September 23, 2011

facebook Constipates Me

I used to have a fairly regular morning routine; wake up, make coffee, throw the dishes in the machine, that sort of thing. By then the coffee would be ready and I would take it along with the NY Times crossword puzzle and retire to the “reading room” where I would see about the business of delivering the “mail”.

Not anymore. Now facebook constipates me! My morning routine is in shambles and I haven’t worked a crossword, read a book or written anything longer than one hundred and forty characters in months.

I still get my coffee, but I park in front of the computer to see who’s up, who’s not, what they are doing, did they read my thing, did they comment on my thing, should I comment on their thing, who tagged me, should I tag them, what color is your bra and should I lie about mine being white with comfort straps.

I’ve got to get in the shower for work, but wait, oh snap; that picture is funny, I just have to forward it, let me just post this picture and then I’ll get off the computer, oh hell no, she did not just post that… It’s endless.

The stress of keeping up with the newsfeed makes me twitter! It’s no wonder I can’t poop.

September 18, 2011

The Quiet Man

Ever since we started taking improv classes I have been meeting a lot of future stars.

We wanted to work on our improvisation skills as a way to improve our writing, and got a bonus of having a ton of fun and meeting a lot of creative people.

Some of whom are destined to be bright stars in whatever fields they go into; including my quiet man.

For nearly ten years he has let me take center stage. At parties, reunions, work, wherever; I talk and talk, occasionally bordering on a stand up act, telling well rehearsed jokes and stories.

At home I present an endless stream of conscious thought, vocalizing everything from deep philosophical revelations to the fact that I am going to the bathroom, again, and that I will be right back.

He’s quiet, I talk, it works.

Then we started improv classes with a range of people from high school students to seasoned actors with agents and everything, and me; awkward, nerdy, newbie who can’t seem to find the right words in a scene.

But he talks.

And it’s funny.

And he acts.

Without a script!

And I’m wowed.

My quiet man shines.

All these years I have been rambling on and on about anything and everything, thinking most of it was funny, but maybe not so much and wondering how I ever got so lucky as to have been blessed with a man who loves to hear me talk. Now I’m wondering if he just didn’t want to interrupt.

September 13, 2011

Joan Rivers

OMG. This morning was the first time in a week I have been back to spin class. So not good. I was sweating and panting, and my legs were cramping and my ass hurt, and then I walked into spin class... (Ba dum Ba)


I climbed onto that little seat; started pedaling and away I went. If only I could harness the power of the fat. But wait, maybe I can. Maybe I could use today’s fat as tomorrow’s cash cow.

That’s it! I’ll write a book, go on Doctor Phil, cry about all my struggles with depression and pasta, sell a million copies and Bob’s your uncle, I’m a skinny millionaire.

Skinny millionaire; I like the sound of that. What would I buy first? Um, let’s see. Oh come on, why beat around the bush. BOOBS! I would buy boobs. Glorious orbs with rock hard nipples. (Was that too much information? Yeah, kinda.)

I would also get a Mercedes and an ass lift.

But no vaginoplasty, that’s just going too far. I don’t need it, (she said defiantly). I could make diamonds out of coal in there. (That’s not too much information, I want everybody to know).

Besides, there is such a thing as too much plastic surgery you know! I wouldn’t want my kooch to end up looking like Joan River’s face.

September 5, 2011

Unscripted Post


Another great class at SAK Comedy  Improv University last night. I am hoping to improve my comedic acting skills as my only acting credit to date has been in a drama. I played the lead in a school production of Sounder. I played Sounder. It required a bit of method acting.

September 3, 2011

Athletic Supporters

I just want to thank everyone who has shown me so much support in my quest to weigh less than my husband. I am almost there; would have been there if he hadn’t decided to start eating right and working out too. “I love you baby but go eat a cheeseburger would ya?”

It’s a hard road. Especially the one to the gym at five in the morning, but I am feeling so healthy that maybe I'll start conditioning to do a marathon. I think I'll buy a training bra.

I have even started eating athletic-ish foods. You know, like Rocky drinking raw eggs before a workout. The other night I mixed my Metamucil powder with a PowerAde drink. I’ll keep you posted on how that worked out.

I just can’t handle raw eggs though. And I don’t think I am going to get up an extra half hour early to poach one. (That would be 4:30 in the morning. I used to eat eggs at 4:30 A.M. every Sunday morning… at Denny’s on the way home from the club, but they weren’t poached that’s for damn sure.)

So I need a quick healthy way to get protein before the gym without having to spend $2. a pop on pre-mixed shakes.

If only chickens could lay cooked eggs. OMG! What if chickens could lay deviled eggs? Yeah now we’re talking. General Foods or somebody could figure out a way to inject the hens with mayo and vinegar… bam! They’re laying deviled eggs.

I don’t know though. I already occasionally, when no one is behind me, and when I’m not near a fan, sneak out an innocent little fart-ette while on the treadmill. (The big wind breakers that sound like an eighteen-wheeler just Jake-braked on a 90% grade are not me... I swear. The perpetrator was probably the old marine in the corner, really, I saw him clench.)

I would never let loose with a cheek rippler of that magnitude. I’d be afraid I’d crap on the treadmill. (You saw what I’ve been drinking. It’s not like I want to, but the cycling class has got my sphincter swollen shut. I need a little assistance.)

My husband says I worried about it too much because at five in the morning the Y is full of geezers. “You think one of these old fuckers hasn’t shit on a treadmill before?” he said.

I never thought of it like that.

“It would just roll on off the back and you’d clean it up later”

See what I mean? He is my athletic supporter numero uno.