can we all calm down about Colbert ... please?!

To everyone out there in 24 Hour Media Land who has their panties in a twist about Stephen Colbert testifying before Congress ... ahem:

"Elmo is the only non-human or puppet ever to testify before the U.S. Congress. At the request and with the assistance of Rep. Duke Cunningham, he testified before the House Appropriations Subcommittee on Labor, Health and Human Services and Education in April 2002, urging support for increased funding in music education." source

I'm all for better funding for music education. (Full disclosure: I was a marching band geek. And the school one town over from us, which actually funded its music program, routinely kicked our asses.) Music education is a good thing. Even when it's proposed by a douchebag who's currently serving time in an Arizona jail for major financial malfeasance.

As a general rule, hypocrisy makes my blood boil. And while Colbert may have remained in character during his testimony, at least he's human. And capable of speaking without having some guy's hand rammed up his butt. At least, as far as we know.

Your move, Pundit Nation.

another reason to hate Target, plus some random silliness

Please don't hate me -- I ordered it before I read about Target's political fuckwittery. (And yes, it's taken me this long to open it. Your point is ...?) So now that that's settled: check out this noise:


Gee, guys ... way to use efficient, earth-friendly packaging. Douche nozzles.

(Just to settle wtf that thing is: it's a shoe rack. Current Score: Last 2 moving boxes in the bedroom: 0, Me: 1.)

And from the Dept. of Proof That Everything is Political, I bring you a literal transcription of texting 'twixt me & the Mr. yesterday:

Me: I went to the free neighborhood poo pile*, and they were out of poo!

Him: I hear the Tea Party rallies are full of shit. Try there.

I heart him.

* the City of L.A. provides free mulch. Or at least, it did. It looks like the Budget Crisis has gotten so bad, they literally can't give us shit anymore. Thanks, Mayor Asshat.

hello? is this thing on?

I'm not sure if anyone out there is still reading this thing ... my prolonged lack of posting seems to have driven most of my darling readers away. But just in case anybody is still out there -- I'm feeling a need to change things up.

Partly because there's plenty of stuff in the news these days that has me riled (a brief list to follow shortly), and partly because I just need something to DO right now. Auditions have hit the summer doldrums, I'm barely interested in talking about the damned house (let alone my original topic of the damned wedding) so I sure as hell don't expect anyone else to give a flying rat's butt ... and because I had a minor oral surgery this morning & the stitches just dissolved. And I'm hungry, but the whole mouthful-of-blood thing isn't exactly appetizing. (Also, it's weirdly making me feel like I constantly need to pee. So this may take a while ....)

So I guess what I'm saying is brace yourselves. Or stop reading (if you haven't already.) I promise no hard feelings.

******************************************************************************************

THINGS THAT ARE PISSING ME OFF (did I mention there will still be lots of swearing? Because I still suck at not-swearing.):

*Obama not suspending Don't Ask, Don't Tell

*Glenn Beck

*L.A. having no viable public transportation

*Menstrual cramps


THINGS THAT I THINK ARE AWESOME:

*Puppies. And bunnies. And kitties. Anything with 4 feet & fur, basically.

*Air conditioning

*Not having a mouthful of blood

*This American Life

*A new suggestion for supporters of Prop 8 -- one that I'm happy to get behind!

******************************************************************************************

Also, I think this is pretty funny:

we were SO ahead of this trend

Remember this tender moment from our reception?

The one (and subsequently only) time our guests tried the "dance, monkeys!" tactic of tapping their glasses to make us kiss, we let them know we weren't playing that way.

And then last night, on the "Kiss Cam" at game 1 of the NBA finals, this happened:

via TMZ

Yes, the bigger, uglier cousin of glass-tapping-for-smooches zeroed in on Dustin Hoffman, who rather than turning to his wife (seated to his left in the top photo) planted one on Jason Bateman.

Not only is this the funniest thing I saw today, and a very welcome improvement to the usual "Look, Celebrities!" atmosphere at Lakers Games (because who else can afford the effing tickets?!) ... but with all the homophobic crap out there in the world (Rekers, Foley, Haggard, Craig, Allen, Murphy Jr., Massa, Prop 8 -- shall I go on?) it just makes me smile on a whole 'nother level.

pretty pictures!

Finally:
The formerly lead-paint tainted closet doors have been taken outside, stripped, sanded, repainted, given new hardware & re-hung. Now a) we're cool if any children or pregnant women want to come over & lick our walls, and b) I can put my shoes away. Good times.

And from the Tah-Dah! Dept:
I think the towel bar should be a little lower ... but screw it. We have a bathroom! For those of you who are keeping score at home, this pic features:
Pedestal sink from Home Depot: $214
Light from Restoration Hardware Outlet: $52
Bead Board from Stock Lumber: approx $2.50/sq. ft.

It's really hard to photograph a shower that's perpetually back-lit during the day, but hopefully you can tell that we have two (2!!) shower heads -- a rain bath in the ceiling, and a hand-held on the wall.

The storage would be completely installed & allowing me to unpack some of those effing boxes marked "bathroom", if it wasn't for the broken hinge-thingy from Ikea. The Mr. got us a replacement one yesterday, but since I don't speak Needlessly Cruel Swedish Drawings, I'm waiting for contractor-guy to install it tomorrow.
Shelves: $6 each
Brackets: $10/pair
Cabinet: $89
all Ikea
(And yes, I know the brackets don't quite reach the front of the shelves. Since we only plan to store towels on them, I figure they'll hold.

I imagine those will feel really good under foot. I could tell you that with certainty if it wasn't for the fact that we have no hot water in there. As in: I was standing there for over five minutes watching the water run, taunting me with its refusal to rise above Icy Cold. Wrapped in a towel, Ready. To. Bathe. At. Home! I placed a call to contractor-guy, who informed me that he hadn't yet tested/adjusted/what-the-fuck-evered the water yet, but he plans to in the morning. Oh my effing god my shower is a cock tease somebody help me!!! Also: to the students in the 2 classes I have to teach this afternoon -- I'm sorry.

But other than that, I'm rather pleased with how the color scheme turned out. The Mr. has expressed doubts about the shower curtain's stripey-ness (Thomas O'Brien for Target), but I think it ties in the tiles, towels & wall pattern rather extremely-genius-like. Or maybe I'm just giddy from the fumes?

aaaaand we're back!!!

Phew! I was seriously turning a shade somewhere between cerulean & indigo there, waiting for our FUCKING INTERWEBS TO GET WORKING. Ahem. I'm sorry. I don't mean to swear. (Really. I try not to. I just suck at not-swearing.)

In case anyone has been wondering about the brevity/simplicity of my recent (aka post-move) posts, allow me to elucidate: We had DSL service at the apartment, with a small-ish provider whose service/pricing/support we adored. So naturally we tried to just shift our account with them to the new Owned By Us address. We had to wait 5 (five!!) days, because AT&T makes you suffer if you don't use their 'net service, for the phone to get "turned on". I guess the guy who had to flip a switch was busy that week. Anyway, once the 5-day time frame had elapsed: still no 'net. So we called, and were asked to wait ANOTHER 2 (two!!) days for a technician to come out & investigate.

Which he did. I was here. And a Very Large Dude, who was surprisingly friendly AND helpful, played with some wires outside the house (even though it was raining). And he diagnosed us as 3000 ft. too far from the DSL hub to get service. (Insert Lumbergh voice here:) "Greeaaaaat."

So: back to square 1. Call cable company. They'll come out in 3 (three!!) business days. Except that the 3rd day was Effing President's Day. (Stoopid Presidents.) So we just. finally. got. service. today.

(By the by, my interim posts were made via a nifty iPhone app called BlogWriter. I was very pleased with the results. Get the free version, unless you have the urge to post photos -- then it's a worthwhile $1.99. But you can't delete posts ... hence the bewildering stuff that I just got rid of, from my "learning curve" phase.)

At any rate: Howdy! I'm still here! And we still have no bathroom to speak of. (Epic Construction Timing Fail.) But here's what we do have:
An uber-fancy new light/fan, with switches that independently control both functions! And paint! And some bead board (slightly visible)!

A couple of fixtures! Including a rain bath shower head, and that awesome outlet-find light for over the (eventually) medicine cabinet.

And various kinds of flooring! That's the river rock stuff in the shower floor, and those (totally my fault, expensive-ish) penny tiles on the rest of the floor. Also, a better look at the bead board.

Now all we need is for the Effing Grout to dry, so we can re-connect the toilet. That's all I care to say about that ... except that NO, I'm NOT enjoying this part.

mostly nonsense

I noticed that they're selling beer pong kits at 7/11. And my local grocery store has put ping-pong balls in the refrigerated section, next to the beer. Seriously, people? Seriously?

I feel like this should be a sign that the end is nigh. Not in a laughably-masturbatory-special-effects-display kind of way (Exhibit A: 2012), but in a more unfathomable how-does-Ashlee-Simpson-continue-to-find-employment-as-an-actress? kind of way. Either way, it can't be good.

Also, we seem to be "officially" past The Gatekeeper, and therefore in escrow. Believe me, it's taken more self-control that I thought I possessed not to pillory that ... creature ... here. (I just might get back to you once the deal is sealed.) But meanwhile, here's a pic of our very own little corner of Los Angeles:


Why yes, it is freaking adorable -- thanks for noticing!

WORD, Grover.

It seems that Muppets are in the air. Not only did my friend The Nerdist post a beyond-fab retro scene here ... but I found this lovely bit on the inimitable Meg's site. And I choose to re-post it here. Because after 3-ish months, this is just about the best darned summation of things all married that I can find.*

*And also because I showed my darling husband where the Jim Henson Studios are located here in town, complete with Kermit Statue at the gates, even though he'd driven by countless times without noticing before I intervened ...! (No, I dont' know how he didn't see that, either.)


Seriously people -- Iowa is now officially more progressive than my dear, sweet, native California. What gives?!?

new project!

(in which I discuss my transition from "obsessed with planning wedding" to "obsessed with finding a place to live", or We Attempt To Purchase a House)

Greetings, oh followers of this blog. If there are any of you left, given my post-nuptual slacking (2.5 months and counting -- woo hoo!) I am happy to report that my days are no longer consumed by finding affordable venues, caterers, et al. Oh no, children -- I've moved on. Evolved, even.

Now, my days are consumed with weathering the slings & arrows of entry-level Los Angeles real estate. Let the celebration begin!

Things I've learned thus far: when a listing describes the square-footage of a property as "tax assessor's data lists X", what they mean is "previous owners added onto this house without a) permits, b) taste, c) a moment's thought to how said addition would affect the property's resale value, or d) any shred of understanding as to how actual humans reasonably use their homes -- you know, for living in, and such."

Also, the favored building materials of the Great Unwashed are (in no particular order):
*stucco! because those 1910-built Craftsman homes look better without all that pesky wood

Or even better, a look I've dubbed "WTF-Chic"

*ceramic tile! on the floors/walls/anywhere you shouldn't have to clean or maintain ever again

(living room)

(bedroom)

*concrete! because we're not cheap, we're green -- you can't argue with 6000 square feet of concrete in leiu of anything that needs water, now, can you?

So far, we've put in offers on 2 places. The first one we didn't get ... we're in "back-up position". Which basically means we're hoping that by Saturday the other people's loan falls through. No schadenfreude here, folks!

And the second one ... well, the second one features ceramic tile throughout (in every. damn. room.), and concrete covering at least 80% of the lot. Also, the previous tenants absconded with the air conditioning unit, which should only cost $3-4000 to replace. And we've offered $14K over the asking price. We couldn't be more excited!

(all pics are knicked from public real estate websites ... if that turns out to be not-so-legal, I'll take 'em down)

so this happened ...

Yeah, I know. I kind of suck lately. Sorry ... I'm doing my best.

Anyway -- this little exchange took place between me & one of my castmates last night. (Have I told you that my play is coming back? I haven't?! What's up with tha... oh, right.)

Cast Dude: Hi there, Married Lady!

Me: Dude, I'm gonna punch you in the f**king face!!

Ahem. Allow me to explain. I've been getting some "weird vibes" from people since I got married. (And non-Californian readers, please forgive that uber-Cali-ism. The fact is, it's as accurate as it is embarrassing.) To wit:

Cast Dude: Whoa!

Me: That's NOT. My Name.

CD: I know!

Me: Nor is it my defining characteristic.

CD: Okay. Chill.

Me: You f**king chill.

Okay, so I'm having some issues. For example: the paperwork that's necessary to officially change my name came in yesterday's mail, and I'm ever-so-slightly clinging to my identity as I know (knew?) it. I thought I was totally down, but now I'm freaking out. I don't know yet if any of these feelings are valid ... but I'm nonetheless having them.

And it's not helping that some of my friends (all guys, whatashocker!) are treating me like I have something contagious. "Don't get to close -- she's got Marriage!!" And while I "may" have over-reacted just a tad, Cast Dude had addressed me on four previous occasions as Married Lady, and I let him know that I wasn't kosher with that on three of those. For f**k's sake, people -- if I'm on the brink of giving up my last name, can I at least keep the first one?!?!

So ... there you have it. I'm here, I'm thinking about things I should be blogging as my days get too crazy to make it actually happen ... and I'm freaking the f**k out. All in all, just another day in the life.

Oh, and my play is coming back!! I'll tell you all about it. Soon-ish.

did they really think we'd behave ourselves?

We skipped lots of "traditional" stuff at our wedding. No bouquet or garter toss (I think they're lame & demeaning, respectively), no money dance (gross) unless you count having "10 Dollar" by M.I.A. in my playlist, and no "dance, monkey!"-type glass clinking allowed. We just got married, for peet's, sake ... wait 2 minutes, and you'll probably see us lip-locking of our own accord.

Of course, some people either a) couldn't control the impulse to try, or b) had developed both mild spastic conditions and an inability to stop clenching their cutlery (weird, I know) ... and there was a single glass-clinking incident. One. At which the Mr. & I turned and laid a serious smooch on the people nearest to us.


That was pretty much the only time anyone clinked a damn glass. Weird, huh? Although I did hear the other groomsmen were disappointed that the Mr. didn't try to slip Double-L the tongue.

And here we'd decided not to make any statement about our support for marriage equality, so as to avoid starting a political argument at our wedding.* Whoops!

* I did hear about the political argument that a few of our guests got into at dinner. Thank you to all involved for keeping your voices down, and thus allowing me to remain blissfully ignorant of said conversation.

The countdown continues: T minus 5 days

Actually, it's more like 4 days by now -- only 3.5 hours remain of this one. And I can't plan on getting anything done tomorrow, since I'm filming & my time is officially not my own. Which means that All Of This needs to happen Wednesday:

*print programs, and possibly begin assembly (Some of this could conceivably happen in S.F., but I want to have at least one prototype completed, to avoid complications.) (This would've happened today, but the template is printing screwy. The Mr. is performing triage as we speak.)

*finish making morroccan-style lanterns out of soup cans (I plan to enjoy this, as it involves hitting things with a hammer.)

*find a hairstylist who's available on Saturday (Yes, this got put off until waaay too late. I have 3 numbers to call in the morning, and I'm gathering supplies to do it myself. Eff it.)

*make labels for candy buffet & ceremony (This won't happen until the programs are ready to print. I try to limit my Kinko's exposure.)

*Separate out S.F. stuff from the Wedding Fort and prepare for transporting it north. (Mad love to T. who's letting us use her punk-rock soccer mom car!)

*Find something I already own that will work for the His-Family's-Friends dinner the night before (I know which dress, but the accessories are proving to be quite vexing.)

*Have conversation with Photographer Friend about specifics (I expect this to be a breeze -- I love this woman, and I've shot with her before.)

Honestly, all that feels pretty manageable. Well, the hair thing is slightly worrisome, but I can pull it off myself in a pinch. And I'm letting myself get some nice things from Sephora since I'm doing my own make-up. Also, my friend who works for Smashbox came through huge: I asked for a few samples, and the woman brought me real live product. Have I mentioned how much my friends rock?!

So .. what's distressing me these days, you ask? (You did. I heard you.) Oh, one or two things.
**A portion of this entry has been redacted. But I maintain that there are a couple of people who owe me an apology.**

On the flip-side of that, several people are being stellar. One of the g'men (who married our officiant last year, so he gets it) even agreed last-minute to be our "stage manager" for the S.F. stuff.

And my girls ... let me tell you about my girls. I wish I had $1000 to spend on my Maid of Honor, Our Lady of the Holiday, because she couldn't be more awesome. And my friend T., who's doing a reading during the ceremony, went with me for mani/pedi today and talked me off the ledge regarding Stupid Things That Boys Say. My girl S. is coming through like a champ with the potent potables, and I've had such love from His Sis & My Sis this week that I'm in danger of going all gooey on you.

So all in all: things are good. Unless Mr. UB finally snaps out of it (I keep waiting for him to turn to me & exclaim "Whoa -- you're crazy!!") it looks like this thing going to happen. Holy I-promised-myself-I'd-reign-in-the-swearing!

To change, or not to change (my name)?

The Mr. & I got our marriage license two weeks ago, and while we were filling out the paperwork I was confronted with spaces for me to put "Current Name" and "Married Name". While I'd always thought I knew what I wanted here, I was suddenly gripped by a flood of "You mean I have to decide this now?!" Nothing like a little legally-binding document to make me question myself.

I admit that I probably have a more complicated relationship with this subject than most. First, my point against: I'm not changing it for professional purposes. I've worked for years to carve out the beginning of a niche in my industry -- no way am I going back to "who?"

Second, my points for: I hated my last name when I was a kid. It can be rhymed with far too many embarrassing things, and even occassionally employed as a verb. I was aching to be rid of it since age 6. (Yes this is probably the silliest of my reasons. But at the time it seemed terribly important.)

More significantly: I am the product of a divorce. Growing up, I was the only person in my house with my last name, and I can't imagine why I'd continue that voluntarily.

My fiance's family thinks I'm adorably retro on the subject -- both his mom & sister kept their maiden names. But the phrase "maiden name" has always stuck uncomfortably in my throat. Am I waiting for Robin Hood to come rescue me from a dragon? Talk about retro.

All of these thoughts swirled around my brain in roughly 3.5 seconds as I paused while filling out that government form. And then it hit me: I could have it both ways. I added my family name to the "Middle Name" box, and put his as the "Last Name." So I have two middle names now (or I will in 12 days).

The truth is, for all my over-thinking the subject, I've grown rather attached to my name. It's followed me around the world, and it reminds me of so many people I love who aren't here any more.

Besides, if it's good enough for Charlotte York MacDougal Goldenblatt ....

(giggle)

Two of our friends are going to do readings at our wedding. (That's what you call it, right? When somebody reads something during the ceremony? "Doing a reading"? ... Why does everything associated with weddings sounds so pretentious?) Ahem. Sorry. I'm more prone than usual to those kinds of outbursts as the Day draws near. Where was I?

Oh, right. Two of our friends will be reading something during our ceremony. (Much better.) When we asked them, we didn't have anything in mind. And I've been only moderately successful at finding things to suggest to them. The interwebs are chock full of ideas ... but I manage to read roughly 2.3 of them at any given time, before my brain glazes over & I find myself skimming just the first two lines before deciding "nope!" and moving on.

Fortunately, our friends are a) resourceful, and b) know us oh-so-well. And independently of each other, they came up with two passages that could not represent the Mr. & I more perfectly.

Shakespeare

&

Dr. Seuss

It's all starting to come together. (Which is a relief, because I had my first bona-fide anxiety dream about the wedding a few nights ago. It was the night before the wedding, and we realized that we'd forgotten to write a ceremony. Thank goodness T. and R. are there to make sure that doesn't happen.)

i shall attepmt to remain calm, but no promises ...

source

We all know about the tradition of the groom not seeing the bride in her dress before the wedding. I have no clue about the reason for/origin of this "rule" -- bad luck? not as exciting? just one of those Things You're Supposed To Do? Sure, I could probably Google & find out, but I don't particularly care. It's important to Mr. UB, though, which means I'm happy to play along. I think it's kind of adorable that I need to warn him when I post pics of my head thingy, petticoat, etc.

But now he's taking this a bit further. He doesn't want me to see what he's wearing before the wedding. As in I've been banned from the expedition with groomsmen to Men's Warehouse this Sunday. Hence the title of this entry ...

Allow me to explain: it's not that I'm some crazed control freak who wants to micro-manage what my man wears, or disregard his opinions about things. Hello -- he has to wear the damned thing, of course he should get what he wants. But ... um ... this is the same man who caused the Irridescent Teal Tie Incident a few months back ... so I have concerns. And I'm trying to stay reasonable -- really trying -- but I don't know about this.

I tried everything, from mentioning that I would consult him on a video game purchase, to acting hurt, (am I proud? no -- I'm human) to outright begging. No dice. What am I supposed to say when he tells me that picking out his tux feels like the last autonomous act of his single-dom? I can't compete with that.

Fortunately, I had one last weapon in my arsenal: his Best Man's cell number. While the above discussion was still going on, I was furiously texting, with lots of things in all caps and way too many exclamation points. And while it turns out that the bastard drives a much harder bargain than I expected from such a normally mild-mannered dude (his 1st response: "What's it worth to you?") ... I have secured his having-my-backness. It's costing me money, drugs and lapdance lessons for his girlfriend, but it's worth it. Now I just have to figure out where to get drugs. And money, for that matter.

So: LL -- if you're reading this, let me re-itereate: NOTHING REFLECTIVE!! Or I'll make you guys wear those effing ties!

*Please note that the purpose of this entry is to (hopefully) get the Bridal Blogoverse to weigh in and take my side, regardless of my argument's merit. And babe: love you!

the Actress Diaries, ch. 5

I swear I didn't plan this, or ever think it would work out this way. But my awesome, silly day job has landed me yet another TV gig. Allow me to explain:

One of my students works on Saving Grace, which is a previously-obscure-to-me series on TNT starring Holly Hunter -- being the only person in America without cable, I'm behind the curve sometimes. (Having watched an episode online to prepare for the audition, I'm now obsessed. Hurry up, Netflix!) She knew that I'd done my thang on House recently, and gave me a heads-up that her show was also planning an episode in a strip club. Thank you, Hollywood, for being predictably awesome. She took in my pic&res and had clearly sung my praises to the folks who make decisions about these things ... and woo hoo!! I booked it.

We shot two days ago. I'm disappointed to report that I didn't get to snap a picture with Holly Hunter, but I did get to watch her work ... and wow. (Warning: geek-out imminent.) It was amazing to be "right there" while someone I admire so incredibly much worked out a scene with the director & other actors. Talk about your fantasy acting class.

And then things just got silly.

Extra Guy playing club patron: Where'd you get the nickname Coco?

Me: (long pause) In the script.

Extra Guy: You don't look like a Coco.

Me: (another, longer pause) I'm not.

Maybe it was his first day. I really wish I could wear my engagement ring while I'm working sometimes. (Astutely figuring that Coco the Stripper is not, like me, engaged, I left it at home.)

I got some nice screen time again, but no dialogue (again -- dammit!) It's a pretty funny scene -- a man's wife sends his priest to the club to drag her husband away from my charms. (There should be more scenes with priests in strip clubs. Can somebody out there make that happen?) At any rate, it didn't suck to hear this take after take. "Look at that, Reverend. Perfection named Coco. God made that. God is great." Hehe!!

Not that I take that kind of thing to heart, mind you. But it made up for this -- copied verbatim from the character description in an audition notice for the next day:

ATTRACTIVE LOOKING, INTERESTING FACE, GOOD WITH DIALOGUE. SHE IS HOT AND HAS A GREAT BODY, BUT IS A BIT PAST HER PRIME ALREADY. NOT VERY SOPHISTICATED. EVEN A BIT TRAMPISH. GREAT ACTRESS.

Anyone who's still wondering just how, exactly, I became the snarky delight that I am ... please read that again.

... at least my agent thinks I'm a "great actress."

I'll be here if you need me

{A caveat if you're squeamish about these sorts of things: I'm probably going to swear in this entry.}

I've been acting like the guy in the picture up there. Well, kind of. Actually, I think I've been doing rather amazingly well with the whole shindig-planning thing, considering where I started and how steep the learning curve has been. I've been coasting along, checking items off my list (or rather, the list in the book my mom gave me.) Dress: check! Venues: check! Invitations: check! It was all going so ... very ... well. Until.

Until the fucking caterers got involved. (Hey -- I warned you.) I don't know what the hell it is about caterers. My interactions with their kind prior to this was limited to about 4 gigs as a cater waiter when I was hard-up for cash. And nobody at those events was visibly insane. Well, there was one client, but I can hardly blame the catering company for her behavior. But getting back to my point: either it's time for some Primal Scream Therapy, or I'm going to just stick my head in the sand & wait for them all to go away.

Caterer #1: Mr. UB & I had a meeting/tasting with one catering person, who was recommended by our friend/informal consultant. We loved the food, but were a little put off by the amount of the quote. Granted, we had asked her to give us the absoloute highest estimate for what we want, with all the bells & whistles, so that we could scale things back if necessary. Still, she was about $1000 more than we want to spend, so we moved on.

Caterer #2: A friend of mine recommended someone she's used before, who happens to run a restaurant I really like. They were nice, but their quote included things like a $200 fee for bringing our own alcohol. I'm sorry, but if I'm bringing the booze, why the hell would I give you $200? We'd already be paying your bartender to serve it, so what, exactly, is that fee for? Because the alternative is to buy the liquor from you at $6 a beer. And that just isn't going to happen. Also, thanks for giving us a price for 12 hours of staff, when we told you we only need five.

Caterer #3: One of my students told me that a friend of hers who used to be in the film biz now works for a catering company. She swore that by using her name, this person would deal straight with us. The Mr. & I met her for coffee, where we explained what we're hoping to do (a casual buffet), for how many people, and what our budget is. She really seemed to get it, and we really clicked with her. Or so I thought. She emailed us today ... and somehow "we'd like to do this for between $3000 - $4000" got us a $13,000 quote.

FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

I let Mr. UB email her back. I was afraid that all I was capable of writing was that little stream of invective above.

And bless him, not only did he manage to compose a letter that was beyond-polite. But he also sent me this text:

100 pizzas from CPK = $1500. Beer & wine only = about $500. No caterer = priceless.

Me'n the ostrich are staying put. He can take it from here.

photo source

the Actress Diaries, ch. 4

{part 4 in a series of strange tales from Acting Land}

Today, I am tired. I feel like I've acheived a new, higher plane on the tired spectrum. I normally hit the snooze alarm as many times as possible (Mr. UB mocks me for this, but I persist) and greet the morning with more of a groan than a smile ... but this is different. This is a bone-weary, squinting at the light, questioning why I say "yes" to so many things kind of exhaustion.

It all started last Thursday. I was at rehearsal for the Jack Nicholson show, and I'd just learned that I was adding another Random Bimbo to the line-up of characters I'm playing -- a Cuban hoochie who ends up having Fidel Castro snort cocaine off her ass. (There are some funny stories in Nicholson's life.) Castro is being played by Amy, the only other girl in the cast, so I guess things could be worse ... and the guy playing Jack is snorting coke off the stomach of our director, Patrick, who's playing a tranny hooker, but that has nothing to do with why I'm so tired.

Right after that, we started working on a scene from "The Shining," where I learned that I get to hit Patrick with a bat, so the evening wasn't a total loss. Just as that part was wrapping up, my phone buzzed. Who the eff is texting me at 2am? Mr. UB saying something naughty? Nope. It's the director from a show I did last fall.

Help! We open Sunday, and someone just quit on me! PLEASE tell me you're available?!?

Oh, crap. I don't want to. And I just realised it's 2:00 in the morning. No wonder I'm so loopy.

Me: I'm still at a rehearsal. I think so, but I can't confirm until the a.m.

Director #2: I love you.

Me: I'm going to sleep in, but I'll let you know as soon as I can.

I did sleep in ... since I teach all weekend, I've made Fridays my de facto weekends for as long as I have these late-night rehearsals to get through. When I woke up, I checked my calendar ... dammit, I am available on Sunday night. And this guy has cast me in several things. And I can't just leave him & 20 other people hanging in the wind. So I tell him I'll do it.

So yesterday, after teaching for 4 hours, I high-tailed it over to the theater, where I met the cast & walked through my scenes once, at around 6:30. There was another show at 8:00, so we couldn't keep rehearsing. And then at 9:30, I went on.

I'm not sure who was more terrified -- me, trying to remember a show I hadn't done in 8 months, and figure out how the idiosyncracies of the new cast affected my part, or them, already amped up for opening night, sizing up a total stranger they'd never even rehearsed with. The one reassuring thing about the whole mess was that the actor playing opposite my role was the same person I did the show with last fall, and he's wonderful -- so I had a basic idea of what he was going to do, and I knew he'd have my back. Which was good ... because the director walked backstage just before curtain and announced, "You've got a full house!" Grreeeaaaat.

Amazingly, it was a great show. All the hard work the cast had clearly put in came together with that magic stuff out there in the ether, and it was almost glitch-free. (For completely glitch-free, stay out of live theater.) Which led to much celebrating afterwards ... on an adjacent stage, since the main theater is rented out to an AA meeting, and they understandably don't like a bunch of drunken actors stumbling around. I didn't even over-indulge -- just 2 or 3 drinks -- but I did dance my butt off.

Which is probably why when I woke up this morning, I could feel the rotation of the earth. And while I'm fairly proud of myself for pulling it off, and it's enormously flattering that they're asking me to do the rest of the run ... I just don't know if I have it in me. Besides, I was already dragging myself to another Jack rehearsal, which at least allowed me to dodge that phone call today.

But hey -- at least I'm not bored.

{I promise to resume wedding-centric posts soon. I have things to report &/or rant about, really I do.}

if you live in California ...

source

VOTE TOMORROW ...

or shut the eff up.

Thank you. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

this makes me ... decidedly less happy

Forgive me if I lapse into irrationality here (wait, I'm a bride - that's expected of me) or if I swear (which my aunt has said doesn't upset her) ... but what. the. hell. is up with all the Dieting Brides out there? Did I miss the memo that said I won't be eligible for a marriage license until I drop a dress size? Was there an episode of Oprah where "Everybody Gets A Complex!" Or is something far more sinister going on?

credit

First, some context: I stay away from most cultural references to "what I'm supposed to weigh" on purpose. I skip Celebrity Diet Plan articles because those are written by publicists who don't give a damn what anyone actually eats, as long as their client's face gets magazine space. I change the radio station when some deep-voiced Announcer Guy asks me, "Ladies, have you ever said 'I feel fat today?'" because that garbage drives me berserk. I've never been on the Atkins/Grapefruit/Stand On Your Head diet, and I firmly believe that the Master Cleanse is a dangerous crash diet wrapped in a more-organic-than-thou disguise. Why? Because I was anorexic for 17 years.

It still feels a little strange talking about this, but for all those years everything I felt about my body was tangled up with feelings that I was the only freaking person who felt that way, which made me extra-ashamed. So now I talk about it.

The thing that's pissing me off today is how many brides out there, whose blogs I truly enjoy, occasionally go on at length about their goal to be a dress size "x" by their wedding day. I mean, seriously -- what causes this? Why are spunky, feisty, unconventional, creative-as-hell women sucked into the "it has to look like a magazine" vortex over this one particular issue? It makes me want to scream, "You're marrying your same-sex partner at a Day Of The Dead-themed hoe-down, officiated by your very best Wiccan friend ... and you're not eating bread after 6pm for the last month before the big day?!?" This is insanity, ladies.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm all about making a decision to be healthier in your general life. Cutting out fast food and making exercise more of a priority are wonderful things ... IF YOU'RE GOING TO CONTINUE THOSE PRACTICES AFTER THE BIG PARTY. Go for it, make a lifestyle change with my-blessing-that-I-know-you-never-asked-for. But if, after the pictures are taken, you're going to be like a female body-builder & grab a half-eaten donut from a very-surprised stagehand (which happens, by the way) ... then please ask yourself WHY you're doing this. Your fiance loved you enough to ask you to marry him, without an asterisk about a size-6 dress being involved ... and we know how visually-stimulated guys are. So tell me: what's your real motivation?

Women have so many mixed-up feelings about their relationship with food. I can remember being in a restaurant with my family when I was about 6, and after watching everyone order saying to my dad, "I'm glad I'm a kid because I can still have a burger, and grown-up women can only have salads." The messages start when we're young, and we don't even know that's what they are. But if you're trying to change your body just so you'll look "perfect" in the wedding pics, then don't. Because there isn't any such thing. I've seen girls who grace magazine covers in bikinis turn down a glass of water at a photo shoot, to avoid "bloating." I've watched friends starve themselves for 3 days before a big job, in order to look "great." I used to do all of that crap, and worse, myself.

I don't claim for a second that any of this is easy. It's not. It took a lot of years, and a lot of really hard lessons, for me to drag myself out of the rabbit hole. But I do say that your lovely location, your gorgeous dress, and the gaze of the person you love will do much more to make your pictures look amazing than one dress size smaller ever could.

Besides ... doesn't being hungry make you grouchy? I can't imagine trying to plan my damned shindig on a fuse that's even one micron shorter than it already is. (Think about it: how crabby do you get when you don't get lunch until 4pm? Multiply that times 17 years, and you'll know how amazed I am that anybody, from my mother to my oldest friend to my fiance, still talks to me.)