Bloody Fucking Wonderful

This year has ended up shaping me far more than I expected. 

33 doesn't sound like anything spectacular. 

Except perhaps the realization that you're much closer to the 35+ box than the 25+ box.

If only I wasn't always attracted to 28 year olds. 

They're not full grown men yet so it never works out.

You see. 

I'm a full grown lady. 

Like, a woman and then some. 

A girlfriend of mine wanted to fix me up with some guy last week. 

She was like, "Have you met Teresa Renee yet?" & he apparently replied, 'She seems like a lot.'

I AM a lot.

And I'm tired of that being a bad thing.

My gay boyfriend, Jimmy, took me out the other night.

He wanted to make it up to me for missing my show.

He's known me less than a month and he wanted to make it up to me. 

I think I'm in love. 

He treated me to dinner & drinks & dancing & even kissed me goodnight. 

He was far more charming than most of the dates I go on. 

Which probably says more about me. 

Or more about the average male in Portlandia. 

While we were outside and all the better for whiskey he admitted to me that I kind of overwhelmed him at first. 

"I thought, she's really loud and a little obnoxious,"--

'What do you mean, everybody loved me!' I chimed in. 

Jimmy shot me a, Oh Honey, Please smile.

"But I thought, I don't care, I love that about her."

And from the stories he'd shared with me it seemed he liked his women a little crazy. 

Because we're a lot of fucking fun. 

Now maybe the difference here is that Jimmy and I never slept together, we never would sleep together and maybe that made him able to handle the many facets of Reese.

It also meant my toxic vagina wouldn't turn him into a withholding ass canoe.

But more than anything, he made me feel accepted. 

As I am.

Loud. 

Obnoxious. 

Full of sass Moi.

That feels particularly special being that I lost both my friend and my lover this year for the same reason. 

Being Moi.

The reason The Phantom wanted to stop dating me was because he watched one of my videos. 

The videos that he declared he would never watch because he wanted to get to know me in person. 

What a crock of shit. That fucker has spent more hours cyber stalking me than we ever spent in person. And then it's supposed to be my fault that he never got me. 

The reason Sheldon wanted to stop being my friend is because of a blog I wrote. 

Of course the vlog follow up I made didn't help anything but I'd already been banished from spending time with him because of his girlfriends OVERREACTION to what I wrote. I will add that Sheldon NEVER READ IT.

*Fumes Rage*

But you see OLD SCHOOL Resa would have totally withdrawn everything, removed the offending video, the offending blog, possibly even created a follow up apology, begged both The Phantom & Sheldon to reconsider and try to be the more quiet, less abrasive version of myself I've pretended to be with every guy I care about. 

This is the real reason I'm single. 

I've never actually been myself with anyone I've dated. 

Because anytime I've attempted to, NO ONE has been able to handle it.

So how the fuck could I?

You'd be pretty fucking scared too if all the men you loved ran away from you.

"You're like a giant in a doll house, that's how you love," my brother told me once. 

I scare the shit out of those poor bastards. 

But this was the first year in my life where I lost men I didn't want to lose but I didn't want to mold myself into someone else to try and keep them.

I wanted them to change their minds. 

But I wasn't going to change who I was to make that happen. 

And that feels really fucking amazing. 

Even if I'm not getting laid.

So yesterday morning when I woke up to this Facebook message from a girl I barely know who's another blogger I've connected with through Instagram, it made me feel fucking fantastic. 

"Your blog posts are so very personal and I wholly admire that. As you know, I blog too....I've veered onto a rather personal subject about my life and I can't summon the courage to actually post it....So how do you do it? How do you be so open and unabashedly honest and not fear the response?"

I had just returned home after my surgery and it was the perfect thing for me to read. 

She was worried she was bothering me and it was probably the greatest compliment she could give me. 

When Sheldon got mad at me about my openness on my blog where I shared part of a story he told me he thought I was doing it simply to gain viewers. 

When I tried to explain that I write to tell the truth, for my own sake, that I had never realized the details I shared were such a secret, (Get over yourself, doll face, everyone has anxiety. You're not special.) I was more upset that he was questioning my art than anything else. 

I remember explaining to him that there was something bigger going on here, that I had literally decided I wanted to be committed to writing more and that very blog was my first step to that commitment and I wasn't backing down. 

And now, here was some girl living in the UK who'd been reading my blog the past month or two asking me writing advice because of how blaringly obvious it was that my writing was raw truth.

FUCK. YES.

THIS is what art is about. 

Inspiration. Support. Collaboration. 

The acceptance and challenge and belief that we are beautiful as we are and we are not alone.

And the expression and the receiving of that expression are exactly what it's all about. 

I wrote her back,

"The thing of it is--no one, not even your Mother or your best friend, is going to agree with every thought and feeling that you have. So since there's no way to please everyone the only person you can please is You. I share because I'm a communicator. It's not enough for me to just write out my feelings in some private diary. I have to SHARE them. It's also why my ex refusing to communicate with me at all is so infuriating to me--I NEED TO SHARE! And more than that I need to be HEARD and VALIDATED....The people you want in your tribe are the people that love you for you as you are, not some projected version of yourself you're trying to be....And I think it's important to our own self acceptance, awareness, growth, to realize it's ok to be the fucked up people we are. Because people actually love us even more because of it."

And she wrote back, 

"You're bloody fucking wonderful, did you know that?"

And I thought. 

Yes. 

Yes I am. 

And it feels really fucking incredible that someone else sees that. 

Simply because I tell the fucking truth. 

Find me a man who admires my honesty and doesn't hide from me, and he will be the one who'll climb mountains with me. 

I'm not waiting for him. 

He'll have to come join me on this adventure. 

I've already started. 

Climb On

I lost both my climbing buddies this year. 

One would have been bad enough. 

But two was like, But who am I gonna climb with now?? 

Frowny face emoji. 

I couldn't climb with Sheldon anymore for obvious reasons (He was a giant stupid head) and I couldn't climb with Puppet anymore because she was being fiscally responsible and ended her membership. 

So that left poor little Resa all alone, just a pinup in her harness, staring around the enormous gym, thinking, Gee, it sure would be swell to have a belay partner.

(Preferably the buff bearded one I've decided I'm madly in love with. Except he already has a belay partner. The lucky bitch.)

But--miracle of miracles--Planet Granite has this handy dandy intercom and if you're looking for a climbing buddy you just go up to the front desk and let them know.

And they'll announce that someone is looking for a belay partner. 

Now, at first, I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, I was kinda nervous to do that. 

ME? 

NERVOUS?!

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS??

Yes. 

Me. 

Nervous. 

See. 

I LOVE to climb but I'm a total noob at it. 

The grade I climb is really low and the stronger you can climb the cooler you are in the climbing world. 

So me asking a complete stranger to climb with me was like running the risk of the quarterback being my date to prom while I stand there with braces and glasses. 

I do not feel "cool" at the climbing gym.

That's why losing my climbing friends has SUCKED because they didn't care that I only send a 1 while they send 4's. 

We'd just talk about how much sex we weren't having and laugh when each other fell. 

So now I had to put on my big girl panties and climb with strangers. 

(Don't worry. I don't take candy from them, though.)

But I was a-scared.

And what if no one wanted to climb with me and then I would be in my braces and glasses and stood up!

Crying face emoji. 

So I finally one day realized how ri-DICK-ulous I was being and since I no longer was living at the theatre since the show was over I took my cute butt to the climbing gym and asked the front desk if they could find me a belay partner. 

Maybe it'll even be some hot guy, I thought. 

Within 30 seconds a short, Asian guy came up and said he'd climb with me. 

Ok, so he wasn't exactly my knight in shining armor but we climbed for an hour and he was really nice. 

And last night I went and asked them to find me a climbing buddy again and quickly met some taller cutie and climbed with him. 

So maybe being partner-less wasn't such a bad thing.

It forced me out of my comfort zone which is already what climbing does for me. 

And it even got me meeting new people. 

Which I love. 

Ok.

Time out.

It's at this point that I set my pen down and stopped writing (Yes, I actually write in a notepad before I type this up) because I was at work and some hottie mc-hot hot came up and started asking me what I was writing about and then he said something, which I've already forgotten about a dog and I said, 'I'm totally gonna blog about the fact you called me a dog' except that's not actually what he said and then he asked me what my blog was so I wrote it down for him and he was so fucking dreamy. 

If you're reading this you bearded Zeus, you, then we should totally go out. You can have PBR & I'll have whiskey cuz I realized nobody calls it Pabst from the vacant way you looked at me and I obviously don't drink beer. 

And now I'm so fucking distracted I can't even write anymore. 

GOD I love beautiful men. 

They are the answer to life, the universe and everything. 

Resa Does Alicante

I bought a passport all those years ago because I thought if I had one I would be that much closer to going somewhere. 

I've never traveled abroad and like everyone in the history of ever it was a life goal. 

When I was younger I thought perhaps I might honeymoon in Europe. 

Then there was the whole 'backpacking trip' that every young artiste is supposed to take.

But I really don't want to sleep in a hostel (steal my stuff and I will fucking lose it) and I'm actually not cool enough to want to travel alone. 

I'm such a communicator and I love to share everything I just know I'd keep turning to strangers like, Ohmygoodness! Did you see that?!

So with no husband and no desire to be all alone in this vast world, what excuse would I have to travel?

Cue Instagram. 

That's right. 

I said Instagram. 

Hashtag for reals. 

The incredible thing about IG is that it connects you with people ALL over the world. 

And these aren't just the assholes you went to college with that find you on Facebook, these are random motherfuckers that you would never talk to for any other reason except you use the same hashtags. 

Marjolene and I found each other through the Pinupworship page on IG.

Where photos are posted daily of all kinds of pinup loving dames, some with 37K followers, some with 307.

And not only did we get connected and start following each other, we started commenting on each other's photos. 

She even made me her woman crush Wednesday.

I felt purty.

The most successful Instagrammers are the ones whose page reads almost like a diary. 

They aren't just pretty selfie after pretty selfie, but the pictures share captions about what's really going on in the persons life. 

They say when they're grumpy or feeling silly, when they're struggling with anxiety or missing an ex. 

Suddenly the person whose style we adore is REAL.

We empathize with them. 

We relate. 

And now we're in love because we know them.

This is what I strive to create with my own page, in addition to simply promoting my blog & my vlog.

It's creating this whole network of friends and supporters. 

I genuinely miss the people I follow when I don't log on to IG for days. 

They inspire me. 

They make me smile. 

Their support lifts my spirits when life kicks me in the vagina. 

So because of these interactive online diaries Marjolene and I started to get to know each other. 

Soon we were exchanging private messages and it wasn't long until we were texting and even Facetiming. 

I had found a kindred spirit, a soul sister, a confidante, someone who GOT me, who even looks just like me, who was born on the other side of the world. 

When talk of visiting each other first came up I thought it was a pipe dream, the way friends who live near you will run into you and say, We should grab coffee sometime! even though you both know lattes and scones will never happen.

But one day we realized it actually could happen. 

My work approved my vacation time. 

And with the money I made doing the musical I could buy a plane ticket. 

I was finally gonna use my passport. 

What's even more incredible than the trip itself is the timing. 

This summer has been the background for some overwhelming heartache and the idea of an adventure happening right on the heels of that pain is so delicious it feels too good to be true. 

2015 had housed the end of a career, the loss of a best friend, the demise of a love.

But it had also been the background for my return to the stage, my reconciliation to my lost friend of five years, and now, the chance to finally use the passport I got with such hope all those years ago. 

It was as though life was lovingly nudging my soul--

Hey girl. I can make anything possible. Just give me time. And I'll hand you the world. 

Up first--

SPAIN.

I Don't Drink Enough Water

I don't drink enough water. 

I'm pretty sure that is the core of all my life problems. 

If I could just be one of those people who drink plenty of water I'd probably be a much more balanced and centered person. 

I bet I'd quote Hesse more and say Namaste. 

Because if I drank more water I'd probably like yoga. 

And I bet I'd love dogs too. 

And instead of blowing up someone's phone when they don't want to talk to me I'd just respect their need for space and send love their way in silence.

Of course. 

I never drink water so I'm not like that at all. 

I drink coffee and whiskey. 

So I'm always dehydrated. 

So instead of being balanced I'm edgy and sexually frustrated. 

Instead of being centered I'm impulsive and craving constant validation. 

I don't quote Hesse and I don't say Namaste. 

I hate yoga and I hate dogs even more. 

When someone ignores me I relentlessly communicate every syllable in my mind, convinced that I'M SO FUCKING CLEVER my wit will eventually instill a response. 

FEEL SOMETHING. 

AND FUCKING SAY WHAT YOU FEEL.

At least Sheldon has responded to me. 

All he ever writes is, No, sorry.

If I ever got a tattoo it would say No, Sorry.

Of course. 

I would never get a fucking tattoo. 

And if I was the type of person to get a tattoo it would never be something so negative. 

It'd be the Chinese symbol for hope or a bird or something. 

I remember hating tattoos and then falling in love with a kid who had a sleeve and I suddenly thought they were soooo sexy. 

They are going to do a study one day and find that falling in love changes your DNA. 

I literally turn into someone else. 

I don't even know who that girl is. 

She's bat shit crazy. 

I'm someone in between. 

Centered in my own chaos. 

When people are important to me and they won't communicate there's suddenly a glitch in my matrix. 

I'm like a cat without its whiskers and I can no longer walk in a straight line. 

I'm in this infinite loop, stubborn, determined to use the Force (Help me Obi Won Kenobi, you're my only hope) to extract A sentence out of my beloved's mouth. 

I actually fascinate myself. 

Like.

I should be studied. 

Such misplaced determination when there is NO evidentiary support for it. 

AT ALL.

As though I have created an alternate time, some drug induced fantasy where I'm talking to someone other than the man who doesn't fucking care.

In the last 48 hours I've had three men I know, and don't know, go out of their way to communicate their admiration.

(And no, they weren't from Tinder, these were real life actual interactions in the non iPhone world.)

And do you know what I did today?

I texted The Phantom to tell him about my trip to Spain. 

WHHHHYYYYYYY???

I am seriously a head case. 

Like I will do something and be outside myself watching myself doing whatever the fuck it is I'm doing and be like, What are you doing?

But the me that's doing it doesn't even hear anything. 

I feel like this is how I would behave if I was an addict only my drug of choice is obsession. 

But I haven't even enjoyed it for a really long time. 

So why is it still present?

I read a book once (Pre iPhone circa 2006) that talked about the way the brain works, how the mind wants to problem solve. 

That when someone behaves one way and suddenly that behavior changes, our mind fixates on that one action trying to work it out and understand why it's different. 

That it's actually the rational, linear mind at work. 

And people just tell us to let go and move on.

Meanwhile our brain is working overtime to analyze and sort the events that make no fucking sense. 

I'm not crazy. 

Even though my Mother didn't have me tested. 

I'm a rational fucking broad seeking an answer.  

To the question my brain can't work out--

WHY?

WHAT THE FUCK WHY?

And since I will never get an answer my mind will continue attempts to try and work it out. 

Until something new stumbles into my life for me to fixate on. 

My taste in men directly mirrors my poor life choices. 

And that's the real fucking problem right there. 

I don't drink enough water. 

A Star is Born

"For a star to be born there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse. So collapse. Crumble. This is not your destruction. This is your birth."-Astrasperas

I left the theatre with a contented, blissful smile on my face. 

The last person I talked to was the director.

Which was perfect. 

"I don't know how to say goodbye to you...." he started the conversation. 

It was so sweet and he had been so supportive and encouraging. 

He is the single reason why I got back into theatre. 

And I'm so very glad I did. 

And I will always love him for that. 

Breaks are a good thing because it allows you to live your life without something and learn if it really is better with that something in it. 

Or even a someone...

I had an overwhelming desire to be alone.

The struggle of the ENFP--we cycle through waves of needing to be social and doing activities and then desperately needing to be alone to create and process.

I headed home and decided that I would pick up Thai food on the way. 

As I pulled into the parking lot and got out of my car I laughed. 

Six months ago I'd pulled into the same lot to get the same chicken pad thai with peanut sauce and I'd locked my keys in the car. 

I'd been on my lunch break and I was so distracted and upset because my then manager had told me that I couldn't do the show because they wouldn't give me the time off I needed in August to do it. 

And then, as if that news hadn't been bad enough, I was written up for several ridiculous things and it was then I'd realized they wanted me gone. 

I'd worked there 3 years and the turnover was crazy high. 

I knew exactly what it looked like when the managers decided they didn't like someone and they wanted them gone. 

So I was not only heartbroken over not getting to do the show but I was also heartbroken over no longer being the little rockstar at work. 

A year prior I was their star.

I don't even know what happened to change that. 

But I guess that's just how life is sometimes.

Without warning people change. 

And they make up their mind about you. 

And that's that. 

The only good thing about the start of them treating me like a mistake at work was that it made me realize I needed to find a new job. 

So then I realized I could do the show. 

I'd find a new job that would accommodate it. 

So I'd accepted the part in secret. 

So I stood there now, realizing I'd inadvertently come full circle, back at the Thai restaurant. 

I had been so devastated when I thought I couldn't be in the show and instead I stood there full of such joy having now completed the run of the show. 

The show had been a success. 

I'd been a hit. 

The director told me he definitely wanted to work with me again, that the artistic director had been impressed with me too. 

They were proud of me. 

I was a star again. 

And I wasn't even sad it was over. 

Because I just felt so happy to be back. 

Back in the theatre scene. 

Back onstage. 

Back to my heart. 

It's the only way to be.

To live. 

For all that magic that rages in the heart. 

Mario & My New Friends

Facebook is so random it almost seems rigged. 

When they started linking phone numbers to profiles Facebook kept suggesting all the guys I used to date under 'People You May Know.'

Nothing quite like logging on every morning and seeing the face of the guy who just wanted to snuggle, the kid who switched positions more times than a girl changes clothes, the guy who couldn't get it up after he paid for the motel or the guy who didn't fuck girls more than twice. 

Yes. 

Facebook suggested I be friends with all those assholes. 

Fuck you, Facebook.

But then there are the times when Facebook connects you with people who are absolute dolls. 

I posted something about Ghosting and asking friends if they'd ever had any experience with it and if they'd be willing to share their stories. 

And to my surprise and delight two guys responded. 

Guys?!

I honestly hadn't considered interviewing men. 

I figured I'd just talk to girls about the assholes who fell off the face of the planet because 2015 is the year of hiding behind your iPhone. 

But shame, thy name is Reese. 

Women are just as big of dicks as men. 

Somehow in addition to the interviews the topic of Mariokart came up and we decided to have a Mariokart party along with the interviews. 

And another girl decided to join in the fun as well and we suddenly had ourselves a high school reunion.

Smoke free class of 2000.

Well. Not anymore. 

I barely talked to these kids in high school let alone in my thirties. 

But we had SUCH a fun time. 

After the interviews, which were hilarious, we played Mariokart and continued laughing our asses off, we talked for hours. 

It was such a random gathering and yet I was comfortable around all of them.

We spent five hours together. 

We were like kids having a slumber party, whiling the hours away. 

Only since we're grownup we had to go to bed so we could get up early and go to work in the morning. 

It was this beautifully simple reminder of what a change in energy can do. 

For your soul.

What a difference it made being around people who want to be around you, who delight in you, who admire you. 

That sounds so obvious but this year I've been such a magnet for heartless users it really made me feel so loved being around them. 

I've spent so much time and energy trying to fight to keep people in my life who don't want to be there. 

When there's a world full of strangers who would love to stay up till one talking to me. 

And it was really fucking incredible to remember that. 

the end

Mother always told me that anger is a secondary emotion. 

When people are mad they're not really mad. 

It's a reaction to something deeper. 

They're scared. 

They're hurt. 

They're sad. 

I'm really fucking sad. 

I've been so frustrated and so angry. 

I was starting to believe that's how I really felt. 

Anger is never what you really feel.

I don't know exactly what happened. 

How it happened. 

I went for a climb tonight. 

And I met someone new & I climbed well. 

I even saw a man so beautiful I had to restrain myself from walking up to him & asking if he wanted to fuck sometime. 

I didn't want to go out with him. 

I wanted him to lay on top of me. 

Sexual frustration hasn't helped my sadness. 

And after my climb I went for a run. 

I really like running. 

I can't believe it because I always hated it.

But I love it. 

I can't believe I love climbing either. 

But I guess most of what we love we never know we will until it's consumed us. 

I started running and I felt fine. 

I'd gone to the gym alone but didn't feel lonely. 

I had fun. 

And my body felt alive as my feet pounded the cement, slowly, determined. 

And I rounded a corner and looked across the river at the city lights and it hit me like a sudden smack on my ass.

He's not coming.

The Phantom wasn't going to see my show. 

It was already closing weekend and I'd only get to embrace this moment for four more nights. 

And he wasn't going to see it. 

And neither was Sheldon.

I still can't really believe I lost them both at the same time, like they were lost at sea on the same ship. 

At least then I probably wouldn't feel as hurt. 

The Phantom's Facebook profile picture is the photo I took when I sat at his bar and he made me sorbet, just because. 

Because I was his lady and he wanted to please me. 

And he was so pleased having me there, he so delighted in that moment and I captured it. 

The photo shows him with this relaxed, smile of pure joy as though he hadn't a care in the world. 

He looks so handsome.

But I took it five months ago and he won't talk to me at all so having that there, broadcasting that moment to the world feels so cruel.

His smile is mocking me.

It was my moment. 

It was my smile. 

And it's all gone. 

But it sits there, taunting me, like a ghost who keeps tapping me on the shoulder but no one is there. 

Nothing is there. 

And I've wasted so much energy screaming into the wind and it changes nothing. 

He won't be in the audience. 

He won't smile for me like that ever again. 

And Sheldon feels nothing at all. 

I'm the one who died at sea. 

And neither man mourns the loss. 

And I've tried so hard not to care. 

To be strong. 

To be sassy and sarcastic and give no fucks. 

But my heart. 

My fucking heart.

I called Sheldon even though I knew he wouldn't answer. 

And I rounded the other corner and there it was.

This giant boulder. 

A huge rock, calling to me, like a pair of giant arms welcoming me for a hug. 

God, I wanted a hug. 

From either of them.

And I'm just sitting here. 

On this huge rock, as the wind hugs me too. 

The last time The Phantom hugged me he didn't want to let go. 

I wish that guy was on this rock.

Then we could be sad together. 

And maybe the anger would melt away. 

But some things are too painful to hope for. 

Because I think hope is smart enough to know when it's been beaten. 

I can't make someone appear. 

And I can't make someone care. 

No matter how much I scream across the river. 

I don't know why you're holding onto this.

There's nothing to hold onto. 

All the players are gone. 

So I'll shine onstage. 

Alone. 

Brighter. 

So maybe he'll at least feel it. 

Maybe they both will. 

My summer of lost love. 

All my loves. 

gone

Why you should always tell the truth

I made a bit of an ass of myself the other night. 

Though thankfully it wasn't in front of a guy I used to have great sex with. 

But alcohol was definitely involved. 

Because if you're going to make a proper ass of yourself you should definitely be drunk. 

Drunkity drunk drunk drunk. 

See that's the problem. 

When I get drunk I get HONEST with everyone.  

And I'm already honest. 

But sober I at least generally possess the social graces to know when to keep certain thoughts to myself. 

Like you probably shouldn't tell someone you barely know that they're a condescending bitch. 

To their face. 

But I didn't!

See I could have behaved so much worse. 

I just texted someone else that I thought her friend was a condescending bitch. 

Which is definitely better. 

Totally. 

Like. 

Far more class. 

*Cough.*

I didn't mean to. 

I mean, I didn't enjoy hating her. 

You know how when you're a kid your friends were always groups of friends and you and your posse did everything together? 

And then you grow up and you make friends but they're all from different parts of your life and those friends have their own friends. 

And sometimes those friends of your friends really annoy the shit out of you. 

But you can't, like, SAY anything. 

Life isn't 'Mean Girls' and I can't yell YOU CAN'T SIT WITH US just because she's wearing pants. 

I kept thinking if my friend liked her there must be something I was missing. 

I loved my friend. 

She loved her friend. 

If A is congruent to B and B is congruent to C then C really shouldn't be such a cunt. 

Right?

Some people just don't vibe. 

For whatever reason. 

And neither person is wrong. 

Except of course in this case I'm fabulous and she's an asshole. 

But generally speaking nobody is wrong. 

I blame myself. 

Because I should have been honest with my girlfriend that I didn't care for her....C.

BUT.

I felt that was terribly immature.

So instead.

I got really drunk and went OFF about how I actually felt.

When it would have been MUCH more mature to articulate my discomfort and dislike calmly and with tact.

So here's my life lesson for you--

No matter how stupid you feel admitting it, if something is your truth, then tell it. 

Because it will eventually come out.

And so you should probably do it sober. 

So you don't sound like an ass. 

She invited her to girls night. 

And I couldn't very well be like, geez, Tiffany, do you really need Heather to come?

I mean, I thought it was just going to be us?

Isn't that, like, one vagina too many?

Even thinking that made me feel like I should go slip a note in a boys locker, I was that mature.

 

Come on, Reese. 

You're a fucking adult. 

The more, the merrier. 

Wrong. 

WRONG.

I should have said something THEN.

I fought my own instincts. 

Your gut screams things out at you for a reason. 

Ignoring it makes you an idiot. 

I'd hung out with this other girl several times and each time I always left early. 

Each time my resentment grew, which I think is why I lost it that night. 

She just had this way of making everything she said to me sound judgemental and condescending. 

Or she'd go out of her way to not talk to me which drove me nuts. 

I did drink my weight in alcohol that night which likely affected my ability to tolerate someone I didn't care for. 

But I ended up leaving early, once again, and texting my friend that I didn't want her inviting that girl with me around anymore. 

And that would have been fine if I'd left it at that.

But my friend asked me why I disliked her. 

And I may have drunkenly uncorked the ugly truth and let it pour through my iPhone. 

I didn't even realize all I'd said until the next morning when I checked my phone and read the texts. 

My girlfriend never responded. 

There's nothing wrong with speaking the truth. 

But it doesn't need to be ugly. 

So now I know. 

Like I didn't already. 

I'm an ass when I'm drunk. 

So I should tell the truth sober. 

I should tell the truth period. 

And I'm not in third grade anymore and I don't have to like everyone.

But I do have to respect my friends enough to trust them with how I really feel about things. 

I told another girlfriend about what happened, about what I did. 

How I went off about what a judgemental exclusive snatch I thought this girl was and my friend started laughing. 

"I can totally see you doing that", she said. 

And she just looked at me and smiled. 

Because she gets me. 

As few do. 

And she knows I can be a real balls to the walls bitch. 

But she loves me anyway.

Because she's one of the rare few that are a core member of my tribe. 

And I am so thankful for that. 

And for those who love me anyway. 

How to Succeed at Giving No Fucks

I'm in a musical right now and it's the first main stage show I've been in since 2010 when I played Helena.

That was also the first role I ever had where I got a shout out in a review. 

The reviewer had said that I dispelled the myth that a leading lady couldn't be both funny and beautiful. 

I remember feeling like that was one of the coolest compliments an actress could get. 

Because in the theatre world you have your leading ladies and your comedic actresses. 

And generally we dames fall into only one category. 

It felt like the reviewer had said I could do both. 

And fuck yes. 

I can. 

Well nothing really happened, I mean there was no real reason the theatre and I broke up, except I sold my soul to work in retail and I left behind a decade of performing and one scandalous affair with my boss. 

Baristas. Guitar players. Bartenders. And tall, lanky nerds. 

I lose my freaking mind. 

And apparently my lady like civility. 

So cut to five years later and here I am half way through the run of a new show. 

And for the second time in my life I was mentioned in a review that I stand out in my role as the sassy busty pinup mistress. 

Yes. I'm playing a mistress. Some of us are type cast. 

It's been wonderful and amazing and I couldn't possibly be having more fun onstage. 

But I kind of feel like the only one. 

It's actually been a surprisingly lonely process. 

See, I'm kinda like George Bailey. 

I got a chance to see what my life would be like without theatre. 

For years. 

And because of that I feel so grateful and joyful to be back there. 

As if I lost something and it was once again within my grasp.

But everyone else does theatre all the time. 

And like anything you do all the time, you take it for granted. 

Comments are made nightly wishing the show was already over or wishing it was already Monday so we could have a break from doing the show. 

And all I could think today was I cant believe I only get to do the show eight more times. 

It's already nearly over. 

I don't cast any judgement or blame on anyone for not being as overly zealous as I am about being able to perform (I mean I am a little bat shit crazy, just ask EVERY guy I've ever slept with. I'm great at giving head though so it evens out.)

But I WANT to be there. 

I love being onstage. 

Last week when it was Monday and we didn't have the show I was excited to climb and go for a run but I also thought, I wish we had a show tonight. 

It's just my heart. 

Like. 

My. Fucking. Heart. 

You know?

And it's even more intense because I've been without it for SO long I didn't even realize how numb I'd been without that source of passion in my life. 

Cut to giving no fucks--

People haven't been coming to the show. 

I don't mean the general public, although apparently 'How to Succeed' isn't the well known chestnut some shows are and it hasn't been selling out as the company owners had hoped. 

I mean my people, my tribe, my friends and confidantes haven't seen the show. 

Now it has only been the first half, we've done eight shows, there are eight shows left. 

And a few wonderful friends have made it out and that means the world. 

But people aren't going. 

Like, people who are close to me aren't going. 

Good friends. Long time friends. 

Sheldon. 

The Phantom. 

My brother. 

Aren't going. 

My kindred don't understand what this means to me. 

And it's heartbreaking. 

Yes. 

"It's just a play."

There will be other plays!

Other roles, other moments. 

But this is my heart right now. 

This is what I sought a new career to be able to DO.

Right now. 

This is the role the director hand picked me for because he wanted no one else to play the part. 

"He didn't want to do the show if he couldn't get Teresa Renee," a cast mate told my Dad opening night. 

It's a big fucking deal. 

In the grand scheme of things, I get it.

It's one month out of countless years.

It's a dot in the book of my life. 

But it's times like this I wish everyone in my life was artistic or had the intuitive sensitivity to know how much it means to a performer to have you there. 

To share in all the hard work you've spent leading up to these short weeks. 

I had two friends tell me they were going to be there today and neither of them showed up and neither of them even let me know they weren't going. 

I wore a special sequin dress and thought I was hitting the town after pouring my heart out onstage for three hours and instead it felt like no one showed up to my birthday party. 

I stood there in my pretty party dress looking around and no one was there. 

It was monumentally disappointing. 

And you know what?

I'm not doing this for my friends. 

I'm not performing again so the people I care about will be proud of me and share in my moment in the sun. 

But FUCK, it sure would be nice if they wanted to celebrate with me. 

Today I felt so connected to the audience and my character I tried things I never had before, little things, a longer beat here, an entrance with a different energy there.  

And they were with me. 

The audience was right there breathing with me. 

When we took our bows tonight and I had mine the audience cheered louder than they ever had before. 

And was it because I knew half the audience?

No. 

I knew no one. 

But I was communicating with them. 

And they understood me. 

And that's fucking beautiful and what theatre is about. 

And that is why I love performing, the communication of that truth, that joy. 

Someone came up to me after the show and said he could tell I was having fun up there, that I was emoting joy. 

And that's so incredible!!

But I so wish the people I love were the ones sharing in that joy instead of only strangers. 

But I can't make people be somewhere they don't want to be. 

And I can't let their absence diminish the light within me beaming across that stage. 

So instead, I choose to give no fucks. 

To the loves of my life, the dear ones and the dolls, the sweethearts and the lovelies who won't give me the gift of their presence--you're breaking my heart. 

But it should be yours that is broken because you are missing the fire and humor and passion freely and abundantly handed to you from the stage, directly from my heart, from the core of who I am. 

And how could anyone who cares an ounce for me not want to revel in the intensity of that?

I am woman hear my vagina roar

July basically made me want to join a convent. 

The Barcelonian's 'Two Fucks & She's Out!' coupled with The Phantom's permanent hatred for me because I like his penis too much plus the sprinkling of several craptastic dates totally shattered my libido. 

I didn't even wanna go les.

I just didn't wanna go.

I was like a sexless robot. 

I didn't even want myself.

And I always want myself. 

But like the moving tides (I sound like a fucking hippie) change was inevitable. 

With no Sheldon, no Barcelonian and no Phantom making me feel bad about myself my week has been inundated (God, that's a great word) with men adoring me and making me feel incredible. 

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the universe for restoring my faith in the male species. 

When men continually treat you like a cigarette bud it becomes impossible to not take it personally. 

As if stumbling upon a beautiful new gay boyfriend wasn't enough, I got to hang with him a couple days later and his super adorable new boyfriend. 

My boyfriend's boyfriend is also now my boyfriend. 

There are no other life goals. 

That IS my life goal.

We all went out to hear some bands play and my GBF's BF fell head over heels for me. 

"Girl, you are the bee's knees."

And in that moment, I fell for him too. 

It's amazing what being around beautiful men who think you're fabulous does for your soul. 

Gay or straight, the secret to happiness is having more beautiful men in your life. 

High on gay boyfriend love and a little hungover I checked my email and found a review had been written in the Willamette Week for our show.

I stand out?

As the sassy busty pinup mistress?!

Oh fuck yeah!

I lied--there ARE other life goals and that was one of them. 

Two life goals in two days?

This was totally making up for the curse of July and all the men who hated my vagina. 

And because when it rains it fucking POURS, my phone rang that night after midnight and lo & behold, it was The Good Kisser Guy of yesteryear (and of one particularly fun whiskey filled night).

'Hello?' I answered much too questioningly. 

(But seriously. My first thought was, Did his butt dial me??)

"Hey!" He said with a shit ton of enthusiasm. "I just wanted to say congratulations on the great review! I'm gonna come see it this weekend!"

'Thank you,' I said with a happy laugh. 

If I had to guess which boy would call me to tell me that, I never in a thousand Tinder dates would have guessed it would be him.

(And yes we first met on Tinder. TINDER IS THE AMBASSADOR OF MY ORGASM!!)

"What are you up to right now?" He asked eagerly. 

'Oh. Well I went climbing & for a run tonight since I didn't have to be at the theatre but I'm just going to bed now.'

"Did you wanna go out?"

'I have to work early tomorrow and I have the show so I shouldn't.'

"Oh come on. It's not even one."

Oh. He. TOTALLY. Wants. To sleep. With. Me. 

He thinks I'm a star and he wants to see me naked??

MORE LIFE GOALS!!!

I'm on fucking fire!!

'I really can't tonight but let's hangout this weekend after the show.'

"Okay," he said with the same disappointment a kid would have if you told them you weren't stopping for ice cream. 

I hung up the phone and for the first time since the night I smoked my first cigarette I actually wanted to have sex. 

And he was coming to my show!

I was excited!

And......excited. 

And just really fucking happy to feel something other than loathing for ALL PENISES EVERYWHERE!!!

I'm not saying Penes cuz that's just riDICKulous.

I showed up at the theatre the next day and someone tapped me on the shoulder.

Those are for you," he pointed. 

'Are you SERIOUS?!'

It was a huge bouquet of sunflowers.

It even put my Daddy's roses to shame.

Sorry, Papa.

'If a secretary is not a toy why are you such a doll?' the card read. 

It was from a gentleman who watches my YouTube channel and lives in AUSTRAILIA!!!

H O L Y  S H I T.

Ok.

Life goals number--what are we on now??

Having a stranger from another country send you flowers to your theatre!!

Wow. Just wow.

The universe was like, Hey little girl, I know life's kinda kicked you in your uterus lately but here, have a fucking rainbow of adoration heaped on your heart. You're a star, little one. Forget about the fools who don't want to celebrate that.

 Because you just never fucking know whose gonna surprise you.

And I don't even need it to be him anymore. 

I truly don't. 

Much Ado about New Boyfriends

I almost wasn't up to it. 

I'd finished performing our final show after surviving Hell Week and Opening weekend.

( Hell week is actor speak for tech week, the week leading up to a play's opening night, when you basically live at the theatre and one day are even there 10 hours.)

It's exciting and challenging but when you work a 9-5 as well it also means you're majorly sleep deprived. 

I ran off of mostly adrenaline those performances over the weekend.

So when Sunday rolled around I was a sleepy kitty. 

I was also slightly disillusioned because when the house manager came to the green room to hand me a bouquet of flowers I thought for a moment they were from him.

They, of course, were not from the Phantom and I felt overwhelmingly silly for thinking a man who wouldn't accept a cigar from me & won't acknowledge any texts was going to drive thirty minutes to pay $35 to watch my three hour musical and bring me flowers to boot. 

Why must infatuation and lust drive us to irrational madness? I couldn't even pretend it was so innocent as hope. It was merely me avoiding acceptance. I knew he wasn't coming.

The flowers were actually a different surprise altogether. 

They were a gift from someone I'd never met who follows my YouTube channel. 

He even brought flowers for my Bestie.

It was crazy amazing. 

Kind of poetry in feeling the permanent rejection of one lost love immediately intertwined with the admiration and applause of a complete stranger. 

So when I was leaving the theatre there was a moment when I wanted to cancel my plans and just go home. 

But. 

I really wanted to see this other play that night and I wanted to see Puppet and I wanted to see my friend, Arthur, who was working the bar at this other theatre that night. 

So I swallowed the disappointment imploring me to wallow and headed instead towards the city. 

Puppet and I met at a nearby bar for a couple of preshow drinks which meant that by the time we got to the theatre to visit Arthur at his bar I was already a little drunk. 

Heeeeeeeeyyy boo.

But when we got there he was nowhere to be found. 

"Where's Arthur??! I want Arthur!" I nearly shouted. 

No. 

Not nearly. 

SHOUTED.

With conviction. 

I may have even sung it. 

The guy that was filling in for Arthur politely informed me that my friend wasn't working but asked what he could get for me. 

"Get me Arthur! I want Arthur!!"

I'd like to think my belligerence was adorable but I'm pretty sure the bartender wanted to open a beer for himself and pound it just to get through the remainder of our interaction. 

He did, however, fill my glass of wine all the way to the top so I told him we could be friends. 

Puppet and I drank in the courtyard while we waited for the play to start. 

I was wearing a white halter dress with lace appliqués and a vintage silk bed jacket while drinking red wine. 

Drunk.

'I can't believe what you're risking right now,' Puppet said with concern. 

I looked at the wine and then looked at my dress. 

And then realized I would go into physical convulsions if I spilled red wine on my Sue Wong couture.

So I held the wine out to the side and continued drinking with my mouth as far away from my dress as I could manage without falling out of my chair. 

By the time I safely consumed the wine it was time to pick our seats for the play. 

I skipped into the theatre and sat right in the front row. 

(House right.  Because that's where my new friend, the bartender, told me I should sit.)

But upon sitting down I got the sinking suspicion we were in the spitting zone and I should sit somewhere else. 

Like the wine not pairing well with my dress I figured spit wouldn't either. 

I looked behind me and there sitting all by his lonesome was the cutest cutie patootie I ever did see!

Just your average blonde hair blue eyed buff Abercrombie looking model typical to the theatre audiences in Portlandia.

(Are you fucking LOST?! Where did you come from? A Hollywood film set?)

"Is anyone sitting there?" I asked, batting my fake eyelashes still glued on from my matinee. 

'No,' he smiled. 

We leapt up and sat next to him. 

"You are SUCH a doll!" The wine exclaimed, as I practically climbed into his lap.

'I was hoping someone would think that so I wouldn't have to sit by myself.'

I leaned in.

"Sorry I'm not a guy."

No one that beautiful is ever straight. 

NO ONE.

And after the play he asked for my number. 

Gay or not, nothing makes you feel prettier than a hot guy asking for your number. 

I had found my new boyfriend. 

It was love at first sight.