!

It's what you wear from ear-to-ear...

2006-07-11T20:27:00.000-07:00

"Hey... Smile! "

If one more random male says this to me, I'll tackle them to the ground and punch them.

Whomever started this phrase as an opening line to talk to people deserves a good public flogging.
There is nothing more annoying to me, especially when I'm involved in something important, is for some idiot to come up to me and suggest that I should smile.

Like I FORGOT that I had the option of smiling that day.
Like I need YOU to grant me permission to smile.
As if you ever COULD make me smile.
As if I don't want to tell you to go fuck yourself for interrupting my busy day/phone call/rush to work to remind me to "look pleasant".
Why is this always followed up with "you look so sad/mad/annoyed/unattainable"? Now, you've just insulted me on top of everything. Maybe I am! Maybe something just occurred that justifies the look on my face. (And maybe I look so sad because you've just busted into my eye line.)

Here's the kicker:
I'm almost always happy and laughing. I'm rarely ever in a bad mood. I'm sweet. I'm nice. Chances are, if you meet me, I'M ALREADY SMILING! No need to try and draw it out of me. It makes me evil.

This would be why I told the Construction Workers to eat shit this morning when they suggested I bring some sunshine into their lives by flashing them my pearly whites.

Well, actually... THAT made me smile.

Mad at shit and not gonna take it anymore!

2006-07-06T16:13:00.000-07:00

I can't talk too openly about my job, but it's a great place with great people. With the the great and the talented, comes a little bit of crazy... And when I say crazy, I mean bug fucking nuts.

One person, known universally to some on my floor as Crazy Bitch, is my favorite.
At first, distant glance, she's a pie faced girl. But don't get too close, she may start crying. Or growl at you. The strange thing is that she's normal, but when she goes crazy, everyone stops and takes notice.

I remember the night when it hit me that she was a whackadoo. I was working late and went to powder my nose before heading out. One person was in the one of the stalls in the ladies room, & I knew she was taking a shit. It's late... I'll run in, run out, and give her the privacy she's probably wanted all day.

What I'm going to say is going to be crude, but I've got to report it as it happened.
As I walk by, I heard a thud and a splash. This Danny Torrence-esque voice hisses "You're disgusting!"
I swear, I jumped 10 feet off the ground and almost peed all over myself I was so scared.

"Bastard." Again!

Is this shitty assed pig calling ME disgusting from behind a locked bathroom door? How dare she???

Then... I hear it again.
Plop...."Fuck you, shit.!"

Oh, no, she wasn't yelling at me...she was yelling at herself!

Waaaiiit a minute...I think she just told her fecal matter to go fuck itself!

I ran out of the bathroom and positioned myself by my friend's desk, who was working furiously to meet a deadline.
"I love ya, but I cant talk" she said to me without looking up from her computer screen.
"It's OK, I've got nothing to say' I whisper ' but I've got to see who is yelling at herself in the bathroom while taking a shit!"
"What? Someone's yelling at themselves for shitting?!?" Now I've got her full attention.
Just then, the door opens, and I hear singing. Literally, singing.

"Don't go where the doggies go, stay away from that yellow snow!" (Of course, she knows Zappa.)
... and out she SKIPS, from the bathroom, like she's leading a parade, CLAPPING HER HANDS to the music. Smiling. Wow.

The next morning, I told my friend about my bizarre experience the night before.
This isn't the first time she's done it. She yells at herself all the time. Sometimes she talks to you. Sometimes she runs down the hall, crying, and sometimes she'll just stop and stare at you and not say a word. How can you handle something like that?
"Easy', he answered, kind of nonchalantly. 'Make believe she's a bear."
"I'm sorry, I'm not following you..."
"No eye contact and kind of sidestep whenever she walks by. Never, ever turn your back to her."
And so I've been doing it, and it's not that bad.
I'll let you know how it goes.

Does Gary Busey come here often?

2006-07-04T11:32:00.000-07:00

I get a call from my friends Michelle and Laila telling me that they got invited to my friend's wedding. Then they ask me if I've seen the invitation. I get the mail and, sure enough, I just got mine.
Me:"OK, so I guess she really likes you."
Laila: "She's met us twice."
Me:"OK, so I guess she really likes you."
Michelle: "I can't go. She's gonna look like Gary Busey in a wedding dress. Have you READ the invitation??"

I open my invite and my eyes stop on a few details.
1- cash bar
2 -cowboy hats/boots OK
3- reception to follow at the Volunteer Ambulance Hall.

Now, these people are Country music loving. I can understand the cowboy theme. It's their thing. Cash bar and Ambulance Hall? They've got money. Lots of it. Triple what I had at the time.

Laila: "Well, it's cool... I've never been to a ho-down before."

I felt bad for my soon-to-be-married friend. She invited the Sick Fuck Club - with dates - to her wedding. I RSVP'd and promised we would be on our best behavior.

On the morning of the wedding, my date and Iarrived at the church. The procession of girls walk down the aisle as my date leans over to me and tells me that he's counted 4 mullets. I start to giggle from nerves. My friend is coming down the ailes and she looks beautiful, but she's got high blood pressure and turning red and sweating. And she did something I've never seen her do before. She broke out into a rash on her chest in the shape of a giant butterfly. My laughter hit full throttle and I begin to cry, but I'm tryed to make it look like tears of joy.

After the mass, we get outside and gather for the Bride and Groom. With them comes two Cowboy Hats.
Well, shit.

The rest of the S.F.C. meet us at the reception. They are NEVER on time. Neither am I, but my date was a stickler for promptness. We are seated in between a plastic palm tree and the cash bar. Sitting at the table with us are two of "Gary's" friends, one a sweet girl named Melissa, and the other, a hearing impaired hairdresser who has a reputation for being a bit loose. It doesn't take me long to realize we're gonna have a good time here.

The DJ starts spinning Country music. He hands out party hats and a Paul Stanley wig. Scott, a huge KISS fan, runs through the crowd and grabs it. Our friend Mark puts on the Bride's veil, and it's too big for his peanut head. Laila's date Keith ran to sign the guest book and returned with an uncut pineapple secured to his head with about 3 table napkins. He looked like Carmen Miranda on crack.

We've all got cameras at our table, and we're documenting every moment. We heard a cheer coming from the other side of the room. Apparently, the Groom's friends have a tradition to drop their pants and take pictures at every celebration. Here's the kicker: The shortest one is 6 foot 3, and all no less than 350 pounds.

I don't remember how many boxes of Zinfandel we ripped through when Scott and my date began to discuss something in a serious manner. They turned toMark and tell him that they saw a Rascal Scooter parked in the corner near the entrance. I hear Mark saying "Oh, Gosh guys, even I can't do that."
Michelle, Laila and I start getting nervous... and curious. They are trying to bait Mark to ride the Rascal onto the dance floor. Michelle takes one look at me and takes off like lightening. Laila grabs Mark, I grab two cameras, and away we go.
The devil on my shoulder speaks to me as I stumble through the crowd to the abandoned vehicle. We're in a Volunteer Ambulance Hall. It can't belong to anyone here, right?

Michelle mounts the Rascal Scooter and Mark jumps on back. She grabs the handle and revs the engine. She's in reverse but doesn't know it. They speed and screech to a halt about 1/8th of an inch from the wedding cake. Mark is covering his face and giggling like a schoolgirl. They put it in drive, and starts going slowly, screeching to a halt every 5 seconds. She gives it her all and almost mows me over. The dance floor crowd parted like the red sea. People are taking pictures. Laila runs over and jumps on. She put her hand on Michelle's hand, which was on the "gas" handle as she jumps on Mark's lap. The three of them crash into a table and tip over.
A woman wearing an orange and pink striped dress starts screaming at them while they lay on the floor like rag dolls. "Who told you to take my Father's scooter?? HOW DARE YOU!"
All the men in our little fun bunch run away, with the exception of Mark, who is laughing while pinned under the Rascal.
The pants-droppers run over, take the Rascal and return it to the front of the room. We walk away in shame. People are pointing and whispering. Traders. These were the same people cheering us on moments earlier.
I go to our table and my date is sitting stone-cold in his chair. I see the deaf girl sitting next to him. Rather close. I hear her ask "Do you come here often?" (Mind you, she's 80% deaf, so she has a speech impairment. I see my date shake his head "no".
Next question:
"Do you wanna dance?"
And all I can think about it William Hurt in Children of a Lesser God teaching his deaf students to feel rhythm "Boom-a-rang-rang-rang!"
I had to get outta there.

I compose myself and come back to the table. Laila is now being bullied by the striped dress chick. She keeps bumping into her and trying to brawl. She leans over and bumps her ass into Laila's shoulder, knocking over a hot cup of coffee all over Laila's couture dress. Now it's war. Laila grabs a camera, as striped dress girl is bent over & talking trash about to the next table, sticks the camera under the girl's dress and snaps a picture of her cooter.
It's time to go.

We got our stuff together, and Laila spots the girl's shoes on the dance floor. Not hard, the shoes have been dyed orange and pink to match her dress! She grabs them, wraps them in a napkin, and steals them.
The man who owned the Rascal grabs Michelle's arm & says:
" I don't care what my daughter says. You were the sweetest piece of ass to ever ride my Rascal!"

The next morning, I get a call from my married friend. She's laughing over our antics, but she has one question for me.
"Who's Gary Busey? Cause he signed our guestbook. I asked my husband if he knew him and he said no. He said it must be someone from my side of the family."

I think I blushed in the shape of a giant butterfly.

The Sick Fuck Club's Finest Moment

2006-07-02T18:53:00.000-07:00

I never did it, and I'm glad...well, my Sicilian &Irish guilt tells me to be, anyway. I don't know how I even came up with such an idea, but as a Founding Member of "The Sick Fuck Club", I have to admit that no matter how morally wrong it was, or how serious the repercussions would have been, I was pretty damn proud of myself. I had topped every scheme any of the members of the club had ever come up with. To this day, I still have not been topped. This was my crowning glory.

You see, I was once, a long long time ago, in young love with a boy. I lived blindly and blissfully in this cocoon for 2 1/2 long years. He was smart, (#1 in his University class), talented (in a well known yet local on-the-rise band) and popular. Everyone loved him. Of course, he was friendly with everyone! He even remained friends with his exes, which I thought was mature, due to the fact that everyone around us in our town in always broke up in a "Richard Bey Show" kind of way.
One of his "friends" happened to be his high school sweetheart. From the pictures and stories, she was a chubby, frizzy haired, antisocial, clarinet-toting band geek with crooked glasses and a pug nose.
Enter me... A shy (although I'd never let you know it) insecure (hidden rather well), theatrical, "face of an angel" type of girl. I say that, only because everyone else did. I never believed it though. Note the title of my blog. I was pretty only from the neck up. I was rockin' the scales at 300 plus pounds, but was OK with this. I was Dean's List, Manager of my beau's band, and having a glorious time in my late teens. I felt like I had it all. Kinda. I guess that's why I never saw it coming...or heard it ringing the doorbell.

A little back story: A rainy day in January, I was 19. At my guy's house, emptying the contents of their fridge down my throat, wearing sweatpants that were holding on for dear life. The doorbell rang, and Jake's mom, a Liberace lookalike, ran to get it. I swear, if angels actually did sing the way the movies tell you they did, this moment would have been one of them. An imaginary ray of light swept a girl into the living room that I had never seen before. Long curly brown hair, skinny, nothing but tits and long legs, wearing a black sundress and pseudo-designer glasses. On her little pug nose. Oh shit. I had seen that nose before in photos. Oh, holy shit.
"Sharon! I almost didn't recognize you!" Liberace exclaimed.
A nasally voice answered back that she stopped by to borrow Jake's paper cutter for a class project. As I searched the room for a white flag to wave in surrender, I saw that she had a boy with her! She had a BOYFRIEND! Thank you Jesus!
Our eyes met, and she silently judged my cookie crumb dusted face in a way that let me know that within 5 seconds she knew everything about me, down to the color socks I was wearing. I shot her back the same look. Only difference was, I couldn't see straight.
That's how it began. Jake and Sharon were friends, and she had a boyfriend, until he dumped her. I was a little nervous, but still going strong with my relationship. Time went on, and I somehow inherited her. I guess I took one for the team. After a while, I didn't mind. I noticed how thin she had become. Scarily, Skeletor-thin. I didn't know then, but she was a serious bullimic, and her secret was let out when her Dentist saw the tell-tale sign of the backs of her teeth rotting from vomiting. I felt bad. We both had eating disorders. Hers was to eat to throw it up. Mine was to eat, and to take your food, too, when you weren't looking.

One summer, I auditioned for a musical based out of our community theatre. I borrowed my mom's brand new car, and brought along my friend Babs for good luck. I nailed it. Plus, my hair lookedpretty bad-ass!
I left the audition and drove the short distance to my boyfriend's house, but his car wasn't there. Hmm, I'll just use my key- courtesy of the family after our first year together- and go in. Liberace and his younger sister, Munchausen (I say that because her mom was always taking her to the Doctor for some yet-to-surface illness) were hanging out. I didn't ask why they kept glancing past my shoulder towards his bedroom, but that should have been clue number 1. Looking back, that should have been clue # 1,444,510. Anyway, I wrote a little love note for him and went bounding into his room before anyone could stop me. I opened the door and strangely, there was a black wig on his bed. Actually, it was on my pillow. "Costumes? How Kinky!" I thought as I leaned over to pick it up. Then I realized that it was attached to something that was under the covers. It was Skeletor! Shocked, I pulled back. Then enraged, I pounced on my carcass prey with ferocious...Ferociousness. His family ran in and wrestled me off of her. They threw me the line that they had no idea that she was in the house. I ran out, like a beast unleashed into the night, on a hunt for my missing boyfriend. When I found him he offered up no apology. Only crocodile tears. No surprise we broke up.
I shut down that day. I started smoking again, bleached my hair, lost 40 more pounds. I was hot shit without a soul.
I never cried over it or him until 2 years later. My friend Michelle asked me to come over one day. When I arrived, 3 of the members of the Sick Fuck Club, my bestest friends, were standing with her. Her fiance Scott, and our friend "Insane Laila", a budding Fashion Designer, rounded out the group. Michelle bravely stepped forward and handed me the newspaper. Jake and Skeletor's Engagement Announcement. I started sobbing uncontrollably. After a few minutes Michelle took my tear stained face in her hands and asked "What do you want to do?"

Ooh, bad question.
I lit up a cigarette, Scott got me a cup of coffee. I exhaled, and calmly spoke.

Me- Laila, do you have a traveling sewing machine?"
Laila "Yeah, yeah" (Laila was crazier than a shit house rat. I knew she'd be in)
Me- Ok, good. Scott, is the wedding date listed in the paper?
Scott- "October 12th. 6 months from today."
Me- "Everyone, block October 11th out on your calendar. That day, you all belong to me. Protest at any point and I'll cut you. We're breaking into Skeletor's house. It'll be ok, that'll probably be the night of the rehearsal dinner so one should be home. Scott, you'll be the lookout. Laila, you will bring your sewing kit. How much can you take an article of clothing in so it's noticeably tight, but noticealby fucked with?"
Laila- "Hmm, about 1/4 inch, both sides. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?"
Me- We're gonna alter that bullimic cunt's Wedding dress. She'll be so sausage tight in that thing the morning of her wedding day, she'll be walking down that aisle jamming both fists down her throat.. Oh, and Michelle? You're driving the getaway car."

I was brought out of my glory with the piercing sound of silence. I saw 3 faces staring back at me with horror. Scott broke the silence.
"Holy shit. You're brilliant."

For the next 6 months, we plotted. We planned. Fuck, we even blueprinted. Laila (bless her) went out and purchased 3 different types of white thread for the execution. We had every angle covered. One of them has a family member in Law who promised to represent me if I got caught. I was golden!
October 10th, we met for coffee. Scott and Michelle cleaned and gassed up the car. Laila put her sewing kit and thread in the trunk. Later that day, I bought a good pair of running shoes. Just in case.
Yes, I knew it was wrong. Terribly wrong. I put my anger towards her only, not him. And bullemia is nothing to make fun of. I know this now. I knew it then. I just didn't care.

My friend/therapist Irene cornered me that evening. She knew me well enough to know when I was up to something. With premature ejaculation of the mouth, I confessed proudly every detail of our grand plan.
She stopped me by putting her hand on my hand and said "You're sick."
"Of course I am. We all are. Sick Fuck Club? Not a coincidence!"
"No, there's something wrong with you."
"Thank you!"
"Seriously, you're gonna get caught. And she has three trash sisters who love to brawl. They fight like men!"
"I'll take them down, too!"
"Sweetie, we need to talk."

Within minutes, I was lying on the proverbial couch. What was I going to prove? Who was I REALLY going to hurt in the end? What if I got caught? What if we ALL got caught?
Fuck, she got me. Michelle and Scott were about to get married. If we got caught, we'd probably go to jail. Bail money would have to come out of their final payments for the wedding. Plus, our parents... oooh, this wasn't looking so good.
I looked at the clock. 11pm. One hour before THE day. I promised her I would go home and sleep on it.
That night, I had the most wicked nightmares that I got caught. That I was beaten in the church. That the newspaper took pictures of me being carted away, naked and foaming at the mouth. I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.
I opened the celebratory bottle of champagne I was chilling (I shit you not, I had one), took a bubblebath, drank and thought. It's now 2 1/2 years later, and I'm still hanging on to a dick move made by two idiots that obviously moved on. As a matter of fact, us breaking up- as horrible as it was, and as badly damaged I was from it- was the best thing that could ever have happened to me. I had my life. Right then, I got over him. I finished off the champagne and fell asleep on the bathroom floor. Like a princess.

It never happened. My friends were mock-pissed at me for weeks.
We eventually lost touch with Laila. She was a trooper though, she was determined to go forward with the plan, solo. Michelle was able to distract her while Scott hid the car keys. Crazy bastard, I'll always love her. Michelle and Scott have been married for several years, and have a baby now. Me? I'm still a little insecure and shy, but happier than I've ever been. I am in love with and live with the greatest man I've ever known. I have my career, and still pursue acting. I lost about 1/2 my body weight the natural way and am now a size 6.
The Sick Fuck Club hasn't lost touch. We no longer meet on a regular basis, now it's just on special occasions, like birthdays. And weddings.