Archive | September, 2015

…And Then Some Vampires Charlie-Angel’d Me

29 Sep

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This show? Is fucking ridiculous.

…Seriously. How I am getting paid to do this is like one of those jobs people get that we’d all kill for. Like house sitting in the Hamptons, or travel writing, or video game testing, or secret shopping, or flavor-tasting Ben & Jerry ice cream. All these jobs pay you to do them…like its some sort of weird convergence Bermuda-Triangle-mix-up of stuff you’d do for free anyway, (or even pay someone else to let you do)…but somehow real-life hasn’t caught up, yet.

…I’d fear for the karmic “audit” to come, if it weren’t so goddamn difficult to do this show. But be that as it may…we are talkin’ some serious performance bang-for-your-buck.

….With the final completion of staging this weekend, not only do I getta fly around on office rolley chairs, and mime-shine flashlights up my butt, we’ve also got chip-eating product-placement, girl-on-girl action, a slideshow with monkeys driving speedboats, a conversation about being rice krispy treats, gollem and hobbits, flash-dancing, half naked actors, air guitars, multiple dream sequences, The Supremes, Vogue fashion pic spreads, and vampires Charlie’s-Angeling me.

In a one-act.

…That’s right, all that and so very much more, in a buck thirty.

…Seem a little mind blowing? Now add singing and dancing. Yeah, that face you just made? I am living it.

…Meanwhile, we are bonding through this wacky shift of insanity, into a strange little family who feel uber safe trying every single kind of physical, and verbal experimentation we can possibly come up with. Apparently, this makes us hilarious and so “fucking adorable” that our queen of choreography would like to “squeeze us to death.”

In a good way.

…I think.

…And with that, our sister-in-Rep show takes the lead next week for their opening, as we keep plugging away on our end, trying to corral all the duck-pigs into the play pen. Which is not now, (nor ever will be), easy.

It’s not that kinda show.

C-learly…

~D

Enuf

18 Sep

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Omigod you guys! I actually got sleep last night for like the first time in almost two weeks!!!!!!

…The Fitbit buzzed me out of dead sleep this morning, which naturally made me want to rip it off my arm and hurl it across the room (for soooo not the first time), but then I realized why I was mad and sorta wanted to burst into tears.

…Of joy, this time.

….Which is a happy change, yes??

…Anywho, one night’s sleep may not two-weeks cure-all, but it doesn’t freakin hurt. Even stuck at the office alone with all the usual constant fire-customer-bullshit is more easy to choke down, with a semi refueled tank.

(Giant sigh)

After tonight’s rehearsal, I’ll have an entire actual day and night off tomorrow…wherein I vow to put all stressful necessities aside, and instead, party my damn ass off….at a friend-wedding so conveniently placed on the schedule…I really sorta feel like I personally owe them.

…I mean, I do, but I mean more than just “people who support you when you really freakin need it,” and a wedding gift.

…I’m thinkin something along the lines of a fully-paid week in the Tropics. You know…if I were other than me and all wealthy and shit.

…Anyway, to them I say: “Thank you for making a lifelong commitment to one another at this particular time. It’s really super convenient to me.”

(My friends. You guys…they just excel at all the things…)

…So! A wedding! That means girl clothes! Like that used-to-be “skinny” dress which is also now “too big for me.” But it’s the closest I’ve got, so I’m freakin doin it!

…Hell, I’ll even shave my legs! Breaking all depression anti-self-care tradition! Lookit me: all Rebel With A Cause, and shit!

…And speaking of legs: those new bruises are gonna look super hawt with heels. Like a cage-fighting pinup! I’m fucking fierce, y’all!

..P.S…I dunno how I gained them, exactly…(the bruises)…but I’ll bet it has something to do with flying on office rolley chairs in a fake dream sequence (like yuh do.) Cuz that’s how our choreography rollz, people.

(…get it? “Rollz”…)

…In fact, I dance more frequently on, around, and with a chair, than any human being.

…Which is prob’ly super wise on our Director and choreographer’s part. Perhaps there’s a cunning plan?

….Perhaps it’s ALL a “cunning plan.”

…And perhaps I need to wrap this up and eat something today. I’m clearly still fake-high loopy on restness. A little sleep and a shit-ton of coffee does not Wonder Woman, make.

….I’m pretty sure that’s a real saying.

~D

A Wish For The Having Of Funness

8 Sep

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This is a formal request I am putting in.

….Because apparently everyone else in the world considers doing a musical as a hella good time, while my anxiety-brain has been a little-lot in Hell for the last three days in prep for both the first read yesterday, and tonight’s first music work.

I want to have a good time. I want to be excited and challenged, in the good and positive, “learn lots and get gooder” way, instead of the “truly gut-wrenching, terrifying, I haven’t slept in x-days,” way. Wish there was a damn switch to make that happen.

….Also, though am touched at the like inherent confidence everyone seems to have in me, I wish just one time when I voice my total abject terror at the moment, people would stop saying, “Pffft, you’ve got this.”

….Because, yuh know what? I really don’t. And saying that is just making me feel worse…belittling the actual real terror I am feeling.

….Cuz there is: ” going outside comfort zones,” and there’s, “facing past memories of the last time this went down,” that are flashing back with only the horrible parts, pretty much constantly.

What I want, is to super-real-time enjoy this super fun role, with these totally fun nerds, in this hilarious show. But my entire being is so fucking destroyed by the very real knowledge that this could completely be a set-up lesson in humility so righteous, that self-humiliation is only a tiny part of the possible after-effect.

…What I’m explaining here is: this isn’t just learning lines and choreography. This is playing a musical fucking instrument. My voice. A thing not played, or trained…it can’t even read the notes of what it’s trying to do, and the last time it had to “hold a part” in anything was ten years ago, as part of a giant chorus. Now I’m supposed to jump up and magically figure out how to tight-harmony as one of four, in frankly a super complicated “not your average 50’s musical” structure.

…I literally cannot think of a single goddamn thing more terrifying to me right now.

…I’d rather spread-eagle, naked, in front of an audience in a show-and-tell gynecological exam, than face even tonight’s first musical rehearsal.

Seriously.

No. Fucking: seriously.

This, is a whole new “overwhelm.” It’s the six-feet- under kind.

….And what I WANT, is for that not to be. What I WANT is to be free to embrace the laughter from last night’s read, and the screw-ups we all made in first pass at the music. I want to know, to TRUST that my team can trust me. I’m very big on that. And I cannot say, with any self-faith at all, that “I’ve got this.”

…So, maybe like just saying it in print, will help a little, in dispelling the puking-bad-horror I am feeling right now.

…Cuz even singing literal songs about just that, ain’t cuttin’ it.

…Type-casting has just never been more ironic than this. Like, ever.

~D

The 21 Pound Affect

3 Sep

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Today, 75 days after first affixing the Fitbit to my chubby wrist, I finally crossed the threshold I’ve been waiting for.

…Months (plural) of busting ass to melt fat, only to find the gained muscle would thumb it’s nose at me with every weigh-in, I at last saw the digits pass below a certain marker. It isn’t “The Goal,” but it had turned into the backbreaking illusive number I just COULD NOT pound into the ground.

This morning: I did.

….With a “spare,” even.

21 pounds.

Magically, this has seemed to take a little of my, “Oh-my-God-I-am-so-fucking-tired-of-all-this-healthy-shit” thoughts, and reinvigorate a little bit of mojo.

….Because this morning I didn’t just have the same cuppa black coffee and thing of oatmeal. This morning, I had, “21-pounds-down black coffee, and thing of 21-pounds-down oatmeal”

….Sure, it all tastes like burnt-oat-cardboard! Which I have been surviving off of, for 11 shitty weeks. But suddenly, it was the kinda burnt-oat-cardboard that helped me lose 21 effing pounds! So now, it’s part of a magic award-winning combo! Staid and true!

….Like putting Streep in a drama!

…Or Pixar, slapping their name on a cartoon!

…Suddenly, all the green foods, are less boring again. And it’s actually worth it, that I haven’t had a Coke in 75 days. (And 4 hours)

…With the 21 Pound Affect, the sodium-freeness is a little bit okay, I miss the potatoes sorely, but multi-grain pasta maybe isn’t totally the worst thing.

…Which doesn’t make it all hearts and flowers…and Christmas and New Years, by any means. It still sucks.

…(and whoever the hell thought up a “serving size” of cereal as 3/4 of a cup, is a delusional, unrealistic, asshole)…

…But, at least now…FINALLY…the numbers and mirror are starting to add up a little.

…Or rather, add down.

…Either way: declaring an At-Freakin-Last goal, makes it a little bit easier. And maybe a lot-bit cooler.

…Like a Fitness Superhero.

And now, I’m off to go chug some more 21-pounds-down water.

Like an effing Rock Star!

Boooyuh!

~D

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