Love, Daddy

Seven Years Ago

2009-06-27T10:00:00.000-04:00

Seven years ago, I was hanging out with a "B" as in "boy" -illionaire till the wee hours of the morning. At one point he grabbed my hand and whispered into my ear, "Kambri, when you live in my world, you can do anything you want."

Indeed, in his world, you can.

At the same time, 1,542 miles away, Dad was stabbing Gloria.

Too Old? Too Sexy?

2009-06-22T13:40:00.006-04:00

Click the photo to see the answer inside of this year's handmade card sent to me by Dad for my birthday. What a treat to see it in my mailbox today. He never fails to crack me up. (In case you can't see the details too well, the front has a square panel cut out, revealing what looks to be buttocks.)

Happy Father's Day

2009-06-21T23:41:00.003-04:00

It's that time of year again. What a buzz kill.

This year Father's Day fell on the day before my birthday and the weekend of my high school reunion (that's another story). Knowing this, I had to plan in advance. And by plan, I mean mail money sooner.

That's all.

Well, I guess the card counts, too, but really when special days pop up on ye olde calendar, it's not cards Dad is worried about, it's C-notes, Benjamins, Lincolns, Jacksons, bucks, greenbacks. Wow, there's alot of slang for money. I'll just stop there. He's pretty blunt about it. Jail does that to you, I guess. The length of time between letters, processing of mail and deposits makes for an urgency that, in print, comes off as rude: "Send Money." Why dress it up, I guess.

I send Dad $20 a month sometimes more but never less. I send extra (anywhere from $50 to $60) for Thanksgiving, Christmas, his birthday in February and Father's Day. The extra cash at Thanksgiving covers the special treats the commissary offers like pecan pie. The others dates are obvious.

Recently I discovered the automatic deposit option which will surely disappoint the Pakistani fellow I purchase my $0.69 money orders from...the same location I blogged about being featured in "30 Rock". He has more than a little crush on me and looks forward to my regular visits. Once I get confirmation from the TDCJ, however, my Pakistani boyfriend and I shall part. And in summer, no less, when I'm not so bundled up. Ahem. Maybe I'll drop in to say hello or buy stamps or One Day Fun Passes for the subway.

Saving the time, the $0.69, the envelope and the stamp by using this auto-debit feature, I made the monthly payment $25. Plus prices in the commissary have recently increased, so the few extra bucks might help. No more, though. No. That would only fuel his gambling. And, as my husband Christian noted, for someone who knows more about football than anyone I've ever known, Dad has the WORST luck at picking football parlays.

It's frustrating knowing my money is going to waste AND that he's losing on something that he loves so much. I'm not sure which is worse.

He has his choice, save and spend on things he loves like oatmeal pies and strawberry ice cream or risk it all for a chance at doubling his money. Guess which one he'd choose? So while $20 or $25 a month sounds chinsy it's my attempt -- no, it's my hope -- that he'll choose wisely.

I hope he got his extra money in time for the holiday. I hope he got himself a treat. I hope he had a nice Father's Day, becuase that's all we have: Hope.

The Internet Sucks Sometimes

2009-06-13T23:06:00.007-04:00

I went to wish someone a happy birthday on Facebook and saw his status that said my grandma is on her death bed.

Oh.
Wow.
I didn't know.

I didn't leave a note. What was I going to say? "Yay, happy birthday, my grandma will soon be dead but, hey, you made it another year. Yippee!"

My brother didn't know either. Well...he does now. Life in the digital age is strange new territory. The internet has made keeping in touch easier but the social etiquette of things isn't all laid out nice and neat. But maybe Twittering an actual death is the best, most modern way of spreading the news? It worked for David Carradine.

So, now I have the task of telling my dad that his mother might be dead very soon. She's 92 so it's not like it's not been a long time coming, but he's been asking about her a lot lately. Not because he's worried about her so much. He's more interested in protecting the furniture he made her and other material things. He has nothing and so he broods and worries and frets and boils over and hems and haws and...well...you get the picture. He's got TIME on his HANDS.

I worry that when she does pass, he will enlist me with another laundry list of To Dos. Ask about this, make sure about that. Well, guess what, Dad? If you weren't in jail, you could do this yourself because I really don't care about *things*. I've shed myself of house and home and junk more times than I can count. I like being portable. I don't want cars or furniture or stuff.

....Sigh....

But...he has no advocate. No one is listening to him and that's a big bugga boo for him for so long. To not be heard. So, if he needs help in being heard, I'm the only one here to give that to him.

And I will.

And I'm not sure why.

--Kambri

Are Memoirs True? by Jerry Waxler

2009-06-07T12:56:00.001-04:00

For anyone who is writing or thinking of writing their memoir, here is a great essay. The whole site is an excellent resource as is NAMW.org.

Are Memoirs True? « Memory Writers Network

If 2 people disagree about a conversation yesterday, how can we agree about the details of a whole life? It's an important puzzle for every memoir writer.

--Kambri

WHAT’S THAT YOU SAY?

2009-04-07T14:26:00.002-04:00

WHAT’S THAT YOU SAY? A COMEDY SHOW BENEFITING THE CENTER FOR HEARING AND COMMUNICATION AT COMIX IN NEW YORK

NEW YORK, NY – Join us April 30, 2009 for the 23rd Annual Comedy Night, an evening of stand up comedy benefiting the Center for Hearing and Communication (formerly the League for the Hard of Hearing). Come and see a great comedy show and feel great too knowing you’ve helped make a difference in the lives of families living with hearing loss.

For hard of hearing or deaf comedy fans this is the event you’ve been waiting for. The performance will be made accessible through the use of real-time captioning, infrared listening systems, and sign language interpreters. Don’t miss this one-of-a-kind tribute to the magic and power of communication.

THUR, APR 30
Doors @ 6:30 PM and Show @ 7:30 PM
Comix
353 W 14th Street
New York, NY 10014
www.comixny.com | 212.524.2500

Tickets are $60 which includes the show and two drinks. RSVP to events@chchearing.org or phone (917) 305-7804. For more information visit www.chchearing.org.

2009 Birthday Card to Dad

2009-02-11T12:36:00.002-05:00

I was able to find a card that is actually kind of fitting for Dad. Usually it's tough picking one out that doesn't say all sorts of sappy, untrue things.

Another Birthday

2009-02-08T09:13:00.000-05:00

Happy birthday to Dad. I can't call him to wish him well. And the lesson to be learned? Don't try to kill people.

A Petty Officer & A Gentleman

2009-01-13T08:39:00.007-05:00

Moving in to your horse's barn because your trailer got repossessed is what some folks might call a low point. It was time for a drastic change, so my parents moved us to the big city of N. Richland Hills, TX.

It was there -- when I was 16 -- I met a 22 year old Sailor. It was love at first sight. It was greatest four weeks of my life. The Petty Officer from Akron, Ohio, was shy, tan and muscular and drove a white Trans Am with a fake vent on its hood. Mom said he looked just like JFK, Jr. The movie Top Gun had just been released so when I first saw him covered in grease from working on an F-14 Tomcat I thought my uterus would crawl out of my vagina and snatch him whole and devour him like a hungry Venus flytrap from a Roger Corman flick.

But the movie that really predisposed me to falling for the Petty Officer was An Officer and a Gentleman. At 16, I was already either too bitter or headstrong to think that I, or any woman, needed a Prince Charming to save her but in the final scene when Richard Gere scoops up Debra Winger –- his love literally lifting her up where she belongs out of that factory –- well who hasn't at one time or another want to be rescued from their despair no matter how big or small?

Ft. Worth had not provided the reinvention we expected. In fact, things only got worse. Instead of driving 45 minutes one way to get drunk, now Dad just had to stumble across the street to Bennigan's.

It was the summer before my senior year in high school. Mom was making decent money working 80 hours a week building helicopters. I turned 17, was poised to graduate with summa cum laude honors and supplemented our income with a full time job at Malibu Grand Prix. So, after 23 years of drunken, stoned mayhem and Dad's blatant adultery, Mom finally filed for divorce. Dad didn't exactly agree. Things got dramatic and nasty and, well, have you seen the show Cops? That was us.

Mom allowing the Petty Officer sleep over only made Dad angrier. After all, it was Dad who gave me the sage advice on my first date: "Don't fu*k. I don't want you pregnant I want you to graduate and go to college." Seeing his "baby girl" get swept up into the arms of an officer and a gentlemen made Dad more possessive than ever.

Being in the Navy meant the Petty Officer had to go on leave once in a while. This time it was a two week stint on the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower. His first day away, Dad took the opportunity to break in and slash all of Mom's clothes with a knife. We were pretty rattled by this and needed stress release. That day, Mom asked with a glint in her eye, "Do you want to smoke a joint?"

My mother wants to get me, her high school daughter, stoned?! Are you kidding me?

Umm...Hell, yeah!

She whipped out a joint; we got high and got the bright idea to go to Six Flags. We were dirt ass poor so we counted out all our loose change and found a buy one get one free admission offer on the back of a Dr. Pepper can. We got to Six Flags where a guy walked up and said, "Hey I bought these passes for the week but we're leaving town tonight so can't use them. You want 'em?" Good things happened to stoned people, I guess, because that meant we had money for FOOD! We ate ridiculous amounts of coney dogs, cotton candy and elephant ears and rode every roller coaster twice before coming home and collapsing. It was one of the best days of my life.

The next night my dad broke into the house again. This time he punched dozens of holes in the wall, held us hostage for hours, choked Mom and held a knife to her throat before I was able to stop the attack and call 911.

A few days later Mom and I were evicted for excessive noise disturbance and a few days after that the Petty Officer came back from sea. When he did, my uterus didn't devour him instead it smothered him with so much love he had no choice but to marry me.

Twenty years ago today, on Friday the 13th of January, 1989, after a long day of school and rehearsal for my role as "Lady Bracknell" in our senior play The Importance of Being Earnest, the Petty Officer and I loaded into the Dodge Omni and Mom drove us to the courthouse. Mom signed the marriage license granting us legal consent. Basically a permission slip like a field trip to the zoo except with a dowry from the US Government in the form of housing and dependent pay. After a couple of quick "I Dos," a judge declared me a Navy wife.

My Richard Gere had saved my pathetic Debra Winger ass and we rode off into the sunset in his white Trans Am.

Getting hitched at the courthouse.

Happy New Year

2009-01-12T08:31:00.000-05:00

I received the first letter of 2009 from Dad. (Click thumbnails for larger views. He dated it 2008 by mistake.)

He starts off by commenting on an ad campaign I created around the tagline "Life's tough. Laugh more." I sent him a postcard (pictured below) that is part of the print campaign.

Anyway, he liked the idea and thought the card was really cool. He also thought I should be the girl with the dress in her pantyhose because I have a nice butt like my mother. Ack! HAHA! (He's JOKING, of course!) He thought it so cool he asked that I create a card for him, too. In his letter he asks "Can you make this card with a picture of myself on card (you had a picture of me with white cowboy hat)? And put words with (I am the happy warrior for deaf inmate's rights, Jailhouse lawyer Cigo Crews.)"

Some of you may recall, Dad is determined to help the Deaf inmates. Read about that here.)

Here is the front of the card I created for him. He'll be really surprised, I think, at the ASL font I used. The back simply has plain text as he requested. I don't think I'm allowed to laminate it due to jailhouse rules. I'll have to wait for Dad's reply to know if I can.

If you're interested in having the font for your own use, it is free online here: http://www.lapiakdesign.com/lapiakasl.html

His letter continues and he apologizes for not sending a holiday card this year. "But no problems I know you understand that all men do not caring about cards Ha."
This is true. My husband's father used to just look at the return address then toss them UNOPENED.

He goes on to talk football, OU Sooners, the Heisman Trophy and his picks for the Super Bowl. All his choices are out except Pittsburgh, though he's not a fan.

Finally, he admits that he spent all the money I sent him for the holidays on sweets. The watch and boots he wanted are still out of stock at the commissary so he couldn't resist spending his savings on food. "Also, I got tempting to buy more sweeties & foods." Ha I am broken Ha. Don't get mad at me for spending on stuffs. Sorry I cannot to be strong to keep the money as holding until Watch or Boots at Store. Love, Daddy."

No, I'm not mad. It wasn't THAT much money considering it was the holidays and all. I'll just wait to send anything more than $20 for when I know they're in stock.

That's that. Overall a very upbeat letter to start the New Year. He's finally out of solitary confinement after over a year, so let's hope the trend continues and 2009 is peaceful for him.

For fun, here is the TV commercial that is part of the above mentioned ad campaign that just started running in NYC. That's me in the commercial. For the next one, I'll be casting a Deaf actor. I can't wait! This one is not closed captioned, but there's not really any dialogue. There is a sound cue though: the guy farts in the elevator before I get in with him.

Memories from My Old Country Home

2009-01-10T12:23:00.006-05:00

I sent an old friend from Montgomery, TX my yearbooks from our 6th, 7th, and 8th grade years and she mailed me her senior year yearbook. I knew some of the students since I was seven years old. If we hadn't moved to Ft. Worth before my 10th grade year, I would have graduated with them. So it was genuinely interesting and also kind of heartwarming to see them in a way I hadn't seen them before: older than when I left them, about to embark on a new phase of their lives.

After going through the Facebook Page I mentioned below, Mom decided to mail me some old photos I don't have and some other notes and tidbits she's kept over the years to add to the page.

And, best of all, as a Christmas surprise, my brother mailed me an old wrought iron bell in the shape of a longhorn. We used to ring it when we wanted my horse Charlie Brown to come back to the barn for food or I wanted to saddle him up for a ride. It's been through a lot, not unlike me, my brother and mom. Looking at it brings back so many memories and I'm grateful to him for sending it. I'm going to hang it alongside an old kerosene lamp my mom mailed me a year or so ago. We used to use the lamp in the months before we had electricity. The knob to raise and lower the wick is rusted and stuck, so I doubt it will be in working order again but, like the bell, it's a lovely inspiration and a reminder of my country roots displayed in my New York City apartment.

Proud Mommy

2009-01-06T10:37:00.002-05:00

I was cleaning up my computer and email folders for the New Year and came across this email from my mom.

The only praise a daughter needs is that from her momma!

Facebook Page

2009-01-05T08:30:00.006-05:00

Happy New Year!

For those of you on Facebook, there is a page for my upcoming memoir about life with Dad. The page includes the feed for this site, photo albums with never before posted pictures, and videos (only three now, one is not closed captioned {yet}, and the other two have no sound so no CC necessary).

The page also has details on my upcoming performances or media appearances. So, if you're on Facebook and are so inclined, you can click on the "Become a Fan" link. By doing so, you can also post your own discussion items, comments, receive direct email updates from me, etc. Here's the link:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kambri-Crews/55559482928

I hope everyone's 2009 is off to a splendid start!

Discussion Topic: Translating ASL

2008-12-26T11:48:00.002-05:00

Since ASL is not a written language, how should a conversation in ASL be written? As an exact ASL dialogue or translated into English? I have the same question about when captioning a video from ASL to English and English to ASL. Is there a preferred method?

I'll save my own thoughts on the subject and kindly ask for yours. I'm sure this has been discussed elsewhere, but I would like to open the comments for discussion and opinions.

Cell-ebrating the Season

2008-12-19T10:37:00.006-05:00

Dad's jail cell will have all the smells and tastes of the holiday this year as long as I'm here to help.

Last year, I didn't send money to his trust fund in time for him to indulge in the holiday spend that the Texas Dept. of Criminal Justice allows inmates for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I felt so bad that he missed out on all the special holiday treats that the other prisoners got, knowing that I could have sent money but just procrastinated a few days too long.

This year, I haven't written as often the last few weeks. Life gets busy and the next thing I know it's been three weeks since I took time to pen a letter. Worse, we haven't been down to see Dad in over a year and a half...maybe longer. So the one thing I CAN do to make sure his Christmas doesn't drive him to suicide, is to send him the extra cash to blow in the commissary during the holiday spend.

The whole prison holiday spend day reminds me of school when they displayed little gifts that we could buy for our family. Mom gave me $5.00, and I bought things like a little pocket screwdriver kit for Dad and a tiny, blue glass kerosene lantern for Mom. I sent him $80 total in just over a week or so in hopes he also has money for the long-johns he needs.

Last week, I got a new letter from Dad.

"I finally hear you again on Nov 24 (Monday) 27 days total. But I am not upset if no mailing letter unless no money in Trust Fund. Ha."

Haha, Dad. But I know he'd prefer both money AND letters. But he did receive the money which was a big surprise.

"I went to store and I got some good sweeties of Holiday (Special). I bought 20 pies of Pecan & apple. and cost only $7.00 (each 35 cents) Expensive? Ha. I got 10 Summer Sausage $12.50 (each $1.25). You remember last year I missed to get them when they had out of stock with more other stuffs to eat." Nov 12 I got a package at mailroom from you send me The Mill book. I could not believe you bought it for $50..."

Yay! He got his special treats! And he received the present of a book on Mills in America. But I did buy it used so didn't spend $50.

"Thank you so much more than money in Trust Fund, I feel great that I still have USA Today papers...You know I cannot without them for 25 years. Smile. Thanks. Thanks. I love you. You sent me other pictures of you. I wonder about no picture of Christian? Is he get a beard? Ha Ha."

The USA Today subscription is all he really wants if push came to shove. He nearly panicked one year when they stopped sending them for a week. And, this time, I made sure to include new pictures of Christian in our letter. No, Christian has not grown a beard. Ha!

"At Store They are out of stock for sport watch and Large and LX size of Thermal clothes and all Rhino boots are sold out, no sale in future. I don't like Riddell shoes (jogging) because too many inmates got upset with Riddell shoes because it wear out so fast and easy to tear up."

Hear that? Riddell shoes are crap per the inmates of the TDCJ. If that's not a consumer review worth taking in, I don't know what else is. Consider how little money they have, what they can spend it on and Dad chooses to go without new shoes until other brands are available. They must really suck.

"Last year I throwed old Converse Star shoes away, it were wearing out for 5 years -- I hope I can get thermals & watch."

Aw, man. Those Converse were the ones that had the secret pockets were he snuck out notes during our visits (just lists of things he didn't want to forget to talk about) and smuggled in the gum I brought him for Christmas one year. Oh, well. I get too nostalgic over stupid knick-knacks and things that don't matter.

Finally, what's a letter from Dad without him declaring his innocence?

"But I guess I failed to walk out of jail as I was innocent...I still try to mail to Innocent Project lawyers about I am was innocent."

Sigh. I'm going to have to address this, but I'm waiting till after the holidays. He really needs to fess up and face the truth. If he doesn't, there is no way he will ever heal and no way in hell he will get parole.

But he does end on a high note. He seems genuinely upbeat and thrilled at his gifts of the newspaper subscription, Mill book and money. That's all that matters in my book. After all, it's better to give than receive.

Safe and happy holidays to you all.

Kiss Fist Magazine

2008-12-06T16:59:00.002-05:00

I'm featured on pages 36 & 37 of this month's issue of "Kiss Fist", a beautifully laid out magazine that caters to the Deaf Community. All contributors and those featured are either deaf or a CODA. Check out the third issue here: http://read.kiss-fist.com/issue-03 and be sure to bookmark it to read about all the wonderful things happening in the Deaf world.

Hot Off the Presses

2008-11-18T10:21:00.000-05:00

Christian must be in the Dec/Jan 2009 issue of Cosmo Girl. You know how I know? He got a piece of hate mail complaining about a derogatory Jonas Brothers remark he made.

I regularly submit jokes from comedians to an editor at Reader's Digest. When a quote is used, the comedian gets paid $100. Not bad! In the December 2008 issue, they used a dating anecdote by Katina Corrao so they sent me a copy for her press kit. On the same page is a funny deaf joke I'd heard before but had forgotten about. It made me recall a few other deaf jokes that My Jailed Deaf Dad has told me over the years. I'm going to send some in on his behalf and hope they use them. How cool would that be to see his name in print? Plus, he could really use the money since I just sent him $60 and renewed his USA Today subscription for a year for $175. I told Dad that's the last I can spend on him this year until after we buy a place. Since winter is on its way and his Texas jail cell isn't heated, he needs new thermal underwear. He could stretch that $60 OR maybe he can earn some money off the stories he loves to tell and buy some longjohns with his very own cash.

--Kambri
I never even had an allowance growing up, and now I'm trying to teach my dad how to budget his.

A Question for the FAQ Page Perhaps

2008-11-14T11:11:00.004-05:00

From a reader who also happens to be related to me, comes this question (edited for grammar and context):

I have been reading Love, Daddy and I understand some of the stories aren't true but to make it more interesting you have to add some ficition to attract people to read it. Right??

WRONG! 1,000% wrong. Have you heard of James Frey? I'm not a writer by trade like Mr. Frey. So while he is able to write about things that may or may not have ever happened, I do not possess the talent to do so. All the stories I recount here are true from my personal perspective and experience. Why would fiction need to be added anyway when the truth is so wonderfully rich?

A Little Off Topic

2008-11-13T09:23:00.003-05:00

How do you handle finances? Separate but equal or pool them all together? That's the subject of this feature article in today's New York Post. Pick up a copy and turn to page 67 & 68 or check it out here. My quotes aren't long but they used my mugshot.

Which leads me to today's topic:

When you get married at 17, you're not really equipped with the tools needed to run a household or a marriage. As a result, I just followed the example set by my parents instead of doing what was right for me and my then husband. In the case of finances, that meant pooling our income. He was nearly six years older than me and in the Navy, so he was "in charge" by default. This did not bode well for our bottom line. We struggled financially for the entirety of our six year marriage despite the fact that we both made a decent income especially considering our inexperience and lack of higher education.

When we divorced, I made new vows; this time to myself:

-- I would never change my name again (Kambri Crews is who I am and I quite like the sound of it), and
-- I would do my darndest to not ever carry debt.

Of course, I wish I didn't have to learn the hard way, especially as a newly single, young woman, but learn I did. I scraped by for years paying off credit cards and rebuilding my horrifying credit score. I lived with friends or had roommates to save on rent and utilities, I paid extra toward principal on loans instead of going out, and I rolled loose change and deposited it into a savings account. Since 1998, when I finally paid off my student loans, I have not carried a balance on anything other than a car. And now I don't even own a car since I'm in NYC.

My current husband (heh, that sounds funny, like he's just the one I have for right now) and I are looking to buy a home. The idea of owing money, even if it is for a wise investment, terrifies me. Will my husband and I have money troubles when we are home owners? Maybe. But I am older and wiser now and maintain individual savings and credit accounts and all as Kambri Crews.

I Wonder

2008-11-12T23:46:00.003-05:00

If you had to live in a car or on the street or a barn or a tent, does it matter for how many days? Or is the fact that you found yourself in that position in the first place bad enough?

Happy Halloween!

2008-10-31T15:17:00.002-04:00

30 Rock on Location

2008-10-12T12:54:00.001-04:00

Living in Queens near Kaufman Astoria and Silvercup Studios means shooting sometimes goes on in streets or area businesses. Two weeks back, I had to snake my way through a film crew that was setting up shop outside a few businesses which I frequent on a near daily basis.

Ugly Betty & 30 Rock are two shows that have been in the neighborhood as of late so I assumed it would be one of the two. Sure enough, as I flipped through this week's Entertainment Weekly's Photo Issue there was a series of pictures with Tina Fey and her stand-in (shown in this photo) shooting scenes at a local check cashing place decorated for Christmas.

That happens to be the same dumpy spot where I buy money orders for My Jailed Deaf Dad since it's right outside my subway stop and they cost only $0.69.

I don't know why it tickles me so much, but it does. I cut out the photos to send to Dad and will hope that the other prisoners will let him watch the episode when it airs in December. Something tells me 30 Rock isn't a top viewing choice for Texas inmates.

--Kambri
View the rest of the pictorial online at EW.com

Requisite Bucket List Post

2008-10-02T23:15:00.012-04:00

WARNING: Exhaustive, self-aggrandizing talk and strong but wholly spontaneous language to follow.

I was 23 years old when my divorce from the sailor was finalized. After six years masquerading as a Midwestern housewife, I was free to be Me. Trouble was, the definition of "Me" had yet to be determined. I decided this huge upheaval of my life would not be for naught. I would reclaim my lost youth by creating a list oh-so-creatively titled "Things To Do Before I Die." However, I never had a plan on how I would accomplish a single thing.

Ten years later, during a move to a new apartment in New York City, I purged lots of old journals, letters and pictures and came across this list. I was tempted to throw it out; some of my items were downright embarrassing. "Be serenaded." Really? I assure you, I didn't want that then, and I most definitely don't want it now. I was clearly in need of romance and wanted to believe in love.

In looking closer, though, I was pretty astounded at how earnest and mundane most of the items were. Ride a train, eat sushi, see a parade -- check, check, check.

Growing up in the woods, being responsible for myself, working full time at such a young age, I simply hadn't done anything. See a Broadway play, learn to golf, vote, ride the subway, have my hair styled, handcraft pottery, learn to bike, go on a cruise, picnic, ice skate. Check, check, check, check, check, check, check, check, check, check.

Cue self-aggrandizing and strong language.

Last Monday, I went to more than a few meetings with publishers here in NYC who had been given a proposal for a book. My book. A memoir. That night I collapsed into an exhausted heap at 9:30; unheard of in my life as an "I'll sleep when I'm dead" kind of chick. Tuesday was round two. More meetings with more publishers that culminated with me sitting in dark silence alone in my apartment staring into space. My head spun. What the holy fuck just happened?

The next day I rested easy. My work was done. As the day wore on with no news, I grew more content. I had no doubt my book was going to sell. It was actually happening. Meanwhile, my husband Christian was miles away in Chicago headlining at the Lakeshore Theater. It was killing him slowly that he wasn't with me during one of the biggest events in my life. As the day wore on with no news, he grew less content. He was on pins and needles becoming slowly unglued. As hard as I had worked on my proposal, he had been there along the way. This was his project, too. He had as much invested as I did and, perhaps, more since he'd be the one to have to deal with me in the aftermath should my book not sell. (You hear that, Elizabeth? We'd be coming to join you, honey!)

Finally, news came and I phoned Christian.

"I did it. I sold it."

"I'm so fucking proud of you," he gushed. He was overwhelmed as he stammered. "Aghhhhh, gah, I just....uuunnnnhhhh....I oooooooo....gah....I just...man, I just want to lick your pussy."

Um, uh, WHAT?

I was aghast! This was not quite what I expected to hear as one can imagine. "Eeewww! What?! What the hell did you just say? Why would you say that?!"

Christian exploded in laughter. He was bursting with pride and simply couldn't contain himself. "I don't know, I'm just so happy and proud I want to do something that is just for you."

"I just sold the story of my life. This morning I made note of the weather, took notes on my day, hell, I even wore a special outfit that I'd never worn before (a silk BCBG skirt and knit sweater) so every time I slipped on that skirt or saw a picture of me in it I would recall, 'I was wearing that skirt when I got news that my book sold to Random House.' So now when I recount the story of how I broke the news about my greatest accomplishment to my husband it will be followed with the phrase, 'I just want to lick your pussy.' What. The. Fuck?"

As stunned (Shocked? Appalled?) as I was, I was also tickled pink. Christian was positively elated. I could feel the heat from his glowing pride through the phone. The next day in New York I ran into more than a few people who had seen him the night before in Chicago where he gushed about me. I started receiving emails, texts, calls from people who had heard about my great news from Christian. He was proud and that means the world to me.

Tonight, a week to the day that the auction ended, I remembered my List. I dug out the journal and scoured the numbered items and found:

8. Write my autobiography.

Seeing it written so plainly in my earnest naivete -- as though writing a book were as simple as riding a train, eating sushi, or seeing a parade -- makes me marvel at one's ability to get things done.

I'm proud of having broken free and carved out a pretty interesting, varied life for myself. That said, there is still quite a bit of simple stuff on my list I have yet to accomplish. I want to get a pedicure, drive across the U.S., build a snowman, participate in a rally, ride a camel, visit the Grand Canyon, go to the circus, go sled riding...

The time is no other time like now to "get busy living or get busy dying," because sometimes life can be pussy licking good.

What's on your list?

I'm Comical Radio's "Achiever of the Year!"

2008-09-24T10:06:00.000-04:00

I was a guest on The Comical Radio a few days ago and my husband Christian was on a few days later. In their blog recap of the show (on page 69...heh, heh!) they said:

"If you had to stop your father from stabbing your mother to death and then years later you were called to testify against him for attempting to murder his next wife, would you then send him letters in jail and publish a book about it called "Love, Daddy?" Kambri Crews would! After wowing Danny and the crew with tales of hiding out in the woods she discussed how she helped a comedian with an ineptitude for marketing and then parlayed her work into Ballyhoo Promotions, a publicity firm for comedians and comedy shows. Two profitable endeavors based on negative events? That wins Kambri Crews the esteemed Comical Radio’s Achiever of the Year Award! Congratulations, Kambri!"

I should clarify: Dad didn't stab my mom, but I did stop an attack on her. And we weren't hiding out in the woods...just living there. Starting over after another one of Dad's affairs. It's always interesting to see how people remember and recount my story. Even Christian gets things goofed up when he tells facts about my life. We all have ways of remembering and telling, I suppose.

Anyway, they did a pre- and post-show interview with us as they do with all guests. The end of Christian's made me laugh out loud. Here they are but I'm sorry to say they aren't closed captioned:

Free Bags of Weed

2008-09-12T09:54:00.003-04:00

I send Dad money once a month and lately he's been ever grateful for it. The prison was in lockdown for a while which means sack lunches. His cravings built up as did my money in his trust fund. So when lockdown ends, he'll have cash for sweets (he's a big fan of strawberry ice cream and Little Debbie snack cakes) and plans on buying a watch priced at $10.85. "It look cool," he said.

In two separate letters sent to me together in one envelope, he gushes thanks no less than three separate times. I like that I can give him a little happiness on the Inside. But my reasons are selfish. When his spirits are up, his letters are fun to read. He isn't demanding, angry and filled with self pity. He doesn't ask me to do a million tasks for him like researching laws, making copies of his legal documents, mass mailing government officials and what not. So for just pennies a day, I can help someone in need. Myself!

In one part he writes, "Kambri, I saw $$ on your letter and I love you that it was good to be kind and love to me. Big smile! Oh, I would like you to send me a picture of you in comedy magazines of you wear sunglasses & cap and you hold protest sign at Comix Bldg. What did you talking about Free and Weed? Ha."

Ah, of course Dad would like my pot humor. Back when "The Marijuanalogues" was staged at Comix, the comedy nightclub I do PR for in NYC, I devised a little marketing ploy. I stuffed thousands of baggies with fake weed which was a blend of parsley, oregano and coriander seeds. (It's the seeds that are the clincher to make it look real.) I threw together some signs that said, "FREE bags of WEED," hired some cute girls and then hit the streets of NYC.

I was profiled in a magazine and they included the picture of me barking my free weed chant on the street. Needless to say, the promotion was a huge success. New Yorkers like pot. Who knew? Heh.