Free to be you and me and rip a new asshole

I feel like ripping someone a new asshole.

I am beginning to realize that this diary may not reflect my personality. I am used to writing as a way to let out feelings. I am normally �as sunny as summer weather� (anyone who remembers that quote should call me and we should do lunch!!!!!!!!!! We are so mutually cool.) That might not be the truth either. And while I might enjoy dribbling on about the complex human personality I will spare you and explain the ripping a new asshole deal.

I move at least 3 times in a calendar year. I�m just putting that out there. It�s not �I have moved,� or �I will move,� but I have and will for the 4th year in a row, so why not just state it as fact? I like moving. I like change. It�s growing to become a big part of who I am (that which I look forward to and that/those who I leave behind).

So, taking us back to June of last year, Providence, RI, moving to Wisconsin for a breezy summer of theatre in a garden. I call to change my name on the phone bill before I move. I live in a communal Intern house and others were to be moving in after. Verizon never changes my name. So summer turns to fall turns to winter. Trinity Repertory Company moves out of the intern house. Nobody bothers to turn off the phone, which by the way, is still under my name and social security number.

Meanwhile... somewhere in the midwest Molly has moved from Wisconsin to Chicago.

February, Wisconsin, 2001: Mom gets some forwarded mail from Providence, RI. It�s a final bill from Verizon. I call Verizon, I call TRC. I send the bills to RI. I call out to the heavens. I am sternly warned about the repercussions of being reported to a collection agency by my parental figures. I beg and plead and nothing is done. Time passes. I forget in my depressive stupor. I call TRC again and am pacified by the bitter account manager. I assume everything goes through (after all, it�s March, and they won�t report me until April).

May 10th, Chicago: Molly receives a bill from a collection agency. Is calm. Assumes that it is all a big misunderstanding. Begs and pleads and beats brow on the phone with favorite TRC employee. After all, this is my future with a big house, 2.5 children, 2 dogs and a 3 car garage. I might be banned from suburbia!!!!!!! But I am told that they will NOW pay the bill. What can I do? I can�t pluck out their vocal chords one by one, over the phone. My shit would probably dry and smell stale if I tried to send it over the distance. I am left to brood over the consequences. And it takes so little to start me brooding...

May 27, Chicago. I receive yet another bill from the collection agency, conveniently located in Brookfield, WI. Damn. I send out a pleading SOS to my fav employee at the famed TRC, I babble, then beg and threaten to threaten. I adore VM.

Today I get a call. Lovely of lovelies: Neal. I guess they sent a check. Where? I don�t know. When? I don�t know. Did they cal me and tell me? No. FOR FUCK�S SAKE! THROW ME A LINE!

Anyways. Let�s regess to childhood:

�Little girls and little boys, remember: Your mommy hates housework, your daddy hates housework, I hate housework too and when you grow up, so will you. So, little boys and little girls, if you want all your days to be sunny as summer weather, you'll do it TOGETHER!!!�

-Free To Be You and Me (utter brillance with a 70�s flair)