As a writer and comic people like to be honest with me. Share with me their inner secrets and say something like you better not tell anybody this.
They think I am a bit off centre, that I may be a little wild. Sure I had my share of crazy in my twenties but in my 50′s I am well….dull. …or perhaps not that curious.
The following story is a case in point.
I was teaching a creativity workshop on the weekend, and on the break, asked one attendee what she did for a living, to which she replied, “I own a sex club.”
This is the point where I put on my ‘ pseudo sincere’ face.
Its a face I developed early on when I lied to my mother. The face I used on my kids when they told me something horrible. “You did what?”
On a moment’s notice, I can relax my face relax like a piece of silk, devoid of all emotion, and after years I stole from a therapist, and started putting my finger to my lips and saying “I see. I see.”
This look would buy me more time so I can figure out what I feel or think. And perhaps the story teller to gain trust for her to tell me more.
I do not judge her lifestyle. Not my cup of tea, but my no mean is it any worse or better than going to a bar on a Saturday night and picking up someone you don’t know. And its certainly not worse than dating a man online like I have done.
Generally speaking though, you’re dressed when you go into the bar.
However to each his own!
Maybe some people like to watch and be watched. To come in on their lunch hours for a “real happy hour”. Or people that want to use her theme rooms, called the Shaggin wagon where you can get it on like you did in your teens. but here is the rub, (or rug burn) unless they have a room where I can wear housecoat I am not going. And what about if you went to a sex club and then said, No honey, I’m not in the mood” you might have well just stayed at home.
And when she said, “It’s clean, and that the staff disinfected the play rooms after each encounter, I puked in my mouth. And don’t get me started if there was a stray hair. I’d be spraying and God forbid there was a stray hair. And how uncomfortable would it be with me walking around in my housecoat, and disinfecting people while they have sex, no. I
And frankly while we’re on the subject I don’t want to watch me have sex. I used to draw the blinds when I watched Sex and the City.
So when she said I can leave a pass for you at the door I graciously said no. I don’t need to explore that option in life. In fact at my age, I can lie in bed with my Sleepytime Tea and write this blog and get as much enjoyment from not going. Thinking about it right now I am laughing. So why should I get up and get dressed and go out to a sex club? Or undressed….as the case may be.
(PLEASE COMMENT BELOW IF YOU HAVE EVER HAD SOME STRANGE REQUEST WHERE YOU ARE FORCED TO PUT ON PSUEDO SINCERE FACE?)
And if you LIKE this, share it on your page. Might as well spread this crazy around.
I was in Isla Mujeres for International women’s day, attending the Conference called, We Move Forward. Eighty amazing women from all over the globe began the three days of inspiration.
Other than to be with fabulous women, I had no goals for this conference. I didn’t want to be Helen Reddy. I was woman, but there would be no roaring. I didn’t want to change, or vision or be motivated. I had improved enough. I wanted to enjoy the beauty of Mexican beaches and my delightful hotel.
But when you go to relax you will find one thing is true. Your mind has a mind of its own.
As soon as I commit to enjoying myself I start to hear a radio playing in my head. CKR U kidding me?
CKRU kidding me, is like a talk show with callers chiming in from my childhood, all blabbing about how I shouldn’t be this size, this age, this pasty. I should be someone else. Who? I don’t know. I know it’s a female trait to put all our anxiety on the body. We could have a day where we popped a kid out in a fields, put out fires, rescued cats and spay, but at the end of the day we always bemoan the fact we’re fat. Or think we are.
I think it because if we had to own how powerful we really are we’d afraid we’d start blowing up buildings with our excess energy.
But as the conference went on, and one woman after another inspired us with stories of courage and determination, I thought I am so sick of this CKRU kidding me playing in my head. IThere is a very big part of me that really does love myself, but this is like elevator music.
Frankly I have anaylised and made self help industry thousands of dollars and I really don’t care why its on my satellite dish, I don’t want to subscribe anymore.
So for the next few days, everytime I started to hear some negative mind fart, I purposely nipped it in the butt. I mean, bud.
I walked. danced, moved my booty, tasted food, laughed and cried till it hurt. I even attempted snorkelling. And Even though I ingested a fair bit of salt water started to feel good. Me! Someone with psoriasis and age spots and cellulite, in other words human, finally felt like I fit in my body. This body was okay. I was okay.
One delightful afternoon I came back to the Hotel Joya where I was staying, and a Norwegian couple I had befriended were splashing around in the pool.
They yelled ,
“Hey Deborah, come on in. You look hot.”
I did? Wow this affirmation crap was working.
See those beautiful young people didn’t care I was walking around with 54 year old hips and a size 14 bathing suit. Petra and Jarold thought I was looked hot. Sweaty even.
So, I went to my room and shut the curtains (for my room overlooked the pool) and as I slipped into swim wear I thought, time to suit up for life.
I did my chant. ” You are good. You are fine. You are lovely.”
When I came out of the room, I quickly got into the pool and the young Norwegians laughed at everything I said. I thought to myself,
” Deb you’re not just funny at home. You are funny, internationally. You should get a gig in Oslo.”
All I knew I was killing the Norwegians.
Then I looked down, and saw what was so funny! I had put my bathing suit on inside out. I looked at the Norwegians. They smiled. I looked at the bra cups bobbing on top of the water. I looked back at the Norwegians. They waited for my response.
” See, this is how we roll in Canada-Its a fashion thing.”
Then I dove in and flipped them my bum. To hell with it. I wasn’t going back to the room to change. I loved myself too much for that. Besides that’s what I wanted from this vacation. No change!! No more turning myself inside out. As I did the self love victory laps, I wondered how many Mohitos would it take before the Norwegians would pass out and I could finally go back to my room.
TELL ME what you think and if you want to SHARE THE LAUGHTER Please POSTING THIS ON YOUR FB PAGE for your friends who are in need of a smile. Be well.
Have you got a story you want to tell but every time you try to write, you get stopped by doubt?
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I promise you’ll have an amazing experience, surrounded by people who will support and encourage your creativity. It will be a day of laughter and learning in the lap of luxury! I am committed to your writing success. I’ll follow up on your progress with monthly writing tips and videos to guarantee your inspiration continues well beyond the classroom.
Click here to see my video about what you’ll learn during this retreat, and thenhereto read the rave reviews of my prior retreats.
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In the current economy, it takes a lot of effort to keep a small business afloat. I was funny but being a comedian wasn’t paying the bills, so I tried calling myself a humorist. But after years of winging it with unsteady work, I hired a marketing consultant to help me define my business. When I got the bill, I realized I had been a fool calling myself a humorist. I should have called myself a humour consultant — that’s where the really big bucks are.
Marketing consultants, just like bankers, have their own secret language. My consultant and I met at a restaurant. Over a plate of fries I tried to explain to him what I did for a living: I was a writer, actor, motivational speaker and improviser, and apparently I was funny.
Funny. That was one f-word the man didn’t like. I said it again: “I’m funny.”
He didn’t crack a smile. He just picked up the saltshaker off the table and said, “Yes, sure, but what is your salt?”
I thought he was joking but he is a consultant; humour is not in his mission statement. He said it again. “This is a saltshaker, and you have to ask yourself, what is your salt?”
“My salt?”
“Yes, you can put the salt in a crystal saltshaker or a packet like at McDonald’s, but it’s still your salt.”
“It certainly is.”
“So what is your salt? Deb, what is your salt?”
“I didn’t know I had salt.”
“You do. What is it?”
This line of conversation was depressing me, especially when he started yelling, as if that would make me understand. Here I was, 53 years old, and I didn’t know what my salt was. In fact, I didn’t even know if I was salt. Maybe I was more like pepper? Or nutmeg? Or worse, what if I was cream of tartar, which a lot of people have in their spice rack and never use?
As an entertainer, I just did the next thing that paid. I never knew if I was between work or washed up. One time I was cast in a film as a nurse, but I was so hungover they made me a terminal patient. Because I was funny, in between real gigs I would work for side companies that hire actors to perform corporate skits. This included jobs like dressing up as fruits and vegetables and singing for a lot of cash. It was insane. One time we were hired to do a skit about empowering women, and the speaker before us did a talk on something she called “Undress For Success.” This woman got all teary-eyed, telling us about the day she discovered her inner stripper. The only inner stripper I have wears polyester nightgowns and smells like Bengay.
Apparently, it wasn’t enough she had found her own inner stripper; the women in the audience had to find theirs, too. My comrades and I sat back and watched in horror as a bunch of middle-aged ladies got up on stage and tried their hand at pole dancing. Trust me when I tell you, the only people who should be sliding down a pole are firemen.
“I hired a marketing consultant to help me define my business…”
Another time I was hired to work in a murder mystery, where a bunch of performers act out a fictional crime. When we got to the gig, we were met by the event planner. Event planners are like real estate agents on crack. She had this murder mystery planned down to the last detail: the costumes, the weapon, the victim, and she’d even colour-coded napkins for each team along with their fingerprint-dusting kits.
However, there was one thing she didn’t count on happening. On location, all of the staff had been alerted that a murder mystery was going on — everyone but the dishwasher, who happened to have just immigrated to Canada that month. The poor man came out of the kitchen and into the dining room with two trays of freshly washed glasses, just as one of the actors pulled out a prop gun and shot a fellow actor. When she fell down clutching her chest, the dishwasher’s tray of dishes went flying as he ran around the room, terrified.
This event planner ran behind him trying to explain: “See, this is just a game here in Canada. Because we don’t have a war going on in this country, we hire people to pretend to be murdered. Isn’t that fun? Don’t you love us so far?”
When we tried to point out how funny it was, she just didn’t see the humour in the situation. Some people take themselves way too seriously. Like the time I was hired by a huge pharmaceutical company for a campaign to advertise a new drug for treating yeast infections. I was cast as the woman with the yeast infection.
You might think I would be humiliated at the idea of playing such a part. I was, but only for about 10 minutes. Especially after I discovered what the rest of the deal included: a seven-day, all-expenses-paid cruise to the Caribbean, without my husband and kids. I guess my artistic integrity can be bought. The best part was the boss who wouldn’t let us use the words “scratch” or “itch” in the skits because they offended him. Maybe you shouldn’t be in the yeast infection business if those two words offend you. Anyway, it took the form of a mini-musical play called “Beauty and the Yeast: Tale as old as time…”
“What if I was cream of tartar, which a lot of people have in their spice rack and never use?”
My point is I didn’t know if I have my salt or how I tried to stay viable. So, I took a poll and asked my friends what they thought my salt was. They totally misunderstood the question and thought it was time to do a character evaluation. One told me I should get a real job, another tried to sell me disability insurance, and another wanted me to return the blue blouse I had borrowed from her in high school.
Finally, Sandra, who is one of my oldest friends and doesn’t suffer consultants gladly, laid it on the line.
“Oh, for crying out loud, you’re a Kimmett.”
“What’s a Kimmett?”
“It’s witty and wise.”
It is? I thought it was old and gassy. So that’s when I decided how I made a living was fine. And I thought it was okay just to keep my company name: Kimmett.
When I went to visit my mother I told her I just spent three thousand dollars to find out I was a Kimmett. To which she said, “Ha ha, very funny.”
I replied, “Yes, let’s hope so.”
Give yourself the gift of creativity. Get information about writing workshops here.
As an improviser, I know that saying “yes” opens you to new ideas and better ways of getting things done. As a writer and teacher who is over 50, I know sometimes life brings you choices.
This year, I made a promise to do three things I love: write, teach, and travel.
That’s why I am taking “Chip off the Old Writer’s Block” on the road. This year I’m heading to Toronto Island, Vancouver, Oakville, and da dah….Peru!
How do you know if “Chip off the Old Writer’s Block” is for you? Answer the questions below:
Do you want to write but never seem to have the time?
Do you have a story to tell but don’t know how to get it on the page?
Did you used to have good ideas but they seem to have dried up?
Is your writer’s block the size of an iceberg? The kind of frozen block that did in the Titanic?
If you answered “yes” to even one of the above questions, attending the “Chip off the Old Writer’s Block” is guaranteed to get the creative juices flowing.
Really? How?
I have more than thirty years of experience writing and teaching writers. I know how to get you writing, or painting, or, for that matter, any other ‘ing you can think of. Using a series of right-brained exercises, I can help you make the shift from a wannabe writer to an “I did it!” writer. Let me show you how to follow the compass to your subconscious. You’ll experience the first success right in the classroom with a group of like-minded people, and you’ll leave with a map for future writing success.
Don’t just listen to me. Click HERE to find out what people are saying about my writing retreats. And watch my video to get more information about what you’ll learn if you sign up.
Okay…now what?
Here’s a list of everything you need to bring to the retreat:
Pen.
Paper.
An open mind (or a closed one we can pry open).
Here are the dates and times for upcoming retreats:
Saturday, April 14, 2012 from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. at Stone Edge, a luxury B & B north of Oakville (details here)
Sunday, April 29, 2012 from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. on Toronto Island at Artscape (details here)
Saturday, April 21, 2012 from 10 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. at The Hive in Vancouver (details here)
Thursday, August 16, 2012 from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. on Toronto Island at Artscape (details here)
If you still want info, please drop me a note for a free writing tip. I’d love to help you start writing today.
