Last night I was reading DeFoe and listening to Ruth Marie by Mark Kozelek. Somewhere mid-page, I realized I wasn’t reading about Mr. Crusoe; I was listening to a different story, and that one touched me far more. Before the line, “I watched you grow up from on the floor, to the beautiful women that you are, and I hate it that you’ve gone away so far, ‘cause I know I won’t ever see those eyes, the eyes I gave you” finished, I could no longer see the page of words.


Yesterday, on a whim, I auditioned for The Vagina Monologues. I found out this morning via email that I landed a part, and have been cast as “My Angry Vagina.” Interestingly enough, that is the part that made me laugh the hardest when I first saw the monologues in 2003.

I remember when I told one of my friends, that I had attended the Monologues. She was appalled that I would do such a thing. I asked her if she knew anything about them. She said she didn’t need to know, the name was offensive enough. I am sure she imagined a giant, paper mache Vagina hanging over the stage or some kind of artsy flaky pastry hors d’ oeuvres being served at the door.

The show goes up March 6 and lasts three nights. Three nights of talking about Vaginas. Should be fun.