Monday, January 21, 2019

Our show has a brightly labeled, basketweave-molded, flat-bottomed-for-stability tabletop thong bucket

Does YOUR show have a brightly labeled, basketweave-molded, flat-bottomed-for-stability tabletop thong bucket? No. No, your show does NOT have a brightly labeled, basketweave-molded, flat-bottomed-for-stability tabletop thong bucket. We totally win.

I’m trying to decide if it’s wise to work out right before our production-week rehearsals

On the one hand, I’ll instantly look 97 if I miss just one workout. On the other hand, my pre-workout shake—like ALL pre-workout shakes—can make me what we will politely call did-you-know-that-bathroom-in-Spanish-is-baño?-y.

I’m leaving the gym right now for thong rehearsal (yes—we strippers are literally having a rip-away thong rehearsal in the interest of establishing consistency in our stripping moves) so I’m about to find out how things ... come out.

In the mean time: I wore my NYC shirt today because The Full Monty takes place in Buffalo! Which totally made sense when I was getting dressed this morning!

#SparksOfJoy: A weekly post about something that makes me happy

A Chorus Line: I've had the privilege of being in this show--which captivated me so thoroughly and obsessively and cellularly as a teen--twice an an adult, and I still know and love and worship every note and every lyric and every line--except for the song "Nothing," which went from a revelatory teen favorite to a painful cliché to my adult ears … possibly because in both productions I did, Diana Morales sang it in a spotlight directly in front of me so I had to feign interest and enthusiasm while the rest of the cast got to take a zone-out break in the dark. The show initially captured my imagination and heart by articulating for me the struggles I was dreaming to share as I worked my way up the theater ladder to eventually land on a Broadway stage. Now I mostly just revel in the vocals and orchestrations--especially the wall-of-sound harmonies and contrapuntal melodies in the “One” closer. I make a point to see every production of A Chorus Line I come across, and every time I see it it's like a reunion of old friends … old friends who inevitably don champagne-colored costumes and form a line and kick gorgeously and enthusiastically and always dancing-as-one evenly into glorious infinity as the mirrors shimmer and the orchestra vamps and the lights slowly, slowly fade.

Sunday, January 20, 2019

Goodbye for now, obscene amounts of Christmas crap!

I’ve finally gotten you culled and organized enough to pack you away with a passable amount of OCD compliance. I feel a nagging compulsion to buy all matching bins next year so you look less overwhelming when you’re put away again. But as an imagined need, that would be even more obscene. So I won’t even bring it up.

In the interest of establishing a universal standard of objectivity,

I’m in the process of developing and applying rigorous scientific methodologies to create measurable efficiencies in plotting my eternal existential frustration as I rank my gym husbands in order—most to least—of who makes me giggle like a lovestruck schoolgirl.

I currently have three gym husbands in the #1 ranking—the system is clearly not ready to be published to undergo scientific review—but ONE OF THEM IS HERE TODAY GIGGLE GIGGLE GUSH GUSH WILL U B MY BOYFRIEND CHECK ONE [ ] YES [ ] NO (PLEASE CHECK YES PLEASE CHECK YES PLEASE CHECK YES)!
In other news, I just super-setted 21’s palms-up and 21’s palms-down. BEHOLD MY BOSSY BADASS BOUNCIN’-BABY-LIKE BICEPS!

We sure have some creepy ornaments

And some breathtakingly-adorable-child-picture ornaments. And, curiously but still admittedly Christmasy, a shapely-woman-wearing-a-tasseled-hanging-hook-and-beveling-in-an-unmissably-red-dress ornament. And, for reasons known only to the tooth fairy, a wooden bunny ornament. A wooden Christmas bunny ornament.
But, of course, the only reason I'm making this post—aside from finally exposing the Christmas terrors of my haunted, haunted childhood wrought by our creepy pantsless flat-handed pantyhose-head child-eating demon elf ornaments—is to report that I have just now, almost in time for an Easter visit from a wooden Christmas bunny, completely denuded our Christmas tree.

Dude. I totally just said denuded.

Well, shit

Bitch Kitty is curled up as adorably as her cold, black heart—which is as cold and black as this winter midnight—will allow with a plush squeaky poop emoji dog toy propped in front of her to undermine the last moth-eaten shreds of her courtliness, elegance and dignity.

Saturday, January 19, 2019

Harold Nichols is IN DA HOUSE

—well, in da dressing room—and READY FOR TECH REHEARSAL—well, just as soon as his pants get hemmed.

My blood starts pumpin'

I hate to brag, but eight years ago when I saw the 9 to 5 Broadway tour in Chicago, not only did Dolly Parton walk right by me in the lobby, but it was her birthday and I *personally* (well, along with 1,799 dear friends) sang “Happy Birthday” to her.

Friday, January 18, 2019

Snowpacolypse!

Sitzprobe (noun):

1. A seated rehearsal that merges orchestra, vocals and body microphones for the first time in the production of a musical; 2. A vaguely naughty-sounding German word that though it may seem so at first doesn't really lend itself to clever sexual innuendo and don't even think you're going to come up with the elusive and brilliantly definitive "probe" joke because millions of very talented and clever and profoundly disturbed actors and singers before you have exhausted every last possibility a thousand times over; 3. THE COOLEST REHEARSAL OF EVERY SHOW OF YOUR LIFE PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE; 4. I'm wearing my sporty-cool-electric-lemon-boogaloo hoodie today; 5. That has nothing to do with Sitzprobe but I didn't have any other place to fit it in today; 6. CHECK OUT THE NEON STRIPPER ON THE WALL BEHIND US OUR SET IS SO FREAKING COOL!

Leg Day in cheap, ill-fitting track pants is more miserable than Melania on Smocking Hamburder Night

I’d like to think my pants are all bunchy in all my uncomfortabunchy zones because of my mighty man quads and cantilevered cantaloupe calves, but it’s really because I was a big Clearance Clarence who was reeled in by the racing stripes. These stupid pants are tailored for cartoon ostrich legs, and they’re literally compromising my manly squats.

But they have pockets!
In other news, my Graffiti Wonder Woman shirt hasn’t sparked a single conversation about which is the definitive cast recording of Sondheim’s Follies. (It’s a tossup for me between the OBC and the Papermill Playhouse. Any other opinion is invalid.)

subornation of perjury (n):

the crime of persuading a person to commit perjury, defined as the swearing of a false oath to tell the truth in a legal proceeding, whether spoken or written. See illustration.

Of all the 10-Year Challenge parodies, this one made me laugh my head off

I’ve written this many things since November 29

And yes, our systems track our numbers for us in real time and display them on a convenient screen we can leave open in a browser tab. But I learned to count on an abacus, and if that was good enough for my brah Demosthenes, it’s good enough for couture shoes. Change my mind.

And while we’re talking about dates ’n’ stuff, TODAY IS MY NO-POP ONE-MONTH-IVERSARY!

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Good night!

Well hello, rakishly asymmetrical gym stealthfie!

It looks like you’re shaking things up on a different lat-pulldown machine. Your initiative and resourcefulness are sure to get you completely unnoticed by an entire gymful of muscular, handsome, manly men. Again.
Well hello, Shoop Shoop song on the gym speakers! In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a gymful of muscular, handsome, manly men. They prefer working out to the genre of music called Not The Shoop Shoop Song. Go back to your retirement-center elevator.

Just add USDA-uninspected Grade D meat!

Today in Stupid

Guess who—after eagerly waiting six months to finally have two big ugly pilar cysts removed from his head—initially went to the wrong doctor’s office this afternoon and had to race across town to get to the right one in time for his appointment?

THIS NO-LONGER-LUMPY GUY!