The cheesesteak barometer

Last night's show? A stinker. The audience? Me? I don't really care.

How much do I not care? I didn't crave ice cream after the show.

That's apathy of an unprecedented sort, but I'm not worried. It will pass.

Actually, after about a week, I'm guessing. I am on vacation, and though I didn't really plan this, having the week off after the exhausting enterprise that was Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day is a gift.

Realized a vacation was a really good idea when I found myself getting testy at the cafeteria this afternoon. Over a cheesesteak. I'm really rarely one to fuss, but today I was G**damned if I was going to let the lady behind me in line get a cheesesteak when I had been in line longer.

I felt like crap most of the afternoon over this episode, even though that cheesesteak was rightfully mine. (Recovering Catholic is a misnomer--we never recover.)

However, when one finds oneself in high dudgeon over a cheesesteak, it is time to take a step back and say, "What's going on here?"

I know, not to worry. I'm exhausted and my nerves are shot. A dear friend from the old days used to point at his wrist when highly irritated and say, "See this? This is my last nerve, and you're stepping on it!" Well, my last nerve was shot about 18 hours ago, so this vacation is happening at an opportune time.

Wish it could have happened before The Cheesesteak Incident, but that's my life in a nutshell. (In sum: This gal must do something really embarrassing before she GETS IT.)

Today was not all shot nerves and embarrassment. Received some nice kudos re the aforementioned nightmare of a project, and had a nice chair massage after lunch. (Yes, one can get a chair massage in the building I work in--Corporate America ain't all bad.) I haven't indulged myself in such fashion in ages, and it felt great--I was loose as a goose after that, and think I may have to find a way to work a chair massage into my regular rotation.

But now, now I need to go to sleep. This day has been more than enough.

It's official!

My name may be misspelled, but it's up on the Laughing Liberally website lineup for May 10 @ 9:30.

Believe it!

I am very happy of the prospect of performing in a friendly space--more friendly than an Elks Club in Glastonbury, at the very least!

(Though, come to think of it, they warmed up after a while.....)

That's today's big news, for the rest is all kvetch and consternation.

I am sooooo over the joy that is Take Your Daughters and Sons to Work Day, you have no idea. (Unless, of course, you've been in my orbit in the past four weeks--then you have all too much of an idea, and I apologize.)

It will all be over soon--less than 48 hours from now, the concerns of the parents among me will no longer be my business, and I am almost blissful at the prospect.

Lessons learned.....

Had a great time at the Girls!Girls!Girls! (and a guy) comedy show last night, and wish I could have stayed around to congratulate the comics. Alas, our recovering pooch Linus was making odd coughing sounds when we left for the show, so we hurried home as soon as Jennifer closed her set--and what a great set it was! (Podiatry and childlessness = hilarity--who'd a thunk?)

Linus was fine, of course.

During yesterday's comedy confab, Jennifer and I discussed the fact that people have told her that both being in a relationship and having a baby are crucial to a full, rich life, for they help one learn so much about oneself. While I'll leave Jennifer's reactions to those assertions to her comedic genius (and she's already crafted a winner from the baby side of this equation), they led me to think that 13 years into my long-term relationship, I have learned things about myself I could have lived without knowing, truth be told.

For one thing, being in a relationship has taught me what a petty, hyper-sensitive grudge-muffin I can become.

That's almost as encouraging as what I learned from my colonoscopy last year--that my colon is fine, but it's twisted. For this, I had to have a camera pushed up my bucket?

Harrumph!

I'm sure there are many more lessons than these in my past and future, and I will strive to report on them for your viewing pleasure.

But for now, I must get back to my laundry and balancing my checking account--to paraphrase the Carpenters, "Rainy days and Sundays always get me down...."

The upside of reduced expectations

Went into last night's show prepared for a chilly reception--anytime someone tells me the crowd is "blue collar," tough sledding can be ahead. For in my experience, the blue collar set can be fabulous--if anyone should have sympathy for the struggles of someone, a blue collar person should--but if heavy on the guys, they can also be unreceptive to anything that is outside their norms. And if anything is outside their norms in rural NE, it's a Midwestern, recovering-alcoholic lesbian that talks about her fellow homos on a regular basis.

And when that said lesbian equates tailgating with homosexual activity--well, that hits a discomfort zone, apparently. (If I had a $1 for every time that joke caused straight men to cross their arms over their chests, I would have enough for a night on the town.)

Be that as it may, I had a great show--the tailgating joke caused an uproar of a great kind. Happily, no matter what collar they wore during the day, these folks were there for the laughs, and laugh they did.

Made me happy to be a comic, and look forward to my next show. (My next show is Thursday night in Cambridge at The Comedy Studio, in case you're wondering.)

But for now, I must dash to town--it's time for a comedy confab with my friend Jennifer, who is having a wonderful show tonight at PACE (we plan to be in the audience--you should, too!).

Sheer madness...

Today was a crazy, hectic day, and I only found myself whimpering once. The project I have been charged with is the corporate equivalent of being nibbled to death by ducks, without the death part.

Just nibbled.

The ducks? Yes, they exist in human form, and while I like ducks with webbed feet, I'm not terribly fond of the ones with toes.

The good news is that there is an end in sight to this task--next Thursday, in fact.

And the day after that? Friday.

And the week after that? Vacation.

I am a lucky, luck gal....as long as I survive this week and the next, that is.

On other fronts, my comedy buddy Jennifer is throwing a great girls comedy night this Saturday at PACE in Easthampton--you should go!

Better, better, better!

Jaded? If the sensible shoe fits....

While I am rested at last (after a bizarre six-hour nap that seized me Saturday afternoon), I could still use a bit more weekend. There are still about 17 things on my To-Do list, which means that I got a little ambitious.

Ambition, that's something I try to avoid--it's the path to heartache and frustration, this I know.

Watched the GLAAD awards on the GLBT Logo channel with some friends last night , and I'm afraid we're all past the "We Are Family" stage of existence. We had little patience for the endless speeches about our rights and how normal we are and how our day will come and all that assorted happy horse hockey. (Although I could watch Charlize Theron talk about us for the rest of my natural life. Sorry.)

Of course, I still believe these basic truths ("The Earth only spins forward" and so on), don't get me wrong, but these bon mots have been in circulation a while now, and they just don't stir me as they used to--oh dear, You're not getting older, you're getting bitter.

Of course, if I were not a former drag queen aficionado (am looking for substitutes for the dreaded "Fag Hag," excuse me) I would not know this phrase, so membership in the GLBT club has its perks, certainly. Many, many perks.

However, there is a downside or two. Lesbian film, for one. We bought a DVD with a collection of 10 short lesbian films, and all but two raised the question, "And your point is, exactly?" Most of the screenwriters appeared to suffer from what I am calling the "Claire of the Moon" syndrome; i.e., if it happened to me, it's fascinating.

It's a problem I suffered with when trying to become a fiction writer, so I am not without sympathy for anyone struggling under the weight of their own dramatic (to me/myself/I) past. And some people can write of the specifics of their lives in a way that touches the universal, making their stories resonate in a way that makes the specific, even if it bares no resemblance to one's own life, touching in its familiarity. Eudora Welty springs to mind; there are many, many others.

However, sometimes the specific is specific in such a way it just makes one go "Huh? What was that about?" It doesn't make that crucial connection to the shared consciousness.

That's was the problem with "Claire of the Moon," and is the problem with "The L Word" Jenny storyline, and also is the problem with 8 of the 10 short films in the collection we bought.

The second downside to being a member of the GLBT club? Lesbian music. Now, I like Sleater Kinney and other lesbian-heavy rock bands just fine, but I'm talking about the earnest, heartfelt acoustic guitar hooey that just makes a gay gal want to run screaming from the building. Even though the band is led by a gay man, Erasure did a pretty good imitation of this sort of lesbian music during the awards ceremony last night, and we were all cringing.

But compared to the pain and humiliation I endured attempting to be a straight girl, these are minor quibbles indeed. I'm with Melissa Etheridge on this one: I'm grateful I get to live this life as a lesbian (and just hope it doesn't mean I have to come back as a Koran- or Bible-thumping someone or another).

Here's hoping....

Getting better all the time....

Ms. Malaprop strikes again

I was preparing supper and noticed that Oatmeal somehow wedged his carcass into the box that holds Linus' special (post-surgery) dog food.

Bemused at the latest idiocy from our local feline representative, I said, "What in the world will that silly cat do next?"

"Don't thank a gift horse in the house," Linda replied.

Yes, I am in communications. My partner, on the other hand....

A little dread never hurt anyone....

Sent off a DVD of a recent show at The Comedy Studio to an elderly aunt out in Nebraska, and have been worried about what she might think of it ever since.

Yes, yes, I know--internalized homophobia plays a part, but so does fear of what she learned at her mother's knee about alcoholics and alcoholism. Grandmother was co-chair of the local Christian Temperance Union, which means she had a "willpower" view of alcohol addiction (if drunks just had a little more self-control, they would be able to quit drinking themselves into a stupor).

Yeah, well, it was the times and all--the alcoholism as disease concept had not been embraced as of yet in Grandma's day. Geez, I hope it was the times, anyway, and not her cover for anti-immigrant sentiment (as was often the case with the CTU set). That is not the sort of thing one wants in one's ancestors, you know?

But she was a Republican, too, so anything is possible.

Well, the DVD is out there, so I just have to hope that maybe Aunt Babe will actually enjoy it--you never know!

On other fronts, I am really intrigued with the furor immigration "reform" is stirring up--all these puddin'head "assimilated Americans" want to slam shut the door that was held open for them a generation or three ago. Okay, maybe the door wasn't always held open, exactly, but they weren't charged with a felony for trying to make a better life for themselves. What kind of Nativist nonsense is that?!

Of course, I must admit, it's a little bit of a relief to see some other scapegoat appear on the Regressive Right's Radar--they have been beating the homo horse to death lately, and a little anti-immigrant hubbub gives us "assimilated American" dykes and fags a little breathing room.

Who am I kidding? I don't like immigrant-bashing any better than homo-bashing, and besides, there hasn't really been a letup on either front.

Those damn bigots have always been superb multi-taskers!

Our boy is back!

We brought our dear boy Linus home Thursday afternoon, and we're all relieved and grateful to have him back--all except Shwea and Oatmeal, that is (they enjoyed having the place to themselves, the little so-n-so's).

Linus was very drugged up when we brought him home, but restless--as though he didn't trust that he could relax here. Yesterday, he began to sleep in earnest, and today he's begun begging for food and was really disappointed when he couldn't go on a proper walk with Linda and Shwea this morning. (We have to restrict his movements until his stitches get out in 10 days or so.)

In other words, he's really getting better--oh, happy days!

And may I say, Linda has been a trooper through all of this. She not only was the one who saved his carcass to begin with, but she has also taken large chunks of time off from work to tend to our boy, and for that I will always be grateful.

And this morning, she saw how disappointed Linus was, so she bent down and showed him the part of the vet's instructions that said he couldn't take walks--it might not have meant a thing to Linus, but it charmed me tremendously.

What a sweetie!

On other fronts, I have a ton o' bills to get through, so close I must. And I should be keeping a close eye on Linus--we're supposed to keep him from licking his nether regions, which is rather like keeping a bunny from hopping. (Such is the nature of doctor's orders, eh?)

Lest I forget, the open mic on Thursday was just okay--the audience had mood swings all night, but they did seem to like some of my new material (especially on my twisted childhood--am almost grateful to note that all of that angst and insanity isn't going to waste!). The audience was a little less charitable to some of the other comics, though, and that I hate to see. Lighten up, folks--it's ENTERTAINMENT!!!

And I am working on getting on the Laughing Liberally stage in May--May 10, to be precise. NYC, here I come! (Or so I hope--will keep you posted.)

Monday without mercy

Our German Shepherd mix, Linus, came down with a terrible condition known colloquially as "bloat" this morning, and we're lucky he's still alive--if spending the next few nights at the vet's.

When I left for work this morning, he appeared fine--he was giving me the usual, "What--you're leaving?!" look out the window. Unfortunately, just a short while later, he was in serious distress--the good news is that even though Linda was on her way out the door, she noticed something wasn't right.

Before long, she was on her way to our vet. They had to put a tube down his stomach and sedate him, take x-rays, and more. They couldn't do the necessary surgery, however, so Linda called me from there--she was not willing to go through this alone, and who can blame her?--so I left work and came back home to be picked up and go with her and Linus to the emergency vet in Springfield. We spent most of the day there, waiting for the results of various tests, then to meet the surgeon, then to wait for the word as to whether our boy's stomach survived the episode intact, and more. His life was hanging in the balance more than once today, and I happy to report that so far, so good.

They had to remove his spleen, for it got all twisted up along with his stomach and couldn't be salvaged. The odd thing is that taking out the spleen can cause heart trouble--who knew? So, the next 24 hours or so are particularly dicey ones. We would appreciate any kind thoughts you can send his way, and if you have any pull with any major or minor (we're not fussy) deities, please see what you can do for our boy.

Speaking of kind thoughts, I am all for free speech and all, but vicious slams made under the thin cloak of anonymity I will not abide. You want to spew venom at homophobes and the POTUS? Have at it! You want to spew at my friends? Find yourself a new venue, chump--you're going to be deleted.