Saturday, January 29, 2011


Yesterday, in Maxie's cubby at school, there were two soiled pairs of panties, two soiled pairs of pants and a soiled pair of lavender boots. Don't even ask how she urinated into her footwear.

This isn't a total surprise. Maxie has had problems holding it in. I've brought up my concerns with her doctor and she tells me there's nothing to worry about, my daughter's bladder isn't growing at the same rate that she is. I don't know if that makes total sense, but I'm appeased for now.

I thought Maxie was going to be a savant on the toilet. When she and I first started pre preschool (pre pre, isn't it precious) my daughter was the only child not wearing a Pull-Up or diaper. Boy, didn't I feel superior watching the other parents fret about the school's rule that all children must be potty trained before they enter day classes.

But once we graduated pre pre and entered half-day, Maxie has peed herself on occasion and overnight I became the fretting parent. I figured this was my punishment for excessive smugness.

Back to yesterday... In the cubby, along with a panoply of pink and purple soiled clothes, was something I had never seen before, an "Opps! Report." (I'm pretty sure they meant Oops.) It's the size of an index card and details for the parents any accidental voidings their child may have had during the school day. This particular opps was filled out by Maxie's teacher, Miss Alicia, and here's what she wrote...

"She was sitting in sign language class and didn't listen to her body."

Irony perhaps?

Monday, January 24, 2011

Honey, There's a Naked Man in our Bed

"Honey, there's a naked man in our bed."

This is the hackneyed dialog you'd expect in an X-rated movie. But the other night, my husband proffered that tantalizing hors d'oeuvre as I was twittering at the kitchen table.

Three possible reads on this statement:

1) My husband is kidding around.

2) He's delusional and should get himself some professional help.

3) There actually is a naked man in our bed.

With everything I've written about Michael, it's not difficult to imagine that either number one or number two was the correct interpretation. But, in fact, a naked man was in our bed.

Now, you'd expect your average X-rated movie hunk, the kind who suddenly appears in random beds, to be youngish, about six foot four, two hundred twenty pounds with a handsome mug. And as it happens, this fellow, who I'll call Buff for reasons of anonymity and perverse pleasure, was all those things; a glorious specimen of male pulchritude sprawled belly down on my cafe au lait sheets. His body hair was minimal and there were two ripe juicy cantaloupes where an ass should be.

I looked back through the many colorful years Michael and I have shared, and the last time this kind of sexuation presented itself was...NEVER. And I have to be honest, with thoughts of melon balls dancing in my head the prospect was excruciatingly tempting.

This is what you don't know... Buff came to us in need. Suffice it to say, he was going through a rough patch. And although he presented himself like spicy ahi on Egyptian cotton, it felt as if a trap was being laid and tremendous damage could take place. To taunt gay men with a chew toy like that when it's ill advised to take a bite is flat out cruel.

Here's what I walked away with: fantasies should remain fantasies, because once they elbow their way into reality all you are able to see are the cracks on the ceiling. (For some reason the image of a pet bunny boiling on the stove comes to mind.)

Regrettably, we encouraged Buff to get dressed, and after a 911 call and some help from local law enforcement (trust me, it was a crazy evening) Michael finally drove Buff home.

He has since received help. His Mormon mother came down from Idaho and I believe a medication regime was implemented.

But next time, oh Fantasy Granter, when I wish for a luscious linebacker to lounge naked on my bed, just ignore me...or let's learn from our mistakes and add the following codicil: keep the crazy at bay!

Mommy With a Penis (The Show) opens February 13th in Burbank. All the info is in the previous post. Love to see you all there!

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Simply Delicious

My one man show, Mommy With a Penis, is back on the boards!

From adoption hiccups, to choosing the right baby name, to dealing with my daughter's kinky hair, Mommy With a Penis delves into my personal experiences as mommy. Enter into my wacky world where sometimes this happens...

And this...

And even this...

For those of you not in the loop, I first mounted MWAP last June for the Hollywood Fringe Festival. I was then asked to participate in Theatre Asylum's The Best of the Fringe. And now, my good friend Kimleigh Smith (the superhero in the poster below) has put together an event called Delicious, which is comprised of six solo shows including her own, which won Best of the Fringe last year.

I will be sharing my evenings with my good friend Ramsey Brown, who is performing her hysterically funny show, Killing It. (Ramsey is the sluttishly dressed blond in the poster.)

For those of you in the Los Angeles area, the pertinent info is as follows...

From potty training to the casting couch...
it's all about survival.

Two rare comic solo shows,
one ticket price!

Sundays, February 13th & 20th at 7 pm.
Saturday, February 26th at 8 pm.

The Missing Piece Theatre
2811 W. Magnolia Blvd.
Burbank, CA

Click here to make your reservations.

See you there!!

Monday, January 17, 2011

A Day to Serve

Last week, Sebastian came home with only one piece of homework...learning The Pledge of Allegiance by heart. Bash was going to lead the school in a special assembly. It was his job to tell the students, "Please stand, face the flag, place your right hand over your heart and repeat after me..." This was for the Martin Luther King, Jr celebration in the Michael Jackson Auditorium.

I thought it would be a great idea if Michael worked with Bash on his memorization, after all he directs theater. But because of his atheism and aversion to the concept of God, my husband told me he'd prefer not to. But I convinced Michael that Sebastian's success in this endeavor was bigger than his newly stringent beliefs, and rightly or wrongly he bought it. I did notice as Michael was going over the pledge with Sebastian, he'd conveniently omit the phrase "under God" probably confusing the poor child.

On Friday, Michael went to the morning performance and I attended the afternoon's. Dressed in what he calls his wedding outfit, a black Calvin Klein sports jacket that fits like a glove and tie, Sebastian did a great job. He certainly made his two daddies proud.

Still feeling unresolved anger from the shootings in Tuscon, I was deeply effected listening to my son say The Pledge of Allegiance followed by a program extolling Dr. King's message of peace.

Then the teacher who put the wonderful program together gave the children an assignment that I thought I'd share with you. Martin Luther King, Jr. said it was our duty to serve, and each child should do something today that helps someone else. Maybe that's an assignment we can all take on.

If you succumb to the temptation of using violence in the struggle...your chief legacy to the future will be an endless reign of meaningless chaos.

-Martin Luther King, Jr.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Vitriol Vérité

Hey, you're fat.

Yeah, you.

Reading this blog right now.

You are really incredibly fat...and kinda stupid.

And to top it off, you stink.


This last year...

Sharron Angle flirted with gun imagery. "If this congress keeps going the way it is, people are really looking toward those Second Amendment remedies."

In speaking out against the President's plan to reduce global warming, Michele Bachmann said she wanted her state "armed and dangerous" on this issue. She then went on to say, "We the people are going to have to fight back hard if we are not going to lose our country." Bachmann also quoted Thomas Jefferson, "Having a revolution every now and then is a good thing."

Last year, Sarah Palin posted the following graphic on her website...

The shotgun-like crosshairs represent the "20 House Democrats who voted for the health care bill from districts the Republicans carried in 2008." It turns out Palin is also fond of gun imagery...and Twitter. Her now famous tweet "don't retreat, instead-RELOAD" sparked controversy throughout the land. And when eighteen of the twenty Democrats inevitably lost their reelections, Palin patted herself on the back, tweeting about the success of her "bullseye icon."

These politicos have every right to say and tweet these things, as I have the right to go on and on about your cottage cheese ass and inexcusable funk. We are fully protected by our country's First Amendment, which allows us freedom of speech. Sarah, and Michele, and Sharron, and Rush, and Glenn Beck, and Bill Maher, and the ladies on The View and even yours truly from my own little platform can say whatever rude or incendiary thing that comes to mind. And our American right to do so should be protected at ALL costs. Our freedom is much more important than any possible hurt feelings, misunderstandings or violent outbursts that they may cause.

Am I right?!?


I imagine if I were three I would be perfectly justified being so me-centric.

But the fact of the matter is I am not three. And even though I'm an actor and have an ego the size of Delaware, it's unfathomable to me that there are those who exploit the concept of "freedom" for their own personal gain.

Most of us have heard that Gabrielle Giffords, the congresswoman from Arizona, was shot in the head last Saturday at point blank range in a Safeway parking lot in Tuscon. We now know the name of the 22 year old man-boy who emptied a semi automatic pistol into a crowd is Jared Loughner. We also know there were six fatalities including a U. S. district judge and a nine year old girl; Congresswoman Giffords remarkably survived the shooting and was one of the twelve wounded. And lastly, we know of the two remaining seated Democrats listed on Palin's crosshairs map, one of them was Gabrielle Giffords.

More than likely, Palin's chart did not incite Jared Loughner to shoot Giffords in the head.

More than likely, Bachmann's and Angle's pithy uses of armed and dangerous and Second Amendment remedies weren't responsible for Saturday's massacre.

More than likely, Pat Robertson saying God made it snow heavily in the Northeast "to punish Americans who were planning to drive to do something gay" has nothing to do with anything AT ALL. Really, Pat, you can't blame bad weather on the gays. Fruit infused vodka, yes. Blizzards, no.

In Sarah Palin's first speech since the shootings, she denied political rhetoric had anything to do with the growing antagonism in our country. As a matter of fact, she claimed we are more civilized than we used to be, citing that we used to settle differences with dueling pistols. And she's right. There are no more dueling pistols, we replaced them with semi automatic ones. There was no sense of remorse in her speech. She is far from humbled by the tragic events. Her need was to defend her words, her tweets and crosshairs map, something she scrubbed from her website the day after the Tucson tragedy. Why is self reflection perceived as a weakness?

And I can't help but wonder if the compounded sensationalism and finger pointing that clog our airwaves and are a mainstay in our political arenas don't contribute to our collective fear and anger. There is too much noise with too few solutions. Shock jocks jockey to stand on the tallest mountain and try to orate more loudly and more fervently than the next guy. And many times what is being promoted as fact is really personal opinion disguised as fact. And people are buying this!

I am incensed.

I blame mass media and party politics. I blame high ratings and low integrity. I blame newsrooms with political agendas. I blame mouth pieces who blithely toss out words like "revolution" and "reload" as if they're ordering a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. I blame comics who step over the line. I blame people who use crosshairs as bullseyes and then claim they are surveyor's symbols. I blame those who insist Obamacare takes away our freedom, and finding solutions for global warming is means to incite revolution. I blame our short attention spans, and our perverse need for the next newsy story. I blame the people who read the blurbs in grocery store checkout lines and recite them as gospel. I blame what our lives are becoming, splintered between the insipid, "I'm getting that new app that froths my cappuccino milk," to the conflagratory, "I'm going to kill that motherfucker for looking at me like that."

I blame, I blame, I blame.

And if I can spark anger easily over the contentious ways of our country, how do we think Jared Loughner, a troubled man who cannot filter as efficiently as the rest of us, heard the noise?

Let's say the following is true... (I want to be clear, there is no proof this ever happened, I'm just using it as an example.) Let's say Jared Loughner, stumbled across the following Pima County Republican website...


Two minutes before midnight on Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve, Ryan Seacrest asked slutty pop diva Ke$ha if she had any resolutions. Without hesitation she said her resolution was "not being a douchebag." At first I thought, "What a skank!" But then after ruminating I decided it was a damn fine resolution. As a matter of fact, I think all Americans should adopt it as their own. To start with, we could all be more considerate and let the other fellow get a word in edgewise. We could all listen with discerning ears. We can stop hating for sensationalism sake. In short, we can all stop being douchebags.

When my children are douchebags and say inappropriate things about others I make them apologize to the offended party. It's important to know when you are rude and make the needed amends. My eight year old and four year old are learning all about this. It's called manners.

By the way, I don't know what I was saying before. Your ass looks really hot in those jeans.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Where is the Pink?

"Papa, where is the pink?"

"What do you mean, darling?"

"The pink crayon. There's no pink."

"Here, let me look."

And, indeed, as I burrow through a Ziploc full of crayons from all walks of life, I slowly come to the realization that there are no pink crayons. This is impossible. My children get refills of crayons regularly; those boxes of thirty-two or sixty-four, or the crappy packets of three given to us by restaurant hostesses. Doesn't matter their origin, they all go into the Ziploc, because crayon boxes under my children's gripping hands crumple and rip almost immediately, rendering them useless.

"I have no idea where the pink is? Wait a minute, are you hording them?"

"No, Papa. We're out of pink! We need more pink!!"

"Okay, don't freak out. Papa, will get you some pink."

But where did those crayons go? Are they off somewhere with the missing pair of house keys? Gallivanting with my Grumpy baseball cap?

I admit, we are not the most organized family. But our misfortune with missing objects happen with uncharacteristic frequency, so much so, I am sure a mysterious force is at work. Don't laugh. I am dealing with an aberration here, a dark phenomenon, and today I give it its name. Gremlin. That fucking gremlin made off with my keys and caps and pink crayons to satisfy its own twisted desires.

That's not to say my family is gremlin exclusive. No. We've all experienced gremlins. Take laundry for example. You know the scene, while folding clothes you find seven complete pairs of socks and then a singular tube sock and a singular Incredible Hulk sock. And you try to keep a cool head. You take another look in the dryer, then the washer, then the dryer again for good measure, but no glory. The socks have gone to those conniving gremlins. I thought I'd share with you my pile of socks that have been gremlin-depleted! Not a pair in the bunch.

The thing about gremlins, they can't keep everything they take, so to fuck with you they randomly return it. You never know when. You never know where. Sometimes, you find your reading glasses in a Tupperware full of grapes, sometimes they're in the very place you've been searching...for the past three months! It drives me ape shit. I call it the Gremlin Gaslight.

"Michael, we're missing a dish washing basket"

"Missing a what?"

"It sits on the top shelf of the dishwasher. You know, the basket I wash the lid to the martini shaker in."

"Oh, that."

I usually can get Michael on track if I use a cocktail reference.

"Have you seen it?"


"Maybe you took it out to accommodate the extra glasses the last time you started the dishwasher."

"I don't start the dishwasher. You won't let me."

This is true. The man is incapable of loading a dishwasher. At least he pretends to be, I'm not sure which. He has blamed genetics for his dishwasher loading inabilities. My tutorials have not helped. Glassware ends up where the plates should be and bowls are stacked on top of each other so that the water can't get to them. Instead of having to reload his badly loaded dishwasher (whether by faulty genetics or design) I shoo him off with something shiny and load it myself.

Where do I find the dishwasher basket a week later, after we got back from Christmas vacation? On the floor at the foot of my bed!

Dish washer basket returned, pink crayons missing. Where is the pink? Little girls rely on pink. To them it's more than a color. It's a concept. It's not just a fuzzy hair ribbon, it's a bubble of hope. Think of rose colored glasses. Seeing the glass as half full. Finding the good in people. Pink. Rosy. Positive. Glowing. And after the year I've had/many of us have had, I need to query...did the gremlins pilfer the pink?

How do I tell my daughter that I hope we come upon the pink pretty damn quickly. That it's just around the corner, over the rainbow. That 2011 will not be filled with personal death or financial hardship. I'd like to believe that our once growing investment accounts will start growing once again. I'd like to tell Maxie that all our pesky ailments of 2010 are things of the past, that infection and pox are no more. And if we happen to be inundated cold/virus/flu we'll have more effective medication and sounder insurance with lower deductibles. And work will be plentiful and exciting. And a steady trickle of friends will join us for spontaneous dinners. And relatives will start reading our blogs with more frequency. (You know who you are.) That's what I'm talking about! That's the pink I'm on the lookout for!

But where is it, goddammit? Where?

Today is the first day of school since the holidays, so I went through Maxie's backpack, clearing out the toys to make room for a second set of clothes and Hello Kitty lunchbox. I cleaned out every pocket, every zip pouch and this is what I found...

To a rosy 2011!