Have you ever had such a hard time getting motivated to do something that you could just sit down and cry?  Because it’s something you HAVE to do.  But you just can’t force yourself to do it?  Lord that sounds dysfunctional.  But I’m afraid I am facing this problem at work.  I have given myself (and an outside party) an absolute deadline of next Wednesday for having all this stuff done but now here I am sitting here feeling overwhelmed by it and having no excuses to make.  I’ll get it done.  I work well under pressure and with deadlines.  But if I could change one thing about my personality, it would be that.  Discipline.  I am largely, well, not.  If I could change two things about myself, the second one would be fear.  That I would live with less of it.  And then the third thing would be that I could be one of those awesome cooks who looks in the kitchen and sees that there’s only yellow mustard, some corn meal, two raw hot dogs and a roll of duct tape, and can turn that into a souffle.  And then if I could change FOUR things about myself, well, wait, this would be easier as a list.

Things I would change about myself if I could:
1.  Have more discipline
2.  Live with less fear
3.  Be able to cook really, really well via intuition without recipes
4.  Give myself ESP
5.  My nose.  It’s a long story.
6.  Develop a deep, abiding love of cantaloupe
7.  Be able to forget all my embarrassing moments, while keeping the lessons
8.  Develop a deep, abiding love of exercise
9.  Faster reflexes
10. Ability to invent an invisibility cloak
11. Remove my fear of big dogs I don’t know
12. Less love for Doc Hammer.  Seriously.  He’s distracting me.

On second thought, what doesn’t? Sometimes, my friend and I have Very Important Discussions over weighty matters and help each other make decisions of Great Import. But other times, our AIM conversations are something more akin to this. (bonus points if you know the two songs referenced here):

Me: I’m sorry. The words “horrible” and “barbecue smell” cannot be used together in the same sentence. You fail.

Her: I know what I’m havin’ for lunch.

Aunt B, I need a tarot reading.  I will feed you.  And pay you.  And read Walt Whitman drunk with you.

I’ve been dreaming of assassins a lot lately.  What does that mean?  They’re never after me, I’m just watching them do their… jobs.  It’s weird.  Trenchcoats, no emotion.  And last night my grandmother’s house was involved.  I don’t know.

Also, crushes hurt.  Not like actual physical crushing, like with anvils.  Although that would certainly be painful as well.  But I’m talking about liking-a-boy crushes.  Is 35 too old for that kind of thing?  Crushes?  MAN they hurt.  But I’ll take them, pain and all.  Emotion is what makes you feel alive and pain makes the good stuff feel even better.  But still.  Goddammit.

Also also, dieting.  Hm.  I don’t really have much to say about that right now.

And I’m meditating.  A lot.  And looking for a necklace with Quan Yin on it.   Some people who read this are going to think I have lost my marbles but trust me, it’s a good thing.  I’m feeling happy and complete.  And drinking a lot of chicken blood.  I think maybe that’s why the diet has stalled.  : )

My cousin used the word “morass” once and I’ve embraced it and made it my own.  Saturday night I told this girl to please take her issues up with the person she’s got a problem with and stop dragging me into her morass.  Some morass I want to be involved in.  Family morass.  Close friend morass.  I mean, that’s kind of what defines family and close friends.  I even ask myself sometimes, “would I be willing to get all caught up in this person’s morass?”  If the answer is, “no, I would not,” then that person?  Not yet a close friend.  If the answer is yes?  Then that person is already a close friend.  Or family.  And I’m not sure you get a choice about the latter.

Speaking of, that cousin’s mother sent me an email last week that contained the phrase “nothing just happens.”  Meaning there are no accidents.  And it moved me to tears.  Which was kind of weird but it’s something that I do believe and I guess I needed to be reminded.  I love being ninja-comforted.

I love this in ways I cannot even tell you.  I think I’m gonna print it out and keep it under my pillow.

Indian food is awesome.  Home ownership is satisfying.  Landscaping is exciting.  Being employed is a relief.  Having a job you actually like is something of a miracle.  All immediate family being alive and not terminally ill is lucky.  Not being lonely is a blessing.  Mental health is a gift from the deities.  No boy trouble = bliss.  Personal evolution is a wonder, mixed drinks an elixir vitae, meditation a panacea and self-esteem, while occasionally elusive, is priceless.

Some things are shitty, and you can’t help that.  But resilience, Quan Yin, Amelie, crab rangoon and india.arie when it hits the fan can, I am firmly convinced, get you through just about anything.  Almost.

I’d mention the invaluableness of good friends but that would cross the line firmly into Hallmark territory, and fuck Hallmark and their overpriced stores AND the Brentwood bitches who work there and wear matching holiday sweaters and talk through their teeth and are always “holding something behind the counter” for the Junior League and are closed in Sundays, what the hell?  Sundays are when showers are and a prime stupid-crap gift buying day, so who the hell closes on Sundays, other than liquor stores and Chick-fil-a and you know if you’re gonna live in the South, you’re just gonna have to accept that.  Fuck them right in the ear.

That said, life is good.  Headache-y, but good.

People, people PLEASE. Why must you hate on the French? They are so awesome! If it weren’t for the french, we would not have the croissandwich. And really, I think I could stop there. But instead, I will point out other great contributions from our french freres.

*Amelie (seriously, there is a lot of great french film)
*Mousse. And creme brulee. And eclairs. And…. fuck it… PASTRY. ALL PASTRY.
*Descartes
*Neckerchiefs
*Chanel
*Tongue kissing. Yes. They invented it. Do not question me.
*Bidets
*The Can-Can
*Berets
*The phrases “c’est la vie” and “que sera sera”. Which kind of ultimately makes them responsible for the careers of Doris Day and Robbie Neville. As well as a good part of David Sedaris’ career.
*Cameras
*CHEESE
*Champagne… and wine….. and absinthe…. fuck it…. BOOZE.
*Jerry Lewis jokes

And don’t throw that whole WWII German crap at me. If it weren’t for the French? We would have lost the American Revolution and we’d all be spelling “honor” and “color” with a U in them! Is that what you want? You want bad teeth and soccer riots? DO YOU?

You lay off the French! I mean it!!

*Yeah, I know. I’m gone for months and then I reappear with this. A lot’s been happening. I think I’m, uh, evolving. Or maybe devolving. I don’t know. But I’m having a very rich inner life at the moment. And eating a lot of fruit.

So I’m nervous because I’m doing a benefit show this weekend called A Memory, A Monologue, a Rant and a Prayer.  It’s to raise money for Act Like a Grrrl (a program my theatre company does for teenaged girls in autobiographical writing and performance (and kickassery.))  It was commissioned and edited by Eve Ensler, much like her first show, The Vagina Monologues, which we’ve done about six times.  This one is a compilation of around 40 monologues written by playwrights and writers (Moises Kaufman, Alice Walker, Maya Angelou, Carol Gilligan, etc.) on the topic of how they and the people in their lives have been touched by violence against women.  Eve instructs each director to choose ten of the monologues for a show, which is a good thing because sitting down and reading all of them in one sitting made me want to swallow drain cleaner.  Some of them are kind of funny, or touching, not so wrist-slitty.  But we’re doing the one about Darfur.  And one about Imette St. Guillen.  And one by Carol Gilligan (who will actually be in town on the Friday night performance to read her own piece, so woot!)  So there are some that are very, very…  I don’t know.  Moving?  Heavy?  Important?  They’re all important.  But then there’s the scat poem we do as a cast which is just win.  And of course my monologue was written by Kathy Najimy so it’s pure comedy.  And there’s a Chinese woman, Xiu Hong, who is singing an a cappella Chinese aria that is… when she did it in rehearsal we all sat there in silence for a moment when she was done and then gave her a standing ovation.

*Also, I’m editing this now to include a word about the men in the production.  They are awesome, these guys.  Seriously.  A word, if I may, with the Men who read my blog.  (I think there may be one or two)  Take heed.  There is nothing hotter, nothing sexier, NOTHING, than a man who you know beyond the shadow of a doubt would never under any circumstances hit or otherwise abuse a woman.  Who, in fact, is vocal about his opinion on the subject.  I told Kamal, one of the guys in the show, he was probably going to be mauled by women after the show.  He laughed and said, “but that’s not why I’m doing this.  I’m doing it for my grandma and my mom.”  And then I straddled him and stuck my tongue down his throat.  Just kidding.  But I wanted to.
Here’s the official blurb:

Actors Bridge Ensemble is pleased to present the Nashville Premiere of A
MEMORY, A MONOLOGUE, A RANT AND A PRAYER (MMRP) as part of “V to the 10th” — V-Day’s 10th Anniversary Celebration. Commissioned by Eve Ensler, MMRP is a groundbreaking collection of monologues by world-renowned authors and playwrights, like Carol Gilligan, Maya Angelou, Alice Walker, Kathy Najimy and Moises Kaufman. These writings are inspiring, funny, angry, heartfelt, tragic and beautiful. Together they create a true and profound portrait of how violence against women affects all of us.

Directed by Vali Forrister, MMRP features Annie Sellick, Mike Eldred, Thandiwe Shiphrah, OlaOmi Akalatunde, Rebekah Durham, Rachel Agee, CJ Tucker, Kamal Angelo Bolden, David Chattam, Kanya Lai, Alicia Ridley, Jessika Malone and the Rev. Becca Stevens. Friday night author Carol Gilligan will read her monologue from the collection.

A MEMORY, A MONOLGUE, A RANT AND A PRAYER edited by eve ensler
A fundraising performance for act like a grrrl
Friday-Saturday, Feb 22-23 – 8 p.m.
Belmont University’s Black Box Theatre
Compton Ave at Belmont Blvd.
Tickets are $18
For reservations, call 341-0300 or visit actorsbridge.org

Did y’all know I have a thing for drumlines? Yes, I did see the movie Drumline. In the theater. I think I was the only chick in there. No matter, it was awesome.

This is the first valentine’s day in many years that I have not been involved with a production of The Vagina Monologues.  It has, in fact, sort of come to define this day for me, which when I think about it is actually pretty awesome.  This day really isn’t about significant others to me.  Yeah, it’d be nice, whatever.  But not just because of February 14.  Just having one in general.  Or not.  I don’t really mind either way.  But the point is that valentines day to me immediately conjurs thoughts of women.  Former prostitutes who have reclaimed their lives and bought houses.  Survivors of rape and violence.  Teenaged girls who are learning that they don’t have to sit meekly in the corner and wait to be asked.  Women who, in their 70s, realize that it’s not too late.  For whatever.  This gettin’ a little too india.arie for you?  Sorry.  And by “sorry” I mean “good.”  I’m just saying.  You wanna love something?  Love that you’re not homeless.  Love that you have family, even if they kind of suck.  Love that you have any friends at all who give two tin shites about you (because y’all?  I know people who kinda don’t.)  Love yourself.  Unless you’re like a murderer or something.  Then I see how that might be kinda hard.  If you’re not a stone cold killer though?  DO IT.

I bought some Hello Kitty valentines and filled them out and put them with the chocolate I brought to work out on the food table.  Here are the recipients:

Anyone who’s ever met a deadline.
Baby Jesus.
Baby Buddha.
Baby Mohammed.
The Royal Cup guy.  Please bring better coffee.
The old printer.  I miss you.
People who bring food.
Debbie.  I forgive you for putting that hideous picture of me in Grapevine (the company newsletter).  But never do it again.
The white board.  I miss you.  (they be takin’ my white board!)
Vicki’s cheeseball.
80s music.
Girl Scout cookies.

If you do not see yourself reflected in this list, then better luck next year.  Perhaps you could try making my life easier in some capacity.  Or sending me a cheeseball.  Good luck, though, because Vicki’s is Serious, yo.

Happy V-Day!