Blogpology

It's that time, fancied friends, when I re-enter the blogosphere in hopes that there's somebody still there. That time where I profusely apologize for being absent, though it always strikes me a bit vain that I would apologize to YOU for not having any writing of MINE for you to read.

When I'm doing a show, it's hard for me to write. I don't know why. I guess my creative energies are focused somewhere else, or maybe I'm getting all the recognition I need through applause and "Good show"s. Maybe I don't feel the need to prove myself anymore.

Is blogging really all about self-validation?

Sometimes, maybe.

But not all the time. I like it. I like hearing from you guys and reading about what's going on in your lives. I like writing. I like trying to find the memorable things in my day, the small seemingly inconsequential that holds meaning if we'd just let it. And I like sharing it with you. The big things, too. I like holding myself accountable to my own goals and dreams by archiving them. I like having a way to look back.

So, really, I think the reason for my absence, is...I'm just worn out. WIth my free time I want to talk to my husband and catch up on my shows and sleep in and go to church.

But the show's closing this weekend, and I'm preparing mentally for that. which involves remembering how much I like this here form of communication and expression. I hope you guys are still there. Holler if you are. Anyone out there?

To Be or Not To Be

Oh fancied friends I am not a dedicated blogger these days. I'm sorry the posts are few and far between, and sorry that I haven't been able to make it over to your blogs to read and comment. But my hope is that you're all well and happy and content.

At this very moment I'm on a train to Northport for another long tech rehearsal. We're behind but all in all I'm very excited about how the show is coming together. Right now my cast mates are probably wondering where I am because I forwent the gathering ritual of meeting before the track is announced. I'm a little grumpy this morning and thought I'd spare them all my sullen face. By the time we get there I should be less sleepy and less irritable - irritable because I lost my scarf in the train station. One minute it was hanging loosely from my neck (I had just undone it because I was burning up hot from the cramped subway ride), the next minute gone. Did it fall? Did someone slyly pull it from my neck when I was indecisively trying to figure out which bottled water to buy? Of all things, my pashmina! It was pink. And pretty. My pretty, pink pashmina is now gone forever. And I didn't even buy it. It was a hand-me-down. Actually I was kind of borrowing it. There. Truth be told. It wasn't even mine. Dadgummit.

I looked all around on the floor where I had been. Missing pashmina nowhere to be found. Someone is walking the streets of New York this very minute with my pretty pink pashmina. Well not really mine.... Dangit.

There's this one part in my big duet I sing with Jo, where I am going to (gasp) change the melody! Actually it's just one note but I thoroughly hate this one note, and sparing you the boring details, I'm just telling you. I'm going to change it! I've figured it all out, and I think my way is much better on all accounts. I'm trying to decide if I actually need to inform my musical director. One thing I do know is that musical theater people don't like changing notes. As a folk-slash-pop-slash-kindofrock-slash-Christian recording artist you can change notes all day long and it's ok! But these musical theater folk....oh no. I might scare the scarf off my musical director (he typically wears one) and bring the whole darn number to a svreaching halt.

"Woah woah woah. (nervous chuckle). Uh.... Fancypants.... You sag a B instead of a D there. (nervous chuckle... Wraps scarf back around his neck).

To which I could have numerous responses.

Number 1: Yeah. I know. Who wrote this song? They kind of suck. I'm not singing the D there.

Number 2: OH!!! Oops. That just kinda happened. But I sort of one it better. What do you think?

Number 3: I am so sorry. My mistake, won't happen again. (or will it, she says to herself)

Hmmmmm. Or I could just work it I win my musical director before hand so as not to risk another scarf being lost, but risking my idea being shut down.

Diva or not to be diva? THAT is the question. What should it be, folks?

Eyelash Trouble

I just pulled out a clump of my eyelashes. Like, probably four or five. At one time.

I spent the last ten minutes asking Seth if he could see a space where they came out, and googling "Do eyelashes grow back."

I found out that yes, they grow back, and it usually takes 4 - 8 weeks.

Unless you have a hypothyroid problem.

?!?!?!?!

Switching Wardrobes

I switched out wardrobes yesterday, which took way longer than I thought and usurped my previous plans of getting much more done. Sweaters, naturally, take up way more space than rinky dink sleeveless summerwear, and the dilemma caused me to overthrow Seth's claim to his side of the closet.

Poor Seth now has a foot or so at the end for his jeans.

But no worries. I also gave him a drawer all to himself.

I know, I know. It sounds heartless. But really, fancied friends, if you knew how long it took me to organize all our winter wear into our eensy teensy living space, you'd be proud. It was hard. DANG hard. I had to CONTINOUSLY take things out of the closet and say, Nope- won't wear that. It's gone. Nope. Nope. Nope. Ehhhhh, well if I lose some poundage I could fit back into that. Maaaaaybe I should keep it....Nope.

And on top of all that, my friend's neighbor downstairs from her cleaned out HER closet and got rid of HER clothes, and she has REALLY awesome clothes, which she gave to my friend, who in turn gave them to me. We're talking designer brand here, people. Brands I would NEVER buy because the the cost of the tag alone equals my closet's entire holdings. I mean, you can't TURN DOWN free clothes like that! No, you GIVE AWAY clothes you have to fit THOSE clothes into your closet.

Hand-me-downs are awesome. Thank you, friend's friend with impeccable style. I thank you. Once Seth gets used to the new living arrangements, he'll thank you, too.

Officially 29

My sweet man of a husband came home last Thursday, and we officially celebrated my 29th birthday together. So 29 I am. For sure I am. And ya know, the more I say it the cooler it sounds. It sounds more adult than 28. Maybe I just feel more adult than at 28. I probably feel more adult than at 28 because I'm almost THIRTY. If I'm not an adult by 30, I better re-think my life. See, now, even as I say that, there's a little voice inside of me saying, "Nooooo! You can never grow up. Neverrrr!"

Oh, the injustice of it all.

Ever wonder what age we'll eternally be in heaven? When we get our new bodies. Like, will we be forever and always the age we were at death? Or will we be the age of the best year of our lives when years mattered? Or will we be the age when we looked the very best, but we'll look even better? Vain thoughts of a 29 year old.

Maybe we get to pick. Maybe we get to say....OK, God, I pick..ummm...32. Remember, God? I looked GOOD at 32.

Hey, it could work.