Opening night.
Another opening night! I got excited first when Team Wardrobe all pulled out our dresses: red, teal, yellow.
"Squee!" I exclaimed, "We're totally gonna be dressed like the girls from Heathers! M, you're the ruthless clique leader Heather (Chandler, red), J, you're the bitchy Shannon Dogherty Heather (Duke, green/teal) who takes over when Winona and Christian kill M, and I'm the cheerleading Heather (MacNamara, yellow) who tries to kill herself in the bathroom!!"
My excitement could not be contained, and I forced us to take this photo:
Bootsie wore blue and grey, so she really could have been our Veronica, but was not around at the time.
Of course, Team Wardrobe arrived late to the party, and the restaurant, in traditional lamoid style, kicked us all out before midnight. Things raged on at our favourite pub--cast and crew alike (again, a super-awesome cast). This particular bar likes our theatre crowd so much that they'll stay open until four in the morning for us. Another first in my life: I got a guy kicked out of the bar. It was awesome.
A member of the cast of the show at our other performance space was chatting one of the lady acting interns. She looked uncomfortable, so I went to investigate. I introduced myself to the actor, who skeezed me out immediately, and the moment he turned to get another drink, The Intern whispered, "Please save me from this guy! I keep telling him I have a boyfriend, but he won't stop hitting on me!"
I nodded, as Capt. Skeeze returned, tried to work me briefly and offered to buy us both drinks. We both declined. "Thanks man, but I'm driving home later, I've been done for a while." Capt. Skeeze gave us an easy way out: he informed us that drunk driving was awesome and everyone should do it. And after I told him how not funny that is, he insisted that it was totally funny, and suggested we go drunkenly run down children.
We were appropriately horrified. "That's really awful and not funny. Excuse us, please." And I whisked The Intern away to the restrooms, where we hung out a while.
Later in the evening, I was talking with Bootsie, when Capt. Skeeze took her by the arm and pulled her over to him. The dutiful friend, I followed, and before he could get far, he spilled his drink all over my shoe. I glared as he murmured a churlish apology, trying in vain to dry my wet fucking foot with a napkin. I had had quite enough.
"You sir, are a douchebag. Stop hitting on me, and stop hitting on my friends."
And I walked back over to the bar to join Bootsie. Capt. Skeeze followed, put a hand on my arm, and asked "What did you just say to me??"
I repeated myself, word-for-word, ennunciating each, while looking him straight in the eyes. The bartender was standing right there. And he threw the jerk out of the bar.
It's probably the most confrontational thing I've done in months.
"Squee!" I exclaimed, "We're totally gonna be dressed like the girls from Heathers! M, you're the ruthless clique leader Heather (Chandler, red), J, you're the bitchy Shannon Dogherty Heather (Duke, green/teal) who takes over when Winona and Christian kill M, and I'm the cheerleading Heather (MacNamara, yellow) who tries to kill herself in the bathroom!!"
My excitement could not be contained, and I forced us to take this photo:
Bootsie wore blue and grey, so she really could have been our Veronica, but was not around at the time.
Of course, Team Wardrobe arrived late to the party, and the restaurant, in traditional lamoid style, kicked us all out before midnight. Things raged on at our favourite pub--cast and crew alike (again, a super-awesome cast). This particular bar likes our theatre crowd so much that they'll stay open until four in the morning for us. Another first in my life: I got a guy kicked out of the bar. It was awesome.
A member of the cast of the show at our other performance space was chatting one of the lady acting interns. She looked uncomfortable, so I went to investigate. I introduced myself to the actor, who skeezed me out immediately, and the moment he turned to get another drink, The Intern whispered, "Please save me from this guy! I keep telling him I have a boyfriend, but he won't stop hitting on me!"
I nodded, as Capt. Skeeze returned, tried to work me briefly and offered to buy us both drinks. We both declined. "Thanks man, but I'm driving home later, I've been done for a while." Capt. Skeeze gave us an easy way out: he informed us that drunk driving was awesome and everyone should do it. And after I told him how not funny that is, he insisted that it was totally funny, and suggested we go drunkenly run down children.
We were appropriately horrified. "That's really awful and not funny. Excuse us, please." And I whisked The Intern away to the restrooms, where we hung out a while.
Later in the evening, I was talking with Bootsie, when Capt. Skeeze took her by the arm and pulled her over to him. The dutiful friend, I followed, and before he could get far, he spilled his drink all over my shoe. I glared as he murmured a churlish apology, trying in vain to dry my wet fucking foot with a napkin. I had had quite enough.
"You sir, are a douchebag. Stop hitting on me, and stop hitting on my friends."
And I walked back over to the bar to join Bootsie. Capt. Skeeze followed, put a hand on my arm, and asked "What did you just say to me??"
I repeated myself, word-for-word, ennunciating each, while looking him straight in the eyes. The bartender was standing right there. And he threw the jerk out of the bar.
It's probably the most confrontational thing I've done in months.