It’s not a proper manly musical until you’ve been issued your own personal cigar prop

I. HAVE. ARRIVED.

Backstage at My Fair Lady!

So each week our costumes get washed and pressed and hung in our dressing areas—except our socks, which get paired and balled and put in this Communal Bin Of Delightful-Smelling Clean Socks for us to dig through every Clean Sock Day to find the delightful-smelling clean socks that are best psychographically matched to our individual characters.

I usually get here early on Clean Sock Day—as I did tonight—which affords me early pickin’s from the Communal Bin Of Delightful-Smelling Clean Socks—which I, to my present horror, totally forgot to do tonight. Because there were free tacos in the green room. SO CAN YOU BLAME ME?

FREE. TACOS.

Anyway, I didn’t even think about visiting the Communal Bin Of Delightful-Smelling Clean Socks tonight until I was tending to my foot apparel 15 minutes before our curtain. And to my eternally scarring horror, ALL THAT WERE LEFT IN THE BIN WERE SHEER-ISH, LIGHTWEIGHT, NOT-UN-PANTYHOSE-LIKE, DISTURBINGLY BREEZY LADY SOCKS.

LA. DY. SOCKS. SSSSSSSSSS. S.

So I’ve been condemned to try being SHIT-KICKIN’ MACHO as I gavotted through my deliciously florid musical all night when I secretly feel SILKY AND SEXY in my FEET and ANKLES and CALVES and did I mention ANKLES and OH MY GOD I’M FEELING SO DELICIOUSLY SAUCY RIGHT NOW DRAW ME LIKE YOUR FRENCH GIRLS DRAW ME DRAW ME DRAW ME!

Plus wispy socks = slip-slidin’ in my shoes. WHICH IS WEIRD AND DISCONCERTING.

AND DELICIOUSLY SAUCY.

Plus—PLUS!—once you and your character psychographically match yourselves to a pair of delightful-smelling clean socks from the Communal Bin Of Delightful-Smelling Clean Socks, YOU’RE STUCK WITH THOSE SOCKS UNTIL THE NEXT CLEAN SOCK DAY.

And since this is our final weekend of My Fair Lady, MY NEXT CLEAN SOCK DAY WON’T HAPPEN UNTIL ELF THE MUSICAL OPENS IN NOVEMBER.

NO. VEM. BER. SSSSSSSSS. S.

* * * * *

HORRIFYING ADDENDUM: I just accidentally caught the bouquet at the end of “I’m Getting Married in the Morning.” Though it’s always a toss-up (ahem) regarding who catches it onstage, it’s never been launched anywhere NEAR my general direction before. It’s like there was some mysterious force drawing it to me like a magnet. A SHEER-ISH, LIGHTWEIGHT, NOT-UN-PANTYHOSE-LIKE, DISTURBINGLY BREEZY MAGNET.

I am now and forever cursed with silken deliciousness. Which I guess might come in handy since my bouquet and I are getting married next.

5K time!

The matchy-matchy race shirts and the inflatable start tunnel make it official. And totally macho.

#HowToTurn50

True fact from the front lines of tonight’s bitterly cold Holiday DeLight Parade:

It is impossible to march, smile, wave, execute an occasional chaîné and maintain a credible façade of a paragon-of-masculinity dancing lumberjack when you have a full-diluvian runny nose. But at least my new button stayed on.

Technically, I’ll be a LumberJake

I’m going to be a traditional Dancing Christmas Lumberjack in one of Cedar Rapids’ very few lighted parades tonight, which means you’re going to come watch the time-honored holiday tradition of the Lighting of the Dancing Christmas Lumberjack, right? Of course you are.

(Truth be told, I’ve been needing to sew a button back on my red plaid shirt for a while now, so I’m really only doing the parade to force myself to catch up on my mending. So if for no other reason, you should come watch the parade to see my newly reattached button. (It’s the second one down.))

ZAP!

My super-duper-hero ZAP! sign is probably an epic distraction from the palette I’m trying to isolate — you should see the coordinating BANG! sign! — but I’m still trying to find a deep-bluish-grayish-maybe-brownish-but-still-leaning-toward-bluish-or-maybe-even-slateish wall color that works with the sunny-gay yellow trim that frames the entire room (and covers the ceiling) and with the pinky-orangey-undertoned hideous faux pine that frames (and is) the door. Because I have NO intention of repainting/painting all that trim (plus the ceiling! plus the door). But I still want to tie it all together with a rich, dark man-cave color that truly reflects my durable, rugged, embarrassingly conspicuous masculinity. ZAP!

Because "lotters will be shot" kinda rhymes, and that's totally faggy