or my recent life in a nutshell
Warning: this is one long-assed posting of the boring variety.
Okay, so in the past I may have mentioned that I belong to a little community Steel Pan Band. There are five of us ladies who get together every Tuesday to pound out what sometimes passes for music.
In the past we've had other members, mostly male, who have stopped by to join in on all the fun only to leave, never be heard from again. It's as if they were abducted by Aliens as they walked to their car. Seriously. I don't know what happens to them. They just disappear. We're perfectly nice and certainly our "talent" is not intimidating at all, but yet...they never return. hmmm.
Whatever. We ladies always have fun carrying on and generally torturing our ever-so-patient instructor, Jonnet. That young woman is an absolute Saint with the patience of Job...or she secretly spikes her Starbucks with Vodka to get through practice. Either way, she's the best.
Anywho, a couple of weeks ago, unbeknownst to us, she booked us to perform at a big Breast Cancer Benefit. Wait...that didn't come out right. It wasn't a benefit for "big breasts" but a fancy breast bene--wait, "fancy" breasts have nothing to do with it either. Oh, you know what I mean. The point is this:
Us. Performing on an actual stage...in an actual theater. On the bill with actual professional musicians.
Our little adventure didn't start off so well. The program called for every act to dance, sing or play for only 10 minutes each. We were all supposed to rehearse for 15-20 minutes that afternoon. The "professional" dancers before us ended up hogging the stage for almost 40 minutes. The whores. By the time we got the drums set up, the stage manager was only going to let us rehearse one song. One song!! Please! He was totally giving us the proverbial "Bum's rush". Wonderful Jonnet fought to squeeze in one more tune before we got the heave ho.
So Tuesday night we gals got all gussied-up in black attire and shocking pink scarves, and performed our little three-song act center stage at the Byham Theater.
Holy crap it was nerve wracking to wait for what seemed like forEVER back stage for our turn to play. There was a point when I completely forgot how to play the bridge of a song I know in my sleep. Total blank out!
Luckily it came back to me once we got on stage. When it was all said and done (in a flash, I might add) the audience seemed to really enjoy our contribution. The Emcee even made a point of telling us how much fun he had watching us. We pulled it off, man! Geo said we got the loudest applause of the evening. Of course, he's my loyal, ever-loving mate, so maybe he was just being supportive. Either way, it felt really great.
Celebrating afterwards in our dressing room--we had a dressing room! Isn't THAT cool?--I had to admit, I sincerely wanted to go back on stage to play again. Even after all the anxiety of the torturous wait, I wanted to do it all over again.
I totally get it now. I get why people dig performing. What a rush! It's like a drug, man. Seriously. No wonder my fantasy husband, the lovely blue-eye one Rhett is so pumped when he does the post gig meet and greet. (And, yes. I shamelessly worked him in to this post once again just so I can share yet another gorgeous photo of him. Aaaaaa...that's better.)
Okay, so maybe next time we perform I'll invite you all to tag along.
Two Reasons Why I Am A Complete And Utter Asshat
or tell me something I don't know
Very funny Wise Ass.
Okay, so here are two further examples that prove sometimes I ain't right.
#1: I was dropping off my gal pal, Suzette when I opened my car window about three inches to toss out some rogue bit of stuff floating around the inside of the car. As my hand was poised halfway out the window, my other hand went completely Dr. Strangelove on me and raised the window.
I'm such an Asshat, I kept yelling "ow oW OW!" until I realized...DUH!..I had control of the auto window button and released my pinched digits. Smooth move, ExLax.
#2: I was filling up the gas tank of my lovely Rita, when I noticed the pump counter was way past 11 gallons and rounding to 12.
"Hmm." I thought. "I didn't think I had this big of a tan--"
And that's when I noticed the gushing sound of gasoline spewing forth from my tank, all over the fender and wheel of my beautiful auto, pooling under its chassis.
Yeah. I think I kinda ... said that out loud. Sorry.
So I wiped off as much gasoline as I could using the gross windshield cleaning water and squeegee provided at every petrol station, which my friend Beets tells me is totally rude since people actually like to clean their windows sometimes with that water. I never thought of that aspect. That really was rude, but I was panicked. That's my story anyway.
I spent the rest of the day smelling of Eau de Exxon. Hmmm. Dead Sexy!
How About One More?
or today's gem
As if all that stuff wasn't stupid enough, in my travels on this dismal, rainy morning I became the creamy white center of an Oreo car accident cookie.
Luckily no one was hurt and there was no visible damage to any of our cars. But we all dutifully stood out in the cold, cruel, drizzling rain exchanging names, numbers, cookie recipes, fashion tips, bra sizes...
Then to top everything off, I dumped almost an entire bottle of water in my lap, looking as though I had lost complete control of my sphincter and peed myself royally.
Yeah. It was THAT kinda day.