Cleaning day blues....

Yup, I've got the cleaning day blues. Had every intention of getting up with the fishes to clean our house, but then last night I got sick (please goddess let it not be psychosomatic), and it took several antacids last night and several ibuprofen this morning to get myself feeling humanoid.

What a wuss! When I was a drinking gal, headaches and nausea were part and parcel of my everyday life. Now, when I have a headache and nausea, I think I'm going to die.

So does Linda. She kept saying, "You know, a lot of bad things start out with 'flu-like symptoms.'"

Thanks, Sweetie!

No, I understand her concern--a coworker's husband dropped dead over the holiday weekend. To make matters worse, he was in his early 50s.

That's young when you get to our neck of the aging woods, let me tell you (especially to Linda, who is 55).

Otherwise, I got news of my getting a spot in a GLBT comedy show on--get this--Long Island. It's a schlep, to put it mildly, but it is Linda's old stamping grounds (and she has suggested she may come along), and it's a chance to perform with a bunch of queer comics, hopefully for other queers. Oh, and it's paid. That's a wonderful combination, really and truly.

And tomorrow I have a job interview--yes, a real, live job interview. With a human being. In person!

What a rare and wonderful thing.

The shame of a pie-snatcher

Today has been a mixed bit o' business.

First, I heard that the comedy benefit scheduled for this Thursday is cancelled. That news was a little bit of a bummer, because it feels like eons since my last set and in this week's prevailing gloom and drizzle, I could use the adrenalin. The upside, however, is that I also have a job interview that day, and my nervous system might not be able to take the stress of an interview plus a standup performance.

Oh my, yes, I'm a delicate flower.

Secondly, I brought our lab mix Shwea in for her weigh-in at the puppy equivalent of Weight Watchers (a.k.a. our vet). She lost another seven pounds or thereabouts, which is wonderful news. Alas, she should lose even more, so I picked up another giant bag of her pricey prescription kibble. (Speaking of vets, we got a condolence card regarding Butler from our old vet out in Southampton, even though they haven't seen him in years. Many years! Nice touch, that.)

Anyway, the last bit of news so far today is that when Shwea and I came home from our trip to the vet, I found an empty pie tray in the living room. Linda bought a half pumpkin pie for us this Sunday, and while we each managed to have a small slice from it, about a quarter of a pie was left when Shwea and I headed to Williamsburg this afternoon.

Linus, the wily beast, managed to get hold of the pie, which had been resting in a secure (or so we thought) location on the counter.

Come to think of it, this was the same "secure" location that used to hold a tray of mini-pecan pies, which Linus and Shwea polished off on Saturday.

Hmmmm. Seems we need to rethink where we store our baked goods, eh?

Anyway, the moment I noticed the empty pie tray, I put on my best disgusted and/or disappointed voice and said "Bad dog!"

The riot is, both Linus and Shwea skulked away--and Shwea (for once) was innocent as a lamb.

Linus, on the other hand, had a look that said he would be red with shame--if only his face wasn't covered with that marvelous black fur.

He may be a pie-snatcher, but he's a handsome devil.

Almost forgot....

Being reared in a "We only watch PBS and the Packers on TV" sort of home, I am almost ashamed to allow that I enjoy a number of popular TV programs. Some I even love. For example, I am an avid fan of "Gilmore Girls" and "Commander in Chief," and was a great fan of "West Wing" before it began its slide and made even Alison Janney's C.J. Craig an unattractive character.

No small feat, that.

Anyway, this is by long introduction to something wonderful I saw on yet another hot TV property, "Desperate Housewives." I watch mostly for Felicity Huffman, but every once and a while another actor grabs my attention. Last night it was the actress who plays Bree (Marcia Cross), who had the delicious duty of loading and shooting a shotgun while wearing a beautiful gown. Her ex was causing such a ruckus her dinner party was threatened, so she took matters into her own hands.

Made my inner drag queen squeal with delight. (Yes, I have one of those, and embrace her warped sense of humor with all my might.)

If the episode ever airs again, you MUST watch it.

Out with the old....

Cleaned a lot of materials for a publication I no longer edit out of my office yesterday, and now actually have wide open spaces on my library table--a miracle!

In what is perhaps a sign of how desperate things have become, I spent the weekend reading a book on Fung Shui. From what I can pick up, my fortunes have not been helped by all of the clutter around here, so it was time to rid my office of the old to make room for the new. I haven't gotten to the part where I determine which of the four elements are needed in each part of my office to aid and abet my prospects, but this is a start.

And a good one--I was inspired to send off a number of resumes and inquiries yesterday as well, which I've been too bummed to do for a while now.

Today, I get working on the grantwriting project, and talking to a attorney.

Oh? Am thinking my relationship with my formerly full-time employer is going to be coming to an end, and it's not necessarily a bad thing. The fragment of work that I have with them may be holding me back in ways I hadn't imagined--what seemed to be offering a toehold on financial stability may have been really a drag on my self worth and potential.

At least that's today's theory (hey, you want a good rationalization? Find a Catholic!).

It occurred to me....

Was thinking about my job situation, and I realized that I have the sort of experience that today's employers hate. No, not my nearly 20 years of writing and editing experience, though glory knows that and $3.50 will get you a nice latte, but experience of another sort: My nearly 20 years of experience getting benefits.

Today's employers want people who don't think that benefits are part of the deal--better yet, they seek people who are genuinely surprised when they get paid for what they do on the employer's behalf.

That's today's ideal candidate--and that sure as heck isn't me!

My mood is still on the gloomy side, don't you know, but we did see "Capote" yesterday afternoon, and that was wonderful. A study of a man who could be incredibly charming and chillingly soulless--sometimes in the span of a few moments. A MUST!

We're on a road to nowhere....

Heard from the comedy group/troupe, and from what I can discern, it's not going to amount to much of anything in the way of work any time soon.

So much for that avenue--it's not closed, but it appears to be under construction. It's a great idea, but not one whose time has come where I'm concerned. Disappointing, but good to know. Time to hang my hopes somewhere else. If time and finances were on my side, I could hang in with this concept a while longer, but sadly, I am in a situation that demands action, and soon. Am guessing that by the time there's space for me in this venture, I'll probably be unable to take it. Oh well....

Onward and upward and so forth and so on. Thanks to the latest news from the apparently sinking ship that is my sole source of regular income, it appears things will be getting even more dire around here, so I have to redouble my job hunting efforts. What that will look like, I don't know.

It was pretty vigorous already, but maybe it's time to rethink my approach. Like instead of looking for "the" job, let's just go for "any" job. That's what I'm talking about. Woo!

A plump little chickadee just hopped on a branch outside my office window--a good sign, I hope. (If it isn't, don't tell me, okay?)

All is not doom, gloom and financial insecurity, however. We had a delightful dinner at the Blue Heron yesterday. Everything was delicious, and the portions were just right--okay, a little too much, but t'is the season, no?

Speaking of the season, woke to a LOT of snow yesterday--so much, I heard myself say, "Holy cow!"

That is an expression from the Wisconsin archives, as you can imagine, so that should indicate how much snow there was. Not that I'm complaining: We were thoroughly into the drab post-leaf-peep part of fall, so this blanket of snow is a welcome addition to the scene (even if I did have to figure out how to start the snow throw all over again). And our friends at the DPW (Dept. of Public Shirks around here) did their usual "Let's wait until everyone has cleared their driveways before we pass through with the snowplows" bit, bless their hearts.

Winter has arrived in New England.

Uh, let me rephrase that...

Just got an e-mail from the only source of regular income I have. They're calling in something they've decided was an advance to the tune of enough money to reduce my income to nothing for about two months. This money came in so long ago, I don't even remember exactly what it was, damnitall. I remember something about a bonus--or it being as close to a bonus as I'll ever see. But it was an advance? WTF?!

And they send this announcement to me just before Thanksgiving--classy, that.

But I'm still grateful, not to worry. Just grateful and P.O.'d at the moment.

Is this a week for the record books, or WHAT?!!

Getting my gratitude on....

Well, as I'm still semi/under-employed, just had a cat put down, have still heard no word regarding what seemed like a tremendously promising comic opportunity, and am otherwise not having the best possible time of my no-longer-young life, one might think that putting together my Thanksgiving gratitude list poses quite a challenge this year.

Well, one would be wrong. Can't really explain it, but it's not much of a challenge at all.

For one thing, I have long put together gratitude lists when I had much less to be grateful for--like when I was first getting sober, and my main thoughts were along the lines of, "I'm a DRUNK and a LESBIAN?! What sort of SICK COMIC JOKE is this?!!!"

Then, I had to settle for gratitude lists along the lines of: "I'm alive, I'm sober, I'm (sort of) healthy. And I'm no longer a fag hag, I guess."

Woo!

But today, I have a lot more to be thankful for, full-time work or no full-time work. I'll spare you the details, but my list includes my Higher Power/spirituality, my family of choice, (most of) my family of origin, my friends, my health, The Comedy, and last, but not least, my prospects.

Not bad, not bad at all--especially as that is but a partial list.

And while we're on the subject, I have appreciated the many condolences that have been sent our way from friends of Butler and folks who never even met him. We even got a card today from the vet who put the old guy down--how sweet is that?!

Very, in case you're wondering.

Well, I must attempt to finish up some work so I can forget all about it for the next four days--all I have ahead of me is turkey and napping and the Macy's Parade and a whole lotta unstructured time. Woo x 2!

R.I.P. Butler

Butler Small, June 1985 to November 2005

Contrary to the end, Butler did not die in his sleep, so we had to take him to vet this morning to be put down. Once there, he resisted leaving the cat carrier (as the vet observed, "He wasn't born yesterday"), and when the vet tried to get him on his side, Butler hissed at him but good. (No going out with a whimper for this guy.)

The vet was wonderfully gentle and quick, and Butler was gone in a moment; peacefully, too.

We buried him in the back yard near a row of birdfeeders, and can see his final resting place from a number of windows in the house.

We were both very sad to see him go, but ultimately, I think we're both relieved--I know I am. It was hard to see him dragging his wounded carcass around, to see his body shrink down to nothing, to not know how much pain he was in, and to watch the cancer grow on his face.

Last time we had him weighed, he was 6.5 pounds. At his most robust, he was 18 pounds of kitty (see photo). Our furry Orson Welles.

We're going to miss you, but we'll be seeing you later, Butler boy.

Rowe, Rowe, Rowe your boat...

Spent the weekend commuting to a retreat in the Berkshire hills. The subject was "spirit and psyche," the instructor the fabulous former therapist of my dearly beloved, the attendees were, for the most part, dear, sweet people on a quest.

For the most part.

Must admit I was distracted by a person who seemed to think he/she had all the answers, and as said person was barely half my age and seemed to know no more about life than the average person barely half my age, I found this person's all-knowingness irritating in the extreme.

Having all the answers is common in this age range, this I know; it is also common in people around their second year of recovery. The knowing-all phase of the youth/novice is eventually replaced by a growing sense of "I-don't-know-diddly" that comes with mistakes, disappointments, pain, and all the rest of the humbling business that accrues to the aging human being.

But knowing this fact of life and not being irritated by it, this I struggle to do. Often unsuccessfully, I'm sorry to report.

Methinks it has to do with growing up with a vicious know-it-all, a person who lorded her superiority over others (me in particular) with the tact of a bull in a china shop. The person in the retreat did not do this in the least, and obviously came from a place of great, if misdirected, caring--but the person's "Shell Answer Man" approach to the workshop was galling, still.

That small irritation aside, the workshop was very illuminating. Have a real sense of why I've been out of sorts, and while the circumstances of my life have contributed to my general sense of discombobulation, the real reason is far deeper, and far older, than these temporary setbacks. But since this is not a blog put together for the purpose of examining my warp and woof, I'll spare you any further details.

Suffice to say it has to do with my Super Ego (that rat bastard).

But enough about that. The retreat was populated with a number of wonderful people, including one of my gal's exes--small world! She's a dear soul, and it was good to see her. We had most of our meals together, and at one point, Linda was serving food and asked, "Sweetie, would you like some salad?" Her ex admitted she almost responded to that, and we all had a hoot over the situation. It's been eons since they were an item, but old habits die hard, eh?

Also heard something quite helpful from a fellow retreatant, someone who had also had a period of unemployment that seemed to stretch out, without pity, for a long, demoralizing time. She had a 91-year-old friend who told her not to worry, it was not wasted time, she was actually being prepared for what's next.

What's next for me, I'd like to know, but in the meantime, I'm preparing. That helps, somehow (yes, these are desperate times).

Lastly, this weekend also helped Linda and me come to a conclusion. Butler is failing so quickly, suffering so obviously, we have to take action to put him out of his misery. He's long been a contrary creature, so the fact that he's hanging on despite all of the horrors that are happening to his body surprises no one who knows him.

So, unless he leaves of his own accord, we will be taking Butler to the vet tomorrow morning to be euthanized (SP?). It's going to be hard, but it would be harder still to watch him suffer more. And wrong, I think (even though, truth be told, we both hope he decides to go on his own tonight).

One way or another, Butler boy is going home.

Muy better

Thank goddess things went well--at least better--at last night's show. People laughed. People understood. Ah, The Comedy makes sense again!

And I got to see my friend Jennifer slay the people of West Hartford. People were laughing with such abandon, it made my heart glad. Even saw the waitress wipe tears from her eyes from the laughter--how wonderful is that?

You did your comic duty, Ms. Myszkowski.

Me, I did okay--I had a brownout in the middle of what I thought was going to be a 20-minute set, and had to refer to my notes, which somehow shortened the whole thing to 15 minutes. Whazzit?

I think I'm under duress this week, and am not entirely sure why. For one thing, Jennifer noticed I had cursed--twice--in her presence this week, which is rather a lot for me. The list of usual suspects: Is it the job/financial worry (spiked by a client forgetting to submit two--not just one, but two--of my invoices), is it the long-past-missed deadline (for said client--call me passive, call me aggressive, I just don't care), is it Butler's poor increasingly-misshapen face (the cancer is really starting to show in the poor codger), is it the return of my formerly monthly exercise in futility?

Anything is possible in this best of all possible worlds.

And what of the comic--a seasoned professional with no small sense of his place in the world--who turned out to be a Republican? Not that there's anything wrong with that--no, wait a minute, there is a LOT wrong with that--but how does this happen?

Oh yeah, that's right: He was a Democrat until Clinton started getting blowjobs. He said this with a straight face (what else?).

Not because he agrees with Bush--in fact, he says he doesn't agree with most of what he does.

ARRRRRRRGH! When did sexual conduct become the PRIMARY indicator of fitness for office? And how is consensual sex with an adult more of a breach of the public trust than sending men and women to their death/dismemberment for COOKED-UP reasons?

I don't friggin' get it! (Oh, there I go again.) Am beginning to think there's some deeply rooted jealousy at work here--was it Clinton was only doing what a lot of married men wish they could do, and they resented the hell out of him because of it? And, as is often the case, this resentment turned into sanctimony--think the sanctimony of the unpopular girl or boy "tsk! tsk-ing" the behavior of their more popular peers after the school prom sanctimony.

That would sure explain Dennis Miller. If anyone seethes sexual frustration with a dash of bitterness, it's Dennis Miller. What a wretch!

That's today's theory--nothing else works right now.

Must finish up my overdue work and get cleaning--also waaaaaay overdue. The house is coated with fur, and as I am the cleaning lady, it is my job to remove it.

Watch that green-eyed monster, now.

Ho Hum

Not exactly a stellar night at The Studio. Seven audience members; 12 comics. I am never quite at ease with a lopsided comic:audience ratio, and when said audience is from Romania, England, India, and Canada (not that Canada is really that different), the comfort level is harder still to maintain.

Worrying about the slice-of-UN-life nature of the audience, I second-guessed myself as to the material I was planning to present, and it caused a little chaos in my brain--unfortunately, the chaos wasn't kind enough to remain in my brain, and spilled over into my set.

Note to self: If you've developed a set for the night, just stick to it. Fluster doesn't help The Comedy, not in the least.

So what if they don't understand the concept that is The Midwest?

(My goddess, I'm not sure I understand it, either.)

Jennifer went first, bless her heart, and she did her usual amazing job of keeping up her end of the hilarity bargain in the midst of deafening silence. Admirable, to say the least. There was really only one comic who was able to rouse the sparse assembly; he fired off jokes machine-gun style and just kept them laughing. Exhausting.

Oh well, it was one of those nights. There were at least a few bright spots in the evening, as always. Had a few minutes to catch up with comic Andrea Henry, who had a tale of audience feedback that makes me grateful I don't get out more. (Andrea, that woman was not just a drunk narcissist, she was also wrong on every count. Okay, except for the fact that you're not exactly tall--but everything else was puddin'head talk.)

Also met some other Boston area comics, including a comic who went to my formerly dear alma mater, The University of Wisconsin-Madison (formerly dear since I found out they don't offer domestic partner benefits, and are the ONLY Big Ten school to be so benighted). He mentioned a card game that was a staple of UW campus life, and I found myself transported in a snap back to my late teens.

That was freaky.

And last but not least, I was supremely grateful to be disappointed in the latest innovation in Ho-Ho technology. Back in my teens/20s, I was a major fan of Ho-Ho's and other Hostess snack cakes, and the combination of the so-so show and the UW flashback propelled me to the dark side of the snack food aisle at the rest stop on the way home. I was drawn to the new caramel Ho-Ho's, and they didn't taste anything like I remembered. It wasn't a chocolate covering, it was more like mildly sweet plastic. And the filling--it was so sweet, it made my crown hurt.

Of course, I ate every last one--I am a grandchild of the Depression and all that--but I won't be doing that again any time soon.

Well, I have to finish what's left of my job for today, and then prepare for another show tonight--here's hoping the comic:audience ratio is a little better. We shall see....

Zen Guidance

Today's entry on the Zen Calendar:

"It's not what you think it is. And neither is it otherwise."

Well, that clears things right up for me--how's about you?

Sing it, Jimmy!

If you want to know why Jimmy Carter is the best post-president who ever lived, you need read no further than an editorial he wrote for today's Los Angeles Times, "This Isn't the Real America."

Goddess bless, Mr. President.

Back in the saddle again!

Was I just in D.C.--for a week?! It was a whirlwind. Felt like forever, felt like a minute, if you know what I mean.

Fantastic class, really and truly. Recommend the "Grantsmanship Training Program" from The Grantsmanship Center without reservation. It was an intense five days, spent with a phenomenal instructor and a room full of women (yes, just women--not always the case, mind you) of extraordinary intelligence, humanity, and verve. Heard of "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen"? Well, I felt as thought I got to sit in with "The League of Extraordinary Women."

Not only that, the more I learned about writing proposals and the grantmaking process, the better I liked it. And though I had work to do today, I've begun the pursuit of a few opportunities to apply what I've learned on the cheap, if not for free. We shall see....

As for D.C., it was beautiful, as always. Never tire of looking at the embassies on Massachusetts, nor the GLBT set paging through books and saucy magazines at Lambda Rising in Dupont Circle. And my dearly beloved (and very generous) brother and sister-in-law who put me up for the week saw me perform and the planet kept on a' spinnin'--a MAJOR relief.

Of course, where The Comedy was concerned, they focused on the Midwestern parts of my act (not the drunk straight girl bits), but who can blame them?

Certainly not me!

And it was good to practice my act in a new town and with new people, even if one of the shows was a minor debacle. Even it wasn't all bad--met a grand comic from New Orleans who joined me in a post-set commiseration session that did us both good. (Almost as good as ice cream.)

Still no word on the Laughing Liberally front, but it's still not time to worry. That will be in about a week or so--I'll let you know.

Love D.C. and the D.C. branch as I do, I still am very grateful to be home--even if I did spend a lot of the weekend digging/raking/mulching.

But not all--we went to a film festival and an open studios exhibition at a huge art space in town. Gotta love a small college town that gives you a heaping helping of culture along with the quaints.

Gotta.

Remind me....

...never to become a full-time proofreader. I read four chapters of a mss today, and my eyes are killing me. "How dry I am" is their current theme song, poor, poor peepers. Had all these ambitious plans for today, but this job sucked up the entire day. (Well, this job and five loads of laundry, actually--that's Ms. Multitasker to you!)

Am about to send an 86-page fax of corrections to the publisher, but needed a little break before I tucked into that task--since my elderly fax machine only allows me to feed in one page at a time, I will be busy for, say, the next hour-and-a-half.

Oy.

Maybe it's time for a little supper, then on to the fax.

Pardon the compelling commentary--that's enough about W-O-R-K, the four-letter-word to end all four-latter words (only bested by the dreaded O-U-T-O-F-W-O-R-K).

Had a good set at PACE last night, not stellar or anything, but my mutterings about Sheryl Swoopes seemed to go over well. Thought of another bumpersticker on the "A homophobe is a homo waiting to happen" theme: "Scratch a homophobe, find a homo."

Kinda catchy, eh? Linda is of the opinion that people laugh just because I say the word "homo," but I like to think there's more to it.

I'd like to think there's more to everything I do, however, so perhaps I should just enjoy the laughs and move on....

Have a little over a day before I leave for my grant writing seminar, so I feel a little pre-trip panic coming on--will try to check in before I flee, but if I don't, I'll be back soon.

I know, I know--you're handlin' it.

PACE is the place!

Last night I had my last writing group, probably for the foreseeable (or until I get a well-paying job, whichever comes first). I'm going to miss it, even if I relish the prospect of getting my Wednesday nights back. The group is populated with immensely talented writers, and listening to each person share their precious first attempts at poems, stories, or undeclared jottings was a privilege. Left there many a night thinking I had just witnessed genius, often sacred genius at that.

What's not to miss?

On a less exalted front, Linda loaded up the crockpot this morning, and I have been smelling corned beef and cabbage ALL DAY. I love corned beef and cabbage--it's something my mother made that was quite good. (A list of my mother's "quite good" meals would be brief, I'm sorry to report--she was the typical Midwestern "boil-it-till-it's-showing-no-signs-of-life" kind of cook, bless her soul.)

Received even more proofing work to do today, so it's looking more and more as though I will be able to easily afford my upcoming grant writing class/trip. File that under: Relief.

And tonight I get to go to the open mic at PACE.

What's not to love?

That went well--can you believe it?

Am so glad to report that my return attempt for the LL folks was not bad, not bad at all. The night went far better than I had hoped (though I tend to keep my expectations on the below-the-basement side, just to be safe), and not just because I had a delightful entree at the Popover Cafe. (Chicken pot pie in a popover? What a fantastic idea!)

The audience was receptive to my particular warp, happily, and I received many kudos and glad-hands and what-all afterwards from comics and friends alike. File under: "Whew!"

What will come of it, I don't know. But as soon as someone explains it to me, I'll explain it to you. (Unless it involves exchanging state secrets; then "mum's" the word.)

It was grand to see my friends, too. Val and Joan were wonderful hosts, and thanks to them, I got a clue as to why people live on the Upper East Side. I used to sneer at that part of town as being too clean, too controlled, too unlike my New York, but you know, a person can actually sleep through the night there. I was bracing myself for the usual onslaught of car alarms, sirens, and passive-aggressive garbage truck drivers, but it was quiet.

Yes, indeed, I'm getting old. Like this is news.

Anyway, I also saw my former boss and coworker, and it was sweet. It was good to give each of them a proper hug, too, the hug I wanted to give them when I found out they were being fired by my now semi-employer.

Long overdue, that hug.

Now, I'm supposed to be getting ready to go to my writing group. Am ambivalent about it, for I'd much rather stay home and crash the crash of the over-traveled, but it's likely my last group, so go I must.