Monday, August 31, 2009

What Kind of Asshole...


This kinda asshole.

It's Tiz and Ass on crack. Tee hee. Ass-crack. Tiz and Ass-Crack.

Check it out. Hells, yeah.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

My Bologna Has a First Name

There are good things about singledom. Number one, you live in a place called singledom. You are the boss. You are the master of your domain...rrrrrr. (For the uninitiated, in Tiz-speak that’s Cat Woman purr.) You get up when you want; you go to sleep when you want. You wear what you want. You have the haircut that you want. (I’ve had some controlling boyfriends, I think.) You can take up the whole bed. You can bathe in the middle of the night. YOU CAN PICK YOUR NOSE... c’mon, everybody does it, right? Right? No?

Oh, dear.

You can eat what you want, when you want. This is key for me. I’m a grazer. I don’t really like to sit down and have a meal. Not very “mindful” of me, I know, but I like to make a big meal, leave it on the kitchen counter and just stop by and visit it every once and a while throughout the day. Say hello, play with it, sniff it, lick it...maybe even eat it. Works out well for me...I’m pretty lanky. Dick might even have called me physically fit and toned if he hadn’t closed match.

And then there’s bologna. I don’t know why, but it re-entered my life. Maybe it has something to do with Pop’s passing and my need to revert to childhood. As a kid, every morning for breakfast I would have two slices of bologna, rolled up, and two slices of Wonder Bread, rolled up. The Wonder Bread Roll-Up was, in fact, a bit of a production. I pulled the “bones” off each slice first and sucked them up like spaghetti. I then rolled each remaining mushy mass of amazing chemicals into a little ball, manhandling it until all the oxygen left its being. I would pop the first one back, barely chewing it, but the next I would savor, nibbling away like a retarded chipmunk.

Nana was the dietary expert of Madison at the time.

I don’t know if the bologna fetish I now have has anything to do with Pop, but I’m eating it...a lot. And now they have this wonderful 98% Fat Free Bologna MADE WITH TURKEY. According to the package it’s been “America’s Favorite For Over 120 Years.” Do you know why? ‘Cause it’s freaking amazing, that’s why. Only 25 calories per one ounce slice. I can slam down 12 slices (the entire package) in 15 minutes, which I did just yesterday and then I looked at the back of the package. DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S IN THIS?

· Mechanically Separated Turkey (Wha?)
· Water (I can handle that...I don’t really get enough.)
· Turkey Broth (I can handle that, too.)
· Modified Food Starch (There’s a little note below that reads “Exceeds Amount Permitted in Regular Bologna.”)
· Dextrose
· Contains less than 2% of:
o Potassium Lactate (I didn’t know potassium COULD lactate.)
o Corn Syrup (Don’t they say that causes obesity?)
o Salt
o Hydrolyzed Beef Stock (Hydrolyzed means broken down to an amino acid, so I’m counting this as one for my team.)
o Carraganeen (It’s extracted from red sea weed... another one for Team Tizzy.)
o Hydrolyzed Gelatin for flavor (I’m loving my amino acids.)
o Autolyzed Yeast (That means dead yeast—me no likey.)
o Flavor (Flavor? Flavor?)
o Sodium Phosphates (Didn’t we have sodium before?)
o Sodium Diacetate (See above question.)
o Sodium Erythorbate (Ummmmmm...)
o Sodium Nitrite (OH, DEAR GOD!)

I look closer and it says that each slice has 240 mg of sodium, which is 10% of the daily value for a person who consumes 2000 calories a day. My daily calorie consumption is about 1500 (I tried to do 2000 and my measurements were 40, 30, 44—I was a BIG GIRL).

I think it’s time for some math.

1500 is 75% of 2000, so...let’s increase 10% by 25% to get 12.5%. (Although this is correct, my Economist Ex would find this math a little backasswards). Each slice of Oscar Mayer 98% Fat Free Bologna Made with Turkey is 12.5% of my sodium intake for the day. But I just ate 12 SLICES. A little more math...12.5% times 12 is...wait...I’m doing the math on my iPhone. (I have one because I’m a very important person.) And it’s 150%. I had 50% too much sodium for a 15 minute time span. No wonder my delicate digits look like a serving of undercooked Jimmy Dean’s sausages.

Maybe singledom isn’t so swell. It’s swollen.

Isn’t it nice how I tied that in?

Excerpted from my Tiny Tome

Thursday, August 27, 2009

What Kind of Asshole*

continues to play the "Anal Game" after she's returned to New York?

You know the answer. You do. C'mon.

I just can't help's like a rash or the nasty little gnat who wants to sit on my glasses.

Anal Enclave (sounds so safe and warm)
Anal Zephyr (blowing from A to Z)


Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Quote of the Week

Is it wondrous? Does it move you? Is it culturally authentic? We believe that people are sick of being lied to. If you use truth you can sell people anything. If you want them to react, to feel, to buy, tell them the truth. The truth is the new lie.

--Slings and Arrows (I LOVE this show)

Sunday, August 23, 2009

The Issue of My Druthers

Yes, if I had my druthers I would be back on the Way of Broad. But there are issues, probably best voiced by Kitty in The Drowsy Chaperone

“Mr. Feldzieg, I can be your leading lady. You said it yourself—I’m useless in the chorus.”

And people would laugh. And I wouldn’t know why…akin to watching the movie As Good as It Gets and wondering why people laughed when Jack Nicholson counted his steps and/or refused to step on the cracks in the sidewalk. Who wants to break their mother’s back? What if the crack opened up and you fell all the way to China? Your back would probably break too

Okay…back to the Kitty quote. I don’t find it funny ‘cause it’s true. True. True. True. There may be truth in comedy, but sometimes there's no comedy in truth. I don’t gots what it takes for that chorus gig. That's a skill set I am sadly lacking. It was made so evident by cast members in my last gig. There they were…dancing, leaping, cooter-slamming, tapping, roller-skating, tumbling…and hitting their marks (bastards).

And there I was…wandering, cracking-wise and belting my tits off. I am now flat as a pancake.

What DO I have going for me? A voice that rarely ends, a knack for accents, a teensy bit of tap, piano and uke, a body that moves generously through space, and an unbridled inability to be anything but myself…which is supposedly akin to watching a train wreck.

Which is why I need to be a leading lady. On the Way of Broad.

Anybody need a train wreck?


Call me…1(800) TIT-LESS

Saturday, August 22, 2009


...I had my druthers, I would be on the BroadWAY again. Right now.

I would like my druthers, please.*

*Right now.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Quote of the Weed

I'm not funny. What I am is brave.

--Lucille Ball

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Anal Re-Entry*

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't help myself. You get in a car, you see a make of a car and the game plays itself. When I return to New York it won't happen anymore. I promise.

Anal Mountaineer
Anal Prowler
Anal Tundra
Anal Esteem
Anal Express
Anal Contour.

If there are repeats, I'm sorry. But every time is like the first time.

Fare thee well, St. Louis.


Friday, August 14, 2009

More Games People Play

What Kind of Asshole?

This is one of my favorite theater-folk games. Created, I believe, by my roommate--better known as Windy in this blogue (I have no idea why I spelled it like that...perhaps time will tell). It's a simple question game...the joy is that the answer is usually right there before your eyes as you're saying

"What kind of asshole weeds the edge of his lawn at night sticking his ass in the road wearing black?"

Why it's the man I almost hit with my very large SUV.

"What kind of asshole drives a very large SUV?"

Well...that's most of St. Louis. Gas-guzzling goons.

"What kind of asshole wears comedy/tragedy jewelry?"

Naming no names...but you know who you are.

"What kind of asshole calls his girlfriend the C word?"

You'll have to read my book to get that answer...but that would be a GIANT potty-mouthed asshole.

"What kind of asshole calls me before 9 in the morning and then again all day and leaves no message ever even when it goes to voicemail?"

That would be the Democratic National Committee. Kids, I write letters, I sign petitions, I volunteer, I do what I can. GET BETTER ORGANIZED. P.s. I love you.

"What kind of asshole rips off her wig playing the "I am not Emily Kimberly" game and rips her wig?"

This would be Windy. She said this of herself. I personally thought it was adorable.

"What kind of asshole writes blogue instead of blog?"

MEEEEEE! (That one was kinda easy.)

What kind of asshole gets her period twice in one month?"

That would be MEEEEEE again. Methinks Jesus hates me.

"What kind of asshole plays the What Kind of Asshole Game?"

Ummmmm...I'm really hoping it will be you in the very near future.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Audience Participation

More like Audience Departation.

I had a new experience in the theater. It's taken 16 years for this to happen but for the first time in my career someone left in the middle of my number. In fact, a slew of people left in the middle of my number.

Say it isn't so.


1% of the audience...gone.

I, of course, did not handle it particularly gracefully. I supposedly eagle-eyed the four of them all the way from their seats third row center, across the ten people they highly inconvenienced and back the 8 rows it took to exit. I do remember waving. During the "curtain call" immediately post-number I pointed out the empty seats to the rest of the audience...just in case they hadn't noticed which would have been comparable to missing the Hindenburgh exploding.

Bemused. Confused. What could I have done? Was I pitchy? Did I rip one after my delicious Mexican meal? I know I remembered all my lines which is not a given. Did I fuck their dog? What did I do?

My dear Sun declared that I broke the show.

Post broken-show I went to the front-of-house staff and asked if the Fleeing Four had said anything as they took their leave of our little world. For the sake of mankind, I was hoping there had been a family emergency.


What had they repeated loudly as they went through our home and back to their's?


I believe my work here is done.


Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Quote of the Week

The theater is an empty box and it is up to us to fill it with fury and ecstasy and revolution.

-- Slings and Arrows

Monday, August 10, 2009

Anal Finale*

Hopefully...oh my Yahweh, hopefully...because I don’t think any of you enjoy it as much as I do, although one of my brothers was rather tickled.

Anal Town and Country
Anal Pilot
Anal Forester
Anal Trouper
Anal Highlander
Anal Vibe
Anal Freestar
Anal Cherokee
Anal Ion
Anal Rebel
Anal Intrigue
Anal Echo
Anal Fit
Anal Liberty
Anal Dodge (I KNOW that's a make, not a model. Shoot me.)
Anal Freestyle
Anal Protoge
Anal Windstar
Anal Econoliner
Anal Edge
Anal Escape
Anal Breeze
Anal Avalanche
Anal Venture
Anal Canyon
Anal Mariner
Anal Suburban
Anal Clubwagon
Anal Sportage
Anal Armada
Anal Quest
Anal Ridgeline
Anal Compass
Anal Lancer

and last but def not least...

Anal Gladiator

Strangely, this game has kept me from slitting my wrists. I have never seen such large vehicles in all my life...waste waste waste. I waste not and I want not. At this point who wants a family big enough to warrant one of these vehicles. It's blatant lazy-ass consumerism and a road-hog pissing contest. I actually saw a hybrid Hummer. Can you say oxymoron? I couldn't resent this and this mindset more. Plus, none of the wankers know how to park the beasts. You'd have to take a cab to the curb.

Methinks it's REALLY time for me to go home. 7 days and counting. I love my job but New York is the place...and the place that holds the people I love the best.


Saturday, August 8, 2009

Middle Mania

La Gimp Imp sadly knows no middle ground. It’s more like Mega Mania. I am consuming all this supposed “free” time with constructive activity. Seeing theater (instructive and networking (bluuuugh)), going to Beale on Broadway to hear Kim Massie sing (instructive), learning to play the uke (instructive and getting those synapses snapping and making different connections in the ol’ noggin), writing, writing and evermore writing, research (for the writing), baking (gifties for the goodies in my life) and…

doing the equivalent of eight workouts a week in addition to the eight shows a week. I learned this was not a particularly grand idea as I tried to lunge onstage recently and fell on my face instead. Oooops. Audiences strangely love that. A little Schadenfreude, my online Austrian and German friends?

So, I’m not sure if I’m doing the next 24,177,600 minute of my life justice as of yet, but I will hopefully have a rough draft of a theater piece under my belt, as well as 8 songs for this ululating ukulele lady and a tighter tiz and ass by the time I leave St. Lou...returning to the place I love the best...a little older, a little wiser and wicked tired.

I'm 46 years old and just used the word "wicked" as an amplifier. Perhaps I will drop THAT for the next 24,177,600 minutes. Suggestions?

Friday, August 7, 2009

World Wandering Writer

There are some new members of the Tiz and Ass Family. Please welcome...

Guten Tag, Oesterreich. Wie geht’s? Ich hoffe gut. Ich vermisse Wien.

Hallo România. Cum te simţi? I hope a veni pe curînd.

Saudi Arabia
مرحبا المملكة العربية السعودية. كيف حالك؟ أعطني
النفط الخاصة بك. مجرد الدعابة. بالفعل. من فضلك
لا اكره لي.

استقبال كردند. شما چطور است? من دانش را به شوخی گفت

مرحبا تونس. كيف حالك؟ الرجاء مرة أخرى

I'm a little naughty. If this site is shut down I will re-appear under another guise in the very near future.

NB: I would love to add Antarctica to the festivities. Perhaps a curious scientist? A precocious penguin?

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Open Letter to the University of Toledo Students

Who Attended Last Evening’s Performance of The Drowsy Chaperone


Okay…that might be a bit harsh. But just a bit.

Really…what were you thinking? I love what I do, I deep-down honest-to-Goddess DO, but you did not make it easy last night. And since I’m doing the South Beach Diet, I can’t drink…at all. But if I wasn’t doing the South Beach Diet, you would have driven me to drink.

I knew it was gonna be a rough show when I heard one of you answer back to the evening’s host, “Dude, are you gay?”

Now, the theater is an interactive sport, and this show especially so, but there are limits.

To the young lady in the second row, audience right aisle, who kept waving to me...I can’t wave back during someone else’s scene. I shouldn’t do it in my own scene. I do. But I shouldn’t. So—DON’T DO THAT.

To the young lady in the second row, audience right aisle, who insisted on muttering “No, no, no” during the very tender penultimate moment—DON’T DO THAT. WE CAN HEAR YOU.

To the stupid-ass laugher in the second row, audience right, 5 seats in, who loved laughing at inappropriate moments to entertain his classmates—DON’T DO THAT. IT’S RUDE. IT’S NOT ABOUT YOU FOR TWO HOURS. JUST TWO HOURS. LIVE WITH IT. And yes, I was flipping you the bird. Tweet tweet, dickface.

To the gum popper in the third row, audience left, 5 seats in—DON’T DO THAT. EVER. IT’S RUDE. WHAT A DISGUSTING HABIT. If I can hear you poppin’ your flippin’ gum from my dressing room backstage left, I would also like to hear you choke on it and die.

Okay, now THAT was a bit harsh. But I have chewing gum issues. Sorry. It’s just sometimes there is silence in the theater and it’s usually for your own good. Learn to embrace it. It’s uncomfortable but oh so glorious.

And let me commend you. I saw no couples making out, saw no texting or pizza and heard no candy wrappers or phones, so…you are not the worst audience ever. But close. Damn close. Please do better next time. If you do, so will I.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Quote of the Week

"Some people are raised on a hill, others in the valley. Most of us are brought up on the flat. I came at life at an angle, and that's how I've lived ever since.

--Jeanette Winterson

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Birthday Update

Okey dokey. So the birthday didn't go quite as planned. Nothing ever does, does it? So, why do we plan at all? Dash it all, expectations are a nuisance.

There was more to the day than I thought...a 2 hour put-in rehearsal and an unfortunate phone call. Suffice it to say, this is not a good summer for parents. Really...suffice it. That's all I'm saying.

There were many cakes. Three to be exact. All of them delicious. Three because there were three birthdays to be exact--including my leading man and director. Thank GOD I learned to share.

Ohhh...and cookies from dear friend Robert who never forgets. Never. And because he knows of the possible sharing issue, he always packs extras for friends. Always.

Lest I forget, let me mention the joy of Facebook on birthdays. I was called "sweet," I was called "gorgeous," I was called "beautiful," "lovely." "talented," "sistah," "my love" and other equally wonderful endearments and their variations by no less than 110 friends. Wondrous. And I thank them all. It made me feel special and remembered and not quite so lost for a while.

And Sonic was a tonic. A treat of an introduction from my roomie--let's call her Windy. More on her later. And in case you were wondering, the Cherry Limeade is to die for...especially when delivered by a girl on roller skates. it's happening.

City Museum? Did NOT happen. The joyous 7-story slide ride has to be shelved for a couple of weeks. But it will happen. Oh, yes it will.

And it's replacement birthday event? A special viewing of "The Room," which is considered to be the "Citizen Kane" of bad flicks. It will have its own blog entry. It must. It's too important and just may replace "Switchblade Sisters" as my favorite deliciously awful groovy movie.

And last but not least, there was alcohol. Blessed alcohol. I love alcohol.

Don't you?
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