Vow to Blog Land

OK. I'm not gonna do this. I'm not gonna drop off the face of the earth when rehearsals start tomorrow.

Not not not gonna do it.

What's New

I have good news.

I booked a show!: the musical, Oliver. Guess all that 6 in the morning stuff pays off. I start rehearsals on Tuesday. I'm playing Bet, and the show's in New York. Which is maybe the best news of all, because I sure like doing shows and sleeping in my own bed at night.

It's the same theater I worked at last year, the one that the New York Times reviewed. It's in Long Island in a town called Northport, so it's a ways out. The theater provides travel, through train or van. But we rehearse at a studio in Manhattan.

My cousin's wedding was beautiful. I'm back home. I'm really tired. The whole extended family went to a karaoke bar AFTER the reception on Saturday, and I'm not sure I've fully recovered. Have you ever been to a karaoke bar with your aunts and uncles and cousins and MOM and DAD? It's kinda weird. I have stories to tell about my weekend, but I'm just so tired.

We're 6 days away from election day.

Seth's birthday is on Friday, and we're celebrating at a friend's house with Halloween cupcakes. Seth and I are going to our very favorite restaurant in NYC on Saturday. TABOON. Mmmmm. Ooh I need to get reservations for that.

I'm behind on laundry, and cleaning, and errands, and my dry cleaning has been at the cleaners for a week now cuz I keep forgetting to pick it up.

The other day, the 7 yr old boy I babysit asked me what a "bagina" was. (Yep, that's how he said it: with a "b") After saying WHAT?? I asked him where he heard that word. He said at school, and that his friend said it was girls' underwear. I said...mmm wellll I think that's a good question for your parents. He asked why he had to ask his parents. I said just because.

That's what's new with me. Getting ready for a new show and discussing the word "bagina."

Doped Up on Claritin-D

Not one lick of sleep last night. Not one wink. I blame the 24 hr Claritin-D I took yesterday at noon. I usually take a 12 hr. It's either that or the insane amount of things I hadn't crossed off my to-do list when my head hit the pillow.

Speaking of pillow, wonder if I could fit that into my suitcase?

Nope.

Dangit. I like my pillow.

I'm an idiot and sent the laundry (yes we have ours done for us like oh so many others in the city for the obvious reason that I am tired of hauling that 2 ton bag of laundry down the never ending stairs and down the street and back up the street and back up the never ending stairs) to be done Sunday thinking I'd just call and have it sent back on Monday. Perfect plan since we leave Tuesday, that'd be today. Except that Monday was Memorial Day and they weren't open on Memorial Day, so I didn't get my clean clothes back. And Seth didn't get his clean clothes back. And now I have to call them right when they open in about 45 minutes to have them deliver a clean bag of laundry so Seth can slam-pack in a matter of 15 minutes so that we can catch a cab and head to the airport.

See why I couldn't sleep?

And I've got to mail keys to the subletter and mail rent and clean the floors and drink my coffee and take the trash out and pack my last bit and turn the computer off and write instructions to the subletter and put my face wash (the kind that makes my eyebrows two-toned) into a plastic baggy so it doesn't explode in my suitcase and turn my suitcase two-toned, and haul A down the never ending stairs with one too many pieces of luggage and a guitar.

I'm sure there's more.

And I need to memorize lots and lots of lines.

These kinds of circumstances are the kinds that tell me who I really am.

A type-something girl trying to be type-A and failing miserably. But an anal retentive type-something girl with insomnia, doped up on Claritin-D and slightly irritated she's cleaning a New York City apartment so some other girl can live in it.

Wish us safe travels. We're off to Oklahoma to pick up a car cuz remember we sold ours. I'm sure I'll have calmed down by then.

On Lists and Galoshes

Nothing I had planned to do today got done, not counting the big stuff. Big stuff equals things other people count on me doing. Other stuff, the "nothing," equals the stuff on my to-do list, the stuff I count on me doing. Not a one of those things got done today.

I live off of to-do lists. I love them. Sometimes the only way I can go to sleep at night is to make a to-do list for tomorrow. The worry exits my brain, runs down my arm, through my hand, out my fingers, into the pen, and enters the ink that is transferred to my paper, and wah-la, I can sleep. I inherited that trait from my dad. He writes a to-do list on a little sticky note before he goes to bed every night and sticks it to his bathroom mirror. I know this because when I was little, and then not so little, I saw a sticky note on his mirror almost every day while he was at work.

Getting nothing done on my sticky note list means I can't cross anything off, which stresses me out. Especially when I have a cazillion and one things to do before leaving for Kentucky. I can't afford days where nothing is crossed off of my sticky list.

I managed to meet with a praise and worship group at 11 this morning at our apartment, then run over to the Upper East Side in the rain to "work" a birthday party where I danced with 9 year old girls and glittered their faces, ran back over to the West Side to babysit a 6 and 2 year old for a couple of hours where I played with them, bathed them, cooked for them, fed them, and cleaned up after them, ran back to my apartment to meet my husband so I could cook for him, feed him, clean up after him, and then went on a date with him.

We saw Prince Caspian. Loved it. Really really loved it.

So while I accomplished nothing on my to-do list I ran around like a crazy woman all day long. In the rain. In my galoshes. Which are pink with a multi-color criss cross pattern on them. And I like to call them galoshes rather than rain boots. When I play duck-duck-goose with the boys I babysit, I like to fake'em out by saying every word I can think of that starts with the hard sound of the letter "g" and galoshes nearly always ends up in the duck-duck-goose vocabulary. And it's nearly always followed by the 6-year-old, who waits in anticipation for the word "goose" to coincide with my hand patting his head, slumping and tilting his little blond head up at me, and through his smart spectacles inquiring, "What's galoshes?" And I say in between heads, without missing a beat of course because I'm quite skilled at the game, "They're rain boots."

"Goose!"

And we run.

And I ran all day long and got nothing done. It's alright. As long as I make the same list out for tomorrow I should be able to sleep just fine.