Eating Everything on my Plate

Sitting alone at the dinner table, staring at my plate which usually had broiled round steak, sliced tomatoes with a dollop of mayonnaise, and some kind of green vegetable, for hours was common in my childhood. Broiled round steak? The worst cut cooked in the worst way. I spent hours trying to chew the rubbery steak even taking it out of my mouth to see if I had made any progress in step one of the digestion process. My mother, sometime in her life, had heard and believed a good vegetable at dinnertime was a slice of tomato with a spoonful of mayo right on top. I can still see her arms coming over the top of my head with a fork and knife as she cut the tomato into four slices. Makes me shudder!

“Now, eat everything on your plate- and I mean everything!”

3 hours later the meat is cold and hardened. The tomato is runny and the mayo turning bad. The kid is crying.

Not a good message to eat everything on the plate. I never made my girls finish their food, but they did have to try it and thanks to “Ant Annette” we incorporated the no-thankyou- helping of kid unfriendly foods. The result; two grown ups with an open pallet, unafraid of food, unafraid of tomatoes, even in a salad, with dressing made from mayonnaise! 

Not one time did my mother ever force me to finish me dessert. It just happened. I have met people who don’t like pie and it baffles me- how could anyone not like pie? Or cake? Or anything made with sugar, flour, eggs and and oven?

Forcing food is like forcing life. We cannot be told to enjoy a moment. We just do. And, we cannot be told how to enjoy something- be it with miracle whip or with friends. I wonder how round steak effected the rest of my life. Did I force it, pretending or trying to like it or was I letting or creating  it to happen? Do I even know the difference?

 I dreamt last night about an old curmudgeon who hated my guts. He liked everyone else, and I tried to tell others about how much he hated me. No one would listen. I lean Jungian, so I felt this dream needed to be figured out. According to Jung, the old man and everyone in the dream is a part of me- I am the old man who hates me, I am the others he likes, and I am the perplexed dreamer, wondering why the hate? For years I tried to be content and at peace with life- but I have been forcing it. The old guy in my dream needs to go- the criticizing needs to stop, and I need to lighten up on me. Wayne Dyer has told me in all of his books that I need to find and do what I am made to do- to create my day, and understand my connection to the Universe. I also listen to Joel Olsteen; he tells me every Sunday that I can have it all; and be happy, and that I DESERVE it!

Deserve sounds like dessert, so I looked it up. Deserve  is from Middle English, and it meant to devote oneself to something.  Now it basically means to qualify for merit. I struggle with the idea that I qualify, and I think that may be common. Dessert is French, and it means literally to clear the table and serve. It is a treat, the last course. I have devoted myself to clearing my table; I proclaim I deserve dessert!

 Being 49, as a woman, I do feel like the last course is ready to be served. When a woman turns 40 it is like we now, socially, have one foot in a grave. We are old. When  a man turns 40 he is just leaving home for the first time…”Bye mom and dad! I love you! It’s time to start my life! I am dating a 20 year old!”  For me, dinner is over, and there were some things I like and some things I didn’t like, oh and some things I need to wipe out of my memory because they were…distasteful. So the best part of life is next. With this course I will choose only what I truly enjoy and will savour. I will take as much as I want. I deserve dessert!

Mom, I promise from here on out I will eat everything on my plate!

The House on May Street

” I pass this house and I think of you, Kimmy. It looks affordable.”  The term affordable means fixer-upper. My sister had driven by the house on May street and she called me to tell me about it. The sign said; For Sale by Owner. I told her I would drive down and check it out.

We drove onto the paved driveway. Even though plants were growing right out of the drive, it was solid enough; let’s just call it affordable. We looked into the windows and tried the doors and the back door was open. Gail and I  looked at each room saying things like, “This isn’t too bad.”  “This can be fixed.” “Maybe the wall just looks like it curves., and it is an optical allusion that the ceiling is drooping in.” Then the best line, “Wow, nice wood floors!” The bathroom was pink and wallpapered with pink flowers; but it worked. I had looked at a few homes in the area and all of them were very high priced. Castroville, Texas thinks very highly of itself! An old 1200 square foot home which wasn’t special in any way was a steal for 150 thousand. Castroville is no California. They have water problems. Sometimes the sewer system backs up and the water turns bad with ecoli. It is the only place in America where a person can get shit-faced just by taking a shower.

We were in the kitchen when we saw the car drive up. It was the owner from the sign! We ran out he back and I immediately confessed that we were trespassing with intent to buy. “How much are you asking, and how much do you want down on the loan?” When I asked that I fooled myself- I believed I was a serious buyer! He told me the price and that he would finance with a down payment of 10 thousand dollars. I took his card, said thanks and that I would be getting back to him.

“If I had 10 thousand dollars I would buy that house. The land is beautiful and you are right across the way there!’ I told my sister. I didn’t have 10 thousand dollars. I didn’t entertain the idea of this affordable, fixer-upper.

I got home late that night and listened to my messages on the home answering machine. Our realtor had called and said that the land we had up for sale for the last 3 years had sold that day, for 10 thousand dollars. She wanted to know if I would accept the offer. I called and accepted the offer then called the owner from the sign. I then gave a nod and a thanks to God for showing off again. Perfect timing God, but I guess you know PERFECT!

The affordable fixer-upper on May Street was mine.

I lived in that little house for 13 years. It is the longest I have ever been in one place. I had the pink bathroom changed as much as I could- the tile is still pink, but most everything else is new and not. I had the ceiling fixed and the termites killed (I always have termites). The yard had been mowed a hundred times and that acre of land is just as beautiful as the first time I entertained the idea that I could live there. Sure, Castroville is Catastroville. A ten mile an hour wind caused our lights to go out on a very regular basis, and the Chamber of Commerce won’t let anyone build decent businesses- but it is home. At least I don’t have to climb the telephone pole to answer the phone….anymore.

It’s in the Act

I was suffering from a really bad cold- which was turning  into a bronchial infection when the phone rang, “Kim, are you available to headline in San Angelo this Friday- the pay is good; in cash and we can put you up for the night?” I cleared my throat and with the best non-nasal voice I could cough up, I replied, “Yes!”

Stan (not his real name) was known for NOT paying his gigs. He was notorious for stiffing comics out of their pay and everyone knew that if you accepted a deal with him, you might see your money, and you might not.  I couldn’t really worry about that as I was newly fired from KZEP (the real call letters) and desperately needed the cash. My youngest daughter was graduating from high school the following week. The money again fell from heaven, or should I say… from Stan’s cold, dead hands!

Driving to San Angelo was fun because I got to give Stan a ride. He is a family man, with a wife and  two children. He attended church. Then why, I asked him, was his reputation so bad when it came to paying comics for their shows? Why did he owe just about everyone I knew at the time? He told me two hours of stories about shows, money and misunderstandings.  All I could hope and pray, is that I got my money and not a chapter in his bookers chronicles. I told him how much I needed the money, daughter graduating and all- he seemed receptive and understanding; he was a church attending man!

I felt my throat tighten and burn. I became more raspy the closer we got to San Angelo. We stopped for lozenges and at dinner I ate nothing, but drank about five glasses of tea, honey and lemon. The show was in an hour and I was loosing my voice. Since I decided to stay quiet hoping it would help; no one knew- until we were at the show and I was unable to utter a sound. Headlining was impossible, but I thought I could at least do 15 minutes. Stan was NOT happy, and he was already discussing taking me off the show and not paying me. He even offered to split my money with the remaining players.

“No way man, Kim is here, put her on,” was the battle cry! My fellow comics all stood up for me. Stan moved me to another slot, I was still going to get a portion of the money promised… maybe.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, coming to the stage all the way from San Antonio….Kim Kerley!”

Holding the microphone to my mouth I looked out at the crowd. Over 500 people were there that night, and they were ready to laugh. I noticed a young man right in front jumping up and down, clapping; others were whistling. They were an awesome crowd. When I tried to say “hello‘  it came out as “agghh.” “Thank you for coming tonight” sounded like “aaaaggggnnnhhhh.” The whistles turned to boos and the guy in the front started heckling me, “Get off the stage, lady, you can’t even talk!”

All I could think of was Shannon, she needed a dress for graduation; okay and we needed groceries, but we always lacked in that department when I was in-between KZEP jobs.

I motioned to the heckler for him to come on stage. I glanced over at Stan; he was in a huddle with the rest of the comics- I had an idea, my heart was racing, and I was hoping it would work.

Whispering to Heckler-boy, “I can’t talk but I can whisper to you my jokes. Will you help me out? I will give you the jokes one line at a time.” For lack of breath and voice I added, “Want to?“

He took the mic and told the audience what was happening and the crowd went crazy! They began chanting his name and beating the floor, just making a ton of noise. It became quiet while I whispered the line. Heckler-boy acted it out as he  was the PERFECT ham!  After every punch the crowd responded like we were Areosmith, yes the whole band. For 15 minutes the crowd would hush as if they wanted to hear what I was whispering to their home-boy, then explode with cacophonis reception.

Stan and the boys quit the pow-wow and were now paying attention. The comic who followed me said he knew it was going to be hard because the crowd was totally into the scene on stage. Heckler-boy even did a pretty good Katherine Hepburn. Stan had already told the others he was not going to pay me, but 10 minutes into my show, with major help from the perfect audience member, he had to pay me. My spot was a highlight of the night. Stan did cut my pay since I didn’t headline, but Shannon got her new dress.

This night became legendary. It was the night Stan COULDN’T withhold money from someone. No one would let him- though I think that extra money he was suppose to give me ended up in his pocket. That was his way. But lucky for me, in the front row that night sat a young man whose dream was to be a comic. Whose daily life included being the life of the moment. He had his day, but I kept the pay!

Never Ready- Until Now

 

Recurring dreams are fun because I think it is our subconscious minds only way of trying to get an important point across. When we don’t listen to ourselves, there is a need to make some kind of contact, and a recurring dream is a shout, saying WAKE UP!

For ten years the dream I have had is the same in message;  different in scenario. There is a big show, it is my big break and I am not ready. Once I was unable to find my dress and shoes the when the limo (I dream big!) showed up it was too late- the show was over and so was my chance. Another one: I get to a show, I am being watched by network executives. The room is dark and as I sit and wait to be called onstage I realize, I can’t remember my set. On stage I falter, I am heckled and I walk off; no one wants to talk to me and I leave for home. Dozens of other dreams like these have haunted me. Why do I feel I am not ready?

Because I haven’t been, until now.

Like anything a person does, you get better the more you practice. Carlos Alazraqui told me when I had been performing comedy for a year that I should say I have 8 years experience. “No one will take you seriously unless you have been on the road for a while.” There have been a few comics who get on stage for the first time and are on The Tonight Show within the month. I needed the 8 years. I have had some great opportunities. Radio- I got my first job after I worked with an ex-news anchor who knew the right people. I was called to do overseas shows. I was asked for a tape to send to The View and had my first national TV experience.

My dreams have put me on awards shows that I get to and am “bumped”  or shows that have no beginning or end, I am just unable to fit in my act.

My sub-conscious, which by the way I briefly met during intense dream therapy at a dream party. I was in a room sitting on a bean bag and all the people in my house knew I was waiting to meet my subconscious; I was told she would be around to see me soon. So I sat an waited. She showed up as the character Jan from The Brady Bunch Movie in the giant afro-wig. She pointed her finger at me and said, “I will get with you later. Peace.” She waved the peace sign at me sixties-style and left. At least my dreams are fun.

Before falling asleep I would ask questions for me and my sub-conscious to work out. One night I asked, “What am I suppose to write about? What is my comedy angle?” My dream was awesome! I was in a field with thousands of women all dressed in white. I would walk up to them and ask, “What should I write about?” Every time the answer was the same, “You know!”

In this dream I asked a lot of women in white that question. I even got to fly up in a big barn where some of them were sitting. “You know! You now! You Know!”

I woke up and quickly wrote down the dream, then promptly added, ‘I still don’t know what I am suppose to write about.’ Now, I do. I got it finally. After years of writing about my life, my kids and experiences it dawned on me that I write what I know. My main audience is women, men laugh as well, but I really do enjoy playing jester to my kind. We are in need of laughter as much as understanding and truth. Sometimes, after a show I will talk to my female tribe and they will say things like, “That was my life you were talking about…on my gosh, you WERE the ovary!” Nothing tops a hug from another woman whose life you have just touched through laughter, other being a mother and having my grand baby, who is almost hatched, at my house for Christmas. Women invented disclaimers, not the pharmaceutical companies!

The answer is clear, the show is near. Will I be ready? My outfit is in the closet. My hair, though short, is cut and cute. My set is close, one more open-mic on Wednesday. I will be at the show early, and I am pretty sure I will remember my jokes. They are a part of me like the women dressed in white in my dream.

October 3rd, Scottish Rite Theater, 8 pm. I was asked to perform as a featured comic from San Antonio by Kiki Melendez. She is amazing. She and Eva Longoria Parker have produced this show for women comics- see, we are just as funny as men. Todd Glass once told me that because I was a woman I would never see people in the audience folded over in laughter. When I did one night look into the crowd and see not just women, but men laughing and holding their stomachs and YES, doubled over; I wished I had had a camera. I am being given a chance to shine, I’ll take it!

And, I will be ready.

Finding My Style in the Mall

I went to the mall today to get my hair styled. The place I like to go to is in the mall. Hair is a problem. I went today to get my hair cut and dyed. I never know if I get my dream across…what I want and what I get are ALWAYS two very different things. Today I went for a red head with blonde streaks. The cut; I showed a picture…I SHOWED a picture! I pointed at the length; “This is the length,” I said, then repeated,”This is how long I want my hair!” BUT; I walked out with a good cut, much too short! I did get a lot of compliments on the hair today, and of course it will grow out. When it does, I will get it cut too short again, sometime in the set and not so distant future.

Once, a hairdresser told me that when she cut hair, the hair in which she cut magically grew back faster. My hair was cut too short and it did not grow back any faster. I wondered if she had read a child’s book about magical scissors. Or she was just wacky. I pick wacky!

Are shoes like cocaine? Only the person in them feels the high? And only others who share the addiction notice the difference between a 1000 dollar pair of shoes and a Dillards special for 55? Shoes are displayed at a size 6 or 7. I am a size 10 or sometimes, much to my horror, bigger. Shoes lose their beauty at size 10. The points are pointier, the round parts are rounder and the shoe just clunkier, no matter the maker.

Jennifer Hudson’s character in Sex and the City had style. She rented it. Her boss, Carrie, Sarah-Jessica Parker’s character is style. Carrie marries Big because in the end- shoes matter.

I like the stores that changed the sizing laws. In Chicos and White House Black Market, I am a size one! I shop theses places as often as I can afford the high price of snaller sizes. Evey woman over the age of 40 knows that sizes have been changed in the stores; growing up at my biggest, I was a size 12. I have never been close to that as an adult. Designer duds are sized smaller as well. Bottom line is that the more money I have, the smaller I am. Money CAN buy happiness!

Today I told a salesclerk that I recently lost 100 pounds. She went on and on about how great I looked. I then came clean and said I actually just gained about 15 pounds. I wonder if I still looked as good? It is a matter of perspective. She stopped gushing about how I looked, and laughed. I noticed the compliments stopped. From now on, I just lost 100 pounds.

I do not get why stores place the Petite area next to the Woman area. Put the petites where they belong…next to the childrens’ clothing. WTF next to the XXL and 3XXX racks? Big ladies don’t want to even look at the skinny ones shopping for their shorterthan average sleeve lengths and smaller than normal waist sizes. The petite probably don’t tlike being stuck next to clothing they could swim in- come on now….who IS responsible for this? Are you just sick?

Reba….why are you in the fashion business and no one knows it but me? And where did your upper lip go?

Kiosk sales people from other countries are scary. “Here, try this soap just for you.” Here try this lotion and salt from the Dead Sea.” Then they start making deals…”You can get this lotion, and this soap for only 100 American is Satan dollars!”  

Okay, eyebrow threading in the middle of the mall done with quick, precise movements between the middle eastern woman’s mouth and right hand. In the MIDDLE of the MALL!! What is next, besides massages in front of everybody, and teeth whitening? Will I be able to get my PAP done as well- after my eye exam? As long as there is an office and not a kiosk.

Once I was accused of walking away with Proactive in a mall. I had a box of the product and waved over to Chas who was looking at cell-phones. “This is what I want!” I yelled!! “Put that down right now!” the accusing angry woman snapped.

I ended up calling security and asking for an apology from the kiosk nazi. I finally got one in the form of an e-mail which was really a non-apology. I was hoping for some free products! The e-mail started out…”I am sorry if you misunderstood me but…”

If I was going to steal,  would be waving the box above my head…would I? I don’t know, I don’t steal. And, really, would I be yelling “HEY LOOK!” while waving the box. I think that lady was mad because she just came back from shopping next to a bunch of petite women.

I usually take a stroll through the food court during mall visits. I never eat anything but the free samples. Remember- I just lost 100 pounds!

Thank You, Mr. Patton

Our apartment in Baunach, Germany had maybe 600 square feet of living space. With two baby girls, a stay-at-home mom and a soldier in the United States Army, it was full of love and activity; every square inch. Vacuuming only took a few minutes, but it is my favorite cleaning activity, and I do it a lot, for as long as I need to; which is where the psychosis kicks in! Does a carpet ever get clean? While vacuuming a small patch of carpet in our living room, I went into some deep thought,blogsurfer.us, remembering something because it bubbled up from some part of my mind, on its own. It was a powerful thought, because when it ballooned to HDTV full-screen, I stopped the vacuum and stood watching the show. It was Mr. Patton, my Junior High school principal, who gave me the 100 dollar “anonymous” donation for clothes when I was in the 7th grade!! At the age of 25, I figured it out, without even trying to figure it out. My sub-conscious may have become tired of carrying around such a wonderful piece of information- it plopped right into my consciousness during my vacuum meditation!

Sitting in the principal’s office is scary to me even now as a teacher! There I was, wearing an old torn skirt and a white shirt I had found in my mother’s closet. My socks never matched, and I remember wearing track shoes to school until they were so full of holes, going barefoor would have been more attractive. The good news about the track shoes is that most kids those days wore them that way- my how times change!! I had been called to the office over the new loud-speaker system. Kids just stared at me I was walked out, wondering what I did to get in trouble! “Kim, we have been given 100 dollars by an anonymous donor for a student who needs some clothes. But, the donor wanted the student to be someone who is a good student, involved in school activities. We picked you. My wife and your mother will take you shopping on Saturday.”

Mrs. Patton was my 5th and 6th grade English teacher. I knew her well. This was all good. The only problem I had, I didn’t know how to shop. (That is no longer a problem.)

“I have nothing to wear!” I yelled at my mother. This was an every morning occurance- I remember crying in my closet, hovered in the corner and looking up at the clothing rod full of empty hangers. Nothing in the closet for me to wear, absolutely nothing. When I said I had nothing to wear- it was literal. Once, and only once, my youngest daughter yelled those exact words to me when she was in the 4th grade. Poor Shannon had no idea what button she pushed that morning! “Nothing…you say you have nothingto wear? Look at this closet!” I was yelling, while trying to pull apart the clothes because the closet was stuffed. She cried and I was thankful for that moment when she came home from school so I could apologize, and explain. “You see Shannon, mommy made sure you had so many clothes that you would never say that.” Silly me, I didn’t account for normal.

We went to Joskes at North Star Mall; my mother worked in the basement sales area and  got a good discount, so I was going to be able to get a few items- I remember the shirt I found , the pants, I got some undies and socks. I was the happiest 12 year old alive that day in the fall of 1972. On that Monday I wore my new shirt, which was promptly stolen from my locker during basketball practice. Someone needed it more? I hold onto that thought-

I had never put the anonymous donor as Mr. Patton until 13 years later. I had never even tried to figure it out- thank goodness I am smarter than I think I am sometimes!

I set out to find him. In 2000 I was on the KZEP morning show and told my story (to a certain extent) and that Mr. Patton needed some thanking. I put it out on the air-waves. No one listening was able to help. We did get into a conversation about how much 100 bucks could buy in 1972. The 100 dollars in clothes was great, but it was what he said to me that kept me in school. He told me I was smart, I had a good future and that I was deserving! On another occasion, he called me in his office to show another administrator my cheerleader outfit. My brother’s girlfriend had been a high school cheerleader and she made me some pom-poms for my shoes and hair; other pom-poms hadn’t showed up yet! I like the word pom-poms. What Mr. Patton was really doing that day was giving me praise. I have that praise in my heart still.

In 2004 I met Charlie, the guy I plan to marry; the same one who won’t take me dancing. He did take me to Waring, Texas to this small mom and pop convenience/pizza store. I walked in and there he was. Mr. Patton. When he looked at me I was shocked to see a tear well up in HIS eye. I said, “Do you know who I am?” He said, “Yes, of course I do Kim- of course I do!”

 Then I cried!

“I came to tell you thanks for the 100 dollars. It WAS YOU  wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was, and you’re welcome.”

Charlie had run into Mr. Patton at the coast. They had a school relationship as well. Mr. Patton was Charlie’s Junior High School Principal as well, and had  to be called out of class to get his family’s pigs off the school grounds. Those were the days! But, cards had been exchanged that day at the coast, and when we started dating and sharing stories, Chas was quick to find Mr. Patton’s card and to promise to take me to see him.

As an educator I try to pay it forward. Though I have not given away 100 bucks, I have given. I was taught the power of words and praise.

Thank you Mr. Patton.

Winning and The Rosie O’Donnell Show

Driving to school on a cool, breezy fall morning,  some year long ago in the 1990′s,  I was listening to my favorite radio station. San Antonio, in my opinion at the time had only one morning show worth tuning to, and that was Magic, 105.3 with Sonny Melendrez and Megan Bishop. For years I woke my daughters up with the sound of Sonny, Megan and the music of the 70′s, 80′s and today!! Yes, I even participated at times and called in so Sonny could say “Happy Birthday” to my girls, and when I began performing comedy and was a player in Laff Stock, I got to go into the radio station and be on the show! Of course Megan and Sonny were gracious and fun; I was in heaven! These people were the stars of my mornings, and I was a performer, for real!

Megan Bishop was the perfect companion to Sonny in my humble opinion. She really sounded genuinely interested in everything he had to say and she seemed to genuinely laugh at all his jokes! I remember thinking she was a great person and would be a wonderful friend.

Now, that is the stuff of a good morning show.

That day in my mini-van I was listening about the contest Magic was having in which the prize was a trip to New York and a moment on the Rosie O’Donnell show. The person who raised the most money for her charity, child advocacy, would get the trip and be the person to introduce Rosie. It has been a few years, but if you ever saw the show, a member of the audience would introduce her then have a quick chat.

The contest was a month old and ending in a week. I heard about it every weekday for a month- but on this morning something happened in my car. I have always believed it was God being louder than usual, I could actually hear him that day. “You will win this contest. You will go to New York and meet Rosie. Do it. Get started today!”

Sure, my adrenaline was rushing because I KNOW I wasn’t saying those things. Two thoughts; okay I am crazy, God is speaking to me. I used to work in a mental institution, I know the consequences of hearing GOD! Two: God is speaking to me, I will win and I am suppose to meet Rosie O’Donnell for SOME reason!

I went with two. As soon as I had a break from class, I got on the phone and called the station. “Megan! Hi, this is Kim Kerley, you know Kim Kerley? From Laff Stock? Yeah, great, how are you? I need to enter the Rosie O’Donnell contest. I have something to say, and it is this; I KNOW I am going to win! Megan, you know how Kathleen Bitner, the psychic who comes on your show and predicts stuff? I am like her today, I KNOW! Write it down, Kim Kerley is going to win!” Blogsurfer.us.

Megan, being her gracious radio-personality self said, “ Okay, good luck!” and “oh, by the way you only have three days to raise some money.”

I told her I knew that, asked about the proper paperwork needed and started my fund-raising activities. The last thing  I told her was to write it down, Kim Kerley is going to win. I didn’t tell her that GOD told me so. I knew I sounded crazy enough.

I won. Did you doubt? I didn’t for a second. Even when my name was announced I was not surprised. I was already on phase two of this journey…why? Why was this the ONE time God spoke so loud and clear to me. Why this contest? Why Rosie O’Donnell? Will she be the catalyst for my career? Will she be the one that helps me to the next comedy level?

I figured that was it- Rosie was going to be my new best friend. God was setting it up.

New York was cold, windy and wonderful! I was never happier to be so far from home. I was housed in a nice hotel and had some time to see the sights. After eating a bagel at Tiffany’s I headed to Trump Tower, then off to the subways, just because. The show was being taped early the following day and after I wowed Rosie, set up my meeting with her to plan my next career move, I planned on going to the Statue of Liberty, then Little Italy.

Sonny and his son met me at NBC with some news. Rosie had no idea we were there. None. Sonny was not pleased and he said he knew the producer and would get us some seats. (We didn’t even have seats!)

We got our seats, but I was not going to introduce Rosie and have my national TV moment with her. Donna Shalayla was there for that, and when I saw her, by the way, she is very short, I wanted to pull a Lucy, gag her and put her in the closet for a few moments. Sonny is no Ethel, and gagging a member of the cabinet will get you 10 to 20. So I sat in my seat, which I was grateful to have, ate my snack which Rosie provided for all members of the audience, and held back my tears.

When Rosie came out she looked over at Sonny and me. She knew what had happened. We were told after the show to wait and we would get some personal time with her to make up for the mistakes that were made, by somebody…

She was great. We talked about comedy. I gave her a basket full of Texas items and baby gifts; little cowboy boots, some Texas shaped chips, my headshot and a tape of one of my shows. I was not a very good comic then. I hadn’t even started hosting yet. I was still a newbie- and my tape had to, in retrospect, be pretty bad.

We never became best friends. My career has no Rosie link. So WHY did I know I was going to win? What was, or is God up to with this?

I have a show on October 3rd in San Antonio, Texas. KiKi Melendez and Eva Longoria-Parker are the producers of a show of women comics called The Hot Tamales. KiKi had called the local comedy clubs and asked for the name of San Antonio’s number 1 female comic. She was given my name. She booked me. I am in comic heaven because getting a job like that is a blessing.

Show by show I wait for the next Rosie link- a God wink; at least that is what I think!

Getting Married

I love him. He loves me. We are thinking of getting the government involved.

I have been down the aisle once and sat in a judges chambers at the city jail the second time (he was the only JP on duty.)  Blogsurfer.us After that exchange of vows my second husband looked at me and said, “What the **** did we just do? Oh, I love you, too, baby!

That marriage lasted until the next day. I called my lawyer and asked about an annulment; they are pricey. I did the paperwork myself and got out of that fiasco as fast as I could. My new relationship which is five years old, has been a steady one. I had hoped my late 40′s would bring me some peace with men in the form of a man and it did; Charlie, a good-ole-boy from my old ‘hood! He and I went to the same high school, but he finished a bit earlier than me- a senior when I was a seventh grader. But as a seventh grader I knew who the high school quarterback was, and he was beautiful; so much so I think he came with his own soundtrack of music. Also, I dated his cousin, and I know the fam.

On Christmas morning, four years into the relationship, he asked me to marry him. Not really asked, I woke up and the bag with the ring in it was on my stomach.  I looked at him, and with morning breath said, “No, not this way, no! What did you do?”

“They are ear rings.”

When I looked in the bag, I saw a beautiful marque diamond ring, my size and perfect. I handed it to him and said, “At least ask me.”   Iwill never forget those amazing words as he held out the ring to me (remember all this was before I had even gotten out of bed for the morning) “Promise me you won’t change?” I grabbed the ring, jumped out of bed, put it on my finger and went into the best Smeagol impression, saying “My precious, my precious!” How much more change could he be afraid of after that?

Was he really afraid that after four years a ring on my finger would change me? We had done pretty well up to that point, I would say we had three arguments. One; on our first anniversary, we were going dancing. I love to go dancing, the problem is, I never go dancing! We stopped to make an appearance at his client’s Halloween party and ended up staying the entire night; I blamed the gambling tables, and I certainly blamed Charlie.  I befriended two couples dressed like the Flintstones and the Rubbles; I was dressed as an angry date.

Two, he stood me up to go dancing which is hard to do when you live with each other. I was ready by six, he never came home or called.

Three, I forget that one; maybe it was something I did. 

I remember on Valentine’s day I told him what I thought the relationship needed.  “There is you, there is me. We are nice people and you even said what you like about us is that we try to out-nice each other. We do that with everyone in our close circle. BUT, the relationship is an entity unto itself. It needs nourishment. The relationship needs attention. The relationship should be taken to dinner and the relationship should be taken dancing!”

“Oh….!” Charlie said this as though his halogen lamp had just been turned up to bright. “Oh, I understand. You want to go dancing!”

Exactly.

As a comic I work around a lot of funny men. I work in clubs late at night. Charlie is a contractor and a natural salesman. He knows everyone, men and women- (he married most of them…Just kidding!) Charlie was and is so handsome he never had to chase down a partner, he could just sit back and let it happen, like Elvis. The point is, in this relationship, neither one of us has had the urge to look around and see what is out there any longer. It is such a relief. I found him. He found me.

It is time to start the dancing.

God Wouldn’t Change Me

When a twelve-year-old prays, I am certain God is listening. When a 12-year-old asks  God to change their personality so they can be like Debbie Kolody, who never gets in trouble, I am certain God is laughing. I knew if God would just do SOMETHING, anything, to help me keep my mouth shut, and from trying to control my 6th grade class, life would be less stressful. blogsurfer.us At 12 I prayed; really it was more like begging, “please God, please, make me more like Debbie Kolody, I want to be able to sit still and NEVER get in any trouble again!”

Wondering if  ‘it worked’ I fell asleep. When I woke up in the morning I sat in bed and tried to speculate on any changes…I sure didn’t feel different, but I was excited. Maybe God did it! Maybe I was going to be more still today and controlled. At breakfast I tried out my new personality. I poured my cereal with a quiet attitude and ate at the table instead of in front of the TV. So mature! While looking for a pair of matching socks, I didn’t complain, even though the closest match I could find were white, but had different patterns. Knee socks should match. What would Debbie Kolody do? I knew her mother did laundry, so maybe she would panic like I wanted to panic. I went through the sock dilemma everyday, so this as well as my frustration was old news.

That morning I sat in my desk and looked around at the others as they meandered in. I smiled and waved, I was trying to be quiet. Debbie was already in her seat, so still, so perfectly still. She had on a dress that day. I remember seeing her slip and her matching knee socks. She was so clean and crisp. I knew she went to church and she knew about Jesus. I knew Jesus, too. My mother would yell his name often while in traffic. And I knew His birthday. That was it. A few of my classmates were Catholic and would talk about church. I was invited once to go with Linda’s family, my 6th grade best friend. The getting up, sitting down, crossing, repeating stuff- I was so confused, but happy. I heard about Jesus- and felt pretty good about it.

When Mike Belko walked in the class that morning, my attempt at change was over. He walked in just as George Knight did and they were talking smack! We had a kick ball tournament going on and we were all very competitive that year in Mrs. Quinn’s class. I stood up and pointed to Belko, and while jumping up and down I yelled, “You have cooties and we are going to beat your cootie-diseased team today!” Then chaos. All the boys were yelling I was still yelling and the game was ON! It wasn’t even opposite day, I meant all that I said!

“Kim! Kim! Kim! You sit down and be quiet right this minute. STOP IT NOW!”

Then Mrs. Quinn gave me that look. That look which is a cross between a mother and a nun, which I think Mrs. Quinn had been both.  She was really good at the look, and I sat down, ready to cry. God didn’t change me, I was still in trouble, I was nothing like Debbie Kolody, who by the way, sat there and watched as we all got reprimanded.

I was stuck being me.

Back in those days kids like me were called antsy, gifted, leader. Now kids like this are called by a disorder. And they are drugged. I believe there are some kids who are truly out of their heads with inability to focus due to some sort of physiological genesis- but a lot of kids are like I was- taking in my surroundings all at once. I could never be still in school, and I did fine.  I was a straight ‘A’ student until I became a house-hopper. If I was drugged I would never have been able to figure out that there was already a Debbie Kolody. I was just me- and that was good enough. Cooties and all.

Teachers Should have Trading Cards

Teachers are heroes. Teachers have the toughest job in America.  Teachers have the most important job in America. Teachers are underpaid. They only work 10 months out of the year. The benefits are great. The retirement is good. Blogsurfer.us.

All of that should have sounded familiar whether you are in the education business, or just a product of it. As a teacher, I have something to say. The first thing is to acknowledge that my job is important, and it is scary important at times. Teachers have the opportunity to inspire and help children become what it is they should become. Teachers can also destroy and stamp out dreams. Heavy stuff.

I saw Janet Jackson on Oprah a few years ago, how many years is hard to say. I do know she was skinny Janet and very famous.  Maybe it was in the nineties when she made that cool video with the big beach ball and very muscular man. Janet complained to Oprah that a high school math teacher made her get up from her seat, walk to the chalkboard to work a problem (which she got wrong) and said that experience HAUNTS her and she is shy and fearful in front of people because of that mean math teacher. I remember thinking this was one time when Oprah could have pulled her attitude out and say, “Now come on Janet, you are an entertainer who performs to sold-out stadiums across the world and maybe you are naturally shy, or your crazy dad beat you into your shyness, whatever, Janet, give me a break, you just didn’t study the night before. The teacher caught you not knowing something- get over it. I know, show your breast at the Superbowl in the future to help you with that phobia of being in front of people.”

I love pretending to be Oprah- can you tell?

The truth is this (get ready for some inside teacher-scoop) teachers are people. And we cannot parent our class population, we can teach it. We want our students to show respect.  And another thing, please quit blaming teachers for wanting our students to be prepared for our classes. There are good teachers. There are crummy teachers. I want to talk for for the good teachers, because I believe I am one. We care, we want the best for our students and above all we want them to learn and enjoy the process of learning. There I said it-

I went to an NFL game today and I am always amazed with the amount of money athletes make. Good for them. The seats in the stadium were full and people all around me were buying over-priced hot dogs, pretzels and beer. Myriad fans donned jerseys of their favorite players, or the ones they could buy at Academy. It was fun. There was a lot of money exchanged for this game. I looked around at all the people and imagined them as neighborhoods that are taxed for me, and my school district. The federal dollars that are sent to us, and of course in Texas we get money from the lottery (insert laugh track here. Education gets nothing from the lottery, but I understand if gambling is legalized schools will benefit! Insert more of the laugh track here.)

Teachers are heroes!  Oprah says it. The PTA says it. The President has said it; I think. Some people believe it. But, next to an NFL, or NBA player; we are just poor people in the cheap seats. I don’t get paid a lot, that is for sure, seeing I can destroy or inspire a kid to possibly grow up and out-do Ghandi…what if that kid was on Oprah. I bet I would at least get a car. Teachers should have agents like pro- athletes. We should have sponsors who get us endorsements for all kinds of stuff. It can be products for stress, wrinkles, heart and bowel problems. Jamie Curtiss can have a few of us on her yougurt-sharing couch. We could sell wine (Okay, any alcohol) clothing, shoes, fitness clubs. The list is endless, because if we are heroes, and we are just regular people living our lives..use us in the media. Show us the money!

Posters in the classroom can be from sponsors. Computers, staples, books!! I have a dream where teachers and rich people live together and sit side by side in good restaurants, who are their sponsors, and live a good life. Teachers should have trading cards with our pictures on the front and stats on the back. I have had many students visit me who are doing very well. One young lady is now in Hollywood and thanked me for inspiring her to study the 1960′s. She said it has helped make her who she is…go figure, but she would be one of my stats! Also, we could have our testing stats, where we have worked on the backs. Students would collect our cards, want to be like us and take their pictures with us and, oh, now wait, that my friends is already happening. Not the cards, the last part where they take our pictures. At the end of every year when saying goodbye, it is always with joy and love and lots of snapshots.

In some school districts, school buses have advertisements in and on them to help the cost of transportation. There has been debate whether or not this is a good thing. I mean, do we want our kids around ads even on the bus? I say, really? Really? There is debate on this? Sell the ads to get the kids to school. Ads are everywhere- take a good look again at any pro-athlete. If it is okay for them, why not the schools? And especially, why not for the teachers? Right now the retirement system is taking out close to 300 dollars a month from my check. Then, since my district had opted out of contributing to social security, I got a 40 something b 3. that is suppose to offset that little crisis. Then taxes and health care. Every year when I go to sign-up for benefits I ask them where would they like me to go and bend over. The insurance representatives get  mad, but my fellow teachers laugh. I know it is a cheap laugh; whatever.

In the end, I end up with enough money to barely make it to the end of every month. Not a happy ending really, is it?

This sponsor idea is a good one. I wouldn’t mind driving a car with a advertisment for my favorite book store, wear clothes with as many patches as Ricky Bobby, and a classroom full of posters with inspiring words sponsored by Sara Lee. This idea would work for firemen, soldiers, and any policeman who has not given me a ticket. (I hold grudges)

I already have an idea for my perfume line; Commended; the Smell of Sucess, Ode to English. Brilliant. Good Work.

Scoot over Liz Taylor, here I come!