The Curse of BBQ Sauce

Good morning (afternoon?), NaBloPoMo! I’ve got a few good hours of sleep under my belt (and one or two hours of indigestion and night-terrors), so let’s get this show on the road!

If you had arrived a month earlier, NaBloPoMo, I could have regaled you with tale after tale of my experiences in Carrie the musical (Can my voice survive this crazy, range-y score? Is there a blood recipe that will both look good and not blind our lead? WILL BETTY BUCKLEY EVER TWEET ME BACK??*), but alas, we closed this past weekend. I’m bummed, as I always am to some degree when leaving a show behind, but this one’s extra-depressing because it was such a personal success. I got cast in this role about nine months before we opened, which was plenty of time to gestate and birth a big, healthy anxiety-baby, but I actually managed to keep my crippling, omnipresent stage fright to a minimum on this go ’round, which was both a surprise and a delight. I’m a much better singer when panic-based gremlins aren’t holding my diaphragm hostage, as they so frequently do.

It was also pretty neat to finally work in San Francisco proper, and with a new-to-me company. My resume definitely lacks some diversity when it comes to where I’ve performed, and I’m happy whenever I get the opportunity to help rectify that.

I’ve got nothing really lined up next, and that’s a bit…unsettling. I mean, “nothing” is a relative term; I’m doing a reading of a new musical in early January, and then a one-night-only, one-woman cabaret at the end of the same month. But this is the first time in quite a while that there are no full-on productions on the horizon (which is entirely my own fault for never auditioning for anything ever). Anyway, WHO WANTS TO HIRE ME? Let me class up your wedding/birthday/funeral/corporate-cocktail-party-slash-orgy with a few smoooooth tunes! Or maybe just hire me to hang around your house and pretend to be your insane, overbearing mother! I can scream/belt at you about all sorts of things, like being a vaudeville star, or Jesus! That’s definitely my niche.

Photo by Erik Scanlon

This is what happens when you eat ribs without a poncho, Carrie. I WARNED YOU.

*Yes, yes, and sadly, no.

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