I am getting too old and no one will hire me.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I mean, I am still working, of course. And I get to perform in cool places like the Plush Room in San Fran and Chicago’s Drury Lane Water Tower. But let’s not sugar coat, this, Blanche: I am a lounge singer. Nothing glamorous. A girl’s gotta work cause baby needs a new pair of shoes. Quite literally.
We move out to Bumblefeck and there is NO WHERE to play. I sit in every once in awhile as the house vocalist at Pirro’s in Woodstock and I have the random job here and there, but other than that, there is not a whole lot going on. I am used to working at least once a week, if not more.
And this is not me trying to book Carnegie Hall people. We are talking about me trying to get a booking singing in a measly corner of a 3 star restaurant singing Besame Mucho will you gnaw on your calamari. But lately, I can’t get arrested. I know for certain that it’s not my voice because vocally, I am sharp as a tack. Process of elimination points out that it must be the way I look.
Perhaps it’s just something small like restaurant managers being worried that servers may trip over my sagging breasts, or that my gnarled, rugged and scraggy skin with turn people off from ordering the Veal Piccata. Perhaps it’s my distended and paunchy middle-aged housewife form, that is, time and time again, shoved in a black cocktail dress like haggis.
Not that I am NOT working on that. I wash my face, brush my teeth with whitening toothpaste, bathe and exfoliate every day. I shave my legs every once in while too. But I live in a land where finding time to pee without a toddler on your lap is a challenge, so taking care of myself is pretty much on the bottom of the list.
Example of daily to do list:
- laundry
- Clean bathrooms
- dust shutters
- Make dentist appts.
- birty party invites
- wipe asses
- remove crusty snot off cheeks
- do 5,000 things, then, if there is a few minutes before bed
- make time to poop
I have been dieting and have lost 15 pounds already, thanks to a great support group of my online mommy friends. I am not exercising yet because frankly, I am too busy blogging.
At this point, I am virtually a solid so I need to get moving and shaking a little bit. Instead of being one of those dieters that hangs a fridge picture of Pauline Porizkova (See how feckin old I am?), I mean Kate Moss (gawd, she’s practically geriatric now, too) Mary-Kate Olsen, I can hang up a picture of Bette Midler in Vegas.
She’s still working. Big time. If I hang her up on the fridge, surely I will thing twice before going in there and making my typical lunch: a cheese sandwich, with cheese soup, mac and cheese with a side of cheesecake.
I am going into the studio Tuesday with this new guitarist (who I will from now on refer to as Dracula to protect the innocent) that I have been working with, some 24 year old guy from Transylvania, who RIPS it up, seriously, he is so good. I am optimistic that we can get some work together as a mother-son duo.
Dracula and I need to think of a name. Here are some ideas:
Liza and Gest
Old Vampira and the Young Transylvanian
Depends
Senile Sally and the Caregiver
What do you think? Well, listen, you let me know if you have any ideas. D and I are open to suggestions.
Yesterday, when I dressed to go on a family Costco run, I noticed that I have a corrugating, puckered, wrinkled mess on my neck. This is a serious situation we have here. I actually and I shit you not, put on a silk scarf around my neck that would have made Diane Keaton weep with pride.
After our studio session, Dracula and I are going to have a promo pic photo shoot soon. If that doesn’t work out, I should actually send this picture and see how many gigs we get
I gotta wrap this up here so I can go kill a duck and rub the lard on my new neck wrinkles.
