Two Conversations with my Mother

If you don't know my mom...well...she's a wonderful being. She's also extremely quirky. This is not a surprise if you look at me. I am, essentially, my mother's daughter.

I present here two telephone conversations with my mother. The first, is the conversation I wished we'd had. The second is the one we actually did have. Remember, I'm staying in the Days Inn because I'm narrating this week, and I have a broken foot with a ginormous green cast. These two details are important.

CONVERSATION #1

MOM: I just had to call you! I wanted to tell you something really exciting!

ME: Great. I could use some good news.

MOM: You got another bouquet of flowers!

ME: I did?

MOM: Yes! And this one is from MATT DAMON!

ME: Again?

MOM: He really wants to get back together. He says he’d divorce his wife for you. In fact, there are flowers and candy here from all your handsome, famous admirers. Isn’t that wonderful?

ME: I’m bored by it now actually. Being so desired is awfully tiring.

MOM: I know, honey. Boy, do I know.

CONVERSATION #2 (The Real One)

MOM: I just had to call you! I’ve got some good news!

ME: Great. I could use some good news.

MOM: Airway Oxygen just dropped off a knee scooter for you!

(PAUSE)

ME: Oh?

MOM: You are going to love it. It’s got wheels and you put your knee on it and you can roll around, and it’s black with cushions, and there’s this little bag in front so you can carry stuff, I mean…

ME: Mom? I gotta go.

MOM: It’s just wonderful! You’ll never have to use your crutches inside again!

ME: Mom...

MOM: And it folds up and it’s only $70 a month and your insurance, get this, will pay for EVERYTHING!

ME: Mom!! Mom! I’ve gotta go! I’m stuck in my pants!!

MOM: What?

ME: I can’t….muther fucker….I’m sitting on the hotel bed and my pants are stuck on my cast. I can’t get my pants off!!

MOM: Okay then. I’ll let you go.

END SCENE

My life just gets better and better. Really. It’s just so wrong I can’t help but laugh about it. Hopefully, you’re laughing right along with me.

sigh

An Exercise in Humility or Humiliation?

So far this whole broken foot fiasco has either been an exercise in humility or humiliation, maybe equal parts of both. I’ve had wonderful people offering to help and I’ve had horribly sobering moments where I sort of float outside myself and think “Aw, who’s that sad sap crawling up those stairs?”

Some random moments:

WORK

River City called me in to do one of my recurring voice-overs. I’m the Phone Lady for a major local health care group, so you can blame me when you hear prompts like “Thank you for calling. To speak with an operator, please hold for 27 minutes or so while standing on one leg, then maybe we’ll let you through” OR “If you are bleeding profusely, please hang up and dial 911.” Okay. Tangent.

So when they called me, I thought “Sure, I can handle this. This is a five minute gig.” I’d forgotten about the stairs. And the slope in their driveway. I got in the car, harder than it sounds since my driveway is an obstacle course of slush and ice, pulled my crutches in, drove, and was faced with a slope of sheer ice. I slipped my way up, rang buzzer and faced The Stairs. Granted, these stairs are not a big deal if you walk like a normal person. If you’re on crutches for the first time in your life, they are The Steep Stairs of Death. I stood there, looking at them, and thought “Fuck it”…and I crawled. That’s right. On my hands and knees.

Then there was another set of stairs leading to the basement studio. No big deal, I thought, I’ll just scoot down on my butt. Only there was a leak in the ceiling and I sat down on wet carpet so by the time I got down the stairs, not only was I butt crawling, but now looked as if I couldn’t hold my bladder.

Thank god everyone there has known me forever. My foot is broken, but my bladder works just fine.

DATING

I thought I was ready for this. Especially with my ex remarrying I feel like I ought to at least be dating. I decided to meet someone I’ve been writing to for a while online, and damnation, I was bound and determined. Plus I had a goal with my writers’ group to go out on a date with a man who wasn’t gay. (Though I really wish I could date gay men.) I limped my way to the restaurant and had a fine time talking, but at the same time, I was acutely aware of how I must smack of just a little bit pathetic. I managed to not wear stretchy pants, so that was a bonus.

I had these flashes in my mind of what sex would be like with a cast. I can’t take a bath so shaving is out. Imagine a heated moment and I lose my balance and fall over onto the floor. Or I’m trying to be sexy while I unzip my pants and then can’t get them off because they’re stuck on my cast. And then…naked bodies…imagine the awkwardness of a solid, rock hard CAST in the way. Not to mention my Sasquatch legs.

I’m thinking dating is out for a while.

HUMILIATION #459

The most recent humiliation with my ex. On the phone. Presented in dialogue.

ME: Hi, P. I’m calling because my foot is really broken. Like seriously and I need some help with the kids.

P: Okay. Well, I have them this weekend so that should help.

ME: Yes, but what I mean is…

P: Me and Miss R. are going to decorate the tree. Just want you to know in case they talk about that.

ME: Okay, but what I was going to say…

P: She was pretty upset about you having all the Christmas decorations since somehow in her split she didn’t get the Christmas decorations from her ex. But I told her it would be fine. We’d just give the kids some money and they can each buy an ornament and we’ll hang them all together and it will be a wonderful bonding experience for our family.

ME: (silence)

P: So. What are you planning on doing with the kids?

ME: Oh, you know, I have a broken foot and can’t take care of them and I’m single and can’t offer them any family bonding so I thought, I don’t know, that they’d watch TV while I eat chocolate bonbons on the couch and cry my heart out. Thanks for asking.

END SCENE

That dialogue is true, except for the last part. The last part I just thought but wanted to say. He doesn’t even realize how his words affect me.

Blast.

THE FUTURE

I talked to my sister. “You know, you’ve got to stay off your foot.”

“I know.”

“Seriously. Because if you don’t, you could have surgery.”

“I know.”

“P. is a fucking asshole.”

“I know.”

“He’s going to get testicular cancer…”

“Heidi…”

“No. Seriously. It’s karma, man. And after all you’ve been through…you know what’s going to happen?”

“Tell me.”

“Something fucking great. You’re either going to transform into a real superhero or you’re going to be rich and famous because of your books.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know it.”

With that thought, I sit back on my couch and change the channel on the TV. Good things are coming. My sister says it’s so, and if there’s one thing I know, you don’t mess with my sister.

Rex Alter Episode Two (repost)

And Episode #2 "Drippy and the Great Escape"

Click here for REX ALTER EPISODE TWO

Rex Alter Episode 1 (reposted)

Now that I have a new system, I'm reposting the Rex Alter episodes. This way, you can listen to them start to finish.

Enjoy, and share with friends.

Click here for REX ALTER EPISODE ONE

Top 10 Fun Things I Can Do With This Cast

Top Ten* Fun Things I Can Do With This Cast

1)   Fearlessly stomp on spiders should they be stupid enough to approach me.

2)   Imitate Frankenstein more convincingly.

3)   String leg with lights, stand in front of window and wait for neighborhood to admire my shapeliness.

4)   Practice being in zen-like position called “Flamingo” .

5)   After drinking a gin and tonic or two,  extend leg into air and convince people to “Limbo!!!”

6)   Cover cast in hair-like fabric, wear a skirt and go to bar and try to pick up guys. I’ll tell them I’m from Canada.

7)   Use cast to set drinks, glasses and books on if I can’t reach an end table.

8)   Paint face on toes, hide behind couch, lift leg and entertain kiddos with cheap improvised puppet show.

9)   Cover leg with enormous stocking and then let Santa fill stocking with PRESENTS!

10)  Invite friends and family to my house for holiday festivities and make sure they don’t confuse my leg with the piñata.

*If I had a boyfriend, I might be able to think of a couple of other fun things to do.

The Ada Witch (radio play/ghost story)

And now...the fully produced story of The Ada Witch. Written by Tanya Eby, produced by Sound Post, starring: Amy McFadden, Ralph Lister, Greg Rogers and Laural Merlington. Let us know what you think and leave a comment.

The Ada Witch by Tanya Eby

How I Got to the ER. There's a Reason I Call Myself Blunder Woman.

I’ve had a few questions about my recent adventures. How did I get to the ER? How am I handling the kids? What am I going to do? That’s part two of the story.

I managed to make dinner Saturday night while hopping on one leg. My friend Jason came over early to help get the kids to bed, play light sabers with Louis, and then Scrabble with me. I was certain that I’d go to sleep, wake up and be just fine.

I woke up at 1AM. I was not fine. I woke up at 3AM. Still not fine. When the kids woke up at 5AM, I was in tears. At 6AM I called the only person I could to help: my ex: Mr. P. I thought if I could get him to watch the kids on Sunday then I could drive myself to the ER and get taken care of. I called his cellphone. No answer. I waited. I called his home phone. No answer. Then it dawned on me. He was probably with his girlfriend/fiancée. He’s getting married as soon as our divorce is final. I’ve met her and she’s nice. So I called her cell phone. Finally got ahold of them at 7:30 at her home phone.

“I hate to call but I can’t walk and I can barely take care of the kids. Please. Can you help?” I felt like Princess Leia calling on Obi Wan, only it was a little more humiliating. I tried to explain that I wasn’t exaggerating and could they please take the kids for a while. Mr. P. said they’d take the kids to church. “Do you think you could maybe take them overnight? I’m in really bad shape,” I said. He hesitated. He said he had a presentation to do on Thursday and wanted to prepare. “Okay,” I said.

I waited for them to come and called my mom. She said she’d be over as fast as she could. No questions asked; she was coming.

When they came in, I was so embarrassed. There was food all over the floor from the kids ‘helping’ mommy by getting breakfast for themselves. And I hadn’t washed the dishes from the night before, of course, because I couldn’t walk. And I looked horrible.

Miss R. said “Tanya, I could take you to the ER, if that would help.” I wanted to hug her.

“Yes,” I said. “Please.”

So I found myself being driven to the nearest hospital by my ex’s fiancée. We were in his new car, and he was at my place watching the kids. They put me in a wheelchair and Miss R. parked then followed me into the room to get checked in.

The nurse asked if Miss R. was a friend or family. I didn’t know what to say. “Uh, she’s not really either. See I’m divorcing my husband and they met two weeks after we separated and are getting married soon, but they have to wait for the divorce to be finalized so, technically, I guess, she’s my husband’s lover, or maybe my sisterwife.”

It’s a good thing Miss R. answered before I did. “Yes,” she said. “We’re friends.”

Then the nurse began asking me my marital status. “Uh..married?” I said.

“I hear you. I’ve been through a divorce myself. Good riddance,” she said. I saw Miss R. shift in her seat. “But your insurance is still good?”

“God I hope so.”

They left Miss R. and I alone for a bit. We had awkward conversation about her times in the ER with her kids. And then a peculiar thing started happening. You know how the Grinch’s heart started growing? I sort of felt my heart growing too. Here’s this woman, a nice woman, who is helping me and talking to me and we’re connecting about our love for our kids, and then I started crying and she reached over and touched my shoulder, and I realized, shit. I like her. I actually like her.

They x-rayed me. The doctor came in. A tiny woman with very cold hands. “Well,” she said with a big smile. “You broke it. The good news is your husband will just have to take a little extra care of you this Christmas.”

“He sure will!” I said, and laughed, I think a bit too enthusiastically.

A big man came in and put a splint on my leg. “I got to bend your foot. I’m not going to lie to you. This? This is going to hurt.” I appreciated his honesty, but when he bent my foot, I really hated him for at least thirty seconds. I cried again. Big man tears this time.

When he left and Miss R. was wheeling me out, I said “You know, I’m not usually such a train wreck.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I understand.”

And I have a sneaky feeling that, you know, she really did.

And so I end on a happy note, here is a picture of what I wish my feet were doing right now:

Podcast East Does It 53 through 56

The saga continues. Click on the title below.

AND if you really like listening to this, maybe a FRIEND of your would like the REAL BOOK for a CHRISTMAS PRESENT. I'm just saying. (You can get it on Amazon.com by searching for Tanya Eby.)

Easy Does It CH 53 through 56

How I Broke My Foot & Learned the Meaning of Christmas

The very wise, very beautiful Beth once wrote on my wall on Facebook that my life sometimes reads as a novel. I tend to agree with her. Sometimes it’s wonderful. Lately it’s been fraught with complications and conflict and stress. And sometimes, it’s just plain slapstick with a touch of “awww man”.

Like this weekend.

I wanted a real Christmas tree this year. It’s my first as a single mom and I want the scent of pine in the house and to establish my own traditions. The kids are old enough now so they won’t eat the tree (hopefully) so I drove us around the corner to the tree lot set up in East Grand Rapids football field. The snow was coming down so hard, I thought we were all in a snow globe that a giant or a god was shaking. Snow everywhere.

Christmas music, happy families, and me holding onto my two kids’ hands, Louis and Simone, in their matching red coats. “What kind of tree would you like?” a lady asked me. She was thin with a very red nose (from the cold and not booze I’m sure). Louis immediately ran off to choose the biggest tree ever. I leaned in and said to the lady “One that’s not crazy expensive and that I can carry into my house…on my own.” She looked at me for a moment and smiled that knowing smile. “Over here,” she said. There was a sad little tree marked half off leaning against the fence. No one wanted it because it had a big hole in the greenery. I looked at that imperfect tree all on its own and I said “That is the tree for us”.

They trimmed the tree down a foot and presto, no hole. It’ now the perfect tree. A guy in a sweater that had a giant Christmas tree on it gave the kids free hot cocoa, and the woman with the red nose, stuffed my purse with mini candy canes. A young guy put the tree in the back of the car and I buckled the kids in…and in the storm and the white, we made our way home.

My Monologue:

“Kids, get in. Get in! Boots off. Go in the living room. Why? Because mommy is going to bring this tree in. How? I’m just going to lift it, see? I’m going…shit! Oh, no, mommy’s fine. I said ship. Ship! because this branch looks like a boat on a sea. You don’t see it? Oh. Louis…just go in the living room. Don’t touch your sister! Stop touching your sister! Simone, could you get off my leg? I can’t….gruntgrunt….Yes, I’m hugging the tree. Simone, get off…because…just I’m going to….fuhhhh….fudge. Damn you tree! No. It’s a great tree. Look! Look! Mommy did it I did it!! High fives!! Look at that tree!!”

To celebrate, I decided to grab my computer from upstairs and post some pictures, came running down the stairs and suddenly I went flying, computer airborn, my feet out from under me and I landed flat on my back, like a giant X. “Oh.” I said.

“Hey, mom, you okay?” Louis asked.

“No, Louis, I don’t think so. Thank you for the kisses, Simone, but could you just, yes, kisskiss, could you give mommy space right now?”

“Why are you crying momma?” Simone asked.

“I just slipped on one of your toys honey. I just need a minute.”

And then I heard the sound of a tree falling in the woods, except the tree that was falling was in my living room and it was slouching before me just out of reach. I jumped to my feet. “Ship!!!” I cried.

“What ship?” asked Louis. And then he told me to sit down.

“But the tree!” I said.

And we watched it slouch to the floor. And I thought, "Oh, forget it". I sat down. Louis gingerly pulled my sock off, and touched the side of my foot so gently it was like a kiss. “Does this hurt, Mom?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take care of you.” He went and got a cool washcloth and put it on my foot. Simone ran over and hugged me.

“You okay, Momma?”

“I will be. We’re going to be fine.”

“Mom,” Simone said as Louis tended to my foot. “This is serious. I gotta tell you…”

“What’s that honey?” I said, and tried to push the tears back.

“I LOVE YOU!!” she screamed. And then both kids hugged me.

This is the start to my holiday season. And you know what, it’s going to be beautiful, broken foot and all, busted tree and everything, because I’ve got my kids and a family taking care of me, and friends calling me and texting me, and I have never felt such love.

Podcast Easy Does It 51 & 52

I just sprained my foot. So you know what I'm going to do to celebrate? Post the next installment of "Easy Does It". As I was playing it, I listened to the opening chapter. It begins "I should be Super Hero Sex Girl. I should wear a cape." Mostly, right now, I just feel like Super Hero Klutz girl. One day though...fingers crossed....

:)

You know what to do; drag your cursor on the below title until a little hand appears. Click, and the window magically appears.

Easy Does It Ch 51 & 52

The Universe--A Beast and Beauty

I've been quite the grumbler lately. Imagine me in a white tank top and cutoff jean shorts, hairy legs, belly sticking out, in slippers. Put some curlers in my hair, and while you're at it,  put a real grumpy look on my face. That's pretty much been my appearance (at least spiritually) these last few weeks, and with good reason too. Really!

Here's a list: over a two week period of time my ex told me he was remarrying ASAP, I had to meet his fiance and start developing a relationship with her for the sake of the kids (she's nice), my teaching gig was about to come to an end and I was facing no job and...once the divorce is finally finalized...no health insurance. Then, just because the universe is a real funny gal, my landlord wrote me saying "Oh, yeah, I'm going to put the house up for sale".

The only thing that would have made this even more stressful was if I'd actually stuck to that cabbage soup detox diet, but luckily I gave that up.

I really felt beat up. Really. Like someone physically tossed me against a wall. And I felt like all these things were happening TO me, all these things that were beyond my control. I couldn't MAKE my ex not remarry, I couldn't rewind time and make him not date for a few more months. I couldn't FORCE someone to hire me. I couldn't change my landlord's mind. All I could do was Deal With It.

I'd like to say I handled it beautifully. That I was a princess of sorts. You know though, those princesses, I'm pretty sure it's an act. Put any girl in a fancy dress with lots of makeup and she'll look all right, but inside, man, inside is what counts. I was no princess. I felt pretty much hopeless.

And now?

Now, my teaching contract has been renewed, I have two narration gigs, my ex's fiance is very nice, and though the holidays are coming and I'm not dating or in love, I have my kids and my health and my family and my friends...And I may celebrate by buying one of those crazy beer hats with the straws. (If I can refill it with liquid chocolate.) What I'm saying here is the Universe? She's a Beast, but every once in a while, she can be a real Beauty too.

Night O' Crazy Dreams

I’m sitting in my office currently trying desperately to ward off sleep. Oh, but she’s seductress that one. Sleep. Calling to me. I mean, yes, I did a great work out and then promptly filled my tummy with warm soup; and, yes, I’m sitting in a cozy office trying to write and read; and, yes, It’s 2PM—the Nap Witching Hour. On top of all that though, my daughter was up a good portion of the night last night so I’m feeling pretty much exhausted.

Now that I think of it, I can blame my sleepiness on something else entirely. Last night, my house was freezing, so instead of turning the heat up (as a new heat-bill-payer I’m terrified of the new expense) I tossed on a super-thick super-fuzzy blanket. The only trouble with this was that I became so overheated I was having dreams that were more like hallucinations.

Last night I was supposed to go to Dog Story Theater and watch some comedy shows and then try improv and then go out to drinks. Because my little girl was sick, I ended up staying home, taking care of her and being a good mom. But in my DREAMLAND, I did go to Dog Story. It was super weird. There were tons of people there and everyone was laughing, only I couldn’t understand what any of the performers were saying.

Then I woke up in bed and one of the performers was sleeping next to me, with his arm draped around my waist. WTF? How did this happen?  And why was it this particular performer? (He is cute and all…but…REALLY?)

And then I was trying on a wedding dress because I was going to force this guy to propose to me. (Why in my dreams am I always forcing someone to propose to me? Does it really take coercion?)

Thankfully, I woke up. Discovered that the gentleman sleeping next to me was not said performer but my 5 yr old son, who was snuggled so close to me I had to de-Velcro him from my side. And I wasn’t wearing a wedding dress or forcing anyone to marry me. I was still in my enormous comfy pant pajamas and tank top.

I’ve since taken that blanket off my bed. I’ll try kicking up the heat tonight. As fun as those hallucinations were, I’m exhausted. I need a good sleep. And, sheesh, if I’m going to dream that someone is in bed with me, you’d think we’d be doing more than sleeping. Like maybe he’d be playing with my hair.

That’s not a euphemism, people. Really it’s not.

Pierced Hearts Radio Play

And now...the full recording of PIERCED HEARTS written by Keeley Geary and Tanya Eby, recorded and mixed (with original music) at Sound Post in Grand Rapids, Michigan and starring:

Tanya Eby as Trixie, Keeley Geary as Nurse Darla, Todd Lewis as Dr. Pierce, Laural Merlington as Mrs. Hathaway, Noddea Moore as the Woman in the Cafeteria, Greg Rogers as Mr. Corn and Calin Skidmore as the Narrator and Little Timmy.

Click on the title below to listen to the full recording:

Pierced Hearts: On Life, Love and Kidneys

Podcast Easy Does It 47 through 50

Entering PART TWO of "Easy Does It". What is Julie thinking? Why is Eve dressed as Catwoman? What's going to happen to poor Dan the Man? Listen:

EDI Chapters 47 through 50

My Dysfunctional Relationship with Turkey

Okay. Granted, I was a little grumpy yesterday. But I’m breathing and doing yoga all while sipping mojitos with festive sprigs of fresh mint, and really I feel just fine.

It’s all led me to think of my dysfunctional relationship with turkey. Turkey, to me, is a like that bad boyfriend you had in high school, you know the one with the mowhawk who got high on lunch hour and listened to Depeche Mode; that boyfriend that you knew your parents disapproved of but you kept going back to him. The boyfriend all your other dysfunctional relationships are measured against.

I’m totally lost now. This is why you should never extend a metaphor.

Oh! Okay. Me and turkey. I love turkey. I hate turkey. I’ve tried to quit turkey...er….cold turkey, but the rat bastard calls me back. It’s all that golden skin and rich lusciousness. And basically any turkey is good turkey with a good wine-based gravy. Turkey makes a home smell homey. It makes Thanksgiving feel like a real holiday instead of an awkward reception dinner.

One year, I tried to cook dim sum. We had pot stickers and eggrolls and spicy tofu and little dumplings and you know, I missed the turkey. And it’s everything that turkey goes with: the potatoes, soft and fluffy and occasionally lumpy, the stuffing (mine with sausage and apple), the bad casseroles that no one quite understands but take heaping spoonfuls anyway.

I never cook a turkey right. It’s always overdone or underdone. It’s that love hate thing again. What I’ve noticed though, if you’re with friends and family, if you’re drinking a little wine and reminiscing, if everything is awkward and slightly uncomfortable, if someone starts a fight with a sibling or someone else starts crying, it’s the turkey that makes it bearable—for there’s the one magical moment where everyone sets the personal issues aside, sits together at the table and takes  a collective breath, and there is peace. And sometimes in that moment of quiet, we realize just how much we love the people in our lives, even though they make us crazy.

And of course, afterwards, everyone takes a nap due to turkey-drug-effect. And that’s not bad either.

Speaking of…time to cook the artichoke dip and get ready for the hike to Brendan and George’s. There’s no dim sum today, and that’s just the way I like it. I like my old bad boyfriend. He does, after all, have great legs.

Me, Spouting Off and Being Grumpy

All right, people, through this whole divorce, I have (honestly) been the kindest, sweetest I could possibly be. After all, I did the leaving. There are a lot of good reasons for my leaving. Really, really good reasons. Just ask my mom. And my sister. And everyone in my family. And my friends. And the mailman. And my lover. Okay, don’t ask my lover, he doesn’t exist, but you can ask the mailman. Leaving was good. And terrible. But right. You know what I mean.

And through this, I’ve said everything as gently as I could, I’ve used “I” statements, I went for joint custody because it’s better for the kids, I tried not to take any money or ask for too much support (I get $100 a month), and you know what? I don’t want to be Mrs. Nice Girl anymore. I was Mrs. Nice Girl when I was married: quiet, submissive, and just plain gray. Now, I just want to be Tanya: complex, colorful, quirky Tanya. So. Mrs. Nice Girl? Forget it. Forget it! Here’s where I find my voice. Here, P, is where I tell you the whole truth. Right now, I’m pointing to my ass, and telling you to kiss it.

Here’s my letter to you:

Dear P,

The other day you told me you were getting remarried and I thought, duh. Two weeks after I moved out, you were on Match.com. Two weeks later I ran into you on your first date, literally, with our kids, though we had an agreement that you wouldn’t introduce our kids to anyone we were dating. You said you weren’t dating. Two weeks later, your relationship was “Very Serious”. On Halloween, you brought your girlfriend and her kids and our kids into my house and I took a family picture of you because the kids wanted one. And now six months later, you’re getting married. Well. Yes. Good for you. That wasn’t enough though, you had to keep going.

Then you told me that you had a deep connection with your first wife, and with your new fiancée you have found a love you didn’t think was possible, and then you said you married me because you wanted kids.

So. I was right. When I told you I felt like you didn’t honor me or cherish me, when I felt like you just wanted a wife and a cook and someone to be a mom to your kids, I was right. And it’s nice to hear you finally admit it. You never took the time to know me. You never read my writing, you never wanted me to act. You wanted me to stay home and cook…and I did, because I thought that we’d have a good family.

But you were controlling and a general asshole, and now, I feel sorry for you. I feel sorry that you weren’t able to spend even two weeks alone before looking for someone to take over my role.

Last night, I had to meet your fiancée. She seems perfectly nice. Already she’s organizing your schedule, taking care of you, and now I feel sorry for her too. I hope your connection is real. I hope you haven’t misled her the way you misled me.

I’m tired of being nice. I’m tired of being a victim.

I met with a trainer at the gym today and he said: “Tanya, you’re doing a great job. You just need more confidence.” I wanted to hug him. He was talking about working out, but for me it meant a lot more. I need more confidence. It starts here. I release you, P. You never knew me. That’s your loss. Our kids will be great. I love them deeply….but you…you are a stranger to me and no longer have the power to hurt me. You took a lot from me in our marriage, and now, I’m taking it back.

***

Readers, I hope you’ll forgive my digression here, but sometimes, you’ve just got to tell the truth. The truth is, I am free from a really bad marriage and someday, sometime, I’m going to have the happiness I want. I wish this for you too.

Santa: Reinvented

I was at Dog Story Theater last night watching a fabulous night of improv with very talented people. I’ll link it so you can see who I’m talking about. Then they did their Open Improv Jam. Basically they let anyone try their hand at improvising. I was grumpy and wearing black and generally feeling very moody, so, of course, decided to jump on in. It made me feel better. First off, everyone was funny, and secondly, I sort of like the challenge. Also, secretly, I like being on stage. In a spotlight. It’s warm up there. Anyway….Our prompt: holidays. My epiphany: Santa desperately needs to be updated.

It occurred to me the current image of Santa Claus was invented by Coca Cola. At the time, a jolly old man with a long beard was warm and appealing. Now, he’s a little bit creepy. He’s vastly overweight, with a long, unkempt beard, and he wants kids to sit on his lap. It makes me uncomfortable.

I say he needs an image makeover. First, a serious diet. And someone should check him for diabetes. That much weight around the middle is a sign that something’s not right. Let’s put him on a treadmill, get him on a healthy diet with plenty of fiber, and then, I’m sorry, but that beard has got to go.

I want a lean Santa. A clean-shaven Santa. A Santa that says “I’m approachable and healthy. I’m well-adjusted. I take pride in my appearance”. In fact, I want Santa all to myself, in a dark room, lights twinkling, some mood music in the background. In fact, as long as I’m reinventing Santa, I want my Santa in his late thirties, open to commitment, with a good stable job. And I want him in a thong*.

Where was I going with this?

I have no idea. I’m totally distracted now. And I’m thinking maybe it’s time I picked up some romance books and had some time with myself.

Santa’s probably good as he is. Belly and all. Cookies and milk. Beard. That’s wholesome. Good for everyone’s spirit.

I think maybe I just have some issues.

Happy holidays.

*A note on thongs: I actually think they’re ridiculous and if I ever saw someone wearing one, Santa or no, I might actually experience palpitations and pass out.

Podcast EDI CH 46

The last chapter of Part One. Hey...subtle hint...if you're listening to this and you like it, consider buying a copy for a friend or a sister or a mom. Seriously. It's a good gift, and it shows that you support my work. Just look for it on Amazon. And "Blunder Woman" is waiting for you in the summer. Thanks for listening!

Easy Does It CH 46

Networking Would Be Easier With Actual Net

Okay, I know that I'm supposed to talk about Afghanistan, football, water on the moon, Thanksgiving, twitter and tweeters, and I promise I'll get there. But first I want to talk about a party I went to last night.

My favorite sound studio, Sound Post, threw a little Happy Hour. That made me laugh because it was a Happy Hour scheduled from 5:30-7:30. In the land of commercial work, Happy Hours last double long. I decided to go. And I brought cookies and little cheesecake bars because that's the kind of girl I am. A domestic dork. I should've arrived in an apron too. I do owe Sound Post for all the work they've done for me/given me and I've calculated that it amounts to a year's worth of food, my soul, and a child. I'm working on all three.

At any rate, I'm an incredibly awkward person. I guess I'm gifted that way. So when I walked in and saw all these professional people, a little part of me died. It occurred to me that networking would be easier with an actual net, and I had visions of me as Spiderman (Not Spiderwoman mind you. My boobs would be distracting in a suit that tight.) I has visions of me as Spiderman shooting webs from my wrists actually forcing people to talk to me and take my business card.

I also wanted to channel a little old fashioned Mr. T. Arrive with my white girl mowhawk, say "Whatchou talking about Willis?" and take people down. Oh, wait. That's Channeling Diffrn't Strokes. See? Awkward.

But the night went okay. Dave from Pop Scholars joined me. He's cute and comforting and very tall. (He did a white boy rap in the booth which is too funny for words.) Oh! I got to bat my eyes at Stuart, always fun, and see Jerri's adorable dog, admire Sean's buzzcut, talk to a few casting people and advertising peeps, and actually have a really fun conversation with a gentlman who ran in fear as soon as he heard that in my books people have sex. A lot of sex. (Which isn't true at all. In "Blunder Woman" Chloe doesn't get laid AT ALL.)

The night ended on a high note when I climbed into the recording booth and did my naughty phone prompts. In a sexy-ish voice: "Thank you for holding. Are you still holding? You must be lonely. I'm lonely too. My name is Tanya. What are you wearing? Mmmmm." Oh. Yes. And I created a new word. "Thank you for holding. We can't answer the phone because we're getting schmastered." I meant to say either 'smashed' or 'plastered' but I somehow said them at the same time.

That was my evening. I liked it. Next time I'll wear an apron though. Just an apron. And maybe heels. That should get some attention.

Full Radio Play

Now that I know how to do longer podcasts, I can post FULL recordings. Here's "Hot Summer Cool Breeze". I'll repost here so it will also be available on iTunes.

Hot Summer Cool Breeze Full Recording