Laundry Quintet (Caroline, or Change)

It's been one week and three days since I've done a load of laundry and I still have enough socks, underpants, and clothes that I actually still like to last me the rest of the week. I somehow feel accomplished. But I'm thinking about doing laundry anyway.

The First Time (Zorba)

I just realized that this will be the first year ever in my life that I will not be doing my taxes as a student or a working actor. Does this mean that I'm a real person? Am I going to owe money instead of getting back the large sums I'm used to declaring? Help! I need to speak to an adult.

I Can't Be Bothered Now (Crazy For You)

I haven't had any action since September or October (can't remember which). I haven't even kissed anyone since December. And I'm okay with that. I turned down to offers from gentlemen callers this weekend. And I'm okay with that. I think I'm saving myself for something more. I'm not actively searching for that something more. But when it arrives, I'll loosen up again. Until then, I think I'm going to focus on writing my stand-up routine, conceiving a new one man show I recently decided to mount this summer, and getting started on that damn screenplay I've been thinking about for the last five years. You know, whichever comes first.

The Sun Has Got His Hat On (Me And My Girl)

Whatcha Got? (Zanna, Don't!)

I'd like to preface this by saying that this is the last time I am allowed to blog from the original blogger. My next entry will be as a Google Blogger. I'm not looking forward to that and resent lots of people for this. I did not like Neenia's reaction to having to switch over and have been afraid to blog ever since. But what I have to say needs to be said. Okay, so they're not actually my words, but you need to hear them.

We're all artists and we all have our own personal struggles with our craft. There's a fantastic song from my new favourite musical called [title of show] that has been affecting me. I was at a pub with a friend of mine who is a writer/producer/director and had her listen to the song. She's not much of a musical theatre affectionado, but I did take her to see Rent and she bought the movie soundtrack thereafter (a small step, but a step none-the-less). She may even know Les Miz, I'm not too sure, and I don't really care. The point is after I played her that song she went out and purchased the CD. It's that fabulous. I also played it for Neenia but I had to leave the room because ever since Princesse Alathariel told me that she hates when someone plays her a song because they just sit and watch your reaction and you're forced to react on the spot to show them you like it, I've never been able to recommend music the same. She loved it too. It makes me think of ya'll. I can see Neenia writing a blog like it. I can imagine Bedroom Prince discussing it. I can picture Arts Monkey performing it. I can feel Princesse Alathariel taking it all in. I can hope Dansy Antsy Pantsy gets to inspired by it she goes out on an audition the next day. I can even bet that Gilbert's Girl is ready this and saying "YES!" And here it is. I hope it changes your life.

Die Vampire, Die (music and lyrics by Jeff Bowen, performed by Susan Blackwell and company)

There are some people in the world who say that writing stories or composing music or dancing sparkly dances is easy for them; nothing interferes with their ability to create. While I celebrate their creative freedom, a little part of me wants to punch those motherfuckers in the teeth. This song, I sing this song for you guys, and for all the rest of us. Help me out, ya'll.

We'll sing backup.

You have a story to tell
A novel you keep in a drawer.

Old sock drawer.

You have a painting to paint,
But you're lazy like an old french whore.

Je suis whore!

You have a movie to make,
Shrinky dunks you can bake,
But you best grad a stake 'cause
In sweep the vampires,
In creep the vampires,
Knee deep in vampires,
Filling you with
Doubt, insecurity
'Bout what your art should be,
In sweep the vampires,
Die vampire!

You sketched that turtle you saw
In an ad on late night cable TV.

Tippy Turtle!

But your 4th grade teacher said "You can't draw!"
Oh, those vampires won't let you be.

Fuck you Miss Johnson! Word.

And when they come run like hell
See those bats in your bel-
fry. Then call on Van Helsing,

In swoosh the vampires,
in whoosh the vampires,
Baba ganoush. All the vampires,
Filling you with thoughts of self-consciousness,
Feelings of worthlessness,
They'll make you second-guess,
Die vampire!

There are so many vampires
Inside, outside and nationwide.
It helps to recognize them
With this vampire hunting guide!

Listen closely, a vampire is any person or thought or feeling that stands between you and your creative self expression, but they can assume many seductive forms. Here's a few of them.

Tell us, Susan!

First up is your Pigmy Vampire. They'll swarm around your head like gnats, and say things like: "Your teeth need whitening." "You went to state school?" "You sound weird." "Shakespeare... Sondheim... and Sedaris... did it before you and better than you." Or they might say that you cannot sing good enough to be in a musical. Or they might say... "Your song's derivative." To keep that song from you, but you tell them... Die Vampire, Die!

Brothers and sisters, next up is the Air Freshener Vampire. She might look like your mama or your old fat-ass, fat Aunt Fanny. If she smells something unpleasant in what you're creating, she'll urge you to psssst it with some pine-fresh smell-em-ups. The Air Freshener Vampire doesn't want you to write about bad language, blood, or blow jobs. She wants you to clean it up and clean it out, which will leave your work toothless, gutless and crotchless. But you'll be left with two tight paragraphs on kittens that your grandma would be so proud of. You look at that Air Freshener Vampire in her fat-ass, fat old fucking face and you say "Morte, Vampir. Morte."

The last vampire is the mother of all vampires and that is the Vampire of Despair. It'll wake you up at 4am to say things like "Who do you think you're kidding?" "You look like a fool." "No matter how hard you try you'll never be good enough." Why is it, if some dude walked up to me on the subway and said these things, I would think he was a mentally ill asshole, but if the vampire inside my head says it, it's the voice of reason?

You have a story to tell,
Pull your novel out of that sock drawer!
You have a painting to paint,
You best paint it and then paint some more!
Oh baby you must escape
Then grab it by the nape
Of its neck, by the trachea,
Fuckin' break it,
Go on drive the stake in,
Yeah there's not mistakin',
Now you're shakin' bakin'!

Die vampire, I said die vampire
I said now die vampire, die!

In fly the vampires.
Oh my, the vampires,
Then die the vampires,
Filling you with
Life, creativity,
All that your arts should be
Out go the vampires
Die Vampire, Die Vampire,
Die Vampire, DIE!

Simple (Nine)

I went to an audition for Wonderland yesterday and was cut. I didn't want it anyway, and I didn't mind being cut, but I think I was the only one who got cut and that's weird. It also meant I had to wait hours in the middle of nowhere for my friend who had to stay for the dance call. That was annoying. I hated the day. Then I met up with a friend at Yonge and St Clair pub where I ate fajitas. It was pretty dead and karaoke night. There was a small group who kept singing all the songs because, well, there was no one else there. This creepy dude who works there kept coming up to our table to ask us to sing but we weren't interested. Finally we decided to go over and I did my old karaoke standard All By Myself. They loved me and one girl asked me to sing Phantom Of The Opera with her. They dug that too.

It's funny how your day can just turn around like that. Those people were not the people I was trying to impress that day, but in the end their accolades mattered.

Sometimes I think I'd be better off just staying in Ottawa, getting a government job, and doing amateur theatre for the rest of my life. I honestly think I would be happy doing that. I'd have lots of money and I'd get to do all the shows I want. But then I remember that I'm not good at anything else and I need to be paid to perform. Also that there I cannot meet anyone in Ottawa that is not ugly, so the chances of me settling down there are unlikely. Also that I hate Ottawa and need to leave it now.

Disappear (The Secret Garden)

Being a closeted homo only to his father, and up until recently, entire family, I have become an expert in how to do all the dirty little things you want to do online (porn, blogging, what have you) without getting caught. All you have to do is delete your browsing history. Just go to tools, click option and delete history. Plain, simple, easy. It deletes any record of the addresses you've visited online from that skinny long rectangle where you type in addresses (what's it called?) Anyway, I do it everytime I use to computer. I don't need no one getting all up in my bid-niz. Have you blog address saved in your favourites? If you don't want someone to accidentally read it, get rid of it.

Choose To Be Happy (Grey Gardens)

I am SO not jumping on this "I'm depressed" bandwagon. Especially if we're blaming it on the weather. Fuck that. Snow is a miracle. I love it when it's cold outside. We get to bundle up, get red cheeks and noses, look fabulous in lovely sweaters, and then come home, put on our sweats and curl up in a warm blanket and watch TV. I'll take this weather over sweating for no reason in the hot summer days.

Stop being depressed! You live in New York/Switzerland/Toronto! You have a boyfriend! You're having sex! You're in a play! You're directing a play! You're hot! You have good friends! You have me!

*I wrote the title of this blog and then wrote the blog and edited it. When I looked back up at the title just before publishing it, I saw that it read "Choose To Be Busy." Is that my brain telling me to stop being lazy?

When A Wooer Goes A-Wooing (The Yeomen Of The Guard)

Alright, alright, quit badgering me. I'll tell, I'll tell. But only in short form. I also have no idea what the title means. It's late. I'm a-tired.

He comes into the restaurant. Flirts with his server. Flirts with me. Massages his server. Massages me. Ends up massaging partons at surrounding tables. Other servers. Asks his server to ask me what I'm doing later. Wants to know when I'll be off work. Tells me he'll be at the club. I tell him I'll be there. I'm not that interested, but it was a good massage and I hate being massaged. I go to the club after work. See him. He's too far and hard to get to. I wait for the stupid drag queens to stop, for the dancing to begin. The drag act ends. The dancing begins. He's gone.

Later (A Little Night Music)

I'm too tired to blog right now. I'll tell you my story later. It's not that interesting.

I hope DansyAntsyPantsy's move to New York went well. Or is going well. Or is going to go well.

I can't effing wait to see you guys next weekish.

I may have used this title before, but my body's too tired to care and double check right now.