Why ladies?!

I was explaining to an old friend that one of closest and dearest friends was opening a huge show that will most likely end up on broadway.   “You sound really happy for her… Aren’t you jealous of her?  That’s your childhood dream.” My old friend asked.  My old friend has been a struggling Broadway actor for years. She’s one of those that will be struggling till the day she dies but she’s doing what she loves. We met when we performed “Julius Caesar” together WAY back in the day, lost touch, then regained touch through the miracle of Facebook and rekindled a superficial relationship. 

I thought about the question… I thought hard.  “No.” I replied, “not at all… I’m proud of her.”  It’s the truth.  I never thought to be jealous.  My close friend has been preparing for this literally her entire life… so why would I be jealous?  Just this one project has been a 2+ year journey for her.   I’m proud as hell… I’m screaming from the rafters to anyone who will listen about how happy I am for her.   

My old friend then said “you’re not a normal woman I guess.”  Not a normal woman… wait… so because we were both born with vaginas I’m not supposed to support her?  I really started thinking.  I thought back to when I was a kid riding horses competitively… it made sense now.  We were all friends until we got to the same level and started competing with each other.  It made sense now.  Jealousy and competition reigned. I just thought they hated me… 

Why as women do we get this way with each other?  We are all spouting “woman power” until say a friend starts excelling in something then jealousy takes over.  Aren’t we all in this together?  If we are all in it together why does female rivalry exist?
Doing a little late night internet research I came across a plethora of articles about the subject.   Some blame hormones, some blame upbringing, while others blame our caveman ancestors.  Are women inherently jealous of each other?  Is it part of our brain structure?  Is it something some women can’t help?  Reading this information makes me wonder how we ever came together to win our right to vote.  

This newly gained information really enlightened things for me.  Maybe I was only made fun of as a school girl because I was tall and skinny.   Maybethe reason people gossip and lie as adults is because they are jealous of something.  Oddly enough this makes me feel better… no idea why but I will take it.  

How can we overcome this jealousy and rivalry?  It’s all “yeah female power” till jealousy or rivalry hit.  We women need to work together… we need to stick up for each other… we need to support each other.   We need to stand together for our basic rights and that starts with supporting each other’s accomplishments.   We have a president who talks about “grabbing women by the pussy” yet we are ostrisizing, hating, and making fellow women’s lives miserable out of petty jealousy?!  

Ladies… who gives a shit about the petty stuff.  Support your female friends.   Love them for the sisters they are.  Stop creating drama… we have enough all ready.  Stand together in love and celebrate each other.  
I am proud beyond words about my friend’s success… as I am with any friend’s success.   I will support my friends with my last breath.   I will promote her because I believe in her ability with all my heart.  Good, deep, platonic friendships are rare…  don’t let jealousy and pettiness ruin them.  

My friend Stephanie Wall as “Michele” (in the pink) *obviously NOT my picture… stole it from one of the many adds popping up on social media*

I am what I am


It’s June… its gay pride month. To me that means a month of being a bit extra out and proud as I celebrate with my LGBT community. It’s a time when we come together for festivals and parades. Its a time where we can have fun and forget we are an oppressed minority that faces prejudice on a daily basis and even jail time or death in other parts of the world. It’s a time where many of us reflect on our lives.  

I figure for the first time ever I would write my story down. Perhaps it will help one fellow human be more comfortable in their struggle. Maybe it will help my friends, family and cohorts understand me a bit better. Or maybe no one will read it but I will feel better for getting it out. Who the hell knows.  

I knew I was different starting in about 4th grade. The other little girls in class were always talking about the boys… sending them cute notes, trying to get their attention, etc. I had no interest. No interest in any of it. I didn’t get what the big deal was. I dove into my own world due to the insecurity and discomfort. 

In 6th grade hormones started raging. Like absolutely raging. The girls were all dating and acting weird around the boys. I still felt nothing. I had a “boyfriend”… a sweet upright bass player from our school chamber orchestra… but it was confusing to me. It didn’t feel like anything. I literally had no feelings for this guy who was pouring his heart out to me on a daily basis. I just kind of stopped talking to him.  

It was 7th grade when I felt arousal at the sight of someone. I had no idea what the feeling was at the time but looking back it was definitely arousal. It was in gym class… I don’t remember her name… but I remember what she looked like. She had great boobs… like woman boobs… and her butt was perfection. I sat on the bleachers watching her play volleyball. Honestly at the time I had no idea what was happening in my mind or body. All I could do was stare. The other kids knew I was “different” and they harassed me daily and physically assaulted me frequently. 

For the next few years I struggled with myself. I knew the feelings I was having weren’t normal. I was scared. I lived in South Carolina… it wasn’t exactly a welcoming place for a girl trying to figure out what was going on sexually. I told no one. Not even my therapist. I didn’t even have a word for how I felt. I just knew no one else had these feelings.  

The summer after 9th grade I went to California for a while to visit my aunt and uncle. While I was there they took me to LA pride in West Hollywood. Well… I found the word I needed to describe my feelings. It hit me. I was gay. I was gay and there were others like me. It was an awakening. I felt like a weight had been lifted.  

I went the next few years being out to friends. Eventually I came out to my family. I figured they had all figured it out. For the most part they handled it well.  

Not everyone I meet is okay with it. When I was 20 I was sexually assaulted by a guy who thought I just needed a strong man to change me. It was horrible. He was a friend of a friend. I still have nightmares. He most definitely did not turn me straight. 
I prayed and wished to be straight… to be normal. I struggled many years of my life with who I am and feeling inferior and substandard.   It wasn’t until about age 30 that I became comfortable with my sexuality.  I no longer feel inferior.  This is who I am.  This is who God made me to be. 

I faced violent threats, disgust, prejudice, stereo types, hate speech, and teasing through out most of my life just because I am different. 4 years ago I decided to try dating men again. I faced anger from many of my lesbian friends for “choosing” to be bisexual. I wasn’t choosing anything. It was sad. My own people were turning on me for deciding to explore my bisexuality (I’m like 90% lesbian but wanted to at least try a relationship with a man)

As an out bisexual I get a lot of “just choose a side”. Sexual preference is not a choice. I didn’t learn to be attracted to women. I didn’t choose to feel this way. I’m not broken… homosexuality is not a disease. There’s no therapy to “cure it”. Our brains just work differently. When it comes to sexuality there is no “normal”… but that’s a whole different blog post.  

I’m glad young people discovering themselves these days don’t face near the prejudice, discrimination, or violence I did. It still happens but thankfully most of society in America is accepting now. What went through made me more determined to be out and open. I refuse to let anything shut me up. I am me. I am living my best life. I am true to myself.  

The bathroom talk that changed my life…

Not my picture! Found on internet.

“What’s the worst that will happen if you fail?” This was the question posed to me during a conversation with Mary Lynn Rajskub… and it has left me changed in every aspect of my life.

 It happened during a bathroom conversation in which I divulged I was trying to get over some stage fright I had acquired after a few rough shows. You see I have a HUGE fear of failure. I don’t know why. I just always have.  It’s only gotten worse over the last couple years.   Every human hates failure… I was letting mine cripple me on stage.  

After my conversation with Mary, total fan girl moment for me since I really look up to her but I held my shit together, I got to thinking…. What is really the worst thing that would happen should I fail?

In my daily life money making career I work in veterinary medicine. I perform anesthesia (among other things), a life or death procedure, and have the capacity to make mistakes that could easily kill. Yet I do it with complete confidence.  I mean… I will get nervous during a super critical moment but I KNOW I’m good at it.  I’m completely confident in that situation. Present me with an anesthetic emergency of any kind and I will calmly and confidently work to correct it.  Stand up is different… it’s an art that takes hours of practice and not just knowledge.  

 No one will die if I drop a punchline. The worst thing I guess is some people may judge me based on the bad show.  Luckily there’s always people who have seen me do well.  Everyone has bad shows… even the famous people. I’ve seen many famous comics go down in flames. I’m just a rookie… doing this for fun since I can’t live my active lifestyle anymore to challenge myself… even if I was famous a bad set is just a bad set.   Nothing more.  

If I have a bad run of shows the worst that will happen is I may not get asked back. That’s not horrible in the long run as there are many shows going on in multiple clubs and eventually I could prove myself again. Plus everyone knows I’m just learning.  Why put pressure on myself? It’s ironic a fear of failure could be causing me to fail. 

Failure is a part of trying anything. What counts is pushing through… learning from it… and overcoming it.  I took the stage with this new attitude and it truly boosted my performance.  It’s not that I didn’t give a shit anymore… fear of failure just wasn’t at the forefront of my mind any more. 
Anyone in ANY job what SO EVER is gonna have a bad day.  Failure is inevitable. You will go down in flames at some point. I guess it’s all in how you overcome it. If you have a bad show… bad run… bad day… screw up… etc don’t give up.  Learn from it, move on and do better next time.  Failure is a part of life.  Don’t let the fear keep you from success. 

Dating… the inner ring of hell

She probably got a dick pic
Being that I’m in my mid 30’s and finding myself single again I’m once again in the hell filled dating pool of L.A. Dating in your 30s is like dumpster diving for dinner… yet you’re part of the dumpster trash too. We are all the scraps… most of us trying to get over heart break while we fight through the rivers of hell to give it one more chance at the behest of our friends.   

Let me make something clear… I never want to be in a serious relationship ever again. I have joined the ranks of women who have found joy in being single. Why date then? It’s simple… my friends in relationships make me and it usually involves food. I’m always down for food… or whiskey.

Daily I get calls or texts telling me they found someone I need to meet. That they are perfect for me. I politely remind them I really don’t want to date. They send me a picture… usually a headshot… of a 30 or 40 something blonde woman (sooooo many blondes in Hollywood… even the latinos are going blonde… thankfully I’m over my aversion to blondes… except Latino blondes) or metro guy (probably actually gay) they worked with on a show or met through a friend. Something in my heart twitches with some and for some reason I agree to an evening out with a stranger.  

We exchange headshots… look at each others Instagram… talk on the phone once or twice… then we make plans to meet. This is when anxiety takes hold. It’s the same anxiety that grips me once an audition pops up or I agree to stage time. 

Do I shave my legs? (Don’t give me that shit that a ladies legs are always shaved… I can guarantee at least half of you turn into furry beasts) Do I wear make up? Is my hair going to cooperate? (Probably not… let’s be honest). What the hell do I wear?! Bra or no bra?! Is there enough time to go get waxed?The 3 hours before I leave the house are either spent running around like crazy or giving in to the inevitable betrayal of life and laying in bed watching the clock like a countdown to my execution. 

Finally it’s time… I always arrive first. I’m always on time since I’m from the east coast and being LA everyone else is late. I sit. I have no qualms about ordering a drink so I do. Eventually they show up. We do the awkward stand up, shake, hug thing. Neither of us looks like our headshots and they never look like their filtered Instagram photos. That’s just the way life goes.  

We eat awkwardly. It’s Hollywood though so usually we just push food around our plates as we suck down white wine. I mean… when your on a diet there are priorities to your caloric intake.  

Conversation is made. They are usually working on some big movie, tv show or project. Then there’s me… uh I took an oxy and sat at Disneyland harassing some entertainers I know… but I do some stand up and writing to keep from killing myself (I don’t say the killing myself part… that’s CLEARLY 3rd date material). Then I have to explain both my chronic illness,  my bizzare circle of Disney friends and why I see so many cover bands in dive bars. I also have to promise not to use them for stand up or writing material… oops.  I feel like I should have a disclaimer or something. Eventually the conversation moves on from my bombshells into something more pleasant.  

The uneaten food is packaged to go (we both know it will either be tossed or eaten by room mates while we devote more calories to booze). It’s time to say good bye. It’s awkward hug and kiss time. It’s awkward walk to the valet time. It’s awkward make plans for a second date time. I usually tell them I need to check my schedule… then wait till the 3rd text or call to make another date. Not playing hard to get. I just hate dating that much. Eventually I end up back in my car texting something cynical and depressive to a best friend (okay there’s the occasional “holy hell I love her/him” but that’s only till we get to the 3rd date… then it’s back to flipping tables).

 I would rather sit on a friend’s sofa drinking wine and talking shit on the world than go out with someone I don’t know.  On that note I will probably never get asked out again… that’s fine. Dating is one casket I would love to seal.  

I’m told I’m just still angry over my shitty marriage… that I’m in a mourning stage. Honestly I just really enjoy being single after my disastrous marriage. I’m happy with my close friendships and if I want sex I don’t have to deal with a relationship for that. (Sorry mom)  I’m an adult and it’s 2017. That’s another blog post though, lol.

So into the fires of what is the LA dating pool. Stay tuned for my adventures in dating.  

Adventures in dating… part 1

It was the best first date I’ve ever been on. We had enjoyed a wonderful dinner and a couple whiskey drinks during a show. Now we found ourselves standing on Melrose with our arms wrapped around each other waiting for the valet to bring our cars around. That’s when she said it… “You look so seattle but feel so LA.”

I had to pause… I’ve heard that somewhere before. Oh yeah… “did you just use a Fall Out Boy lyric on me?”

She looked shocked… “uh… yeah… it kind of just fell out of my mouth.” She was embarrassed. “I mean you do though… you look hardcore 90s grunge but have an LA hard body.”

I giggled… “I’m still mourning the loss of Kurt.” I said giving her a light kiss. “You’re adorable.”

Honestly I didn’t know what to think. She was dressed to the nines in heels, sexy black dress, and full beat hair and makeup. I wasn’t expecting her to drop a Fall out Boy lyric in my lap. Yet it was comforting. She spoke my language of music lyrics. That’s rare to find in 30 something feminine form.  

The valet pulled up with her white Mercedes… it was time to move on.  
We have since had many conversations using only song lyrics… and I’m still not sure how I feel about it. I did agree to a second date though. 

Everyday is about adjusting my sails…

Freaking truth

Pain… yesterday was a high pain day. It was a high pain day that I had to power through. I wanted to curl into a ball and cry but instead I had to smile and interact. I couldn’t do my usual cancel everything so I can hide on the sofa popping narcotics every 4 hours praying for a meteor from space to come kill me. It was beyond exhausting and stressful.  I feigned functional adult though and for that I’m proud. I push myself hard everyday but days with severe pain are even harder.  

Living with chronic pain is… well… shitty. One day it could be reasonably controlled using modern medicine and the next day I could be unable to leave my bed. No rhyme or reason… it’s just how it goes.  I can’t really plan things with out the disclaimer “if I’m feeling decent”. I go to bed at night wondering what level of hell I will wake up in. That’s if I sleep at all. Most nights I either toss and turn or give up and lay awake thanks to pain and anxiety.  

Going out places requires planning. Will there be someone to drive me home if I have to take my strong meds? Will there be a place to sit? Will there be a quiet place to be for a minute if things get overwhelming? Will I be with a friend who will understand when I want to leave early? Can I fake a smile through feeling shitty so people don’t get put off?  Are people going to think I just want sympathy?  I’ve started just avoiding shows and other social activities that I used to enjoy.  

I feel like a drug addict. Traveling… even just overnight… means bringing multiple bottles of pills. I have to take my narcotics everywhere. If I’m gone for more than 8 hours that means I have to bring other meds too so I can stay on schedule.  My purse sounds like an 80 year olds.  

Much of the time my meds make me feel mentally dull.  I try to take the very minimun… just enough to take the edge off because I hate feeling dopey… but I hate being in pain more.  “Can’t you just deal with the pain” a former friend asked me once… worried I was going to become addicted.  I’m well aware about the risks of addiction but until you’ve been in a public restroom laying on the floor praying for death because you didn’t bring your meds with you and you were 2 hours past your scheduled dose please don’t lecture me.  

Most days I can sort of function thanks to my meds yet other days I can’t do shit. That’s honestly the hardest part of this illness. Gone are my days filled with physical activities like weight lifting, boxing, horseback riding, rock climbing, surfing, and every other hobby I had.  Gone are the days where I could just go go go then party all night.   Instead it’s pats on the back for getting out of bed, showering, and especially leaving the house.   That’s pretty shitty for a 30 something woman… that’s life though.  

My heart still beats and (thanks to a medication adjustment) my brain still works so it could all be worse.  I’m blessed to have awesome room mates who help me more than they know (huge step up from an abusive and neglectful husband), once again live close to other friends so it’s easier to see them and be social, and thankfully live near places that bring me great joy.  Tomorrow could be better… or it could be worse.  All I can do is pray and attempt to sleep… and thank God for that first breath in the morning.   

My life has done a massive 180 but it’s gonna work out if I can just keep myself from myself. I’m trying to learn how to be kinder on myself… to remember that I’m not lazy… that I ACTUALLY NEED rest.   I’m blessed with amazing friends who call me out when I don’t take care of myself and provide comfort and support.  The really good days are rare now as the bad days become more frequent but I have to keep hope that one day the storm will end and I will be left with strength and a story. 

With help I am standing in this storm. My favorite quote… human in picture is Stephanie Wall. Picture was taken during a performance. She has become one of the greatest friends I’ve ever had due to her unconditional love and support during this rough time.

Who have I become? 

Uhg… leave it to Siri to know exactly what to play on my random playlist. Hearing this song today made me realize I’ve been saying no to A LOT of things due to fear. A fear I never used to have.  Damn it Mary Poppins…

It’s crazy but these last couple of years have really thrown me for a huge loop. Between the horrid marriage, illness, having to face drastic career change, absolute betrayal by people I trusted, etc. I’ve closed myself off. It wasn’t something I did knowingly. It just happened.  

I used to say yes to pretty much every opportunity that came my way… now I’m afraid to commit to a dinner out much less an opportunity for growth. But why? Is it fear of change? My crippling fear of failure? Fear of being let down? Anxiety from all of these perhaps.   

I want to get back to being that woman who took risks, grew a successful career by making herself noticed instead of being meek, and didn’t let anyone hold her back. I feel like the shadow of the woman I was 3 years ago. The woman I was before I married a man who hurt me and brought up insecurities I hadn’t felt since middle school… before I lost my self and my voice.  

I will try to stop finding a reason to say no to everything. I will try to come back out of my shell of anxiety and distrust. I will try to aim for the heavens so I can get the stars thrown in.  Why? Because anything can happen if you let it.