So I survived the weekend. The show got three standing ovations, I didn’t break any heels and our very first houseguests didn’t run screaming when they saw the clutter. Now all that’s left to do is rinse out the pantyhose (done!) and regrow the armpit hair.
Glenn and Todd were awesome first houseguests – mostly because they’re great guys, but also because they were extremely low maintenance in a weekend where I had three shows and the boyfriend disappeared for two days to attend his grandmother’s birthday party in Ohio. We were able to achieve my three goals before the boys arrived — useable bedrooms, scrubbed bathrooms and an uncluttered living room where we could actually sit and chat — so the weekend wasn’t as tenementy (is that a word?) as it could have been. And the boys made plans to hang out with some of their other buddies while the boyfriend and I were otherwise occupied, so we didn’t feel like total ignore-the-guests hosts.
I received very audible giggles every time I stepped on stage in my Spandex dragery (is that a word?) and uttered my first smoky “Cicero.” But by the time we merry murderesses had kicked the shit out of our Cell Block Tango, the audience was screaming and cheering. Which is always nice. Especially when your feet hurt all the way up to your fake boobs.
And now I’m buried at work, with nothing to keep me company but memories and raw skin around my eyes from scrubbing off my makeup.
And itchy armpits.
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