I say this to myself ALL THE TIME. In fact, I honestly didn’t realize that Maya Angelou said it first since I say so many versions of it to myself every day. And in the past 2 months alone, the things that I’ve wanted to change for so long have begun to change more rapidly than I ever imagined. I haven’t been posting because I’ve been running around getting things accomplished. (More on the rest of that later)

I’ve posted before about how I’d planned to make significant changes to my house, and as time went on, I kept thinking of more changes that would be nice to have. Of course, some of these things will need to wait until I set aside enough money to make them happen, but I got lucky and found a great (and HONEST) contractor who makes every effort to stay under budget. He has a hardworking team of subcontractors who are also decent people and that makes all the difference.

My attention was first called to an imperfection in the guest bathroom floor (which has over time gotten worse) by the worst nosy house guest ever. She was one of those people who overstays a welcome and goes through all of your things instead of asking where something is. She also managed to scar up the cord of my brand new vacuum cleaner pretty badly. I still have no idea how people manage to do that. But I digress… This coupled with a few foundation issues made me decide that it was probably time to call in an expert.

This Monday they came in and tore everything out of the guest bathroom so that the floor situation could be assessed. As it turns out, the problem wasn’t in that area at all. Perhaps I’d just had a string of ignorant house guests and roommates who didn’t know how to properly close a shower curtain. Who knows… but the main issue was that there was a slow leak around the toilet and the floor had been patched 3 times, so there were at least 3 different layers of floor. It looked like a patchwork quilt.

I’d taken that day off and it was interesting to see how everything came together. I picked out my floor tile, fixtures, vanity, but none of the wall tile appealed to me so the contractor told me that could wait until Wednesday.

On Tuesday they put down my floor and began assessing the situation under the house.

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Tuesday night (and with SIGNIFICANT help from Lee Ann & HalleAnn) I found my wall tile, paint color, floor grout color and wall grout color. As it turned out, the tile I wanted was extremely hard to come by. Although some of the Lowe’s stores showed a certain amount in their inventory, they ended up having much less on hand. And although I’d promised Lee Ann a fun night of dinner, watching The Bachelorette, and HGTV-palooza shenanigans at Lowe’s, we ended up staying until close trying to find a store that had this elusive tile style so that my contractor would have it ready and waiting for him in the morning. I was already irked that I’d be sending him to 2 different locations instead of just one, but I had no idea of the wild goose chase that would follow.

SIDE NOTE: The tile mason gave me a small piece of the floor tile so that I could match the wall tiles. Lee Ann’s daughter is 6 and to her, this was something cool to play with. It was an honor to get to carry “the floor tile” because it was so very important to our mission. Her Mom made her carry it with TWO HANDS so that she wouldn’t drop it. You should have seen it. She was absolutely adorable.

Wednesday morning my contractor arrived at Lowe’s to find NOTHING. They couldn’t find my order by my name, his name, my phone number, his phone number… He called me and I gave him the item number, after which the Lowe’s employee quickly regained their senses and found the order, yet not the merchandise. *insert audible groan here* He was able to find a box of 10, which we found out upon further inspection (after they made it to my house) were cracked. We ended up using the pieces for edging. As soon as I hung up with him, I called the next store he was to visit to make sure I spoke to someone with some sense. I did. His name was Bobby. He had 40 tiles waiting at Customer Service for us. When my contractor arrived at my house, I debriefed him & went to work. I came home to this.

My tile mason stayed until 8PM and bought us both dinner. I’m pretty sure this doesn’t happen often.

I also forgot to mention that I have 2 doggie cameras installed. I’d purchased them back when I first got Quincy and he had a habit of chewing up things he wasn’t supposed to chew. Now that he’s all settled in, he doesn’t chew up anything, so I hadn’t been putting the cameras to use… until now. *insert devious grin here* BUT THEY WORKED THE ENTIRE TIME! I hardly ever saw a single soul on camera unless they walked by to grab something from outside, which of course only elevated my confidence in everyone. They really are great, hardworking guys… And they love my dog, which is always a bonus.

I did happen to catch my contractor vacuuming my living room, which I thought was both really nice AND really odd. When I got home, he told me that one of his guys had accidentally shattered the globe on the ceiling fan they were installing for me (as a favor). Then the light bulb in my head went off.

 The replacement will be here on Monday… and I’ve made a friend at Build.com.

The remainder of the tile was put up on Thursday and today everything was scheduled to be grouted. This morning I ordered a very expensive vanity light fixture (because all of the others sucked) and it will go perfectly with everything else I’ve chosen.

Just about every day I’ve gone into my manager’s office to update him on everything going on. His most apt remark yet… “When all of this is finished, you may want to live in that bathroom for a while just to get your money’s worth.”

He may be onto something there.

Excerpts from Guyvile

I once dated a guy who told me that his mother would ask him what was wrong with me if he told her I’d never been married at my age… instead of taking into account the fact that he lived in a small, sterile apartment with walls covered in photographs or artwork of nude or partially nude women. In lieu of a sofa, he had an over-sized bean bag chair that he insisted I run in and jump on as soon as I walked in the door. I refused. This was probably another strike against me. The place was so sterile that I was almost afraid to touch or move anything. Seriously. It was “serial killer sterile.” No clutter, no stray hairs, no implements left in plan view, not even a remote control or a fruit bowl, only the most pristine of surfaces… In hindsight, I probably should have checked the freezer for severed heads on my way out.

He was a programmer of some sort and a freelance photographer. As you could guess, his preference was to separate women from their clothing before photographing them. This, among so many other things, didn’t sit well with me. Walking into an apartment with walls covered in naked bodies is as intimidating for a grownup as walking into a dorm room strewn with centerfolds is for a co-ed.

And as if that weren’t enough, he had this tendon on his jaw that attached to his eyelid. This meant that when you were sitting directly across from him at a table, he could be looking down at his food and simultaneously looking AT YOU. The tendon would pull his eye open and closed as he chewed. It was the epitome of creepy. Since our breakup, I now refer to him (not so affectionately) as “Poe.”

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture –a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees –very gradually –I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
– Edgar Allan Poe “The Tell-Tale Heart”


Flash-forward to just last week.

Drag-Makeup Guy was a problematic over-texter. I probably set an unfair precedent by responding fairly quickly, so when I turned my attention to anything other than him, he started to ask what was wrong when I didn’t respond immediately. This only increased my lag time.

He also liked to use really big words. Usually I very much appreciate this in a counterpart, HOWEVER, he did it CONSTANTLY. This, coupled with his I-know-more-big-words-than-you-nyah-nyah attitude ended up sabotaging him more often than not since he lacked the skill of properly using most of his large vocabulary in a sentence.

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The weekend of our ONE DATE, I had stayed out late on a Sunday (which I very seldom do) to catch a concert. I was dead on my feet the next day and couldn’t wait to get home to rest. He couldn’t stop texting. But in the subtext of the texts he seemed to be scolding me for being out on a school night in the first place. I’d only known him a few days at best, so I found this odd and decided to mention my discomfort. He didn’t take this well. We exchanged a few text pleasantries in the days that followed and then the texts stopped altogether… for about 2 weeks. I turned my attention to all the things that needed doing and did them, not giving him a second thought.

That Monday was the beginning of a very busy week. Out of the blue he texted “You still alive?” I didn’t respond. I was fighting a cold, cooking dinner for my parents 3 nights that week, squeezing in an exercise class and attending the citizen’s police academy. He could wait.

Evidently he couldn’t.

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And evidently my auto-correct likes to change TIME to THE ME when I fat-finger something similar in a text message. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Besides, he deleted me anyway. What a relief!


My friend Lisa attempted to set me up with a guy she knows. It appears that she thought highly of him because he passed himself off as a big time music promoter and all-around hot shot. In real life, he lives with his mom, works in a furniture store, and thinks so highly of himself that he throws himself a birthday party each year and hires mildly successful bands just so he can charge admission and call it the “Social Event of the Year.” It isn’t. In fact, I’d never even heard of it… or him for that matter. The crowd he runs in is rife with leathery, weather-beaten ex-rocker types determined to recapture whatever glory they can siphon from their hard-rockin youth. He’s right at home at the center of this, still living out his big hair 80’s dream complete with bedazzled jeans and Ed Hardy shirts.

I’m not exactly sure why Lisa thought this would work out.

He was very tall, long legs and a short torso that carried a large beer belly. If you asked me his body shape, I’d say “Lollipop?” He made a point of telling me that he had Diabetes right up front, which is no laughing matter, but he seemed to not take it seriously. Then he made a point of telling me that he could control it if he wanted to, but for now he’s just taking daily insulin shots because he doesn’t have time to deal with it. When he told me he drank sweet tea and ate donuts for breakfast and mostly only had time for fast food, I tried to educate him about the importance of protein & how easy it would be to substitute a protein bar or shake. He turned up his nose like a small child at the idea.

We went on one good date, on Valentine’s Day, to which he wore an old sweater that reeked of body odor and bad cologne with really worn-out jeans. (Did I mention that he took me to a really nice restaurant which was only serving prix fixe? He said he’d brought a suit with him, but he arrived too late to change into it. *Insert audible groan here*) The date was brief and pleasant, which most first dates are.

Then we went on one bad date, but because since he was Lisa’s friend I was really trying to see some redeeming qualities in him. However, in the meantime, he would text me so furiously that I hardly had time for anything else. (Now you see why I’m not fond of over-texters.)

We were NOT a match. The way he saw the world and the way I saw the world were such opposite perspectives. But it was difficult to get rid of someone who kept driving 2 hours to see you. When our last date ended rather abruptly, I was just relieved it was over. A few hours later the barrage of texts began again and I blocked him. No point in beating a dead horse. Move on Buddy.

A few weeks later, Lisa told me to unblock him on my phone and social media because he wanted to apologize. I figured I’d never hear the end of it until I did, so…

He texted, apologized, then went around and around baiting me for an apology. I responded, “Sincere apologies expect nothing in return.” What followed was the absolute meanest text vomit I have ever received in my life.

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I save those for days when I’m feeling just a little too big for my britches and need to be knocked down a few pegs.

I think it’s time to just delete all of it now.

chill-homie

An Exercise In Duplicity

Last night I saw that a guy named Kevin Nguyen commented on an Instagram video I’d posted when I caught my dog watching cat videos with the concentration of a ninja. As it turns out, he’s part of this online video collaboration hub. Within seconds of my response, he emailed me a release form for the original video and told me he would let me know when it was posted. When he’s done editing, Quincy will be featured in one of these cute little compilations. Today I figured I would do a little more research and see exactly what Kevin and his company did.

First I googled his name. Ironically, I came across a post by the GQ Writer bearing the same name who had done the exact same thing. Of course, my next move was to go to the company website and see if he was listed. He wasn’t, but now I understand more about what I was getting myself (and my Aussie, Quincy) into.

Which leads me to my next point. Have you ever googled yourself?

Google Search

I learned some very important things about myself by performing this little experiment. First of all, I learned that Facebook is omnipotent. It always seems to take over whenever you search for anyone on the internet. I also learned that no matter how many times I spell my name correctly, the second search result is adamant about placing that extraneous E at the end. Thirdly, I seem to be a professor at Cornell. Who knew I was such an academic? I’m sure she shrugs every time she sees my makeup business come up in search results, but oh well… “Loosen your bone Wilma!”

The fourth and fifth results are actually me. One is my Linked In profile (probably more advertising) and then my makeup business, a result which I surprisingly didn’t pay for. I also found this cool chick and this one. Evidently a lot of REALLY interesting people have my name. And all this time I thought it was so boring & commonplace.

Ever since I was asked my name in grade school, I’ve been ashamed of it because I thought it was so “Blah.” I’m grateful that I didn’t change or alter it in any way back then since the names I found most appealing in my youth sound more like exotic dancer names to me now.

I’m pleased to announce that there were no criminals or any other sorts of shady persons uncovered in this little exercise. Thus, I can only conclude that people with my name are honest, smart, and creative. They are business owners, public speakers, award winners, academics… Performing today’s activity has only made me more proud to be numbered among them.

Image Search

We’re not such a bad-lookin’ bunch! (And no… I’m not in there anywhere, but I didn’t scroll either.)

Your turn!

The Gender-Bender, the Soup, and the Blur of a Weekend

As if my life weren’t crazy enough, this story has been unfolding since Wednesday.

I was at work when my phone rang. Since the area code was local, I answered. (when you have a business that’s listed on the internet, telemarketers have a tendency to swarm like vultures, so I just let most calls from out-of-state area codes go to voice mail.) I’m currently running a prom special, so I answered. It was a guy.

The conversation started out a little slow. He asked if I did makeup in a salon. I told him I was a freelancer and did mostly television makeup. He asked if I did anything more glamorous. I told him about the prom special and asked if it was for his wife or daughter. He told me he would be the client. *awkward pause* “Is it Pride already?” *nervous laughter* I haven’t done drag makeup in a long time.

“I’m not gay. It’s for a party,” he said. We talked a little while longer, agreed on a time and he texted me his address. I still had no idea what this was for. I just hoped this wasn’t his brand of kink that he was looking to indulge. (The job was on a Friday. I’m usually exhausted by the end of the week and have little patience for weirdness, perverts, or anything more than the job I’m hired to do.)

Because I’m female and always take the requisite safety precautions, I looked up the address, found his last name and within seconds had gone through his Facebook profile. He was attractive, a programmer AND a musician… SERIOUSLY? Regardless, I texted the address to 2 of my close girlfriends and the guy I would be working with on a shot for MSNBC first thing in the morning. People knew exactly where I was and what I’d be doing. I felt safe.

When I arrived, I was greeted by 2 of the tiniest chihuahuas I’ve ever seen. He was running around nervously, brushing his teeth, going from room to room. I think he’d started rethinking the whole gender transformation thing, but it was too late. I was there unpacking my large, unwieldy girl makeup kit. He was committed.

I got to work at his kitchen table in the worst light imaginable. I knew he was straight because he still had Christmas cocktail napkins out. A gay man would have tossed those in January. And there was also no better lighting in his house. The lighting in the guest bathroom was even worse. But still, we persisted. I made him into his twin sister Julie. His friends got a kick out of that. He said they called him Julie all night. (I’m not sure if I’m charmed or freaked out a little by this, but I’ll continue my story.)

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His outfit was all the sequins, leopard print and gold lamé I could handle… and in heels he looked 7 feet tall. I really should have gotten a full-length photo, but hindsight is 20/20. He was the straightest, manliest drag queen I’d ever seen. I was thinking at this point that he’d lost a bet.

As it turned out, he had 2 close girlfriends who watched RuPaul’s drag race and they’d dared him to do it. Being someone who doesn’t back down from a challenge, he embraced it head on… and hired me. Strange how these things work out.

We had a drink together, talked a while, then he asked what I was doing the next night. I paused for a second, thought about how much fun I was having talking to him and how effortless the conversation was… then accepted.

So basically, this was my weekend.
(He knows more about writing code and music theory than I do which makes me want to both punch him in the face and hang on to him at the same time. I think I’ll live.)

this weekend

And Sunday I went with my friend Erin to see Bowling for Soup. I’ve always loved them because as you know… I’m a sucker for a clever lyric and a band who has a sense of humor about themselves.

The opening bands were like sandpaper on my eardrums, but BFS made my evening. Erin and I were (of course) right up front and I took a ridiculous amount of Facebook live footage. (to that point, I realized hardly anyone is up that late on a Sunday and I probably shouldn’t be either.)

There was a child on his Dad’s shoulders the entire concert 3rd row center. They endured both opening bands to hold that spot and had earphones to protect his ears. It was DARLING! And Jaret took notice. Here are a few photos of the child and Jaret giving him picks from all guitarists, a drum stick and a set list autographed by all members.

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Another Epic weekend…. Check!

World’s Cheesiest Holiday

On the radio this morning I was reminded that National Grilled Cheese Day is coming up next Wednesday (April 12th). Not that we don’t have enough holidays to celebrate as it is, but glorifying the best food item known to man seems legit.

A few years ago when I took a “Hair-styling for Makeup Artists” course in Dallas, TX, I spent a few weeks prior scouring the internet for things to do there while I wasn’t occupied with studies. One of the reasons I chose Dallas was because I’d never been. Also, a comparable class wasn’t offered anywhere near me, so I saw this as an opportunity to combine education with vacation.

I booked a “Foodie Tour,” which I discovered was a great way to stuff yourself with amazing food while getting exercise and meeting a few folks along the way. The tour guide had each person wear a name tag bearing the name of a famous Dallas celebrity. I was Morgan Fairchild (of course I was). It was at least 105 degrees the day of the walk and we sampled everything from tacos to barbecue to crawfish to decadent desserts. It’s possible that I gained 10 pounds that day. What I didn’t sweat off is still with me.

The day I arrived in Dallas, I secured a rental car and made my way to a restaurant that specialized in grilled cheese sandwiches. At the time, these were rare. Now the concept seems to have spread like wildfire as dozens more seem to have popped up overnight. I remember how lucky I thought I was to have found the ONE grilled cheese restaurant on the planet. Ha! How the times have changed. Now there seems to be one on every corner. Places like Gooey’s and Tom & Chee are becoming the new chains of choice for grilled cheese aficionados across the nation. We even have a food truck devoted specifically to the science of crafting grilled cheese deliciousness.

Hungry yet?

I’m seriously considering hosting a “Grilled Cheese Day” party just for grins. (And because I haven’t had a decent grilled cheese in a month of Sundays) After all, I’ve spent years perfecting my recipe. I might as well share it.

I’m not exactly sure when my love of grilled cheese began, but I do remember summers when my parents would rent the Neese’s timeshare at Atlantic Beach. It was the second week of August every year, like clockwork. In my quest to be popular, one day when it rained I invited the entire crew of teens up to our place for lunch. Mom and Dad were good sports, but I think the only things we had in any large quantity were cheese, bread and butter.

That was the moment I learned to craft the basic-white-bread-2-Kraft-single Grilled Cheese. It was also the moment that I became a short order cook for about an hour.

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In my quest for information about this holiday, I stumbled upon a comprehensive list of every odd, nonsensical, cult-following, or “just because” holiday. If you need a reason to celebrate something on any particular day of the year, here it is:

Comprehensive list of all holidays (at least one per day all year).

Holiday

Officer Squirrel-Killer

Who’s ready for a good laugh?

I’m the newest member of the Citizen’s Police Academy!

Yes, I realize I’m not what you’d typically imagine when you picture a class of students in a “police academy” setting, but when I saw the write-up, something told me I needed to go ahead and do it. WHY NOT?

I’ve spent so many years letting the squirrels win.
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I made myself so unnecessarily busy doing all the wrong things for so long that I had almost forgotten what the right things were. This made me say NO a lot. Now, I’m saying a lot more YES, but my NOs have much more power and meaning.

I remember a time not so long ago when I worked for a modeling school. I’d been laid off from WorldCom (now Verizon Business) and it was the first viable job option that opened up for me. My parents wanted me to “hold out” for another job in the tech industry, but I knew my severance package wouldn’t last forever and felt guilty collecting unemployment. Even though I enjoyed the work, the environment was stressful. The owners knew all about business, but little about the industry. As soon as the “stage parents” learned I was there, I’d spend entire Saturdays sequestered in my office with a line of parents out the door.

When I started the position, I was engaged. Both my fiance and my parents encouraged me to quit straightaway and look for something else. They thought the job was beneath me. Even with the constant backlash, I stayed my course and threw myself into my work. My relationship dissolved. It became too difficult to come home every night to someone who didn’t believe in you.

One of the last events I attended for the modeling school was the Southern Women’s Show. This event happens every year and fills the convention center with women of all ages. It was my job (along with the new receptionist Joey) to gather leads for new students. Joey was flamboyantly gay and a LOT of fun, so between times of “doing our job” we would sample the food, participate in every demo that seemed fun (or ridiculous), and just walk around everywhere being silly and looking fabulous.

That particular year there was a hypnotist on the main stage giving a demonstration. Since Joey and I stuck out like two of the sorest thumbs ever, the hypnotist selected us to come onstage (along with 20 others). I listened to every word… or at least I thought I was listening. But the squirrels were way too strong to silence. I just couldn’t relax, not even for 10 minutes. I remember being so disappointed in myself as I left the stage.

The hypnotist said, “It’s okay. Some people just can’t be hypnotized.” I would have liked to believe that was true, but I knew deep down it probably wasn’t. It took that defining moment to make me take a step back and see exactly how bad it had gotten. The squirrels had taken over. I was panicked and nervous. I felt at times like the walls were closing in. It was hard to breathe. I couldn’t relax.

That Monday when I returned to the office, I did something I never thought I’d do. I quit my job without a backup plan, giving 2 weeks notice.

Later that same day, my friend Renee called and offered me a position managing the Smirnoff promotion at the amphitheater. She told me I’d need to hire on a few more girls for the Summer concerts, but if I wanted it, the job was mine.

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So I did.

Limitless (and the Pitfalls of Private School)

It’s natural to have doubts. We don’t start out that way. In fact, we start out trusting everyone. We talk to strangers, reach for the hot burner, don’t look both ways before crossing the street, attempt to stick our fingers in the light socket… (okay well perhaps not all of us, but we get the warnings regardless) We are born fearless and without prejudice. We know no strangers. We have no issues of weight or body image. We don’t doubt ourselves. Why should we? The world is a great big mystery to be solved and it’s all out there for us! And then… we’re thrust out into the real world.

I remember my first bitter taste of reality. My parents sent me off to Junior Kindergarten at a private school that required all students to wear uniforms. We couldn’t even wear our winter coats on the playground at recess because our school emblems needed to be visible at all times. That first day Mom also sent me off with a few toy cars in my pocket. As soon as I pulled them out at recess, they were quickly stolen by a girl named Mary Alice Askew. I asked for them back, she refused. I asked again to no avail. Recess ended and we were ushered back inside.

Class started, but I was still distraught over the injustice that had just occurred. I whispered to Mary Alice while the teacher’s back was turned, “Give me back my cars!” She snickered. Overhearing this, the teacher called me to the front of the class and asked what was going on. “Mary Alice stole my cars!” I said. The teacher then promptly collected the cars from Mary Alice, put them in her desk drawer and gave me a spanking in front of the entire class! I returned to my seat, car-less and mortified. This was the exact moment I learned that life was not fair.

I spent 10 years at that odd little school with its strange rules and stringent dress code. My Mother was under the impression that if I attended a private school, I would meet people of a higher social standing than those in public schools. What she didn’t realize was that many of the students at this school were sent there because they were kicked out of everywhere else. She also didn’t realize how badly I was being treated by my peers. I was never taught to stick up for myself, so I was bullied and talked down to probably more often than I even noticed.

Mom used to arrange after-school play-dates with girls in my grade who she assumed I was friends with. I wasn’t, and I was usually surprised when they told me they were supposed to come home with me. They were nice to me one-on-one, but when we got back to school nothing changed. Mom kept arranging these hangouts and I kept wanting real friends. I may have been young, but at least I knew the difference.

My teen years were painfully awkward. I was too ugly, too skinny, I’d never kissed a boy and I didn’t know what all the sex slang terms meant. If I wanted a guy to pay attention to me, I had to grab the new transfer student before he started hanging out with the cool kids and making fun of me as well. I wasn’t cool by any stretch of the imagination, so I just did my best to get through.

I found an escape through the world of musical theater and collected a handful of quirky theater nerd friends along the way. There was a great theater camp during the summer and I had started getting a few lead roles here and there. (All the while, my parents were hoping I’d switch gears and tell them I secretly wanted to become a Doctor or Rocket Scientist) One year, right before school started, I landed the role of Baby Louise in Gypsy, which required me to dye my hair a deep, dark brown color. The bullies at school didn’t miss a beat on that one. The prank calls about my hair looking like “excrement” started a few weeks before the show opened. Luckily that was about the extent of it.

But all of that never broke me. Sure, I had plenty of teenage “sequester yourself in your room-listen to loud music and cry” moments, but doesn’t everyone? And I finally found my voice. It took me a long time to learn how I needed to stick up for myself, but I finally have. My friend JD used to say that I had a habit of going from zero to bitch in 60 seconds. This was because I wouldn’t say anything until I was past my breaking point. I put up with all sorts of things that I should have nixed from the start. This comes from a history of self-doubt. When you experience so much unpleasantness, you start to question yourself and wonder if you’ve done something to deserve it. Then in later life, it takes a while to realize that it was never you at all. It takes a skilled eye to see through people.

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So I’ll leave you with this…

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