Is you a crayon?

I think I am going to try and write one blog post for every day in December. Yes I realize I am already behind on December 2nd, BUT, I am going to include in this post the goings-on of yesterday as well as today, so that can count as both. I've decided. And it's my blog so who cares what you think.

Also I will, in this post, explain the title.

So, Pepita the Elf has acquired a fetching little bright green costume that is pretty fitted and has chili peppers and stripes all over it. Also she has one of those spacious hats that flops over and has a tassel on the end. She usually wears her hair down under this hat.

However, this morning Pepita had to be filmed having a nervous breakdown on the local news, so her hair was already in braids when she arrived at the Mill to do her show.

So up went the braids into the cavernous hat. Thusly making the hat stick straight up and it look sort of like I was doing a bad job of smuggling several dildos around the north pole.

But the point is, my hat was forming a point straight into the air.

After the show, we go downstairs to clench our teeth at and avoid touching the children.

One of these children says to me from his seat, "Is you a crayon?"

I don't think I need to elaborate any further on this story. It was the best thing I'd ever heard.

And yes, I think Pepita should potentially be a crayon from here on out. We'll just have to stencil the words PISSY GREEN down my outer thigh with a sharpie.

So what else today.

Today started with Adam and I sitting staring sullenly at Betty (the kitten, not the FANTASTIC new tree angel wearing slutty lingerie and smoking a joint) and just commenting every few seconds about how much we don't like her.

This is all a crock though. I've seen Adam cuddle her and kiss her forehead on numerous occasions.

Then we went and were on tv. Which always entertains me because everyone from their childhood has a vision of the tv studio being somewhere fancy. Then you go in and really it is like shooting a movie in someone's toolshed where your only props are green construction paper and pancake makeup.

Greg McQuade should be awarded five or six Artsie awards just for his portrayal this morning of "Man Intently Watching and Invested in the Clip of Precious."

We have the entire news team a little wary of all of us I feel. Not every day their special musical guests lisp and twitch and do industrial belting about India and their feet.

Judi Crenshaw is there with us. As always looking on the very cusp of all things stylish. Her jacket is woven supermodel carcass.

I go down to the Mill and do two relaxing performances of Crab at Drifty.

I then drink a Monster energy drink and do a matinee of Spelling Bee.

Which is really a lot of fun, I think primarily because it is different every night. Each and every show from here on out should at each performance include four audience volunteers. That would be fascinating in "The Grapes of Wrath." Or "The Sound of Music." The Captain von Trapp could just be slightly more prolific and in addition to Liesl, Frederich, Louisa, Brigitta, Kurt, Marta and Gretel have also Wunderschoen, Bunterbitten, Struedel, and Hasenpfeffer.

Also fun because I get to wear roomy slacks covered in anchors and admire my shiny fingernails for the majority of Act I.

Anyway, I'm hitting up the Verry Berry in a few minutes with the edible members of the Spelling Bee cast and then we are going somewhere else. The end of that story.

Also I want to see Julie and Julia at the Byrd. Kind of.

Yesterday, December 1st- was lovely as well.

We did the heavenforsaken 10am student matinee of Spelling Bee for a bunch of Varina high schoolers who were actuallly a lot more composed than I had been expecting.

I was secretly looking forward to a little hell raising and potentially getting to slap one of them for getting rowdy on the bleachers next to me, but no. They were most excited about Matt Polson throwing them bags of chips. Their teacher was sitting next to me on the bleachers and was extremely suspicious of me. Can't say that I blame her. Logainne is one suspicious dude.

I think everyone in the cast would like to throw over their role and play Mitch Mahoney instead.

Logainne is in love with Mitch Mahoney.

Anyway, after some mild planning the day before and a quick recap of said planning during the last scene when we are all supposed to be talking about the trophy, we set our brunch and mimosas plan into effect.

Half of us go to Kroger to get the appropriate ingredients for French toast and mimosas while the other half of us stay in the dressing room and caterwaul for about fifteen minutes.

We then adjourn to Matt Polson's house which overlooks the park and has lovely Christmas decorations up and, as a unit, each become 65 years old for the next three hours.

We put on the Christmas music station on the television, and all cram ourselves into the sunlight kitchen where we all help and giggle and interact with each other. And we are all friendly. This blows my mind. I break eggs and squeeze the bacon. Matt Polson manlyly fries bread. Ford has given the boys the tip of including vanilla ice cream instead of milk in the French toast batter. I protest this as I am always mistrusting of anything Ford says and am pretty sure in this instance he is trying to get bread to curdle in my belly, but we all go ahead.

Yvonne makes movies of all the action with her phone. Yvonne loves to make movies. Yvonne has several reels of footage of the moment of her conception.

William and Eric and I go outside to clean off the table. We are bad at this.

Matt Shofner makes everyone mimosas.

They are excellent.

We make fruit compote and eggs.

We go out on the porch, eat, clean up, and at once become completely comatose and worthless.

So I go home and get as did as I can get when I am stuffed of Uncle Flannagan's Poisonous Toast.

I drive to Colonial Heights where I have the honor of being Tom's "date" to the Roslyn Farms Christmas party. Otherwise known as Tom's "person in his life who will hassle him and gripe and whine to high holy hell if he goes to another party at which he plays skee ball and bowling and dance dance revolution and eats london broil and holds in over my head for another year."

Tom and I are a stunning pair. We stride in, avoid the food entirely and head straight for the skee ball.

This is a wonderful time. We ride the simulated roller coaster and shoot at animated deer. I have unconsciously had the foresight to wear thick socks over my tights under Maggie's fancy boots, so I merrily take the boots off and bowl and play Dance Dance Revolution in my athletic socks and cocktail dress.

They also just freaking GIVE me a cherry slushie. I think my face must have lit up like the sunshine when they told me they would give me this for free because both the bartenders looked as though they wanted to cry.

Poor homeless young woman in the Cole Haan boots and red lipstick and diamond studded hair pins who has never been able to afford really nice things like a cherry slushie.

Then I go home and don't remember anything after that.