Nominated by SpeakeasyDC as one of the Best Storytellers of 2008 - 2010

Capital Fringe 2010 - Logic, Luck and Love is a HIT!!

"Molly Kelly is a wonder to behold, as she lays her stories bare, with little detail left out. You are rooting for her from the start, cringing and cackling with each new experience."

Check out DC Theater Scene's Review
Get your tickets for Logic, Luck and Love

2010 Sucker for Love

Now Online my performace in the 2010 SpeakeasyDC Sucker for Love show held in February. The theme was LOVE so I hope you enjoy my performance of "Jesus is My Savior" .

Live at SpeakeasyDC

Check out my latest performance at the SpeakeasyDC monthly open mic. The theme was {Line in the Sand: Stories about making a point, taking a stand, or breaking a pattern.}

The Shoe That Fits

Lesbians have a thing about shoes – not a Sex in the City thing about shoes – no – a utilitarian, serious, purposeful, I could kick the shit out of you or at least run away if I had to – thing about shoes. The shoes you wear should say, I can make it in this world without a man because these shoes can take me there. It’s not an anti-man thing, like some of you think or a “I want to be a man-thing”. It is just a “I will never have a man to depend on - a man to mow the lawn, play soccer with the kids, or put food on my table thing.

Ask a lesbian if they had a pair of coming out shoes and the will tell you about the first shoe that fit.

Snickers

“Snickers!” Did she really just call him that? I can’t breath, my face flushed. Can she tell, can he see? I turned away and laughed as if I was enjoying the same joke they were as she jumped up on his back for a horsy ride. Snickers was what she used to call me – that and Tootsie-Roll, Butter Finger and any other yummy, sweet candy she could think of.

This was before.

Before she started spending all her weekends in Pennsylvania with him. Sometimes leaving on Thursday night and coming back early Monday morning for work. Before she began sitting at the table behind the couch to watch our favorite shows instead of sharing the cushions with me. Before she started going to her room right after dinner with the phone – leaving me alone with the sound turned down low on the TV – listening to see if I could hear her maybe mention my name in her conversation on the phone.

She never did.

So I started spending weekends alone for the first time since moving out of my parent’s house and making the bold move to DC. When I made my decision to go, I called her right away in Scranton. Guess what!? I’m moving to DC! I was watching CSPAN with my Dad and saw Steve Roberts speaking to a group of kids my age -”Campaign Management School”. Right away, I said, Dad I’m going!

She said she would call me right back. The phone rang two minutes later and she said “I’m coming with you!”, and it was done. I hung up excited and nervous. My heart ached. What was I going to do with this? Especially now that we would be living alone together – far away from every body and every thing we knew. All through college in the sorority house I could manage these feelings – sort of. There were people every where and just when my feelings became too intense the school year would be through and we would spend our summers apart; her in Scranton and me in Harrisburg. I wasn’t out! It may sound like I was in the way I talk about it. But I wasn’t. I just knew that I loved her and thought if I could just keep some distance between us, I would find the right man and she would find the right man and it would all be normal. Maybe we would marry brothers and we would raise our kids across the street from each other. But it wasn’t happening like that because me “finding the right man” was about as likely as Martina finding the right man and she was falling in love and was calling him “Snickers”

It was my third weekend alone. She had left right from work, so when I came home on Friday night to an empty apartment I had a six pack and a pizza. I flipped channels until it got late and my pity party got old and I went to bed lonely. I woke up lonely; reminded of my pain by every piece of particle-board Ikea furniture that we had picked out together. I watched TV for a few hours going deeper into depression as every commercial made me think of our relationship. How she had accidently put her Snuggle fabric softener in the same bag as some muffins from her mother. Later to get sick from eating the perfume flavored treats for breakfast. That little Snuggle Bear looks harmless, but beware.

As it began to get dark out, I flipped it to QVC where the two happy sales people became my saviors. Sure, I needed hope. I needed to believe that I would recover and have friends again some day, so yes... I was susceptible to their spirited message. And YES that message SANG TO ME! I was pulled in by the promise of the portable party machine. “You will be the life of any party with this Karaoke machine”. A multi-cassette boom box with microphones that came with several tapes of your favorite tunes. You could sing to all the best songs and even make recordings!

Waking up Sunday I was determined to get out, so I got in the car and headed over to the movie theater and bought tickets to back to back movies, a large popcorn and some nachos. I brought my own can of diet coke in my bag and made my way into the fist movie. Sitting down, I popped open my can and went to set it into the cup holder. Not realizing that it was made for a super sized movie drink, the can slipped right through the plastic ring and down on to the floor. I scrunched down in my seat… balancing my food as heads in front of me turned around – row by row and my soda rolled to the front of the room.

Leaving the theater I felt invisible; having spent 4 hours in the dark gorging on snack food on a beautiful sunny day. I squinted. I felt bloated and pale. Like a dead fish lying on a lake side beach. A woman in the parking lot startled me by asking me what time it was. I was shocked. Was she speaking to me? I had a hard time speaking – my voice sounding strained as I had my first human interaction in 48 hours.

Monday I got up and went to work. Every one was taking about their weekends; the parties or brunch with friends. Could they tell?

The karaoke machine arrived the following Friday, just in time for another lonely weekend. I got a six pack and ordered a large pizza and sang my heart out in front of the mirror. Then I packed it back up to return to QVC on Monday.

Not Your Granny’s Revolution
Is A HIT

The Critics have Spoken

"...the content is captivating"

"No piece grows stale"

"yes, even men will find them funny."

Washington City Paper --- "See it if: You like good stories told by witty women."

DC Theater Mania --- "Molly Kelly gave us what was clearly the most sophisticated presentation"

Listen to Not Your Granny's Revolution promoted on WAMU Art Beat with Stephanie Kaye.

Granny Tickets

Performance Times:
Wednesday July 22 @ 6:15pm
Thursday July 23 @ 8pm

Not Your Granny’s Revolution

That's right yall.
Please come and see me perform in my first FRINGE expirience.

Not Your Granny’s Revolution
More on the Show

Please come see me act in this collage play of dramatic monologues represntenting five very different women's lives.

We have several performances during the festival. Pick the one that works best for you and support the arts!

Granny Tickets

Performance Times:
Friday July 17 @ 9:30pm
Saturday July 18 @ 3:30pm
Sunday July 19 @ 5pm
Wednesday July 22 @ 6:15pm
Thursday July 23 @ 8pm

No Babies

I think it is true. I can say it. I will not have a baby. It's ok – not sad – just different.

Oh I know what you are going to say, “Ah Molly, you are not that old, you can still have a baby.” Ehh, you don’t get it. It’s ok. Really it is.

If I had really wanted a child, or was meant to have one – I like to think that I would have had one (or two) by now. I would have made it happen. Like those women who seem driven to it? They have Rubbermaid containers of baby clothes they purchased over the years stored under their beds, and they have made their siblings store all those old baby things in their basement - for them forever. Not me!

Sure I have thought about it - when my friends and siblings were banging them out. I got those jealous ideas that I was missing out on something, that I wanted to know what it was like to have those little arms wrapped around my neck or that little head sleeping on my shoulder… but it was never enough to cause me to do anything about it.

Also, I have actually not been very conscious of time – have you? I think those truly baby driven women are. It is like, they set a timer on their blackberries and when the Beethoven's 5th Symphony starts to play they switch gears and focus all of that energy that was once directed on climbing the ladder at work and the stair master at the gym, on their temperature, mucus, ovulation, semination and pregnancy.

Not Me!

And after all, if it was my destiny to have children – – god’s will – – I think I would have gotten pregnant after one of those slutty drunken nights trying to prove to my sorority sisters that I wasn’t a lesbian.

Nope, I was never driven to it -- but I always kept the idea open… I have a hard time saying no to anything - so maybe?

Why am I talking about this? blah blah blah!
I’m 43 in less than a month.
I was 18 when my Mom was 43 – with 5 kids, the youngest 17 and the oldest 22! My mom – 43 and going back to school for a masters in nursing. 43 with so many tangible and living, breathing, handsome, funny, lying, lazy, flunking out, HUMAN accomplishments to show for her 43 years.

This conversation is predictable, cliché right? All of us middle-agers fall into this trap – and begin to contemplate our lives and what good things we accomplished. You know, it happens about the time you start to realize that you actually just don’t give a shit about work anymore. That getting the promotion - the title is actually not that glamorous. So you start looking around and making an assessment about your life.

The ones with kids – they go through it too. The stay at home moms, look with jealous eyes at the ones who have careers and start to wonder what could have been.

But see – this is where our likeness ends. Because they have an emotional out from the downward spiral of self-defamation and feelings of doomed mediocrity. Oh you know the out. You have heard them. “Well, at least I have got my kids”. “Oh, you just don’t know what I mean unless you are a mother”
Ugh!

The rest of us, we just have to keep spiraling and searching to find meaning in our lives. Searching for our thing that we can say “You just would not know unless you lived it”. We keep working out, applying creams and getting skin peels and Botox, spending hundreds of dollars on the thigh buster and that thing that the pony tail guy sells. But the truth is that we will never have that witness to our lives. Those breathing, handsome, funny, lying, lazy, flunking out, HUMAN versions of part of ourselves who we can count on to spend thanksgiving with when we are old and boring.

I will not have a baby! I will never have children. I will always be childless – barren- lonely. I may become that weird aunt. The one that children can’t take their eyes off – like a big hairy mole on someone’s face.

You know her.

With the whiskers coming out of her chin and the fuzzy patch of hair above her lip that is just a bit too dark for a woman.
The one in the polyester pants suit with the stretchy waist band.
The one that everyone wonders about- but never says anything but “ah, she never married because her high school sweetheart died in the war or some freak accident.

So Wait. Who am I kidding? I am already that weird Aunt. But not like that! I’m the lucky one because I was not born in the 40s like my Mother. Times have changed.
The whiskers and mustache –I have laser hair removal.
The polyester pant suit is high performance patagona.
The reason I never married is the beautiful Jewish princess on my arm.

I will never have a baby and it's ok – not sad – just different.
Life has many choices and paths we can take and if we spent it wondering what the other path would have been like, we will miss the scenery of the path we are on.

So I better get off my ass and make my life full and myself FABULOUS!
I will make it my mission to be the best weird aunt that I can be.
The most respectful daughter
A caring understanding sister
A wonderful niece
A good listener
A best friend and
A loving partner.
I will fill my life with art and science and politics and sport and literature and travel and laughter and YES sadness and heartbreak and grief because without those things I will not have joy and love and comfort.

Inspiration

In my creative quest to bring more everything into my life, I have been part of a great workshop run by the fabulous Laura Zam . I love this Solo Performance Workshop and especially love the opportunity to learn from the great creative people who join me. The class was concluded with a showcase performance at DCAC of the 5 min pieces we wrote in class. While we did have to compete with the superstar Barack Obama and the curmuginy John McCain, we still had a great audience. I hope you enjoy it. :-)

I Am Invincible

Watch me tell my story live at SpeakeasyDC!

When I was 7 I used to make my brothers wrestle me for hours on the blue shag carpet in the living room to my favorite song – I Am Woman by Helen Ready.

“I am Strong – STRONG, I am Invincible, INVINCIBLE – I am WOMAN!”


I just loved that! I felt so strong, so “invincible”; “I could do anything!” I figured that I was destined for greatness. It ends up – I just had to convince my family, my teachers, all of Pennsylvania and I would find out later – Myself.


I am one 5 children – (5 in 5 years – Catholic -shrug) not the oldest, not the youngest, and GOD NO, not the middle kid. Not the only girl. Just in there somewhere.

I’m of average height, average weight – well kind of. I’m not really bad to look at but I don’t think anyone would tell you I should be modeling. Average. I’m good enough. From where I come from good enough is ---well --good enough.


“I am invincible- Invincible” - But you know, deep-deep inside - I knew good enough was NOT enough for me.

I have had lots of times in my life where I got close to greatness, but let something get in my way. Just a few years ago I finally took those steps to do something really courageous. That’s right. I did it. The thing we all say we are going to do someday! I stopped making excuses - I stopped worrying whether I was or ever would be gainfully employed again - I let go of my Advised 401K contribution plan. I quit my job, packed up everything for a year - got on a bicycle and started riding from the Pacific to the Atlantic. 4000 miles!



The first few weeks were the hardest. We were in the mountains – the real kind – and averaging 90 miles a day. I know what you want to ask me next – Hell yes my butt hurt. I had brush burns on both hinny cheeks, and yes I had to stop a few times a day and cry - but I road every mile.


After three weeks, the Cascades, the Rockies and lots of other mountain ranges my confidence grew. So when I peddled into Riverton, Wyoming I was looking for a place to get my hair dyed some crazy color that I never had the guts to do when it was age appropriate.


After asking around a bit I ended up at Styles School of Cosmetology. I hid my bike behind the open door and climbed the narrow stairs to the 2nd floor and was welcomed by 25 year old headshot posters advertising my options. There were two young women wearing plastic smocks and gossiping with each other through the mirror as they fiddled with their own hair. They looked up when I walked in. I could sense their excitement. “You mean you don’t care what we do?” “The wilder the better”, I said. They were used to the blue-hairs in town coming for a weekly set at a bargain. They rarely got a chance to do something modern.



Carol who ran the school came by to check on the girls and interrogate them of their plans for me. She was cool and did not even flinch when they explained my request. She advised them of the right chemical mix, the timing for application and then acted disinterested as I told the girls my story.


They were into it and had lots of questions as first step of the process took place. My hair needed to be dyed platinum white before any other color would hold. Carol pretended not to listen but was soon interjecting questions and comments. When it was time for the next process, Carol had taken over and began to tell me about her life and her ranch.


She had been at the school for years, worked her way up and now ran it but her real passion was her horses. When I told her about my descent of Powder River Pass at a crazy 50 miles per hour she told me about racing and jumping them. “I breed and run horses so I know what you mean about riding fast and dangerous. Been riding since I was little“ Carol said.


I was impressed and in awe of her. I had developed a fear of riding horses. I always feel like I am about to be thrown under the trotting hoofs, so I admired her courage.


Carol went on talking and I thought that she looked like she could break in a thoroughbred, even though her nails polished and manicured. To me, she approached my hair like shoveling shit on the ranch – just another job that needs to get done. But what did I know about that?


She started talking about how she too had thought about doing something like what I was doing except she wanted to go cross country on a motorcycle. She had always dreamed about it – stopping at the Sturgis motercycle rally along the way.


“I could do something like that. If we didn’t have the horses to care for and my job here.” She started talking out-loud about what she would have to do – arrangements that would have to be made. “Would Dan let you go?” one of the girls asked. “I do what I want, uh, - he would let me go, she said quickly. I nodded, smiled and gave her an understanding look.


The sun was coming up as I peddled out of Riverton the next morning. I felt like a rock star, uninhibited – powerful and free -my florescent orange hair sticking out through the slots in my helmet. As I came upon the last red light before hitting the open plane, I saw an arm extended in a full salute from a large silver pickup truck. A painted nail waving in my direction. We made eye contact and she smiled a sad smile. I gave a vigorous fist pump and a smile and began to peddle off to the next town - Carol gave one last wave and drove off to the Styles School of Cosmetology.

Oh yes, I am wise but it's wisdom born of pain. Yes, I've paid the price, but look how much I gained. If I have to, I can do anything! I am strong (strong!) I am invincible (invincible!) I am woman!

LIONS and TIGERS and BEARS

LIONS and TIGERS and BEARS – Oh MY!

I never got that. I never understood why Dorothy, the Scarecrow, Tinman and Lion would be afraid of LIONS. I would think that if some lions showed up on the yellow brick road that OUR LION would just say “Hey guys, these are my friends, there cool”

But then again, it made me think that OUR LION was different. He must be different than the other lions in the forest. They probably were the Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom kind of lions. Real lions; not Disney lions and certainly not - kind of gay, cuddly and lovable cowardly lion.

My high school mascot was a kind of gay, lovable lion. Or at least that is how I saw him. Well, that is how I made him. See, from 9th grade all through graduation I was the mystery person inside my school mascot.

The costume was sweet but was obviously made for a man, not a chubby teenage girl. The suit was full-body golden brown fur that covered everything including my hands and bagged at my ankles.

The head was 4 foot high and made of paper machete and pho fur. To keep it balanced on my head, I stitched one of my brothers sweat socks inside in order to create a chin strap that would allow me to see out through the last slot in the Lions mouth. No one could see in and I never spoke my identity preserved - the mystery adding to my method acting.

I WAS THE LION!

Unlike those college team mascots that do back flips over the goal post and thrust their firsts in the air to show their teams dominance, our mascot entertained the stands by sitting on peoples laps, getting his picture taken high-fiving 4 year olds and generally goofing it up with crazy-clumsy dance moves.

The Camp Hill High School Lion was FUNNY and NICE and PEOPLE LOVED HIM!

I would get fan mail from parents and kids from around the area telling me how much they enjoyed watching the lion instead of the game. Well, Ok - I got one letter.

My duties as the Lion extended beyond sporting events. I would be asked to perform at different functions where the school needed to be represented; bake sales, community picnics but my favorite where the band events. Oh, this was a high honor. I loved marching in front of the band, those flags and batons behind me and the horns blaring.

My senior year, I was asked to march in front of the band at the annual Dillsburg Halloween parade. This was the #1 parade in central PA, something my parents had taken us to all through my childhood and I was excited.

It was at night time and the streets were lit up and lined with people. I was loving it, and giving it my extra effort. Dancing to the music and hurrying to the sides of the street to greet the little kids before the band would pass.

As we turned the corner to come down the last hill leading to the judging area, the band went into their big number. Now was the moment to give it my best move – the 3 stooges shuffle. Ad I did the last “certainly!”, I realized something was wrong. I was stumbling on a piece of candy thrown from a float and I was going down. One knee, then the other and I put my hands out to brace my fall. I could feel the sock around my chin come loose and my big proud lion head go flying from my shoulders.

I was exposed and humiliated! The lights were bright and I was confused. To make it worse I could hear the laughter and a group of 11 year old boys began to jeer and pelt me with candy corn. It was flying at me from all directions, bouncing off my big furry body, dangerously whizzing by my little human head.

I was shell shocked and started to chase my Lion head as it rolled down the hill – diving and missing it as the crowd laughed and candy came at my face.

I finally got my head back on and regained my external composure, but inside I was deflated and now knew why the cowardly lion was afraid of LIONS and TIGERS and BEARS.

Willow Had Three Mommies

An Atheist, a Jew and an Evangelical Christian walk into a Vet Office (ba-dum-da-dump)

Willow had 3 Mommies

Willow was an old Friend --so old that I had started tracking his age in months again, You know – like kids will tell you “I’m 3 and a HALF; well Willow was 18 and a half.

Willow was a toy before toy went Hollywood and every skinny actress had a dog in their handbag. He was a Pomeranian - a redhead - 8 pounds on a good day. With a long nose, pointed ears and a soft orange coat.

He looked just like a little fox. Or at least that is what people said. Every time I took him out for a walk people would say, “Oh he looks just like a little fox!” Is he a fox?

When, Willow and I first met he was living with my sister – a wedding gift that seemed like a good idea but soon became too MUCH and too LOUD as she started a Bed & Breakfast. When castration didn’t solve it, Willow decided to come to DC – Likely with a dream to make it in politics, like a lot of us – and was adopted by my girlfriend and me - Mommy number two.

We were a family until a second man came into our lives. That’s right, this guy named Jesus moved in and WE were no longer. Then my EX-gay - EX-girlfriend and I had joint custody for the rest of his life.

When I met Mommy number three – a type A north eastern Jew, she was afraid when I told her that I had a dog. She imagined a big slobbery black Labrador who would mess up her organized life. She did not expect a “Little Fox” who people mistook for a stuffed animal. Really, they would! We would put him in a back pack or a bag and take him on my bike or shopping. His little head would stick out and his button eyes would be locked open. As I moved up and down the aisle at the CVS, I could hear whispering and debates from the people behind me. I think that is a real dog in her bag – "Nah."

Mommy number three became a victim to his charms.

Eight happy years went by with three Mommies and by his 17th year, Age caught up with him and he became known in the dupont dog walking circuit as “diaper boy” that is because he spent his time in a huggie for babies size 7 pounds to 10 pounds.

When I first decided to put him in diapers, I thought that there must be specially made diapers for her dog. So I found something in a pet catalog called a pet diaper shield. $13 dollars.

When they arrived I was surprised that they were no different than my always panty liners but for the cartoon puppy stamped in the breathable liner. Where was I supposed to stick them? Get underwear for a dog? That would be ridiculous - So it was the Huggie with a tail hole cut out for Willow and the puppy panty liners for me. Puppy fresh.

By 18 and a half, Willow was HALF blind, HALF deaf and fell over when he peed - but my eyes could not see what everybody else could.

There are few times in our lives when we have so much power that with our Word whole lives are changed – or ended. You know it is difficult to come to that point when you feel the conviction and the confidence of being RIGHT to take that ultimate power over another living thing.

It is a heavy responsibility, you question yourself “Am I being selfish”, “Is there something else I can do?”

Well I did all that for a long time, but one weekend I finally saw him as he was and was able to come to a decision. But Willow had 3 Mommies. Mommy number three (Jewish Mommy) came to this decision months before but she had less decisions power being number three. So it all rested on Mommy number two. Evangelical Mommy held all the power (as often do now a days). She had the biblical references and the moral authority to lay on the guilt and make me question my decision better than anyone.

So supported by conviction in my decision it became my role to convince her that it was time.

She agonized over the decision and struggled the most with those questions. But she had her own journey to take and her own fear to over-come for her eyes to be opened before one Saturday morning THREE MOMMIES and an 18 and A HALF, HALF blind, HALF deaf Pomeranian walked into a Vet Office.

By that morning Willow was very sick and it was an emotional drive to the office. Mommy number three and I were sad and tentative, but Mommy number two was brave. It took her the longest to come to the decision but now she was strong. She chose to hold him and rest his little head on her shoulder as the vet injected him with the drug. He gave one last POOF of breath and he was gone.

RESTING IN PEACE

There he was looking so happy and sweet. His little smile back on his face, his coat which had been dull and thin for so long - looked bright and lush.

Suddenly, the assurance and confidence I had in my decision disappeared. The compelling reason to take his life was forgotten - I panicked and screamed out. “I changed my mind!” “Take it back”!

Realizing that I could not do that, my mind went to saving him and I wanted to give him to cup my mouth over his little snout and puff air into his lungs until he would lift his head on his own. Or give him the Heimlich maneuver, or get out the paddles or something!

But he lay there resting in peace.

Sanity came back to me so and we all sat there quite a bit longer when we started to get worried that we would have to leave him. So Mommy number two came up with the idea that we should steel him---sneak out and run away with him. We all started plotting of how we could get out of that little room with him and past the staff at the clinic.

I knew it was ridiculous but I wanted to put him in my backpack and take him to all of our favorite places. Sure people would wonder if he was breathing – we could pass him off as a stuffed animal.

We would be together again and Happy.

Well, we sat in the room with him – crying and laughing, questioning and assuring each other that we did the right thing.

Then when the office was closing and we couldn’t stay with him any longer An Atheist, a Jew and an Evangelical Christian walked out of a vet office.

Rest in Peace Willow 1989-2007.