What happens in Vegas will stay in Vegas until I'm done with this play

Here's my column for the Post this week. I will update with the Vegas details soon, but for now I must rehearse.

And it’s time for some golden oldies, the grand old days of olde, a golden nugget of time in the circle of life. Yes, my dear readers it’s a New Age; I turn 34 this week. Oh, yes and it’s Gold Nugget Days too.

I’ve come to the conclusion that no amount of anti-aging drugs (creams, tonics-- dare I say elixirs) can stop the clock, so I have decided it’s time for a mid-life crisis.

I realized the other day that I have yet to attain all the attributes of a fairytale princess: singing, dancing and eternal beauty give the good old Disney girls immortality in the books (forget about brains).

Unfortunately, Maleficent must have fanned up some flames and kept the three good fairies from my christening.

When I was younger, I danced. I also sang-- well, sort of. I dropped out of choir in the sixth grade when my heart lured me to the theater. And then the most dreadful thing happened. I butchered an audition for Grease. Yep, I hit a bad note, got nervous and lost the melody. Since that day, I have been terrified of singing in public.

That was until last week when a sour apple martini made me forget I was afraid of the microphone and I sang in a Vegas show. OK I sang two words in a Vegas show because the show guy held the mic in front of my face during “That’s Amore.”

But here’s the tickler. After I was done forgetting to be afraid, the actor said, “Hey that wasn’t bad.”

A little encouragement is all this middle-aged lady needs to fire a little midlife crisis.

This week I actually thought for half a second that I would audition for a musical, and then I woke up and decided it might be best to learn how to sing before I set myself up for 15 more years of screeching.

And so, there will be no audition until I KNOW I can do it.

It’s a good feeling to know I’m conquering a fear even though I do believe I am acting a little nutty.
But I’m allowed to be nutty. I am turning old once again, and I can’t think of a better way to turn old than by being in a play.

Plus, I have a lot to celebrate. I auditioned for the annual Gold Nugget Days Melodrama about a month ago and gave a rather dismal audition.

But I didn’t crawl under a rock and suck my thumb. I accepted my role and I’ve tried to make the most of it.

And though my character has but one line and is on stage but a few minutes, you can rest assured I will milk each and every second for every once of fun I can get.

You’ve heard of Mambo No.5 and Channel No. 5. Well, let me introduce you to Town Lady No. 3.
She’s a rather complex lady. Her mother forgot to name her and she’s rather obsessed with the way stories go. She also cries over changes in scenery, parties with free rum (that she is not invited to), a little fireworks and cruise ship duty-free souvenirs.

Back in her day, she thought she was something hot, but those were years ago.

Now, she is a spinster desperate for a man. At one point during the play, she tries lure a rather questionable man with a seedy occupation into her clutches by using what modest Southern charms she has left (but dear readers don’t go looking for her Southern accent, she’s worked all her life to lose it so you won’t hear it-- plus, remember she only has one line).

Unfortunately, she is doomed to a life full of cats because when she metaphorically fumbles the ball at the end of the game, her man fancies another lady.

And so, she is left to weep and sigh and just be melodramatically without drawing too much attention to herself obnoxious until the curtain closes and you all give her the standing ovation she so rightly deserves (that’s my mid-life crisis speaking, but please do stand for the actors).

And to end this crisis with a shameless plug, the melodrama “Palpitatin’ in Perils in Pair O’ Dice” runs Friday and Saturday at 7 p.m. and Sunday at 5 p.m. at the Paradise Performing Arts Center. Come out and support your town’s fabulous talent.

Oh yes, and roses, jewelry and trinkets other than underwear are greatly appreciated.

Predictions, predictions-- and procrastinations

This week I will be vacationing in Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon, and since I am incredibly LAZY-- here are exerts my column published in the Paradise Post for this week.


I usually don’t like to play fortune teller. Big hair, fancy sequined scarves and big dangly earrings always left me with a nasty case of the goose bumps and some heeby geebies running up and down my spine.

And so I avoid Ouija boards, the Montel Williams Show with Sylvia Brown and 976 numbers at all costs. I really don’t want to know what lay in my cards, what the tea leaves say or how Jupiter and Venus are flirting with Mars (much less Uranus).

And so with much stress, I write this column one week prior to publication.

I really don’t like this. It not only breaks with my 8 a.m. tradition of writing on deadline day, but it also assumes that I know what is going to happen-- which in turn is a surefire way to make sure something newsworthy happens.

But my dear readers, I have no choice.

Yes, I am no doubt somewhere on the Las Vegas strip wondering why the heck I came back for a second year of middle-aged crisis-like behavior-- make that slightly older younger-aged youthful revelry.

Then again, maybe I won’t be in Vegas at all. Maybe my husband left me at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and I haven’t quite figured out how to conjure up a rescuable injury so someone else can haul my lazy tush up the big hill.

This whole doing your homework before it is due is so unfamiliar to me.

I’m a procrastinator. If the doctor hadn’t induced my three kids, I’d still be carrying them. I would in fact be carrying 150 pound of kid-dom in my stomach.

I predict that tardies were up at all the schools last Monday and that some kids even skipped a day or two-- and they weren’t even sick. They were in fact at Disneyland.

I predict that all of my peonies will bloom and die before I return-- and that perhaps their blossoms will even be stolen.

I predict that cat will beat incessantly on the windows while I am gone, and that she will yowl for two weeks straight when I return.

I am almost positive that my kids will moan and complain that they miss me and then will refuse to talk to me on the phone.

Nikki the Youngest will most certainly sleep with her Nana every morning and will take at least two bathes a day (and still look like a refugee).

Maggie the Eldest will snore every night but will do all her homework like a good girl.

Abby the Middle who has sworn her entire life that dogs want to eat her will spend the entire time looking for Pepper the Schnauzer.

Ben the Husband will not dress up like Elvis once but will in fact do various Elvis impersonations throughout our stay.

I will buy a new pair of shoes because I would hate for a hurricane to take out Las Vegas. The last time I went on vacation and didn’t buy a pair of shoes Hurricane Katrina paid the town a visit and so now I MUST buy shoes. It is my duty as a citizen. I am just doing my part. I actually think Homeland Security should pay me for my service.

My mother and father in law will continue to be saints but will be so very happy when we come and take the dumplings home.

As for the weather, I predict that we will indeed have weather so dress accordingly.

I hope you all have a fantastic time-- and I hope I do too or rather I hope I did. Who knows what the future brings? Maybe I should call Montel?