"It Couldn't Have Happened Anywhere But in Little Old New York"

I hope from my silence over the internet airwaves, you, my vast legions of readers (as if) intuited correctly that I did, in fact, escape from the big white van and return to civilization!! For one brief shining moment, I was tour trash no more!

I wore high heels, I curled my hair, I glossed my lips. There was glitter in my eyeliner, tofu in my salad, and a bellini in my hand. It was as if I awoke from a weird dream and suddenly remembered who I was. I got to spend Thanksgiving knee deep in pies with the family, Friday night in the city wining and dining with the most fabulous people in the history of the world (aka Midd alums), Saturday night with friends from highschool, sitting on big comfy couches and gossipping about what had happened to everyone we'd forgotten about, and Sunday eating pancakes with mom and dad and plowing through more than a thousand pages of Twilight books...yeah...sorta embarassing...

Someday soon I will once again be that girl! Once more, I'll belt up my navy Banana Republic trench, leave the boys at the bar and head uptown to see my girls. I have a dream. And that dream is the big shiny apple.

Until then, it's back to the daily grind. Goodbye, Manhattan. Hello, Sleep Inn.

"May His Pernicious Soul Rot Half a Grain a Day!"

Mr. White: If you could have another three wishes, would you have them?
Mrs. Morris: I don't know...I don't know! Better to let it burn!

"It" refers to the magical, wish-granting monkey's paw. "Burn" refers to the stove into which I (Mrs. Morris) am supposed to fling said monkey's paw. Ah, but what then, Mrs. Morris, does one do if there is NO STOVE.

Yep, they forgot to place the stove at the top of the act. I spent the first six minutes of Paw in a cold sweat dead panic. WHAT TO DO?! Not only was I supposed to throw the thing in the fire, my lines not only referred to the "burn", but go on further with "I threw it on the fire!" and "Pitch it on the fire again, like a sensible man!"

Even though deviating from the script is frickin unbreakable commandment number one around here, sometimes a creepy widow's gotta do what a creepy widow's gotta do, and wing it. I took a deep breath, and what came out of my mouth was:

Mrs. Morris: I don't know...I don't know!
(Honestly, this time, I didn't know. Truth in acting, people. This was a 'real' moment. Stanislavski would have been proud.)
Mrs. Morris: Better to let it rot!

"Rot." Genius, eh? And thus I chucked it under the platform, as if I were trying to bury it in the floorboards of the home. I then followed it up with "I won't, I threw it away!" and "pitch it away again, like a sensible man." Hoo-ha!

Man, it is always darkest just before the dawn - and by dawn I mean the sweet, sweet dawn of Thanksgiving break, where I will return to home and hearth and friends and civilization!!!
And by darkest, I mean yet another subterranean dressing room sitch. (This one wasn't too scary, though.) Likewise, it is an uphill battle. And by uphill I mean that the load in-dock was up a 45 degree ramp that necessitated a PULLEY SYSTEM to tote up all of our evil road boxes and platform carts. (Like the subterranean dressing room, it also wasn't as scary as it sounded. The pulleys were surprisingly effecient, and the crew did all the pulleying. I concentrated on prancing about in my new Wonder Woman tee and trying not to slip in the rain.)

Even with the general clusterfuck of today, as always it was sort of a relief to get back to work. Sunday was a long, long day. I hiked up a mountain to a target. I browsed the TJ Maxx homegoods. I spent a couple hours (yes, hours) reading baking books at Books-A-Million, then did the exact same at Barnes & Noble (there was a different selection.) We spent the late afternoon at a coffee shop in downtown Asheville NC, which is actually pretty charming. And full of delicious vegan-y green coffee shops. Never thought I'd see tempeh again in this lifetime...

Here I am now in Hickory, NC - a town synonymous with Freedom. Ah, sweet sweet freedom! Don't get me wrong. The show is great. Socially...tour is wearing on me. Let's just say that the ABC Family Original holiday movies in the Countdown to the 25 Days of Christmas are the only thing that's keeping me together at this point.

And So the Lion Fell in Love with the Lobster...The Red Lobster, That Is

And we are out of Tennessee. Which is too bad, really, because apparently I had some fans there. On Thursday someone wolf-whistled when I came out as Katrina, and then again on Friday when I came out in my Matilda ballgown. If I honestly thought either of them was a dashing young English teacher with a penchant for tweed jackets with elbow patches and D.H. Lawrence, I would have leapt over the first few rows into the audience. But I'm pretty sure they were just obnoxious thirteen year old boys. Actually, I had a fan backstage on Friday too. As per usual, the crew was comprised primarily of spry septuagenarians, including one awesome ponytailed fellow named "Stash"; however, there was also one guy under the age of 30. I call him Flirty McFlirterson, as he was totally chatting up me, Other Actress, and LightingGirl. Boy does not mess around.

My first Matilda costume has giant sleeves. Like girl in Napoleon Dynamite huge. Because I'm wearing the purple paisley day dress over my ballgown, the sleeve situation is just ginormous. So I'm sitting backstage on one of the road boxes in my paisley dress, waiting for Monkey's Paw to finish as the zombie son returns home.

Flirty: So...can I feel 'em?
Me: Um...what now?
Flirty: Come on, let me give 'em a squeeze.
Me: Excuse me??
Flirty leans over and starts squeezing my sleeves.
Flirty: Ohhhh yeah.
Me: Heh heh (awkward laugh)
Flirty: You see this, Stash?
Stash: I got me a paisley shirt. Almost 40 years old. The 70s. You know.

Yeeeah fun times. Me and my sleeves got the hell out of Tennessee and are in Asheville, NC for the weekend. As we do on many a friday evening, we headed for the local movie theatre. And hold on tight, spider monkey: we went to see Twilight. It was, without a doubt, one of the most entertaining movies I've seen all year. In the most unintentionally hilarious way. A good 60% of the movie is INTENSE EYE SHOT CLOSEUPS. Very dramatic. The other 40% is genius dialogue.

Edward: And so the lion fell in love with the lamb...
Bella: What a stupid lamb...
Edward: What a masochistic lion...

Did you know that vampires glitter? Sparkly!

Today was actually a pretty good day. One of the top tour Saturdays, I'd say. I went for a jog this morning which was ummm not as much fun as I'd hoped. North Carolina is hilly as shit. UGH. And COLD. There was snow! Haw Creek was entirely frozen over. But the minimart I stopped in on the way back to the Best Western had the best snapple selection I've seen since we left Boston, which brought me great joy.

The van was gone, for further repairs, but nothing stands between me and my mall. Especially when there are christmas decorations involved. A bunch of us headed down the highway to the Asheville Mall, where a festival of cardigan and sweaterdress shopping and mani-pedis at the Golden Nail ensued. Red sparkly toenails! Sparkly as a vampire in the sun! Good times. We finished off the day with dinner at Red Lobster. It was a freaking battle royale for a parking space - there were literally 8 cars circling like vultures in a packed lot. And yet, somehow, because the man is a genius, Ichabod managed to snag one AND maneuver our giant dumb white van into a teeny tiny spot. Seriously - medals should be awarded and statues should be erected. Yes, the new wood-grilled favorites are beyond delicious, and the conversation and the company was lovely, but that wasn't the best part. After I explained to our waiter about my freakish diet coke consumption, not only did he manage to outpace me (no mean feat), but he brought me a little to-go cup filled with diet coke with my check.

I fell a little bit in love.

"Dancing, as Fred Astaire Said, Is Next to Ditch Digging"

Knoxville, Tennessee - forget Connecticut, their motto should be "we're full of surprises!" Delightful surprises, that is. Firstly, last night, Ichabod, Frog, Other Actress, Brom and I had the most delicious mexican dinner across the street from our Sleep Inn, at El Chico's. Unfortunately we were NOT there on 2.99 Ladies' Margarita Night, but neither were there on 99 cent Kids' Night, so I think that evens out. After an endless parade of Cracker Barrels and Wendy's and Bob Evans', I really cannot emphasize enough just how wonderful that Chicken Monterrey was (mmm cheese and mushrooms and onions and peppers and pico de gallo and oh my my.) Plus our waitress had the type of flattened blonde hair and heavy black eyeliner that always puts me in the comforting mood of being at a cheer competition. Speaking of, I forced LightingGirl to watch a cheer competition on ESPN in the Spartangburg SC Best Western Gym the other day, and these minis did a routine to a Christina Aguilera "Aint No Other Man"/Jonas Brother "Burnin' Up" remix which was AWESOME.

Despite the delights of El Chico's, I was sort of grumpy when I woke up, because I'd been up way too late blowing my nose every fifteen minutes (damn you cold, damn you mucus swapping germy child audiences, damn you november). Plus the cold weather, the constant makeup application and removal, and my runny nose, have formed an unholy trinity of bad flaky skin. I thusly have
not one, not two, but three different moisturizers in my purse at any one time. I will beat you, winter skin. But anyway that made me grumpy too. Staying up till 1:30 blowing your nose isn't that big a deal, unless you have to get up for work at 6:30. Oh wait. I do.

And yet, the minute we entered the doors of the Knoxville Civic Auditorium and Coliseum, all grumpiness was instantly dispelled. The place was covered floor to ceiling with wonderful old memorabilia from the Auditorium's long, illustrius career. We're talking old movie posters, signed star photographs, a suit of armor, an actual piano bolted to the wall with sheet music around it, toe shoes from the Knoxville Ballet, vintage soda can displays, everything. My drama dork/history nerd/classic film buff heart skipped a beat. I ran straight into a signed photo of Bernadette Peters - Bernadette Peters! Around the corner was Dolly Parton - Dolly Parton! Ah, Dolly...so close, and yet so far. I've been chasing her every step of the way this tour, from the Dixie Stampede in Myrtle Beach to Pigeon Forge, the home of Dollywood, and today to a stage where she's performed, and I do feel closer to her, but I fear I will never be actually close to her. Like hugging distance.

The wonders didn't stop. There was an ice rink around the corner - yeah, a giant hockey rink. Then I looked down at the floor, and it was painted in a yellow brick road!!! SoundBoy turned to me, offered his arm, said "Shall we?", and we skipped down the yellow brick road, like a blond Dorothy and Scarecrow. (This did much to redeem SoundBoy, following various coffee-mug-urination and losing-dvd incidents.) We followed the yellow brick road to the stage (closer and more beautiful than ever before!) and then up the stage to the dressing rooms. A handful of them were named after old movie stars. I put myself in the Ann Miller room, partially because it had a couch, but mostly because I love Ann Miller, particularly in On the Town. I am so totally her, dancing around in that museum. Ask me to sing "Prehistoric Man" sometime. I know all the words. It's only the greatest cobination of museum studies and musical theatre in the history of western civilization. Turns out, it wasn't just named after her...she was there. THERE. On a tour of Sugar Babies with Mickey Rooney. Mickey Rooney!! I have shared a stage with Ann Miller. ANN MILLER! I did a time step in her honor on stage when I thought no one was looking.

The less delightful surprise was that our van is being weird, so we spent like 2 hours at the Firestone getting the tires rotated. We passed the time at a delightful pizza place decorated with black and white new york photos, and at a Walgreen's where I bought festive christmas pj shorts and knee socks. (So much holiday joy it's a little hard to handle.) But eventually we were on the road, and of course sooner rather than later...

Frog: I need to pee!
Stage Manager: Can't pee at the scenic outlook. Well we can.
Frog: Stephanie can't.
SM: She can squat.
Me: I don't pee outside.
Frog: She's like "I do not squat. I am not an Indian, thank you. I'm not a savage."
Ichabod: "I'm not from New Jersey."

Whatever, boys, laugh it up.

Huntsville to Hotlanta and Onwards

'Bama is behind us, as Ichabod and I drove the truck from Alabama through Tennessee to Georgia. Largely the drive was through NOTHING, which made finding lunch difficult. We pulled off literally on the Alabama/Tennessee border, by the Fireworks Wholesaler and Big Daddy's Outdoors (that would be guns, bait, ammo, all the essentials.) We pulled up to Stone's Dairy Bar, which had not changed one iota since Margie Stone opened it in 1972. Faded wood paneling, front porch, framed family photos on the wall, the world's oldest cash register. Margie Stone herself was our waitress, and we were the only people in the place who weren't Stones. For serious. Great grandchildren kept trooping in and out. I ordered the taco salad, which featured lettuce, tomatos, the famous homemade chili and much to my suprise...fritos. Although in defense of their inclusion, they were chili cheese fritos. So I guess that makes them very taco salad-y. Pretty much, it was awesome.

My exposure to Atlanta consists of Gone With the Wind, the Buckhead Betty episodes of My Super Sweet Sixteen, and Bravo's The Real Housewives of Atlanta (in my humble bravo-loving opinion, by far the best of the franchise. Orange County has nothin' on Hotlanta.) My time in Peachtree Central was not as exciting as any of these shows would have led me to believe, but enjoyable none the less. We spent the evening at the Georgia State diner watching Dancing With the Stars.

The Atlanta theatre was our biggest - 5000 seats. It didn't feel as big as I'd thought - it's funny how fast you adjust to big theatres. 5000 feels normal now, the 2000 seaters feel a little small...what? who am I?

This has been a pretty easy week. Loading docks in all the theatres, and crews who really know their stuff. Also the southern crews are (in general) much more likely to go "here now, ma'am, don't hurt yourself I'll carry that fer ya" and I know, I KNOW, I should be all strong woman and say "no, I will heft that proscenium arch alone! HEAR ME ROAR!" but quite frankly I don't like carrying heavy things and if some stagehand wants to be chivalrous, I say chival away.

This week we shared the stage with such luminaries as Bear in the Big Blue House Live!, Care Bears Live!, Dragon Tales Live!, and four fucking thousand teenage beauty queens - every Miss South Carolina/Carolina Teen ever. Care bears and pageant girls...magical.

Sweet Home Alabama

As Reese Witherspoon's character says in Sweet Home Alabama, "people need a passport to come down here." Greetings from a different blonde "hoity-toity yankee bitch" stuck in 'Bama.

All Saturday, Ichabod and I drove the truck from Virginia to Alabama. (correction: Ichabod drove the truck. I read InTouch Weekly and drank copious amounts of diet soda.) We stopped for lunch at a Cracker Barrel in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, home of Dollywood! While we were unfortunately unable to visit Dollywood, I like to think that eating at the Pigeon Forge Cracker Barrel actually brought me closer to Dolly, because I bet Dolly loves her some Cracker Barrel.

And guess what was on USA when we finally got our hotel in Huntsville, AL: SWEET HOME ALABAMA!!! Yes, it's true. I was a little too excited. I was pretty sure it was a sign that both a hot scruffy southern guy in plaid and a hot New York guy in a suit were going to fall in love with me over the weekend. So I put on extra makeup before we headed to the Chili's. But that wasn't all I put on - the plan had been for bowling, and it was time to bust out the bowling outfit. Last weekend, Ichabod, Frog and I formed a bowling league: Downtown Ichabod and the Sassy Van Tassies (frog plays my father, Balthus Van Tassel, in Sleepy Hollow, and I am obvi Katrina Van Tassel, hence the Sassy Van Tassies). Not only did we christen ourselves thus, we bought bowling shirts at a thrift store next to the laundromat. Well, the boys bought black/blue and black/red bowling shirts, and I bought an insane red and blue patriotic bowling suit of FURY. I don't know what cracked out 8 year old boy bought this, but god bless his mother for donating it to that thrift store. (Yes, I buy clothes from the boys' 8-10 section. Shut up.)

Dinner at Chili's with the whole gang was delicious, and mostly uneventful, save for the fact that Other Actress kept poking me to go hit on the blue-eyed/ken-doll-haired bartender who happened to be from Connecticut, and for the fact that I may or may not have consumed 9 diet cokes. Constant free refills are a dangerous things, my friends. I was sort of cracked out by the time we left for the bowling alley. Seriously, 9 diet cokes are better than booze. Or I imagine speed would be. It was AWESOME! I was ready to BOWL!

DI and the SVTs were joined by our illustrious SM. Saturday nights are the ONLY time to bowl because it is rock n'bowl, with all the crazy glow in the dark blacklights and the eye of the tiger soundtrack and Christina Aguilera music videos. I like to view bowling as a dance party with giant diet cokes, and every so often someone makes me throw a ball down a lane, which I'm not that into. The first two games I bowled true to form, spectactularly awful - gutterballs galore! In the third I actually bowled an 86, which I think is a personal best. Of course, I was still nowhere near the boys' scores. All three of those stinkers are actually pretty good. We're talking turkeys all over the place.

Today was a nice, lazy sunday. After a fiesta omelet at the Waffle House, we got our van cleaning duties out of the way, leaving us free to hit the mall alllllll afternoon. I know everyone likes to complain about how it's not even thanksgiving it's too early for christmas bla bla bla but I say fuck that, bring it ON! I love christmas! I mean, I bought a Jessica Simpson REJOYCE christmas cd at a truckstop. I am so ready. My favorite part of the mall excursion today was not trying on cocktail dresses at Charlotte Russe, nor the sweet 2-for-10 belts I scored, but enjoying the holiday season in the Dillard's displays and the christmas trees. I also got a french manicure at the mall, and although I know it will chip in like a hot second unloading the truck, it makes me feel slightly more human. Toss in the fact that I got to go to the 5.75 movie matinee, and it was a pretty good weekend.

Hmmm. Maybe I'm more 'Bama than I thought.

Carry Me Back to Old Virginny

Like a post-Nipplegate Justin Timberlake after his appearance on the Ellen Degeneres show dressed like a dancing gingerbread man, I have redeemed myself. Like JT, I have not only brought sexy back, I have recovered from my wardrobe malfunction debacle. On the long drive from Fayetteville NC to Richmond VA, I sewed a new zipper into my saloon girl outfit. With reinforced thread. By hand. And it took for-freaking-EVER. Like more than 2 hours for freaking ever. But I did it! And more importantly, my spirits were greatly cheered by a driver-navigator Cher singalong starring Ichabod and myself. Who knew anyone else knew all the words to “Half-Breed”? Not that I do. Obvi.

Richmond should have been a dark day. There was a 7:30 am load-in with a freight elevator, for christ’s sake. But when the morning dawned and the hotel lady asked what time I was performing in the Disney on ice show (moi? A figure skater?! My secret dream, ever since the days when I collected Nancy Kerrigan trading cards! I knew things were going to go well.

I didn’t run away to join Disney on ice, but went to our load-in, which was so ridonkadonk fast that Brom, Other Actress and I went out for breakfast. We found the coolest little coffee shop full of breakfast burritos and tofu scrambles and vegan banana muffins and all the magical types of things I’d been craving, all in a cute, comfy, stuffed-chair shop. It was like I was home again.

I packed up my extra tofu and went back to the theater, where we luxuriated in our GIANT dressing room on our HUGE plushy comfy couches until we did the show, in a BEAUTIFUL old theater (the Landmark) with all these cool sort of asain-y murals, the crowd was super into it, and I was having the time of my life. You know those moments when you’re just blissfully, almost inexplicably happy? Like snowball fight and a mug of hot chocolate happy? The cute boy sits next to you in history class happy? This was one of them. When I made my BAM entrance into the ball during The Necklace and stood there glittering in my ballgown and faux-diamond necklace,, under the spotlights with arms raised, all I could think was that I somehow wanted to freeze the moment and let it go on forever.

Of course, time doesn't freeze, the show must go on, life goes on, and you can't stay in Richmond forever. Eventually you trek on down to Wytheville, Virginia, and somehow end up in Jesus' diner...

Sometimes the south is scary.

Apocalypse Pants

I lost my pants. And not in the fun, I-went-to-a-tent-full-of-foam-party-and-somehow-came-back-without-my-pants way. (That didn't happen to me, p.s. You know who you are, pantsless party queen, and you rock my socks.) No, I didn't even lose my own pants. I lost my stupid schoolboy pants. My green velvet, gold button knickers that I wear for all of 15 seconds at the beginning of Sleepy Hollow as one of the schoolboys in Ichabod Crane's classroom. I tore apart the Raleigh Music Hall looking for them. Nada. I upended both wardrobes. NOTHING. Naturally, I was on the verge of panic attack, not so much at the prospect of being a pantsless schoolboy, but more because I HATE having people disappointed in me/failing at anything (it's all rooted in my pathological need to have everyone like me.) So basically, that sucked. I was tres, tres upset. Thankfully, Other Actress, Brom, Frog and I were able to escape to the Fayetteville State University Dining Hall, and once I was somewhat sedated by fountain diet coke, I felt much better. Like the minute it hit my bloodstream. Two glasses in, I was all "Life's too short to worry about pants!" and ready to rock and roll. I managed to Macgyver a pair of knickers out of the emergency black pants and suspenders we have in the wardrobe in case Brom can't play the Tell-tale Heart narrator and Ichabod has to go on. Roll em' up, stick in two safety pins, and the children were saved from having to see my pale yellow and white polka dot lacy undies.

Little did I know my wardrobe malfunctions were only just beginning. The show was going along swimmingly, until we hit the last show, The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and somehow, the little thing that pulls up the zipper (you know, the zippy part) got off the track of my saloon girl dress and went flying out into the ether. MASSIVE PANIC ENSUED. There was no way to close my dress. I was half naked from the back. I missed the entire intro hopping around and panicking, then ribbed a velcro sash off of one of Other Actress's discarded costumes to at least hold part of it together, and skittled on to stage sideways like a crab keeping my back away from the audience. Lighting girl had managed to get a clip backstage to Ichabod, who's on my side of the proscenium before we come on as Saloon Girl and stranger. Ichabod clipped the top but it was still a bad situation; he left again and returned with a stapler but was unable to staple me into my costume as it comprises four fucking thousand layers of petticoats and faux corset material. HORRIBLE. In the midst of all this panicking I kept tripping and kicking things and prop brandy glasses were flying everywhere. I somehow made it through the end of the show sidehopping about like a frog/crab but it was...not pretty.

UGH. Children of Fayetteville, North Carolina, I officially apologize. That was a hot mess.

Chill it Out Take it Slow, Then You Rock Out the Show

You know, it's funny - I spend all week looking forward to the weekend, but it's usually during the weekends where I find my darkest days, and the minute I get to work and back up on stage (as Ichabod astutely noted, the minute I have that Katrina hankie in my hot little hands) the world is instantly a brighter, better place. Huh - I guess that means you have the right job when you actually prefer your job to your time off. And yet, that Pavlov's dog response still goes off in my head - "Zing! Friday!" even though Fridays usually just signal the start of 48 hours of milling around Cracker Barrels and K-Marts. Although this weekend I did drag the entire gang on a forced march to the mall - how was I supposed to know it was 3 miles away? Whoopsie...meh, exercise is good for 'em.

Monday's show went fairly well, except I somehow lost my shoe during Sleepy Hollow. This wouldn't be odd, except for the fact that they are mary-jane style tan character shoes, and thusly, have an ankle strap. I made an extra ambitious hop on "oooo STOP pawing me like a bear!" and somehow hopped out of my shoe, yet the strap remained buckled around my ankle, so I was forced to sort of prance around and try to kick the shoe back into place, which obviously didn't work. I tried to whisper to my fellow actors for aid but there was nothing they could do; at one point I swung my leg up on the bench because I was going to try to do a flirty "I'm gonna bend over and fix my shoe and shake my tush" thing and pretend it was part of the blocking, but the show just kept going, so I did all of Sleepy Hollow balanced on one foot wearing a tan mary-jane character shoe like an ankle bracelet. Le sigh. I was obviously terrible in every other show because all I could think about was my stupid shoe.

We then headed to Danville, VA - at first I thought, lame, but it turns out, Danville, "gateway to the south," was the last capital of the Confederacy! Jefferson Davis learned of Lee's surrender at Appomattox in a house on Millionaire's Row in Danville! I was embarrassingly excited, obvi.

Unfortunately, my shoe was not all I lost that day, for on my evening jog I lost my way. Like somehow-exited-the-city-limits-and-was-surrounded-by-cows-and-a-glass-factory lost my way. It was a little scary, because I had no idea where I was, the sun was setting, and I could practically hear the music from Deliverance tuning up. And yet, just when I was starting to panic/give up hope (this would be two hours into the jogging adventure - I KNOW TWO HOURS gaaag me), as my ipod crescendoed to "Proud to be an American" (yes, the American Idol song, bought during my uber-patriotic jingoistic phase in France when I was really homesick and made a country song/american pride song playlist and would blast it in my dorm and danced around in my red white and blue hello kitty underwear. and I wonder why I didn't make any French friends...), I saw the glowing lights of CVS in the distance! Civilization! Right around the corner from the Sleep Inn! Saved by a CVS sign - I was proud to be an american.

For dinner that night we decided to head off the beaten trak and forgo the IHOP for a local joint: "Hams! Good Times Since 1935!" Turns out the times were extra good, because kids eat for 99 cents on Mondays. Not only that, there was a magician, balloon animals, face painting, and Hannah Montana karaoke. Yeah...it was, as I'm sure you can imagine, INSANITY. The four of us were literally the only table there sans child. The food was delicious, and the screaming child ambience could not be beat. Although I swear, if I heard one more kid butcher "Best of Both Worlds," I was ready to get up there and show those bitches how it's done - Miley Cyrus-style.

Sleepless in Raleigh

After a very brief stop in West Virginia (and contrary to its welcome sign, it was neither "Wild" nor "Wonderful!"), we are back in North Carolina. And oh, what a wild and crazy weekend it has been. Not.

Friday night we were in Pilot Mountain, North Carolina, the town where the Andy Griffith show is set. For serious. There was an Aunt Bea's Diner and everything. This should give you an idea of just how happening it was. Picture the Andy Griffith show plus fast food and empty buildings, minus the charm. Now, I am a firm believer in "when the going gets tough, the tough go to the movies," and thankfully a lot of my fellow tour-mates are of a similar mind. There is no movie theatre in Pilot Mountain (obvi), so we headed to nearby Mount Aerie, bustling metropolis that it is.

Obviously, I went to see Highschool Musical 3. As any Zac Efron fan over the age of 8 expects, I was getting a lot of shit from the gang in the van. The actor I'll call Brom said, from the row behind me where he was conducting a snuggle party, "I'm sorry, but I just have to judge you a little."

Frankly, I am sick and tired of people judging my delight in all Zac Efron endeavors, particularly those that involve song and dance!
I'll be honest here, kids. Tour is starting to take a toll on me. I'm getting sick of the crappy hotels and the crappy food and the crappy (usually nonexistent) treadmills and the bizarre social construct that is tour and I miss dance parties and cute boys in sweaters and gossipping with my girls and wearing impossibly high-heels. I needed to escape.

I turned to Brom, and I said, "Don't you judge me. I like Highschool Musical for the same reason you like scifi. It's a simplified moral universe with good and evil clearly delineated, with good reigning triumphant. That's why scifi is popular. Westerns, too. Most movies, in fact - people have always taken comfort in escaping to a place where things arent so complicated. And if I want to believe for two hours that dancing can solve all your problems, that music can bring people together, and that love means holding hands in a treehouse, that's my perogative."
Anyway, he stopped judging. Usually reminding scifi nerds of their dorkiness has that effect.

As I was watching the end of the movie, as everyone skipped around in their graduation gowns singing, "I just want the rest of my life to feel as good as my HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL," I couldn't help but think "yeah - me too." And I don't mean my actual high school musical (not that Once Upon a Mattress wasn't a slammin good time, because it was), but the movies. Why does life have to be so complicated? And my life's not even that bad! It would just be so much better if everyone fell instantly in love at first sight, no major problems ensued (minus jockeying for the lead in a musical), there was lots of hand holding, and people danced and sang when they were happy.

It's not that things are particularly awful. They're not. Today was even a nice day. I had a pumpkin muffin at breakfast (and I love me some pumpkin muffins), and got to spend the whole day at the mall with Ichabod and the Frog. It was a lovely mall, too, with outdoor courtyards, and fake ponds, and lots of shoes who were practically begging me to take them home. (Seriously. Shoes are like puppies. I can hear them calling me.) And yet, there aren't enough Strawberry Mangoritas in all the Chilis in North Carolina to take away this general feeling of tour ennui. (keep in mind - this is just me complaining about my social life. I love the show. LOVES IT. And I wouldn't trade being able to do a show five times a week for anything. This is just me whining. And I'm allowed to whine, because it's my blog. but take it with a grain of salt.) There are even some truly wonderful moments of fun fun fun, but a big part of me just misses my life. I mean this is my life too, obviously, but in a weird way...it's not.

This kind of vague dissatisfaction has resulted in insomnia, which leaves me here, sleepless in Raleigh, where I have spent perhaps the most pathetic night of my 22 years, sitting in sweatpants in a Sleep Inn by the side of the interstate, trolling match.com and craigslist.com for imaginary boyfriends/apartments that I could have in my fabulous life in an alternate universe. I know, I know. Seriously - I am like in need of a lame intervention to save me from myself.

The Clue in the Crumbling Wall

As of today, our tour of Ohio is finally complete. Dayton, Colombus, Cleveland, Cincinnati - we've done them all. Ah, Ohio - "So much to discover!" If by "so much" you mean "so much empty space it will boggle your mind." Seriously. I thought Ohio was smallish. What a fool I was. It takes four hours to get anywhere in this state. Anywhere.

In Cleveland we performed in a Masonic Hall, that, while built in 1900, was still functioning. Yes, mysterious Masonic rites and rituals! (and quality children's theatre.) The first dressing room they showed me, on the stage level, had only two mirrors, a single flickering lightbulb, rust damage on the floor, and a wall crumbling before my eyes. Like paint flecks were falling on me. And it turned out I could only walk 2/3 of the way into the room to avoid some sort of toxic mold situation. But they assured me it was perfectly safe. Huh. Yeah. As if. We couldn't have fit in there anyway, so they directed me down to the masonic dressing rooms.

I have seen my fair share of slasher-movie-set dressing rooms this tour. Particularly in the south, actually. All in run-down old buildings, in a dark, dank, basement maze of HORROR full of creepy corners and dripping rust stained pipes and crumbling walls and flickering lightbulbs and I'm sure, I'm SURE psycho killers with axes lying in wait. The Masonic Hall was a special stop on my subterranean tour of dressing room terror.

It was dark, and creepy, and truly, truly endless. The halls wound around and around into and endless series of different rooms and locked doors. I felt like Nancy Drew (plus sewing kit, minus flashlight) trying to solve the Mystery of the Masonic Temple, searching for the secret room full of makeup mirrors but only finding dead ends and locked doors! And THEN I stumbled upon the mysterious "Robing Room." It was filled with asian-looking robes and giant SPEARS. For serious. I quickly left the robin room and ran smack into a giant padlocked metal dungeon door surrounded by cinder block walls. It looked like they were keeping a giant beast inside. Or DEAD BODIES.

Thankfully we made it out alive, and Ned Nickerson didn't have to tackle any mysterious bad guys to free me from the robing room. (That's a Nancy Drew reference, boys.) And today in Cincinnati, there was NO subterranean situation! The dressing room was right off the stage, with its Mulan Jr. sign still on it, and although we were all cramped together in one cozy little room, I was much happier above ground away from the psycho killers. It was said that the coffee tasted extra good today - probably because I made it with a sprinkling of love, not of abject terror.

Cuteness Upgrade

Apparently the acquisition of red and white heart-printed kinda alpine-style pom pom hat, white mittens with applique hearts and matching scarf constituted a "cuteness upgrade" one fine November morning in Pittsburgh, PA, according to the boys packing the truck. Sorry, pink and white striped hat/scarf set from Target - the cuteness has been upgraded. Although I may have to dial it down a notch - I don't know if these kids can handle it. We may go into cuteness overload. Ah, if they only knew how cute I really was, in a normal universe where I'm not forced to exist in sneakers and sweatpants. Grrrrrr...

Today was, if not a cuteness upgrade, certainly a convenience upgrade. Monday we were in the Carnegie Music Hall.
It is, don't get me wrong, absa-fucking-lutely gorgeous, and cute as a button - a really fancy button. It's like a doll's version of an opera house, and I couldn't resist quietly singing a little Mo' (Mozart, that is) in the halls. Nor was I alone - the acoustics are so good it was impossible not to sing, and the boys were all singin' away as well (although, surprisingly, no one else was feeling like Blondchen from Die Entfurung auf dem Serial. Whaddyaknow.) Anyhoo, music hall = good accoustics but also music hall = drums and pianos left everywhere, no curtain, no wingspace. All the set pieces (walls, doors, stoves, etc.) that usually live backstage were just chilling onstage, and we had to run up a flight of stairs for all of our costume changes, as flashing the children is generally discouraged. Add to all this business that we usually have six crew members and today we had...two. Now don't get me wrong, Antoine and Darnell kicked ass, but they didn't kick four extra people's worth of ass.

Now, today, in glamorous (ha!) Dayton, Ohio, we were once again in a sort-of musical hall; the Performance Place, home of the Dayton Philharmonic. However, this was a BIG theatre, with wings, curtains, dressing rooms and (be still my heart) a union crew who had already unloaded half the truck by the time we were out of the van! I know - hot fire. There was naught for me to do but sprawl out on the couch in the Conductor's Room I had generously bestowed upon myself and Other Actress. Ah - turns out it's good to be the Conductor.

After a convivial lunch at Pizzeria Uno, I drove our merry van from Dayton to Cleveland. It's gotten to the point where we've driven across Ohio again and again enough that I recognize some of the rivers (Hello, Big Darby!). Scary. As driver, I subjected everyone to an orgy of Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers. It was pretty quiet - I'm guessing everyone was busy trying to asphyxiate themselves with carbon monoxide. Despite my best efforts to drive them all to suicide with Disney tween pop, we arrived in Cleveland in one piece, and enjoyed the chinese restaurant on the ground floor of our hotel.

Fortune cookie: You will soon recieve an usual gift.
Hmmm...I'm hoping it's, like, a shetland pony and not, you know, the bubonic plague.

Oh MAN election day is like scary Christmas. The anticipation is HUGE and I can't wait to see what happens but I almost don't want to know...AUUUUGH. Well, now there's nothing to do but sit tight in my Victoria's Secret Pink VOTE! underwear and wait...

"Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it"

You would think that now that prancing around in a costume is my job, I would be less excited about prancing around in a costume during my free time. You'd think I'd be more excited about, I don't know, Arbor Day or Teacher Appreciation Day or something. But no, never fear. I can never do too much costumed prancing. Plus there is a distinct lack of glitter in my work costumes. Halloween is the night when all the civilians can indulge their inner actor, because let's face it, doesn't everyone secretly want to be an actor? Ok, fine: everyone secretly wants to prance around in costumes.

Yes, Halloween has always had a very special place in my heart. All of my birthday parties growing up were costume/Halloween-themed, and ever since my kindergarten birthday party where Kenny Fontaine stuck his green-painted ninja turtle face in the cake, I have expected a rocking good time.

We pulled off the highway to Milan, Ohio, birthplace of Thomas Alva Edison and saw...cows. We continued down the road and saw...corn. By the time we hit our first sign of civilization, the Tractor Supply Co., I was starting to panic. This was not Halloween fun! This was not eyeball cupcakes and spooky punch and the monster mash! This was not a slutty costume contest and dance party in the visual arts center! This was Deliverance, but boring.

Thankfully, before I started bouncing off the walls of my corn-surrounded hotel room (seriously, all I could see out my window, far as the eye could see, was corn. three sides of corn, one side of road), someone masterminded a plan to get costumed, and drive to the Cedar Point amusement park. So a fairy, a zombie, a jester, a vampire, the Joker, a redneck, Elton John and Pippi Longstocking set off in a big white van into the Ohio night in search of adventure.

Guess what? YOU CAN'T WEAR HALLOWEEN COSTUMES IN CEDAR POINT. If you're an adult, that is. Yes, we got kicked out of an amusement park. On Halloween. And no, it wasn't for indecent exposure. Our costumes weren't that slutty. It's just a weird, stupid policy. No costumes on Halloween? For serious? HEINOUS. I was worried that Halloween was RUINED. Half of the gang decided to de-costume and stay; the fairy, the zombie, the vampire, the Joker and Pippi headed into downtown Sandusky, Ohio, to see what fun could be had at The Thirsty Pony.

Turns out, the Thirsty Pony was awesome Halloween fun! Bar plus restaurant plus betting tables plus bowling alley plus laser tag equals good times! I had some sort of lethal concoction called the Twisted Pony, following my usual strategy of ordering the pinkest thing on the menu. We had a delicious feast of cheesy bar food (it was sort of a Roman-style bacchanalian barfood orgy) then headed down the hall to the bowling alley. It was BLACKLIGHT bowling, of all things, with awesome music and disco lights and glow in the dark lanes! Fantastic! I of course immediately created an impromptu dance party, as creating dance parties where none are intended is my second-favorite hobby, after needlecrafts.

As if blacklight bowling/dance party wasn't already tons of fun, we learned that we were within spitting distance of the number 4 haunted house in the country. Surprisingly, the table full of frat guys I asked for directions were not particularly helpful in showing me a way out of the bar...hmm...thankfully our fantastic, pink-slutty-cat-costumed waitress showed us the way.

I used to be really, really afraid of Haunted Houses. Like had to leave through the emergency exit because I was hyperventilating afraid. But even though I screamed a LOT and had a kung fu death grip on the hands of whomever was nearest to me, it wasnt nearly as bad as I'd thought it would be. Maybe after two Twisted Ponys nothing is scary. Maybe it was because I realized that all the people popping out at me in zombie makeup are probably unemployed actors and that's way scarier than any Haunted House.

When I woke up the next morning, my sheets were covered in glitter. The sign of a very Happy, Happy Halloween indeed. Mwahahahhaaaaaaaaaa