What’s on My Mind


I’m learning to walk again.

Literally, not metaphorically.

I had my foot rebuilt in early November. I couldn’t walk the Puggles or do yoga anymore and I’m too young for that shit. So I went under. Torn ligament repaired, three bones moved, a bunch of hardware installed. As my surgeon said, I “had a lot going on there.” The promise of a normal foot is elusive, but I remain imprudently hopeful.

Crutches were first. I didn’t expect them to be easy. They were not.

I didn’t expect them to make me feel as if my soul and bone marrow were being sucked entirely dry in an incredibly painful and exhausting way every time I went somewhere.

They did.

Next came the scooter. A lifesaver at home. One hundred percent useless at my theater, due to the stairs.

My ride, pimped.

There have been complications: Stress fracture, lots of swelling, strong possibility one of the screws is getting evicted.

It’s gross.

I didn’t get the boot off until about two weeks ago.

Re-learning how to walk…It feels like walking on someone else’s foot, with all the creep factor you might associate with that. It’s ungainly. I’ve never walked using this particular combination of muscles, ligaments and tendons with this weight distribution. Although, my toes have never pointed all in the same direction before now.

I’ll spare you the pictures.

You’re welcome.

I’ve never had to think about walking. Now it’s all I think about. My calf is totally pissed and uncooperative. My quad goes back and forth between active attacks and just snickering at me. My “good” knee is rebelling after months of being skewed from the boot and having to do all the stairs by itself. It’s in deliberations as to whether it will be part of the solution, or part of the problem. It is remarkably uncommitted. But I’m fucking walking.

I get to walk.

None of this is graceful. I told CC the other day, I look like that dead farmer in Men In Black who gets possessed by the alien.



New Yorkers aren’t terribly interested in slow walkers, especially during rush hour. I’m not terribly concerned that these able-bodied a-holes have to go around me. I may secretly relish impeding their fleet and dexterous footwork.

Besides, it’s not like I can quickly get out of the way. I’m not quickly anything-ing right now.

You ever see those guys with the flyers for sightseeing tour buses in Midtown? They’re pretty good at discerning who’s a tourist. People who look like they’re trying to get to work are ignored. They’ve never approached me.

Apparently, the main way they decide if you’re a tourist or not is the speed of your walk.

They’re totally fucking hounding me right now.

Get off my ass!

Long Time Gone

It’s been a while.

Long enough for my widgets to stop working and all my social media account links to break. Long enough for pretty much everything about how WordPress works to change. Long enough for even my mother to stop visiting my blog.

Two and a half years, give or take.

Well, shit.

Mine was sparkling cider.

Before I stopped posting entirely, I slowed down because I was writing other places. Then my day job picked up, which was glorious and time consuming.


Somewhere in there (step)parenting got pretty un-fun and I didn’t want to write about it. Not one little bit. I wanted a break.

Gigs took me out of the house and out of town for extended periods of time. When I was home, I didn’t want to write. I wanted to clean.

Wanting to clean is my emotional equivalent of bleeding from the eyes.

I clean and I feel like I’m having an effect on something. For like a minute. Because the thing about having a houseful of kids is that you clean a spot and six people and two dogs come along behind you and lay new shit down in the clean place while you’ve moved on, erroneously believing that you finished back there.

My last gig had a pretty brutal production period, which wasn’t unusual. But for the first time ever, I didn’t bounce back after we opened. I kept waiting, and I never bounced. I looked up one day and realized I was down the rabbit hole again. Way the hell down the rabbit hole.

Well, shit.

For many months, I didn’t think about the blog at all. Then, when I did think about it, I was confused. I felt like I needed to define a new direction and have a plan, and I didn’t know what any of that meant.


Ultimately though, I remembered that that’s not why I started in the first place. I just wanted to write. When I started, I felt like I had something to say. I didn’t really care if people read it or not.

I’ve been gone so long, I just wanted to come back.

I’m also going to swear. So there’s that shit to look forward to.


You know you missed me.


One and Done Sunday: Apocalypse Edition

Hey. It’s One & Done Sunday. One picture, and five links that are worth your time.

Friday night, only #4 and I were home for dinner. I still cooked for an army, because everyone shows up eventually– plus#4 is our only kid who eats, and she ate about half of what I made anyway (not coincidentally, she’s the only one who is strong and tall). After dinner, I took the puggles for a walk and when I came back, something was wrong. I couldn’t immediately put my finger on it, but I knew something was off, and it wasn’t just that the house was nearly empty and nobody was screaming.

My sense of unease had me on guard, checking around corners and under the furniture until I came to the kitchen.

Then I saw it. The source of my feelings of not-rightness.

#4 had cleaned up the whole kitchen while we were out, without being asked.

While it seems likely that she has either done something or wants something, it’s been over 48 hours and I have no evidence to support this. I can only assume that this, then, is the first sign of the apocalypse.


One Picture.

If Jack had a school picture, this would be it:




Five Links:

This most definitely does not get a PG rating, and I laughed my ass off for pretty much this whole video. Don’t Shoot the Mermaid is a British female sketch comedy trio, and this is their video Does This Mean We’re Gonna Have Sex?

My show performed in Bryant Park this week with a few others as part of the summer lunch series there.  There was only one act with a live band, and some of the most interesting sounds were rolling off the back of the stage. When I asked our publicity manager who they were, she sent me this link for what has to be the strangest idea ever for a musical. I’m totally on fire to see it now: Revolution in the Elbow of Ragnar Agnarsson Furniture Painter.

Another act got my attention shortly thereafter when two of their shirtless performers were waiting for their entrances in the wings. Theater isn’t like a normal workplace environment; being shirtless happens. Frequently. However, when all of the other actors are standing around saying “Holy crap! Did you see these guys?” they truly are a marvel. Forget 6-pack abs; think 8-pack. They were from the 50 Shades parody, which made me think immediately (after I was capable of cognizant thought again) of your next link: Dave Barry Learns Everything You Need to Know About Being a Husband From Reading 50 Shades of Grey.

Slug Solos on Tumblr. Because some guitarists’ solo faces look like they’ve just realized they’re holding giant slug creatures.

The last link is another video: Motherhood by Annie Baria on Funny Or Die. I missed the whole baby phase of things and it was never on my to-do list, namely because I imagined it being exactly like this video. Except not that funny. It’s a good thing I also knew nothing about teenagers back then.

Happy Sunday.