More work than Jesus
I foresee tragically few updates from this end of the cyber-realm for the next three weeks or so. There is just too much going on, and not enough hours in the night. Sorry to be trite, it's just the way it is.
In no particular order:
~ Today, I'm exactly two weeks from the opening of my Fringe show. Which, by the way, is happening on Thursday September 2nd at 7:00 pm on the third floor of the Khyber, and is called Do Not Pick Up the Telephone. Be there. Bring karma. Then we'll get drunk.
We're talking a 40-minute mammoth of a one-woman-show, written and performed by this one right here, and if that's not worth your time (and $6), I don't know what is.
Addendum to this shameless self-promotion: So far, I have about half the lines memorized. I'll post a full performance schedule later, ie when I'm done freaking out.
~ Nancy should so get canonized as the patron saint of stage managers (cause they sure as hell need one), only shame these things usually happen posthumously. Either way, she's fabulous.
But, turns out she can't go to Montreal in mid-September. Bummer. So hey, who else wants to roadtrip with me for a few days? I'm thinking a Sunday-through-Wednesday type thing. I don't got no car and no license, but I'll pay for gas both ways and be brilliant company? I also promise I won't sing (you don't know how lucky you are). Seriously.
~ Am currently terribly broke, although I just got paid yesterday. Isn't that the worst? I don't even have time to look for another part-time job, with the Fringe show approaching and rehearsals for The Laramie Project underway.
Moanmoanmoan etc, okay it's out of my system, nevermind.
There are much worse things than being broke.
~ Wanna come see Pilate at The Marquee on Friday? I hear they're good and I've got a free ticket if anyone's interested.
Friends and cute people preferred, as a matter of course.
~ The roommate's away for ten days (as of last Sunday, so, a week today). Did I already mention this? Roommate o roommate, you sure left some cute clothes behind.
~ As a sidebar to the previous, I have done two unusual things in the course of the last three days that make me quite proud: biked around the city and drank wine.
I never, ever do these things. In fact, it's been almost ten years since I did both. Wow.
Sunday night, the wine night, is a post in its own right. It may or may not get written; for now, it suffices to say that my stomach no longer appears to revolt at the taste of red wine, which is wonderful news. I'd still rather have a beer any day, though.
Roommate, if you chance to be reading this: Fear not, I replaced it.
Last night and this afternoon, I braved my horrific velocipedophobia - which, in my case, isn't so much an irrational fear of bicycles as a deep awareness of my ineptitude with them - and somehow lived to tell the story. In fact, my bike confidence has been building steadily between the ride to Walnut Street at 2 am last night, and the errand-running grocery-shopping stunts of today. Biking is wicked shit! Why did I ever quit doing it in the first place?
At one point, I was zooming down Cogswell with a backpack full of booze and little ladies with baby carriages lining the street, and I swear to god I haven't had such a great adrenaline-high on for a long time. Hee hee, I'm thinking to myself as I pedal away with the best of 'em, it's so exciting how none of these people realize that I'm possibly mere seconds away from wiping out severely and taking a baby carriage with me. Fools, the lot of 'em.
It was such a wonderful, summery, thoroughly enjoyable experience, I can't wait to do it again. And I only came close to killing a couple of people, which isn't too shabby. One other minor problem: it appears my bra is curiously constructed to make my left nipple pop out while riding bikes. I mean, no one except myself can tell, but it does create a problem in that trying to re-adjust it endangers the lives of many innocents.
~ I'm officially gossip-worthy, who knew? At work tonight, silverswordfish informed me the general consensus among staff is that
a) I'm sleeping with the sound guy, and
b) I'm also sleeping with her (hence, the reason why she's the only one oblivious of me sleeping with the sound guy. Or maybe the reasoning was reverse. Whichever.)
Don't you love it when you get the word on who you've been sleeping with? Cause I hate not knowing these things. My first instinct, next after laughing a hole through the roof, was to call up the sound guy and pass on the memo; but he didn't pick up, and I thought leaving a message like "Hey, I hear we're sleeping together!" might sound a little too People magazine.
He's gonna get a huge kick out of it when I tell him, though.
~ While hanging out at Ginger's Tavern the other day, working on my script, I overheard a snippet of a conversation so surreal that it's worthy of a "Best of the Week" award.
(Buddy walks in)
Staff member: Hey [buddy], how's the diaper-wearing going?
Buddy: (cautiously, as he scans the staff member's face for clues to the punchline) ...Am I wearing diapers?
Different staff member: Well, no. But we think you should.
I have no comment to that, really.
You're so jealous of my life I can feel it all the way over here. I'ma go pass out now. Yarr.
In no particular order:
~ Today, I'm exactly two weeks from the opening of my Fringe show. Which, by the way, is happening on Thursday September 2nd at 7:00 pm on the third floor of the Khyber, and is called Do Not Pick Up the Telephone. Be there. Bring karma. Then we'll get drunk.
We're talking a 40-minute mammoth of a one-woman-show, written and performed by this one right here, and if that's not worth your time (and $6), I don't know what is.
Addendum to this shameless self-promotion: So far, I have about half the lines memorized. I'll post a full performance schedule later, ie when I'm done freaking out.
~ Nancy should so get canonized as the patron saint of stage managers (cause they sure as hell need one), only shame these things usually happen posthumously. Either way, she's fabulous.
But, turns out she can't go to Montreal in mid-September. Bummer. So hey, who else wants to roadtrip with me for a few days? I'm thinking a Sunday-through-Wednesday type thing. I don't got no car and no license, but I'll pay for gas both ways and be brilliant company? I also promise I won't sing (you don't know how lucky you are). Seriously.
~ Am currently terribly broke, although I just got paid yesterday. Isn't that the worst? I don't even have time to look for another part-time job, with the Fringe show approaching and rehearsals for The Laramie Project underway.
Moanmoanmoan etc, okay it's out of my system, nevermind.
There are much worse things than being broke.
~ Wanna come see Pilate at The Marquee on Friday? I hear they're good and I've got a free ticket if anyone's interested.
Friends and cute people preferred, as a matter of course.
~ The roommate's away for ten days (as of last Sunday, so, a week today). Did I already mention this? Roommate o roommate, you sure left some cute clothes behind.
~ As a sidebar to the previous, I have done two unusual things in the course of the last three days that make me quite proud: biked around the city and drank wine.
I never, ever do these things. In fact, it's been almost ten years since I did both. Wow.
Sunday night, the wine night, is a post in its own right. It may or may not get written; for now, it suffices to say that my stomach no longer appears to revolt at the taste of red wine, which is wonderful news. I'd still rather have a beer any day, though.
Roommate, if you chance to be reading this: Fear not, I replaced it.
Last night and this afternoon, I braved my horrific velocipedophobia - which, in my case, isn't so much an irrational fear of bicycles as a deep awareness of my ineptitude with them - and somehow lived to tell the story. In fact, my bike confidence has been building steadily between the ride to Walnut Street at 2 am last night, and the errand-running grocery-shopping stunts of today. Biking is wicked shit! Why did I ever quit doing it in the first place?
At one point, I was zooming down Cogswell with a backpack full of booze and little ladies with baby carriages lining the street, and I swear to god I haven't had such a great adrenaline-high on for a long time. Hee hee, I'm thinking to myself as I pedal away with the best of 'em, it's so exciting how none of these people realize that I'm possibly mere seconds away from wiping out severely and taking a baby carriage with me. Fools, the lot of 'em.
It was such a wonderful, summery, thoroughly enjoyable experience, I can't wait to do it again. And I only came close to killing a couple of people, which isn't too shabby. One other minor problem: it appears my bra is curiously constructed to make my left nipple pop out while riding bikes. I mean, no one except myself can tell, but it does create a problem in that trying to re-adjust it endangers the lives of many innocents.
~ I'm officially gossip-worthy, who knew? At work tonight, silverswordfish informed me the general consensus among staff is that
a) I'm sleeping with the sound guy, and
b) I'm also sleeping with her (hence, the reason why she's the only one oblivious of me sleeping with the sound guy. Or maybe the reasoning was reverse. Whichever.)
Don't you love it when you get the word on who you've been sleeping with? Cause I hate not knowing these things. My first instinct, next after laughing a hole through the roof, was to call up the sound guy and pass on the memo; but he didn't pick up, and I thought leaving a message like "Hey, I hear we're sleeping together!" might sound a little too People magazine.
He's gonna get a huge kick out of it when I tell him, though.
~ While hanging out at Ginger's Tavern the other day, working on my script, I overheard a snippet of a conversation so surreal that it's worthy of a "Best of the Week" award.
(Buddy walks in)
Staff member: Hey [buddy], how's the diaper-wearing going?
Buddy: (cautiously, as he scans the staff member's face for clues to the punchline) ...Am I wearing diapers?
Different staff member: Well, no. But we think you should.
I have no comment to that, really.
You're so jealous of my life I can feel it all the way over here. I'ma go pass out now. Yarr.