great-full

i am a cautious optimist. i want things to go well, just usually assume they won't. in my kitchen, the glass isn't half empty or full...it's just got something in it.

see? look. something. neither good nor bad.

just...something.

but then, there are days when the glass is so indubitibly full of Great that it spills out onto the floor and ya can't help but notice the way it catches the sunlight and you just gotta splash around in the puddle...

sometimes things just click. things just work.

sometimes...

it rains, but people come anyway...and pay.

you have greasy hair, but you want greasy hair b/c it stays put - where you need it when you're running around like a madwoman performing, schlepping cases of beer, or schmoooozing.

your skin is clear and your eyes are bag-free even though you stayed up until 3am fretting about attendance and making "bathrooms are on 4" signs on the computer.

just days before your event, you find the perfect red sparkly shoes at a reasonable price that have a substantial tread making them excellent for both walking and dancing and driving a red 4 x 4 ford pick up.

i think i've found my true love.

the giant standard transmission red Ford pickup (circa 1970) you're driving that squeals like a piggy every time you turn the wheel, doesn't explode in the Costco parking lot like you think it might, torching all of the goodies for your guests. you actually find you enjoy driving it - you are woman, hear you roar - especially when you realize that most men you know can't. ha!

you find a parking space right in front of the theatre and right next door to a mexican restaurant that makes excellent vegetable quesadillas to-go with fresh broccoli and spinach. the delectable juice drips down your arm, but you don't care. you lean on your red jalopey and devour it in the early summer sun. the only thing that's missing are the cowboy boots.

you perform your piece and it just feels right. like an extension of yourself, not like you're performing, you're just being.

you fuck up during said performance, but you keep going anyway, and people either 1. don't notice or 2. don't care 3. love you because of it or 4. you don't care. even better.

props for my show - they got kicked, they got punched,
they got hugged. it was very dysfunctional.

people just get it, and that feels good...or don't get it, which still bothers you because you still want everyone to like you, like you like you! but you realize it doesn't matter if they don't all get it. it's the ones that do, that need it.

you still feel fat (ARRRGH!), but you smile for the pictures anyway. cheeeeese.

post party pic, this installation represented the bust-waist-hip measurements laid flat
of Barbie if she existed as a human, an "average" supermodel, and the average woman

and you eat some blue cheeeeese...and drink some red wine...and you feel fiiiiine.

you dance to the amazing jazz music (donated!) of your friend b. and his melodious little trio, asking yourself, how did i get here, lucky duck - surrounded by so many talented people who offer me their gifts like gumdrops?

the bra/bar

your friends stay 'til the very last - helping you clean up every little crumb, and because they are so economical and don't want your money to go to waste, finish off all of the wine, and make total asses of themselves climbing all over the beloved pickup for pictures.

guests took s'mores2go home with them

and sometimes, you realize, on your way home, driving over the 59th street bridge in a rattling pickup, wind blowing through your hair, (gosh, the skyscrapers are like a bevy of sequinned pageant queens checking out their reflection in the east river, you think.), that the secret to not being hungry anymore might be in the feeding of someone else.

and caramels...well...you'll just have to see the show, won't you?

thank heavens for some times.