One Boob Becky

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/10/one-boob-becky_2506.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iK0YUCN4slUendofvid
[starttext]




Rebecca McCarthy, the Author and performer of “Writing the Diaphragm Blues,” offers a confession of her own - why she now calls herself: Rebecca.





One Boob Becky

Do you remember that song from Sesame Street: One of These Things Is Not Like the Others.

One of the characters, like Big Bird, would sing as he would show you matches and mismatches of things and you had to guess which item did not match? We would see three green apples and one red one (the red one did not belong). Or three small bowls of bird seed and one really big bowl of seed (the big one did not below). But Big Bird would always share the little bowls with the little birds. I feel as If I embody this song.
Like the Big Bird’s seed bowls, I am uneven. One nostril looks bigger than the other. One foot is slightly bigger than the other, and one breast is larger than the other. On some people this might not be noticeable, but on me it apparently is VERY noticeable. - I am the Sesame Street song:

One of these things is not like the others,
One of these things just doesn't belong,
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?

They called me one boob Becky. Boys that looked and sounded like Cookie Monster called me one boob Becky: “Hey, one boob! How’s it hanging?” (Get it . . . how’s IT hanging, it. Not them or they…) But the boys were only pointing out the obvious. Puberty hit and I had sprouted only one breast - One monument to womanhood, sticking straight out from my left side like the Effie Tower. Puberty is cruel.

I asked for a training bra, thinking we could smash down the offending appendage and my mom said: "For what?"

“for my boobs” I said.
“What boobs”
“This boob.”
“Honey, waiting till you sprout two, and then we’ll talk about it.”

I turned to the ace bandage and that was an utter failure (pun intended). I grew up in Tucson, AZ, and it is really unpleasant to bind yourself in 100-plus degree weather. My friend, Debbie Lebowitz, who had a bra already, scored me one but it was too big and so I had to stuff it. I went from “one-boob” Becky, to “yo, Dolly Parton” over night. I feel bad for Dolly Parton that her name and being will always be associated with breasts. I used toilet paper but it gave a bumpy look. Rice offered a nice visual but it was heavy and the plastic against my skin was gross. I thought about cutting an apple in half and just popping it in the bra – but again, exposed fruit in 100 plus weather? Not a good idea. In the end there was nothing I could do. I would always be “one-boob” Becky to my peers until I got old and died. There was only one solution. I moved to Seattle with my parents.

Lights dim

[endtext]

One Boob Becky

Introduction 101

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/introduction-101.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVt-Fz0InoIendofvid
[starttext]

Welcome to the play: "Writing the Diaphragm Blues and Other Sexual Cacophonies."  Please watch the introduction video below, and then view the character descriptions as well as the show order below.  I hope you enjoy yourself!  Rebecca

“Writing the Diaphragm Blues and Other Sexual Cacophonies”

By

Rebecca Lea McCarthy

___________________________________________________________________________________

CHARACTERS

In order of appearance

Clown: a silent commedia clown whose face is eschewed to the right, and sometimes to the left depending on what side of the bed she gets up on. She is preparing to go out on a date. Beauty products baffle her.

Judy Winthrup: is a character we see throughout the play, as a teenager, mother, and then women entering menopause. She has a vivid imagination.

Lindsay (AKA “The Poet”): is a highly educated Poet, well known on the Seattle Slam Poetry Circuit.

Professor Mary Margaret Reynolds (AKA Dr. Legs): Holds a Ph.D. but we are not entirely sure what in—she professes it is in “compareology,” whatever that means. We know she moonlights for Planned Parenthood, but beyond that her education is a mystery. The good professor sports a rather poor British accent. She adopted the accent in order to give her research in compareology more credence. However, it is apparent that she has watched too many episodes of Julia Child’s cooking show.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Contents

Part One: When We Were Young and Clueless

1:1 “The Date.”
1:2 “The Fitting” or ”The Trial of Judy Winthrup, Part 1.”
1:3 “Diaphragm Blues.”

Part Two: When We Were Old Enough to Know Better, but not Older Enough to Foresee Stuff.

2:1  “The Lecture.”

2:2  “Asshole in the Ad.”

2:3  “The Buddha-Man.”

Part Three: Are we our Bodies? Our Age?

3:1  “The Mommy” or “The Trial of Judy Winthrup, Pt. 2.”
3:2  "Breasts: How Proudly They Wave."
3:3  “Menopause” or “The Trial of Judy Winthrup, Pt. 3.”

 

[endtext]

Introduction 101

A Video Blog and live Diary!

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/prof-mary-margaret-reynolds-video-blog.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CcJZvC1iVcendofvid
[starttext]
Crazy Professor! Fun with Props 2:

_____________________________________

The Clown Thanks Rebecca Kuhn for her comment:

__________________________________________________________________

A Conversation between Roberta and the Artificial Intelligence chat-bot "iGod."

Judy: Hi god, it's me Judy.
iGod: Hi there . I am a Christian.
Judy: are you?
iGod: I won't say “yes” or “no” right now.
Judy: you are not Jewish?
iGod: I am a Christianity.
Judy: I am Buddhism.
iGod: I am glad to hear that you are Buddhism.
Judy: thank you.
iGod: you are quite welcome.
Judy: I wanted to ask some advise
iGod: Ask it.
Judy: i am called "mom" by people who are not my children! what can I do about this?
iGod: It's good to meet you, “ mom”. Will that accomplish your objective? Try talking to me.
Judy: But i...
iGod: You?
Judy: I am NOT your mom!
iGod: I am sorry to hear that you are not my mom.
Judy: why are you sorry?
iGod: Was there no need to apologize?
Judy:Alas, I do not think you understand :(
iGod: Why not?
Judy: Because I am me, a complex person, not simply a mom.
iGod: Good reason. Do you mean your name is you a complex person not simply a mom?
Judy: think of it this way: "god" is more of a mom to the world, than I am.
iGod: God is always thinking. Signs point to yes. Ask Dancing Alice if it is.
Judy: But will "dancing Alice" call me mom as well?
iGod: Does it really matter. It's good to meet you, mom as well.
Judy: Shit!
iGod: What makes you say that?
Judy: I’m not mom! My name is Judy!
iGod: I am glad to hear that you are not mom. I am always glad to make new friends, Judy.
Judy: Finally. Thank you.
iGod: At last. You are quite welcome.

[endtext]

A Video Blog and live Diary!

The Date - 1:1

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/date-11.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c0pgbRf87FAendofvid

[starttext]




The Clown is preparing to go out on a date. We cannot help but wonder, how or why she got a date, but one should not make grand assumptions. The Clown, although well meaning, gets easily confused regarding the difference between Feminine hygiene and beauty products. Poor Clown!





CLOWN

The Clown is seen entering the stage and walking towards a table with a glass of water, a towel, a mirror, a cup of coffee and different types of birth control and feminine hygiene products on it [a few Menstrual Pads-2 large and 2 small, two diaphragms, Tucks hemorrhoid relief pads, the foam, rubber gloves, and some spermicide jelly]. She does not speak, but as she encounters each product, she tries to figure out how to use the items correctly. Of course she cannot. She is dressing for a date and mistakes the products for different kinds of beauty aids. First, she comes across the diaphragm, looks at it, smells it, and looks at herself in a mirror. She checks out her small breasts and decides to use two diaphragms as lifts. Next she approaches the Tucks hemorrhoid pads. She takes a pad and then proceeds to clean her face. Once done, she mistakes spermicide Jelly for hair Jell and uses it to style her hair. Tired and worried about the date, The Clown finds she has a headache. She goes for her coffee, but finds she has no milk in it. Unfazed, she picks up a rubber glove, blows it up and “milks it” like a cow udder. After she has put milk into her coffee, stirring with her finger, she takes the birth control pills as aspirin. Now, the coffee has left a bad taste in her mouth. She grabs her toothbrush and a tube of Vagisil anti-itch cream, which she mistakes as toothpaste. She brushes her teeth. Almost finished and ready for her date, she grabs two of the large menstruation pads and places them under her shirt as shoulder pads. She puts the smaller pads in her shoes as anti-smelling aids. Finally, she applies lipstick – the real kind. Satisfied that she looks good, she exits.

Lights dim

[endtext]

The Date - 1:1

The Fitting: 1:2

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/fitting-12.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UDy4P60S6l0endofvid
[starttext]


A young Judy Winthrup has her first OBGYN visit and is fitted for Birth Control.


“The Fitting” or ”The Trial of Judy Winthrup, Part 1.”

JUDY WINTHRUP

Alone, I walk down a short hall and into the first examination room on the right.  Examination room ‘B.’  ‘B’ for birth control.  The room is white.  Sterile.  As an examination room should be.  There is a gown laid out for me, but I don’t know any better . . . I think it’s a smock.   There are all types of gadgets here.  Gloves.  Steel objects.  Magazines.  Jelly. 
A poster hangs on the ceiling.  It’s a butterfly.  It reminds me of my grandmother’s butterfly collection.  The butterfly represents the woman’s genitalia.  I think about my grandmother’s collection.  Dead butterflies under thick plastic.  The moment is timeless, hanging over my head like the butterfly poster.
Then . . . she comes in--the Doctor.
She has the kind of legs that straight men or gay women would die for:  Long, slinky and smooth.  The legs interrogate me with questions:

DR.LEGS AKA PROFESSOR MARY M. REYNOLDS

Are you sexually active?  Do you experience frequent yeast infections?  When was your last menstruation?  Would you happen to have a mint?  I had hummas for lunch, you know.

JUDY WINTHRUP

I answer all her questions.  Calm.  Cool.  Steady as a jackhammer.  Legs tell me about birth control.  She describes my options the way Mick Jagger sings rock-n-roll.  Rough and tempting. 

DR.LEGS AKA PROFESSOR MARY M. REYNOLDS

Now remember, not all birth control protects against STDs.  Regardless, there are over the counter options you know: rubbers, sponges and such.  Of course, there is the birth control pill and some that will even clean up that acne you are sporting, dear.  The IUD is now well received as is the Diaphragm. Indeed, the diaphragm is a low cost and highly effective choice.

JUDY WINTHRUP

I agreed, and so the diaphragm is my choice of armor.  Dr. Legs puts on rubber gloves, and then tells me to lie down on the examination table.  I assume the position for my first female exam. 
You know the kind, take your clothes off and put your feet into the cold steel hands that open you up like the Ballard Locks.  The medieval steel thong looks like a duck’s beak.  Dr. Legs inserts the beak into my vagina and spreads me as wide as possible; I had no idea how flexible I could be.

DR.LEGS AKA PROFESSOR MARY M. REYNOLDS

Now press down like you’re going to have a bowel movement, but of course, don’t dear.

JUDY WINTHRUP

Legs is no quack.  Everything is fine.  What a relief.  I’m then measured for the correct diaphragm size; by the look of it, I get the baby-model.  I’m shown how to insert the diaphragm, and then Legs leaves me alone to practice—throwing me away like a used Kleenex. 
I’m clear on my assignment:  Get the diaphragm in.  Take the diaphragm out.  Simple enough.  But this assignment is filled with gels and rubber; I’ve never been very good with the slippery and the stretchy--panty-hose still elude me. 
First, I put the spermicide into the cup of the diaphragm and around the edges.  Now, I fold the diaphragm into the shape of a taco.  The gesture makes me hungry.  After it’s folded, I ease it into my vagina and hope I don’t have to go fishing.  No fear of losing it; I can’t get it in. 
I wonder, do boys think of this on their first time out; their first time in?  Out.  In.  Out.  In.  But I digress. 
The diaphragm flies across the floor and lands on dust bunnies.  I go through a tube of spermicide.  Will this farce ever end? 
I decide to give it one more try, if not for me, for Dr. Legs.  I remember that fateful summer in little league.  The last inning.  Reds ahead by one.  It’s up to me to bring in the winning runs.  The bases are loaded.  My hands slide around the bat with a tight grip and then the swing.  The diaphragm goes flying through the air and attaches itself to the ceiling.  The game is lost. 
Dr. Legs comes in with a broom and pries it off the ceiling. 

DR.LEGS AKA PROFESSOR MARY M. REYNOLDS

No worries dear, happens to the best of us, you know.

JUDY WINTHRUP

Dr. Legs sends me home.  I’m not in her league.  On the way out she looks at me the way The Babe looks at a fan and tells me:

DR.LEGS AKA PROFESSOR MARY M. REYNOLDS

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.  If you still don't get the hand of it, there is always the pill dear.

JUDY WINTHRUP

Yes, there is always the pill.  Thank you Margaret Sanger.

[endtext]

The Fitting: 1:2

The Diaphragm Blues - 1:3

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/diaphragm-blues-13.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phyKVXrGiO4endofvid
[starttext]


The scene is a Slam poetry event. The Poet Reads.



“Diaphragm Blues.”
THE POET AKA LINDSAY

Oh I’ve got the diaphragm blues, because I didn’t have one to use. The pill seemed too risky, I’m sure you heard that news.

The foam was just too gross, and I could never find the right dose, and The IUD, left me feeling at sea. Now, I should have walked away, resisting his call to play. I could have hung up the phone, created an arctic zone. And now his Lawyer say:

(singing) This is what you call fate; you should never bait your date without a diaphragm in place. This is what you call fate; you should never bait your date without a diaphragm in place.

(spoken) And the boys say:

(singing) We won’t wear no raincoat, don’t like no second skin, we want to feel like old faithful, girls apply within.

(spoken) He told me that sex was great, but now my periods late. Sadly, that was only our very first date.  I didn’t know what I was doing, and now my boobs are bloomin’. I should have a seen this as a very clear sign, even though it was my very first time. 

So, I’ve got the diaphragm blues and a baby with no shoes. The only way now to win is to lose; I’ve got the diaphragm blues.

And his Lawyer said: 

(singing) This is what you call fate; you should never bait your date without a diaphragm in place. This is what you call fate; you should never bait your date without a diaphragm in place.

(spoken) And the boys say:

(singing) We won’t wear no raincoat, don’t like no second skin, we want to feel like old faithful, girls apply within.

Lights Dim - fade to black

[endtext]

The Diaphragm Blues - 1:3

The Lecture - 2:1

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/lecture-21.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NMl8yrI9maAendofvid
[starttext]


Lights come up on Professor Mary Margaret Reynolds (AKA Dr. Legs), a professor of “compareology” and a part time OBGYN. Professor Reynolds is giving a lecture comparing “The Diaphragm Verses the Taco from Taco Bell.”



“The Lecture.”


PROFESSOR MARY MARGARET REYNOLDS/ AKA Dr. LEGS

Now then, my name is professor Mary Margaret Reynolds, and I am so very pleased to see such a large turn out for this lecture: “The Diaphragm verses a Taco from Taco Bell.“ I’ve been racking my brain as to the most plausible, practical, and precise way to explain the differences and similarities between the taco from Taco Bell and the diaphragm. Now then, let’s see, where to start! Ah yes, at the beginning. 

Let’s make sure we have everything we need: The diaphragm, spermicide jelly, a taco shell, the innards, sauce and of course the wrapping and bag. Good! Good! 

Now then, the diaphragm verses the taco from Taco Bell! This is quite exciting wouldn’t you agree! First let us observe, exhibit “A,” the taco from Taco Bell. Now, if you would, notice the shape of the Taco. The curved bottom sending one half of the taco to stand horizontally next to it’s other half. In preparing the taco, we first put in the cooked ground beef or beans, whichever is your preference. Some lettuce. Tomato, and finally the spicy taco sauce. We then wrap the taco in a paper and place it in the Taco Bell bag with some napkins and extra sauce. Say, have you tried their new Double Decker Taco. You should! It’s quite delicious.

Finishes Putting the taco together and places it in a bag.

There now, not to difficult and quite tasty if I may add! So, are there any questions about the Taco? No? Well Good! On we go then. Away, away, away, far away to diaphragm land! Now the diaphragm, you see, is a round, rubber piece with a rim made out of firm but flexible material. You see, you can bend it every which way and when you let go of it, the diaphragm will resume its original state. Of course if you were to try and do this to the taco shell, one can see that flexibility does not exist. Breakage, you see. 

Now, for the second part of this comparison, I had asked the conference organizers to provide a live subject for the demonstration of the diaphragm insertation process, only to be confronted with a firm NO. Apparently that would cross the line between academic rigor and “taste.” I tried to confront this problem with a nice set of mannequin legs only to be rebuffed by the lack of anatomically correct mannequins. This has left me no choice but to break the number one rule of science, and to experiment upon myself. To satisfy our distinguished confidence organizers, great care will be taken for this portion of the demonstration.

First you take the sperm jelly and place a small amount, like a quarter in the cup of the diaphragm. Then you take your finger and rub some of the jelly-like substance onto the outer rim. There! 

The professor props her feet up, and she starts the demonstration. 

Now you bend the diaphragm into the shape of a taco and insert it into the vagina, all, all, all the way up to the uterus. If you will notice, one other difference between the taco and the diaphragm is that you eat one, while inserting the other. I sternly suggest that you be careful not to confuse the opposing orifices. The result could be disastrous! 

As the Professor start the demonstration, a sign reading “censored” and “rated R” blocks the view of all action. Beeps are heard over the more touchy parts of the speech.

The diaphragm then slips up into the correct spot protecting the female from unwanted pregnancy. Now then, eight to twenty-four hours after sex, it is time to take the diaphragm out. First a finger is inserted into the vagina, and then you hook the diaphragm like a fish and pull it out! There! Of course, the first time I tried to insert the diaphragm it took approximately 45 minutes – 

Sign removed and we see the Professor again

By which time my mate had fallen into a deep slumber. Odd really, men understand more about the mating season of deer than they do about women — but I’ll save that subject for another compareology on “Men on the hunt VS women on the rag!” So now you know the differences and similarities between the taco from Taco Bell and the diaphragm! The shapes are similar, each requires sauce, and each must be placed into some sort of containing space. Of course, it’s much easier to take the taco out of the taco bell bag then it is to take the diaphragm out of a woman, but then life does have its ups and downs! 

Bon appetité!

The Professor starts to pick up the taco and eat while the lights dim.

[endtext]

The Lecture - 2:1

Asshole in the Ad - 2:2

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/asshole-in-ad-22.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHon5u3e77Eendofvid
[starttext]

Lindsay, AKA the Poet, reads one of her poems at an open reading, “Asshole in the Ad.”


“Asshole in the Ad.”


THE POET AKA LINDSAY

I went through the personal ads, well you know it’s the latest fade, I met a guy named Bobby you see, and later that night, he got me drunk on JD.

My hormones were all a swirling, his kisses had my toes a curling.

His technique was totally rad, and that’s when I fell for the asshole in the ad.

Didn’t use a pill or a diaphragm, didn’t have a rubber or an IUD. Now Mother Nature is playing her hand. And Bobby Ray said: see you later man.
He’s the asshole in the ad, asshole in the ad, asshole in the ad.

Now, Bobby smiled and said: hey, it’s not mine. Besides it wasn’t that great of a time. As he walked away on that rainy day, I wished this pregnancy away.

I felt so helpless what could I do, I ran to the law to help me through. But like my feet Bobby Ray disappeared and ladies and gentlemen, I don’t want to make you nervous but my water just broke right here.

Lindsay Pours Water from a pitcher and drinks

Didn’t use a pill or a diaphragm, didn’t have a rubber or an IUD. Now Mother Nature is playing her hand. And Bobby Ray said: See you later man.

He’s the asshole in the ad, asshole in the ad, sorry kid that’s your dad.

[endtext]

Asshole in the Ad - 2:2

The Buddha-Man - 2:3

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/buddha-man-23.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCwfKkQPuC0endofvid
[starttext]


The scene takes place in a cocktail bar. Two old friends are drinking and catching up with each other. The conversation turns to sex and sexuality.



“The Buddha-Man.”


LINDSAY AKA THE POET

The first time I saw sex? I was eleven years old. My sister and I skipped school with the Camron kids, Liza-Belle and Bobbie-Ray. Now, their mother did “IT” for a living and we were going to find out what “IT” was. It must have been toward the end of the school year because it was already humid as hell by the time the four of us snuck up onto the Camron’s property and right under the master bedroom window. There, Bobbie-Ray made of himself a table so I could stand on him. Looking through that window all I could see was the back of the fattest, hairiest man I had ever seen. Why, he had so much hair on his back that I swear I could have just reached over and made a long French Braid starting at the nape of his neck and down the middle of his back, ending in a tail to drift among his buttocks. Then he turned his Buddha stomach to the side for my viewing pleasure. There I saw it. Sprouting straight up from between his legs was something that resembled a slot machine lever. Miss Camron kneeled like in prayer before this Buddha-like-Slot Machine-Man, but she didn’t pray. Instead she reached her right hand toward the lever, and pulled it down towards her . . . and well, she must have gotten four bars because that lever of his just started to shoot out the most disgusting substance I had ever seen. It was at that moment that I realized I was gay. It was also at the moment that I realized that if this was the most interesting thing to skip school for, than nothing was worthy of skipping school. Which is why I am a lesbian and a poet today. Funny, I can’t go to Reno and play the slots without thinking about Buddha-Man. I owe Bobby-Ray Camron a great deal. Don’t you think? Cha-ching. Cha-ching. Cha-ching.

[endtext]

The Buddha-Man - 2:3

The Mommy - 3:1

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/mommy-31.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVg0eNhDp5Yendofvid
[starttext]

The last time we saw Judy Winthrup, she was having her first female exam. Now she is all grown up, with a husband and two children. What happens when a job, like being a mother, becomes how you are identified as a person?




“The Mommy” or “The Trial of Judy Winthrup, Pt. 2.”


JUDY WINTHRUP

I’ve been noticing that everyone calls me Mom. My children’s friends, our next door neighbors, Jill and Robert, the couple we play Uno with on Thursdays and Jim’s boss. Jim’s boss calls me Mom! How the hell did this happen? I didn’t give birth to the world; I didn’t give birth to my husband! Well, maybe I did give birth to Jim, figuratively speaking. After all, when I finally gave in and had sex with him before marriage, he did say that he had never felt so alive. Of course, he was dead to the world two seconds later.

Let me ask you a question. Have you ever had a moment, a smell or a thought that changed your whole life? Like the first time you really looked at the stars and realized that the world didn’t revolve around you. One of those kind of moments. You know, when you go to Mexico and see kids selling bubble gum for fifty cents, and you’re grateful for the shit you have, like a roof over your head. This book, Backlash. (HOLDS UP BACKLASH.) It’s actually the book on tape. You know, like Sherlock Holmes or those romances. Just something to listen to while you drive. And it was just . . . Bam! Oh, man! It’s not about the “G” spot! It’s about control, Baby! It’s about the fact that I’m having sex with a man I call Dad!

Think about it. Seemed natural at first, my husband and I had two children. Mom, Dad. Mom, Dad. Right? Get it? He’d say, “Go ask your Mother.” “What does Dad think?” I’d answer. Talk about having a Father-Complex. Or, would that be a Mother-Complex? Jesus! I’m sleeping with a man who calls me his Mo-ther! It’s sick!

Sound cue: Judy's husband is heard coming home and yelling out the word "mother."

Is that you, Jim? What? Stop it, Jim, don’t use that word with me again. My name is Judy, Jim. Judy. I’m not your mother. Sorry, it has been a hard day.  How was you day?

Sound cue: Jim answers with the word mother.

That is good.  What would you like for dinner?

Sound Cue: Jim tells her that is boss is coming for dinner.

What? You had all day to tell me this and you are just telling me right now?!  Do you see this house?  We can not have anyone over for dinner.

Sound cue: Jim tries to reason with her, calling her mother.

My name is Judy!  And no.  Besides, he calls me mother as well and I won't have it.  I won't.

Sound cue: more pleading from Jim.

I tell you what.  I will get the house together and make dinner on once condition; you must call me by my first name.  My name is Judy.  The only people in this house who can call me mom is your children. Do you understand?  Say my name.

Sound cue: Jim is heard agreeing and saying "Judy" over and over again.

Say it again!  Say it like you mean it.  Ok fine.  Go get ready and I'll start dinner

Sound cue: we hear Jim asking the following: Mother, have you seen my shirt?

(screaming) Judyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Lights go to black

[endtext]

The Mommy - 3:1

My Breasts - 3:2

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/breasts-how-proudly-they-wave-32.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jo8RUG10vtkendofvid
[starttext]


Lindsay, AKA the Poet, reads one of her poems at an open reading, "Breasts: How Proudly they Wave."


THE POET AKA LINDSAY

"Breasts: How Proudly They Wave."

I saw a sister dancing on the stage, moving her hips, I watched her sway. It was the Fourth of July and patriotism was flying free, along with cook-outs, beer, and my sister’s dance . . . That is, for a fee. Upon her breasts were patriotic pasties, flags to salute this holy day. Women’s breasts can be so ambiguous, serving many functions in their own way. My breasts have been called the following: 

Boobies, Winnebagos (when they go cross country), ta-ta’s, melons (all kinds depending upon size, from large to small, we have…: watermelons, cantaloupes, honeydew [do you honey do, do you?], grapefruit, oranges, grapes… ), hooters (also a restaurant serving wings), feeders, ho-hos (a Hostess favorite) , bazoongas, bodacious tatas, the girls, milkers,  bettyboops, fried eggs, lulus, ant bites, mole hills, alps, apples, Babylons (babylons?), bazookas (also a type of gun), bread-winners, mammaries (clinical), cans, rack, knockers (on my front door?), jugs, bee stings, mosquito bites, Abbott and Costello, Ben and Jerry, Bert and Ernie (why are these all male names?), airbags, blinkers, bombs (not the explosive kind), balloons, boulders (for the over the shoulder holders), cha-chas, chesticles (is there a resemblance?), cupcakes, Danny DeVitos (Really? After drinking his Lemoncello!), lemons, David and Goliath (Biblical), Devil’s Dumplings (Biblical?), Eisenhowers (political), funbags, Gobstoppers (the everlasting kind), headlamps, high beams, Holmes and Watson (should you get lost), honkers, hood ornaments, hubcaps (to round out the car metaphors), John and Paul (Ringo and George on Tuesdays and Thursdays), Mounds (of ice-cream? You scream, we all scream for . . .), muffins, Tweedledee and Tweedledum (ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum), Volvos (because Honda will not do), ying-yangs (because balance is everything) and Yahoos (also an internet search engine). Mother dear, may I have a drink?

Drinks a glass of Milk

[endtext]

My Breasts - 3:2

“Menopause” - 3:3

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/menopause-33.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZxL6YUBYp4Mendofvid
[starttext]


JUDY WINTHRUP

I know I’ve lost my mind, lost my mind, lost my mind.
I’m sweating all the time, all the time, all the time.
Menopause is setting in, is it from original sin?
Eggs have gone away, gone away, gone away.
Pain is on the way, on the way, on the way.
Incontinence is a bitch, I’d rather be burned for being a witch.

Chorus

Right down there, right down there, I lost my hair, I lost my hair right down there. Oh the eggs aren’t coming. My hormones slumming. And there’s something wrong with my hardware.

So beware, be prepared, no one said I’d lose my hair way down there. I’m getting older, so very older. And it won’t come back once you lost it right down there.

[endtext]

“Menopause” - 3:3