BAD BACON + MUSICAL THEATRE

Where do I start? Ok. So earlier this week I made myself an egg scramble that consisted of bacon, onions, peppers and tomatoes. When I went to get the bacon, I noticed two options. One was a brand new, unopened package and the other was a suspicious looking sandwich bag filled with bacon that had become the color of pavement. Yeah. Definitely going for the new one. Ended up with pure deliciousness (and a hint of bacon-eater guilt). Fast forward to the next morning. I come up from the cave and encounter Denny chomping away on his very own egg scramble, with the requisite bacon, of course. I tell him that I opened the new package cuz I thought the other one looked a little…fugaze. He tells me that he used it and it tastes fine. I find this hard to believe and looked at him perplexed, so he continues to inform me that it didn’t smell bad either. Still hard to believe, but I shrugged and went with it- was off to my first shift at the fab job and had to be out.

Approximately 6 hours later I exit the theatre, and check my voicemail. I have a message from Maria. Apparently a certain person was not feeling so well and thought he might be having a heart attack. What??! No, no. He’s fine. Ends up it was…food poisoning. That’s right. The bacon was indeed bad, and Denny ate it all up. In my mind, this was a clear continuation of the stinky bun incident (see blog post 09/11/09). I came home and asked what happened. He was nauseous and sweaty and dizzy with severe stomach cramping. Luckily he didn’t puke or have diarrhea. But then, as he’s giving me the play by play, he says “…I mean, when I took the bacon out it didn’t smell or anything…it was just really slimy…” Uh huh. Slimy. That’s pretty much a sure sign that meat is no good, wouldn’t you say? Ah Denny, I admire your old-school extreme version of ‘no food should go to waste’. It is strangely endearing.

So after working 4 shifts at the theatre, my subconscious is sufficiently loaded with songs from The Fiddler on the Roof. I’ve woken up the past few mornings singing various numbers in my head. Today was no different. After partying hardy with Lympy last night, ‘Matchmaker’ stirred me from sleep this morning. Anyone know it? It goes “matchmaker, matchmaker make me a match/ find me a find/ catch me a catch…” Ironic and annoying since I’m quite resolutely single right now. Anyhow, I try my best to engage Lympy in my horrible rendition but she’s just not familiar. Damnit. I’m in serious need of a singing buddy. Which is odd, cuz I’ve never been ‘into’ musical theatre before. Obviously this job is going to change things.

I get to Maria’s tonight for Denny’s birthday dinner and I tell her about my morning song bursts. And, Lo and Behold my amazing sister starts singing ‘Sunrise, Sunset’ (from Fiddler). Are you f’n kidding me? I start with ‘Matchmaker’ and she duly chimes in. I’m ecstatic. And in shock. What the…? Who the…? How you can be someone’s sister for 20 years and NOT know they love musicals, is beyond me. I’m also slightly ashamed. I mean, how did I miss that? We get into a lengthy convo about a variety of shows as I become more amazed by the moment at her wealth of knowledge. Later, as we’re decorating the tree, we sing along to ‘All that Jazz’ as it plays in the background.

Complete with jazz hands and low leg kicks.

Awesome.

NEW JOB + PATENT LEATHER

Ok, I have an announcement. Drum roll please…ladies and gents it’s official- I am now a gainfully employed individual. Yep. I bit the bullet and got a ‘regular’ job. And lucky for me, it’s actually not so regular. You see, since I’m a performer and all, it’s very difficult to find a steady source of income that works with my not so steady- and often times spontaneous- schedule. But the perfect job presented itself to me last week. I am now an usher at the beautiful Canon Theatre. And when I say beautiful, I mean f’n stunning. If you’ve never been there, I highly suggest attending a show. It’s really breathtaking.

Anyhow, here’s the deal- each shift is only 5 hours long and I don’t have to work more than 4 a week (I can also do 2 in one day). So my very precious time is still very much my own. There will be no disturbance of my morning routine. I will still roll out of bed sometime between 7-9am, make my oatmeal shake while still half asleep and meander back to the cave to sip away and check my oh so important emails (and damned FB). I can do my vocal work and write my usual inanities, easing into my day. Still go to morning yoga classes and now that I won’t have cash flow issues, I can add a ballet class to the mix. Ahhh. Can you feel my relief? Thank God. It’s all working out folks.

I had my training on Friday, which also consisted of getting ‘fitted’ for my tuxedo. After going through all the necessary information, myself and the other 2 new hires, were taken down to ‘admin’ to pick out our sizes. Oh jebus, I say. All the tuxedos are huge. They are huge and definitely not made for women. My boss very randomly pulls out a shirt, jacket and pants for each of us. I say ‘randomly’ because the size on the tag does not necessarily reflect the actual size of any one item. Of course.

My cohorts fared a little better than I did on account of the fact that they are both bigger than me. They filled out the boxy, untailored tuxedos, making them appear almost sharp. I, on the other hand, looked like I’d been playing dress-up in my father’s closet. The shoulders on the jacket are at least 4 inches bigger than my actual shoulders, and because they are stiff, they stick straight out, making my puny head look even more miniscule. I can pull the waist on the pants so far out that I feel like a weight loss ad. When I went to show my boss I thought he would find me hilarious, but he actually thought the jacket looked fine. Huh? He DID agree about the pants however, so they will be fixed for me. Whew. Can’t wait to get my bow tie!

So the next step in operation new job was getting some black flats that I could wear with my fantastic tux. Since I’m still on a tight budget until I start getting paid, I knew I couldn’t go to my usual shoe haunts. I decided to hit up the Aldo Outlet on Yonge, and boy was that a good idea. Not only do they have lovely Aldo shoes for sale prices, but on that particular day they were adding an extra 50% off!! Whaaaat?? See what I mean? It’s all working out folks.

Pretty soon after entering the store I found exactly what I needed. Black patent leather flats, super shiny and after discounts, only $17! Throw some insoles in there to make ‘em a lil more comfy, and I’m good. But you know I couldn’t just stop there right? I start to peruse the bag section. Found an awesome gray patent leather sac for under $30 and I thought ‘it’s so cheap, I must have it!’ And then my conscious started to kick in. The other me was like ‘just because it’s cheap doesn’t mean you need it.’ Oh, ok I say. She’s right. I don’t NEED a gray patent leather bag. Harrumph.

Not so fast conscious lady. As I made my way to the register with work shoes in hand, conscious lady was thwarted. There staring lovingly at me were a pair of eggshell blue, patent heels with an excellent toe shape and gorgeous wooden heel (I know, more patent leather, I can’t help it). I asked Shavaun, the fabulous sales girl, to see if they had a new pair of 8’s. She disappears and I wait. And wait. Well, I think, if they don’t have them it’s just not meant to be. Golden rule of shopping. I wait some more and just as all hope was nearly lost, she comes up behind me with a grin and a brand new pair of bliss. $17 bee-el-eye-ess-ess.

Didn’t I tell you?
It’s all working out.