Just Don't Think About ItHello, and welcome to the part of my day where I defraud my employer of all sorts of time, pretending to type meeting minutes when I am, in fact, blogging. If you, like me, are pretending to work while you surf the internet and do your own thing, then I extend an extra-warm welcome... there's nothing a sinner likes better than to have someone else sinning with him.
I would like to type the meeting minutes, really I would... but then I'd have to read my notes and remember what a bunch of fucking morons I work for, and what a bunch of fucking morons those fucking morons work for, and I get a headache. Plus, aside from the headache I already have, my nails are really too long right now for me to type with any efficiency — though they're efficient-enough to blog; the difference is that I don't have to think so hard about what I write here, I don't have to boil down a thirty-minute directionless dialogue into a single descriptive paragraph — that, on top of having to backspace and hit the Caps Lock key and replace all my Hs with Js because my nails keep hitting the wrong keys, well it's just not worth the aggravation.
So anyway... this weekend is Ducal Ball, and I feel wildly unprepared. I just went out to the Douglas Morrison Theatre in Hayward to pick up the A Chorus Line costumes we're supposed to wear for our little production number at the end, and they weren't quite what I had expected... I don't know why, but I thought they'd be black with gold accents. I planned to have on black foundation garments and wear black gowns for Ducal Ball, so everything would go together okay and make changes easy. But the costumes are champagne satin (I suppose they were gold satin when they were made a number of years ago, just like in the movie and stage productions, but now they've faded to champagne)... and now I have to completely rethink. I just hope I have plenty of time before we go on, so I can change my foundation garments as well as my shoes and my jewelry.
I also have to prepare somewhat for the production number at the beginning of the show, in which I am to do a solo turn with "Big Spender"... out of all the numerous recordings of that song, the one that was chosen (not by me) and already burned onto the master is the version from Fosse, which is sung by a chorus of about eighteen voices. I was utterly horrified when I heard it for the first time a couple of days ago (did I mention that nobody told me I was supposed to be in the opening production number until late last week?), but I suppose I can carry it off... they are singing in unison, after all. I'll just pretend that all of my personalities are singing together.
And then I have to prepare to host the In-Town/Out-of-Town Show on Friday, and I have no idea what to do. Someone else will be emceeing, so I don't have to worry about that... but I do have to worry about the lineup, and somebody just mentioned decorations, and then I expect there is supposed to be food and prizes, too. Plus there is supposed to be a roast of the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess, and apparently I am supposed to encourage and coordinate that as well... but I don't know how, exactly. I am just going to have to assume that, if there was anything important I was supposed to be doing, somebody would have told me.
On the other hand, I know what happens when I assume. DISASTER!
Well, fiddle-dee-dee, I won't think about that today. I'll think about it tomorrow, or the next day. Or the day it happens. Or after it's over. Or not at all, ever. Thinking about things never got anybody anywhere.
I'm still sick, a veritable fountain of phlegm with a sore throat and muscle-aches, I haven't been sleeping at all well, Grandmother's still stuck in bed with her bum knee (I'm taking her to the orthopedist tomorrow), the house is filthy and falling apart (I loaded the dishwasher and took out garbage this morning, but still), and life generally sucks major steaming donkeyshit.
It could be worse, though, and it's not likely that it would be better even if it could, so I'll just enjoy whatever blessings come my way today: the lovely weather, "Carousel Waltz" on the stereo, the very yummy mocha I just drank, the fact that my raging bed-head actually looks good, like some stylist did it on purpose, and my skin strangely enough looks great... and my boss just gave me an ice-cold can of Lipton Brisk Lemon Ice Tea for no reason at all. Better than a rap on the head with a sharp stone.
Have a nice day, and remember to stick it to The Man (so long as The Man is dumb enough to give you an internet connection)!