Booty Call, the book

[mamacita]

Yo yo yo. Whattup homies. Mama is in the house.

I have been seriously working the ennui lateley. Sammy B. said it best....

Nothing to be done.

I am begining to come around to that opinion. All my life I've tried to put it from me saying, Vladimir, be reasonable, you haven't yet tried everything. And I resumed the struggle.

And my fat is not going anywhere. I have been eating and drinking a frustratingly small amount and the scale reads the same damn same same same as when I started! This week I am going to try not drinking any alcohol this week to see if I can move the scale. Sounds like fun, right? Sounds like my life is whole lot of fucking fun, right? Don't. Just don't, ok?

And I haven't been writing in my journal or browsing much on the IRC because I have been trying to be more engaged in the moment. Unfortunetly 7 hours worth of "moments" in 5 days of every week are spent in a grey cubicle in a grey building in a grey city. So in order to be in the moment, I have to file, and organize and give a shit when we are running out of toner. Just don't. Okay?

 

[mamacita]

The weirdest thing happened today. I went for a run. I used to reserve running for when I was being chased.... Which has never really happened. I have once run away from a couple of punks that were clearly up to no good. That is why I only wear comfortable shoes. So that I can run away, when necessary.

It was appreciate your secretary day today. I made out pretty good! A pound of chocolate, and a Borders gift certificate from my immediate bosses... breakfast and a fleece blanket from my company.

Class tonight. Should I share my chocolates? They are from Godiva. But I am on a diet. But my husband would probably like them, or I could bring them on the bus to DC on Sunday. What should my sign say? "RESPECT MY RIGHT TO CHOOSE" or "Listen to Pootytang, you gotta respect the women".

If you haven't seen Pootytang, do.

 

[mamacita]

I had a great time at the march in DC yesterday. I am zonked today. Our bus was supposed to leave at 5:30 am, but it didn't show until 6:30 am. The bus was full of crazy (mostly) ladies (mostly) from Brooklyn (mostly). I brought my new blanket and it came in really handy. Not only did it keep me warm, I used it to breath through whenever the stench of the toilet got too potent. I went with Respect my Right to Choose and my friends and I made t-shirts that said Brooklyn Grrlz for Choice complete with the woman symbol with a picture of the Brooklyn bridge in the middle. Real horrorshow, my brothers.

And I bought a pair of heels to wear at work. There are always so many people around, I doubt I will have to run for safety's sake here. (I'm safe until the next terrorist attack. I work in what would be a real horrorshow target for our government's enemies, my brothers. But if it is anything like the last... even Zips probably wouldn't save me from being blown to bits. And so it goes...) My new shoes make me taller! More of a force to be reckoned with. Show me what a feminist looks like. This is what a feminist looks like!! (slovos of a march flash back)

Oh, and the chocolates went over real horrorshow with my husband. He went into a rant the other night about the act of picking from a box of chocolates where you don't know what insides are inside what. Luckily I have caught it videotape, I want to transcribe it into this journal. (We'll see if I ever around to that!)

And I've lost half a bloody stone!

Life is treacle.

 

[mamacita]

Today on the subway while I was on my way to work there was a man preaching about our lord jesus christ. I was listening to Janis Joplin and reading a book about being more oraganazized (an obsession/hobby of mine). I couldn't hear much of what he was saying, but 5 stops later this guy is STILL droning on, ruining the quieter parts of the blessed be Bobby McGee. So I says to the guy "There are sinners in the next car, you know." He took this well, realizing he had much work to do, finished up and moved on.

Praise the lord.

I was wondering last night... what has happened to the Mamacita that didn't give a shit about neither nothing nor nobody? Well, she turned thirty, got married, got a job,bought an apartment and to top it all off she is trying to slim down a bit. HORRIBLE! Well I've got news for you, droogies...none of that shit means she has to start looking for meaning in life. Oh no, my brothers, I'm here for the ride.

 

[mamacita]

I do remember dancing in a dive bar in the wee hours of the night to strains of "Octopus' Garden" with a man who had just been released from Rikers.

 

[mamacita]

I have been super duper busy lately... since my last entry in fact.

I went to my parents' house for an extendo long weekend in Massachusetts.

I came back to work and there were so many boxes full of things for me to do that I could barely get to my chair. Hence I haven't written since...

But I am in a play, which is a thrill. I finished up my last improv class on Tuesday... and now I am a play-actor with 2, count em 2 on the horizon.

I'm making some changes. I got Direct TV, among other things.

 

[mamacita]

Boy, am I tired. My mind is tired, my body is tired. I'm "spent the night in jail" tired.

Although I didn't. Not last night.

I've been working like a dog all day and going to rehearsal every night. It is really wearing me out. I'm constantly "going somewhere I have to be."

It is like when you want just want to crawl into bed after a long night of hard drinking - but no, you are picked up for reckless endangerment instead. Although you'd like to "call it a night", you are headed to the precinct in cuffs.

And once you are there you can't even rest! As soon as you've gotten comfy as possible handcuffed to the outside of the holding cell, they want to fingerprint you, take your shoelaces, tease you about your tattoo, try to get you to say that you threw the empty beer bottle at the cops (stupid pigs, that's a felony!). Can't a girl get some peace around here? Then, if you finally do pass out, before you know it, they are waking you up, commenting on your breath and transporting you to city hall! By now your body aches from all of the "prisoner processing", the hard benches, the rubber bologna sandwiches, the killer hangover that is finally surfacing....

Yeah, I'm really tired.

 

[mamacita]

I have been feeling a little precious lately. Precious about my privacy, protecting myself. Confused. Unsure of myself. A fragile little being trapesing down the avenue. Trying to keep my cool.

My play was listed yesterday on page 6 of the New York Post. I guess Koutoukas (the writer) used to babysit for Richard Johnson. Someone in the play who works in PR sent him an email and he listed us. The funny thing is (funny in a small world kind of way) that apparently she is the one who blew the whistle on Horatio Sanz pushing that woman after his Karaoke performance a few months ago. I guess her coworker came in the next morning really upset because her friend had been pushed... so what does a PR person do for revenge? She calls Richard Johnson!

I tried to get a cab home last night but I couldn't get one... and so I took the train. As I was sitting on the platform I heard this conversation... apparently between two partially mute people, who didn't know each other (or did they?) talking about what train would be arriving on the platform. We were all sitting on the bench... I was between the two of them... the conversation went a little like this.

Woman in grey: The three?

Woman in yellow: Three coming here.

Woman in grey: The three train?

Woman in yellow: That right, three train come right here right.

Woman in grey: Oh, three train.

Woman in yellow: Right.

It made me want to do improv again... because life is, well, just that simple... and we look more closely when it is on a stage.

 

[mamacita]

Well, my crazy play is over... and now I am on to playing Gertrude in Hamlet. The play is being directed by a friend of mine from college, and he is also playing Hamlet. Sounds like too much for one man, right? I thought so too until considering that Hamelt directs the play within the play... it all makes a lot of sense.

In a way, so much has happened, I don't know where to start...

I don't have a 14 year old son any more. That is big. He has gone to Barcelona for a few weeks to see his dad. He will be back and forth over the summer... but then he is going to boarding school in September. He really is. And me and my husband can get back to being newlyweds... though we won't be anymore by that time. What will we do?

I have found a wonderful herbal supplement that promotes relaxation. It is called Kava. I am loving it.

I have been hanging out with a lot of recovering alcoholics.... but not because I am a recovering alcoholic. I am just a lowly part-time alcoholic.... and even that drives my husband bats.... so I haven't been indulging....as an experiment....which makes me a no-time alcoholic. Foo!

Alcohol has such a hold on so many people. I often wonder... when does one decide they are an alcoholic? And when do they decide they have to do something about it? When do they decide: "I must join AA!" My question was answered quite simply by one of my new found friends.. When I was drunk I used to think it was really funny to spit beer on my friends when they were trying to talk to girls... Nuff said.

But mostly I am loving being in plays. And loving meeting the people in the plays. Even if some of them are perverts.


Come along, take my hand, sing a song...

In a land where the river runs free
In a land through the green country
In a land to a shining sea
And you and me are free to be you and me

 

[mamacita]

Do you every wonder if your journal entries are too boring?

Do you ever wonder if they aren't hard-boiled enough?

Do you ever wonder if they aren't funny?

Should you even care?

Friday night I wandered around the flat-iron district with my unattainable crush. We trapesed the streets talking about how monogamy feels like a trap. I ventured a friendly kiss goodbye (which as innocuous as it was, I am afraid might have scared him). We reluctantly went our separate ways. We should be allowed to be friends, right?... even if we are both otherwise "attached". I left him a voicemail yesterday. Friends leave eachother voicemails, don't they? I probably scared him again, huh? He was awfully eager to give me his number.... I thought he wanted a call. I hope he is not easily scared... I wouldn't think he is... but boys are so funny!!! Although I do adore my female friends, I am excited to have a boy friend. I didn't say boyfriend! I said boy friend. I mean a boy that is a friend. Actually he is a man. He is an older man. I am excited to have an older man friend. So there.

 

[mamacita]

Mamacita's got a oneliner

Me? Intimacy issues? If it is all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about it.

 

[mamacita]

A poem by my hero:

I SHALL forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,?
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay


**On an unrelated note, I did not discover that there was mouse shit in my cereal this morning until after I had taken a couple of bites.


Come along, take my hand, sing a song...

In a land where people aren't so fucked
In a land no one has to earn a buck
In a land where life doesn't suck

And you and me are free to be you and me

 

[mamacita]

I remember the very first time I cheated on my very first boyfriend. I stayed home from high school the next day because I was so sick to my stomach over it. I had been with him, lets call him “Jean”, for over a year… but from the start, I knew I would eventually cheat on him. I went to meet him one night fairly early in our flirtation to tell him that I was no good. It was on the bridge by the high school… and what I meant to say was that a nice guy like him shouldn’t get mixed up with a girl like me. But we made out instead. Not sure how I already knew I couldn’t be “faithful” back then. I had never had a boyfriend before, but somehow I knew.

We had a good time together, and did a lot of screwing around up in his room. He was friends with my friends, we had a little crew. He drew me great cartoons and loved me dearly. But eventually, I guess I got bored. I met “Mason” while I was working on a play… “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”. I played floozy #2. We also did improv together in class and after school. I had a mint green VW rabbit, and I drove him home from rehearsal one night. We made out in his parents’ driveway. I remember his tongue was huge and out of control. The actual kissing was pretty messy… but we were pretty into each other by that time… so the intensity made up for his lack of skill.

I felt so guilty the next day. What have I done? How can I face Jean? How can I resist the exciting new energy of Mason? Well, I couldn’t. So for a time, I was seeing both of them. I didn’t have the guts to break up with Jean. And I had my car, so it was easy to sneak away and do it in the back seat with Mason. In a way it felt fine. Going from one to the other...sometimes without even showering.

To make a long story short, when I tried to break up with Jean he became suicidal. So, I went back to him and guess what? Mason became violently self-destructive as well. What is a girl to do? Well, I got mono. Stayed home from school a lot. Mason’s parents’ had him institutionalized… so I didn’t see him very much anymore… and when he finally got out he was on some weird meds that made him act like he was from 1930. I went to college, and finally they both forgot about me.

Why am I posting this? This is supposed to be an improv journal.

Last night I went to the Mosh for the first time. I got to meet the illustrious Willzone whose journal I have greatly enjoyed since his Xray of a blowjob post. I haven't improvised in months, so mostly the mosh produced intense feelings of self loathing as I made amateur moves. It seems that the Mosh is a nice home for some people... but as an outsider it gave me an icky feeling. Lets just say I saw things I didn't want to see. But there was some really good improv in there too. Which the randomness of it all made all the more amazing. Will I go back? Maybe. But I will go back armed with a blunt for sure.

 

[mamacita]

Enemas.

I just bought enemas. Enemas! Enemas! Enemas! A twin pack, in fact.

And you were starting to think that I don't love my husband. He was too embarrassed to buy one himself. But I bit the bullet and bought the enemas! I don’t think either of us ever considered wanting an enema before. But suddenly, we just had to have them!

It all started with a little book called “Clear your Clutter with Feng Shui”. It is about letting go of your old “stuff” to let go of the old energy … and make room for new things and experiences to come into your life. A pretty simple concept… but it really works! Well, in the last couple of chapters she talks about letting go of less traditional clutter, i.e. old friends that aren’t doing you any good any more, letting go of emotional pain that isn’t doing you any good… AND getting rid of your INTERNAL clutter. If you know what I mean.

If you don’t know what I mean I will say it point blank! COLON CLEANSING! My husband is very into the idea. When I got home last night he was squeezing fresh juice into a big glass bowl in preparation for the 11 day fast he says he is embarking on. I, being the more moderate, am simply doing a one-day carrot juice fast today. If it goes really well I will do an all watermelon fast tomorrow.

I am not at all hungry and I feel great!

 

[mamacita]

a poem.

While not drinking coffee keeps me more relaxed;
It also, yes it also, makes it difficult to crap.

 

[mamacita]

Mamacita's advice column

Dear Mamacita,

I don't want to fuck up my marriage and I do want to fuck this other guy.

Signed

"What's a girl to do?" Minneola, NY

Well Minneola - What's a girl to do? - I don't fucking know. But what we learn in improv is to go with the yes and... Fucking this other guy is a much better yes and to the sittuation than not fucking him out of fear of fucking up. I.E. If a marriage can involve fucking other people, what else is true? This is the script no one knows. This is the script that makes you laugh and keeps you vital. The script of YES AND.

Am I waxing Delaney?

I miss Delaney.

Fuck.

 

[mamacita]

You've got to hide your love away...

Here I stand head in hand
Turn my face to the wall
If she’s gone I can’t go on
Feelin’ two-foot small

Everywhere people stare
Each and every day
I can see them laugh at me
And I hear them say

Hey you’ve got to hide your love away
Hey you’ve got to hide your love away

How could I even try
I can never win
Hearing them, seeing them
In the state I’m in

How could she say to me
Love will find a way
Gather round all you clowns
Let me hear you say

Hey you’ve got to hide your love away
Hey you’ve got to hide your love away

The Beatles are so fucking beautiful sometimes.

 

[mamacita]

Ever since I was I kid or at least adolescent I have been fascinated with the concept of women's sexuality and female power. I used to look at lots of fashion magazines and cut out all these pictures of women looking really good - well dressed, sexy and in control. When I couldn't sleep at night, which was often, I would paste the pictures all over my walls. My rooom was a wall to wall collage of female power and sexuality. When I was in high school I dressed pretty sexy sometimes too. In the guise of a punked out kind of look I wore fishnets, shoulderless dresses and once died my hair platinum blonde. I was a little bombshell at times. I remember when I first died my hair blonde I was surprised by how often people held doors for me and gave me free stuff.

Over the years, I slowly lost that confidence I had in being sexy. I put on some extra pounds and started dressing dumpy. I remember when I first moved to NYC I was shocked by how dumpy I could look and still get catcalls. It was almost like a contest... If I wear these sweat pants, my glasses and this ratty tee-shirt will I still attract scumbags on the street? The answer was always yes. But really their attention felt like attacks and made me afraid.... and to hide I got even dumpier.

I am still trying to bridle my unending sexual power (all women have it) -but the tricky part is I must do it in a way that is true to myself and not be ashamed to be sexy and powerful. I must bridle it so that I can use it for good... instead of letting it destroy me.

I have recently discovered an interesting concept. Topping from the bottom. But will it work on my moody husband?

If I marry again... it will be for money. This love shit is too fucking complicated!

 

[mamacita]

Last night my husband made meatballs... the recipe was from Cook's Illustrated and it called for buttermilk... he couldn't get any buttermilk so he used half and half. I tried to make the balls out of the meat, but it was too mushy and they wouldn't hold their shape. Then my husband said the coolest thing....

"I guess measuring cups aren't just for squares."

I have the coolest husband... three years ago he knew next to nothing about cooking and now he is becoming.... gasp... a Domestic God... and still... so so cool about it.

 

[mamacita]

Mamacita's advice column

Dear Mamacita,

Is it possible to keep a guy interested when he knows he is second fiddle?

Signed

"One Lusty Broad" Teaneck, NJ

Well Lusty, I've got three words for you. NOT BLOODY LIKELY! Cause if one woman could have done it, it would have been Edna St. Vincent Millay.... And she couldn't bloody do it! Who would have thought that it is virtully impossible to have a husband and keep a boyfriend. But Edna couldn't do it... so I say it can not be done. Convincing her husband was no problem... he was all for it. He wanted to make history so people in the future could learn from what he called them "The Three Modern Muskateers" He even tried to help seduce poor young George Dillon when Edna's powers seemed to be falling short. But George just couldn't handle being second fiddle even for the sexiest poetess who ever lived. That is not to say he did not love her.... he pined for her until the day he died. All the letters she had written to him were found wrapped in foil under his mattress after his death. And she had been dead for 20 years by that time! But I digress. No, Lusty, I sadly don't think it is possible to keep a man who knows he is second fiddle... no matter how gorgeous you are.