The Guilt-Tripped Re-Cap, Part 2

In a continued attempt to redeem myself after a long, long absence from writing about the things going on in my life, which I know you've been sorely missing, I'm continuing my re-cap for you. You are SO WELCOME!

Here's some more things which have kept me busy and therefore away from the blog:

A few months ago I started guest co-hosting Get Lit! at Corkscrew Wine Bar in Petaluma. This is a really fun literary night featuring authors from all over (I've been honored to be one of these featured readers twice!), and there's an always-great Open Mic afterward. It's the fourth Wednesday of every month; you should come check it out! There's almost always something funny, something sad, something sexy, and something unexpected to hear.

More time-consuming than that, however, has been finally getting started on curating pieces for the next Mortified Sonoma County show! (Yes, it used to be called Mortified North Bay, but people in San Francisco and Oakland thought that meant Marin, so we changed it because, you know, we're not Marin. But I digress....)

The first show sold way the heck out!

Paulie and I have begun meeting with incredibly brave local people willing to share the embarassing artifacts from their angst-ridden youth. We've heard woe-is-me diary entries, super angry song lyrics, sexually-exaggerated notes to friends, and so much more. In short, it has been ah-maaaaa-zing.

And we're looking for more! If you happened to keep a diary, old letters, archaic video footage of your jazzy Star Search audition tapes...basically anything that seems too humiliatingly awkward to share in front of hundreds of strangers, you might want to hook up with us.

This is a real-life diary, you guys.

You can do this a couple of ways - go to our Facebook page and 'like' it, then find a call for submissions and click whatever link you find there...or (and I say this hoping you'll still go like us on Facebook), go to the Mortified website, find Sonoma County in the drop-down menu and fill out the info requested of you there. Soon we'll be knocking on your door and digging through your Shoebox of Shame!!

Okay it doesn't work like that exactly. We're not going to come to your house, man. But the rest is all pretty spot-on. This process has been soooooo much fun and taken soooooo much more time than we thought it would, but we're getting a lot closer to having our next show ready, and we're super excited!

Okay, that's the end of this latest re-cap. Hopefully I'm one step closer to being forgiven for my six-week hiatus. I haven't even told you about the fair or the winemaking or the...other...stuff......but I will.

Eventually.

Have You Heard??

Oh hey, hi! Yes it's true, it's me - Amanda - the other half of the 'pair' in Pair-Ranting. The one who has been wildly and inexcusably absent as of late and who has made Mike's secret dreams of having the blog all to himself poor Mike carry the weight of the blog all on his own.

I'm sorry!

There are many factors behind my lack of sharing fun stories with you; but the only one you need to know about, really, is that first and foremost I've been hella busy.

When I say 'busy', yes, I mean the usual going to school, working, taking the kids on adventures and all of that other time-consuming bullshit that gets in the way of writing quality material for this blog.

However, one big thing that has been taking a lot of my free time is, uh, PRODUCING MY OWN GODDAM MORTIFIED SHOW!! That's right - I finally convinced the Powers That Be to let me give it a whirl, under the helpful tutelage of my SF/Oakland producer, Scott. "Come onnnn," I nagged and nagged, "Sonoma County is desperate for quality entertainment!" I'm pretty sure they thought it was going to be a cute little experiment and were just humoring me by consenting to let me try one little show in my backwoods small town.

Amazing hand-drawn flyer by Josh Staples
of The New Trust and The Velvet Teen fame. Yep.

Alas! The show is tonight and this mofo has long-since sold out! There's a waiting list! Ticketless would-be attendees are posting on the Facebook event page begging for tickets! I'm getting emails every day asking "Is it really sold out?! Please god can you help us??" People are asking how many hours before the show they should show up (read: camp out) in order to get one of the very limited door tickets! You'd think we were about to release a Pliny or something!

Seriously, I haven't seen this much ticket desperation since my days following the Grateful Dead. If I see people wandering around with one finger in the air, calling "can I get a miracle?!" my whole year will have been made. Plus the Press Democrat wrote an article that just came out this morning so needless to say people are finally taking me seriously and my phone, email and Facebook are, you know, exploding. It's...totally awesome.

So listen: I could go on and on about why I've been mysteriously quiet. But I won't, because as you can see I'm super busy and I've gotta go knock the socks off of Santa Rosa.

Onward!

P.S. Have you watched Mortified Nation - the hit documentary about Mortified - yet? You should, it's on Netflix.

P.P.S. Did you know there's now a Mortified Podcast on Radiotopia? There is! You should subscribe to it!

Seth Rogen Sighting!!

Seth Rogen

On Friday night Paulie and I had just checked into our hotel around the corner from the Eureka Theater, where I was due to perform at the San Francisco Improv Festival with some other Mortified folks. I know...I know...you're getting tired of hearing about how famous I am! I totally get it, you guys. Moving on.

The show didn't start until 11pm, so we had some time to kill and as we walked toward the elevators we chatted about the usual - what to eat and drink before the show - until I glanced toward the hotel entrance and there I saw...someone famous.

I kept my cool and looked away. Then looked again, caught his eye, looked away again. I wasn't going to have a geek-out episode with this guy like I'd had with every other celebrity I've ever met in my life - no way! This time I was going to keep it together. I glanced over my shoulder one more time and saw that he was heading toward the back of the lobby - I assumed toward the bar (celebrities and their booze, amiright?!). I wondered if he was in town for the Improv Festival? Of course he was! I was pretty sure he was a comedian! I wondered if he would be at the Mortified show? Oh my god! What if he came to the show! What if he saw my schtick and thought it was funny and decided he wanted to bring me into the fold of comedic actors in Hollywood and this was the night I was finally going to MAKE IT?!

When we stepped into the elevator I interrupted whatever Paul had been talking about that I, needless to say, hadn't heard a single word of because I'd been busy obsessing, and said "hey, that guy...who was walking into the hotel, did you see him? He's, like, he's...a comedian. He's...an actor or something. I can't think of his name! Who is that?"

"Yeah...yeah I saw him too. I know who you're talking about, who is that? I feel like I just saw him in something...."

"It was really hard for me not to geek out back there."

"Was it? You did good, baby." We bounced around ideas on who it could be, agreeing that we'd seen him recently in something. Paulie said "it's not Seth Rogen...is it? No, it's not him, but it's someone like him."

"Right! Yes, like was he in that movie we just saw about the apocalypse where there were a ton of little cameos? The one with Seth Rogen in it? Was he one of those guys?"

"Maybe...maybe...I don't think its him, though. I don't know."

As we were discussing this we'd arrived in our room, changed, and were heading back out for food. I, of course, wanted to go to the hotel bar so that we could 'casually' bump into Maybe-Seth-Rogen and therefore take a shortcut to my celebrity status, but when we arrived he was nowhere to be found and the place smelled like bleachy cajun-seasoned french fries, so we bailed. We settled on a pub across the street (maybe he's in there! said the fame-hungry voice in my head. Nope, he wasn't.)

Once at the theater, I started to say hello to the other performers. Mortified SF is super lucky because there's a highly talented and hilarious improv hip hop band called The Freeze that plays after every reader, making up a song on the spot about whatever was just read. It's a huge highlight of the show and they're a friendly, funny group of folks. 

And one of them was Not-Seth-Rogen.

Not Seth Rogen

As soon as I saw him I said "oh, jeez, it's just you!" Then to his puzzled look I started laughing and said "gaaah I thought you were famous!"

"Well, I--" he tried to say, but I interrupted him to relay the story about mistaking him for Maybe-Seth-Rogen. I felt pretty dumb because I'd just done Mortified with this guy (Opey, as it turns out) two short months ago. So to our credit yes, Paulie and I had seen him 'in something' recently - in the same exact goddam show as me!

I asked if he was staying at the hotel where we'd seen him. He grabbed his stomach and chuckled "no, no...I was just having a little problem, if you know what I mean."

"Oooooh, yeah, I--"

"--I mean I had to find a bathroom before I shit my pants!" He laughed a surprisingly quiet, modest laugh. "So no, I just went in there so I could find a place to poop." One of the other singers in the band, Lauren, added, "and cry," as if the two went hand in hand with this guy. Which I guess is pretty normal, right? It is in my bathroom, anyway.

"Yes," confirmed Opey while rubbing his stomach. "And I cried."

I don't know about you guys, but that disclosure made my whole freaking night and was waaaaay better than meeting some random, potentially career-making celebrity (shut up! A 'one-trick pony' girl can dream, can't she?!).

Speaking of dreaming...wouldn't it be fun if Opey and Seth Rogen had a Seth Rogen-off on the Mortified Stage during the Best of 2013 show in December? Yeah...I'm just sayin'. That would be rad.

Hey Seth Rogen! Since you were apparently too busy to show up to the one gig I was in for approximately 6 minutes really really late on a Friday night in San Francisco and therefore, somehow just by being there, make me...famous...(work with me here) I will allow you to make it up to me (and Opey, of course...poor guy had to stand there watching me laugh and laugh and laugh about him not being you) by coming to the Best of 2013 Mortified show, December 13th in San Francisco, December 14th in Oakland. BE THERE! And then I'll be happy, even if it doesn't propel me to fame.

I promise.

Dancing Around the Stars

**SPOILER ALERT: If you have never seen the 1987 vampire hit The Lost Boys, and plan on seeing it some day, DO NOT read the third paragraph of this blog post. You have been warned. Proceed.

********

I have this thing about celebrities. It isn't your usual 'small town girl gets starstruck' kind of thing. It's more that whenever I get the chance to meet someone famous, I try to be super chill around them and treat them like normal people. The only problem is, what actually ends up happening is that I come across as kind of...an asshole.

Take the time I was a hostess at Big Boy in Paw Paw, Michigan. Who should pull up in his fancy-ass vintage car but Edward Herrmann and his surprisingly beautiful family. They strode inside in all of their beautiful-rich-people glory, and I made a point to very casually take them to their booth. I didn't even give them special treatment by offering them a big booth, either. (They asked for one anyway, of course. Everybody wants a big booth at Big Boy).

After they'd enjoyed their meal of gravy-laden goodness and were paying, I decided that I couldn't resist: I said "umm...I'm sorry, but aren't you...." He chuckled a little and said "from the Dodge commercials, yes." Seriously, Ed? Who the fuck cares about Dodge commercials?! I said "no, from The Lost Boys." I added "you were the head vampire?" as if maybe he'd forgotten and needed reminding. He looked at me as if I were a tad 'touched' and then turned to walk away. Before he got to the door I blurted out "you do realize you're parked in a handicap spot, don't you?"

Fast forward about 5 years. I'd moved up a bit in the world and now hostessed for Roy's at Spanish Bay, a schmancy golf resort in Pebble Beach. I learned to ignore all kinds of famous folks there: Clint Eastwood, John Travolta, Matthew McConaughey, Don Johnson, Doris Day...all kinds. But one evening, Damon Wayans came in. He'd been around for a couple of days and had gotten a bit friendly with some of the staff. Not me, mind you, just the pretty and handsome ones. The ones without cold sores.

He sat at the pizza bar, which was right by my hostess station. Various co-workers stopped to chit-chat with him, or cruised by to give him a high five. Needless to say, I wanted in on the action. I also wanted to somehow make it clear to him that wearing sunglasses in a dark restaurant at night looks pretty ridiculous. Luckily my common sense took over and I decided he might not appreciate that feedback. Instead I sidled over to him and said "hey, whassup."

He asked my name, we shook hands...everything was going great! Then my mouth opened and it said "so, I don't know how to tell you this, buuuut...I'm way funnier than you." Wha?! Where the fuck did that come from? I mean sure, it was true, but still!

He lowered his head, turned his ear toward me, and said "excuse me?" Let me say here that when given a chance to fix a mistake, I always don't. "Oh, you know, I just said that I'm funnier than you." He thought about this for a few seconds while I watched my distorted reflection in his sunglasses. I started sweating profusely in my polyester Roy's uniform. Finally he said "okay, tell me a joke." I did not expect that. So I said "huh?" and he repeated "tell me a joke." "Oh," I said. "Okay, I will! Um, right after I answer the phone!" As I ran away toward the safety of my hostess station, I could hear him saying "what? That phone ain't even ringin'!" but luckily I put up the act long enough that he eventually just shook his head and turned to high five a passing waiter.

Things haven't changed all that much in the nearly 15 years since then. The other night I was out at Christie's to see a friend's band play. Early in the evening I'd spotted a man sitting at the other end of the bar. I then spent a good twenty minutes telling Paulie that he was the guy who'd last done my nails, and how he'd done a terrible job, and he was obviously totally gay but pretended he wasn't by acting horrified by the music of Elton John. (Paulie is very patient with my rambling stories). Why I chose to then go up to this man after a couple of drinks is a mystery to me. But I did.

NOT my nail guy. At all. 

Me: "Hey, aren't you...."
Nail Guy: "Hi--"
Me: "--I'm sorry,  I can't remember your name. It'll come to me, sorry. But...you're the guy who does my nails, right?"
Nail Guy: "Uh, no. I'm a musician."
Me: "You are?"
Not Nail Guy: "Yes. I played here earlier."
Me: "Oh."

Learning from all of my past embarrassing mistakes, I was determined not to geek out when I met Retta from Parks and Recreation the next night when we performed at SF Sketchfest together for Mortified. I did a pretty good job, too. We chatted about the late hour, how tired we were, and other normal-people small talk. She told me I look like Tina Fey. I heard her laughing during my bit, and later she told me my piece was hilarious. I knew we'd be Best Friends Forever!! But I told myself I would not, under any circumstances, ask to have my picture taken with her. She just wants to relax! I told myself. She wants to be able to just hang out without being harassed by a fan. Or, especially by a peer, which technically I am now, right?

I continued on with this internal dialogue until I was interrupted by another Mortified reader and then a member of the band asking Retta if they could have their pictures taken with her. "Ohmygodmetoo!" I almost shouted. Then I remembered the whole be cool thing, and I tried to backtrack. "I mean, I wasn't going to ask, cuz, I figured you must, you know, get sick of it, but...." She laughed and said, "it's totally fine, I do this all the time."

BFF!

Since Retta is the only celebrity I've ever met that I was not an asshole to, I'm thinking I left a good impression. She'll probably call me up soon so we can hang out more.

I'm sure that at the very least, she'll sort of remember me. I'm pretty sure.

Flasher

Throughout my middle and high school years, and for a little bit into college, I kept a diary. Now I just collect cool-looking journals and write in them for about a week or two, at which point they are abandoned. For some reason, whenever I decide to start up again, it never occurs to me to just pick up an old one and continue in that. No. I have to buy a new one. And so it goes.

Journaling is a very private practice - the place where you record your innermost thoughts, such as "I HATE and am going to KILL my parents!!!! They wouldn't let me go to the High School football game so I can see my boyfriend! Just because I'm 14 and he's in the Military! They're so overprotective! I HATE THEM!!! I HOPE THEY DIE IN A FIERY CAR AND TRAIN ACCIDENT!!!!!!!!!!!"  or perhaps just "oh my GOD!! I am SO in LOVE with Jordan from New Kids on the Block! I think if I can just get my mom to let me go to their concert at the hockey stadium, he'll see ME in the crowd and just KNOW that I am PERFECT for him!! Maybe he'll even call me up on stage! Oh my god!!!!! Then I can leave this house, I HATE IT HERE!!!!!"

Locks on diaries and box springs under mattresses were invented because kids don't generally want their parents to know that they'd like to kill them, or at least see them killed in a violent way. Those are private wishes. And we usually get over it by the time we realize that our parents are key factors in getting things like...Money. Cars. College. Apartments. Suddenly the advantage of having parents becomes clear, and we decide to put up with them. Eventually we might even like them, a lot.

Likewise, we don't want our best friend to know we're pissed at her, because at that age we haven't developed our communication skills, so we use journals to vent about how stupid she is for wearing the same shirt as us, in a prettier way. Then we get over it. By Monday morning all is normal and BFFy in the hallways.

Here's the flip side (you knew one was coming). In a way, keeping a diary can be a very exhibitionist practice, too. For me it was, anyway. I would write - in code that would never make sense to anyone else - a very clear game plan for how my misery could be diminished and the reader could therefore save me. Oh, and whisk me off into the sunset. "I shall be down by the pond's edge, picking dew-covered grass in the waning sunlight...." It's possible that I had a pretty well developed Knight in Shining Armor fantasy going for me. I sort of still do. But a girl can only sit on the wet grass for so many hours before she realizes that no strapping 8th grade boys have snuck into her second-story bedroom, found her hidden journal, decoded it, found a white horse, and are on their way to the pond's edge.

While I entertained fantasies like the above, I still kept my diaries hidden and didn't make them public. That would be dumb. No one writes in their diary thinking "I can't wait to show this to my friends!" What those friends would find there can usually be categorized as 'incriminating', or perhaps 'humiliating'. But sometimes, word gets out.

A while ago, I found my old middle school diaries and had so much fun reading them I scanned them into Facebook and tagged all of the people I'd mentioned there. I went to school with the same people from Kindergarten through Senior year, so I still know most of them. They were just as amused as I was, and I became obsessed with hearing people's stories, as told through their younger journaling selves.

Apparently, I'm not the only one with this curiosity. I've mentioned Mortified once or twice before - you know, the show where people get up on stage and read from their old diaries. During each performance, a few different people get to climb up in front of a sold-out crowd of strangers and flash them with their private thoughts. It's amazing - what was so incredibly important and Earth-Shakingly Serious to us 20+ years ago is a source for hilarity now. In a way, I wish I could explain this to kids when they're sobbing into their pillows about some asshole dumping them - that one day the story of how it happened will be plain-old freaking funny. But then future generations would miss out on hearing these stories, told in this way. And those telling them will miss out on the redemptive quality of having people laugh at their angst-filled memories.

And yes, I'll be performing in this weekend's Mortified shows, if you want to witness me flashing my privates.

Dear Diary...

So, this is cool - recently I met with the producers of Mortified. I read to them from my old diaries, they liked what they heard, so I'm going to be in the show. While this in and of itself is kind of a 'dream come true' experience for me, with it came a shocking and terribly depressing discovery:

My love life hasn't changed much since I was in Middle School.

"Oh Amanda," you're thinking, "stop being so self-deprecating all the time, silly! You're greeaaaaat!"  Or maybe you're thinking "she's exaggerating for the sake of the blog. Middle School? Ha! She's funny..."

Allow me to show you some excerpts from my Middle School and then Current diaries. Then you'll get it:

*****

Sept 17th, 1989

     I need someone who will love me! I want to wear a jacket or a class ring and have it mean something! I want a boyfriend so bad!!!! Cute, sweet, mature, kind-hearted, athletic, I want a boyfriend!!!! I have to get a boyfriend so bad.

Sept 29th, 1989
        Well, Matt gave me his ring. I realize now I don’t like him. I have to give it back, but I just can’t. I know I should, I just don’t wanna hurt him. I don’t think it would though, its prolly all just a game to him.
    I love to roller skate. I love to roller skate fast!!
    I think I like Brian.
    

November 15th 1990
    I heard Tony liked me. WOW! 

I wonder if Tony really likes me. I guess I’ll find out, ay?
(later) I’M GOING WITH TONY!!!!!!

November 22nd, 1990 - Thanksgiving
    Tony broke up with me yesterday. We lasted 6 days. 

*****

So, as you can see, I really wanted a boyfriend. I also thought it would be cool to have a boyfriend for more than a few days, or weeks if I was lucky. Yeah, I eventually had a boyfriend for 2 years. I also had a husband for 10 years. But now, things have kind of come...full circle. 

After taking about 6 months off from the whole "men" thing, I decided I was ready to dip my toe into the dating pool. And woo! Boy did I get some swimmin' done! I enjoyed dating, but it got tiresome very quickly. When I finally decided to go the boyfriend route, well...here, read for yourself: 

*****

Sept 8th, 2011
      I find myself only dating (guy who has specifically asked to not be mentioned in my blog), and actually really liking it. He's very chill and easy to be around, very respectful, funny, makes me laugh, etc. I like him very much.

October 1st, 2011
     (Guy who has specifically asked to not be mentioned in my blog) broke up with me, via email - (basically this generation's version of a note handed to you while passing each other in the hallway)

*****

I got over that, I think. And then, the day after I told Mike that I was "off men" for a while, this HOT guy asked me out. How could I say no to someone who looks like a freaking Ken doll and seems legitimately attracted to me, especially when I hadn't washed my hair that day and had six holes in my t-shirt? We went out a few times, had some cuh-razy awesome time together, and one night after some drinks he - much to my surprise - asked me to be his girlfriend. It was adorable. I was pretty drunk, so I said yes. A couple of days later, after some thought, I tried to give him an out and brought it up in an adult, 'let's check-in' conversation. He said that No, he wasn't completely wasted at the time; Yes, he did in fact mean it; and then he assured me that this was happening. 

He dumped me the next day. He was my boyfriend for three days.

Seriously, I didn't even have time to write about him in my Dating Diary!

So mark my words, fans: I am OFF MEN, at least until after the Holidays. Who wants to date during the Holidays? Not this girl! Don't even try, please, I'm begging you. I realize that as soon as I said I'd been dumped - again - my male fans and their friends started a texting brigade and were about to start lining up at my door. But really, just don't bother. 

I have plenty of space in my journal for after the Holidays.

Amanda's Mortified

Recently Mike and I found ourselves in a compromising position. Erin and Liam were camping or something*, and my kids were with with their dad. What did this mean, you ask? This meant we were free to go fuck shit up! Since we're kind of old and tired all the time, I did have to beg a little, but finally got Mike to agree to accompany me to see Mortified in Berkeley, where I planned to laugh at the expense of other people's awkwardness for once, as opposed to my own. I thought that he would enjoy this as well. Don't get me wrong, he loves to laugh at my expense, too. Perhaps this was a way for me to take some of the dork-pressure off of myself, if only for an evening.

As is his nature, Mike flaked and then un-flaked on me about 6 times over a span of two days. I was desperately searching for a different date, one that would appreciate the genius of what the evening held in store, but no one was willing to come with me. Finally I used the old tried-and-true passive-aggressive guilt-trip method that my mother taught me so well, and I sent him the following text in reply to him telling me I should take someone else because he was blablablabla...(I'd stopped listening): "I wish I could take someone else since now I have an extra ticket, jerk!" (followed by two crying emoticons). Knowing I'd spent my hard-earned Single Mother money on a ticket for him already did the trick, and at approximately 5:43 Mikey showed up at my house (apartment).

We went through the usual Me: "Okay I'm ready!" Mike: "Ummm, I'm not sure I'm loving that skirt on you..." Me: "Oh. Um, okay, I guess I'll go...change..." Mike: "Oh, yep, that looks much better, now we can go" that all males and females go through when trying to leave for an event of any kind. Am I right? I hope so. I know I'm not very good at things like matching clothes, but I like to think other women have this problem too. Wardrobe disaster averted, and we were on the road, weeeeee!

Anyone who has ever been to Berkeley knows that aside from being dreadfully quirky and full of New Age hoo-ha and Impossible For The Average Human To Afford clothing boutiques, there are also some amaaaazing restaurants there. After sadly determining that we didn't have time for a nostalgic and awesome-incarnate pizza at Zachary's, we went with the natural next-best choice: Rubio's



...where Mike mostly treated me to a Fish Taco Especial combo plate. We ate. We drank. We were Merry.







Next it was on to the Shattuck Down Low for the show. Here we can be seen outside. Or, you can see most of my head, and Mike:

Mortified is a show in which people read from the diaries and journals they kept in their angsty, awkward youth. I really want to do this some day - I have a LOT of material, especially from my Poetry Phase. I could even just use one of my current journals. I have my "Divorce Diary" and my "Dating Diary" and my...blog. During the show, Mike decided to stand really far away from me. Not sure why. But I was very concerned about whether he was enjoying himself and kept looking over to where he stood to make sure he was laughing at the appropriate times. He pretty much did. I now cannot tell you how the show itself was, though.

Afterward we decided that we should head back to Sonoma County, as it was getting late...I had to work the next day...he had to clean his house...the usual excuses people use when they've realized too late that they don't, in fact, like hanging out with each other and are ready to call it a night.

I joke! Of course we went to The Toad in the Hole for beers! While there we discovered this sweet little duo called The Paper Dolls, made up of cute ukelele-playing blond gals with gorgeous smiles and sparkly headbands. Mike insisted I take many, many photos of them, which I suppose you'll see when he recounts our night out on the town. We decided that when we're totally famous we'll have them play at our We're Totally Famous party. Because that happens, right? One beer at a time, people, one beer at a time.

(While Mike looks evil in this photo, he's really not. Sure, he left me at an entirely different bar later that night, but I made it home just fine. Don't worry)

*let it be known to all of my young, unmarried male readers that in general, if your very-pregnant wife and toddler son are away camping, you should probably be camping too. Mike forgets the rules sometimes.