January 30, 2011

Sometimes

Dear Tom Selleck . . .

I was trying to think of ways to get to know one another better and came up with a little game I like to call 'Sometimes'.  It's kind of like 'Truth or Dare' but not.  At all.

But anyhow . . . It's my house and we'll play my games by my rules.  I'll ask you if you sometimes do something and then tell you something I sometimes do.  Get it?  Like this:

Do you sometimes look in the mirror and say, "I am Tom fucking Selleck!"?

Sometimes . . . I move my head instead of the blow dryer to pretend I'm on the beach, in hopes of achieving 'sea hair'.

true story.

Edie B.  Kuhl

January 28, 2011

I'm Not Lost

Dear Tom Selleck . . .

I am a hot mess today!  I sit here in my pajamas with no shower, in the middle of the afternoon, with red puffy eyes, wondering what the fuck have I just done.  And then I looked over and saw this:

DISCOVERY:  "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."  -- Robert Frost

It was the first thing I bought for my new desk in my new office at my new job in a new city and state . . . over 14 years ago.  It has made many moves with me and has some wear and tear (and duct tape) to prove it.

And then I remembered something I had written approximately 4 years ago but is just as relevant today:

To those who know me it is no surprise when i say i have no sense of direction. I love to drive but am always lost. I get lost with a map, with directions, even with a GPS. Being lost doesn't bother me so much unless I have to be somewhere at a certain time. But again, those who know me also know I'm always late. I can go somewhere over and over again and still get lost.  Even when I know I'm lost I always think I'm finding my way.

So as I pondered life today, I started finding it strange how many times I have felt lost in life but kept trudging along looking for my way, just believing I would get to where I was supposed to be.  I have asked for directions often, but have still tended to wander.

What I have realized is that my sense of direction in life has actually been very good. Even when I have appeared lost, I have hit many of my destinations along the way. When i come to a crossroads in life, my gut actually works! So today I am trusting my gut and not my head or all of the people who want to map it out for me. I may appear to be lost, but I know where I'm going . . . I'll just get there via the road less travelled and arrive a bit later than expected.

I look at my life as a road trip and I've got a full tank of gas, a large cup of coffee, a carton of smokes, the windows down, and the music up loud for this journey!


There were many people who doubted me and called me crazy when this bartender/waitress who had never graduated from college decided to leave her small town and move 500 miles away to Atlanta and take on Corporate America.  I heard the same doubts when as a single person I decided to adopt a 10 year old girl with lots of special needs.  The same excitement and terror I felt when I crossed the first state-line of my big move in 1996, when I first walked through Corporate America's doors, when I put a screaming child to bed that first night - realizing I had NO clue what I was doing, but the thrill of figuring it out - is what I am experiencing today.

And do you want to know a secret?  I have yet to experience regret.  I know if anyone can do this, it's me.  If I am a little bit crazy and full of myself, I'd like to keep it that way.  It works for me.

true story.

Edie B. Kuhl

January 25, 2011

In the Studio Today

Dear Tom Selleck . . .

I did a big thing.  I resigned from my job.  And not because I'm banking on our blockbuster, just because it was the right choice for me.  Some people are calling me crazy, but I know you've got my back.

I just wanted to let you know in case one of my buddies from Studio 30+ contacts you with concerns about my mental health.  They're good people and are only looking out for my best interest.  I may or may not have mentioned you in a post I wrote and is featured in their magazine.

Not only should you check it out, but we'd love to have you join our little group.

true story.

Edie B.  Kuhl

January 23, 2011

These Boots

Dear Tom Selleck . . .

I know how we'll fit Kevin's cameo into our big blockbuster!  It came to me as I got dressed this afternoon and 'Footloose' began to blare on the radio, triggering a Tourette's-like response of me breaking into spontaneous 1980's dancing.  Did I mention I was in the middle of getting dressed?  So picture this happening with me in just a thermal shirt and Steve's underwear.  That's the brand, not the boy.  (Although when I just googled it to link it, I realized I'm wearing St. Eve's underwear and not Steve's underwear.  What the fuck Jeannie?)

I was taken back to when I first saw the movie.  It was MY movie.  I lived in a small farm town.  I wasn't allowed to dance according to God.  But I danced anyway.  I wore through 3 cassette soundtrack tapes.  I saved all of my babysitting money to buy red Dingo boots.  And when I got those boots . . . all hell broke loose . . . for my father.

I'd stomp out of my bedroom in my daisy duke cut-offs, with the bottom of my shirt pulled up and through my collar, wearing my red Dingo boots.  I'd march and parade past my poor father saying "My daddy don't like my red boots".  My dad would slowly shake his head, close his eyes, and bow his head, knowing he was not going to win that battle.

Then I started bringing the boys around.  One in particular - LDB.  He would come to pick me up and I'd sashay out in my tight-fitting jeans, his white button-up shirt (barely buttoned), and of course my red Dingo boots.  When he got that 'wow' look on his face I'd announce to him and my father "My daddy don't like my red boots".  Then I would laugh and toss my awesome hair a few times, occasionally even throwing a straw cowboy hat on top of my big beautiful locks of hair.  My dad and I would exchange a look.  He'd then slowly shake his head, close his eyes, and bow his head, knowing he was not going to win that battle either.  But he'd always give the boy a look before we walked out the door that would cock-block our evening.

I'm sure my dad thought my red boots were just a teenage phase he'd patiently ride out.  And they were a phase.  Until I was 23.  And got my Harley Davidson boots.  The attitude that came with those red Dingo boots has lasted a lifetime.

So now picture this . . . The story of my boots as a teenager has already played out and now the scene is my 21st birthday where my parents have taken me to Las Vegas to celebrate.  My dad and I are always sneaking smokes, playing watch-out for one another so we don't get busted by my mom.  I can't remember now where my mom went for the afternoon, but it was just going to be my dad and me.  He told me he'd be at the bar in the casino, to meet him there after I got ready.

In the movie he will be sitting there talking to chubby Matt Damon (Thanks Nicole who commented on the last post.), cracking corny jokes about the men who bring their 'daughters' *wink wink* on their business trips to Vegas.  And then I will make my grand entrance into the bar in my tight little denim mini-skirt, see-through shirt, and of course my red Dingo boots.  Chubby Matt Damon gets a chubby and practically falls off of his bar stool while he bumbles all over himself trying to point out the 'fresh meat' in the bar.

About that time, I walk up to a guy, THIS guy:



And ask for a light.  (Thanks Miss Nikki.)

My dad and I exchange a look, I slink over and throw my arms around him and say "Thank you Daddy for bringing me to Vegas!" and then look at chubby Matt Damon and say "My daddy don't like my red boots".  At which point, you know the story . . . My dad shakes his head, closes his eyes, and bows his head, knowing he will not win this battle.  I then rub a little salt in his wound by asking why everyone is looking at me.  This is the point he says through his gritted-tooth smile, "Because Sis, everyone thinks you're a hooker.  Now go change."

And I did.

true story.  (now with chubby Matt Damon and Kevin Bacon)

Edie B.  Kuhl

January 10, 2011

Waiting for the Train

Dear Tom Selleck . . .

I had a blog for nearly 4 years.  I'll spare you the details of its life story, but there were a few things I wrote that will be important for you to read in order to set the stage for your big role.  I have included the first post I ever wrote because it sums things up nicely.  Personally, I think it would make a great opening scene accompanied by John Denver's Country Roads playing in the background.  Don't worry that this will be a tear-jerking drama though, there is plenty of comic relief to go around if you stick with me long enough.

It's a cold, damp, grey and gloomy day as we jump from the car and run to catch the train.  I have no idea what the hell is going on and why it's so important, but we have to hurry, we cannot miss this train!


Where is my mother?  My dad has my sister in his arms and me by the hand tripping over the gravel, "Come on Sis, run".  Although I am hand in hand with my giant father, I can see the whole scene from behind as if my dad has pulled my body into the future and left my soul in the past.  I have on my light blue jacket, the one the goats tried to eat at the petting zoo.  All aboard!  Oh shit, we're going to miss the train.  All aboard!


There's my mom.  She's running toward us.  No, right past us to the guy with the funny hat who keeps yelling.  All aboard!  She hands him our tickets and motions the rest of us to follow.  My dad pulls me up those steep steps onto the train just as my soul catches up to my body.  We settle into our seats where my mom has already plopped down and is waving to us.  I use the term 'settle' loosely because it was anything but settling at the time.  The under the breath talk between my parents starts about how much, how long, where are we going, I don't know, I thought you knew, and . . . cut to smiles for the kids.


This is supposed to be so much fun.  But I feel it.  My mom is in anxiety mode, my dad is masking it with his whistling, and my sister just sits there mute and smiling.  Oh - and me?  What was I doing?  Well singing of course.  I sang Country Roads over and over again to try and make everyone happy.  It didn't transform anyone but my dad who sang with me and whose eyes sparkled with pride as his tone deaf daughter belted out a little John Denver.

That was roughly 30+ years ago and nothing much has changed.  My mom is still in anxiety mode, although I have figured out that is a permanent condition for her.  My sister still smiles a lot but doesn't say a word, even when she speaks.  My dad's whistling killed him in 1997 when his insides were devoured by the cancer caused by masking everything.  And as for me?  Well I am still singing (and still tone deaf - thank God or I'd try my hand at rock stardom) and still trying to make everyone happy.

Sometimes I wonder how many trains have come and gone since then?  Growing up so close to the tracks, trains were interwoven into the soundtrack of my life.  There have been many times I have waited impatiently for the train to pass so I could cross the tracks, waited for the train to go by so I could have a conversation, waited for the train so I could impress someone with the flattened penny trick, waited for the train so I could fall asleep to its lullaby.



When my dad was sick we timed the trains and counted them every night all night until the sun came up and then we would both be disappointed he had lived another day.  There were nights he would disrobe and sit on the edge of the bed while I laced up his tennis shoes and packed his suitcase so he would be ready when the train came.  We would sit there for hours, him stark naked but his running shoes, with his suitcase by his feet and me still holding the hand of my dwindling giant dad praying tonight would be the night we could run and catch that train.

The day we buried his coffin, we pulled into the cemetery and I was overwhelmed by the number of cars circling and then I saw the people - hundreds of them seeming to materialize from every direction, all headed directly toward me.  It was the most beautiful thing and the scariest thing I've ever seen all at the same time.  I thought I was going to faint.



This isn't happening.  And then I heard it.  The train!  I didn't realize I was waiting for it that time, but I must have been because as soon as I heard it I knew it was him.   My dad.  He had finally caught that damn train!  This time he took a piece of my soul into the future and left my body behind.  There are days I swear I hear him calling to me, "Come on Sis, run".

It seems I run all of the time.  I ran all the way to Atlanta and back again once.  I run from hurt.  I run from fear.  I run from loneliness.  I run from anger.  I even run from happiness.  I run from truth.  I run from myself.



I want to stop running.  I have to stop running.  This time I want to sit stark naked and wait for the train.



true story.

Edie B. Kuhl

January 8, 2011

You're Welcome

Dear Tom Selleck . . . 


Congratulations.  After months of deliberation, you have been selected to play the role of my father on the big screen.


I live an amazing life and it's time to tell the story.


This may seem a little crazy, creepy even.  But I assure you someday you will feel honored and thank me.  In your Academy Award speech for Best Actor.


true story.


Edie B. Kuhl