Archive | November, 2012

The Accidental Asshole & The Apocalypse

30 Nov


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.


Baked & Sweaty

29 Nov


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.


The Indignant Snot Bubble

28 Nov


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…


The Awful

27 Nov


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…!!


Death By Chemicals

26 Nov


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.


…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.


…And The Footie Pajamas

25 Nov


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.


“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…


BFF: The Famous, & Marty’s Ma

24 Nov


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!


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