And on the 32nd Day of Christmas - 32 Actors Emoting

I've got the folks coming for an early dinner. Mom & Dad, my sister Joy (but not the faceless fiancee), Russ and Officer Cupcake, Shannon and Buttcrack, and an aunt. It's Christmas and my birthday! My tree's still up (until Monday,) and tonight they're all cashing in their Christmas present from Rolf and me.

I'm picking up some roast chickens on my way home from work - at lunch time. Then I'm making fresh angel hair pasta. I made a fantastic chicken stock which I'm going to turn into an Onion Pesto Sauce, in which I'll warm the chicken in once I get if off the bone, and pour it all on the platter of fresh pasta. Throw an Arugula and Parmesan salad on the side, and it's almost Gourmet to Go!

Then we're off the the theatre to see Noises Off! with Robert Protsky! I wish we were all going in a limousine, but we'll have to caravan to the Arena Stage in Washington on the Potomac River Waterfront. Our seats are one row behind the Dress Circle - which saved me a coupla' hundred bucks.

And what am I looking forward to most?

Hearing my dad laugh.

_________

Tomorrow - I'm going to walk around the lake, make a dish for a GLBT Potluck, nap, Potluck, then THEATRE AGAIN!!! To see a very evocative (and silent) production of MacBeth!

And then I'm going to Mrs. Walker's Cast/Birthday Party. (She was my wife in Tommy, and she's one day older than me. And yet, so hot.) And at Midnight It's'a My Birthday, too!

________

Then, on my birthday proper, church at Jimmy Carter's Washington DC Baptist, nice lunch somewhere or the wrestling match at George Mason University, then dinner with Tomas, Sonny and his boyfriend (who we haven't met), and maybe Puck and Memae too!

And then! WE're going to the THEATRE!!! To see Into the Woods!

It's Gay Night at Signature Theatre. So there's a party afterward right there!

________

Know what? I've got Monday off. And there's a free show at the National Theatre, in the Helen Hayes Gallery; it's A Carol Channing Birthday Party Staring Richard Skipper!

I think I'll go!

Hee-hee

Painting the town red

Yay, fun week for me I think. Metropolitian Opera of New York rebroadcast of The Magic Flute tomorrow night with my sister; Footloose Thursday with Leta Encore and her husband; Noises Off Friday at Arena Stage (Staring Robert Protsky) with my whole family; MacBeth by Synetic Theatre on Saturday at the Roslyn Spectrum; College Wrestling at George Mason University Sunday afternoon; and then Into the Woods on Pride Night Sunday at Signature Stage (That's my Birthday!)

Oh, AND I already saw Into the Woods, and Emily Skinner in Concert at Signature Open House last Sunday, and Whose Afraid of Virginia Wolf with Kathleen Turner and Bill Irwin on Friday at the Kennedy Center!!!!

(I'm going to crash Mrs. Walker's birthday party too!)

Good grief, I am so happy!

Happy Ever After

Leta Encore and I went to the open house for the new Signature Theatre yesterday! It's new 20 million dollar space in Shirlington (Arlington, 5 min. South of the Pentagon) is getting ready for their first production Into the Woods. Leta and I had a master class in auditioning, a master class in vocal performance, and we saw Emily Skinner in concert (she of SideShow on Broadway) and we saw a preview performance of Into the Woods! And it was all FREE! And FABULOUS!

Also in the news, I framed d'Ohgy's portrait. It's an 11 x 20 print, that cost me $12. But it was going to cost me $200 to have framed. So I found a bargain frame at World Market, and I made the mat myself with spray glue, poster paper and pleather. It cost $50! I have at least one more that I have to do. It hurt my back, leaning over a desk to figure it out for hours, but still, I can't wait to make the next one! It looks great!

Lastly, I bought a new scale for this diet. I've not been confident it was working, still. While the old scale said I weighed two-oh-something, with the something being either a 1 or a 7 (that's why I had to get another one), the new scale said I weighed 210. But new on hardly seemed to change over the last few weeks. So, this morning I pulled the bathroom rug back, and laid it on the tile to check it out - and it said I weith 200! and the old scale says I weigh 199! So, I either don't know my true starting weight, or I lost 10 lbs! By the old scale I lost 8!

So, whatever the case, It looks like I'm finally off to a good start. Now, I've got to get Rolf to start losing. He's not going to make it. He'll be the outsider in the house of skinny bitches in Rehoboth, and that won't make anybody happy!

I wish!

WATCH Me!

WATCH Award Nominations come out on Sunday - and it may be just a technicality, but I am eligible for a Best Actor in a Musical Nomination - along with about 2000 other technically eligible men.

Wouldnt' that be fun! I like being nominated. hmmm.

It Was Just One of Those Things

Hey - I'm not writing well, but I wanted to apologize for being so depressed on Saturday morning. It didn't last. The beautiful 70 degree day was too good to pass up, so d'Oghy and I walked around the whole lake, which was just beautiful.

I had worked really hard for the dinner party. Rolf had to do a lot of the last minute preparations because he got mad at me on Wednesday night, and sequestered himself in the basement watching TV for 5 hours instead of doing any housework. And then on Thursday he accepted an invitation to go play geezerball, so he didn't do much then either, although he did get much of my list of things done before he left.

I had gotten the dinner table set on Wednesday, I made a fantastic chicken stock. . . and lots of other stuff. The only other food I made in advance was part of the dessert, an Italian custard called Zabagione. He got home and still had to make his part of the dessert (poached pears) . . . getting to bed at 3am.

Of course, he didn't put in a full day at work. He's not been getting enough hours in all year it seems to me. I don't remember who got home first, but right away I got busy working on the kitchen, well the upstairs kitchen. It was 5:30, and we really thought we could get dinner ready by 7:30; including making fresh pasta.

Well, I was really excited about the party. I love cooking for people. I was a bit resigned that our house wouldn't look as good as I'd like, but Rolf had other ideas and worked his butt off doing the "sweep and run" of everything that was out of place. Of course, that was instead of helping make a salad or anything having to do with food. He ended up finishing the pasta though.

And he was a stressed out jerk. I had gotten to the store to pick up some water glasses. We were down to 5 of them, and there would be 8 for dinner. I matched the new glasses (in size and shape) to the ones we already have because I think I'm going to go bankrupt before summertime, and we like the old glasses.

But he went off and started shouting at me that I should have gotten a complete new set, while I just leaned against the kitchen sink all too bored until I got fed up and lost my temper, slapping my hands together like I was trying to stop a dog from chewing up a shoe, and yelling at him to shut up saying "why can't you make getting ready for this party a fun time and treat me with a little gratitude. We're in this together and I've already worked my butt of for this you know." And he steamed off.

Well, our plan was that I was going to prepare the rest of the food downstairs. I have two kitchens; the one upstairs needs a new oven and stove top; however, I'd never used the kitchen downstairs other than to roast a turkey that was too big for the oven upstairs. And I ran into some trouble.

So, a little while later, I'm back in the upstairs kitchen. I've got the kitchenaide kneading the pasta dough, and I'm gathering all the pots pans I'll need downstairs . . . it is now 6:30, dinner guests are to arrive at 7:30. Well, Rolf came in to take over the pasta making. I guess I was still irritated with him.

I don't know what I said. I don't remember saying anything really. I must have asked him something because, while he was standing on the other side of the counter watching the pasta dough take form, he responded to my forgotten question saying:

"I'd tell you if I wasn't so angry.!" To which I started screaming that he had no right to be angry, that "I'm wonderful."

He didn't mean it, he tried to apologize, but I grabbed the pots and pans and went downstairs, crying.

Rolf came down and apologized, pestering me until I said I forgave him, saying that he was sorry, it was just because of the stress.

I was cooking downstairs because we didn't think it was appropriate to still be making dinner when the guests arrive, although we do it all the time with our other friends and family. I always have plenty of appetizers, and I get to cook with my friends. Well, this night I had an appetizer to make (Rosemary Roasted Cashews,) salad to make, and the entree which was Sauteed Chicken and Zucchini with capers over fresh angel hair pasta with a chicken, wine, and garlic sauce.

And it took forever.

I was using two 12 inch fry pans. But the stove, and this was not the best time to find this out, is not level. So I had to hold one of the pans upright at all times, which really prevented me from multitasking.

The guests arrive at 7:30, and I'm hustling downstairs, alone and angry that I'm doing all this, and treated like garbage, although this isn't what he had planned either. It was embarrassing. He came down and checked on me often, and I made some really bad timing decisions. The salad that took me 15 to 20 minutes itself because the Arugula had to be washed. . . that I could have sent upstairs for him to do while talking to the guests. And It was a bad choice of a menu since we didn't think the scallopined chicken could have been made the night before. Still, it really didn't seem like that much. Cook the zucchini, cook the chicken, boil the pasta, make the sauce: voila!

So, before I cooked the chicken, he made me come up and visit for a moment. Which I'm glad I did, and although everything turned out fine, I was really unhappy.

I made a well in the platter of pasta, and piled the zucchini sauted in olive oil in the middle, and shingled the chicken breasts around the platter, and poured the whole half gallon of sauce right on top. The pasta started soaking it up. The whole platter seemed to be dusted with capers.

Rolf had taken everything else up as I finished it, so all I needed to do was take my apron off, tuck in my shirt and take it up, which was fun. (It was delicious, and I didn't drop it by the way.) As a matter of fact, just about everything worked out fine. Except of course, it took me two and a half hours instead of one and a half hours. And dinner, which was supposed to be at about 8, was at quarter after 9. I can't be sure if they realized they were eating a masterpiece, or if they were simply starving.

It was fun to carry it upstairs and around the room (carefully because it was full of hot liquid, and it was very heavy) showing them and saying "It's finally ready! Look what I made you! You lucky people!"

Rolf and I got along, there wasn't any problem there. Except I know from the way he gave me the evil eye when I was talking about Zeigfields drag and strp club - it's closing to make leeway for the baseball stadium came up - and I know he wasn't happy when I was showing somebody the Christmas ornament I stole from Jesus' apartment warming. I drank, not too too much. But it was all ok.

When we shut the door after the last guest left, I started throwing off clothes until I was naked by the time I was laying on the couch in the sunroom.

"Well, I think that went pretty well," he said, hopeful that there might be sex.

"Are you kidding me? I worked my butt off, missed half the party, embarrassed to the core, and you made me cry! NO! It wasn't ok."

He sat, my feet in his lap and rubbed them while I sulked.

Maybe that's why I was so incredibly upset on Saturday morning. I really am embarrassed. But, we threw a great party with incredible food. And I did get to spend more than a couple of hours with them. It was a delight. But I was just so embarrassed that I had been away from the party and that dinner was so late, I just couldn't seem to let it go - add in that Rolf railed at me about the stupid water glasses, and then made me cry later - even though he may have thought he was being funny.

I don't know if he wasn't talking to me on Saturday morning because I was still sulking, or if he was mad that I'd said things about strippers or stolen Christmas ornaments, or maybe he was just ashamed . . . but I got over it on the walk around the lake, where joggers were wearing shorts, men wore no shirts, and I saw deer frolicking in the marsh. And I thought, "I just don't really want to be mad. And besides, I really shouldn't hold a grudge when I can be so awful myself . . . "

So, after he got home with his cute haircut; I made lunch.

All the best,
Vig

So goodbye, Dear, and Amen.
Here's hoping we meet now and then,
It was great fun,
But it was just one of those things.

Accent-tchu-ate the positive, my ass

The sun is shining
The leaves are brown
And Birds fly over the lake
Out beyond my tree
To celebrate the nativity
But it’s the morning of regrets,
And I’m embarrassed to think of my guests.

I’m wishing that I was not me
But someone who I would like to know
Where my heart laughs
And people listen
To be what I’ve come to be
I’m wishing that I was not me
With every cocktail that I hide
May my days be Exciting Creative and Light
And may I all ways know that I am right.

I am the possiblity of Excitement, Creativity, Compassion, and Light; even without booze, Rolf, this house, my job, I'm not dead yet. I'm still here, still trying, still dying. "I'm one of the good guys, drowning in plenty and whining for more." How did I get here. A better question is where would I be if I wasn't here. I'd have been fighting for my life, when co-workers said AIDS was judgement from G-d. I hope that bitch is Dead. Is this survivor's guilt? I used to pray that I'd get thrown into boot camp or something to clear my mind out, develop some dicipline. Always hurt, lost, confused, scared. That's why I'm always appalled when someone commits suicide, because I know why. Thank god for my loved ones. I could never do that to them. They have no idea how they hold me up. But the drinking has got to stop. And this anti-depressant is damaging my heart - I think that's why I've become easily winded. But, I can't stop taking it for fear that I'll jump off a bridge. I'm sorry, I'm just upset this morning. Mad, hurt, ashamed and angry; teary too.

Rolf is asleep. I'm locked in the office, snuggly warm from a hot restorative bath. This room has been cleaned to the nines. With the art work I put up this week, (three are Rolf's degrees, plus a WWII print of soldiers taking a shower; advising "It's an Old American Custom KEEP CLEAN Take a bath every day you can" well, they're naked it's kitchy, fun, and it was a gift from one of our dinner guests last night,) well, with the art work, everything so clean and organized; I wonder where he put it all. I didn't think that the house needed that much work. It was ok with me if there was . . . well it wasn't really ok with me, I was just resigned to the house not glimmering . But he did get it to glimmer. It really looks nice. Organized and elegant, just don't open any closet door.

It seems the whole week has been devoted to the dinner party, but in reality there was much more going on. I can't believe that New Year's Eve was just last week. I had planted daffodils at Mama's on Saturday. It was a day without Rolf, because I made him go to the Redskins game. So, he wasn't home that evening. I wrapped gifts. Kept the dishwasher going, and the clothes washer too, and orgainzed or disgarded piles of crap in hopes that the house would be in order for the party.

Rolf and I celebrated our Christmas on New Years Eve. It's always been a challenge on how to have a romantic Christmas, even more so in the years that Bemmy lived with us, or when Tomas would decend on us as if we had nothing better to do than cater to his every whim. This year, well, I got the tree up. . of course I think all the ornament boxes stayed around it instead of gifts until last Saturday. Rolf put them away . . . oh I remember

God how fucked up this has been. (It's really beautiful here. Not just cause the house is clean, the christmas tree is pretty, but it's 70 degrees, and the trail around the lake behind our house is teaming with life. Rolf's up - we're not speaking. He's not speaking to me because I'm an idiot, and I'm not speaking to him because he was a jerk, I guess.)

God, I've been sitting here for hours trying to decide what to write, It is not coming easily.

We're Having 'What-the-Hell-Is-This?' for Christmas!

We're having a Christmas Party tonight. ("What? It's no longer Christmas," you say? Well, bite me.)

Now, these are not friends that are coming over. Nope, not friends at all - they are Rolf's co-workers. And when I told some of them that we kicked our friend Bemmy out by dropping a note on his keyboard and ran for the hills; Rolf nearly had a stroke. Because They Are Not Our Friends. Or His Friends.

And He's Invited Them To Dinner.

Yeah, there's a lot more to that story. The long and short of it is: I'm not supposed to drink too much around these people, and I'm not supposed to cast any nasturtiums on his not quite cold dead body in front of them. But I kid . . .

I can't wait. They're fun people. At that party, (his Christmas work party, hosted by his boss who IS MY FRIEND and has been for fifteen years . . . ) where I was drinking lots and lots of Absolute Citron (Cold and Neat); there is a lesbian couple, who I delight in, even if I can't always remember their names. And I volunteered to sing at their "Wedding". (In quotes - because it is so illegal in Virginia that it wouldn't surprise me if photo's of the "Wedding" were used to round us all up and shoot us.)

Anyway, they're coming. And that couple who's wedding was so wonderful back in May; they're coming too. Plus another couple who frighten me.

And none of them are our friends.

I'm not buying it.

When I get home, at 5:30, I'm making fresh angel hair pasta. I'm sauteing scallopined chicken (do you know what I mean?), zucchini, and green peppers, and making a sauce out of the chicken stock I made last night, with olive oil, white wine and capers. And I'm serving it along side the fresh pasta, which I am not doing much to at all. Why mess with perfection? It's getting blessed with the finest Olive Oil and Parmesan Cheese (both brought back from Italy.) Add a salad of Arugula, cucumbers, and Parmesan, some appetizers, and Chianti and it should be a fun night. Except I'm scared to death that when they leave Rolf is going to yell at me and make me cry again.

Desert is Poached Pears and Zabaglione. That's done. But everything else needs to be made in the two hours before they show up. I already have the table set. The maids haven't been this week, so if Rolf wants dusting and vacuuming done, he'd better do it himself.

After all, these aren't my friends.

It's going to be a bright, bright sunshiny day

WWW.Pandora.com is so totally cool. Make your own internet radio station!

Rolf got me a laptop computer for Christmas. It's second hand, which is perfect since I just want it so I can blog in nicer places than at work or in our home office. We had to take it back to the shop though for a new keyboard. Keep your fingers crossed! I should have it in a few days.

I started the New Year's Diet. I've got a lot of things to motivate me; not only my nephew's wedding in March, nor my sister's wedding in May, but also we're going in on a Rehoboth beach rental with 15 skinny bitches. So, the new scale says I started the year at 210 lbs. My goal is to lose 40 lbs in 20 weeks. That will put me back in my 32 inch waisted pants by summer. I can't wait!