Tuesday, February 22, 2011

What? No, it's not for ME, it's, uh, for one of my...characters. Yeah. Yeah, that's it.

I just googled how to remove security tags from clothing.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Shit My Teachers Taught Me

During my third semestre of post-secondary, I took Calculus.

Every time the Prof said, 'you'll remember this from Pre-Calc,' I got scared. I didn't take Pre-Calc. I took high school math. One time Prof said this and then proceeded to use long division on a polynomial. Long division! Mind blown!

I survived this class so I'm pretty much tickled pink. It wasn't easy. I had to mingle with science majors and attempt to laugh at Physics jokes like "What's the derivative of acceleration called?" "Jerk." "Don't call me a jerk!"

Riiight. Bazinga.

This is also the guy that said, "assume a cow is a sphere."

Here are some pictures to show my dedication to this class during the semestre:

Both y and x must be defined at the point in question.
If not, shit happens.

Awww...yeah. I stopped paying attention twenty minutes ago.
Fuck, I hate snow. And handwriting. And green.

This is a diagram. That is not a daisy.
That is a man with a top hat and a smoking pipe. 

Derivatives will come up in casual conversation some day and all will be worth it, right?

Friday, February 18, 2011

Near the lonely knoll I weep...

Excuse me, I have to go change into somber clothing.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Those are bottles of eyelash glue.

I am so confused.

Saturday, February 12, 2011


I woke up this morning with a focus: make Lemon Tartlets. Make them really cute and make lots of them. So I swirled my hair up in a bun, staggered downstairs in my pjs, and promptly lost all sight of my goal because according to the paper, Justin Bieber's in a movie. He's sixteen. And his hair is lame. I must go see this movie and mock him relentlessly.

When I remembered that I had a purpose in waking up an hour late early, I blared Legally Blonde: The Musical songs on my iPod and began baking. I love lemon tartlets because you make the shells yourself and they're tiny and miniature and anything tiny and miniature is darling. Just look at babies. All they do is cry and sleep and poop and eat, but they're darling because they only come in size XXS.

They (the tarts not the babies) came out lovely.

You know what? They tasted yummy. And you know what else? I made them entirely without incident!

Except for the fire.

But it was a very tiny fire. Some might even call it darling.

Monday, February 7, 2011

At least my pants didn't fall down.

I guess you could say I'm a selfish person.

Scratch that, I'm a very selfish person.

So that's why this Saturday evening, when the several hundred people in the audience watched the lights come up on the stage and saw me, smack dab in the middle, sitting cross-legged in pajamas holding Twilight, that moment was supposed to be all about me.

If there's ever a moment all about you, that's it.

Let's rewind.

At the dress rehearsal, two techs helped me get the headmic on, attaching the pack to the back of my bra, under my shirt. I sang "Happily Ever After" from Once Upon A Mattress with my fabulous accompanist on piano, with the lights dazzling me in a grand theatre, and a photographer snapping away somewhere in the darkness. Awesome. The techs said I'd have to be careful at the show that the antenna on my micpack didn't get bent under my shirt, but that everything else was great.

The day of the show, I didn't even paint my nails to match my outfit. That's how nervous I was.

I arrived early, helped sign people in, smiled pretty at the parent-managers, and tried to relax. This was the third year in a row I'd performed at this show. And since I'm so gosh darn selfish, I knew I'd planned everything I could far in advance so that it would be spectacular.

I guess it kinda was spectacular. Just not in the way I'd planned.

At the end of intermission, the stage manager handed me the headmic. My accompanist helped clip it on and, lemme tellya, there's something really funny about looking in the mirror and seeing a rectangular box prominently sticking out under your shirt. I felt like I was wearing a wire.

I was ready. Totally pumped. The tech wasn't so pumped though, she was a little hesitant, and she made me whisper into the headmic for several minutes to make sure it was working properly.

Finally, she decided that the antenna on the headmic still wasn't picking up securely enough. She unclipped it, and attached it to the back of my pajama pants.

Um...okay, yeah. The pack is fairly heavy, and my pajama pants were actual pajama pants so they just had a regular elastic band at the waist, and it would be really really awful if my pants fell down in the middle of a show...yeah.

So the tech duct taped the pack to my pants. So in case it was too heavy, it would definitely bring down my pants. I'm not sure what her thinking was there.  I was too nervous to comment.

The tech joked that if the headmic didn't work, she'd run on stage and give me a handheld mic like a racer in a relay. I laughed. Sure.

As I stood in the wings, clutching Twilight, I noticed the hole in my sock. Whoops.

At the time, I didn't know that that, or my pants falling off, would be the least of my problems.

The MC finished, my accompanist took her place by the piano, I went straight to centre stage and sat on the long fuzzy grey bench, and the lights came up.

This would be the moment all about me.

I opened my mouth and began the prologue: "And so the Prince Wilmore rescued the Princess Frigga--"

I realized that the headmic was not working the same moment the audience did, but kept going. Shit.

There is a wonderful phenomenon called schadenfreude--Avenue Q wrote a song about it!--and like any audience watching a potential disaster, they were highly entertained.

"Well, I'm glaaaad." I said, at the end of the prologue. That should have gotten a laugh. It didn't because no one was paying attention to the song.

My accompanist, wondering if anything was going to happen to fix the headmic, hesitated before beginning to play. That threw me off, and suddenly, this was no longer a potential disaster.

I was projecting my heart out in the first verse, when I heard something. I turned to the left and the tech was running out with a handheld mic, as she'd promised.

I don't remember much after that. Instead of concentrating on the trouble notes I'd been having, or the right posture, or even the music itself, I was feverishly gripping the handheld mic, wondering if it was too close--close enough?--and hoping desperately not to drop it.

At the end of the song, I sang the last note while standing on the bench, then jumped down and slumped on to it sullenly, as rehearsed. Cue applause.

The techs backstage went to blackout immediately--before I could even stand up and curtsy--so I was swept offstage with the bench and the piano and the MC replaced me with a joke and the bio of the next act.

The relief was overwhelming as I handed off the handheld mic, ripped the duct tape and headmic off, hugged my accompanist, and ran.

This is a classic reason of why I get nervous before performing. Because no matter how much you rehearse, shit will happen. You will fall into the orchestra pit. You will forget the lyrics. You will be left projecting across the theatre with a broken headmic.

I guess it's pretty funny. The audience was definitely entertained, just not in the way I wanted. But I'm aggravated because, gosh darn it!, the moment that was supposed to be all about me, was all about technology.

And thus, I am a selfish person.

Thursday, February 3, 2011


You know those people who drop their 'spensive cell phones into the toilet by accident and you hear about them and laugh?

I'm one of those people now.

Oh. I feel better now.

Avenue Q is Sesame Street for adults. It's got puppets and bright clothing and animated videos that teach lessons, but with swearing and cleavage and sex.

We walked to the theatre, dressed to the nines, clattering and chatting and laughing away until someone pointed out that no one knows which way the theatre is. Oh. We figured it out though. Thank goodness for billboards.

The theatre has a white grand staircase with floor to ceiling mirrors which are awesome 'cause you look awesome but awful because they show angles you're not supposed to see of yourself. We giggled a lot.
The show was fantastic. There were two flat screen TVs mounted on either side of the stage, high up, that were used periodically like a Sesame Street segment. Except, instead of learning how to count, it was learning how to count five nightstands and then a one night stand.

The two main actors played the four main puppets and there is something especially fabulous about that. The woman argued with herself, going back and forth with the different voices. She played the girlfriend and the girlfriend's rival. Awesome.

After the show, we were all too hyped up to go home right away. Some of the cast members made their way through the lobby. I am proud to say that no one from our group jumped them then. I mean, later, sure, but not then.

Finally, we couldn't put off leaving anymore and we all trudged outside. A few of us were still hanging out the doors when the last of our group--a fantastic actor I don't trust an inch off stage--came striding out and announced that we should all follow him down a dark alley.


This doesn't reflect well on us, but we did. Follow him down a random dark alley in the middle of the night, I mean. I've known him for years, if that helps.

And it was a good move because in that dark alley was the stage door where the cast was hanging out, including the lead male. I guess I just don't make a good groupie 'cause I wasn't nearly as overwhelmingly thrilled as the others. I thought one was going to faint in awe. He was really kind though, answered all our questions, and didn't call security. Score!

It began raining but no one wanted to leave because he's the biggest celebrity we've ever met (except for Selena Gomez, she's way more famous. Bet she can't work a puppet though. Oh, and Duff! Hmm, maybe this is why I wasn't more excited).

Even he, the actor, had to point out we must be freezing because it was pouring rain and we all had bare legs and short dresses. Reluctantly, we took a final picture and released him from our fangirl clutches.

In the car, everyone was pumped with adrenaline and envy. But we weren't pumped with analytical skills, which would have stopped us from turning the wrong way down a one-way street. There was some screaming involved. I think the taxi driver coming towards us was more scared though.

We took a moment to still our screeching hearts before turning around and heading home.

Fuck you, lady, that's what stairs are for!