Rush rush . . .hurry lover come to me

Sorry, I was listening to "Pure 90s" at work today and this Paula Abdul favorite is on it. I'm a lil tipsy, I'm not going to lie to you, dear readers. i spent about 5 days with my family. And it was great. But for some reason, I needed to celebrate my homecoming with some wine. In such situations, I traditionally call my friend Virginia. She also drinks wine by herself. We call each other when drinking wine to convince each other, "if I'm talking to you, I'm not drinking alone."

I tell myself my vision is a little blurry at the moment because the prescription on these glasses is weak and I daresay, that's part of it. The other part is the heat of August in New York and about 3 glasses of pinot grigio. I'm working on a one-woman show and I'm scared. Scared of failure . . . probably not. I've done much worse theater than this. Scared of exposing this much of myself and making it precious? Yes indeed. I hope for it to harness some sort of universal truth and thus be acerbic and smart and hit some chord within the heart of the masses.

To be more truthful, I just hope it doesn't suck. Ain't no characters here. Just the story of me, my dad and his dog and a couple of douchebags thrown in for good measure.

In the meantime, I toss shredded cheddar cheese on microwave popcorn and sip pinot grigio, banging out draft after draft to the tune of "Rockstar: Inxs" and again mourn for the loss of Dave Navarro's heterosexuality.