Summertime, and the Livin’ is Indoors
Much to the relief of my head and the oven, it seems the weather has finally turned the corner from chilly, soul-deadening rain with highs in the 50s to warm, skin-crisping sunshine with highs in the 80s.
Thank goodness I can finally stop spray-tanning.
HoST and I took advantage of the gorgeous weather this weekend by…going to see two movies in a row. In our defense, there were thunderstorms on Saturday, so we felt it only right that we spend the greater part of the afternoon sitting in a dark theatre growing an extra vagina or two.
For all of you who claim to have no interest in seeing this movie, I offer you a big plate of Bitch, Please and Stop Frontin’.
But on Sunday, we enjoyed the shit out of the nice weather. We landscaped the front yard, planted the herb & vegetable garden, stuck flowers in any visible spots of dirt, ate dinner outdoors, and took a long walk at sunset that culminated with a well-deserved treat of soft-serve ice cream with hot caramel.
MMMM…partially hydrogenated palm kernel oil…
Of course, the weekend came to an end, and now we are forced to spend most of these lovely late spring days inside, roasting under the garish glow of fluorescent lights while our souls are slowly sucked dry by the endless grind of our 9-5 routine.
Will someone preheat the oven to 350 for me?
The silver lining to this situation would ordinarily be the fact that the sun doesn’t set until well after 8pm, meaning there are a few quality hours of outdoor time to be spent after work. Yes, that would ordinarily be the silver lining. Unless you are me, and have committed your next two months of evenings to being a cast member of a play. A play that rehearses and is staged INDOORS.
Make that 450, please.
Oh, Internet. I do this every year. I bitch and moan and weep and wail about how long it takes summer to get here, and then when it finally arrives, I barricade myself inside a dusty old theatre making a jackass of myself on stage. Of course, I had a two-year run a few years ago of doing outdoor theatre in the summers, which was pretty awesome…in that heatstroke, sunburn, dehydration, I-just-stepped-in-a-yellowjacket-nest kind of way.
Oh, the farmer and the cowman should be OH MY GOD GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME!
Yes, I start rehearsing for a new show tonight – The Importance of Being Earnest. And I’m excited, of course, because I’m a huge fucking nerd. Also, HoST has been cast in this particular show as well, so there is the added bonus of being together at rehearsals in the evenings. But there’s a part of me that dreads handing over so much of my free time to such a large commitment, not to mention that I purposefully took a hiatus from acting in the fall because I had this crazy idea of getting myself all knocked up, which…has not so much happened just yet.
Speaking of that, it should be noted that my mother – my very loathe-to-talk-about-sex mother – was aware of the fact that I was taking a little break from acting to try to pursue other, more vagina-related interests. Of course, she won’t actually come out and ASK if I’m still trying to get pregnant; she just says, “So, you’re not…doing any plays this summer, are you?”
Mom-to-English Translation: DOING ANY PLAYS = CHANGING YOUR MIND ABOUT SUPPLYING ME WITH GRANDCHILDREN, SO HELP ME GOD IF THAT IS THE CASE YOU ARE OUT OF THE WILL AND I MEAN IT THIS TIME, MISSY
And – because I am a curse of a daughter – I do not tell her what she clearly really wants to know, I simply reply that yes, I am doing a show this summer, and maybe another in the fall, because I AM NOT WAITING AROUND FOR MY UTERUS, MOTHER, GOD!
Is a bitch.
Now is the time when those in my female readership who have ever tried to get pregnant are snickering at my blatant attempt to TRICK my bitch uterus into conceiving, because ladies, we all know that the ONLY way to get pregnant is by not wanting to be. Or at least pretending that you don’t want to be. Pregnant, that is. HEAR THAT, UTERUS?!
There. I should be knocked up by the time we open. And will probably have to fight back morning sickness gags while attempting to deliver droll wordplay in a charming British dialect.
Either your appetite goes, or I do!
Hmm. You know what? I probably could have saved myself the trouble of finding a picture of Oscar Wilde and just re-posted this one:
The likeness is stunning, no?
Also, I am totally basing all of my research for this role off of this woman’s disembodied head, even though I am not playing that part, because…really:
Entry filed under: Gobble-gobble.