Music to My Ears

Recently, I've been realizing that one day everyone I love is going to die. Even people I don't love will die. Everyone will die. Even me.
But I think about one person particularly. My mom. So I'd like to write down one thing I realized I absolutely love about her today.

My mom taught in the elementary school I went to. She was a fourth grade teacher and was one of the best but of course as a kid I didn't see that. I just saw the stuff that annoyed me. The way she was always in the hallways, the way she was friends with my teachers, the way she knew what bad things I did almost before I did them. All of these things bugged the crap out of me but there was one thing I couldn't stand. I could hear her laughter all the way upstairs. I would cringe every time I heard it. I was embarrassed every time.

As I've gotten older, I stopped being embarrassed of it. I even started to mimic it. I can proudly say, I have a much more distinct laugh than she does now.

But today as my mom and I were watching How I Met Your Mother, I heard her laugh loud and proud like when I was a kid. In that moment I realized that is one of the things I will miss the most when she is gone many MANY years from now. Whether she's laughing at me or a TV show, my mom's laughter is one of the things that genuinely fills me with joy. I try to make her laugh as much as I can because it is like music to my ears. Tonight, it brought me to tears. I hid my face as she said goodnight and walk to her bedroom but I had to write it down. I had to tell the world that my mother's laughter brightens even my saddest days. Her laughter is her. Every thing she is and was comes out in that laugh. Years of struggle and heart ache. Years of happiness. Years of finding herself just like I am right now. When I was just an idea, she was laughing. When I was growing up and hating her laughter, she was laughing. When I'm grown and have my own kids to laugh with, she'll be laughing still. She is such a joyful person and I'm happy that nobody has ever taken that away from her.

So now as I move into my life 6 hours away from her, I will always remember her laugh. I'll hear it in the audiences I perform to. When I hear it I will remember that she is the reason I am alive and doing what I love. I can never thank her enough for that. But I'm certainly going to try.

Thanks for listening. Come back for more.

Yet Another Monologue

I think it’s easier to be lonely when you miss someone. You can think back on the good old days and smile for a second. But I don’t miss anyone. I miss having someone to talk to and touch but that someone isn’t specific. I’ve had a lot of ex lovers but none of them are something to be missed. Or maybe I just can’t remember. I sit and I watch couples. I watched this girl the other day and I could see from the moment I looked at her that she was trying to be lovable. She was giggling and moving slowly. Like she was trying to be a romantic lead. I watched her for a long time. My first thought was to hate her. I started thinking that she was “throwing” herself at him. But then I realized, I just missed that part of me. The me that is trying to look cute and vulnerable. But then I realized she doesn’t exist anymore. Even in my last relationship, she wasn’t there. She is pointless. Worthless. A waste of time. But I miss her very much. I miss seeing a guy and looking like that girl. Sweet, unbroken, completely open. Not me anymore. I’m hard, broken and reserved….Afraid. Lonely. It hits me the worst at night. I have two pillows on my bed. Two pillows. I could put one in the middle or throw the other one off once I get in bed. But no. All the time. Two pillows. They fill the head of my bed like a man would fill my thoughts. Why do I do that to myself? I lay on the left side most of the time. It’s closer to my side table which has my phone. The glowing light makes me feel comforted at night. Until I have to finally put it away. Then I roll over. I roll over and that damn pillow is empty. It glares at me. I try to imagine someone there. Someone I care about. But I don’t care about anyone. Why should I? They’ll just leave. Once they get what they want from me, they’ll be out. So why trouble myself? Deep down I know that but then I look at that pillow and want to be open, and cute again. I pretend someone is there and I laugh. I laugh like he made a really bad joke but I don’t care. He’s too wonderful to call out. I accept him for his corny jokes and flaws. I feel him touch my face as I laugh. It’s warm. But not just on my face. The kind of warm that warms up all of you. Even your insides. I just want to be warm. He makes me warm. Then I feel my arm go numb underneath my body and I lose him. This man. This figment of my imagination. Gone. He doesn’t have a face or a name. Just a feeling. And the feeling disappears as I turn back to my side table. I drift into sleep. Probably a dream about this man. Where we do more than just laugh. We sing and go out. He talks and has face. He touches me again and I feel the same warmth. But then I wake up. Alone. I wipe the drool from my face and I roll over and look at that pillow. Empty. As always. But every time I hope my someone will be there. But he won’t so I get up and make my coffee and look at my already aging face in the mirror. Make some excuse why it’s not as perfect as Leslie’s then accept this is what I look like. This is who I am. And every morning I have to convince myself to fall back in love with this face. Then I go on with my day. Alone. Always alone. 

Gay Agenda

A week ago today, I was asked to partake in a silent protest of a anti-gay speaker. I said of course I would be there. I was under the impression that students from the theater department, alone, would be doing this protest. When I arrived at the venue, the amount of people was overwhelming. "Man, I hope everyone here is to boo this man." I sat down with my fellow classmates and waited. I waited and listened. There was a buzz about the room. I couldn't feel whether it was positive or negative but something was brewing. There was a heaviness.
We were then informed that our speaker was late. Then they made a terrible mistake on their part. They let the audience speak.
That energy that had been brewing was now able to be channeled into comments about our reason for being here.
Many people expressed that they were gay and had "no agenda" as described in the propaganda for this speech.
Many others expressed how they do not believe it is okay to judge others based on their sexual orientation.
I personally expressed that I was there for my step-sister who had been beaten by two people on Miami Universities campus for being gay. There were no legal actions against her aggressors because it isn't considered a hate crime in Ohio.
 After the comments from the gay loving audience, a member of the Traditional Values Club (TVC), the club who brought this bigot to our school, began sharing his beliefs. Do you want to know his reasoning? Because he doesn't think that wedding industry professionals that don't believe in gay marriage should be forced to be employed by gay couples. I laughed out loud. I thought, "I'm so sorry your bigot photographers are getting paid to capture one of the happiest moments of the 'gay agenda'."
Once the speaker arrived, it was obvious that the vast majority disagreed with him.
He walked in excited about the large numbers but was unaware of all that just took place.

Before the speaker spoke, the head of the TVC spoke to welcome him. Instead of just thanking us for our comments and introducing him, she started to bring up old shit. Apparently, a while back another group was protesting a TVC event with signs and they were taken away by Sinclair police because you aren't allowed to have signs on campus. This dim witted woman decided to first bring this up out of nowhere and then tell us that it wasn't their fault. Someone else called the cops. I laughed out loud yet again. Why does this woman feel the need to explain herself? Because she knows what she is doing is wrong. 

When the speaker, Porno Pete, I mean, Peter LaBarbara finally came to the podium, the crowd was enraged.
He started with a joke. "Classy Pete." I thought to myself. "We'll totally agree with you if you joke about how backed up the interstate is." 
Not long after he opened up his power point, I saw a woman stand up out of the corner of my eye. She looked around and said, "Let's go." with her eyes. 95% of the crowd stood up and walked towards the exits, some of which were towards LaBarbara. An elderly woman actually got up and grabbed members of the mob we had created and pulled them to stay saying, "Come on! Really?!" It was beautiful.

We walked to Building 8 where there were cookies and condoms waiting. It was our reward for standing up against oppression.

The TVC continues to exist and Peter LaBarbara continues to spray his hate speech. But thanks to the students and faculty, we are one step closer to making these organizations and speakers cease to exist. My hope is that one of these days, Peter LaBarbara will be jobless and the TVC will lose all funding. Thanks to our actions, that day looks just over the horizon.

Thanks for listening. Come back for more.

Eye Contact: Crack for Girls with Daddy Issues

I have daddy issues. As I normally do with painful experiences, I poke fun at it in my stand up quite a bit. "I call that my daddy issues laugh." is one of my best.

I once heard a spoken word poet say, "Us of the fatherless tribe love men differently." This line has stayed with me. So I want to take a minute of your time to explain what effect this has had on me.

My dad has been an alcoholic since the early 90s. My mother put up with it until I was in kindergarten. When they divorced, I was too young to really see how big of an effect it would have on my life. I just thought, "It's better for my mom this way." Don't get me wrong, it was. She has become an independent, strong willed woman. She has helped me see that you don't need a man to survive and I can't thank her enough for instilling that in me early on in life.
But once they were divorced, my dad became a shell of a person. He drank all the time. This man made six figures but lived in a house on Leo Street. One word: Ghetto. The reason he moved to that God awful place? So he could afford more beer. Milwakee's Best Light. Nasty. I will NEVER drink that shit because of him. I just remember the garbage bins overflowing with cans, the sink overflowing with dishes and the laundry baskets overflowing with dirty clothes. He slept through most of my childhood. I mean it. I had to wake him up to take me home. I would go to his house on the weekends and play the Sims 2 the whole time and then wake him up to take me back. We never laughed. We never talked about life. I played, he slept.
One day, I had finally had enough. It was New Years Eve and he had me for the night. It was about 10:30pm and he was asleep. I tried to wake him up to celebrate but he wouldn't. So I called my mom and asked her to pick me up. Then I wrote him a note saying he needed to get help. That note was the last time I told him that I loved him and meant it. I was 12.
After that, I stopped seeing him for about 2 years. I stopped visiting because I couldn't be ignored anymore.
My eighth grade year, with much guilt tripping from my mother, I reached out to him again. I wanted to visit on Thursdays. The first one was okay but as usual, I came home feeling like poop.
After that, every Thursday after school I would have a voicemail when I turned my phone on saying he couldn't come get me. I lived in New Carlisle and he lived in Dayton. For those keeping track that's only a 30 minute drive. He said it would take to long to get me and drive me back. All would be able to do is eat then I'd have to go home. It's not worth it. Or "You're not worth it." as I heard in my head.
After that, I was done. I gave up on a man that had given up on himself years before that. He kept up with my brothers and would only invite me to dinner if they were there too. I invited him to my shows in high school and he came to one.

But the scars of that failed relationship effect my outlook on men. I feel I have to do more to make them pay attention to me. I always thought, "Maybe if I was cooler, they would like me." I now realize this comes directly from my daddy issues. I never had a man show me how a man should treat a woman. So for a long time I handed my heart to people that didn't deserve it and lost parts of myself.
I also feel like I need a man's attention because I didn't get it as a child. I kid you not, sometimes I feel a physical aching when I want a guy to pay attention to me. Eye contact is like crack to me. It has made me do things with men that I necessarily didn't want to do, just so they would "like me".

The first step is admitting you have a problem. I know that this aching for men may never go away. But being aware of it's origin helps me control it. When I feel that aching, instead of acting on it, I can stop myself and say, "You don't want that."
So for all of my fellow women with daddy issues, stay strong and remember they don't define you. You define you. I know that I am a strong, intelligent woman who can provide for herself. Remembering that keeps me focused on my future and out of trouble.

Thanks for listening. Come back for more.