Fa La La La La

Mmmhmm and so we keep on truckin'. It has been a week of early mornings, and frayed nerves, and for whatever reason I've chosen impromptu dance party as my coping mechanism.

Monday in Baltimore (at a very pretty opera house) for whatever reason we had a 7:30 load-in (as opposed to our usual 8:00) and we were ready way, way early. Like insane early. I took an hour-long nap (an hour, people) on the merlot-colored brocade couch. I went out for coffee at a coffee/sushi/pastry/breakfast sausage emporium. (It was called XS. And decorated like a techno-nightclub in an eastern european country.) I did a crossword puzzle (just a Monday, but still.) I threw a Miley Cyrus solo dance party (don't worry, I had my own dressing room) that Frog heard the leaping about from the hallway. I then put on my knickers and colonial man shirt for the Katy Perry portion of the dance party, which made me feel like I should be singing "I Protested the Stamp Act and I Liked It"(it felt so wrong, it felt so right...)

Then, SM and I drove the truck (you guessed it - he drove all 7 hours, I'm an asshole, we know it) and after a bit of Christmas music, we had the most epic singalong of perhaps all time. The entire soundtrack of Legally Blonde: The Musical followed by all of Mamma Mia! And this was no faint humming along, people - no, this was like full-on belting rocking it out. There were hand motions (for me, anyway, as SM was driving, obvi.) Is it sort of frightening that we both know every single lyric to every single song in both of those shows? Yes. Yes it is.
It's times that like that that I almost wish the other truckers could see/hear into our truck. Because I have a feeling we were the only truck belting out "Chiquitita."

Tuesday, we were in Bridgeport, CT, which is only about 10 minutes from my house, and is, unfortunately, hands down the shittiest part of Fairfield County. Like people get knifed heinous. We went on a walk in search of beverages (I am a diet soda addict. Leave me alone) and Frog made us leave every single placed we stopped due to "weird smells." It took us 4 tries to find something with a halfway decent smell, and the whole time I kept thinking how bad it would be to write the letter: "Dear Office - Frog, Ichabod and I will not be performing today, because we got stabbed. Sorry I had to write this note in my own blood. Kisses, Stephanie."
But I made it back to my (slightly creepy) solo dressing room in time for a Hot N Cold dance party!! Katy Perry, you soothe my soul.
The load-in/out was also really bad, as we had the most ancient, feeble crew ever, and then the most FEEBLE oldie was talking shit to me and Other Actress!

Feeble Oldie: Look at you girls, carrying that big thing. You're gonna get muscles.
Other Actress: Yup, we're pretty strong.
Feeble Oldie: Muscles ain't attractive on a woman.

How dare ye, sir! HOW DARE YE. Anyhoo, we escaped Bridgeport with our internal organs intact, and drove back to Boston, for the final Showing for THE PRODUCER (dunn dunn dunn.)

Unfortunately I slumbered too much, and neither my alarm nor Other Actress's went off, and so on today, of all days, the PRODUCER day, we totally slept too late and were awoken at 7 (vancall time!) by the SM (politely) wondering where the hell we were. We made it downstairs by 7:05 (sort of a miracle) and (an even bigger miracle) made it to the Berklee College of Music (our venue) at 7:20. Because if we had been there at 7:31, SM would have disemboweled us. Like I cannot even describe to you the world of hurt we would have been in.

Ah, Berklee...it's a special place. Did you know that the 70s are alive and well? Our crew was like the friggin chorus of Hair. Questionable fashion choices aside, they were very nice, but the real problem was that the space is so tiny, it was nigh impossible to fit everything in, let alone negotiate it down the ramp and around two corners. Oh, and did I mention it was sleeting? Ah, wintry mix: rain, snow, sleet, and hail all at once. That special meteorological cocktail of doom known only to New England.

The show, I must say, I think actually went pretty damn well. By far the worst part of it was the first scene change, because it was like a death trap back there. Frog's trying to put the bed in a teeny tiny corner while I am trying to extricate the fence from that teeny tiny corner and we're both stuck in a curtain and I kicked a light, and had to waddle/sidestep with the bench around the curtains of doom. NIGHTMARE. It was also freakishly dark, and I couldn't find my way back after my Sleepy Hollow intro and kept tripping on my cloak/the half-platform/same evil light/curtain.

Aside from that, it went pretty well. And even that change must not have been TOO bad, because nobody mentioned it.

And then, the unbelievable happened.

The Producer came...BACKSTAGE. Like to TALK to US. There I was, in my saloon girl outfit and smudgy makeup, arms full of mirrors, and there she is, in a smart blue suit, smiling and bopping down the hall. I would have been lessed surprised if Jesus Christ, Oprah and Brangelina came back to say hey. But she just came to personally thank all of us, (people - the woman has never directly addressed me. EVER.) and was just so sweet and wonderful it really made my day.

Also - I got no notes. Nada. Actually, lie - less blush. (What can I say? Once i start making things pink, it's hard to stop.) I still can't believe this. Maybe she lost all her notes somehow? I don't know. I was just put through the wringer SO BADLY in rehearsal for my lack of elegence/short arms/dancing clumsiness etc., I can't believe it.

More importantly, I decided not to come back for the Spring. It was offered to me as a possibility, and although I have learned so much and on the whole, on the whole it's been a good experience, and I'm glad I came, I just cannot do it again. For my sanity, I need to get off the big white van. While I'm doing the show, it's a great job. The best job in the world. But on tour, the job becomes your life. I miss my life. I miss being a person who also, oh, I don't know, has brunch with her girlfriends, and takes yoga, and starts too many sewing projects she'll never finish, and wears high heels to the grocery store, and butchers showtunes on the piano, and goes to Anthropologie "just to look," and bakes muffins for her family. I need to be her.

But it ended very nicely, with me thanking them for everything, and with the Artistic Director telling me how they were proud of me, and very pleased with my performance.

Praise? From the Company? A Christmas miracle.