On the Sixth Day of Christ*&^%$

On the Sixth Day of Christ*&^%$, TiZ reveals to you...

Never fear.  No one can be rougher on me than me.

I think I'm having hot flashes.

I think I'm having night sweats.

I'm not sure what the difference is.

Neither is awful.

I was once the "go to girl" for a friend who thought she was going into labor but wasn't sure what contractIONs* really felt like. 


*I originally wrote contracts.  Contracts?  Can you tell I had an important audition later on The Sixth Day of Christ*&^%$?**

**Put down the blog TiZ.  You are no longer safe.

On the Fifth Day of Christ*&^%$

On the Fifth Day of Christ*&^%$, TiZ reveals to you...

Sometimes I feel like I have a hangover even when I haven't been drinking.

All it takes is a glass of wine for me to hangover.

All it takes is a drastic change in weather for me to hangover.

Too much sugar will make me hangover.

Sometimes I wish I lived in a bubble.  I am Bubble Girl.

On the Fourth Day of Christ*&^%$

On the Fourth Day of Christ*&^%$, TiZ reveals to you...

My team won Charades.

My mother was right, I should NOT play games in public.

I rely on my dog to grease squeaky social wheels and sticky situations.

I guess that makes my dog my social lube.

On the Third Day of Christ*&^%$

On the Third Day of Christ*&^%$, TiZ reveals to you...

I played Charades competitively at a benefit last night.

Because I sometimes write these a day or two in advance, I have NO idea how it turned out and I'm a little nervous.

My mother told me NEVER to play games in public.

On the Second Day of Christ*&^%$

On the Second Day of Christ*&^%$, TiZ reveals to you...

I am terrible at Charades.

I am competitive at Charades.

On the First Day of Christ*&^%$

On the Thirty-First Day of Christ*&^%$, TiZ reveals to you...

It's taken 14 years and a lot of help from friends and dead parents and a stupid little dog for my apartment to look and feel like a home.

12 Days Minus 1

My original most many moons ago...

++++++++++++++++++++++++

12 Days of Christ*&^%$

No...I'm not cursing out Our Lord Jesus. Not at all. I thought it would be fun to do a play on the 12 Days of Christmas with my name but since I haven't used my name in la blogue and adore my relative anonymity (aka, my relatives don't know I'm flogging said blog), I had to throw some crap in after the "t" to throw 'em off the scent. And might as well end on a dollar sign. Hopes for the New Fecking Year.

On the Fist Day of Christ*&^%$ (oooh...a typo and yet I like it...like I'm raising my fist to the heavens screaming, "Why, God? Why?") I will reveal one thing about myself that perhaps you don't know. On the Second Day of Christ*&^%$ , I will reveal two things about myself that perhaps you don't know. On the Third Day of...and so on and so forth. 

And clap on. Clap off.

Sound like a plan? It's a plan. It should get a wee bit weird by the 12th since I'm a pretty open bouncy bunny and don't have many secrets. So I'll have to dig deep. And what would make the game even better-er would be if you would participate. Tell me weird things, unlikely things...even, dare I say it...oooooogy things. My favorite admission submission will get a copy (or two or three. Really. I'm beginning to use them as coasters.) of my cd for Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or whatever the hell you celebrate. Or a chocolate chip cookie pie and I use the cd's as nipple rings.

Let the games begin.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

I'm so freaking excited I could puke!

The Twelve Days of Christ*&%^$ Are Coming

The Twelve Days of Christ*&%^$ Are Coming.

Where I get to reveal to you and you get to reveal to me.

To know and be known.

Where I am no longer known as the laziest lard-ass blogger in the whole wide web world.

The Twelve Days of Christ*&^%$ Are Coming...

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

That is all.

Mitterally - Definition

1. Literally denying that what you've said before was actually said.

2. The manner in which Mitt Romney literally stands/sways on policy.

3. Soulless(ly) shape-shifting (yet once again I wish to kiss Rachel Maddow).

From Empathy to Sympathy to Apathy

If I have been nothing but polite and kind to you, and yet nine times out of ten...okay...what the hell...FIVE times out of ten you are rude to me, I go from empathy to sympathy to apathy.  

Do not ask me for a favor which takes time out of my day and then never thank me, let alone acknowledge it...or me.  There comes a time when there might be reason but no excuse.  In fact, rarely is there an excuse.

And yet I will be polite. Ever greasing the sticky wheels of society am I.  Lubing life as I stumble along.

Courtesy is the one coin you can never have too much of or be stingy with. - John Wanamaker

And now...

I get to do my work.  This is the part I love.  Running the show.  No collegial stopping.  No collegial commenting. Everyone moving through it and creating, no matter what happens (barring physical injury) and no matter what we're given.  We get to see where it goes when a spit, a curve, a slider or a split-finger fastball is thrown. The editing portion while I'm inhabiting this character is over...until I get offstage, of course, and think to myself, "That didn't quite work. I'll try something different tomorrow."

Sweet candy Christ that makes me happy!

Apolitical Intercourse

Okey dokey...

I rarely talk about politics.  I rarely write of politics.  I stay away from most political intercourse.  If I indulge with most Democrat friends then it's preaching to the choir...and Republican bashing. See...look...you're like me...we both hate them.  La La La. (Of course there are exceptions, and those are cherished.)

If I indulge with most Republican friends, I'm well aware I cannot sway them.  Most of my friends are intelligent creatures, well-educated, and have made informed decisions that work for them.  I'll ask them questions about how they arrived at those conclusions.  I rarely agree but I will listen.

For those with whom I indulge who are not intelligent, well-informed creatures, I'm well aware I cannot sway them.  It's not cool to be persuaded.  It's not cool to change your stance.  Especially in public.  Weak, weak, weak in the majority of this nation's eyes.

Oy.

Hate me.  I know this will not be a popular sentiment among most of my friends.  I think Mitt Romney actually did a good job last night.  A successful infomercial.  His warmongering finale was bizarre, but it followed a quiet, gentle plea to swing voters that I fear was quite effective.  Not to me. But he wasn't talking to me.  I'm an Obama Mama. I'm a "pro-choice, marriage for all, universal healthcare, caring for the health of the universe, a teensy bit of socialism never hurt anyone" vixen. (That's just a little too long to be an effective moniker, right?  I'll work on it.)

He wasn't talking to me.  It would have been bizarre and not at all cost-effective for him to talk to me.  

We're all strange bedfellows.  Get used to it.  If you're a Republican, what the hell, go ask your Democrat friends how they got that way. If you're a Democrat, hey hey hey, go on and ask your Republican friends how they got that way.  If you're a swinger who watched the RNC, whoah, don't stop there.  Watch the DNC next week.  Maybe we'll give you something as sadly strange as Clint Eastwood.*

And if you're a Democrat, don't get too comfortable. Especially if you're in a swing state.  You're not going to change anyone on FaceBook.  Get your ass and your mouth to a phone bank and work it.

Okey dokey.  That's my quiet, gentle plea. 







*Oh, that was too easy.  I promised I wouldn't do it.  There...I done did it.

THIS

has become my new favorite quote.  I don't know for how long.  I do know how come...

Creativity can be described as letting go of certainties. - Gail Sheehy

Letting go of certainties.  Surrendering to the unknown.

I'm uncertain, but it just may remain my favorite quote for a while.

make pretend

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.- Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

I always said, "make pretend" whilst growing up.  My mother always corrected me, "Make believe or pretend...not whatever it is you're saying."

I said it anyway.

The make pretend I'm doing now is eluding me.  So much loss.  Such a sense of disenfranchisement.  Such kow-towing.  It actually hurts. 

And it's Neil freakin' Simon.

I have to find the win.  

the artist and the arts

The artist is not a special kind of person; rather each person is a special kind of artist.

- Ananda Coomaraswamy

If you ax funding for the arts, Mr. Romney, you ax the people themselves...a veritable Lizzie Borden. - Me

To the Kind Gentleman

who asked if Baxter used to be bigger...

Yes.

One shouldn't put dogs in the dryer.  Even on delicate.  You can imagine what I found in the lint trap.  I could have made another dog out of what I found there.

Who knew?

They should come with instructions, right?

Hang-dry only. 

Delicate Cycle

I have a dooooooooooog.

OH MY GOSH

I amaze me. No blog yesterday. Even after the vow.

You know why?

WOEEEEEEFULLY unprepared at work.  WOEEEEEEEFULLY. 

And long walks with the stupid little dog. And registering at the gym.  And working out at the gym.  And rehearsing.  And food shopping. 

And watching porn on the internet...aka, looking for apartments.

Me try harder.  This shouldn't be this difficult.  But sometimes I have little more in my head than...

"I have a doooooog."

Meanwhile, "Oh my Gosh?"  Really?  It's taken all of two minutes in the midwest for that to develop?

Crikey.

New Job, New Vow

I'm hoping to Meet Me in St. Louis, Louis.  

The past year has been one of...well...TONS OF LOSS.  And now this is my second character recently who is dealing with...well...TONS OF LOSS.

And I'm hoping to  figure out how I can move on and through this world either carrying this loss in a wee bindle--hobo style.  Or just plain chucking it.

And hopefully Meet Me in St. Louis, Louis.  And see who I become.

And blog every day.  Even if it's bindle style.

Here's a Suggestion

Have a bottle of wine but no corkscrew?  Here's a suggestion.

Place it in the freezer and forget about it for 12 hours.  The freezing and expansion of the water molecules during the phase transition will thrust that pesky cork right from the bottle.


Or...you can be like me and forget you put the bottle of cheap-ass white in the freezer, fall asleep and wake up the next day to a winesicle.  Whichever.  The cork is out and the wine is cold.  

You're welcome.