My eyes are up HERE, Miss Money

Beware the wiles of Bitch Kitty ...

This is the little game we play: She waits by the top of the basement stairs for me. I approach her cautiously from the other side of the planet. She growls lowly like a power drill without enough torque. I casually creep closer without making eye contact, as though all of my interest lies with a random sock that fell out of the laundry pile near her. She amps up her growling to sound more like a Kitchen Aid mixer struggling with its dough hook and a particularly hearty bread recipe. I make eye contact. She makes eye contact. I slowly, s l o w l y, begin the process of maybe kind of thinking about someday possibly squatting in her general vicinity to facilitate the hypothetical scratching of her ears. She shifts her growling into third gear, this time sounding like a vacuum with a strip of raffia stuck in its roller during post-Christmas clean-up. I get brutally murdered by a suspiciously nearby surgeon who promptly disarticulates my arms, rendering me profoundly incapable of living, breathing or furry-ear scratching. She shifts into overdrive, sounding almost exactly like the steamroller that all-too-conveniently appears from behind the aforementioned laundry sock to crush my disarticulated remains flatter than the aforementioned bread, which, in my selfish hurry to pet her, I completely forgot to do the part where you fold in the yeast and let the dough rise for three hours. I softly sing "Nothing's gonna harm you. Not while I'm around," which, through the restorative power of show tunes, revives me and rearticulates my arms. She rolls onto her back and does that adorable Fosse thing with her front paws (pictured here), all of which is the international symbol for "I trust you and I unconditionally love you so I'm showing you my vulnerable underbelly in the expectation you'll stop what you're doing and come rub it nonstop until President Pete takes office." I, blithely trusting her yet again, reach out tenderly, gingerly and gratefully to overcome my crippling yet understandable trust issues and finally—FINALLY—rub her soft, furry tummy in servile gratitude. She draws me in with her calculating eyes and her deceitful body language. I, emotionally scarred and spiritually broken by years of this unceasing abuse, finally—FINALLY—make finger-to-tip-of-tummy-furcontact, tears of grateful joy and social acceptance streaming down my face like healing waters spilling forth from the nose of a centuries-old Madonna statue in an Italian grotto. She, once again reaching the triumphant climax of our emotional Grand Guignol, rolls away from me, hisses like a steam brake struggling to stop a runaway train, waddles maybe three feet away, plops her geriatric belly firmly on the carpet, softens her hate-filled eyes to a dewy, inviting semblance of friendship and love, and meows plaintively as though to invite me closer to pet her. I approach her cautiously from the other side of the planet ...

Or I shall marry the Prince of Whales

Must ... not ... picture ... his ... droopy ... dry ... bosoms ...

Brand new Pride couture and assorted mannequin boobies

I made a meme!

Remember how last year my Big Birthday Broadway Bash Blowout! was delayed NINETEEN HOURS

because of bad weather and broken planes and canceled flights and I ended up DRIVING IN A CAR WITH COMPLETE STRANGERS ALL THE WAY TO O’HARE to get on the last possible flight to NYC and I ended up getting there at 2:00 am and I missed my Jimmy Fallon taping and my window for a show the night of my flight in? Remember? REMEMBER?

IT’S. HAPPENING. A. GAI. N. N. Nnnnn.

Our goddamn plane broke between the gate and the O’Hare runway and then officially was declared out of service and we came back to a different gate and got kicked off and the guy seated behind me had already established himself as totally goddamned obnoxious because He Was The Most Important Person On The Plane Who Therefore Will Kick Me Repeatedly In Every Way Possible Even From Under My Seat and Now He Had To Get Off Immediately Because Fuck All You Little People so I made a point of getting in front of him as we got in the aisle and OH NO IT TOOK ME A VERY LONG TIME TO BEND OVER AND PICK UP MY CARRY-ON FROM UNDER THE SEAT IN FRONT OF ME AND THEN OOPS I FORGOT MY BOOK SO I HAD TO SEARCH FOR IT IN THE SEAT POCKET HMMM WHERE DID IT GO OH THERE IT IS so that part was at least kind of awesome but anyway American just happened to have a spare of the almost exact same plane just sitting around—kind of like I do with peanut butter and lack of boyfriends—so our flight wasn’t canceled but we had to move to yet a different gate WHERE THE DAMN GATE AGENT ALSO PRONOUNCED IT CONCI-AIR and now we’re on the plane and we lost our exit row and Cap’ Assholepants has resumed kicking me plus the guy next to him is playing shitty music really loudly because of course he is and I’m doing the math in my head and I’m pretty sure I’ll still get there in time for a matinee but in the mean time look at my selfie and say our new gate number really fast and you’ll know what I think about my Big Birthday Broadway Bash Blowout Bad Breakdown Bummer Bane Bungle Burden Bullshit Boobies.

I might have added boobies at the end just to see if you were still paying attention. Or to complete the rhythmic alliteration. Or because I’m catastrophically immature.

One of us is wearing a plunging V-neck T-shirt. One of us is a bust.

Well HERE’S an interesting conspiracy theory

Proof that that IS Melania: She’s clearly had kidney surgery and a genius grant.
Proof that that is NOT Melania: She’s holding his hand.
The real truth: She totally looks like a Melanie.

Yes. It's THAT cold here in Iowa.

Things I’ve accomplished today:

• Had my first formal voice lesson in 30 years, and already determined some bad habits I can start working on unlearning
• Went to Target and bought only what was on my list
• Did my first leg workout since I started running last spring ... and freaking KILLED my legs without sacrificing proper form
• Accepted a very romantic marriage proposal from one of my 934 freakishly hunky gym crushes as all the rest of the guys in the gym struggled to mask their jealousy through forced smiles and wan applause*
• Attended a Full Monty line bash where I remembered more of my lines than I’d expected
• Sat down and actually played the piano for the first time in months as an overture (for lack of a less obvious metaphor) to my New Year’s resolution to practice with specific regularity
• Made it to my 11th day without having Diet Coke
• Wrote a blog post that doesn’t use the word “boobies”
• Oops
• Didn’t kill anyone intentionally
• Did some laundry without expecting a gold star on my chores chart
• Boobies
• Oops again

* This one is a total fucking lie

MY EYES ARE UP HERE, PEOPLE

I worry that we’re creating unhealthy body-image issues here for both women and men, but I can’t think that right now because I got a show to do!

Also: Super-cute Snoopy rainbow shirt!

I hate to brag, but ...

I made a meme!

Our state capitol is capitoler than your state capitol

Our gold-leafed dome shimmers on the hill:

 The staircase up to the breathtaking rotunda:

Toldja it was breathtaking:

Boobies:

A vestibule off the first floor:

A gorgeous bas-relief tribute to women crowned by an unmistakably Deco sunburst:

Another vestibule has a creepy display of dolls fetishizing the inauguration gowns of our First Ladies:

The stairs to the second floor of the rotunda:

Corn art!

The I above the House chamber windows stands for I LOVE THIS BUILDING: 

But gross. Just fucking gross. Just because an impotent man-boy climbs on his Big Wheel and hurls his feces at the adults to play president doesn’t mean we have to sully our Senate chamber walls with his festering rictus:

Patterns and textures on the second floor:

The steps to the dome, which I unfortunately didn't get to climb:

The freaking STUNNING second-floor library, ladies and gentlemen:

It has lots of books:

And a dumb waiter. For smart people. They’re smart because they read books. And they figured out a way to avoid carrying them up the steps:

And an intricate iron staircase the is the envy of the entire Industrial Revolution:

More intricate wrought iron:

And a beautifully stenciled ceiling medallion:

 A little sorbet to cleanse the palate:

Monuments on the nearby grounds:

Iowa’s memorial to the drooling buffalo that used to wander our land, moistening our soil.

Walking away: 

 Goodbye for now, noble capitol: