Sunday, January 31, 2010

Joy delights in Joy

I saw a show last night. A show with so much heart, honesty, and purity, that it gave every single theater in the cities a run for their money. It was created by teenagers. Beat that.

The opening number tugged at my heart. A young man alone on the stage. Strength. Confidence. Vulnerability. As he danced alone on stage, the back curtain opened to reveal the entire company, dressed in flowing robes. As they engulfed him with their love and support, I could only think of one thing, Eric.

We lost a friend a year ago. A young man who I knew only in his joyful times. He was a goon, a clown, a true gentleman. Our high school years were filled with some of the most joy-filled times of my life. He was always there with his big head (literally..a big head..giant), an even bigger smile, and his huge heart. He was the VISTA theatre department. He made me laugh. He made me think. He made us smile. I never knew him without his joy.

I found myself thinking of him all throughout that show last night. A young man... strong, confidant, but so very vulnerable. We were there for him on that stage once. There to engulf him in the love and support he deserved and needed. That stage possessed the memories of his joy, and that joy still exists on those floor boards. His joyful spirit was there.

I find myself wishing for him often. I wish he would have remembered how infinitely loved he was. I wish he didn't make that choice one day. I wish he knew the pain he caused by leaving too soon. I wish for his happiness now. I wish he remembered his JOY. But at the end of the's as simple as...We wish he were still here. We can wish and wish and wish. What we have are his memories. His talent. His charm. His strength. The love he had. The joy he shared with us. I like to remember him in his joyful times.

You were loved. You are missed.


“Make friends with the angels, who though invisible are always with you. Often invoke them, constantly praise them, and make good use of their help and assistance in all your temporal and spiritual affairs.”-St. Frances de Sales

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Where the sidwalk where you will find people with their cell phones..

I just read an alarming article in the New York Times. Said article chronicled the increase of injuries of human beings while cell phone talking/texting and WALKING. Yes, you heard correctly. Walking! My first thought was, "Have we as a society really become this disconnected that we would allow ourselves to walk into holes in the street or parked cars, just so that we can talk on the phone about something mundane while we are out?". I fear this may be the truth. I was so quick to point fingers and judge those poor unfortunate folks that found themselves rushed to the ER with concussions and broken bones, until I realized....I was one of them! (GASP FROM THE CROWD!)

I will admit it, my phone has become my social safety blanket. I'm sure I'm not alone in this confession. A bored moment out with friends, an awkward "I need to look busy so that people don't think I'm a loner" time in public, etc..etc..My recent purchase of the iphone has only made things worse. Downloading apps like "bacon farts" and "animals licking the scream to the tune of hamster dance" allow me the opportunity to float off into another world and be accountable to no one.

So, here and now I offer this promise to myself. I will resist the urge to carry my phone with me everywhere I go, fiddle with it at every chance I get, and use it as a device to ignore the conversation of others. There is no reason I needed to be at the theatre tonight fiddling with the phonesies when I could have been paying attention to the world around me. I've been trying to really take a deep hard look at myself and I see this is a gate I put up around myself to keep safe. Instead of a gate, I think I will be a-ok with an invisible fence...knowing that it's there..but not crossing that line..because if I do? ZAPP! BANG! BOOM! POW!..I could have just fallen down an open man-hole cover in the middle of the street......(ha! man-hole. haha)

Just a thought on self-improvement. Feelin' good about it.

Monday, January 25, 2010


I've decided to add a segment to my blog in which I send open letters to people I encounter. Why can't I send them a personal letter? Because I don't have their addresses...they are strangers. Strangers don't give me their addresses. I know that is weird. So, today my letter is dedicated to.... PEOPLE THAT HANG OUT AT THE MALL ON A SATURDAY....

1. Dear Tween Cheerleaders at the Mall to perform in a rotunda,
Tweens, let me be frank. You are dressed inappropriately, you've got enough glitter on to homo-fy a small country, and you are obnoxious. I wish I could pretend to support you, but I can't. A cheer leading competition in the middle of a mall?... is moronic.
Tweens, let me get real with you again. Do you mind? Didn't think so..When I am walking through the mall on my way to the Apple store, I ask one thing of you. Please move your spandex-clad behinds from the middle of the walkway. It is not necessary for you to be sitting in the middle of my walking space, while one of your mothers' screams at you from the 2nd level..trying to get the right picture of you guys sitting casually on the floor of the Mall holding hands in a friendship circle.

Thanks Tweens! Ra Ra Ra!

Love, Me

2. Dear Elderly,
Mall walking is for weekday mornings, not Saturday afternoons. Please take your pedometers and power-walk home. I worry for your safety on Saturdays. Don't you see those crazy tweens with pom-poms?

Love, Me

3. Dear Awkward Young Couples,
A.Y.C's, I'm going to get real with you guys too. I appreciate your love. I do. Congrats. You're in love, but've become awkward and socially inappropriate. Some tips from me to you! Walking becomes difficult when you stick your hands into each others back pockets. I understand those pockets are huge because those pants are circa 1998, but I don't agree with this practice. It's dangerous, it's clearly not easy for you to walk through the mall, and I pukey a little in my mouthy when I see the hands moving.
My next tip comes from the inspiration I found while watching you purchase items at the mall. Young man in the A.Y.C relationship..buying her a new cherry-shaped belly button dangly ring from the mall kiosk.. is not romance. I repeat..NOT ROMANCE. In fact, it is bizarre. Young lady in the A.Y.C relationship, wearing that belly shirt to reveal your brand new cherry-shaped belly button dangly ring is not attractive. I repeat..NOT ATTRACTIVE. You are just egging him on and making things worse.
Way to be in love kids! Keep it classy!

Love, Me


Love, Me

Sunday, January 24, 2010


I have not blogged in over a week. This does not make me a bad person. Stop it. It doesn't.'ve soaked me with guilt, this means I have a few unsatisfactory qualities. I find myself seated at Noodle Jr (my Laptop's new name), watching the Vikings play the New Orleans Saints. :) It's fun.

Sports have always been a quandary to me. Not in the typical "I'm an actor, ya'all. I don't do sports because it's lame and I like to wear black and I like to sit in dark theaters while those stupid popular kids go out and watch that sports thingy that I don't care to understand because I'm an actor and I'm not dumb and I take myself way to seriously to ever do something like that. Ugh. Hand me my dance belt...I have some work to do" sort of way. No, not in that way at all.

In fact, I dipped my toe in the sports world many times throughout my youth. For many years I was an enthusiastic member of many different swim teams around town. I played soccer for a season or two. I was a vertically-challenged member of my volleyball team. I tried swimming again. I never went back to soccer. The problem? I am not a very competitive person. NOT AT ALL. This is evident in my personal "trophy case". My athletic endeavours have led me to such honors like "Most likely to be laughing at the end of the pool" and "Best jokes at snack time" and oodles and oodles of 3rd and 4th ribbons. I can't say it was lack of motivation because I tried really hard.
I had fond memories of each sport. Soccer was a joy. I played for our local rec center, and each time the team superstar/bully would make a goal, as we ran down the field in victory, Queen's "We are the Champions" playing in our little ears, she would come over, punch me in the arm and say "YOU COULD LEARN FROM THAT!" Yes, yes, yes, soccer was a joy. Volleyball was very close to my heart. In an effort to be innovative one summer at a volleyball intensive camp, I developed what I coined as "the CLAM METHOD". The "Clam Method" was nothing more than setting the ball up, but what made my method different? Each time the ball hit your hands you squeeked "clams!". The "CM" didn't help me when I continually got hit in the head with the ball, but it brought joy to me.
Finally...swimming. I still enjoy swimming, but have opted out of the competitive doggy paddle in my adult years. As a child I cherished my time in the water. I specialized in the backstroke and soared down the lane like a relaxed otter on a warm summer day. Floating gently on my back, staring wistfully up at the big blue Minnesota sky, not a care in the world, not even the fact that I was in the midst of a race. The sides of the pool packed with screaming fans, screaming at me "KICK YOUR FEET!! STOP FLOATING!! All you're doing is floating down the lane!!"..That didn't bother me. I was happy with my 4th place ribbons, they were yellow and that was a lot sassier than blue.
You see, I was in the sports for the funsies, not the glory. I laughed a lot, I learned a lot, and I had fun. Yes, it may be too Barney for you, but I did it for fun. In my adulthood I find myself in workin' on my fitness at the gym that houses the pool I spent so much time in as a child. While stretchin' out my business today at the gym, I noticed the man next to me doing the same stretch and staring at me. It was puzzling, especially puzzling when he was attempting to stretch further and harder than me. What was he doing? He was behaving like a monkey in heat. What he was doing was what I can only assume was the gym equivalent of competitiveness. I laughed in his face. It was ridiculous. I wasn't there to be a better stretcher than him..he was dumb. Clearly.

As I finish this entry, the Vikes have just gone into this case, this is not fun...this is business..Kick some ass, boys!

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Dangers of Stupids on the Roads

Let’s do a little car logic exercise, shall we?

Let’s say you’re driving along the highway at about 10:30 at night and you get in a minor accident. Not too bad, a simple rear-ending situation with another carsicle. Mmmk..are you picturing this?

Now, get ready for a pop quiz. Answer this question:

“When I get in this accident I will…”

A. Pull off to the shoulder like a normal person.

B. Keep driving

C. Stop my car in the middle of the lane, get out and chat.

If you chose C, you are the STUPIDFACE I encountered last night on the highway.

So, a letter to you……

Dear StupidFace,

First off, why are you so stupid? Second, are you aware that when you stop your car in the middle of the lane….. oncoming traffic WILL come and hit you in the butt? Stupidface, my apologies for my frankness, but seriously? Is this logical to you? I would like you to call my VW dealer and thank them for the impeccable breaks they installed into my Jetta. Had they not done this, we would all be roadkill right now. Stupidface, google their number and thank them. Seriously. Do it now. I would highly consider getting rid of your car and stick to public tranist because you are not fit for the roads. Thanks StupidFace! See you on the bus!

Love, Me

At 17..I wore a bear suit. Yes, a bear suit.

I recently spoke to a young woman who did something BOLD.How bold you ask? Lady went out on a limb! After meeting a charming gentleman at a New Year’s Eve party a few weeks ago, he invited her to go back to his house for a smooching sesh (yes, that was my thought too). She told me how sweet and loverly it was and how smitten she was with him. Many days went by and she found herself restless from her New Year’s Eve adventure and so she decided to ask him out on an old-fashioned date. Having not exchanged cellphone numbers or even last names, she went to his house, knocked on his door, and asked him if he wanted to go out. After that night she decided she didn’t want to see him again because she was “over it”.

It seemed to me that she jumped through a lot of hoops to snag a date with this bloke. What a bold gesture! To go to a strangers house on the night of your first meeting? And then, making matters worse..going back to his house for some more, uninvited at that! Only to decide that you’re “over it” after one date! I was in awe of her bold-nature and impulsive decision-making. I told her that day that I would have never been able to do something like that. Further self-reflection revealed that I HAVE done such a thing.

My senior year in high school I dressed up in a bear suit, went over to the boys school at lunch, and proceeded to perform a rap I had written to ask a certain young boy to a Homecoming dance. (By the way, read that correctly..a BEAR SUIT!) At 17 I was running about town in a socially inappropriate animal costume, asking out everything that winked at me! And not just asking them to hang out, writing raps to the tune of Sisqo’s “The Thong Song”. So here we are, in 2010 and I wonder where my nerve went?

I’m inclined to say my nerve went on vay-cay when I graduated from all-girls school many moons ago. Entering into the real world I have found that singing the “Thong Song” in public (even with changed lyrics) is frowned upon, and dressing up in animal suits as a “grown up” is actually some weird adult perversion I once saw chronicled on an episode of HBO’s “Entourage”.

I had to think long and hard about my opinion on these bold female professions of passion I have heard tales of. To be honest, I hold a judgement on them. I hate to say it. Stop judging me for saying it. I’m sorry. Chill out. Ugh. Now I feel guilty. Mmmk, let me lay it down for you. When a dude shows up at some chicks door with a bouquet of daisies in the middle of the afternoon, he is hailed as a romantic hero. Flocks of women swoon for him, dream of him, throw their undies at him. Let’s flip that situation around, shall we? A beautiful, charming, witty, young lady sends her crush a text saying, “hey, you’re super fun”…..Watch out, fellas! She’s a crazypants. Steer clear! She wants a commitment and she has suddenly become ugly. Very, very ugly. In fact, she just sprouted horns! Have those horns always been there? No, I think they just sprouted. Oh god. This is horrible. Run. Run for the hills. Quickly.

The truth of the matter is men boys under the age of 30 are threatened by girls with nerve. There. I said it. So what do we do about that? Do I allow my nerve to stay on it’s Thai vay-cay? Or do I tell it that it’s Visa has run up and it must return to the states and get back to work?

For now, I think everyone deserves a vay-cay. Love it. :)


Do We All Have Our TiVo's Set?

A very important American holiday is upon us. I know you all have it on your calendars, you’ve been preparing for weeks, the kids have come home from school and such…Yes, the season premiere of American Idol is Tuesday. Traditional meals of weenie casseroles, Lays potato chips, and Mike’s Hard Lemonade have been prepared, and traditional clothing made of polyester and spandex have been pulled from the closets. Yes, Idol has returned! Thank you Simon Jesus Cowell.

I’ll admit it, I love Idol. It brings me many levels of satisfaction. Many times I am reminded of how sane I am..and that’s nice. It doesn’t happen very often. Every season there’s a token crazy who will live in infamy for 6 to 8 weeks, unless he’s William Hung, in which case he will live in my heart forever. But there is one Idol alum that took my heart, swung it around, spooned with it, told it he was gaysies, and took the world by storm…….

Some people may know that I am a recovering Claymate. Yes friends, I loved Clay Aiken, and to be honest, the word “love” doesn’t even cut it. I ADORED Clay Aiken. 3 concerts, many hours on YouTube, novelty tees, math notebooks covered in his likeness, and yes, even a Clay Aiken lanyard for my keys, my love for the Aiken could not be stifled. I remember the day I needed treatment for my addiction. It was a cold and snowy Minnesota night, and my dear friend and I journeyed to Northrup Auditorium to see Clay’s newest masterpiece, his Christmas concert. At this concert the Aiken reveled to us that he had written his own play that would be featured in the second act, and yes, he would be playing the angel that came down from heaven. And play that angel he did! Dressed in white, his blonde highlights glowing from his spiky hair, lowered from the ceiling, there he all his glory..and I thought, “No, Madde. You are too young for this. Don’t let it end this way, it’s really not worth it.” And that day I started my recovery process. Was it easy? No. Do I slip from time to time? Yes. He was on the Broadway for awhile in “Spamalot,” for goodness sake!

Once the Aiken has entered your heart, it’s really hard to juice him out.

So Idol had it’s hold on me too. I’ve never found the love for another Idol contestant the way I did with the Aiken, and to be honest, I don’t think I’ve even tried. I enter each season with high hopes, but I know that no one will even come close. So to this season of Idol I say, “Bring it on!”

Alright, I gotta go pull my traditional gold lame unitard out of the closet so that I can watch Idol from the comfort of my home!


...on your DiscoStick

I don’t date.

It’s just not something I do.

Perhaps it frightens me. Perhaps it makes me nervy. Or, perhaps there are no eligible young men my age that are appealing to me?

Whatever the reason, I have been given a challenge to actually strap on a pair of woman parts and date in 2010. (Don’t worry, I have woman was a metaphor..I promise).

My dating history is short. Why? Because I don’t date. I grew up with a lot of “serial daters” in my life. Best friends who spent mere seconds finding a man, dumping him, recovering from the disaster, and then finding a new relationship with eligible young bachelors. I found those patterns exhausting. Were we in a race? I’ve never been competitive, so this timeline is really not going to work out for me. Their weekends spent in their basements canoodling and fondling under a blanket while watching Eminem’s classic flick “8 Mile,” were spent by yours truly, belting out a show tune or two, or finding an awesome swing set to swing on in the middle of the night with my peeps. I found fun in my own ways!

So here I am. 2010. Men10. A couple of rules for myself are in order.

#1. Gay Bar Probation: I love a good gay bar with my gay boyfriends. I’ll admit it. They are fun. Sparkly (sometimes sticky). I always get my cocktails first because I wear a lot of animal prints,and my petite stature and sassy attitude make for great entertainment. What’s not to love? The music is poppin’, there is no fear of being raped on the dance floor, and they play showtunes on Sundays. SHOWTUNES! So, why would I willingly leave this haven for a while? Because of this…I would say about 9 times out of 10, the men at the gay bars are…well…umm….let’s see… should I put this…hmmmm…well, they are homosexuals. Google defines a “homosexual” as “someone who practices homosexuality”…This means..well… should I put this..well…simply put, it means they don’t like my girly parts. So no more gay bars until I go on at least 3 good dates with men who do not practice homosexuality. I think that’s being fair!

#2. Never Lose Your Fabulous Nature: I will not dumb myself down to make myself more appealing. I’m fabulous. No one can take that away from me. If I could insure my fabulousity like Mariah insured her legs, or J.LO insured her ass..I would.

#3. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes…and Pig-like men prefer hussies. I am no “hussy”.

#4. Please check your baggage at the door: I am a very busy young woman. I do not have time for you to read me that one-act play you wrote in high school about your struggles with your sexuality. I appreciate your struggles, I appreciate your ability to type…but I can’t go there. Please see #1 if you have any questions on that and need further explanation.

#5. Bring back the joys of old-fashioned dates: I want a gentleman who will take me out on a real date. I’m a working woman, he doesn’t have to pay for the whole thing, but try to at least notice I brushed my hair for you. I will enjoy the dates and not be awkward. I promise this to myself.

So, there are some rules for MEN10. Let the games begin.


…Resolutions, smether-shoe-suns….20-10..I say to you, “Oh, hey! Sup?”

So, here we are. Feelin’ good in Twenty-Ten! Feelin’ fine and drinkin’ wine! Feelin’ swell and goin’ to Hell! Feelin’ groovy……drinkin’ a smoothie. Don’t we feel great? No? What? Anyone? Shoot a pickle. That’s what I thought. Me too.

So…ya… that ball dropped. What ball? That big ball in Times Square. The one right above J.Lo’s unfortunate brown body suit with sparkles. So, I guess it’s 2010. Ugh. Now what? Le sigh.

With this new decade upon us, it is only natural for all of us to do some serious self-reflection. Perhaps your goals for this new decade are generic.. Is it to lose weight? Ya, I thought it might be. I’m going to throw this out there and say that you are a boring person. Snap judgment (I know!), but I’m feelin’ pretty good about this assumption. Pretty sure you’re boring. Not hating on it. Just callin’ it like I see it. Anywhos, maybe you’re a fun human being and you’re going out on a limb this year and your goal is to buy one of those charming, novelty teacup pigglets that all them Hollywood stars have (Yes, I’m talking to you Paris Hilton and Posh Spice!)? But it’s inevitable, as the New Year rings in every year we all have our own generic and seemingly shiny, new resolutions. We have such high hopes for ourselves. Many people make lists and lists of great things they will adhere to! It’s so hopeful!

…And then the morning of January 1st comes. Many people wake up on this fateful morning in homes and underwear they do not recognize . In the dizzy haze of the morning all those shiny resolutions and self-esteem building goals seem so obsolete and frivolous, don’t they? “I wanted to lose weight? Eff that! I need an omelette and some advil!” or “A tiny teacup pigglet? Add some bacon to that effing omelette!” And in a flash our goals are gone! Sent off to a magical universe that, like a New Year’s Eve Brigadoon, will reappear to us in 365 days, making us blissfully unaware of our previous failures, and sending us into a tailspin yet again.

What about me, you ask? Well, the morning of January 1st I actually did NOT wake up in a home I didn’t recognize. In fact, I was at my best friend’s home, and woke up spooning her creepy Cabbage Patch Kid doll that I have asked her to throw away many, many times. And my underwear, you ask? Same ones I wore the night before. Don’t worry, I had fun the night before. It was a good night actually. Although, I didn’t partake in the celebratory “let’s drink the whole bottle of tequila as fast as we can so that we can all pass out… and then punch in each other in the faces when we wake up drunk in the middle of the night…and then we are sick, oh we are so sick, oh gosh..I’m going to be’s not even midnight and here I am! Sick! Ugh. Bedtime. I feel sick” debacle that is usually New Year’s Eve with the under 27 year olds these days. In fact, I woke up hopeful this year. Hopeful that this new decade was going to bring great things for me! The date is January 9th today, I’m still inclined to believe that things are going to go just swell!

To start this new blog thingy, as you might have guessed, can found on MY New Year’s resolution list this year. The rest of my goals for the year? Oh, you’ll just have to wait and find them out. I can tell you that some of them may involve wacky dates with the opposite sex, trying to figure out what being “a real actor” means, making poop jokes, speaking a foreign language you’d hear at the Eiffel Tower, and spending time with my new boyfriend, Wii Fit (you might be saying to yourself..”Spending time with Wii Fit? That’s losing weight, madam..and that, according to you just a few paragraphs before this one, would make you BORING and GENERIC!” Well, my response to you is “Eff off. I’m awesome. When you get a WiiFit and your little avatar lady is wearing spandex pants and blue eye shadow..GET BACK TO ME!”)

So. Join me. Sometimes I make funnies. :)