Tag Archives: whs pimp

The Deal

23 Oct


…So the deal is, two days before I went on vacation for a week in order to open this show, Corporate arrived on a surprise visit, fired The WHS Pimp, and brought in another guy.

…With no time to process any of this, I had to call a cab to take The Pimp home, and meet and start training my new Boss, within two hours. Hadda total meltdown at lunch in the car, then finished the day, ran music and lines with a recorder, and that night, went to see our Sister show Open…only to wake up and do it all over again the following day.

….Friday night, I left my desk with no fucking idea if I’d have a job or an office by the time I got back, a week later…but there was certainly no way I was gonna cancel the vacation, as I was also (as previously discussed) freaking the fuck out about opening this show.

For a week, I sought a buffer and tried to land some kind of solid footing on emotional ground. I didn’t succeed. But I did survive.

….And I came back from my non-vacation, to the same job and desk. And I didn’t die, or have a meltdown that Monday. Even when Corporate came back again. And I didn’t on Tuesday. And I didn’t on Wednesday.

…And I say this more as a form of wonderment than achievement, because I still don’t know why.

These past months of awful, just seemed to get so much worse, even when I thought it couldn’t possibly. That bitch peaked at like a Mount Everest height…so it makes sense that it was hard to breathe and terrifying at every step.

…And then, because, I guess there’s nowhere higher to go in the vicinity: it stopped climbing to worseness.

…Which doesn’t mean the world and my problems in it are magically fixed somehow…it just means that at some point, the fates were like: “Yep, she’s totally teetering on her last straw. What comes next is what they make Lifetime original movies about…guess we should back off her ass a bit and see if she can keep floating or drowns. No use beating a dead horse…”

Despite the fates’ combo-metaphor usage, they knew enough to stop when they did. I’m not gonna say I’m grateful about it…they’ve been making dick-moves for ages. But I will say: “It took me two weeks to process all this, and I think both theatre and office worlds are slowing achieving a better place.”

…Leaving me with an actual weekend, were I can actually relax a bit, with only laundry…a performance, and a choice of whether to audition for that one show, or just wait and work on Seattle Fringe.

This is a more reasonable speed, fates. (In case you were wondering.) This, I can do.


Adventures Of An Idiot Gnome

16 Jan


Office is slow again today. We’ve run outta things for Idiot Gnome to do…so WHS Pimp has launched her on the outter yard to pick up scraps and clear nails.

…Meanwhile, we sit in  the lobby having totally inappropriate office conversations in between incoming phone calls.

…Idiot Gnome has only been doing this for about 40 minutes, and has already been in here four times to amend her homemade “hazmat suit,” guarding her against the evils of dirt and stuff.

It begins with a 90 lb 5’2″ person, layered in three hoodies, a puffy snow coat, blue rubber gloves…inside of shop gloves, tennies, and optioned goggles…(Which we keep on hand for welding projects.)

…She now weighs in at approximately 125 pounds, and is clearly having issues with the bulk, waddling around like that kid from “A Christmas Story” movie, whose so puffed out, he can’t put his arms down.

From time to time, we clock her through the lobby windows.

Her return trips of outfit amendments are mostly based on the fact that her body is too small to fill the capacity of our average-sized protection aids.

…The rubber gloves (identical to the ones your Dentist uses) are baggy and at least two sizes too big…so her fingers have around an inch of excess rubber, unfilled and floating at each end. These, she’s tried to cram into the work gloves, to help fill THEM with some sort of grip-traction…as they were made for a small man, which means she might as well be wearing oven mitts for all the function help they give her.

…Watching her trying to pick up a nail off the gravel (for instance), is sort of amusing.

…So is the clearing out of the back of WHS Pimp’s truck bed.

Full of cast-off scrap wood from our latest large build, he has her categorizing the contents into separate piles for shimmy and leveling use.

…Occasionally, a larger piece of siding becomes excavated, as just a moment ago, which he’s been watching off and on out the window, as I deal with several emails.

Eventually, he begins to chuckle.

Me: (From my office.) What’s up?

WHS Pimp: She’s just found an OSB sheet.

Me: Yeah?

WHS Pimp: She’s trying to figure out how to get it out of the truck.

(He giggles again.)

WHS Pimp: She’s sorta trying to bench press one end up, and grip it at an angle.

Me: Like she’s trying for over-the-head?

WHS Pimp: God, I hope not. First all, she can’t see anything. All those hoodie layers have like fused her neck range-of-motion to less than a Batman cowl. Second, if that thing gets any wind, it’ll catch lift, and whip her right up…like Mary Poppins…

(I start to chuckle.)

WHS Pimp: …Only a LOT more violent…

(I start to laugh.)

WHS Pimp: …Just a tiny rag doll, flung in the wind…

(I laugh harder.)

WHS Pimp: …Course she wouldn’t be prepared for it, either. And those gloves are EASILY ten or twelve sizes too big…so we know there’s like zero grip there…

(I contract my belly, hunching over.)

WHS Pimp: …Which, with the wind-shift against the wood weight, will flick the gloves right off of her, somewhere mid-lift, but her body inertia will just keep going…

(I start to cry)

WHS Pimp: …And she’ll have about three good seconds of total air, like a tiny flying Michelin Man float, cut adrift…

(I’m gasping for air.)

WHS Pimp: …And, where with other people that time would be filled with their life flashing before their eyes, thinking, “OH HOLY SHIT, I’M GONNA DIE!”…?

(Still Gasping.)

WHS Pimp: …She, instead, would have this totally amazing moment of complete innocent wonder. Then at some point: fall.

(Gasp. Cry. Gasp.)

WHS Pimp: …And we’ll run out there, and have to wake her up, making sure she isn’t dead or something. And you know what will be the first thing she’ll say?

Me: (Ugly-cry-laughing.) “You guys! I can fly!”

WHS Pimp: Exactly.


“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.


Real People Lunching

17 Apr


Shh. I took a lunch today.  Like a person.

…Me n’ WHS Pimp busted out to Rock Pizza for their buffet.

…So I took a naughty lunch, at that.

Together with my applesauce donut of yesterday, I’ve prob’ly fallen off the wagon a bit.  But I weighed in and nothing moved, so I’m calling it a “freebee-plus cheat-day.”


It’s a “thing.”

Am currently balancing the play structures on our open order report.  Thought I’d take a few minute’s break. 

(…Lunch AND a break? What is happening to the world, you guys?!?!)

I can only wrap my head around a small child being gifted a $2,000 swing set for so long. 


…It might as well be a million. 

In kid-dollars and people ones. 

I don’t have $2,000. 

Do you?!

Does anyone?! 

…But the parents of these children?!

When I was a kid, we played with refrigerator boxes and made mud pies.  And LIKED it! THAT was  our “playset.” 

…Kids these days have no IDEA what it is to be a “real” kid…or use their imaginations…or create things…because they don’t HAVE to.  Because mommy and daddy shell out $2,000 and a full day off work to have an entire theme park erected in their back yards for them.  So they can “play.”

…When did “playing” start costing something?

As a proud kid of a single mom in the 80’s, it sure as hell didn’t when I was a kid.

…And I’m pretty sure that me n’ the cousins had ten-times more fun on accident than kids these days have on total purpose, when it is bought for them.

So take THAT, Y2K’s!

…I should get back to my report now.

And coffee.

…But really, with pizza-insides, I just want a nap.

Oh, a nap.


…Off to feed the egos of small heiresses, I go.


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