Striving for prefection

Last night was the second of my two preview shows, and I’ll be honest, I think I did much better Wednesday night. I was definitely more “in the flow” and I know exactly why. Three things happened yesterday that pissed me off (beyond my usual state of perpetual annoyment) (just made up that word) and I’m simply not yet such a polished performer that I can separate my own emotions from what I project on stage.

It’s not like anyone said to me afterward, “Gee, Linda, you seemed a little angry up there” or anything like that. On the contrary, lots of people told me they really enjoyed it and one woman named Patty, whom I never met before, positively gushed with praise. But I could tell I just wasn’t hitting my mark.

I’m know I’m being hard on myself and what pisses me off the most is that I let those three things—let’s be truthful, I’m actually talking about three people—get to me to the point that I feel it affected my performance. I let them fuck with the thing that’s most important to me right now, and I’m madder at myself than any of them. How dare I give them that power?

Believe me, it wasn’t a total disaster or anything, and after the show I was thrilled to meet two people from the blogosphere: Donna B, who writes Mystical Journeys, a beautifully touching chronicle of her father’s (and her family’s) struggle with Alzheimer’s, and Tricia, a blog reader from Champaign, Illinois, who is here visiting Vegas with her friend, Diann. Yes, thrilled is the word.

In addition to the fact that I need to find someway to find my flow even when I’m not quite feeling it, I realized something else last night: I’m not going to hit it out of the ball park every time. I hate that realization. I want a home run or nothing and that’s just not realistic, is it?

I think that’s why it’s easy to talk ourselves out of working toward a goal; we expect perfection right out of the gate and get overwhelmed by that prospect, and so we give up before we take the first step. We need to remember that all creative endeavors evolve over time; I know that my show will be tweaked some more before it starts its regular run next month, and it will morph more and more with each passing month. (God willing it runs for many.)

The nicest comment I heard last night was from that woman Patty. She said something like, “You’re doing God’s work,” words that made me well up as I remembered them in bed last night. And that’s what really matters, right? When you’re doing God’s work, you’ll totally be forgiven if you flub a line or two. It’s more important that you just do it.

Holy crap, I have my own Vegas show!

I know--it's just hitting me.

Last night went very, very well! I had a great turnout, I was able to keep my nerves under control and not projectile vomit on anyone, and everyone really seemed to like it. Of course, I'm just out of the gate, and I already know some changes I'm going to make for Friday night's show, but yeah... it was a fantastic experience.


Thank you to all who came out last night and to all of you who sent your best wishes here in blog comments, by email, or by sending positive psychic energy. You mean so much to me.

I have so much to tell you about this whole adventure, but before I rush off to my day job, I just want to say this: Four months ago, my book was still sitting in my laptop and now it's for sale at my own Las Vegas show. If I can do it, so can you. I'm 52 years old; it's never too late. (Okay, at this age, I'll never be a ballerina, but you get the picture.)

Things don't get done by themselves; you HAVE to take the steps to make it happen.

You can do it. I know you can.

Why I look better after a few beers

The other day my 25-year-old BFF and work buddy Joe turned to me in his cubicle and said, “Do you ever drink in front of the mirror and watch yourself get cuter?”

Joe’s a crack-up, but there’s some truth behind that concept because I actually get better looking after a couple of beers. Not in the “The more you drink, the better I look” way--quite the opposite. The more I drink, the better I look.

I am the most un-photogenic person on earth. I have shitty fucking hair, my jaw line is starting to sag, one eye is bigger than the other, and I have a massive overbite, which my dentist’s new hygienist so kindly pointed out.

Hygienist: “Your overbite is really bad. Have you ever noticed that your top teeth completely cover your bottom teeth?”

Me: “Oh, really? I never noticed that, you stupid fucking moron. I only look in the mirror a hundred… no, make that two hundred times a day. Thanks for clueing me in.”

I swear, when I see pictures of myself, I can’t believe I actually have a boyfriend. I’m amazed that I’ve ever had a date! How can I possibly be such a man magnet? (I’m just being an a-hole now, but it’s kind of true.) And because I know I’m not naturally photogenic, every time I have my picture taken, I get all tensed up because I know I’m going to look God-awful and because I’m all tensed up, I have this weird looking face. “Monster face,” my sister Lori calls it.

BUT, when I’m having a couple of beers, I’m all mellowed out and my face is completely relaxed. My picture in the right-hand column of this blog, under the “Hi, I’m Linda” heading? That was taken by Julie at 47 and Starting Over when she and Travel Girl were here in Vegas. Yep, we were having a few beers at the Ovation Lounge in Green Valley Ranch. One of my favorite pictures is this one of me in my tiara. That was taken on my 50th birthday, and yep, I had a few beers in me.

I look okay in this picture of me and Mike and Courtney at Courtney and John’s wedding party. Yep… you know it. Beer.


My point is, for every picture I post of myself, there’s 100 other ones that I look ghastly in, but of course, I’m so friggin’ vain I’ve deleted them. And for almost every picture I’ve ever posted, I can guarantee my smile is beer-fueled.

Okay, maybe not this one.


Anyway, it's too bad that I’m just now coming to this realization. Last night I had a photo shoot for my show. Unfortunately, I had only one beer beforehand. Thank God for Photoshop.

Why worry? It don't matter.

I’m the kind of person who tends to make things much, much bigger than they need to be. Every little bump in the road or anytime something doesn’t go my way, my knee-jerk reaction is,“This sucks! This is the most horrible thing that could possibly happen!” It’s a miracle my blood pressure isn’t a thousand over a million and it’s safe to say that at just about any given time, I’m utterly annoyed or ready to kill someone.

Isn’t that terrible? Can I remind you I’m a certified yoga instructor? Ohm.

On the other end of the spectrum lies my daughter, Courtney. I can’t tell you how often she’ll say to me, “Mom, it don’t matter.” Though normally I would wash her mouth out for using a double negative, the grammatically incorrect nature of her mantra only reinforces its message. Because when I consider almost everything I worry about or get pissed over, I realize she’s right—it don’t matter.

Courtney gets her laid-back demeanor from her father, who’s one of the most even-tempered people I’ve ever met. Back in the early 80s I had a minor car accident (okay, I caused it—I was looking in my pocketbook for a nail file) and when I called Chris to tell him about it, I was a friggin’ mental patient. His response? “There are millions of cars out there. Every once in a while they’re gonna bump into each other.”

Must be nice.

I have two previews of my show scheduled for this coming Wednesday (1/27) and Friday (1/30). I’ve posted details over at www.bastardhusband.com; if you're in Vegas and want to come, send me an email and I’ll put you on the guest list. I’m trying not to freak about this; I just really want it to be good and as I’ve mentioned before, I struggle with stage fright. That's another difference between my daughter and me—when she was little, we’d be driving her to ballet recitals or auditions and she’d sing away in the back seat like we were taking her out for ice cream. No nerves whatsoever.

Courtney knew it don’t matter, even as a kid. And so it’s no surprise that when she was in high school, guess what she selected for her senior quote in the yearbook? The title of a Tom Waits song: “We’re All Gonna Be Just Dirt in the Ground.” (For that one, Court endeared herself to a hip global studies teacher who moonlighted in a blues band.)


But it’s true, so why worry?

It don’t matter.

The Golden Globes: What I loved, didn’t love, or didn’t care about

I’m late to the party on this. By now the Golden Globes are old news, but you know I love my celebrities and I just have to weigh in on a few things.

Loved: I know Ricky Gervais’ humor is not for everyone, but he's one of my favorites, so of course I thought he made a fantastic host. His intro for Mel Gibson was brilliant.

Didn’t love: Somebody should have a sit down with Chloe Sevigny and tell her the living room curtains are not suitable attire for the red carpet. And while you’re at it, see if you can get her to change her last name to something people can pronounce.


Didn’t love: Speaking of fashion disasters, what the hell was Tina Fey thinking with the June Cleaver on prom night get-up? Hey, I’m the first to admit my entire wardrobe is from Ross Dress-for-Less, but Jesus H, don't show up at the Golden Globes looking like Mary Poppins meets Glinda the Good Witch.


Loved: But on the positive side, how stunning was Helen Mirren? Again this year, she knocks it out of the park. What a bod! And at 64, what an inspiration. She could teach the younger women a few things, that’s for sure.


Didn’t care: I hate to admit this, but I have zero appreciation for men’s fashion. George Clooney could be wearing a suit off the rack from Sears and I would never know the difference. I never notice what guys are wearing; in fact, I check out women 100 times more than men.

When I look at men, I notice their eyes, smile, and hands and that’s about it. I don’t even notice facial hair (on men—on women it kind of stands out). Seriously, I can’t even tell you if Mike had a beard or not Saturday night. Sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn’t; I can’t keep track. But the eyes, smile and hands… I always know what’s going on there.

So anyway, I have no opinion about that male stars were wearing at the Golden Globes. Besides, I think men look best in jeans. You can’t really check out their ass in suits, you know? Girls, what do you notice about guys?

One last thought: Am I the only one who wishes Beverly d’Angelo would do something so she could get nominated for something so we can see her all decked out? Yeah, I thought so.

I always have a big "but"

So to update you from Saturday’s post…

The Groove Masters at the Sand Dollar were great. I was pleased they had a decent crowd, proving once again that people will turn out for music as early as 7:30. Some of us even prefer the earlier timeframe. Again, kudos to the new management at the Sand Dollar!

After enjoying the music a while, we headed over to the Riveria to see Robert Schimmel. The 10:30 show started at least 15 minutes late and the guy hosting the show was terrible. Not terrible as in his material fell flat; he didn’t have any material and that’s okay if all you’re expected to do is welcome people and introduce the opening act, which is what he did. But why not get someone with a degree of stage presence to fill that role, you know?

I wish I could tell you the name of the young, soft-spoken black guy (pipe down you politically correct nuts, I know it doesn’t matter that he’s black, but it is kind of a prominent and distinguishing feature) from L.A. who opened for Schimmel. I’ve searched the Internet and can’t find him. I feel bad because he was very good and deserves a mention. Dammit.

Schimmel did what I thought was a very short set— we were filing out of the showroom at 11:50. I laughed quite a few times—nothing like the OMG-I’ve-never-laughed-so-hard-in-my-life experience of a Louis CK show—but still, there were some funny moments. But (I always have a big but) within the first minute he announced he was going through (another) divorce and he talked about it with just a tad too much acrimony to be funny. (This is coming from someone who wrote a book entitled Bastard Husband: A Love Story. Go figure.)

In addition to the bitterness, at least half—if not three quarters—of his set consisted of puerile colonoscopy prep/prostate exam material. If you ask me, people, that’s low hanging fruit. I'd expect more from a veteran comic, but what do I know? The Hangover (worst comedy ever, talk about low hanging fruit) wins the Golden Globe and Woody Allen’s brilliant Whatever Works doesn’t even get a nomination? Jesus H.

At the end of the show, the host brought out a birthday cake to celebrate Schimmel’s 60th birthday and then Schimmel and his opening guy were very graciously meeting folks and distributing cake in the lobby. They seemed really nice and now I feel bad for being so critical. Of Schimmel, I mean. Not The Hangover. God, that sucked.

As for Sunday, I ended up watching the Golden Globes live because Vietnam Paul had some family issues to take care of and we didn’t get together. He goes back to Thailand on Thursday, so I may not see him until who knows when.

But speaking of being critical, I have a ton of things to say about those Golden Globes. Next time.

A timely repost from last year

Original post date: 1/22/09. This story just never gets old...

"From the mouth of a babe"

This is one of my favorite pictures of my kids. Look at Courtney—she’s a pretty girl, huh?


Yeah. Courtney is one of those beautiful girls who kind of doesn’t have a clue in everyday life. Like have you ever seen Jay Leno’s “Jaywalking” segment? Or remember how Howard Stern used to quiz those supermodels?

Howard: “At what temperature does water freeze?”
Supermodel: “You mean legally?”

You get the picture.

You know those little Japanese carts that you see people being pulled along in? Courtney got on one at a music festival in Albany, the side of which read, “www.albanyrickshaw.com.” At the end of the ride, the guy gave her his business card.

Courtney (looking at the card, perplexed): “Who is this?”
The guy: “That’s me.”
Courtney: “Well, then… who is Rick Shaw?”

Oh, so that’s why she kept calling him “Rick.”

Not that I’m saying Courtney is the least bit stupid. She’s a freakin’ savant when it comes to music. A few years ago she picked up a guitar and within three months had a CD of songs she wrote herself. Just like that.

Here she is playing the guitar. And check out her MySpace—you’ll see I’m not kidding. She's a really talented songwriter.


Okay, so yesterday my friend Susan told me she had Courtney and her boyfriend over for dinner Sunday night. After dinner, expressing her relief over the federal holiday the next day, Courtney let out a long sigh and said,

“Thank GOD Martin Luther King was shot on a Monday.”

BAH-ha-ha-ha!

Now, one of the many beautiful things about my precious girl is that she can laugh at herself. So when I talked to her last night, we cracked up together about her inane comment.

Me: “Oh, Court, you’re too funny.”
Courtney: “I know. I forgot they moved the holiday to a Monday.”
Me: “Yeah, and it’s his birthday.”

Silence, then

“Oh my God! Martin Luther King was shot on his BIRTHDAY?”

Isn’t she adorable? Kids say the darnedest things…

My readers are hot!

These are the good looking girls of the Fat Bastard Book Club of Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, who chose Bastard Husband: A Love Story as their first book club selection of 2010. I'm told it was the first book that everyone actually read (!), and I'm happy to report they gave it eight "thumbs up!"

One of the gals is from England; she asked if B.H. is available in the UK because she wants to recommend it to her sister's book club group. It sure is--Bastard Husband can be ordered through Amazon in all of the following countries: UK, Canada, France, Germany, and Japan.

Thanks, girls!

5 things I’m looking forward to (and this just gets me through January!)

I know we’re supposed to live in the present moment, but I also like to look forward to stuff. Planning for the future brings me joy in the present—is it okay to frame it like that? Let me tell you about some of the things I’m looking forward to right now, and this just gets me through the rest of the month.

1. Tonight: Mike and I are seeing comedian Robert Schimmel at the Riveria (!). The promo says, “He had a heart attack, got cancer, had his television series cancelled before it began, met his soul mate, lost his wife when she found out about the soul mate, got divorced, lost a house, got remarried... though not necessarily in that order.” Sounds good to me; I've never seen him live. Before the show, we’re going to catch a band at the Sand Dollar called Koolpop and the Groove Masters. I don’t think I’ve seen them before, either, but their poster says they play blues, funk, soul, and Motown, so how can we go wrong? Kudos to the Sand Dollar for starting the live music at 7:30!

2. Tomorrow night: I’ve been looking forward to The Golden Globes (oh, how I love red carpet season!) and with my hero Ricky Gervais as the host, well, I’m just beside myself. But I’ll have to record the show because tomorrow night I’m going out with my dear friend Paul. For those of you who’ve read my book, he’s the Vietnam vet who picked me up for our first date not with flowers in hand, but a pamphlet detailing his chronic mental illness. Paul moved to Thailand several years ago and I haven’t seen him in quite a while, so I’m really looking forward to reconnecting. If you haven’t read my book (and why haven’t you???), you can read about Paul in this Veteran’s Day blog post.

3. This coming week: This week I hope to catch both the Henderson Writers Group’s weekly meeting on Monday and the Las Vegas Writers Group meeting on Thursday. The HWG is a 100-member critique group and sponsor of the annual Las Vegas Writers Conference held every April. The LVWG and has a speaker each month and is a great forum for networking with other writers. If you’re a writer in the Las Vegas valley, why not check these out? Don’t be shy or intimated—these groups are open to writers of all levels of experience. Shoot me an email at linda@bastardhusband.com if you have any questions about these groups or want more info about the conference.

4. Next Saturday night: Harpzilla 2010 at King Tut’s, sponsored by the Las Vegas Blues Society. Mike and I went to this last year and my sister Lori was also town, so you know we had a good old time drinkin’ beer and shootin’ pool and enjoying kick-ass harmonica-power blues. The music goes from 9 p.m. to 3 p.m. and trust me, this is going to be a freakin’ blast. If you live here in Vegas, you won’t want to miss it.

5. January 27 and 29: previews of MY SHOW!!! Holy crap, it’s becoming a reality. I met with Joe Lowers last night; we’ve set these two preview dates and the show will officially open February 17. It’s going to run Wednesday through Saturday at 7:00 at the Alexis Park Resort on Harmon, across from the Hard Rock. They have a great showroom and I’m incredibly psyched to have this opportunity. More details to come as we get closer to the date.

I shouldn’t even think beyond the end of the month right now, but I have so many other things to look forward to, especially in mid-April when that new grandbaby’s due to arrive. (That sounds so sexy, huh?)

Courtney and John have decided they’d rather not know the answer to the girl-or-boy question until it gets here, and they’re not sharing the names they’ve picked out, either. Makes it all the more exciting!

Here she is at Christmas, eating for two. (She'll probably kill me for posting that!)


How about you? What are you looking forward to?

Did you know the sex of your baby beforehand, or was it a surprise?

Have a great weekend!

Creating the Path of Least Resistance

As of January 1, I changed my hours at work. Instead of 7 – 4, I now go in from 9 – 5:30. For the past three years I’ve been freakin’ exhausted from getting up so goddamn early—and in the dark—and then after work I’d come home and trudge around on half a cylinder until bedtime.

It’s all different now. I now wake up on my own terms and can pop in an exercise video or work on my personal projects for a while before I have to leave the house. I don’t mind getting out of bed anymore because I’ve got stuff to do—my own stuff. I also gain time at night; I can go see a band or stay up late at home without suffering the next day.

Now that I have only a half hour lunch, I don’t have time to go out to restaurants with my work friends. I do miss that, but on the plus side, I’m saving money and who knows how many calories by bringing my own lunch.

My point is, by making one simple adjustment, I’ve created a structure that is much more conducive to achieving my personal goals; I no longer resent having to sit in a cubicle all day when I have so much to do in real life because my real life stuff is getting done as well. I feel a hundred times better now that I’m exercising regularly again, which in turn gives me more energy.

Overall, my quality of life has improved significantly with one simple change of schedule. I’m kicking myself for not thinking of this before and I want to throw this out to you because maybe you can do the same. Energy flows through the path of least resistance, and it all comes down to the structure that is set for that energy.

So take just a few minutes—right now—to analyze the structure of your day. Maybe there’s something you can do to tweak it just a bit that will result in an amazing improvement.

Yep, this is all part of my "identify your unique talents and unfold them to the rest of the world" nag, nag, nag... but can you imagine if we all actually did that? Really, how cool would that be?

Another fabulous weekend in Vegas (or more reasons why every hair on my mother’s head is white)

Hey, I think I might be able to get through an entire post without complaining about something. (No promises.)

Well, I had a fun, fun time last weekend. I started my weekend party mode early—my friend Gail and I went to see the greatest classic rock tribute band of all time, Yellow Brick Road, at Green Valley Ranch on Thursday night. I know I’m always spouting off about this band, but they really are fantastic. I mean, how often do you see a band perform Hocus Pocus by Focus? (Classic Rock Girl, I hope you come to Vegas when you finally turn 21—I want to take you out on the town!)

On Friday night, I went to the Luxor to meet my old friend Jeff Fox, whom I know from way back in the days of Hackett Junior High School. He was in town for the Consumer Electronics Show (CES). Jeff was so polite to pretend not to notice that I’ve put on close to 35 pounds since high school. But the truth is, if I weighed 103 now, there’d be something horribly wrong. Plus now I have boobs, which I didn’t have in high school when I was the president of the IBTC (Itty Bitty Titty Committee).

Anyway, I don’t have a picture of the two of us (well, I do, but I look ghastly and God knows I post only flattering pics of myself—duh), but here’s one of Jeff. So wonderful to see him!


Saturday night was a freakin’ blast. Mike was tied up and I had nobody to play with, but you know me, I don’t mind making the scene by myself. You music lovers who live here and visitors who are looking for non-tourist types of activities HAVE to check out the Las Vegas Blues Society’s monthly jams. All the local blues musicians show up and it’s hours and hours of continuous music. Mark your calendar—it’s the first Saturday of every month, starting at 5 p.m.

Everyone at these blues events is super-friendly. Look at this nice biker guy. His name is Richard; I made friends with him like two seconds after I walked into the place. (Relax, Mom, he wasn’t scary or anything.)


This girl is named Kelly. She sat on the other side of me and said, “You look like someone I want to know” and I was like, “Oh, if you knew me, you would love me!” (So full of myself, but it’s true.) She was really nice.


The music, as always, was incredible. These guys were amazing. I wish this picture came out better.


I probably shouldn’t say this, but whenever I check out music and see a bunch of black people on stage, I’m always psyched. (I told you before it’s perfectly okay to stereotype if you’re saying good things.)

Locations vary for this monthly jam; last Saturday it was at The Bunkhouse on 11th Street in downtown Las Vegas. I’m not big on downtown—if I never set foot on Fremont Street again, that’s okay with me. But I’ll definitely go back to The Bunkhouse. That is, as long as I can find a place to park in front of the place—the neighborhood’s kind of iffy, and though I sashay around pretty confidently, I’m not crazy and never put myself in a situation where I don’t feel safe. (Aren’t you glad to hear that, Mom?)



I love it when my mother says, "Always check the back seat of your car before you get in, in case someone's hiding there." I tell her my car is the size of a friggin' coffee table; only a preschooler could fit back there, and in that case, I'm pretty sure I could take him.

Safely back in my car, I was still in a picture taking kind of mood, so I took this one of the dashboard. (That's what it’s called, right?)


Nothing screams success like over 205K miles and a flashing “Service Engine Soon” light, huh? Don’t worry, Mom, it’s been on for months. Anyway, define “soon.” Yep, with three-quarters of a tank of gas and that new tire I bought last week, I betcha my car's worth a good two hundred bucks now.

On to Sunday… It was a gorgeous day here in Vegas, and Mike and I took a little hike up a hill here in Green Valley.


Sunday night we had a dinner-and-a-movie date. After some good old barbecue at Lucille’s in The District, we saw Up in the Air with George “I Am Truly the Most Perfect Specimen of a Man on Earth” Clooney. I loved it—reminded me of my life on the road before I moved out West. I’ve told you before Mike’s a freakin’ genius, and it was brilliant of him to take me to that movie because after two hours of looking at George I was pretty heated up and ready to pounce on him before we left the theater.

Aaah… life is good. And hey, I did it--no complaints!

If you no longer have a curfew, you should pay for your own goddamn car insurance

I’ve been meaning to write about this for a while. When I was flying back to Albany for Thanksgiving, I picked up a Time magazine with this on the cover.


“Helicopter parents,” is a term coined for the mommies and daddies who hover over their precious angels, infantilizing them through college and beyond. Parents protesting exam grades with their kids’ college professors? Employers like Ernst & Young creating “parent packs” for recruits to give Mom and Dad, since they were involved in negotiating salary and benefits?

Are you shitting me?

This is a topic that’s made me want to puke for quite some time, and if the thought of people turning parenting into a form of product development makes you, too, roll your eyes clear back to your cerebellum, you have to read the article.

Not only are these nut cases obsessed with their kids’ success, they’re also off the wall about their safety. Strollers needing a warning label that says “Remove Child Before Folding”? Seriously?

The article also references a product that prompts me to suppress a horribly inappropriate joke: baby knee pads.


“Designed for the ultimate protection… because crawling on rough surfaces can be hard on baby’s knees…”

God help us, now I’ve seen everything. My parents were from the “You want something to cry about? I’ll give you something to cry about!” school of parenting, but I can’t imagine even they would make us crawl around on gritty concrete or broken glass.

The article also states that the percentage of kids walking or biking to school dropped from 41% in 1969 to 13% in 2001. (No wonder why kids are so goddamn fat these days.) And don’t tell me it’s much more dangerous now than when I was a 12-year-old back in ’69—kidnappers weren’t just invented in the 90s. Let children walk to school and to the store by themselves, for Christsake; it’s more dangerous to let them visit relatives since 80% of kids who are molested are victims of friends or family.

What is this world coming to, people? Who’s gonna be tough enough to protect our country and fight the wars if from day one we’re encasing our kids in bubble wrap? How will young people ever learn responsibility when their parents are paying for their cell phones into their 20s?

What do you think? Are we raising a nation of pussies or am I just sounding like an old bat?

I’m not done with you, Susan Sarandon…

So there I was Tuesday, jumping to the conclusion that Tim Robbins might have been the one to leave Susan Sarandon, and it looks like I was wrong. (Mark your calendar—I don’t admit to that very often!) Now I’m reading that 63-year-old Susie’s been spending a lot of time with some guy named Jonathan Bricklin, a 31-year-old ping pong club owner.

In the words of Stewie Griffin, “Say whaaaaaaaat?”

This cannot be anything more than the tabloids making shit up, right? Are we really supposed to believe that? A 32-year age difference?

I mean, I love that little devil Prince Harry, but hell, there’s only 27 years between us. I know it’s wrong on so many levels, but I so want to party with him. I’ve had a thing for redheads ever since my first crush on Billy Mumy (Will Robinson from Lost in Space); throw in some bad-boy royalty and I’m in cougar heaven.

Seriously, I could take his head between my thighs and crack it like a Christmas walnut.

Whew. Sorry about that.

But in real life, like I said on Tuesday, I much prefer men more my own age, those who remember where they were when Kennedy was shot or when they heard Gomer Pyle’s singing voice for the first time.

Ping pong club owner? (Why do people write fiction when real life is so fascinating?)

Anyway, many of you left comments on my last post about wonderful long-term relationships that you’re in or know of. I was happy to see that. We all should be so lucky.

What else… Oh, last night I met with Joe Lowers, my comic friend who will be producing my one-woman show. We’re going to set up a couple of preview shows for the end of January (dates TBD, I’ll let you know) and then launch the show on a regular schedule starting Valentine’s Day weekend. Still don’t have a title finalized. So much to do.

Two things: 1) The thought of doing this show scares the crap out of me. I told you that before and I’m not kidding. I have a million insecurities going on and unfortunately for you, you’ll probably be hearing about them in the next few weeks. But at least you’ll know I practice what I preach about setting goals and getting out of your comfort zone.

And 2) I’ve been really busy and I’m all backed up on my blog reading. Don’t think I don’t love you. Really, you have no idea how much I do. I’ll catch up as soon as I can. (And Tara, I hope you're behaving yourself.) I still have 19 Guiding Light episodes on my DVR that I haven’t had a chance to watch, so you know I’m busy.

And now I’m off to my day job…

So tell me, what goal are you working toward? Are you stepping outside your comfort zone?

Damn you, Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins!

I’ve been thinking a lot about marriage lately. NOT THAT I’M THINKING OF DOING IT AGAIN! Let me make that clear.

I know exactly what’s been prompting these thoughts. It all started on Christmas Eve when I read in the USA Today on the plane back to Albany that Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins split up after being together for what? Something like twenty-three years? Evidently they’ve been separated since the summer, and believe me, I was pissed as hell that they waited until Christmas Eve to break the news and ruin everyone’s holiday.

Goddammit, I thought they were the perfect couple. Even though they never married, I still considered them to be the poster children for the viability of long-term relationships. Susan Sarandon has been kind of a role model to me; living proof that you can be hot and sexy and have the best tits in Hollywood even into your 60s. And although now I totally prefer men around my own age, I went through a period where I constantly dated--or married--younger men (I have a good 8 years on B.H.), and I thought it was extremely cool that Tim Robbins was a full 12 years younger than his now ex-mate.

I wonder what happened. Did he wake up one morning and think, “You know, I can totally get a chick half my age, why am I banging this old bat”? (I so hope not--I fancy him as being much classier than that.) Or did they naturally grow apart? Either way, it makes you wonder if it’s folly to expect marriage and togetherness to last forever. Oh, sure, there are those who will hang on until death do they part, but I can guarantee that for a fair share of those couples, the magic has been long gone and they stay together because of logistics or economics or laziness or fear of the consequences of making a move.

It takes balls to separate, whether or not any paperwork is involved; in many ways it’s an act of bravery. Yeah, I get that. But if cool-ass people like Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins can’t keep it together, then is there any hope for the rest of us? No pressure, Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell, but you’d better not fuck things up. A lot of us are depending on you.

Back home in Vegas after a fun New Year’s Eve and no, this year I did not kiss a porn star

What a difference a day makes. Here’s what I woke up to yesterday.


And what I woke up to today.


I got back into Vegas at about 11:30 last night after spending over a week in Albany and Rensselaerville. I had a fantastic time; it was truly a wonderful visit.

Remember how I celebrated New Year’s Eve last year at the Santa Fe Station casino here in Las Vegas? I kissed an ex porn star at midnight and then hung out with Miss July 1999, remember? This year was totally not like that. At all.

Nope, you can’t get much further from dancing on the tables in a Las Vegas lounge than a quiet night at home with your pregnant daughter in good old Rensselaerville, NY. John, my wonderful son-in-law, had to work and Connor was invited to spend the night at a friend’s house, so it was just me and Courtney and my dear friends, Tim and Susan, who also live out in the sticks of rural Albany County.

For some reason Courtney had the bright idea to bake a cake, which kind of surprised me since she’d just made a cake for Connor’s birthday the day after Christmas.

“Why you makin’ a cake, Court?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I just feel like it. Plus it is our country’s birth— “ Oh, snap! She caught herself. “No, that’s Fourth of July, huh?”


I know I’m her mother, but is she precious or what?

Anyway, we did have ice cream and cake at midnight, and we all wore the crowns we had a blast crafting out of construction paper.


Yeah, we're grown adults.





So much fun!

I made only one New Year’s resolution this year, and that is to never, ever wear a pink or pinkish shade of lipstick again. I have (finally!) come to the realization that brunettes should stick to red and brown tones and so I’m throwing out all my pinks. I’m not saying I’m never going to be a "Glamour Don’t” again; I’m just not going to earn the designation due to lipstick that is totally wrong for my hair color and skin tone.

In the meantime, I have a few important goals to work on, and getting my one-woman show together is at the top of that list. I also want to be more aggressive about doing speaking engagements. How about you? Did you make any resolutions? Have you set any goals around that unique talent of yours I’ve been nudging you to think about?

I hope all your dreams come true in 2010, but remember, you have to have a dream in the first place. Then all you have to do is map out a plan and take one step at a time toward your goal. Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this—next year I want you to look back at a long list of achievements!

Nag, nag…