Foat Wuth, Ah Luv Yew!

Obviously I've had an aversion to writing lately. I've also been completely unresponsive to requests by Loved Ones to post again. Depression? I dunno. I'm definitely strange and undisciplined and cyclic (though not psychic) mood-wise. I've been having fun...living my life (extremely important) and enjoying myself, uh...for the most part.

Last month I took a few friends on a little trip to Fort Worth to see the Hip Pocket Theatre's Trio Molemo! It was a nostalgic good time and the most fun I had had in awhile. We left Austin after work and got to the theatre after the Friday night show, just in time to catch up with my sweet old friends Lake and Lorca Simons and follow them out to their house-sitting gig on Eagle Mountain Lake. They've turned into such beautifully amazing women and I'm so proud of both of them. At one point in the evening the neighbor motored up in his party boat and gave us a star-filled ride...ahhh, Texas. I love living in the Lone Star State.

We had a cool bi-level hotel room on the Trinity River near TCU, and after sleeping as late as possible, went to breakfast at Benito's, the long-standing haunt of all Hip Pocketeers. Their papas con huevos still taste exactly like they did 18 years ago. Awesome.

After breakfast we went for a walk through the historic Fairmount District, where the coolest houses on the planet can still be purchased and remodeled by regular, non-independently-wealthy people.

It was like a jaunt through my perfect fantasy, and made me toy (briefly) with the idea of moving back there. But I love Austin too much.

After our long walk we visited The Modern, which is new since I was last in Cowtown, and saw an awe-inspiring exhibit as well as a really cool Japanese anime film. The whole experience at this less 4 year old museum was breathtaking, actually. A nice surprise. Here's a picture I got away with taking at The Modern before that guard you see in the background kindly told me to put my camera away:

The artist's name is Ron Mueck, and if you're anywhere near Fort Worth between now and October 21st, get there. It's what art is all about. Oh! I forgot one of the coolest things about the Modern...this AMAZING interactive sculpture outside their front door:

It's Big - It's Echo-y - It's Beautiful

After the museum and the movie we went and had some good beers and dinner at the Ginger Man. Then as sunset approached we took the drive out I-30 to the theatre that reminded me of all the times I did that as an actress...the comingling of excitement and total serenity I felt every time I was on my way out to Oak Acres to do a show with my fellow hippie artist freaks. Everything about that trip served to remind me in so many good and wonderful-feeling ways of the things I've done in my life and the people I've met that and who have made me me. I've felt a little off-track all year, since my stint with the church served to completely obliterate my identity...and the Hip Pocket was good good medicine. OK, I'll throw in one more pic of the dear new theatre...as they have moved from Oak Acres to a beautiful new spot with some really great buildings:

(OK, two more photos.) I didn't get a shot of their new bandstand or the new bar, which are equally, if not even more, cool. But the HPT is and always has been cool.

I'm older now; I haven't acted in a long time, but I was reminded that it's never too late to be yourself. I guess, on the rarest of occasions, you actually can go home again.

Livin' the Dream

I had a lucid dream two nights ago that has been inspiring me since I had it. This is significant because for the last 3, 4, heck maybe even 5 years I haven't been able to regularly remember my dreams at all. And that is significant because in my prior dreaming life I depended on my nighttime visions as a powerful source for guidance, wisdom and creativity.

In my recent dreamless years, I have to admit to a sense of disconnection with my inner Self. When I left LA and my most intense relationship to date, I think I had to sever some emotional ties. With myself. It was a necessity for my survival at the time, because believe me, I was 10 kinds of crazy. Lost as Amelia Earhart in the Bermuda Triangle and searching for answers...anything...that would stop the pain and disappointment I felt for my entire life of perceived failures...my decisions, my acting "career," all my failed relationships and desires and...well, dreams. Unfortunately what got lost in that process of searching was me. I stopped trusting myself. Because obviously, I didn't know what I was doing, and, obviously, I needed to admit that perhaps other people knew a better way. For me. I gave up control.

The Christians love this, this thing called "humility." And there is no doubt that humility is a dwindling character trait that more people need to investigate. Americans, and subsequently, America, desperately need a large dose. But for some people, some people like me, we tend to take that concept a little too far. People like me actually relish the thought of giving up control...it's why we do lots of drugs and start drinking as soon as the clock strikes noon. People who have endured any kind of abuse, especially of a sexual nature, are naturally and tragically humbled in their lives. And have a tendency to place too much faith in others' opinions. And insert the phrase "I'm sorry" into every other sentence. These are some of my maladies.

I'm not here to bash Christianity again; I'm just reviewing last 3, 4, heck maybe even 5 years, and my choice to completely mistrust and ultimately abandon my own beliefs, desires and even my personality while I immersed myself in that faith is a part of what I want to say here. I think my dreamlessness was trying to tell me something. I walked away from acting (not just professionaly, but even just for fun), something I have been doing since I came out of the womb. I did this because my (Christian) therapist told me it was, well, kind of a skanky thing to do. I should use my gifts for God. Which I did, oh boy, did I ever, to the nth degree. I sang and acted and built sets and directed and painted and designed lighting and bought costumes and paid Home Depot's mortgage and spent nights alone at the church making 6 foot dinosaurs out of chicken wire and wrote and wrote and wrote and led other artists and left my second career in Corporate America and went into debt because of the pay cut and the buying of all the artistic materials because we had no budget at the church of course and I took out my own trash and worked about 80 hours a week and told people they weren't talented and couldn't be on the team because that's what my boss told me I had to do and I gained 30 pounds in a year and still I wasn't good enough for my boss, there was always something else I should have focused on or done differently and ultimately I couldn't even have a conversation with him without crying and then he smelled blood in the water and emotionally eviscerated me at every opportunity until finally I said I can't do this anymore and I quit.

No wonder I couldn't remember my dreams.

Back to the present...

In the months since all of that I have been lost...searching for answers...trying to discover who I am and what I want. Unfortunately, what I've actually been doing is reverting to some old, familiar escapist behaviors, which is equally as control-relinquishing as any dogma.

This is where my dream comes in. I was flying, and I was in total control of the flight, aware that I was in control and guiding myself. I was about 20 feet above ground...flying above a busy neighborhood...watching the people and their activities below but serious about staying on my own path and focusing on where I was headed. Most strange and prevalent in my thoughts is the fact that my body was completely upright, and in a star shape. Fully aligned, head erect, strong and guiding everything, arms outstretched to the side, long and strong and reaching out in both directions, legs also long and strong and balanced, hands and feet pointed powerfully all yoga-like. Significantly, the posture I was holding while flying is the preparation posture for the Triangle pose. No doubt, this was the strongest and best I've felt about my body in literally years...and that feeling has not left me since I had the dream.

What also has not left me since I had that dream is the realization that I am in control of my life, and that I am not only free but also completely able to guide its direction. I've been different since I had this dream. I have a sense of personal power and direction that I haven't had in months. I'm excited about the possibilities that lie ahead for me...here, in my new town and my new life that I chose for myself without caring about anyone else's opinion.

And though I admit I've been drifting...a bit lost and off course, I think I might be catching a tail wind and a view of the stars.

Family Ties

For the past week I've been enjoying my family. Even that statement carries with it an assortment of emotions...because in every person, every relationship that remains intact, there is this looooooong history of drama, laughter, nostalgia, storytelling, loss and survival. In every pair of eyes there is a connection to every other pair of eyes that has ever (family-wise) looked into mine.

To grossly understate the truth, we've all been through a lot. Personally, and collectively. We've endured the passing of some dearly beloved members, through death...and simple stubborn pride. Sometimes we can talk about these things and sometimes we can't. But when we all spend time together, I'm reminded of parts of myself that I have either forgotten or intentionally blocked out. I don't think I ever imagined our lives and relationships being exactly as they are today, but in spite of this short-sightedness, I'm immensely grateful that things have turned out the way they have, and that those of us who remain, remain close and accept each other "as is." That's pretty freakin' miraculous.

I have struggled in the past few days to find words to adequately describe the overwhelming pride and love I'm feeling at the birth of my great-nephew Tyler. I've bailed on weak attempts because while I've always loved to write, I simply don't have the incredible gift of creating transcendent odes to people (new and old) that my niece Becky has. In fact, I'm quite sure that the tangents you're about to endure will make you want to hurt me.

Part of the intense emotion I've been experiencing with Molly's pregnancy and ultimately the birth of little Tyler (who is, by the way, the most perfect and exceptional child the planet has ever yet seen) has been the overwhelming sensation of being a witness to the repetition of the cycle of life. I remember Becky, and then Molly, as they were little bitty creatures...they made me an aunt at age 9 and age 13, respectively...and since they arrived before anyone else on the niece/nephew horizon, they hold a unique place in my heart's memories. Prior to their debuts I had already been very close to their dad, big Tyler. (I'm told my first words, in fact, were "Hi, Ty." ...which indicates to me he probably loved me a lot and spent a lot of time with me when I myself was but a wee tyke.) And their mom was a huge part of my life since we were cheerleader and mascot together at Abilene High in '72. I was 5. She was the big sister I would never have otherwise had...she took me to movies (the drive-in!), the park, and even to her shorthand class after pep rallies. (Maybe this is why I ended up working in law firms?!?) And Tyler always took the protective big brother role way above and beyond. Once when I was 16 I rear-ended a guy in my mom's Cadillac. No damage to my mom's car, but the guy made a claim on his tail light that was cracked approximately 1/4" . Knowing that the repercussions would be steep, Tyler paid the guy about $115 for the damages, which equalled about a million dollars to me back then. And my parents never knew, which was worth even more than a million dollars.

So to say the least, because their parents were so incredibly cool to me, Becky and Molly were very special from the beginning, more like little sisters than nieces. I started baby-sitting when I was about 11, and kept at it until we moved to Albany when I was 16. I spent a lot of time refereeing their arguments, taking them to Baskin Robbins for mint chocolate chip cones, refereeing their arguments, trying to keep them from killing each other and destroying the house, fielding their unreasonable demands as reasonably as possible, refereeing their arguments, joining in their arguments, playing games with them, watching silly movies and TV shows and acting and singing the best parts. We grew up together. And because I was a little older I'm sure I remember things they can't possibly remember, since their memories probably don't go back that far.

They've known me through the best and worst times of my life...seen me make some pretty big mistakes, and some pretty strange decisions, and live with the consequences. And though I would imagine I'm probably at least something of a disappointment to them, they seem to love me anyway, just the way I am. On the other side, I have seen them go through some pretty intense life challenges and not only survive, but thrive. They're stronger because of the obstacles they've faced and overcome. They're closer as sisters and appreciate their common history. They've somehow become women...right before my eyes. Women I look up to, admire and deeply respect.

As I watch Becky with her first nephew I see myself when I first met her, when she was all new and wrinkly and red. She's already a pro at Aunthood. As I watch Molly with her son I am completely awed by how naturally she's handling this supernatural life-changing event. I'm so happy I have them here, to continue to teach me as I age, to humble me, to encourage me...

It's good to be grateful for the family you have. It may not be traditional; it may not look like anyone else's. But it's mine, and it's beautiful. And as Big Tyler so poignantly put it this week, "I like additions better than minuses."

Some Like it Hot

This week I rediscovered, but in a completely new way, something I used to love...something that once was a powerful and intense force in my physical, mental and spiritual life. Yoga. Only this time, as opposed to 15 years ago, I'm exploring the practice of Bikram Yoga, wherein the room is heated to a whopping 105˚ and you are still expected to hold intensely difficult postures for a very unreasonable amount of time. With all the sweating happening in there, it's a lot like an orgiastic triathalon on a typical mid-afternoon in Houston in July. Uh...well, kinda.

I started hearing about "hot" yoga a couple of years ago and, like most things outisde the realm of the Christian faith, I dismissed it as something I could not participate in. How ironic that after taking just two classes, I feel closer to God than I have in years.

There are many reasons I'm falling in love with yoga again, and that I'm grateful for having the opportunity to practice it at this specific time in my life. Most significantly, I've felt completely lost spiritually since I broke up with my church and moved to Austin. Until I was faced with the seemingly impossible challenge of wearing as few clothes as possible and actually looking at myself in the mirror...in the EYE yet...I hadn't realized how much I've been avoiding the last few months. This week I've been confronted with mySelf, and am timidly, warily, learning to connect with who I happen to be right in this moment.

It's amazing how strong the urge is to avoid, look away, avoid...unnerving how I have to remind myself or be externally reminded to simply open my eyes. So now I'm noticing other situations where I'm avoiding looking directly at people...not only in merely transactional relationships like the grocery store, but even in conversations with friends...and especially in my therapist's office.

Suffice to say there is some good, deep, synchronistic healing going on. Fortunately, I know from experience that self-awareness is hard-won, and never without some growing pain. But I've reached a point in my human bean existence: I'd rather sit in the hot seat than swim in the cool, comfortable waters of illusion and stagnancy.

Breakfast at Tiffany's; Lunch at Jo's

(written yesterday, sorry...no time to post!)

Sorry folks, this is, unfortunately, not a sordid story about a bisexual's fine dining experiences. I have a lunch date today. Strange, but true. I've never seen even a picture of this person but we've played a bit of phone tag and we actually spoke last night. (LOL & OMG. Am I still in 7th grade or WHAT?!?!) I decided to try a different kind of dating service -- since I loathe ALL of the internet's hook up services -- probably because in the rare event that I've actually gotten excited about someone I've met via the WWW, and have actually agreed to meet him for a date, I've always been truly meh over the dude and have been checking my watch every five seconds while not so secretly planning my escape route. (I don't actually own a watch. Sorry. I lied about that. I check the time on my cell phone.) Where was I? Oh, yeah, OK, this new service is apparently targeted to more "mature" people like myself. They spin it positively by saying it's targeting professionals. But ooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhh whatthehell; I want to meet people that don't work where I work (I will never again shit where I eat)...and the ya-ya's and yo-yo's I normally hang out with are very unlikely to introduce me to someone who would actually be good for me.

Of course, just as with the internet, I'm not pinning all my hopes and dreams on this lunch date. I'm way too cynical for that.

(ok now it's actually Wednesday)

So my date. It was actually really good! I enjoyed the conversation and he wasn't a total freak. How refreshing! There are other (at least seemingly) normal people who are 40ish, have never been married and don't have kids. (Yet.) Hmmmm....after living so close to Stepford for almost 5 years, I was beginning to wonder if there was even one other person on the planet like me.

Anywayz...we'll see what happens.

I had a whole brilliant post in mind when I started this one yesterday. Of course I can't remember any of it now.

Urbanity

After submitting an extremely obscene word made up during the course of conversation last night, I've spent the entire day cruising urbandictionary.com's Words of the Day. Therefore, I've spent the entire day lmmfao. Some of my personal faves:

check your vitals (accounts for about 95% of my workday)

floordrobe (describes my domestic skills perfectly)

disco nap (took one of these yesterday, so it made me laugh)

epiphanot (i've had so many of these during my lifetime, i'm ashamed i didn't create this word myself)

craptastic (during an epiphanot, i thought i created this word myself; but it's been around since 2001, and i can't claim it. craptastic.)

retox (a daily practice of mine)

Truthenize (a satisfying endeavor, unless you're the truthenizee)

pre-pull (just plain funny)

connectile dysfunction (holy shit. even funnier.)

and finally...

blogorrhea (accounts for at least 99.9% of what i post here)

I obviously have nothing interesting to say

I have a friend who blogs all of these intelligent and interesting, educational pieces on her blog. It's pretty damned impressive. I think most of what I've vomited onto the world wide web has been some kind of weak emotional catharticism, centered around a relationship, or just plain fluff. Not that this strikes at my ego, mind you, because I yam what I yam. But I think it's telling about the depth of my mind. Mwa ha ha. Perhaps that's why this blogoriffic thing is a therapeutic enterprise... a mirror into my own life that I couldn't otherwise see clearly through. I like it, I like it.

I'm going to therapy today. The therapist I'm going to see is a hypnotherapist as well and deals with some of the major damages I've experienced in my life. I'm excited about going. Not that I think she'll hocus pocus me into pristine mental health or anything, but maybe I'll suddenly have the uncontrollable urge to work out every day, have great posture, drink water and eat only to fuel my body for optimum energy, and let go of at least some (one? please?) of the 10,000 annoying and not-so-constructive habits I've acquired over the last 39.5 years. Now THAT would be worth the price of admission.