The Daily Dose (February 14, 2012)

Happy Valentine’s Day!  I don’t really want to blog today because if I am really telling the truth, I still feel el crappo from a bizarre stomach bug that struck me down on Saturday after a week long stint with a sinus infection.  You may or may not remember that Beatrix (who will from now on be referred to as Typhoid Mary) came home with a stomach thing on Tuesday.  I really thought I’d dodged the bullet.  I mean–how can something take 4 days to incubate?  Huh?  Huh?  I tell you, I was mad.  Then, just to keep the joy alive, Charlotte was struck down on Sunday, and sure enough, earlier today, Rob Meffe (Rupert McFee) was hard hit.  He tries to play it off like he’s fine (he still feels like he has to be Superman after all that pancreas business over the summer), but I can tell he feels rotten.

Typhoid Mary asks us all if we are sick and says, “Oh, honey.”  It would be cute if I weren’t in such a fog.

This reminds me of the Little House On the Prairie when the whole family comes down with—what?  I forget.  Malaria?  Something.  They blame it on the watermelon that is growing by the river.  Or maybe they blame it on flies.

Malaria from the watermelon flies?

Okay, I forget, but don’t get mad at me because I am

1)  In a fog.

2)  Trying to remember details from a book I read in 1976.

Because no one really wants an entire blog post about a stomach flu, I will keep writing about it.  It kind of reminds me of a party I attended over Christmas where we were all swapping stomach flu stories, and honestly, it was awful and nauseating, yet we couldn’t seem to stop.  Even when it was clear we should.

So here’s more.

The good news is it wasn’t a traditional stomach flu.  Only Beatrix actually got sick.  This was more of an acute headache, extreme fatigue, all-food-looks-and-smells-disgusting kind of flu.

Hey!  It was just like being pregnant!

Typhoid Mary was a happy camper throughout, distributing medicine (water) and feeling our heads for temperatures.

Just to make things complicated, I was sure I didn’t have the flu, but that I was instead having a reaction to an antibiotic I was taking.  I’m not a big pill popper, and I very rarely take antibiotics, but if you let me even have a glance at the side effects label, I will contract every single one of them.  Dizziness?  I’m falling over.  Drowsiness?  I’m asleep on the couch.  Shortness of breath?  I’m gasping for air.  As a general rule, all side effect literature is taken off of the medicine bottles prior to me reading them.  Rob looks them over (he doesn’t really, he just says he does to humor me) and keeps an eye on me for complications (he doesn’t do that either).  I do think he would rush me to a doctor or at least place a call if he saw me foaming at the mouth. He would.  I think he would.

So hey–I am only 500 words in, but I am already pooped (no pun intended) so this is going to be a super short post.

Although I would really like to tell you about an audition I went to today where I was:

1)  Completely and totally unprepared because I’ve been asleep since Thursday.

2)  Sweating profusely as my body fought to stay vertical.

I’m sure I got the job.  I mean, who DOESN’T want to hire all that?

Anyhoo–I left you with a horrible cliffhanger about the choreographer Gillian Lynne.  As a reminder (or a clarification) this was on the first-ever video blog (Vlog) which I filmed on Thursday night in an extremely high tech shoot (and by “high tech” I mean me holding my iPhone), with my gay husband Jaaaake Brent.  Who, as he told you, is single.  It’s Valentine’s Day.  Surely someone needs a cute Valentine?  I think the Vlog posts might become a Friday regular?  I’m sure the security staff at The Marriott Marquis will be thrilled to hear that news.

Seriously.  So tired.  What is it with the flu and exhaustion?  It’s like your body just goes, NOPE, you have to go to sleep right NOW zzzzzzzzzz.

Gilly

Back to Gillian.

Didn’t you think my bangs were too short?  Seriously.  The good news is they will grow out and when they do they will be gray and so I have that to look forward to.

Gillian Lynne is a fancy, fancy choreographer, and given the number of dance classes I skipped in college, I have absolutely no business knowing her.  If you can believe it I have actually been in two Gillian shows, CATS and PHANTOM, and Jacob and I could tell Gilly stories (very insider-y to call her Gilly) for hours.  Here’s a fun fact.  During CATS rehearsals she would say (in her British accent),  “Come along my little pussies.”  That’s right, Gilly called us pussies, and that is very, very insider-y CATS.  Welcome to the junkyard (more CATS insider lingo–”The Junkyard” was our set.)

Okay, well, like I said, I was dying to get a picture with her–because–who wouldn’t?  She’s Gilly and I’m a Broadway closing cast pussy and that needs to be documented for all time.  The party was on a pier and a boat (docked) on the Hudson River.  Just in case you are picturing a fishing dock and a canoe, I am here to tell you the pier had several stories and the boat was a dinner cruiser size.  The party was giant.  There were probably—–oh I have no idea—-other CATS people (Peggy, Jacob) weigh in here—-1,000 people there?  The show ran for 18 years, all the casts and crew and orchestra and investors and friends, and industry insiders were there.  It was huge.  Gillian was

If I don't look like this, I might as well be serving her ham.

the co-director with Trevor Nunn, so you can imagine, she was in demand.  Everyone wanted to talk to her and have their picture taken.  Basically, I won’t lie, I had to stalk her.  Finally, at the very end of the night, I got to Gillian and Rob had the camera ready.  I introduced myself to her, which might sound strange, but remember she was used to seeing us all in full-out CAT makeup, so without my orange and white face and wig, I could be a caterer for all she knew.

As I introduced my self and we stood and posed for the picture, she said, “So you were my  Jennyanydots tonight, hmmm?  Quite a little ham, you are, aren’t you?”  And the flash popped.

Gillian Lynne thinks I’m a ham.

Any really good blogger would have that picture for you, but I don’t because it is in my parent’s house in Cincinnati along with all my other CATS paraphanalia.  But at some point I will find it and post it.  This is what we call a long term cliff hanger.

And I am off to bed.  Tune in tomorrow for the next episode of our new game show, SMASH Fact or Fiction?

Look at that, this post wasn’t so short, huh?  I must really be on the mend.  I hope you are all washing your hands a lot and staying healthy.

(For SMASH Fact or Fiction–”The Callback” discussion, go here. It’s fun even if you haven’t watched it.)

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