Anyway--the last 38 hours or so have really sucked, but I'm doing what I can. I had felt The Sick coming when I left work for the WYSIWYG Show on Tuesday, and once we got backstage it hit pretty much full-on.
This was, of course, after hours of Sleazy and I sitting backstage giggling with makeup and wigs rehearsing over and over and saying things like, "Oh my God what the FUCK are we DOING?"
It happens often. Like when I nominated Dru for Pope at The Tank or when I advocted my right to sell ecstasy to NYU students. I come up with this idea that I'm convinced is brilliant, and then once all the excitement dies down from thinking it up I start realizing, "Oh crap, this is not going to work at all." And then I die comedy death and drink too much.
Sometimes it works marvelously, though. And, much to our surprise, the audience went for it this time. We were shocked. Sleazy and I were sitting backstage in our costumes listening to the crowd's reactions to the other performers--what jokes they were going for. Overthinking, as is our custom.
"Oh God, we're going to bomb."
"This is going to be AWFUL."
Fidgeted and cursed and my throat closed up and my head started pounding and Sleazy kept saying things like, "How do you keep getting me into weird shit like this??"
Alright. Here we go. Time to go be the goth band The Mope.
For those of you who are Julie's Pants Enthusiasts those are, in fact, Julie's pants strung over Sleazy's bottom half. He was adjusting his junk all night. But just his junk. "Is it disturbing that my girlfriend and I have the same body type?"
I ignored this question, and instead fussed over my own widening frame. "I'm too big to play a goth kid anymore. I need to either get way fatter or way skinnier. These shoulders betray me."
And OHMIGAWD I hate my thighs!!
Right on. It was fun, it went over well, the organizer invited me/us back, and we got a very nice e-mail from Ed Hamilton. Check his stuff out, live from the Chelsea Hotel. Very cool stuff, indeed.
Very sad that we didn't get to go hang out with everybody after the show, but I pretty much died on my feet as soon as we left the stage. And throwing up Tylenol PM in front of people is just a poor way to make a first impression.
Man. I want my mom to come bring me chicken soup and peeled oranges. Being sick without your mom is stupid.