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