OMG trainwreck!
Today was Tech Sunday for Crazy for You and it sucked hard. It's about a 45 minute drive between here and Oak Lawn, and we were scheduled from 12:30 to 10:30. And Mom's still in North Carolina, so I'm still nominally in charge of getting actual food on the table (because Dad's method of 'making lunch' is heating up leftovers, of which you run out real fast if Mom's gone for two weeks and there's no one else cooking dinner). Luckily, I managed to talk Garrett into grilling the burgers while I got the other stuff ready to go. Not so luckily, he got them done later than anticipated and I had to run out the door with food practically still hanging out of my mouth. Great start.
Even better, I got to the theatre and we proceeded to not do anything for 45 minutes. And then it turned out that "cue to cue" now means "Brad (the director) flips through the script and assigns basically everyone who isn't me to do things for scene changes, frequently more on a whim than based on where people are actually supposed to be at the time." I sat around for three hours and did NOTHING. Except read Full Metal Alchemist manga, but most of the time I couldn't even do that because the house lights were off.
Then they sent us off for dinner, which was all right because we had a good two hours. More sitting around doing nothing, but at least there was time to find a place to eat and let the food settle. But then, after we got back was first dress. Which, as it happens, was also our first time on the stage (even though we were promised it a week and a half ago), our first time with the band, and our first time with any of our props (some of which are broken so that we can't do stuff we need to do with them - e.g. hang up or set-down-without-having-them-fall-over phones in the middle of a dance number - some of which we all of a sudden have to provide for ourselves and some of which are still mysteriously missing which is awesome because WE TAP DANCE ON THEM). I apologize for the dearth of commas in the previous sentence, but... no, never mind, I don't. Screw it.
The problem is compounded because we haven't even seen our musical director for weeks; she hasn't made the cuts that need to be made for the band so the 'alternate pianist' (who at least we have because this woman already wasn't going to be around for the first weekend of the show because she's getting married, so why the hell she was supposed to be working the show in the first place I don't know) has attempted and in some cases failed to do so, we often don't know where we're supposed to come in even when the music is right, and the tempi are almost all far too slow.
The problem is further compounded by costumes that are either comically/indecently too large or so small they won't even close (luckily mine all fit, except the horrendous silver lamé skort - but there's really nothing anyone can do to save that, anyway), and by the set piece that all of a sudden won't be there, so guess what, girls, you get to rearrange your choreography completely for the dance that you've been working on the longest and come on from the opposite side of the stage.
And now I come home to find that my bedsheets, which I very pointedly did not put in the laundry this week, have nonetheless been cleaned and draped in a manner that I can only describe as 'mockingly' back over my bed by my overly-enthusiastic father, whose enthusiasm apparently did not extend to actually re-making the bed despite the fact that he was fully aware of how long, if not necessarily how hellish, my day was going to be. I have absolutely no desire to make the bloody thing now. I'm barely even going to be able to drag myself into the shower, even though I badly need it.
Jesus fucking Christ. I just hope I can dig up my false eyelashes from four years ago and locate Mom's eyelash glue, because otherwise I'll be making a shopping trip tomorrow that I can ill afford. (Oh God, wigs and makeup tomorrow night...)
Even better, I got to the theatre and we proceeded to not do anything for 45 minutes. And then it turned out that "cue to cue" now means "Brad (the director) flips through the script and assigns basically everyone who isn't me to do things for scene changes, frequently more on a whim than based on where people are actually supposed to be at the time." I sat around for three hours and did NOTHING. Except read Full Metal Alchemist manga, but most of the time I couldn't even do that because the house lights were off.
Then they sent us off for dinner, which was all right because we had a good two hours. More sitting around doing nothing, but at least there was time to find a place to eat and let the food settle. But then, after we got back was first dress. Which, as it happens, was also our first time on the stage (even though we were promised it a week and a half ago), our first time with the band, and our first time with any of our props (some of which are broken so that we can't do stuff we need to do with them - e.g. hang up or set-down-without-having-them-fall-over phones in the middle of a dance number - some of which we all of a sudden have to provide for ourselves and some of which are still mysteriously missing which is awesome because WE TAP DANCE ON THEM). I apologize for the dearth of commas in the previous sentence, but... no, never mind, I don't. Screw it.
The problem is compounded because we haven't even seen our musical director for weeks; she hasn't made the cuts that need to be made for the band so the 'alternate pianist' (who at least we have because this woman already wasn't going to be around for the first weekend of the show because she's getting married, so why the hell she was supposed to be working the show in the first place I don't know) has attempted and in some cases failed to do so, we often don't know where we're supposed to come in even when the music is right, and the tempi are almost all far too slow.
The problem is further compounded by costumes that are either comically/indecently too large or so small they won't even close (luckily mine all fit, except the horrendous silver lamé skort - but there's really nothing anyone can do to save that, anyway), and by the set piece that all of a sudden won't be there, so guess what, girls, you get to rearrange your choreography completely for the dance that you've been working on the longest and come on from the opposite side of the stage.
And now I come home to find that my bedsheets, which I very pointedly did not put in the laundry this week, have nonetheless been cleaned and draped in a manner that I can only describe as 'mockingly' back over my bed by my overly-enthusiastic father, whose enthusiasm apparently did not extend to actually re-making the bed despite the fact that he was fully aware of how long, if not necessarily how hellish, my day was going to be. I have absolutely no desire to make the bloody thing now. I'm barely even going to be able to drag myself into the shower, even though I badly need it.
Jesus fucking Christ. I just hope I can dig up my false eyelashes from four years ago and locate Mom's eyelash glue, because otherwise I'll be making a shopping trip tomorrow that I can ill afford. (Oh God, wigs and makeup tomorrow night...)