Monday, July 26, 2010

Like The Dance

To The Captured,

Used to sink inside when the car pulled out even for a few minutes. Even if he was just picking up sandwiches and sodas.

Now I float like big girls in deep ends.

And it's the last week in July, so the cherubs are out. If I stand still enough I can hear them breathing under the lights. I can feel them squeezing their toes into glass slippers and skinny dips.

That's where we met you know.

I knew he'd come back, not that he ever left.

The cherubs are out.

Skin and Toast

P.S. Learn your lines, verbatim.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Hot Eyes

Dearest Hairballs,

Ajax called to say that "the rock of depression has lifted".

Then we went to the tobacco stores, bookstores, and diners of his choice; my treat.

I was like, take me to the hot coals, I feel like walking little man.

Bought some Edgar Cayce books because I was feeling particularly intuitive.

One fine day.

Paid some bills and sobbed, not because I didn't have the money, just because.

Rotated my hips a few degrees to the left, oh my god it's so hot, the fans make it hotter, I want to ride a bike down a hallway.

Baked moments in confused breaks from deadlines that still the blood, the man sitting next to me on the 22 asked me if I was OK, the woman on the other side of the counter told me there was no way to duplicate what I just threw out. Go blow dry your hair a little longer why don't you? Don't talk to me. Someday you'll be able to major in stream of consciousness, and then I'll get that Guggenheimed PHD I always knew I'd never have. I'll wear aprons in Rogers Park and teach two days a week, and own a small bookstore, and friend boy will have his studio in the back. And the basement across town can keep brewing all night, and we'll be there early to help bottle. Volumes two through six now available in paper back, get em' while they're hot, can you toast the breakfast sandwiches? Yes, I can, not going to---do it forever---can't. I can survive the rest of my life without central air so long as I don't have to put your equal in your latte for you. I'll rather wipe your ass with my tongue. I'd get off on that. So would you. I'd take you to the theatre after you came all over the sugar free vanilla, something at the Steppenwolf. That's where I got my start you know.

Oh, I lost my head for a second there, that was un-lady like. Excuse me while I finish this embroidery on my maxi pad.

Pebbles in the shoe. Blueberries in the pants. I don't mind if you smoke, my mother smoked.

Catching waves in the middle of nowhere, and jumping to surf with you,
Skin and Toast

Monday, July 19, 2010

Oh Yeah OK


So the rumor current is that she's gonna be in his Broadway production of Picnic.
And, this Our Town thing is just to get her feet wet.
Well, it's nice to know there's a plan.
I like plans.
But, I hate making them.
She was on Lifetime yesterday.
That Helen.
Some movie about Chinese babies.
Remember when that was the fad?
I prefer sit com actors on Broadway,
as a fad.
If you're going to time travel I recommend doing it on a Sunday.
If you're buying a news paper, or simply asking for a glass of water,
You have to stand in line.
We all have to wait in this world.
And sometimes,
If we're not psychotic bitches, we'll get exactly what we want.
And no, we don't need anything.
I mean, nothing out of the pastry case that is.
If one is at a point where one needs a cinnamon swirl coffee cake,
One has an unhealthy relationship with food/reality,
And one should seek professional help immediately.
Oh, you don't need a cinnamon swirl after all?
Then use your words.
Please may I have a cinnamon swirl?
Of course.
That'll just take half a bloody nano second you miss quoting rolling stoned hamster.
Yes, I just put your newspaper dollar in the tip jar.
Yes, I don't hate you.
It's just a show.
Silly show.
But, sometimes.
When you're coming up on two decades of painted stages.
One after the other, after the other, after they cut your solos in the eighth grade pageant,
After they wrote you up in considerable vocal crisis sophomore year of acting college,
After you made the speech at the Cherub banquet,
After they cast you as the messenger in Iphigenia junior year of high school,
When you wanted Iphigenia so bad you spent the night on the roof of your boarding house.
It gets hard to not take it seriously.

I want it to be good so bad I scratch my thighs to a pulp.
I heave over every dropped line and missed entrance.
And then I say that I don't care,
But I do.

That seems to be a pattern lately.
Saying one thing, but felling, and implying something entirely different.
I'm not mad.
The acting dragons would love that.
It doesn't really work for apartments and frozen pizzas though.

OK, the truth is I had a bad day.
The truth is I still don't know where my talent is, what I'm supposed to do, what one thing.
The truth is I don't like my face most of the time.
The truth is I'm afraid you'll move back to Ohio.
Or Jersey.
The truth is I have bad days.

And I miss you so much. I keep a picture of us dancing in the courtyard scotch taped underneath the shelf that's attached to my desk. When no one's home I lye on my back and stare at the two of us dancing. Me with my home perm and you with your lip stick. I usually prefer candid, but we knew.

I dream that you'll come to the show on a bad night and hug me hard, and tell me I was awesome, and no one noticed. And the we'd go out to eat.

I dream of no bad days.

I dream you'll find me on this tiny corner of the Internet, and know enough to still not dare to call or write.

I wake to forget you, love you.

Skin and Toast

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Body Image Check In


Still there.
No further developments,
Also strong.
Spreading rapidly.
Ongoing battle.
Still freckled.

It's like the sprinklers at night,
How you know they're there,
Because the sidewalk's wet.
But, it's too dark to avoid attack.
And then it feels good.

But that group of boys on the corner, most certainly trouble.
And then they're gone.
Just in time.
And they can't hurt me.
That group of boys.
On the corner.
Listening to my I-Pod without me.

Where fake mom lives,
All the houses are nice and the sprinklers on timers.
But, here they have to walk outside to turn their water off.
I like seeing them in their shorts and varicose veins.

I like that my body gets me home.

Not bad,
Skin and Toast

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

In case you were wondering

Open Letter To Helen Hunt,

I don't mind that you are now playing the stage manager in Our Town.

David's busy.

Why not?

I know you once played Emily. You're a stage actress. At least you were before he was mad about you.

I have no reason to hate you.

I would probably hate you if you thought you could replace Jen. But, we don't have to worry about that now do we?

But, why the one month?



Like it's a breakfast cereal.

Do you have any idea?

When was the last time you rode the Greyhound bus from Chicago to Dekalb?

I'm asking.


Letting Go,
Skin and Toast

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Back to Back in

Dear cities I've only ever driven through,

Oh, well. Let me tell ya.
It was like awesome.
I wore tights.
I had the best time.
Thank you so much.
Oh, my God so much has happened.
Then, we went to see The Chunk at the taste of Randolph of all places.
Oh, golly.
That was the next day and that was like so awesome, it was like oh my god.
I jumped.
I never jump.
I'm afraid of looking like a sack.
But, I did some jiggling at the love fest.
Because I was wearing tights.
Well, actually fish nets.
Oh my God, like, you have no idea.
They say ya'll in Maryland, ya'll.
So, I jumped.
It was fun.
The whole weekend I was determined to have a good time.
Something that doesn't always come naturally.
Not when tights and moving are involved.
Friend boy cried because he was happy or something.
He's a sensitive dinosaur.
It's so hot.
Like, Oh my God.
Because it's his favorite band.
And he wasn't at work.
And I was jumping with him.
Which meant that I didn't have a weird look on my face.
Which meant that he didn't have to worry about me.
Which meant that he could jump extra hard.
Which meant that time had bleached my arm hair so musk rat white that I needed ear plugs.
Then I went to math, and it was like oh my god.
And then my phone kept going off.
And I was like oh my god.
Then I went to the bathroom after he cut our cords for the day.
And I was soiled like a can of coke.
And you know how I like coke.
And periods.
Oh, my God. Anything period related I just love.
It's a hobby.
Then I was like, check that phone girl.
Then there was a picture of a little tiny little baby with a little tiny little hat and a little tiny little puffy eye ball. And I was like oh my god. It gets me every time. It's like so cool.
Anna Gloria Walsh.
Eight pounds.
One ounce.
21 inches.
Just fine.
That's what the phone said once I scrolled down.
Then my inbox was flooded with pictures and moments.
And the new person was hooked to all the old people.
And I was like oh my God, be careful.
Don't get too attached.
And then I was like,
And that was like so awesome.
Like so the thing to be chanting over and over.
Like, oh my god.
Then I went to Lexington.
With the showsy whoasy.
And it was another fun fun fun.
Except for that one little moment with the bald guy.
And the one other little moment at the bookstore when the guy behind the counter told me I was stupid.
Oh my God.
The show was the show.
But, the big news is that friend boy was there.
There had been a rule that we couldn't tour together.
I made that rule.
But, when this tour came up.
It was a short one,
And I was like Oh my God.
And then we had the time of our lives.
We stayed in an attic.
And I liked being on stage with him for the very first time.
That only took two years of crying in the green room.
Told you I was slow.
This is getting personal.
Oh well!
Oh my God.
Now I'm back in the home show,
So, it's like Oh my God.
Gotta go!

Skin and Toast