Road Trip.....

Today I head off to New Jersey....but first I have to survive the 5-hour road trip.  And I may have "overpacked" just a wee bit.  Let's just say that the gas bill may be higher than expected, due to the weight of my suitcases.  I started packing on Monday, but starting ahead of time wasn't enough to stop me from throwing in EVERY dress I own.  I swear, at one point, I tried to fit in my whole winter wardrobe, until I realized it would be a rather steamy summer in Princeton.  Even worse, I would wake up in the middle of the night and add MORE items to the mess.  Knowing me, I will unpack (a process that may take a while) and discover that I forgot underwear...or pants.

I also have a nasty tendency to get carsick.  I used to be great; I could eat, read, juggle and do my taxes during a long car ride.  Now, even looking at the cover of a book in the car causes my stomach to do uncomfortable somersaults.  And a long car trip without entertainment is a true hell.  My sad solution is word-finds and coloring books.  You heard me right, coloring books.  I can't draw but, by God, I can choose appropriate colors.  Laugh all you want, but it keeps me from losing my mind.  And if we run into small children somewhere, I am SO prepared.

Feel free to send me good vibes today.....I'm gonna need them.

Workin' Hard.....

I apologize for the lateness of the post, but I have been training my replacement at work all day and haven't had much access to the computer.  And with my limited patience, training someone who moves with all the speed of a snail has been "trying."  Luckily, after tomorrow, it is no longer my problem.  Instead I will be tangling with at least 20 other opera singers.  Right now I am unsure which is worse.

Discovery....

Who knew such a bumper sticker even existed? You can find this at www.cafepress.com.

What I look like....

After getting up in the middle of the night every night since Sunday, suddenly needing to pack something I had forgotten, this is, indeed, how I look in the morning. I am currently holding my chin up with pens at my desk so I don't fall asleep. Packing for two months is so stressful! Especially when I am performing, because that means I need to pack ballgowns, audition dresses and shoes, stage makeup, normal makeup, air purifiers, bed lifts (for the acid reflux), sheet music and a million other items for my high-maintenance life. Trust me people, I have tried to pare down, and it just ain't working. It takes too much to keep me looking fabulous. Thank goodness that summer clothes pack better than winter clothes, but that means I have to make sure to bring self-tanner for all the exposed skin, or risk blinding several sopranos. And the sunscreen, let's not forget the buckets of sunscreen I'll be needing. Oh, and workout gear, and tennis shoes, and hats, and my iPod and.......well, you can see why I get so worked up. I know I can probably just buy some of this stuff in Princeton (because it is not quite the end of the world...that is where I moving to in August), but I would rather save the money for other items, such as magazines and purses I can buy online. Hopefully I will stop my 3 am packing parties, before I pack myself in a suitcase and ship myself off to the looney bin.

Sun-related disaster....

This past Memorial Day weekend, I was reminded again about how much I dislike summer, and how allergic I am to the outdoors. People like me need to be in shaded, purified, climate-controlled environments at all times.

My friend Lucy was in town to run a half marathon and some friends and I gathered downtown to cheer her on. We even made signs at the last minute, coloring in the letters with lip gloss. Expensive lip gloss, may I add. I may not even be able to run half of a half marathon, but I sure as hell can donate my makeup for a good cause. It was a ridiculously sunny day in Boston, a rare thing indeed, and the temperature had reached somewhere in the eighties. I showed up covered in sunscreen, wearing a hat and what may have qualified as a mumu. I was DETERMINED that no sun was going to touch my porcelain skin. Too bad I hadn't counted on the fact that it was going to be so hot (and I was wearing all black.....brilliant), so I kept pushing up my sleeves to stay cool. As a result, my forearms are FRIED. It is actually a pretty hilarious burn because it only goes up a few inches, so it looks like someone was coloring in my arm with red marker and then got bored halfway through.

Too bad my burned forearms don't feel as hilarious as they look. You could warm several penguins in Antarctica with the heat that was emanating off from my skin. In fact, I feared that my arms were going to catch fire under the blanket last night while I was sleeping. Fortunately, as an albino, I have quite the collection of burn care. The Clinique "After-Sun Rescue Balm" (as seen in the photo) has been saving my butt. Not only does it instantly cool down my skin, but it soaks in like nobody's business and helps minimize peeling. Nice to know I won't shed like a snake all week.

Happy Memorial Day!

This is an accurate representation of me, last night, at my friends' Memorial Day BBQ.  My friend Kathleen concocted a drink she named "the Blazing Saddle."  It involved raspberries and vodka.....need I say more?  She is a brilliant bartender and can make a drink filled with booze that tastes like rainbows.  Though, judging from the headache I had this morning, those rainbows were made from shards of glass.  I was delighted to see my friends before I head off to New Jersey, and nothing beats a bunch of drunken opera singers demonstrating their modern dancing techniques to the sounds of Sting.  No, I'm not kidding.  Videos were made on digital cameras, and I can only assume there is a YouTube video in the making.  Trust me, it's better than any damn sex tape out there.

Happy Memorial Day!

Weepy....

Today I had my last lesson with my current voice teacher, and I was surprised by how emotional I got.  I walked out of his home and sat on his porch, wiping away tears.  I thought I was going to be fine: he is moving to Colorado, I am heading off to New Jersey and then New York and I have another teacher in New York.  No big deal, right?  What I failed to take into account was that I have worked with this man nearly every week since I moved to Boston to attend grad school.  He took a voice with potential and made me believe that I could succeed in this business.  My voice now, versus my voice three years ago, is like night and day.  My top is solid and my chest voice could knock you off your seat; and I owe a lot of that to him.  Of course, we had our moments, and I cried in his office at least once a semester.  And sometimes he was a little too honest when I just wanted to be coddled.  But I appreciate that he was always honest with me, which made the compliments mean so much more.  My voice teacher and I also had the same, twisted sense of humor, and I will miss him telling me dirty jokes in German, or passing along anti-Bush anecdotes.  And there was always at least one boob joke during our lessons.  As one of my accompanists once said; "I have never seen such a hilarious relationship between a student and a teacher."  Hilarious doesn't even begin to cover it.  Today I asked him what he was going to do without me as a student, and he said "I have no idea.  It is going to be dull.....and quiet."  Quiet indeed.  I will miss you Professor McD.

Recycling.....

Rose McGowen has the right idea: not only is she in formal-wear, but she is completing her composting as well.  That is multi-tasking at it's best.

*Photo courtesy of Daniele Venturelli/WireImage

Delish.....

I would love to make fun of Natalie Portman in the most nasty of ways, but I can't. She's Harvard educated, gorgeous and always dressed beautifully. The woman even looks good with a shaved head.  I especially love this architectural number she has on at Cannes. It is tailored perfectly to her, no doubt, size zero frame.

My dislike of Miss Portman stems from undergrad, where nearly every male student had a poster of her on their wall.  If their feminine ideal was a tiny, delicate, stunning, classy, Harvard-educated movie star, than I was plum out of luck.  If they had a poster of Rosanne Barr on their wall, I was in like Flynn.

Then I moved to Boston and made friends with a bartender in Cambridge (where Harvard is, natch).  Allegedly she would show up at his bar during her freshman year, and get nasty when he wouldn't serve her booze.  His explanation is that she was one of the more famous people there, and everyone knew just how young (and illegal) she was.  The man liked his job (and the tips) too much to serve her.  Wise bartender.  Since then, I have met people who went to school with her, and the word "unpleasant" was thrown around a lot.  

However, I like to think that Natalie is just a woman who has certain standards, and gets cranky when those standards aren't met.  I can see us enjoying a beer together, maybe some peanuts, perhaps a Pistons game.  Just don't cross the bitch, or she'll shank you...in a classy manner, of course.

*Photo courtesy of Pascal Le Segretain/Getty

Distractions....

If you are a makeup freak, like me, and can't wait for my charming and witty makeup reviews, I highly suggest logging on to www.makeupalley.com. It is a collection of reviews from a pretty hardcore group of makeup lovers, who have no qualms about listing the good, the bad and the ugly about all brands of makeup. You have to log-in to see the reviews, but the website doesn't sell your information, nor do they hound you with spam. It is a lovely distraction during a slow workday afternoon.

Maturity....

One of these days I am going to be a mature individual. One day, I am going to hear about a mezzo-soprano I know, who can't act her way out of a paper bag and who's voice can't be heard past the front row, and delight at her success at getting into a summer program I didn't even DARE audition for, because it is so prestigious and at such a high-level. Instead, I will be delighted for her success, and I will think about how lucky I am to have such lovely friends and family, and how fortunate I am to be able to pursue something I really love. Someday.

Too bad today isn't that day. If you'll excuse me, I am going to go kick something, perhaps a puppy, BECAUSE I AM A MATURE INDIVIDUAL, DAMMIT!

An excellent point...

I totally agree with this cat.  I don't care how comfortable they are, Crocs are a scourge upon the earth and the very thought of them makes my feet sweaty.

ANNOUNCEMENT:

Hello Everyone!

I promise to keep posting almost daily, but my site is undergoing some construction via Delicious Design Studio, so some things may be moved around.  Just a note: you can now find me via www.divadelablog.com.  I now own the domain name (huzzah!) and there is no longer any need to type "blogspot" in after the address.  

Best,

La Diva

Twitter....

I have just signed up for "Twitter" (to the right), because I feel like I haven't cluttered up this page enough.

Thoughts....

When they list "recession-proof jobs" or "up-and-coming careers," opera singer is never among them. Interesting....perhaps I should have thought this through more carefully......

Last Night.....

Personal Trainer: Okay, so now we are going to put you on the pull-up machine. How much do you weigh? 120? 130?

Me: (tearing up) Oh my God, that is the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me!

Really?

High School Musical chapstick? Who is the marketing genius that thought of this? You have GOT to be kidding me.

Brilliant!

I have no idea if this product works, but the concept tickles me pink; one side holds a tooth whitener gel, and the other has a blue-toned lip gloss that helps make your teeth look whiter. Alas, it only comes in the two colors shown here, but it can be found at www.tartecosmetics.com for $26. If you have a wee bit of an addiction to enamel-staining Diet Coke, this may be the product for you. Hell, even if you inject a Diet Coke drip in your arm every morning, like me, this product may be able to make your dreams of pearly whites a reality. Check back to see if it works!


*Photo courtesy of People.com

Julianne Moore at Cannes....

J'adore Julianne Moore. She is a stunning redhead, she wears her age with pride and she is one hell of a talented actress. However, she always seems determined to look unattractive on the red carpet. Usually it is a color that doesn't work, or a sloppy fit, or (in this case) a simply bizarre outfit. In this picture, it appears as if two stuffed crows have landed on her shoulder and, trooper that she is, Julianne has decided to ignore them and continue posing...all the while being uncomfortably aware of how close they are to her beautiful face.

Upon further inspection, it looks as though her gown is made up of two completely different dresses, sewn together by a drunk seamstress...possibly the same one who made my recent costume that was 20 sizes too big for me. That lush of a seamstress gets around. From this distance, it looks like the bodice is a wee bit too tight, making her look like an adult who made the mistake of trying on her daughter's Belle princess costume, and now needs help to get out of it. And the layers of the skirt make her look bottom-heavy, which we all know is simply not the case. Quite frankly, this outfit can be filed under "Epic Fail." Sigh. I expected better of you Julianne.
*Photo courtesy of Flynet

New skills to learn....

My mother just sent me this email this morning:

I am working at home this morning, before a lunch meeting and I had the Today show on. Fergie was performing and she did a one-handed flip during her song! Start practicing! Love Mom

Yeah, like THAT is EVER going to happen.

Trainer...

My personal trainer (and friend) is making me see her nearly every day before I leave for New Jersey. I will either come out of these next two weeks ripped beyond belief....or they will be cleaning my sweaty carcass off the gym floor. You would be wise to wager on the latter.

Apartment....

So I finally found an apartment in upper-state New York, and I have pictures of it (in all it's empty glory) above. In fact, for less than I am paying for my one room in a house in Boston, with a crazy roommate, I am now the proud renter of a 2 bedroom apartment downtown, utilities included. My mother is pushing for me to get a roommate, but that would mean I would have to erase visions of using the 2nd bedroom for the ULTIMATE walk-in closet from my head. I'm not sure if I am ready to give up that dream yet.

Here is the problem (one of many in my life): the apartment comes unfurnished, as you can see, and I don't even own a chair, let alone a full set of furniture. At this point, I will be moving in with a ton of shoes and handbags, but nowhere to sit and watch TV. Why don't I have any furniture? Because I have been fortunate enough to live in dorms or furnished apartments most of my life. My current apartment came unfurnished, but my roommates, and past tenants, have left enough furniture to make it livable....so there has never been any reason for me to own furniture. Plus, as part of the trendy "millennial generation, " I am constantly moving and I don't relish lugging a Laz-E-Boy around on my back. I can't wait to have my first meal on the only plate I own, whilst sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded my accessories, moving my single lamp from room-to-room for light.

Why don't I just buy stuff at Ikea, like a normal person? Well, in exchange for lots of room and low rent, I will be living in a small (po-dunk, dull) city that is 138 miles from the nearest Ikea. In fact, after living in the thriving metropolis that is Boston for the past 3 years, I am pretty sure that my body is going to go into shock when I am unable to head down the street to the nightlife, or take the bus to Target. What the hell am I going to do without Target?????

If you'll excuse me, I have to go and put a bag over my head to avoid the oncoming "lack of Target" panic attack.

Reading.....

I am currently reading the book entitled "I Was Told There Would Be Cake, " which is a collection of essays by Sloane Crosley.  She writes  like a more articulate and amusing version of me, and it is starting to piss me off.  If I turn to a story about her being an "aspiring opera singer," the shit will hit the fan.

Charming....

This card is by Dean Morris.  Enough said.

Tragic Kitten.....

Drivin' in style....

My father has just informed me that the Ford-owned Mercury line of cars is being discontinued. One of those cars is the Grand Marquis, of which I used to be a "proud" owner. Dad read somewhere that the median age of a Grand Marquis owner is 72 years old, and I was hardly surprised. In fact, people on the road used to do a double take when they saw this teenager driving granny's car. I am pretty sure I avoided quite a few speeding tickets because the cops couldn't believe that an old person's car could be going that fast. And that car had quite the pick-up...ironic because I doubt most of the owners ever take it above sixty.

I got my first Grand Marquis when I turned sixteen. Don't get me wrong, I was delighted to have a car at all, especially one that I didn't have to pay the insurance on. However, I went to a prep school that was filled with spoiled rich kids, so my giant, green car kind of stuck out among all the Lexuses and tricked-out SUVs. There was also the fact that the car was so long that I couldn't see the end of the front or back, so I never parallel-parked the damn thing, and was stuck parking in "pull-through" spots. On the plus side, I could fit an army of friends in the back seat.

And then, after my sophomore year of college, I got into a pretty scary car accident and totaled the "green giant." The car literally fell apart around me, leaving myself and a friend unscathed. After saving my life, there was no way I was ever going to convince my parents to get me any other type of car. I was lucky to get another one at all, except that an old lady was heading into a nursing home and her family wanted to get rid of her car ASAP for very little money. So I got another Grand Marquis, but this time it was bright white. This thing looked GI-normous and earned the nickname "Moby Dick." To "jazz" it up, I added a dalmatian-print steering wheel cover and leopard-print fuzzy dice that hung from my rear view mirror. Yeeehaw.

Moby Dick has since been given to the daughter of a family friend, because it was just sitting in our driveway....sad, huge and neglected. That thing is so big, it would be suicide to drive it in the city....I'd take out pedestrians at every turn. But fear not, my father drives the "latest" Grand Marquis in black. It doesn't look any cooler in that color, but I may convince him to paint flames coming off its wheels. It's worth a shot.

Etsy...

Apparently I am one of the last people to jump on the etsy.com bandwagon. Sorry people, I've been busy learning several languages and perfecting my runway walk. I had heard about the website, which allows independent artists to hock their wares, but I had avoided it because I figured there was going to be a lot of "homemade" tea cozies and such. Not so, my friends!. Please see Exhibit A, above, which is a bad-ass laptop bag by XcessRize Designs. I had to order it, because how could I resist a bag that says "I am technologically savvy AND I may pull a knife on you at any moment.


Ialso stumbled across this laptop case during my exploration. It is out of the same fabric as my new bag and it both cushions and covers a laptop. Instead of putting your computer in a separate sleeve, you just unzip this case and start working. This brilliant design is by CoverMeCool.

With hundreds of artists listed, and over 27 mediums represented, I am pretty sure that nothing will get done on my "to do" list for a very long while. Curse you, etsy.com!

ANTM

As you can imagine, being in possession of some "jiggly jiggly hey hey," I am quite pleased that Whitney is the first full-figured model to win America's Next Top Model.  Quite frankly, she has a stunning body and works the runway like nobody's business.  And I should know...I practice my runway walk at least twice a day.

SATC.....

I was first introduced to Sex and the City when I was living in the University of Michigan villa (yes, I said villa) outside Florence, Italy. In the basement was a TV and at least 20 VHS tapes of the show that had been sent to past residents, so they could keep up with the storyline overseas. Every night, a bunch of us opera singers would gather around the TV and prepare to meet the female sexual revolution head-on. I fell in love with the characters, though I had a fair amount of frustration with Carrie and her whining. But I forgave her, because there was always Samantha to bolster my faith in the show. And then I moved in with my best friend Jenny and she had every season on DVD. This is just one of the many reasons she is my best friend.

So, as you can imagine, I am awaiting the movie with baited breath. So what if it got lackluster reviews? I just want to see my "girls" together again in New York. Unfortunately, most of my friends who I used to watch the show with are scattered throughout the country, and Jenny is now living in San Francisco, so I will be unable to watch the movie with them. But, by God, I am going to see this blatenly obvious chick flick. And I must say, all the ladies look lovely in this picture from the London premiere. Sure, Cynthia Nixon's breasts look like they are escaping down and away from each other, and SJP's hat defies logic, but nothing is tight, misshapen or unslightly. Well done ladies, you have emerged from your post-Sex hibernation beautifully!

*Photo Courtesy of Jan Furniss/WireImage

Girl Scout....

I love Beyonce for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that she has a considerable amount of the "jiggly jiggly hey hey" and knows how to work it. However, there is no "working" this outfit. She looks like a disheveled girl scout who just happens to carry her cookies in her thousand dollar python handbag. Just a note: while writing that, my mouth started watering for some Thin Mints. They may be a sexist organization, but, by God, they make some damn good cookies.

But I digress. While this outfit may cost more than I make in a year, Beyonce just looks sloppy. Her skirt is hiked up on one side, her shirt is untucked and, apparently, she thought it was a good idea to put on EVERY gold chain she owns before leaving the house. And let us not forget the "sporty" beret. Nothing says "chic and effortless" like a tea cozy perched upon one's weave. But the best part are the nude, sparkly fishnets. Where the hell do you even get such and thing and why am I just discovering them? An unflattering nude color with glitter that just magnifies your thighs? I'll take several pairs please.


*Photo courtesy of Ahmed Elatab-T. Meinelt-J.Lee/Splash News Online

Stress!!!!

So right now I am attempting to learn new (and hard) music for this summer, find an apartment for next year WITHOUT BEING ABLE TO SEE IT IN PERSON, and juggle things at work. I am basically tap dancing my way through the day, sprouting gray hairs as I go. The reason I have to rent an apartment in upper state New York, sight unseen, is because I won't have an opportunity to head up there to check out places until I move for my resident artist program in August. For those of you out of the opera loop (consider yourself lucky), a resident artist program is when an opera company decides to take you under their wing, pay you a stipend and train you for a future on the stage. In return, you sell them your soul and perform in as many choruses and fundraisers as they want. It is sort of the next step on one's career, after grad school, and an introduction to slaving away for "the man." Not that I am not thrilled to be part of one of these programs, I just have a pretty good idea how I am going to be paying them back for all that "training."

I've lived in dorms for the majority of my higher education career, so if my housing situation is slightly less nasty than that, I'll be pleased. It just makes me feel uneasy to invest a lot of money in something I will only see pictures of. However, if utilities are included, I might be willing to ignore the fact that I may end up in a crack house. I hope the homeless drug addicts don't mind me warming up at 8am! If anything, they will be less crazy than my current, evil, roommate. Crack addicts don't care about dust bunnies.

Speaking of the evil roommate, she is leaving tonight and won't be back until June. HUZZAH! And by June, I will be in New Jersey, so I may be able to avoid her until August. However, she has been extra horrid lately, perhaps in anticipation of her month-long absence. More on that later, after I have calmed down. I do hope she enjoys it when she returns and finds the door to her room completely coated in dust bunnies. Bwahahaha!

Diet...

Where can I get a cat like this?

Products!!!!

If you happen to have flat, limp hair like I do, run, do not walk, to get Sally Hershberger's Style Primer for normal to thin hair. It gives body, not just volume like most products, and helps bump up the results of my other styling products. While volume can be useful for getting "diva" hair, on thin strands it can leave you with fluffy hair that shows scalp, so you look like you have bald patches. And it is difficult to look sassy while people are wondering if you need Rogaine. One of the more interesting aspects of this line is that you can go to www.sallyhershberger.com, type in the UPC code at the bottom of your product and watch a video online about how to use your product. Sally may look a skinny mess on camera, but she has a way with hair. Right now, her line can only be found at Walgreens, but hopefully the product line will expand its distribution soon. Life is too short for flat hair.

I am also in possession of china-white skin that burns if I even think about sun, let alone go outside without sunscreen. And I would rather not end up looking like luggage when I get older. To protect my face, and avoid the dermatologist's office, I lather on Clarins' UV Plus. It has a SPF of 40 and they have just added a new "pollution" blocker to the formula. I am not sure how that all works, but I am willing to use anything that will save me from the bus exhaust fumes in Boston. Even on cloudy days, I put this on, because it soaks in fast, and I don't have to wait an obscenely long time to put on my makeup over it. And with my combination/oily/sensitive skin, I appreciate that it doesn't set my face on fire or cause it to erupt.

I assure you, neither of these companies is paying me for my review, though I could use the money. I just have a wee bit of an obsession with beauty products and want to share what products have passed my "high maintenance" inspection.

You gotta have friends....

My friend Katie's astute take on my last couple of blogs:

"Fuck strike.  That shit sounds awful.  If cutting is wrong, you don't want to be right.  And just to recap- so far, you've gotten a rash, gotten sick and felt like you wanted to puke, gotten farted at (multiple times), and had to stare at some dude's snot.  Stay home.  Take a shower.  You've earned it."

You know, when she puts it like that, I don't feel as bad about choosing to take a nap over cleaning my room today.

Last Day....

Today's matinee is the last performance of "Ruddigore" and I couldn't be happier.  Usually this is a slightly sad time for me, as I will lose the chance to see some pretty cool people everyday, but due to my illness, combined with the grueling length of the show, I am pretty relieved to close this chapter on my life.  What helps with the separation process is that they have stationed a piano in the green room for warmups, and the members of the Gilbert and Sullivan Players use it to pound out as many G&S tunes as possible, often leading to a sing-along of MIT students with questionable voices.  And when you are trying to keep yourself from dry-heaving, the last thing you want to hear is an awkward version of "When the foeman bears his steel." THAT is a mental image I just don't need.  

I am also skipping out on strike, where we take down the large, clunky set I spent eight hours putting up two weeks ago (at my own peril).  When I worked with the G&S Society in undergrad, this would have been a hanging offense.  However, this time I am older, wiser, and far too willing to burn my bridge with the MIT Gilbert and Sullivan Players high and dance on its ashes.  I also still can't eat more than half an english muffin without wishing for death, and the last thing I want to be doing is staggering around a room with power tools.  The people who I want to stay in contact with, the conductor and the lead, are professionals and have to leave to go conduct their respective choirs anyway, and have even offered to help me escape.  How's that for bonding with your peers?  Call me unprofessional all you want, but I haven't thrown up on anybody's shoes... yet....so I figure I'm owed one.

Drinking Games....

Tonight's performance should be interesting, as I have several friends coming and all have been instructed to drink heavily before taking their seats.  The only tragedy is that I cannot do the same before taking the stage.  I am just hoping they get a little rowdy and start shouting "show us your tits!" during one of my songs.  Might spice things up a little.  Alas, I will be unable to show them said tits, as my costume comes up to my neck and is nearly impossible to remove...but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try.

What my roommates would like to say....

Update....

I am back from my performance and am too wired to go to sleep, despite feeling like death warmed over.  I made it through without puking on anyone and all the chorus members survived unscathed.  The only person who didn't was the old, smelly, crotchety guy who is kept around because he does the lights for free.  In exchange, he gets a small role.  He has a penchant for loudly farting and acting like nothing happened...even when all those downwind of him pass out from the smell.  My favorite is when he farts backstage and then walks on, leaving the rest of us to deal with the fallout in an enclosed space.  Tonight, while we were waiting to go on, I informed him that if he pulled that trick again, I would break him over my knee and use his rotted teeth as bookmarks in my trashy novels.  And then I went onstage and tried to keep from blacking out.

I had been wanting to do that for weeks and will probably get a free pass because I am so ill. SCORE!

Still have one foot in the grave....

I am still clinging to life here in Boston and I have a show tonight.  I am pretty sure I am either going to vomit on some poor sap, or throw a dippy chorus member through the window because I have NO PATIENCE TO DEAL WITH ANYTHING RIGHT NOW.  Wanna start taking bets on which one happens first?

Sick as a Dog.....

This Monday, I was hit hard by the scourge that is the flu.  You know things aren't going to go your way when you start throwing up Pepto-Bismo.  And throwing up the color pink is a terrifying experience...it was like I molested a cotton candy seller.  I was so sick that I couldn't even muster up the strength to go shopping with my mother.  And that was when she started to get really worried, because I have been known to shop no matter what: massive internal bleeding, nuclear holocaust, loss of limbs....  So I spent all of Monday huddled in our hotel room, passed out cold.  My mother apparently kept waving a mirror under my nose every hour, just to make sure I was still among the living.  This experience means that I will never understand bulimics; throwing up seems like an unfair trade for being able to fit into a pair of skinny jeans.

I was able to venture out yesterday, but it was slow going.  Two stores, rest, two more stores, rest, etc, etc....  I have also been subsisting on what I have been calling the "Victoria Beckham Diet;" which means I have been eating nothing but fruit and tea.  No wonder she always looks so cranky, I'm ready to take someones head off.  But idea of a full meal makes me want to head right back to bed.  I'm just glad I was in a nice clean hotel when I was yakking up my breakfast, as I have no idea when the toilet in my apartment was last cleaned and I sure as hell don't want to be kneeling on that floor.  And let's here it for having my mom around when I needed her the most.  When you're sick, there is no substitute for mommy, no matter how old you are.

Gross....

At Sunday's matinee, my love duet partner had a GI-normous bucket of snot coming out of his nose throughout the song.  Why couldn't he feel that?????  I had to look at his eyebrows during the song so that I could make it through without gagging.

Story....

My mother is in town and the hotel we are staying at charges $10 a day to use the Internet.  Not outrageous, but certainly not free....so my posts will be sporadic this week.  However, I promise to be back in full force by Thursday.  That is, if this show doesn't kill me first.  Why have I moved into a hotel in my own town?  Because there is no evil roommate and endless towels, that's why.

But now I leave you with a story: two summers ago I had a chorus role in La Traviata (and was bored out of my MIND) and it involved a strapless dress.  Since I am incredibly shallow and overly concerned with my appearance, I made sure to pose throughout the opera with my arm twisted to make it look as skinny as possible.  In the process, I pulled my rotator cuff and the injury still plagues me to this day.  The price of vanity is high, my friends.

Program

On Friday's opening, I got my hands on a program and discovered that I had the longest bio of all the cast members.  Usually, when I perform an opera, I have the shortest, due to the fact that I haven't done a "singing tour of Europe" or "worked with Mozart himself."  My friends, I came off as a pompous blowhard....and I kind of like it.

Boobs!

Tonight, as I put on my costume, I discovered that I was changing in front of a window that the crew conveniently forgot to put black tarp on.  But, on the bright side, a few MIT boys now know what breasts look like.  You're welcome.

Spitting Distance....

Last night I had the misfortune to spit upon my romantic duet partner while I was singing.  And it wasn't a small dot of saliva either.  We're talking a rain shower that glistened in the stage lights.  My partner, God bless him, just kept going....he understood.  It is the nature of the beast: any good performer tends to expel about a gallon of spit upon the stage at any given performance.  You gotta get those consonants out!  I strongly suggest you avoid the front row of all performances before you wind up with a whole lot of DNA sprinkled on the front of your outfit. Perhaps I will suggest that my singing partner wear a face mask, 'cause it is SO going to happen again.

Why I am a bad person....

There is a MIT freshman in the cast who is a wee bit of an attention whore.  I understand where she is coming from, but she goes about it in such an awkward way that she becomes annoying and embarrassing.  You gotta know how to do it right and some of us have had years of practice.  Tonight she was hacking up a lung without covering her mouth.....just to make sure we all knew she was deathly ill.  I tend to catch every disease out there and her behavior was quite worrisome, not to mention gross.  Finally, I caught her in a dark corner backstage and told her that if she didn't start covering her mouth when she coughed, I would have no qualms about bitch-slapping her.  She started covering her mouth.

Judge me all you want, you just wish you had the balls to do the same thing.

Costume Drama....

I have had some pretty lousy costumes in my day. My favorite was the beach-themed production of "La Perichole" in which we were forced to wear bathing suits. That's right, bathing suits on opera singers. What a swell idea! There was so much jiggling flesh on stage that I lost my appetite for Jello for months afterwords. Then there was the production of the opera "Little Women" in which our costumes were made from furniture fabric. That, combined with my GIANT hoop skirt, was enough to make me look, and feel, like a sofa. Not to mention the fact that I couldn't fit through doors, due to the width of my costume, nor sit down. The ragged, bright red "little orphan Annie" wig completed the charming ensemble.

With these disasters under my belt, I have grown more casual about my costumes in productions. If my gut is covered and I can breathe in it, I'm satisfied. I don't care if it's ugly, as long as I can sit down. My costume for Ruddigore falls into the "ugly" category. As discussed before on this blog, it is made up of two shades of gray, affectionately known as "Auschwitz" and "tears of despair." It is also made up of a lovely wool/polyester combo that has been causing me to break out into a rash the past two nights. You just don't put an Anglo-Saxon with sensitive skin in wool!

And I am not sure what happened between measuring me and making the costume, but somewhere along the way they got me confused with a two-hundred pound soprano. The dress is so wide that I could invite a friend to join me in my itchy hell. Not to mention the fact that I can fold the bust over twice and still not run out of fabric. Not even I want to be stacked enough to fill out this dress. The irony is that the arms are tight, and I have ripped several seams gesturing wildly on stage. Really? That's the part where you skimped on fabric? And instead of a bonnet or mop cap, I was given a piece of fabric to twist around my head like a towel. Because they ran out of time? No more bonnets? Whatever the reason, I end up looking like a bad Norma Desmond impersonator. In fact, I spent most of my time running around backstage saying "it's the pictures that got small," and leering. No doubt the backstage antics are a lot more interesting than what is happening onstage. Trust me on this one.