Here comes trouble part 2

So, a few weeks ago I went to see Incredibles 2 with my husband. And before the show Holly Hunter, Coach, and Sam Jackson himself appear and say, “We know it’s been a long time since The Incredibles, but these movies take a long time!”

I lean over to my husband and say, “So, are people complaining that animated movies take a long time to make?” John gives me an emphatic, “Yes.” I humph. Which roughly translates to, “People suck.”

Another example, one of my favorite book series, Newsflesh, about bloggers in a post apocalyptic zombie age, says that “waiting doesn’t actually create suspense, it just loses viewers.” I am paraphrasing, but all this comes down to…

I know it’s been a long time since the first part of this post. But something happened…

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Pride in Nanette

It’s June 30th. Literally, the last day of Pride month. And I’ve skirted around my own celebration. I haven’t posted anything, here or on any other social media platform. I haven’t raised any flags, and I don’t own a thing in rainbow.  And while I’ve always been loud in my support of the LGBT community,  I have never really been loud about myself and my place in that community. Mostly because, I have so easily been able to pass these last 20 years or so.

But I am a B. I always knew I was a B. There was a really frightening time in high school where I was scared that I was really only an L, pretending to be a B out of fear. (I’m a B, though. A big B, if I’m honest.)

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Pacifiers

What is the obsession with pacifiers? Now judging by that first sentence you might think I am referring to my son. But no, it’s the adult obsession with pacifiers that I am most curious about.

This time, it was the old man at a gas station on I-74.

We, the Little Prince and I, are waiting in line to pay for our respective apple juice and diet soda, two of our other vices. And there is a bit of a wait because a different customer has had seizure and the ambulance has to be called (before the ambulance has a chance to get there the seized man jumps up and runs out the door like he has a warrant on him. Strange things happen when you travel, folks.) Anyway, we are in line, and the older man in front of us looks down at my son and says–

“You’re a bit old for that aren’t you?”

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A Little Kindness

So, I’m home on the weekend from my theatre gig. It’s father’s day and because I understand my husband we aren’t really doing anything except some serious fast food abandon (lots of Popeye’s red bean and rice, the big tub not just the little one.) And while we are eating John mentions that he’s going to have some of our friends over to play board games while I’m gone next week…and my stomach drops.

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No problem

So like most moms, one of my most consulted doctors is Dr. Google. There was the time my son had really aggressive allergies but Dr. Google said Whooping Cough, so we ran him to the ER. (Like I said, it was just really aggressive allergies.)  There was the other time that he had an angry skin rash, so I consulted Dr. Google, and it was determined that he had Meningitis, or maybe Hand Foot and Mouth. Or possibly, Mad cow? There seemed to be a lot of options. Most of them some form of cancer.  (It turned out to be Eczema.)

Needless to say, a large percentage of my mom life has been spent being frightened by internet research. Until now.

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And the role of Crazy goes to…

I am in the middle of a relapse.  A sticky, ugly, anxious mood that refuses to quit. And the worst of it is— my timing couldn’t be more off.  I’m starting rehearsals for one of my shows next week. (My theatre consulting goes from simple advice and designs all the way up to director. This year is director.) Which means that the relapse happened right as I was casting more than 60 children and young adults into a Singing-in-the-Rain-esque musical I wrote based on Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. 

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That kind of crazy

I’ve been trying not to say anything about “gluten.”

I know, I know, gluten is a real word and so there is no need for the air quotes.  But you know what I mean. That person. That person who espouses the evil of one ingredient or another, then borders on a zealot in their need to change what every one else eats.

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