Archive | September, 2005

Lest he be thought "scary"

Well, guys, I’m out for the weekend.  Tonight holds lots of fun in store as I brush elbows with Huntsville’s elite at the esteemed Theatre Huntsville awards.  Steph, Bryan, and I will be out in full force.  Can’t wait to see everyone there.

In the meantime, because I hate boredom on the weekends, I decided to leave you dedicated readers a story I penned back during "The Women".  Just to warn you, it does read like it may be "inappropriate", but this is actually the most tame story I’ve ever written.  So just trust me.  I call it "Warm Front."

The door swung open to reveal a completely relaxed man.  “Hey, gorgeous,” he cooed.

She cocked her hip.  She felt nothing close to gorgeous, and she knew she didn’t resemble it either.  Makeup was slathered on her face, her hair was sweaty from several wig-changes, and she wore a brace and an ice patch on an ankle that had taken a bad spill from some ancient heels.  She felt minute, defeated, and utterly disgusting.

“Come on in,” he said, as soothingly as he could.  She instantly resented him.  Here he sat, in the comfort of his own home, with little to do but mundane house-chores, and she had been onstage for the last five hours, under lights, heat, and pressure from the worst director to ever read a script.  She fought the urge to spit on him, to make him feel as miserable and worthless as she did.

Then she crossed the threshold.

The house was dimly lit, mostly with candles, and a soft glow instantly put her at ease.  He wrapped his strong arms around her, and she felt herself melt into him.  Maybe she could relax, she thought.  Maybe it would be okay for her to relax here.

He took her by the hand.  “Come on in here,” he said, coaxing her to the hallway.  The bathroom was softly lit, also with candles.  “I went ahead and drew you a bath,” he whispered.  He gently pulled her shirt up over her head, grazing her skin as he did so, then shimmied her pajama pants down to her ankles.  Although she stood before him, half naked, he made no moves and there was no ulterior motive.  He reached behind her in a semi-hug and unclasped her bra, kissing her forehead at the same time, and slid her panties down.  Then he stepped back.  “I’ll leave you to your bath,” he whispered.  “Just let me know when you’re done.”

She slipped into the warm water and let out a huge sigh.  She felt the perfumed steam come up around her, and she even closed her eyes briefly.  When her eyelids fluttered open, she realized she had fallen asleep.  She rose out the water, and reached for the towel.

He heard her stir and opened the door.  “No, I’ll get that,” he said.  He wrapped the fluffy cotton around her and gently dried her.  Then he reached for her lotions.  “Go ahead into the bedroom,” he instructed.  “Just lay down.”

Exhausted and beaten down, she obeyed.  He came in and turned off the lights, and lit yet more candles.  “Roll over onto your stomach,” he said, and she obeyed.  He rubbed lotion onto her damp back, kneading it into her muscles.  She couldn’t help but moan.  She heard her back pop several times, and she heard his breathing concentrate into a steady pattern as his hands moved up and down her spine.  He worked his way down her torso, down to her knees, stopping at every major muscle group and working his nimble fingers into it.  She finally felt herself give over to it and her whole body became limp.  It had happened; she had relaxed. 

“Roll over on to your back,” he whispered.  She did as he said.  Her eyes closed, she felt him begin at her toes and start to work his way up.  She glanced down and saw him; this incredibly handsome man, with the gentle smile and eyes that had always seen through her, so incredibly focused and making her feel everything she hadn’t felt just an hour earlier.  This man.. god, she loved him.  His hands surrounded her knees, and she propped herself up on her elbows.

"Did I hurt you?” he asked, worried. 

“Come here,” she said, smiling. 

He worked his way up to her eye level.  She brought her lips to his and hovered.  “I love you,” she whispered, and then kissed him, softly at first, then deeper.  Her tongue found his, and she couldn’t help but sigh at the loveliness of it all.

After it was all over, after they were sweaty and exhausted and relaxed beyond words, she lay beside him as he dozed.  She often had gazed at him while he slept, and marveled at his features, the perfect little cleft in his chin, the flecks of copper in his sideburns, his boyish face.. and she saw him again.  She felt the butterflies flutter in her stomach and realized how incredibly lucky she truly was.  This man.. god, she loves him.

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Grace Under Fire

SOOO .. last night was "Will & Grace"’s LIVE season premiere.  It was disappointing, in my opinion, but I’m sure they deemed it a success.  I wanted to see someone trip.  I wanted to see a blooper.  Instead, the stellar cast rarely broke form, even for a second, even when Alec Baldwin planted a completely raunchy and unscripted liplock on Eric McCormack.  It was hysterical, yes.  Well written, certainly.  But I enjoy when people lose it in front of an audience.

When I started this post, I wanted to write about how I’d always been able to keep my cool on stage.  But I’d be lying.  The reason I recalled this is because I was flipping through my blog posse (to the left) and I went to Waterpail’s page.  Ole WP and I have a terrible history on stage together.  Very few people can make me laugh harder on stage than WP.  And we have quite a few CC memories together.. "narratives that didn’t quite make it".  My favorite was during an intro "Fa la la .. laaaa", he knocked my bonnet off.  Well, when I say "off", I mean, off the top of my head.  It fell forward, into my face.  And Debbie taught me that you don’t acknowledge a "wardrobe malfunction" on stage (and Janet Jackson, obviously, came from this school also), so I didn’t.  I tried to sing with a bonnet over my face.  Which also helped hide the amazing laughter.

Ah, yeah, good times.  I loved caroling with Waterpail.  Maybe we’ll do that this Christmas.

And don’t get me wrong.. there were a few giggles last night on "Will & Grace."  A few times, Debra Messing would lose it.  She reminds me of myself, in how we get the giggles on stage.  Any of "The Women" will tell you that once I’ve caught the giggles, it is hell to get me back.  Waterpail will agree.  She got to giggling and it didn’t stop for another ten minutes.

Which was wonderful.  Nothing like unacceptable laughter.

It’s all about how you handle yourself.  It’s about being graceful when the spotlight is on you, but not taking yourself too seriously.  Because, in the end, it’s all a half hour sitcom.  And I don’t wanna be Debra Messing.. I want to be Megan Mulally.  And I think I’m well on my way.
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My acceptance speech

As anyone does, when I was cast as a lead in a show this year, I immediately stopped everything to write my acceptance speech to my obviously-coming awards.  I expected at least three, and could only scrap up enough inspiration for two.  Worried, I began my search again recently.

Well, as luck would have it, I found my inspiration on the radio.

I was looking for something that would embody who I am, as a person, and how much support I’ve felt in the past year.  I’ve made some AMAZING friends, I’ve lost some people I once thought to be friends, and I’ve learned a lot about people and theatre in general.  It’s hard to find a song that captures the love, joy, loss, and strength that I’ve come to find this past year, but I have.

And to make things more convenient, it’s in meter, which I’m really not good at doing.

So, in short, to thank all of those who have stood behind me when I needed to fall back, who have tripped me when I needed to appreciate grace, who have laughed at me when I needed humility, and laughed with me when I needed humor, I say:

What you gon’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
What you gon’ do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?

I’ma make, make, make, make you scream
Make you scream, make you scream.
Cos of my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps.

I’d also like to thank the Academy.
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Sarah’s new anticipation

If you’ve ever worked in a restaurant, this film is for you.  And me.  Because Lord knows it’s true.

And it’s got Dane f*cking Cook in it.  He’s SOOOOO hot.
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Me: Hey, guess what today is?

Him: Thursday?

Me: Yeah!  But guess what else..?

Him: I dunno.


Him: We should celebrate at Coldstone.

Me: Hmm.. ice cream on my nipples?  A no go, good buddy.

Him: Starbucks?

Me: Coffee so hot it has to be insulated from your hands?  I’m thinking not.

Him: Okay.  I’ll just have to freestyle.

And buddy, he did.  It was a great holiday.  I know that I say that Halloween and Christmas are my two favorite holidays, but I now have a third.  What I DON’T know is if it’s a date thing as in (9/29 every year) or, say, the last Thursday of September.  I will research and report back.

I’m in a GREAT mood today.  Miss Anne took me to breakfast at Cracker Barrel, where we laughed and gossiped and ate until we were happy.  Miss Anne and I, admittedly, did NOT get along when I first started here.  But, as I usually do, I won her over with my charm and flippant attitude.  We’re now pretty good friends, and breakfast this morning (although VERY early.. I got up at 5) was just what the doctor ordered.

Last night was so lovely.  OHMYGAH, it was perfect.  I was dead tired, as was Bryan, but I cooked a nice, hot meal (it’s been weeks since we’ve eaten a hot meal together), then we did something I’ve been ACHING to do for, literally, three weeks.  Y’all know that I rarely go three weeks.  I was longing for it.  And when it was over, and we were all moist and exhausted, we took the dogs off their leashes and crashed on the couch. 🙂

I’ve missed Bryan.  Last night was the first night in a long time that he actually left school at three-thirty.  I was at work till five, so I didn’t get home till almost six.. and even then, I was cooking.. but just
hearing him bustle around the house was so comforting.  We talked.  I mean, not falling asleep exhausted and barely-rehashing-the-important-events-of-the-day-without-drooling communicated, but talked.  And took the dogs for a walk.  And watched tv.  And it was wonderful.  And then it was Nipple Appreciation Day on top of everything else, so it was almost as good as Christmas.

Almost.  Falling asleep in front of the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve in his arms takes the cake.

I’m very mushy this morning.  Blame Cracker Barrel.

Or Nipple Appreciation Day.
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