Another successful weekend in the can, homies.
Friday night Boy De La Nordic and I went to join some friends of ours for trivia and karaoke at a fine drinking establishment in our fair city. Truth be told, I am not much of a drinker. Why would I drink in order to feel loopy and make an ass of myself when I can do that just fine sober?
During trivia, I could be counted on for every last correct answer to any question that only a 15-year-old might know. And by 15-year-old, I mean a HIGHLY UNCOOL FIFTEEN YEAR OLD. If you play 4 measures of guitar music and ask what artist might have recorded that snippet, and you need someone to yell out “MAROON FIVE!” then you need to invite me out with you to trivia. If you need me to identify historical or scientific facts that a highly educated adult should know though, then don’t call me.
If you don’t want to be embarrassed by a thirty-something librarian wearing an Oscar the Grouch t-shirt getting up and singing a heartfelt rendition of “Papa Don’t Preach” by Madonna in front of a group of friends and strangers, then also, do not call me.
Here’s the thing about the Papa Don’t Preach moment that I was having, people. I got up there, and sang it, and it was so horrible that the noisy bar actually got a little bit quiet as they watched me. And as much as I was punching those lyrics (“PPPapa don’t PPPreach…”), the truth was that I was HOLDING BACK. The full on belting out was not even close to happening. Which, if you were there, should scare you a little.
Come to think of it, maybe I should start sloshing it up. Maybe that will make me more presentable in public or something.
Saturday morning, we went out to brunch with BioGirl, Borgsmith, and BioGirl’s mom. BioMom is the keeper of all stories embarrassing and awkward when it comes to BioGirl, which for us, is sort of awesome, but for BioGirl, is excruciating I am sure. My parents don’t really play this sort of role in my life, so I find it kind of fascinating. I know I did all sorts of Very Embarrassing Things growing up, but my moms and pops wouldn’t dream of divulging. The only people in my life that can play this role for me would be Alli and Map. And they have. There have been times when I introduce them to my other friends and I just sit there and WAIT FOR THE BOMB TO DROP. And it always does. Like the time Alli told all of my friends that she and I almost had an out-of-body experience watching FIELD OF FRIGGIN DREAMS starring Kevin Costner when we were in high school. Like, we thought that movie was talking to us. Personally. Oh, it’s a long story, never mind. Just even saying that much is horrifying. So BioGirl, if you’re reading this, I may not get your parental pain, but I get it on some level. Sorry to laugh at you that way. But not sorry enough to stop.
Saturday night Nordic Boy and I went to see a play. And although the play was good and I could certainly tell you about that, I would rather gripe about some bad manners I saw post-play. Here’s what happened. The actors sang and acted their hearts out for us for over two hours, and did a smash-up job at it too, and when the lights went down on the last scene of the night, you know how they were repaid? By about 100 or so members of the audience GETTING UP AND WALKING OUT. I mean, most of the audience stayed and clapped, like, you know, human beings are supposed to. But a lot of them didn’t. And it wasn’t like they were leaving because the show was bad. It wasn’t! It was great. And the way that they were leaving wasn’t in a huffy “that sucked, dudes,” sort of way either. It was more like they just were leaving because, hey, they just wanted to go now.
I was APPALLED by this. Totally, completely, appalled. As I clapped, I kept having Stephanie Tanner moments by turning to Nordic Boy and saying “how rude!” This is Seattle, which some argue to be the third best theater town in the country (dang New York and Chicago, always showing us up). I expect more from Seattle audiences. They should know better.
So, on the off chance that you are one of the people that was at the Fifth Avenue Theater on Saturday night and you left the show without so much as a single clap? I have many things to say to you, among them:
1. Have you ever been in a professional theater production? Or any type of theater production? Do you think that shit is easy? IT ISN’T.
2. This isn’t a movie theater you know. Those actors up there? They can SEE YOUR ASS as you turn your back on them while they are trying to take one measly bow, you know.
3. Also, just FUCKING APPLAUD, MOTHERSUCKERS.
I am still appalled. Can you tell?
On Sunday, we had a jam-packed day where we both went for a run in the morning, followed by grocery shopping, followed by mom-calling, followed by lunch-making, followed by home improvement-doing (him) and painting (me), followed by laundry-doing, followed by ice cream eating with Hopscotch, followed by dinner-making, followed by bill-paying, followed by falling asleep by 10:30 pm.
I love weekends.