Fangs and Bangs and Chicken Wangs

The Have and Have Nots
Then, one day you wake up and harleyquin and the joker have kids! What used to be a psychotic mess of sex, drugs, and rock and roll, will culminate in a equally crazy (but happier!) mess of life lived well and for the right reasons.

I take a fleeting moment to notate here that we have two children placed with us. The battle to obtain them as our own is only beginning, but what they say is true: kids change everything. We are up to our tits in lawyers, the proverbial "helpful" crew over at DHS, Overbearing Grandparents (Dont even get me started on my Mother in law...), toys of every shape and color, cereal strewn from here to China, and giggling fits on the leather couch with the dogs.

The kids are wonderful. The oldest loves art and is completely in love with my NBXmas stuff. He is constantly attempting to crack into my art supplies. He's a Gemini: there's definately two little people developing inside that beautiful mind. He loves the dogs and things zerberts are the coolest things ever.

The youngest is....well, young! He is a bundle of curiosity, questions, and is a massive ball of ADD energy. His mood changes like his mind and is a bundle of "something new every five minutes." His world is kindergarten and bugging his big brother.

I never thought I could love two people this much. It's an amazing experience!

I'm a Mom. My marriage is finally on stable ground. I am also an Equity Stage Manager. We are about to close on a house that I adore.

I am actually toying with dropping the Stage Manager gig. I drive into rehearsal everyday in tears because I cant tear myself away from my kids. The sweet reward of tech week isn't the magnificent opening night, which there WILL be a magnificent opening night, but in the non-stop chatter in the backseat from the two little monsters who have missed me.

I am completely wearing out The Husband to pursue this career choice and that seems unfair. The only solace I find in this is the funny irony of starting and ending my professional theatre career with Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Tonight? Its opening night. Perhaps my last, but damn it if hasn't been grand.

Because LJ is not FB....
In my head, it's snowing outside and the husband is playing with our new children by the fire. Our dogs are lounging nearby and I am cooking dinner in our new house, which smells incredible.

In my head the agony and heartache of waiting and waiting and waiting is washed away be the joy of two little sets of feet that burst through the front door from the schoolbus, demanding my attention and everything is exaggerated, joyful, crazy and wonderfully colorful and chaotic.

In my head, this lousy theatre group,  unlike the last theatre group, and the one before that and the one before that and the one before that, ACTUALLY makes something professional and powerful and I get to be a part. My Equity card comes and there's great work, great songs, great acting, and the whole thing is wonderful because the dream of paying the bills doing theatre really happens. Really. I am actually moved to tears on opening and closing night because it has actually touched me in some sort of deeper level.

In my head it's autumn outside and we have just returned with a car full of kids and dogs and drinks and bubbles and leaves from our journey to put up in the Halloween wreath. There's costumes being constructed and candy sitting in large bowls next to the lizard aquarium and I am constanly shopping for face paint, and black glittery accruments.

In my head we're free from the cage of now that seems to be held by demons disguised as angels who turn our little prison over and over and laugh at our shortcomings. In my head I have extracted my revenge on them for making us wait and wait and wait in the most grizzly manner possible as I harvest their organs and sell them to the highest bidder. I keep their lying tongues as a trophy, a reminder to Never. Go. There. Again.

In my head, we're free.


Wet Face
Those tears that just keep coming and coming...are for a reason.

They cleanse the soul of all that nasty grief.

They water the seeds and begin the germination of the new life ahead.

If you're going to cry, do it well, often, and with a puppy in your lap to lick them away.

(no subject)
R.I.P. Didimous.

I held onto you for as long as I could, but I just couldn't watch you hurt anymore. You were the best dog I've ever had.

Oil and Vinegar

I've heard it said that the "Earth Goddess Type" sometime need a good dose of spiritual vinegar to cut through the fat/cushy life living.

I fear that my comfortable furnishing have created someone out of touch with the wicked edge that was the rocketfuel that propelled me forward. I long for darkness, for some sort of gothic romance that has elluded me since my arrival here. "Comfortable" isn't sexy, dangerous, or even pretty.

Everything is vanilla in the heartland. It's all goodytwoshoes "Golly gee wiz" thinking...the sheeple are all decked out in their finest xmas garb, credit cards maxed out, children sautering down the church aisle, exchanging cookies in attempt to suck in all that holiday's all in the name of "good." These types will, eventually, sweat it off at the gym next month, undertake another failed diet, and drone back to their day jobs next week, their master controls on autopilot in order to feed the offspring that they were instructed to produce.

Dont get me wrong, I'm a big fan of good. I'm a big fan of doing good because it's the right thing to do. It feels good and I would like to think that paying it forward is a way of thinking that will pay off in the end. Will it?

I feel like I have been caught in the lie of "Give! Give! Give till it hurts" and the painful place of not seeing any payoff. I can make the decision to do well, but lack the experience to see the bigger picture of "why."  Why? Why? Why????

I long for the wrong. I want to swim in the inky, sticky goodness of a three day bender, complete with beautiful companions and funny pictures to gaze it, especially on those days forthcoming that will be held with headaches, toothaches, butthurt over spilled milk, and wrestling with the beaurocratic monster that is DHS.

We are on the edge of something big and my solar plexus is screaming out.

"Find a deep cave to hide in..."

The Husband tells me that its always the last 5% that I get very anxious and simply cannot finish. I push from the beginning and somewhere in the madness, I give it all and forget to refill the oil lamp. I dont know any other way that to give my whole heart, but lately....the goal seems too fleeting that I am my spirit, in my heart, and my head is a mess of swirlling ideas.

The rocket has taken off and instead of a forward thrust, something in the master control decides "not yet" and they whole thing explodes into a fit of tears and heartache.

I am sick of waiting. This entire mess is out of control. There are forces acting in my life that I do not own the controller to, or the translation ring to claim the prize inside. Instead, I'm all dressed up, standing outside the courtyard gates, watching others dance and swirl in their happiness, and my only companion are those also stuck outside the gate, telling me how terrible it is inside. It's all a mirage and I'm a fool for believing otherwise. My heart says differently, but wasn't it my heart that got us into this in the first place?

I find that in this time, I have no more grace, no more patience. I am quite simply: very very sick of doing "good."

(no subject)

Tonight was supposed to be tech rehearsal for the last show I am stage managing for American Theatre Company. I love tech week...we work for it for weeks and weeks. The anticipation is so sweet, then finally! A few chances to rehearse in the theatre, the spiral of opening night, the push to get through to the end, and the sweet tears when it's over.

I was robbed tonight.

The Set Designer I dont get along with, showed up, decided to take over as Technical Director *last week* and was given the chance to run tech rehearsals. This wouldn't be such a big deal, except I had painstakingly worked on every nuance of the show, creating a mountain of paperwork to carefully outline every movement of 25 cast members, well over 175 light cues and 30 major set changes.

To further squeeze lemon juice in the wound? The "scenic designer/tech director" showed up unprepared and attempted to use my supplies, my prompt book (which he dropped all over the floor in front of everyone) and belabored a process that should have taken 3-4 hours into a six hour painfest.

To quit or not quit? We open in a week.

I emailed the director tonight. He was sweet and supportive. He claims tomorrow will be better. My heart is broken.

They Dont Love You Like I Love You

Finally fended off the Strep Throat Monster. I was terribly, terribly sick for three days. I haven't been down like that since my surgery back in 2008. I dont know what I did to deserve that, but holy crap! It was awful. Now? It's the ragweed. Jeesh. It's like we cant catch a break at my house.

Speaking of my house, we are stone cold sober and it completely sucks. The husband has made the rounds of job interviews, none of which panned out. I'm still waiting to hear back about an Arts Writer position with the trendy, progressive paper in the area. If that doesn't work, it's all good. I really would like to score it, tho.

I'm beginning the month of hell with the show I'm Production Stage Managing: Full Monty.  Yep, there's nudity. And drama. And good friends. And saucy flirtations. And extreme fatigue. I love it and hate it. There's a novelty to it: it will be the last one for a while. I'm sure glad it ends on Halloween because I know I will be a total fucking wreck when it's over.

I no longer work for American Theatre Company in the daytime. It ended well and I left with my head held high. I collected my last paycheck, which, of course, caused massive money-head-spins, but I think I have that worked out as well.

I have been waiting for answers about October, and now that I am no longer horizontal and wishing for death, they are smashing against my noggin like a freight train. I gotta keep my cool, but damn it if all these decisions aren't eating me alive.

In an effort to take some major adult steps forward, we are supposed to be looking into home ownership...mostly with the adoption in mind. It's rather difficult to do that without the actual children here. This process is taking FOREVER as we are waiting on the State of California to come back with our background checks. It's been nine months...I could have hired someone to give birth for us by now!

I guess I'm answering my own questions about whether or not to keep renting: I want my own house to destroy as I wish, but that goal just keeps walking away.

Off to garden. I need some major grounding, earth-loving energy.

Also? I need to walk away from the theatre for a bit. One would think that having one's ass kissed all the time is fun, but, honestly? I dont really know who my friends are anymore here. I have a trip home to LA on the horizon in April. I'll put that in my heart and attempt to get my head straight this week.

You Came, You Saw, You Conquered
Dear Self,

You have idolized your mentors, but take a good, hard look at them:

Those Production Manager types you keep looking at with googley eyes live for their jobs. They work, on average 60 hours/week and have nothing else to show for family, no real time  off, no "life"....they dont have children, or significant others. They are all very obese, or at least, have that "I take on too much stress beer belly." Is that really how you want to end up?

Is that really what you want?

I believe, oh Devious One, it's time for a massive turn around  and career make over.

Sure, you can always step back into a Management capacity and who says you cant jump ship and reinvent yourself. Again.

Time to tidy up the raw ends, kiss the current dayjob goodbye, and get with the program. You need a plan. STAT.


"No one would blame you, for walking away
Too much rejection, no love injection..."

You know it's going to be a bad post when I start off quoting labyrinth!!

All of my striving and trying has landed me a role of respect with a theatre group I hate. I wanted this day job so badly and now that I've gotten into the middle of it, I really dont like what I see.

It's all sparkly and pretty on the outside, but inside? It's filled with rotting elders who are just out to re-capture their glory days. I am consistantly angry, talked-down-to by a set designer that I wouldn't pee on if he were on fire, and my boss? She's frail, elderly, mean, nasty, and despite all of this: I respect her.

I am severaly burned out. It's not the first time. Theatre life is like a sickness: they lure you in with the prospect of doing professional work and then! The reality sets in that this is just all a flim-flam....

I have made some incredible friends. One of the directors and I have this "soul mate" relationship and work together like magic. We have a cosmic connection and he is the only reason I stick this last show out.

I had such high hopes and high aspirations for this gig. I wanted to take over...but the road to get there is such an uphill climb and I realize, halfway through, it isn't worth it.

It is with a very sad recongnition that I make the decision: its time to reinvent myself, again! This will be the last show I *Production* Stage Manage for American Theatre Company for a long, long time. I didn't have the heart to quit my dayjob with them outright as they are so short handed, but we're "taking a two week break." I dont know if I'll go back.

There's two  prospects on the horizon: Production Manager of the Ballet and an Arts Writer for the slick and progressive paper here in town. 

Oh yeah, and we're in a holding pattern with the adoption. Finish the show first, then it's time to wipe it all away, thank the universe for the memories and reclaim my heart and soul.

I feel dead inside. I need some very strict boundaries.

Top of My Game
Most people say tech week is "Hell Week." One normally puts in a good 60 hour work week and then, Poof! Just like magic: ready or not...the show goes on.

Getting actors off-book for a Shakespeare show is a long, slow process. We're finally over the hump on lines, but damn it if my lead isn't still reading some of his lines in the second 1/2 of the show? There's outrage among the rest of the cast and crew, but I'm certain he'll be ready for tech this next week.

I'm hot shit right now. I've been hired to be a Production Coordinator during the day for American Theatre Company, on top of Stage Managing at night for "Taming of the Shrew." It's performed on the front lawn of a very large, "old oil money" mansion that has now been turned into a very fancy art museum called Philbrook. ( We're on the front page of their website.

I'm working for the Artistic Director during the day. She's the Grand Dame of the Tulsa theatre landscape. I go to work everyday and LOVE my job. I've also been tapped to start an Education and Outreach component of the group. I bring in new talent based on my contacts. I've provided them with a new Stage Manager, fresh from a Stage Management workshop I taught at my alma mater, a director from another theatre group, and several other technicians.

My name is being thrown around for membership on the Board of Directors.

Like most professional artists, I'm contantly broke and hungry. I need to take a little better care of myself, but I have discovered that if I get out and garden or paint on Sundays, I'm much happier.

There....I just needed to lay that down here for a bit. I hope you are well.


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