Tag Archives: lunch

“Theatre Crazy.” It’s A Thing.

2 Aug


Just back from lunch with the WHS team.

…I stuffed so many steak fries into my face that I now either need to make a huge burp, or puke. I dunno which it will be, but honestly don’t care as long as something happens soon to ease the gi-normicous amounts of discomfort I am in.

Being a “foodie” is tough work, sometimes.

In Other News: Have been driving the WHS Pimp insane today by insisting on speaking in Scottish brogue, whenever humanly possible.  I pop out for the phone, of course, but even when yellin’ about Boss, adjusting the schedule, or asking questions about a work order that needs to be done, I’ve been in full voice. Which, wouldn’t be for the first time.  He’s been around now for almost two years.  So I forget how wierd it must be for other people to be around that for no explicable reason.

…Until one of his minions comes in to report something to him, and keeps shooting looks at me like I’ve totally lost my shit.

…Which I still am not at all aware of, until I hear something like this, from his office:

WHS Pimp: Oh. Yeah. You’ve never been here for one of her big show preps, have you.

Minion: (With not a little fear.) What?  No. What happens.

WHS Pimp: She goes totally ballistic.  She’s very into “getting into character.”  Like Heath Ledger and “the Joker,” kind of crazy.  This one time? She played a serial killer…fucking terrifying to be around every day. 

Minion: (With more fear.) Yeah?

WHS Pimp: …You think THIS is bad, you should have seen her when she was a Jew running from the Nazis…God she was just paranoid.  All the time.

Minion: …Dude…

WHS Pimp: …Or when she was that singing prostitute…or the the Nun one was fun.

Minion: …What happened with the “Nun”…?

WHS Pimp: –She plays lots of lesbians too. And the last one really didn’t work out well for her, cuz she like shot herself in the head every night, at the end and things. 

Minion:  …Ohholyfuck…   

WHS Pimp: — Which I mean: work HERE 40 hours a week PLUS shoot yourself in the fucking head four nights outta seven…am I right?  That’s some intense shit.

Minion: …Geezus…

WHS Pimp:  –The first time I saw her doing laps in the lobby while yelling at herself in some British accent, I went to Boss and was like, “Um, what the fuck?”  And he said: “You know — theatre junk or whatever.” And I was like, “oh, I thought she was seriously schitzo or something.” And he was like: “No, yeah she’s a freak and things. But she really good at paperwork…”

…And then, there was silence.

…Followed by a giant booming laugh coming directly from the other office.

WHS Pimp: Dude, it’s fine.  I’m just giving you shit.  She runs lines is all.  It’s just a thing she’s working on for this weekend.

…To which Minion, eyes still wide, smiles and tries to laugh uncomfortably, as they exit out the door…furthest away from me…toward the Warehouse. 

Me: (While still in brogue –naturally–) You’re gonna scare the fucking hell out of them.

WHS Pimp: What. Like “you” in an accent is any worse than “you” in real life? 

Me: True.

…And, it is.


The BFF Comes Home

2 Jul


Night with the in-laws, The BFF & Fella.

…Home from her current stint in New Orleans, The BFF has flown in for a few days of play before she kidnaps the fella, perhaps for all of time.  Naturally, we plan on sucking so much joy out of the situation that only mummified carcasses remain at the end.  This should be totally doable as we have managed to achieve it every other time she’s visited from whatever new “abroad” has been her current place of residence.

…It’s like taking a full breath again, whenever she’s around.  A sudden realization I’ve been shallow with them all the other times, when she isn’t.

BFF’s are the sustenance of our lives. A necessary entity, who, from six miles to six hundred away, knows all your best and worst parts, and still loves you.  Even with them. Possibly despite them. Prob’ly because of them.

…Mine falls into that category.

…And I’m so damn shit-eatin’-grin happy to have her back here for all those reasons and more, that I won’t even think about the inevitable leaving and the taking of The Fella with her.

…Instead I choose to focus on the fact that The BFF is back, she’s breathing the same air as me, sleeping under the same sky…and tomorrow: we have a ditch-work lunch date, around two-ish. On the waterfront. Like Broads of leisure.

…With many more shenanigans to follow.

Welcome home, you crazy freak of nature. 

…I missed you, to grossness.


Death Of Internets & Raw Cheerios

3 Apr


An incredibly boring lunch of raw Cheerios on a paper towel. 

…From the lobby, two pastries…still in the box from yesterday…keep staring at me.  Every time I pass, I verbally abuse them.  Finally, by around noon, I couldn’t take it anymore, so shoved them to the other side of the coffee pot, and stacked all the coffee condiments on top, like a tower of visual obstruction.  Can still see the fuckers peeking out from the side of  the plastic shield topper.

…I hate you New-Contractor-who-brought-them-in-to-try-and-butter-me-up.  I really hate you.

Zero bonus points earned.  Displeasure, increased to 110%.

I have not folded. 

I will not. 

…After two days, nothing is going to take my pastry virginity away from me.  That would just be stupid at this point. Like having it off for the first time with a Prostitute.


God.  My hormones. 

…Admittedly, a little wonky, at the moment.

Maybe some more coffee…


(sips at coffee…now cold.)

Finished Call The Midwife, Season 2, while printing reports.

…It’s even stronger than the last one.  And my favorites all have special awesome bits to play with in plot and character development.  It’s good when your “friends” get more to do and show off their talents in.

The internet keeps freezing.

…Reset the server three times today, and nothing seems to be working.

…Prob’ly cuz I used the microwave again. To heat up my last cold coffee.

…Which somehow interrupts our signals being that the wire hook-ups are all on the wall, just above it. Which means that (no doubt) the mere action of heating up some water for a cup of tea will end up shorting something-or-other to the thinga-ma-jigger and burn the entire place to the ground, by accident, one day.


No WHS Pimp today.

…He’s been driving since 3am doing drops all day, from the Canadian Border, back, to the peninsula and fuck-all.

Don’t tell anyone, but I kinda miss him.

…It’s nice to have the office quiet again for a change, but he does have a way of using total political inappropriateness to take the edge off a shitty day. Like all the things that could get you fired in any other office environment, that we just openly flaunt back and forth to each other all day, because I’m a filthy-minded theatre-heathen, and he’s a boy.

…It’s kind of amazing how much steam that combo can let off in the course of a day, when given the kind of ammo we are. Daily.

Tonight: More rehearsal. In fact nothing but, except for Saturday, until after we open.

…Which is in 9 days. Preview in 8.

In my humble opinion: we are not ready.

…Not that we are supposed to be at this point, but sometimes one is, and it’s nice when that happens. This case just means we have harder work ahead.

Our Tech, (for reasons unknown) will not officially begin until Sunday. Which, by total irony, coincides exactly with Holocaust Remembrance Day. A fitting task to be undertaking at that time, don’t you think?

…Meanwhile, my wardrobe keeps changing rather drastically, and I’ve only seen the costumer twice ever, so have no idea what my current costume plot is. Which sorta really bites, as we’ve been given permission to start using costumes to help time stage changes, only I can’t because I don’t know what I’m wearing, when. So it’s still the mime-phase for me.

Here’s hoping for more info soon.

…I don’t mind stripping down to my knickers on stage, from 3 to 5 layers, but it would be nice to figure out some sort of contingency plan before a literal audience sits staring at me doing it.


…And you just shut up, you lobby pastries! I can hear you whispering from here.




Sometimes, It’s Just Not Funny

9 Oct


When the Whs dudes get pissed, they have this little system. 

…It involves demolishing things: product that is already compromised, trucks in the yard that no longer run…I’ve heard tell of it more than I’ve seen it in action, but I have to say, the enticement it offers, far surpasses most anything else.  Great feats in their past include forking a diesel one-ton into the air at its top-most height, than shoving it off, busting tires, shocks, struts, engine pieces and windows at random.  Another (ongoing) is to run into same said truck, with forks primed, and skewer it repeatedly like it is no more than a tin can or something made from aluminum foil.

…They will, upon occasion, shoot nail guns at the dead product pile, annihilating it further as it spews splinters in mini explosions like a machine gun in War.  I’m told that shattering cracked glass is also edifying in accomplishment, or putting a fist through a wood panel…in which case, I will just have to take their word for it.

…All I know is that in the fucked up lunatic asylum that is the “office,”  I don’t have anything to take my frustrations out on but people.  Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to slam my stapler through my office window, bursting it like a bomb instantly.  I would be very content to kick the absolute shit out of the file drawers until they are nothing but dented safes of paper that no one would be able to gain access to, ever again.  I’ve has fantasies of pitching the phone up in the air, and whacking it with a 2 x 4 for a shattering Home Run.  There were less sadistic evil tortures done during the Dark Ages, than I’d like to commit daily, to my computer.  Very few Politicians I hate get me angrier than my Boss on any given day of the week, and when I have HAD it, there is almost not a prop or piece of office equipment…right down to a paperclip, post-it, or a pen, that I could not easily forsee committing homicide with. And this all happens at LEAST once per day without fail.

…Which is NOT a good environment to be in 40 +  hours per week.

I know I am no alone in this. Plenty of people loath their jobs…but they also (most of them) seem to at some point (apparently) come to peace about it, deal accordingly and move on.  I, however, being an exceedingly stubborn person in which “fairness” and “competency” rates higher most days than breathing, absolutely CANNOT come to grips with the hand I’ve been dealt.  Some days are worse than others.  Yes.  But even the not-so-bad days, make jesting about the environment more than I can manage until I’ve put a day between me and whatever it is THIS time, that has royally pissed me off.

…And sure, I’ve had plenty of people say, “well, why don’t you just quit?” And I’ve asked myself that question too, only every twenty minutes in every day.  But the point is: I can’t.  I’m a grown up, with bills to pay, and another career to tend to.  I can’t afford to leave.  Because I can’t afford to drop in pay for 90 days, and any position higher will require me to be on salary with my time at someone else’s beck and call.

…So instead, I implode about crap, give it air time, throw it up in a blog, and try to make light of it, to take away from the power it holds over me.  But it knows it.  I don’t know who I’m really kidding, frankly.  But it seems like the more positive thing to do.  So I do it.

…And I’m doing it now, from my car (again), taking a lunch minus food…just me with my computer and some Netflix, jerry-rigging a sort of drive-in theatre environment for a half hour or whatever, just to cool me down a bit so I don’t go on a rampage shooting staples at the Boss’s face.

It’s all I could think of.

…Well, that and setting the whole place on fire.

But being in jail on arson charges doesn’t fit in my rehearsal schedule, really.

I checked.


A Lunch Posting

28 Sep


Writing this in m’car while eating my lunch.

…Its a sad turn of events when you have to cloister yourself in the car (in the parking lot) just to get away from the phones and nonstop influx of month-endiness. Sometimes I shut myself in the bathroom too…but it doesn’t always work. If Boss is there, he’ll just talk at me through the door…whether or not a tinkle can be heard throughout.

“I’m going pee!” I will often yell, enroute, “don’t bother me!”

…Sometimes he doesn’t, sometimes he does. Mostly he just can’t understand why I won’t continue to do business while “doing business”…because he does all the time.

…Apparently, that’s what a well-timed “mute” button is for.

I’m really tired today.

…My own fault.

Stayed up until two, on back-to-back nights.

…All the month-end prep hit today, checks were sent to wrong addresses again, and I have a headache.

But DAMN my lines are doin’ good!!

Boss keeps lookin’ out the window at me. Like a dog waiting for his people to come home.

…There’s prob’ly another paper travesty.

…Or he lost his car keys again.

…Or maybe the phone rang, and he answered it, but doesn’t know what happens next.

I’m exaggerating, of course.


…Temples beating in a pulse. I need to get some serious sleep tonight, or I’m gonna be sick. Sooo much alliteration right there, I sound like a snake.


Must go back in, and face the desk and papers and whatever mess is brewing that has Boss pacing the lobby back and forth.

…So glad that it is Friday.

You don’t even know.


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