Weekend Update

This coffee tastes like lima beans.

*gack!*

But you come to expect things like that here at Café Netto. At least the coffee is hot. Not like Café Lame-o which I tried a couple of times. Every time I went, my coffee was lukewarm. And, like the Lord, I vomited it out of my mouth.

No I didn't.

I needed the caffeine.

But if I HAD I'm pretty dang sure I would have gotten some RESPECT.

I really need internet access in my apartment. I'm sure I'm costing my parents a fortune in internet charges. So much for being an independent young man making it on his own.

And this show I'm in? Yeah. It's ANOTHER one of those off-off Broadway "Hey guys...Can you bring your OWN costume from home?" sort of shows. So everyone, please join me in saying "Thanks, Mom and Dad!" I went on a very reasonable shopping spree yesterday and picked out my costume. And if I may say, I look like QUITE the badass in all black and ruffles.

Wait, NO! NO RUFFLES! Just...all black. Yeah. Like the Dread Pirate Roberts.

So while I'm busy putting clothes ON for just about the first time in my life, the thesbians (how do you like that? I made that word up myself)--the thesbians are about to take their clothes OFF.

Yes, folks, today is our first day of tech. From 1pm to ?pm, we'll be at the theatre. Which is why I needed to get a jump on the day. Even though nobody's said anything about me needing a six pack for this show, with all the shirts and brazeeers flying, who knows? They might need some hot abs.

Oh...who am I kidding? Those thesbians would be totally intimidated by that. There's no way they'd allow me to show them up by looking super hot. Which I can. And do. And will.

Seriously, in this business of show, less is definitely more. If you're a little doughy around the middle, keep the shirt on. That little bit of pudge is not flattering. It's distracting. Wow, I can't believe I said that. How shallow of me. (Uhh...need to pull the old bait-and-switch, quick) At least, that's what Queen III was saying to me just the other day. Yeah. That's it. That's what she said. I'm just quoting her. Verbatim. En Excelsis. Deo.

The all-but-absent costume designer will probably pitch a fit over some of the executive decisions I've made in regards to my super-cool outfit, but all I've got to say is this: "Where were you when you were supposed to be DESIGNING this show? Maybe they should call you the 'costume suggestion girl' instead. That would be WAY more accurate. You just sit back and relax, baby doll. I'm about to make you look really good."

In all seriousness, though, it IS a little...oh...I don't know. I'm mentally preparing myself for the soft porn sequences, but come on. I'm a good church boy from Texas. Seeing that stuff will probably make all my hair turn white like Jean Valjean.

Gotta run to the gym. Wish me luck this weekend and please, please, help me thank my parents who have proven themselves to be true blue patrons of the arts--by supporting me. They read this blog. Or didn't you know?