Alright...I'm gonna clear a few things up here.
If you are on Facebook and you are a "friend" of mine, you are aware that as of late I have been excited about a couple of things.
What are these things, Sara? A new job? Are you moving?
Nope, well at least not yet.
Here's the thing kids. I've wanted to be an actor for, hmm, let me see, MY WHOLE FREAKIN' LIFE!
Now, do I get paid for this? Not right now, although in the past, yes.
But here's how it goes. If you are an actor, you're an actor. You don't stop. Yep, right now I am doing an awesome show that I am so pumped about. Immediately following this awesome show I will be doing another awesome show (with my husband!) and I just auditioned for yet another show (didn't get it)! This is my job. I audition. You're an actor? You're in a show? You're always looking for the next audition.
That's what we do people.
Funny thing about Facebook. People are nosy about your "status updates". Yep, I put it out there, so people have every right to comment. But I've got a question.
If I've been an actor FOREVER and I'm "crossing my fingers" about something, why in gay hell do you people assume that I am knocked up???
And another thing........creeeeeeaaaaaaaaaakkkkkkkkkkk.
That's the sound of a can of worms being opened.
I love children. I love my nieces and nephews. As cheesy as it may sound...I love giving them back.
So Sara, when ARE you gonna have kids? I'm mean you're not getting any younger.
......................................................................................................................................................
Oh, I'm sorry. That was me ignoring the question cause people need to mind their own business. Not until you are actually being accosted at every family event do you realize how inappropriate it is to ask someone when they are going to procreate.
Maybe they can't.
Maybe they don't want to and don't feel like breaking their mother's heart in public.
Maybe...it's nobody's frickin' business but a lady and her man's.
That's right I said it. It is nobody's business when I will have kids....except my husband's.
So therefore I have decided not to answer that question anymore!
Why? (as if I haven't answered that with the above)....because my ass doesn't have to answer to anyone but my hubby....and sometimes even that's questionable.
So, how about them Cubbies?
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Ok Jill, hope you have a strong stomach.
OK so second funny story for the tori girl (apparently tori is what they call Jill's weird bone thingy's).
Alrighty. In honor of my being cast most recently in my second production of Urinetown I will post a humorous story from the first time I did the show.
It was 2006. I was a part of the first sit down production of Urinetown, The Musical! in Chicago.
Ok, whatever does that mean, Sara? Sit down? Doesn't everybody sit down at the theatre?
What I mean by "sit down" is that it was not a touring production. The idea was that the show would have an open run. We were home and we would stay there until the audiences no longer came to see us. Well, unfortunately for us, that happened after only one extension. So we had a decent go of it but I could have done that show, with that cast, for a really long time. To this day, it is my favorite production I have ever been lucky enough to be a part of.
Enough of the mushy gushy's, what's so funny about that?
Let me tell you a little bit about me first. I have something called IBS or Irritable Bowel Syndrome or as my dear best friend so lovingly refers to it...crabby ass.
Oh my goodness Sara! I've never heard of this ailment. What is it?
What it is is a lazy explanation from doctors who really have no fucking clue what is actually wrong with you. They have no pills, no remedies and no ideas about how to help you through this. They give you a stupid acronym and call it a day. Bastards.
Long story short? Some women have extreme constipation....they don't poop for days, weeks. I can only dream. Others, like me, have the exact opposite...
Did I mention this blog was going to be gross, gratuitous and somewhat embarrassing?
What does this mean? When I have to go....I have to go and get the fuck out of my way!
So here we are, well into the run of Urinetown ( I will let you marinate on the pun that was entirely intended in that sentence).
The role I was playing was Little Becky Two Shoes (which is a whole other story, suffice to say that Little Becky wears a brace and if you take it off, she will fall down...hope you all got that).
But I also had to play a little side role of Mrs. Millennium, a secretary. And I was a cop. And I was a UGC staff member. I never got a break. I was in almost every scene and if I wasn't I was offstage furiously going from one costume to another.
Picture this. The opening of Act 2. I have ahead of me 3 major dance numbers, a quick change to run across the stage as another character, another quick change to get back to my original character, a song in which I am frozen for the majority of it and 2 more quick changes before the finale.
The lights go down, the music begins, I am standing offstage well aware of the fact that I will not stop moving for the next hour to an hour and a half. I get into position, get ready to walk onstage.......and I feel it. Gurgle, gurgle...cramp. That terrifyingly familiar feeling. I have to take a dump...and not in the good way.
There is nothing I can do. I have the opening line of the second act! I do one scene cramping the whole way through. But I can't stop there. Here comes my big number, the one where I am featured. Oh god, please don't let anyone take too many pauses. Please let the musical director play as fast as he did that night he had a date after the show. Please let me get through this.
I make it through my featured number. But here comes "Run Freedom, Run" which is exactly what we do for almost the entire number.
Jesus Christ, I may actually crap my pants, onstage, during an equity show!
We finish running, thank god. But I still have 4 quick changes, 4 songs and a finale to get through. Dear Lord Almighty, what did I eat?
Maybe I can skip the crossover! Maybe I can have Sarah say a few of my lines and skip the next scene...doesn't matter because before I know it I am changed by my dresser and thrown out onstage for the crossover.
Ok, I need a plan. I cannot make through the rest show. I have to poop.
I do my crossover but of course the bathrooms are on the other side of the stage. I run up the ladder. Cross behind the scrim. Climb down the backstage stairs. There is my dresser, she has my next costume.
"I will be right back I promise!" I run up the stairs to the dressing room. Dear God in Heaven I'm gonna make it! The song onstage keeps trucking along but dammit I'm gonna make it. As I round the corner to the bathroom my Mrs. Millennium costume is already off. I will do my business and run downstairs in my underwear to change into Little Becky and make it just in time for "Tell Her I Love Her". Victory is in my grasp!
Nope. What's actually in my grasp is the handle to the bathroom door...which is locked.
I pound on the door....well as much pounding as you can do in a theatre when a show is going on. It's my friend, Sarah.
"Please....Please, please, pleeeeeaaase get out! Get out!" She is gracious enough to oblige.
I do what I have to do, run downstairs to change and make just in time to walk onstage.
So much for the glamour of the theatre.
Alrighty. In honor of my being cast most recently in my second production of Urinetown I will post a humorous story from the first time I did the show.
It was 2006. I was a part of the first sit down production of Urinetown, The Musical! in Chicago.
Ok, whatever does that mean, Sara? Sit down? Doesn't everybody sit down at the theatre?
What I mean by "sit down" is that it was not a touring production. The idea was that the show would have an open run. We were home and we would stay there until the audiences no longer came to see us. Well, unfortunately for us, that happened after only one extension. So we had a decent go of it but I could have done that show, with that cast, for a really long time. To this day, it is my favorite production I have ever been lucky enough to be a part of.
Enough of the mushy gushy's, what's so funny about that?
Let me tell you a little bit about me first. I have something called IBS or Irritable Bowel Syndrome or as my dear best friend so lovingly refers to it...crabby ass.
Oh my goodness Sara! I've never heard of this ailment. What is it?
What it is is a lazy explanation from doctors who really have no fucking clue what is actually wrong with you. They have no pills, no remedies and no ideas about how to help you through this. They give you a stupid acronym and call it a day. Bastards.
Long story short? Some women have extreme constipation....they don't poop for days, weeks. I can only dream. Others, like me, have the exact opposite...
Did I mention this blog was going to be gross, gratuitous and somewhat embarrassing?
What does this mean? When I have to go....I have to go and get the fuck out of my way!
So here we are, well into the run of Urinetown ( I will let you marinate on the pun that was entirely intended in that sentence).
The role I was playing was Little Becky Two Shoes (which is a whole other story, suffice to say that Little Becky wears a brace and if you take it off, she will fall down...hope you all got that).
But I also had to play a little side role of Mrs. Millennium, a secretary. And I was a cop. And I was a UGC staff member. I never got a break. I was in almost every scene and if I wasn't I was offstage furiously going from one costume to another.
Picture this. The opening of Act 2. I have ahead of me 3 major dance numbers, a quick change to run across the stage as another character, another quick change to get back to my original character, a song in which I am frozen for the majority of it and 2 more quick changes before the finale.
The lights go down, the music begins, I am standing offstage well aware of the fact that I will not stop moving for the next hour to an hour and a half. I get into position, get ready to walk onstage.......and I feel it. Gurgle, gurgle...cramp. That terrifyingly familiar feeling. I have to take a dump...and not in the good way.
There is nothing I can do. I have the opening line of the second act! I do one scene cramping the whole way through. But I can't stop there. Here comes my big number, the one where I am featured. Oh god, please don't let anyone take too many pauses. Please let the musical director play as fast as he did that night he had a date after the show. Please let me get through this.
I make it through my featured number. But here comes "Run Freedom, Run" which is exactly what we do for almost the entire number.
Jesus Christ, I may actually crap my pants, onstage, during an equity show!
We finish running, thank god. But I still have 4 quick changes, 4 songs and a finale to get through. Dear Lord Almighty, what did I eat?
Maybe I can skip the crossover! Maybe I can have Sarah say a few of my lines and skip the next scene...doesn't matter because before I know it I am changed by my dresser and thrown out onstage for the crossover.
Ok, I need a plan. I cannot make through the rest show. I have to poop.
I do my crossover but of course the bathrooms are on the other side of the stage. I run up the ladder. Cross behind the scrim. Climb down the backstage stairs. There is my dresser, she has my next costume.
"I will be right back I promise!" I run up the stairs to the dressing room. Dear God in Heaven I'm gonna make it! The song onstage keeps trucking along but dammit I'm gonna make it. As I round the corner to the bathroom my Mrs. Millennium costume is already off. I will do my business and run downstairs in my underwear to change into Little Becky and make it just in time for "Tell Her I Love Her". Victory is in my grasp!
Nope. What's actually in my grasp is the handle to the bathroom door...which is locked.
I pound on the door....well as much pounding as you can do in a theatre when a show is going on. It's my friend, Sarah.
"Please....Please, please, pleeeeeaaase get out! Get out!" She is gracious enough to oblige.
I do what I have to do, run downstairs to change and make just in time to walk onstage.
So much for the glamour of the theatre.
Friday, March 13, 2009
For my internet GF
Alright, so my friend Jill (haha still sounds weird) had some surgery today. And when I say some surgery, I mean it! She had these weird "child's fingers"-like bones in her mouth that had to be removed....I don't really know how and frankly I don't care. It's doesn't sound fun at all (except for the vicodin part).
Now apparently Jill is one of the 3 people who actually like reading my blog and she might be the only one who looks forward to it. So in honor of Jill being laid up full of good drugs I've decided to post some funny stories within the next few days that might entertain someone who is nice and drugged up and stuck in their home.
Really, Sara? What kind of funny stories do you plan to tell?
Well, I'm not gonna lie...part of me did entertain the thought of digging up some random, embarrassing stories from back when I used to date her husband...you know, like the time right after high school when he decided to take me on his yearly camping trip. Yes, that is right, you can all stop laughing now...I went camping. And I'm not talking the nice kind of camping with bathrooms, showers, parking spots for your RV and a bar. Nope. I'm talking canoeing, portaging, peeing in the woods and bathing in the river....ok now you can laugh.
While I look back on it fondly as a learning experience, over time I have realized the only thing I learned from that trip is that I don't like to camp. (Sorry Nick)
But no, I thought that might be inappropriate.
Instead I thought I would tell a humorous story from one of my surgeries.
Now I say "one" because I have had many. Long story short, I have a disease call Fibrous Dysplaysia in my left tibia which makes that bone weaker and not grow as fast as the rest of my body. Layman's terms? By the time I was 13 my left leg had broken twice, never re healed and was 3 1/2 inches shorter than my right. Or as my friend Dani would put it...I'm a fucking cripple.
We had a choice to make. Lose my leg or try a relatively "newer" procedure in which they would lengthen my leg and in doing so, hoped to heal it. We went for door number two. It was successful. Awesome.
But I wanna take you back to when I was getting the "fixator" on. Like I said, this was a pretty new procedure in the U.S. My doctor had actually done quite a few but it was a Russian based procedure called the Illizarov technique. So channel 4 news decided that they wanted to do a story on me. All the video cameras show up the night before. They tape me playing Foosball, video games, hanging with my folks and generally being a 13 year old kid. "Look at how normal she is!" And they interviewed my doctor as well. I guess everyone thought it was uber cool that he had to use things like wrenches for this particular surgery.
Cut to the next day. When you were that young having surgery they didn't just stick a needle in your arm and say "Peace out! When you wake up you will have 26 pins sticking out of your leg!" Nope, they wanted you calm. So they come to your room very, very early and give you a pill. I look back and I can only guess that it was the pre teen version of Xanax. This makes a 13 year old girl tired....and bitchy.
Apparently the t.v. cameras couldn't show up when I was even close to coherent. Nope. They show up about 5 minutes before I am to go in the pre-op room and have my hand stuck with the i.v needle (which I was REALLY nervous about) and from my mother's perspective, 5 minutes before her baby was going to have the biggest, longest, craziest surgery to ever happen in the family. Needless to say, neither one of us were in the mood to chat...on camera.
All I can remember is the lights in my face. The fucking lights in my nervous, drugged up face. All my mom can remember is trying to have a fucking moment with my dad as they were wheeling me out of sight into the o.r. and the lights in her face.
Whether or not it's actually true I do remember one other thing.
I remember telling the camera guy to "Get the fuck out of my face!"
They never did run the story.
Now apparently Jill is one of the 3 people who actually like reading my blog and she might be the only one who looks forward to it. So in honor of Jill being laid up full of good drugs I've decided to post some funny stories within the next few days that might entertain someone who is nice and drugged up and stuck in their home.
Really, Sara? What kind of funny stories do you plan to tell?
Well, I'm not gonna lie...part of me did entertain the thought of digging up some random, embarrassing stories from back when I used to date her husband...you know, like the time right after high school when he decided to take me on his yearly camping trip. Yes, that is right, you can all stop laughing now...I went camping. And I'm not talking the nice kind of camping with bathrooms, showers, parking spots for your RV and a bar. Nope. I'm talking canoeing, portaging, peeing in the woods and bathing in the river....ok now you can laugh.
While I look back on it fondly as a learning experience, over time I have realized the only thing I learned from that trip is that I don't like to camp. (Sorry Nick)
But no, I thought that might be inappropriate.
Instead I thought I would tell a humorous story from one of my surgeries.
Now I say "one" because I have had many. Long story short, I have a disease call Fibrous Dysplaysia in my left tibia which makes that bone weaker and not grow as fast as the rest of my body. Layman's terms? By the time I was 13 my left leg had broken twice, never re healed and was 3 1/2 inches shorter than my right. Or as my friend Dani would put it...I'm a fucking cripple.
We had a choice to make. Lose my leg or try a relatively "newer" procedure in which they would lengthen my leg and in doing so, hoped to heal it. We went for door number two. It was successful. Awesome.
But I wanna take you back to when I was getting the "fixator" on. Like I said, this was a pretty new procedure in the U.S. My doctor had actually done quite a few but it was a Russian based procedure called the Illizarov technique. So channel 4 news decided that they wanted to do a story on me. All the video cameras show up the night before. They tape me playing Foosball, video games, hanging with my folks and generally being a 13 year old kid. "Look at how normal she is!" And they interviewed my doctor as well. I guess everyone thought it was uber cool that he had to use things like wrenches for this particular surgery.
Cut to the next day. When you were that young having surgery they didn't just stick a needle in your arm and say "Peace out! When you wake up you will have 26 pins sticking out of your leg!" Nope, they wanted you calm. So they come to your room very, very early and give you a pill. I look back and I can only guess that it was the pre teen version of Xanax. This makes a 13 year old girl tired....and bitchy.
Apparently the t.v. cameras couldn't show up when I was even close to coherent. Nope. They show up about 5 minutes before I am to go in the pre-op room and have my hand stuck with the i.v needle (which I was REALLY nervous about) and from my mother's perspective, 5 minutes before her baby was going to have the biggest, longest, craziest surgery to ever happen in the family. Needless to say, neither one of us were in the mood to chat...on camera.
All I can remember is the lights in my face. The fucking lights in my nervous, drugged up face. All my mom can remember is trying to have a fucking moment with my dad as they were wheeling me out of sight into the o.r. and the lights in her face.
Whether or not it's actually true I do remember one other thing.
I remember telling the camera guy to "Get the fuck out of my face!"
They never did run the story.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Now I'm just getting pissed
So we're snowed in again. No really, like the entirety of Annapolis is shut down. It's a ghost town out there. ( I actually have no idea what "out there" is like due to the fact that I have not left the house in a day and a half).
And while this is fun and a little bit romantic, I do find it to be excessive.
Why Sara? A day off of work to sit in front of the fire watching the Travel Channel and E? What ever could be wrong with that?
I'll tell you. My husband is a teacher. If he gets a snow day...he still gets paid! I, on the other hand, do not. In fact, today I will be missing 2 shifts because for some reason....even though it snows EVERY year, this state has yet to figure out that if they just start plowing and salting early AND if the drivers realize that, yes, it is possible to drive in snow, then we could all get on with our lives. It's not an ice storm! For that, I will give you your snow day. No people, it is pretty, fluffy easily walked on/driven through snow, albeit a foot of it but come on!
Not really the point of my post though. I sat down with the intent of telling you about my audition.
You know, the one I had like 2 weeks ago that I never told you about until after the callback last week?
Anyways, the audition. The worst audition of my life...no really.
The show: Urinetown, The Musical. Now, I know this show like the back of my hand. I love it, I've done it, and apparently I am not willing to let it go cause I drove 40 minutes to audition for it again.
The role: Little Becky Two Shoes. Again, I've already played it, she holds a special place in my heart so why not?
Well I am so confident in my knowledge of the show and my ability to play this part that I grab my music and go.....never once checking the key or really rehearsing at all. Hey, I've sung this song before, they're gonna be begging me to do this show!
Yeah
Um, I ask the pianist to start 2 bars earlier than I normally do. The music is all jacked up cause for some reason whoever originally printed it out only printed like 3 bars per page....AND....it's stapled.....(which is generally a problem for pianists...not sure why I didn't catch this...probably because I am a jackass). I get to sing about .03 seconds of the song and I am cut off. I was pissed, didn't even get to the good part of the song. We go through our readings and they are about to let all of us go. Now I am really upset...at nobody but myself.
"Sara? Could you stick around for a second?" YES!!! Yes I can. Apparently they like my reading so much they wanted to see if I was actually that bad of a singer....and NO I AM NOT. I sing the shit out of my next song and make it to the callback round. And here's where it gets interesting.
Not only am I called back for Little Becky but they want me to also prepare for Ms. Penelope Pennywise, the brash, jaded warden of the poorest urinal in town. It's a kick ass part. A HARD kick ass part. A hard, kick ass part that I would kill to play....in like 5+ years. I only say that because I tend to look very young onstage and I am usually the shortest person in the cast.
I go to the callback. This time I am very well prepared. I know this fucking song...let's go!
There are three of us. We're all pretty good...very different takes on the role. Two of us are sent out to prepare for other roles, one is kept to read again...not a good sign. But I don't say this. I don't have to. The "other" Pennywise girl won't shut up about it. "I guess we should assume we didn't get it since she's still in there, huh?" "I don't like to think like that" I say. "But really, I mean it only makes sense" she continues. Now I'm ready to spit on her. "I don't make assumptions until I get a phone call" I say and promptly find another spot to read my sides. Just as I start to move the final Pennywise contestant comes out of the theatre. With her coat on. She's being sent home. Really not a good sign. Because you see, now I really want this dammit!
I read for two more roles including Little Becky and am sent home. I'll get cast. Just maybe not as Pennywise, probably as Little Becky...which is great! But man to get to play Pennywise...
I expect a phone call on Friday...it comes on Tuesday. I miss it cause I'm at work. The director leaves a message. Now there is no way she will tell me which part I get on a message so I listen half assed so I can call her back...and then I hear it..."Pennywise"....what? I listen again and sure enough "We'd like to offer you the part of Ms. Pennywise".
I start rehearsals next week.
And while this is fun and a little bit romantic, I do find it to be excessive.
Why Sara? A day off of work to sit in front of the fire watching the Travel Channel and E? What ever could be wrong with that?
I'll tell you. My husband is a teacher. If he gets a snow day...he still gets paid! I, on the other hand, do not. In fact, today I will be missing 2 shifts because for some reason....even though it snows EVERY year, this state has yet to figure out that if they just start plowing and salting early AND if the drivers realize that, yes, it is possible to drive in snow, then we could all get on with our lives. It's not an ice storm! For that, I will give you your snow day. No people, it is pretty, fluffy easily walked on/driven through snow, albeit a foot of it but come on!
Not really the point of my post though. I sat down with the intent of telling you about my audition.
You know, the one I had like 2 weeks ago that I never told you about until after the callback last week?
Anyways, the audition. The worst audition of my life...no really.
The show: Urinetown, The Musical. Now, I know this show like the back of my hand. I love it, I've done it, and apparently I am not willing to let it go cause I drove 40 minutes to audition for it again.
The role: Little Becky Two Shoes. Again, I've already played it, she holds a special place in my heart so why not?
Well I am so confident in my knowledge of the show and my ability to play this part that I grab my music and go.....never once checking the key or really rehearsing at all. Hey, I've sung this song before, they're gonna be begging me to do this show!
Yeah
Um, I ask the pianist to start 2 bars earlier than I normally do. The music is all jacked up cause for some reason whoever originally printed it out only printed like 3 bars per page....AND....it's stapled.....(which is generally a problem for pianists...not sure why I didn't catch this...probably because I am a jackass). I get to sing about .03 seconds of the song and I am cut off. I was pissed, didn't even get to the good part of the song. We go through our readings and they are about to let all of us go. Now I am really upset...at nobody but myself.
"Sara? Could you stick around for a second?" YES!!! Yes I can. Apparently they like my reading so much they wanted to see if I was actually that bad of a singer....and NO I AM NOT. I sing the shit out of my next song and make it to the callback round. And here's where it gets interesting.
Not only am I called back for Little Becky but they want me to also prepare for Ms. Penelope Pennywise, the brash, jaded warden of the poorest urinal in town. It's a kick ass part. A HARD kick ass part. A hard, kick ass part that I would kill to play....in like 5+ years. I only say that because I tend to look very young onstage and I am usually the shortest person in the cast.
I go to the callback. This time I am very well prepared. I know this fucking song...let's go!
There are three of us. We're all pretty good...very different takes on the role. Two of us are sent out to prepare for other roles, one is kept to read again...not a good sign. But I don't say this. I don't have to. The "other" Pennywise girl won't shut up about it. "I guess we should assume we didn't get it since she's still in there, huh?" "I don't like to think like that" I say. "But really, I mean it only makes sense" she continues. Now I'm ready to spit on her. "I don't make assumptions until I get a phone call" I say and promptly find another spot to read my sides. Just as I start to move the final Pennywise contestant comes out of the theatre. With her coat on. She's being sent home. Really not a good sign. Because you see, now I really want this dammit!
I read for two more roles including Little Becky and am sent home. I'll get cast. Just maybe not as Pennywise, probably as Little Becky...which is great! But man to get to play Pennywise...
I expect a phone call on Friday...it comes on Tuesday. I miss it cause I'm at work. The director leaves a message. Now there is no way she will tell me which part I get on a message so I listen half assed so I can call her back...and then I hear it..."Pennywise"....what? I listen again and sure enough "We'd like to offer you the part of Ms. Pennywise".
I start rehearsals next week.
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