Well, I'M afraid...
... very very afraid. They KNOW. I mean, we knew that they knew. I mean. We knew that they CAN read it. But oh my god they DO read it. Holy crap. Why Samantha, why? I was stultifyingly happy in my ignorance. Dear gawds, they read the het and and and the Wincest?! ... oh my lord. Thank the gods for this fandom and this cast and our mutual senses of humor, because OH MAN. I can't decide whether to laugh or go hide somewhere... and write more. They have people on staff who do nothing but read the forums and the fanfic? DUDE. The Life. It is unfair. I WANT TO BE PAID TO READ PR0N!
Happy Birthday a_phoenixdragon and pen37! I'm a tad behind on good wishes, aren't I?
I was out of sync over the weekend and really out of it all day yesterday due to some big time fun at the reading Saturday night. There were five of us at Dale's house to read The Scottish Play. We got a late start, which is to say we were focused much more on the Shiraz than the Shakespeare. Since it's so close to Hallowe'en, we went all out and got into Dale's stash and played dress up. The guys had swords and doublets and jackets on. The girls had on shift dresses and crowns and such. We looked great. And we weren't being very careful either, in that we were saying the name of the play out loud, just tempting fate, as it were. And it laughed back. On the way to get more wine and cigs and chocolate and whatever the heck else, Dale's truck died. I knew from the sounds it was making that the fuel pump had died and there was only one way to make it the mile back to her house: we'd have to push it. She panics because she doesn't know where the hazards are or that it needs to be in neutral, so I'm directing and getting people lined up. But guys can you picture this? Seven people - two people taking a walk actually stopped to help a small band of strangers a little the worse for alcohol dressed in gothic regalia in the middle of the night pushing a dead truck down a street. You kinda had to be there. I start heaving a little and I know I'm in trouble, but we make it all the way back to the house, where I fall on my back on the lawn, in dog turd, in a full on asthma attack. To make things more stupider, I actually insist on driving my own truck to the store, still heaving. The cramps start and pulling into a store - any store - I went completely over a curb as I whisper at Vanessa, "Um, you're gonna need to drive." By now everyone swears we are so not going to finish reading this play because it's killing things left and right. They went in while Dale waited with me in the truck and they came back laden with goodies and a story about seeing other costumed people in the beer aisle and Jenny said, "Looooook, here is moooore of our peeeeople." Jeremy made awesome jokes that I can't remember about giving a eulogy in Gaelic at my funeral. I seriously think it took me hours to recover because I was laughing so hard. Of course, we got the truck back and safe, we bought more wine and chocolate and cigs than we could consume, we finished reading, and we all stayed up until 2:30 celebrating our victory of "only mostly dead" but "not quite dead yet". I love my troupe! They can have my kidneys when I finally do keel over.