Don't Like You (The Beautiful Game)

Is it bad etiquette to write someone an opening night card which tells them that I don't like them and why?

I Whistle A Happy Tune (The King And I)

One of my most favourite things about being in a show is doing mic checks. To make things interesting, and in order to avoid boring everyone by singing the same songs from the show over and over, our stage manager has set a different theme for every night - each theme related to Victor/Victoria. Prizes are awarded per category and points are given for creativity. The songs don't have to be from a musical, but I choose to only sing showtunes, so these are the songs I have lined up for each theme. Tell me if you think I can do better.

Have Another Drink - The Ladies Who Lunch (Company)

King Me/Queen Me - Either I'll Cover You (Rent) "You'll be my King and I'll be your castle/No, you'll be my Queen and I'll be your moat." or something from Chess

Oui, Oui/Yes, Yes - Either I Speak Six Languages (Spelling Bee) or Now You're Speaking French (Lucky Stiff)

Cast Names - Jimmy (Thoroughly Modern Millie) because there are three Jims in the cast

Piano Man - Schroeder (You're A Good Man Charlie Brown)

I've Got A Secret - Nobody Needs To Know (Last Five Years)

Jazz - Jazz Man (The Simpsons)

Moving It Here, Moving It There - The Books (Brownstone)

Surprise Theme - we find out that night what the theme is

Sex! - A Call From The Vactican (Nine)

Nothing (A Chorus Line)

I really have nothing to say. Just felt like writing something.

Hi.

I Can't Make This Movie (Nine)

I just had someone over and we had "sex" on the washing machine. Well, the dryer. It was super sexy but the dryer was very hot and not as vibratey as I would have hoped for. We should have used the washer instead, but I didn't have any clothes to wash at that point.

I set up a secret video camera to tape the excursion without consent. Camera was well hidden, had a great angle set up, but the battery had died right before the pants came off. All I got was a bunch of making out and the removal of shirts. Oh well. Serves me right.

Why am I such a horn dog all of a sudden? I'm going out tonight, I hope I tone it down and just have some good wholesome fun. Then again, I do have the potential to pull a 2 in 24, a la What About Brian. Sex with a Leb, Sex on a Dryer (not to mention sex in my parent's house), and now maybe 2 in 24? What the hell has Ottawa done to me?

Funny/The Duck Joke (My Favourite Year)

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine called me up, super excited, and said "I know what you should do! Stand up comedy!" I had thought about trying it years before, when we had to do it in OAC Drama class. I caught the bug, then it died. Now the idea of turning the blogs into a one man show has been thrown out there. Interesting idea.

I had already looked into the amateur nights at this city's comedy clubs. It's definitely an avenue I'd like to drive down. I'm lucky that I have many talents, however I can't say I'm amazing at all of them. I truly believe that I'm a gifted actor, and I don't think I'm being arrogant when I say that. However, I'm not a good enough singer to make money as a singer, and I'm not a good enough dancer to get strictly dancing roles. Screenwriting, I guess I'm good at, but my writing style borders on melodramatic because of my soap opera addiction. However, I do write one mean mother fucking soap opera. But that's not the road I want to go down at this point in life. So looking toward stand up seems like a good option. I could get noticed, get bit parts, then get my own sitcom followed by a talk show, and a bad movie career. That sounds nice.

But will I be funny enough in person when I'm recounting my stories that I've rehearsed and are no longer truthful? Are my stories even actually funny? If the audience didn't laugh, I'd die. Maybe Ottawa isn't the place to try this, cause these people are such losers they don't know good comedy when they see it.

A Little Mmm (LaChiusa's The Wild Party)

Upon returning home I found myself disappointed because it was still quite early, and I had the night off, plus tomorrow morning and afternoon off (which NEVER happens), and I didn't want to waste an opportunity. Especially not when I was looking so good. Since none of the people I like were available to go out, and I don't have the courage to hit the clubs on my own, I decided to go online again. Not looking for love. Looking to get it on and get off.

Things I like:

Finding someone cute who is Lebanese like me
Finding a 32 year old lover in my neighbourhood
Finding a Leb with the largest organ I've ever seen in person
Telling people that I don't have sex, while we're naked
Watching The Golden Girls naked afterwards

Things I don't like:

People practically begging me to go all the way
Rough kissers who don't match my kissing style
Bikini briefs
Taking a vow of celibacy and then breaking it less than two weeks later (the abstinence starts tomorrow!)
Finding out the person I just came on is friends with my father

Not Enough Magic (The Rink)

I've grown some balls and I asked out my new "gorgeous, grammar-conscious, and not looking for sex" friend. We went out to dinner at a nice little restaurant on Bank Street. My date was less attractive than the pictures I've seen (a lot less attractive). Not only looks wise, but style wise. The conversation bored me to the point where I just stopped talking all together. Also, I don't like quiet talkers since I don't have superb hearing, and I don't like to have to say "What?" every minute, so I just pretend to understand what was being said and responded with smiles, nods, awkward laughter, and "yeah"s. It was like when Jerry was humouring Kramer's quiet talking girlfriend and ended up in a pirate shirt on The Today Show. By the end of the date, I decided to spare myself the pain and forgo the movie I had suggested earlier, claiming I was tired. As we were leaving the restaurant I remembered I was horny and was looking really good, so I opened an invitation to come back to my place, which was thankfully declined.

I also don't like lisps.

Goodnight And Thank You (Evita)

Every now and then I go into a chat room to see if there is anyone eligible and attractive in Ottawa. Everyone online is horny and wants sex right now. That's fine, it's just not what I'm looking for. So a good chat for me is when the conversation doesn't immediately or ever turn to sex. That's when I know someone is worth my time. The picture is the clincher. Usually they are ugly. Last night I was chatting with someone who was very attractive. Beautiful face, beautiful body, and the conversation never turned to sex. But the most exciting thing is that this person wrote something like "your funny" and followed up by correcting the "your" with "you're." I nearly came in my pants. I realized that not only was a minor and very common spelling mistake corrected (most people wouldn't even have known they made a mistake), but I scrolled back up and we were both speaking in complete sentences with no abbreviations! Gorgeous, grammar conscious, and not looking for sex? To quote Annie "I think I'm gonna like it here!"

Don't Quit While You're Ahead (The Mystery Of Edwin Drood)

I don't like home cooked meals. I don't cook. Therefore I eat out a lot. I love fast food and I love restaurants. Why do my favourite places to eat insist on changing a good thing? I just don't understand it. First Subway decided to stop cutting the top off the sandwich and now cut it at the side. Because it is very rare to find a good sandwich artist, it's almost a guarantee that tomatoes, lettuce and other such toppings will be falling out of the sandwich and not make it to your mouth. They also changed the bread to, in my opinion, an inferior bun.

So I stopped going there when I discovered Quiznos. Expensive, but delicious. Then Quiznos changed their bread on me too, and even stopped serving their amazing meatball subs on their amazing bread. I've asked for the bread since they still had it sitting there, but they refused. I never went back.

As upsetting as this all is, I could always count on East Side Marios. Until this weekend, when I was shocked and appalled to find their delicious bread that I normally can't get enough of was hard. I mentioned this to the delicious server, who informed me that they changed the bread and they're all hard now. What the fuck? They also changed the sauce on their spaghetti. I had no sauce on my spaghetti. Another one bites the dust.

Why is the restaurant industry fucking with me? I hate it, and I've boycotted things before (Yeah, I'm talking to you OC Transpo!), so don't think I'll never go back. Stop changing your bread!

Steppin' To The Bad Side, or, I Am Changing (Dreamgirls)

Lately, and more and more, I've been thinking of letting go of my inhibitions and exploring the big bad world of sex, drugs and alcohol. Maybe I need to start drinking. Maybe I should find out what drugs are all about. Maybe I should be intoxicated and/or high in order to have good sex. And maybe I should actually bite the bullet and experience real sex. I don't like the taste of alcohol, I think drugs are evil, and I'm afraid of real sex. But I am 25, and as I start to actually feel my age, I think I might be mature enough to go ahead and try these things out. But I don't want to. But I do. I'm so conflicted. I just don't want to do anything I'll regret. But how I can I judge something I've never experienced for myself? Any wise words of advice? Like drink, try sex, but don't do drugs? Or, go for it, you only live once? I also can't decide if it's more mature to do these things or to not do them.

To quote my new friend Bernadette Peters "I have never felt like this. It's not like me at all..."

Pick-A-Little, Talk-A-Little (The Music Man)

I was sexy in Montreal this weekend. I was sexy in Montreal this weekend with my sexy friend. I was sexy in Montreal this weekend with my sexy friend who lives on a sexy street called Park Avenue. I was sexy in Montreal this weekend with my sexy friend who lives on a sexy street called Park Avenue and who kept pointing out all the sexy Orthodox Jews with their sexy beards and sexy curls with sexy clear plastic rain guards over their sexy hats, and their sexy Jewish children running around.

Everyone thinks I'm Jewish. Everywhere I've worked, gone to school, done a show, people have assumed I'm Jewish. When I was in New York 4 years ago, I was approached by two Orthodox Jews, in two very different parts of town on two different days and both of them asked me the same question. "Excuse me, sir, are you Jewish." I would say no and they would say "Thank you. Have a nice day" and be on their merry way. Ah, life.

The server at East Side's was cute and had nice lips and even went to my high school, and I just was hoping that we would make out.

Cheap-Cheap-Cheap, Talk-A-Lot, Pick-A-Little-More.

Getting In The Lifeboat (Titanic)

Ok, so my plan was to save the sixteen hundred some dollars I got from my tax return for when I move to Vancouver. Unfortunately though, I needed to shut up those asshole credit card people who call me EVERY MORNING and leave messages with my father. (I told him they're my friends.) Seriously, why do the losers at Mastercard call and leave messages saying "Bonjour, this is a message for Skinny Rabbit (pronounced wrong). This is Madame DesJardins calling from Sears Mastercard. It is very important that you call us back today." Type thing. I have issues with them calling me and leaving their name. Especially since when I call back it's not like I ask for that specific person, since I get directed to the next available operator anyway. I think I'll bring that up to them the next time I call. I should actually probably demand to speak to the very person who called me.

Here's another uninteresting story. I called Rogers Wireless today to report a payment. When you first talk to them, they ask you for some information like your name, address, phone number and date of birth, to ensure that they are speaking the account holder. Fine. So we're past that point and it turns out they had the wrong home phone number for me. So I ask them which phone number they had. She says she's not allowed to give out information. I'm sorry? You can't give information to me about me? So she just asks for my new phone number in order to update. Then she says she assumes my work number is wrong as well, so I ask her what number she has listed for me. She again refuses and asks for the new number. Why do they have to be such assholes? I don't have the authority to know what information of mine they had listed, but I do have the authority to have them change it? Isn't that a little bit twisted? Moving on.

So I somehow manage to make everyone of those bastards I owe money to happy today by paying $150 to HBC, $300 on Mastercard, $300 on Visa, and $550 on Rogers. And I still have a little bit left over to live. Now hopefully they won't be harassing me for at least another few days, those jerkfaces, cause I'm starting to get REALLY pissed. One of the managers at work told me yesterday that someone called and asked for me and she was rude and hung up on him cause she was busy. I said good, because it was a credit card company. She pulled me aside later to ask if I was in trouble and I told her about my debt and I think she likes me.

I'm going to Montreal tomorrow. I just happen to have the day off and my brother just happens to also be going as well, so I have a free ride. I get to spend the day in my favourite Canadian city, where I'll be driving around town the back seat, while my driver drives around. Eventually I'll stop in a hotel and find Neenia at the reception desk collecting her necklace droppings. She'll look up and see me and start crying. I'll console her and then run up to the sixth floor to kick some Russian ass. She'll then trip me and we'll laugh and most likely have some sex. I'll also hopefully help her find that stupid question mark.

We've Won (The Who's Tommy)

I went to see a justice of the peace today regarding the retarded $150 ticket I got on the bus. I lied and told him that I paid the fare and just didn't grab a transfer because I didn't need to change buses and since I just moved from Toronto I didn't know I needed one as proof of payment. He reduced the fine to $30. I rule. Thank you, Lady Luck, for finally finding your way back to me.

Sexual Confusion (Taboo)

I'm trying something. I'm taking a vow of celibacy. It's been two months since my last sexual encounter and if I have it my way it'll be quite a while until my next one. Shouldn't be too hard. I usually only experience some loving every four to six months or so anyhow. I'm abstaining for a few reasons. The first is that everyone in Ottawa is unattractive, and not having sex with anyone will prevent me from having sex with ugly people just for the sake of having sex. The next reason is that I recently counted all the lovers I've had and I'm almost in the double digits. That's kinda freaky. I want to stay out of the double digits for as long as possible. The last reason is that I just plain don't like sex. To be fair, I should admit that I've never actually had sex. Not technically. I have never experienced the act of penetration in an orifice other than the mouth. And even then I'm kinda iffy. I don't really like oral sex. Giving or receiving. I always get bored and wonder when it's going to be over and when I'm going to climax, if I'm going to climax, I pretty much never climax. Weird, considering I'm 'round-the-clock horny.

I love foreplay. A lot of kissing and a lot of teasing goes a very long way. But once the clothes come off I'm all "meh". I think that due to my lack of experience I can be too self conscious. Also, no one can touch me the way I can. I love masturbating and I do it every chance I get. I'm so good at it and so in love with myself that I hate it when someone else is doing it to me. No one has gotten it right so far. In fact the hottest nights I can recall were the ones that did not involve the removal of any clothes. Those night when I made the decision not to go below the waistband and would just spend the night making out and exploring with our hands but only teasing certain areas. That's the shit.

So I'm staying away from sex now because I know it has to build. I can't just meet someone and get it on. That doesn't turn me on. I think the only way I'm actually going to be able to ever enjoy sex is to not have it unless I know I'm going to love that person. Just because I think someone's hot, doesn't mean we have hot sex. If I'm emotionally connected, however, all bets are off. So far I've only had one emotional connection and we didn't have sex, and those are the nights I remember the most fondly. The people I went further with mean nothing to me (well, except for one) and I did not have a good time with most of them. I also kinda want to experience loving from that other sexe. I wonder what that's like. Maybe I'll try it when I go to Vancouver and meet some attractive people.

Oh, another thought. I've also been wondering if I maybe get really fucked up on drugs, if then I'll have really great sex. But I've never done a drug in my life and I don't want to start. Oh well. I guess I'm going to have to go on living my deprived lifestyle until I become a celebrity and get totally caught up in the Hollywood lifestyle that I become a tabloid staple, appearing on the cover of Star, right next to Naomi Campbell and Lindsay Lohan.

It Sucks To Be Me (Avenue Q)

It's not enough that I have to live with my parents with no car in the most boring city in the world and be doing theatre that I don't get paid for. No. This city has to be a big fat asshole and continuously attempt to make my life as miserable as possible. I get cut from work and no one can come pick me up because my mom has the car and doesn't know how to answer her cell phone. Fabulous. I decide to take the bus, which I loathe doing but a cab would have been $20 and I barely made that much in tips today because the weather was shitty. Fantastic. I get on the bus, but don't pick up a transfer, which apparently is needed as a proof of purchase (POP Transfer they call it. How fucking gay is that?). Because I've lost my luck somewhere in Toronto, the fare inspectors get on the bus two stops before where I'm supposed to get off. Yes, that's right. This gay city has gay fare inspectors get on the gay bus to make sure gay people have paid for the gay ride. Splendid. Of course I don't have one (because I snuck in the back door, but they don't have to know that) but I insist that I've paid the ridiculous $3 fare but simply didn't take a transfer because I don't need to transfer buses. So me and three other poor souls are pulled off the bus in the middle of nowhere. Wonderful. They ask for my I.D. What am I gonna do? Run? They write me a ticket. Fine, I think. What the hell could the fine be? $30? I can manage that. Zing. Oh, no. I'm handed a ticket for ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY FUCKING DOLLARS! Outrageous. It's not enough that the fare is way too high for shitty, shitty service, but a fucking fine for not having a fucking transfer is one hundred and fifty fucking dollars? I'm disgusted. I want to throw up all over Ottawa, I hate it so much. Any thoughts about postponing my leaving here are dead. The sooner, the better. So the "inspector" kindly points out that I can go to some court in the west end and contest it in court in front of a judge. He even tells me how which bus to take there. How sweet. What a lovely man. I'm throwing up in my mouth, not a little, but a lot. I have steam coming out of my ears. This is how Hud must feel about the TTC. Public transit is an asshole and I'm now boycotting the OC Transpo forever. It may be more expensive and set me back a lot, but it's all about cabs from here on in. HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE.

Did I mention that Mastercard called me at work and told me that if I don't give them $190 this week I'm being turned over to a collection agency? HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE.

Meanwhile I've been making NO MONEY at work because that bitch Mother Nature keeps raining out the patio so I'm walking away with a mere $20 - $40 in tips a day. I finally got my first paycheck today and it's for a measly $130, which doesn't cover either bill. HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE.

The theme of this blog is hate. And throwing up.

Unexpected Song (Song and Dance)

This video is the most accurate representation of the evening I experienced that I could find to share with you. She wore a similiar gown, had pretty much the exact same intro to the song, and did the wild swinging of her body when she starts to belt the shit.