So, I wrote this once...
About nineteen days ago, before I moved to my new place and was internet-less for nearly three weeks, I wrote this:
One of my favourite scenes in Tales of the City is a hippie party, during which all of the stoned guests are discussing their favourite years. I think 2011 might be mine.
January
New Year's Eve...in an elevator, after being booted off a rooftop, followed by adult beverages with the cast & crew in the theatre, and a two-show day. If the way one spends January 1 is indicative of how one's year will go, I suppose that January 1, 2011 was actually quite a good indicator of the upcoming year. I was (but for a two-month break) employed, having weird adventures with awesome people, and I ended up back at the same company again.
February
Unemployed. I sewed and painted a lot.
That's as far as I got with my year in review. Why? Because my non-crazy roommate in the room beside mine started having the loudest sex in the history of ever. Her boyfriend had just picked her up from the airport--she had been home in her native Germany for a few weeks, and I guess they really missed each other. One minute I'm having a delightful online chat with a friend, the next I am hearing Unbridled Cries of German Passion! When the ass-slapping started, I had to leave the apartment, and thusly I never summarized my year.
In much shorter format, 2011 was a totally amazing year--I worked in St. Louis and built some amazing things that surprised even me as far as my skills and talents go. Went to my first drag show. After, drove straight up to camp. It was a rough summer--I had a handful of awesome people to support me, and I of course came out fine on the other side, albeit minus a couple of friends. A short vacation to Cape Cod with VDK. Back to DC to do laundry on a touring show. Chicago to build a show with VDK. Baltimore for the new opera company. Then back to DC, where I am still, and about to open another show.
Belated though it may be, I do have to tell my New Year's Eve story. In terms of being indicative of the rest of the year, it's pretty funny.
Because I am a stickler for getting my sleep, particularly on back-to-back two-show days, I did not go to the party where all of my DC friends ended up. Around 11:30, I finished up my post-show, said goodnight to everyone, and was about to leave the theatre when my friend, Bootsie, the wig girl said: "You had better be making out with the most attractive guy on the train at midnight!"
Bootsie has in a short time become a...not "bad"...adventurous? influence on me--kissing some random dude on a train at midnight on New Year's Eve is totally something she would do. Within seconds of her saying this, it sounded like a righteous idea and I found myself responding "Okay, I will!"
And I spent the twelve minutes waiting for the next train not reading my book like usual, but scoping the platform for attractive fellas not surrounded by annoying screechy drunk girls. As you can imagine, I was not successful. I got on a random train car and sent a mental fax out to the universe, detailing a few physical traits of my ideal Midnight Makeout Man. It wasn't a laundry list, but I was pretty specific. Two stops later, a guy got on who looked exactly like I had described. It was like the universe suddenly said "Here you go! Would you like fries with that?!"
I did want fries with that. Here came the dilemma. I had detailed what I wanted Midnight Makeout Man to look like. I did not make any seating specifications, and he sat a few seats diagonally behind me, directly behind an ACTUAL HOMELESS MAN and in front of a totally creepy dude. How in the heck was I going to work this now?? I waited it out--midnight came and went, and I silently hoped with every stop that the creepy dude--who I'm pretty sure thought I kept looking back at him--would get off the train first, so I could whisk Midnight Makeout Man into a more appropriate seat and actually make out with him. No. Such. Luck. Would-be Midnight Makeout Man exited the train a few stops later, and the creepy dude rode all the way to the end of the line with me.
The next day, I told Bootsie all about the adventure I did not have, punctuating it with "Dammit, does this mean I'm going to spend 2012 NOT making out with attractive men?!"
I am amused now, to think that that guy probably never knew how close he came to getting pounced on by a stranger on the train.
One of my favourite scenes in Tales of the City is a hippie party, during which all of the stoned guests are discussing their favourite years. I think 2011 might be mine.
January
New Year's Eve...in an elevator, after being booted off a rooftop, followed by adult beverages with the cast & crew in the theatre, and a two-show day. If the way one spends January 1 is indicative of how one's year will go, I suppose that January 1, 2011 was actually quite a good indicator of the upcoming year. I was (but for a two-month break) employed, having weird adventures with awesome people, and I ended up back at the same company again.
February
Unemployed. I sewed and painted a lot.
That's as far as I got with my year in review. Why? Because my non-crazy roommate in the room beside mine started having the loudest sex in the history of ever. Her boyfriend had just picked her up from the airport--she had been home in her native Germany for a few weeks, and I guess they really missed each other. One minute I'm having a delightful online chat with a friend, the next I am hearing Unbridled Cries of German Passion! When the ass-slapping started, I had to leave the apartment, and thusly I never summarized my year.
In much shorter format, 2011 was a totally amazing year--I worked in St. Louis and built some amazing things that surprised even me as far as my skills and talents go. Went to my first drag show. After, drove straight up to camp. It was a rough summer--I had a handful of awesome people to support me, and I of course came out fine on the other side, albeit minus a couple of friends. A short vacation to Cape Cod with VDK. Back to DC to do laundry on a touring show. Chicago to build a show with VDK. Baltimore for the new opera company. Then back to DC, where I am still, and about to open another show.
Belated though it may be, I do have to tell my New Year's Eve story. In terms of being indicative of the rest of the year, it's pretty funny.
Because I am a stickler for getting my sleep, particularly on back-to-back two-show days, I did not go to the party where all of my DC friends ended up. Around 11:30, I finished up my post-show, said goodnight to everyone, and was about to leave the theatre when my friend, Bootsie, the wig girl said: "You had better be making out with the most attractive guy on the train at midnight!"
Bootsie has in a short time become a...not "bad"...adventurous? influence on me--kissing some random dude on a train at midnight on New Year's Eve is totally something she would do. Within seconds of her saying this, it sounded like a righteous idea and I found myself responding "Okay, I will!"
And I spent the twelve minutes waiting for the next train not reading my book like usual, but scoping the platform for attractive fellas not surrounded by annoying screechy drunk girls. As you can imagine, I was not successful. I got on a random train car and sent a mental fax out to the universe, detailing a few physical traits of my ideal Midnight Makeout Man. It wasn't a laundry list, but I was pretty specific. Two stops later, a guy got on who looked exactly like I had described. It was like the universe suddenly said "Here you go! Would you like fries with that?!"
I did want fries with that. Here came the dilemma. I had detailed what I wanted Midnight Makeout Man to look like. I did not make any seating specifications, and he sat a few seats diagonally behind me, directly behind an ACTUAL HOMELESS MAN and in front of a totally creepy dude. How in the heck was I going to work this now?? I waited it out--midnight came and went, and I silently hoped with every stop that the creepy dude--who I'm pretty sure thought I kept looking back at him--would get off the train first, so I could whisk Midnight Makeout Man into a more appropriate seat and actually make out with him. No. Such. Luck. Would-be Midnight Makeout Man exited the train a few stops later, and the creepy dude rode all the way to the end of the line with me.
The next day, I told Bootsie all about the adventure I did not have, punctuating it with "Dammit, does this mean I'm going to spend 2012 NOT making out with attractive men?!"
I am amused now, to think that that guy probably never knew how close he came to getting pounced on by a stranger on the train.