Opera and Easter. But never at the same time.

I have lots of things going against me doing this opera gig.

1. I don’t know jack about opera. Any of them. I can’t even pretend. I cut my teeth in musical theatre. Not the same.

2. I haven’t done any form of manual labor for more than 2 hours at a time in almost 4 years.

3. I haven’t worked in Omaha with Omaha folks in 8 years.

4. I don’t know the theatre building, layout, hiding places at all. It’s the first time I’ve been beyond the lobby in this particular venue.

5. I could use some comfortable shoes.

Yesterday kicked my butt. And I didn’t do a whole lot. Which makes time crawl. And I was confused as to my actual job title, description, expectations, or….pretty much everything. I could barely remember how to open a road case or how to coil cable. I realize that most everyone doesn’t know all that but my brain seems to be filled with graham cracker mush and cheeto dust.

If I can survive the next 2 days, I’ll be fine. Any fool can do this for 2 days, right? Once I get to Wednesday, I’ll have lots of time to move my blog to it’s new home. And, who knows…maybe by the end of this I’ll be live.

We spent Easter, most of it, at my paternal Grandma and Grandpa’s house. My Grandpa rocks my world. He might be the coolest man on the planet. He’s like my dad but not as jaded and sarcastic. My Grandma is…well…hmmm….passive-aggressive? That might not be right. Able to instill guilt? Has a Wal-Mart clearance aisle problem?

My mom was tense walking in there and immediately started in on the wine. Drinking it, not complaining about it. She was trying to figure out the last time she had a meal there. Which was the last time *I* had a meal there. It took us a while but we figured out it was Christmas 2003. Which I knew but was embarrased by the length of time that had passed. But she wouldn’t stop talking. (Ferfuckssake woman…stop….) Grandma says, “you’ve always been invited” as she chases Ella out of the bathroom for the eighteenth time.

“I know.” I say.

She comes back to the table and says again, “You’ve always been invited.”

“I said, I know.”

“You have a short fuse, just like your daddy.” And turns away to play with the baby.

Huh? True. But, huh? Between trying to get my own mother to stop talking (it was either the wine or the nerves…one was making the effects of the other far worse) and being stabbed through the heart and the temples by my own grandmother….is it any wonder that I do my best to get out of family functions? I was as bored as my 13 year old cousin. (Who is gay and doesn’t know it. But that’s a sidenote. I don’t think anyone else knows it but he knows that I know. He’s a good kid. But misdirected.) I wanted someone to play with my kids so I could sit in the barca lounger reading Ladies Home Journal and watching Murder She Wrote re-runs on the betamax.

So this is a new chapter in honor of all the time I will have online in the next 3 weeks. Not tomorrow and not Tuesday so much but from Wednesday on…I’ll be bothering everyone I have ever met. Stagehands are an interesting breed. I have learned a dozen new ways to insult someone, 4 new websites that I will be memorizing because they amuse me to no end ( http://www.gofugyourself.com…fugly is the new pretty after all) and I have learned that I’m not nearly as hardcore as I once was. After 8 years not working under a union or on contract, I have learned to keep myself clean. I eat far less donuts and far more goldfish crackers. And I value my fingernails and soft hands.

I am about to wave bye-bye to all that. Think of me often in the next few days. My children and I are going to need it. And probably my mom too since she has the bulk of non-daycare hours childcare.


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