Friday, January 20, 2012

Third of the Year

When I was a kid, I thought grown-ups had it made.  They could come and go as they like, they didn't have to eat peas and they had the answer to everything.

Well, I've been an adult for about 137 years now and I pretty much come and go as I like and I don't eat peas but I'm extremely disappointed in the actual number of things for which I don't have the answer.  Many of the things I do have the answer to, I learned the hard way:  don't wash new blue jeans with a load of white towels; you must go very slowly when backing in or out of a parking space; throwing money at a guy for six years does not make for a solid relationship.  But I had hoped that by now I would have had my shit together more.

I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm not the only 130-something that feels the same way.  And I have an even sneakier feeling that those adults I knew when I was a kid that I thought had all the answers, didn't.  They just randomly pencilled in the little circles and hoped for the best.  Like you do.  It was just that from my 3' tall vantage point it looked like they knew what they were doing. I guess when my kids were little, they thought I had all the answers.  Now they know the truth.  But they love me anyway, because they are the BEST KIDS EVER IN THE HISTORY OF KIDS.  But, I digress. . . . .

I am becoming increasingly more comfortable with not having all the answers, knowing I probably never will.  I'm still trying to figure out Who the Hell Debbie Is and it's led me to some pretty fun and/or scary places.  But I'm okay with that, too.  Because if I end up someplace I don't like, I can always leave; I still don't have to eat peas and I have learned to embrace light blue towels.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Second and Half Blog of the Year

In which I spout forth on more shit I don't get.

I don't get why Brookwood Mall has a parking level called "Lilacs" when there are no lilacs in Alabama, at least I've never seen any in Birmingham.  I can understand "Azalea", though I'm slightly unclear on why the parking levels have flower names in the first place.  Couldn't they just be numbers (works for a blog!)?  And I'm kind of sensitive on the whole lilac issue because they're my favorite flower but I've never seen any down here.  But I guess this one comes under the category, " Who Gives a Flying Fuck", doesn’t it?

I don't get anything about taxes.  Thank goodness I don't work for an account. . .oh, wait.  

I understand why we need taxes and I understand why they have to be incomprehensibly complicated so rich people/accountants/lawyers can get richer and us less-than-rich folk can get financially screwed, but the whole system goes against my grain.  Now, granted, my grain goes in an irregular direction and is slightly warped, but none of it makes any sense to me.  Maybe the whole system is loosely based on the game of cricket, which would explain why I don't get it. 

I also don't get politicians.  Everybody, at some point, looks like an asshole, it happens.  But politicians make a living out of Constantly Being Assholes.  And they get paid big bucks and get to be on national television and say the stupidiest things imaginable (if you have an abortion, your next kid will be disabled--WTF??) and people respect these jerk-offs and vote them into offices where they can make laws.  I don't see a single part of that poorly constructed sentence that makes any sense.  Surely we can come up with a different system.  Maybe we can pick one of those post-aborted disabled kids, blindfold them, spin them around and send them out to wander around the country. Every time they run into someone, that person becomes the newest member of Congress.  (Wait, let me change that, newest member of congress.  I value my initial caps way too much to waste them on that group of useless, pretentious jerks.)  Anyway, I can't imagine the results would be much worse than they are with our current process. 

Well, now I've gone and raised my blood pressure, so I better get off my soap box and go learn lines.  Look thou character. . . . .

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Second Blog of the Year

As you can tell, I'm running out of catchy titles for these missives, so I'm just sticking to numbers right now, kind of like the way the Duggars name all their 249 kids with names that start with the same letter.  Whoops--now it's 250 -- mazeltov!

I am a keen observer of life.  Ha!  No I'm not, I'm just bored today, so my mind has wandered off into Ephemera Land and caused me to think on things I just don't get. 

I don't mean the Big Things I don't get, like why anyone in their right mind would be against legalized abortion or gay marriage or watch Dancing With the Stars.   Those things are kind of obvious and way too heavy for my mood today.  It's tech week and my foot hurts and I really don't feel like making too much of an effort.  

No, I'm talking about those weird little things you run across in life that don't really signify in the Grand Scheme of Things, but you still wonder about anyway. So here are my pre-lunch musings.

For instance, I just sent an email to my castmates and ended it with "Yours in Christ", a phrase that has always irritated me.  What does that mean?  Does that mean you really like Jesus?  That's cool, but why end a letter with that fact?  I really like Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, yet I never end a letter "Yours in Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young" (for one thing, it would take too damn long).  Are you supposed to end letters that way if you are a cleric?  Doctors don't end their letters, "Yours in Antibiotics", astronauts don't end their letters "Yours in Space".  (DISCLAIMER:  I'm just guessing here, never having actually ever received a letter from a doctor or an astronaut; but I did get a letter from a collection agency once and they didn’t end that letter "Yours in Vaguely Threatened Violence".)  I think Church People do it because it makes them feel important.  Kind of like it would probably make me feel sexy if I ended a letter "Yours in a silk thong".  Unless the letter was to a collection agency, then I'd just be embarrassed.  No, actually, I'd be embarrassed if I put that ending on any letter, so  I guess I'll just stick with "Sincerely".  Yeah, that's hot.  But it's better than "Yours in Christ". 

I also don't get the game of cricket, but I don't feel too bad about that one, because I don't really think anyone does.  I've had a couple of people try to explain the game to me, but I think they were both just making it up as they went along.  That's okay, I can probably spend the rest of my life without ever watching a cricket match/game/bout/whatever and my heart will go on.

Bad Steve once spent the better part of an afternoon trying to explain craps to me.  I just didn't get it.  I have trouble grasping the concept of most casino games, which is why I never go.  I love, love, love playing board games and card games but I really suck at ALL of them.  I can count on the toes of my sprained foot the number of times I have actually won a game. Of anything. Ever.  I try not to think of this as being a metaphor for my life overall, but now that I've typed that, of course I do.  Crap(s).

Meh.  I'm going to get some sesame chicken and buy a crown (head not tooth).  Catch y'all on the flip side. 

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

First Blog of the Year

Here's how Debbie started the New Year:  fell on my ass last night at Cantina, sprained my ankle, passed out (for the second time in a month) at rehearsal.  But this time I had enough sense to stay in my chair while I passed out, neatly avoiding a pesky visit from the paramedics and I still managed to make it through the rest of rehearsal, so I doubt I did any permanent damage.  And at least I didn't wreck my car, for a change.

The previous paragraph is neither alarming nor surprising.  That's just how I role.  I swear I am not an attention whore (unless I'm in a show--come see my show!), but this shit just always seems to happen to me.  It's okay.  The Universe needs a fall guy and I guess I'm it.  That's cool. Karmically speaking, that means next time I will have straight hair and a chin, be at least 5'5", have an actual career and an adequate income and get laid on a regular basis.  Is that too much to ask? 

But in the meantime, I am going to be uncharacteristically boastful here and say that in spite of First Paragraph-like Shit that keeps happening to me, I have a helluva great attitude.  I am a weird bird, no doubt, but weird in a good way and no matter what Karmic Shitstorm I seem to get caught in, I still think things are going to be all right.  Because although my life has been a train wreck from inception, I'M STILL HERE!!  And I'm overall a pretty cool chick, for someone of my advanced age.  And nine times out of ten the KS ends up being funny and, as we all know, I will do absolutely anything for a joke, even though this blog episode would seem to deny that.

So, bring it, Universe!  I'm ready. . . I can take it.   I have two untouched fenders left on my car; the cast of Skanks doesn't even blink anymore when they see me unconscious; I have yet to fall at Rojo (amazing in of itself).  And 2012 is just getting' started. . . . .