Archive | November, 2012

The Accidental Asshole & The Apocalypse

30 Nov

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Look, it wasn’t my fault.

…I mean it was my fault, but I didn’t do it on purpose, okay?

Moving into our final weekend of shows, there are all of I think three people in the cast now who don’t have a cold.  And I started it.  So I’m the giant asshole.  But not on purpose. I didn’t mean to do it. 

…I swear.

“Oh, sure,” they say sarcastically, while sucking on Halls drops and grimacing through cup after cup of hot Gollum Piss…their insides curdling and pickling and poaching while their outsides rain sweat and snot.

I am now to be surrounded by cold-zombies of my own making.

This is how the Apocalypse really happens, people.

Another plague.

Just one.

…We keep waiting for these giant earth-shattering asteroids, or for a sudden gravity shift to fling us accidentally into the sun…but what is really gonna happen, has already begun.

A tiny viral death.

…Roasting in clammy costumes…

…In a dusty theatre…

…Then picked up and sweated onto others, in humid backstage non-ventilation, and spread like evil air-born spores of awful.

…And we aren’t the only ones. The audience, living in it all night long, will bring it home with them. And the unsuspecting Ushers. And the Box Office Staff. Carrying it to school and work and home, to follow. Hell, we already infected five schools of children, on Tuesday alone! And they, in turn, will mack on each other in hallways and at football games and sweat all over one another in P.E. to continue the chain moving forward.

…Which, when given the doomsday end date of December 21st, makes total and complete sense.

Ask any Mom of a kid with chicken pox or head lice: that shit is potent and immediate!

Not to freak you all out or anything, but it is entirely mathematically possible, that THIS is the very last cold we will ever have…as like an entire human race, and things.

…Which, to my mind, makes daring to experiment with seven kind of cold meds simultaneously, (in hopes of gaining SOME phantom of relief at SOME point), not only permissible, but almost a requirement in the name of mankind. In order to extend our nature of function as long as possible…until the end finally comes.

One by one, we will eventually drop to the ground like discarded marionettes, overcome with fever-comas…only to rise again the next day, as freak zombie spawn, off to infect and induct more of our kind.

…Which means, back in the good old days when Bible-thumpers were damning prostitutes and actors with the same breath, calling theatre’s the deepest cankers of disease and damnation in all of humanity…apparently they were right.

…But listen: we were all gonna go someday, anyhow. At least this way, you’ll go out entertained, laughing, while pissed out of your mind on good drugs and alcohol, with your best friends by your side. Not taken down in a burst of fire and brimstone, hollering screams of agony.

So: You’re welcome for that.

…Now, don’t you think you should show your appreciation to us while you still can, and come on down to see the show? Cuz I think it’s the least you could do.

The last three performances of “Twelfth Night” (quite probably, EVER.)

…Don’t be the one poor sunofabitch who missed out.

~D

Baked & Sweaty

29 Nov

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Am half baked on cold meds, backstage, with only bows left…my body a sopping mess of fever-sweat.

…Today was work and home and medicate and sweat and chill, and perform. I’ve nothing left…even to jot in ink.

…I beg your forgiveness, and instead extend the rest of what I’ve got to getting myself home and to bed.

It’s best for all. Trust me.

~D

The Indignant Snot Bubble

28 Nov

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The cold has grown two-fold since yesterday. 

…I am a giant mucus-fest of disgusting…which somehow managed a student matinee and talkback and dinner, and a first blocking rehearsal…while hopped up on three kinds of cold meds…none of which seemed to be working one fucking bit.

…So I stopped by the Pharmacy, pointed at the fourteen dollar box of Muscinex behind the counter, and told ’em, “gimme.” 

After treating me like a felon, with a host of Q & A’s regarding my chemistry-mixing abilities, whether I happened to keep a meth lab in my kitchen for recreational purposes, and how many boxes of said pills I had purchased in “X” amount of time, they scanned my Driver’s License, took my money, and finally let me leave. 

…The fact that it is easier to adopt children from China, than purchase some pills that’ll (in theory) help stop sinus-death, is supposed to be a good thing now (apparently.)

All I know is that when you’re stuffed up so hard that you sound like Huckleberry Hound, and you can’t hear because your mouth-breathing is so hard, and snot keeps trying to peek out from your nose…which is red and raw from blowing, and your eyes are weeping left-over show mascara down your face…that is not the time to put people through a merry-go-round of crap. 

…I feel it is pretty fucking obvious to tell when a person is legitimately “sick” and when they are legitimately a “tweaker.”  I understand you have to be all “equal under law” and all…but this is more the kind of thing I like to file under, “Unnecessary Harassment.”  Like strip-searching a 92-year-old woman at the airport, because you can’t get caught using your brain or “profiling people.”

…But regardless of the roadblocks, I got my pills. Which well into first blocking rehearsal, STILL were not working. No doubt, all the crying I was doing, didn’t help the scenario. Cuz we started with a giant emo moment in Act II (for scheduling purposes), and Mr. Director likes to dive right in after initial blocking for working, immediately. So I’m acting, and reading, and crying, and snotting…and at this one point get so fucking indignant, that I yell the rest of the line, slam my mouth shut, turn away, and blow a giant snob bubble.

…That’s about when Mr. Director called, “Hold!”…and the bubble depleted back into it’s snot cave, of its own accord, before I could throw down m’script and make it to the kleenex on the table.

Here we are, folks! First day of blocking, on our first scene, and I’ve already gotten “losing all dignity,” completely out of the way. At least I didn’t accidentally vomit, or shart. Although, the gass n’ poo stuff is more in Marty’s field. I shouldn’t be a total glutton in exploiting all the bodily functions. It’s only fair to share.

…We’re a great team, you guys, this cast. Klassy, klassy bitches…I can see it, already.

Incidentally, tomorrow Corporate arrives, so this post (another day ahead of time) will have to do you till prob’ly late, late tomorrow. And I’m posting it ahead of time, so I can go now and try to get some sleep. Hopefully the crying wore me out enough that I just can’t fight it.

…Mercifully, no rehearsal tomorrow.

…As if “one more thing” would really make any difference, anyhow… snorfing from my bed, ‘tween sips o’ tea…

~D

The Awful

27 Nov

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Am laying in bed, where I have been since 5:30 pm, all snockered on cold meds and every natural remedy that anyone on FB sees fit to throw at me.

…I have no time for a cold.  So for now I’ll just say, “I have ‘symptoms.'” 

I thought they were all chemically-induced from the office, but turns out that no sleep and bad habits, and lots of shows, and cast parties, and cleaning offices all day, kinda takes it outta yuh.  I even had to give up on the last BFF hang date, because I’m a grown-up with responsibilities, a 10 am performance tomorrow, a first blocking rehearsal for the other show to follow, and Corporate waiting to haunt me on Wednesday morning.

I’m all booked. 

…So the cold bugs gotta go find another hotel to check in at. 

End of story.

…This is why I’m typing my “tomorrow” blog ahead of time, “today”…while I am laying here doing not much else, but watching gross amounts of chick-lit, turned-into-movies, on illegal downloads that I feel really badly about…only I wanna watch ’em and they aren’t streaming on Netflix, so I justify by erasing as soon as the credits start rolling.

Mostly, they feature Ginnifer Goodwin.

…Cuz due to my new Marty-induced “Once Upon A Time” fascination…she is a new theatre/film crush I’ve been forced to stalk, of late.

Every so often, I push the pause button, and wander either to the bathroom to pee, or the kitchen to force-feed myself another form of hot toddy, in order to then make me pee more, in hopes that the germs will just flash-flood out of my body, in bulk.

Incidentally, the toddys are not working.

My throat is a fucking wreck, and I’ve tried at least eight kinds of hot mixings so far, only one of which included alcohol…and that, the latest, which I’m drinking now. I hope the little buggers burst into flames all down my throat.

But it doesn’t seem to be happening.

…Other non-whiskey mug-features tonight have included: honey, lemon, cyan pepper, tea, and plain hot water…all set at scalding temperatures, swilled generously, in many combinations. After my second dose of Airborne, and the latest chick-flick coming to it’s end, I’ve decided to give up.

Fuck it.

…I’ve gargled salt and Listerine. I’ve DayQuil’d n’ Benadryl’d. I’ve whiskey’d and tossed n’ turned, with burning fever, pinch-hitting scalding toddy-induced sweats.

I’m tired.

…I’m gonna just shoot the rest from my mug, roll over, and pull on the lamp chain.

Lights out.

…Goodwin got the fella.

…I can’t remember when I took my last cold-pill, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

…I’ve got a show to do for children, tomorrow.

…It’s Shakespeare.

…My call is 8:30am.

…I normally would just be starting my first cup of coffee by then.

…Talkback to follow.

…I have bills still to pay.

…And then: rehearsal.

In short: I’m doomed. But for now, I have a pillow and a bed, and one should never let those go to waste, by God!

…And so I won’t.

…Oh…my fucking throat…!!

~D

Death By Chemicals

26 Nov

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Corporate is coming again on Wednesday. 

…Because I won’t be at the office tomorrow (due to a student matinee of the show), I had to fit in all my cleaning today. But then Boss decided it would be good to shampoo the carpets at the same time…and it’s cold out…so all the windows and doors are shut, and the heater is on. Between the bathroom, lobby, and my office, I’ve been accidentally snorfing a shit-ton of cooked chemicals for a little over three hours now, and I feel awful.

…My throat is rasping, I’ve caught this honking bronchial cough that started back in the shop-vac stage of cleanup and has gotten worse with the heated carpet chemical steam…my eyes are watering and I keep sneezing.

…In short: I am slowly being poisoned right now, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it but keep walking outside and hacking up my lungs.  Why EVERYTHING has to be feast or famine in this place just never makes sense to me.

…Hold on.  Gotta go outside again. Giant coughing fit.

***

(From the upper warehouse.)

All the dudes are gone for the day, and I’m huddled in the freezing warehouse under the clamp-light where the building schedule is posted.  Our army of a Corporate-prep  team has done wonders out here with the stacking and organizing…our new WHS kid is being broken in via baptism through fire, and I am 45 minutes from chemical freedom.

Home.

…Take a shower to get the gunk off and do a lot of deep steam-breathing to help clean out all m’wind pipes…then get ready for The BFF and Fella to pick me up for a Tapas night at the In-Laws. The last “hurrah” together, before The BFF sets sail back to movie-land…and I kick it into overdrive workin’ two shows at the same time, til we close one of ’em, end of next weekend.

Tis the season to work your tail off.

~D

…And The Footie Pajamas

25 Nov

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We are in pajamas, post show (and first read), decorating cookies (part 2), eating cheese plates and doing a “White Christmas” sing-along.

…It’s our thing.

The BFF and I are in sweats, but The Fella is wearing full-out long underwear footie pjs.  With the escape hatch.  He looks phenomenal.  I honestly didn’t know they made them for full grown people.

…Also, by time of blog writing, The Fella is drunk.  He’s now in the prone position, with said butt flap open, airing his pirate underwear and threatening to fart us into oblivion.  He’s now to the point of drunk where you lay in dead weight and grin at things…like the air…and have whole conversations with your eyes closed, your voice in falsetto.

I’m totally writing this whole night off on “character study” at tax time.   

***

The Fella is now splayed out in the farty chair, and “White Christmas” at it’s end, has led onto “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.” 

…They are worried about me having to work tomorrow…which with only two days left of BFF-dome, before she escapes back to Tinsel Town, is just erroneous.  Tomorrow will come as it always does, and I will crawl from the bed like a Darwinian evolutionary sludge, as I always do…be it on six hours or three. It is far more important to be building these memories.

…Unless someone pukes. 

I call the kibosh at that point.

***

So here we all sit…a small pile of humanity across all of the general couch area.  The Christmas tree lights on, the heater humming busily…our decorated cookies that look like a five-year-old baked and decorated them (though that is totally unintentional), on the table in front of us with little bottles of sprinkles and candy pieces, and wine bottles growing around us. 

…We begin deep philosophical discussions, like people do when they are buzzed after a long day…such as the political significance of the Lesba-whos, that are The Grinch’s parents…and if being green is a commentary on race relations…

…In between, we giggle, till it starts to get quiet and we get sucked into the movie.

The wine starts to mix in our tummies, the sugar cookies, soaking it up…our eyelids start to get heavy.

…Just like kids, we fight the sleep fairy and insist we are wide awake and ready to party.

…But we ain’t.

It’s late. Our tummies are full. The bottles are empty. And even Jim Carey in ten pounds of green fur and prosthetic can only seduce us so far. Not gonna lie, m’pillow sounds pretty amazing. But we are captivated with brilliance…in both what’s happening on the screen, and in the room right now. We are our own ultimate family…the kind that people can build if all the best of circumstances align…and at least one of the people are really bossy.

…As The BFF just stated, “Lookit this! If we were all siblings growing up, we woulda been awesome!”

…To which I replied, “Well yeah, but then you can’t have sex with your brother, so, maybe it’s gooder this way.”

“Also, she’d have been the bully,” The Fella pipes up through his wine-haze, before going back to grinning at the atmosphere.

“I would not!,” she insists, ironically punctuating it with a punch.

Touche. And stuff.

(Yawn)

“He’s out, ” The BFF sighs, leaning over The Fella, some minutes later. “Hey babe, wanna stay here on the futon or go home?”

“Mmfubbbub,” The Fella replies.

We take that for “home.”

…They stuff themselves into boots and scarves and coats and start on their journey…all of two city blocks away.

I watch them, lit by street lights on their early morning quest, before finishing with my typing.

…Night, friends. May you pass out well into noon. For me: I’m lookin’ at six hours. So I guess I’d better get at it…

~D

BFF: The Famous, & Marty’s Ma

24 Nov

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Turns out, The BFF is a little bit of a Rock Star. 

…Her “celebrity,” via general awesomeness and bitchy wit, (which in turn, fulfills the requirements I reserve for being my BFF), thus often blogged, talked, and FB’d about…has created a monster woman of epic proportions, with our cast, on this her first visit home from L.A..

With the rate that me n’ The Fella go on about her, how could it be any other way?

…Of course people want to meet this freak-personage who is willing to put up with all our shit (and also happens to have a killer vocal comeback.)  Of course they wanna talk and laugh with the person who said that one thing about the ya-de-yah-duh, and made them spew coffee out their nose, while reading FB updates. Of course her and Marty are already thick as thieves to almost dangerous proportions.

…And, of course people tugged on my sleeve shyly and whispered, “introduce me?” at the bar, post show last night…eyes wide as saucers with both the wonder and joy of this person’s comedic histories already well known to them. But, also because…even not having met her yet, they can tell she’s a helluva dame.

…All of which The Fella and I totally agree with, even if we did get punched for our efforts of accidentally liking her so much that we talk about her and things.

…And now, as her reputation begins to grow further and build upon itself with every new post, like this one…it makes me happy to share her with the world. Cuz I love her, and others do too…even if just through proxy. So she is just gonna have to get used to it.

There, I said it in print.

Meanwhile: Much Christmas cookie baking with The BFF, and a lovely dinner with Marty’s Ma…a diminutive woman of certain eye sparkle n’ Judi Dench-like command of speech and presence.

…We talk theatre…as theatre too is her field…and football, and friends and kill a good two hours with laughter and stories.

…Then onto show, and trying to temper the four cups of coffee in my guts, meant to infuse energy…perhaps slightly overdosed.

Facepaint. Hair setting. Corset. And vocal warm ups. A bad night to screw up with a new friend and theatre crush in the audience.

…Let’s get this done!

~D

From The Dressing Room

23 Nov

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Hello all, and welcome to the ladies dressing room. I am currently the only one in it, as Maria is presently off being married.

…An attentive audience laughs now and then, obligingly, as I touch up my makeup for bows.

…I keep winking at the mirror, as a bobby pin headache began some time ago, attacking just behind my left eyeball. Also, my tummy is grumpy…prob’ly from that giant cheese plate I ate for dinner. Oh the drama that is my life!

A fellow castie joins me now, her nose in a book. Homework, mid performance, backstage. Aye, I remember it well…

***

And now we convene at the post-show watering hole. I’m tired, my tummy is still rumbling…fucking cheese of awesome. I need to get some zzz’s a’fore the second dude callback that Marty n’ I have with Mr. Director to find us a male lead, tomorrow morning.

…Then it’ll be onto cookie baking with The BFF, and the meeting and supping with Marty’s Ma, and shows, followed by cast party number 350. We’s a happening group.

Happy Black Friday, all.

~D

Loud & Joyeous

22 Nov

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I come from a large family.

…Holidays in our house meant no less than 27 people…with just the one side of Mom’s gene pool, and their immediate families. 

…Kids had their own tables and counter seating arrangements, because there just wasn’t room at the main one for all.  Even with the extender put in, and the extra leg props pushing the main table out, well into the living room…with chairs brought in from the patio and stacks in the garage, we would still sometimes have to squeeze in standing-room-only spaces.

…The kitchen would be stifling before ten A.M. with turkey-cooking and general capacity…with Mom and the aunts stirring things on the stove and fresh baked pies and side dishes arriving more and more by the moment. Two refrigerators full of fixings yet to be cooked and baked…cousins running around, playing games outside, wrapped in layers of coats and scarves, so our red, flushed faces glowed as our breath panted out in clouds of white in the crisp fall air.

In time, all the men, arguing over football plays in the living room, with beers-in-hand, could be heard in bear-like booms of laughter and anxious defeat.  Babies suckling from the newest Moms as they conduct instructions to their sisters, buzzing about in recipe over-drive.  Gram, being everywhere at once, completely in her element…someone losing the stuffing ingredients again, and scouts sent through the house to look in overnight suitcases, and diaper bags to find them. 

…An infusion of noise as the kids break in to thaw out a bit, shoo’d from the kitchen by their mothers.  Infants laid down to nap. New shifts in the kitchen as seating places are being set, and food comes to final bake and boil and plate. Gramps seated at the table’s end, watching all the work, with wry commentaries he gets a kick out of, and to act as official taste-tester on certain sauces and the rutabagas.

…And everywhere, in every room of the house, for all of the day long…loud, loud conversations taking place…only magnified as the day grows longer, by heat and wine and food…excitement, and general people-excess.

…So loud at times, with the men screaming at the TV screen, play-by-play, of the women laughing and telling jokes while cooking, of babies chattering,  the cousins “Haloo-ing” to one another, in hide-and-seek places up and down the hallways…that a moment of solitary in the bathroom during pee breaks, would make your ears ring with it’s silence. 

It felt so removed, those moments. 

…Like a wormhole where you were on one side and everyone else, at the other end…faintly heard in the distance, in gregarious employments, you were only annoyed that mere natural bodily function, was making you miss out on. 

Holidays with our family always made me feel badly for all those three and four-people families. Small, quiet, respectful, classy people…in their formal go-to-chapel best…Holidays like the kind they have in romantic comedy movies.  None of which we are an example of.  We were more of the family Griswold, “National Lampoon” stream, without a doubt…with all the curiosities, eccentricities, dramas and ridiculiousnesses that go with it.  Ask me then, or now: I never in a million years would have changed that, for anything.

As time has passed, spreading our family’s large number, like seeds on the wind, to new corners of the world…some to new corners now, in Heaven…Holidays seem to be more a time of reflection and thankfulness than they ever were before.  Because I can spend a quiet Holiday feast with four people today with the memories and history of those other’s behind it.

…Sometimes, a little sadly, yes.  Because I miss that loud, brazen, bellowing, laughing, arguing, baby-crawling, cousin-playing, surrounding of the truly peculiar breed of humanity that I hail from.  All those frustrating, brilliant, weird bastards, who I love more than anything, and miss like nothing else of bestness, on earth.

On quiet Holidays like today…which I am still so thankful for…I can’t help but remember those we once had in the past.  For all the world, I could swear eight or nine times today…faintly in the distance of my childhood, I could hear it all again.  A wormhole to our family past.  And I wish, more than anything, I could rejoin it, even just one more time…even just for a moment…in all it’s loud, joyous, wonderfulness…with all the people who are of my people, and who I belong to.

…Then, I remember: I can. In memory.  Any time I want to.

…And I’m thankful for that.

I’m thankful for that, and them, and even (reluctantly), the fact that time has passed and things have been forced to change.

The BFF is home again…even for just a little bit, back in her place at my stove, and me at my place at table: chopping and prepping as we gossip and sing and play on. Last night, after hours of loud joking, and shopping, and laughing, and winking insults, and spur-of-the-moment hugs…(just because we can), because we are here together now…was a many-moment deja vu.

…Later plating and feasting, The Fella and Marty adding to the family, by-turn, as the clock struck further into the night…squealing loud peals of delights over newly uncorked wine, and homemade eats…with everyone telling stories at once, and nobody listening, and bad jokes being played on one another, a tattling of the most embarrassing of stories we have to share…with the TV blaring in the background, and spontaneous bursts of laughter….with new infusions of energy and more friend arrivals as the night went on…well into the early hours of this morning.

…This loudness of epic proportions!

…So persistent and present! So joyous, and irreverent! And so…”my family.”

I realized, the coming of full circle, not once but many, many times across the night.

…Which, to me, is sorta like a wink from above, by those who’ve gone on before, and know me best.

A long story to say: I hope you and yours…be they family of your blood and bones, or of your soul and spirit…had a happy Holiday today.

…Cuz I know me and mine did 🙂

~D

BFF Chefing & More

21 Nov

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The BFF is home from L.A. for a short week’s holiday with the us’s, who have missed her so.

…After a two hour journey that turned into six somehow, because apparently Virgin Airlines likes to relocate people by way of camel.

Due to overt, gross amounts of sexing tween her and The Fella, I was not allowed to see her upon arrival.  But today, I get to give her a monster hug…live, IN PERSON…and do that talking seventy miles a minute thing…even though we basically kept one another updated on everything already anyway.  Cuz it’s what girls do.  Even dude-ones.

…Anyway…the office is closing at one, (on command of Boss), and directly after, I will be swooping down upon her, at last! Together we will sweep our favorite shops for the best cooking goods and alcohol, and bring it all back to my house for our second favorite activity: togetherness cooking.  (Followed directly by our FIRST favorite activity: eating.)

Blending of the family, as is the case with EVERY Holiday, will bring Marty motoring up (thankfully, to provide another eating mouth and save us from our gluttonous selves)…and then, a meet with the next show’s Director, to drunkely talk character n’ script stuffs before our first read on Sunday.

…Cuz, yep, it’s team Marty and Roz, in this next one. 

Our fourth show together (third in a row), and the FIRST time we will actually get to work with one another for more than one line, on stage.

And I am so incredibly grateful to be intrusting all this personal history shit, with an already-sister, whom I would trust to Thelma-and-Louise lengths, on any journey that life would ever see fit to throw at us. 

You n’ Me, kid.  Let’s jump in that Cadillac and never look back.

…But before we peal out, stirring up all that dust with our tires…we DO have two weeks remaining on “Twelfth Night,” and its family…to continue to play and grow with.  We have time to enjoy the here-and-now with these people…and much as we are both eager beavers at digging in and getting right to work…we have earned this moment of happy play time with our current cast.

It’s been a good season of theatre this year.

…Have worked with four companies, met gallons of new friends, spent quality time with old ones, and have learned a lot. 

“Children’s Hour” will be the first of the new Season, opening in January…a kick-start to (one hopes) a helluva 2013. 

…I wish for a comedy as it’s predecessor. 

…I wish to keep branching out in new directions with new companies.

…And I wish to look back at its season’s end with at least as much fondness as I do this one.

Am thankful for a lot, today. And now, I’m gonna go home and enjoy it!

~D

Hello, I Remember You

20 Nov

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Seems it’s time.

…Time to start down an old road, in search for some truth and hope.  Time to deal with happenings in the past, drag them out into the light and face them once again. 

In front of several hundred people.

…My head, already feeding on the script, I’ve started a companion album to the piece.  I do it a lot, when beginning work on a character.  Because music gets to the heart of the matter immediately…giving you a sort of soundtrack to play by. Something that can run in my head on the way to the theatre, and as I put on my makeup and set my hair every night. 

…Something playing as I watch my everyday face, literally disappear in the mirror in front of me…replaced by this new being who has a story they need to share with a couple hundred people out there.

Two of the songs on the list so far, are the launching pad of where I’m coming from, and what the character’s journey means to me.  We are sisters in a lot of ways, but I think her core of cores is one part love, and one part shame. 

…Themes you can’t escape no matter how hard you fight them. 

And I ought to know.

Welcome, Martha. 

I’ve got your back, kid.

~D

Dear SWAL 1.0

19 Nov

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It’s time for another installment of Marty’s Job Goes Viral. 

…For those of you just joining: read last month’s edition here.  For our frequent patrons: enjoy another select group of sexually frustrated and emo-fucked relationship questions, answered by yours truly.  These actual texts, IM’s and emails sent to Marty’s day-job inbox, are the top ten reasons we’ve found this month (in no particular order), of why working in the sex industry isn’t as glam as it seems.  (With all their original spelling and sentence structure.)

…These people exist, friends. 

And they are breeding. 

(Or at least are trying to.)

…God help us all.

***

Question: “From which planet u come from dear u re amazing u know how and when to say it. I like this topic u sent me, It’s a bomb ,sent more And it help my friend who was in need of it I just read to her before I forward it. Thanks and keep well.”

Answer: “We are happy here, on planet Earth, that you find our product of explosive goodness.”

~

Question:  “Hi its [Name] I have a question this girl he’s bin friends with my boyfriend for 6 years well he’s wasent seen her for a while And she finally shows up And they would hang together every day when I’m at School one day I vited her to Draink with us And a couple of my friends one of my friends caught Her kissing him now now a couple days later she texe him saying everything that happend was it all a lie I’m wondering what is everything And my boyfriend says its Nothein a day later he tells he’s come over when I wasent thar And I caught her my boyfriend told me becuse he wanted her to say sarry to me now what do you thank about this.”

Answer: “Dear [Name], (huge intake of breath) I-have-an-answer-for-you-but-you-might-not-like-what-you-hear-dude’s-been-cheating-on-you-with-this-“friend”-who-is-a-girl-and-there-are-just-no-two-ways-about-it-though-I’m-sure-if-you-asked-he’d-be-open-to-a-three-way-and-that’s-the-truth-so-how-I-look-at-it-is-either-sit-down-and-have-an-honest-talk-with-him-about-it-sharing-that-you-feel-he-has-an-inappropriately-close-relationship-with-this-chick-and-you-are-not-okay-with-it-then-see-how-he-reacts-and-go-from-there-or-you-can-just-go-all-loranna-bobbitt-cut-his-junk-off-and-hand-deliver-it-in-a-box-to-her-saying-‘found-this-in-my-bed-sorry-was-it-yours?-I-feel-really-bad-about-that.’ (huge intake of breath) Signed, SWAL.”

~

 Question: “my ex dumped me…saein v fought alot she cant handle d pressure…n it wasnt working well i met hr n decided v will b frnds bt since she dumped me i cudnt coop up vd it n fought again she tld she needs brk bt 4 me it wasnt possible i cnt stay away 4rm hr i dont knw wat happnd 2 hr she blockd me on watsaap n fb n she saes she cnt take me as frnd wat shud i do 2 gt hr back as my gf i still alot 4 hr”

Answer: “I’m sorry, we have no one at SWAL who speaks your native tongue. Please bare with us as we attempt to Google Translate your text, and transcribe our answers.”

Translation: Sory wat 4 no spake you-talk. giv min.

(Question Translation Of Question To English: I’ve been dumped, cuz I’m too much work for her right now, but she wants to be friends. I can’t be her friend so decided fighting with her about it would make her take me back, because I just have this stalker-like obsession with her and can’t let her go. Now she’s blocked me from every social network and form of contact in the free world, and says we can’t even be friends anymore. What should I do to get her back, I’m still obsessed.”)

(Answer In English: Look, I feel really badly for your loss, but you are swiftly approaching a point here where calls for restraining orders start getting distributed. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out, but you can’t force people to love you. It’s probably the most difficult lesson our program teaches: there is not always a “happy ending” to our love affairs. We must just accept that sometimes, we just need to let go, and move on with our lives. I firmly suggest, that you consider that, at this time.)

Answer Translation: “Dawg, m’gutz b twist wiv sory. But cheeze it, d fuzz b all in dat grilz shud u nt stp ghostin’ yo’ bitch. Naw ri’t. Naw sqr. She nt tap yr ass no mo’. No mak wiv d bee-bop, no bling-bling, no, “bitch, cal me?” Chill. No mo’ wiv it. She dun. Lots mo’ ass 2 b gt. Kick wiv othr n’ gt dwn wiv some “wat uuuup?!” axun in hr who-haw.”

~

Question: ” how..? as u wish bt i want she…. i love her”

Answer: “Straight up, we don’t know how the ‘Princess Bride’ is so brilliant with subtext either. ‘As you wish’ = ‘I love you?’ That shit is GOLD…and if WE had thought of copyrighting and marketing it as part of our product-base 20 years ago, I would be retired on a private island by now. However, what valuable lesson we CAN take from that quote, perhaps, is well-placed persistence and dedication to your courtship. Fear not, stable-boy Wesley…we have several ideal products to help you win your Buttercup, at last. (with a money-back, guarantee.)

~

Question: ” I THINK YOU SMOKE TOO MUCH CRACK OR METH!!! YOUR WHOLE FANTASY OF BEING MY MAN OR DATE IS WARPED, WE NEVER MET AND WE WERE NOT DAJUST BECAUSE WE SHARED SOME LOVE SONGS OVER THE INTERNET DOES NOT MAKE US A COUPLE. I WA JUST TRYING TO CHEER YOU UP BECAUSE YOU WERE DEPRESSED ABOUT GETTING DUMPED, SO DONT MAKE ACCUSATIONS AND WE NEVER HAD MUTUAL SEX, RAPE DOES NOT MEAN WE WERE LOVERS. SORRY YOU ARE NOT MY TYPE LET GO MOVE ON, AND STOP STALKING ME…”

Answer: “WELL, I THINK YOUR FAVORITE PORN IS SHIT! I TOLD YOU TO STOP FUCKING BOTHERING ME AT WORK! AND WHY DO YOU HAVE TO SHOOT DOWN ALL MY ROLE PLAYING IDEAS BEFORE WE EVEN START. ANYWAY, WHO SAID YOU ALWAYS GET TO BE THE “GUY”?!!?

~

Question: ” hi | can you plz help me ? by answering my question how can i make my bf love me more and more and never plane to leave me thanxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx”

Answer: “Get a credit card that doesn’t accrue airline miles, and let him play video games whenever he wants.”

~

Question: ” It was he contacted me…I haven’t even started text him. He came to me told me how much he missed me and wanted me back, i told him i will go out the next day with another guy. Then at midnight he messaged me said he think he is not good enough for me, he doesn’t know what he can give me. I replied to ask him get lost, and called him loser. Then he disappeared. What’s going on with him??”

Answer: “One hopes: a good woman who appreciates humility, affection and effort. Way to fuck it up, babe.”

~

Question: ” hello …i broked up with my ex 2years ago.. he left me for someone else n they are still together.. we seldom talked to each other but not publically .. actually her g.f even dnt knw dat he talked to me.. but i find one thing very unusual is dat.. he talked to me nicely for 3-4 days n after dat again he quit talking to me.. plz help me .. thanks!”

Answer: “Sorry, am a little confused on the number of people we are talking about here and their gender specificity. What I can say is that s/he sounds like s/he wanted a little side action, (despite being in another long-term relationship), but got caught by sh/iz significant other. Let it lay, is what I advise. There’s already a Queen bee in his life, no good comes from poking the hive.”

~

Question: ” Please refund me for the [product name.] I downloaded up to day 4 and haven’t returned. I’m sorry the vibrational energy is not compatible with me.”

Answer: “We will certainly refund your money, should you wish…however, before we do so, are you aware of our large product line available, outside of our fine vibrator collection? We would be more than happy to send you more info.”

~

Question: ” I would like you to email me….so that will can now talk better and will can now each other better and i wil like you to drop me your email so that will can now talk better and will can now know each other better……….i will be waiting for your reply asap..”

Answer: “You’re getting better…but we still need to work on our pronouns. Much better than the 59other passes, though. And you thought learning English just to woo a Mail Order Bride would be hard! Pfft! One more time, now…I feel 60 is your lucky number!”

***

…That’s all for THIS month, kids. See you with our next installment in December!

Best of Sweaty, Sexy Wishes To You All,

SWAL

~D

Exercising Demons

18 Nov

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Sometimes Actors like to go a little suicidal and play really close to the edge of the cliff. 

…In other words, they will take something that has huge personal relevancy, connotation and emotional cost, and exploit it for artistic means…which is a brave, twisted, painful….and some would say, “sick” thing to do.  But it is how people connect with truth. 

Being naked means a lot more than just taking your clothes off. 

…The most naked I’ve even been in my life, had me in three layers of 1940’s clothes, sporting a Dutch accent.  Clearly that wasn’t “me” up on that stage.  Clearly I had plenty of things to “hide behind” in the voice and look and age that I was portraying. But, because the story content was so very personal to me…because the character I was playing was a real person, whom I had studied and knew from my childhood…because the themes and History of it had helped to form me so much as a reader and artist, and human…the role had wormed its way to my innermost guts, weaving a special new fiber of marriage with not just my mind’s creative sector, but key emotional centers, and physical expressions. 

It quite frankly took me over. 

…Not all at once.  But at some point, every night, I would lose myself it it fully, without even being conscious of it…and the only point that realization would kick in would be at the shows end, when I’d sorta wake with a start, to the audience beginning to applaud our work.

…It’s the furthest I’ve ever been, the most raw I’ve ever felt, the most emotionally draining thing I’ve ever experienced, by far…on any stage.  And though you learn so much as a person, as an Artist, when roles like that (few and far between) come along…it is still a terrifying aspect of what we do, for everyone who is willing to travel that journey. 

…Fighting your personal demons in public is as naked as you will ever get, my friends.  And agreeing to it, embracing it, and not holding back, is riding that suicidal cliff edge, where some people can’t handle the mind-games it pulls on you, the nightmares it brings, the depressions that it can usher in, the sleepless nights, and obsessive pushing to places you have purposely left behind closed doors, to grow thick with dust and cobwebs and never be seen or heard from again.

Yesterday, I walked down the corridors and unlocked one of those doors, letting out not just vacant dustballs and “remember whens,” but a whole fucking Pandora’s box of shit. 

I knew it would happen. 

And I did it willingly. 

…And it actually mentally, emotionally and physically altered me for the remainder of the day, and well into performance last night.  An inconvenience when you have another show to do, and another character with other traits placed entirely where your head isn’t, and won’t be, due to the cost of being naked on a stage several hours earlier.

Callbacks were yesterday, just before our performance.

…With one hour and fifteen minutes buffer, a group of us, talked and ate and joked and tried to redirect our brains to better places in order to prep for this other thing we were soon needing to do. But on the inside, several of us who had vomited all to-real emotions out on the stage less than two hours earlier, were play-acting our way now through “life” because we were actually in no way prepared to merely dust off the age and disgust of the long locked rooms we had opened in our private-most inner sanctums. 

…In fact the room was so overwhelming before even barely crossing the threshold that it took two scene reads before I could calm myself down enough emotionally to USE the feelings instead of letting them completely overwhelm me.  I felt swarmed.  My body actually physically shook beyond my own control.  I had to concentrate so hard on the words to get them out with the proper amount of emotion and not the sea of it that I was feeling, that the poor bastards I read with had little help in their own work, from my direction. 

…But in time, I was able to wrangle my grasp onto it.  Could get on the back of it, as it thrashed around, and manage to stay on, and stay focused and stay with my scene partners.  And though it was only several passes at four scenes…neither of them the big emotional reveal and peak that the script eventually rises to…just knowing it was there…that the words I was speaking were in defence of this unspoken thing…that every line had a double meaning, later to ruin and/or alter people’s lives forever…and knowing that I once knew and fought that battle too…was a palpable thing. 

Exercising a personal demon.  Being brave enough after all these years to walk up to it, getting grip of it’s mane, and swing onto it’s back with determination that this time…this time, I am the boss of it, and I will use it to my own devices and needs…

…Because I have EARNED this moment. 

I’m done living in a house with another door I’m too scared to open.  Of course there are other attics and basements filled with personal fears and painful memories, too.  But yesterday, I decided this one won’t be among them anymore. 

…I may or may not be given the opportunity to air it for an entire audience.  Casting calls are still yet to be made.  But even if I don’t…for a day, in front of more strangers than friends…I faced that certain beast.  Which is more than I’ve done since the day I first locked it away.  And the sizable personal victory…followed by slightly sickening after-shock once coming down from the adrenaline rush, was worth it.

If not on stage, then in some other way…I’m ready to get this shit taken care of.

…And it feels horrible, gut-wrenching, good.

…And if you’re an Artist of anything…you totally know exactly what that means.

~D

The History Of Being A Woman

17 Nov

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…So as uncomfortable as this time of month likes to make me, there are certain moments…(like taking off a corset that’s been squeezing the shit out of me for four hours), wherein I am reminded that there were times when we ladies had it much worse. 

…Pre-drugs. Pre-sanitizing products. Pre-Women’s Lib.

…This morning, as I rolled around in usual pain-induced grumpiness, I decided to go on a little investigation course, and immerse myself in the Historical significance of this monthly curse… on our grandmothers: great-great-great and ancient, and how they dealt with it, and how society dealt (in turn) with them. 

Brave men who seek to understand us better: read on. 

Fellow women: read on with thanks, and infused superhuman wonder at the animals we are and what our bodies do.

***

First of all, it was a curse. 

…And thus, unclean for thousands of years, women at their time of month were (and still are, in some cultures) shunned and restricted from society and sight.  Like with the King in “Love Labours Lost,” women were banished from courts and communities routinely. The Romans attributed the deformity of the god Vulcan to the menstrual intercourse between his parents Juno and Jupiter. In the Biblical times, women on their cycle were forced to camp out, away from the community…making everything they even came in contact with, unclean.  In early European times, they were made to bare no restrictions to the process, or smell, or sight, or change ones garments for fear of increasing bleeding and disease.  The Mae Enga people of Papua New Guinea believed that contact with menstrual blood or a menstruating woman would “sicken a man and cause persistent vomiting.” In the eighteenth century in Saigon, no woman was employed in the opium industry because it was believed that if a menstruating woman were near, the opium would become ruined and bitter. To some it signified a laziness on the woman’s part for not having done her “job” at being consistently knocked up. Women who complained of menstrual cramps were sent to psychiatrists because menstrual cramps were seen as a rejection of one’s femininity…which, until the Victorian era, was seen (together with it’s yet unnamed PMS sister) as a mental deficiency, called simply “Women’s Hysteria.” Freud called it the “bloody sign of a woman’s loss of penis,” as a reminder of woman’s “uncleanliness and inferiority.” And to this day, it keeps women of several religions from practicing in all rights of belief, and in their own temples of worship, before an allotted amount of time and certain purification rituals have taken place.

…Our Lady-History isn’t all bleak, however.  Some cultures revered our body’s cycle, as a sign of strength and fertility. The Cherokee Indian’s believed it was a strength and source of power to destroy enemies. Ancient Roman, Pliny the Elder, wrote that a menstruating woman, uncovering her body, could scare away hailstorms, whirlwinds and lightening. In Ancient Greece, menstrual blood was thought as a wonder cure of disease and used in love charms and to ward off demons. In Africa, it is used in the most powerful magic charms to purify and to destroy, while in France, in the 1700’s, its scent was thought seductive and fertile.

However you have come to loath and/or embrace this monthly happening…whatever name you have given her, she has a history that should be noted…has become a defining form of cultures and words, and bottom line is: we would none of us be here without her. So have a little respect. Let it be noted:

…“Menstruation” is from Old English “mondablot” or “month blood;” in Latin, “menses” means “month;” an Amazon culture’s word for “woman” translates to “the person with a red streak down the leg”; and the term “period” dates back to 1822 meaning “an interval of time.” Furthermore, some menstruation words have much more tainted meanings: “The term ‘ritual’ is derived from the Sanskrit word ‘R’tu,’ which means ‘menstrual.’ This etymology suggests that ritual in a general sense and menstrual acts have a common origin;” Also, the “word taboo comes from the Polyneisain tapua, meaning both ‘sacred’ and ‘menstruation’… [where] sacred means both ‘set apart’ and ‘cursed’.” ~ Southern Bell Feminist

…Scholars also suggest that pre-modern men and women learned to think numerically by recognizing relationships between groups of numbers that were also units of time measured through menstrual rites…and may have led to humanity’s sense of time, as most early lunar calendars were based on the length of a women’s menstrual cycle. The family of words related to the English word “menstruation” include mental, memory, meditation, mensurate, commensurate, meter, mother, mana, magnetic, mead, mania, man, and moon…while the term “ovary” is from the Latin ovum or “egg.” In classical Latin, ovaries meant “egg keeper.”

…According to randomhistory.com, a woman will spend about 3500 days, in an average of 450 periods in her life. When a girl is born, her complete potential egg supply is born with her. In the womb, she creates about seven million egg cells. At birth, she has two million. By puberty, there are only about 400,00 left, of which fewer than 500 are actually released.

…And as for our history of “treatments” to her woes?

Ancient Egyptians used softened papyrus as rudimentary tampons. Hippocrates notes that the Greeks used lint wrapped around wood. By the mid 1800’s some had begun the use of homemade pads, made of wool, cheesecloth, cottons and rags. The 1870s -1890’s saw a slew of such invented for sale in forms from suspenders to belts, making an alternate disposable option for the wealthy. By 1921, post WWI, Kotex pads were on sale to the masses, a product devised by nurses in the field, using the more absorbable wartime bandages. The modern tampon was invented by Dr. Earle Haas in 1929, trademarked by the brand name Tampax, and was in wide circulation by 1931. And the 1970’s brought in the self adhesive, non-belted, pad.

…Together with drugs and natural remedies to help ease our physical pains, and hormonal roller coasters…we continue this longest of Living History reenactments, today, by the millions, all over the world. It’s kind of a big deal. According to quora.com, out of the 2 billion women of menstrual age in the world right now, 334 million are my blood sisters, this very moment.

334 million.

…At the same time.

…In all races, cultures, incomes, and beliefs.

Dear Mrs. Johnson,

You are a giant pain in my ass (and other places)…but when I look at the history and numbers and facts and fables of your insistence on “Being”…I kinda gotta give you some props. You’ve got some game. Okay…I said it. Now stop fucking with me. I have shit to do today.

Signed,

~D

They Have An App For That

16 Nov

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At the moment, am working from my bed, whilst laying on my tummy next to a bottle of pain pills with a heating pad on my back.

…Mrs. Johnson strikes again.

…But I’m really productive in bed.

–I mean…I still work well on my tummy.

–I mean…aw, fuck it.  You know what I mean.

Thanks to the cloud world of remote office-ing, (and Apps), I did all my batches, closed out just over $10k, and popped out contract paperwork reminders for $12k…all before 9:30 AM…and all while in the horizontal position.  Really, the only thing not being in the office limits me in, is “being in the office”…which just proves that Boss could be doing all the things that need doing in a day, if he really wanted to…he just chooses the “not” option.

In Other News: Last night’s performance was an epic-filled slog for several casties, due to the apparent silent adoration of our audience.  I say “apparent” as we are told they were at least smiling…while we felt that they were flatlined beyond all resuscitation.  We all know what that means to the Actors.  So we’ll be leaving it at that.  I (strangely enough) was not in the least affected, outside of the initial frustration of silence. Prob’ly cuz I gave up on them early and decided to just have fun playing with m’buds. Also, I was busy babysitting my cleavage…

…But I would like to state for the record, that seeing dear friend L.M., (and post-show-hang times with her and the cast), was totally worth wearing a corset over my bloated form all night.  And making sure that the ten obscene gallons of extra boobage this time of month encourages, didn’t accidentally overflow out into the audience, changing our viewership rating completely. (It was pretty close, a lot of the time.)

And now, after posting: more pills, more tea, then maybe a short nap.  Then onto a shower, and into the office…because I feel like I should, though I am technically done for the day anyway…and travel thence to the theatre.

Come on, Friday night audience!  Help us out with a little extra boost tonight, would yuh? I’ll even breathe extra heavy in the direction of the house that gives us the most verbal love. Heaving bosoms await your participation!

Thanks, sweeties.

~D

For The Groundlings

15 Nov

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Tonight is our Pay What You Can…a performance for those who aren’t of the easy spare-cash-crowd.

…A notoriously loud and appreciative audience, made up mostly of our poor friends, is usually what this means.  And we welcome them (and  you) all into the theatre tonight for some bawdy fun.  Laugh loudly, cat-call at will, and enjoy what our four reviews assure, are fine performances in a joyous romp of mistaken identities, love, revenge and hilarity.

Go us’s!

Meanwhile: Today, a slow one at work.  The WHS Pimp and I decided to take the opportunity of Boss being absent, to reorganize some things in the Warehouse and office.  New systems to be implemented soon, which will have the Bunnies in an uproar, as they are when any change takes place.  But with winter on the horizon, it’s time to tighten up the belts and condense things into ship-shape specifics.  This has everything to do with a rumored OTHER Corporate visit, supposedly taking place the last week of this month. So, it’s better we be prepared now and get everyone used to the new order of things…two weeks before their coming.

***

Last night paid a visit to Marty and Bruce as K.L. pulled his second 24hr duty in three days. 

…Much “Will & Grace” over Tai food eating taking place, with script read to prep a bit for Saturday’s callback before the show.

…Which will be an interesting day, as emotions go, thanks to the topic matter. With a buffer of one hour and fifteen minutes ‘tween the death, ruination and questionable lesbian crises involving two teachers at an all girls boarding school, that is “Children’s Hour,” and our call for “Twelfth Night.” 

Sure!

…We can do that!

…We can do anything!

We…are “Actors!”

(Pass it around.)

~D

The Lady Market, In The Lobby

14 Nov

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Boss has been online for the bulk of the morning in the Lobby, shopping on The Lady Market.

…This is where he sits with his laptop, scrolling his dating site of choice, and from time to time calling me or the WHS Pimp over to grade the women on a “should I, or shouldn’t I” basis. 

I don’t play the game, usually yelling from my desk, “I’m too busy doing your job right now!  P.S. I need some coffee!”

…And so he’ll go away and find some, plop it on my desk with whatever other offerings to buy my silence, that he can come up with (today: mini cinnamon rolls), then go back to his “work.”

In that time he’s also managed to dodge having to put out a contractor fire, because of a sorta fake conference call. “Sorta,” in that he DOES have a conference call, but he screwed the dates up and it actually happens tomorrow…but he was logged in on a dead air call (put on mute) for twenty minutes, while he Lady shopped, before he decided to confirm the date on his calendar.  I (of course) knew none of this for quite some time, and continued plowing through contracts and pay reports and answering phones for several hours, before taking a break to go pee for three seconds.

(I pass by him in the lobby, seeing him playing with his new iPad.)

Me: Wait.  Aren’t you on a conference call still?  It was set for like four hours.

Boss: Oh, yeah.  That’s tomorrow, I guess.

Me: Wait.  So how long were you on-air before  you figured that out?

Boss: Like twenty minutes.  I dunno.

Me:  But you’ve been off since then?

Boss:  Yuh.  I wonder what our app allowance is gonna be?

Me: …So you could have been answering calls, at least…

Boss: –They have this new band-mix one I could totally use for my gigs.

Me: Isn’t that thing bugged? 

Boss: Yeah.  But I can disable it.

Me: The bugging was the whole point.  If you go off grid, they’ll just yell at you to get it fixed.

Boss:  They gotta catch me first.

Me: I need you to get phones.

Boss:  But not (enter name of Contractor here.)  I’m hiding from him. 

Me: How long?

Boss:  Told him is was a training day.

Me:  We’ve never had a day of training in this place, in the History of ever. For anything.

Boss:  Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.

(I look at his new mess in the lobby, of scattered crap everywhere, and him sitting huddled over an iPad trying to decode it, as his laptop, open just to the right of him, is set on a collection of women’s headshots.)

Me: …You wanna bet.

***

…Meanwhile, some of you may be asking yourselves, “Why the lobby?”

…Some of you may be asking yourselves any NUMBER of questions, actually…believe me, I am well acquainted with them all. I can’t answer every one you come up with…cuz in five years time working with this man, I still don’t understand him fully. But this is one question that I can answer.

…He has set up shop in the lobby for two reasons:

1) Two weeks ago, his swivel chair broke and he fell to the floor…so moved into the lobby where the chairs are better, but too big to fit at his desk, while we waited for the new one I ordered him to arrive.

2) Last week, his new chair arrived, but his desk was so messy that he decided he’d just keep camping out in the lobby every day. Mostly because, every day after he leaves, I clean the lobby out, by putting all his shit back on his desk, which he occasionally shifts around in piles on his desk and floor, that he never does anything with, thus the piles grow, and he’d rather just not deal with it.

…I am not kidding.

This is what his office looks like today:
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This is what my desk looks like today:
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…These were taken at the beginning of my self-proclaimed “break”…which happened, directly after I got out of the bathroom, and he called me over to show me this new YouTube video.

…My “break” was all of ten minutes, and I was well into typing today’s post, before he declared that “since the conference is tomorrow,” and he has, “this new iPad thing he needs to figure out, with new software and everything,” that he was just going to, “take off to one of the vendor sites to test it all out,” and maybe, “not come back again, until tomorrow.”

…”If that was okay?”

I told him to knock himself out, and went on with my typing.

…And so it goes.

Morning reports completed, I sit here and tap on the keys in between phone rings, and rearrange the schedule as customer’s continually realize that next week is Thanksgiving, and they need to change their booking dates, cuz they’ll be at Aunt Pearl’s all week n’ things.

…And I’ll listen to their entire family life history, as they explain it all to me in mind-numbing detail…as if I give a shit…and I will “uh huh,” and “okay,” and “no problem,” and “Yep,” my way through the rest of the day.

…An annoyance, but better than one of the other worse kind of days. So, I’ll take it.

~D

Exploring The Amazon

13 Nov

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Last night I started my Christmas shopping.

…Hours spent trolling the Amazon and watching my shopping cart bulk up rapidly.  I like to give myself zero limits for the first wide pass.  Anything that I happen to see that fits my list of names, makes it in the cart, period. 

…For several hours I freely pretend I’m a zillionaire who can buy all my people anything I bloody well want to.  I picture their, “shut UP, nuh uh!” surprised faces, and me eating the recipes they make from that one cookbook…and games we’ll play, and all inclusive vacation packages they’ll go on…the private parties we’ll have on New Years at the Eiffel Tower or wherever else we happen to be…and how we will be living an independently wealthy lifestyle on some Greek island, in themed bungalows, outfitted with every person’s individuals styles and desires…all of which, I have bought them.

…It’s wondrous!

My spirit of giving would slap you silly were it not for the restrictions of my pocket book.

…But then, at some point, reality starts to kick in. I visit the cart to start paring down the list, one extravagant item at a time…until I have but a small bundle sort of pathetically smiling back at me, hoping to make the final cut.

It seems that every year the pile gets smaller, only cuz the cost of life…in general…keeps getting bigger. 

…But every year, I tell myself, “it is the thought that counts”…and I think my big dreams for my friend’s and family’s biggest desires…and I gift them freely (even if only hypothetically), with my love. 

On Christmas morning, these have all been exchanged for old books, or vintage record albums, or things of wine, or little memory moment nods in the form of a silly reminder trinket.  It’s what I can manage…and only JUST…but it is something.  And I’m confident that they all know, if I had the capacity of endless fundage, their lives would be sweet treats of never-ending pleasure.

…But instead, dear ones: you’ll get this thing.  Some object that is close as I can manage to the greatest thing EVER! You’ll look at it a second and smile a bit, and read it or listen to it or play with it a little, then move on with the rest of your day.  And that will just have to satisfy me.  Cuz it’s what I am able to do.

…Holy cow though, we’d have a hella fun bonfire…partying on our own private island, kitted out in seven kinds of designer labels, eating catered Italian foods, drinkin’ the oldest French wines (just flown in) and served by shirtless cabana boys, while schmoozing with all our favorite bands, who play for us by turn, (and/or whatever specific celebrity of choice you so choose, holding court with you.)

…Whenever we aren’t otherwise busy at the spa, with our own individual masseuses….

…Which is what I REALLY wanted to get you this year.
 
…So, Happy Hypothetical Christmas, all!

And, you’re welcome.

~D

The Idiot & The Holiday

12 Nov

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A true story:

(Phone buzzes, and I pick it up.)

Boss Text: So, you’re not here.  Are you taking today off?

My text: Yes.  Everyone is.

Boss Text: Why?

My Text: B/c it’s Vet’s Day.

Boss Text: No isn’t.

My Text: Yes. Is.

Boss Text: That was yesterday.

My Text: Observe on following Mon = Today.

Boss Text: We who? The Co.?

My Text: The Nation.

Boss Text: But not Co.

My Text: Yes.  Us too.  Look on sched.  Been posted over three weeks. And in email. And reminders on Fri for Mon alerts. See where it says “Holiday” in everyone’s boxes?

Boss Text: Thought meant day off for non-staff.

My Text: That’s not even a thing we do. “Holiday” is self explanatory.

Boss Text:  I didn’t know.

My Text: Am not coming in.

Boss Text: You can take day off.

My Text: I know. It’s a Holiday.

Boss Text: Well, am not gonna argue it.  Just want know where everyone was.  I guess see you tomorrow.

(No response.)

Boss Text: You will be in, right?

***

… Just your average Monday of shit I have to deal with, even on a Monday when I’m not supposed to have to deal with it.

So thank you again, Boss…for continuing to provide constant idiocy in all you do.

In Other News: A little nesting and clean.  Spanish rice-making, friend IM-ing and script reviewing.  Walk to the market for incidentals, some coffee, some laundry sorting, some Ma hanging. A good day.  As days go. 

…Back to the mindless drivel tomorrow. 

~D

Next!

11 Nov

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First weekend in the can, and our audiences mercifully gained in participation presence more and more with each performance. 

…Today’s matinee (a usually notoriously quiet crowd) was all in on the hijinks and drama…our best house yet.  And with the closing of our opening week, also finish the reviewers…hopefully good write-ups in all, and put in ink by Friday at the latest, in order to help boost ticket sales through what is now projected to be a cold and wet stretch into Thanksgiving.

…Meanwhile, the next show on my audition docket began today with open calls, and should be cast before next Monday, a week from tomorrow.  A hell of a drama, with lots of meat to chew…and a good balance, after a comedy like this one.

Could be a busy winter, with some interesting theme-play. 

…Need time ‘tween now and Thursday’s show to review the other script again and study up a bit.  Switching gears, switching time periods, switching head-space.  It’s a good exercise.  But will mean I’ll have to do some line-runs of “Twelfth” before show time, just to keep m’brain clear on where we are in the current game.

Meanwhile: to rest from last night…a cast gathering into the wee smalls, where we eventually dropped like rag dolls to the floor until the smell of Starbuck’s coffee and bacon grease revived us to the land of the living, in time for our first matinee.  Our Fabian graciously hosted, we graciously ate, drank, played and laughed until our bodies gave out.  Five cups of coffee later, I can feel me coming down off the high now, post show, and hitting those four hours of sleep like a brick wall with little buffer.

…Which reminds me that sometimes it’s not the greatest idea to sleep on a floor the night before you wedge yourself back into a steel-ribbed corset for the ninth day in a row. 

Good to know.

Tonight: I’m back home. The heater blaring on high, the fish fed, the Shakespeare infusion of DVDs…having done their job…now being put back into their places on the bookshelves. I’m done feeding the beast of royal obsession on all things Bard, and am now free to move onto other things…like “Once,” (as Marty seems very insistent about.)

And tomorrow?  A free day off in the name of Veteran’s everywhere.  As if what they’ve already done for us wasn’t wonderful enough.  Think I’ll clean house, and fest some War flicks in dedication.  Maybe read that book I keep meaning to start.

…For now, some hot cocoa, I think. Snuggle up in m’blankets, and play with some Netflix streaming, until I zonk out.

Good plan.  Wonder how far I’ll get before I…

— Zzzzzzzz…

~D

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