Breed not a savage blog

My blogs are barkin'

Computer problems have hindered me from taking the time this morning to blog in an acceptable way. Now I am out of time, but I want to share this one little thing.

I'm not getting political cuz that's not what I want this blog to be about. I only include the following two quotes because they are from a strong woman and I think they are appropriate for my "message." The quotes are from Joe Biden's mother. He shared them with the world at the DNC last night. I'm not tryin' to get anyone on the Biden train. If you like him that's your thing. If you don't, I get it. I'm not preaching. These two quotes are from his mother and she's not running for anything. I dug them so much I'm thinking about making them some sort of affirmation even though affirmations seem really squirrely to me.

Here they are:

1 —
"No one is better than you. Everyone is your equal and everyone is equal to you."

How freakin' GREAT is that? We all have value. No one has more value than you do because they have more money, more kids, a bigger house, a flatter stomach or a tighter ass. I mean it! We are each on our own path and my path is as important as someone else's. My path may be twistier and turnier than yours or have hills or be smoothly paved. Who knows. But mine is mine and yours is yours. We may now stop measuring each other by the same old yard stick.

2—
"You are defined by your sense of honor and you are redeemed by your loyalty."

Well, ... can we get back to this? I mean, right now, as women we allow ourselves to be defined (and define ourselves) by the number on the scale, the number of the size or our garment, the number on our birthday card and the number on our paycheck. It's time to touch base with our honor and at the very least, define OURSELVES, regardless of how others define us, by our character.

No?

That and good hair.

Big Beautiful Blog

Ask a lamppost what it thinks about blogs.

There was this bad wreck in front of our apartment the other night. By bad, I mean that both cars were totaled and undriveable but no one was hurt. THANK HEAVENS! Right?

It was spooky, that wreck. When we heard it, it just … kept going. We heard three different impacts and we thought it was a pile up of some kind or that someone had gone all PCP and was just smashing into vehicles for the hell of it. When we looked out of our living room window all we could see was one, old four door SUV facing across two lanes that promptly floored it and ran RIGHT into our building. You read that correctly. The car seemed to floor it and run right into our building. Matt and I stood there for a second and thought, “Really?”

We ran down to see if anyone was hurt and there was a cabbie smashed into a light pole so hard his trunk was buckled up so far he couldn’t see out of the front window. He was limping but swore he was fine. How he walked away from that with both legs I will never know.

The gal driving the SUV was tiny. She was 5 feet tall and 90 pounds soaking wet. As we looked around the intersection we couldn’t quite tell how the wreck had happened. It was only the two cars. We originally thought it was at least a four car pile up. No kidding. It was just the two. One poor car had gotten hit that was parked on the road. And then of course … my poor apartment building that was doing nothing at all to provoke such an attack.

Oh, and the best story is this: A young guy came walking up and had this odd look on his face like he maybe thought he was walking in a dream. He said, “You’re not gonna believe this but I’m just walking back to my apartment from moving my car. It was parked right here.” Right here was where the SUV had just barreled over to then hit the building. Meaning, there was an empty space through which the SUV traveled in order to hit the building and five minutes prior to that there had been a car parked there. Oh man. What? Wow. He won the prize for luckiest car that night. Had he been parked there, his car would have been totaled, no doubt. However, my poor building would have been spared.

But what was more astounding than ALL OF THAT … was that I ran down to see if I could help and I had crazy hair, no make up and was wearing my pajama bottoms. I mean … what? Thank GOD I still had a bra on. If anything could have drawn attention from that wreck, it would have been me all crazy haired in PJ bottoms with a T-shirt and no brazziere. I think the cops might even have arrested me had that been the case. You know … for being offensive.

Listen, I am sort of thrilled that I not only went down to check on the drivers of the cars, but then stayed down there and chatted with neighbors for … oh … half an hour WITHOUT MAKEUP AND HAIR! Cuz you know what? I often won’t go downstairs to our mailbox without makeup and hair. But while being sort of thrilled I am also sort of mortified. I am gonna run into these people again. Right? They are my neighbors. And forever, when they look at me, they will see crazy bag lady, pajama bottom person who lives in number four.

You never get a second chance to make a first impression. At least I came off like I’m someone who cares about injured drivers so much she doesn’t care if she’s ratty. Right?

Try orderin' somebody else's blog around

I waited tables for 13 years. THIRTEEN YEARS, PEOPLE! And here’s the rub: A) I thought I was pretty good at it when I was doing it because I was able to pay my bills and go to movies and buy cocktails, etc. but I, in fact, was not good at it at all. B) That is not the job for someone with food issues.

Let’s start with A.

I’m not sure how I convinced myself I was a good waitress. I think it’s because I only got suspended once and I kept getting hired when I would apply for a job and I always had money in my pocket. So I convinced myself I was rockin’ it. But while all that was happening I made one third less money than all of my contemporaries and I had continuous waitress nightmares. I had one where I went to work and my “section” was through a door and into a gymnasium. There was one super long table there and it was mine. Oh, but it wasn’t my ONLY table. NO. So I started taking orders and pouring coffee and by the time I got around the table the first person was asking where their food was and I hadn’t even put the order in yet. I go to put the order in and I don’t understand the computer and I’m standing at the computer forever and the waiters behind me are yelling and pushing me out of the way and I can’t get my order placed. I would wake up breathing heavily like I had just run a city block and my sheets were often damp from perspiration. It’s making my stomach hurt just retelling it.

I remember whenever I would quit a day job (because I hated most of them) I would always say, “I can always go back to waiting tables.” But the truth is I don’t think I could. With my newfound enlightenment (that enlightened me to sucking at waiting tables), I don’t think I could make a living at it. I mean, I could scrape by financially maybe, but I would be stressed out and dreading it daily. I would lose sleep. The more stressed I got the more I would eat. It would rule my life.

B) Someone told me once that if you work in a fast food joint long enough, the smell of the hot grease gets to you and you never want to eat fast food again. I had a friend in high school who worked at Dairy Queen (oh, yes) and said she never wanted to see or eat ice cream again as long as she lived. I guess it’s the same principle as your Dad catching you smoking and making you smoke the whole pack. Right? So I thought that principle would apply to restaurants also. But for me, not so much. I love restaurants. I love sitting and having things brought to me. I love not cooking (cuz I’m the Lazy Foodie … remember?) I REALLY love not washing the dishes after cooking. I sometimes like the décor. I often like the way the table looks, like if there’s a candle and pretty glasses. And I love the food. It is rare that I hate something I order in a restaurant. It happens, I’m sure. I just can’t think of the last time.

While I was working in restaurants I kept thinking I would get sick of my shift meal at some point. That also never happened. (a shift meal is the meal you are provided by your job and I think it’s because you work a 6 – 8 hour shift without a true break … or I always worked a 6 – 8 hour shift without a break. Oh and the shift meal is one of only a few choices). I never got sick of my shift meal or the food I was surrounded by. I could never resist it. I would go back to the prep area and grab things off the deck. I would literally grab bites of things off plates before taking them out to the table. I WOULD. I couldn’t resist. If you have an issue with food and eating, I’m thinking working in a restaurant … that makes food … may not be the way to go. It wasn’t for me, anyhow.

I hope I never have to go back to waiting tables, but if I do … I think I’m gonna apply at House of Pies. Mmmmm. NOOOOOOooooooo!!

Every blog deserves one good bite.

Okay so … you know I love the Olympics. Right? “Love” might be a slight understatement. I’m sort of obsessed with them. I watch and watch and watch. I WILL say that I do believe it gets my heart pumping to watch and I convince myself that I am working off calories in the viewing.

But here’s my suggestion to any and all prospective or aspiring Olympians. If you are focusing for four full years on making an Olympic team, and you think you might actually have a shot at a medal … I would suggest you brush up on the lyrics to The Star Spangled Banner. See what I’m sayin’? Why risk losing all the respect and adoration you just earned by flubbing the lyrics that you are softly singing to yourself under your breath. We can read lips when it comes to this, you know. The camera is TIGHT on you. It’s the world of digital images. Everything is crazy crystal clear. We can see you trying to fake your way through mouthing the lyrics. And it’s not pretty.

And for those of you who don’t even try to mouth the lyrics … try to mouth the lyrics. Make us believe the pride in your country you profess at the end of the race when you are draped in that flag. Just ... make the effort.

I guess that’s the point I wanna make. If I’m trying to tie this up and make it relate to food issues, then … make the effort. I know. It’s a little weak, but if you want it to it can be totally correct and relateable. All you have to do to make this blog work in your mind … is make the effort. Right?

Due to the fact that I am absolutely convinced there are aspiring Olympians reading this blog (read sarcasm), here are the lyrics to The Star Spanlged Banner by Francis Scott Key, 1814:

Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

P.S. … there are three more verses or stanzas or whatever they are called. You ONLY have to know this one.

If you stop every time a blog barks, your road will never end.

There is very little that motivates me to get on the treadmill more than the freakin’ Olympics. For those of you who don’t watch, consider it.

Oh Emm Gee. Did anyone watch the marathon? I got cramps in my calves and stomach and ass and lungs and ego just WATCHING that freakin’ race. It’s 26 miles of gorgeousness in Beijing that cannot be enjoyed by the runners due to their blurring vision caused by dehydration and all consuming pain. Or that’s what I imagine.

I said to my Matty, “I am always so curious about what draws people to a particular sport. I am curious about how they discovered that running 26 miles without stopping, possibly losing a toenail or two and feeling their own mortality due to scorching pain was the sport for them.” He said, “Yeah.” He didn’t really care about my musings but was being a good partner by pretending to listen. Bless him.

So get this … the Gold Medal winner, a very bony gal from Romania (Constantina Tomescu-Dita) won the race by a VERY wide margin. She ran into the Bird’s Nest in Beijing all by her lonesome and almost finished the last 400 meters before the next runner entered the arena. So she bursts through the tape at the finish line, right? And what does she do? She RUNS over and gets her flag and RUNS her victory lap. Then … she continues to run. She stops now and then for a photo or to give an autograph or for a hug and then … she starts running again. When the cameras cut away to go back to the announcer, she was STILL RUNNING!

Do you get what I’m saying? She ran 26 miles, was CLEARLY hurting, crossed the finish line and kept running and running and running. Listen, at 30 minutes on the treadmill I am ready for a cocktail and a Little Debbie Cake. I stay on longer, but I don’t want to. And when I get OFF the treadmill I don’t then go outside and go for a jog. I don’t jog around my apartment in celebration. I don’t even run a diagnostic on my computer. There is no running after I finish my work out. What is wrong with that gal?

I am Tivoing as much Olympic coverage as my digital recording device can hold so I can watch it as I tread because there is little that is more motivating to me than the reminder of what I am capable of if I were to … want to put my body through a meat grinder.

Only Mad Blogs and Englishmen Go Out in the Noonday Sun

I’m not afraid of success. I AM, however, afraid of the amount of work it takes to be successful. I am basically lazy. I know what some of you are saying. “Hey, you write a daily blog and you have a massive website that you update monthly and in the meantime you audition like crazy and work the jobs you book and do live shows around town, balance the checkbooks and go to the Laundromat and the UPS store for stamps and do traffic school for your speeding ticket, how can you call yourself lazy?” Well, because I fight it. Just because I don’t let my laziness win doesn’t mean I’m not lazy at my core.

I was having lunch with a friend who does a live show once a month here in Los Angeles and she has invited me to be a part of it. I am very interested because I can pimp out my website. But I am not gonna lie … I got tired just thinking about doing a show every month. I burst out into sweat. I burst out so much I hope she didn’t get any in her eye. I mean the sweat BURST.

Anyhoo … I’ll do it and I’ll end up enjoying it but what I would rather do is sit here in my office and spit out content for my blog and my website continuously. The marketing part and the cajoling people to visit and come back and selling ads and all that, that’s not my bag and it makes me want to take a long nap while Law and Order plays on the TV.

I’ll let you locals know about the show when it happens. But don’t expect me to have a drink with you after. I’ll have to go home and go to bed immediately to sleep it off.

A good blog deserves a good bone.

What I have to do when it comes to working out is convince myself it’s a luxury. And it IS a luxury. But I guess you could say getting your coochy waxed is a luxury also and it’s not one I look forward to or like … or have ever done. So what I do is tell myself that I GET to work out today and not I HAVE TO work out today. Or I try. Like on the days that I don’t have time to work out I say, “I didn’t get to work out today.” But on the days where I do have time and it’s worked into my schedule I hear myself say, “I still have to work out today.” So I try to catch myself and turn that into something I’m looking forward to just as much as I look forward to my afternoon snack. It works. Not every time, but it works.

That’s good advice for many things. You may remember a few blogs ago I listed things I don’t enjoy doing that I would love to have an assistant do FOR me. Right? I wonder if I can find a way to convince myself that it’s something I GET to do for myself. Like … OH, YAY! I get to walk down to the UPS store and buy some stamps from the slow lumbering zombie employees (not the fast moving “28 Days Later” zombies) who have seen me every month for the last 8 years and always act like they are seeing me for the first time. How delightful that will be. Or … I’m so looking forward to going to the Laundromat! I will have time to read and write and sweat profusely since I can’t leave because if I leave the dryer will mysteriously cut off 10 minutes early and the next time I go to the Laundromat I will see a person who doesn’t speak English when I ask her about it wearing my Elvis Costello Concert T-shirt. That will be something for my diary! (That really happened.) Uh oh. I don’t think I accomplished what I was going for. I was trying to trick my psyche into seeing these things as luxuries. Oops.

Okay, well, I’ll keep at it. I’m sure I can turn it around the same way I did with exercise. Right?

In blog years ... I'm dead.

Enjoy your life. Enjoy the present. Enjoy it now, people. Cuz if you don’t, you’re gonna look back and wish you did. And then you’re gonna turn into one of those people who don’t live in the present but constantly rewrite and relive the past. How much fun can that be? Fun for you, maybe. Not so fun for us listening to the freakin’ story for the hundreth time.

I had lunch with a friend the other day and she said she looks back at photos of herself and asks herself why she thought she was ugly back in the day. She looks back and says to herself, “You were so pretty. Why didn’t you think you were pretty?” She is one of several of my friends who have finally figured it out. And maybe it is meant for those of us with some years on us. Maybe that is our gift for making it into adulthood marginally gracefully, is that we finally get to enjoy the moment.

Look, I like remembering and revisiting the past with the most skilled of them. But there is something so distressing to me about those folks who never moved away from the small hometown I grew up in because staying close to home meant staying around people who still see the football star when they look at them. It means still getting respect for accomplishments long past. It means never really needing to accomplish more than pooping out some little ones because they peaked lo’ those many years ago. More power to them if that’s the life they feel suited for, but my heart breaks because they don’t live now. And some day they are gonna look back at NOW and regret not enjoying it to it’s fullest.

Listen, there is also the flip side of that which is my young nieces and nephews who are constantly living for tomorrow. But that will spin my musings out to the stratosphere and make this blog the size of my dick. And nobody wants that. (I don’t have a dick but I DO have balls)

Try to be present. Try to look around and enjoy the present. Or don’t. Do what works for you. I’m just suggesting that if you don’t enjoy the now, you may regret it later.

A barking blog never bites

Now that I am not as fat, I like washing my own car in one of those bays. I used to like to take it to the car wash and sit and watch it go through the tunnel on the conveyor thing because sitting and watching things was my favorite thing to do when I was heavier. But now I like doing it myself with the spray nozzle thing and the brush with the soap that comes out through the bristles. I haven’t figured out why I get looks. I get looks that could be, “Why are you bothering? It’s a Saturn.” Or the look could be, “You’re a chick. Chicks don’t wash their own cars.” Or it could be, “You’re too short to be able to reach the roof of your car. What are you doing?” Or it could be, “Aren’t you that girl in the Honda commercial?” Or “Aren’t you that girl in the Honda commercial? Shouldn’t you be driving a Honda?” I don’t know. But I certainly get looked at like I don’t belong. Whatever. I do prefer it. It also only costs 6 bucks which I MUCH prefer.

This is an example of: there is a certain amount of satisfaction I get out of doing things myself. Now, let’s be clear. If I had the money I would have a personal assistant do things for me that I don’t enjoy doing, like pick up my dry cleaning, take my recycling to the place, go get stamps, do my video downloading, organize my closet, dry my hair for me, shave my legs, cut my toe nails, stuff like that except for those last three. Going to the Laundromat would be FIRST on that list, but it occurs to me that if I had enough money for an assistant I would probably be in a living space that had a washer and dryer and wouldn’t need ANYONE to go to the Laundromat anymore. I would probably have recycling pick up also, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make so STOP confusing me. I’m saying, I wouldn’t turn down help and I would love to have someone do some stuff for me, but I really like being able to point at something and say, “I did that. That’s my accomplishment.” It doesn’t matter if it’s something as simple as washing a car. I still get a sense of pride out of completing that task. I could do considerably less when I was fatter which I am SURE fed into my sense of worthlessness that then made me bitter and angry. But that’s really more a story for my shrink rather than this blog.

All I’m saying is try washing your own car either in your driveway if you are one of those lucky ducks with a driveway, or in a bay. Try to find one that recycles it’s water or uses organic suds or something, but try it. It’s kinda fun. Your car looks shinier when you look at it after washing it yourself. Anybody remember that movie with Ellen Degeneres called “Mr. Wrong”? Bill Pullman’s character claims that no beer tastes better than a stolen beer. I’m not sure if that’s a good analogy, but my car seems a lot shinier to me when I do it myself. And I look at it MUCH more often. Find ways to get that feeling of satisfaction. It keeps you runnin’. Buzzin’. Truckin’. I don’t know.

Those who sleep with blogs rise with fleas.

Tanning lotions don’t work on me and I’m a little bitter about it.

My friend Toni in GA used to always say to me, “Tan fat looks better than white fat.” I don’t necessarily agree with that. I often like having “glowing” skin (like Casper the Ghost, really), but I have DAYS where I want to have some color. I don’t get color. I get freckles. Freckles CAN be cute (the last time they were cute I think I was 7 years old), but with me they mostly end up looking like a skin disease of some sort. So I try to use tanning things and they turn me various shades of orange and then I just look like a Terror Alert Warning. But I’ll be honest with you … sometimes I prefer the orange color to the glow and I decide to run with it.

Here’s the problem: I don’t stain. I don’t tan and I don’t stain. So there is something screwy about my pigment and something suspicious about my pores. When I color my hair (yes I color my hair, asshole. Happy now? Maybe you also want to know my true age, weight and bra size!) … the extra color that gets accidentally on my face around my hairline — you know, the stuff you miss cuz the color doesn’t show up until 15 minutes into the process? — that color wipes right off. I never get a line around my face or splotches or anything. I don’t stain! So the tanning stuff comes off behind my knees where I sweat which looks ADORABLE (not) and comes right off with the first shower. It pisses me off.

So that tan fat the Toni is referring to is illusive with the chance of impossible for me. Well, thankfully I have good hair.

Blog tired

Every Blog Must Have His Day

Why I love bags and shoes.

If I didn’t have such a bad case of diarrhea of the hand, this could be the shortest blog in the history of blogs. Here’s why: My friend Juliet and I had this conversation once. The one about why women love bags and shoes. The answer is obvious and simple and doesn’t even really spark further discussion. Women love shoes and bags because they always fit.

When I was heavier I really hated shopping. I did it and I was usually happy about my purchases after all was said and done, but I never, ever looked forward to it. Truth be told, I still don’t love shopping which is why I do quite a lot of it online. But at least now the thought of it doesn’t cause me to have acid reflux with bile rising in my esophagus.

Here’s an interesting irony for you. I’m not sure if this is the correct use of the word “irony” but … you’ll understand my meaning when I tell you. I like to shop for clothes online. Shoes, not so much. Shoes I must try on. (the irony being that we love bags and shoes because they always fit … I guess) Clothes might make me look dumpy or pregnant or like a little person or a bag lady, but shoes that don’t fit will actually hurt me. Bags … I can go either way.

You know … I have quite a few bags all of which I like. But I find myself latching onto one bag at a stretch. I WISH I were that girl who changed bags with every outfit. I want to be that girl. I also want a daily stylist, a Barbie doll body and a house with a pool and an elevator but we can’t have everything. But if I find a bag that looks cute and also has a pocket for my phone and can hold my wallet and a water bottle without breaking the zipper … I get VERY attached. Or is it lazy? I don’t know.

I’m just saying … I love shoes and bags.

It's a blog eat blog world.

Fat chicks I really dig.

Before I begin my list I should probably put a disclaimer here that I have NO idea if these gals would appreciate even a tiny little bit me calling them fat chicks. I feel certain my shrink would disapprove profoundly. I’m gonna let it stand and here’s why: The word “chick” makes being a woman a very cool thing cuz the word “woman” can often sound like either an ancient being of whom you only speak with respect whether you feel it or not, or it can also sound like you are referring to … the Queen. I’m too young and too hip to be called “woman” all the time. Only when I’m trying to win an argument or something. The word girl makes us/me sound like a naïve pushover. So I like the word chick sometimes. Sue me. And the word Fat … it kinda works on the same principle as the “N” word. I mean, it doesn’t have the same history or power and I don’t mean to suggest it does, but the principle is the same in that the word “Fat” has been slung at us as a horrible and cutting and derogatory term and I kinda want to take it back.

That’s why. Now here’s my list.

1) Kathy Najimy. Now … I guess she’s not really fat anymore, but she’s not thin. I dig her for a few reasons. 1) I met her when my gal pal Christy cast me to do a voice on King of the Hill. Kathy was the boss of all the actors, if you know what I mean. She was the goddess and she ruled the school and everybody followed her lead. In the booth … she was genius and gave me shit which made me feel like part of the clan. 2) She’s hilarious which is reason enough to dig her largely. I have been a fan for some time because I was blown away the first time I saw the Kathy and Mo show on HBO. 3) She was really fat (but still VERY adorable) and lost a lot of weigh. I don’t know how she did it and I don’t really care. I don’t care if she had surgery or hired an expensive trainer. I don’t care. She decided it was time to lose it and she lost it. And you know what else I love about Ms. Najimy? 4) She insisted on starting in small roles and not getting too much too soon. She didn’t want to blow it out early. Do you remember her scene stealing role in The Fisher King? It’s one of my favorite things about that film. And finally, 5) I dig her because apparently she loves her life. While in the “green room” she didn’t lament what she doesn’t have or bitch and complain about how the industry doesn’t appreciate her. She digs her life and doesn’t seem to waste any time looking over her backyard fence.

2) Oprah. Again, Oprah isn’t fat like she used to be and she has been all kinds of sizes, but she has struggled with her weight in a global arena so I am gonna call her a fat chick I dig. In fact, for those of you who know me, she should probably be number one. I watch this gal daily and when she is in reruns I go through a certain amount of withdrawal. She’s gonna stop doing her show in 2011 and I’m gearing up for a month of me on the bed in the fetal position whimpering and calling her name. I like O because she does good things, she makes me feel like anything is possible, she fights her weight on a global stage and she keeps a mostly good attitude about it. I just want to say one thing to the gal who told me she had a friend who worked on the Oprah Show and said O was not a nice lady: I don’t care. Cuz here’s the thing, I have managed restaurants and trained waiters and produced stage shows and I was called a lot of things when I worked those jobs; nice was not one of them. When you are the boss, you can’t always be nice. Only a woman is expected to be nice all the freakin’ time. As far as I’m concerned, put your hurt feelings in your pocket while in a professional environment. I don’t have time or energy to spare tip-toeing around your feelings. There is a job to get done. If Oprah is a bitch, then all I can say is … it seems to be working for her.

3) Cameryn Manheim. (yes, Sally) I don’t know her from Adam but … I stood behind her in line for a show at The Groundlings Theater on Melrose Ave. in LA one time several years ago. She had lost a lot of weight at that point and was not fat but also was not thin. I eaves dropped on her conversation because that’s what you do when you stand behind an Emmy Award Winning actress in line. I don’t EXACTLY remember what she talked about. I remember what she did NOT talk about. She didn’t talk about her body or her weight or her work. I think she talked about a birthday party and some friends visiting and stuff like that. She laughed from the gut and from the heart. She didn’t expect to be jumped to the front of the line because she is famous. She was unassuming and adorable and happy and I liked her energy quite a lot. Oh and she’s an Emmy Award Winning actress and she’s fat. In her acceptance speech she said that award was for all the fat girls and that included me. So, I guess I have an Emmy also.

4) Melissa McCarthy. If you don’t know this name, she’s the super adorable gal from Gilmore Girls, The Nines and now Samantha Who (pictured above). I really dig her for a few reasons. One is that she is REALLY adorable. Another is that she is truly, truly hilarious. She is (or was) a Groundling and I recently saw her perform at The (above mentioned) Groundlings Theater on Melrose Ave. in a show called “Beverly Winwood’s Playhouse.” She almost made me piss myself. No, I’m not gonna do that “peed a little” joke because I hate it and never wanna hear it again and because it’s not accurate. She almost made me full on piss myself because she was so freakin’ funny. (by the by, I auditioned for her role on Gilmore Girls and I KILLED IT. I thought it was sort of … in the bag for me. Then I saw her perform and realized why she got cast. She’s astonishing. Really.) And the final reason I really super dig her is because we are only one degree removed. We have a mutual friend (who is also super talented and adorable) named Sam Pancake. Look him up. You’ll know his face when you see him. Anyhoo, he knows everybody but he is good friends with Melissa and he says amazing things about her as a person. I dig him and he digs her so … I dig her.

5) Kathy Bates. Come on. Academy Award Winner for her kick ass role in Misery with James Caan. Got naked in About Schmidt. Stays out of the Tabloids. Oh and … I’ve done two films with her. OH, YES I HAVE! Now, my roles were small and unforgettable but I did them and got paid for them and have them on my resume JUST the same. AND AND AND … for the first one, My Sister’s Keeper for the Hallmark channel where I have one line and play a waitress — for THAT one, Kathy had the table read at her house. And I was invited to read my one line at the table read at her house. Uh huh. I was. And I went. To her house. I got to meet Kathy in person and I got to meet Lynn Redgrave and Elizabeth Perkins. And I got to see Kathy’s house. I AM NOT LYING, PEOPLE! I didn’t take any pictures because I didn’t want to look like a dork, but this TOTALLY happened. And for the second one, Little Black Book, I had a fun and UNforgettable scene with Brittany Murphy and Rashida Jones. And I got to go to the table read for THAT also. That was cool because I was strangely connected to some of the celebs at that table read. Like Brittany does a voice on King of the Hill and my friend Christy Stratton is a co-executive producer on that show. My friend Carolyn Hennesy had understudied Sharon Lawrence at the Taper (I think it was the Taper). Oh and … I had already worked with Kathy Bates and been to her house. (Holly Hunter was there and Ron Livingston and Stephen Tobolowksy … it was cool) I’ve been to Kathy Bates’ house. I dig her.

6) Rusty Schwimmer. You may not know Rusty. She is pictured above underneath Melissa. You need to trust me on this. Rent “A Little Princess.” Her performance in that is stellar. She has also been in Twister, Ed TV, Perfect Storm, The Runaway Jury, North Country, The Guardian (which I was also on), Gilmore Girls, and a great role on Six Feet Under to mention a few. I dig her LARGELY, at the risk of being “punny.” I met her when I was working in commercial casting as an assistant to Annelise Collins who was a big fan of Rusty’s. Rusty had long since stopped auditioning for commercials but, because she is so freakin’ cool, she continued to come in for Annelise because Annelise had helped jump start Rusty’s career somehow back in New York when the two of them were there at the same time. I don’t remember the story. I do remember Rusty walking into the lobby and being a presence and being cool and having an amazing laugh. Turned out, she is friends with my friend Romy Rosemont so we got to be just a LITTLE bit chummy. She “stole” a couple of roles from me over the years, but she also recommended me for a couple of roles. She is underrated, underutilized and, man … what a ponem! I dig her. Please check her out on DVD. You won’t regret it.

7) Mo’Nique. Oh yes. Mo’Nique. She did a movie that I never saw called “Phat Girlz.” What I dug about the whole thing was, out of the blue that film started this whole crazy debate about being fat in the black community. It has never been a source of shame to be a large woman in the black community, as I understand it. But recently there has been discussion about how high blood pressure, diabetes and heart disease disproportionately afflict black people and her film sparked a debate about the issue of cultural acceptance vs. health risks. I’m sorry but … kudos. I love any large woman who loves herself. I love any woman of ANY size who loves herself. And I certainly love any woman who sparks a debate on the topic of weight whether it is intentional or not. You go, with your whole open marriage and large and in charge attitude. Girl. I dig you.

So that’s my list. I may actually have forgotten a gal or two and if I think of them I will include them later. This is far too long already. But look, there are a lot of fat chicks to love and lots of reasons to love them. And I hope I don’t get sued for calling them fat.

The blog days of summer

When I think of how many summers I suffered because I was uncomfortable showing my body in a bathing suit, it makes me want to hit myself in the face hard enough to leave a red mark.

Matt and I just got back from Cancun and it was delightful. I was the whitest girl there. I sort of glowed, I was so white. I was so white I wonder if some people thought I was an angel. I was not the chubbiest girl there but I would venture to say I was the most aware of my chubbiness of all the girls there. Keep in mind many of those gals were not from the U.S. of A. Still, all the gals walked around like cocks of the walk. No one put a skirt on every time she walked to the bar or made sure she didn’t get her hair wet until a few minutes before she was ready to pack it in for the day. I did meet a couple of other gals who wore makeup to the pool and the ocean because they knew there were going to be pictures taken, but those were other American chicks. The Mexican gals and British and Irish and German and Spanish … those gals let it ALL hang out and they walked and stood and sat as if they thought they were the shit. And … they kinda were BECAUSE of that attitude.

In the past Matt and I would actually drive MILES out of the way to find a stretch of beach with no other people so I could frolic without feeling self-conscious. Growing up I lived in a town that was built around a lake. How often do you think I donned a bathing suit and took advantage of the water? A lot cuz there was nothing else to do in that Podunk little town … but VERY LITTLE in comparison to the other gals and never without wishing every second of the afternoon that it were over so I could put clothes back on.

I have missed out on a lot of livin’ because of my slavery to my insecurity. I never learned how to water ski. I never learned how to swim very well. I snorkled for the FIRST TIME EVER in Cancun. That is some cool shit, that snorkeling business. I mean … I missed out on a lot of stuff. I’m done doing that. How ‘bout you? Don’t you think it’s time to nip that shit in the bud?

Tail Wagging the Blog

Lots of folks have asked me my feelings on Gastric Bypass and Lap Band surgery being that I have struggled with weight issues all my life. Well, I think adults can make their own decisions for their own lives and their own bodies. I believe in doing whatever is necessary to be happy and feel good about life and yourself. I suggest starting with therapy and some self-help literature, but adults can decide that for themselves. If they wanna end up looking like the Cat Woman or Joan Rivers who’s face she admits doesn’t move anymore, then GOOD ON YA! “But Alex …” you ask, “how do you feel about these surgeries for teens?” Hmmmm … that’s a complicated thing, huh? Or at least it is a complicated topic for someone who was a fat teen.

Okay, well … between the two I think the better choice is the Lap Band thing because you aren’t getting organs cut or rearranged, you don’t have useless organs left inside your body to do … I don’t know what, and it’s reversible if you, say, want to have a child or some such CRAZY thing like that. Also, Dr. Oz gave it the nod and I believe everything he says because he has hypnotized me with his knowledge, good looks and the Oprah tattoo over his heart (he doesn’t have an Oprah tattoo, calm down). But for teens?

Having been a fat teen I have a couple of reactions to this notion. If someone had told me when I was a fat teen that there was this surgery that would hinder my food intake and I would lose weight and it was adjustable and reversible and I would still be able to eat whatever I wanted just in super tiny sized portions … I would have jumped at it. I would have begged and borrowed and sold my body and gone into a cult and offered my first born (which would have been a joke on them since I’m not having kids) … I would have done ANYTHING if it would have given me a better relationship with my body and a more confident outlook on life and given me thighs that didn’t rub together so much I got a rash.

On the other hand … growing up fat is part of what formed me as an adult human being. Being a fat person is a large part of what has built my character. Being overweight is part of what caused me to be self-analytical and introspective. Being insecure about my worth is part of what made me funny. Well, some people think I’m funny. I CAN BE FUNNY, DAMMIT. BACK OFF! Being insecure had a weird backlash effect where I was simultaneously sure that I was worth nothing while at the same time not ABOUT to let anybody treat me like shit without an embarrassing scene. As comedian Judy Toll put it (G-d rest her soul), “I am a piece of shit around which the world revolves.”

Also, having a fat kid or any kind of kid who walks outside the “norm” is the perfect opportunity for a parent to teach her/him and those around her/him that we are SO MUCH MORE than our bodies. Our worth is not defined by anything superficial. When did we stop teaching our kids to be good and kind and giving and polite and smart and curious? THOSE are things I would rather have around. And those things can and should bring the same amount of confidence to a kid as a flat belly and tight ass. MORE! Did we learn nothing from the movie Mask starring Cher and Eric Stoltz?

I am not convinced that teenagers’ brains (or social selves) are developed enough to be able to make life-altering decisions for themselves. But … the lap band is reversible. Right? I have not heard of anyone reversing it, but it can be done. We live in a society that values beauty and youth and IGNORANCE over … anything else. We live in a society of instant gratification and I don’t think that is helping us as a culture of people. Today’s parents want to GIVE their kids everything instead of encouraging them to earn it for themselves. What we are not giving our kids is a belief in themselves, that they can achieve and accomplish. Parents are obsessed with insuring their children never suffer. That’s not good in any way or on any level because if they never suffer they will never deepen and they will never develop compassion. On the other hand, the Columbine kids suffered. Girls are killing themselves by starving or by actually just … killing themselves because they are so unhappy in their bodies. Also, I know full grown women who suffered terribly through their teen years and are still very deeply scarred from it. They do not have the sense of appreciation I have because they look in the mirror and still see that tortured young gal.

And, sometimes we just need some help.

I guess I do not see the difference between taking a mood altering or psychotropic drug and putting a band around your stomach. They are both tools to help dampen the pain of your situation so you can clear away the fog through which you are viewing your life and the world. I think the problem is that we as a people use the tools as the solution.

But here’s what I really don’t get. I’ve been really fat so I am not talking out of my ass on this. Fat people are treated like second-class citizens for the most part. There are exceptions to every rule, but mostly they are either condescended to or treated like a disgusting bug to be stepped around. BUT … if that same fat person were to get some sort of elective surgery that would help them get to a more socially acceptable weight, then the disgust shifts from the fat to the surgery. “Harumph. Have you seen her? She has lost a lot of weight. I BET she had surgery. Should have known. She could NEVER have gotten thin without surgery.” Um … yeah. That’s why she got the surgery, Senora Logica Obviouso! So a fat person is in a lose/lose situation. THAT is why so many surgery recipients don’t tell anyone, by the by.

I tried to get surgery. I was even willing to put on more weight to get it. But I couldn’t afford it at the time. If I could get a lap band NOW, I would get it. Why? Because … I could really benefit from the help. I lost the weight under a doctor’s care with a lot of fairly costly products. Keeping it off is a daily and sometimes hourly struggle for me. I think about it ALL THE DAMN TIME!! I talk about it a LITTLE less to the delight of my beloved, but it’s on my mind every waking second. If I had something doing the regulating for me so I could focus on deeper stuff, why on earth would anyone fault me for that or deny me it? Is that how you say that? Deny me it? Well, you get my meaning.

This blog is far too long. Weight loss surgery? Yes or no? Both. There. Does that answer your question?

Beware of a silent blog and still water.

I'm gonna comment on this tomorrow. Oh, you KNOW I'm gonna comment on this tomorrow.

So I'm calling this my Daily (almost) Blog because I'm probably gonna take weekends off. I'm up late on weekend nights and there is usually alcohol involved and I'm never quite as chipper as I think I'm gonna be when I get up. So, I'm probably gonna take the weekends off. To recover.

I'll tell you this, though ... for you other drinkers ... never, ever, ever step on the scale the next day. It is deceiving and destructive. Drinking makes you retain water and all manner of things so don't be an idiot like I am and step on the scale after drinking. You will want to hit yourself in the head with a hammer.

Also, when you go to a pool party, bring sparkling water or something along that FEELS like a cocktail because the last thing you want is to start puffing up in that swimsuit. I think I'm just telling myself that since I have a pool party today with a lot of pretty, skinny women. Fortunately, I don't know any women who don't have issues with their bodies. I mean ... that's fortunate for me. Right? We can all lament together. How lovely. Don't know WHY men wouldn't want to be around for this.