jesus' favorite

nerd alert

There are nerds and there are NERDS. (Not that this baby is a nerd.  In fact, I don't know this baby.  Maybe he is nerdy. Who knows).

As you may know, this blog started from a few choice nerds betting me to blog.  Yeah, yeah, I lost but I still stand by that they are uber nerd turds! They probably were first in line for the newest 10g mega version of the iphone dressed up like bitten out apples high fiving themselves for their purchase.  I bet they face-talk-time or whatever you call it across Los Angeles when they are geeking out over some beep bop bits.  Fine, I still have a lame 1999 blackberry that I barely can work and FINNNE, they have used the internet to be super successful actors, writers, producers, job hiring people WHATEVER! BUT…they are still nerds. (The nerdest thing I know how to do is 'control S' to save on my writing box.  Yeahh! Take that!)

Now, I haaavvveeee had an occasional nerd moment like when I used to build barbie towns in my basement and then invade them with stolen stormtroopers from my brother, or the now occasional Harry Potter marathon on ABC family.  However, this summer I nerded out on the set of 'The Guild' and got to partake in the nerd fest. Felicia Day is a long time improv actor friend as well as Kim Evey and they sure put on a fun show.  I have to admit I didn't understand MOST of what I was talking about.  There was one super cool costume embodied by may I say, a very cute 20 something gentleman so between takes I asked what he was dressed as.  He scoffed and said 'DUH! Assassin's Creed.' I was like..'Appolo Creed? Cuz I remember him in sexy satin shorts!' He didn't get my joke nor was he amused that this old Aunt lady was talking to him.  Anyway, Felicia and Kim are fucking pioneers in this genre and inspiring all around. Also, the guy that plays Vork is a dear pal.  In comedy and life in general.

Watch if you haven't.  I'm in episode 10, 11, and 12.  A teeny tiny part.   (I'm in process of getting the outakes). However, if you watch earlier eps…you may see one of our other 'nerd' friends.

Nerd!

Still..I have no idea what cos-play MMS hoo-dee-do is.

a very special night

Last night one of the improv groups I am part of, took the stage for the last night with one of it's members that's dying of cancer.  His name is Mike.

Before Mike gets chemo again, he wanted to really hit the stage without all the poison that may or may not kill him.  Doctors basically say this is the end. 

As I laughed and performed, I felt in a time warp. These men, that have been part of this group forever, whose only other girl member has been my friend Tanya and Lisa Kudrow,  laughed and pimped out eachother having the time of their lives. We all did. It felt surreal. 

Conan O'Brian who was part of the group years ago (I'm telling you, these men have enough hollywood talent and credits to fill a fucking stadium) showed up to support Mike.  Instead, we made him play and it wasn't anything but pure joy.  Mike was loved.  And honored.  And fully supported...like the true artform that is improv.

If I was dying, how would I want to be surrounded?  For sure with love and laughter. 

How 'bout you?

 

better

It’s raining in Los Angeles, a rare occurrence.  The drip of the non-functioning gutter reminds me of Midwest autumns that always smelled like windmill cookies and crushes on lacrosse players.

It’s been a long time since this blog and I have talked.  We parted awhile ago and only now is it something I can peek at.  To you 9 people whose link this still pops up on your RSS or whatever the fuck you call it, hi.  How’s life?  How have your 2 years been? I hope filled with babies, houses, money, schools, love, success, and go-gurt.

My 2 years? Let me use some words to describe ‘em.  Shitty.  Fucky.  Shit shitty.  Ballsy.  Smelly.  Sticky.  Tricky.  Ballchessy fucky.  Pissy.  Poopy.  Jinky.  Lousy.  Fuckville farty.  Messy.  Poopypants ballsac rotten.  Piss pour shit ball sucking rotten. And downright unfair.  Basically, my husband became my wusband without my permission, my young-ish dad suddenly dropped dead without my permission, my best friend got in a bad bike crash without my permission, my mom got sick, again, without my permission, my wusband sued me without my permission, I didn’t get to fulfill my wish to be a mom without my permission, and then some other horrible, I repeat, horrible ending that you’ll have to wait for the book to find out about, happened without my permission.  But one thing happened through all that.  Somewhere after 565 days or 790 days of waking up wishing you were in someone else’s life or wondering how you could punch every person posting pictures of their kids on facebook in the throat, it popped.  The zit of tragedy.  And I woke able to see color again.

The internet says death of a child and/or spouse, then parent, then divorce are the 3 worst losses. I went through 2 literally, and the first metaphorically.  When you get divorced while trying to have a kid, you kinda- sorta grieve that fantasy child whose pictures sat on your vision board.  You rip up baby name post-its you wrote at dinner and block out any 'my kid will one day play with your kid' conversations.  You become that single girl again amoungst a ton of non-single people wondering how to give hand jobs and if someone will like your spider veins.  It’s weird.  Grief traps you like that boulder in 127 hours leaving you to rail against your ‘shoulda/coulda/woulda’s’ yet, other times it sets you free to detox any and every expectation you’ve ever had. Life couldn’t FEEL worse than laying in week old tears that smelled like 2 buck chuck and chocolate or walking your father's casket down the aisle in safety pinned Old Navy pants. Sure, it COULD get worse.  And people told me that all the time...’it could be worse.’ Or ‘at least your not starving in Africa.’ But I’ll tell you this.  Some days I did feel like the small child with flies on his lips begging for just $.20 of my American dollars through the cherub face of Sally whatshername.  It’s so cliche.  Just one more day with my dad.  Just one more phone call with him laughing at his own jokes.  Just one more ride on the tractor singing ‘the sun will come out tomorrow’ then playing Dig Dug at the arcade.

Grief takes you down the scariest of hallways, like those abandon ones from some psy ward in the 80s, but if you can find an eyelash of light, it allows you to be reborn.  Reborn without some of the same really bad baggage (wusband) and without some of the really fucking awesome luggage (dad). Sigh.

I look forward to all 9 of you reading my book. But in the meantime, read this.  This will make you happy.  It did me.

Elbow and Send.