For Many Reasons...

...I have never included my name on this blog. First reason is family. Never wanted them to Google-ize me and come up with this. The whole thing's a little randy, and does my 12-year-old niece need to read it? I don't think so.

I have never included my pic on this blog. Other than those where my face is partially obscured. It's fun being Ann Onymous...to a certain degree. I know if you know my via Facebook, you know me, but if you're one of my many followers in Arab-speaking countries, all you know is that "TIZ" means "hoo hoo" and you're mighty disappointed.

But here's a recent pic of me...FULL FACE.

Still unrecognizable, methinks. More Roman Polanski than not (thanks Jed).

I used to cross-dress a lot more when I was younger. Don't know if it was just easier to pass when I had no hips...or shorter hair...or because I liked dating gay men. But I liked (and have always liked) blurring the lines. I have the soul of a thirteen-year-old gay boy. LOVE and attracted to men, and seemingly tortured by it.

And it's impossible to tell the family.

Now the cross-dressing happens mainly onstage. Have disguised myself as or played a man in Once Upon a Mattress, Fermat's Last Tango, The Magic Flute, Byzantium, Triumph of Love, The Poor Sailor, Macbeth, South Pacific, Backwards in High Heels and Twelfth Night.

The audience the other day seemed confused. They didn't laugh at ALL when I entered in the above outfit. And I in turn became confused. "I am a woman. Dressed as a man. With a penciled-on moustache. This is inherently funny. DON'T MAKE ME WORK FOR A LAUGH, PEOPLE. You'll hate me for it And so will I."

Cross-dressing. It's fun. Try it. You'll like it.

SEALED WITH A CLICK - entry 25

Subject: Re: log-on, log-off linguistic loatheries

To: Christinan@aol.com

From: Enhibrem@stepton.edu

Date: 02:09 PM 2/17/99

My allowably allegorical alliterator,

Irritating i.q. indicators and serious stuff (supposedly): Years and years ago, many of my friends were surprised when I decided to marry Della because she wasn’t particularly intellectual. At the time, I explained (and felt) that I had all of the intellectual stimulation that I needed through my work; my choice of a spouse reflected a desire to find complementary personality traits, rather than overlapping ones. The theory was that Della kept me grounded and stopped me from floating off to some ethereal plane. As I’ve embarked on this new life of mine, I’ve realized how much I’ve missed by not spending the last dozen years with a like-minded person. It’s not just the mental stimulation—it’s also the feeling that someone appreciates the things that make me me (as opposed to me.e.). I think that’s part of why I’m enjoying this so much. I like being attracted to someone who keeps (and pushes) the pace. It’s an unfamiliar sensation.

OOB ooo: That’s hilarious—when I wrote the xxx, I thought about ooo and the story of your brother immediately came to mind, but I was much too polite to mention it.

My Monica’s melancholy muddle: Did I mention that I have to spend Wednesday and Thursday in court with my step-daughter? Wednesday is for driving with a suspended driver’s license (resulting from not paying parking tickets). Thursday is for trying to walk out of Neiman Marcus with a $111.11 skirt tucked in her coat pocket (yes, a very skimpy pocket-sized $111.11 skirt). I’ve told her that this is her only “get-out-of-jail-free” card. Ah, the joys of parenthood.

oxoxox

BD3

SEALED WITH A CLICK - entry 24

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My Lovely Red Dots

Oh, lovely red dots...I miss you so!

The Beach

What is it about the beach? What is it that makes it so restorative? The bjillion happy people? The seagulls leaving presents and presence on the beach blanket? The ability and God-given right to piddle in a massive body of water? The knowledge that no matter how bad you look in your suit there is someone who looks worse?

And there always is.

I don't know. Even with a back burned to look like a Picasso, I feel great.

And it's always been that way. Even throwing up hot Fresca on the black sand beaches of Fire Island, there was no place I would rather have been throwing up hot Fresca.

Even with a dead Pop, there was no place I would rather have been missing my dead Pop then on the beaches of Ravenna, Italy.

I don't mean soda pop. I mean Poppy Pop. Daddy. A week after he passed I had an engagement with Opera North at Il Festivale di Ravenna on the coast of the Adriatic. They told me I could skip it with my reputation intact and without being fined financially, but who in their right mind would pass up a trip to the Adriatic?

Not moi.

And there was no place else I would rather have missed Pop. Beach during the day, performance at night and some cultural trips in between...with a steady dose of pizza, pasta, pesce and gelato cioccolato. Okay...some vino.

And good friends.

If I had to live in a world without Pop (and I most certainly did and still do {unless there's sumpin' I don't know about}), the beach with its clear and heavily salinated water that keeps me buoyed (I just made a typo--"goyed"--ha!) is the place to do it.

Float float float. Piddle piddle piddle.

In with the good. Out with the bad.

Aaaaah.

SEALED WITH A CLICK - entry 23

Subject: Manic Monday

To: Christinan@aol.com

From: Enhibrem@stepton.edu

Date: 12:31 PM 2/16/99

P.S. I’ve never heard of Caesar’s Palace Pizza. What is it? A local pizza place? Franchise? Brand name? Psychotic episode? Acid flashback? Hallucination resulting from excessive Valentine chocolate consumption?

SEALED WITH A CLICK - entry 22

Subject: Re: freaky friday

To: Christinan@aol.com

From: Enhibrem@stepton.edu

Date: 12:28 PM 2/16/99

Marvelous mischievous me.e.,

Paying patron: Would they have charged you less if you had refused to sing? And did you tell the orchestra that you wanted to do “Springtime for Hitler?”

Valentine vacancy: It felt odd, but oddly not too difficult. Della called from Italy to talk to the kids, but then engaged me in one of those conversations where the only sensible reaction is “Why are you doing this?” Funny, though, I recovered more quickly than I ever would have imagined, and enjoyed much of the rest of the day.

Postponing pigeonholing: I don’t know what we’re doing either, but I know that I like it.

xxx (just kisses this time, in honor of your Valentine’s Day excerpt, though I realize there’s another way to read that line)

Be dog-less (OK, a little cruel in light of the fate of Missy T)

SEALED WITH A CLICK - ENTRY 21

Subject: freaky friday

To: enhibrem@stepton.edu

From: Christinan@aol.com

Date: 01:41 AM 2/15/99

bodacious b’douglas:

especially freaky friday, since it is saturday . . . wait . . . sunday.

imagine . . . late in the afternoon, you get a call from your friend bettina buckley (star extraordinaire) to inform you that she does, in fact, have two tickets for her show tonight. shit, now you have to find someone to go with you. you choose tim because he isn’t going to want something extra special from you for valentines day. you go to the show, enjoy yourself, have a few beers, and cheer as your friends from “triumph” get up to sing a few songs. betty calls you up as well. you think you’ll bow and wave to the crowd. surprise . . . you’re singing a song.

you paid for your ticket.

it was so yummy of you to phone me yesterday. i attempted to call you back when i realized that february 14^th might not be an easy day for you in your newly single state. my thoughts were with you.

whatever it is that we are doing (and it can’t be pigeonholed, thank god) is special to me. i thank you for that.

xoxoxo

me.e.

p.s. late last night, i discovered caesar’s palace pizza.

OH NOOOOOOOOOO...

My ClusterMaps has betrayed me...it had clocked about 6000 bleaders of TiZandAsS. And at some point between 10:45 am May 7th and 9:09 am May 8th, it rebooted itself.

Killing them all. All the little red dots.

And then there were 12.

I want my 5,988 back. COME BACK LITTLE SHEBA!

But what makes me saddest is I never got to thank and welcome the new countries. Never got to thank and welcome them in their native tongues (or the TiZian approximation). And there were about 35 who had attended the United Nations of TiZandAsS with nary a hello.

Oh, my apologies. Please come back. Please. I'm being a good girl and apologizing and appreciating you. Please come back.

I miss you, little red dots.

SEALED WITH A CLICK - entry 20

Subject: Re: ***then why do I get to read it?***

To: Enhibrem@stepton.edu

From: Christinan@aol.com

Date: 11:15 PM 2/13/99

oops . . . typo . . . the subject should have read ***a dolt only*** as the object of my affection obviously is.

right back at ya

xoxo

me.e.

SEALED WITH A CLICK - entry 19

Subject: ***then why do I get to read it?***

To: Christinan@aol.com

From: Enhibrem@stepton.edu

Date: 03:00 PM 2/13/99

Me.e.,

VERY nice. I particularly like the second paragraph; the sensations seemed somehow strangely familiar. “Sweet and precise torture”—know it well. Happy Valentine’s Day back at ya.

oxox

b’douglas

SEALED WITH A CLICK - entry 18

Subject: *** for adults only ***

To: enhibrem@stepton.edu

From: Christinan@aol.com

Date: 08:20 AM 2/13/99

warning - sensitive material enclosed.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

from the wooden frame above where the gunpowder waits there are also suspended a number of nets and trapezes. from here acrobats swing over the square, casting grotesque shadows on the dancers below. now and again, one will dangle by the knees and snatch a kiss from whoever is standing below. i like such kisses. they fill the mouth and leave the body free. to kiss well one must kiss solely. no groping hands or stammering hearts. the lips and the lips alone are the pleasure. passion is sweeter split strand by strand. divided and re-divided like mercury then gathered up only at the last moment.

and so, from the first, we separated our pleasure. [he] lay on the rug and i lay at right angles to [him] so that only our lips might meet. kissing in this way is the strangest of distractions. the greedy body that clamors for satisfaction is forced to content itself with a single sensation and, just as the blind hear more acutely and the deaf can feel the grass grow, so the mouth becomes the focus of love and all things pass through it and are re-defined. it is a sweet and precise torture.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

jeanette winterson, the passion

happy valentines day

xoxo

me.e

What Fresh Hell is This?

I don't know why I named this blog post that, other than I LOVE it. I LOVE that Dotty Parker quote, I tell ya.

And I'm pretty sure Dorothy Parker wasn't called Dotty. Ever. Or Dory. Call me crazy, I just don't think she'd ever go for it.

Have worked my AsS off for the past couple of days. Four days of tech. Three ten out of twelves in a row. It got pretty hateful (and by that I mean I baked four chocolate chip cookie pies so everyone would feel loved and sugared up). Got a massage yesterday. Regina has magic hands. Wicked STRONG magic hands. Have to say I feel a lot better...and hateless.

And I learned I have to drink more water...she went through about a gallon of massage lotion. My lil ol body just kept soaking it up.

Okay...whatever....have no idea what I'm writing about other than I just learned (in addition to having to drink more water) that a dear, beloved, bone and sinew friend just got nominated for a Tony. And I'm so fucking proud of her I could scream.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

I met her on a little musical that will remain nameless. And I worked my way up the ranks in this little musical. And ended up being on a team of people who helped the creatives re-write this little musical. And it turned into a gorgeous, big musical that was gonna have a life. A healthy life because it was smart and universal and specific and heart-breaking and funny.

And the composer and book-writer and producer killed it. First they killed all of us. Fired our asses. (Guess we'd been too intrusive---honest to Jesus, the worst thing I'd said was, "Oh my God, just change the REASON for the scene and it's perfect. Listen." That was me at my worst.) Then they fired the director. Then the famous music director. Then they oh-my-God changed it back, added some crap we had begged them not to, hired a new director, recast it and then lost all their funding.

Shame.

And this sweet marvelous directorial Goddess has been nominated for a Tony. Betcha they're all pea-green with envy now, aren't they?

And I'm so proud I can scream.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Random. I know. Gonna be a "what fresh hell is this" kinda preview with a noggin as random as this.

SEALED WITH A CLICK -entry 17

Subject: Re: conquering capitalization

To: Christinan@aol.com

From: Enhibrem@stepton.edu

Date: 04:02 PM 2/12/99

Jeanette Winterson: Yes, of course, I am intrigued.

SEALED WITH A CLICK - entry 16

Subject: conquering capitalization

To: enhibrem@stepton.edu

From: Christinan@aol.com

Date: 06:15 PM 2/12/99

i have a lovely excerpt from a jeanette winterson novel regarding kissing. will you accept it in lieu of a valentine? or perhaps as a prize for conquering capitalization?

SEALED WITH A CLICK - entry 15

Subject: Re: regurgitating gershwin

To: Christinan@aol.com

From: Enhibrem@stepton.edu

Date: 02:35 PM 2/12/99

Me.e (my alluring alliterative alarmist),

Mean Miss Chris: Didn’t know my grandma was such an original thinker. “Such a smart girl, too.” Did your ex have something to say about that as well? My advice— stop dating fourth graders—and definitely stay away from Bran.

In Further Defense of Spaying: Your dad probably did Missy T a favor. Word has it that all us male dogs are bastards. Woof woof.

Re: Chris is a babe: Of course Bran knows. Who do you think told me? Aside from you?

New AT&T Booze Buddies Service: Sign me up.

Better call the calling off off : You actress, you.

ox ox

Bidet Glass

SEALED WITH A CLICK - entry 14

Subject: regurgitating gershwin

To: enhibrem@stepton.edu

From: Christinan@aol.colm

Date: 09:50 AM 2/12/99

sung to the tune of “let’s call the whole thing off”

you like dashes, and i like ellipses

you like all-caps, and i like no-caps

---, . . . , AAA, aaa

let’s call the whole thing off!

you economist, you.

The Headache

I know. I know. What the hell kinda post is this? About a HEADACHE? You're a WuSs-AsS, TiZandAsS.

I know.

But I don't get headaches. Maybe one a year. And when that happens I cock my head a la the RCA puppy and ask myself, "Self, what is this strange feeling in thy head? I wish it would stop, Self."

And stop it would.

BUT NOT YESTERDAY.

Yesterday was different.

I think I hit the trifecta and that caused the blasted fuckwad kopfschmerz.* What is this blasphemous trifecta so you DON'T hit it? Blood pressure drop, blood sugar drop and caffeine drop...ALLS AT THE SAME TIME.

And that will never happen again. Because I just don't believe in costume fittings anymore...

I knew something was wrong when I started to cry at the beginning of the run-through of "Crappy Person-The Ginger Musical." And then when I had to pull out my Merman, it was confirmed. Never EVER try to be Ethel Merman while harboring a fugitive headache. You will want to take a knitting needle to your temples.

Two hours later I made the titular character drive us both home, despite the fact she had just tapped her AsS off. I continue to believe that having her drive us home safely was wiser than my careening blindly into the Gulf of Mexico. Call me silly.

When neither food nor caffeine made me feel any better, I thought I might have a problem. When I lay on the couch sobbing "OW," it drove it home (rather like knitting needles through temples).

And yet there was a sitzprobe that evening. The first and only orchestra rehearsal. My favorite rehearsal of any process.

It didn't happen...at least not for me. I called the stage manager, I called the titular character to get the director's number. I called the director.

And I missed rehearsal.

I've NEVER missed rehearsal. Not in 18 years in this business. Not when I blew my knee out. Not when I broke a rib. Not when I tore my gastroc. Not when I tore my seratus and lats. Not when I tore my cornea. Not when I broke a bone in my foot. Not when I was headbutted by Sister Mary Truckdriver barrelling on through and got a concussion so severe they thought I had cracked my skull.

I just don't miss rehearsal.

Yet miss I did...which did not help the headache.

Earlier I had posted on the Book of Face, "TiZ has a headache that makes her want to vomit. she can't take advil or tylenol or ANY of that stuff. suggestions. please."

Now, I can't take any of that stuff and sing (for my now non-existent sitz) because I got mugged a decade ago. It wasn't one of those pleasant, "Excuse me, Miss, may I have that vintage handbag your mother gave you?" kinda muggings. It was the "Let's mace her and then beat the crap outta her" kind. Mace paralyzes your larynx. I screamed through it. Who knew?

I blew out a cord.

That's my blog-AsS way of explaining why I can't take a vasodilator and then project. Will just blow the cord right out again.

Oh, but the Book of Face responses were sooooooooo helpful. And lovely. I finally went with the acupressure, darkness (not easy in sunny South Florida), silence, caffeine, cold compress, tea tree oil, self-reiki, meditation route. Did wonders but not enough. Would have loved to have tried the freshly made ginger ale suggestion, but since I could barely see, that was out. I also enjoyed the momentary mary jane suggestion. Why did you fly from my page, momentary mary jane suggestion? So, since I didn't have to sing, I took two Ibuprofen PMs.

And hallucinate.

Which was good.

The phone ringing right next to my ear? Not so good. Can't imagine who was calling me on the landline but they are officially dead to moi.

Woke up 4 hours later, watched a little Eddie Iz (always the cure-all), AND was naughty and popped another Ibuprofen PM.

And hallucinate.

I feel pretty good today. I like the polka-dot elephants who are following me around. They're sweet. As are all of you for reading this and writing those suggestions.

*One of my most beloved colleagues has had a two week kopfzchmerz caused by some contagious bacterial thingy, and despite the fact I shared a drink with her a couple of nights ago, I'm in complete denial over the fact that this could be the cause.

That ain't it, kid. That ain't it.