Proof That I'm Talent-less

When I do karaoke, other people do this:

I feel like they're trying to tell me something.
Also, please notice that for the first time all season, I wore leggings.
And please do NOT notice that the leggings accentuate the aforementioned Dlug calves.
Back to your regularly scheduled posting ASAP.

Disappearing Act

I've written two blogs and I just can't post them. I don't know why. I can't seem to finish them or find them post-worthy. They aren't that funny and they tend to ramble on about nothing. But hey, that's why you guys stop over here, right? For halfway decent ramblings? Awesome.

And if you want to know what I've been up to, I've been preparing for the biggest audition in the history of the universe.

I wish I could say it's for a movie with Meryl Streep.

It isn't.

But for me, it's important and exciting and I'm kind of, I don't know, FREAKING OUT?

It's in a few short hours and my throat is closing up and my nose is stuffy, the result of hanging out with twins that came down with severe colds. Awesome.

So far, to prepare this morning, I woke up.

That was really fun.

Then I went for a run. Also, totally exciting. It was hot and I was sweating. The End.

And then I finished off not one, not two, but THREE cereal boxes that were kind of sort of almost empty but not quite. My tummy is now full of Peanut Butter Puffins, Cinnamon Puffins and Rice Krispies that carried a faint aftertaste of pepperoni. I'm not sure why.

And now, I'm going to stretch and shower and have a lesson with my voice teacher who is going to tell me to STOP FREAKING OUT while I keep shouting I AM FREAKING OUT I AM FREAKING OUT! This is how my voice lessons tend to go, especially before auditions. I panic and tell him that I don't have any talent and then we vocalize until I can hit the F above high C and he points out that that is cool and I tell him IT'S NOT ENOUGH IT'S NEVER ENOUGH I NEED TO BE PERFECT.

And then he slaps me.

And I pay him $80 and go home.

I can't decide which is more helpful lately--my voice lessons or psychotherapy.

Catch you later kids, when I am done FREAKING OUT and then KICKING SOME SERIOUS ASS and most likely, BOOKING THIS SHOW.

I promise that when I come back, I will stop typing in so many capital letters.

Yours most sincerely,
~L.

Torrential Downpour of Emotion

At this point, you might have heard.

There was a torrential downpour early this morning.

Well. Allegedly. I didn't quite believe it at first. I slept soundly through the supposed storm as did both my roommates so we were a bit dubious. However, by the time I reached the subway platform at 8:30 this morning, there wasn't any room for uncertainty. There WAS a torrential downpour which royally screwed up the entire subway system in New York City and there I was, sitting on a train, willing it to move. NOW.

But oh no. Life here is never that easy, is it? I sat on the train for TWENTY MINUTES before it finally pulled away from the station. Here's an equation for all you kids at home:

20 Minutes in NYC+ 8:30 AM (Rush Hour)= Packed Train Car Full Of Pissed Off Commuters. So we started moving but by the time we reached the third stop, there wasn't any more room for anyone to pile into the car. These commuters...they were not so happy.

The conductor repeatedly made an announcement as we rode along, stating that service on my train was not available into Manhattan and that I'd have to transfer to the 7 if I wanted to get into the city. Who? Me? Want to get into the city? YEAH THAT WOULD BE THE POINT OF GETTING UP EARLY AND SHOWERING AND ALL THAT, WOULDN'T IT? To get INTO THE CITY? Yes. I thought so.

So, picture it, if you will.

Packed and I mean PACKED train car full of irritated New Yorkers. Pulls into the supposed last stop where the conductor screeches, "LAST STOP ON THIS TRAIN! TRANSFER ACROSS THE PLATFORM TO THE 7 FOR SERVICE INTO MANHATTAN!" Commuters slowly file out of the train, slowly, slowly, half of them are out of the subway cars and then, THEN! The sound of the conductor's voice again! He changed is mind! "THIS TRAIN *IS* GOING INTO MANHATTAN! NEXT STOP 59th and LEXINGTON! STEPINSTANDCLEAROFCLOSINGDRSXGLKASDH!"

Everyone who just got OUT of the train, tried to get back IN the train plus also, the people who were waiting on the platform tried to pile in as well. Awesome.

Another equation:

People + More People + Subway Car With Walls That Do Not Expand = Chaos

This situation caused someone to start cursing and someone else to mutter, "It's hot out, let's all control our emotions." Which, TOTALLY TRUE. That person must've meditated that morning. But her comment brings me to the irony in all of this--it is, at 8:46 AM, about 96 degrees, perfectly sunny and the air is at about 150% humidity. And that's why I woke up and was all TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR!? Y'all be talkin' CRAZY TALK. Because it is totally perfect and beautiful outside! And by beautiful, I mean sweltering! Wee!

To clarify, where was I during all this running in and out of subway cars? Sitting down comfortably, reading "Omnivore's Dilemma" of course! Because I happen to get on at the first/last stop and I always have a seat. HA! HA HA HA HA! Self-righteous cackle! I WILL SAY THIS THOUGH: sitting down on a crowded subway is not all it's cracked up to be because though you have some relief from standing, you are in the unique position of having everyone standing OVER you and the odors from their unshaven armpits oozing onto you as well. Mmmm.

So, 8,000 people smushed themselves into the subway car. At that point, someone thought it was funny to whip out their camera for posterity and some other person did not find the humor in that and yelled out, "WHY THE FUCK YOU TAKIN' MA PITCHER?" Indeed.

And suddenly! We're at 59th and Lexington! And that's great! Because all I need is to grab a 4,5,6 train down 30 blocks. It is perfectly possible! Who cares that I'm waiting on a platform that's about 130 degrees + 150% humidity, which, if you haven't been paying attention by now = I'm-Ready-To-Throw-Myself-On-The-Tracks-And-Put-Myself-Out-Of-My-Misery!

Here's a downtown 6 train! Approaching! Here it comes! Just kidding! It's empty! Where is it going!? I do not understand! It's going BACK UPTOWN!? WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY!? I NEED TO GO DOWNTOWN!!!!! (Things'll be great when you're, downtown! No finer place for sure, DOWNTOWN!)

I decide to give up on the underground and venture outside where I find nothing short of MASS HYSTERIA. I thought perhaps I could grab a bus except that everyone else already THOUGHT OF THAT (Curses!). I waited for one anyway until it pulled up and the bus driver screamed out NO MORE PASSENGERS! NO MORE PLEASE! while a young woman pushed an old man out of the way, explaining that her mother is 80 years old, she respects her elders, Lord knows she does but damnit he has to MOVE HIS ASS OUT THE WAY.

I decided to walk. (Why do I keep moving in and out of 1st and 3rd tense? I suck at storytelling. And what is 2nd tense is exactly? And where can I find it?) So I decide/decided to walk. But I'm late. About twenty-five minutes late in fact and I needed to be down at 30th Street, like, YESTERDAY. So I joined the crusade of New Yorkers, doing what they do best, walking and cursing under their breath.

Around 55th Street, I couldn't take it anymore and flung myself at a cab. I could've knocked tentatively at the window. I could've caught the eye of the young business lady in the backseat and mouthed "Are you going downtown?" But I didn't. I FLUNG my entire body up against the door and screamed out something like, "ANYWHERE YOU GO, I WILL GO TOO!" which was a cross between an adage I read on my desk calendar and a lyric from Annie Get Your Gun. But! The Backseat Business Lady totally understood and opened the door to let me in because she is a saint. I told her that. And I gave her five dollars.

We spent the next few minutes making small talk and then lapsing into awkward silence as we gazed at the cabbie's meter, ticking away the minutes that we were stuck in traffic. Of course! OF COURSE THERE WAS TRAFFIC! No subways, all buses full, everyone hailed a cab or got in their own car and now NO ONE IS MOVING, I AM HALF HOUR LATE DEAR SWEET BABY JESUS!

But I make/made it. Depending on which tense I'm currently writing in.

I mean, I got there.

I thanked the young lady profusely and ran to my 9:30 appointment, officially bursting through the door at 10:05. I had already called to say I was running behind but I had never planned on being THIS behind. In fact, I hadn't planned on being behind at all! I planned on being EARLY and buying a latté! This just threw off my whole day! Ruined! Wrecked! This whole situation! (Well, this and the small fact that last night, some asshole broke into my paypal account and overdrew my checking account $450.) No matter. I MADE IT! I HAD ARRIVED.

Where? You may ask.

I thought it was obvious.

Naturally, I was late for an appointment with my therapist.

I sat down across from him, winded and trying to catch my breath.

"Dr. X," I confessed, staring him in the eye, struggling to gain control of myself, "This morning, I am very angry."

He smiled.

"Understandably so but none of it is your fault," said the all-knowing Dr. X.

"Thank you for saying that."

"So," he paused and took a swig of water.

"What's really been going on?" he asked me.

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, popped a green peppermint into my mouth and told him.

Conversations

A few weeks ago, my father went for his annual physical at the doctor's office, a very important event which he is very proud of. My father has always been relatively healthy except for a history of high blood pressure and some tumors that appeared on his thyroid when I was in high school. Both of these things were controlled and corrected somewhat easily and now my father is back to normal, maintaining his huge Polish calves the size of tree trunks and also daily sipping a huge green drink full of algae and vitamins and God knows what else that he simply calls his "Concoction". I spoke with him briefly after his physical which happened to coincide with mine.

Phone Call #1

Me: DAD! It's Laura. How are you?

Dad: LAWRA! I just got back from my physical!

Me: Yeah, ME TOO!

Dad: It's pretty exciting. Everything looks good I tink. My blood pressure is 120/80!

Me: Dad! THAT IS SO CRAZY AWESOME SUPER FLY!

Dad: What?

Me: I don't know. I'm bored.

Dad: Oh. Well. How'd you do!?

Me: 94/74! This vegan thing is making me a healthy superstar.

Dad: 94/74?! LAWRA! THAT IS OUTTA DIS WORLD.

Me: I KNOW! It's pretty incredible. What else is new?

Dad: Well, it went really well! They took blood and they say I'm old so I should probably cut out some white carbs and sugar and that type-a thing. Mom says I gotta eat better.

Me: I fully support that.

Dad: Thank you.

This went on for a good twenty minutes, as I lamented over the fact that we couldn't compare intricate details yet, since I was still awaiting lab results. You know, a conversation isn't really a conversation unless you can analyze HDL and LDL cholesterol ratios.

Phone Call #2

Me: Hello?

Dad: LAWRA. It's your dad. I just wanted you to know that the doctor got back my PSA test which is like a ting for your prostate and I have to get a biopsy.

Me: What? Why?

Dad: Well, the reading isn't that high, the doctor is just concerned because it made a huge jump since last year so I just have to get it looked at.

Me: I am going to try not to freak out now.

A PSA test, google tells me, measures a protein-specific antigen which is basically a protein produced by the cells of the prostate. A low reading is between 0 and 2.9 ng/ml, which is what my father's was last year. A somewhat elevated rating is between 2.6-10 ng/ml and I believe my father's this year fell around 8. So, they poked my dad with needles and in his words, "it didn't really hurt dat bad."

But something went badly somehow because despite the antibiotics they gave him after the biopsy, over the weekend my father developed a raging UTI. It started with blood in the urine and ended up with him and my mother in the hospital until 3:30 in the morning. After finally seeing a doctor, his urethra was completely closed and so they inserted a catheter which he had to wear home with him. He was instructed to wear it for ten days, complete with pee bag around his leg in order to keep it open as the antibiotics cured his infection.

Dear God, I'm sorry, but it's 2007 and WHY DOES IT TAKE TEN DAYS TO CURE A UTI? Love, Laura.

I know UTI's. I just HAD a UTI and let me tell you, there was noticeable pain after five days on the antibiotics so I BELIEVE the doctors that it's necessary but I think it's RIDICULOUS. Anyway let's rewind. I went to bed early on Sunday night, trying to catch up on a tiring week. Around 11, I received a phone call from my sister.

Phone Call #3

Deb: Just so you know, dad's in the hospital.

Me: WHAT?

Deb: Mom just called me. They went to the emergency room.

Me: Why didn't she call me?

Deb: Because she hates you.

Me: This is so dumb! What happened!?

Deb: I don't know. Jem said something was happening yesterday, whatever he's in the ER, I'll call you back.

Laying in bed, my mind starts racing because, you know, I'm neurotic and I have no information to go on so I start thinking the worst. So, my dad's in the hospital and probably has three hours to live and I'm going to have to give the eulogy because I just KNOW they are going to ask ME to say something or write something because that's what I do and I haven't prepared a speech yet, what am I going to say, I'm going to start crying if I have to talk at the wake or the funeral with his coffin there, I hope it's not an ugly coffin but God I should start thinking of something touching and yet witty and oh God it's too sad, I can't stop crying here laying in my bed, I can't believe my father is DEAD.

Phone Call #4

Laura: HELLO!?

Jem: Dad's in the hospital.

Laura: I know. Why do YOU know?

Jem: Because mom called me.

Laura: WHY DIDN'T MOM CALL ME TO TELL ME DAD'S DYING!?! WHY DID SHE CALL YOU?!

Jem: Dad's dying?

Laura: DAD'S DYING!?!??!?! I KNEW IT!

Jem: Uh. He's just peeing blood.

Laura: WHAT?!

Jem: It's normal or something but mom's being shady.

Laura: She's totally hiding something from us, especially me. Why wouldn't she call me!? Does she think I would overreact because I AM TOTALLY NOT OVERREACTING!!!!!!! *wiping tears out of my eyes* BECAUSE I AM THE EPITOME OF KEEPING MY SHIT TOGETHER RIGHT NOW!

Jem: Right. Sounds like it. I have to go. Later.

I proceeded to lay in bed getting hysterical for a few more minutes and just I was about to go find paper to write down my eulogy speech, I fell asleep and started snoring until the phone rang around 12:30 am.

Phone Call #5

Mom: Hi Laura! It's mom! Dad's in the hospital but it's fine.

Me: I know! Deb called me! Jem called me! Everyone knows! What! Am confused!

Mom: He probably got an infection from the biopsy, we're waiting to see a doctor.

Me: Okay, okay, just if he's going to die, hold the phone up to his ear.

I fell back asleep for two seconds and then:

Phone Call #6

Deb: DAD IS FINE. I repeat, DAD IS FINE.

Me: Yeah. Mom called.

Deb: OKAY BYE.

Falling asleep, falling asleep, oh so tired oh so tir...

Phone Call #7

Jem: DAD IS OKAY!

Me: I KNOW! MOM JUST TOLD ME!

Jem: I thought mom didn't tell you anything!?

*SNOREEEEEEEE*

By morning, everything was good. Dad was hanging around town with his totally hip bag of pee around his knee and explaining to me over the phone everything that happened.

Phone Call #8

Dad: I totally get what you females go through. That was probably the worst pain of my whole life.

Me: Sucks, right?

Dad: Lawra, when they whipped out that catheter, I thought...oh Gawd, I don't know. It was HORRIBLE. Just HORRIBLE.

Me: I'm so sorry dad!

Dad: It's okay what are ya gonna do, right? I just feel like...what women feel like in childbirth maybe? I don't know. You know, of course.

Me: Well, not childbirth but UTI's SUCK.

Dad: I know. But everything is okay.

Me: I'm glad. I just...freaked out. No one told me, Deb just said you were in the hospital so I just thought the worst.

Dad: Lawra. This is not my heart. This is just my penis.

Me: Totally.

Dad saw a urologist the following day and was told that everything was alright but that he still had to wait until Thursday for his biopsy results. I had nearly forgotten about the whole point of it when the phone rang today.

Phone Call #8

Dad: Lawra!! It's your dad!

Me: Hey dad! Oh! It's Thursday! How are you?!

Dad: Well. I got the results. And...it's not good.

*SILENCE*

Dad (as if he's the doctor, talking to someone else): Lawra, your dad has prostate cancer.

*SILENCE*

Dad: It's caught very early and I am sitting down with the docta next week to tawk about options. I have four.

Me: Four is a nice number.

Dad: I think radiation is good but I dunno. I'm having Paul research it and then we'll tawk about it.

Me: Okay. So. Paul knows.

Dad: Yeah. I'm cawllin all of you in birth order.

Me: Oh! Very smart.

Dad: Are you okay? Everything is fine!

*Mom (in the background): EVERYTHING IS NOT FINE! DON'T TELL HER THAT!*

Dad: Well, it's TREATABLE. This is treatable.

*SILENCE*

Dad: Lawra? Are you okay?

Me: I haven't had a baby yet.

Dad: I'm not going anywhere! I'm still gonna walk you down the aisle and go to the christening and that type-a thing.

Me: Dad, a wedding and a christening are two different things.

Dad: You know what I mean. I'll be around.

Me: Well, I seem to be taking my sweet time with those things.

Dad: Well, I'm just gonna have to live longer then.

Me: Please do that.

Dad: I will. I have to cawl the next child now.

Me: Okay, dad.

Dad: I love you very much and I'll see you soon.

Me: Bye, dad.

At my father's age, 1 in 6 men are diagnosed with prostate cancer, a disease, when caught early, that is easily treatable and has very high success rates. I'm feeling very positive about all of this and feeling so very grateful that my family has health insurance and that my father is maniacal diligent about taking care of his health. It also helps that I have three amazing siblings and a mother that call to keep me posted and call to see how *I'm* doing.

I'm feeling grateful about my own health insurance too, not really because I think anything's wrong with me but moreso because it gives me an opportunity to call my dad to talk. And that's the thing, I just love talking to my dad. And when I tell him how low my blood pressure is, even over the phone, I can tell his entire face lights up, the same way it does when I tell him how much I saved with coupons at the grocery store. He'll shake his head and mutter an astonished, "No kiddin!" and break into a smile and oh my God, it is just the cutest damn face in the whole wide world.