Tag Archives: Sick

Cuz You Wanna Know

7 Nov

I love that I have so many friends who immediately want to get in touch,  post vaca, and catch up. But y’all are a little bit loving me to death. 

…I got this awesome cold from Cecil, about two days before we left London, and exacerbated by a truely fucking terrible trip home, that shit grew to totally consume me. I feel awful. Even with the left-over meds from my last cold-from-hell. And (of course)  I’m at work now, cuz I’ve spent every day off for the foreseeable future…so it is all compounded with excess of paperwork and data entry back-log,  plus with two Daylight Savings times added into the mix (UK does theirs the week before ours), I feel like I’m pulling 15-hour days right now. 

…For instance, how the fuck is it only 1pm?  I’ve been awake since like 4:30 this morning. 

…Anyway… My phone keeps beeping and buzzing with mssgs and IMs and emails and FB notifications that I cannot keep up with because: codine and remember how I’m really sick? 

…So this is me saying,  “Yes, I am ignoring you. And yes, it is on purpose,  but I have to right now. Cuz something’s gotta go. And I’m really broke again, so all the few brains I do have, need to funnel into the place that pays my bills.”

I know. I say, “fuck that! ” too. But it’s just the grown-up rules. 

…Hopefully,  by like next week, I can rejoin the human race again, remember that I have friends, and tell all the stories of our magnificent trip (including all the behind-the-scenes action, and blooper reel –in detail.) 

…But for now: please apply the applicable number to your personal situation. 

1. I love you,  too. 

2. Kick ass at that audition. 

4. Wipe the floor at callbacks. 

5. Yes I want to meet over drinks/food/coffee soon. 

6. I really hope I can see your show before it closes, but I don’t want to be the hacking/honking bastard screwing up your solo. 

7. Prob’ly, but let me check my dates first. 

8. Oh my God, that made me laugh so hard I pissed my pants just now, and am raining snot down my face in a gooey waterfall. 

9. Yes. I can’t wait for it all to be over with, too. 

10. Tater tots. 

~D

On A Break, From Learning Lines

6 Aug

I feel so incredibly lavishly spoiled to say that phrase, so I’m just gonna say it again… 
“… On a break, from learning lines… ”

…Isn’t that divine? Isn’t it a lusciously brain-gasmically delightful collection of words forming this ultimate pampered-spoiling sense of artistic security,  dipped in a tantalizing chocolate coating of savoring yet-to-comeness?

… It has been so long since I’ve viewed this part of the theatre process as “fun”  or even a part of the artistic process…because it was always about getting the hell out of the book,  so I could “start to really get to work.” Like,  all of these years of working back-to-back-to-back on projects, I  was just totally taking advantage of the fact that there was this one distasteful part to BE “gotten out of the way,”  so I could do the other “real”  stuff. But,  after theatrically being unseasonably  dry since basically February…it’s like your first taste of wine after two weeks of antibiotics for a terrible cold you just can’t fucking kick, (going on round three. Not that I’m bitter.) 

… THIS SHIT IS MAGNIFICENT! Learning lines is suddenly like the best damn aperitif* EVER! 

(*Note: due to my total inability to spell in English,  never mind French,  my phone autocorrect  just suggested that line-learning is like the best damn “apartheid”  ever…which I’m pretty sure it isn’t even remotely, so: I win this round, autocorrect. You’re drunk.  Go home.) 

… Anyway, the point is: I have a job  again,  thus a sense of purpose reinstilled*. (not “reinstalled,” autocorrect. I said: Go. Home.)  I’ve got a character I am responsible for. Which exists in a literary context whom I am charged to bring to life in corporeal form. On a stage. And speak words. Which I am now learning in her specific sentence structure. So I can pretend it is my own. Which is a real grown-up job that people can get paid to do on this planet. And I am one of them, again. So: “hellz,  yeah,  and hallelujah!” 

(Sigh. Cough-cough-cough. Sigh.) 

… I just got worked up on fake theoretical paper while type-yelling, and it still made me cough. 

… I am so damn tired of this fucking cold. 

It’s the third version of it that I’ve had this summer, forcing me to everything from sleeping sitting up for days on end (which my neck-kink-from-hell is totally still yelling about), to not tasting food for weeks at a time (pretty sure I’ve pulled an “Ab-Fab” and have eaten potpourri “chips” a few times while streaming “Reign”  at 2 am while not sleeping,  and never even noticed),  as well as totally admittingly wearing Always pads for at least a week before my actual period, so when I coughed so hard that both ends leaked a little, no horrified small child in the cereal aisle would point at me and loudly tattle, “Mommy, that diseased lady just peed her pants!” requiring a messy human biohazard clean-up, in aisle four. 

… In short: this ongoing cluster-cold has totally humiliated me into a diaper-wearing, bronchial-honking,  codeine-addicted, hunchbacked,  snot-monster. 

.. And yeah,  I just totally wrote about it, to take my own power back. So,  suck it, viral-infection-from-hell! I’ll own all the shit* (*autocorrect :”you mean shot? “) you throw at me, and still get a job where they trust me to inhabit*(*autocorrect:” you mean habitat? “)  a fake person when I can’t even bodily take care of the real one I’ve been entrusted with! So fuck* (*autocorrect:” You mean duck? “) you! 

… And also: autocorrect?  It’s like…you don’t even know me. 

~D 

Nominal Fever Ravings

5 Feb

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I need a break from this Chekhov.

…Am stress dreaming about it at this point, because with almost no rehearsal other than talking about it, we open in 9 days.

….And while “concept” is great and all, I need to “do” the fuck out of a thing in order to actually build a tangible reality. One cannot just “theory” a show into existence. But we are having to…because we don’t have time together without giant gaps in between, and schedules are so harried from everyone’s conflicts, that there is no like “panic meet-up time” where one can get private scene partner work slipped in, or try every which way to do a scene, or…well…

…Anyway…I’m toasted. Have been reaming this script alone for days and hours and trying to make choices, hoping they won’t interfere with scene partner’s choices (who I’ve never worked with before), but having to stake out like three or four levels of options here so I can alter or try to connect my stuff to his stuff, for tomorrow morning…when we next meet up.

4 more rehearsals to figure it all out.

…God. You know you’re stressed when Stoppard is the easier, happy place you wish you could fall back into.

…Meanwhile…

The required post-show crash hit, was obtained and nursed for half this week, on my couch. A lot of sleeping. A lot of first generation X-Files-watching (which I had never seen the first time ’round.) I happen to think it’s fun, badass, and slightly terrifying…whilst simultaneously worrying about my cold being a deadly alien variety which has no earthly cure, and/or becoming abducted.

…I wish I was joking about that. But: I am not.

…I induced it even further into my Psyche by watching some episodes across hours of fever sleeping…so now I feel inevitably doomed, in a very deep marrow-of-my-bones way…but have to keep viewing, as like a “How To” mental log of how to combat them, when they do eventually come for me.

…The truth is out there. And so are “they.” Cuz there’s no fucking way that the buck stops at humanity. Microscopic animals take us down, for gods sake. Lets get real, here.

…Anyway…

…No X-Files after dark, is the rule mandate. That’s reserved for script stress, and inevitable alcohol consuming. Mostly with Cecil. Who I gave the cold back to. Cuz I’m an awesome, sharing, sister-friend that way.

…So.

…It’s Friday night. Rent is due, therefor: I’m broke. No Arcadia to go play in. Too distracted about tomorrow morning’s rehearsal to go see that other show I was going to, tonight…even as a PWYC. Which is prob’ly better anyway. Am still not back to even 80% ungross-feeling, across any length of time.

…Oh, and Mrs. Johnson dropped in…about three hours ago…to mix it up a little.

Oh, what a wicked cocktail of life, I do breed…

~D

Arcadia With Chekhov: The Musical

27 Oct

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It’s one of those super crazy theatre weeks where you play three different people across three days, then see if it pans out thru the weekend.

…I mean, who am I joking, of course I was gonna audition for Arcadia after all…who the hell wouldn’t if they could?

…So after a weekend of bouncing back and forth on the fence, I gave in, did some character brush-up and review, launching me into auds last night. Tonight, I travel north for our first table read n’ formal chat on the devised Chekhov piece for this year’s Seattle Fringe, and tomorrow: I launch back into [title of show]…unless it comes up cancelled due to lack of audience…in which case I double back south for Arcadia callbacks…leading hopefully (one must always be hopeful) to casting.

…If that’s a go, I’ll prob’ly be tag-teaming ‘tween it and [tos] come Saturday.

In or out, Wednesday performance or not, that’s still a three-atre full week…which is pretty super cool, and prob’ly the funnest thing to happen to me since downloading customer Bee Cha’s contract on Monday and saying it out loud for the first time.

(…Which, no doubt, isn’t intended to be funny…it’s prob’y even a family name…leading to a totally respected lineage of former Bee Chas…with Bee Chas to come…but I get precious few happy moments in this job, so gimme a damn break.)

…Anyway…what was I talking about?

Oh yeah: Cecil is super sick, so I did a drive-n-drop of supplies on her doorstep last night, full of all the things you use for colds, but minus the alcohol. She’s sitting at home now, after going to the Doc, and is itching to be doing all the things She’s “supposed” to be doing, and would be, had She not the plague. Being one of those people who hates to get beat (even by tiny bugs floating in her spit), I’ll bet She’s reading this right now…while pouting, with total lack of else to do.

…So I’ll write her a tiny terrible poem, in lieu of a “get well soon” card.

…And here it is:

O Cecil of sickness, so full of goo,
Wisht you felt less awful and sadishly blue.

The sun, it is shining, and wants you to play,
But you’d shrivel up in it, and blow all away.

Cuz your head-parts and face-parts and parts you can’t see,
Are cloaked by invisible bugs and gross things.

So you’re too busy hacking and snorting out goop
To even think twice,’bout that paper that’s due.

Which is good, cuz your eyes are all bloodshot and ouchy,
It’s best to just “jammy,” all snug on your couchy.

So this time next week, you’ll feel gooder than good,
And go back to the super “Cecil” you should.


Gwen

~D

Things To Do When Home All Day Sick

4 Jan

I am at the tits-end of a cold. 

…Have been fighting to keep it at bay before it really takes hold. This means “down time.” A lot.

…To keep from mental suicide, this also means lots of movies, while googling about the people in the movies, to satisfy the “muti-tasking” gene.

…Which is when you do things (for instance) like watch “From Here To Eternity,” and really realize on Bluray how TOTALLY BUILT Burt Lancaster is, in that beach scene…so you (naturally) google more pics of him.  Which brings up a hot one of him and Ava Gardner.  Which is when you click to go to that article publishing the picture.  Which is when you read how that was from his first film, “The Killers,” during which he began an affair with Gardner, directly after (Mom, just “la-la-la” to yourself here) getting a hard-on while filming the love scene, which the crew therefore totally made fun of. 

…So naturally, you need to find that damn movie. Online. NOW. And watch it.

…And for the first time (prob’ly ever), you get TOTALLY irritated because the movie DARES to have “plot” and things before Ava even turns up (38 minutes and 13 seconds into the movie…and THEN, it is only even her back.)

…But eventually: the scene arrives. 

…And it delivers.

(And so does the twist ending.)

…And you go back to the internets for more “scoop”…eventually stumbling over that one site where you can plug in your face and see who your celebrity doppelganger is, based on general features n’ junk.

…Which is when you get this idea about plugging in random show pics to see just how good you are at this whole chameleon-character-actor thing. 

…Which makes you laugh so hard, that you have a coughing fit and almost pee your pants as a result.

…Which is when you decide that you should share the wealth.

Even though it means people in the blogosphere will know what you look like (even if you are nameless to all but your privately selected FB friends.)

So: fine.

Here are my doppelgangers (according to character type.)

Personally, I think a 1930’s German Spy totally looks like this chick (whoever the hell she is.)
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And naturally a Nun would closely resemble Eva Peron.
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Amy Winehouse with a generous helping of Ozzy’s genes in there? You bet.
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…And when I think Jewish mother in the Holocaust…Christina totally is the 1(00,000,000,000th) person I think of, dunno ’bout you.
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…Just like nothing says “Beaver” more than Leslie Caron (enter French Beaver jokes, here.)
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You guys need to know that should you ever need a singing Cockney Prostitute: Jenna Elfman in your dame.
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…And NOTHING screams tea-party-right-wing-Mamet-horror, like a social activist and “L-Word” actress.
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…Which is only slightly confusing…cuz if you actually WANT a lesbian, you should aim for casting a Hilton…
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…But if you want a Celebutant, rich-bitch, flapper, go with REAL class: Mae West. (She comes with one-liners and talent.)
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When I think of a 40’s New York Undercover Cop…I always assume it will be cast with a French model…
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…Whereas NO ONE says “first lady of the American stage” like…Winona Ryder?
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I kinda like that Mina Harker could be a Bollywood star in another life (hell, she has infinity of time by the end, so why not?)
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…And bitchy Jane Austen antagonists ALWAYS should be played by actors with three names (more room to take up on the marquee.)
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…But above ALL…my MOST favorite, is that a saucily randy Shakespearean Lady’s maid equals a noir love-making queen…
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…Which brings us back full circle to the story about how one night? I had this crap cold and was watching “From Here to Eternity”…and noticed for the first time how TOTALLY BUILT Burt Lancaster is. So, naturally…I started to google more pictures of him, and I found this one really hot one…

…With Ava Gardner.

The End.

~D

On Fire

23 Apr

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I’m running a temperature so high, I could prob’ly burst combustible  things into flame within 3 feet of me. 

…And my throat hurts.

…And my nose is all stuffy.

This all happened within the last three hours or so.

Until now I have made it through half the castie colds, and people’s at work successfully.  Even the ones I mack on and share sweat with, on stage.

I am on my 3rd Airborn before finally going to bed.

I refuse to have a cold on my fucking birthday.

…Or the entire final week of  the show.

…Or the auditions for the next one.

But I will admit, that at the moment, I feel like total crud.

…Which will be magically fixed by morning.

…Because I say so.

My skin hurts.

I want my pillow.

…At least the Airborn is the orange kind.

Like Tang.

…So I can be like a famous space-exploring astronaut.

…In my cold-med, drug-induced dreams.

So, suck it: cold!

I’ll be all moon walking in a minute! And you can’t come!

~D

How To Work With A Hangover

12 Feb

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Due to unfortunate circumstances, today has been one of the longest days ever. 

And it’s all my own damn fault. 

…But no matter whose it is, people have to get up and go to work, every day.  And SURELY I’m not the only person who has unwisely “tied one on” the night before, with nauseating repercussions.  Surely I can’t be the only one who has made facial intimate acquaintance with the toilet bowl that all the co-worker’s butts spend time on.  But just in case this hasn’t happened to you (YET…because I feel I can safely say that “it WILL, oneday”), let me offer you some free advice which may help you to get through the day.

1. Have a one-stall bathroom
Not that you can help what kind of facilities you are given, but I find (after today) that having ones own privacy in which to blow ones own chunks, is always preferred.

2. Clean-Prep
If you are like me: a major germaphobe…then it would behoove you to Lysol wipe down every surface NOW, before the fireworks begin.

3. Prepare the runway
Move all the shit between you and the bathroom out of the way, so an easy clearance of access is made. 

4. Fess up to an ally
When the WHS Pimp (or whatever co-worker you have nearest to you) queries about your strange furniture rearrangements, cleaning kick, and why you look particularly like shit today, just tell them the truth.  If they are decent people they will nod with compassion, and intercept all incoming traffic to stay away from your office.

5. Talk as little as humanly possible
Save all the customer calls for later, and dive into emails and paperwork first.  Pretend that everything is going to be okay.

6. Pre-hydrate
To tell the truth, if you’d done this correctly last night you wouldn’t even BE in this position today.  But everybody makes mistakes, what’s done is done, and all you can do now is prep for the inevitable fallout. Lukewarm mint tea (so as not to scald you later in exit) and vitamin waters are excellent attempts to brave and temper the situation.  You will still lose.  But at least you were smart about it.

7. Once the race begins, be prepared for the long haul
Inevitably, if you’re going to have a hangover at work, it’s gonna be one of the bigger and badder kind.  Which means that this won’t all be over with one little hill climb and deadly descent. No.  That would be too easy.  And not nearly humiliating enough. You need to know, right now, that this is going to last well past noon, my friends…reducing you to a shaking mess of blood-shot-eyes and dry-heaving pile of sick, which in between bouts still has three reports, 25 booking calls, and 13 contracts to do.  So pace yourself wisely.

8. Embrace law of averages
I hate math. But sometimes you can make it work for you.  If you focus enough to take note of each sick bout for a bit, you will see a pattern of time emerge, and can then break up your work load accordingly.  For instance: I know to be true, that this report takes me about 30 minutes to complete per day.  Add an automatic 30 more minutes onto that due to your total lack of brain function or giving a shit, then break it up into appropriate chunks of “non sick time” or “the amount of time you are able to go without hurling your guts out.”  Complete each chunk then take a rest period and prepare for the inevitable.  After it happens, clean up, attempt to hydrate, and repeat.  In this way, you can complete your 30 minute report in roughly an hour and a half, including one extra tea brew, and a couple of nauseating phone answers.

9.  Beware of the false-hope fake-out
At some point it all is going to stop.  Stop for a while.  Maybe the longest of all. Maybe in five minutes it will be even longer.  Maybe it’s already been that five minutes and it’s still “stopped.”  Maybe this is now…for reals…the long-last END of all the — oh wait. Nope. Nope. My bad.

10. Fight the sandman
When this is all over (also known as sometime around 12:30 or so) you will feel utterly annihilated.  Not only because of your personal fight, but adding on top of it all the usual customer crapdom and paperworking insanity that is your average day.  There will be nothing left.  And you’ll find yourself sitting in your swivel chair, staring into space until you are jerked back to reality with a phone ring.  Were you asleep?  What happened?  Where are you?  Oh fuck.  It’s work.  Answer the phone and do your job.  But each time you hang up, the death stare returns again.  You have at least 4 hours left to your day, and now is not the time for sleeping.  So what do you do, now that all your “busy work” of the day is complete?  You make more tea.  You organize the supply closet.  You clean the bathroom. Again.  You consider FBing, only don’t know if you can take an accidental food picture posted by friends right now.  You decide, instead, to open up your blog and post something.  And not just “anything”…a carefully thought-out list of aid to all the poor bastards out there who might, just might, have a day like today.  Only tomorrow, instead.

~D

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