Sugar Pie Honey Bunch

Okay, so on Saturdays I teach acting classes for teens and kids at the McCarty Talent Agency here in town. (Way better than last time - when I was a human potty at a far lesser agency.) This last weekend started a new 8 week session and this particular class was for the kids and their parents - basically a run down on the ins and outs of the agency and the professional acting business. As they were filing out, one of the moms turned to me and said, "I love your blog. My only complaint is that you don't post enough."

I guess I have officially arrived. I’ve met a stranger who reads my blog AND I’ve gotten hate mail. Totally cool.

Mom at class, and anyone else who cares, I apologize for not posting enough for the past while. I need three assistants to help me run my life with all I have going on - one of them could certainly blog regularly. But, alas, there is only me. I vow to do better.

And so, just for you acting-class-Mom-who-reads-my-blog, for no reason whatsoever, a totally random post about… pie.

Ah, pie. I love pie. On my Facebook profile it says: Full Time Single Mom, Maker of Books and Films and Happy Things, Die Hard Smart-Ass, Likes pie. This has led to several men that I don’t know sending me the same message: “So, what kind of pie do you like?” Roughly translated this actually means: “So, what do you look like naked?” Online flirting? Not interested.

But I do like pie. A lot. One would think that my favorite would be chocolate but chocolate cream pie is just a big fat tease. Unless it is made of fudge and Oreos I prefer fruit pies. The tangier the better. I just Googled “types of pie” and the first one my eyes landed on was Steak and Liver Pie. Mental note: never eat a pie made in England.

As a teenager I always wanted to go to a movie with a whole pie and a fork and just chow down. This I vow to do the very next time a movie is released with Johnny Depp not looking like a gay clown, The Rock not in a tutu, or Gerard Butler not with that woman he knocked up that isn’t me.

How can you not love pie? You can have your finger in too many of them, they are in the sky and they are humble. You can be nice as, easy as and sweet as – what would I call my daughter if not Sweetie Pie?

Best of all, if anyone tells me again to be as American as apple pie I have a valid reason to kick them in the shin and yell, “Shut your pie hole!” (which, by the way, tops the awesome response list - right alongside, “Shut up, dill hole!”)

I leave you with a poem:

But I, when I undress me
Each night, upon my knees
Will ask the Lord to bless me
With apple-pie and cheese.

In the name of Marie Calendar. Amen.