So this is me getting back on the Blog Wagon. Typety-typety-type up in the office. Listening to my almost 12 year old daughter telling her friends as they come in from the back yard, "PEOPLE!!!! Feet... covered in dirt!!" Wonder where she gets that from? Yep it's her voice, MY speech patterns. Freaky.
She's become a mini-me. I didn't see it for the longest time, but now when I post pics to Facebook people who have known me for decades say "OH MY GOD! She's just like you!!" Which I take to be a huge compliment because I think she's stunning. I'm supposed to - she's my kid. I'm biased. But really... she's freaking gorgeous. Long legs, beautiful hair, smile to die for. I was never that beautiful. I still cringe when my husband calls me that. I am getting better at just taking the compliment when it's offered. I still, however, wrestle with my inner vampires lisping around their extra-long teeth "Look at thothe wrinkleth!" "How can one woman have that many ingrown hairth on her neck?" "Your hair... ith... thinning... a lot."
Speaking of vampires.... I've written this show - it's a rock opera about vampires. Mythos: The Crimson Chorus. Check out the website crimsonchorus.com Think Beauty and the Beast but instead of a prince getting cursed by a witch, it's a vampire getting cursed by a Greek Goddess. I hadn't planned on writing it. I was aiming to write the book to a Bat Out of Hell musical and got a wee bit sidetracked. I wrote a song and then another and another. Then I found a composer and he wrote melodies and then my husband orchestrated them. And now we have an entire rock opera. Which is amazing, right? A whole freaking rock opera - that's 100 minutes long! Holy crap. I should bask in the brilliance that is me, shouldn't I?
'Cept I tend to stress about stuff. Like we're going to be workshopping this sucker in Toronto this summer and we're fundraising (and why hasn't anyone donated in two whole days?!?) and I have to find a musical director and singer/actors and a place to audition them and... this is when the hyperventilation and angina usually starts. OY. And I'm not even Jewish. OY.
And my husband just reminded me of the production of Peter Pan that I will be directing in winter is on the radar and we'll have to give measurements to the flight director for the harnesses for all those who will be flying so that they won't... die. Where's the paper bag I can breathe into?
As it is now after 5:00 p.m. and I have accomplished much this afternoon - not the least of which is having written a blog post - I think it's about time for me to mix a chocolate martini and make some tacos. 'Cause that's how I roll.
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