Good riddance.

Dear Gut,
I will NEVER ignore you again. Never. I love you and you have never led me astray. It's only when I rationalize your wisdom away that I fuck up. You are tough. You have a spine. You see through all bullshit. You are the smartest, bestest, most mature part of me. You love me in a way that I do not love myself but I'm learning to try.
---

Thanks to Ji, Laura, quickstuff and my sister for talking me down and/or setting me straight in the last last ten days or so.

The guy I was dating invited me out tonight, hung all over a younger, prettier, better-bodied girl in front of me and then introduced me to her as "my FRIEND Kath." Then he sent me home while waiting for her to pay her tab. He said he had to go home to walk his dog but I suspect that was a lie.

I'm not sure what happened to the sweet guy who used to leave me "I'm thinking of you voicemails" but he left a while ago and he's not coming back.

I'm not wasting another second worrying about it. If our paths cross in our comedy journeys, I'll be polite. That is all.

Clean slate in 2010. Year end roundup to come.

Thanks again, y'all.

20 bucks, First Corinthians.

I like him. I do. For the first time in a very, very long time, I like someone. I am genuinely interested in him and I'm wildly attracted to him.

We've known each other for six months. He asked me out a few weeks ago. It was really lovely. He drove me home. We kissed. Just kissed. No wandering hands. Necks and ears may have been addressed. It was hot. Next morning followup phonecalls and emails were made that continued for a week. Then... we went out again. He wasn't happy. He was in his head. He sat across from me and listed the concerns he had about dating me, said that what we'd done the week prior was "moving too fast for [him]."

"It was just kissing," I said.

"That was too much for me," he said.

We stared at each other and held hands for what seemed like five minutes. He's older than I am. Divorced. Two children. In his eyes I saw what looked like years of sadness. I didn't know what to say or do and this is what fell out of my mouth:

"So does this mean no more kissing?"

I was speaking the God's honest truth and we both laughed.

He drove me home. I wasn't going to touch him with a ten foot pole but he did kiss on me a little. For much less time. With much less intensity. I held back and he did whatever he was comfortable doing I guess. We hugged. I chewed on his ear, for which I immediately apologized. I left.

There was no followup call or email. I heard from him yesterday. It was an email so generic it could've come from his golden retriever.

I don't know what makes a man change so quickly. Maybe he's still going through post-divorce stuff. I know his ex shattered his self-esteem. When we parted ways, he'd made noise about seeing me this weekend when he's in the city but hasn't mentioned it again. When he seemed all sunshiney about me, I had hoped that I might have a New Years date for the first time in four years. That's most definitely not happening. Hell, I don't even know if I'll get a text.

He, when listing his concerns, talked about how much he'd been hurt in the past and how he couldn't get hurt again. (I gently reminded him that HE asked ME out.) God knows I haven't been through his life experience but I get loss. I understand hurt. For better or worse, at this point in my non-linear, unconventional life, when marriage is the only piece I crave of the marriage/children/home ownership trifecta, I'm willing to take a risk. That's right. Maybe this guy isn't a risk worth taking and I suspect he's taking himself off of my table but if getting hurt again is the risk I take for potentially loving again, fuck fear I say. I can't promise anyone that I won't hurt them nor do I think they could promise that to me but I'll be fucked if I'll let something decent pass me by when something so decent doesn't come around very often.

"I'll always be honest with you," he said.

So if you're on your way out, my new friend, please just go. Because I'm confident something better is making its way toward me.

It's not time to worry yet. It's not time to worry yet.

I found out today that my godmother, my mom's sister, has bone cancer. It doesn't look good.

Then my gynecologist called me.

"Hi sweetie, it's Dr. F. How are you?"

The doctor never calls with good news. They send you a postcard that tells you your pap smear was normal.

"Fine."

"I'm calling because your pap smear came back with some irregular cells and you tested positive for the HPV virus."

I've had sex about eight times in three years. How did this happen? When was the last time I had unprotected sex? September 2008. Have I had this since then?

"Oh my god. What does that mean?"

"It just means I need to take a look at your cervix. I'll have you come in for a ____" (insert word that I can't spell or pronounce)

"I'm freaking out, Dr. F."

"It's totally routine. This is my bread and butter. It could be a false positive. And I promise you, come in, we'll have a look and you'll never have to worry about cervical cancer."

"Um. Okay."

"I'll transfer you to the receptionist so you can make an appointment. Have a good holiday, honey."

Have a good holiday?!!!!!

The earliest appointment is in late January. They say it's not pressing. I have a fucking STD! How is that not pressing? I have abnormal cells! What the fuck?

I don't get it. I hardly ever have sex. And I just started dating someone and because he's snipped or whatever, if we were to get it on, we wouldn't have to use anything. Although sex isn't even a thought in my head at this point. Oh my god. I feel so gross and awful. And yeah, maybe all this could be nothing and God willing it is but my family's history with this stuff ain't great.

And I wouldn't put something this out there in the world except for the fact that I don't want to tell my family until there is something to truly worry about cuz the last thing they need is more not-great-news around Christmas. Again.

The funny thing is that the whole reason I went to my doc was for debilitating cramps and because I didn't feel great after the last time I had sex. And now... fuck.

In the lane snow is glistening....

Just watched Julie and Julia. I don't know if blogs get picked up for books and then movies anymore but wow do I admire Julie's discipline. I haven't blogged everyday in years. I kept thinking "This is great and all but at least these chicks are married. One less piece to figure out." Which isn't fair at all, really. Because you apparently can be married and still have NO IDEA what to do with your life. I hear this. Or maybe I read it.

I took a solo show writing/performing class this past month. It was great. But I felt raw and shy and really vulnerable. All my 7th grade angst seemed to come back. I was aware of my big hair and my acne and my weird voice (I always felt like I sounded like Penny Marshall, who I think didn't like her voice either). I forget how different acting and standup are. And how different the writing for each really is. And I think, for the first time, in a while, I might not write a play that's so completely about my parents, though, as my teacher said last week:

"No matter what you write, you're gonna write about your mom."

And I reckon there's a fair amount of truth to that.

But one nice theme (of many nice themes) in J and J is that both women took a look at something they really loved and literally made a meal of it. Made a career of it. And it brought them not only great joy but wonderful success. I know I love writing and I know I love stand-up and while I love/hate being the center of attention, hand me a mic and all of that changes. Even when it's godawful, I know I lived a little more that day.

And I'm dating. An adult. Considerably older. Someone whose life and responsibilities and experiences are wildly different from mine. And he's one of two in the pot. Maybe three but that's pushing it. But I kissed on this gentleman last week. Just kissed and thought "Christ. If that's what KISSING is like...." Neither of these guys really resemble the sort of man I thought I'd end up with - and it's quite possible I'll end up with neither - but I'm trying to keep an open mind about things. When you realize you don't want children of your own, and I have, something changes. The timelines, the things that should be in place. Oh geez. I know I'm no expert at these things. I'm having a really good time legitimately getting to know them without the pressure of "oh my god, please let me not die alone" is all.

JCN will delighted, I think, to know that I'm working on a bit that starts with "I got a shiny new wang to play with." (a phrase I stole from him) And while I don't have said wang yet, I'm hopeful.

You're light years away from reality.

Thankgiving. Phenomenal food. Oh my god. Deep fried turkey, sick mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes that tasted like apple butter, the traditional family stuffing. All of it so good you could put it on a sammich and eat it cold. Which we did.

It was as near idyllic as it gets. I got to know my sister's in-laws a bit better. Some of my mom's family came to town. We baptized my goddaughter, named after my mom.

Then.

That same cycle. I'm hesitant to write about it cuz I just gave the person in question a bigass verbal lashing for talking shit about me ON HER FACEBOOK WALL that her friends then COMMENTED upon. Who puts shit about their FAMILY on Facebook? Bottom line: I spent Saturday day and night with her. Babysat for her kids. Wasn't enough for her. She was still pissed. Pissed enough to say shit about me by name on Facebook. I'll be the first to admit that I've put offensive shit on Facebook, less so these days but I also block a whole shitload of people from seeing parts of my page.

But we cleared the air. And as pissed as I was, we did it. Went like this:

"Look, clearly you have a bone to pick with me. I'm inviting you to pick it."

She started. She paused. I told her to keep going.

"Just get it out. Say what you need to say. I'll respond when you're done."

She laid it out. She cried, which I did not see coming. I took notes not just to form my case but because I legitimately wanted her to feel heard.

I responded. There was a lot of "If I'd known that, I wouldn't've ...."

She wanted to know why I spent so much time with my sister, especially once she had kids. I thought telling her that I was trying to help fill the void would have inspired more understanding in her but I'm not sure that it did.

"Your mom spent a lot of time with you right after your babies were born, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well..."

"What about your brother? You didn't help him!"

"Uh, your mom was there and my sister was your nanny and I was a self-absorbed 27-year-old. I'm just as self-absorbed now but I have a little more money for plane tickets."

In turn, I was, well, sad that she was so sad. That she'd felt as crappy as she did for as long as she did. That we didn't have this conversation months, hell, years ago. And there were things I could've done differently. Phrased differently. Communicated more clearly.

I'd forgotten how much energy it takes to maintain anger and resentment. Cuz once it's gone, if only for a night before the next battle, whenever that occurs, you feel a fuck of a lot better.

At the end, we talked about next steps. I thanked her for being so honest with me and expressed my regret that we'd both let things get as bad as they were between us. I took my share.

I'd say I feel lighter but my Thankgiving girth has me feeling less than spry.

In other news, had a great solo show writing class tonight. I need structure and deadlines and a swift kick in the ass. First class. We had to come in with our life story in one page. Each of us (five in the class) had something dramatically different. It was great. I got laughs, which was nice. I apparently have a sparse voice and it works. It was a mix of all my usual stuff - dead mom, dudes I've dated and not quite bounced back from but then..... some stuff people referred to as social commentary. I talked about how the young guys who always ask for my number never call. They text. "I only talk to some people on the phone," they inevitably say. Then they call my texts standoffish. The stupidity is astounding. That was the last piece of my one page and for whatever reason was what my classmates, even the guy of the class, responded to most. I talked about how much I loved anti-depressants. I bounced rent checks, slept around, drank like a fish, chainsmoked and online dated successfully! Oh the '05 summer of Effexor! I mentioned that I lost my virginity at 16, just like every other girl at my high school. That never struck me as funny but my classmates were like "um, you send girls to Catholic school with the the hope that they won't find a way to fuck there. And yet you ALL did."

But I don't want to to tell the same stories I've told before, just repurposed. There's something else cooking.

There's something in this, I think. As much as I hate my bunions. Or some parts of my thighs .... I recognize them. They're my mom's feet. My mom's legs. Hell, my nose got pointy one day. Tis hers, too. I wouldn't choose these things but they're a none-too-gentle reminder of who I am and of her. As I edge closer to the age Mom was when she had me, I resemble her more.

During the feedback portion of the class, my teacher talked about persona. He referred to my protagonist as a cowboy. Someone who seems strong but desperately needs a connection. Has a good front but feels isolated and alone and isn't sure why. Vulnerable yet...

When the other end of my phone conversation cried, a part of me was impressed by her honesty. It's brave to cry in front of someone. There's strength in tears.

Suddenly I see.

Something shitty happened tonight. In a way, it's actually a blessing. Somebody who pursued me, someone I was into, totally flaked out on me. He was cute and funny. Unemployed. I suspect he owned an iphone like all the other unemployed comics under the age of 28 who hit on me. We'd planned to go out on a first date - a drink - this evening. He bailed. No money, he said. Makes you wonder why he ever asked me out in the first place. Makes you wonder why he's been gchatting and texting me for the last couple days to make sure we were still hanging out. Why he chose to flake at 7:16 for a 7:30 date with the text "the real question is how disappointed you'll be if we reschedule?"

Um, you asked ME out, remember?

But this post isn't entirely about guys. It's about me. And my head. The paranoia, the obsessive thinking, the constant questioning, the fantasizing. It's about this "just good enough" mentality that has snuck into my head.

At work. I could be more productive. I could be more patient. I could be friendlier.

In my comedy. I could write more. I could do more open mics. I could polish my material before I sling it on stage. I could network more. I could be friendlier. I could try to write on different subject matter.

In my body. There are four inches of skin just above my knees that I despise. There are about five inches just under my ass. And small bits here and there make me sad. But I tell myself -- it's good enough. Good enough for who? (whom?) No one really sees me naked. Ever. Why do I even care? But the point is that I should care and I should work out more and I should make strides to maintain a healthy body.

My apartment. It needs a few repairs. I need to reupholster some things. Fix a drawer. Get a new desk chair. Buy some plants. Re-do my bathroom. But for now, again. It's just good enough.

It's this sort of thinking that excuses all sorts of behavior. Your gut tells you one thing and the your fear lets you off the hook.

It's been an amazing last few days. I've seen an insane amount of really good theater. I went ice skating. I wrote some standup that went over really well Thursday night. I ate fairly healthfully. I did manage to eat cheesefries just now. I'm sorry but if a guy cancels a date, I'm gonna eat cheesefries. That's just how it's gonna be.

I'm genuinely trying to be more positive. At a recent dinner with girlfriends, we went around the table talking about boys and I said "I've got nothing to report but I'm hopeful."

Hopeful. It suggests that I see something good coming my way. I'm recognizing that if a guy flakes on me, it's not a reflection on my value. It's a statement about his. I'm still just as pretty, smart, funny, whatever as I was before he made a brief appearance in my existence. Yeah, having an attractive guy pursue me put a little spring in my step. It was awfully nice. It will happen again. And he will have a job and kindness and decency and he'll actually take my number with the intention of calling me. Not texting. Calling.

If I'm the designer of my own life - my appearance, my job, my career, my home, my relationships, how I spend my time ---I need to make some changes. And these negative patterns aren't helping. Rather than curse the world for the same variety of douchebag that keeps cropping up in my life, I should keep my eye on the prize of how I imagine my future partner to be. Rather than think daily about how much I miss my mom, maybe I can find small ways to connect with her in my day-to-day life, whatever that means. Rather than look around and wonder when it's gonna be my turn --- to be a paid creative or to find a partner, I need to work on me. Though, I thought that's what I was doing all along...

As we approach the end of 2009, I'm really proud of everything I accomplished. Maybe I'll even write one of those letters, the kind that I always seem to receive. I started a new career path, I went to Egypt, I'm the proud godmother of my new niece, I heard a play of mine read out loud, I reconnected with my commercial agent from 2004, I got reviewed in a nice chunky role(a transexual male!)in a sold-out and then extended show in the Fringe Festival, I had sex about eight times (Eight times in a YEAR. God almighty is that awful.), I did three shows in the Underground Comedy Festival, I made some really nice friends in comedy and theater, I maintained my financial stability nicely.... all in all, it's been a really great year.

I can alway find someone/ to say they sympathize./If I wear my heart out on my sleeve.

My head's going a mile a minute. This tends to happen when I clean my apartment. And when I'm wearing sneakers, oddly. The gods of comedy have been against me the last couple days. I didn't get a spot on the open mic I wanted and tonight I went to the Corner only to find there wasn't any room at the Inn. I had never been there on a Tuesday. It didn't feel friendly. I'm sure this is my paranoia talking.

Saw my shrink for my quarterly tune-up last week. Felt good. But he gave me the tough love.

There is something you're putting out there. I don't know what it is. I know you want to think that there's something wrong with you. You go out?

Yes.

You have fun?

Yes. And I'm surrounded by men. All the time.

And they don't talk to you?

Not really. I mean, I have this ugly 25-year-old unemployed, uneducated, bald, fat dude who's never been on a plane constantly pursuing me (though, at the time of this writing, he appears to have given up).

You need to act open and available.

I think I am.

But are you walking around with your heart open?

Shit.

I know my shyness sometimes comes off as something else. I know my fear of getting hurt and/or rejected again might sweat out in my pores but Jesus Christ, enough already.

I've got an iron in the fire. A potentially lovely person from my past. I don't know how much is there and I don't want to jinx it so I'll leave it at that. I know acting from a mindset of lack produces more lack so I'm to tell myself that there are plenty of lovely men out there for me to choose from and then they'll come marching into my life. Well, that feels like a lot of bullshit. I crush on people all the time but they're just crushes - often unavailable, often a bit younger. You see someone with a glint in their eye and a nice smile and you hope but the reality is that sometimes that's all it is.

I didn't get on stage tonight. Even if I'd bombed, I still would've grown a little. Instead I came home, watched the Biggest Loser, cleaned, did a little laundry, did some leg stuff and maybe I'll do some pilates before I pass out. I'm antsy, I'm cranky, I remind myself that I have to find my own path. Yes, I have some good friends in comedy and hopefully I'll continue to make more. No, I'm not part of the boys club ... I'll never be asked to play basketball in their league or put on a suit and see Billy Cosby. I've been asked to perform in front of two bookers next months, people who will potentially hire me for paying gigs, quite possibly roadwork.

I have to remind myself that the goal is to GET OUT OF open mics as quickly as possible. To take risks. Behave like you're already famous. That means I can't go by Kath on stage. I joke about it on stage but really I can't. Think like you've already got a tv show... whatever that goal is for you. I will only get better if I take risks. Trying new material. Trying new rooms. Taking the hosting gig on a rainy Friday night for an audience of five. Hell, playing dodgeball tomorrow even though my friend who got me on the team won't be there. I have to scare the shit out of myself every day.

The Amazon customer reviews for Skinny Bitch are a mixed bag. I think it's phenomenal. And worth every penny. I read this line aloud every day and night (it's been said countless other ways in countless other places but this one does it for me):

You can continue plodding along in your life feeling like you're not living up to your glorious potential or you can dedicate yourself to creating the life you want.

I don't want to plod. Not now. Not ever.