Tag Archives: singing

Drunken Wassalings & IKEA Breakdowns

18 Nov

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Today I crossed over into Christmas music at the office. 

…The WHS Pimp made fun of it, immediately, by asking what he ever did to me in life to deserve this. I said something along the lines of, “It’s supposed to make us all jolly and shit, so stop fighting my efforts and be joyful, dammit!”

…Course this was before my first cup of coffee. Were he to ask the same question now, I would have answered that totally differently. Like, without the exclamation mark.

…Not that he can ask me again right now anyway, as he is currently at the dental surgeon’s for pre-op extraction work. Which is gonna be super awesome just before Thanksgiving.

…I’m sure they can throw all the dinner fixins into the blender and make it slurpable for him, somehow. That is, if he is able to work his mouth and keep from drooling by then. It’s like half his face they are taking out…so I’m sure he’ll be shot and doped up pretty good through the whole holiday. And even if he isn’t, he’ll only have about three teeth to chew the food with anyway…so, might as well call it a day on that one.

…Which reminds me that I’ve put off MY dental surgery to take out my (yes still present) wisdom teeth…and I should schedule that sometime before bad things start happening and they have to take half my face out too. Luckily, I am busy being a Beaver right now, so can’t book it until later anyway. Even if I do feel guilty about putting it off again. And paranoid.

…Instead, I’m gonna think about something else. So I don’t start giving myself an anxiety attack…

Listen to this:

My friend Bubba and I used to pop in Christmas music the day after Halloween.

…We’d blare it, and sing it really loudly (even at stoplights), wherever we went. And it was awesome. Especially the Dean Martin songs. Cuz he always sounds three-fucking-sheets-to-the-wind. We two never COULD come to agreement on whether he actually WAS wasted all the time, or just “pretending” to be…but either way, slurring a Christmas song about Rudolph is somehow more hilarious than just about anything. You should try it sometime. Cuz, I gotta tell yuh, Those were the BEST sing-alongs, EVER.

…We made a game of trying to play up the wasted angle even more than he did. (Which is NOT an easy thing to do.) And yet surprisingly, never ONCE got pulled over on suspected D.U.I charges while hurling down the freeway, for reasons that I will never know.

In Other Happenings:

This weekend I spent far too much time in the black hole that is IKEA again.

…The first day, I bought nothing. But I came home, (like I always do from IKEA) with an overwhelming knowledge that all my stuff could look ten times better than it currently does, and WOULD, if I bought everything in IKEA.

…All of it.

Look: I realize it ain’t the highest quality. I get that it is almost as far from “Designer” anything, as you can get. But it is SO FUCKING ORGANIZED that it makes the OCD side of me want to marry it and have it’s compacted-muti-user-functionability-fold-away babies.

…Unfortunately for me…I got home at around 10 pm, from that trip…and INSTANTLY knew I needed to rearrange my entire living space immediately, while the ideas were still fresh in my brains.

…Which ended up with me sitting in the middle of the floor in the living room (the only open 2 foot surface in my entire house by that point) at 3 am, near to sobbing. Because I have a tiny, tiny apartment, and everything just fits, one way, and trying to relocate or change it up made the entire main room look like a bomb had gone off. I was totally exhausted, and frustrated, but there was NO WAY my OCD self would be able to just “go to sleep and work on it tomorrow,” and I knew this, becoming totally overwhelmed.

Coming up with an Emergency game-plan, I decided that ultimately, I might not be able to sleep with shit strewn all over every room, but for some reason…if I condensed and piled it all in the kitchen and closed the curtain t’ween it and the rest of the house…so I wouldn’t have to see it making nonsense out of every OTHER room…it would be okay.

I still don’t know why that addendum law “worked” for me, but it seemed to, so I did it, and got up the next day to sail off for IKEA again, and get the crap I needed to “fix” all the resulting problems I had made myself, the night before.

…This then resulted in spending something like four hours building things with fake tools, yesterday….trying to interpret the little pictures that no longer are accompanied with directions in any language at all. (Which I guess were always pointless, really…as none of the directions were ever in English to begin with. But, still…)

…A fifteen page booklet, with 350 screws, nuts, and thing-a-ma-gees, you’ve never seen before, splayed out across the entire living room…so you can put this simple bookcase together, takes a surprising amount of time, when literally done: stick-by-stick.

The result, (by 2 am THIS morning) was something I could ultimately view and not nut up about. A reorganization and reallocation of stuffs which had been in the same original floor plan since the day I moved in…six years ago.

…This morning, I checked on the front room, “just to be sure.”

…OCD people have to do things like that. “Check,” I mean. It’s like feng shui, on crack. If (for whatever thousand reasons) it doesn’t “fit right” in your brain when taking in the visual of a thing, then you HAVE to fix it. ESPECIALLY when it is the place you live. Otherwise it’s like an itch you can’t scratch that will eventually end up driving you fucking crazy.

…Considering, of course, that you haven’t driven yourself there all on your own…cuz you’ve only gotten five hours of sleep in two days, obsessing over it all, to begin with.

Either way: It is almost fully settled now. A few more swaps of book stacks are still ahead, but by and large…”home” feels like “home” again. A thing my bloodshot eyes are TOTALLY thankful for.

…Meanwhile, if you ever hear me so much as make slight hints at an IKEA trip again…anytime in the near future…I charge you with the full accountability to slap me as hard as you can, point a finger in my face and say: “NO!”

I can almost promise that I will listen.

…And, eventually, thank you for saving me.

~D

The Heat & Some Tuneage

30 Jun

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Gwen and Cecily tag teamed some other badass dames, watching “The Heat” tonight, and laughed our asses off in some much welcomed air conditioning.

Listen, people: 90 degree weather doesn’t work well in the Pac NW.  We don’t know what to do with that shit.  And PERFORMING in it with a gillion watts of lights focused on us, in twelve layers before the corsets even hit…and suit jackets and silks and wigs and hats, was pretty much the human limit of human limits.

…It’s hard to be funny when your face is melting pancake and mascara in literal streaks down your face.  And it is hard to be genteel in that instance as well.

Gwendolen does not “wipe.”  She does not “itch.” She doesn’t even “blot.”  She just sits there and lets the sweat drop in lines down the back, off the neck, into the corset, soaking the armpits, as she sits, stands, launches herself at furniture and pretends to be delightful and cool as a cucumber throughout. 

…Nothing was cool.

Even the air conditioned theatre made no difference to us. Not when packed with bodies breathing hot air at us, as we bake under heat lamps. 

…And holding to what became the trend of the weekend, (after our phenomenal house on Thursday), the audiences across these past three days gave very little (and in some cases negative zero) help in energy throughout…whether they happened to be enjoying the performances or not.  Thus, forcing us to manufacture everything from scratch…and sometimes even dig ourselves out of the black hole vortex that they seemed to be sucking us into, in a sweaty, clinging mass of humanity.

Some blamed the heat.

…By today’s matinee, I had totally given up on any responsive expectations, and just went out there to tease and flirt and argue and reason with some characters I know. Played with the team with less feed-back expectation than an average rehearsal… so thus wasn’t thrown when that is what we got. 

…Then it was onto spraying down the drycleaning with vodka-water, laundry in the take-away bag…all the hats and jabots and cravats and cufflinks, earrings and watches, into our holding boxes…shoe-horned the shoes, aired out the corsets, wrote up our costume grievances, and beat it into an afternoon of heat waiting just outside the theatre doors that all but smacked us on our asses.

Gwen and Cecily solved the issue by taking refreshment of giant lemon ice-waters elsewhere, and following up with ice creams, before home and laying about like limp ragdolls until regrouping for movie times.

…A rest-time that included discovering a delightful new talent…her music happily floating from Naughty Girl’s speakers beside me.  A little Regina Spektor, meets Ingrid Michaelson, meets Lily Allen.

…A small collection of music.  She writes her own, and grabs studio time when she can.  I think she’s something pretty smile-worthy, and you might too.  Hear and grab her tunes if you wanna, here.  I’m pretty partial.

…And not just cuz she my Cecily 😉

~D

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