tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85993942024-03-08T03:34:29.317-08:00Donita Curiosoright foot....left foot....repeatDonita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.comBlogger834125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-46097993336859499412023-02-25T18:03:00.000-08:002023-02-25T18:03:58.424-08:00I'm a pistol<p> A digression before I get started-</p><p>My Aunt (by marriage) Jeannie's brother is named John. Is there a word for that relationship? He's not my uncle, not my cousin. I guess technically, he's my friend, but that doesn't seem right because he is part of my family. Can someone get back to me on that? Seriously, there has to be a word for it. Anyway...</p><p>Not-my-uncle John reminded me that my godfather, and my mom's little brother, Uncle Herbie (married to Jeannie, now departed. I mean, Jeannie is still with us. Herbie has passed.) used to call me a pistol. That's not a term you don't hear much in California, but in Texas, it's a thing. My Aunt Ruth (Dad's sister, and my godmother) also called me a pistol. This epithet was usually applied to me after I had done something precocious, or cute, or maybe a little naughty. </p><p>When I was little, I used to tell tall tales. It wasn't lying, really. Not the kind of lying I did to avoid punishment. These were tall tales that I would tell because I could see the adult I was telling them to seemed amused, and would laugh. I wish I could remember some of them. The only thing I can remember is, in the middle of one story, (I think I said something about shooting somebody and they rolled into a lake) my aunt said, "Donita, I think you're feeding me a line of bull." I said, "Yes, I shot the bull too and he rolled into the lake." </p><p>I was a pistol.</p><p>There were times when I was growing up where I could be bold. I wasn't a crazy, high-energy kid. My older sister was, but I was the kind of kid who could sit in a corner for hours playing with my stuffed animals. I didn't bounce off the walls. I was quiet then. Mostly. But sometimes...</p><p>I wish I could remember more. The boldness must have shown up when I was little, because I was called a pistol several times. As I got older, my boldness showed up a bit more often. I would say things: some inappropriate and embarrassing. But when I got it right, people would laugh.</p><p>In junior high I was in one of those little shows that each English class would present in an assembly. We did an adaptation of The Night the Bed Fell by James Thurber. I played a kid who sang Onward Christian Soldiers in their sleep. My teacher told me to sing it loudly, and as goofy as I could possibly make it. Most girls that age would probably shy away from doing something that foolish out of fear of embarrassment. Not me. I belted that thing out loud and crazy. I was offstage, but I could hear the audience's reaction. They laughed.</p><p>In high school I was involved in theater. In those three years I had several more opportunities for goofy stage business. In Oklahoma, I played Gertie Cummings, a girl with a loud, obnoxious laugh. In L'il Abner I played Moonbeam McSwine, a girl who carries a pig whenever she's on stage (a real baby pig that often shit on the stage. A diaper would have been a good idea). I don't think I was aware then that I was cultivating my pistolness, but it was there whenever I got myself in front of an audience.</p><p>And then, decades later, I got into comedy. Damn, that was fun.</p><p>When John reminded me that Herbie called me a pistol, it got me thinking. And remembering. And boy, it made me miss my Uncle Herbie, and my wonderful Aunt Ruth. They were pistols too. These days I'm going through a period of self discovery, and those early memories are giving me some insights into the person I am now. Damn, I wish I could talk to Herbie and Ruth. They loved me for myself when I didn't know what that meant.</p><p>I love being a pistol.</p><p><br /></p>Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-36222713345542796582022-09-09T18:26:00.000-07:002022-09-09T18:26:04.132-07:00Holy Beejebus, it's raining!<p> We've had suck nasty heat here for the last week. Longer, really. It's been nasty. And right now it's raining. Praise be.</p><p>That's all I've got. I'm still getting used to this keyboard. I don't like it much. I liked my old keyboard. More resistance. They do get grimy, though.</p><p>See? Told ya. I got nuthin'. </p>Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-70428826521028821012022-08-31T13:32:00.002-07:002022-08-31T13:32:16.494-07:00Better Today<p> Yesterday was better. I got some stuff done. I made a list of the chores I want to do every day that will move me forward. Stuff like working on the tv room floor, tearing up my carpet piece by manageable piece (along with the effing staples), working in the front yard (pulling weeds mostly), training Maisie, and general tidying up. I didn't include stuff like exercise or housework. I don't need to encourage myself to get to water aerobics, and no matter how many times I put housework on a list, I know it won't get done. Why set myself up for failure?</p><p>I returned the pen pads I ordered back to Amazon. The (hopefully) right one should be here by Monday. Yesterday afternoon I watered all the stuff I want to keep alive during this heatwave. Heavy, deep watering. Jeez, my utilities bill is going to be high this month and next month.</p><p>My weight has dropped a couple pounds. I'm hovering at around 200 pounds. I want to nudge that down. I realized the other day that I might be sabotaging myself a bit because any number below 200 looks weird to me. I'm not used to it. It's pretty silly, but I think it might be true.</p><p>It's 1:30 and I haven't done anything on the list yet. I'm off to a roaring start. Ok, I'll go do something now. I'll check in later.</p>Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-56991287809945399502022-08-29T18:25:00.000-07:002022-08-29T18:25:26.939-07:00Tech Challenged<p> There's not much I can do right now on this computer. I've been running into roadblocks. Some of them I can Google my way out of. Some of them are helped with YouTube videos. I wanted to plug in the hard drive from my Mac mini, but I needed the proper adapter. Got one, files have been transferred. At least I think they have. I can't open any of them. When the kids are here next I'll get some help.</p><p>I bought a pen pad. It was highly rated on Amazon, but it was way too hard to install, and I didn't like how wiggly the connections were. Back it goes. I ordered a Wacom pad because that's what I had before. I need a special adapter for that too. I ordered a hub that should work. It'll be here tomorrow.</p><p>I got a new printer, a wireless one. I had to call tech support for that one. I got it working, but I really don't know what I'm doing. Nothing comes with instructions anymore. It's all online. The window thingy on the computer is tiny, and not all that intuitive. I'll get it eventually. How do I scan? Once it's scanned, how do I get it into a file? Once I do that, how do I save it? It's not like it used to be. </p><p>And fuck Apple for being all trendy and shit with the ports! The good ol' USB connections aren't sexy anymore. So now instead of plugging something in the way the whole world does, you have to have an adapter that will fit the tiny port on the back of the monitor. I know I'll love this Mac eventually, but for now it's a bad boyfriend.</p><p>Today has been a frustrating combination of stumbling through set ups, and having a few minor successes that I can't find again once I dismiss them.</p><p>I found a scanning service, well, two scanning services. One that's in Chino that can't handle larger sizes like my paintings, but can do them in a couple passes that I would have to stitch together. Two paintings, four passes, for $25. The other one is in Riverside that can handle large formats, but will cost $65 for two paintings and a set up fee. I'm going with the Riverside store.</p><p>I started a sticky note that I'm keeping on my desktop with a running tally of what I've spent so far on this Etsy venture. $1,134 so far. I've gone for months doing my best to spend as little money as possible, so this is making me very uncomfortable. But I can justify it a little because I've gone quite a while without a computer and printer, so it can be argued that I needed that stuff anyway. I'm really tired of conducting my personal business all on my phone. Now I can join the normal world again. Jesus Christ, we're so dependent on this shit.</p><p>This is a depressing post. Oh hey, did I mention we're headed into a majorly nasty heat wave? Gonna be 112 on Sunday. 110 on Monday, so that's a nice cool down. Humanity is fucked.</p>Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-29567544499257762692022-08-28T12:15:00.001-07:002022-08-28T12:15:21.489-07:00Life Changes<p> My life needs to change, so I'm forcing it to. I have not often been successful at making meaningful, and desired changes to my life. Fasting is one life decision that I've managed to stick to, although not as perfectly as I'd like. There are lots of things I'd like to change, and maybe with this new shift, I can make them happen. I know how wishy-washy that sounds. But it's a start.</p><p><br /></p><p>I'm starting a business. I need to if I'm not going to end up destitute, or have to become a Walmart greeter, of get a job slinging fast food. I have talent, and I need to start using it to support myself. Should have been doing that all along. All my life I've been a late bloomer. There are reasons for that. None of them matter.</p><p>I'm starting a design business in this modern age, using technology I don't know much about, with habitual ways of thinking that never served me all that well. I've been watching many, many YouTube videos on the subject, and with each one I'm learning, and at the same time I'm being overwhelmed by how much I don't know. I can't stop now. Too many people are pulling for me.</p><p>At the top of this page I've placed my personal motto- Right Foot, Left Foot, Repeat. Years ago, at an amusement park in Missouri, there was a guy making those personalized calligraphy things using Chinese characters. He couldn't speak English, but I managed to communicate what I wanted through his son. He smiled and made it for me. I even wrote down the pronunciation on the back. It's been hanging in my art room, but I'm moving it to my office so I can see it as I sit at my desk. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXfwUT3jh559z1lDmVPDEGpKXSFmF3dPpazU5Yn3S4jxpR1xo5TFm7MRkKK5uRfNU8p14Pb01lX4tEj5cpLPRycTIt1J5ukP0ti4PNxYV_02pdDSg4RqKyKkyQhoS_Hd6E-mJaag_7t1D9QlK-w9fIrfw2bvgKKWrH8rLnLqwPkH-RO5sDRWGxnGEuA/s752/image.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="752" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXfwUT3jh559z1lDmVPDEGpKXSFmF3dPpazU5Yn3S4jxpR1xo5TFm7MRkKK5uRfNU8p14Pb01lX4tEj5cpLPRycTIt1J5ukP0ti4PNxYV_02pdDSg4RqKyKkyQhoS_Hd6E-mJaag_7t1D9QlK-w9fIrfw2bvgKKWrH8rLnLqwPkH-RO5sDRWGxnGEuA/s320/image.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>I need to be reminded. I make it way too easy to allow myself to give up. </p><p>I got my new computer. Later today my new printer will be delivered. I've been without these things for about two years. I've been doing everything on my phone, and getting something printed was inconvenient. How lame is that? I had gotten a drawing pad, but installing it was way too hard, and the connections didn't fit well. They made it so it's barely compatible with Mac. I'm returning it and getting the kind I had before. It'll be here tomorrow. I'm getting myself a Photoshop subscription so I can get started on making my paintings all pretty, and getting them into digital form. Eventually I'll add Illustrator so I can start designing on the computer, instead of making physical paintings. Well, I'll still paint, because I already know how to do that. I don't know how long it will take me to get something that's ready to upload on Etsy, but I will be working every day to make that happen.</p><p>So much to learn. I can't stop.</p><p> </p>Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-28325745259636512272022-08-28T12:05:00.000-07:002022-08-28T12:06:44.136-07:00Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-7477070955936270672017-05-22T11:35:00.002-07:002017-05-22T11:35:49.541-07:00Pontoon!We go on a lot of camping trips to Lake Mojave. These trips have included more and more people in recent years, which means a lot of wear and tear on the boat. Hauling tons of heavy gear such as Easy-Ups and well-stocked giant ice chests, as well as everyone's tents and bags, firewood and fuel, means there ain't much room for humans to sit. Moving the heavy stuff on and off the boat damages the... oh jeez, what is it called? The trim that goes around the top of the sides. Anyway, it's just not good for the lovely and expensive Chris-Craft.<br />
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Last summer, just as we were getting ready to leave our cove on that over-loaded vessel, Stacey lost her footing and fell off the boat, slicing a big ol' gash in her upper arm. That was the last straw for Drew. <br />
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Stacey and Drew have been talking for years about getting a pontoon boat to haul all the gear. We've had three and four families using the Chris-Craft, and it's a drag having to sit on top of the gear when going to and from the campsite. Packing the heavy stuff onto a pontoon would be so much easier, with much less wear and tear on boats and humans alike. It doesn't need to be anything fancy or pretty as long as it runs. A couple weeks ago, Drew started looking on Craigslist. I said I would like to also be part owner of the pontoon. The budget was $3,000.<br />
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Last Thursday, Drew and I drove to Havasu to look at a boat. The photos showed that it was in rough condition, but it came with a trailer (which on its own was worth a lot, as pontoons often don't have trailers) and the guy said the motor ran. When we got there we found that the boat was in much worse condition than we thought, and Drew and the owner couldn't get the motor started. Now, Drew can fix pretty much anything, and everything on the deck could be replaced, but Mindy would probably have killed Drew if he had brought such a big project home, and no one would have blamed her. The guy didn't want to come down in price so we said sayonara.<br />
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On Saturday, Drew, Stacey, and I, along with Dede, who was visiting from San Luis Obispo, went to Yucca Valley to look at a more expensive boat ($4,500). Drew was hoping to get the price down to $4,000. When we pulled into the owner's driveway (well, front yard, really) we saw that all of his vehicles had DEPLORABLE stickers on them. I just about barfed. Dede and Stacey said that maybe I should wait in the car. It was pretty funny. Then the guy came out wearing a DEPLORABLE LIVES MATTER t-shirt! Double barf!!! Oh well, it's the dessert. I'm guessing he had a meth lab out back.<br />
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Drew started assessing the important stuff and we sisters climbed aboard to take a look. Everything was in really good shape. The upholstery was only a year old and everything else except the carpeting looked good. And the carpeting wasn't all that bad. The guy said the motor was an 85hp Force, which is made by Mercury. He said it ran kind of slow, which was ok for our needs. The owner opened his garage to get something he needed to start the motor. Inside was more Trump crap, as well as a Confederate flag on the wall. Big surprise. <br />
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The motor started on the first try. Things were looking good for this boat. We knew we wanted it, although it galled me that we would be giving this guy a single cent. Drew haggled with him a bit and got the price down a little. We came back to Riverside with our new baby.<br />
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As soon as we got to Drew's we set about cleaning it up. We were so happy that it came out looking so good. After we were done we just sat there enjoying it. Drew texted our friends, Dave and Christa, and they came right over to see it. Then Stacey's friend, Michelle, came over. Then Mindy and Tori came home. We had a lovely little party right there. So, of course, the next thing we did was order pizza! It was the perfect way to end the day.<br />
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And to make it even more perfect, the next day, Drew opened up the motor to take a look. He found that the reason it ran slow was there was a loose ground wire inside a connection, which the guy had missed. Drew hooked it up and VROOM! He also did a bit more research and found the actual model number. It's not an 85 hp engine, it's 125! He said that bought the value up another $1,500 to $2,000!<br />
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Oh, please let me call the guy and tell him! Please, please, please!!!<br />
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So, we're looking forward to our first river trip of the year. We'll pack the pontoon, and when the trip is over, all the heavy stuff can be stored on the boat. And the deck is pretty big (overall length is 24 feet), so pretty much everyone will fit when we go to our special get-out-of-the-wind party spot on the lake.<br />
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Oh man, I am looking forward to some major family fun.Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-30685503148130919592016-08-14T18:07:00.001-07:002016-08-14T18:07:21.587-07:00Life Change!Hello, Bloggie! How ya been? So sorry I've neglected you.<br />
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I had a very good meeting at the local Social Security office the other day. Right after Jim died, I was told that when I turn 60 I'll be able to collect his Social Security benefits. This was confirmed in that meeting. What I'll be getting is substantially more than what I'm making working at Home Depot. It just doesn't make sense for me to keep working.<br />
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Hallelujah! I'm going to quit my job!<br />
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Not only that, this will be the first time in many years that I won't have to worry about money. I can let my IRA sit there and grow, like it's supposed to, instead of dipping into it again and again just to survive. I will have enough to live on, and some extra for home improvements and fun stuff.<br />
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What will that be like? Already I'm feeling quite happy, although I don't feel like it's real enough to trust it. I'm Charlie Brown, the widow's benefit is the football, and Lucy is right there ready to snatch it away (Lucy being the force of evil in the universe).<br />
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So! What am I going to do? Fun shit! Take classes, visit people, work on my house, NOT worry about missing family events because I might not be able to get the time off. If I can manage to save some money I can finally get a different car. Maybe.<br />
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I'm pretty sure I'll just be happier in general. <br />
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Thanks, Jim!Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-13830263779637416482016-02-08T15:08:00.001-08:002016-02-08T15:11:07.507-08:00That girl.This is an old draft from two years ago that never got published. I don't know why.<br />
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Living alone and being unemployed messes with my head sometimes. Every day is pretty much like any other. Even the weekends don't offer much variety. I can putter around my broken house and fix a few things that don't cost much money, but the kind work it really needs is something I can't afford. Sometimes it feels like I'll never be able to afford it. But doing these cosmetic fixes does make me feel better.</div>
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I just turned fifty-seven. Every year I chide myself for not having it more together by now. That vision I have of my possible self just hasn't materialized. I know there's no sense in whining about it. It's just one of those tedious personal struggles that most of us have in one form or another. Most of the time it obediently stays in the back of my mind with the rest my unfulfilled dreams. Every once in a while, though... Damn thing just can't behave.</div>
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You know, these days I think about that girl a lot- the girl I was. I think I was mostly oblivious to myself back then. A lot of what I was got squished out or suppressed by those who didn't value those qualities, or understand them (or ever wanted to). But I guess that's true of pretty much everyone. </div>
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These days I find I really need that girl. I need her boldness and her clueless courage. There's a photo of me from back then that speaks to me every time I look at it. It's like she's looking at me and saying, "This is what you used to be. Stop being so chickenshit and be me again. Everything you had is still here. Dig it up and use it." </div>
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Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-8163714998102894452016-02-08T14:26:00.000-08:002016-02-08T14:27:09.361-08:00I'm not cute.Every once in a while one of my co-workers will giggle and say to me, "Donita, you're so cute!" I think she's around twenty years old and she's quite the girlie girl. Usually I'll get this comment after I've done something smart (in her eyes, anyway). I've told her a few times that I'm not cute, just experienced. She doesn't get it.<br />
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I recently read an article about some of the things that younger people will say to a woman over fifty. Often it's something like, "You're so cute!" or "I love older people. They're so adorable." At my sister's fiftieth birthday a very drunk 20-something girl said to me, "I love you! You're sooo oooolllld!" She said it more than once. Jesus Christ.<br />
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I've been thinking about this a lot lately because it's been happening a lot and it's kind of a new thing for me. Apparently I've reached the age where young, pretty girls think it's clever to give me this belittling, back-handed compliment. The next one to do it may end up missing a handful of hair.<br />
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Listen up, girlie, and ponder this a while. I'm almost sixty years old. If you don't die in a texting accident, you will someday be where I am now. One day you will do or say something in the presence of some future twenty-year-old, who will marvel at the cleverness and common sense you achieved from a lifetime of experience, and she will somehow be threatened by it. She will giggle and say to you, "You're so cute!"<br />
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One thing I can say with certainty: when I was young I NEVER said anything like this to an older person. I'm grateful for that.Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-15515614088171430502015-09-18T19:35:00.002-07:002015-09-18T19:35:31.756-07:00New doctor. Not happy.So for a long while there I didn't have health insurance. When Obamacare kicked in I got a basic, no frills insurance package at a reasonable cost. I used it just once when I went in for what I thought was a check up, but turned out to be a consultation with a physician's assistant who rolled her eyes when I said I used cannabis. The State of California finally realized that I'm still too poor to pay for health insurance so they signed me up for IEHP, which meant I needed to find a new doctor, which was fine since I really didn't want to go back to the one I never saw in the first place. <br />
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So now I'm with Riverside County Regional Medical Clinic in MoVal. When I signed up I told them I wanted a female doctor. At this point in my life I'd rather deal with a woman when I'm having my lady bits looked at. Well, today I got to meet Dr. Nathan McL---, a humorless, YOUNG, less-attractive version of Elija Wood. Doogie Howser/Frodo.<br />
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First he took down all my information and then we got down to business. I told him that I have an itchy spot on the back of my head which I suspected was a fungus. He had me lower my head so he could poke around in my hair. He asked, "Wow, when did you crack your head open?" I'm like, huh? I told him I've never had any kind of injury back there. He said, "Well, you have quite a scar back here. Are you sure you've never had a head injury?" Again, no. He said, "Oh. Yeah, you have a fungus."<br />
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Criminy.<br />
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Then it was time to do the gyno exam so he stepped out of the room while I changed into the ever-attractive paper gown. Only it wasn't a gown, just a paper cover sheet. I took off my clothes and hopped up on the table and wrapped the cover sheet around me as best I could. He came back in with the assistant, who also looked very, very young. He barked at her about my not having a proper gown and then ducked behind the curtain. She quickly grabbed one for me. It ripped as I was putting it on and it didn't cover me nearly as well as the plain cover sheet. Then I said I was ready but he didn't come out. I said, "Olly olly oxen free!" Jeez.<br />
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I laid back and assumed the position. Right away he goes in for a labia jab. I jumped, which must have looked pretty funny from his end. My ass left the table! He asked, "Was that painful?" I said, "No, but you gotta let me know when you're going in. Don't sneak up on me like that." He said, "You seem kind of jumpy." Yeah, no shit, Dr. Einstein. Let me poke you in your nut sack and see if you can keep still.<br />
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Worst pelvic exam ever. Except he didn't stick his finger up my butt. I was grateful for that. But really, dude. I sure I don't have the most attractive old lady hoo-ha you've ever seen, but could you at least not treat it like it's some kind of threat?<br />
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Then it was time for the breast check, which he performed with the same finesse as the pelvic exam. Dude, it's not a taffy pull. You're not fluffing a lumpy pillow. I probably don't have cancer but I'm pretty sure I left there with some bruises.<br />
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It'll be six months before I get a raise so I'm stuck with this guy for a while. As soon as I can I'm going back to Kaiser and my old, <i>female </i>doctor. She's good at what she does and she laughs at my jokes. Doogie Frodo is not good at his job.<br />
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<br />Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-31572046727091352702015-03-01T17:17:00.002-08:002015-03-01T17:17:56.913-08:00My shitty attitudeBoy, these days I too often feel like a petulant teenager. I walk around thinking everyone but me is a total moron. Leave me alone. Stay the fuck away from me.<br />
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This isn't healthy.<br />
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It's the stuckness. I'm stuck. And when I'm stuck it's the world that's wrong. Not me. When I feel like this I tend to want to wait for things to change instead of making change happen myself. This is a character flaw. I'm cold. I'm sleepy. Stuff is on tv. It's Sunday. Who can do anything about anything on a Sunday?<br />
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It doesn't help that it's all gloomy outside. And right now there's a cat threatening to lay down on my keyboard. Sometimes the best course of action is to give up and wait till tomorrow.<br />
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fagiop-------------<br />
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Fucking cat.<br />
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<br />Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-7630553392652550062015-02-26T23:15:00.000-08:002015-02-26T23:15:11.509-08:00Ok, this is stupid.It's been almost a year since my last post. I love my blog. There have been times when my blog saved my sanity. Why have I all but abandoned it? I blame Facebook.<br />
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I do enjoy writing and I want to do it more often. I think developing a consistent writing habit would benefit me in countless ways. So would regular exercise, a sensible diet, and thrice daily dental hygiene procedures. Better housekeeping habits, daily mail processing, home repair and maintenance should also be added to the list.<br />
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Yeah, it's January 2nd. I won't go so far as to label these New Year's resolutions, though. That would be declaring some kind of commitment. But I have read some articles, printed out helpful tips and made some lists. I've done a visual assessment of my house and concluded that last year's list has indeed been shortened as a result of my efforts. Bravo, me.<br />
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There's a lot that happened in 2014 that I didn't blog about, obviously. Lindsay and Kyle got married. Certainly THAT should have been written about. My brother-in-law, Bob, died last month, which is an event worthy of its own post. Big stuff happened last year. I just didn't write about it.<br />
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And that's just plain stupid. I don't put absolutely everything on Facebook. Usually it's because I don't want to have a big ol' conversation about it. This blog is the place where I have always put words to experiences, thoughts, and feelings. This is the place where it all gets thrashed about, fleshed out, and flushed out. Facebook is a place of abbreviated expression where almost any idea can be conveyed by clicking the share button. It's entertainment, it's fluff, and it's lazy. <br />
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And yes, I know it is also a place where people can keep in touch and share the events of their lives. People can and do receive prayers and support when things are bad, and congratulations and happy wishes when good stuff happens. That's wonderful, really. I participate in all that and will continue to do so. It just doesn't do much for my brain. In fact, I think it's possibly a little harmful. <br />
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I need to fucking write, damn it. Until I had this blog I never wrote for pleasure, or to express what needed to be expressed before it squeaked out through the cracks. Before I had this blog I thought I was a crappy writer. Then, because of this blog, I found that I'm kind of good at it. When I found out I had a few readers outside of my family, I started to feel I needed to write to entertain. Suddenly, I was writing for an audience, and that was a challenge I enjoyed.<br />
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HEY, LOOK! IT'S FEBRUARY 26TH!<br />
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Yep. That's how much I enjoy writing. I put this down for almost two months. Jeez.<br />
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We just finished with the Dickens show (best yet!) and now I'm working (ha!) on getting things back to normal. The last week of rehearsals is always intense, but this year it was a bit more time consuming. Chris kept getting ideas and I did my best to make them a reality. I love that shit. So I whipped up a Queen Victoria coat of arms and some big gold letters, RV for Royal Victoria, to hang over the stage. I repainted the fireplace. We draped the stage with some wonderful fabric we bought at the garment district. I did some final costume adjustments. I just love doing all that. Paige also helped with the final prep, which we all appreciated. And the performances were all great fun.<br />
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So now it's back to the regular stuff. Ho hum.<br />
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Paige found a Groupon for a refurbished Vitamix blender at a decent discount. So, we gots one. I love it. Ever since we got it I've been blasting raw veggies and fruit to smithereens and drinking the results. Spinach, kale, parsley, beets, apples, oranges, carrots, zucchini, cucumbers, ginger, and frozen pineapple and blueberries. And then I'll have some protein like poached eggs or roasted chicken. I won't call it a diet. I just like it. This is going to have me visiting the grocery store a lot more often.<br />
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Right now the dogs are being ridiculous.<br />
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Yeah, the regular stuff- working on my house (the kitchen is next), the soul-sucking job hunt, the stalled comedy career, and the same old shit. Some parts of my life I really enjoy. The other stuff is tedious. I know it's all up to me to "make it happen". I just get stuck sometimes, and right now, things are stuck. I'm fifty-eight years old and I still don't have my shit together. It's also true that I'm talented and smart and I don't have my shit together.<br />
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Soooo, let's go see what's happening on Facebook.<br />
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<br />Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-50747215172026492252014-03-09T23:54:00.000-07:002014-03-09T23:54:21.631-07:00Writing to be writing.I want to write more often. I should do it every day. I should write at least one joke every day. Anyway...<br />
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I've been unemployed for a year now. It's been a year since I left the job from hell. It still messes with my head. Every once in a while I'll pick up some new piece of information about the Asshole-stadt and her crew that gives me new understanding and insight. There's no way I would have lasted any longer than I did, even if I had done everything exactly right. I was doomed from the get-go. That's the most insane and sick work environment I've ever seen and I never want to experience anything like it ever again. <br />
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Ok, I got that out of the way.<br />
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I have three possible cool things on the horizon. First, I had a telephone interview the other day for a job at a big box home improvement chain. The position is part-time cashier. Foot in the door. Anyway, I felt that the interview went well. <br />
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Second thing: A friend of mine who works at the local newspaper submitted my bio to their new entertainment editor. This could lead to having the paper do a profile on me. A local-girl-makes-good kind of thing. More like local-middle-aged-widow-gets-into-comedy-which-is-completely-nuts kind of thing. I hope I hope I hope I hope this happens.<br />
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Third thing: A comic that I worked with very early on, and who is a Facebook friend, is making a short film. He posted that he needs background people for one day of shooting. Ooh! Me! Me! Choose me! So, if it goes the way it's supposed to I'll spend a day in L.A. in a couple weeks getting an item crossed off my bucket list. I'm gonna be in a movie!<br />
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Stay tuned.Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-61430866223056393462014-02-24T23:08:00.001-08:002014-02-24T23:08:21.601-08:00Adventures with a Queen- Part 4 (Epilogue)So for the final show we were told that Chris would be attending. Drew had videoed most of the shows (including the queen's train wreck), but we were very glad that Chris would be able to see it in person. All throughout the entire process we had Chris in our hearts. We wanted the show to be good- for HIM. Really, we were thrilled to have him there.<br />
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And it was the best show of them all. Most of the people who prepared the food and the servers were in the audience. It really felt like the room was filled with family. Chris sat at the back in the queen's chair. He thoroughly enjoyed the show and even gestured and conducted some of the songs. It was great having him be a part of the show. It was the perfect way to end the weekend.<br />
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So here's what I want to say about Drew and Walt. First Walt.<br />
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Even though I wrote the dialog and directed the show, Walt was truly my partner. He really took on half the burden and there's no way I could have done any of it without him. He and I had so much fun together, onstage and off. And all the craziness with the queen was really kind of fun because it was shared with Walt. I'm so happy he's my friend.<br />
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And now, about my brother. On the Wednesday before the show we still didn't have anyone who could run the music cues. All we needed was someone who could sit at a table and work an iPad to advance to the next song. We needed someone who could come to the rehearsal on Friday and do all the shows on Saturday and Sunday. Without someone who was willing to make that commitment we didn't have a show. I asked Drew if he could do it.<br />
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Drew came to the rehearsals on Thursday and Friday. He helped set up lights and worked on anything else that needed to be done in the room. He learned the ins and outs of the whole show and even gave me notes on my performance. He gave useful suggestions wherever he saw they were needed without ever overstepping the bounds of manners or appropriateness. Backstage he made sure everyone had a place to sit. He set up background music for in-between the shows. He poured tea for all of us! And on top of all of that he's just an awesome guy to hang out with. I'm a very lucky sister. Thank you, Drew.<br />
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Man, this was quite an experience. Lots of lessons learned! Mainly about ownership. Personal ownership of a role or a commitment. Drew has it. Walt has it. So does Terry, the guy who was the chairman of the church committee for the Dickens Faire. And his wife, Sue, and all the others at the church who worked so hard to put this on. It was a pretty cool thing to be a part of. Even the hapless lady-in-waiting who walked on crutches and rode around in a scooter making sure the queen was taken care of even though the queen couldn't be bothered with communicating with her about the whereabouts of that stupid script. Maybe it's because her dress wasn't pretty enough.<br />
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Get well, Chris! I don't want to do this again!<br />
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<br />Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-61858700683639955262014-02-24T22:21:00.002-08:002014-02-24T22:21:45.195-08:00Adventures with a Queen- Part 3It was time for Walt's solo. This is a sweet, sentimental song that tells the story of a man whose son is away at sea. Walt's speech beforehand is warm and thoughtful and relate's to the queen's own son who is also serving in the royal navy and who is also at sea. It's a beautiful song and a nice opportunity for Mr. Bumblepitch to interact with the queen. And then there are a few lines afterward.<br />
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When the song ended I was backstage listening for the queen's line. Nothing. NOTHING!!! I stepped out onstage and said the lines so poor Walt wouldn't be left hanging. <br />
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And then the queen said, "Well friends, it is time for us to depart your company." <br />
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No, no, NO!!! She skipped two songs!!!!! She said her last speech and then they all stood up and WALKED OUT!!!! I said, "Um, everyone please rise..." and the audience stood as queen and company left the room. I whispered to Walt and Bethie that we would do the songs she skipped and finish the show. When everyone sat down I said to Drew (my darling brother who was running the music cues. More about him later), "Please Mr. Lang, we will do Rutherford Rhodes." just to make sure he didn't skip ahead to the end. We did the last two songs plus another song at the end where we all gush about the friggin' queen. We improvised the Felicity/Maisie-gets-exposed-but-it-all-ends-well part and finished the show.<br />
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Afterward, Drew came backstage and handed me the <i>queen's script</i>. She had left the script behind even though we had another queen show on Sunday! My head went KABOOM. Again, we were all agape. And it wasn't just us actors. Everyone at the church who was involved with the show were also astonished and more than a little miffed.<br />
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I decided to take the script back to the Mission Inn and leave it at the desk. I sat down and wrote her a note (Drew is telling me to stay calm) and stapled it to the front of the script. I basically told her that she had skipped two songs and that it was important for her to take some time and PRACTICE her lines so we could have a great show on Sunday. Then I took it to the Mission Inn.<br />
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Janet was in the lobby. I tore the note off and approached her and handed her the script. I was calm and friendly (really, I was!). I let her know how important it was that she practice her lines and that she had skipped those songs. She was apologetic, and it really wouldn't have been appropriate for me to rip off her wig right there in the hotel lobby so I left it at that.<br />
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Sunday! That morning I redid the queen's script. I removed the pre-show page and any other stage directions and put the song titles in bold print and colored them red. That way she should be able to find her place both by looking at her own bold, blue lines and the red, bold, song titles. I put the pages into plastic sheet protectors and put everything into a three ring binder. I don't see how I could have made it any more idiot proof. I headed off to the church.<br />
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We did a Jeffrey show, which went very well. Drew and I decided to take a stroll and check out the rest of the Dickens Faire. Right outside the church was our familiar lady-in-waiting. She said, "The queen didn't get her script after the show." I told her that we found her script and it has already been placed in Janet's hands. I also told her that I had redone the script and that it would be placed on the table in front of her. Once again the L-I-W said, "I will convey that message to Her Majesty." I said, "Her name is Janet, you know. She's not really the queen." Really, I'd had it up to here with all this queen bullshit. The L-I-W said, "I know. I like to stay in character." But you could see she thought it was a little silly. Before we left, Drew dashed back in and took the script off the table and hid it. He thought that just maybe the L-I-W would try to nab it. I think he was probably right.<br />
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The entourage showed up a little early and the queen and I went through the script again. She appreciated the simplified and straight-forward script. Also, we had replaced the problem chairs with plain, wooden ones from the sanctuary. I also told her that whatever Dick says in his announcement, they need to arrange themselves so the queen ends up in the middle. And I told her that when the room is full of people, they soak up a lot of sound so she needs to speak loudly in order to be heard. <br />
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She said, "Sitting at the end of the table I was too far away from the microphone."<br />
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There was no microphone.<br />
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So, the show began, they all went in in the correct order and the queen said the correct opening line. So guess who flubbed a line? ME! <br />
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And the queen shot me a look that was laden with daggers and ice picks. Seriously, bitch? Well, now you know how <i>we</i> felt.<br />
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The rest of the show went as it should. We had one more Jeffrey show after that. More in Part 4.<br />
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<br />Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-73749157035254617022014-02-24T21:41:00.001-08:002014-02-24T21:41:13.209-08:00Adventures with a Queen- Part 2The show was going along pretty well, considering. We added as many rehearsals as we could. Walt and I visited Chris in the hospital and shared what I had of the script so far. He laughed as I read it and said it sounded like something he would have written. That's what I wanted to hear. As I was writing it, I really had his voice in my head. Walt and I were happy and relieved after our visit with him. The path was clear and we were confident about how to proceed. A few days later, Chris left the hospital and is now recuperating at home.<br />
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I had the completed script and now I needed to get a copy to the woman who plays the queen for the Faire every year. The email address I had for her was an old one so I wasn't getting any replies. Also, for some reason my Word files weren't sending correctly, so when I sent the script to people it came through in pieces. I eventually got the "queen's" phone number. I texted her and said I'd like to deliver a printed copy to her so she could have some time to practice. This was the Monday before the show. No reply. More texts were sent. I told her I really wanted to meet with her and go over the lines because this year things were different. No reply.<br />
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(About the queen's script- I had gone through the whole thing and made her lines in bold print and colored dark blue so she could easily see which lines were hers. I also included the page with the pre-show stuff so she would better understand the whole story line.)<br />
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Wednesday evening she finally wrote back. She asked me to deliver the script to some woman named Antonia. I told her I didn't know Antonia and that my only affiliation with the church is through the Queen's Tea show. Then she asked me if I was staying at the Mission Inn (?). Um, no. That was when I figured out that she doesn't live in Riverside. Then she said (all texting here) she would be at the Mission Inn on Friday at lunch time and we could meet then. She asked me to leave a copy at the front desk. Ok, Friday is cutting it a little close, but all I need to do is go through it with her. She didn't need to memorize anything, but I wanted her to be familiar with the story line. I was planning to be at the church all day to decorate the room. I could leave at any time and pop over to the Mission Inn, which is only a block away.<br />
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On Friday morning I left a copy of the script at the front desk with her name and phone number on it. Lunch time came and went with no text, no phone call from Janet, the queen. So I called her. I asked her if she got the script. She said no.<br />
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No???<br />
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I said, "I left it for you at the front desk."<br />
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She said, "They didn't give it to me when I checked in."<br />
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Ever get the feeling that things are about to go terribly wrong?<br />
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She said she was having lunch with friends and that when she was done she'd go to her room and call me and we'd go over the script on the phone. Ok. So we did that. She liked the story line. She thought it was cute. Oh, such fun.<br />
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Saturday morning! We had two Jeffrey shows, 11:00 and 2:30. After the first show, one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting (Yeah, she has an entourage. For real) found me and told me that the queen has lost her script and do we have a spare one I could give her. WTF??? Lost her script? No, I don't have a spare! After a short but circular conversation the L-I-W said that the script wasn't lost, but it was locked in the queen's hotel room. Again, WTF??? I told her the queen's show wasn't until 4:00 and that there was plenty of time for someone to get into that room and get the script. Oh, and by the way, the queen has more than the agreed upon number of people in her entourage. We told the L-I-W the queen can have five people total, including herself. The L-I-W said, "I will convey that message to Her Majesty."<br />
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WTF????<br />
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So, at about 3:30 the whole entourage shows up. Queen Janet made a bee-line for the bathroom. The L-I-W I had spoken with earlier pulled me aside and told me the queen needed to leave the show early because she had to go to the closing ceremonies. I told her no, the queen CAN'T leave early because she's part of the show. She has lines! She's in the freakin' show! I asked the rest of the entourage if the queen had found her script. Blank stares all around. When Janet finally came in I asked her if she had her script. She and the others started rummaging around in their tote bags. Then she grabbed a script that was laying on a table and started leafing through it. I said, ok, fine. We'll just high-light her lines and use that shitty, dog-eared script. Then someone found the queen's script. It had been folded in quarters and jammed down into the bag. Oh my god.<br />
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She and I sat down and we went through the script together. She seemed to understand it all. Oh lordy. <br />
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(Here's some more goofy shit that happened- We had her long table set up in the back of the room. There were some pretty Victorian-looking chairs set up for them. One of the chairs had arms, which wouldn't work well for the ladies because of the hoop skirts, but would be just fine for Prince Albert. We had them arranged so the women wouldn't have to deal with the weird chair. Usually, the queen's entourage traveled with a Beefeater dude who would come in and announce them. This year there was no Beefeater, so one of the guys from the church (name's Dick) said he'd announce them. I didn't want him to mess around with everyone's name, so we said just introduce the queen, the prince and Princess Alice. So he did just that. And then the queen, prince, princess and the rest of the entourage very obediently trundled in in that order, completely getting themselves tangled in the chair with arms and ending up with the queen sitting all the way at the end of the table, instead of in the middle like she was supposed to.)<br />
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So then it was time to start my interaction with the queen. I said my first line.<br />
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"Your Majesty, we humbly welcome you and thank you for once again gracing us with your patronage."<br />
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And she said, "You're welcome."<br />
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AAAIIEEEE!!!!!! That's not the line! She couldn't find her line! She was on the wrong page!<br />
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So, I just jumped in and basically said all her lines and got the show started. Then we left the queen's table and went back stage. Walt, Bethie and I just GAPED at each other! We couldn't believe what had just happened. Oh my god.<br />
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By the time we ended the first song she was on the right page and the show ran smoothly.<br />
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Until...<br />
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(See part 3)<br />
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<br />Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-20946851122566499272014-02-24T20:44:00.000-08:002014-02-25T11:31:11.065-08:00Adventures with a Queen- Part 1This weekend was the Riverside Dickens Faire. For the last several years now I've been involved with the Queen's Tea show at First Congregational Church. Yeah, me, doing a show at a church. Hey, it's a cool church.<br />
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They put out a very nice meal with tea and a music hall show. There are fresh-baked scones, finger sandwiches, pastries, fruit, and chocolates, lemon curd, jam and clotted cream. It's really quite good.<br />
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The music hall show is written and directed by a dear man named Chris. Over the years there have been many different people involved with the show, but usually the cast will consist of three or four people. This year it was to be Chris, me, a guy named Walt and a girl named Bethie. Walt had done the show twice before. He's not an experienced actor, but he's got a lot of enthusiasm and he's very pleasant to be around. This was Bethie's first time with the show. She's sixteen years old and has an amazing and mature singing voice. Everything started off in the usual way, but very quickly the show got into trouble. Chris became very ill with a nasty mix of ailments, with pneumonia leading the pack.<br />
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At first there was very little communication with Chris' family. Walt and I were reluctant to pester them with our issues about the show, but we really needed to know how to proceed. Eventually we found out that Chris was in bad shape. I also found out that the Dickens committee at the church had had a meeting where it was announced that two hundred tickets had already been sold, and that Donita could dive in and take over (and no, Donita wasn't at this meeting but heard about it the next day from Walt). So, ok, here we go.<br />
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Mr. Walt basically leapt into action with emails and texts, while I privately bitched and whined about not wanting to do what I knew I would end up doing. Whatever Chris had planned for the show had to be rewritten without him. We had the recorded piano parts from last year on a cd, and the story idea he had come up with for this year. Walt hunted down the missing sheet music and converted the piano music to an mp3. I began to write dialog. Two scripts were needed; one for the show that included Queen Victoria, and one for the non-queen shows. Both scripts had to tell basically the same story<br />
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So here it is-<br />
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Mr. Treacle (Chris) took on a protege for the show this year. She's a young, high-born girl who just wants to act upon the stage. Since she's an aristocrat, this activity is forbidden to her. Her real name is Felicity Farthingale, but she's calling herself Maisie Duckett. Dame Hermione Fabersham (me) has been with Mr. Treacle's show for years and is very suspicious of this new girl. Mr. Broderick Bumblepitch (Walt) is a wealthy benefactor of the music hall who just loves to perform, and is completely smitten with Dame Hermione.<br />
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The show is ready to begin but Mr. Treacle is nowhere to be seen. Dame Hermione receives a note, flies into a panic and shares the news with Maisie and Broderick. Mr. Treacle has had an unfortunate encounter with a carriage horse which resulted in him receiving a well-placed kick upon his bum. The poor man cannot perform and the rest of the cast must make some hasty changes to the show before the queen shows up. When the queen arrives, Hermione introduces the cast to her. She recognizes Felicity/Maisie, but doesn't expose her just yet. Hermione's suspicion goes into high gear and Maisie gets verrry nervous.<br />
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As the show progresses, the queen from time to time plays a bit of cat-and-mouse with Maisie. The dialog links a total of nine songs together. At the end of the show Maisie is exposed as the daughter of a lord, Hermione is furious, Broderick convinces her that Maisie's father may send his patronage their way when he hears of the enjoyable and diverting afternoon the queen spent in their music hall, and all's well that end's well. Huzzah.<br />
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For the non-queen show we had Felicity's cousin Jeffrey (played by a guy named Jeff) show up in the audience. When Hermione and Broderick leave the room, he pounces on Felicity/Maisie and threatens to tell her father about the whole thing. Felicity/Maisie begs him to let her perform just this once. Jeffrey (a bit of a cad) agrees to not tell her father, but lets her know he expects her to return the favor one day. The show goes on and in the end Felicity/Maisie is exposed and so on and so forth. Huzzah.<br />
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And so we commenced to rehearsin'. We had three weeks to pull it together.<br />
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<br />Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-80323306603519245162014-01-23T22:40:00.001-08:002014-01-23T22:43:09.848-08:00Hello 2014. Whatcha got?Feeling meh. Life in general is pretty great, but there are some important pieces missing. Mainly, a job. Income. Something to do, someplace to go every day. Cash flow. If I had that, pretty much everything else would take care of itself.<br />
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I know I say I'm doing fine, but a lot of the time I'm not. Not fine, not ok. This isn't a comfortable place for me. I know there are a lot of people in this world who are never happy, even when things are going well. I'm not like that. I'm a naturally happy person. Happy is my default setting. I can be happy when everything is complete shit. I relied heavily on this natural tendency when I was going through all that stuff some years ago. Even as a grieving widow who was caring for a crazy Alzheimer's dad, I was pretty perky.<br />
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But damn it, being unemployed is fucking depressing and this is my second stint. The last time I was unemployed for a year and a half. This time, it's almost been a year. It was a huge mistake taking that stupid job at the water department, but even if I had stayed where I was I would have been out of a job in a few months anyway. My old boss was caught stealing from the company and that whole office was shut down. Awesome.<br />
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Depression is spiritually and psychically immobilizing. Since leaving the job from hell last March I have done some productive things, which were wonderfully diverting, but all that means is I got some work done and did some fun stuff while the money drained away. All that time I've been in the same situation I'm in now. I get up every morning, do some shit, and then go to bed at night. I can't keep doing this.<br />
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So I have to do something to make it all better while the tedious task of searching for a job continues. There are some big events looming ahead (I shouldn't put it like that. It's all going to be fun) and there is a lot that needs to get done before then. I need to plow through the fog and get it on. Rock and roll, goddammit!<br />
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A new set of mantras would help. "Right foot, left foot, repeat" is a good one and it's gotten me through a lot. So, let's see...<br />
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- Make sure you do at least one thing every day that will move things forward. More than one thing if you can manage it.<br />
- Putter. There is power in a good putter.<br />
- More out than in. This has been an important one in the past. Start using it again. This means I have to get rid of more stuff and bring in less. Sell, sell, sell!<br />
- Move your ass! Keep exercising. This also means sticking to the diet (10 pounds lost so far).<br />
- More art, more music, more comedy. Especially more comedy.<br />
- More people. I tend to let myself get isolated. I don't like that.<br />
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I guess that'll do for a start. Just keep going. Force myself to keep going. It does feel good to be productive and this stupid job situation won't last forever. I'm broadening the search. You may see me in an orange vest flipping that sign that says STOP and SLOW. I might be your barista. Something will come along.<br />
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By the way, this is NOT a cry for help. I don't need anyone to get all concerned and try to fix anything. I appreciate the job alerts, (thanks for those) but no one needs to do anything for me. I'm glad I have so many great friends. We'll keep doing what we do.<br />
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<br />Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-80235506081208953272013-09-20T21:36:00.000-07:002013-09-20T22:05:14.266-07:00A little rant...This might piss some people off just a bit, but it kind of drives me crazy so, whatever, get pissed if you want to.
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I've been doing comedy for two years now. I've been a performer for most of my life, but only two years as a comedian. I'm not the world's expert on anything but I'm pretty sure I'm right about this. I have a complaint about some comedians.
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Audiences can be iffy. We all love it when we have a big room chock full of people who came to laugh. It's a great big, ego-feeding, energizing, tit-sucking RUSH. Seriously, it's just the best, and I love it as much as anyone. But we all have also experienced that small, shy, had-a-bad-day, ho-hum collection of barely conscious strangers who, although they've paid their money to see some comedy, will still sit there like they've been beaten and dragged to traffic school. The tough crowd.
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But not all of them will be like that. Most of them do laugh at least some of the time. And even if they're not in an hysterical panic, they're probably having a good time. So why is it that so many comics are completely undone by this kind of room? For some reason they don't hear the laughter that is coming their way in a wimpy but steady stream, but instead will fixate on that one stone-faced guy in the middle of the room. Last night I was at a show that had this kind of audience. It was an undersold show that, in my opinion, was way overbooked with comedians. They could have cut the line-up in half and it probably would have been a better show. And here's where I could get into some trouble. I thought most of the material kind of sucked. But I have seen audiences that just about wet themselves laughing at that stuff, so you can't really judge a show by that.
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The thing that drives me nuts is, I really, <i>really</i> hate it when a comic gets up there, gets a few polite giggles and then blames the audience for not falling out of their chairs. Last night many people WERE laughing, but almost every one of those comics were thrown by the modest chuckle level and they commented on it. None of them overtly turned on the audience, but the comics' own discomfort was noticeable enough to dampen the room even more than it already was. You could just feel it.
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Some comics will completely bail on their own act. One night at a different club, a young female comic wasn't quite feeling the love so she just walked around the stage making comments about what was up there; the floor, the back drop, the mike stand. Then she picked up a menu and started reading it and saying how stupid she thought it was. That's the worst example, but I've seen stuff that was close to being that bad.
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Audiences can be squirrely. Smaller audiences can be harder to fluff up. But I've had 13 people in a room that all laughed their asses off. I've also seen 60 people just sit there. Sometimes there's nothing you can do to make them laugh but the totally fucking WRONG thing to do is blame THEM. Jeez, I've only been doing this for 2 years. Almost everyone in the comedy world has been at it waaaay longer than I have. Haven't they figured it out by now that there's a certain audience dynamic you just can't control? And so what? You still have to be professional and do your job. Being able to get up on a stage as a professional entertainer is a privilege, and there are thousands who would love to do it, who work hard at being good at it and might not ever get the opportunity. The people who paid their money are there to be entertained. They're NOT there to stroke your broken ego. And if they aren't laughing you still have to perform as if they are! The audience isn't there because they love you. You are there because <i>you love them.</i> At least you should.
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<br />Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-17022278008124123192013-09-19T15:01:00.000-07:002013-09-19T15:01:30.357-07:00Hollywood TypesLast night I performed at a bar show in Sherman Oaks. It's called The Cork Lounge and the show they have on Wednesday nights is becoming more and more popular. Nice atmosphere in that place, and I'm glad to be a part of it.
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When I got there I settled into one of the booths. A couple sat at the table next to mine. He was about my age, maybe younger, hair slicked back, glasses with darkish shades and wearing a nice suit. His girlfriend was a typical trophy girlfriend, blonde and boobylicious. When I did my set I checked out everyone in the room to see how my act was going over. Lots of people laughing, some not paying attention at all, the usual bar audience. Mr. Hollywood was sitting there with his arm around the girlfriend. She was laughing, he was just smiling an nodding. Every joke punch line, every song laugh line brought a smile and a nod, smile and nod, smile and nod. So, ok, he's enjoying it.
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As I was packing up at the end of the show, he rose and shook my hand. "I really enjoyed what you did up there. Your songs are very funny." I said, "Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for coming." He said, "Have you done any movies? Has Hollywood come calling?" I said, "Oh no, not yet. I haven't been at this for very long. I would really love it, though." He said, "Well, I think a lot of people would love it. I think a lot of people would really enjoy what you do."
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At this point I'm really wondering where this is leading.
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I said, "Aw, thanks. I appreciate you saying that." Then he said, "Yeah, I think you could be the female Adam Sandler!"
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I punched that motherfucker in the face.
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And then I gave him my card.Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-42761212420208236902013-07-23T10:20:00.001-07:002013-07-23T10:20:57.764-07:00Well that was one goofy-ass dream...I was working in an office. I was told to fetch a file on one of our clients. His counselor was P.J. Walsh (a pretty brilliant comic everyone should see). He needed a form that was in the file. As I looked through it, it started to grow and get more complicated, which happens a lot in my dreams. A simple task becomes ridiculous and causes me to veer from the focus of the dream, which is usually way more fun than the task. This time the file became overly stuffed and included a box of old stuffed animals. I decided I could get that form online and left the file on the table. I went own the hall to find my boss's assistant. I went into my boss's (Barbra Streisand) office and found her on the phone, yelling angrily at someone. I retreated and shut the door. At the end of the hall was a storage closet. I knew the assistant was going to be in there. People were coming and going in and out of that room. They were busy setting it up so some dirty hillbillies could live there a while. I stood at the door for a second and decided I was in the way should step away and wait for the assistant to come out. A woman came out to talk to me with two of the hillbilly children. She said, "You can't disrespect these people like that. Looking at them is disrespectful." I guessed she was some kind of dirty hillbilly social worker. The two children said, "Yeah, you can't do that! You're stupid!" I knew it was useless to try to defend myself so I turned and walked away. I decided I'd go to the grocery store (also in the building) and get myself some lunch. The store was being remodeled and workers were restocking the low, open freezers. I wanted a chicken pot pie for lunch, but all they had was cartons of ice cream. I sat down at the lunch counter, which was really a row of freezers with a counter top, and waited for them to find the chicken pot pies. I felt a pair of arms encircle me from behind and a soft voice whispered in my ear. I knew that voice belonged to my dearest love, Michael Cera. We left the grocery store and went to the apartment we shared on the ground floor of that same building. I puttered around for a while. I looked up and saw that Michael Cera was driving away in a golf cart. The body of the golf cart was made of wicker (pretty cool, I thought). When he came back the cart was loaded with members of my family (none of them were my real family). As they got out of the cart they started arguing and accusing each other of several different crimes. They were yelling at each other and saying they all needed to behave because they were visiting me. I frowned at Michael Cera and he looked at me with a helpless expression. I knew then that he'd only wanted to surprise me with a visit from my loving family.
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I think I'm reading too much Game of Thrones.Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-9929106206859586302013-07-21T15:41:00.000-07:002013-07-21T15:54:01.806-07:00Katherine Hepburn, Arya StarkIt's been ten years since Jim lost his job and we moved back to Riverside. It's been twelve years since I last had what I considered to be a stable life. Jim had his career, we had our two girls, many wonderful friends, and the first house that was our own. Then things started going south at Hewlett Packard. The founders were no longer in charge, and it was decided that HP would be split into two separate companies. Jim was so disturbed by this. The company hired consultants who instated policies Mr. Hewlett and Mr. Packard never would have tolerated. Employees who didn't adjust were considered to be a liability, and grumbling about the coming changes could get you put on the fast track to getting laid off. Jim took all of this personally and became very depressed. Watching all this happen was like seeing a train wreck in slow motion, and eventually he was laid off along with hundreds of others at the Santa Rosa division, many of them our good friends. -------------------------------------------------- Most of you know the story from there. We moved back to Riverside and settled in at the farm. Soon after, Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and Jim and I became his main caregivers. Jim grieved over losing his job. It wasn't just a job. The culture at HP had been something he really loved. The company had the reputation of being very good to their employees. Holiday parties and picnics, perks and bonuses were the norm. Just about every friend we had was connected with HP, and most of them were musicians. The good times rolled. And when it was gone, my husband couldn't deal with it. The sadness lasted until the day he died. ---------------------------------- My girls and I had to build a new life. My daughters dove into the big adventure of building this new life because that's what young people do. Young people can fly without a net. Not so easy for me. When I was younger I worked mostly in dead-end retail jobs. When we had our kids I was a stay-at-home mom (thanks to that great HP job of Jim's). I went to junior college and dabbled in the fun stuff, but didn't take classes to develop any useful or marketable skills. So now here I am, a middle-aged widow who needs to find a way to support herself. It all looked pretty bleak, but because I had the good fortune of being part of a family that is completely awesome on several levels, I was able to get a good (although low-paying) job that gave me the opportunity to learn some skills, and to modify and apply my many nature-given talents. Things were looking up. Sort of. ----------------------------------- Still, I had no real stability. Hell, I still don't! The last twelve years have pounded me from all directions. Many, MANY great things have happened in that time, and I'm grateful for the mind-blowing opportunities that have plopped into my lap, but I haven't ever been able to get back that feeling of security and stability that was such a big part of my former life. I have taken all the blows and kept going, but I haven't been entirely ok. Lots of fear going on here. Depression, inertia, grief, anger, more fear, fuck-it-who-cares, failure and fatigue are all there just below the surface. I could lose everything. My inner Sarah Palin screams, "You're too old, too fat, too stupid, too whatever to succeed!" But I'm trying. I really am. That little motto at the top of this blog: Right foot, left foot, repeat. That sucker has gotten me through some rough times. --------------------------------- The last time we went to the river I bought one of those commemorative Life magazine issues to read under the easy-up. It's about Katherine Hepburn 10 years after her death. I've always loved her. The Philadelphia Story is my favorite movie. The dialog is loaded with the snappy, witty repartee typical of movies of that era. I totally dig that shit. And hell, I just love her. But in her live interviews there always seemed to be a certain amount of bullshit. I never really bought the real Katherine Hepburn. She always seemed to be just a little too much in love with herself. But there were some photos in this special Life issue that smacked me. One is of 80-something Hepburn in a bathing suit, running with a towel after swimming in an icy lake. Snow is on the ground. Another photo shows her at about the same age playing tennis. So, ok. Maybe she had to be in love with herself to accomplish what she did in her own era. She had endless energy and drive, style and beauty, and she died at age 96. That's not bullshit. She didn't mope and whine about life's hard knocks. I'm not even sure she noticed them. --------------------------------- Ok, on to Arya Stark. I came to Game of Thrones a bit late. I tuned in for the last third of season two and I've seen all of season three. I'm entertained, but I don't know who the hell anyone is or how they got there. I decided I'd read all the books before the next season starts so I can catch up. Damn, I'm loving these stories! I plowed through the first book in about three days. I decided to slow down a bit for the second one. I found myself going through my day in Game of Thrones mode, which might not be appropriate for 2013 real life in America (Do NOT impede my progress for I am bound for the check-out line! STAND ASIDE!). The character I love the most is Arya Stark. Holy crap. There have been a few times where she has shed some tears, but mostly she just gets it ON. Sneak, run, stab, survive, outsmart, hide, fight, stab some more, lie, run, run, run, sneak, stab... Dayum, girl! Does she boo-hoo because she misses the comfort of stability? NO! She's plotting who she's going to kill next! God, I love her. ------------------------------------- All this has been swirling in my head. And it's making me happy! I don't know what the future will bring. Some stuff is in the works but it's not a done deal. I'm no more stable than I was six, ten, twelve years ago. I could still lose it all. I might be completely deluded, but I feel pretty fucking good these days. I've been eating low carb, which reeeally helps. I'm finally getting some meaningful work done on my house. Lots of good stuff on the horizon, performing-wise. All that adds up for sure. But keeping Hepburn and Stark with me as I go through my day helps me feel empowered (and that's CRAZY!). Today I went to Costco. When I went to my car I couldn't find my keys. I went through every pocket in my purse but no luck. I was just about to look through the window to see if I had locked them in the car when I saw them at the bottom of my shopping cart, dangling, ready to drop and be lost forever. I laughed at myself. "Woman, you'd die in the wild." As I'm loading the car and laughing, "You're no Arya Stark." As I shut the back hatch, "You're more like that shit-for-brains Sansa."
Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-53231200923878826612013-04-21T12:12:00.000-07:002013-04-21T12:12:27.460-07:00It's too fucking bad, isn't it?The news has been crazy lately. Two bombs exploded at the Boston Marathon, taking three lives and blasting the legs off of several innocent bystanders. The suspects were quickly identified, and an aggressive but well-executed manhunt ensued. The city was almost completely shut down as people sheltered in their homes. The response of law enforcement was massive and it didn't take long for them to find the two suspects. One was killed in a shoot-out and the other was apprehended, alive but with serious wounds. ____________________________________________________
There's so much sadness woven throughout this story. We've been seeing photos of those killed in the explosion, as well as the campus police officer that was killed later that night. We've seen photos of the other victims in their hospital beds surrounded by family and friends and (really?) Bradley Cooper (as if we all needed one more reason to adore him, which I do). We've also been hearing the stories about the heroes, and the helpers, and the sheer awesomeness of the cop who brought milk to a family who couldn't leave their home. All these stories are quite amazing and you can almost hear the frantic phone conversations of studio heads scrambling to secure the movie rights. _______________________________
But I'm also struck by the sadness of the story of the nineteen-year-old bomber who survived. Don't get me wrong. Hear me out. When the first photos and the security video were released showing the two brothers walking through the crowd, I felt immediately that the younger man, the one following a few paces behind, the one with the satisfied smile, wasn't like the older one leading the way. Even in those grainy pictures it seemed to me that this was the smile of a young guy who was just happy to be included in the plans of the older guy. I really felt that whatever the older guy's motives were for carrying out this horrific act, the younger guy didn't share them. Not entirely, anyway. __________________________
Once they were identified and the people who knew them began to share their stories, the picture started to become more complete (For me, anyway. All this is just my own idea about the thing). We heard that the younger brother was just a regular kid. His father described him as an angel. His former teacher said that he idolized his older brother and followed him around like a puppy. We've seen photos of a very attractive but serious young man with cold eyes. I wonder about that a little. I'll bet there are plenty of photos of him laughing with his buddies. We won't see those because it's important not to humanize him. He must continue to be portrayed as a monster. The media is doing its job. ___________________________________________
So here's a kid who looked up to his big brother. It's too bad that no one helped him to stand on his own. Big brother got involved with some jihadist group, for whatever reason, and the little brother was easily sucked in. Big brother didn't give a shit about the people that were killed and maimed, but he also didn't give a shit about his younger brother. Did he care at all what might happen to him? Oh well.______________________________________
So hey there, little brother. You went along because your big brother was everything in your eyes. You killed and maimed, and stabbed an entire country in the heart because you never learned to listen to your own. Your brother <i>fucked you</i> and now he's dead and you're laying in a hospital bed alone. The doctors will heal your wounds and you will get to live, alone, until you are placed in a cold room, alone, with a needle in your arm, where you will die, alone, with others watching.Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599394.post-40137960451969369212013-04-04T22:39:00.001-07:002013-04-04T22:44:43.854-07:00StuffBoy, I have certainly gotten out of the habit. I really should (said it before, I know) get back into it. This blog has saved my sanity in the past, and now I'm in another crappy life phase. Blog, bitch, blog!
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So, once again I'm unemployed. This time around I don't have health insurance. Great. So, I need to cultivate those healthy habits. I'm walking more. Today I took my bike in to get fixed. On Fridays I walk with Jeff. Last Friday I went to our meeting place and waited for him in my car. I saw an attractive young woman jog up. She had probably the most perfect body I've ever seen. She was curvy, but trim. Her arms were toned and she was very well-proportioned. I said to myself, "Well, good for you honey. Congratulations. You've won the genetic lottery but you're also doing a great job of keeping yourself in shape. Good for you." When she jogged by I watched her in the rearview mirror. She got into her car, which was parked right behind me. I hadn't noticed it before. A brand new, white Mercedes. Then I was all, "Oh fuck you. Fuck you and your perfect body and your white Mercedes."
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I just couldn't support that.
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On Saturday I'm going to Flappers in Burbank to sit in on a Comedy Traffic School class. I'll be in training. We'll see how it goes. I do think it'll be a good fit, and I'll bet it'll be a good way to develop my audience skills. I really admire comics who can interact with an audience and do it well. And hey, teaching Comedy Traffic School will be something I can do on the side and make a little money.
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Last Sunday I went to open mike at Flappers Claremont. A comedian's open mike is an interesting thing. It's not at all like a musician's open mike. It's mostly comics who are trying out new material, which means almost everyone bombs. Even comics who are otherwise pretty good. But it's ok. It's really a pretty forgiving and supportive environment. Still, you'd better not go in there expecting a lot of laughs. It's not an ego feed.
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That's about it for now.Donita Curiosohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07771034794642764604noreply@blogger.com0