Hate,hate, hate, loathe, despise, and hate

That's a line from Star Spangled Girl.  Anyway....

I have always had a thing about not hating people.  I hate lots of stuff; math, car trouble, bigotry, halibut, dentistry (as opposed to dentists).  But I don't believe in hating people.

There have been people in my life I haven't cared for, obviously.  And there are a very few people I feel have mistreated me or someone I loved.  And while I had moments of intense anger at these people and I still feel their behavior was horrible, I don't hate them.  You can't change the past.  But you don't have to live there, either.  (Until I get senile.  Then I'm going to live in 1963.  That was a good year.)

The few times I let myself get sucked into hating people, all it did was make me hate myself for wasting time on an emotion that was useless and draining.  Did my hatred change the person's behavior?  No.  Did my hatred make the pain go away?  No.  Did the hatred make me ask myself rhetorical questions and answer them?  Sadly, yes.  Lose, lose, lose.

I believe in love.  Admittedly, I was embarrassed to write that über hokey sentence.  (And did my iPad just  put an umlaut over the u??  Awesome!). But I think there needs to be three different words for love.  One is the love you (and by you, I mean me) feel for ice cream and fireworks and theatre and long weekends.  Another is the love you feel for the people/animals in your life that make you happy.  And then there should be a Third Love.  And this is what we should all have for Everyone, just because it's the right thing to do, and things would go a whole lot smoother if Everyone did that.  Chunky is okay for peanut butter, but smooth is preferable for life.

I don't have a Humorous Tagline for this one, sorry.  And I know this is a far from original idea.  But I'm more than naive enough to think if it's said often enough, it just may happen.
   

Tech Talk

I do not claim to know anything about technology.  The fact that I am able to stumblebumble my way through wonders such as blogs,  Facebook and toaster ovens without (usually) disastrous results is nothing short of a miracle.  This last weekend, my kids tried to convince me that I should be on Twitter.  I do have a Twitter account, but I never use it because I don't get it.  If I feel the urge to write down (supposedly) humorous thoughts, I don't want to have to worry about counting how many letters I can use.  After all, this is Amurica, and Publication Without Calculation was one of our Founding Fathers' credos. 

I also don't  understand the rules.  I just went to pull up blogspot.com through Google on my work computer and I got the ol' Skull and Crossbones; this site blocked by your organization because it is Vilely Evil and will Bring Down Society As We Know It and Why The Fuck Aren't You Working?  So I went to pull it up via MSN  (on the very same computer) and it pops up, pretty as a picture, also rosy cheeked and big smiles, begging me to express my opinions for all the world (if the world population is 23) to read.  Go know.

I am not really  interested in learning the particulars of technocrap, anymore than I was ever interested in learning how a car works or why everything that is fun to do or tastes good is always bad for you.  It just is. I accept that.  And I work around all these things to the best of my ability (Last Rated at C-).  I have killed three computers, two microwaves, countless cars and a guinea pig (none on purpose), and I still manage to keep from drowning in the 21st Century Ocean.  So far. 

But don't place any bets on me ever owning a hovercraft. 

Different Strokes

I (sometimes) try very hard to see things from others' points of view. (That sentence doesn't sound right, but you know what I mean.)  Like the whole racist/homophobic concept. I guess those things don't necessarily go hand-in-hand, but I was trying to save space, and those happen to be my Two Top Buggaboos.  So, I asked myself, "Hey, Gump, what prejudices do you have?"  And, (not counting my prejudice against racists and homophobes, cause, damnit, they started it), I realized that I am prejudiced against people who are religious.

Not that I really care if people go to church, that's their beeswax, but I had to admit to myself that if I find out someone I like is a regular church-goer, it alters my perception of them.  Just a smudge, but it does.  So, I assume that's like finding out your friend is black and/or gay, if you are R and/or H (I shortened racist and homophobic without telling you, but I figured if you got past my wonky first sentence you could certainly go with a spontaneous abbreviation.).  Also, if you have to be told your friend is black, you should probably get a cane.

BUT (and to paraphrase PeeWee Herman, everyone has a big but, I'm going to tell you about mine), I'm still friends with those churchgoing folk and I don't judge them for it and I tuck my feelings away in my Private Mind Vault (man, I got some good shit in there!) and I don't advertise my prejudice to The Universe. (Okay, I kinda am now, cause I'm blogging about it, but, as far as I know, The Universe doesn't read my blog.  So, shut up.)

Because that's what you do.  I doubt if I  or anyone else can change anyone's mind about hating gays or minorities. That makes me feel sad, but I'm not going to waste cancer cells worrying about it. I just wish they'd keep their opinions to themselves and quit polluting my world with their schlock.  If the Westboro Baptist Church wants to sit around for an hour every Sunday morning bashing Their Chosen Group of the Week, they can have at it. But they should keep those ideas within their own sacred walls, not throw them in people's faces in public.

Everyone has prejudices, but you learn to deal with them in a private fashion, much like dealing with your "intimate" feelings. (wink, wink)  Spouting your prejudicial ideas for the media is just public verbal masturbation, which is kinda creepy, not to mention inappropriate, and the inspiration for the title of this blog. 

So, stop. 

A Bunch of Unrelated Musings

Hello Reader 1 and Reader 2!  It's been a hot minute, as I haven't felt very bloggish in a while.  But boredom has overpowered me, and I feel compelled to, once again, tickle the plastics and spew forth more useless, extremely random, but hopefully mildly entertaining crapola.

I think the term "United States Government" is obsolete.  Nobody seems to do any governing anymore--so the name is misleading.  I think we should name it "United States Nannynannybooboo Stickyourhandindoodoo", because it seems more appropriate. 

I really like the sensation of writing with a newly sharpened pencil.  Usually because it signifies the start of rehearsal for a new show and I love that New Show Smell.

I am absolutely addicted to pictures of adorable kittens.  I believe this is one of the Warning Signs of Senility.  But it's way cuter than the peeing your pants all the time one.

I am slowly getting used to the dickheads at work who walk behind me and then comment on whatever they see on my iPad.  It's still annoying and creepy but I don't have the urge to strangle them like I used to.  Baby steps.

I am in a phase where I am realizing some things about myself that are overwhelming me.  I apologize for the Vaguebookiness of that statement, but I don't know that I can communicate the feelings I've been going through.  The cool thing is that they are AWESOME feelings, and that doesn't happen to me very often, so it is Definitely A Good Thing.  But I'm still in the early stages of this and, since I am the Queen of Denial (and have the asp to prove it ha! ha!), it will be a while before you'll be hearing anymore about this phenomenon.  You're welcome.

Or then, I could just be actually going senile.   Look, a kitten!!  Awwwww.....

1.  

I Feel Pretty, Kinda

I am not pretty.  I know that and I'm okay with it, although it was a rough road getting here. 

I once dated a guy for a hot minute who told me I was "Reasonably Attractive"  (be still my heart!), which is better than being Butt Ugly, I suppose.   But it probably also explains the extremely short lifespan of that relationship.

Us RAs have always had to deal with the Pretty Girls.  The easiest way is just to give up and don't bother flirting with guys because they're always going to go with a PG, not a RA.  It is has always been a miracle to me that I ever managed to hook up with anyone at all, so I'm never really disappointed.

It didn't help that I grew up in a house with a pretty sister and a beautiful mom.  They'd look at me with this, "What the hell happened with you?" look, and tell me not to feel bad,  that homely girls often grow up to be pretty women. One year (I think it was fourth grade) I was bemoaning my school picture and the homeliness therein, and my mother comfortingly said, "Well, what do you expect when you look like that?"  The Irish aren't big on unconditional love, but they are honest, bless their hearts.

Every cloud has its silver lining, and I think being an RA helped me develop my sense of humor.  It was either develop that or my razor blade skills and I'm not overly fond of blood.  But it's nice when people laugh at you.  That makes me feel pretty.  And now, in the autumn of my life, it's really helping me get gigs and acting makes me feel prettier than pretty, so I think it's a good tradeoff. 

Some of my best friends are PGs, and we laugh and cry and carry on and have a great time.  I love them and can see why guys do, too.  It's just a nice feeling to be comfortable in your own skin.

Settling Down

There was a story on NPR this morning about following your passion/dream.  The point of the story was there was this young man who didn't have a passion for anything and so he didn't know what to do.  That is not the point of my story.

I would like to address the issue of following your dream.  Now, I recognize that when people talk about following your dream, they are usually thinking about people under the age of 173, assuming that people as old as I am can no longer distinguish between dreams and reality anyway.  But our advanced age give us, in addition to hairy ear canals and decrepit skin, some wisdom in this area.  So, if I may...

It can work, but not very often.  (Sorry.  That was rather anti-climatic.)  And this is what it depends on:

1.  If it is remotely possible.  I mean, if your dream is to swim across the Atlantic Ocean in a single breath, without benefit of additional oxygen, that dream will be short-lived.  And so will you.

2.  You *really* want it.  

3.  You *really* want it so much, you are willing to work your ass off for it.

4.  You get unbelievably lucky.

5.  You have a shitload of money.

In my case, I realized at the tender age of 23 that as far as me becoming a working actor:

1.  It wasn't

2.  I did....but,

3.  I wasn't

4.  The only luck I have is bad.  That is what "luck of the Irish" really means.

5.  Hahahahahahahaha!!

So, I settled for being able to do something for a living (not a career, mind you, A Job) that would allow me to have a roof over my head and beer in my belly and pursue my passion on the side. 

A  major advantage to having your passion as your hobby, instead of your livelihood (at least in the case of theatre) is that when it's your hobby and you're not doing a show it's called "a break".  When it's your livelihood and you're not doing a show it's called "panic".  I'm not fond of panic.  Plus, waiting tables wouldn't work for me, because if I stand for more than a half hour I pass out.  That would probably lessen my tips. 

Now, your results may vary in this experience.  But the other variable that oldies like me see in this equation is that life is really, fucking short and getting shorter every day.  And I have known too many people I cared about who were here one minute and then they weren't.  And while it is great to have something to work towards, it really is about the journey, not the destination and since we're on our way down, we might as well enjoy the ride, and what a fucked-up paragrah this has been!!  (And, also, credit to Mr. James Taylor for the way down/enjoy the ride part.)

So,  young'uns, I have no advice for you.  You wouldn't take it if I did.  (Damn, there goes my mother talking out of my mouth again!)  Passions are good, but so is paying rent. You make the call.

So, this is a double first.  The first post I have done on my iPad (which means it should take me about 4 hours), and the first post I have ever done about a show I'm in.  I know!!  BFD, right?

Except it is to me.

I am doing "Standing on Ceremony", a collection of nine short plays about gay marriage.  It is superbly written and perfectly cast, and you should come see it.  But what has so surprised me about this show is how it has affected me.

I've done a lot of shows that had a profound effect on me, that's nothing new.  But this one caught me off  guard.  While the theme is gay marriage, I see this show essentially about relationships, and the joy derived from them.

So, here is Debbie...61 years old, alone, Certifiably Undatable, but comfortable, if somewhat jaded, in the fact that it's me and kitties from here on out. Cool.  But that means I tend to stay away from romance novels and romantic comedies, because that's just not my life and I don't care to be reminded about it.

Now along comes this play, with people talking about how happy they are in their relationships, and instead of making me feel sad, and/or bitter, I'm just filled with joy for my kids and  a lot of my dear friends who are experiencing that happiness.  And I feel grateful that I was privileged to feel that a few times in my life, even if some the guys had nefarious motives (I'm looking at you, Bad Steve).  It doesn't matter that I'm not, nor ever again, will be in that place; it just makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside and that's nice.  I never expected to feel that way again.  Go know.

I have spent the last year embracing the wonderful joys I have in my life...my kids, my friends, my kitties, my acting; and I'm proud of letting go of the parts in my life that have damaged me and can do nothing about.  It wasn't easy, so, yay, me!

But this is an added bonus.  Celebrating love, even though it's not my destiny, and all because of a play.  I fucking love theatre.