Hey, Look! It's AnnieGrace!

This is lovely picture I blatantly stole from Stephen over at Are You There Blog, It's Me Stephen.

It's AnnieGrace, the one and only, and me at the Hydrate Disco Ball on Friday night.

Note the lovely smiles we put on one another's faces? Well, the open bar helped, too! The perspective of the picture makes her hands look large and scary, but they aren't. They're delicate and pretty.

Loving her! Loving Stephen for posting this! Loving Season of Concern for all they do!

'Nuff Said Monday.

Ryan Reynolds.

Unmitigated Gall.

So, tomorrow morning I go to the hospital for a HIDA scan. I was just doing a little research on it. I mean, I knew basically what it was, but I wanted a little more info.

I have had abdominal pain for about 6 months. Nothing major... about once a month I would get a sharp pain just under the rib cage on the right side. Eventually I started feeling almost a cold sensation on the inside of my upper rib cage, on the back right side. This sensation came every time I ate. It's grown more and more annoying, and the sharp pain under the rib cage has become more frequent.

I am the only one of my siblings to still have my gall bladder. My mom has hers, but Dad does not. So my doctor ordered an ultrasound back in May, and it came back negative. When I returned to him a couple weeks ago, he suggested the HIDA scan, which would give a more definitive answer than the ultrasound. Apparently, if there is sludge in there (his word-- sludge), it will be more apparent via the HIDA scan.

They insert an IV (okay, ouch but I can handle it) into the arm, then get this radioactive stuff flowing. Then I drink something (berium, I assume) and they watch how it travels through the liver and gall bladder. The test will also detect tumors. Lovely. They asked me to remain available throughout the day, as they may want to follow up later in the afternoon by taking a second look.

I'm not really worried. I'm planning on hearing that my gall bladder is a mess and needs to come out. My bigger concern is that with all that nuclear stuff in me, the airport security folks will assume I am a threat and not let me board the plane to New York on Tuesday.

That would suck.

Great Info on the Strike.

Here is an excellent informational article that explains exactly what is going on in New York City. I'm not expecting to see any Broadway shows up and running by the time my vacation is over.

And I'm totally okay with that.

What To Do in the Big Apple.

Well, the stagehands' strike continues indefinitely. I have my precious ticket to Young Frankenstein, which I plan to love despite the lukewarm reviews. I have no doubt it will be entertaining. The other Broadway shows that are up and running do not interest me, particularly after seeing bits of them in the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. I mean, Xanadu? Mary Poppins? Not so much.

What does interest me is Liz Callaway's cabaret show, Between Flights. I had the opportunity to see her (and meet her) here in Chicago a couple years ago in concert with her sister, Ann Hampton Callaway, and I'm a huge fan. And at $30, it's a steal.

Also intriguing is The Piano Teacher, an off-Broadway play starring Elizabeth Franz. I saw her in Death of a Salesman opposite Brian Dennehy, and she was fantastic. I think these little off-Broadway jewels appeal to me anyway, because VTG, where I do a lot of theatre, is very much like some of those venues in terms of physical space as well as material.

I will make the obligatory visit to the Roxy Deli for a hot pastrami on rye. I will stop in Colony Records. I will most definitely spend an afternoon at the Drama Bookshop. And I will visit the Broadway Cares / Equity Fights AIDS office to purchase some Christmas gifts.

Beyond that, I'll just let NYC do its thing and take it all in. Alone in the big city, for the first time.

Putting the Global Village in Perspective.

My friend and fellow-blogger RobOrange at Seduced by the New posted this info on a fascinating website called the "Global Incident Map." It pinpoints incidents happening all over the world, and is updated every five minutes. Rob got the info from his bff and galpal Klinka (whose name I love).

This is scary and interesting at the same time.

Learning From My Mistakes.

So, last night was the big Disco Ball at Hydrate. I was so excited for my friends AnnieGrace and Stephen to meet Michael, a.k.a. my boyfriend. Michael was bringing his friend Jackie, and they were to arrive around 8:30. I got there around 8:00 and enjoyed silliness with Stephen, Eric and the ever-hilarious and charming Philip. AnnieGrace soon appeared, and I was getting nervous but also thinking, "Michael is so adorable... they will all be green with envy!"

Then my cell phone rang. it was Michael with bad news. His Jeep Wrangler convertible plastic window was broken (this had happened a few days earlier, so I was aware of it), and he was not comfortable leaving his car on the street in Boystown with the driver's side window missing. And Jackie doesn't have a car. I offered to go pick them up, but he said no, that he was trying to reach Jackie to tell her it was off. Then he asked if I would still come over to his place when I was done at Hydrate. Which, of course I would, but I was so disappointed. AnnieGrace and Stephen wisely wondered why he couldn't just take a cab. Which would make sense, right?

Anyway, after speculating on whether a pair of cute guys across the bar who looked alike were twins (they were- I asked them), I took my leave and headed to Michael's. He was all over me, was so thrilled I was there, and we had a lovely time. I spent the night. (No sex, remember... not for six months.)

Then tonight we had been invited to my dear friend Jackie's home out here in the 'burbs for cocktails and munchies, so she and a few friends could meet Michael. I've pretty much let everyone know that he is the one I plan on seeing for a long time. I checked in with Michael mid-day and we confirmed that he'd be at my place around 7.

He called at about 5:30 to tell me he couldn't come. We'd have to do it another time, because he couldn't make the drive all the way out here without a window. It was very cold, after all. Then he asked if I was angry, and I said, "To be quite honest, yes, I am angry. I have friends who I now have to explain to, who are looking forward to meeting you." He responded that he would come and he'd be here at 7 as agreed. He said he wanted to simplify my life, not complicate it. I apologized a bit, saying I hope I didn't sound like a jerk but that at this late hour it would be rude, etc.

While waiting for Michael, I called AnnieGrace to get her take, and she said I was okay to express my honest feelings, particularly given the last-minute-ness of it all. She gently reminded me that it would be a good thing to be appreciative once he arrived. I just got a bad feeling that he didn't want to meet my friends. Maybe he had social anxiety disorder, or something.

And when he arrived, frozen like a popsicle, I felt awful. We did go to Jackie's, and everyone loved Michael, and he them, and all was good. And when he and I ended up back at my place to say goodnight, he reminded me that there's no rush. There will be plenty of time for him to meet my friends, and for me to meet his. And I just need to be patient. "I'm not going anywhere," he said.

So it wasn't that he didn't want to meet my friends. And he was delightfully social and funny and intelligent, and won everyone over (including me, again and still). It was simply that he didn't feel the need to meet them all so quickly, and (my interpretation, not his) I was a little eager to show him off, both last night and tonight.

So I've learned that I need to continue to hoard him and let him hoard me, and get to really know one another, and learn all those interesting details about each other's lives, and eventually the friends and family will fit into the equation. And they will all love him.

Heavy sigh of relief. And my mantra continues: "breathe, relax, take it slow, let it happen..."

The "B" Word.

So, after leaving my sister's, where I enjoyed a lovely Thanksgiving dinner and games and lots of laughter and reminiscing, I headed to Michaels' place. He had called and reminded me that he had to work Friday, which meant he had to get up early. We had discussed my spending the night, but I got the distinct impression he really didn't want me to. So I told him I would come, and we would play it by ear.

In the car, I started thinking that I would definitely not spend the night. Then I worried that maybe he didn't want me there at all. But I really wanted to be with him, even if only for a couple hours. Once I got there, it was great; he did want me there, and even said he wanted me to stay. But I put practicality first, deciding he needed to sleep and I would rather not be driving back home during morning rush-hour. So we just enjoyed a few hours of bliss together. We re-connected, talked openly and honestly about our feelings, and then he said, "Can I ask you something?" I gulped. "Can we say we're officially dating?" I was delighted and relieved. "Of course! Yes, of course we can!"

"Because I really want to call you my boyfriend." Boyfriend. Oh, it had such a beautiful ring to it. We were on the same page. Then he whispered, "I am looking forward to falling in love with you." This is good. This puts it in perspective. I'm infatuated with him; I'm not in love. I'm deeply in "like." The idea of looking forward to falling in love made it even more wonderful, as I thought I already was falling in love. But that really hasn't happened yet, so I can continue to enjoy it all, taking it in, letting it happen.

So tonight's the big "Disco Ball" at Hydrate for Season of Concern. And I'll be there-- with Stephen, and AnnieGrace, and Michael. And tomorrow night, some friends are having Michael and me over for drinks, in order to meet Michael. My boyfriend.

'Nuff said Thursday

It just wouldn't be Thanksgiving without a tossing a good salad!

A New Look.

This background color is approximately the color of my kitchen walls. I'm a big fan of oranges and orangey-browns. It's also the color of my dishes. My friend Holly gave the color a name: baked beans. That's pretty close.

I've added a poll. Please vote!

I'm on vacation until December 3, with the exception of Saturday, November 24. I'll be posting here and there through Monday, November 26th. I'll be in NYC from the 27th to the 30th, after which I will post info all about my trip.

This blogging is just too much fun!

TMI Tuesday

Stephen takes the time to answer these weekly questions from TMI Tuesday, so I thought I would follow suit:

1. what's the sexiest gesture a woman can make?

Sexiest? Well, I'm sort of out of my element here, but to me a woman looks great holding up the wad of bills to pay for our cocktails.

2. what are 3 inevitable things about you?

First, I am and always will be a procrastinator. Every time I want to cure myself of this problem, I decide to deal with it at a later time.

Second, I have a burning need to do theatre / cabaret / music, because performing is such a huge part of who I am.

Third, I'm emotionally sensitive. If there's a tear-jerker, consider my tears jerked. I go right to the deepest emotion available for the situation.

3. what do you want . . . . now?

A better job... one that is completely fulfilling and pays better.

4. what asset do you have besides the physical and the material?

Talent and creativity. And I don't take either one of 'em for granted.

5. describe a sexy mind.

One that is more right-side of the brain but left side of politics. Artsy, clever, funny, sexy, and verbal.

Bonus (as in optional):What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?

Michael.

Family, Turkey Day, and Other Good Stuff

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

It begins with Wednesday-- I always have the day off, and I start with a visit to Starbuck's for a gingerbread latte. I then commence with making my pies, which have become the family's expectation every year. I make an apple-cranberry, a pumpkin, and a pecan. The evening will be spent relaxing, possibly watching Miracle on 34th Street (the original, in black and white).

Thursday begins with a hot cup of coffee and the Macy's Parade. Then I get dressed and head to wherever we're celebrating; this year it's my sister's. I enjoy the gathering, the visiting, the food and preparation thereof. After we eat, we draw names for Christmas gifts.

Then the pie. Then coffee. Then home. Although this year I'll be driving into the city to see my boyfriend for the evening.

Speaking of which, I emailed my sister about my new infatuation. I had to tell someone in the family, and I wanted her to be aware, should I not be able to focus on Thanksgiving. And I told her not to share it with Mom, who would not like that I am once again giving my sexual "lifestyle" an identity. I mean, I'll tell her eventually-- just not yet. My sister was surprised. She emailed me.

"Well that is good news, and of course I'm happy for you. Why wouldn't I be? Love is a many splendored thing. Love is never having to say you're sorry. Love makes the world go round. Wait, no, that's money. But Love is patient and kind, is not jealous, and does not boast. Love is where your heart is. Wait, no, that's home. But Love stinks (per the J. Geils Band circa 1977). Wait, no, he said that but I think he'd recently gotten burned by his woman.

Well I am happy, not so much for the love and stuff as just the companionship and having someone to experience things with. I like the thought of you having companionship, don't like the thought of you being alone. Why do you not think Mom will take it as good news? For heavens' sake this guy's a doctor! (ha!) Seriously, why would it not be good news to her? Don't worry, I won't say anything. But while she may not love the life style you have, I would think it would make her feel good to know that you have someone else in your life. But then, I don't always know her as well as I think I do.

However, you must FOCUS on the holiday. You must not burn the pie crust. You must not forget ingredients. And on Thanksgiving day, you must remember the pilgrims, honor the cranberry, and praise the stuffing!"

This is why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. And why I am so glad my sister understands me.

'Nuff Said Monday

Christopher Meloni

It's Good to Have a Grace

I'm very fortunate to have lots of female friends with whom I am really close. I have some that want to mother me, some that want to drink with me, some that want to marry me, some that want to do theatre with me.

And then there's AnnieGrace. Her real name is Karen, but when she had a severe attack of pain in her head a few years ago-- and then turned out to be okay -- I nicknamed her Annie Yerism, or Annie for short. But because we have become so close through the years, she is like Grace to my Will. Hence, AnnieGrace.

Now, there are fag hags out there... it's a fact of life. I tend to define "fag hag" as a woman who turns to gay men for friendship, companionship, and fulfillment of an emptiness in her own life. The fag hag tends to live vicariously through her gay friends, being extremely supportive and proud to wave the rainbow flag, but perhaps for more selfish reasons. If I'm being unfair, I apologize... but the term "fag hag" is so derogatory that it sort of begs for a somewhat negative definition.

AnnieGrace is not a fag hag, anymore that Grace Adler was. She is, quite simply, a classy, funny, talented, gorgeous, woman who appreciates and loves me for who I am. Not for what I do for her, not for what I give her, but because she chooses to spend time with me and make me feel wonderful. And she gives wonderful hugs. In short, a friend for life.

I have a Karen Walker, too. And to some of my gal pals, I am more Jack than Will. But with AnnieGrace, navigating the crazy world of singledom, theatre, wine bars, lusting after men, gossip, loss, fear, joy and laughter... it just doesn't get any better.

I just pray she approves of the guy I am dating. Or I will have to kill her.

Oh. My. God. Part 2

Okay, so we've had date two. He cooked me dinner. We watched a rerun of Pretty Woman on tbs (a good thing... all those commercial breaks, doncha know). We cuddled. We smooched. We talked. We dreamed. His dogs seem to like to me. His real name is Michael Joseph, but because there are so many Michaels where he works, he chose to go by Joseph, and everyone now just calls him Joey. But he wanted me to be different. He asked me to call him Michael. That will take some getting used to. I mean, I already programmed "Joey" into my cell phone. But Michael will do just fine.

More about him... he is a clinical psychologist. His mother is Cuban-Italian and his father was from Spain. He is 5'6, 145 pounds, with short dark hair and a perpetual three-day facial hair scruffy stubble that is irresistable. He wears cute little glasses most of the time. And dimples like you wouldn't believe.

We both seem to be on the same page. That is, enamored of one another. Seriously, is it too soon to think I'm in love? Is it just infatuation? He's all I think about. I can hardly sleep. Or eat. Or concentrate. It just feels like the "ONE." And we've talked about it, and he feels the same way.

Mmmmmmmm.....

Carol Channing... or Is It?

It's the Carol Channing Doll! Available through the JC Penney catalog, of all places! For more info and hilarious commentary, see Stephen's comments on his blog.


I got to see the doll in person at Davenport's on Friday night, where Ms. Channing made an appearance with Daryl Nitz and George Howe. (They perform there every weekend, and all you Chicagoans should go see them-- they are brilliant! At 7 years, they are the longest running cabaret show in Chicago.)



I kept staring at the doll, as she sat on a chair looking menacingly around the room, reminding me of that creepy movie Magic with Anthony Hopkins. Something was bothering me... she kind of looked like Carol Channing, but her hair was a little wild, her lipstick a little too overdone.


Then it hit me... it's not a Carol Channing Doll, but a doppleganger, if you will.




All you ABC 7 Chicago Eyewitness News viewers... It's a Theresa Gutierrez Doll!

Huh-larious.

I absolutely LOVE The Comics Curmudgeon, a blog that rips apart all the daily comic strips in the paper. For example:

“Mothers are supposed to beat their children when they disobey. You’re weak, Mommy, just like Daddy says, just like your crying little daughter over there. Weak.”

This guy is brilliant. He says what we're all thinking. And his writing is snappy, witty and sarcastic-- just the way I likes it! He makes it fun to follow Mary Worth, Apartment 3-G, and Gil Thorp.

Check out his site when you need a laugh.

Oh. My. God.

Okay, I'm a helpless romantic at heart. And since my relationship of 16+ years ended nearly three years ago (it was kinda over before that, but that's when the breakup became official), I've been dating. A lot. And it ain't pretty. I've done Match.com, Yahoo Personals, Gay.com (for those "I'll never see you again so let's get fuckin'" sort of dates), and finally, Chemistry.com. Now my friend Elizabeth met her boyfriend (and now husband) Arturo through Match.com, so I have seen it can work. But, Lord, the dates I had... many scary ones, lots of no-personality types, scads of guys who didn't resemble their picture in the least.

I'm not a bar person-- never have been-- and the bars seem to be overpopulated with twinks who work out 5x a week and say they're versatile when they're not. I also think alcohol can have such a strong effect on many things-- our perceptions, our self-image, our lack of control-- I just try to avoid it. Having a (recovered) alcoholic father has colored my opinion, too.

So, cut to last night. His name is Joey. We met via Chemistry.com. He had no photo posted, but I really liked everything else in his profile, so I asked for a picture. He emailed me one. A-dorable! We talked on the phone... for hours-- which is something since I absolutely hate talking on the phone. It became clear to both of us that we had to meet.

And meet we did. Last night. He invited me to come to his place for a late dinner and more conversation. We've established sensible boundaries for sex-- meaning that we both want to wait until we know each other and are comfortable with it. So I was only too happy to drive into the city (Logan Square neighborhood) and go to his place.

I think it was love at first sight for both of us. It was a magical night. Could it be? I haven't felt like this in many a year... my tummy is doing flip-flops, I can't stop thinking about him, I can't wait to see him (which I'm doing tonight, by the way).

I think I need to go take a cold shower. To be continued, I guarantee....

It's All in the Eye of the Beholder, Part 2

My new friend and fellow-blogger Mark suggested I might counter my last post with a list of some famous men who DO turn me on. Forthwith...

Jonathan Schaech

Paul Walker

Chris Evans

Peter Sarsgaard

Joseph Fiennes

Maksim Chmerkovskiy

Eddie Cibrian

And, of course, anyone whose picture I feature in a 'Nuff Said posting.

It's All in the Eye of the Beholder

When I heard that People Magazine announced its Sexiest Man Alive for this year was Matt Damon, I kind of shrugged. It seems like it was awarded because it was "his turn." He does absolutely nothing for me... never has. I mean, I guess I wouldn't kick him out of bed, but his boyish looks and goofy smile just don't turn me on.

Which started me thinking of other celebrities that many find hot, but I do not. So here they are, in no particular order:

Pierce Brosnan: suave, debonair, but absolutely not my type

Mel Gibson: even before the drunken, anti-semitic arrest, I was not all into him like so many others

Joaquin Phoenix: it has nothing to do with that upper lip. Really. It's not that at all. Nope.

Matthew McConaughey: he always looks like he doesn't smell very good

Josh Hartnett: I think it's the fact that he can't act that sort of cancels everything else out for me

Patrick Dempsey: McBoring

These are just a few. There's a whole lot of others. And definitely a whole lot more who do get me going. But sometimes, I just don't get it.

Sexiest Man Alive? Matt Damon? Talk about hyperbole.

One Week and Counting!

Hey, everybody, only one week until the Season of Concern Disco Ball!

I'm going to be there with my dear friend and personal Grace, Karen Bronson, a.k.a. AnnieGrace. And the amazingly fun and hilarious Stephen Rader is the host with the most!

It's at Hydrate. A $10 donation is your entry to disco, dancing, DJ Jeannette, and.... OPEN BAR from 8-10 p.m. Yes, you heard me, girl!

My AnnieGrace and I are going to have lots of fun. So join us! Put away the leftover turkey, postpone the Christmas ornaments for one more day, and haul your ass down to Hydrate! Look for us! I'll be the big dork with a vodka drink of some kind in hand. AnnieGrace will be the lovely doll on my arm, laughing loudly at most everything Stephen or I might say. Stephen will be the one who's... well, Stephen.

Fun! And for a good cause! And did I mention the two hours of OPEN BAR???

You MUST be there.

'Nuff Said Thursday

Sakis Rouvas

The Four-Word Film Review

I love this website! The whole idea of the Four-Word Film Review is to describe or review a film in four words or less. The best ones are those that include some sort of play on words. For example, someone reviewed the film Basic Instinct with the four words: "Crossed, Uncrossed, HELLO!, Crossed." (Referring, of course, to the famous Sharon Stone interrogation scene.) Another great one is a review of Titanic : "Icy dead people." (A play on words from Haley Joel Osment's famous line from The Sixth Sense.)

One of my own is for the film Witness: "Crimes and Amish Demeanors."

It's great fun. To see more of my reviews, go the website, then click on the word "Search" to get an advanced search. Then click on the "Users" button and type in dovaj in the general "nickname includes" field. This will link you to all my reviews.

You can also play the guessing game by reading a review in the upper-right-hand corner of the screen (in a talk bubble) and then click the review to find out what film itis describing. It's fun!

This Is Kind of Sad

I was on the phone with my mom yesterday... I try to talk to her about once a week or so. Now, the thing about my mom is that she and I both were "born again" back in the early 80's; we belonged to a very fundamentalist church. As I was coming to terms with my sexual orientation, I was also learning the Bible and all about sin and redemption and heaven and hell. Imagine the paradox of trying to accept my gayness while simultaneously discovering that the very same gayness would secure my hell-bound fate. It made for a very traumatic adolescence.

Over time, I learned that homosexuality is not a choice, but fundamentalist Christianity is. When I embraced my gayness as a part of my being, it meant I had to re-think my concept of God and religion. This has all taken many years, but I've reached a point where I'm comfortable believing in a higher power while knowing that if that higher power loves us, I am included-- gay or not.

Mom chose to embrace the Christianity, right-wing, Republican way of life. This means that, in her eyes, I am going to hell. She was telling me yesterday about last Sunday's sermon by their pastor, who referenced the story of the prodigal son. "You're like the prodigal son," she said, "Well, maybe not. You haven't made your change yet. Maybe someday." As if to say, "You haven't denounced your homosexuality, so you're not worthy."

She feels a sense of disappointment in me because I don't subscribe to her beliefs, rather than feeling joy for me that I am at peace with who I am. She is only proud of small parts of me, rather than the whole.

That's sad.

My Famous Drink Recipe

The holidays are coming, and people are always looking for a good specialty drink for parties. This is one I made up, called the Dougsicle. It tastes just like a Dreamsicle... all orange-y and vanilla-ish. Yum!

2 parts Sunny Delight (NOT orange juice!)

2 parts Swiss Cream Soda (clear is best, but A&W's, though dark brown, works)

1 part vanilla vodka

Chill all ingredients. Serve over ice.

This one is always a hit with my guests.

I Love Christmas, But....

Okay, I'm all about the holidays. Really. Love the decorating, the merriment, the good cheer, the ho ho ho, and all that.

But I'm more than a little concerned that WLIT 93.9 (the Lite here in Chicago, currently called the Christmas Lite or the Holiday Lite) started playing Christmas music around November 1. I'm concerned because I'm already getting tired of the stuff. Granted, I get out my Christmas CD's pretty early-- I have so many that I need to start playing them now so I can get to them all-- but it seems that WLIT has a limited amount of music. I have tuned in a couple of times and, regardless of the day or time, I have heard a lot of the same songs.

This reminded me to blog about my least favorite holiday songs. WLIT, if any of you are reading this, please stop playing these! In no particular order:

1. The Christmas Shoes : treacly, country crap

2. Holly Jolly Christmas : it's a folk-rockabilly version, with Burl Ives singing the song that was much more tolerable in the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer tv special. This version grates.

3. Feliz Navidad : with all due respect to Mr. Feliciano, how about a verse or two with some actual lyrics? The repitition and manic loudness of this song make it unbearable.

4. I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas : whether it's a hippo or your two front teeth that you want, no one cares, child. Shut up.

5. Wonderful Christmas Time : Sir Paul McCartney, you owe the world a big apology for this one.

Yet Another Person I Admire

The amazing Antonio Sacre came to the library where I work tonight to deliver a delightful hour of stories, jokes and personal memories of growing up in a Cuban-Irish household in Boston. He seamlessly switched back and forth between English and Spanish, and the audience of some 150 people was thoroughly entertained. The children, ranging in age from 4 to about 13, sat on the floor at his feet, mesmerized and captivated. The adults were smiling, laughing, and nodding in understanding at the wonderful, rich stories Mr. Sacre shared from his childhood, particularly about his Abuela and her stern but loving ways.

It is experiences like this that I love, that make me proud of what I do for a living. I wish I could speak Spanish.