Moving is expense as hell. I put my foot down last year as I was crankily fighting with our mattress trying to get it down two flights of stairs from my old apartment and up one to the apartment Mark and I are in now. (Whoever invented mattresses: First off thank you, because sleeping on them is a lot better than when cave people had to make beds out of leaves and hair and berries. But do you think you could have come up with an easier way to carry them? Not doing humanity any favors here.)
Anyways, pools of sweat were dripping down my face as I looked at Mark and said, "Light of my life, it would be my preference for the future if we would enlist the help of several capable men via a professional moving company to assist in all of our moving endeavors."
Okay... so maybe it wasn't quite that polite. But I avowed, as God as my witness, I would never move mattresses again. So as our move to the beach approaches, I started calling moving companies for quotes. I had no idea what to expect, but holy balls it's pricey. Apparently, since last summer proved I am capable if not willing to move crap from apartment to apartment, I should go into the moving business because I would make a killing. We are moving a minimal amount of stuff and it is still going to be over $1,000. I just keep having to remind myself that it will be worth it when I can point and laugh (and then shell out a crap ton of money to) the professional guys that will be moving all of our stuff instead of me.
As you can deduce, we finally locked down someplace to live at the beach. That makes two out of our three Components of Major Life Change: Mark getting a job, me getting a job, and finding somewhere to call our humble abode. Now it's just up to me to secure some kind of occupation. We all know that's not easy right now, but a small coastal island that totals 36 square miles? Damn near impossible. I realize I am just going to have to get down there and schmooze for a bit and hope something pans out.
In the meantime, I recently got inspired to start a new project, hence the blog neglect. It started when I went home for Father's Day this past weekend. Mom got us tickets to a small community theatre play called Till Beth Do Us Part for no other reason then the name. We joked that even if it was bad it would still be great fun.
So. Not. True.
We didn't know what to expect as we walked into the theatre, but we almost stopped dead in our tracks seeing entered the smallest theatre in world (I am guessing). The seating area was the same size as the stage, with enough chairs to house an unheard of mere 75 people. We nestled into our places as the show started.
I can only describe what happened for the next two hours as a trifecta of utter, utter sadness and failure: horrible acting, horrible directing, horrible writing. Now keep in mind I am a total supporter of community theatre, having had one of the best experiences of my life being in Little Shop of Horrors. But this was just unforgivable.
The premise of the show: a husband and wife's lives are shaken up when the wife hires a southern belle (Beth) to organize her life, but Beth's presence only drives the husband into an aggravated bonkers. We realize at the close of the first act after Beth tricks the wife into kicking husband out of the house that she has sinister motives and is just trying to oust the wife out of a job. The second act couldn't even be saved by a man cross-dressing as part of the husband's counteractive plan. It was overacted badly and the writing left a lot to be desired to say the least. I wanted to laugh, I tried to laugh. But when you feel a part of your soul dying it's not really that funny.
But not everyone seemed to feel the way my family did as we looked at each other trying not to let our mutual feeling of disgust show on our faces. Oh, no. There were two couples in their seventies sitting behind us, and one of the women giggled through the entire show. I kept being torn between turning around and saying, "Whatever you're on, I want some" or "WHAT IS SO EFFING FUNNY?" On top of this she had the desire to verbalize things about the play as she figured them out, but she was a couple of beats behind everyone else. At one point when she blurted, "That's a man dressed as a woman!" after about five minutes of him being on stage I wanted to pull my hair out.
We jetted out of there as soon as it was over and railed on it the entire 35-minute drive home. At some point I likened it to a festering turd in the plumbing of life.
"I could write something funnier than that," I moaned.
"You should!" My mom and sister said almost simultaneously.
This got me thinking. No one has told me my blog sucks yet, and I like making people laugh. I have certainly had enough crazy characters and stories come into my life that I can retell. Goodness knows I am going to have some time on my hands with no job prospects at the moment. So I am going to try my hand at writing a T.V. script. This may be ridiculous and unfruitful, but I need a project that is a little ridiculous. I've been fleshing out ideas, figuring out ways I can weave some real experiences Mark and I have had with some amped-up what ifs. We'll just see how it goes, because why not aim for the impossible?
*Cue inspirational music, applause and roll credits*