Naked and Screaming on Your Front Lawn...

Yesterday was eight days in one so I'm starting now, before I do any work to get it all out. I may be posting a lot. Or maybe not. There might be a lot of work to do--I don't know, I haven't checked.

Ack! I just spilled coffee on myself. I swear to God that happens without fail. It was actually a big joke at NTI that I could never make through the day without spilling coffee on myself.

Hold on. Let me check what a slacker I plan on being.

It's not too bad. I can share some now and then I need to look busy or something.

I should hear about the job soon. Seeing as how I will be overdrawn once Laura cashes my rent check, there could be nothing that would be a greater relief than getting this job.

I meet up with Sarah at about 3 so she can interview me for her dialect class. But, wait, you don't really have an accent. I say "ya'll" and stuff, but I grew up with a British dad and a Mom who never went south of the Mason-Dixon growing up, but you can take the girl outta Texas...

I put on my best Texas accent (a subtle one) and get interviewed about my life. The questions the teacher gave them were so weird.

Do you remember your first friend?

Yes. Next question.

Did your family ever travel together?

Yes. Next question.

Seriously. I know it's not supposed to be Inside the Actor's Studio or anything, but come on.

I did it twice since Sarah recorded me for her ex-boyfriend-now-whatever-the-hell-it-is-because-they-still-fuck-and-go-to-school-together [hyphen-happy alert!]. She bought me lunch. She loaned me money. We giggled a lot. I love that girl. Hopefully, we'll get to hang out more after the show wraps up.

The show, the show...

I leave work early (about 4:30) so I can go home and take a leisurely shower and try to relax for about 2 seconds before having to go to the theatre. Devon briefly comes in, showers before me, and then heads out because he's got to be there early to run some sound cues (oh yeah, did I mention Devon became our Techie Galore?).

Perfect. I can do my ritual now.

You know how I am with ritual. Some people call it OCD. But somehow it's a little more acceptable to have such rituals when it comes to theatre, I suppose because it's always been a little tied to the fringe and the supernatural and the superstitious. It's a beautiful world.

It's good that Devon's gone because I developed these habits after living by myself for a long time. It's nothing too weird, but I just don't feel right unless I do them.

I take a shower, the hottest shower I can possibly stand, and run lines. The key to this ritual is that I cannot leave the shower until I have run all my lines. This isn't too much of an issue with this show, where I'm not the lead. I can tell you that when I was the Shrew, I was in the shower for over a half-hour.

Then I just do my regular OCD behavior, obsessively moisturizing, but that's just me.

I stay naked. I walk around and run lines again, this time naked. This serves multiple purposes. You know how it's a common nightmare that you show up at school or for a play and you're naked and no one else is? Well, this way, if that nightmare should come to life, I know what it feels like to say my lines naked. Then it becomes part of the thing, that I've done all these lines in nothing but my skin and then everything that gets put on afterward is somehow related to my character.

Choosing underwear is quite possibly the best preparation for any part ever. If the essence of who I am as a woman is my vagina, then whatever is closest to that is an important statement.

When I was in Blood Wedding, I wore black satin.

When I was in Taming of the Shrew, I wore lace. I figure maybe Katherine was so bitchy because lace is uncomfortable for long periods of time. Not to mention the corset.

Beggar's Opera? Laundry underwear that have holes in them.

This show? My character's name is Fire. My character refuses to tell anyone what gender he/she is. So, of course, I chose blood red underwear. And luckily enough, I have a pair of these in the boy-brief cut, and my heart soared that they were clean because they are perfect for Fire.

I felt I had already won and I hadn't even left the apartment yet.

I run lines as I walk to the subway, but cease when I get on the train. It's a little weird to be sitting across from someone who's mouth is moving but they're not talking to you. So I decided to give myself a break and read Sleazy's play on the way to the theatre.

I think the dichotomy of my personality is best expressed by the fact that I thoroughly enjoy both Sleazy's and Daniel's writing styles. Daniel's writing is champagne. Sleazy's is whiskey. And I'm an alcoholic. Sleazy's play is how I would imagine it would be--intelligent and haunting.

But I'm in a comedy. How do I get out of the atmosphere that was created on the 6 train? I chuckle to myself. Sleazy's play is exactly what Fire would read on the subway. Brilliant. And I'm back.

I'm calm. I'm Zen.

Then the MTA decides to fuck me right up the ass. They tell me too late that they're not stopping where I need to get off, so now I'm running behind schedule and being deposited in an area I'm not uber-familiar with.

Damn you, MTA. Remind me to send them a fruit basket or something.

I wander around, panicking, but then I run into CBGB's and immediately get my bearings back.

I head to the theatre. Conor's waiting for me. No, he's not seeing the show. He wants to do our Thursday ritual so much that he's taking the keys from me and watching it at my place without me or Devon. But it's okay. Because he loaned me money, too.

I go in.

I now must work. Thus ends Part I.