UC of T&A

Amedi, Nigeria. Idem mfo?

Välkommen Sverige. Hur går det?

Sweden and Nigeria. Yum. And welcome. Now, I have to come clean. There are 521 languages catalogued in Nigeria? Me no can do, so I stuck with Ibibo. If you want more, lemmeknow, and I'll do my bestest. However, why do I get the feeling I'm the only one who cares?

T'ain't none of my business what you think of me.

I said "taint"...tee hee.

The Pin Curl Mullet

Theater in the front...party in the back!

P.S., I.E and N.B.

Just in case, on the off-chance (and off-ramp) I have left you with the odd feeling that I believe myself to be the Love Machine, the LoveMeister, the Mistress of All Things Love, and that no one else knows what the fuck they are doing...

I love unwisely and I love accidentally.

I am the Unwise Accidental Lover.

How's that?

Or as a dear friend would say, "Holy fuckballs!!"

Grandma Hennacy's Words o' Wisdom

I wish they worked their magic on me. I wish I were that girl. I truly do. La vida would not be so loca. But I love hard, I love true, I love singly and I love emotionally. I never realized, until my ex-therapist informed me oh-so-recently, that love was so subjective. I always knew WHO you loved was subjective, but not HOW you loved. I thought everyone loved like I do.

Rude awakening in my advancing years.

Call me naive.

This is gonna take some time.

I had a similar awakening when I learned, while working for Disney, that TRUTH was subjective.

Oh Mickey, say it ain't so!

That took some time.

I adore the people who really cheered me (that's the truth) and my best first date evah! I regret misling (oh...that's a story in and of itself) you. But it was worth the following missive from a bright light in my constellation of friends.


"Well, I wrote you a long response the other day and then my computer decided to reboot and I lost it all. As I recall, it went something like this: Do not melt out there in St. Louis.

As for men, you are barking up (bitch that you are;-)) the wrong tree because a) men are all jerks, including yours very seemingly nicely; b) aside from interior decorating or hairdressing, the field you have chosen presents perhaps the slimmest pickings of any vocation -- what few straight men exist are self-centered, neurotic narcissists; and c) add to that the age issue (despite your delightful carding the other night) and you are picking over a slag heap of damaged goods: sociopaths, losers and marital rejects. Lesbianism is a much better, if not literally more fruitful, choice. Natheless, I shall keep my eyes and ears open.

Hope to see you--and your new girlfriend-- around the Rialto"

Dawg, there we are. Tres different words o' wisdom. And if being gay were a choice, believe you me, la vida would definitely have been meno loca.

And in case you missed it, the pixie-faced pinhead WAS CARDED THE OTHER NIGHT.

Oh yeah.

Let the healing begin...'cause this is gonna take some time.

Quote of the Week

"The only way to get over someone is to get under someone."

--Grandma Hennacy

A Day in Ollie-Wood

Woof.

So Brian my boss sent me home with this milf-bone the other night…I mean, really? Lucky dog, right?

Her doghouse? Bitchin. A bathtub to jump in (first adventure), a couch to vault (second adventure), a bed to bounce (third adventure) and a couch cushion to dry hump (fourth adventure). She kinda yelled at me for that one…something like, “blah blah blahBLAH blah blah.” I don’t know…it didn’t sound friendly. Somebody should muzzle her.

I think she thinks she's smarter than me.

Fed me. Gave me a ball (and by ball I DO mean ball).

Slept with her...first date...I AM the one and only, original, ALPHA MALE...gettin' a little tail on the first date. She was so grateful she gave me the air-conditioned side of the bed…thought that was howlin. She tasted like a giant salt-lick so I kissed her a lot. And in the morning her breath was ARFUL—I soooooooo DIG that.

It was all fun and games ‘til the peanut butter came out…

As I always rebark, “A little dog’ll do ya!”

Tuesdays with Ollie

I went on the hands-down best first date ever last night. Really. Quiet yet a romp. Intimate yet out there.

He’s a blonde. Husky. Really cute. Not quite as smart as I usually go for (gee, I hope he doesn’t read this), but where has that ever gotten me and I’m probably smart enough for both of us.

Great grin. Gazes at me as if the world begins and ends with La Tiz. Comfortable in the kitchen. Tea-totaler. Even without the alcohol we had fun and games and general revelry. Anyone who'll play ball with me inside at midnight (and by ball I DO mean ball) gets treated tres bone.

He didn’t check his texts or voice messages once. Not once.

He’s a little younger than I am. (Not sure whether I’m a milf or a cougar. Not sure he cares.) He’s a career man…a recent change but he’s moving up the corporate ladder expeditiously. His immediate superior better watch his tail. I really dig anyone who takes chances mid-life.

And he protected me from a few real dogs. Bless.

Bitch that I am…there was an overnight. No real fooling around but lots and lots of kisses, a little pawing (I have a few scratches) and hand-holding.


And he has the best bed-head EVAH


Ollie…Annie stunt Sandy. He’s a rescue dog. As we know I specialize in lost boys…just call me Wendy.

And as usual, in the morning, I’m left with shit in hand.

On the other hand, nothing tops kibble kisses.

Welcome Turkey and Poland

Hoş geldiniz Türkiye.

Mile widziany Polska, Mój ludzie

How much do I love this foreign forum?

To those of you who've been keeping up, I survived yesterday. I was crowned "Minerva, Goddess of Sweat" but I survived.

Yay.

Now...where's a freakin' orphan to do my laundry?

June 22

Let’s just call the 22nd of June, especially this year, a Charlie Foxtrot.

It’s four friends’ birthday, two of whom I’ve known for 28 and 32 years respectively. So, it’s a special day.

This year we open Annie in an 11,000 seat house. (Or 12,000 depending on whom you talk to…but really after 5,000 who gives a flying fuck.*) After a 10-6 rehearsal on Saturday. A midnight to 4 am rehearsal Sunday morning and 1:30 to 5:30 Sunday afternoon sitzprobe. Btw, sitzprobe loosely translates to “anal probe,” and this is why I have been mysteriously silent as of late.

That and I’m really really really really deeply tragically tired.

It is also the fourth anniversary of my Dad’s passing.

Really?

Yes, Virginia, there is no Poppy Tisdale.

And this is the first year I’ve ventured to do something on this oh-so-sad date. I usually spend it camped out on my couch doing…um…zilch, zip, nada. Honestly, my mother and I tried to talk yesterday and became absolutely hysterical…two women who rarely become hysterical.

Should be interesting.

It’s made all the more plaintive since my sister and I used to scream the ditty “Hard Knock Life” at him. Considering the 72 orphan, slammy pail version they’re doing here, this little orphan’s gonna be wearing some heavy-duty deluge-proof mascara.

Hope I don’t scare the crap out of 72 kids.

There better be a brewski waiting in my dressing room for when the non-curtain falls. That’s all I’m sayin’.

*Why in hell do I feel the need to use Charlie Foxtrot but feel completely comfortable with flying fuck? Someone please explain.

Little Girls, Little Girls

Everywhere I look I can see them...

because, sweet Jesus, I'm in the musical Annie and at times there are 72 of the little buggers onstage.

Perks? Many. I'm pretty sure I could get one of them to do my laundry.

The other day one of them (Names? Who has time for names?) said that if I were an animal I would be a dove.

Me. The pixie-faced pinhead.

This kid will definitely not be on laundry duty.

Ass and Order

The following story is fictional and does not depict any actual person or event.

Things not to say to your girlfriend…unless you want her to cease and desist all girlfriend activity, in which case, go for it. Really. See what happens.

1. Americans are stupid.

2. Are you stupid?

3. You only pay the $6 entry if you want. But I’m paying $20 and seeing the whole shebang.

4. Taste this (when it’s nasty).

5. Why are Americans so fat?

6. Lose weight and you’d be a star.

7. I’m afraid you might find the Jarmusch film abstruse.

8. I’ll text you.

And guys…never utter all these gems, in this order, in the space of nine hours. Not that this ever happened to the Tiz. I’m just sayin…

Guerilla Theater

As seen backstage at the Muny...

What? We should wave the ol' firearms around instead?

Quote of the Week

We've gotta let Olive be Olive.

--Little Miss Sunshine

Meet Me in Saint Louis

St. Louis. Honestly? Not my fav town. I imploded during my stay at the Rep last fall when I heard that some local high school students declared it “Slap a Jew Day” and went at it. After the third Judische Kind had been walloped, the powers that be put a stop to it. The kids weren’t suspended or anything but given a “good talking to and a lesson in the Holocaust.”

What? So they could do it right the next time?

On top of this, Recent Widower Ex (a Rush Limbaugh lover…I swear to GOD I did not know this when we started. He actually HID this fact. I could NOT fix that.) is from the area. I completely own the fact that he turned me off of an entire state…and state of mind.

Soooo I had to give some thought when I was offered two jobs landing me in St. Louis for ten weeks. In the summer. Hot as Hades.

But since I hadn’t had legit theater work in EIGHT MONTHS (there’s no business like SLOW business), I didn’t ponder for tres long.

Here I am at the MUNY—the nation’s oldest, LARGEST outdoor theater. 12,000 people a night. During the nine show run of Annie I will perform for 108,000, playing the nicest, smartest girl in the music theater canon.

Oh BOY! Gol-LEE!

What were they thinking? The last thing I am is nice.

Oh, shut up…I ain’t dumb.

Now, HOW do you perform for 12,000 people? You MUNYize. Yes. A proper noun has been magically transformed into an active verb.

To MUNYize: 1. Speak clearly. 2. Make HUGE choices. 3. Move strongly and gesture when you speak. 4. Do not stand in profile. 5. Do not stand close to your little Annie (tough since you’re supposed to be nice and care for her). 6. Do NOT stand next to the boom (you blend in, dontcha know).

Twixt you and me, I don’t know what a boom is. But I sure as shit ain’t standing next to it.

Oh, and…

7. When there’s a kids’ group number, bring on 72 MUNY Kids to fill out the stage.

Which is what I experienced yesterday. 72 MUNY kids with 72 pails and 72 scrub brushes performing Hardknock Life.

72 kids meaning it…with all their hearts.

It did wonders in mending mine.

So, meet me in St. Louis, Louis. Hot as Hades, but it just might cure what’s been ailing you.

Get It On

I'm sorry. (No, I'm not.)

Click on the balloon figures. (Yes, you should.)

Funniest thing I've ever seen. (Yes, it is.)

Really...I think thanks ARE necessary. (Yes, they are.)

If They Are Lost--I Am Found

Give me your tired, your poor
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
The wretched refuse of your teeming shores.
Send these the homeless tempest tossed to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden shore.

Yup...our Lady of the Harbor...the Statue of Liberty...and seemingly me. Do you have cystic acne and did you run over your father with the car? I’m your girl. (Boy, did my dad hate that one.) Are you gay and don’t want to tell your parents yet, so you’re going to give it one more college try? Try me! (I knew he was gay. He knew he was gay. He knew I knew he was gay. I knew he knew I knew he was gay. We were sweet together.) Are you the "real deal?" (Read into that one, chickadees.) Deal me in. Am I your New York girlfriend and have you forgotten to tell me about your REAL girlfriend? Cool.

And these were just my first four, long-term relationships. Number five was troubled but lovely...honestly lovely...fucked up but lovely, so we’re leaving him outta this because I wouldn’t hurt him for the world. Wait, I already did.

Did you get stoned in Thailand, fall out of your tree house and crush your face in on some bamboo? I think the numb spot on your cheekbone is the sexiest thing EVER and you are boyfriend number six.

Are you almost an orphan? Is your career stalled? Are you pathologically jealous but very funny? Do you have dental work that looks like it was performed in a gulag? Do you climax so loudly that my neighbor runs into my apartment thinking someone’s being bludgeoned to death? Do you LOVE to pick fights? Do you call your girlfriend the C word? Then you are my seventh, long-term relationship.

Are you a recent widower with three children? Jobless? I can fix it. I can fix it!

Are you an actor? Now that’s someplace I refuse to go. A girl has her limits, you know.

excerpted from THINKING OUTSIDE MY BOX by the Pixie-faced Pinhead herself, copywrite 2009

To My Two New Lebanese Friends...

ahla w sahla. kifik? shoo esmik? bte7ké english? Tsharrafna.

I'm tellin' y'all...The United Colors of Tiz and Ass. Everyone is welcome.

Quote of the Week

"When you see crazy comin', cross the street."

--I'm a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here

BOOK OF FACE 25

GET TO KNOW ME...

for those of you who don't know me from facebook...a bit of recycling...

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

1. every once in a while i take an entire day off and don't do anything at all. not even be among people...or talk. i call this my "alone day." i've only done a successful alone day with one other person...jodie newlander.

2. i think peanut butter and butter sandwiches are haut cuisine and would eat them all day and night if possible.

3. i am the oldest living belle—even older than andrea mcardle.

4. i didn't learn to drive until i was 35 and that was on the 101 south in l.a., screaming "i'm merging, i'm merging, oh my GOD i'm merging" out my open window.

5. i was an opera singer until i was 30 (and not a good one...that is a fact...objective not subjective). that's why i'm so loud.

6. i have a pixie-face pinhead (again...fact...i wear children's eye-glasses).

7. as a sophomore in high school i made a bet with my spanish teacher and by eating a half gallon of ice cream in 15 minutes i got an "a." gracias "hot jose."

8. i have sung in something like 15 languages.

9. i can be polite in 8 languages... it greases the world's wheels.

10. i believe TaB cola is nectar of the gods.

11. if i buy a new article of clothing and absolutely love it, i have to sleep in it the first night. this include shoes.

12. i’m worried that people are going to think my 25 random things are boringly random…or randomly boring.

13. i like to buy jeanette winterson's "the passion," read it for the umpteenth time and than give it away.

14. i got into yale without taking achievement tests.

15. a review once said i showed about as much passion as if i'd heard about a sale on paper towels. i took this as a very high compliment.

16. i still wear the overalls my brothers bought for my 12th birthday.

17. as a child i tried to be a dog (ate from his dish and drank from his bowl) and a boy (peed standing up). i think i had some identity issues.

18. i cried every day in school until the 4th grade. always thought it was about need to be “perfect.” recently realized it was about my innate incapability of doing what was expected of me (see #17).

19. i introduced myself to the chinese minister of culture as "banana hot fudge sundae." he did not speak english.

20. i come from short-legged flat-assed people. what happened?

21. i like to wear a tiara when i clean.

22. i weighed 98 pounds when i entered college and 150 when i left. I WAS HALF AGAIN MYSELF.

23. i think if "it's a wonderful life" were required viewing, the world would be a much better place.

24. when i drink i steal things. like bowling balls. luckily i don't drink much anymore.

25. sometimes i fall down.

tag, you're it. i wish someone from morocco or ghana would send me their 25...

United Colors of Tiz and Ass

Because the blog is a means to an end…

Yikes. I don’t mean that meanly. The blog is the blog but the blog was born of a wish to get a little book I’ve written published. Build a platform. Build a readership.

But I’ve built a blog that I love.

But because it began as a means to an end, I put a clicker on it…so I could see how many peeps were checking in. A bit of marketing. A bit of ego-stroking. A bite of an apple in Eden.

What I find most amazing is where the claques are clicking from. The US I get. Canada…cool. The UK…at the moment, yuck. (But just the moment. I’ll get over it.) Spain? Sure.

But…

Japan, Italy, Netherlands, Malta, Australia?

Because I’m a greedy Gus, I wanted Africa.

And I got Africa—Algeria, Morocco and, most recently, GHANA.

And then came Indonesia.

With the strong showing in the Muslim community, a light-bulb flickered in the ol’ noggin.

The next day Israel showed up.

Greedy Gus gassed it up. Yesterday, India clicked in.

The United Colors of Tiz and Ass…I am an ambASSador.

An ambASSador of what, though?

Only time will tell and the means may already have meant the end. Little Miss Glass-Half-Full feels published in 15 countries.

Come on South America! China! Russia! Go ahead, make my day.

Quote of the Week

“My head is stuck so far up my butt I’m looking out a belly-button window.”

--Me

Totally Bucked

That’s me. Sorry to be out of touch, out of reach, out of my mind, but I had to do something Monday I really didn’t wish to…desperately so. But it needed to be done and I know in the long run it was the right decision. In the short run, however,

S
H
O
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M
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N
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Friends have been patient. Friends have been kind. Friends have been insightful. Friends have been inciteful. If I don’t get my shit together soon, I may no longer have friends.

Shit…get together!

There is not much that gets my shit together at this juncture. Flogging the blog has me pretty concentrated at the mo. Dancing of all things does. I took two tap classes on Wednesday (one of which I wept through…had to go back later in the day and reclaim a bit of the ol’ pride, dontchaknow). Had a three hour dance call yesterday morning for what I fondly call The Theatrical Mercy Fuck Project. I couldn’t be more wrong and yet they think I am oh-so-right. Perhaps the three hour dance call finally proved ME right and despite the fact I am about to scream to the heavens (and you) about it, I had…oh, I can’t explain it…it was transportive. I did show girl, I did burlesque (including 16 counts of improv...split into a forward roll anyone?), I tapped (okay…I stood in the back and smiled broadway broadly while shuffling my feet and shifting my weight…the clicky clacks didn’t match anything. I need tap garanimals) and then I improved (as in improvisation, NOT making more better) 32 MEASURES of slutty, duet, livingroom dancing with a hot boy. I just kept bending over and presenting my butt like a baboon…call me “red-eye.”

I sucked and I didn’t care because for three hours I was in myself. Couldn’t mourn the past, couldn’t fantasize the future. Just wiggly waggin’ my tail.

Speaking of which, dogs focus me and the world has presented me with dogs a go-go in the past week…all LABS. I love me my labs…I think they are the only species/breed more enthusiastic than a purebred Tiz. A purebred Tiz is even enthusiastic about being jaded.

Mommy, something’s wrong with me.

But I played with Grace the three-month old puppy, Fandango the twelve-year-old, Henry the seven-year-old and…

Buck.

Buck is five months old. Buck tried to eat my ipod…I put it in my pocket. Buck tried to eat my sweater…I rolled up my sleeves. Buck tried to eat my thigh…I offered him my pants. Buck tried to eat my right forearm and hand…he succeeded. Two days later I still have buck-marks.

I was consumed.

Totally Bucked.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ah, the dance and dogs. Never mix the two. Whenever our german shepherds tried to hump me (which was hourly), my parents would say, “Oh look, Major/ Wolfy/Dutchy is dancing with little Tizzy.”

Can you tell I don’t know how to close this entry? So I’m not going to. I’ve ended enough this week. Somebody else finish this…


“You take the wheel for now. I’m too tired to drive this one home right now.”
--Jonatha Brooke

Because I Never Read Comments on Other People's Blogs

and I thought these entries for the Tiz and Ass Post Mensturbation Invitational were extraordinary in scope and humor (and i reaaaaaaaaaaaallly wanna get them Googlized too)...

Suzanne said...
Exacerbation - only leaves you hornier.

May 26, 2009 9:14 PM
Suzanne said...
Oops, spelled it wrong. Should have been: Exaccurbation

May 26, 2009 9:15 PM
MizmTizm said...
oooh...you're good.how's about...
Exacturbation - knowing exactly what you're doing.
Fracturbation - the one time you go too far and now it's broken.

May 26, 2009 9:21 PM
Sasha said...
Plasturbation (alt def) - in a body cast. kinky.
Blasturbation - on the Space Shuttle. Kinky and pandering to voyeurs ie everyone who watches the space channel.
Preventurbation - well, really what it's all about yes? No need for contraceptives.

May 27, 2009 12:52 AM
Labramom said...
Oy! Can't believe I posted as my daughter! She was signed in to gmail. Reply to me pliss, not her. She'll freak.*

May 27, 2009 12:54 AM
TizAsJizz said...
solorgasm - the goal of these many variants?
Onanoff - interruptus for the biblically inclined

May 27, 2009 8:08 AM
Anonymous said...
Alasturbation - So sad you're all alone.
Jazzturbation - Be-bop, be-bop-a-lu...
Casperbation - I don't care if he IS the friendly ghost, I'm not shaking his hand.

and I add, in all its gross-iosity...
Assturbation - don't make me go there.




*Do you love this as much as I do? She could have deleted but competitive and creative nature kicked in.

What Ever Happened to Truth in Advertising?

(thank you, mg)