Now that I've thought of that though, my Nana had bunions. I remember her talking about them. Hannah has a cool little round mushroom looking thing on her second toe that pops up whenever she wears close toed shoes. I don't know if that is a bunion.
As to the chipmunks, there are 45 million of them on Monument Ave. And they are fighting and running and biting and chattering and carrying on. I see them when I walk. Everywhere.
There was a party last night.
The kitten is on the table. I've decided not to worry about this.
At the show yesterday evening were the Resnicks- this was discovered when a beautiful shiny bag full of plump cinnamon muffins was delivered backstage before the show. I squeezed a bunch of them, and after curtain call, took one out into the lobby to eat while I went to find Mrs. Resnick to thank her and compliment her on her muffins.
So I am standing there like a squirrel with crumbs on my face and my cheeks stuffed to popping with muffin scanning the crowd for Mrs. Resnick. I do not see her. Am not completely sure I remember what she looks like. Then Chase starts talking to me, and Hannah, and then this other woman comes up and compliments us on the show and I am chatting with her, eating, thinking where in the hell is Zak's mom? But I never see her, so I figure she has left.
Drew informs me at the party later in the evening that the woman with whom I had been chatting was Mrs. Resnick.
Oh well. I have seemed rude. And completely like I hated her muffins.
Now the kitten is straight-up eating my ponytail. What a jerk. That'll be a hairball that'll scour the surface off his liver.
Hungry. Want shrimp risotto.
Then there was a celebratory opening night party at some cast members'** house. This was fun. Maggie and I eventually steeled ourselves against the memory of screaming babies and toddlers who are aggravatingly selective about their pajama bottoms enough to cross the threshold.
Oh- backtrack. Went to softball yesterday. The turnout was really something else. At least 75 people all merrily stretching wearing their best gear being jovial and pert and quipping and jesting to beat the band. To death. This is of course all fantastic, except I had gone to bed at three thirty the previous evening (for professional reasons) and was not feeling quippy.
Oh now I just made a new word. I like that one. Might name something that.
Ford aimed each and every hit straight at my head. This is always very invigorating. Scott accused me of approaching the plate like Rue McClanahan. I don't know how he would know that, but it wouldn't surprise me if he has some sort of Badgering Outreach Program that operates on West Coast as well and he's managed somehow to get her to come out for a game.
Anyhow, I left very shortly after I arrived and went home. Slept for four months.
Party.
Now, everyone knows that there are iguanas and old women and polio living in the basements of some of these sorts of houses. However. Our hosts for the evening have turned this one into quite a gem. Perhaps a gem one could easily find on discount at Claire's Boutique, but a gem nonetheless. The back porch a necessary cozy haven with lots of plants hanging from the roof (that had flowers on them) and a awesome little garden of all sort of spicy peppers. Also tomatoes, lettuce, and strawberries. I was very impressed. Have decided when I have space for it I will grow some planty stuff.
There was a homemade green salsa which everyone loved, a bowl of real live cherries, which I don't prefer because I prefer maraschino; vegetables, burgers, hot dogs. All sorts of stuff. I took a shot of cherry vodka out of a tupperware. Went into the bathroom to do it because when I take a shot my face screws up into a horrible grimace that I can't undo for sometimes upwards of ten minutes. And no one needs to see that after ten pm. It smelled really good. Tasted really bad. Knew it would. Alcohol tastes BAD. But I'm a sucker for cherries, so thought I'd give it a swallow.
Then Drew and I stood over top of the food inhaled an entire bag of tortilla chips and debated the necessariness of some of the acting techniques he is being presented with at Juilliard. I am convinced that Drew and I between the two of us could eat all of Thanksgiving. All of America's Thanksgiving for the year 2009. For snack.
Frank Creasy was there, which was awesome, because as Adam pointed out, "he's Frank Creasy."
Beyonce came on tv and most of the cast stood three inches from the screen and jiggled and moaned and locked for about ten minutes trying to dance like her.
Also have come to the conclusion that I need the new Black Eyed Peas cd and a black leather bodysuit.
Chris Stewart stood in the kitchen, leaned against the counter and delivered a soaring, inspiring speech on his valiant struggle with insomnia which he has been losing for the last 20 years. I am always impressed with insomnia. Do not think I could do it. Ten minutes later I went to find him and he was asleep never to be heard from again.
Chris and I also did a fine flip yesterday. Hannah helped. Part of why Hannah is terrific is because she will tell you exactly what she thinks about anything in such a way as to make you agree completely and take no offense. She will say, for example, "You really should stop blinking for three weeks and starch and iron your kitten because you will look ridiculous if you don't," and I will think, "my goodness, she's exactly right."
She actually says honest HELPFUL things.
But she said that the flip looked crazy and out of control because my legs were coming apart and I was landing on one foot. I explained my logic behind this- 1. no one ever taught us how to do it. 2.if the first foot misses, at least I have the other one coming round that will also have a chance to hold me up. But this is a flimsy excuse for sloppy flips, so I went out there when the time came and stuck my legs together hard as I could.
We were like Shawn Johnson. Stuck our landing. Stood up and Chris was beaming.
Really want to go to Verry Berry.
Also we did a midnight show the other night. Which I thought was going to be a performance of Summer of 42 and actually turned out to be a performance of The Michael Jackson/Phish/Jesus Christ Reunion Tour '09. At least that is what it sounded like.
I scuffled into the lobby following the show, scowled at everyone, drove home, tucked Surprise into my cleavage and fell deeply asleep.
Also there was one point somewhere past 2am where I found myself using the women's restroom with Ginnie and Chase.
Will now eat my Santa Fe beans and rice.
Good party.
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