Tag Archives: The Fella

The BFF Comes Home

2 Jul

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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.

~D

Victorian Commando

29 May

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The Fella just left from a cheese-eating, line-running, catch-upping date of yay: he over a beer, me over a whiskey.

…He brought me condiments, from the house, as he is in the final process of “move-out,” where he will be soon to join The BFF in the land of New Orleans.

Every theatre (and it’s people) in town will mourn his leaving, on scales: artistic, inventive, technical and in performance.

I frankly don’t even want to think about it.  So stop bringing it up.

…He helped me level out my TV sound system while here.  Cuz he’s a Wizard. 

The WHS Pimp had brought in a kick ass sub woofer et al for office use, to which I said, “Balls to that!  I’m taking this shit HOME!”  And I did.  And set it on the lowest possible level.  And instantly became the kind of asshole apartment neighbor we all hate, with constant booming rumbles through the entire length of a movie. 

I made sure to put in a good action one to really show off.  The explosions were awesome, and the helicopter sounded like it was actually landing in my own living room.  I’m sure the neighbors thought so too.  But then, once The Fella came over, I had him fiddle with it to get a better talking balance versus the constant sound of impending doom that a sub woofer seems able to deliver by instinct.  He of course managed it beautifully, killed the added echo, upped the treble, and has it balanced like a dream.

…Only it’s too late now for ‘splosion movies, so I’ll have to play with it again tomorrow.

In the mean time: a second session of Pilates.

…And tomorrow: laundry and rehearsal, followed by post-cast-bonding…under the express encouragement of Mdm. Director.

Laundry is a total must.

Down to my default underwear again.  And I’m seriously considering going “commando,” over wearing that butt-floss thong bullshit, (which I keep only for such emergency purposes.)

…Only somehow, I don’t think “commando” wears well on Gwendolen.

…Something tells me, Mamma wouldn’t approve.

(Beat.)

…Course, what she doesn’t know, couldn’t hurt her…

~D

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Hungry

29 Apr

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Am eating classic BFF Fajitas…a major staple of our bestest kind of days…where we’d run to the market for fresh veg, a bottle of cheap red wine, and come home, setting on Swing or Samba or somethin’ equally sassy, and drink and cook until the light left the sky and we were well buzzed and comfy.

…I miss those days all the time.  But it’s even worse on “Big Days.” 

Yesterday was the first Birthday since I’ve known her that she wasn’t here to resume her place of festivity-planner.  Foods from here to kingdom come, delights in outtings, special specifically NOT “cheap red wine”…the works.

…That girl does it up!

But dammit if she didn’t manage a co-feat-wonder with The Fella, being all the way on the totally wrong-opposite coast of America at the time, or not.

This was my BD gift of wonder, delivered with epic joy and hugs by The Fella, and slobbered over by me after he had left:

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…”So, what’s the big deal?” you might shrug to yourself, if you’re new to the blog, and it’s earlier epic drunken posts of foodage joy…in days when The BFF lived just there: at the end of the street, and would ramble over many times per week for our cooking sessions, punctuated with theatre debates and history talks and men worries and all the things that BFF’s always fill the space of time with.

Each food and drink and goodie, represents a very specific memory…a grin…and by the end of her little note tucked in the back, a mess of tears.

* A tiny watermelon. (In memory of the Gray Goose spiked one, that sat in my fridge all prepped for our naughty-secret of a picnic lunch, while we three watched Shakespeare in the Park, one summer.)

* Peppers & zuchinnis (Our oft-repeated BFF Fajita days, spread out over the entire coffee table, piled high with zillions of add-on sides n’ fixins.)

* An articoke. (The epic 100th BD of Julia Child, when we decided totally on a whim to tackle a full-course spread straight from “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” while drunkenly blogging our exploits.)

* Garlic. (A BFF staple in every. single. dish. Probl’y even the dessert ones. “Stink and think of me,” the note said…)

* Cabbage. (My refrigerator staple, for Polish kielbasa and potato stew — where both foods of “our people” gather in happy harmony, like we do.

* Spinach. (The major base for every epic salad we ever invented.)

* Dubliner Cheese. (Only the best sharpness of delish, also nodding to her time in ye old Irish Capital, together with Medium Tillamook, to be included somehow in some way, in nearly every meal we ever made.)

* A bottle of red. (Pin-up style, WWII ex-airfield-grown, an obvious toss up to our forever scout of delightful new reds, My obsession with WWII, and The Fella’s delight of period warcraft…bringing us all together in one bottle of joy.)

* Gourmet chocolate-covered cherries. (As with all the fresh veg, reminders of endless trips to Tacoma Boys, and their expensive little treats sections, upon occasion, finally splurged on with combining of fundages ‘tween we two.)

* A duel mix-tape CD. (Our greatest hits, our sing-alongs, our late-night cooking sambas…songs that each — like the foods in the basket — represent something you can’t always put in words…though the lyrics certainly help.)

…The last: a package that guided me with giggles and weepies all the way to my final “Anne Frank” show, and back home again.

Good thoughts.

Good memories.

…Proving that you don’t need to be “present” to be present on a day, in a thought, to make a moment special.

The BFF is just that good.

🙂

…Off to go and tackle the dishes now.

KP was always my job…along with the sous chef-prepping.

Dear The BFF,

I don’t cook the big stuff, good as you do. But I’ll try my best! And think of you with every chop, and fry, and bake, and swig, and garlic-stink.

I promise!

Love you lots and lots,

The (now) Double-Three

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~D

The Fella’s Op’ning

22 Feb

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The Fella had an Opening night tonight, which was stellar and included both a post-party, and a post-post party.  In fact, the second one is still going.  I first remembered to blog about four hours ago…but then forgot again and got much more interested in food on my “free-eat-anything-night.”

…Currently, Marty is passing around a picture of her Uncle.  Apparently I will be marrying him some day…not only to get me into the family (a convenience for all of us)…but also I think, just so she could call me “Aunt Roz.”  Which would just be weired.  Cuz both her Uncle and I are in our early thirties.  And Marty’s 26.

…Crazy stuff happens in the Mid-West (apparently.)

I have sweater teeth.

Have eaten more shit in the past ten hours, than the past ten days put together.  My tummy is complaining about it a little.  My teeth feel like they are coated in  peachy-O sugar granules and cotton balls.  I’m well hydrated to fight off that wine I stopped drinking about four hours ago…but I really want a Coke.  Don’t have any…and once I go to sleep, my free night of awesome indulgence is over.

…Alllllmost over.

Good times were had. 

Off to spend some last moments with the friend-fam.

~D

 

More Later

19 Jan

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I know the yous understand another short post…as The BFF leaves tomorrow, and this is a last playdate post-show with the family.

…Plenty of reporting about it later 😉

~D

Shut Up! What?!

18 Jan

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Lost m’damn shit in the lobby.

…Cuz I walked out, post show, to a line up of faces grinning at me, in my hotmessness and then out pops this person I know.

…I know her gooder than anyone.

…It’s The BFF, from L.A…kept a secret the entire show.

…In fact, since Thursday.

…So we hot-mess all over one another all over again…

…And then everyone Coom-By-Yas over to Applebees.

To drink.

In celebration.

…And now, (my mind still blown) I am home to wash and sleep…and wake up tomorrow, and be able to (for the first time since Thanksgiving…just like I always used to), text The BFF in the morning: “coffee and breakfast?”

…And she can say, “Yep. Gimme ten minutes.”

And it’s real.

And it happens.

Just like that.

…Thank you Fella, and friends 🙂

A happy, happy Martha bids you: goodnight.

~D

The Inheritance Argument

23 Dec

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I  am eating Doritos at 1 am, after another whirlwind day of, “oh, but I never knew that that was gonna happen.”

…It’s becoming a norm for me, which is really unsettling for a person who clings to habits and planning like one of those suction-cup window Garfields, from the 80’s.

I am growing, as a human, they tell me.

…After changing plans with J, because of a Mr. Cuteness illness, I was swooshed into Greek eats with Ma, then recruited to theatre viewings with Marty with about 40 minutes warning, secured a ticket via JM, met up and saw the show wearing the same fleece get-up from 10 this morning, and had after-drinks, while solving all the artistic problems in the Universe, with The Fella and Marty.

…Then there was this whole brush with the law, and Shop 101 class, discussion of why you need a penis on your side when talking about anything having to do with motor vehicle repairs, and finally made it home in time to send out another late blog, which I view as “technically” the correct day it needs to be done in, even though it is actually “tomorrow,”  on account that I haven’t been to bed yet, so it is “technically” still “today”

This is getting way complicated, I know, but one tends to reach when attempting to justify oneself.

…Also, these Doritos are from yesterday’s lunch.  And they are gone now. There were only about 4 left…slightly stale.

…Listen: I’m tired (big surprise), and still haven’t finished all the stuff I needed  to do today.  Namely stocking stuffers, and the ever insufferable wrapping.

God, I hate wrapping.

…It is the job that is just never completed. 

Presents seem to breed, even in tight pocketbook circumstances, and here I sit to eternity, paying for the consequences.  And now I have this huge turn-of-the-century framed picture to wrap as well.  It’s Ma’s gift, and she already knows about it, as she pointed at it in an antique store and said, “I want that.”  So I obligingly purchased it for her.  And it was then placed in a garbage bag to keep the rain off it in transference to the car. 

…A garbage bag. 

…On a $210 Bronte-esq print with original Kensington Hyde Street framing from London.  With a stamped label.

This is the world of irony I live in.

…And now it sits in my room…in the same garbage bag, waiting for me to return its dignity by wrapping it in paper with sleighs and Christmas trees slobbered all over it, so Ma can open it in two days, while pretending the whole time to be totally surprised by its very existence.  And she will go on about it, just like she did in the antique store, as if she has never seen it before this moment…including the highly unsavory moment she likes to always include in matters of collectables in reminding me that, “this will, after all, belong to you one day.” 

…As if plotting for my inheritance upon my mother’s death is something that I always consider in my present-purchasing.

Me: Why the hell would you say that, even? It’s Christmas and  this is your gift. Every time you say things like this it feels like you have my name on a little sticky dot placed on the back, just waiting so when you drop off the twig someday, this will all be mine.

She:  Well, it will.

Me:  But I don’t wanna think about it!  For god’s sake, you’re my mother!

She: But it’s a really good picture.  And it would look nice in your bedroom and all.

Me: Stop it!  Stop it! I’m buying you a Christmas gift, for shit’s sake! I don’t wanna think of how it may look on my wall when you are dead!

She: …I’m just saying…

Me: Look: Do. You. Like. The. Picture?

She: I do.

Me:  Does it make you happy?

She:  It does.

Me:  Do you have a place to put it?

She:  Yes.

Me: Then can I please buy it for you without death being in the same sentence?

She:  Sure.

Me:  Alright then.

She: …But, just for future reference–

…These are the kind of Christmas conversations I have with my mother. Sober or not.  In joy or sorrow.  Death and inheritance are apparently very  huge to her, even though I am an only child, who has a habit of keeping absolutely everything but gum wrappers…because of some sentimental link or another.  Which tells me, I have been FED this disease from childhood (one suspects), and have been programmed to accept it.  And I adore it.  But not when talking about a picture I’m about to buy you, whose exsistance in your home you are only justifying as a weird kind of savings account placeholder for when you kick the bucket.

…So, let it be known.

…And now I’m off to wrap some more…

~D

A Buddy Date

27 Oct

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It’s buddy night.

The Fella, “Marty” and I grab beer, Cheetos, and pizza, and put on the Michigan game.

…”Marty” loses her mind as her Alma Mater’s Quarterback is outed on an injury, and all hell breaks loose. She’s jumping up and down, screaming at the TV, baiting the other team’s players with mean commentaries, bitching the umpires out on their calls, and yelling her ass off when any yardage is gained at all. She also yells when yardage is lost, but it sounds totally different from the other scream.

…The Fella might get evicted for this, but seems to be taking it quite well. In fact, I think it’s kinda catching. Cuz half way in, he’s hollering at the TV as well.

…In between plays, they go through all the intricacies of the game for me…using diagrams and dots, with swishing and articulate angles, in a host of examples of plays. I watch, blinking on, as I am not now, nor have ever been the slightest bit interested in Football, and prob’ly never will be. But for some reason, with the level of excitement they wield, and the intensity of their miming and explanations, I start to actually get a little into it all. Surprising, how much they get me to retain before “Marty” commands the game be shut off, end of the last quarter…so she doesn’t have to watch her beloved team “not win.”

…Notice how I didn’t say “lose.” It’s cuz I understand her grief, and I care about her too much for that.

…To try and ease the pain, we then pop on “Halo,” and commence blowing the absolute shit outta things, as therapy. For something like four hours. Then it turns to theatre talks, and chip eatings and tech stuffs and playwrights, and classical vs. contemporary works and how they sell, and why, and which ones we wanna do. It’s nearly two now as I complete this blog, (began earlier in the evening), and we have just finally left The Fella’s and The BFF’s house…nine hours later.

So we had a good day of it.

…Was nice to be back in the apartment again. I hadn’t been since The BFF moved to L.A.. And though I thought it might be kinda sad to go hang out there all night without her…there was no need to think so. She’s all over the place, in the million little ways that people you love always are. I miss her, sure, but it turned into the good kind…because we were thinkin’ about her, she was checkin’ in from time to time, and I know she was stoked that we had hang time together, so The Fella’s inclination to just work non-stop all the time, would get a much needed rest.

At least for tonight.

…If you call us “rest.” Which I really doubt you could. But at least beer was involved.

And now: to bed.

Full run again tomorrow. Early scene workings before the “go.” Need to get some good sleep.

It’s gonna be a long one.

~D

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