Damn I hate this job.

I don’t want to work! I am so bored. I’m not so good at dealing with reality, like the reality that I have a good job and I need to do the work to keep the job rather than sit at my desk and search through every website in the whole wired realm. How can I be so brain dead? I’ve really got a shit load of work to do. Some of it is late, but I haven’t done a damn thing. Am I really crazy? Sitting here whining to myself, and now to you, about how bored I am, when I have some work to do that will be more fun than just sitting here? I am crazy. Damn I hate this job.

Well, it’s the last day of the month. I’d better get started on this pile of crap. And if I get it done, tomorrow I’m just going to blog. Or better yet, pretend to be working on the computer while secretly watching 24 Season 3.

I sure wish I took pride in my work and had a better work ethic. I have a great work ethic when it comes to theatre, I work my butt off. But this crap, doesn’t matter.

Fuck. I’ve got to do the work.

Who is Captian Walker?

Finally, a moment to breathe! I'm really excited about being in Tommy again! I really want to nail all the levels and motivations for Capt. Walker. I see his main levels as being a military commander, POW survivor, husband, (bad) father, and head of a dysfunctional family.

During "What About the Boy", I could be acting so abhorrently as a reaction to the war.

As "Christmas" is four years later, I think we, husband and wife, are suffering a relationship crisis. We are not warm to each other, which explains Mrs. Walker's hesitation to accept my invitation to dance. When she accepts, and we forget our troubles and dance with 'exuberance', it as an example of trying to hold the relationship together. And it works for a season, through "Do You Think It's Alright", where they've decided to have a date, and on thru the end of "Sensation" where we have a moment of hope. However, having our hopes dashed at the Psychiatric Clinic during the "Sparks" reprise, leaves us hopelessly defeated - and we do not pull together when facing defeat. This is why I stay outside to have a cigarette when we get home, and why I do not consult her about my plans during "Eyesight to the Blind". (Speaking of which, I can't make sense of the beginning of "Eyesight". The Hawker lights my cigarette, and says "You talk about your woman". . . huh? We hadn't been talking, is there a fix there, some business?)

The "Gypsy" number seems like a war zone to me. I'm not sure how I feel about taking my ten-year old to a prostitute, but I am desperate. If not for the syringes, I would have let him go. It's been 6 years since I've returned home, and in that time Tommy has been on several medications. There were side effects and no benefits. I weigh the possible cost, and decide it's too big a risk and I grab/rescue Tommy from the Acid Queen.

The next scene is 8 years later. Being that we were left hopeless at the end of Act I, I do not think much has changed. Our life is bleak, perhaps with brief seasons of closeness, however at this point our's is a loveless marriage.

When I've found another approach to healing Tommy, I am so excited about the possibility of the three of us being released from the prison that our lives have become, that I practically bounce with joy when telling Mrs. Walker that there is a new hope. But she refuses to have hope. Hopes have been dashed too many times, and it hurts. It is hard to hear her be so cynical and depressed about the new doctor. But it turns out that she is right. There is nothing they can do.

I am so despondent that I don't even respond when Mrs. Walker invites me to play cards. She is used to it by now and just says "suit yourself". With a sudden desperation I tell her that this can't continue. I intend to tell her that this has to change, or I am leaving. But that's not what happens, I can't do it. Instead I find myself begging her to find a way that we can be happy together. And she agrees! This is unexpected, and wonderful. Why do I exit then? Am I leaving to telephone a psychiatric hospital, a nursing home?

OR - - at the point of "I Believe My Own Eyes" they are quite estranged from each other and I begin the song in total desperation planning on expressing only my frustration, however ending up begging Mrs. Walker to put the relationship first. I think it works momentarily, but at the very end of the song she's struck by the reality of Tommy, and regresses to bitterness and anger, which, thou not intended, and perhaps not realized, really pushes Capt. Walker away thinking he had failed.

After, "Smash the Mirror" I think our relationship is thrown for a loop. There must be a new relationship with Tommy. One where he is unforgiving and accusatory. Does he ever sleep in the house again? What is the timing for the rest of the show? How long between his recovery and super-stardom? During the press conference, it seems like we are not part of his life. We are just bystanders. I think that Mrs. Walker and I are grieving now, we are grieving together and we have pulled together again, this time comforting each other in our loss. Perhaps we look much older than our actual ages.

When Tommy comes back into our lives, Mrs. Walker and I are bereaved, but much closer. We are having tea together with Uncle Ernie, evidence that we have achieved a normal and nearly-happy life, and strong relationship.

During "We're not going to take it", although we are very worried that Tommy is going to retreat into the 'mirror world', we do not pull apart, but "hang onto each other in concern". Perhaps after I am "overcome" by Tommy's forgiveness, Mrs. Walker and I have a moment reminiscent of our courtship and wedding night, showing the depth of love they have for each other, that could only be expressed once they've been released from the prison of their mistakes.

Oops. I did it again.

My last class before final scenes was last night. It was an early class, starting at 4:30 instead of 6 this time. I left work at 3:45, and was parked at 14th and P by 4. It's amazing how close I am to downtown, especially when there's no traffic. Well, being early . . . this is so stupid . . . I thought one little martini won't hurt. Perhaps it wouldn't have if I had gotten it from the 1409 Playbill Cafe, but it was closed. I walked down to Hamburger Mary's just a block down 14th street, scooted up to the bar and ordered. I swear it was served in a bucket with a stem. It must have been a 12 oz martini. So, I slowly drank it, after a third, I paid my bill. . smoked. .drank it down to half, and left. On an empty stomach, it hit hard.

And I really fucked up in class. I'm a supporting character in a Hamlet scene, and I went up on my lines. I almost went up on my lines in my scenes from A Midsummer Night's Dream, but I made it through.

I'm feeling very stupid today. Rolf says I should just drink less. But that's like hearing 30% of an epiphany. What's the other 70%? I guess the 30% is knowing what to do, and the 70% is getting it done.

I'm close to getting it done aren't I? Won't it be soon when I drink less, smoke less, eat better, exercise more, and get into a size 32?

I drink less when I'm busy. Tommy rehearsals are going to keep me busy. One thing I'm glad about is that I was really thinking on having a beer before rehearsals . . . but I know better now. That was just one drink, and it really fucked me up.

Except for being psychotic, I liked myself better as a pothead than a drunk. Now I'm too old for all of it.

So - here's the deal. I'm going to get in shape this summer. Cut back the alcohol, the calories, get out and enjoy the park and the lake more, and work out. I want to be in a 32 by opening night. That's July 23. Also, I'm cheating on the high b natural I've got to hit. It's only a friggin 8th note, and I maybe giving it half that much time. Luckily, it should not sound pretty, but none-the-less, the smoking has got to stop.

Wish me luck.

Vig

Forty reasons why you shouldn't post your picture on the internet.

This is so wrong. But oh my god is it funny!

http://www.aseltine.com/rhee/

Thanks to Blah, Blah, Black Sheep.

Monday’s Suck

“Do you know what time it is?!” He says with alarm.
“What time. . ?” I repeat removing my earplugs.
“Do you know what time it is?” he repeats as I struggle to wake. “It’s ten-thirty!”
“Ten-thirty?! Oh My God! . . . wait. What day is it?”
“Monday.”
“Oh Shit!”

Monday’s Suck.

What About the Boy?

Tommy is going to be great. I’ve had two rehearsals now and have met all of my family, except for young Tommy. Mrs. Walker is terrific, and I’m a big fan of the guy they found to play Big Tommy. I don’t know this guy they got to play Uncle Ernie, but he’s hot. That much is clear. Cousin Kevin is going to be perfect. I’ve worked with him before, he’s got a great voice, and he’s going to be great as the evil boy. I can’t wait!

It turns out that young Tommy, who I have not met yet, just turned 5. Whew. That is a might young! But it’s intriguing. Tommy’s 4 years old in his first scene, so it should be a really cute beginning. But during “What About the Boy” when we really abuse him and cause him to go deaf dumb and blind, well, I imagine that is going to make the audience really uncomfortable. Perfect!

O. Henry

Friday night, Rolf and I headed out to buy some shoes, have dinner at Annie’s and go shopping at Lambda Rising. We were on I-395, after doing some serious damage to our shopping budget, heading into the city. As we passed our exit Rolf, said “Wait, we should have gotten off there.” I said “It’s ok, we can take the next exit and it will work out.” Before we knew it, we were lost somewhere near DuPont Circle, but we didn’t know exactly where. While I was confident we’d figure it out, we were attempting to go the wrong way on one-way roads, to read street signs obscured by tree limbs, and getting more lost and frustrated. I finally recognized that we were near the Studio Theatre, and I told Rolf where we were. He pulled into the intersection and prepared to turn left, and I hollered that he should turn right. He nearly screeched to a halt, and said to me:
“Where are we going?”
“Lambda Rising!”
“I thought we were going to Annie’s first because you have to pee!”
“I thought we were going to Lambda Rising first because you needed some books! You know, if I knew you were going to buy combs for my hair, I wouldn’t have sold it to buy a chain for your watch,” I said with a laugh.

No wonder we were lost. He’s so sweet. We found a great parking space near Annie’s on 17th Street, but far enough away that we had a nice walk amongst the boys. (It’s always nice to be among the boys. Woweee!) One thing I don’t like about Annie’s is that the best seats are in the smoking section. I am tired of sitting in that hall-way between the bar and the bathrooms. But neither of us likes to be around smoke when we eat (and I’m a smoker). But there are tables upstairs that I never get to sit at. That’s where I hoped we’d be. I really rushed past the hostess and the bar to get to the bathroom. I guess I had a few too many Vodkas before the shoe shopping, because I just left Rolf standing there at the front door.

He’d already been seated by the time I got back, or so I assumed. But he wasn’t in the coach section, as usual. Nor upstairs in Business Class. Nor in the First Class Smoking Section. Nor outside fuming at me for some supposed slight. I didn’t know where the fuck he was. This was beginning to feel like the “Short Black Man with Bricks” episode and I was becoming alarmed. I backtracked, this time checking the bathroom on my way to the business class section, tracking through the coach section 6 times total, and then imagining that first class was going to be the best place to have a melt-down, I walked into the middle of the room to find him tucked away in the far corner. I can not ever remember sitting there with him, but he wanted for me to sit in first class for a change. Even if there was smoke.
There really wasn’t any. Everything was great, even though we didn’t make it to the bookstore; we did make it from the romantic dinner to a romantic bedroom scene without hard words derailing our intimate plans. It was very hot.

If you’re married, don’t argue in front of the divorcing lady.

My sister, Joy, and nephew, Russ, delivered our new dining room set last night. It’s perfect for us. It was perfect for her. But she has to sell the house and move since her husband left her. She’s buying a townhouse, and the set won’t fit.

At my house, whenever there’s company, a live showing of the Vig and Rolf show comes on. It’s live all-right, but it’s also a repeat, and it’s tired. I try and “change the channel” whenever it comes on. We start bickering because it’s fun for us to try and get our guests to take sides, but we don’t do it on purpose. As soon as I realize we’re doing it again, I make the same joke “Oh, look honey, the Vig and Rolf show is on again with another tired repeat. Let’s turn it off.”

I didn’t get that far last night. My sister bit her lip, and looked at the floor, and said “Ya’ll be nice to each other. You don’t know what you’ve got. At least you have somebody.” I said “Yeah, Rolf, its bad form to argue in front of the divorcing lady.” They laughed. She said “That’s right! It’s bad form.”

“More wine?”

Short & to the Point: Hang-over, Call-backs, and the Day After

Monday’s suck.

I took the morning off to recover from the partying, working 4 hours until the dentist appointment. I got call backs to audition for Captain Walker and Uncle Ernie. I was not happy about being considered for Uncle Ernie. I want my summer free, but I’ll give it up for Captain Walker. If they were considering me for Uncle Ernie, it meant they weren’t happy with me as Captain Walker. I got the broken tooth repaired (actually a cap), not fun, but I slept in the dentist’s chair. While in the area, I took Judy the card from the party, and visited her in the hospital for an hour.

Dishwasher problems almost gave me a great reason to skip call-backs, but I went anyway and prayed for a flat-tire. Got there and heard the possible lads and Cousin Kevin’s singing Pinball Wizard. It’s very cool. I love this show. I was glad I was there. I would not read for Uncle Ernie, “sorry”, I said.

I sang last 6 measures of “Go to the Mirror” And the Tommy can you hear me section of “Christmas.” Only. Just those 16 or so measures, and only to see if I could hit the two friggin’ highest notes in the show. They said they liked what they heard. The other Captain Walker’s couldn’t make call-backs. Hmmm. Then I left. Odd, that.

Grabbed a beer, opened it, drank some, poured it out, and went to bed.

Tuesday

My friend, thank you for reading this. I won’t ever do it again. I won’t do a moment by moment account of days on end. But I just had to this time. Well, for one I’m new at this and didn’t know better. And also, because I wanted to include as much of the reasons for my behavior on Tuesday as possible. I just had to write it down.

My life has been on a non-stop schedule since last summer, and I am, well, exhausted. We began preparing for Ruthless in September. In February, before the set was even struck, I started taking Shakespeare and Classical Voice and Movement classes at Studio. And now, while preparing for final Shakespeare scenes on the 29th - GUESS WHAT? I'm Captain Walker again!

Intellectually, I am thrilled. Emotionally, I was way more excited when I found out they are doing it than I am right now. I have got to figure out a way to recharge my batteries - without taking anytime off from work.

Truth be told: Yesterday, as I was telling a friend in my office that I get to do it again, I showed him a picture of the first Tommy, instead of the thousand words it would take to explain why I was giving up my summer. And that moment, the hair stood up on my neck, a huge smile claimed my face, and I cried.

I'll show it to you one day. But I can't get it to post. In the mean-time, I've got tonight off. No class no rehearsal, and tomorrow too. I will rest.

The end.

Audition Weekend – Laughter, hugs and kisses. . .

Part Four - Conclusion

Rolf didn’t want to go to the party. Since I had reneged on the supposed promise of sex, he was mad and hurt. I was ashamed. He deserves better. He was working at his desk when it was time to get ready. When he told me that he was thinking of not going, I said it was ok. Even though he was the assistant producer and the assistant stage manager, I know how many interruptions there have been, and that he has a deadline. But, while I was showering, I just thought of being there without him. Me, telling everyone that he couldn’t come because of work, even telling his boss, who would be there, that Rolf was home working. And I imagined their eyes conveying alarm, disbelief, worry. I nearly cried.

With a towel wrapped around my waist, I went to the office and got down on my knees. Taking his hands in mine I said “Oh please come. Everyone will be there. You really don’t want to miss this.”

Now, he was sitting on the floor next to me, having a wonderful time, sharing popcorn with me and Tina.

I can summarize the delight: applause at every entrance, after every song, after each bit, lots of laughter. Stage crew and actors providing side commentary about what was happening off-stage – yet still hushed and quiet when anyone was “on-stage”. I held Tina’s hand at times when I wanted to whisper to her some fantastic thing she had done and how perfect she was. And she really was.

Intermission: We all signed cards for our missing actress. I got even more hugs and kisses, now that they’d seen what we’d created. More wine. SoundMan and FittnessGod had switched the food table over to offer all the desserts. Everyone was so happy. Me too. I love to make people happy. And I caused this. Celebrate! More wine. (I hugged Tina’s Dad. Yay me!) More wine!

Act 2 – at the very end, credits are running, everyone is talking a mile a minute. Drummer makes them all be quiet to hear the very last sound-bite. Hushed, looking at each other wondering what’s going to happen, and we hear a boisterous voice say:

“How do you follow this up now, Vig? You've screwed yourself!”

Much laughter. Hugs and kisses.

At home, after digging into the eggplant parmesan I had made earlier. Rolf was running his fingers through my hair while talking to BigManSon. I finished off my Seagram’s 7 (a very bad mistake, oh no) and kissed Rolf goodnight. After reading a moment, I turned out the light and closed my eyes just as Rolf came in saying “What?! Does that mean you won’t even scratch my back?” I said “I’ll scratch your back, we just have to do it with the light off.” Later, I scratched his back with one hand. Then reached around and stroked his thighs. And there was laughter, hugs and kisses. . .

Audition Weekend - The RUTHLESS! Party

Long fucking weekend - Part Three.

Sunday, 6PM – Rolf and I, with BigManSon arrive at the party early to help out. The party was being hosted on my behalf by SoundMan (hot, tight, blond, big smile, and a dangerously loaded jock strap) and his partner FittnessGod (ooh, the muscles, everyone begging to be licked.) And the house was gorgeous, spotless, the bar stocked; (Luckily for me, because I don’t think the two glasses of wine I had at home after HeteroJoe and family left was going to be anywhere near enough. I was wrong though. It should have been more than plenty.) And not a single thing for us to help with.

I can’t believe I have friends like this. I’m a worthless piece of shit. But they treat me so royally I just can’t believe it. The party is for the first viewing of our show Ruthless! The Musical. It was stellar. My music director’s were the next to arrive, so it was like we were having a very gay exclusive, pre-party in this lovely setting.

Hugs and kisses, “How you doing, Baby?” I’m asked. “I’ve never been better, yesterday I wanted to die” I think, but I don’t say. More wine.

BubblyAcctress arrives. “Oh My Gosh, I just can’t wait. Everyone at work still tells me that this was the best and funniest show ever! They all still rush to the phone saying ‘I’ll Get It.’

Brilliant ShyActor arrives, smiling, hating everyone fawning on him, yet loving it.

Rush of people, hugs and kisses, electric. Group divides, one talking about the authentic movie house popcorn maker, another admiring the projection TV, another arranging food, another outside smoking cigarettes. More people enter, causing people to move through the house like pinballs. Hugs and kisses. More wine.

“. . the best show I’ve ever done. I still can’t believe you cast me”. “Where’s Tina” “Anyone talked to Judy? Still in the hospital??” “Oh God, with all this food, I might as well not have dieted at all.” “Man, Vig, this chili is great!”

More people. Hugs and kisses. . . “Why yes, I’ve heard I’m fabulous . . . ha ha” More wine. More people, multi-ball play: Bing Bong Match Score Tilt Rebound as my people bounce from one favorite friend to another favorite, to the bar, to the deck.

7:45 Stage manger: “15 Minutes.”

“Where’s Tina” “We’ll we’re not waiting for her AGAIN.” Popcorn is popping. Bean bags brought in for extra seating. More wine. “Places! Lights!” Every seat taken, sofa, loveseat, and recliner, 4 beanbag chairs, two back-jacks, three dining room chairs, all facing the mammoth screen. The door bell rings, each and every person in the room shouts “I’ll get it” and we laugh as Tina and her parents arrive. The coffee table is quickly dispatched, and every one gets closer to make room for our star-to-be. And the movie starts.

Audition Weekend - No Poop

Audition Weekend Continued

At least I’m leaving out the parts where I pooped. Ok? (Nor the broken dishwasher, nor the broken tooth.) I’m still learning how to blog. While I really admire Joe.My.God, Vanguard, and others with short funny posts with a POINT: that is my goal, I’m just not pursuing it today. Get over it.

I left the auditions in Alexandria, and got on the beltway toward home, thinking about the schedule, the cooking, the audition, the shopping: and before I knew it I was bearing left onto the new extremely high overpass and exit for 95 south. Fuck. This, for the third fucking time! The Springfield Interchange is one of the biggest road projects ever. I don’t use the beltway often over there, and I have for 15 years always stayed in the left lane to get home from Alexandria or Maryland. I just don’t think to look at the damn signs that plainly as fucking possible point out that I’m about to have a six mile detour if I don’t shift to the right. And, because there was weekend construction going on, I sat in a traffic jam for a fucking hour and ten minutes. FUCK FUCK FUCK!

By the time I got home, it was too late to get Vig’s Soon-to-be-Famous International Chili done, before we had to leave for d’Ohgy’s 7PM curtain call. Besides, there was d’Ohgy drama to be dealt with. Yes. Poor d’Ohgy is traumatized by thunder. At 5:30 in the afternoon, it was as dark as night. Poor thing. I made her go to the basement and listen to the disco channel at dance floor decibels. As the thunderstorm approached, I (grabbed a beer and) got on the phone: called the producer, called the Greyhound Placement volunteer coordinator, and tried to find another dog to go on. I watched the Doppler radar of the storm cell showing a massive blood red blotch approaching our house, while Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love” beat through the floor. I (grabbed another beer and) told Rolf that we’d have to leave the house early, just as soon as it stopped raining. There was a break in the storm cells, and we’d have to get to the theater before the next one hit, or d’Ohgy would be a basket case. The discothèque plan was working; d’Ohgy had no idea we were under siege. I (grabbed another beer and) slipped into my dress blacks, packed everything for d’Ohgy’s comfort, and waited by the door, keys and beer in hand.

We got there early, and the skies were clear. We put the dog deep inside the dressing hall away from all doors, and I ran out to get us some snacks and a deck of cards to while away the hours. Everyone loves d’Ohgy. We like to say that she’s an athlete turned spokes model, and now actress! All the cast and crew spent time with her and giving her love. While I was gone to the store, all hell broke loose with another big thunderstorm. By the time I got back to the theater, soaking wet, d’Ohgy was a puddle of shaking nerves. We didn’t know what to do. We really thought it was going to be impossible to get her on the stage. At home, she hides in the bathtub during a storm. It’s so cute and pitiful. I decided to put her in the shower stall in the men’s dressing room. One of the cast misunderstood and thought I said that I’d trained her to pee in there. Everything went ok. Rolf and I played a hand of gin, I would rather have drunk a glass of gin, but what can you do. The storm passed before curtain time, and everyone was hugging her and saying “you’re such a brave little puppy.” I put her back in the shower stall between cues, and we just kind of sat there, the beer and the stress of the day slowly shutting me down.

We were very excited that both roommates were going to out for the night, which opens the possibility for loud sex. We opened a bottle of wine, and I threw off my clothes and got comfortable in my soft and sexy underwear on my soft and comfortable couch and relaxed. Ah, it was wonderful. Rolf was rubbing my legs, and cupping my balls through my underwear. And it was nice. He went to get more wine, and to slip into something more comfortable. I slipped into a light doze and woke when he snapped at me. I don’t know what he said. Something like “Shit, I can’t believe you’re asleep!” (Except he doesn’t curse.) He sat in a chair and glared at the TV; I went to bed.

I remember somebody telling me of a new love. How they’d wake up snuggling and start kissing, and the heat that started their day. “Without brushing your teeth!?” a young one said. “If neither of you has brushed your teeth, it really doesn’t matter” he said. As I snuggled up to Rolf Sunday morning, I had heat, pressed right up against him as he slept. And I wanted to wake him with a kiss. But, I thought he’d think that was gross.

Coffee brewing. Chili underway. BigManSon, home, up and awake; drinking coffee with me in the sunroom, looking out into the lush sea of green leaves. Quiet. Rolf stumbles in; I give him an ill welcome hug and kiss. I wonder out loud what day, our other “temporary” roommate is going to be over with his wife and daughter who are visiting from out of town, “Monday”, Rolf says. I’m thinking “ok, I’ll get those dishes done by Monday.” And we hear the front door open.

Long fucking weekend. . to be continued

Oh Shit.

Oh my God!

I got it!

Goodbye Summer.

Hello

jubilation?

Audition Weekend

My hope was that having the Ruthless! The Musical video party the night before Tommy call-backs would pump me up with confidence. Even though the party and the video were stellar, I’m not sure how confident I feel. Actually, I feel old.

I’m just too busy. Combine that with heavy drinking, and it’s no wonder I feel old. I am tired. “But happy.”

Rolf and I took d’Ohgy for her stage debut on Friday night. She played Crab in Two Gentlemen of Verona. Why? Just so we’d have something to talk about I guess. I had to walk the dog out onto the stage, after the fire announcement, but before the show started. The voice over said “Please welcome this evening’s guest artist and his or her owner.” That gave me the giggles. So I’m walking the dog out there so she gets comfortable, while trying to keep my laughter from welling into a full guffaw. Other than that, it was a long evening back-stage waiting for d’Ohgy’s cues and wishing we’d brought snacks. Rolf and I had a good time together. For two people so very much in love, we sure do throw a lot of shit at each other. But there was none of that. He helped me with my lines for my new Shakespeare scene. And we had a good time.

On Saturday, I had to:
Take the dog to the vet,
Make it to a 10AM rehearsal for Shakespeare,
Get home and dress for the 2PM Tommy audition,
Audition for Tommy,
Cook for the Ruthless pot-luck,
And go back for the Saturday night performance of Two Gentlemen of Verona.

He had told me, several times that he was going to run a 5K on Saturday morning. Before I got to bed Friday, I asked him if he could take d’Ohgy to the vet. He snidely said something like “Oh, it’s not like I have a life, or ever have plans, or was going to run the 5K tomorrow. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll take care of it. I probably won’t get up early enough to make the race anyway. Don’t you bother giving it another thought.” I apologized saying “Please don’t be like that, I just forgot, ok? I can handle it.” Then of course it’s the extremely tired volley game of “No-no, really I can take care of it. Not a problem.” And “Really, I’m sorry. I’ll do it.” Back and forth over and over, for 23 fucking years. Love sucks.

Yet, snuggling in bed on a Saturday morning, are the best moments of our lives. Of course we overslept. He missed the 5K, and I was late to rehearsal. I’d intended on going straight from rehearsal to the audition, but had to change plans because I didn’t have time to pick out the audition outfit that would say “Straight – man who can sing”. Rolf took d’Ohgy to the vet, and I made it to the auditions. I sang “All I Need is the Girl” from Gypsy. It’s an excellent audition piece for me. Short, fast, with a good high note. But the audition was strange. First of all, it is very odd to be the toast of the town at times. Especially since I can never remember that I am fabulous. But this was just totally weird.

I’m called in to audition, and I’m thinking “OK, Vig, big masculine strides here, head up chest out, wrists restricted” and this whole production team, save the director, starts congratulating me on my hit show and saying how sorry they were to miss it. The producer said that they talked about the show every night during their production of Das Barbeque, indicating a collegial jealousy. Fun. The director (cute-cute,) was wide eyed at the commotion. I was a little unnerved myself, and walked up to the piano like a timid girl when it was my turn to sing. (But, that may be more because the pianist is so hot. I always smile and giggle when I see him. I hope I get the role, so I can sit on the piano bench next to him and rub shoulders while we practice.) The pianist is also a great musician, so it was a real thrill to sing with him. But it was so quick. Since there is no dialogue in the show, that was the extent of my audition. They just had everyone sing their prepared piece, and said they’d look at dance ability (not needed for me), and work from the show at call-backs. I thought “that is going to be one long call-back.”

To be continued . . .

Yay Rolf!

This partner of mine needs a name. . . I think I’ll call him Rolf. He-he, Rolf. Yay.

We had dinner at the tony Tower Club last Thursday. It was a private little affair sponsored by my partner’s company. Rolf works for a consulting company, one of the 100 Best Companies to Work for as rated by Fortune Magazine. Every once in a while there are little gatherings with the President & CEO, and other uppity-ups, slumming with the peasants.

This time was a small affair, cocktails and dinner at a private club. Rolf and I sat right next to the President/CEO and his wife! I was very nervous. There were 10 people at our round table. Everyone had a good time, especially our hosts. They were just charming. I have to wonder about the two couples who turned down the cocktails and wine, though. Was it due to conservatism? What did they think of the two of us? And what did they think about the two of us being invited to come out and live our lives out loud and proud just like them?

The first time Rolf was invited to a company event, it was to the Steeple Chase Races in Middleburg. Horse racing! Horses running and jumping fences, banks and water-jumps, hurdles, post-and-rail to huge logs. I felt just like Eliza Doolittle at the Ascot Races.

(Is that Jackie O. at the races?)

We were in the reserved pavilion drinking champagne or on the hillside viewing boxes, and just had the very best view. And I’m there, just like all the other wives. Just exactly like all the other wives.

That. Is. So. Wild!

And wonderful.

I shopped for hats just like the other wives, too.

Thank you

Depression is humiliating! I know, I really get it, how CHARMED my life is. And yet, I’ve spent months whining and drinking myself into oblivion. I knew I’d snap out of it. And maybe I just did. A great slap in the face from Vanguard, (Part One) - (Part Two ), really gave me such a shock, that I feel the same as if I’d just completed months of therapy. What a great gift.

Now I think I can focus on the reality of my life.

d'Ogy

RUTHL3SS! THE MUS1CAL. Cast Photo

Schadenfreude - is that wrong?

From Avenue Q

Gary Coleman:
That’s...

Both:
Schadenfreude!

Gary Coleman:
People taking pleasure in your pain!

I’ve had a good couple of days. Posting the crap of depression intensifies the absurdity of it all. This weekend I saw P1pp1n and Ragt1me at local community theaters. They were both very good. Of the two, I think only Ragtime will be running against my show for Best Musical this year. But who knows, P1pp1n was more fun, still I think that Ragt1me was the better show. I directed Ruthl3ss! The Mus1cal in January. It surpassed my every hope. And it was my very first venture as a director! The review in the Washington Post said:

Most importantly, [the] first-time director [] has whipped his cast into the tightest ensemble seen on any local stage this season. Every word is pumped full of exaggerated theatricality, every facial reaction and physical gesture is lovingly artificial and larger than life. The resulting laughs come fast and furious.

I had wanted to tell you about my weekend, how I had an early rehearsal on Saturday, and followed it with a nice lunch on P Street, with a lovely glass of wine. I drove to Georgetown, then walked around the neighborhood looking at the gardens, while reciting, quite loudly, my soliloquy from A M1dsummer N1ght’s Dream for class on Tuesday.

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows
Where oxlips, and the nodding violet grows
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night
Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight
And there the snake throws her enameled skin
Weed wide enough to wrap a fiary in
And with the juice of this, I’ll streak her eyes
And make her full of hateful fantasies.
Take thou some of it and seek through this grove
A sweet Athenian lady is in love
With a disdainful youth. Anoint his eyes
But do it when the next thing he espies
May be the lady. Thou shall know the man
By the Athenian garments he hath on.
Effect it with some care that he may prove
More fond on her than she upon her love
And look, thou meet me here ere the first cock crow.

I stopped and bought myself a pack of cigarettes, though. And given the early start with the wine, by the time I fell into bed I’d had 10 cigarettes, 4 glasses of wine, 1 Martini, and 2 Vodka and Sodas with Lemon. And made an idiot of myself at the P1pp1n cast party. Yeah. I threw the cigarettes away though. Not that it matters today.

Sunday was supposed to be gardening day at my parent’s house. We didn’t make it down there until after noon. My sister was excited to tell me about the townhouse she has put a contract on, but I was so hung over I couldn’t pay attention. I didn’t realize it until I’d obviously hurt her feelings by not listening, and I tried to make it up to her by being there. But I’d already fucked up. She’s having a really hard time. Her husband left her. And divorce is so horribly messy and painful that she deserves better from me. I did go to hear her gospel quartet that night though. I know she appreciated that, and I’m glad I went because they are very good and I’d never been to one of their concerts before.

After lunch, we did get around to weeding the garden, and it really looked pretty good. We don’t even need to put any plants in, and that’s the first time since we built it about 5 years ago. Then I cleaned myself up, and grabbed a couple of beers, and went to church! God is going to strike me down, I know. I bummed cigarettes from my nephew, and had who knows what to drink when I got home.

Are we having fun yet? Well, not on Monday. Monday’s suck. I was late to work. I had wanted to update my blog, do some work, memorize a sonnet for my other class. (I have to perform the Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day sonnet for this class.) And I didn’t have it ready. All I ended up doing was mindlessly surfing the web, bummed 1 cigarette from the receptionist, and pushed papers around my desk. I grabbed dinner at Taco Bell, and memorized the sonnet on the way to class. After two hours of class, then an hour of rehearsal for Shakespeare, I went to the Playbill and had a 2 Martini’s, another dinner, and bummed a cigarette from the bartender. Got home, and had a big glass of wine, and all the left over Chinese Food that the boys had for dinner. Why was I so hungry?

So of course, drinking that much, and eating so much so late, insured that I would wake up at 4:30 in the morning. I got a glass of milk, went back to bed, but miraculously made it to work on time. I even got some work done. The receptionist was out sick, so I just bought my own damn pack of cigarettes. Class started earlier than usual, and it was a good class. I ordered take out and picked it up on my way home. I would have had a drink at the bar, but my food was ready when I got there. So I took it on home, and had a beer. I got the dishes washed and cleaned grout off the tiles in the new bathroom so it can be sealed before the toilet and sink are installed, and made it to bed by 12. Sober. Wow.

I was going to try for another day of sobriety yesterday too. But, I stumbled upon the news that Dr. Paul Br0wn’s Abund4nt L1fe Bapt1st Church burned down. I was happily singing Schadenfreude for the rest of the day and decided to celebrate this long awaited turn of Karma, before it turned and bit me in the ass (as I knew it would.) Yea! Wednesday was a fun day!

My Mom used to work for Dr. Br0wn. She was the organist at the church, he was the pastor. I was living on my own near D.C. by the time he was hired. But I would still go back to the church to sing for special occasions, either solos or in the family trio. That is until Dr. Br0wn told my Mom that she was to tell me: I was not welcome to sing in the church anymore, neither as a soloist, nor with the trio, nor with the choir, because I was a fag. (Not a quote, I don’t know what he said exactly. But that’s the gist.) Also, he told my ailing Grandmother that the reason she suffered was because God had cursed her and her family. Yeah, it happened. It wasn’t long after that that he tried to get the treasurer of the church to show him the tithing records of the church members, which is forbidden, and she with the head deacon had him thrown out on his ass. Oh I wish I had been there that day. I heard that he had been barred from the church, and there was a business meeting going on instead of the normal Sunday morning worship, and he barged in anyway with some other men backing him up, and it turned into a shouting match until many individuals in the congregation started shouting back at him, yelling “get out!” Oh, the bliss. So it’s hard to believe that that bastard was able to start another church. News reports say it had only 100 members, I feel bad for them. Maybe they’ll realize that God doesn’t want them to follow Dr. Paul Br0wn (jerk)!

After hearing that news, I decided to have just one martini before my rehearsal. So, I went to the Playbill, had one, while singing Schadenfreude. Rehearsal was fun and quick, so I went back to the Playbill, had another martini, two glasses of wine, two shrimp cocktails, a salad, and many cigarettes, while reviewing all my Shakespeare class notes. Once sloshed, I made new friends. I told them stories of the vile Dr. Brown and another vile person they might know. (Who it turns out is being sued by the Washington Shakespeare Company. Imagine that! But that’s another story.) We talked about Shakespeare, and I got my huge complete compendium of Shakespeare out of my bag to show how huge it was, and dropped it with all my notes and page markers going everywhere. Then I paid my check, had another loopy conversation with a classmate of mine, and I drove home.

I really need some help.

Now, tonight I’m going a tony country club dinner, being thrown by the president of my partner’s company, a large consulting group. They’re very gay friendly, and we’re going. Not that I want too, and after writing this, not that I think it’s a good idea, but I have to. Fuck.

So – I get home, safely. (It’s only now that I realize how drunk I was, and how dangerous and wrong it was for me to drive. Stupid stupid stupid.) And I grab a beer. No one else is home except my husband, and I go to find him to tell him of my excellent day. He’s downstairs and we talk about Schadenfreude, lawn mowing, mundane stuff. Then I ask him what time the dinner is. Earlier in the day, he had said he’d check and let me know. Well, he snaps at me! “I don’t know! Would you like me to go check?” If I was snippy back, it wasn’t much, because all I said was “Yes.” So, he acts all angry and put upon and goes up stairs, then comes back down with the invitation and sticks it in my face. I said “I don’t want that, just tell me what time it starts.” He sits, and opens it up and tells me “6:30”. “Oh, ok,” I say. Then he said “Are you going to be able to be civil toward me, or should I get someone else to go?”

I still don’t know what the fuck that was about. And I said so. He said it was uncalled for for me to be nasty to him. And I told him, I didn’t know what he was talking about. I said “Have I had that much to drink? Because this makes no since. I came home happy to see you to tell you about my day. Everything is fine, everything is nice. I ask you what time the dinner is and you snap at me and shove the invitation at me and you say I’m being nasty? When did that happen. Did I not notice because I’m drinking so much, because I’m an alcoholic? Or did it not happen at all?”

I got some sort of apology from him, the “Oh shut the fuck up – I’m sorry – ok already” kind. Which didn’t work. So, I said “As usual, I’m confused; I don’t know what is going on, so I’m leaving. I’m going to bed. Good night.”

I poured the beer out. Jerked off as revenge, and went to sleep. I was still seething this morning when the alarm went off. He nudged me to turn it off, and I jerked away from him and fumed “Don’t you touch me!”

And some wonder why I drink. What the fuck?! What is wrong with him? He said so. This morning, I’m in the bath, and he comes in, late for his meeting, and says “I’m sorry about last night. It wasn’t you, it was me. I was having a bad day and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.” I reacted as if it were a very perfunctory performance. But I realize it wasn’t. I know it’s the truth. Something is wrong.

Morose Stupidity

I am so deeply in this depression now. The signs are all there, the drinking, pornography, obsessive thoughts, feeling stupid, feeling worthless, wishing I were dead, planning my death, screwing up my relationship, selfishness, oversleeping, looking a bit grungy too. (I've been in this place many times.)

It can be alarming, yet, oh, such a bore.

Well, I need to face a pile of work which is good. Then I'm going to try and write myself out of this messed up mind.