birthday parties

Remember that 8th birthday party at the skating rink? Where only FOUR KIDS actually came and you sprained your ankle?
Boy oh boy that was rotten.
That made me not want to try to invite people to a party ever again, because no one would come. And I would probably sprain something.

22 years later. She tries again.

That was fun.
I never appreciated the importance of just showing up to say hi and happy birthday. Now I get it.

Dear World,

Thank you for Facebook quizzes.


What a truly, truly delightful load of garbage.



$5 fortune

I was prepared to pay this woman $10, although she charged $5 for a palm or tarot reading.

Here is what I learned.

I'll come into money and property.

My answer to my question about what to do about my mother and grandmother is: try to put your family back the way it was. Just make phone calls.

My answer to my question about how to be there for my sister is: she is sick? no? she is sick and hasn't told you yet. Your relationship will be good soon.

I'll have 2 kids.

I'll finally find a good relationship. Oh. You're married? Oh. Your marriage will finally improve and your husband will stop holding back and open up to you.

I'm a good person but I bring negative energy on myself.

I'll get a lot of money soon and some property. Maybe a condo.

I paid $5 and compared my results to my friends', who, hold on to your hat, will also be coming into money soon, have 2 kids, and whose husbands will soon stop holding back.

I *do* believe there are good psychics out there. I also believe there are people who are not at all psychic, but are exceptionally skilled at reading people in very subtle ways. I know all about this. I saw a 20/20 episode on it once when I was in junior high and it made a HUGE impact.

Anyway, fuck all y'all, I'm sitting back and waiting for my money and condo.
I mean another condo. Not this one that I already have.

Or maybe my two kids.
Who are, by the way, going to improve my relationship with my mom in six months. Yessssssssssss. Next blog: alifetimeofmylifeTOTALLYRULES.blogspot.

i married the right guy.

Brandon: Honey. Let's get a tiny refrigerator right by the bed.

Me: What for?

Brandon: Cookies and milk.



While I was having the third of my four cavities filled today, my dentist made me take the mirror and look at the be-cavitied tooth I had created.

It's. So. Gross.

It's SO gross.

I thought about finding a comparable photo online and posting it on here for you to share the experience to communicate THE VISCERAL HORROR, then i found them, and I just can't do that to you. I like you. I don't want you to look at totally disgusting and horrifying brown-edged jagged crevices in teeth.

Instead check this out. Triumph. More or less good as new.


You don't want to see it.


Okay... grossgrossgross. I PROMISE TO FLOSS MORE.


I was only ACTING!

Argh. This poor mofo.
WASHINGTON - David Kellermann, the acting chief financial officer of mortgage giant Freddie Mac, was found dead at his home Wednesday morning in what police said was an apparent suicide.
He wasn't even the actual CFO. Double take:
...Kellermann, the acting chief financial officer of mortgage giant Freddie Mac, was found dead at his home..
What struck me at first was how this guy could have TOTALLY passed the buck on any disaster he had become embroiled in. He was a temp! Temp = no responsibilities! You do not kill yourself for ruining the company and the country's economy when you are a temp!

But of course that is sort of willfully short-sighted just for the sake of a quippy blog post. Who knows what was going on with this poor Acting CFO mofo.

I'm doing a lot of research on mental illness right now for my play. Manic-depressive disorder, suicide, suicide attempts. Lithium. It's a fun time. Monday night I saw a show written and performed by mentally challenged adults about their medication, struggles to relate to others, and waking up in a hospital with multiple IVs and a lot of questions to answer.

The show was so moving and heartbreaking, although the performers were visibly heavily medicated. Maybe more so because of that.

I guess it's sort of shut me up for a while.


best character ever

If I were a better human being I could isolate the clip from The Tick I want you to watch. Where the superhero "BiPolar Bear" makes his first appearance.
But I'm no better human being.
So maybe you can just wait for it to load, then skip to 5:44 for a 7-second joke. That sounds like payoff, right? RIGHT?

watch it again. and again. AND AGAIN!



A job where you could always be working more, or better, or in a fancier place. Always.

Also a job wherein someone else is always doing more and better and fancier than you. Always.

Um, sorry. Also that is called life, huh? oy. Sorry, people. I am trying to break my silence and I have a lot of frustration to get out. I'll be better. Yes. Better. It's good. I know.

Good. It's good! It's good.

The Cubs play today. Ron Santo will be on the air in less than an hour. See? It's so good!

being pathetic is a way of life

Dear Fancy Multi-Million Dollar theater company:

Sooooooo hey! I just did your show. I thought I was pretty a-ok in your show. I felt good about it, and I don't always feel good, believe me. You seemed like you liked me a lot. Everything was going so well. So, um... why won't you ask me to audition for any of your shows for ALL OF NEXT YEAR?

I mean. You hurt me, Fancy MultiMillion Dollar Theater Company. You wound me. You called in other people from my show but not me. I don't get it.

Yeah. You know what? You aren't so great. Sellout. Commercial sellout with your subscriber base and international reputation. Whatever.

I remember when you did this to me before. I was in your show then you didn't call me for a year. Then you called and you were all, ooh, now we want you to play this great role in this great play. WHAT IS IT WITH YOU!?!?

I so don't need this.

I could do any of those roles, I swear, except maybe the one where I would need to be Middle Eastern and an alto.

Call me?

internet obsessions

I'm kind of over my usual favorite sites. Facebook has lost its sparkle. I feel pressure to write something profound yet hilarious for this blog.

Now I just go to the WGN weather page, again and again, to search for promises of warm days.


it's yours to lose, and by lose, I mean COMPLETELY FUCK UP

This play I'm doing next is fancy, and big, and big and fancy. To me, anyway.

The director told me that she saw me months ago in an audition for something else entirely, and thought "That's our [character name here]!" and tracked me down.

And the artistic director of the company emailed me "we are beyond thrilled to have found our perfect [character name here] after four and a half long years." (The play has been in workshops/readings for that long.) Actually, she left the caps lock on, so her email sort of yelled it at me. WELL WE ARE BEYOND THRILLED TO HAVE FOUND OUR PERFECT [character name here] AFTER FOUR AND A HALF LONG YEARS.

And I've gotten really kind feedback from people who have heard the readings so far.
And the writer.

eh. GULP?

I'm not bragging (cause I haven't even done anything yet). And I'm really not complaining. An angel dies every time I complain about work, and, like, SEVENTEEN angels ... of ... babies die when I complain about exciting and challenging artistic work. I'm just ... I hope I don't lose. And by lose, I mean completely fuck it up.


every time I complain about having work, an angel dies.

That's what my cousin Kate said last weekend. We were catching up. Comparing hectic schedules. I'm gonna write it again, 'cause I've been saying that ever since I heard it.
Every time I complain about having [too much] work, an angel dies.
That being said, I'll do my 90th and final Midsummer tomorrow morning, followed by a surely modest closing party with people I love and will miss so, so, so much. Then the next morning begins the next show. Right now it seems like the biggest, the most daunting yet. Adventure.

Also I auditioned for the remake of Nightmare On Elm Street today. O Nurse #2, I FEEL the nuances of your character. You WANT Nancy to have the painkillers. I KNOW.

I think part of the reason I've been so lax about this blog is that I've spent nearly every day crammed into a 15-passenger van with 4 bench seats full of funny, talented, dedicated, delightful and openhearted jerkface actors. Who do things like this:

In the meantime I'm fighting off a cold. "Fighting off" being the part where I am clearly pinned to the mat and being pummeled, but keep spastically jerking my lower back up so I can't officially be counted as down. I even went to see my doctor, a German woman named Collette.
Me: I'm mostly worried about getting through the final performances with my voice so weak from the coughing. I'm running, jumping, and speaking - and the theaters are really large.

Doctor: Ah yes, and the theaters are very filled with dust.

Me: That's right, they really are.

Doctor: Well. I can do nothing about that. And you should just be glad you are performing, yes?