J-E-L-L-Oh Dear God, No!

I'm going to be honest with you: We open in 14 -ish days. When it's typed out like that it seems like "Ya, Sarah, that's like forever chill out". However when I look at it on a calendar it's seems like a non manageable brick of a teeny tiny amount of time left, which leave me like:

I've got the lines coming. I'm close but not as close as I need to be. Almost everyone has clothes we're just missing a few big pieces that I'm sure will get done in the next week or so. However I'm now suffering from mental anguish (dramatic I know).

Not having the script in hand and actually having "real conversations" on stage is incredible. Everyone in this cast is so stupidly fucking talented that I'm sure if we made people sit through a rehearsal they wouldn't think they were getting a bum deal by watching a rehearsal. Seriously, I'm stressing about my lines and then  you have Clyde who has his lines down AND plays the ukulele (spoiler alert!)
We have a freaking show!

While we have a freaking show I keep getting into my head and it's all character related. It's really strange to be playing a person that is real, and not just real, but someone who was still alive during my lifetime (not for long, but you know what I mean). I've played a character before that was based on an actual person, it was a bizarre and incredible experience to know that this womans family would be coming to see me portray their mother and grandmother (this took an even weirder turn when we opened the show and after what seemed like one of the most intense performances I was told that my character had died in real life as we took the stage....I know right.).



So I keep finding that I have like a million different things cropping up in my head:

I read this about Blanche and Buck, The scripts suggests it happened this way, The fuck is Scott telling me to do? My natural instincts are doing god knows what right now.  Oh no, some out of my hands cosmic weirdness just showed up when I opened my mouth. Did I have a stroke? What are my lines, Was that another persons line? Wait shouldn't I be more downstage? Was that my cue? Ooooo,stuff to play with, stuff to try, dowdy recommendation, did I get pants for so and so yet? Dinner. Yes, I should have Dinner. Aw, hell I forgot about this scene. And on and on and on and on so that when I get done with the day my brain is like a giant oozy jell-o mold.

Oh ya. That's a real thing and my stomach lurches every time I look at it's grinning fish face.

I need to breathe. I need to look at my lines. I need to eat dinner. I need to take extra long naps. I can fucking do this.

This post brought to you by the letter 'O'

Oil Can!

Remember that time that I get to do new and exciting theater? The time that I get to play an amazing part based on an actual woman who was a total badass? And remember that time that I haven’t had to learn new music for anything in over a year….? (Record scratch sound for emphasis please)

But seriously...no idea. 

That’s right. I am out of shape. Woefully out of shape. When your body is out of shape, you can tell. You can feel it, you can see it. It’s wicked obvious.  Like this here, usually that man possess an ass that I want to gently gnaw on, here I want to take his blood pressure because I’m genuinely concerned.

I think there's probs an "I am the Fatman" joke that can be made here, but I don't want to make too much fun of someone who was once arrested for assault...of his own mother.

I’m vocally fat.

I am vocally picked last for dodge ball.

My voice is stained with Cheeto dust and code red mountain dew.

I think sometimes that I have a bizarre form of seasonal affective disorder, I’m fine with the winter, I love winter, scarves are great and I have a fur collection that would make a hairless cat jealous. No, in August I become a hideous zombie that drags its ass around. I don’t know if it’s the weather or that there aren't any holidays in august (except my birthday which is totes a holiday) but my brain just turns off. It’s like in some sort of awful sleep mode. Which means now the time has come for rehearsal and I have to dust off the cobwebs and add some wd-40. I need a training montage for my brain, but you can’t just put it in a grey sweat suit and expect it to box meat in a deep freezer. I have to hop in and stretch and condition or I’m going to get left behind in the dust.

Oh ya, and I have to find clothes for everyone…

Except for Patrick Bateman. He gets no clothes. 

 That’ll help for now I guess….