MEN!

Oh dear Lord, how I have neglected you my poor loyal readers!
I am so sorry for my long absence and will do my best to insure that I never leave you again for such an interminable spell.
You may have thought that after my last post I fell into some sort of depression induced coma. But fear not gentle friends!
The truth is that I have just been extremely busy with rehearsals,
organizing my sweet new bachelorette pad,
and dating.

You read that correctly kids.
I Frances,
of the awful Ex and the endless breakup,
have actually been on several dates this week.
I KNOW!
I'm kind of excited about it too.

I don't want to freak you ladies out too much.
But word on the street is that there are MEN out there!
Not boys mind you, but MEN, real men with actual careers, and genuine social skills, and minimal mommy complexes!
And some of these rare specimens have expressed a personal interest in little old me.
Who'd have thunk?

I stayed with the Ex for so long in such a bad going-nowhere relationship that I think I had forgotten that it could be any other way.
I was thrilled this week to discover that not all first dates end with the man crying and asking you if you have any money.
A few of them apparently save some of that juice for round two.

But the good news that I am hear to share with you women of the world is that there are indeed MEN out there!
Bang the gongs and sound the trumpets people!
I feel like one of the great explorers sighting land after endless months of abysmal sailing. Amen and thank you Jebus!

But I am sorry readers you will find no filthy details of this weeks' escapades here.
Yes, you guessed it.
I am using my blog to pimp myself out.
Okay, well not really.
But let's just say that the blog itself has decided to solicit prospective suitors for me completely on its own volition.
It's out of control. I just can't stop it folks.
What can I tell you?
Some guys dig a lady with something to say.
And dear God no, this is NOT an open invitation.
Please don't send me your photo and ideal date description.
We are not Match.com here people.
However some of the readers out there have enjoyed my work,
and I have enjoyed their attempts to woo me with promises of gifts and candy,
and thus we have begun friendly, tentative relations.
So hooray, yet another benefit to my self-obsessed lifestyle!

So other than the romantic liasons I have been working on my apartment here in Brooklyn.
My Ex had a lot of crap. Most of it stored in these giant horrible brown Rubbermaid tubs.
Not my speed gang.
So now that this place is free of his stuff it is shaping up into a really lovely home!
Jasper is the little dog that I kept as my companion and I could not ask for a sweeter pup to come home to. He is a six month old Cavapoo, which is one of those fancy hybrid dogs. In this case it's a cross between a poodle and a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.
That pretty much means that he is so cute that he makes people stupid.
But we are settling in nicely here,
and next week I plan to begin the painting process.
Lilac Bathroom...very girly.
More soon friends.
I promise.

A Serious Sunday

Growing up I figured out very early in the game that I had strong steadfast opinions, and I wanted everyone around me to hear them whether they wanted to or not.
On the playground, no one could defend Roe vs. Wade quite as vehemently as I could.
Needless to say I frightened many, many children and was not welcome at birthday parties.
But still I made sure that my message was heard loud and clear.
It was my body, and my choice, and nap time be damned no one was going to be the boss of me!

I have come to realize that people with such grand delusions of self-importance often grow up to write blogs.

So now it's second grade all over again.
But instead of screaming at you about how Reagonomics are going to spell economic disaster for our nation's financial stability, and then driving the point home by throwing my carton of chocolate milk at you, I am here communicating my rants in a more civilized, grown-up fashion.

And I hope that one day Bill Gates will announce that we now have the technology to throw virtual chocolate milk.

That will be cool.

But until then this is how I feel kids. This is my blog, and these are my opinions, and if you don't like it well then you can just go to someone else's blog and play with them.

So there.

I friends, am something of a political junkie. I wouldn't say that I am obsessive or anything but I do follow party politics with more than a fair degree of attention.
So take this as a fair warning gang.
These are tough times, and I like a lot of other Americans am "pissed off and not going to take it anymore."
So buckle up y'all.
Because this bitch is about to get a whole lot uglier.

In the 2008 election, like every other self-righteous liberal out there, my candidate of choice is Obama.
He's my guy,
my big cuddly Bama-Bear.
He's been my candidate from day one and not only because I enjoy shouting, "Go-Bama! Go-Bama!" And not just because if John McCain wins this Stepford Cyborg on the left becomes our First Lady.
But because I truly believe that the man has the guts and the goods to rescue our nation from the aftermath of eight years of President Bombs-a-lot and his Ministry of Mass Incompetence. And I don't think I need to tell you all ladies and gentlemen that as a country we are desperately in need of some serious help.

We are collectively in what I believe might be referred to as "a Dilly of a Pickle", or in another manner of speaking, we are what our British forefathers might have termed, "Royally Fucked." I understand Thomas Jefferson had quite the potty mouth.
To illustrate what I mean here let's check out this chart from the Pew Research Center's Global Attitudes Project.

If you are having trouble understanding what this graphic means, allow me to put it in layman's terms for you.

Everybody hates us...especially Turkey,
and especially Spain.

I am oversimplifying of course but not by much.
Take a look at these numbers people!
The majority of Europe, the very soil from which our country first sprung it's roots, our allies for generations, our ancestors, our friends...
they think we blow.
They think we blow hard.
Check out this excellent essay from Sidney Blumenthal detailing Bush's disastrous trip to Europe last summer. It's not pretty. http://www.salon.com/opinion/blumenthal/2007/06/14/bush_foreign_policy/

Can we blame the rest of the world for their frustration?
Let's get nostalgic for a moment and take a little look back at all of the glorious triumphs that President Bible Jockey and his band of Death Eaters have brought us in the past seven years.

Well first there was 9/11.
And what a way to start a Presidency!
Now I am in no way saying that this administration bears the sole responsibility for the horrors that befell us that Tuesday morning in 2001.
What I am saying however is that I believe the aftermath of these events could have been handled with less, oh I don't know, complete and total incompetence.

So off we went to war in Afghanistan! And rightly so. Let's go get Osama!
That bitch burned my city!
And I like many others wanted to see him justly punished for the horrors he wrought on us all.

But wait...um, ok he's not here...wait did you check that cave?
You did?
Well look again.
No, no the other cave.
Well check behind that rock over there.
No that one! Is that him?
Oh wait...that's a camel.
Hold on here's somebody.
Who the hell are you?
Mohammed? Mohammed what?
Hmm...sounds suspicious and vaguely foreign...better throw you into an island prison in Cuba without due cause or any right to an attorney...ever.
That will teach you not to speak English in your own country!

Hey! I have an idea. Let's go to Iraq!
I hear they have, um...weapons...big kinds...like giant Super Soakers that can melt your face and stuff.
And that guy Hussein, weren't we supposed to get him in that last war?
Yeah the one your dad started.
Woo boy did he mess that one up!
But now I hear that he is in this secret James Bond lair making bombs from plutonium that he bought from Nigeria.
How do I know?
Don't ask me stupid questions.
It's un-patriotic.
And you take off those sunglasses when you are speaking to the President!
Oh you're blind?
Ouch.
That's my bad y'all. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifwBRRg1s5w

Oh hey we found Saddam! Cool we found him...in a ditch...hiding...without any bombs.
Well we got him so that's what counts right?
Now off to the gallows!
And here's yet another great idea.
He's a Sunni right.
So get this...let's have a bunch of Shiite guards do the deed, and they can mock him the whole time just to really infuriate the Sunni population. Then they can turn him into a martyred hero! http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/06/world/middleeast/06arabs.html?_r=1&oref=slogin Man our administration rocks!

Oh and um, apparently the city of New Orleans is under water now.
Sorry about that, that's totally our bad.
That picture above was taken in America folks.
It's not pretty, but it's the truth.
I apologize if you came here looking for some lighthearted reading, but they aren't all going to be happy posts guys.
Sometimes I just have to speak my mind.
So forgive me for taking the soapbox so early on this beautiful Sunday morning.
But I do this because I believe in what this country is supposed to stand for.
I believe in justice, in liberty, in true Democracy.
And this morning I have a little bit of hope for us all, that there may be brighter, clearer days ahead where America can once again stand as an example to other Nations.
Where I can be proud once again of the decisions we make and the rights we choose to defend.

And I look forward with great anticipation to the day when I can once again travel abroad with my head held high,
and not have to tell people
that I am from Toronto.
Have a blessed Sunday everyone.
Peace.

Hell is a 90's Love Ballad

I am having a problem here kids.
It's not at all funny.
It's a serious issue for which I feel there should be Telethons held and Run/Walks scheduled.
I can barely leave the house.
I am afraid to be seen in public lest I let slip a symptom and then become an instant pariah of anyone within earshot.
You see...I can't get the classic 1990's Wilson Phillips song "Hold On" OUT OF MY FREAKING HEAD!



I have tried everything. Ice packs, coffee, repeatedly smashing my forehead against my kitchen wall.
Nothing.
All I hear is, "If you HOOOOLD on for one more DAAY, things will go your WAAAY. Hold on for one more day!"
I don't know what demon, what vengeful warlock has infected me with this plight today.

But I swear to you I awoke this morning and it was like I was trapped in my junior high gymnasium, and Lisa Madden was cuter than me, and Eric Hager didn't want to dance with me, and "It Takes Two" was so totally going to be next on the playlist. (That DJ Ruled.)
But ever since this morning a continuous loop of Carnie Wilson smashing a sledgehammer right through the great musical legacy of The Beach Boys has been haunting me non-stop. I mean their genius father wrote "God Only Knows." He released the legendary album "Pet Sounds."
How do they sleep at night?
I really don't think I should leave the house today.
I mean is this some sort of messed up motivational device sent up from my unconscious?
If so my unconscious self doesn't know JACK about me.
I mean WILSON PHILLIPS?
My psyche is going to communicate messages of encouragement to me through WILSON fucking PHILLIPS?
I mean Christ the Beatles recorded over 200 songs, you couldn't throw one of those into my head?
I would have even taken "Hang On Sloopy" over that dribble any day.
Sigh, I'm working it out kids.
It will be okay.
Eventually I know that the seizure inducing harmonies of the three beach ladies will be replaced by some car driving by blasting something else to remind me how much I hated my adolescence.
I don't care who you are. Age ten to thirteen is ugly.
Okay maybe if you're Lisa Madden it's not that bad but for everyone else these are ROUGH years.
And for those of you who weren't around back then let me just tell you that the music of the late 80's and early 90's did none of us any favors.
I mean Warrant, Whitesnake, Motley Crue, Poison, they released love ballads for gods' sake!
There is a reason Axl Rose went crazy and let some surgeon play Mr. Potato Head with his face. He couldn't stand to look at himself after subjecting us all to the 9 minute version of "November Rain."
Still it could be worse.
I could be 12 today and have all my music dictated to me from some corporate board room in Orlando, Florida.
"We will take Billy Ray Cyrus' daughter, and we will put her in sequined booty shorts, and we will synthesize her voice to a level so deafening that even Avril Lavigne's ears will bleed, and they will beg their parents, and they will shell out millions of dollars, and they will never know us, but WE WILL BE GODS!"
...I may have been too hard on Motley Crue and the boys.
I'm going to go put on "Every Rose Has It's Thorn" and pray for mercy for us all.
Peace Guys.

"Drunken Children Tell the Ugliest Lies"

I have 20/20 vision.
Very exciting stuff I know.
I tell you this because the truth is I always wanted to be the type of woman who wore glasses. I'm not crazy.
I've never prayed to God for a detached retina.
What I am saying is that I always wanted to be that woman.
You know her.
Maybe you have seen her at the Whitney,
or toting a canvas bag full of fruit and bread on the train.
She's incredibly well-read, dazzling at cocktail parties, always wearing jewelery that a friend brought back from Sri Lanka, and smells of tea tree oil, jasmine, and leather bound books.
The kind of woman who keeps her hair long in her fifties and throws the whole gray frizzy lot of it up into an effortless heap with a pair of chopsticks.
I love that lady, and I always thought that the key to someday becoming her began with the glasses.
"Let's drink chrysanthemum tea and discuss Anne Sexton and then I will tell you about hitchhiking through Morocco and the bandits who almost stole my llama."
Damn.
I have to get some glasses.
As a child I envied the kids who got to wear them.
Every year I would try and throw the eye exam.
"E, G, A, D, next line, uh, B, X, Q? um R, next line, sailboat? turtle, crescent moon, 7."
Never worked once.
Our school nurse, I believe her last name may have been Ratched, may have been one hundred and eleven but she was sharp as a bear trap.
Granted I may have given her just cause to doubt my many ailments.
I hated school and was constantly looking for a reason to flee and catch a bus to New York City where I was certain my millionaire husband would be waiting on his yacht ready to sail me around the world with violinists, caviar, and fine champagne.
I watched entirely too many episodes of Fantasy Island and The Love Boat as a child.
I may never fully recover a sense of reality.
Anyway I had a habit of crying wolf back in those childhood days, and given any moment of boredom or mediocrity I would ask to leave class, head to the infirmary and say something along the lines of "I have a terrible ache in my stomach and my scalp won't stop itching. I think I have polio."
I used to try and throw the hearing test too.
I don't know what I thought I would get out of this one.
Really cool hearing aids that all the other kids would envy?
I don't know.
All I remember is that the nurse would put these giant suction cup headphones over your ears. You know the kind?
The ones that the Williamsburg kids wear on the train to let you know that they have been listening to Modest Mouse since '96 and are therefore THAT much better than you are.
So the nurse would play these beeps in your ear and you had to raise your hand to tell her if you heard the sound in the left ear, the right ear, or not at all.
Every year I went Helen Keller deaf after twenty seconds.
And still...no cool hearing aids to show off in September.
I would stand lopsided for the scoliosis exam just begging for a back brace.
I would touch the head of every dirty kid in class just praying for the popsicle stick to leave my head hopping with lice.
And still...healthy as a freaking horse.
So why did I do all of this stuff as a kid.
A desperate plea for attention?
A longing to be different?
A yearning to make friends with the elderly?
It may have been a combination of all three.
But today I thank my higher power that I can see the stars, that I can hear the wind through the trees, and that I don't have to wash my hair with charcoal.
Still though, I may pick up some fake glasses.
And then maybe someday I could be that lady I have always dreamed of.

Going Underground

It's getting ugly out here guys.
Truly.
We are through the looking glass people!
So this is the new plan.
I'm going incognito!
I have updated the blog to hide any evidence of how gorgeous I am,
and more importantly where I can be found within shooting distance.
So those of you who happen to know my name and where I work...
let's just keep that on the DL shall we?
I had to erase some comments that referenced anything too identifying so sorry about that.
And for all of you new readers out there, all you need to know is that my name is Frances and now I look like this.
Are we all clear? Excellent! Let's move on then shall we!
My dear Betty Lou left for her new home last night.
There were lots of tears both from me and the Ex but I know that this is going to be the best thing for all of us.
It was sweet actually and the two of us (me and the Ex not me and the dog) actually shared some sweet words that we hadn't heard from each other in a long time.
There were long kisses and tearful hugs, and I am not ashamed to say that we lay atop our old bed and talked about the dreams we had both once shared.
It was a little "Lifetime Movie of the Week" but it served a nice purpose for me in that I now feel that I have some closure.
I also know that he is going to miss me maybe even more than I will miss him.
He said he would always love me.
It was actually sort of beautiful.
If he wasn't the jackass who cheated on me it would have been even lovelier but, it is what it is.
Okay y'all that's all I have tonight.
Act II is upon me and I have to start packing up here at my
COMPLETELY ANONYMOUS LOCATION!
I hope everyone has a lovely night here in Branson, Missouri
and I will see you all down by the Keno Parlor!
Peace Y'all!

My Last Night with my First Baby

This is Betty Lou. This photo was taken the day that my ex-boyfriend and I brought her home. We adopted her from a rescue organization when she was only 12 weeks old. The Ex didn't want her but I talked him into it, and after just a few days we were both head over heels in love. Betty Lou takes up a huge place in my poorly damaged heart. And sadly tonight is the last night that I will get to feel her curled up with me under the covers while we both sleep.


She is leaving tomorrow to go live with the Ex and his new "girl" friend. My heart is broken, smashed, shattered. I can't even think about tomorrow without bursting into tears. But I work on Broadway. The Ex has a 9 to 5. He has all weekend to play with her and let her run in the park. And he truly adores her. He loves her more than anyone else in the world. And even after all of the pain that he has caused he, I could never keep them apart. I know he will take wonderful care of her. And he has promised me that I can see her whenever I want. But it's not the same, you know? She is going to live somewhere else, with a new "woman" and I won't have her around to lick my tears when I cry or to keep my feet warm at night. Boy this year just keeps on getting better and better! And that friends is once again why I have decided to start it all over.
Look at that face! She is so precious to me. This has to be one of the hardest aspects of break-ups. When you live together in New York it's like you are married, you know? You share everything, the rent, the bills, the groceries, and of course the dogs. We have two dogs and I never ever thought that I would see the day when we would have to separate them. Truly, naively in retrospect I suppose, I never thought that he and me would part. You have to understand folks that I had every intention of marrying this man. We were discussing engagement rings on January 1. We talked about kids just a few days later. And then just a few days after that the bottom fell out on me. My whole future, my whole world, gone. Never saw it coming kids, but there it is.
So sadly I must say goodbye to my girl as well as my boyfriend this year. The three of us did have many wonderful times together, and I will treasure those memories forever. Trips to the mountains where Betty would haul logs up the side of the hill all afternoon, and then curl up next to us by the fireplace at night. She loves to swim and we would take her to the dog beach in Prospect Park and watch her do laps with branches in her mouth, swallowing giant gulps of lake water all the way through. Betty Lou is very special to me, my first baby really. And I can't lie folks, it kills me that she is going to go live with a "woman" that I don't even know.
Still...I know that Betty Lou knows who her Mommy is and she is not going to be replaced by this other person no matter how many liver treats she slips her. I know that my Betty Lou loves me to pieces. And I also know that life without her Dad has been really hard on her. So this is for the best I suppose. Hopefully she will eventually adjust to her new home, and be able to come and visit me and her buddy Jasper in a few weeks time when I think I can handle it. Until then I will hold my Jasper at night and try really, really hard to keep it together. Pray for me guys. I need your support. Thanks for all of the love. And thank you Betty Lou for being my one and only first baby girl. Mommy loves you...always. Mommy will love you...always.

Peace Declared! Throngs fill the Streets!

Okay guys.
I'm done.
Really, truly, done.
Enough with the bashing, the hate, the name calling.
It was fun while it lasted.
But I don't want to reduce myself to this level.
I have decided that I must be the bigger person here.
And also I am afraid that this girl might be an NRA member.
I don't want anyone pulling a John Wilkes Booth on me from the balcony of the theatre.
I mean seriously...I have a lot to live for folks.
So I am NO LONGER going to waste any of this precious blog space writing about the Ex and all of the ugliness that has been trailing me this year.
Instead I have decided to start 2008 all over again.
It's been a rough few months kids.
And I need a do-over.
So ready everyone...
3,2,1,
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Let us all find peace and joy laughter and love!
Let us put aside our old grievances and look towards a brighter tomorrow.
I don't want to fight dirty.
In fact, I don't want to fight at all.
So join me friends as we embark on this new journey towards acceptance, understanding, forgiveness and peace.
And let's all thank our higher power whoever or whatever that may be that we are all here, all alive, all healthy and all able to enjoy this new day and the many promises that it may hold for us all.
Woo Hoo!
HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!
Peace!

Cupid Can Suck It

Hello readers! Did you miss me? Of course you did. Sorry it's been so long since I wrote but I have been busy fighting off gentlemen callers with roses and chocolates all day, and man am i spent!
Hey do you guys know the really great thing about Valentine's Day?
If you answered "nothing" you are exactly correct!
Valentine's Day bites.
Straight up bites.
Here's a fun fact kids.
Did you know that Valentine's Day actually commemorates the hanging of St. Valentine? Indeed.
And what better way to celebrate the martyrdom of a saint then a stale Whitman's Sampler am I right folks?
Like I need another freaking reminder that I am not in a relationship?
Thanks Hallmark!
Maybe tomorrow you could cut me with all of your unsold cards and then douse me in lighter fluid.
Good times.
So basically today was spent sobbing and pelting people with those candy hearts that taste like chalk.
If you were anywhere near midtown today and you got hit with one of those it was probably me.
Sorry.
However I see now that it is 12:05 AM and that means it is officially no longer Valentine's Day!
In fact it is 364 days until we have to deal with the next freaking Valentine's Day!
Hallelujah!
Later gang!

blogging like nobody's business

Hello loyal readers and welcome back! It is another day here in New York City and things are really starting to look up. For starters it has actually been cold these past couple of days...in February...in New York City...I know, right? Crazy! It even snowed a bit today! Man that Al Gore sure is a big whiny cry-baby huh? I mean polar bears, who needs 'em? What have polar bears ever done for me? Nothing that's what. When was the last time a polar bear offered you a seat on the subway? Never right? I say if they want to live they will adapt just like Darwin said. Go ahead polar bears grow some flippers or something. You can do it! But in all seriousness it is nice to finally not feel like I should be sipping something out of a coconut shell in what is supposed to be the middle of winter. Jack Frost welcome I say!

The other night at the stage door a fan brought me Entenmann's Chocolate Doughnuts. This brings me to an important point that I should have mentioned earlier. Gifts are always welcome and appreciated and will quite likely get you a mention in the BEST BLOG EVER. Just something to keep in mind readers. You should also remember that cash always counts as a gift. Homemade cards are not gifts. They are litter. Please keep this in mind as well.

So the Writer's strike is over and thank you Jebus television and movies are coming back! I don't know about you but this has been a brutal couple of months for me. To not be able to come home and drown my sorrows in a new episode of "The Office" or "30 Rock" just added insult to injury. As a writer, I was of course on the side of my peeps in the Guild, and I was thrilled that the producers were unable to break the union. But holy God that was a long three months!

I actually started watching PBS out of sheer entertainment deprivation. And just so we all know for future reference, there is nothing whatsoever entertaining about PBS. I mean Christ, maybe if they jazzed up some of their existing programs they wouldn't have to beg me for money every month. For the last time I DON'T WANT A TOTE BAG! Oh but it's only a $75 pledge! Well why didn't you say so? Does it advertise the fact that I am a complete loser who sits home alone at night with a bag of mini Twix trying to pick out the fakes on Antique Roadshow? IT DOES!? And all for only $75? Well sign me up PBS! I mean seriously, to the programming executives out there, give Elmo syphilis on a "very special episode" and I guarantee you the viewers will descend on Sesame Street like ticks on a Muppet. Then maybe you can let Ken Burns finally get some sleep.

And on a completely unrelated subject, happy, happy day my Barnes and Noble UPS delivery just arrived! Want to hear what I ordered? Yeah...it's kind of pathetic actually. What's even sadder is that I was too embarrassed to purchase these titles in the store, hence the on-line shipment of shame. I got 1) "How To Mend Your Broken Heart and Overcome Emotional Pain at the End of a Relationship" and 2) How to Heal a Broken Heart in 30 Days a Day by Day Guide to Saying Good-Bye and Getting on With Your Life." So I guess what I am trying to say with these titles is "Party at my Place! Good Times Ahead! Woo Hoo!"

Yeah...did I mention that it has been a rough couple of months? The Self-Help section, Sweet Jebus, no one EVER wants to be caught browsing in the self-help section. Nothing says, "I'm half a box of Mallomars away from taking a bath with a toaster oven," quite like hanging out in the Self-Help section of the bookstore. I mean Dr. Phil titles live there for crying out loud! I mean look, I know I'm not an Olsen twin (although we do have the same birthday, true story), and I don't pretend that there are cameramen stalking me following my every move, but still, I can't be seen anywhere near a Dr. Phil title. My poor parents are still living, and I think I have put them through enough pain without the added shame of their beloved daughter caught in the vicinity of "Love Smart" or "Self Matters" by Dr. Phil McGraw-some.

So dear readers, I am off to dig deep into the depths of these titles. Hopefully I will emerge a better, stronger, more confident woman. Or at least one with twenty-eight fewer dollars to her name and two paperbacks stained with mini Twix prints. Whatevs gang. I will keep you all posted.