I went to see a friend in a one-woman show this week.  I had  been looking forward to it for quite some time.  In my humble opinion, she is very talented and I am a big fan.  It has always been my dream to have one-woman show of my own, and have recently been offered an opportunity to do just that.  What I will be doing is more of a “motivational speech/performance”, rather than a play, but the fact remains it will be me…alone……on a stage…….

I sat riveted by the show, continually trying to swallow the lump that kept appearing in my throat.  Partly moved by her performance itself, and partially moved by the fact that she was performing (you may have to be an actor to know what I mean by this…but maybe not…) I became quite emotional about the whole event.  This happens to me when I am in/at the theatre, or in the presence of a truly inspiring speaker…..the only way I can describe it is that I feel it in my body.  A visceral response to a deep and long stored away desire.  I enjoyed the show tremendously and felt proud to know such a talented (and lovely) person.  I was truly inspired by it all.

But here’s the rub….The moment I was alone with myself on the ride home, inspiration flew out the window.  The roaring conversation in my head (between me and my saboteur) was all (and only) about what a loser I was.  What are you thinking?!! You are gonna look like an idiot up there……You don’t even have a real show.  It’s just talking to people.  That’s not a show…..Oh dear Lord.  I never should have agreed to this……..

(I interrupt this barrage of negativity to fill you in on something else you may not know about me.  I love to sing in my car.  I sing all the time by myself in my car.  Sometimes I just drive so that I can sing in my car…..I’m also a great multi-tasker.  I can sing in my car AND carry on a self-defeating conversation with myself at the same time…..all while driving!  This particular evening I was singing with one of my favorite artists, Jana Stanfield, who by the way just released a brand new CD entitled, “What Would You Do This Year If You Had No Fear?”  http://www.janastanfield.com/)

So there I was….singing and berating myself down the highway.  I stopped at a red light which caused me to come out of my stupor long enough to realize what I was singing.  At the top of my lungs I was singing the words, “You be you…I’ll be me…..We’re exactly who we’re supposed to be, so you be you….I’ll be me.” 

I started laughing.  I’m fairly certain that this moment was divinely orchestrated.  Maybe you had to be there.  But for me…I got the message.  I just hope I can remember it.

I have always been a lover of languages.  I studied 4 years of high school French, 3 years of college French, then, ironically,  married a Puerto Rican (life IS funny…..).  During my near 20 year exposure to the Spanish language I did pick up a thing or two.  Though I never got all the verb tenses or used fancy words, I am proud to say that I could communicate fairly well in Spanish.   I belonged to a circle of friends and family who spoke the language and I loved being able to be a part of things.  It’s actually one of the things I miss about “being” Puerto Rican.  I loved the culture, the island, the food and the people.  Any opportunity I had to speak the language delighted me.  

But something got lost in translation today. 

It was just about dinner time when the phone rang.  I could tell by the Caller ID that it was a telemarketer.  I used to not answer, but now I take the opportunity to tell them to “please take my name off the list”.  I wish I had known this trick years ago.  It works like a charm.  No arguing, no cajoling.  Just a quick apology from the other end of the phone and a goodbye. 

But this call was different.  The gentleman on the other end of the line spoke.  “Good eeevening, Ma’am.  Do you aspeak Espanish?”

Well….it has been a while and I didn’t want to appear cocky, so I humbly answered, “I speak a little Spanish.”  Usually I make this statement in Spanish (“Yo hablo español un poco.”), but not this time. 

The man continued, “Ees dare someone dare who DOES aspeak Espanish?”

Read my lips…..“I speak a little Spanish.  May I ask what this is about?”

El hombre persisted, “Eets OK.  Maybe after Seeks o’clock somebody will aspeak Espanish?”

Listen pal……I’m pretty much gonna speak the same amount of Spanish in an hour that I do now.  Besides, you are speaking English to me right now!  If you have something to sell me, why can’t you just sell it in EEEEEENGLISH?!  THIS IS AMERICA!  If you are gonna interrupt my dinner, you are supposed to do it in ENGLISH! 

The above paragraph is just what I was thinking.  Before I realized it, I was speaking a little too loudly in broken English to Señor Telemarketer, “I’M NO ASPEAKEEN ESPANISH AFTER SEEKS O’CLOCK, OK?” 

After a brief moment of silence, my new amigo replied,  “OK.  I call back tomorrow.”

We’ve all heard it a million times- Laughter is the best medicine.  I think it was Norman Cousins who got the ball rolling with his book, Anatomy of an Illness, in which he documented his recovery from a life threatening illness with the use of Vitamin C and a substantial daily dose of laughter.  Researchers have documented that one’s immune system is boosted, pain is lessened and stress significantly reduced when a body is laughing.  We all know it, we all agree, and yet we often fail to take advantage of this readily available, free of charge resource.

I thank God that I don’t have a life threatening illness (although my recent procrastination may threaten my WAY of life….).  I do have stress (like the next guy) and I do deal with occasional depression (though having the mirrors removed in my house has been helpful).  I was reminded last night about the power of a good laugh. 

I met with an old friend for dinner.  The conversation started quite benignly…catching up on what we’ve missed in each other’s day to day lives.  Most of the conversation consisted of tales of our aches and pains, empty love lives and money woes.  Before long we were creating a spectacle of ourselves with our uproarious laughter.   It was the best workout I’ve had in ages.  I left the dinner reinvigorated, lighter (well… emotionally lighter anyway…) and with a renewed sense of hope about my future.   All that from a good belly laugh!

Lots of folks these days are struggling, with money and job woes topping the list for many.  Though laughing hard has never resulted in money flying out of one’s butt (at least as far as I know), it sure does feel good for just a minute.  I recommend you try it.  Take a vacation from life’s caca.   What’ve you got to lose?

I knew that if I could be patient we would eventually find each other.  And we did.  He’s perfect.  Sensitive, funny, super smart and ADORABLE……   Everyone agrees he’s one of the nicest people they’ve ever met.  He writes,  he loves to dance, and sings with a voice of liquid gold.  Top that all off with a smile that could light up Broadway.  Oh, yes…….I AM GOING TO MARRY THIS MAN…..

….in my head. 

In reality, this man of my dreams is about the size of my left thigh, most probably gay and doesn’t know I exist.  Details….details…… A woman can dream, right?

OK, so I don’t get out much.  But I got out yesterday (the orderlies probably got in trouble for that one!).  I went to  see Song Man Dance Man at Seven Angels Theatre.  My “husband” wrote the show, choreographed the show, performed the show, and stole my heart. 

I can see it clearly.  My life with him would be like an old-time song and dance movie.  (This is where the screen gets all wavy-like and blurry, as if a dream…..)

We meet one night out On the Town.  I am waiting at the Bus Stop to catch a ride to the airport.  From there I will be Flying Down to Rio  as Tip #27 in The Gay Divorcee Handbook suggests.  Mr. Dreamboat strolls up to me and says, “Hey Funny Face, (I know he means it in a good way…) is this bus Going My Way?” 

Reaching for the Moon, I reply, “I don’t know about the bus, but I’m going wherever you are…”

We soon arrive at the airport and board the plane to where It’s Always Fair Weather …  It looks as though there will be nothing but Blue Skies ahead, until we see a harried mother of 4, Babes in Arms, struggling towards us.  Naturally, my gentle man friend  offers to help this overwhelmed woman and then, discreetly, approaches the flight attendant. In a voice as smooth as Silk Stockings he asks, “Excuse me, Roberta…..by any chance is there room For Me and My Gal in first class?”

In a flash, we’re sipping champagne, and laughing the day away.  One might have mistaken me for the Cover Girl of High Society magazine.

Once in Rio, we check into the Holiday Inn.  We quickly unpack our things and head downstairs to the lounge where there is an orchestra playing.  (Yes, an orchestra!)  “You Were Never Lovelier,”  Mr. Wonderful tells me.  “Shall We Dance?”

“I’ll Be Hard to Handle….I’ve never been much of a Dancing Lady,”  I warn him.   A few awkward moments pass, during which I step on his toes several times.  Clearly I wasn’t Born to Dance…..but in his arms he makes me feel as if A Star is Born.  I am again a Girl Crazy in love, planning my Royal Wedding and dreaming of living together in our little Casa blanca.

Such a spell is only broken when he utters the Three Little Words I’ve been longing to hear.

“THE BUFFET’S OPEN.”

Any parent who has ever ridden in a car alone with their teenager knows what I’m talking about.  The conversation doesn’t exactly flow.  I want to know every detail of his existence and he wants me to just stop breathing.  I used to take this personally, reading books on “How to Listen so Your Teen Will Talk” and “Get Out of My Life, But Could You Drive Me to the Mall First?” , though they did little to change the situation.

But I have since found a tried and true way to bond with my teenage son.  Morning Radio with Chaz and AJ on 99.1 WPLR. 

We started the ritual on early morning car rides to high school and it continues to work 4 years later.  A sleepless night, bad cold or pissy mood doesn’t stand a chance in the face of  Chaz and AJ and their morning crew’s shenanigans.  When the  car silence becomes deafening, I’m reminded to tune into 99.1FM.  Before I know it, we are both cracking up; my son has tears in his eyes, and I’m wheezing like Muttley from Wacky Races ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZm47SrmuwM&feature=related ).   He is now slapping his leg and rocking back and forth, while I try not to pee.  I mock him while he digs in my purse for the inhaler.  This scenario only makes us laugh harder.

In the midst of our laughfest, we catch each other’s eyes.  For that moment, we’re united in hilarity.  We’re having fun together and life is good.  We gain composure during the next commercial break and are left again with nothing but our large heaving sighs and our irrepressible grins. 

Back to our private thoughts, I think….“Thanks guys…..you’ll never know the difference you make…….”

It was early Monday morning.  I was on my way home from taking my son back to his college after a long weekend visit when I saw it up ahead.  The spot check.  State police and their cars blocking the road.  At first I thought perhaps there was madman on the loose and they were going to check my trunk to see if I was harboring a fugitive.  (Though I would  like to have a relationship someday, I am not yet at the point of stuffing a man in my trunk to have one.)  I became immediately concerned about the possibility of them actually looking in my trunk, knowing the embarrassment I would feel as they rummaged through (among other things) a bright pink bedpan, a fairy wand, and a No Parking sign.

The first trooper flagged me over to the side of the road.  I rolled down my window and said (as innocently as I could at that hour) “Good morning, officer.  What can I do for you?” 

“Pull over behind that car over there.”

“Can I ask wha…….”

“PULL OVER BEHIND THAT CAR OVER THERE.”

Right.  My mind begins to race.  What did I do?  I couldn’t have been speeding…… and I know I used my blinker.  My seat belt is fastened….so what on earth…….?  One quick glance in the rearview mirror and I understood.  I was being pulled over for a DWU (Driving While Ugly).  Good Lord!  Hadn’t brushed my teeth (we woke up really late and we still had to stop for coffee!), not a spot of makeup and a stained/ripped t-shirt that I was certain no one would see. 

I pulled over as instructed and waited to learn my fate.  I noticed that the trooper up ahead was involved in a conversation with another driver, so I decided that I might be able to fix myself up before he got to me.  I reached into my purse and grabbed the first thing I could find.  Dark purple eye shadow.  I was trying to be discreet.  Keep my eye on my surrounding and give myself a makeover  before Officer Scary got around to me.  I stealthily (is that even a word?) swiped the shadow across my eyelid without looking suspicious, just as Officer Sneaky approached me from behind. 

“What were you pulled over for?” he asked.

I smiled as I batted my one bright purple eye.  DWI -driving while an IDIOT!  I thought to myself. “I’m not sure officer.” 

It turns out they spotted my missing front license plate.  The good news is that I HAD actually reported it stolen/missing, though I never did pick up the police report and get the new plates.

“Don’t get nervous,” the officer reassured.  “I’m not gonna give you a ticket.  Just let me see your registration….”

Oh yeah.  About that…..I handed Officer Scary my registration (oops-that had only just expired a month or so ago….).  Apparently, he’s not allowed to take me at my word that I did renew it in time,  and just never put the new paperwork in the car.  “I know right where it is, sir.  It’s in one of the piles on my kitchen counter.”

“I have piles on my kitchen counter too,” Officer Not-So-Scary-Anymore said with a smile and a laugh as he went back to his car to look up my record.

Then we’re perfect for each other, I thought.  Quick!  Where’s my lipstick?

I’m thinking of filming my own reality TV show.  If Tommy Lee Goes to College and Hogan Knows Best can make it onto the screen, I can’t imagine that there isn’t room enough for my show.   And it wouldn’t require anything other than a tripod and a camera. 

The Adventures of Couch Girl.  The show would follow me (and my life as it passes) while I sit here on my couch.  Fans would tune in to watch as my youth fades and my ass flares.   Checking in with the “Couch Cam” every Friday night at 8:30PM, followers could find out if the job of my dreams was actually hiding under the cushions afterall.  Next week’s trailer would leave them wondering, Did the UPS man finally let himself in and surprisingly enough, turn out to be the love of my life?  Episode  3 is gonna be a real cliff hanger when I reach the bottom of the Cheetos bag……

Will Michelle now be forced to get up or will she still be here next Friday night?…….

It has come to my attention that November is National Novel Writing Month (thanks Debra Reflecting http://reflecting.wordpress.com/ and Rich DiGirolamo http://richdigirolamo.com/ !).   I have always wanted to write a book.  Maybe not a novel, per se, but I’ve always wanted to write a bestseller.   How else am I ever gonna be BFF’s with Oprah? 

Don’t worry.  Never for a minute did I believe I could do it.  I’m not nearly disciplined or committed enough.  But if I ever was to try, I do like the approach that the National Novel Writing Month website  ( http://www.nanowrimo.org/ ) takes.  The site encourages quantity, not quality.  It states, “The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly.  Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap.  (No shit…..)  And that’s a good thing. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.”  

This makes perfect sense to me.  I waste way too much time editing myself.  (On paper and out in the world)  I am forever waiting for the better idea.  It’s too bad I missed the starting date of November 1st.  If I was only one day off….perhaps I could catch up.  But 3 days behind?  No way!  With a strict end date of November 30th, I’d just be chasing after the train.  I’ve already psyched myself out.

So for now….I just consider next year’s possible titles…..

Clearly, I Have Issues…….

The Little Whisker That Could

A Grim Fairy Tale

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Head

Kicking and Screaming Is One Way To Get There

Catchin’ Her With The Rye

Granny Pantie Goddess

I Used To Be Hot, But Now I’m Just Sweaty

I’m sure by next November I’ll be completely ready to tackle this task.  If you have any title suggestions, I’d love to hear them. 

I just renewed my health insurance. 

November 1st was quickly approaching and I had to make a decision whether or not to renew my policy as is, or select a different provider/plan.  I was given information about my choices and time to weigh my decision.  Ultimately, I chose to renew the same plan I had last year (the only one I could afford…..but I digress…..).

I started thinking that perhaps this is how relationships should work. With renewable options.  “Do you _____ take _____ to be your lawfully wedded (spouse), and will you love, honor and cherish him/her until death do you part?”   becomes  “Do you _____ take _____ to be your lawfully wedded (spouse), and will you love, honor and cherish him/her until your contract ends next November?”

I don’t mean to be cynical, and I still consider myself a romantic, but forever is a LOOOOOONNNG time.  People get lazy.  And busy. We forget to try our best.  We stop being our best.  Perhaps this wouldn’t be the case if we knew that our partners/friends/family members would be given a yearly choice to opt out of the relationship.  

I might have shaved my legs more often that fall if I knew he could have opted out in November.  And maybe he wouldn’t have slept with so many other women if he knew (never mind….bad example…….)

Well I just think people shouldn’t take other people for granted.  You might not be able to get the same “coverage” next year.

Gigi was a pisser. 

Gigi was my maternal grandmother, and today (Halloween) would have been her 97th birthday.  She was larger than life.  A character in every way.  And I miss her.

When I look in the mirror these days  I can see her…… I see her in my double chin and ever-expanding mid-section.  I hear her each time I wheeze upon laughing.  Unfortunately, I am only resembling her these days physically, when it would serve me well to be like her in other ways.  

Gigi thought highly of herself without apologizing for it.  Everywhere she went, she was all dolled up.  Every outfit had its matching hat and scarf, bag and bauble.  She would “tell it like it is”,  and didn’t seem too worried about what anyone thought.   She wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted,  yet always took the time to think of the needs of others.  She never met a stranger she didn’t like and left everyone a friend.  

Gigi was always ready for a party (especially one in her honor), and delighted in receiving gifts.  (“You really shouldn’t have…..but I’m SO glad you did!”)  It seems that lately, I  have ignored the gifts she shared.  Gigi squeezed the juice out of life, and danced as long as her failing heart would let her.   

So here’s to you, Gigi……tonight I dance.XO