By attractive, I mean of course that I attract crazy, irritating and very often loathesome human beings in much the same way cow doody attracts flies. The only reason John Mark Karr hasn't followed me home is that he hasn't met me. (And I'm not seven years old.)
Not for nothing, but that guy is a stone cold freak. I get the heebie jeebies just thinking about him.
This weekend I took my daughter away for a birthday celebration weekend. We shopped, we ate, we shopped and then we put on our cute clothes and headed to the Starlight Theatre to see RENT live. (As opposed to seeing it dead.)
Kitten and I love RENT. We know every word to every song, we've seen the movie and when she found out the musical was coming to Starlight, she wanted very much for the two of us to see it together. For her birthday, I bought tickets several weeks in advance because I'm clever like that. After all, buying tickets weeks in advance means you automatically get good seats.
Imagine my surprise when we arrived at the theatre to find that we were in row X....which as many of you may know, comes right before Y...which comes right before Z.
Z as in the last freaking letter of the alphabet. Z as way in the freaking back. I paid thirty-five bucks a pop for those tickets. In my cheap brain, I truly expected that thirty-five dollars each meant I'd get good seats. Crazy good seats. Seats within spitting distance of the stage, should I be suddenly overtaken with the desire to hock a loogie on a member of the cast for no good reason.
No matter though. I was all kinds of happy to be there and to experience the musical with my Kitten. All kinds of happy that is until the aforementioned crazy, irritating and very often loathesome human beings sat down in front of me in all my row X glory.
In front, to my left and within that highly coveted spitting distance sat four twenty-one year olds whose behavior truly made me want to spit on them.
I know they were all twenty-one, by the way, because of the newly legal zest for drinking beer only twenty-one year olds posess. Even though Starlight hands out a little flyer that reminds patrons to remain in their seats until intermission, the draw of the over-priced beer and the fact that their parents were no longer the boss of them meant that at least two members of the fab four had to get up approximately every 7 minutes to purchase more alcohol and to pee out the beer they purchased 7 minutes prior.
I hated them so much I wanted to hurt them in some sick, "we'll have film at 11" kind of way. More than once I was swishing my saliva around and trying to figure the exact trajectory so that I would hit one of them in the head without chancing any stray spray falling on an actual grown up.
But it doesn't stop with the four Animal House extras. Oh no. About five minutes before the curtain went up, the woman who was the actual honest-to-goodness model for the popular bobble-head dolls as seen on TV commercials, sat down right smack dab in front of me. The stage actually disappeared from my field of vision and was replaced by her gigantic, way too large for her body, cranium.
I again began vigorously swishing and wondering whether I could experience a direct spit hit while making it somehow seem that one of the keg standing kiddies was the guilty loogie lobber.
During the performance, which was completely brilliant even though I couldn't actually see it, the young drunks never ending need to get up and consume mass quantities meant that crazy big-head woman and her equally big behind had to repeatedly stand up to let them pass. I don't know what I did in a past life that so angered the theatre gods, but I do know I will never look at Levi's, beer or bobble heads the same way again.
Next time I take Kitten to see a musical will be different. I'm going to plan a little better. Maybe I'll check the seating chart before I order the tickets. Maybe I'll spend twice as much cash so as to ensure we get close enough to see 'em sweat.
Or maybe I simply need to start practicing my form so that when I spit, it actually goes somewhere rather than just running down my chin. Is there a class for that? Something online perhaps? A "Spitting for Dummies" book? What about, "How to Spit on Fat Heads and Drunk Kids and Not Get Caught Dot Com"?
Moving on now.....even though I would much rather sit here and come up with fun ways to learn to spit for distance.
How about, "The Secret to My Success" by Jack Spit?
OK. Quitting now. Really. I mean it this time. Cross my heat, spit in my eye.
Take me or leave me.
Copyright © 2004-2006, Sherri Bailey
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