2020: A Marriage Autopsy

Okay. Gonna just DO THIS. After I email my daily work log, then take a shower, then a little mascara. And the hair. Gotta do something with the hair, and then I’m going to start this project. Because if I don’t…. if I don’t? If I don’t, then the exact same life that I’ve been living with the thousands of projects I’ve started and then stopped will continue as is, and I just don’t think I can take that any more. SOMETHING big is happening, and refusing to acknowledge that has placed me here. So? We shall see.



HOW EMBARRASSING! After much procrastinating, I finally posted something, I thought, but it didn’t show up where it was supposed to… was in my feed? Not a post? Where is it? Great. I had been searching for the “perfect” way to reappear on my page so that friends and fam would see me, know I’m alive and in so doing get an idea of how I was feeling.

But Facebook, besides destroying what was left of our Democracy (cuz he actually lived his motto, ‘move fast and break things,’ thanks, Zuck!) actually made posting a complicated ordeal, for fuck’s sake! Now my blog, I KNOW is messed up, because THIS THING is INSANELY complicated; as you can see, I can’t even shrink my headline which is something like 180 pt font, because I have to learn CSS in order to do that, but I expected a learning curve with this stupid blog, but not Facefucking Book! (that’s GOT to be a porn thing, yeah?) Grrrrr! I’m just gonna post it here and then get back to pretending to work. It’s Andrea Balt who was able to capture my feelings in words, and I’m gratefully reproducing some of them here:

“…making peace with this uncertainty, the trust that we are all interconnected and we will get through this somehow and come out to the other side more humble, kind, creative and aware…

“I think I’ve finally made it to STAGE 5 – ACCEPTANCE just in the last few days:

The reassurance that while a way of life is dying – maybe around us, maybe with us, maybe because of us – something will also start to live again – maybe for us, maybe through us, maybe in us.”

She then says, “Let yourself feel it all. There is no other way but through the fire. 

Some people will be more affected than others by this crisis. Some will never recover while others will barely feel it. 

Wherever you are on the spectrum, please know that your feelings matter, your pain matters, your life matters. Your story is the only one you will ever experience in your skin. 

You have the right to feel scared, uncertain, powerless, alone. 

You also have the right to feel okay, inspired and creative, to be at peace and thriving and connected, despite the reigning isolation and confusion. 

You have the right to laugh and cry many times over, in the course of a single day – which now feels like a year. 

None of us has been here before.  

Tears have been flowing for me almost every day since the Age of Isolation started (including a few times in the middle of this email) – sometimes for no apparent reason, and yet for all the reasons. I wipe them off and keep on typing.

As one of my favorite poets, Rainer Maria Rilke, put it…

Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror
Just keep going
No feeling is final.

So this is not a rant on how to stay positive on the outside, while you’re scared and lonely and angry inside, but a story of hope amid the fear and confusion.

They say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger… I don’t know if that’s always the case. Sometimes it weakens and exhausts you and leaves you full of scars. 

But I do think it makes you truer to yourself, to others and to life. And it’s that truth, that heart to heart with life, with others and myself that I am after.”

Thanks, Andrea Balt, for your words for my feelings.

Sometimes someone else's words are the right ones to describe your feelings. Thank you, Andrea Balt.

help i'm in free fall

2020. THE YEAR OF CLEAR VISION. The year to move everything off my “Wuzgonna” list and do it. Because suddenly it felt like there were many more years in the rear view mirror than in front of me, and if I was going to “manifest” those goddamn “goals, which are dreams with a plan,” then if not now, when?

I can't ask for help. There is something sticky and immovable inside that prevents me from doing so.

SO I DID. I started eating super healthy and logging each meal, each snack and even each bite in my “Lose It!” app, and as I watched the number on the scale move downward, I started walking around the block and working out with weights in the “Women Only” workout room at my gym until I had lost enough weight to gain enough confidence to walk into a Zumba class. As soon as I did, I was infused with rhythmic energy that eventually led to becoming a Certified Zumba instructor and Before & After pic that my daughter created and texted to me that was suitably dramatic enough to post:

I’m terrified that my After pic is going to be my Before pic before this COVID shit is over

Got my headshots. Subscribed to all the casting rags. Showed up at the gym at least 5 times a week and became one of those gym rats and did not care a whit if that annoyed anyone. This was MY LIFE, and I was grabbing it by the balls and squeezing! Uh….

Actually, that’s a terrible metaphor.

But things were starting to HAPPEN.

Randomly assigned 3 essays: Disciplined, Feisty & Funny. Random?


HOW EMBARRASSING! After much procrastinating, I finally posted something, I thought, but it didn’t show up where it was supposed to… was in my feed? Not a post? Where is it? Great. I had been searching for the “perfect” way to reappear on my page so that friends and fam would see me, know I’m …

It started snowing.

On the first snow day of our “new normal”, baking cookies is not optional. It’s the only thing to do in this house, which is why I’m searching for the premiere oatmeal cookie recipe.

It started snowing.

Therefore, I need a recipe for peanut butter coconut oatmeal raisin cookies. Gramma?

No answer… oh yeah, she died a long time ago.


Btw, turns out this guy, Ben Stein? Not only a speech writer for this guy > undefined (If you’re a Boomer you know his name, and if not, what the fuck are you doing here?) but also a Creationist. Apparently he made a documentary about the silly school system that allows Evolution to be taught as the singular theory of our beginnings, not side by side with the bible’s story about Jesus riding dinosaurs. I’m not linking to that because he’s an idiot and proof that the number of brain cells one was born with does not always correlate to intelligence, or common sense, at least not when religious faith intercepts, which it apparently did with Ben.

and then suddenly, you get a break from the relentless:

Audition & Submission Instructions
Must be a size 12-16 to be considered for this shoot. Submit ASAP. Include close-ups (head and shoulder), waist-up, and full-body pictures, along with your regular portfolio and contact info (cell number and email). The client is only looking for older female models for this production.

Do not submit if you are under the age of 48 years old.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is steve-harvey.png
Like a unicorn, Specifically requesting a woman OVER 48 for a photo shoot is so rare that we’ll never see it again.

But, come to think of it… 48? WTF?
What if the PERFECT WOMAN is 47 and 11 months old?
Seriously. This shit is wacky.
And speaking of wacky shit:


This is a great opportunity to practice kindness and community thoughtfulness.
Change the way we live and think of each other, and treat each other with respect.
Can you imagine?
I can.
Hope you can, too.


Boomer Judy checks the casting notices daily. Blood pressure medication is required.

“Brand Ambassadors: 22-53
Seeking brand ambassadors for a high-energy indoor sporting event that benefits rare cancer research.”


“there will be no sitting positions this year. All staff must be okay with standing the entire time.”

OOOOOOOH, of course! THAT explains the seemingly random age cap on this one.
Usually, the rude and ridiculous age limit is a round number, and I’ve been recently BOOMERJUDY-ING (yes, it’s a verb, a gerund, for you grammar freaks) the usual nonsense of limiting the age of perfectly capable AND EXPERIENCED actors at 50, or if the gatekeepers are in a more expansive mood — or possibly speeding down a highway checking out the MPH — 55. Yesterday I railed against a post that decided no one over the age of 40 could possibly be qualified to act in their non-union, non/unprofessional project. But what’s with the 53? Does something suddenly happen to the human body on the 54th birthday that I don’t know about? And most importantly, did it happen to me? Without my knowledge, let alone consent?

Look, I’m not suggesting that the inexorable (but arguably somewhat correctable) pull of gravity doesn’t pick up speed right around that time, but geez, that’s a bit specific, isn’t it?

Don’t worry kids, you’ll have use of your pins til
the day of your 54th birthday

Back to the weird ad: the event they want to staff with the “53 and under” crowd is for a “high-energy indoor sporting event,” so the AA (ageist a-hole) might suggest that’s why they picked that number (still random, ffs!) but this is for STAFF, not participants.

Okay. They then explain (probably as a way of justifying their ageism) that whomever they hire will have to stand throughout the event. Ergo, anyone born before March, 1965 does not have the ability to remain vertical throughout the entire course of this “high energy sporting event”

Look here: the event is actually going to “benefit rare cancer research!”
Elementary, Emma Watson! The rare cancer hits on the 54th birthday in the knees, preventing cronies from standing! NO! Because according to Ms. Welsh (I buried the name here, tee hee) no one over the age of 53 need apply, so that means it’s not a rare cancer. BUT, since it’s a charity, I’m going to ask some of my close friends if they’d like to help at the event, you know, the way celebs like to do.

[5 MINUTES LATER] GUESS WHAT? THEY ALL SAID, “YES!” MY WHOLE SQUAD said they’re delighted to help out at this exciting high energy sporting event benefiting rare cancer research, because they are charitable, philanthropic and they all have gorgeous new designer duds they’re dying to twirl around in! It’s a win-win! And hang on, Shellie, I saved the BEST for last! GUESS WHO has agreed to be a SUPER SPECIAL GUEST? Okay, wait. I’m over excited. First, here are all my besties that are super excited to show up at your super exciting event:

ROLL CALL: Lizzie! SJP! Vivi! & Lil Tea!

My TEAM! We’re called FOX FORCE FIVE cuz we FIERCE!

OH, NO! SHELLIE! We were just about to order our stretch Hummer Limo (cuz if you’re gonna do it, you might as well tear a bigger hole in the ozone, amirite?) and then FOX FORCE FOUR (that’s what they call themselves when I’m flying around fighting ageism) saw that your arbitrary age cap excludes them! They all have the horrible misfortune of no longer being 53, in fact, in a weird coincidence, they’re ALL 54!

And, OH, NO, AGAIN! My super secret special surprise guest who was all ready to show up and bring her ball and chain with her (cuz he stans her just like we do) can’t come either, because she happens to be three years past your arbitrary age limit! Darn it! And the “ironic” part (in the Alanis sense of the word) is that my girl can STAND! On both her feet! For a very, very long time! Despite being so critically past your cap.

Too bad, so sad. But I’m sure you’ll attract a staff of highly professional, attractive and of course most important YOUNG people to work your event. Especially at your (sadly) adequate pay rate of $18 an hour. May you have all the luck with this event you deserve, Shellie, and please consider from now on not putting a limit on the age and instead using a plus sign after the lowest age like this: 18+. It’s that simple! And it’s SMART, GODDAMMIT, not just because Boomers are constantly discriminated against, making it close to impossible to find work when we need it most, but also so you don’t have to suffer the Wrath of Boomer Judy!

Now I have to go call my other bestie and tell her that you won’t let her work your event because she’s too old. How sad she’ll be. But that’s okay. She’s got other stuff to do.

Michelle really wanted to be there