Sweeney Has Come to Life

Helloooooooooo!!!

So, I have not been getting much sleep lately. I looked like crap, and I've been studying my brains out, as well as rehearsing a lot for our upcoming production of Sweeney Todd. Needless to say, I needed a break. Well, I found a time when I was [finally] alone and I could go to sleep. I milked that sucka up for all it was worth, setting a new record: a six hour nap.

It's the day before show night, and the cast has gathered once more to practice the final scene, where (SPOILER!!!) Sweeney dies. Well, apparently, someone was a bit upset with the actor who played Sweeney (which would be SO far-fetched, seeing how this guy is fun in real life). So, everything froze, and I guess I remembered something that happened prior to that night. It was S.K., the actress who plays Mrs. Lovett, telling a group of us that she was going to switch the razor for a real one. This way, she could finally kill her sworn enemy, G.R.

I couldn't do it. I was like, "DUDE! He's my roommate! (He's totally not my roommate)." That didn't stop her. I reminded everyone that we technically would be an accessory to a murder if we let her go through with this. No one cared. So, I left the room.

Well, the final scene was going on in me and G.R.'s room, and seeing how I knew what was about to go down, I left. I heard the music come to a climax, and I closed the door of another room. I knew what that meant. I blacked out.

I woke up again, and ran away from the dorm, knowing that the killer had left already to try and make her getaway. The cops were apathetic for some reason, so I used that time to have a meeting in S.K.'s room with the rest of us regarding the next steps.

I wanted to flee. Others wanted to stay. Still others were hitting on me (for some reason). I decided to leave.

I went on the run, guilt-ridden, kind of missing my now dead roommate/co-star. I found a place down in the South (east coast), an underground trailer park of sorts. There I found a former history teacher. Wow. He really let himself go. I can't complain though, so I make do, and make a life in a self-exile in the sewers of the South.

Time to finish my day!

The Uncooked Chicken Dinner

Winner, winner, chicken dinner. This phrase has been [overused] by my lovely nephew (on suspicion that my sister put him up to it...love you!) and it hadn't crossed my mind for months.

Until this morning.

I wake up at a table with friends (I believe they are my new "big sibs" in the theater group, P, S, J, as well as my "bros," MH, D, T, and MS). We are having a blast at this fancy restaurant (crisp white tablecloths, wine, candlelight...beautiful) when our [attractive] waiter comes to take our order. Everyone gets either salad, soup, or steak. I, however, will have the chicken. This huge piece of tender chicken. Mmmm...It's almost like a chicken steak. That's how big. So the waiter smiles at us and goes off to get our food and we continue discussing whatever is on our minds. Minutes later, the waiter returns with our meals.

He places the salads and soups down. Simple pleasures, look delicious. Then the steaks. My mouth begins to water. Finally, my chicken. Without looking at it, I immediately fall in love with it. There's one small problem: it's completely raw. The waiter does the typical, "Is there anything else I can get for you?" I smile and say, "Nope! Thank you!!" He smiles and walks off. I put my plate to the side, and the group begins to converse.

After a while, I get hungry, and grab my chicken. Almost as if I had forgotten, I am baffled at its rawness. "Guys, my chicken's raw."

"Yeah, we know! We were wondering when you were going to send it back!"

"Here, I'll try to eat it." I took a bite, cautiously, like when you try a steak that is a bit rarer than what you had asked for. I spit it out. Signaling the waiter, I wonder if this would ruin our connection. He says with an eager joy, "What is it, sir?"

"Hey...I hate to be knitpicky, but is there any way you could take this back and just throw it on the grill a bit longer...?"

His electric smile immediately turns into a disappointed frown. He takes my plate and takes it back to the kitchen in a huff. I am in awe. I give my friends a look that says, What did I do? They ignore me. Suddenly, we have a guest. It's someone from my past, someone who I have loose ends with...I just stare at them. They expect me to say hello. I do not. That would be faking. I'm done being fake. Why is that waiter mad at me? Where's my chicken? I'm hung---

I wake up to the sound of cars driving in the rain.