Redhead, Resident Evil & Where the Fuck Am I Gonna Live?

Q: When is Sunday night like Saturday night?

A: When Riley says she’ll try to get something done Saturday night.

Get it? It’s a procrastination joke.

So, first off, I made French toast for dinner. Two pieces of challah, loads of syrup. Nothing redeeming about it. Other than the fact that it was delicious.

And paired perfectly with my coffee.

Earlier this week, as some of you know, I went to see Bottom of the World, which featured quite an exceptional cast (two of whom I saw together in Clybourne Park), including our dearest Redhead, aka Aubrey Dollar. Well, what can I say? Redhead was phenomenal. And I’m not just saying that. She really was.

And I meant to tell her that. I meant to tell her which scenes I thought were exceptional. But I got incredibly nervous and didn’t really say anything that I meant to say. Which is annoying, since I usually sound relatively intelligent in print. Twice now I’ve met Redhead, and twice now she’s probably wondered if my IQ made the minimum cut for public school. Oh well. At least I got a few minutes with her. And I’m definitely going back. At least once, if not twice, more. Maybe next time, she’ll be like, “Wow, you’re really surprisingly intelligent when you get your shit together.”

And I will say, “Thank you.”

Perhaps the most entertaining part of the evening… for Shawna… was when I finished talking to Aubrey, turned around and asked in a (truly) worried whisper, “Did I call her Aubrey or Redhead?”

And that’s why I must stop referring to people solely by nicknames that they have no idea they have.

The play is quite excellent. Several noticeable changes since the reading we went to in Colorado last year. Though there is still one thing at the end that really bothers me a lot. The end of the play is really powerful, maybe some of the most powerful lines I’ve ever heard. I remembered them very well from the reading. But there was one part that was really distracting for me. And it still is. So distracting, in fact, that I went from the trembling lip, trying to cry quietly in public state to no more tears in like two lines. Which is a shame. This is really the type of play you should walk out of crying.

I really wanted to talk to Lucy Thurber, the playwright, and tell her my thoughts. Heh. Just kidding. I did want to talk to her for real, though. But she was in a meeting and my stomach was growling, so I left to grub it up with a Reuben that was surprisingly good, but did me no gastronomic favors.

Every time I go to the theater, I’m always like, “OK, I gots to get working on my several abandoned plays, ‘cause I am totally submitting to Fringe NYC next year.” Which I always think. And I never do. And it doesn’t help me finish my several half-done screenplays, or any of the three pilots I would like to submit to Scriptapalooza.

They should make a special Ritalin for writers.

Hemingway: They do. It’s called liquor.

Oh, yeah.

Friday, 5:15ish, saw Resident Evil: Afterlife. Or, as I like to call it, Alice and Claire get wet together and shoot dead stuff. We were going to wait to see it until we were on our vacation/scouting trip to Portland and Seattle this week. But we have no willpower when it comes to Alice. She owns us. In fact, I want to see it again… like right now. But it’s late and I have to get on a plane tomorrow.

I’m excited, because I’ve never been to Portland or Seattle. Not so excited about the five hour plane ride with layover each way, but you do what you gotta do. Even if that means taking off and landing twice in a day. Ugh. The pressure. I can already feel my eyeballs squeezing out my eye sockets.

In other, more domestic, news, we thought we had some idea where we were going to move. Then, we changed our collective mind at the last minute, so now we are homeless in 18 days. I mean, we have some idea of where we are going to live location-wise, but no actual place to put our stuff when our lease ends. And you know something? That’s actually a little bit stressful this time around. Which must mean I’m as sick of moving as I think I am.

Oh, and we haven’t really packed yet either. And we need to get rid of all of this horrible particle board IKEA furniture that keeps me respiratory-infectiony.

Did I mention we’ll be out of town all this week?


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  1. Thanks for the report! It’s very much appreciated 😀

    Sending writing vibes your way; they are as much for us as they are for you. 😉

    Good luck with the move.

  2. Funny story…

    So as Dr. Roomie, Mgr. Roomie, and PMS chick were driving me to the theater Sunday afternoon, PMS chick wanted to know why I wasn’t driving back with them. Since I couldn’t think of a tactful way to explain that I’d rather shove rusty nails into my eardrums than spend another 4 hours trapped in that car, I just said that I was meeting a friend and we were going to see a play starring someone I was a big fan of. She was sleep-deprived, PMSing and madly caffeine-deprived, so she didn’t have any more questions.

    But apparently after getting some coffee in her, she pressed Dr. Roomie for a few more details, and when he explained that I was meeting someone from Teh Internets that I hadn’t ever seen in person before she started flipping out. She, who lives in one of the sketchier Boston suburbs, and has no qualms about walking around Brooklyn at 3 AM, was freaking out about how I was gonna get ax-murdered by you and Shawna.

    So to placate her once they got back to Boston, he started texting me lines from a fairly obscure movie that we both adore. This is something that we do all the time, just randomly send each other humorous lines from TV shows and movies we both know, so when I started getting lines of “Yellowbeard” from him on the bus ride home, I didn’t think anything of it. I figured it was what we normally do, and he was telling her that if I had been ax-murdered, and you and Shawna were trying to conceal it by texting back from my phone, that you would give yourselves away by not being able to respond correctly to something only he and I would know.

    So that was what I came home to Sunday night. ;D

  3. Heh. I love that they thought we were ax murderers.

    But, remember, just because they don’t ax-murder you doesn’t mean that they don’t ax-murder. Even psychopaths feel lazy sometimes.

  4. Well, it was a very long walk to the bus station, so I understand if you were both a bit too worn out to engage in ax-y shenanigans…

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