Here is the transcript of Blogs Aloud 2011 directed by Elizabeth Palmer of Midnight Cowgirls. These parts were performed by Nancy Graham, Charlotte Maier and Elizabeth Palmer. And they were AWESOME. Thanks to all the bloggers whose posts were included in this performance.

Woman #1:              My husband sometimes does not change his underwear for DAYS. He said his record is five days and he had, in fact, gone three the weekend before during the baseball tournament (in 500 degree weather and 100 percent humidity). It was so bad, he laughed, that he’d thrown the boxer briefs out rather than risk my finding them in the laundry basket. (Effed in Park Slope)

Woman #2:              Lately, I’ve avoided writing about a lot of things that have come up for our family, just because I can’t get out of my head who might be reading this. Do I want all those folks to know some of the negative things I wish I could say? No. So I haven’t written them, and I’m not going to.

Woman #1:             I do believe that this will be my last post. I would like to thank you all for stopping by, because you people out there are the only reason I have kept it up for the past year or so. There were times when I was really into the blog, but now unfortunately it has become more of an obligation and that’s no fun at all. I think I prefer to be a blog reader rather than a blog writer. (Found in Brooklyn)

Woman #3:     You know how sometimes you go to the public library to do some work or hang out or whatevs. And then after awhile you realize that you’re not really getting anything done, and so then you start texting some friends, but no one is answering you back? So then you try talking to the dude next to you until you realize that he’s homeless and is having a convo with a head of lettuce that he’s dressed up with a

wool hat and drawn eyes on with a black magic marker? And then you’re just like: hmm…maybe I’ll just pull up some hardcore pantyhose porn and jerk off right here at the public computers? Just me? (Effed in Park Slope)

Woman #2:               There was a time in this country when many housewives would bake a cake every day, that not baking one was akin to forgoing the side dishes for a meal. Lazy Daisy Cake is one of those cakes that many a housewife had in her repertoire.  I’ve discovered several similarly named recipes – Busy Day Cake, Impossible Cake, One-Egg Cake – all promising to get sweets on the table fast. But Lazy Daisy Cake is more than quick – it’s light and delicious with a luscious broiled topping that’s much simpler than a buttercream and more special.  In fact, it’s almost like cake brulee, especially if you slightly overbroil it, as I did. (A Cake Bakes in Brooklyn)

Woman #3: On any Sunday night you can count upwards to a dozen jet lights stretching from Brooklyn through Staten Island and into New Jersey. In the early 60’s there were probably more prop planes than jets. I would sometimes sit with my Dad on the couch and try to make out the tail markings with my telescope. Pan Am, Eastern, United, TWA. I think I was too young to remember seeing the wounded United DC-8 fly overhead on fire before it crashed in Park Slope in 1960, but according to my Mom, I was home at the time and may have seen it if I was staring out the back window as usual. And I can’t tell you the hundreds of dreams I have had in my lifetime about seeing a jet on fire flying over my house. (Kensington Stories)

Woman #1:             For Jesse’s school party, I figured I’d mix it up a bit and go with an old favorite: chocolate chip cookies. It was a breeze preparing the batter — until I tried to mold it into little balls and it crumbled into pieces.

Oops. Seems I forgot to add the eggs! I whisked in some eggs at the last minute and it seemed to do the trick. They came out of the oven looking perfectly browned. I figured I’d let them cool for a while before packing them up for the night.

Oops again. I was so tired that I forgot to pack up the cookies. When I awoke this morning, I realized my mistake. They’re no longer nice and chewy. In fact, they’re like cookie pellets. (Undomesticated Me)

Woman #2:               I saw a man on a subway platform suddenly drop a dollar on the ground, and at first he showed great concern, although he didn’t bend over to pick it up. As soon as he saw other people had noticed, and when another man bent over to pick up the dollar and hand it back to him, the man acted as if he wouldn’t condescend to touch that dollar. Is this pride in action? People are complicated and there’s much to understand about why someone would throw or drop something on the ground and neglect to pick it up, and another would gladly collect it without worrying about how they’ll be viewed. We all seem to be wrapped in layers of our values, conditioning, and instincts so thickly that we can’t really understand each other very well. Seriously, call in the anthropologists; this city is full of diverse tribes. (Brooklynometry).

Woman #3:             This year, the arrival of 9.11 coincided with Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and the end of Ramadan, the annual fast that is one of the five pillars of Islam.  On Friday, 9.10, my son had the day off from school because of the Jewish holidays, and his friend came over to visit.  We played ball in the park and walked around the neighborhood to grab pizza at Bene’s and snacks at the grocery.  The Bangladeshis were all out on the street, families.  The men wear white pants and tunics, with their small white caps that are often embroidered and appear delicate and firm and strong all at the same time. The women wear beautiful long patterned dresses and veils of vivid colors. During Rosh Hashanah every year, Hasidic Jews come out on the streets of Park Slope and all around Prospect Park.  Dressed in black suits with white shirts and black hats, they ask everyone passing by a simple question, “Excuse me, are you Jewish?”  If there is anything that America has meant to me, it is this jigsaw that is not puzzling at all. (Truth and Rocket Science)

Woman #2:             It’s been a strange day; the morning was bright, then dark, then bright again. I went to bed sick of myself but not losing hope that today really could be a new day for me, not knowing what would emerge from the other side of my cataracts. (With Charlie)

Woman #1:             I think I have phantom head lice again. Last spring lice went around my kid’s school, and every 5 minutes I stuck my head under the lamp and ordered my husband to inspect my head. The itching was unbearable.  He told me he read a story about someone who was so sure she had lice, she doused her head with gasoline and lit it on fire. Instead I visited the Lice Lady in Borough Park. She plunked me down on a stool and combed through my hair while her 15 children ran in and out of the kitchen. “I don’t see anything. There’s nothing here. Your head is clean,” she said. “Really?” I said, disbelieving.

“God doesn’t mean for you to have lice. God is good to you.”

“Are you sure?” I said.

“Don’t question God.  He’s good to you. Why don’t you believe me? It would be to my benefit if you did have lice. Besides, you should be grateful to have hair…some people don’t have hair.” I gave her $25 and walked home through the fading light. For the first time in weeks, my head didn’t itch at all. (Midnight Cowgirls)

Woman # 3:             Don’t you hate college reunions? You feel like you’ve really got to impress all those people who ask, “So what have you been up to?”

Hmmmm.
Well…
Ahhhh….

Seriously, how do you characterize a quarter century of your life? Is it all really just a list of degrees, courses, jobs, projects, addresses, and names? Are we nothing more than our resumes?

What about the interstitial life – the life that goes on between the lines of all the other stuff? The little discoveries we make about ourselves; the surprising moments we have with our children on the way to the store; an inside joke told over and over; getting proposed to at Two Boots Restaurant on Avenue A; a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. . . the life we live concurrent to the resume life; the life of our hearts – our attempts to just BE. (Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn).