What is the sound of no hands clapping: Ptown Tour - Day 4
Day 4 bloomed bright, sunny and cranky. Coffee was a must have.
Went to my favorite coffee place, Java Dreams, where they sell a beautiful flavored coffee, Swiss Mocha Cinnamon Swirl.
They are out of SMCS!
Decide, okay, I can just do the Hazelnut.
Halfway through filling my cup, THE HAZELNUT RUNS OUT!!!
Did I mention "cranky" before? Yeah, not so good, Java Dreams, not so good.
And we get a Carrot Muffin to share...but they have NO plasticware. I mean, you've got to be kidding me - an establishment sells food and doesn't provide the means by which you can eat it? Aaaaargh. Never again, Java Dreams, you're on the list.
So we proceed to walk around Commerical Street, trying to find somewhere we can sit that is not going to aggravate my ever-reddening sunburn. And get crankier. Well, at least I do.
Then, to top it all off, innocently walking down the street, I step on an uneven piece of pavement and down I go. In the words of a passerby, in slow motion. Amazingly, I don't break anything, but I end up with a sizeable lump on my shin (it actually freaks John out with it's tumor-like size), and there goes any hope that the new color in my legs would make them look nice in shorts and skirts. What I find particularly galling is that I only fall down sober. Never when drinking. I can be weaving all over the place (although that is rare) and manage to stay upright, but give me coffee and comfortable shoes and I'm a goner. Some things I just don't get.
The rest of the afternoon devolves from there. John and I manage to aggravate each other to the point of having words. Not really worth detailing, and I'm not sure who was more wrong or right, and I'm not sure it matters. Or perhaps that's my innate inability to deal with conflict. Or maybe there's a dictatorship involved?
Anyway...
Meet up again for our performance. Get set up. Warm up. Sound check.
Call the show. One person showed up. Ugh. What is the world coming to when you NEED to be performing in drag in order to get an audience. Oh, well, take me back to Manhattan. I'll put up with an open mike night better than this.
John and I are invited to a house party by Steven (Hedda Lettuce). I am dubious, but John convinces me to come in at least for a little while.
Had an awesome time. It was just a small group of exceptionally hilarious people sitting around a table, on a deck overlooking the harbor, drinking. Carl with his bottle of gin, Rich with his PSB shirt, Tony with his camera, George with his pot (not the smoking kind), Steven dressed as the Unabomber...fun was had by all. Exactly the kind of relaxation we needed after being denied by our public.
I miss my home. I'll be there soon.
Went to my favorite coffee place, Java Dreams, where they sell a beautiful flavored coffee, Swiss Mocha Cinnamon Swirl.
They are out of SMCS!
Decide, okay, I can just do the Hazelnut.
Halfway through filling my cup, THE HAZELNUT RUNS OUT!!!
Did I mention "cranky" before? Yeah, not so good, Java Dreams, not so good.
And we get a Carrot Muffin to share...but they have NO plasticware. I mean, you've got to be kidding me - an establishment sells food and doesn't provide the means by which you can eat it? Aaaaargh. Never again, Java Dreams, you're on the list.
So we proceed to walk around Commerical Street, trying to find somewhere we can sit that is not going to aggravate my ever-reddening sunburn. And get crankier. Well, at least I do.
Then, to top it all off, innocently walking down the street, I step on an uneven piece of pavement and down I go. In the words of a passerby, in slow motion. Amazingly, I don't break anything, but I end up with a sizeable lump on my shin (it actually freaks John out with it's tumor-like size), and there goes any hope that the new color in my legs would make them look nice in shorts and skirts. What I find particularly galling is that I only fall down sober. Never when drinking. I can be weaving all over the place (although that is rare) and manage to stay upright, but give me coffee and comfortable shoes and I'm a goner. Some things I just don't get.
The rest of the afternoon devolves from there. John and I manage to aggravate each other to the point of having words. Not really worth detailing, and I'm not sure who was more wrong or right, and I'm not sure it matters. Or perhaps that's my innate inability to deal with conflict. Or maybe there's a dictatorship involved?
Anyway...
Meet up again for our performance. Get set up. Warm up. Sound check.
Call the show. One person showed up. Ugh. What is the world coming to when you NEED to be performing in drag in order to get an audience. Oh, well, take me back to Manhattan. I'll put up with an open mike night better than this.
John and I are invited to a house party by Steven (Hedda Lettuce). I am dubious, but John convinces me to come in at least for a little while.
Had an awesome time. It was just a small group of exceptionally hilarious people sitting around a table, on a deck overlooking the harbor, drinking. Carl with his bottle of gin, Rich with his PSB shirt, Tony with his camera, George with his pot (not the smoking kind), Steven dressed as the Unabomber...fun was had by all. Exactly the kind of relaxation we needed after being denied by our public.
I miss my home. I'll be there soon.
posted by Brenda at 12:27 PM
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