Private Exchange… between Husband & Wife WARNING: ADULT THEMES!

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A Husband & Wife both arrive home from work at the same time, and walk into the house together. After a quick peck on the lips, the following conversation unfolds…

Husband: Hey, baby, want to watch a few episodes of our show?

Wife: (knowing that this is his way of saying he wants to fool around…) Sure, sounds good to me. Just let me grab a quick shower and I’ll meet you in the room.

Wife takes a shower and enters the bedroom, still drying herself.  Husband is getting undressed and reaching for a towel.

Wife: Here, you can reuse my hair towel if you want. It’s not really even too wet.

Husband: Oh, Ok, thanks. I just need to grab some underwear first.

Wife: Speaking of underwear…the cat made a mess of her food in the bathroom. She pushed it all off the side of the dish onto the floor.

Husband: Yuk! Well, I hope you picked it up. That shit smells! What’s that have to do with underwear?

Wife: Of course I cleaned it up. Well, just in case you go rooting in the dirty laundry basket to sniff my panties, those are what I used to clean up the cat food…I didn’t want you to smell them and think I was having some kind of “problem”.

Husband: Fuck! That’s disgusting! I don’t smell your underwear!

Wife: What? My underwear are not disgusting! Why don’t you smell my underwear? Isn’t that as secret man thing? That, and seeing 2 girls go at it?

Husband: I am not smelling your underwear!

Wife: (shoving them under his nose) Yes! Yes, you are! I am not a smelly kinda girl. Here, I want you to smell them.

Husband: (pushing them away from his face) I am not fucking smelling those.

Wife: (smelling her own underwear) See, do you think if they stunk, I would LET you smell them? Just, for Christ Sake, smell them!


(Husband leaves the room)

Wife sits on the bed holding that days discarded panties. She sniffs them again. They don’t stink. She can’t even smell the cat food she used them to wipe up. She is growing more and more upset. He must not love her. He thinks she’s disgusting. What man wouldn’t WANT to smell his wife’s underwear? Maybe she DOES smell, but doesn’t perceive it as a bad smell? How long has she smelled? Why hasn’t he ever told her? She sags onto the bed defeated. She rubs her panties on his pillow, before throwing them across the room into the dirty laundry basket. Husband returns. He tosses his underwear into the pile on top of hers.

Wife: I can’t believe you don’t love me enough to WANT to smell my underwear!

Husband: What? Where the hell is all this coming from? Of course I love you.

Wife: (Sobbing) You think I smell!

Husband: I do NOT think you smell. If I did, I would tell you!

Wife: Then how come you haven’t?

Husband: Haven’t what?

Wife: Told me that I smell?

Husband: Oh, for fuck sake, YOU DO NOT SMELL! Do you hear me? YOU DO NOT SMELL!

Wife: Then why wouldn’t you want to smell them?

Husband: Because that cat food is disgusting! I can’t stand the smell of it. It’s not you, it’s that fucking cat food!

Wife: (beaming) So, you WOULD smell my underwear?

Husband: Of course, dear.

Wife: (she goes and grabs them from the basket and holds them out to him) Ok, let’s see. Prove it.

Husband: (Completely defeated, he juts his nose closer to the pair of panties she holds out…he sniffs)

Wife: Ha Ha! That’ll teach you to want to sniff my underwear you dirty freaky man! What the hells the matter with you. Now, I have to worry about you digging through and smelling the dirty laundry…I can’t believe this shit! What’s next?

Husband: Get the fuck away from me.

Wife: But I thought we were going to, you know, WATCH OUR SHOW….hint, hint..

Husband: Turn on the show. I need to get a glass of water. Is there something I can do for you?

Wife: Well, I saw a meme on facebook that said that some people may hate you, but others would eat a cupcake out of your ass. Could you do that? Get a cupcake, and eat it out of my ass?

Husband: What the fuck is wrong with you? I am NOT eating a cupcake out of your ass!

Husband leaves the room Wife ponders what he said. Geez, why doesn’t he love her? I mean, what husband wouldn’t WANT to eat a cupcake out of his wife’s ass?????



Ohio BMV Trip 2018


Yeah, Baby!

March 22, 2018

So, my day started with a very crappy realization that practically yanked my ass right outa a nice warm bed. I had forgotten to renew my license plate registration. Having celebrated my birthday two days ago, and this thought never even occurring to me, has me believing that my memory loss is not getting any better. Everyday, I hope for the best, but all this hoping isn’t amounting to a hill of fucking beans. While out shopping with mom the other day, I had to ask her 3 times what my purpose was for leaving the house. Why am I in this store? What did I come here to buy. Drawer pulls. That was her answer all 3 times. Drawer pulls. Then, last night as we watched tv, I had the overwhelming urge to go into the kitchen to do something. I stood up out of my chair, took 2 steps, and wondered what the hell I was doing. Where was I going? Did I have to pee? Did I need another glass of wine? Surely, not yet, cuz the glass next to me was still full. Christ! What the hell am I doing? Ah, ha, I’m off on a tangent…I would have forgotten what I was writing about today Had I NOT written the title at the top of my page. (This is my secret to writing memory success…my cheat…title at top of the page FIRST THING.)

Ok, so there I am, gathering all of my required paperwork that I will need to renew my registration. Knowing I wasn’t going anywhere that I deemed “face ready”, I brushed my teeth, combed my wild hair back and headed out the door. As I did, I caught a sight of my reflection in the picture window at the mop attached to my head. Damn. It looked horrible. Wild and untamed, it was everywhere. Sticking up here, stuck over there. I grabbed a bandana sleeve, covered my untamed tresses and left the house. I’ headed off to my first stop; the Ohio E Check station. Isn’t that place just a joke. I was there long enough to watch as the only worker there hot-rodded my poor Jeep almost through the whole length of the building. I don’t know if she wasn’t adept at driving a stick shift or she just thought Jeep was some kind of synonym for rocket-fucking-ship. I held my comment and my temper in check and talked to the gentleman behind me while Danika Patrick tested my car. After about 5 minutes, I left with my compliance certificate in hand. Next stop, the License Bureau.


“I pointed to the sign that was next to the camera. It said that all facial features must be shown as well as the full forehead. I then pointed to my head and face.”


The sign on the door said you must check in before taking a number. So far, so good. I spoke to the lady at the check-in counter, told her what I needed and she directed me to go stand in line #2. As I walked over, I noticed that there were 4 people ahead of me. Not so bad, I thought. I may just get out of here in record time. As I waited, I went over in my mind what I needed to get the job done. I opened my wallet and took my drivers license out. I looked at it, and noticed that it, too, had expired 2 days ago. What the fuck! I had exactly enough money left this week to get one sticker. I really needed 2, but since the travel trailer is in winter storage, that was $45 that I didn’t have to part with right now. Ugh! Great. Renewing my license was going to be, guess what? Exactly $45. Must be meant to be. So, I finish waiting my turn, and when I get to the counter, the lady tells me that since I needed both renewed, I would have to go back to the check-in desk, take an eye exam, and she would then be able to re-direct me to the proper line to wait in. Trying my damndest to keep my pulse and my breathing in check, I made my way up to the check-in desk. The lady there gave me a puzzled look. I could tell the next thing out of her mouth was going to be nasty, so I beat her to speaking. (I was too close to maiming something at this point….) “Seems that I must renew my drivers license, too.” She smiled, which took me by surprise. Even looked fake as hell. Thinking that she may never know that her smile may just have saved her life, she directed me to the eye machine and rambled on about flashing lights and colored boxes. When that was done, she told me to go wait in line #1. I retraced my steps back to where I had just come from moments before. The woman I spoke to at Counter #2 asked me if I had gone back for the eye exam. When I told her I did, she remarked that it was very quick. I said, “Well, I am kind of a super hero.” I waited another 10 minutes for my turn again. I got to the counter, told the lady what I needed and handed her all the paperwork at once. She was very efficient, and went straight to work. She smiled. I smiled. It was pleasant. As I waited, I looked around the bureau. It wasn’t too busy, but there were a few dozen people there. A big guy wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top. This seemed a bit out of place, but it is Cleveland. In March. At last check, my car reading said 27 degrees. Ha, must be his extra layer of fat. Yeah, sure, I have a few of those myself, and I’m always freezing my ass off. There was a guy in a suit, another guy in sweats, a few giggly girls in yoga pants, grandmas with walkers, and moms with strollers. All had the same damn look on their faces. The man behind me in line smelled half-dead, and the lady next to me wearing a hijab moved away slightly. I assumed his heady manly emanation must have offended her nostrils. The lady asked me if I needed to make any changes to the info on my license. I said that I wanted to change my weight from 280 to 260. As she made the changes, she handed me my new registration sticker, told me to remove my head covering and proceed to the picture taking area. I told her that I wasn’t comfortable taking my head covering off at that time. I pointed to the sign that was next to the camera. It said that all facial features must be shown as well as the full forehead. I then pointed to my head and face. She told me again that I would have to remove my head covering. I again stated that that would NOT be happening. She said I could only wear it for religious purposes or medical reasons. Did I have medical reasons? Well, that is really none of your business. (At this point, I didn’t feel like I needed to tell her that I was having a very bad hair day.) I told her Yes, I did have quite a few medical reasons. She asked me if I was going to remove it. I told her no a third time. She walked away and had a consultation with another woman sitting at a desk a few feet away. When that lady looked up at me, I just smiled the best smile I could muster at that point. It felt genuine, but I’m sure it looked like pre-meditated murder. I gave a slight nod of my head to draw her attention to the lady standing next to me wearing the hijab, who happened to be waiting in the drivers license renewal line. The lady dropped her eyes, and nodded. My lady came back and directed me toward the camera, where I got my picture taken. After wards, I was told to have a seat and it would take a few minutes for the license to process. I found a seat, and watched the lady in the hijab get to the front of the line, get her picture taken. I wonder if she was asked to remove her head covering? I wanted to ask her. When my name was called, I jumped up and practically ran to the counter. I was giddy with excitement. The man handed me the new license and asked me to look it over to make sure all the information was correct. All I could fixate on was the fact that on my new drivers license, that I will have for the next 4 years, has a picture of me wearing a black bandana sleeve.



I feel like I won something.

I feel like I stepped up and took on the establishment.

The man wasn’t keeping me down today!

Take that, Muther Fuckers!

Now, I am in no way racist of anyone, be it color, beliefs, religion, etc. BUT, I do have a problem with fairness. You simply cannot ask one person to do something and not allow others to do the same thing. To me, there is no difference between that lady’s hijab and my hillbilly bandana. I’m sure underneath what she wore, her hair was just as bad as mine, but who gave the Ohio BMV the right to make that call?



Non-Driving MF’s

Ok, so there are a few things that have been bothering me as of late. It seems that every new car commercial is toting on about some kind of new future-aged magical mechanical bullshit. I don’t know what came first. The car or the idiot driver. It’s like the age-old chicken or the egg riddle. With all of the gadgets we have these days that require our attention, do we really need more and more things to be automatic? Are we growing that stupid that we simply cannot even expect people to know how to drive theirfucking cars? This model comes equipped with lane detection sensors? Yeah, Well, I was born with tlane detection sensors. They are called EYES! They work by turning your head to see if anything is next to you before you put on your turn signal and merge over. Pretty simple, hu? Nope, too advance for some. People cannot be bothered with looking over their shoulders anymore. If there happens to be a car next to you, or lord forbid, someone’s elderly grandmother, whose electrical wheelchair just malfunctioned and is riding into traffic, trust that your car will let you know of this pending disaster and sound an alarm. Maybe there will also be some flashing lights in case your just too fucking dumb to use your sense of hearing. We do know one thing, though…turning to look is so cave man….completely outdated; obsolete.

Then comes the fact that your car can now parallel park itself. Really? Is there a reason why we need this? To me, if you cannot master the simple art of passing a drivers exam, then you shouldn’t be trusted with a 2 thousand pound torpedo of death and distruction! What is the purpose of these “options”, which I’m sure will become normalized in all cars in a few years? What are we doing in cars that we don’t have the split second it takes to turn our heads or park the car under good old manual power? Maybe we are on our cell phones, talking or texting. Maybe shaving, eating, planning the weeks recipes? Tell me, please, cuz I don’t get it.

Now, I see a truck commercial that has park assist for your boat. Ok, so let’s get this straight…you can’t drive forward, you can’t change lanes, you can’t back up without a camera, then you sure as hell don’t have the where-with-all to know how to reverse back-up a fucking boat or trailer. Wow, where was this technology when I was taking my CDL test years ago, and I had to parallel park on of those suns-a-bitches…

“All bets are off, though, if they design one that wipes your ass…I’m first in line for that!”


Just last week, I had a young girl come over to see my son and his gf. She was driving her daddy’s car. She couldn’t back up in a straight line, and completely buried her car in my neighbors yard, completely perpendicular to the driveway, where she sat and spun the tires til she dug out a nice mess for someone to fix. Once she got unstuck, she just drove off. Left a path of muddy destruction behind her. I’m still thinking about driving down the street to her house and slapping the shit outa her parents. I’d think of it as doing a public service. She, sadly, isn’t the first one….I’ve had about 2 other teen-aged drivers turf my yard, and my neighbors yard with their non-driving fucking asses.

Now, what’s going to happen when these cars are flying down the freeways going 70+ miles per hour next to you in your Prius with your small children? What’s going to happen when people start getting killed by these cars? I wonder who will be responsible? Will it be the “rider”, the car manufacturer, or maybe even the car itself? Whose to blame? Who goes to jail?

Why are we letting these car manufacturers treat us like were cattle? Like were stupid? We’ve become such a pussified society who spends all our time either being offended by something, or trying to demand others live as we want them to, and we’re missing the point of what’s really happening….Wake the fuck up, Drive your car!

All bets are off, though, if they design one that wipes your ass…I’m first in line for that!



Shut the Fuck Up, Mr. President!

Ok, so I do not care if you like Trump, or don’t like Trump…this is MY RANT. For the love of GOD, what the hell is wrong with this guy? Sometimes I think that maybe it’s just my imagination that he’s such a waste of human skin; an embarrassment to our great country, and everything we were built on and what we stand for. Surely, if others saw him and his actions as I do, they would see that he is mentally unstable and something would be done. Right? I keep waking up, each and every day from this nightmare thinking this. Growing up, I was taught and reminded on a regular basis that you must respect the President, respect the office it stands for. Well, no more. I respect what the Office COULD stand for. I respect my fine country. Do not ask me to respect a man that thinks he is above absolutely every other breathing being on this planet. He is a pig, a cretin, and I wouldn’t offer the man a drink of water if he was dying of thirst in front of me. Yes, I know what that makes me sound like. I am fully aware of what I am saying. I have no want, concern, or any compassion for anyone who treats people they way he does. Women, Minorities, Foreigners, Dreamers, the Poor, the Sick. So, here we are in the wake of a handful of disasters that have ripped through our majestic planet, and this MF is tweeting about people on their knees at a sporting event. Maybe, Mr. President, you should get down on your knees and apologize to the fine people of this country and the rest of the world that you have insulted, ignored, abused, and beg for their forgiveness. People in Texas are still suffering. The people of Florida are still suffering. The people of Puerto Rico (yes, Cheeto, they are Americans!) are going to be suffering for a very long time. People are starving. People are dying. What are you doing? Tweeting about football! Somebody needs to do to you what needs to be done to every bratty 4 year old. You need someone to tan your ass. You want something to whine about? Whine about disasters. Whine about death. Whine about injustice. No, your too busy trying to entice that other N. Korean nut-job into a pissing contest. So easy for you to be able to send our young people to fight over who’s dick is bigger. Here’s an idea…fuel up your plane, put your family on it and fly your asses over to N. Korea, and sit down with Kim and his clan, and go at it to the death for all we care. Leave us the hell out of your pissing wars. Since he took office early this year, this country has regressed about 50 years. Maybe more. We are a laughing stock of the world. I don’t care whether you liked Obama or not. He wasn’t crazy and unstable, and he tried to do what was right. He didn’t purposely try to screw everybody just because he could. Just for the spite of it. I sometimes wonder what Obama thinks when he gets up everyday. Probably the same thing a lot of us are wondering….WHY the fuck doesn’t someone take his internet connection away and send him to his room!

Love, Gwynny

Come One, Come All to The Renaissance Faire


For those of ye who have never experienced the excitement of a Medeival Faire, I beg of ye to attend such an gala event. Sure, to the reserved lady and lord, it may appear a bit trite or trivial, but I assure ye, many pleasures await.

It was a more than a handful of years ago that I drug my mom and my son to our first Renaissance Faire at the Great Lakes Medeival Faire in Rock Creek, Ohio. We just showed up in our best casual clothes of the day, shorts, tank tops and sandals. We realized the error of our clothing choices as we pulled into the Faire’s parking lot. As we followed the line of cars to out parking area, we saw glittering fairies with wings driving pickup trucks, and Knights piloting sedans. We saw a long haired Barbarian, complete with bulging muscles and very little leather clothing covering his manly bits, on a motorcycle. His passenger, a Princess, of course. Her beautiful light blue silk and taffeta gown rolled up around her and held between his back and her bosom, so as not to interfere with the mechanical workings of his Iron Horse. She was quite the sight, sitting atop that bike, trying to tame her wind-blown hair before placing her tiara atop her head. That’s all it took. I was hooked!

A few minutes later after finding a parking spot, we were still in awe of all the sights around us. Gathering our belongings before leaving the car, I noticed that we had parked next to a girl with a pair of cute fluffy ears. I told my mother and Koty that I wanted to see what she transforming into. The three of us sat there, in our car, taking turns peeking over at this girl. Yeah, kinda creepy, but I justified this with…If you don’t want people staring at you, don’t put ears on…It’s obvious this is for people to SEE, right?

So, we watch her get out of her car. She is sporting fur cuffs on her ankles and wrists. The fur is multi shades of brown with bits of black thrown in. She straps oblong pelts on her calves and forearms, tying them with stings of suede. Our car is all abuzz with what type of animal she is. Koty says fox. I say goat. Mom just stares, and makes mention that it’s supposed to be 90 degrees today. Won’t she be hot? Uh, hell yeah, but even better, she’ll be SEEN, and isn’t this what it’s all about? The girl finishes tying her arm furs and reaches back into her Honda, pulling out her tail, which was long and very big and bushy. She steps through it like a thong. It has a very small attached miniskirt of fur which covered her boy-type shorts she wears underneath. Leaning back against her fender, she pulls covers over her shoes. Her feet are instantly transformed into hooves. She has hooves. Ha, I win. She’s a goat! She stands, grabs her belongings, and turns to smile at us, before slamming her car door and walking away. Busted!

When we finally made our way to the front gate entrance, I was totally alive with excitement. I hated to admit it at the time because to be honest, I kind of expected to laugh at these people the way I laugh at The Big Bang Theory. It seemed nerdy to me that people would need to do this for fun. Leonard, Sheldon, and the gang at Star Trek conventions, dressed as their favorite characters. It was ok for kids, but adults? Come on, peeps, grow up! Well, I changed my mind before the Faire Opening ceremony even started.

As we stood there in our regular world shorts and tank tops, surrounded by Princesses, Princes, Pirates, both scary and sexy, Barbarians, Vikings, Scottsmen in kilts, and assorted farm animals, my body rang with anticipation. A row of trumpets and horns blared loudly. A gentleman appeared on the terrace of the castle built at the entrance of the Faire. The horns grew silent and he announced the arrival of the King and Queen. The huge wooden doors opened inward and there between them stood the King and Queen. Him in his black tights, royal red robes and bejeweled crown sparkling atop his head. In his left hand he held a septre crowned with a very large ruby. On his right hand was the Queen. Her ground length purple dress was trimmed in fine gold laces and sparkled with a thousand points of light in the form of crystals bestooned across the bodice. On her hands were rings of gold, her wrists held ribbons intertwined with jewels, which matched the beautiful jeweled necklace that lay across her mountainous bosom. Her hair was the color of the sunset, ranging from the lightest blondes to the darkest reds, and was pulled back and onto the top of her head, with ringlets falling softly around her face. Her choice of hair do was the perfect bed for her crown, which sparkled and dazzled the masses with every movement of her royal head.

As the horns struck up again, the King & Queen walked through the door. They strolled along the path towards the center of the court yard to engage with their subjects. As they past the rows and rows of adoring fans, Lords took to bow, as the ladies curtsied. They didn’t stand erect again until the King & Queen had passed. As the pair neared to us, I debated on what to do. Should I curtsy? I had never curtsied in my life. Deciding that I would only look like a complete idiot trying to curtsy, I chose instead to stand there, un-moving, as they slowly passed by. The King made eye contact with me, and for a split second, guilt overtook me. I should curtsy. No, you fool. It’s 2012, and we don’t have Kings and Queens to bow to. Although, I did think that maybe I would bow to that Barbarian I saw on the motorcycle on the way in…


Flash forward to 2015, I am happily married to a Barbarian of my own, and I talk him into going to the Faire. This time, we attended the Ohio Renaissance Faire in Harveysburg, Ohio, which is down Cincinnati way. I had somehow mistakenly purchased tickets for the wrong venue, so we made the best of an impromptu get-a-way. I never pictured John ever wanting to dress up for ANY event, but I found an outfit in the thrift store that begged me to re-fashion it and give it life again. I set to work. Every once in a while, I would show John the progress. His face said all I needed to hear. But, by the time I had the outfit completed, he put it on with such gusto that I thought maybe he had become possessed. He was like a kid in a candy shop with a $100 bill. He was going to be the hottest looking, not to mention the most sparkly and colorful, jester that ANY Faire had ever seen! My costume consisted of flashy jewelry, flowing skirts, scarves, and mini bottles of potions tethered around my Fortune Teller neck.

When we arrived at the Faire that day, I was flabbergasted by the sheer amount of people who either stopped to compliment his costume. He was so proud when he told them, “My wife made this for me.” People even asked to take pictures with him. He was on Cloud 9. My man sized little Jester boy.


So, once again, when I suggested another trip this year, it was met with excitement. This time, I would not only drag my mother and son again, but would also include Koty’s girlfriend, Emily, and my nephew, who I call Red Bull. We had 3 months to come up with costumes. Thank heavens, mom and I just went ahead and took care of it because if not, her and I would have been the only ones dressed on the big day.

Since we planned to go on Pirates & Mermaids weekend, it was decided that John, Koty and Red Bull and I would all be Pirates. Emily was going to be a mermaid, and mom was going to be a Gypsy/Fortune Teller. Due to unfortunate circumstances, we ended up going on Barbarian & Viking weekend instead, but it made no difference. We all had a wonderful time. I especially enjoyed the comedy shows and the dirty Pirate talk, John enjoyed the bands and the music. Red Bull enjoyed the old fashioned kiddie rides that are human-powered. Koty & Emily, well, their teenagers, so I’m sure they enjoyed whatever young people enjoy these days. I’m sure moms favorite part was that she got to spend such quality time with her family, but I could be wrong about that…lol

I don’t know what the rest of them were thinking about that ride home, but I know what I decided. Next year I’m going as a Fairy….Yep, I’m getting my wings! Stay Tuned!

Love, Gwynny

2017 Pirate Koty w friend





Shhh…The Shows About To Start

Well, howdy ya’ll. I wanted to share with you about my first foray into sharing my script in a public setting. It was quite a few years ago when I first heard about The Dark Room at the Cleveland Public Theater on Detroit & W. 65th. I was attending Tri-C at the time, and I was devouring all the classes they had to offer in the Film making Department. I had a wonderful teacher named Ms. Simone Barros who taught the Screenwriting class. She was very encouraging and her words gave me a sense of confidence that I had never felt before. She had an eye and an ear for what was good and what was crap. She was honest and very patient. I revelled in the realization that she didn’t have to do what she did. She was very successful in her own right. She had written her own plays and saw them come to life on stage, she had written for major television shows, and here she was, in Cleveland, teaching us closeted script writers…Ok, maybe I was the only one who was closeted. I had for so long, poured myself into my writings that it was too personal for me to share. I had heard that I was good, and had a natural comedic way. That was when I got scared. Yeah, hard to believe, right? People that know me have no idea that under this crass, bitchy, and crusty outer shell, that I am a sack of over-emotional puss and guts just waiting to explode at any time. I also have a very bad reaction to public speaking, almost to the point of crippling anxiety. Sure, I’ve been known for my impromptu stand up routines in general, but when it comes to my writing, I am a totally different person. Ok, so I’m babbling here….let me get to the point already…

The Dark Room is held in the old church next to the Cleveland Public Theater every 2nd Tuesday of each month at 7 pm. If your a writer of any kind, you can bring up to 10 pages of your work to be read, publicly, and on stage. Both writers and actors show up about 30 minutes earlier. After handing in your piece, actors are chosen on the spot to act out each of your characters after a short read thru. Then at 7pm, it’s show time. The best thing is that you never know what’s going to happen. Sometimes you’ll find yourself laughing so hard you fall from your chair, others you may find a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. Either way, it’s a roller coaster that I’m sure everyone would enjoy!

I had planned to submit a script of mine for some time, but it wasn’t until my friend, Valerie really coaxed me into it. It was a full month before the next meeting, so of course I was full of confidence. As the days flew by, I became more and more agitated. So bad were the last few days that I contemplated backing out. I wanted to call her and make an excuse, any excuse not to have to go. Even as I tried to choose between “my car breaking down” or “my cat died”, I went through the routine of making copies of the script. Eight of them. One for each character. Still trying to decide how to break the news to Valerie; by email or by phone, or maybe even text, I went through each copy highlighting each characters dialogue. I tried to remind myself that I was not made of money and that the ink cost me $65. I felt guilty because Valerie lived in Canton, and she probably wouldn’t be too keen on me ditching her after such a long ride. OMG! It became very clear to me, that I had to freaking GO! I didn’t sleep the whole night before. I tossed, I turned, I almost threw up. It was decided that since I will not drink and drive, that I would buy us some non-alcoholic beers, and try to “trick” my body into relaxing before the reading. So, the “Old John” would have been proud that his 46 yr. old wife was in a parking lot on the corner of W.65th and Detroit where we used to buy dope when we were younger, pounding near-beers in her car. I must confess that I did have 1 real beer that night when we got seated in the Church. It was an Edmund Fitzgerald from Great Lakes Brewery. Whew, for a non drinker, that was strong, and very satisfying. I can’t stress the “stong” taste enough.

As the festivities began, it was announced that I would be #4 on the list. I felt the nerves start anew. I almost had a compete panic attack. Not good. I don’t know how the hell I did it, but I was able to head it off. I think it was the belly full of Labatt Blue NA beers…When my opportunity came to stand up and say a few words to describe my work, I let the moment pass. I knew at that moment that I didn’t really have any concrete control over my bladder, so I sat there, motionless but quaking internally. The actors took off like a rocket. My butt cheeks were so clenched up and tight that I don’t think they were even touching my chair. My thighs were on fire and aching. My head was swimming, I was sweating. Oh shit, for a split second, I thought I was peeing my pants. My armpits were leaking and I felt the beers coming up into my throat, hot and foamy. It was swallowing the regurgitated beer that had 100% of my attention until I heard that first laugh from the audience. When that sound reached my ears, I was sure it was my imagination. Were they laughing at me? With me? Then it came again. Valerie turned to me and offered me a big smile. Holy Crap! They were laughing at my writing. She gave me a nod. I still didn’t have the confidence to turn around and watch the audience’s reaction, as Valerie picked us a nice spot right in the FRONT ROW! I didn’t need to see the faces. I heard what I needed to hear. I felt what I needed to feel.

I hear my husband tell me all the time that he thinks I’m good at what I do. Sure, my mother, my son, and my family support me, but I don’t think they’d tell me HONESTLY if they thought I sucked, or heaven forbid, if I really did suck! But, if you can find an audience that is blind to your work and to you, that’s a true reaction, a true gauge of their feelings. They have no commitment to me, no emotional attachments, no strings. It’s just raw instinct on their part.

Oh, in case your wondering, the Dark Room offers Free Beer, yes, you heard that right, it is Free, but donations are accepted. Don’t hog the brews. Man!

For more info on CPT & The Dark Room, check out their website here.  CPT Dark Room

Love, Gwynny