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Weekend in Review:
Sep. 6th, 2005 01:34 pmMiracle of Miracles. I'm still holding tight at this temp job that I like. which is great. ALSO, I recently booked this play at an off-broadway theater, which begins rehearsals this week, which is also great.
However, I got the "Too much of a good thing" feeling when I put all the full-time workdays and rehearsals and shows into my datebook and found that starting today, I won't have another day off until [literally] Halloween. Being the neurotic overplanner I am, I pretty much decided that this past weekend had to be the BEST weekend ever, since i won't be seeing friends from home or my family at least until the show opens. So here's how I did Operation: Dammit I'd better have fun this weekend:
WRITTEN FRIDAY NIGHT, LIC APARTMENT
File this under "Stupid Things I've done to impress a Boy."
Holy crap. What am I doing? It's 10:30 on a friday and I'm exhausted, and rather than stay here and lounge about and watch SnowDogs [something candy-coated to cleanse the palate after Fargo], instead I'm ripping through my closet looking for something suitable to wear to a CLUB. Not even a regular dance club, a techno club.
I'm going to a TECHNO CLUB with BFH and a group of his friend who also enjoy dancing to TECHNO. Most of whom I happened to go to high school with and haven't seen since graduation day.
I got all of this clubbing business out of my system when I was 16, thankyouverymuch. AND, even then, it was drag clubs, because at least the queens can dress. What the hell does one wear to experience TECHNO music? Knee pads? I need kneepads, and like, something that glows, right?
And WHY, even though I can think of nothing more stressful than bopping around to DJ BeepBloop and the BleepBloops in front of a group of people who had orchestra seats to my awkward years, am I about to leave my comfortable womblike bed for a place where the only visible light is that of the strobe variety?
simple.
I'm doing it for a boy.
...This is a bit of an overgeneralization. I'm going out with my boyfriend and his friends to a place I would generally not choose to go to on my own accord. ever. never ever. and I'm experiencing some anxiety over it. To distract myself until he gets here, here are some things BFH does that make me think he is the nicest boy ever and that one measely night of me looking like an idiot is well worth it:
Plus a plethora of other things that all fall into the category of "Caring Attentive Nice Boy", but I don't have time to disseminate his praises at the moment because I still need to apply makeup and down a bottle of pepto before he gets here. So we can go dance to some techno music. oh jesus.
Tuesday Afternoon:
Okay, so the club wasn't TERRIBLE. There were some things about it I would like to forget, such as watching somebody vomit 12 inches away from me, and later falling flat on my face, on the stairs a la Brittany Murphy in Clueless, smashing my poor knee into a color that can only be classified as "Ouch". But otherwise, it's just an overpriced bar with naked chicks bouncing all over the place. Like Hooters without the wings.
In preparation for my soon-coming descent into rehearsal-induced reclusivity, the rest of the weekend was full of things I won't really have a chance to do for the next 2 months while my show is running, such as a visit to the MET to see the Matisse exhibit, 3 loads of laundry, 2 birthdays, 1 anniversary party, and approximately 42 barbeques. If I eat another peice of grilled meat, I will be ill. So, I guess that means it was a success?
However, I got the "Too much of a good thing" feeling when I put all the full-time workdays and rehearsals and shows into my datebook and found that starting today, I won't have another day off until [literally] Halloween. Being the neurotic overplanner I am, I pretty much decided that this past weekend had to be the BEST weekend ever, since i won't be seeing friends from home or my family at least until the show opens. So here's how I did Operation: Dammit I'd better have fun this weekend:
WRITTEN FRIDAY NIGHT, LIC APARTMENT
File this under "Stupid Things I've done to impress a Boy."
Holy crap. What am I doing? It's 10:30 on a friday and I'm exhausted, and rather than stay here and lounge about and watch SnowDogs [something candy-coated to cleanse the palate after Fargo], instead I'm ripping through my closet looking for something suitable to wear to a CLUB. Not even a regular dance club, a techno club.
I'm going to a TECHNO CLUB with BFH and a group of his friend who also enjoy dancing to TECHNO. Most of whom I happened to go to high school with and haven't seen since graduation day.
I got all of this clubbing business out of my system when I was 16, thankyouverymuch. AND, even then, it was drag clubs, because at least the queens can dress. What the hell does one wear to experience TECHNO music? Knee pads? I need kneepads, and like, something that glows, right?
And WHY, even though I can think of nothing more stressful than bopping around to DJ BeepBloop and the BleepBloops in front of a group of people who had orchestra seats to my awkward years, am I about to leave my comfortable womblike bed for a place where the only visible light is that of the strobe variety?
simple.
I'm doing it for a boy.
...This is a bit of an overgeneralization. I'm going out with my boyfriend and his friends to a place I would generally not choose to go to on my own accord. ever. never ever. and I'm experiencing some anxiety over it. To distract myself until he gets here, here are some things BFH does that make me think he is the nicest boy ever and that one measely night of me looking like an idiot is well worth it:
- Goes out of his way to visit me at my apartment even though he has a 2 hour commute to deal with.
- Sits through [seemingly] endless dinners with my crazy family and manages to banter politely with my drunken mother.
- Plays DDR with me, IN A PUBLIC ARCADE, in front of dudes and whatever, on a regular basis.
- Calls when he says he will. and also when he doesn't.
Plus a plethora of other things that all fall into the category of "Caring Attentive Nice Boy", but I don't have time to disseminate his praises at the moment because I still need to apply makeup and down a bottle of pepto before he gets here. So we can go dance to some techno music. oh jesus.
Tuesday Afternoon:
Okay, so the club wasn't TERRIBLE. There were some things about it I would like to forget, such as watching somebody vomit 12 inches away from me, and later falling flat on my face, on the stairs a la Brittany Murphy in Clueless, smashing my poor knee into a color that can only be classified as "Ouch". But otherwise, it's just an overpriced bar with naked chicks bouncing all over the place. Like Hooters without the wings.
In preparation for my soon-coming descent into rehearsal-induced reclusivity, the rest of the weekend was full of things I won't really have a chance to do for the next 2 months while my show is running, such as a visit to the MET to see the Matisse exhibit, 3 loads of laundry, 2 birthdays, 1 anniversary party, and approximately 42 barbeques. If I eat another peice of grilled meat, I will be ill. So, I guess that means it was a success?
