Tag Archives: Bed

I Have To Go Be 16 Now…

30 May

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Regardless of the post-rehearsal double Long Island making me want to curl up into a ball under the covers and produce a lot of “Z’s”…I am here serving my devotion to you by my nightly blog.

…Because a promise is a promise.

…But a book is also a book and I have three new ones to take in, right now, courtesy of Dame Builder, who I’m playing teenage swappies with.  I loaned her the film, she loaned me the books, and together (though separately), we are feeding one another’s teenage angst and bubble-gum yearnings in the “Beautiful Creatures” department.

I want to be completely honest and say, “I really just wanna go get buried in one right now, no offence to all the yous.”

Had a full day, rehearsal was successful in being rehearsal-like, and we post-funk as a cast, like professionals. 

No big surprise there.

…So now it’s off to face-washings and some ridiculous southern-gothic sci-fi.

Huzzah!

(Also, it’s almost Friday. Another “Huzzah!”)

Now: onto virtual cupcakes of happy “Yay!”

~D

Bed & A Book

14 Apr

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Bed for me, and a book.

…It’s been like pulling teeth to get up the energy to blog this past week, and tonight is no different.

Tired.

Don’t wanna.

…I feel I’ve spent plenty of time being articulate on stage, frankly, and shouldn’t have to beat my head against a wall at the end of a long week to do it some more in type.

…Also, I have very little to contribute to your amusements at this point. 

Or maybe I have, and I need to sit and hatch ’em first. 

…Which means you’ll have something to look forward to, tomorrow.

We hope.

…Really engrossing things.

Like:

…What actors are really doing when they are s’posed to be sleeping, on stage.

…The kind of things we whisper, when we need silent filler talk.

…What real foods the fake foods are made of.

…How many tattoos Mr. Frank has under all that long underwear.

…How to cover: choking on prop food, fucking up a line, your wig falling off.

…The correct way to fight call: cutting a cake, killing off a cat, undertaking a tickle war, and stealing bread.

…What’s written on Miep’s shopping lists.

…Where props go to when they magically disappear.

…What to do when: the audience talks back, a cell phone goes off, your clothes aren’t set, the cat goes rogue.

…Blatant husband kissing.

…Scream-projecting for the Sunday crowds.

…Sweat-swapping.

…Ventriloquist-swearing.

…Zipper malfunctions and other clothing nightmares.

…How to go from spinster to claustrophobic Jewish mother, in one three-second hand-squeeze.

…And much, much more.

~D

From The Ass-End

9 Apr

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Dear Friends,

I have finally reached the ass-end of a packed-full 17 hour day. 

…And tomorrow certainly ain’t gonna be any easier. 

Such is the life of Tech Week, together with Spring sales promotions and constant Road Shows.

…Also, Boss is gone.

Again.

Am going to put the glowing pad in front of m’face away now, so I can pass out on my hairspray-covered pillow. 

…And dream of things other than build contracts, quick changes, and prop usage.

(she hopes.)

~D

Free Day

23 Mar

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Slept in.

9:30.

Hurrah.

Double-fisting coffee and hot cocoa.

Country potatoes and a breakfast scramble.

More BBC.

Yarn balling.

Dyed hair.

…And part of my forehead.

Accidentally.

Long drive to peninsula.

Swedish pastry cookies.

Lunch by the water. 

Salad with almond slivers.

Fanta orange.

Why do I love it so much?

Still.

More BBC.

Next series.

(Killed the last one.)

Want salt.

Other than in a shaker, I have none.

Crochet some more to  keep my mind off it.

Two fingers of gin.

Bombay Sapphire.

Queens-own.

Straight.

…Poured out in a Casablanca glass.

Remember I forgot to blog.

Hope bullet updates fill up enough space to make it look like I actually wrote something today.

Know that this is lame, and admit it.

Sip on my gin.

…Always reminds me of Christmas. 

It’s like drinking a pine tree.

But in a good way.

…In a good way?

Consider washing face so can move this all into my bed.

No, you can’t come.

Get your mind outta the gutter.

It’s ALWAYS in the gutter.

…And lets be real: this is why we are friends.

Kisses,

~D

Screw The Bed To The Floor, And Have At It

10 Mar

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Details.

…Tonight, a great part of them included the Van Daan digs. A small platform, a chair, a chest of drawers, enough standing room to change in, and a bed.

…A bed that sleeps two, five feet off the ground, hanging in space, and is screwed to the floor so as to not fall off.

First off there’s no room for a real bed, so we tried three versions across three rehearsals, with different sized plywood boards on 2×4 supports. We swapped head directions, checked sightlines up skirts, tried furniture re-arrangements, tag-teaming mattress time, and ultimately ended today by picking sides like any married people must, jumping into bed, and dealing with it.

…Sort of.

…Apparently, Mrs. VD likes the “wall” like me, (one hopes I don’t accidentally roll past it, one night), is grateful that her spouse doesnt snore, and hopes to God they figure out some kind of padding tween now and opening. Am not exactly ancient, but spending the better part of an entire scene with m’bones digging into the plywood still leaves much to be desired.

…Damn those dodgy Frank’s and their spring-mattress roll-out bed…

Fake sleep envy. It exists. But only in the theatre.

😉

~D

Ode To My Bed

29 Sep

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Is there anything better than a good night’s sleep going into a Saturday morning?  S’pecially when the fan is blowing just enough, that you gotta snuggle deeper into your blankets…burrow for a bit, just your face poking out, like a papoose.

…Pillows hugging your head…the rested “you” smell, mixed with fabric-softened bed linens. You lay on your side and look at the sunlight struggling to get in through the drawn blinds.

What will you do today? 

…So few Saturday mornings now, when a rehearsal won’t immediately push you outta bed and into the shower.

…Morning nibbles? Maybe you’ll bake some scones.  With that strawberry/champagne jam, from World Market.  Melted butter.  Coffee.  Not the heavy Italian roast. Something more mellow, and easy…a breakfast roast or Oooo…some of the Kona, your friend brought back from the Big Island. Now, is to enjoy the taste of the roast…not chew it. It doesn’t need to smack you in the face today, just tickle you awake…softly.

…And a walk.  It’s prob’ly amazing out in the world right now…all sunny with that fall-snap breeze to it.

You roll over and look at the clock.

10:30.

…Such good sleeps…no one in the world had gooder sleeps that you last night.  The deep kind, where dreams don’t even register. Like you died, over night, and were resuscitated with the morning…which could prob’ly be seen as kinda creepy, but it isn’t…not in the way that you are thinking of it.  Souls resting peacefully, with plant friends, and a layer of fall leaves to keep them cozy and in good company.

And a streeeeeetch!

You yawn.

Yes.  Coffee.  Coffee, prob’ly while snuggled back here in bed.  Prop up the mountain of pillows, pop on the laptop, and sip and read…catching up on all the blog-friend posts you’ve missed this week.  Then, a little breakfast.  After that: a walk.

…The house is already cleaned.  The Fish are bathed.  You did well with lines yesterday and are on pace with where you wanted to be, and know what is needed of today.

But not yet.

…Just a minute or two more of this.

Of bed. And sheets. And quilted blankets. 

…Of pillows in great mounds and starfishing stretches.

Saturday mornings…

Mmmm…

~D

Didja Know?

21 Aug

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Here’s a game, like when we were kids: I tell you ten things you don’t know about me, and you tell me ten things I don’t know about you.  Explanations are optional.

Ready?

Go!

1) I went like fifteen years without eating a PB&J. 
(It’s because I ate them every day for five solid years, cuz it was a thing I decided would be a good idea.  And then it wasn’t anymore.)

2) The longest relationship I ever had with the opposite sex was in middle-school.
(It was over the course of a year.  We broke up and got back together, once.  Then I dated someone else in seventh grade.  When that ended, it took me eighteen years before I got around to dating again.  For “real.” I’m not very good at it.  Obviously.)

3) One of my all-time heart’s-desires is to be able to burp on command.
(I have this friend who can belch the whole alphabet in one long, loud roar.  He tries to teach me how to do it, but I’m just lousy with burp-action.  I refuse to accept this, however, and continue to work at it.)

4) I feel bad about my feet.
(Feet are just generally not the greatest looking.  I mean, they serve a major function, so I guess they shouldn’t have to be all beautiful and things.  But mine are one of the funkier looking ones.  I have this little “hitch” thing in the big toe? And they’re really wide. Also, the middle toe is longer than all the rest. It’s just wrong. And I wish it wasn’t.)

5) I can’t take naps. 
(It just doesn’t happen.  Unless I’m totally and completely exhausted.  But then I’ll wake up in the worst mood of all time.  Everything will make me angry and irritated without any provocation whatsoever. “You want the blue one?! I want the blue one!” “I hate commercials! Change it back! I was watching that!”  “Star Trek is stupid! So lets fight about it!”)

6) I can’t pronounce the words “wolf,” “ostensibly” or “Wednesday” correctly.
(Wolf = woof…like a dog.  Deal with it. I had to.  OBstensibly gets an added “b”  – I don’t know why – but it just does. Every time.  And I am convinced that Emma Thompson is the only person in the world who can fit the “d” into Wednesday and make it all sound like it’s supposed to. Watch “Stranger than Fiction.”  She does it like eleven times in a row.  It’s mind-blowing.)

7) I hate sneezing.
(There are few things I actually hate more.  Cancer is one of them.  And germs in general.  But sneezing actually pisses me off irrationally.  To the courtesy “Bless you,” I nine times out of ten will reply with a resounding “Fuck!”  This is not meant to counteract the blessing by any means. I will take any that I can get.  I just hate the act of sneezing is all.  So there’s that.)

8) My job at the Brothel is not nearly as amusing as it’s made out to be.
(If you are confused by this, it is my fault.  And I’m sorry.  When actually in the moments of pure and utter mind-numbing frustration and rage that I am often forced into, the last thing I wanna do is make light of the matter and laugh at it.  Which is why I  have to figure out a way to make light of the matter and laugh at it.  If I didn’t?  I’d prob’ly be in jail on charges of manslaughter by now.)

9) I am afraid of sunflowers.
(Actually “afraid,” of them. Yes.  They are this wrong kind of Jurassic monster flower that looks down on you like a tree.  I don’t like it.  It makes me feel the world proportional gauge thing is all outta wack. I mean, what next? Teradactyl sized horseflies and dog-hamsters?!)

10) I have to make my bed every morning.
(Even if I’m running super late.  Even if I’m puking-sick.  Even if I’ve been up for 53 hours straight.  Or the building was on fire.  If I don’t make my bed, I wouldn’t feel right for the rest of the whole day. And then when I went to bed  that night, it’d be all mayhem blanket clumping and sheets all over the place.  Not acceptable, you guys.)

…Now its your turn.

~D

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