Hey, big spend-purr!

I’m working from home in my ultra-plush, super-cozy basement office today, and I figured that since Bitch Kitty liked sitting on my laptop bag so much the last time, I’d set it out again for her—and this time arrange it so she also had a space to sit inside the shoulder strap if she wanted to mix it up a bit.

She hadn’t even shown her face (or her bitch ass like last time) by noon so I sweetened the pot with a crisp $5 bill, but she apparently can’t even be enticed to sit by me with the allure of untold lifetime wealth.

I’d admire her willpower if I could just find my dignity first ...

Tonight’s penultimate performance of Elf the Musical was an unmitigated disaster from start to finish

As we were waiting onstage for the overture, one of our little elves walked up and accused me of not knowing her name—rude!—and then I had to admit that she was right. And then in our big tappy finale, not one but two—TWO!—of my tap shoes came untied.

Existential. Horror.

I just hope I can salvage what’s left of my joy and dignity in tomorrow’s matinee, or all my Elf the Musical memories will carry with them the lingering stink of shame and potential OHSA violations.

John Wilkes called ...

When you’re taking a selection of selfies in front of the telecommunications museum in the upstairs lobby of the theater as you wait to make your (surprise!) balcony entrance in Act II and a totally handsome and totally age-appropriate man comes out of the bathroom and catches you and you try to play it cool as he says hi and you I-would-NEVER-take-a-selection-of-selfies-in-front-of-the-telecommunications-museum-in-the-upstairs-lobby-say-hi back to him and as you pretend you’re being totally cool and normal you notice that he’s looking over his shoulder at you as he walks up the stairs to the balcony doors and you can’t decide if it’s because he thinks you’re weird or he wants your name so he can call you to ask you on a date and I’M IN THE PROGRAM UNDER DOUG THE CHRISTMAS COP AND YOU CAN FIND ME ON FACEBOOK!

Dignity. Always dignity.

Well, THAT was a first

My lovely and delightful stage wife Lady Boxington and I were totally rocking the gorgeous Embassy Ball waltz at the top of Act II during today's nearly-sold-out My Fair Lady matinee just as we always do in our preternaturally eloquent grace, when out of the blue—and thankfully way in the back—we discovered that we both had feet ... then we tangled them ... then we tottered slightly off balance ... then we tottered precariously off balance ... and then we went WHAM! on the floor (see actual illustration below) in full go-big-or-go-home WHAMMING complete with flying jewelry, WHAMMING noises, inelegant grunts, looks of terrified shock, catastrophic lack of dignity, fiery humiliation, earnest assurances that we were both OK, quick-as-humiliatedly-possible standing-upping and—we hope—seamless re-integration into the choreography just in time for my favorite swingy-army part ... all literally in a matter of eight measures.

We both continue to insist that we're fine, aside from the massive subdural hematoma on my I-can-still-dance-with-all-the-grace-and-assurance-I-had-when-I-was-25 delusional ego.

And we got this commemorative actual illustration of our fall for our scrapbooks that I found by googling "people falling over." So we're choosing to chalk this up as a win.

You know how in Singin’ in the Rain when Don Lockwood tells his adoring fans at the premiere of The Royal Rascal that his entire career has been driven by the motto “Dignity. Always dignity.”?

Yeah. We don’t have that.

Scott might look like he has dignity in our running selfies, but I think I heard him say a swear under his breath once. What a butthead. Rob comes the closest to having dignity, but he once wore running shorts that didn’t quite go with his new running shoes. Freak. I’m probably the least dignified, but it’s none of your damn business why. Jerks.

I ran my three miles at an 11:09 pace this morning though, which is pretty dignified given the slow ramp-up of my pace after my stupid hip injury cost me a month of training.

But we’re all still total embarrassments to ourselves. So shut up.