Working On My Communications Badge

Saturday morning and a whole day ahead of me stretches out like a sky full of question marks and I don't need to be anywhere or do anything until I have to be at the Opera House at six.
Tonight's our last performance of this particular play and all I can say about that is thank god. I think we've all grown incredibly bored with it although the audiences (sold out!) are still enjoying it. They eat their diner dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes inbetween scenes while we sit in the director's office and eat cold cuts and crackers and sometimes hummus and also baby carrots with Ranch dressing and talk about how badly we suck that particular night.

Last night I had two complete brain farts and my mind was as blank as the side of a brand-new refrigerator and my brain was blinded by the great glaring reflection of light from its surface and how I could do this after all this time and with so few lines to begin with is beyond me but I did and I stumbled forward and the gears engaged again and the machinery chugged back into life and the play AND the world went on.

Imagine that.

Those were not the worst moments of the performance for me though. No, that particular honor goes to the moment in the conga line (yes- conga line- I told you this play was ridiculous although I have come to love the song Cuba Pete as done by Desi Arnaz) when I realized that some old man with a toupee had his hands on my body and didn't appear to want to take them off. Natasha, not me, shook him off roughly and stamped back up to the stage on her witchy high heels and took her place beside Boris, wishing the knife she had in her bag WAS NOT MADE OF PLASTIC.

Audience participation should only go so far in my opinion.

And I don't even want to discuss the crazy guy who asked me to bite his neck.
Natasha is NOT a vampire, folks. She's an assassin.

Ah well.

There were a few good moments, too.

After the play Kathleen and Herb and another fellow named David followed me home and Herb and David checked the perimeter and the chickens and all was well and it was peaceful in Lloyd and I checked my e-mail to find that a good friend was in the hospital with diverticulitis and that made me so sad. He'll be all right but it's hard for me to imagine this man in the hospital or even laid low at all by anything, he's such a force of nature. Such a fiery flinging of sparks.

And then I slept and here I am, sitting on the porch and the man who mows is here and I'm drinking coffee and a smoothie (recipe: about a third a cup of plain, nonfat yogurt, a handful of frozen strawberries, a little less of blueberries, a few pieces of pineapple, a half a banana, about an eighth of a cup of flax seed, a squirt of honey, some almonds- blend up with just enough orange juice to liquify the whole thing) and I've read the paper, even the letters to the editor including the one from a Boy Scout from Troop 51 who thinks that if Bush had put up some sort of barrier (not necessarily a wall) between Mexico and the US it would have prevented the swine flu and also, he is a conservative so even though he didn't "willingly accept President Obama's foreign policy" it is his duty to serve his country whoever is in office. He also apologized for his "horrid handwriting, spelling, grammar and views that could possibly offend" and you have to love the little guy for that. I hope he gets his communications merit badge which the letter was one of the requirements for.

And that's me today. I don't think I've written anything that would offend unless you're that man you had his hands on my body and I've given you a recipe and offered you the opportunity to view a fine video of a fine Cuban man and his beautiful wife, dancing and singing and displaying the reason they were America's sweethearts and so I think I've done my job here at blessourhearts. Spelling and grammar?

I ain't apologizing for shit in that department.

Go drink your smoothie.

And as Kathleen would say, "Have a lovely day."