The Brits

We've finished our rehearsals in New York for this next leg, and it was much less anxiety-filled for me than last time.  Of course I already knew almost everyone.  Almost.

Three of our cast members opted not to continue with the show (much to my dismay... for I loved them so....) and have been replaced with actual British people... which was cause for great alarm prior to the first rehearsal.  Now, I don't know if you know this, but I overthink everything.  So here's my state of mind as recorded in my real journal prior to the first day of rehearsal:

I hope I don't make an ass of myself.  It could go one of two ways:

1) My Social Anxiety Disorder kicks in and I become shy, introverted, awkward, and possibly very sweaty. 

or

2) I overcompensate, becoming what I, in my adrenaline-addled head, perceive to be the life of the party, but is in actuality someone who rambles, laughs too loudly at everything, and is constantly checking the scene in the mirror to ascertain how it's going.

I reality, it wasn't so bad.  I'd say that neither 1) or 2) occurred in its entirety... although I was actually very sweaty, but I blamed the heat.

Several weeks prior, while still touring the US, I started having anxiety dreams about the Aussie tour.  A particularly disturbing one involved me being late for the first day of rehearsal, and missing the part where everyone meets each other.  So I have to go the rest of the tour without speaking to any of the new people because we were never properly introduced.  Y'know, like in a Jane Austen novel.

So imagine my dismay when I'm running close to on time and my train stops and sits in the tunnel three times on my way to the first rehearsal.  As if I don't worry enough.  But, fortunately, I made it on time and crisis was averted.

In Australia, we have to do the show with British accents... it being a British TV show and all....  Which is cool.  I tend to think I'm ok with accents in general.  And it's nothing too complicated.  But there's quite a difference between "creating" a Yorkshire accent from articles on the internet for a production in Oklahoma City and having to speak in a British accent in front of actual British people.  I feel like a giant tool.

And last but not least...  The Brits came to my pre-Birthday shindig last night, one of the first things I heard from their end of the table was "Does Katie have any friends who aren't gay?"

And that is my life in a nutshell.

I'm back, I hope

Dear me, but it's been a long time.  I fear I may have lost my loyal fanbase.  I should call her and find out.

So here's the thing:  I've been on the road for six months with what, in the interest of not being sued in case I write anything that I shouldn't, I shall hereafter refer to as the Children's Train Extravaganza (CTE).  Believe me, it's not that I haven't had plenty of experiences about which to write... it's just that I've had a very limited social circle, and the possibility of ostracizing any/all of my coworkers by ranting for a page and a half about their resistance to my attempts to institute the "quack quack, seat back" rule on the bus, say, or recanting a heated debate about the misuse of the term "semi-pro football league"

(Me:  But you don't get paid?

He: No.

Me:  And you have to pay membership fees?

He:  Yeah.

Me:  Well, if "semi" means half and "pro" means professional, shouldn't you get a stipend or something?  That's not "semi-pro"... that's "non-pro"... like community theater.

It would have been a riveting entry, I know.)

did not seem like a pleasant option. 

I'm back in the city now... and ready to resume my biting social commentary.  The trouble is, I'm leaving again on Tuesday for two more months.  Where am I going?, you might ask. 

Australia and New Zealand for two months!, I would answer.

Yes, the CTE is going international (for real this time... Canada doesn't really count).  And while I am still reluctant to write about people who might accidentally happen upon my little corner of the net and not be fooled by my feeble attempts at anonymity, I can only imagine that there will be plenty of cultural differences to describe and subsequently mock.  Here's hoping!

I have a new goal in life:

I want to live in a hotel...  like Eloise at the Plaza.  (A nice hotel, of course.  We stayed in an Omni Hotel in Pittsburgh (very swank!!!), but I suspect it was due to the fact that the producers were still with us, because it's been Quality Suites and Holiday Inns ever since.)  Nevertheless, I am totally digging hotel life so far. 

I never have to make my bed.  This statement implies that I actually do make my bed in my normal life.  Apart from the odd out-of-town guest or need to take pictures for a prospective subletter, I never make my bed.  But the point is that if I actually wanted my bed made, I wouldn't have to do it myself!

I never have to clean the bathroom.  Heck, I don't even have to hang up my towels if I don't want to.  Of course, I do, because to leave them on the floor indicates that you want new towels, which leads to wasted water and detergents, which is, I'm told, environmentally irresponsible... which leads me to my next point...

I never have to wash towels with my laundry.  I am constantly surprised how small my loads of laundry are without the added bulk of towels and bedsheets.  Of course, I don't have enough clothes with me to allow me to go months without doing laundry, but still....  So, in short, the towel situation allows me to spend less effort on laundry while granting me a sense of moral superiority.  Everybody wins (By which I mean, I win twice).

As I sit here thinking of more bullets to add to my list, I'm realizing that they all have to do with cleanliness, and thus, don't reflect very well on either my work ethic or my personal hygiene.  So I'll move on...

My love of hotel life has reached a new peak today.  We're in Virginia, which happens to be near the home of my tour roommate's boyfriend.  They've procured a room of their own (where I can only assume they're having deep meaning talks and long walks on the beach).  Regardless, that means I have our whole room to myself!!!

I am, for the next ten hours or so, bound by no social strictures regarding cleanliness or personal space.  My belongings are strewn all over this room.  And I can see myself living this lifestyle indefinitely.

Of course, what this actually means is that my new goal in life is to live completely free from personal responsibility.

Surprised?

Me neither.

And we're off... sort of.

Man, it's been a while.  I'm about to be tour the continent in a kiddie show (I don't want to get too specific and accidentally get fired.  I'd prefer my firing to be intentional?).  We're firmly ensconced in York, PA for ten days of tech rehearsals.  Today is day three and we've gotten through 3 1/2 songs so far... so let's just say it's kind of slow going.  There are a lot of technical elements to incorporate into the show.  Rolling coat racks have been replaced with ten-foot drivable trains, for instance... plus a zillion light cues, etc.

In my favorite part of the show, I get to play a narcoleptic sheep.  It's this amazing looking puppet.  Looks like it's been plucked straight out of Sesame Street.  I named her Jemimah, and I love her... and if I hear one more local tech guy tell the same joke about women being scarce and sheep being scared, or just making lewd comments about my beloved sheep in general, I'm gonna snap!  Unfortunately, I'm beginning to think it's bound to happen in every city we go.  I'm just glad it's a puppet instead of a costume (as was originally the plan) or I would be offended and massively skeeved out.

That's all I've got right now. 

I'm focusing all my energy on avoiding all you can eat buffets.  Even all I'd care to eat is quite a lot, and I don't want them to, at any point, tell me that I no longer need to wear the fat suit.

Kleenex Boxes for Shoes

I’ve been having the hardest time thinking of things to write about, and I finally figured out why that is:  It’s because I’ve been hibernating in my house for the last couple of weeks (with the exception of a few food orgies/Alias marathons/sleepovers).  My self-imposed hermitdome is due to a number of reasons.

1.  I have a job lined up in the not so distant future.  In my head, this means that all the bills between now and then will magically disappear, so there’s really no need to apply myself to making any money.  Besides the fact that I’m questioning my career choice… I saw a sign in the subway that said you’re not supposed to shake the babies.  Interesting…

2.  It is really f’ing cold outside, and no one in their right mind would venture out unless they absolutely had to.  Anyway, my contribution to the fast food delivery sector of the economy is only stimulating growth.  I’m just doing my part.

3.  After 3 ½ years of ownership, I’ve discovered that my computer plays DVDs.  Tragic, I know.  Somehow, movies that I’ve had for years are even better when viewed through my new (to me) toy.

4.  My attempt to wean myself off of 14 hours of sleep a day is not going very well.  And I’m on a weird schedule where I stay up until all hours because I got sucked into watching documentaries on PBS or Top Chef marathons, and then I don’t get up until someone calls me or the sun actually crawls in through my window, peels my eyelids open, and screams in my face to get up.

And thus, I've seen nothing of interest while out and about in the city.  I have noticed that my goal to improve my crossword handwriting while riding in a jouncing subway car has been an utter failure, but that's about it.

I'm going to OKC this week.  Partly to see friends, partly in hopes that I'll get to have a lesson or two, but mostly because it means I won't have to babysit for the rest of the week.

Call me if you're in town (Wed-Sat)!

I found a subletter for my apartment!  I have a job (though I still haven't received my contract... but I try not to think too much about that after the Captain Louie fiasco)!  I get to go on a mini-vacation!  It's as though all the pieces of my life are coming together. 

If only the love(s) of my life weren't into guys.

Sigh.