cK's Interview

More on the interview front:

My questions from one of the best:

1. What flavor cookies would you bake for Mikhail Baryshnikov?
Right now I couldn't give a sh_t about Mischa. However, if I did it would be to feed him millet heart smart cookies. That pampered prima donna has never had millet cookies - I could practically guarantee it. Unless he has birds, which he might...in that case I'd invent a Vegemite cookie recipe, just to wow him.

2. If you won a contest to remove one obnoxious personality from the airwaves (radio or tv), who would it be?
Hands down, Rush Limbaugh, that pompous, stupid ass, rat bastard.

3. Where is the funniest place your cat has vomited?
On Ray's PlayStation. At the height of me hating it. Lovely.

4. What do you most often lose and where do you tend to lose it?
My memory, on the way up/down the stairs to go do the thing that I have immediately forgotten. Grrr.

5. Would you prefer to be taller or faster?
Right now, I would prefer to be faster - at getting pregnant. I just found out today that after 6 months of trying, we are still not there (hence, the angry bitter tone). When I was dancing, I would have preferred to be 3 or 4 inches shorter. I could have danced certain parts with certain people, but I was destined to be the big of the shorts and the small of the talls. I was horrifyingly average. Don't get me wrong...it worked to my advantage most of the time - I had more opportunity to get parts in both groups. But there were partners with whom I would have loved to have been part of a couple, and roles I would have eaten had I been a titchy thing.

If you want to you can...

1. Leave me a comment on this post saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

2007 Just Got Wet

What a perfect lazy day. Woke up at the usual time in a panic and realized that it was Sunday. Ahhhh, back to sleep until 9:40.

Did the usual coffee run, stopping in to the 'Rents to illegally put water in the pool. Water in their pool? They are away for the weekend. Illegal? We are having a drought. During the half hour filling, I pilfered their fridge and made myself an ass-kicking cheese, green onion, cherry tomato and avocado omelette.

On the way home, I went to Joanne's Crafts and Fabrics to look for linseed oil. I had an informal oil painting course in E's garage with her Mom who was visiting for K's 4th birthday. It was great to get over the fear of starting a new medium, but I needed some linseed oil to stretch the paint (we used olive oil in the lesson!). Alas, no oil, so no painting today, which was the plan. So I moved to plan B.

Plan B: Laze by the pool and read.

Plan B turned into Plan C when we realized the pool temperature was 76 degrees!

Plan C: Swim in the pool!

2007's first swim day was relaxing and entertaining - the cat was being mocked by several of the neighbourhood birds. She was doing the growly meow where it looks like her teeth are chattering. Cracks us up every time we see it. It was lovely. We swam, ate sausages and read all day.

Then we had to move inside because the sky started to look a little ominous. The TV tells us we are in for a doozy of a thunderstorm, complete with hail and possible tornadoes. I can hear thunder now, so it's on its way.

I think we'll sleep with the curtains open tonight...I'm up for a light show.

The Birth and Immediate Death of a Superhero

There's a McDonald's across the street from the office, we frequent it fairly often. I went for lunch today (I got the Big and Nasty with cheese).

Today the sign outside indroduces a new product, but because of a spelling error, it reads with a slightly different meaning:

NEW
CINNAMAN
MELTS!

I Left My Heart in San Francisco

So.
Here we go.

I might have to do this in bullet form, I'm just feeling that kind of flow.

• Met Diva Dan at The Supperclub doors. She was ready to go in a blonde wig and a bathtowel wrapped around her bod. She was setting up a bed on the sidewalk to invite people into the club and to take reservations for the show...in her towel, perched upon the bed, on the sidewalk. Can I just say right now how much I miss San Francisco?
• Went upstairs to meet ex-husband, ex-husband's girlfriend and my old dance partner (Diva's life partner). Meet Michael, Corrie and Mario, respectively. Got right to work being a backstage-bitch sewing, setting up the stage, etc.
• Got into the evening's get-up: white wifebeater, men's boxerbriefs, four inch black patent leather peep-toe heels and a black silk peignoir.
• We all tromped downstairs and layed ourselves artfully on the gigantic bed in the middle of the dancefloor (our "table"). My friend Lovesong was dressed up as a bedbug and she bravely went around to each bed/table and cuddled, scratched or slept all over the patrons.
  
• Proceeded to be lavished with champagne. Even the dancers imbibed before the show. Holotta Tymes (another Drag Queen there to perform) flew across the bed to chat with me when I remarked that Diva's second outfit was "very Barbara Stanwyck." Holotta was encouraging the dancers to down more bubbly...she wanted to see them dance drunk.
• Shandy and her boy showed up and joined us on the bed.
  
• The food, oh the food. We started with a beautiful citrusy salad served in metal dog bowls with chopsticks. Then we had the best soup I've ever had. It was some sort of corn thing in a rocks glass.
  
• Between the salad and soup, a 25 year-old-kicking body Opera singer performed. She was wearing a white hand-held masquerade eye mask, a Marie Antoinette wig, a black corset, fundies, a garter with stockings, and a black strappy hoop skirt made of ribbons so you could see through to her legs. Wow. Her voice was divine. Set the mood for the whole night.
• After soup we had slices of beef on soft polenta and then Michael come out pushing his Ducati Monster on the dance floor. The piece was called Outline. He was out of gas, literally and figuratively. His makeup made him look tired and dead. He danced like the downtrodden. He pulled out an eviction notice, an IRS notice, an alimony notice. And then a gun. He does himself in and falls to the floor. Then the dancers came out. Or down. The stage was on the floor level, but they started on the second floor, sliding in these amazing ways down the banister. They were reminiscent of the devil beings in Ghost, except not all Disney and amateur looking. They were mean and tortured. Mario had his scary contact lenses in. They danced with abandon and total commitment. Made me miss dancing for a second... Michael got up as a spirit and they pulled and prodded him until he fell to the ground once again and they finished the piece by outlining his form with pink chalk. It. Was. Awesome.
• Back to the food. The fourth course was salmon - I have no idea how is was because I was really drunk by then. Shandy and Co. left for another engagement and Verna and Co. showed up. It was girls night for them. (I'd like to point out at this moment that their Girl's Night consisted of dressing up like Japanese Street Urchins, drinking their faces off at a night club, and dancing with each other til the wee hours. My usual girls night is a glass of wine in someone's living room, or if we're feeling really wild, a patio bar. Ooooooh. What has my life become?)
• Holotta got up and did the I Love Lucy Vitameatavegemin bit, which was hilarious. She was spot on.
• Somewhere along the way I lost the 25 dollars I was carrying in my hand to pay for a 20 minute back massage. Oh well, it was a free night for me, so someone got a nice tip.
• Diva Dan (after changing for the 5th time - it was like the GD Oscars!) did her bit with a latex vagina and calf birthing lube. Yeah, you heard me. Calf birthing lube. I've never been so entertained and grossed out at the same time.
• Dessert (who wanted to eat after that?!) came out. It was some sort of peach cobbler thingy with a cookie on top. Again, very drunk, not too clear on that one.
  
• The bed got split in half, pushed to the sides and the dance floor was made available to the hoards that came pushing through the doors from the bar. They open the dining area to the bar crowd once the meal has been served.
• So for the rest of the night, I spent time with all the performers and my friends dancing, chatting, dancing, getting hit on and dancing.

It was everything I wanted it to be. I called it quits around 1:45 because I had my flight home the next morning. I could have danced all night, however, my knees are still disagreeing with that statement. It is nearly a week later and they are still mad at me for abusing them so badly. The fluid is going down, but boy was it worth it! Cartilage be damned! You only live once!

Scattergories

Got this from Tate's blog. Anyone else interested can play along.

Rules: Use the 1st letter of your middle name to answer each of the following...They MUST be real places, names,things...NOTHING made up! If you can't think of anything, skip it. You CAN'T use your name for the boy/girl name question.

Your Middle Name: Deans

1. Famous singer: Dolly Parton
2. 4 letter word: dink
3. Street name: Devonshire
4. Color: dark blue
5. Gifts/presents: diamonds
6. Vehicle: Dodge Durango
7. Things in a Souvenir Shop: dolls
8. Boy Name: Doug
9. Girl Name: Delilah
10. Movie Title: Dark Water
11. Drink: Daquiri
12. Occupation: Driver
13. Flower: Delphinium
14. Celebrity: Dan Rather
15. Magazine: Dog & Kennel
16. U.S. City: Dayton, Ohio
17. Teams: Dolphins
18. Something Found in a Kitchen: dishes
19. Reason for Being Late for Work: dead battery
20. Something You Throw Away: dirty papertowels
21. Things You Shout: DUDE, DON'T! DAMN! DICK.
22. Cartoon Character: Dandy Dan
23. Food: dirty water dogs

SF Night 2 and 3

Wednesday

Spent the day working in the hotel room (took advantage of the free wireless). By 3:35 I had wicked cabin fever and needed to get out so I put on my city boots and scoured Union Square for the perfect pajama/lingerie outfit for tonight's Supperclub drag show.

Who, in the great city of San Francisco, can not find anything to wear? Me.

I went to Victoria's Secret (the secret is that their stuff is either see through or girly-stupid), shopped next door at Pink (no thank you, I don't want a pair of super shorty sweatpants with "Pink Princess" scrawled across my ass), hit Macy's (nada), Nordie's (Grandma), and then Bloomie's (nothing!!!!!). However, Bloomie's wasn't a total bust because I did get a lovely pampering surprise while browsing in the lingerie section: an Eileen West goodie bag and glass of sparkling wine. After two sips I was tipsy and that's when I remembered that I missed lunch.

I hurried on back to the hotel and got ready for the evening. There was a communication mix-up with Shandy (she thought I was talking about next Wednesday) so I got stood up on my ride into Oakland. Fortunately, Verna hadn't left her job at the gym yet, so I rushed to the BART and took the train with her. It was fortuitous because we ad a lengthy and very good talk about life, death, parents and what's important. Oh, and she's engaged to Greg! Mike and I introduced them to each other so score one (no two!) shadkhn points for us. Amy and Alan were our first pairing.

Greg picked us up at the station and after stopping at the old apartment (so strange every time I go back there - for those not in the know, I used to live there, across the hall with my first husband Mike for over ten years), we went to Piedmont Ave to meet the gang. As usual, it was a great night of just hanging and laughing hysterically. And, as usual, it was too short. But I get to see everyone again tonight, so that's okay.

Thursday

Same routine during the day. Same breaking point at around 3:30, which gave me time to get ready for the gym. Verna invited me as her guest to her very exclusive, posh, tra-laa, twee, hoighty-toighty sports club situated next to The Four Seasons. What I thought was a good decision turned out to be a bad one. I chose the Window-Overlooking-Market-Street-Elliptical-Machine section to run for 20 minutes. Bad Idea Jeans. The sun hadn't gone down yet and I spent the first 15 minutes in the sunshine getting totally overheated. I felt barfy and light headed when I got off the machine. I had to run my wrists under icy cold water to cool down so that I wouldn't faint in her Pilates class. Why didn't I move? Because I'm a stubborn Irish girl.

The class was excellent and I told her so. I got lost on the way out of the gym - the place is like a maze. As I made my way to Powell Street, I suddenly got inspired and ducked into Old Navy. I purchased my pajama/lingerie outfit (read on)!

So Shandy and I got our shit in a pile and we met to go out to her friend's birthday party. It was nice to sit and talk with her and Jim but I felt bad about bogarting all of her time. Well, not that bad. Ha! We both got hit with the tired stick at the same time, so we cut the night short, but I should be seeing her tonight as well.

So what am I wearing tonight?

Tighty-whitey men's boxer briefs and a white wifebeater! I'm going to wear this under my black silk peignoir and kick myself up in the big girl shoes - black patent leather peekaboo toe pumps.

I have to jet and jump in the shower. Fill you in on the evening's action later.

And Your Little Dog Too

I am an enormous fan of Overheard in Minneapolis, but often I click over to Overheard in New York. This was the best of the week:

The Two Stages of Grief

Queer checking voice mail: Apparently my great aunt just died.
Friend: Oh, I'm so sorry.
Queer: Don't be. She was a horrid, raging bitch.
Friend: Oh, well... then... ding dong!

Blogiviewed? Interblogged?

Random Mindless Ramblings has passed the baton. I'm getting interviewed...someone reading this and making the necessary request will be next.

These are my questions from H:

1. If you could be someone else for one day, who would you be?

Well this would depend. If I could:

• have fun by taking advantage of their celebrity status, Julia Roberts.
• instantly know what they know, Dick Chaney.
• sleep with their partner, Angelina Jolie (or Brad Pitt for that matter! Ha!)
• feel what it's like to be more sensitive, my Mom.
• keep the stuff after shopping, the guy who won the lottery yesterday.
• know what it all meant and retain it, The Dalai Lama.
• feel the thrill but use their skill, a race car driver.
• better understand where he "goes" when he gets that faraway look, my Dad.

2. Would you time travel if such a thing existed and you were given the opportunity? Describe where you would go (location and time period), who you would see, and what you would do.

YES (she yelled enthusiastically)! I would hit the Roaring Twenties in America and then I'd take a steamer to England to hang out and chat with my Grandpa, Granddad, Nana and Grandma. I'd love to have met them then, especially because I don't remember my Mom and Dad's Dads.

3. If you could have an exotic animal as a pet, what would it be?

A Potbellied Pig. I hear they are clean, smart and lovable. Is a pig exotic enough? I don't know, but what I do know is I wouldn't want to take anything exotic out of it's element that really shouldn't be living in a house.

4. Which do you prefer, the Chicken Dance or the Hokey Pokey? Discuss.

I have to go with the Hokey Pokey. Mainly because it is longer and you can do more variations. You can swank up the Pokey. Also, it's way to easy too get tired of the Chicken Dance after about ten seconds. Also, you just look gay doing it.

5. If you weren't in your current line of work, what would you be doing? (i.e. what is your "dream job"?)

Dream Job 1) Ballet Mistress of a large, well-funded ballet company.
Dream Job 2) An Interior Designer or Fashion Designer.

So now it can be your turn. Just follow these simple rules.

1. Leave me a comment on this post saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

SF - Night 1

So a last minute trip finds me in San Francisco, my old haunt - well, for thirteen years the East Bay was really my old haunt, but I think after living in the Upper Sunset and working at Mother Jones on Market Street for several months in 2002, I can also claim the city to be my own.

I arrived last night with no bags to be seen. I'm pretty confident that I was the only one on our flight that did the Florida, New York, California jaunt (it was free on miles), so just me and the blind guy were in the Delta lost luggage department going WTF?! Not sure what his deal was, maybe he tapped his way onto the wrong plane. I know, I can already feel the sunburn that I'll have when I'm frolicking in Hell.

Omar came to pick me up (thanks pal!) and we went directly to food in the Castro, as the cheese and crackers from Delta, surprisingly, weren't sticking to my ribs. Lime is a really sweet spot. Tapas dishes, super tasty drinks - maybe a little too tasty for my liking. I had a candied ginger infused vodka concoction. Spicy!

Then he took me to a place that required reservations and a password! Bourbon & Branch is this ultra cool speakeasy type bar that specializes in high-end, rare spirits and homemade juices and syrups. I had a Cucumber Gimlet made with cucumber infused vodka, elderflower extract, lime juice, homemade orange bitters and champagne that was so refreshing I felt like I belonged on a veranda in the very deep, very hot South. Omar had a rare tequila paired with a recommended Mexican beer (both were lovely).

Tonight I am getting together with the old Oakland Ballet gang on the other side of the Bay. Should be a hoot. And a late night. Details Thursday...

I Win, I Win, I Win!

Hahaha! I just frustrated a Bell South Telemarketer Out Of India and the Supervisor Standing Over His Shoulder so much that I heard the SSOHS say, "Aghhhh, just hanguphanguphanguphangup!"

Hee hee - I'm evil.

Young Again

I saw my parents as teenagers today. I went over in the morning to see how my mom was doing - she's had a bout of food poisoning lately, it's lingering. So Dad came into the kitchen where we were having coffee and fixed himself a bowl of raisin bran. He put the bowl on the counter and reached for the paper.

Mom gave a little squeal and pointed to the floor. There was, on its back, what looked like a huge dead cockroach. Dad bent down to dispose of it and he picked up and popped it in his mouth. Mom gasped and blurted, "Ian!"

Dad gets these apple cheeks when he's being a smartass, he had them as he was saying, "It's a raisin...OH NO IT'S NOT!!" Mom squealed even louder. Dad made a motion to spit it at her and she smacked him on the arm.

They laughed at each other and looked seventeen.

I Like This Song - A Lot

Arcade Fire - Intervention

Quick Shot

Me, very drunk, at the Hard Rock Seminole being gloriously deafened (further) by The Killers. It was wicked good. There were fights, copious rum and cokes, people being yelled at and kicked out, arrests, suuuuuper-high twentysomethings, scantily-clad cougars, vomit and general hilarity as Ray and I acted like high schoolers critiquing everyone that walked by. It was genuine fun.

I woke up still a little hooped.

Catch Up

Not much time - super busy as of late. Tuesday with clients - ALL DAY - went well. Had cocktails with my girl E and we turned to each other and said at the same time, "We haven't been out with each other like this forever." Verbatim. We waited for the gents to make the business dinner and drank cosmos by the Intracoastal. No babies, no hassles - it was very nice.

Wednesday continued with said clients for lunch. Ready to not be with clients anymore, but it all went well. The theme of recognizing the good goes on...

We had Book Club in the evening. Not as well attended this second time around, but the die-hards were there discussing away eating water chestnuts wrapped in bacon. (Really, can you go wrong with bacon? I say no.) Last Days of Summer by Steve Kluger is the next choice. Shirley is hosting.

Today is Thursday and me and my guy are off to the Hardrock Seminole in Ft. Laud. tonight to see The Killers. I'm going to rock out and pretend I'm not 37! Whoo!!

Found out today that I have enough miles to accompany Ray to SF next week. Watching a performance by my ex-husband and ex-dancing partner a week tomorrow in a drag queen supper club. Will keep you informed.

It's All Good

Last week got a bit depressing with plotting all the crap in my life, plus, the week started out very badly for those in VA...so I've decided to have an Oprah moment and track all the good things that happen this week. (I may throw in a piece of crap every once in a while because it's just funnier when things go wrong than when they go well.)

Monday

• We don't owe any taxes! Wahoo!!
• Edited a report that needed to be out the e-door at 5:00 pm - made it by the skin of our teeth.
• Dinner: thick cut pork chops smothered in mushroom soup. Honestly - what is better than that?
  
• Ray and I were entertained by the cat for a good 20 minutes while she made love to my flip flop. Not sure what was on the inside of my shoe, but she was rubbing her face on it like it was catnip. Then she just layed around all night like she was high.
  

Colour Me Happy

Today I cover the world.

After a lovely morning of bank, bagel, coffee and movie drop off, Ray and I got to painting the eggplant coloured wall and logo in his old office. The two coats were easy enough, but I was not paying attention to the label when I bought the can of primer. Oil based. Yeah...that stuff doesn't wash out of the brush when you're done with it. Nor does it wash off your hands with soap and water when you have attempted to squeeze the paint out of the brush with your fingers. I look like I'm wearing gloves. Must get to the turpentine in the garage...

Fixed my painted hands and thought, what the hell, I've already done it to my hands...why not my feet? Bought some lovely French manicure stuff and gave myself a homemade French pedi.

Now I have the urge to to do a watercolour. I have to paint when I am motivated to do so, because I have no discipline otherwise. So I'm going to post this posthaste and get my ass to the sewing/art room. I hope whatever I'm painting turns out better than my pedicure - looks like my four-year-old niece did it.

Friday the 13th

So I didn't kill anyone on the ride home yesterday -nor was I killed, maimed, bumped, knocked or otherwise.

Friday the 13th has always been a good day for me - I was married on Friday, January 13th. I as I did on that day, I have no complaints for today (except that I watched Hollywoodland and it was crap).

The weekend is here so I have my rose-coloured Saturday morning to look forward to. Yay!

Infini Noir

Thursday

5:55am - Rudely awakened from what I am pretty sure was an awesome dream by the Mank working up her next toss. Thought I got it all until I put my head back down on the pillow, and a got my cheek wet. Rinsed face, and slept on towel in exhausted defeat.
9:40 am - Nearly took a header on the shiny, newly waxed BMW/Mini dealer showfloor.
9:45 am - Was told by Joe that the passenger seatback wasn't broken, did I know that "you just need to flip the second lever on the side of the seat?" Guh.
9:55 am - Offered a PT Cruiser as a rental car. Ummm, let me think about that...no. No chance in hell.
2:00 pm - Burned tongue on Chicken HotPocket-like sandwich.
2:02 pm - Burned tongue again. Seriously, am I retarded?
3:30 pm - Travel goddess Julie emailed that we could get to Gran Canaria in October on miles, but we'd have to stopover four times and we'd have to start the journey from Miami, the airport from hell. (Okay, so that's not so black, but truly, MIA is just horrific for international travel.)

Going to tackle the freeway now - let's see what happens there...

Black Continues

I don't want to give the impression that it is all bad (much of it is indeed good), but this is my week to complain, so here I go.

Wednesday

8:00 am - CRAMPS
11:30 am - lunch meeting with a client at our favourite seafood restaurant...which apparently had just gone out of business. Had to think quick and relocate.
3:30 pm - encountered what was quite possibly the most aggressive BO left in a confined space (the handicrapper) that I have ever smelled in my 37 years.

Keeping a Tally

Black is back:

Monday
9:20 am - Editing a very large document from email. Power out. All changes lost.
3:30 pm - One day after hiring a pricey sales person, my guy loses a huge client, could lose another in June. This would mean lights out.
7:30 pm - To appease said depressed man, I have been subjected to 5 straight episodes of Enterprise (one partial as we flipped to Law and Order during SciFi commercials).

Tuesday
3:55 am - Cat wakes me akk, akk, akking, while cuddled down, dead asleep. Missed the barf towel I keep on the headboard and watched her yak all over the bed. Tuna. Nice.
3:56 am - My guy snaps on the light so we can change the sheets. At that moment, I hate him more than the cat for the even ruder awakening. I have always been convinced that I can hang on to the sleep state as long as it is dark.
5:30 am - Finally found the sleep state again.
5:40 am - Woke up to cat yakking again.
8:00 am - Una mas. One more time with feeling people.
2:30 pm - The company that has been our web hosting server for forever has gone from Shining Angel to Rude Asshole in the space of 5 months. WTF?! Is it just because I'm SleepGrumpy?
4:30 pm - Eye test. Yes your eyes are worse (but only a little) and yes you have the same thing as your dad (narrow angle) and yes your eye could explode because of too much fluid (but it's rare). Says the doc, "Just keep an eye on it...*wink*"

to be continued...

Do You Love Revenge?

Grindhouse.

See it.

Everythink is Pink

You know those mornings? It's early, there is no traffic, a few people are out walking their dogs, the air is crisp - well, as crisp as it can be on a cool Florida morning. You make the bank, bagel, coffee, Blockbuster return run. Everyone is polite, there are interesting characters around, eavesdropping turns out to be pleasant, not horrifying.

I had that morning. Maybe I'm being a bit rose-coloured glasses about the whole thing, but life is good. I'll enjoy this moment for now because I'm sure there is some Anna Nicole-like train wreck headed straight for me and my view of the world will go back to normal.

How to Lick Old Age

I'm in the middle of baking a chocolate cake right now. I have 8 minutes left on my cupcakes and 10 after that for the three cakes. Three cakes equals 6 layers with whipped cream icing and berries in between...Holy Mountain High! The cupcakes are for the little ones at Easter Sunday dinner, occurring tomorrow afternoon (Saturday) at lunch.

So I was feeling a little low today, a little old, a little slow. If you are ever feeling this way, follow my lead: Make a cake.

• Pour the cakes, wipe edge with finger, lick said finger.
• Scoop and deposit the batter into cupcake forms (the more colourful the better), lick spoon.
• Scrape the bowl, lick spatula.
• Remove the beaters, pass one to husband/wife, girlfriend/boyfriend, cat/dog, and commence licking (the beater not the...oh well, whatever turns your crank).

I defy you to feel crappy after all that chocolaty goodness, not to mention the licking.

Making a cake and exercising your taste buds this way is akin to walking down the street with a 6 foot Hoagie. It's going to make you feel better whether you want to or not. It makes you feel like a kid again, and you know what? Those days weren't half bad.

Chic Entry (Tchik not Sheek)

So I got my hair done last night. At a salon. For the first time in forever (I had been going to my sister-in-law).

Changes since I have last been in a hairdressing establishment:

• Free consultations
• 3-tiered prices, Artistic, Stylistic and Master
• Volumizer that smells like Sweet Tarts
• Three-process colouring (what in tarnation is that?)
• Glazing
• Massaging hairwashing chair (normally, leaning back like that with a wet head weighing you down used to be it's own special kind of torturous hell, but someone got smart and made them comfy, and vibrating!)
• The prices! WTF? 225 for a cut and colour (yeah but don't forget it was three-process colouring)... JEEZ!

I think maybe I'll go back every second or third time (prices vs pampering). I like the result - a little blonder than before, a little more shapely. I still don't love my hair, but I'm workin my way back to you babe. Someday we'll get it back to rights.

Note to self: Never cut hair short again, the growing out process is more than we can handle. That is all.

not comfy

waaaaaay comfy!

Best Part of the Weekend

So I took my niece Coleen to go see Romeo & Juliet this Sunday. She is four, but very mature (though she did hide her face during the swordfights because "I don't want to see the bad guy"). In the car on the way home, she wanted to recap what had happened on stage.

Midway into the story...

C: So then I remember when Romeo fell, he fell, you know, he fell on the soccer grass.

L: The soccer grass? What do you mean he fell on the soccer grass?

C: You know, at the end of the ballet, when he fell, he fell on the soccer grass!

L: Huh?

C: The SOCCER GRASS!

Pause

L: Do you mean the sarcophagus?

C: Yeah, the soccer...I mean sarcophagus.

SHE'S FOUR!! And what's more, none of us can figure out where she got the word sarcophagus. It wasn't me, or her mom or her dad. This child is brilliant. I want in on her Nobel Prize when she is 12.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly Friday

The Good:
Got home and my neighbour Steve just dropped off freshly made pesto from his garden
The Bad:
Went upstairs to see my sick Mankmonster - Kitten has another UTI/elevated kidney level thing
The Ugly:
She hadn’t moved all day from the bed and I lifted her to find that she had left a puddle on my pillow.

The Good:
Drinking a G&T on my back porch
The Bad:
My homemade stir-stick/straw is too short to sip from so Sensitive Teeth here has to drink from the glass dipping and bobbing between ice cubes, grrr
The Ugly:
There is massive dove poop under my fence and an inch of dirty dust on the glass table out here - can't a girl just enjoy her TGIF drink at the end of the day?

The Good:
My ex-husband still calls me to chat
The Bad:
He has an investment idea
The Ugly:
He wants us to go in on a restaurant venture…YIKES!

The Good:
Had a lovely time with cK during his visit
The Bad:
He had to go
The Ugly:
Garganto backup on the ramp to Airport Departures (we maneuvered the Mini into the long-term parking lane and I dropped him off on time – Bonus: got out of the parking lot without having to pay! Whoo!)

The Good:
I finally got the collected Wall Street Journals out of the back of the car
The Bad:
There were 40 of them
The Ugly:
I transferred them into the recycling bin and cracked the shit out of my shin carrying them into the garage

The Good:
Baby Ryder's baby-acne is almost gone
The Bad:
His mom picked his cheek zit
The Ugly:
I enjoyed watching it

I've Got My Eye On You

Bad Hair Day

I saw a lot of bad hair yesterday (and on myself today - ugh). I was in Miami for a day-long business meeting. I think I counted 2 rugs, 2 bad dye jobs and 1 Dude, you need some conditioner. These were all on men. And this was before we all went to South Beach for dinner at Mangoes.

In South Beach, the bad hair belonged to the very sunburned man from, I'm guessing, Norway (Holy Banana Boat was he pale). It was wispy, combed over (NO!) and in no way sexy. Also not sexy was the hair on the not so sexy women (most of them looked like men in drag - wait...we were on South Beach...maybe they were men in drag). One last member of the Miami Bad Hair Club was the dyed-pink lap dog on the corner of Ocean and 8th. Pink - bright pink. Fuschia pink. If that dog looks like she's chasing her tail, I'm going to put money down that she's actually trying to run away from the hideous colour that is her. Bad owner! Bad, bad owner!

Le Pomme Grande

So in the interest of reading this when I'm 80 and remembering what a lovely time we had, I'm simply going to list everything that happened this past weekend. It won't be funny or engaging, but merely a laundry list of stuff. So you may want to drop out now.
Friday
No begging, no pleading, no hoping. I automatically got upgraded, just like that. Thanks Delta! You're not the rat-bastards my dad says you've become.

Cabbed into the city (love the ride from JFK - it revs me up for the entire stay) and checked into the UN Millennium Hotel. Ray met me an hour later and we got a cab to the meat packing district to meet PJ and Barbara at the Spice Market. Cool huge place, cobbled streets outside, inside, waiters dressed like Buddhist monks, spicy Thai food served family-style. We ate downstairs after having a drink at the bar. Had my "city cosmo" but it came in one of those glasses that has no stem. Not the same. We hit another couple of bars after dinner...not sure the name of the first one, but we ended up at The Campbell Apartment. Where I got cut off. By my husband. Maybe it was the weaving.

Saturday
A little sleep in and off to Chinatown for Dim Sum at he Golden Unicorn. Train back uptown to Central Park for a stroll down The Mall past Robert Burns and our bench. Who brings nothing but high-heeled boots to NY? Where you walk everywhere? Me. The Hobbled Tard. Thankfully I was able to sit for two hours while we watched Dances Patrelles at the Ailey Dance Center. I realized partway through that I was sitting directly behind Cynthia Gregory! What a thrill.

Met Joe, Amy, Sujay, Robin and Henry at The Black Duck for dinner. Sweet little place, 75 seats, we had a booth in the back. Ray wanted the night to go on, so we went back to the hotel bar for a hot minute. We decided that it was really not happening in there so we took our drinks upstairs to the room...and promptly fell asleep!

Sunday
After another little sleep in we went to The Brooklyn Diner (a staple) for brunch. I love, love, love their Eggs Benedict. We said a while ago that we should really take advantage of being in the city when we visit, meaning, we should see more theatre, so we went to see Alfred Molina in Howard Katz and were blown away. It was totally engaging in every way, the acting, the lighting, the staging. To see such professionalism is awe inspiring. I believed everything Alfred Molina said, went through Howard's thought processes with him, held my breath in his silences. I loved it. It's a gift to see such a gift.

Ray and I had an early dinner at our Italian restaurant , Nino's Positano. It is newly expanded, but we wanted to sit in the old section. I had to pack, so we went back to the hotel and I caught a cab driven by a crazy old Greek who yakked and laughed to his brother on speaker phone the entire way. Delayed by two hours, I landed at 1:00 am, got into bed by 1:40 and stayed awake, unable to wind down, until 2:30.

Off to NY

I woke up early, packed up the bag (nearly packed the cat - she was hiding under my scarf), and am continuing to have a lovely morning. I think the highlight was sitting outside on the back porch, watching the cat sniff at the morning breeze, while I ate French scrambled eggs out of the frying pan with a spoon.

Looking forward to the trip...no work to do, just a simple weekend consisting of enjoying what the city has to offer and good dinners with several friends. Will catch up with y'all on Monday!

Alright New York...it's up to you!

What Did You Say?

Turns out I won the genetic lottery today. I found out that, like my Father and Grandmother and Nana and Grandfather before me, I have hearing loss in both ears. I am relieved and upset at the same time. Upset, obviously, that as a young person, I have a hearing problem that could become worse with time, and relieved that I am a) not going crazy b) not tuning out my husband, and c) that said husband doesn't have a volume deficiency, a pronunciation impediment, or a really mean sense of humour as in "I'm going to purposely garble everything I say so that she goes nuts!" I just can't hear him very well is all.

Sucks getting older, no?

I wonder what will go next? My eyes are already rapidly deteriorating from needing them for reading as a 16-year-old to "Where the eff are my glasses? I can't see a GD thing! Oh, there they are. That's better...is that a HAIR growing out of my CHIN?!"

When I was dancing, we used to laugh about our tights at the end of the day. They were all wrinkly and baggy at the knees. We called it elephantightis. I have that now. But I'm not wearing tights...

Even now, as I look down at my reflection in my laptop screen I can see that my neck is suffering from its own unique form of elephantightis. I used to quite like my long neck - I thought it had a slightly elegant quality. Now it just means I have a lot of extra skin to watch hit ground zero as I age.

I can probably no longer claim myself to be blonde, dirty blonde, ash blonde or any kind of blonde at this point. Under the brunette dye (my winter hair) I think I'm pretty much non-descript neutral with a very large smattering of grey. Very large. Especially along the part-line. Note to self: flip your part to the other not-so-grey-side tomorrow.

I still kind of like my wrinkles and laugh lines. And I wouldn't trade any part of my life for the fountain of youth. Plastic surgery scares me - both the thought of getting it and the results I've seen on way too many women down here in Botox Raton.

Meh. Phooey on aging. I'll take it on. I'm not going to quit now.

Ellie's 50s Diner

This morning, we took my nieces to breakfast at a 50s joint here in town. There were several bits of memorabilia so we spent an unusual amount of time trying to explain the Times Gone Past to a three-year-old.

Why was there a pink Cadillac outside the restaurant so close to the door and was it for sale?

Why was there the back half of a Cadillac inside the restaurant and why did it have big DVDs and coloured tubes of bubbles in it?

Who was the statue of the lady with the blonde hair and red lipstick and why was she holding down her dress?

Why did the statue of Vegas Elvis and the picture of Young Elvis not look the same?

James Dean? James Dean! What kind of silly name is James Dean, Auntie Lollie?

We ended the 50s blitz by teaching her how to sing Happy Birthday Mr President. I'm sure her parents are not going to be pleased with us...

Ugly Lollie

Umm, yeah, so it's 3:00 pm and to confirm, this morning was ugly.

I thought I was fine at 4:00 am when I toddled downstairs to get some water. I didn't have a headache, but I think it was because I was still drunk.

I thought I was fine when I woke up at 7:00, so I had some more water and then went back to sleep until 9:00. Got up, saw how lovely the day was and read my Freakonomics book in the backyard with some tea and toast.

Thought I was fine.

I was wrong...all that accumulated liquid decided to leave my body, via the way it came in. Explosively. Repeatedly. It's astounding how quickly nausea can take over your body. It's like a ninja attack. You are defenseless.

And then it's over, just like that. Some Ramen noodles and I'm right as rain. This not the first time I have been named Queen of the Puke and Rally. And it will certainly not be the last, even though I never want to drink again.

Holy Bejeez - Am I Drunk

I was at Rachel's - a West Palm Beach peeler joint tonight. After a Filet Mignon Oscar and three cosmos and am feeling groovy. I am guessing that tomorrow I will be feeling no so groovy. ..bleah. Saturday morning may be ugly...

Falcon House

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

On a whim, we decided on our favourite haunt, The Falcon House. (cK - Timmy's wearing a fez in the web pic!) I was early, so Timmy and I got into a discussion about merkins. I asked myself, Self? How can you be 37 years old and not have heard of merkins before? I knew that the pubic toupee was big with Japanese women, but I never heard the name for it.

Ray arrived, there was more conversation about the merkin, then wine, a few jokes that Timmy is always good for, and we ended the evening by drawing rude pictures of male merkins on drink napkins.

During this entertainment, we sated ourselves with the best food in Delray. Ray had one of our two usuals (Steak Diane, the other being the Duck Risotto, which neither of us had this time). I decided on the Snapper Francesa for the first time...and trust me - it won't be the last! The food, atmosphere and the company there is fantastic. Anyone who visits will be subjected to the Falcon and you will not be disappointed.

This Lady Could Be Smeared Pink India Ink

So my Pops is in India at the moment, sloshing around inside a potato factory waste pool looking for leaks in the liner. He sent a picture today from the inside of his car during the 1-hour ride to the plant. Yesterday he mentioned to my mom blithely (and rather stupidly) that he was surprised he made it to the plant alive because of the treacherous road. Now she's worried sick he won't come home alive. So today he sent this pic with the accompanying note:

Thought you might like to see the camels and trailers and the little kid being held by its side-saddle mother on a main highway - baby seats, pfft!

I'm telling my mom that I'm leaving Ray and moving to Mumbai with my lover/moped-owner Sardhi, father of my unborn baby!

It All Comes Back to the Bloomers

Bloomers
Spring blooms eternal
Bed springs
Rest in bed
Rest easy now
Easy ride
Ride 'em cowboy
Cowboys 'n Indians
Indian summer
Summer school
School days
Days of thunder
Thunder thighs
Are my thighs fat?
No, but you could cover them with bloomers...
Bloomers!

Share your Round Robin poems...

New Pants!

Hey look at my new bloomers!

It's going to be a sad day when I am unable to change my underwear...

Pretty Much Snarky

PMS - I have the pedal to the metal on this at the mo'. I'm so embroiled in being embroiled right now that if my bag had been bigger (or my head had been smaller) I might have stuck my face inside the bag of Sour Cream and Onion chips I ate for breakfast. Instead, I simply opted to cut the bag open and lick the salty dregs off the inside of the foil bag.

I'm going home now to finish Ray's bag of pretzels, the corn chips that have been sitting on the counter since last week's poker game (stale be damned) and I may even entertain a package of Ramen noodle mix, but without the noodles.

Nobody better stand in the way of me and my NaCl. Does anyone know where I can buy a salt lick?

Book Club Report

Book:
A Wedding in December

Author:
Anita Shreve (of The Pilot's Wife fame)

Book Club Members:
Lollie – Book Selecting Club Instigator. Said book chosen because it was in the bargain bin at Barnes and Noble. I was sick of not having a Book Club experience, so I bought 6 copies of the novel for $5.95 each and handed them out to random women at my brother’s Super Bowl party)
Elizabeth – Mood Making Host Extraordinaire. Sister-in-Law and Co-worker who ran out to take her Krav Mgraw class an hour and a half before hosting. She specifically placed lamps and candles in her unlit living room to create a lovely space for the chics)
Kim – Boob Jobbed Voracious Reader. There was never an uncomfortable quiet moment all night due to Blondie – love her…in small doses. Husband bow-hunts and feeds the family game at least twice a week. 4-year-old son is a yellow belt in some martial art.
Jen – Most Looked Forward To Member Winner. She is great reader, good suggester of books and the only other one of us with Book Club experience. Wish I lived closer to her. We'd be BFFs for sure.
Lisa – Husky Voice Femme Formidable. Lisa has terrific stories about her previous life as a HRS staffer, started on the advocate side, saw some really disheartening situations and moved to the fraud department. After telling us how she broke her ankle chasing a car to get a license number, she said “Detective work is my true calling.”
Shirley - Book Club Provoker. Cheerleader for the Book Club during a neighbourhood Christmas party. "You should do it. We should do it. I would love to do it!" She looks like a Cheerleader too - beautiful blonde, but with three girls.
Laureen - Martha Stewart on Steroids. I have never met a more organized person than this woman. She had no time to read the book, and knew she wouldn't and we were informed of this early in the month. She wanted to attend anyway and bring dip.
Gina - aka: GinaDoesn'tRead. She likes to hang out though. I was very pleased at the end of the evening when she said she was interested in "reading" our next book, Freakonomics. "Do they have it on AudioBooks?"

Book Club Menu:
Drink - Zinfandel (Seven Deadly Zins), Chilean Cabernet (Carmen?) and some white stuff for Lisa. Gina brought her own Crystal Light.
Appetizer - Sushi from Publix (really not bad at all), cheddar cheese plate, BLT dip on bread (Laureen always gets her recipe on, see earlier MSoS reference).
Dessert – petite fours, chocolate chip/white chocolate chip/macadamia nut cookies. And more wine.

Minutes:
A slow start - for only five seconds. Then everyone dove in. We were surprised to see that the back of the book had ready-made Book Club questions, but we never got to them. We had enough conversation of our own. The best comment was made by Jen and it made the whole night for me. She said, "I didn't like the book very much while I was reading it, but now that we're talking about it all together, it is making me like it a lot more."

An hour later, we were all still talking about the book (Gina and Laureen sat patiently listening). After a bit, we kind of broke into individual groups. Jen, Kim and I continued on talking about books that we've loved and we were madly scribbling notes of each others' recommendations, Elizabeth, Lisa and Shirley went from a short conversation about books to the Anna Nicole Smith saga, and Laureen and Gina immediately dove into a dialogue about loads of laundry.

The wine was drained, the next book and venue were chosen, and the Suburban Egretto Girls said good night to a fabulous evening of Mommy-escape. Being the only non-development, non-baby-having-member, I climbed into my car and smiled to myself on the trek South.

New first rule about Book Club: You talk about, at, and after Book Club.

Book Club

First rule about Book Club: You do not talk about Book Club
Second rule about Book Club: You do not talk about Book Club

Fret not, I'll be breaking rule number 1 and rule number 2 shortly.

I will keep you "abreast" (that was for you Hulles) of the evening in a future post - probably the next one, unless something fascinating happens to me before then.

Oh Sweet Divine

Crush like a Mohito:

2 blueberries

2 blackberries

2 raspberries

1 TBSP sugar

Add:

cubed ice

1 ounce (and maybe a splash) of grenadine (pomegranate syrup if you can find it)

1 ounce Pearl Pomegranate Vodka

Shake:

Like the dickens

Pour:

Into a rocks glass (fruit dregs and all)

Enjoy
Your Anti-Oxi Cocktail (now maybe known forevermore as a Dali Lollie).

Pancakes Anyone?

Unlike some others I have heard about recently, I do not possess fabulous boobs. They are small and, apparently as I found out today, dense (densely tissued, not unintelligent). I like them just fine, but right now, they do not like me.

I just got back from my very first mammogram, or as I prefer to refer to it, my first pinch-a-gram.

Gents, you are lucky. It's really not as bad as the horrors I have heard from several women, but if y'all had to disrobe in front of a male doctor, whose first action is to put a little sticker on the end of your member, only to then have it handled, hauled and hurled in different directions only to be squashed flat, not only vertically, but diagonally too, I'm sure you boys would find a cure to cancer about as quickly as the time it takes to chew all of the flavour out of a stick of Juicy Fruit.

Plus D'answers

Oh Hulles, of course I know you weren’t serious about the WMS and the GGMD (Generally Gay Male Dancer). How could you not like at least some of the WMS? It can be great. And about the GGMD? Exaggerate away – it came through the way you intended. My problem is that I can’t convey my sarcasm as well as you do. I come off sounding preachy, but really, my tongue is also firmly planted in my cheek. A different mouthhold of sorts.

So, you’ve inspired me to get out this weekend and drown myself in dance. I went on PalmBeachCulture.com and looked up some theatres. Turns out Garth Fagan is going to be in Lake Worth (going on Saturday night by myself) and New York Theatre Ballet is going to be in Delray (going, again, by myself on Sunday for the matinée). Guess what NYDT is doing? AGNES DE MILLE CRAP!! Our favourite whats-his(well, her really)-name’s Rodeo! Ahahaha! It’ll be a glorious night of Copeland. Actually, I think I may have written this in the comment that got eaten not so long ago, but I love Copeland’s scores. Sorry! His sweeping plains, vistas, laments, tenderness. Ahh…I could dance to it forever. It’s the hoedown-ey kind of stuff that gets to be a little too much. Have you heard his score to The Tenderland? That’s the pic with my and my partner Joral (Jor-al, not Jor-al as in Superman’s father fame). Now that’s some meaningful music. Maybe just to me though. His Billy the Kid and The Tenderland were kind of breakout ballets for me in Oakland.

I love what you said about RFBCC’s mistakes and flaws. They are very noticeable in this form, not so much in WMS. Maybe that’s why I felt more comfortable in moe-dairn stuff…I felt more free to make mistakes because there was always a way pull them off if you had your artistic head about you. I liked the availability of thinking on your feet (no pun), staying on your toes (oh please stop!). There’s a wall of perfection around classical dance, and there was no room for anything – not even heavy breathing. I make it sound like I hated pure ballet – I didn’t - honest…but the neo-classical, the modern really spoke to me. I loved it when I found it. And BTW – had you seen me dance you would have loved me! I mistaked and flawed all over the place! I had a nasty habit of falling down. Mostly it was embarrassing, but sometimes it was hilarious.

Let’s see, where are we up to now? I need to refer to your message. Hmm, hmm, hmm, ah yes. The marriage thing. Uh-huh, I was related to one of them. I was married to Michael Lowe for almost ten years. That’s a saga in itself – and in looking at your Mythos page (thanks for including me! When do I leave the little known status and move on to the next level?), I notice you have had a saga or two yourself?

An aside: It’s midnight and I have the choice to watch Taxicab Confessions or Def Poetry Jam. I think I will go with the poetry, though I am always on the lookout for the Confessions episode where my ballet company coworker N______ is one of the strippers on a pole in the musical interludes…couldn’t believe it when I saw her there the first time. Bud Light please.

Late Bloomer

I'm having a bloomer thing at the mo'. I like the pink bows on these ones. Not as expressive a picture as the previous bloomers, but these will do.

That is all.

D'answers

Dear Hulles,

I’m going to start my response to your post about the ballet with this paragraph:

Basically, there are two kinds of dance: classical ballet and weird modern shit. The weird modern shit could be anything from Lucinda Child dancing in a square over and over and over again to a Philip Glass recording (yes, I saw her perform it, and no, I don't want to talk about it); to Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo, which is a bunch of fat guys dressed in tutus (really); to the breathtaking agile magic of Pilobolus.

Most of the time, I am partial to the WMS over the RFBCC (really fucking boring classical crap). In respect to watching RFBCC, I often want to creep out of my seat because it is predictable (Balanchine) and uptight (everything else). WMS can be exhilarating, fresh, wacky and usually has much cooler music. In respect to performing WMS? Way better. Let me tell you why. RFBCC has been performed over and over again for years and years by every bunhead and her dog. How individual can you truly make your Giselle? What kernel of originality can you stamp on an Esmeralda? The steps are what they are, everyone has to do them the same (basically) and you spend most of your time trying to live up to the best performance you’ve ever seen or heard about. Me? I prefer the WMS because you can make it your own. The choreographer is more often than not creating something on you directly, you are a part of the process, your mistakes and stumbles can result n the most amazing movement or mood, you live inside what comes out in the studio…not on top of it. Don’t get me wrong. There is a certain pride in doing a classical role (I was very pleased to become a part of the Sugar Plum Fairy alumni in the mid ‘90s), but to have something choreographed for you, on you, about you? Brilliant. You are the pace-setter, not the chaser.

An aside: The Trock? Hilarious fun – just don’t make it the first foray into the ballet world. It might scare one off. Must see companies? Pilobolus, Alvin Ailey, Mark Morris, ABT, PNB, NYCB, SF Ballet to mention a few. Ballets that pop into my head immediately? Twyla Tharp’s In the Upper Room, Val Caniparoli’s Bow Out, L’Homme at la Mort, Gaite Parisienne, The Moor’s Pavane, Carmina Burana, etc.

The women are really really skinny. But even if the female dancers you see are blimps compared to the way they used to be, they will still look really thin to you. Some of this has to do with simple physics: your gay male pas de deux partner (see below) can't lift you and hold you in the air with one arm if you weigh 180 pounds.

Our director used to have a saying, “Gentlemen, push-ups! Ladies? Lettuce…” I was always mistaken for an anorexic dancer, but I never was. It’s just really hard to get the fuel to energy output right. We never had enough time to get the food in – we were always working so hard. Oakland Ballet was a great place because the director liked his men to look like men and his women to look like women. Curves and muscles were totally acceptable, preferred in fact. I was the anomaly there – I had a tiny pinhead and was very thin – more like the Balanchine outline.

p.s. Hulles – not all the men are gay. Point of fact, most men go into ballet so they can be up close and personal with all the half naked, sweaty, and for the most part, liberal (meaning sexually loose) chicks. Whoo-ah! It’s basically a straight man’s heaven.

But it is very unlikely that you will attend a performance where it is all classical ballet, at least in the U.S. Whether this is pandering to imagined American taste or simply because the classical repertoire is so small is something I don't know. It might just be that an all-classical performance would be too physically taxing for most companies. I'll try to find out the answer and let you know.

I have to think that most companies don’t do all classical repertory in an evening because it is RFBCC (emphasis on the RFB). From the performing stance, classical ballet is actually easier, in my estimation, to do because it is reserved, there is a lot of restraint and it follows a certain pace, a certain breath. WMS is more taxing because of the athleticism and unconventional pacing – you can be on stage for the entire performance, or go like a bat out of hell for ten minutes only to appear back on stage after a brief breather for another ten minutes. You can also go completely apeshit on this style of the dancing - sweat is permitted, use of breath is permitted.

In the second segment I'll talk about some of the dance terminology you should know, what to watch for in a performance, how female dancers smell, what kind of shit the dancers are wearing when you see them, and what it's like to be a little girl growing up and wanting to be a ballet dancer.

Truth be told – some of us (I’m not saying who) smell like smoked chipped beef after a show. A little sweat, a little exertion, and a little drying time can conjure up all kinds of pititude.

Actually, the proper term is balletomane, but that sounds even more gay than "ballet aficionado" plus I don't know how to pronounce it, so let's just stick with the former appellation.

Balletomane? Bah-lett–oh-main.

When I left you you were just sitting down in your decent seats in the auditorium about to see American Ballet Theater perform Miscellaneous Weird Modern Shit, Intermission, then the classical ballet Giselle. You're in for a treat. This is a fantasy performance, so Martine van Hamel is dancing Giselle as well as a pas-de-deux or two in the first part's MWMS.

I preferred Martine as Myrtha – holy hamstrings that woman could jump. She leaped like a man – therefore she was another hero. Jumping was my forte…couldn’t turn for shit, the scoliosis you know (Yay Heather!)…but in my ballet days, “jumping for joy” was not just an overused phrase. Jumps elated me, literally and figuratively.) I never Myrtha-ed but I did do one of her sidekicks…Moyna? No, Zulma…Moyna? I don’t know. Whatever. We boureéd a lot. And kicked Albrecht’s ass.

Toe shoes are the funny pink shoes the female dancers wear in classical ballet. They cost $14,000 a piece at your local Capezio store and most people need two of them, so as you can see ballet is not a poor woman's avocation. Toe shoes have wooden plugs in the toe to allow the dancer to spin like a top as she's dancing, hence the name.

Hulles and I have already addressed this, but for those of you not in the know, there is no wood in pointe shoes – sometimes I wished there was because it would last longer than the burlap, canvas, satin and glue that really makes up a toe shoe. Various materials + glue + sweaty feet + two hour performance + a little blood = soggy tissue paper. You can dry out the shoe, stuff it with newspaper, pray to the capezio fairy and hope for a useable shoe in the morning, but it almost never happens. Recently, various shoe companies have been experimenting/utilizing plastic in shoe tips, but really it diminished the ability to “roll-through and in my opinion, leaves the dancer looking clunky and a bit uncoordinated. I’m a Freed snob (Freed is the largest, and oldest I think, pointe shoe company).

The corps (pronounced "core," this is important, write it on the back of your hand before you go) is short for the "corps de ballet." These are the dancers that flutter and swarm here and there during the course of the ballet, always in groups. After all, that's why she gets the big bucks, somewhere around $700 a week for a major company for a 36-week season. It works out to about $25000 a year, to save you the math. And bear in mind that this is in the Major Leagues of the dance world; these are the top pros in their field.

This is true if they are in a union company – for those poor sots (me and plenty like me) that were in non-union companies, not so much...starting salary was 350 – 400 a week. I never made 700 a week, even when I was a principal dancer and by the time I retired, we were down to a 12 week contract. This is a year y’all…12 weeks at 6 fiddy. Do the math because it depresses me too much to do it for you. When I first came to the company, we had a 42 week contract and lots of touring (extra per diem money to save!!) Whopeee!). 13 years later, attention to the arts had diminished so much that even the Principals had to hustle with extra teaching, guesting and summer jobs. I became extremely proficient at house painting. My specialty was the five-story outdoor scaffolding. Almost fell off once, but that’s another story (no pun intended…)

The last terminology you will learn is two French words, "jeté" and "plié." I can no longer recall what these words mean but they are ballet terms used to describe various stylized dance movements that occur during the course of the performance.

Jeté – to leap
Plié – to bend
I can go on and on Hulles – let me know if you remember more terms and need an interpreter.

Male dancers suck. They are never well choreographed, they have totally lame moves and don't go en pointe, and they seem to exist solely as foils for the female dancers. Fine. Who gives a shit? The female dancers are cracking good and they more than make up for the sorry-ass male dancers.

Hey, hey, hey. We couldn’t do it without them – those boys were a necessary fixture. We liked our forklifts and bike stands. They did a fine job most of the time…unless they had been out drinking the night before and were sweating Absolut all over you. Or smoking pot that day just to round out the week/month/year. Or were just plain stupid and could never remember the steps. It was like being pregnant with those types…you were definitely dancing for two! On the whole though, my guys were outstanding. I was never dropped and the sacrifices were always on their part.

If you would be lucky enough to find yourself in the dressing room after the performance, you would quickly notice that God's own deodorant and antiperspirant couldn't begin to make a dent in the, shall we say, closeness of the atmosphere. What did you expect? Dancers sweat. Men and women perspire, horses and ballet dancers sweat. Look at what they were doing out there, for crying out loud. Of course they sweat. And they don't smell like smoked chipped beef either, no matter what some would have you believe. They smell like victory.

Well then, I smelled like victorious smoked chipped beef.

I welcome specific questions and will be happy to answer them if we care to continue the ballet convo. If not, I will join you shortly with my life’s ramblings. I should really promise an account of our time in Wine Country, but I am so sick of grape juice at this point that it would probably make me feel ill.

Falling Up

It warms my heart to know that a dear, dear friend is falling in love right at this very moment. He is in a sea of people, but I'm sure he only sees her. I wonder if he is at her side, or if he is working his way through minor conversations to gain the seat next to her. Did he buy her first drink? Will he see her to her car?

Or is he watching the night take its course from a mild distance, enjoying how her spectacular smile lifts his soul...up where the colors blend into the sounds.

Nick Is Not My Name

Hulles asked recently if he could call me LL and it led me to ponder my nicknames... I was inspired to make a list of names past and present...

By family and friends alike:
Arlar
Larly
Lollie
Lol
Larly Charley
Charley
Auntie Larva

By Vincent and then the whole ballet company:
Scumpy

By Bob the lighting designer:
Slim

By Stephanie (aka Stevie, Swizzle Stick, Twurlgirl):
Pixie Stick

By Omar (in trio with Stevie and Kendra aka Kennie):
Larry

By my first husband:
Blondie
Laris von Larus

By Shandy:
Chicken

By Sherrie (aka Banana Nose):
Spock

By Joy (aka Joybee):
Larabee

By Nana:
Pet

By me:
HardNosedBitch

The Batteries That Died Today

• Ryder's bouncy seat was singing a very mournful tune...it took me a while to realize that the PMS induced weeping was not only from "my pre-time of the month" but the sad/creepy slow motion tempo of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
• E's mouse (meaning my mouse that I haven't seen in like 5 months).
• Mine. Around 3:30. Transportation Conference Proceedings data input, no chocolate to be found, no coffee creamer. It was a sad, slow, sad day.

Mountain...Meet Mohammed

I'm feeling quite pleased with myself. I have been waiting for a really long time to have a friend, or a friend's friend say to me, "You know what? We have a Book Club and I think it would be really nice if you wanted to join us."

Never happened.

So today, I decided to introduce a man to a particularly large piece of rock. I went to Barnes and Noble, bought six copies of Anita Shreve's A Wedding in December, and handed them out at my brother's Superbowl party. We ladies have a date in the beginning of March, and honestly, if it turns out to be a crap read and the gathering is 2 minutes of Book and an hour and 58 minutes of Club - I don't care. People are reading and I am getting everyone out of the house for a bit of child-free girl talk. Wanna join?

Blue Funk

I'm having a crap day. A client took to the road, my sweater is itchy and I have a new continent forming on my upper lip. Why I didn't pay attention to the budding coldsore on my face yesterday, I'll never know, but it's a little late for the pity-party now.

Meh.

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day. But I doubt it. I'm pretty sure the new continent will be forming a government and inviting illegal immigrants in. Housing will be tight, the economy will crash and I will be left to pick up the pieces of my mouth.

Eww...I'm kind of grossing myself out right now. I'm going to stop.

Hey, Sujay's Gone...

So it really was the fastest trip ever. He was here, we laughed, we ate, we drank and then, poof...he disappeared. Nothing left of him but the faintest head outline on his pillow (covered cat hair now, of course).

Speaking of the cat. We are fast friends at the 'mo. Two days ago, she threw up in Ray's underwear. I (stupidly) asked if he wanted me to wash them or chuck them out...I got the Hairy Eyeball. Into the trash they went.

Then yesterday, the feline bulimic went to town again. Ray came into the bathroom and said, "Your cat has to go. She just threw up on my PlayStation."

I swear to you, it took everything I had not to smirk and say, "So, do you want me to wash it or just chuck it out?"

I didn't ask, because the timing was dangerous... also, I knew that after getting a completely different interpretation of the Hairy Eyeball, I'd have to get out the 409 anyway.

Yay! Sujay's Here

So we're going out to The Falcon House tonight and I am not, repeat NOT going to be the designated driver. I'm going to have my Tuna Poke with a Cosmo, my Steak Diane with a glass of Cab and my Chocolate Christopher with another. Meh. Take that boys...somebody better get me home.

I'm a lightweight I know.

Nice to Meat You

I'm so tired (drunk drowsy) I can't keep my eyes open, which makes blogging difficult since I can't touch type. Again, I have been enjoying the writing of others and again I have been neglecting my own. So I'm going to at least make an attempt.

Except there is nothing in my head.

I haven't the energy for thought or comedic effort. Ray is insisting on leaving the window open tonight. The temp has dropped and he wants to milk it. The extra blanket got pulled from the closet. Whatever Northern bitches, cold is cold when you are used to warm. The little dog across the pond is yapping and I want to march over there and remove his batteries. Get a real dog neighbour!

Made a wicked pork tenderloin for dinner (stuffed it with spreadable garlic and herb cheese and sprinkled it with sesame seeds). The prep of the meat nearly turned us off eating it though. It is a very phallic cut of meat...the cheese oozing out of it when it was done didn't help either. But GD was it delicious! Provenance cabernet is good friends, enjoy it with the other white meat. How many times have I said meat so far? Meat it out. Meat me in St. Louis. Track meat. Meat and greet.

I may have to go to bed. I have jumpy legs. All these years I thought this was something only my family endured and then two years ago I learn that it is an actual syndrome, RLS. Restless Leg Syndrome. What kind of gay name is that? It's like calling a fracture BWS - Broken Wrist Syndrome or a slipped disc ESCS - Extruded Spine Cushioning Syndrome.

That's it. I'm out. I'm done with this day. I'll meat you here later.

There's No Place Like Home, There's No Place...

First off...*sigh*. It is so good to be home. I love my girl E, but traveling with her is like living in the Gong Show.

HIGHLIGHT:
Orbitz called me the morning of the flight to tell me it was on time.
LOWLIGHT:
It was at 4 am - half an hour before my alarm went off (grr).
HIGHLIGHT:
We were staying at the hotel where the Reagan assasination attempt went down - and I had a meeting in the Presidential Suite...kinda cool.
LOWLIGHT:
We arrived at the hotel and never saw the light of day or fresh air until 4 days later when we were loading the cab to go home.
LOWLIGHT:
Dehydration. I woke up every morning with a hangover - without the night of booze. Never have I had such incredibly chapped lips. Dry. Dry. Dry. Now they are healing and my mouth is like Susan Lucci's. You know the look...sort of orangy-pink lip liner drawn on the outside of my natural lip line.
HIGHLIGHT:
Playing Mommy to Ryder while E worked the conference floor.
LOWLIGHT:
Playing Mommy to Ryder while E worked the conference floor.
HIGHLIGHT:
Seeing cousin S. and her 15 week twin bump. Lovely to see her so happy and excited.
LOWLIGHT:
After dumping 4 checked bags, we hauled a diaper bag, two brief cases, a baby, two sombreros, two computers, 3 pairs of shoes (yes, they made the baby take off his shoes) a car seat and a stroller that no matter how many lessons I had and how many times I tried, I could not expand or collapse through airport security only to have E get "pulled over" for having a bottle of Perrier stuck deep down in her bag.
LOWLIGHT:
E losing her conference notebook in the bar? The bathroom? The cafe space? Chasing it down with a fussy baby, a fussy baby stroller, a rolling briefcase and a phone that kept cutting in and out.
HIGHLIGHT:
Getting said notebook back from the Hotel Security Agent Service, although I had to track down E to get the guard to give it up, because I was not E and it had money in it.
HIGHLIGHT:
Getting a call from the same guard 20 minutes later saying he had the notebook in his possession again because E had left it in a conference room, then having him come up to our room to drop it off with me because he "knew us now."
LOWLIGHT:
Had lunch with KvM. We had a reach-off for the cheque when we were done. I (reachingly) asked if I was going to have to fight him for it and he immediately said no and snatched his hand back.
LOWLIGHT:
Nearly dropping my nephew in the shower. Soaped-up babies are slippery man! Makes me think twice about the responsibility of having children. In fact, the whole four-days-with-baby has drastically changed my perspective. I was internally starting to get a little manic about the fertility time that I have left...now I'm not so sure there is a need to panic.
LOWLIGHT:
cK - this one is for you. We had to change rooms on the second day because I saw a mouse run from the foyer to the back of the TV cabinet. A mouse! In a Hilton. Paris, tell your Pops to get his shit in a pile. You're not the only family member going down the shitter.
HIGHLIGHT:
We got to stay on the Executive floor wth free breakfast and a $50 food certificate.
LOWLIGHT:
The room was smaller, considerable smaller.
HIGHLIGHT:
It had free wireless.
LOWLIGHT:
I never got to use it because I was so busy with the baby.

There's plenty more, but my guy and I are going out to Morton's for a great steak dinner in 5 minutes. Not once did I have a decent meal in D.C., so I'm getting one now dammit. And if I see a mouse there I am going to scream. Then someone is getting sued.

What ? Er... Colour

Tonight was my first watercolour class. I'm going to have difficulty with this, but it is going to be good for me dammit! I'm a control freak - there I said it. Control freak. Watercolour wanders, and it wanders mercilessly. How am I going to spend the next 5 Mondays "letting go?"

An aside: Is Warren Beatty starting to look like Bob Barker? From certain angles during his Golden Globes lifetime award acceptance speech, I say yes.

Another aside: WTF, Cameron Diaz? Where did you find the 1984 meringue prom dress? Did you go back in time with Reese Witherspoon to go ugly-dress closet raiding? Do you happen to pass Jennifer Love Hewitt and Sienna Miller when they were on their metallic-dress closet raid?

Last aside: I love you Ugly Betty. America Ferrera, you were the most beautiful one there.

The Falcon House

Anniversary dinner was terrific - good food, drink and plenty of family and friends...however. I was the designated driver for our car...how did that happen? I have to admit, I do have a wee bit of built up resentment for that one, but...whaddayagonnado?

Off to D.C. tomorrow - I have wicked timing...cramps are extraordinary this time round. Should be a smashing week of sore feet (concrete conference floors) and sore ovaries (see above). I think my duties are going to fall like this: babysitter/reporter/booth dweller/new site cheerleader. Hope I can keep my priorities in the right order.

Uh, Where Have I Been?

I've been so busy reading and commenting on other people's blogs that I have sorely neglected my own. I may have to do a bullet catch-up, because a lot has happened.

• Okay, hello? New Years? Amazing! Everything I wanted it to be and more. Perfect travel, dress didn't get smushed because I got upgraded to 1st Class (I when I say me, I mean me, not me and Ray!). Normally I wouldn't have taken it, but the dress took priority and there was soooo much room in the 1st Class closet. Sorry Sweetheart. Relaxing day watching the Food Network, HGTV and then walking the Bayer Headquarters area in Tarrytown (freezing cold wind though, my mastoid is still pouting). Got ready, had a glass of bubbly, the car arrived on time, shot through to the city in record time, had the greatest evening at the Waterclub (seriously, everyone should do this once in their lifetime - great food, service and band, whoo-hoo!). Shot home at 1:30 am and slept like wee babes. We only had to get up in the middle of the night for some Advil and a shot of water. We all woke up fresh as daisies. There was a minor toast-burning-alarm-screeching, fire-engine-showing-up trauma around 11, but it was mostly funny. Back home, both upgraded to 1st Class this time. Lovely and perfect weekend.
• Dad's cousin's daughter - not sure what that makes us - Allison came to stay for a night before she went off to Orlando to do a half marathon, followed by a full marathon the next day (don't get too excited, she and her friend said they were going to walk a lot of it and they were going to do it wearing Mickey Mouse ears). But still, a day and a half of marathoning...go Allison. Nice to meet you!
• I captured some video of Kiefer picking the Baby Jesus up out of my creche that sits under our Christmas tree and swaying with it in his palms saying, "I'm rocking the Baby Jesus, Auntie Lollie." In more ways than one kid...you are precious.
• The tree sadly came down last weekend, always a bit of a downer. The pretty smell, the lovely lights, the twinkle...all gone. All we were left with was a sticky sappy mess in the tree holder and a trail of needles and dripping water to the front door. (ps - the tree is still sitting out in the front of the house on the curb (after two garbage days) waiting to be picked up. Last year, it didn't disappear until the second week of Feb.
  
• I missed Mario's birthday (that bastard still hasn't come to visit me). Happy Cinco de Mario sweetie! Miss you!
• Mom had her spa party for the nurses at the clinic. It was great fun, we all had a very nice time. I think my resolution this year is to get more in touch with my chic side (chic as in female, not stylish - I've plenty of that...HA!). I'm going to start a Book Club for the Jupiter ladies. Any suggestions for an intro read? I know it will quickly degenerate into a boozy, no-kids, gossip night, but hey, that might be what I'm ultimately looking for in girl-time.
• Ray and I were rudely woken at 3:30am to a chirping fire alarm...let me rephrase...I was rudely woken by the alarm chirping, Ray was rudely woken by me. He was a hero and fixed it after a half an hour of dicking around with another battery from the downstairs alarm (which then started to chirp), and the battery from the ceiling fan remote. The damn thing went off again after a few hours. Ray, being the hero one more time, got out of bed, licked the battery, stuck it back in, and hoped it would hold until 7, when I had to get up and pack. It started to chirp again as I was leaving the house this morning at 9. I walked out and left the hero to deal with it. Note to self...let me rephrase...Note to hero: buy a pant-load of nine volts for the next alarming episode.
• So that was last night. Today, my tired ass drove Pops to the Mayo in Jacksonville. There was a strange moment there while I was driving past St. Augustine, where I had the sensation that the car was stationary and road was being dragged like a carpet behind the vehicle. I think I should have had a few more gulps of coffee before we left. The doc visit was a success - "You're better this time than you were last time," and the increased prescription was to walk for 10 minutes every day. I could have told him that in Ocean Ridge. And I wouldn't have charged his insurance! Off to get Liz and David from the airport so we can all have a big Prime Rib dinner, and then hit the sack in the hotel. I have the Full Caretaker bed. He gets the Queen Size with the special red outlets to plug in an oxygen tank. The day he needs an oxygen tank is the day he goes for his Special Cruise - you know...the one where he "accidentally" slips overboard.
  

Well, that's me so far in 2007. Two brushes with fire alarms...hmmm...this does not bode well for the things-come-in-threes-saying. We'll just have t go over to E's for Yorkshire Pudding. The oiled pans are always too hot in the oven; they always set the alarm off...yeah, that's what we'll do.