Social? Me?

This weekend I did something unthinkable: I socialized. Yes, it’s true!

I cut out of work early on Friday and headed to PA, where I met up with Danielle, Shawn, Missy, and Missy’s girlfriend Kat. We met up with a gaggle o’ lesbians we know for a birthday dinner at a Dave & Buster’s-style restaurant, ate our hearts out, played some games, and then headed to a small regional playhouse to see our pal C. make his dramatic debut in a musical. I am being deliberately vague here.

C. was totally wrong about how long it takes to get to his playhouse from the restaurant where we had eaten, so we were late for the show, which was already a few minutes into its first scene when we arrived. Apparently some of the actors bitched about it to C. later. Ah, screw ’em. It wasn’t our fault. The show itself was decent, but learning about the backstage intrigue from our darling gay C. was even better (which is why I’m being vague with names and places). Turns out the male romantic lead is banging the show’s director, who is the real-life father of the leading lady. No wonder she always looked really uncomfortable when she had to kiss the man who was supposedly the love of her life—she was kissing the mouth that been with her father! And the male lead is also having an affair with the male musical director too. There were a number of other gay dudes in the show as well.

The lead female had a good voice, but rumor has it that she only got the lead because her dad is the director. And the poor girl was forced to wear a garishly-colored leotard during most of the show. Whoever made the decision to put a 200+ pound girl in a tight leotard on stage should be shot.

Some of C.’s costumes were so awesome. They looked like a cross between S&M gear and a 1983 Michael Jackson video. I had to muffle my laughter on more than one occasion.

Even though we were late, we somehow netted seats in the first two rows, with Danielle and me being dead center in the first row. My flash accidentally went off like twice and some old woman kept glaring at me. Also, the actors bitched about it to C. And even when the flash wasn't used, the actors were bothered by the small light that goes on when a picture is about to be taken. This happened a lot, since Danielle and I were like the paparazzi, taking one digital picture after another every time C. appeared on stage. Danielle shot video footage on her camera, too. The other actors huffily snipped to C., “All we see is orange-green-orange-green!” We later told him that he should’ve told them we were reviewers from the NY Times, which is why we showed up late and took so many pictures.

Afterwards we went back to Missy’s place and looked at Danielle’s and my pictures on Kat’s laptop. We also watched Danielle’s video footage and, nearly wetting ourselves with immature laughter, repeatedly watched a scene where the one actor’s voice did this weird cracking, swooning thing while singing. We were going to post all the C. video footage on YouTube, tagging it in really inappropriate ways so anybody who searches for anything finds this damn footage. We were going to tag the footage with “pussy boobs tits Christmas kittens anal.” So this got Missy and Danielle obsessed with singing “pussy boobs tits” to the tune of “La Vie Boheme” from Rent. Since they both have OCD parroting issues, this consumed them for a while.

What I love about my friends: an inappropriate sense of humor, a certain level of craziness, and being totally unruffled by the strangest things. Our conversations were a flurry of details of various OCD ticks; our crude, appalling, mean-spirited, and very funny fantasy version of The Amazing Race; etc. Nobody batted an eyelash when someone would say, “Remember when so-and-so used to hoard his own pee?”, “His brother once attacked him while wearing a Captain Stubing mask,” “I was such a hermit that year—I never wanted to leave my dorm room except for classes, so I peed in a bucket every night to avoid leaving my room,” “That was the summer I stayed up every single night until dawn, clutching a butcher knife,” “So-and-so once had this thing where he would only get out of bed when the numbers on his clock equaled seven,” “We should stop by so-and-so’s mom’s house and tell her about how her son has a dungeon in his basement and likes to wrap up his slaves with saran wrap and shoot electricity through their penises.” It was all in a typical day’s conversation for us, really.

I stayed at my mom’s house on Friday night and at noon on Saturday I headed to Antoinette’s house in Virginia and spent the afternoon with her and her sweet 2-week-old baby Luca. Sunday was spent freelancing until 5:30pm, at which point I pounded through more episodes of Six Feet Under (I’ve been Netflixing the entire series). I want to finish Season 3 tonight while doing more freelancing...



song heard most recently before posting: Ripachka—Karelian Folk Music Ensemble