Theatre, Baby, and, well, Hair
Last night I went to an event for Porchlight Theater, a celebration of their new space. I’m not sure what I expected, but I was definitely anticipating enough people that a girl who auditioned for them only once would be allowed to grab some free food and wine relatively unnoticed. Instead, there were about 15-20 people, most of them dressed up for the ribbon cutting and clearly close friends with the theatre. No record skipped when my unfamiliar, jeans and bright yellow leg warmers-wearing self turned up, but I was definitely observed heading to the wine table. (As a side note, finding merlot as the only red wine selection is always disappointing.)
After visiting the food table, I sat and sipped my merlot, staring repetitively at the various show posters to avoid conversation with the other obvious free-wine vagabonds like myself. Over the top of my plastic cup, I noticed an unshaven, sweatshirt-clad stranger heading my way. There is a certain type of middle-aged man that wears glasses that scream, “I am poorly socialized!” My new friend wore a pair of exactly this sort of glasses.
“Is that Brie like the cheese?” he said as a greeting, referring to my nametag and the most overused query in response to my name.
“It is indeed,” I replied.
Unbidden, he took a seat and began to chatter. I learned that he was on the Porchlight email list because,
“I do thea-ate-er walking tours around downtown.”
I learned also that there is a professional guild of some nature for people who lead walking tours. So, between the guild and the email lists of various “thea-ate-ers,” my friend was well connected.
Halfway through the bolting of my second glass of wine, the promised musical selections from their new show finally appeared. Luckily, as they ended and my friend began his monologue anew, I remembered that I had forgotten to put a quarter in my meter. This was an actual life event, as opposed to merely an excuse, but it was so effective that I plan on using it in the future. I took my leave of my new friend, threw on my jacket, and quietly praised the Dept. of Revenue as I arrived at my unticketed car.
In a much more pleasant activity last night, I watched Bringing Up Baby for the first time – well at least the first hour. Hilarious! My favorite line when a fluffy robe-wearing Cary Grant bellows, “Because I went gay all of a sudden!” into an old woman’s face. I also love the way Katherine Hepburn says, “Leopard.” I never knew that word had so many syllables.
In less romantic news, it is often the plight of women to find their hair in annoying locations. The worst of these is stuck in one’s bra, resulting in a great deal of itching and looking and then reaching down one’s shirt in public. Sometimes hair even winds up in underwear. I shed like a banshee; it happens.
Occasionally, you will also find friend’s hair somewhere on or in your clothes. My most frequent friend-hair-finding is from Elissa, whose long, dark locks differ so much from my own and identify her as the culprit. Elissa, however, is a close friend, and finding her hair isn’t such a big deal.
As I said, I shed a lot (Ana J once found my hair in our fridge), so I’m pretty blasé about loose hairs. But I will say this, finding a hair in your underwear that isn’t yours and isn’t identifiable as that of a close friend is really, really disturbing.
