Lesson #18: Blogs Can Be Happy

Jump around kids! No, not up and down on the floor. Jump around the blog world and you will find them.

After twelve pages of blogs from both the Phillipines and Argentina, you will find the happy out in cyber journaling.

Ooh, you hit a depressed teenage girl who will never trust boys, but can't get the hottie in Sociology to look up at her and know, just know, that it's true.

NEXT BLOG

Bump. There is the ultra Christian recital of faith. Not necessarily a downer, but really, not the funny we were looking for.

NEXT BLOG

Wow! Here is a radical blog. So many images. So much stimulas. What is that language? Does it even read left to right, or is it jumping around the page? Is that a photo of a girl or boy? I can really only make out an eye and a sweeping lock of hair. Nothing here reminds me of anything human, let's go...

Wait. There is no next blog button?!? Oh my God, I'm trapped! Can't get out!

Psst. A little man in a trench coat spit/whispers your name from the top left corner of your screen. Want funny blog, he shiftily says.

You close any responsible windows, and move your cursor closer.

Here you go, pal.

A little perky, risky in a PG13 way site. Frazzled funny.

www.boredhousewife.blogspot

Hey, how about some intellectual ridiculousness. Smart, self deprecating, and social.

www.hairshirt.blogspot

No, you want the hard stuff. Got a jones real bad, huh? This here is a pro. Crazy in the way we want. Fill your head. Don't worry, this will never be bad. No, it's not porn!

www.girlsarepretty.com

Ah.

Now that feels good. Thanks blog. Life is weird, just like they promised it would be.

and that was the weak that was

I get off of work, and no one has called my cell.

I get home, and no one has called my phone.

I get online, and no one has emailed me.

My friends are at home, and my roommate isn't.

I read people's blogs, just to try to get a little human contact.

Everyone is pretty miserable in blog world. So much pain, so much loneliness.

Over and over I read of this, and think, Life can sure be miserable.

I stop reading, I can't take it anymore. I get up from the computer. I look around the room. Nobody is there. I am alone.

The wine calls my name.

I pour a glass and sit. I try to read, but the silence is deafening.

I go back to the net. More misery. I begin to hate. It pours out of me. Why, God, why? What's worse is, we are the priveleged. The one's who all others supposedly look up to. The one's who "have it all". Is this all it is?

Hate. Misery. Loneliness.

I just want to see someone in love.

I switch to porn.

At least there, it is closer to love. I go to the movies, more real. I search out the ones where they seem to feel. Where it isn't so produced that it seems a show. I want to find people who might actually be feeling good.

If I don't it is sad. If I do, I feel sad that this is where I go to find it.

The second glass screams my name.

The clock tells me, go ahead. You have nothing better to do.

I feel like bursting outdoors, just running down the street.

But there is nothing there. Nothing here. Nothing there.

The self loathing hits half way through glass number two.

Some how, self loathing is a proficient writer.

I purge through the keyboard. Spill out the hate like a teenager's first drinking binge.

I finish, publish, look at the words. Used to be, I would look at the words and their power would fade. They became unreal just by their existence.

Now, they mock me.

As I look at them, they laugh at me, how ineffectual the reading turns out to be.

I close the page.

I seek something else, anything else, out.

Nothing is there, too.

In the morning, I read the words again.

Nobody has responded.

The words haven't changed.

These days, I lay in bed awake for over an hour, because I know the words are the same. I don't want to get up. I don't want to read them again. I try desperately to fall back into the dream I can only partially remember. Fall back into the part where the woman says it will all be better. But I know that woman. In real life, I know her. She would never say that. Maybe that is why, after I wake, I can never fall back there.

I get up.

Nobody has responded. Nobody has written. Nobody has called. Nobody is home.

The words are the same.

Fifteen hours later, it begins again.

The truth is I hate the night.





The truth is I hate myself at night.



Not very funny, is it?

And We're Back

OK. I ain't so petulant this morning.

I don't hate the show, and I'm not giving up. I am frustrated with how it went last night, and I do feel like I'm not giving my friends the show that they pay for and find time for week after week.

We had a small house last night. That was to be expected, being Halloween weekend and all. As we were backstage, the cast said, Ok, we are only doing this show tonight for us. So, let's go have fun. This is our show. Someone then said, and for Tony's friends. They all totally appreciate the fact that I am the only one who brings people week after week.

Still, having fun by enjoying the show, and having fun by just getting crazy are two different things. Last night, we got crazy.

The night had started out great.

I gave out flyers on Hollywood, then headed over to the bar to grab a bite to eat. There was a big benefit going on at the theatre before our show, so they were all waiting to get in when I arrived to eat. I sat at the bar, and next thing I know, the seat next to me is pulled and an older black man asks if he can sit there.

It was Garrett Morris, from the original SNL cast.

I said yes, and then said, so what are you up to tonight.

He talked about the benefit, and that it was Alex Boorstein from Mad TV. He asked me if she was still on the show, but I didn't know who she was, and said I didn't know. I had however, just had lunch with some of the Mad TV crew, and told him about that, and that I had heard of the benefit going on from them.

He then asked if I was an actor. I said yes, and gave him one of the cards to our show. He asked me more about it, and then said he would come some time. His girlfriend/agent/manager/handler came by and said time to go, and he held his hand out to shake mine, and introduced himself. Then he told the woman to come over, and he introduced her to me, telling her I was an actor in the next show, and that they needed to come see it some time.

I thought that was cool.

The other funny thing was when Alex Boorstein was packing up after her benefit, and apologizing to us for making our show a half hour late. She was packing a suitcase, and would go in and out of the common room to grab items and fill the case. As she was out, her boyfriend came in and grabbed the case, thinking it packed, and left with it. She came into the room with an item, saw the case gone, and looked at us and said, Ok, which of you cocksuckers took my suitcase.

HW said later he was very proud to have Alex Boorstein call him a cocksucker.

----------------------------------------------

Got off the phone with KK. He told me to relax. He told me that I care too much, as any artist would, but to just let go and have fun. He said the show is very fun, and that my friends are enjoying themselves.

I'm going to try and listen to him.

Bitter, drunk, and angry

I hate this fucking show.

I tried to make my character something more than the shit he mostly is, and I had great ideas, but they were shot down either by the people I was acting with, or the director choosing the scenes.

I give up. That is it. I'm done. There are only three more shows, and I am phoning them in.

The worst part is my friends come all the time. I wish they wouldn't.

I don't actually mean that. I love that they come. It is one of the only nights I ever get to see them, and they are SO loyal, that it makes me feel good. However, I wish to repay that loyalty with quality, and I haven't. Sure, there are aspects of each show that they love, but ultimately, I know, this isn't the best. I want so badly to give them the best. They deserve it.

Still. Fuck this show. Fuck it. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Bitter, drunk, and angry.

All rise?

So, last night at rehearsal, we did the soap opera as practice. We chose a different locale, and six people were assigned characters, and we worked on the pace to try and strive for tension.

It was much fun, and afterwards, we all said we should make the next Scandal! set in a particular place. Like General Hospital, or something along that line.

Then, since we were on the subject, we got to talking about the next Scandal!. Our director said that changes are going to be made to the next cast that he had originally assigned because after our last show on the 18th, he is going to move people up to the main company, Zebra.

That came as a shock to many of us, and it was the end of the night, so we stopped the conversation.

After, some of us went to the bar for drinks, and we were speculating on who would be moved up. One girl told me she was sad because the best guys would be going. She meant, PT, HW, and me.

Others said they thought that PT was a shoe in. Pretty many agreed HW was also. No one else thought I was.

What the fuck?

Why can't I seem to get the fricking respect I deserve? I know that this particular character I am doing isn't the greatest, but come on! I obviously know how to improvise, and am funny. I also go out of my way to do things for the company, like bring people every week, get someone to do the filming every week, and go out on the street and pass out flyers every week!

It pissed me off.

I talked to PT today, and he said that I was a shoe in. He is always in my corner. HW pretty much is too, but he would rather be funny than loyal, and it is funnier to make fun of, than to support. I'm sure though, if push came to shove, he would get behind me.

Now the burn.

If I do move up, as I am so indignant about it better be happening, then I won't get to see T. She just joined Yankee, and would have to do two shows before even qualifying. That would be like seven months. That would suck.

Of course, now that I think about it, she would be in the show on the same night as me, so we would see each other, just in performance mode, and then maybe after for drinks.

Ok. I'm good with that.

Lord knows, I have to keep seeing her, because it wouldn't be right for me to fall for someone available. Some one I might have a chance with. No. That would be awful. Better to heave over girls that have boys already.

I got a funny feeling I won't get that respect from others until I get it from myself first.

Shit.

That makes it just like happiness. Something I have to give me first, before others can also. That sucks.

Well, so much for happiness, love, and respect. Aw, who needs 'em.

An open book

Spent last night drinking heavily with my friend TH.

Didn't get home until 6AM. Total of two bottles of wine, and two independent glasses. The second bottle was opened at 2:30AM. That is always a sign that you will be drunk.

Our conversation was very frank. Partly because I am trying to live a life of an open book policy. TH is one of the few people who, I believe, is diametrically opposed to that said life style.

He is very guarded, and doesn't want anyone to know his business unless he hand picked them to know it.

He said that he believed himself to be an open book. I laughed. He said that anyone could come up and ask him anything at anytime, and he would tell them. I said that may be true, but that he makes it clear that we shouldn't ask him anything.

He pressed me about how open I am. I told him that I blog, and that people I know read it. I didn't mention who, but I did say that they are out there. I also told him that I had blogged about his campaign to get me laid, and other things he and I have talked about.

It was funny to watch him take this information in, after just espousing to being an open book. You could see his concern that I might have revealed something to someone he didn't know. Anyway, after we got over that, he remained very frank the rest of the night. It might have been to show me how open he is, or it might have been the wine. Either case, it was a good conversation.

What Would You Do For Funny

Last night, I bartended at the book function for my acting teacher.

He just released a book, naming the eight characters of comedy, and he had us all dressed in black, with one of the character names printed across our chest.

I was neurotic. Surprise, huh?

Well, I sure set up my bar like a neurotic. I had red wine on one side, white on the other. Even number of bottles each and in a design of two, then one, then two, and so on.

Next to that, heading into the middle of the table, I had a row of plastic glasses on each side. Then a picther of water on each side, then napkins, then four always poured red and white glasses in the middle. Everyone who came to the bar commented on how neurotic I was setting it all up. They loved it though, because they thought I was acting the part. I was just me.

One woman asked if I picked out the character name, or if they just gave me a random t-shirt. I told her that SS, our teacher, assigned us characters, based on our type and personality. I said I guess I'm neurotic. She said, so what, everyone is.

It was fun to be the bartender. Everyone is cool to you, and, next to the book writer, I was the most important person there. I was joking with everyone, in my smart ass manner, and having a ball.

A couple of guys hit on me. My teacher is gay, and there seemed to be a preponderance of subscribers to the lifestyle there last night. I am ok with guys hitting on me, I have gone through it most of my life. A life in the theatre just brings that on. I can handle it. So, I would just joke around with them, and then get back to business. They usually would get the hint, and leave. Maybe they realize I'm straight, maybe they think I'm not interested. Either way, they stop.

Well, one guy kept it up. At the top of the night, he asked for one of everything. I said, a glass of red, a glass of white, and a glass of water? He said, No, one glass of all of them.

We joked about how delicious that would be, and just what color it would be. I said the cab would hold the purple, he chose rosy. Now you know why I thought he was gay.

Well, he kept up the joke everytime he came by.

The final time, he said he wanted to see me drink it. Well. I am not only ready at a moments notice to do ANYTHING for a laugh, I am also a bit of an alcoholic, and was ready for a drink. So, I poured cab, then chardonnay, then water into a glass. Filled the glass, which was the size of a rocks glass, and held it up to him and said cheers. He thought I intended for him to drink it, but I explained that cheers was a sort of toast. We clincked glasses, and I drank. I downed the entire thing in one shot. He watched, and after said, now that's funny.

He started to ask my name and how I was connected here. He has already told me his name, but I forgot it, and in trying to not reveal I forgot it, I never asked his. After I told him I was a student of SS's, he seemed interested. I asked him what he did, and he said manager. I asked if he was SS's manager, and he said no, just a manager. He then said he had a fairly sizable pool of talent, but no one for sitcom. I told him I had a sizable amount of talent, but no manager. He said, funny how that happens. Then he asked my name again, including my last name, and said goodnight.

So, if somehow I get a manager out of this, that would be so way totally freaking get outta here you gotta be kidding me cool.

Ah, it's all going along just as I never planned.

Instincts: A lesson in what to think

Animals have them at birth, and it tells them important things like where to find food, not to go into water, or that gophers are the stupid ones.

We are, after all, animals. Some far more than others, but all are ruled by their instincts. Here is how I know.

Music.

Probably the art form that all, everywhere, can easily access. Video can be just as powerful, but language can get in the way. For music, you don't need to understand what the singer is saying to feel the emotion. That explains Joe Cocker.

Music is where you tap into emotion, and my feelings have been telling me to tap. All week, I told you, I had been playing the Beck album, Sea Change, or as we all know it, his break up with that chick after eight years album. Each time it made me cry like a baby, but I still continued to play it. I needed to. My instincts told me to purge, and Beck is good purge, man. Goood purge!

Now, instincts can take it too far.

Shopping for pants at an Army surplus store yesterday, I found myself in a 3 by 4 changing room, pants around my ankles, when Phil Collins' Against All Odds song came on. In kicked the purge. Suddenly, my instincts to feel were trapping me in a cry jag in an Army surplus cube, with particles of inappropriate clothing, for crys and Army stores, off of me. Damn that emotion svengali, Phil Collins.

Also, they can turn situations around to serve you.

On my way to acting class today, where my new haircut needed to pass the final test, I popped in Death Cab For Cutie. Now, I was telling myself not to apologize for the cut before getting any feedback. I was going to be strong. DCFC, however, was kicking into a sad song, and that was kicking me into whoa is me mode. I instinctively knew that would weaken my strength, so I turned it off, and switched to a Suzzane Vega tune. Not the sort of choice that would make you think strong and happy, but it was that song where she pours milk in her coffee and goes, do do do do do. Plus, it was the version where those kids made it better by putting good music with it. So, anyways...

Instincts.

She says in the song, you know how you feel like someone is watching you. That too is instincts.

Ever drive along the freeway, and your jamming to a tune, and suddenly you know, you just know, the guy next to you is looking at you. So, you look and they look away real quick. What is that but instincts. How could you feel, actually feel, someone looking at you? You can't. It is instinctual.

Prediction.

I thought that my acting teacher might hate my new cut. The reason I thought it is, it makes me unready for auditions. I don't have a headshot, and can't market myself. He is big about being always ready for the industry.

However, I thought he might like it too. He pegged me as the neurotic, which, as I told before, was one of the deciding reasons to do this new cut. It fits the neurotic more than my last cut.

Well, in class the students, for the most part, liked it. Two people didn't, but one conceded to not hate it. The other just hates me, so why would she like the cut.

My teacher didn't know who I was. The assistant had to tell him. Then, all of a sudden, he could see me. He was shocked that a cut could so change someone. Then he told me he liked it. He said it fit the neurotic so much better than my last cut. I saw myself on tape and realized I do need just a bit more on top, not much, but to break an odd line in my profile that stands out on camera. He watched the tape, and said the same thing.

Instincts. I know when something is right. I can feel it. Even when people around me tell me, no, you are just being a pessimist, I know I am right. Generally, I know I'm right, and everyone else is wrong when I think it is something negative, and they all think positive, but occasionally, it is reversed.

Don't believe me?

Too bad. I know I'm right.

What Have I Unleashed?

A couple of the girls at work, who the first time they saw my new do said they liked it, are now "concerned" about me.

They believe I have become angrier with the new look. What stupid d*#$%@%bags they are. I told them they just perceive me as angrier, but in fact, I am just as angry as I was before.

That didn't calm their fears.

Maybe the new look is intimidating. I do concede that. Many people are frightened of a 6 foot, 160 lb. man with obvious thinning issues. Next to the Nazis, we are film's favorite bad guy. Add to that the "alarming" use of sarcasm in my vernacular, and "daddy makes the children cry". Also, the alarming use of quotations around words is "troubling".

So, I might be a crazed homicidal comedian. So, what? There has been plenty of those. Why do you think you never hear about that guy who played Larry on Three's Company. He hacked up the girl who played Crissy's sister for one season. True story.

I guess I'll keep an open mind about the scare factor until I see my acting teacher tomorrow. If he likes it, done. If not, then I'll give it some thought. Maybe a little longer would soften me up.

I just don't want a banker's cut. Then I really will be a crazed killer.

Perchance to Dream

Nothing much to write about today.

Did have a good conversation with my Nubian Goddess last night, but it is mostly still on the theme of who am I now. For a bit now, I have felt like my life was stopped, and I was thrown into someone else's life. I knew what to do in this person's life, but it wasn't mine. I wondered whose life it was. Now, when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, not expecting to see the new look, I am startled to see someone there I didn't expect. Then, I realized who it was. This is the person whose life I have absconded. This fleshy faced, bristle headed rube is who I am supposed to pretend to be.

Well, my Nubian Goddess, rather than tell me that the rube and I are in fact the same man, said go with the rube. She loves the new cut, as all women do. She in fact wants it shorter, and dyed. Not happening. She said that after her divorce, she felt the same way, and thought that the person who she became, not by choice, was actually the cooler, more who she wanted to be person. So, she stayed with it.

I must admit, this guy is more who I wanted to be. He does a show. He is paid to act every so often. He is a regular in an expensive acting class. He has women complimenting him. Eight months ago, I never would have said that about myself.

So, if this is the guy, then where is it going?

Well, (HARP MUSIC BEGINS HERE) maybe the future holds a further trip down this path. Maybe, through connections in class, Rube is able to get an agent, one who believes in him and actively tries to make life good for him (HARP MUSIC HITS A SOUR NOTE, PAUSES, THEN RESUMES).

Rube finds a couple of acting gigs in small roles on TV. Nothing huge. People at work miss it, but a few catch it, and say, hey great job. There is a party amongst friends, and all laugh and enjoy the momentary success of Rube.

More auditions come. Some successful, some not. Finances get a little easier. Those new headshots are no problem now. The acting class is set, not desperately grabbed for week after week. More time is taken off from the restaurant for theatre. The people at the restaurant are sad to see him go, but he stops in every now and again, and gets a bit too drunk, and hits on one of his female friends. She smiles, and lets him down easy.

Finally, a pilot comes around, and he auditions for it. He doesn't get it, but the casting director loves him, and calls him in all the time for other work. He actually starts a retirement fund. Buys a new car. Not new to him, but actually fucking NEW (HARP MUSIC IS AT A FULL CRESCENDO NOW).

Then comes another pilot. The perfect role. Rube is hot in the audition. Success. He moves out of the cramped, but happily lived in apartment, and buys a small house, or possibly a really cool condo (HARP MUSIC PLAYS A BIT OF VAN HALEN, REALIZES IT SUCKS, AND RETURNS TO CONVENTIONAL SOUNDTRACK MATERIAL).

Pilot becomes show. Show becomes hit. Show runs for six years. Small movie roles come Rube's way. He challenges himself in different roles. Some work out well, others get panned. Nevertheless, acting goes forward.

All the while, the casual dating scene heats up, and a spry girl who laughs a lot, and thinks askew comes into Rube's life. She doesn't know who he is at first, and they laugh about his assumed "fame". Together, they share a love supreme. Financially secure, he helps her out with artistic endeavors of her own, and all the while they plan for a family. The kids (No more than two) come, and happiness is exponentially raised.

Rube is now making his own films, and the children are raised in a pleasant community far, far away from LA. The happy couple look at life and laugh about the struggles they both once knew.

They retire, occasionally doing the odd pet project. They throw themselves in to supporting their children's interests.

They die. Peacefully. Him first. Liver disease. She, a year later.

(HARP MUSIC IS IN FULL TEAR INDUCING MODE)

The children donate money to a museum in their parents names, and a brick of marble is etched with Rube and his wife's name for posterity.

(HARP MUSIC FADES) The End.

Not discussed in this story: the affair Rube has seven years into the relationship, the lawsuit after he backs out of a movie directed by Frankie Muniz, the fact that the second child has a severe case of depression which costs Rube thousands in therapy bills, and the misguided attempt to build a dream house in the Fiji.

Prisonbreak

Prisonbreak is a hot new show, where hot new male actors take showers together and contemplate ignoring authority.

It is everything America wants in TV.

I know this because since Friday, everyone has told me about the show.

Why, you ask?

Well, on Friday, I shaved my head. I went from looking like Kramer, to looking like the guy on Prisonbreak, only with a couple of patches on top where there is no hair. Oh, and not as sexy. Oh, and I really respect authority. Oh, get real, I hate authority. But, I still do what they say. Unless they are really stupid. You get it.

I like the new look. Most people seem to like it too. Mostly the women I know. One told me, NOW you look handsome.

NOW. NOW I look handsome.

Everyone wants to know why.

Hair is why:
1. I need to start looking sexy to women, if I am ever going to get sex from women.
2.Everyone would tell me how shocking it was to see my bald patch under my huge hair. Now, it isn't a shock. In fact, it announces itself.
3. I started to realize that the sitcom character I always wanted to be, aka the in their own universe type(Kramer), is not really the sitcom type I am. I'm more the neurotic, aka Frasier, and they are cleaner cut. So, clean cut.
4. My agent dropped me, so I don't HAVE to look like anything right now.
5. It was time to get new headshots, and that usually means committing to a look for two or three years, so I thought I would play around and find the next look for that time.
6. I need a change. More to the point, these days my whole life is change, so I went even further with the theme.


My BGR (big, gay roommate) loved it. He mentioned a time a while back when I had very short hair. He said, real slow, I looked good then. Creeped me out a bit. I'm putting a lock on my bedroom door. Why am I so irresistable? Why are you laughing?

So, I did that.

My sister sent me a form online which asks you questions about whomever sent the form. I tried to answer about her, and found I didn't know a lot. It was weird. One question asked do you think we are friends. I answered yes, but after my poor performance, I wonder.

I sent it out to friends to see how different the response would be from people you really know. Most people who responded knew me very well. I am a bit of an open book. Even if they aren't reading this, I tend to recycle these tales for humor when drunk.

One question asked what is your favorite memory of the person, and those who responded to me, I found I didn't remember the moment they found to be their favorite. I wonder what that says about me? Either, I am not paying attention to the good times, or I have such a different value system than those I hang out with, I don't place weight on the times they do.

Conundrum.

I am getting a jump in visits to my profile. For months, it was stuck at the number 24. Now in the past week, I checked and it was at 45, and then 62. So, if you are reading this, post a comment. Anything. Yell at me, tell me a story that this made you think of, tell me to think something, just say hi. Whatever. I'm easy.

Crushing Hard

A friend used the term crushing to describe me the other day. It means that I am obsessing about a person, with a romantic tinge to the obsession.

He was telling me to stop crushing on the waitress at work. I told him I had already decided to let that go, because it can't go any further. She was just a floatation device I grabbed onto while drowning.

Plus, I have another.

Last week at rehearsal (well, actually the show we went to instead of rehearsal) I met T.

She is a very funny, pixie like girl. CUTE! Nice body, wicked sense of humor, bubbly.

She sat down next to me at a table and ordered a scotch on the rocks, and then made fun of me. I hadn't even gotten to know her name yet, and already I loved her. I told her too. Said that she made me feel small and weak, and that I was going to fall in love with her. She thought I was kidding. Later I found out she has a boyfriend, then he joined her at the bar. She had been making fun of the male waiter all night, and when she told her boyfriend the joke, I leaned in and told him to watch out because someone might try to steal her away from him. They both thought I was talking about the waiter. I meant me.

Then I forgot about her. Not totally. I did look up her picture on our website of troupe members.

Until tonight.

I was supposed to miss my rehearsal to go to my murder mystery show, which was having a special rehearsal. I did think, oh, I won't get to see her. That saddened me. Then my mystery show got canceled, and I ran, seriously RAN, over to rehearsal for improv. She was there.

At the break, we talked. I really think she was kind of flirting with me. She had a Pepsi bottle, and kept twirling it in her mouth. At one point, she was doing it unconciously, I pointed it out to her, and she did it bigger. Then, I grabbed her and started to lead her out the door, saying, Lets go hang out somewhere private.

See that. That's me being charming. Witty, huh?

Still, the rest of the night, every time there was something funny in a scene, we would look at each other to see the other laugh. If I'm doing it to her, feeling like I am, then what does it mean if she is doing it to me?

Anyway, now that rehearsal is over, I can't stop thinking about her. I so want to lay in bed with her and just poke fun of each other. Well, that's not all I want to poke, but this is a family blog. Yeah, right.

She has a real quirky quality, a total individualistic style that I love. It actually reminds me just a bit of how X used to behave when I first met her. Very out there, but funny. I remember thinking that X was one of the few girls that actually cracked me up. I wonder what ever happened to her sense of humor, because it is very diminished.

T, the pixie, certainly has the humor. I think that is what I need. A laugher. She would be more than that though, she would also be a performer. Listen to me, already working out the dynamics of our never going to happen relationship.

Oh, yeah. I'm crushing hard.

Happiness is...

After my birthday, a friend wrote and said it was good to finally see you happy.

That struck me. I thought I had had moments of happy.

Talking with another friend, I told him what was said. The second friend said, you haven't been happy. You've been funny. There is a difference.

I guess he is right. The problem is, when I am funny, I think I am happy, because mostly all I want to do is make people laugh. And in a way, I am a little happy when I make people laugh. Why do you think my friend said it was good to see me happy on my birthday? I had just come out of a great show, where we made people laugh.

I thought about that yesterday. Whatever happiness I had on my birthday, a mere six days ago, is gone. While with my therapist yesterday, I had the feeling of disconnect again. I literally felt like a balloon, wanting to rise and float away. My head seemed to me to bob on a string and I couldn't seem to keep it from floating to the left and right. I remember thinking I should pay attention to what she was saying, but I was having a hard time just paying attention to keeping my feet on the floor, because if I didn't do that, they would rise, and I would start to float, right there in the room. There is nothing more rude than to float on someone while they are saying something important.

When I got back home, I read in Time mag again. I thought news might ground me. The cover story is a book exerpt from Dr. Andrew Weil. If you don't know his name, you probably would recognize his face. He is a huge proponent of natural living and is seen on all sorts of guru products. He is bald with a giant fluffy white beard. Sort of like Santa on mesculin.

In his book, he is talking about aging properly. He just turned 60, and he is struck by how good he looks compared to some others his age. I got news for you Andy, you don't look that good. Maybe healthy, sure, but style? Bitch, you ain't got it.

Anyway, most of the things he said to do, I used to do. X and I used to be very healthy. I actually enjoyed that. When we split, MM asked me if I was glad to not be eating sticks now. No, actually, I was glad when I was eating them. Sometimes, I wanted a burger instead, but I knew that what I was eating was much better for me, and that felt good.

These days, I eat the burger.

I am not much of a cook. So, my diet for about the last year, starting even while X and I were together, but she was too busy at school, has been mostly restaurant food, or prepackaged TJ's food. Occasionally, I make pasta or stir-fry, but not often.

After reading Dr. Weil, I became very sad. I miss that homestyle life. I miss the cooking, and the leftovers, and the loved one curled up in a blanket on the couch, and falling asleep in front of the TV. That suburban ideal of life at home.

Driving to work, I put in Beck's break up ablum, the one before last, and cried on the whole drive to work. I felt much better afterwards, but I did realize I am not happy.

Then last night I was struck with another awful thought. If I think that all of those things that I described, and a lot of what I have written about here, is what will make me happy, I am in trouble. Mostly because, all of those things rely on someone else. Which would make my happiness rely on someone else. That is a sure way to ruin a relationship, by making the other responsible for your happiness. They either won't be up to the task, and you'll hate them, or they will suffocate under the pressure.

So, I am fucked. I have to provide my own happiness. What the hell will it take to find that? I moved to LA to provide it for myself, but no, not happy. I got involved with shows to provide it, but only happy right after the show. Does that mean I need to perform every night, just to be happy? Maybe?

Ok, I'll go with that one. Perform every night. Audience laughs every night. My happiness every night is in direct correlation with the audience's enjoyment of my talent.

Again, I am so fucked.

What do I say.

So, my friend is now blogging. I think it is great. Good luck.

I encourage anyone who happens to read this, if you are not writing, do so now. Anything. Just write. It helps.

So, I haven't really written lately, but I do mentally. You see, with my big, gay roommate around, it is hard to muster up the private thoughts. Plus, I don't want him to read over my shoulder. This is the one disadvantage to having my computer still out in the common room, rather than in my bedroom where it wouldn't fit.

He is gone now. Spinning discs at a leather gay bar. I met the bartender the other night. He is huge, and buff, and tatooed, and shaven head, and prissy. Leather bar? Hello! Mary Tyler Moore had more testosterone.

Funny, though, in our little scenario, I am the womanish one. I'm smaller. I'm less handy. I'm indescisive. I'm sensitive. I'm the one who is worried about everyone's emotions. I'm the one not getting laid all the time.

While having our talks over the last weekend, he told me that what really helped him get over his divorce was getting laid. I reminded him that he was getting laid BY MEN! It is a little easier that way. You don't just GO OUT and get laid by women. MEN YES, women no.

He told me I needed to be a bit more predatory. In a good way, but still. He also told me that I needed to stop being the woman in my relationships. How humiliating to have your big, gay roommate tell you to stop being the woman, and him being right.

But, right he is. Not in the eyes of the pope, but in relationships, he's got me.

I tend to get into relationships where the other needs me to fix them. When I do, they tire of me. Their need is, what I believe to be, love. In fact, it is just their need. Now, I knew that before he told me, but I had only just discovered it, and had only just discussed it with my therapist. According to BM, all my friends knew it for a while.

All of my friends also, apparently, have been plotting to get me laid.

They have had discussions on the topic. Also, my co-workers, I come to find. Their discussions were not so involved, but were still of the "it should happen" variety.

So, my friend TH has taken it upon himself to complete this goal. He would be the one to do it, too. He is like Sam Malone with a smart sense of humor. He tells me that I am funny, and smooth, and good looking, and that is what women want. He tells me to go out at night thinking, there is a woman out there who wants to have sex with me.

I told him to be prepared for raw disappointment.

First of all, I am funny, but in a self deprecating way. Did I really need to tell you that? So, if I entertain the girl for two hours while getting enough liquor into her, my brand of entertainment will be two hours of "look what a dork I am". Then, I have to suddenly switch gears and get this girl to suddenly believe that she wants me naked and squirming around on top of her?! That's like having a burger stand called Mad Cow's.

Add onto that, the terrible combination of absolutely no self esteem.

Those who are funny, with self esteem, get everything. Those who aren't funny, but with self esteem, get somethings. Those who are funny, with no self esteem, get only laughs. Those who aren't funny, and no self esteem, get porn.

So, I am going to have to deal with that for a bit. To be honest, I would love to get laid now. To be realistic, I don't know if I will. I also have an incredibly high standard that I usually set, but it has been a while, and principles and morals dissolve quickly next to a willing body.

Oh, and everyone so far LOVES the shirts! Good buy!

My Gift

I had a good birthday.

I ended up happy at the end of the day.

A couple of reasons why:

1. I actually went out and got myself a gift. Something I hadn't done in years. Instead of hoping that someone else would get me what I want, I got what I want. It felt great.

2. We had a great show. The kind where we all crack each other up, and feel like a group that loves each other once again. I personally also had what I thought was a good show. Both of those aspects really, truly helped.

The show is such a source of everything for me right now. When it isn't going well, I am in the crapper. When it is going well, I float along all week thinking about the great moments, and anticipating the next show. I just wish we were getting bigger crowds. It would both make the show that much more fun, and get us the door amount the owner of the theater expects us to earn.

Other than that my birthday was good. I mean even without those things, I had a good day. I went to lunch with a friend, and sat up late a couple of nights just drinking and talking with BM. We talked about divorce, and sex, and spirituality, and philosophy, and interior design. They were good talks. That is the nice part of roommates.

Seriously, What Do You Want?

So, my birthday is tomorrow. What am I going to do?

I have my scotch-tape comedy show at night, so I won't be drinking, or having a party. Not, at least, until after I schlep off the stage.

I invited a friend to go to lunch with me. I haven't gotten the chance to hang with him for awhile, so that will be nice. He knew it was my b-day, too. All I said was want to go to lunch, and he said for your birthday.

It was cool because it was at work, and a couple of the waitresses, including E, were standing there, and suddenly knew it was my birthday, without me having to tell them.

Which, in a way, is what I want. Talking with KK I realized what I hate about my birthday. I really don't feel like anyone cares. By anyone, I mean deep love person. Sure friends call up and say, hey, but that isn't the same. I guess my folks must have fucked up a birthday sometime back, and it lingers in me.

My X never really did much for my birthday. Once, when I was planning a huge bowling party for the day, I asked her for help and she said she didn't know what I wanted, and wouldn't be able to do it. I had to set the whole thing up myself. I remember thinking when she said that, you surely don't know what I want. That was three years ago, before we were married even. Signs, signs, everywhere the signs.

I guess what I really want is just to be happy. Not like LIFE happy, but happy for the day happy. Maybe lunch will do it. Yeah, I don't think so either.

Just now I was thinking of birthdays past. Here they are:

'04- Went to a fancy steak dinner with X. She had school during the day, and we had reservations for 7:30. I wanted to go see a movie before, but she ran late at school, and didn't even get home until 7. She rushed to get dressed, and we went to dinner. Nice dinner. Ate at a little house that I had always seen, and wanted to try. She gave me a card that talked about our marriage and the loss of Kip. After reading it, she said it was probably more appropriate for our anniversary. I never got a card for our anniversary.

'03- Went to Santa Barbera to pick out the beach where we would get married. Got drunk early in the day, and bought our wedding T-shirts at Urban Outfitters. Saw Kill Bill. It was ok, not great. I wanted to see Intolerable Cruelty. Ate at the italian joint as a dry run for our wedding dinner. Got sat at a crappy table, my legs hitting the post it was so small, and a couple at another table facing us. Awkward. X didn't want me to make a fuss, so we ended up eating at the table. I buried my anger.

'02- Bowling party, and Karaoke. Actually a fun time, but the resentment of having to put it together all myself is still there. The next day we went to dinner with another set of friends, and during the conversations I realized we didn't have much in common. I don't hang with that group anymore.

'01- Went to a Cassavetes movie in the morning with friends who didn't understand the movie. One was BM. After, BM and his wife took me and X to lunch. I told them I felt depressed, and was already hating the day. They tried to cheer me up, but it didn't work. X was frustrated that I was depressed, she never liked my frailty. That night had a small get together with friends, one of whom TH was having his b-day in a couple of days, so we had a joint thing.

'00- Went to Magic Mountain with a small group of friends. A photo booth picture of us is attached to my computer, and I am looking at it now. Fun day. One of the best pictures X and I ever took is from that day. We were feeling strong as a couple, after nearly a year and a half of not.

'99- X was going to move out in three days. She was going back to Chicago, and didn't know if she loved me, or the guy who I had been housing for the past two months. She gave me an expensive camera that I had asked for years back. I cried when I got it. She said she wanted to give it to me now, because she felt like she owed it to me. That day, I helped my rival pack up his storage and he moved to Seattle. He told me as he was leaving, happy birthday, and I said no. He didn't know at the time that I as aware of him and X telling each other they thought they loved each other. That night I met TH for drinks, and went into the bathroom of the bar and cried. That day sucked.

'98- Had been living in LA for only one week. MM and MW took us out for Mexican food. X hated LA already, and complained about it. MW couldn't handle her negativity, and pushed back. That was the start of the friction that would eventually lead the four of us not to speak for almost two years.

'97- My thirtieth. Big party. Everyone I knew was invited to our house. I asked X to put it together. She couldn't do it, and asked me to call people and invite them to my own birthday. She was afraid of phone calls then. I did it. My CD player broke right before the party, and I asked my sister and her new husband to bring their's. They got lost coming from the suburbs, and didn't show up until an hour and some into the party. It was quiet at first. Eventually, it did get going. Turned out to be a fun night. I wore my pajama bottoms the whole night. Thought I looked cool. Thought I was crazy fun. Thought things would go so well.

'96- Went to a fancy steak dinner, with coupons from the trolley company where I worked. X and I had just moved in together, and we had just got the O. I don't remember much else about that day.

'95- I don't remember what we did, but just a few days ago, as I was sorting through stuff, and throwing away, I found the card that X gave me that day. I usually throw cards away, but I had kept this one because it was my first b-day with her, and hence, the first b-day card she gave me. She wrote something mushy about how my love was everything, and said sorry for something she had done. It struck me how that card gave the clues to everything that our relationship would turn out to be. After reading it, I threw it out.

'94- I would meet X in just two weeks. I was trying to bed a little waitress that I worked with, but she wouldn't have me. I worked the lunch shift, and then some other waiters took me out for drinks. I got hammered. Came home, and took a shower to sober up. I played Jane's Addiction's Nothing Shocking to try and get me energized. My roommate, DD, was making me a jumbalaya dinner and having over his new girlfriend too. I passed out in the recliner, and when dinner was ready they woke me up, and we ate. I stayed up for a bit more, and then went to bed. Pathetic.

'93- I had just moved into an apartment by myself. First time living alone. I remember feeling anticlimatic that day. Went over to the loft, where DD, KK, and AV lived. Hung out with them, smoking and drinking, and watching cable TV.

'92- My 25th. That was the secret day with Capt. Morgans.

'91- Drove down to WIU to visit MM. That weekend I tried to sleep with two girls, both of which turned me down. One of which was a friends ex. Did acid and stayed up for 30 hours. Wrecked my throat, and hardly could talk. MM made me pancakes, and we used Jack Daniels with our syrup. Tasted great. Drove out to a farm that some friends of my folks owned. My folks were there for a weekend thing, and we met them and had chili that tasted like Marlboro cigarettes. My mother asked me what I had been doing, and I couldn't talk, and hardly was awake, so I turned to MM, who made up a story, and sold it. He still is great for that.

'90- Was living in Lincoln, NE. Got two friends to drive to WIU with me, and we partied at the house all weekend. Lots of pot and booze. I was sort of sleeping with the one girl friend who had come along. Not really, but we were doing everything but. We had to share a blanket on the floor, and I tried to fuck her then, and she got mad, saying this wasn't the place. My brother was there that weekend. On my actual day, my parents drove in from the farm thing, and we all went to pizza. The girl I was seeing sat at the opposite end of a long table from me. She didn't know anyone there, except me and my other friend who was sitting next to me. She had to make small talk with my folks. When we got back to Lincoln, her and I broke up. It took awhile for us to get back to being friends, but we did, and we would always tell that story and laugh at how stupid it all was.

'89- I had just broken up with Meg. We had been living together, and had been together 3 years. She was my first girlfriend ever. She slept with a friend of mine. Left me for him. He dumped her. That day, I had rehearsal for a play. I wanted to go to a place for prime rib that night. They had a special where on your birthday, if you came in with someone who ordered prime rib, you got yours free. I really wanted to do that the year before, but we went home to Chicago. When I got back from rehearsal, the house was empty. I had a card on the table from Meg's parents. That was odd. They wrote well wishes for both my day, and my life. I couldn't find Meg. I was going to try to talk her into going to dinner with me, cuz I had no one else. Then I thought about MM, and DP across the street. I walked over to their house, and found them, along with Meg sitting in the living room. They had just grilled chicken, and had made a huge fajita meal, and had none left. All were stuffed. My ex, and all my friends had just had a great meal on my birthday, and none of them thought about me. They didn't even have leftovers, not that I would have taken them. I ended up calling another friend. She was a vegetarian, but the only other real friend I had. She went with me to the prime rib place, even though she didn't eat meat, and had just had dinner. I told her I would pay for her fake order, so that I could get my free one. She ended up paying anyways, saying it was sad that I would have to pay for my own free dinner. She was right. It was sad.

'88- My 21st b-day. Feeling lonely, Meg and I drove up to Chicago and met my family. We all went out to dinner, and then dropped off my brother and sister at home, and my folks took me to a bar. They made the door guy card me, and when we walked in all my aunts and uncles were there. That was my only surprise birthday. Everyone made me get there drinks all night long. I loved it.

'87- I was living in Michigan. The first time I had lived away from my family. Meg still lived in Chicago. I was alone. I had a few friends at school, but the year had just started, so I didn't know anyone real well. I think I went to dinner with a couple, I might be confused. After, I do remember that the guy I was living with, a real coke head asshole, took me out to a bar with his frat buddies. What do you think? Did I enjoy that birthday?

Well that's as far back as I can remember. It turned out to be more than I expected. Kind of sad though. Jeez, no wonder I never like this day.

Wanted: Divorcees

My Nubian Goddess is back from Ethiopia. I gave her a ride home, and we had our first long talk in a long while.

The conclusion: date divorcees.

She totally understood my feeling of disconnect. She said she still feels it sometimes, most recently while just in Africa. She said she thinks it is the denial of divorce. As much as the both of us were instigators (her even more than I), we still lament the end of our marriages, something that when entered into, we both thought would last a lifetime. We both hold marriage high, and both mourn the loss of the idea, if not the actual person attached to the idea.

I told her slightly about my flirtations with E, but I kept it anonymous. She laughed at the halting way it is proceeding. She said she did the same thing, then pulled way back, and though she dates, hasn't really let herself back out there.

She wanted to know what lesson I have learned from my marriage. I told her I believe my lesson is not mistaking rescuing some one from their emotional flaws as love. Both times I have been in long term relationships, the women have grown away from me emotionally before we seperated. Both times also, when I met the women, they were, how do you say, fucked up.

She said that was probably a good lesson. She said she isn't sure of hers, but she does know that she is inexplicably attracted to the mentally ill.

I thought we would make a great couple.

Kidding.

At the end though, I was saying that I should date women who have been divorced, because they can relate. Like she said, the stages and complexities are profound, and the average person can't comprehend them until it happens to them. Sorry all you wanna bes out there.

She made me feel better.

Whose Life Is It Anyways

Feeling a true sense of disconnect these days. Therapeutically, that ain't good.

Kind of feels like I am fast forwarding through someone else's life, but I don't remember how to get back to mine.

What even is mine? I have a general sense of falling down a flight of stairs.

Which is not unusual for this time of year. You see, at the end of the week(staircase) is my birthday. An event that unceremoniously bums me out. Always has. It has nothing to do with age or success. My 25th birthday was spent secretly with a bottle of Capt. Morgans at the apt of two friends who had no idea it was my day.

So, maybe that is why I feel the sense of falling down. I am tumbling towards Friday with absolutely no desire.

To make things worse, my wife will be coming to my show. I don't mean worse that now I will have to see her, and I don't like that, but I mean that I am sure a lot of emotion on that day will surface, and her being there might trigger some shit. She called and asked if she could come to my show, so that she could say happy birthday after. I told her sure, what can you say? I, in a way, want her to say that to me. It just might be hard.

I don't even look forward to the show. I just feel like I have lost my joy with it. We gave a crappy show last week, which blew because my brother was there. He of course is not Mr. Sensitivity. Told me how I could make it funnier. This coming from the guy who the night before was drunkenly trying to pick up Michelle the bartender with lines like, Hey baby, where is the after hours. By the way, her name was Jennifer, which she told us twice, but he always called her Michelle. Ain't no after hours for you, bub.

We did have some good talks. Some odd too. He told me he always felt like dad was closer to me. I told him bull, that he and dad were closer. How ironic. Poor dad, neither of his sons feel a connect with him.

Most of the weekend, he tried to tell me I was alright. He told me after his engagement fell apart, he was bitter and would fuck girls for revenge. I don't know if that is alright, and if that is how I am percieved. I certainly don't feel bitter, and I certainly can't fuck for revenge. I can barely fuck for pleasure.

There were some times I just wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up. Then I would realize that he had no where else to go, and I would then be awkwardly stuck with the person I just told to fuck off.

What really was odd was, at the end, on Sunday, as I was taking him to the airport, he stopped at an ATM and withdrew and gave me $200. He asked me to get off of work Saturday night, which I did, and he paid me for what I was missing. He bought all of my meals, and even took me grocery shopping (even though, he bought what he thought I should have, and not what I thought I should have, hence I have a ton of something called Gatorade in my fridge). I joked that had he paid me at the start of the trip, I would have been nicer. Then I told him, nice doing business with you.

What a whore.

At one point during the trip, I told my friend that it was odd, and that I felt seperated from my brother. He said, you felt seperated from your mom and you said the other day you feel seperated from the group. You just always feel seperated! Get over it.

I wonder if that is true? Is this all just me? I really think I have always felt this way about my family. Most of the time I am with them, if they are talking, I just internally think, SHUT UP.

Maybe this sense of disconnect is just something I will always have to contend with. No matter whom I am with, no matter how happy or not I am.

I'm falling down the stairs. Figures. I always go for the pratfall.

Ch- Ch- Ch- Changes

So much in upheaval right now. Change is being thrust upon us all, like it or not.

My divorce. My roommate. My agent just dropped me today.

KK may lose his business. May fold it into another. May just follow his dream.

MM has lost his business. Has no more money to play with while figuring it out. Has finally gotten to the point, we'll see if it sticks, where he is talking about doing something for himself.

TH is ending an 11 year post at a job he always told me he wanted to leave. Now, he left. Will he be right?

AV just got a roommate. Just started looking for something else to do. Just wants to get laid. Ok, good, somethings don't change.

Two sets of couples, both with established families, both trying to get back into life after the consuming event known as having a child, and both having another child.

My brother is moving to Alabama for work. My sister is trying to get pregnant.

Is this sort of flux happening to everyone?

Bush is taking heat from conservatives unhappy with him. Change.
ABC is once again looking like #1. Change.
The White Sox just beat the Red Sox. Change.

Has the cosmos just flushed the toilet, and we are all spinning? Will our landing be fortuitous, or will we all just still be on the side of a crap receptacle?

These and many more questions will eventually be asked here over the next few months.

The Heart as a Liver

No, not lover, liver. As in an organ that processes all of the bad junk you got in you.

I had therapy today, and I told her about my reservoir of sadness, which I can not tap into myself. We got to talking, that is after all what you do, and she got out of me that I don't feel like I have a safe loving embrace to turn to. It is kind of primal, but everyone needs physical comfort, and, though I have people to hug me, I don't have that kind of mommy/lover hugger. I told her also that I was afraid to get into a relationship because I am toxic, and by toxic I mean, I am going to use that relationship to just basically vent my sadness and feelings to the person that will finally "hug" me.

She agreed that that might happen. Then she made me cry. Amazing how they can do that. Just ask you a couple of questions, and blammo, tears.

So, I felt better.

Then she wanted to pursue this feeling of being toxic.

I told her about my travails with E, which she noted to me was the first time I had used the word "date" when talking about going out with her. I told her about my confession and my thoughts, and she called me brave.

She said I am very emotionally evolved, and that what I did there was fair, and couragous. She said that she thought my having feelings and struggles with E were good, because it is helping me to process all that I am going through and that in the end, it is making my toxic heart ready to be clean and shiny for the real girl I will eventually give it to.

Therefore, the heart as a liver.

Lord knows the way I treat my liver, I could use another organ as back up.

Driving home, I heard George Michael's Faith. Boy, does that song relate to me now.

He is all afraid to pick his heart up off the floor and give it to someone who wants it because he isn't sure he is ready for that yet. So, even though he wants love, he has to wait until he is ready and have Faith that it will be there then.

Sound like anyone you read about?

Just another example of my eventual slide into homosexuality. The Gay Mafia is pulling me in. First they send one of their soldiers into my home, and then somehow, they get me to identify with there spokesman. George Michael is sort of the Frank Sinatra for the Gay Mafia.

Puts a whole new spin on whacking a guy, huh.

A Bloomin' Onion

Last night, flush with some extra cash thanks in part to the new BM and the shared expenditures, I accepted a dinner invite from a co-worker and a friend of hers, whom I have met a few times and think is a swell guy.

We tried to make a fancy Mexican joint, but were one minute too late, so in an impromptu manuever, we ended up at a place called Toppers, which is atop a hotel in Santa Monica. Our view was that of Malibu. The other side offers LAX. Some choice, huh?

We had drinks, and shared food, and told stories. My co-worker, MS, is an improv performer and I think one of the quickest, most sarcastic people I know. She is hell on my ego, but then again, what isn't. Her friend, W, is a writer and writing professor. He just sold a script, so he is loving life right now, and is also quite flush with money.

Through out the night, I questioned them on their friendship, and then the questions turned to me. After answering one with the familiar self deprecating, don't I suck, kind of answer, MS, the one who is always jokingly telling me I'm not funny, stopped me. She said that my humble, self effacing was not ringing true at that moment. She told me she thought I was emerging.

When her friend asked what she meant, she said that I was like an onion, whose layers were being peeled back, and something true and great was about to be revealed. I just focused on the metaphor, and how when peeling an onion, I always cry.

Though, I will say, I agree with her. I feel like I am on the cusp of something long awaited. Whether that be career, I hope, or something else remains to be seen. I do feel it though.

Around the house, the BM has broken my routine. Partly because my routine had been forged in solitude, it was doomed to be broken, and I'm not too sure I mind it being broken, but I do realize that it stresses me out when my routine is gone. I am very routine. I remember the one summer after college that I lived with my folks. My father commented on my routine, as I would do the same thing every morning before work. That was when I first noticed it, I guess, but it served me well, and I have never tried to break it. It does morph, but gradually, and only by my doing. Now, with him here, it is forced to take a quicker change. OK. Let's see.

I have been worried about my wife. Yesterday, she found out that her identity had been stolen, and the person drained her checking account of all her money. The bank said it will return her money, but it is still frightening, and she was devastated. I ended up caretaking her, which I shouldn't, but can't seem to help doing. I guess even as I realize more and more that we did the right thing, I still have deep feelings for her, and still want to make her life smooth and happy. I just don't have that power anymore, and have to let it go.

My brother is coming into town for the next couple of days, so my presence here might be spotty. I'll try to write when I can, as he will no doubt conjure up rants.

What would be the title of this new chapter?

Well, he's here.

My roommate and his dog. My cat is living in my bedroom, mostly under my bed, and life is now new.

Can't say it is the worst thing. Last night, when I pulled up in the drive after a long night of work, all of the lights were on, and I was excited that someone was still up, and we could talk. Turned out though, he went to the bar, and just left the lights on. However, the excitment of being able to talk with someone, or someone possibly being there is what matters.

Plus, he has SO MANY DVDs that my mouth waters. So many great movies. Plenty that I haven't seen, and am now going to spend many a day watching.

I do feel bad for my cat. I let him out every now and then, but it must suck, having the run of the house, and then banished. I can tell something is up, because last night he slept nearly the whole night in the bed with me, which he normally does not do.

I think I made up with my castmate. I went to an audition today, and the address was kooky, and I got lost, and I was wandering around, when she beeped her horn at me. I saw it was her, and she pointed me in the right direction. Later, after my audition, I called her and told her she was a saviour. We had a pleasant conversation, which makes me think both of us just feel it is better to forget and forgive, and never drink together again.

So, onward and all good. Life is going to be different.

It's killing me to fall out of love.

I'm not talking about my marriage this time. No, now it is my show.

I haven't been enjoying it. Which sucks, because it is the light of my life. Really.

First of all, I feel lost with my character. I tried some new stuff today, but it remains to be seen whether or not it works. For the most part though, I feel like I am floundering. The real reason I feel it is because, after the show, people always come backstage, people who are in the know, and associated with the theatre, and they tell whomever had a great show, great show. I have not recieved that since the opening night. That is a bit of an indication. I know that it is weak and shallow to weigh the opinion of your own performance on the appreciation of others, but it makes it harder to find that self gratification when you don't get it from others. Or, that is just me. My wife always told me I needed to stop relying on others, and start liking myself.

Another reason I am not so thrilled is, our company is not as motivated and tight as last time. People are not coming to rehearsals or not making the show. That is bullshit. I know that we pay to do this, and therefore have more of a say in terms of making or not making the show, or more often the rehearsal. The thing is, your commitment to rehearsal will directly affect your commitment to the show. If the show is suffering because you are just a lazy bastard, then look out, cuz I won't stand for that.

In fact before our show I got in a fight with one of my castmates, because I was so tired of the bitching going on. She was complaining about having to stay after to shoot pictures. I tried to explain why that is the only time, but no, it was her point and she was sticking to it. So, I blew up. I told her that all the whining and lack of commintment was making me sick. She defended with, I have commitment, but lack of organization is just too frustrating to have to always concede to. I have to agree with that, since tonight our director forgot the camera. Still, the only way to supersede the fuzzy focus is for all to attend and try to become a unit.

I made up with her, but then after in the bar we got into another fight. We were talking about the excersises at rehearsal, and she said one was so basic that she hated it, and wish it gone. It is not one of my favorite games, but I do think it helps. My friend said it didn't, and told me to go take another beginner class. She said it with too much bite for my taste, so I told her that I would continue the conversation some other time when she wasn't an angry, bitter drunk. I don't think that helped the situation one bit. We left for the night, not looking at each other. Tough.

So much problems. Too bad too, because this is everything to me. Both the chance to perform, but also the chance to hang out with people I like, and make them laugh to boot. This is the Sitcom I have always wanted to be on, and until that actually comes along, I better resolve my feelings about this show.

Especially since, last I heard, I was doing it until the end of April.