saint-louise's Diaryland Diary
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Seattle meets Izzard. Saint Louise looks on.
You know, I guess I should say something more about my trip to Seattle a couple of weekends ago. I mentioned it three entries back, within a joke that indicated that traveling to one of my favorite cities and seeing one of my favorite entertainers perform live was absolutely nothing to incite interest, but apparently my extra-dry-red-wine humor is a tad too subtle.
Or people speed-read my diary a lot more than I had previously assumed.
Or people don�t really give a wanker�s gob about Seattle, or Eddie Izzard, or our combined presences in Seattle in the same room with a few hundred other people sweating our asses off due to a lack of central air and everyone else�s tendency to exude as much body heat in a two hour stretch as possible. God knows, I wasn�t the one mucking up the air by way of do-it-yourself humidity, despite the energy I was expending by bitching incessantly about it.
We all realize that uncomfortable situations are made so much more pleasant by that one person whose goal seems to be to grouse until everyone else leaps upon her and kills her. The satisfaction that is then experienced is beyond description.
Ahem.
I certainly wouldn�t have been at all surprised if I had found out that the building had been swathed in plastic wrap during the performance, the better to keep the heat and perspiration to a maximum and slip the audience more quickly into heat exhaustion and coma. Then, a gang of evil pickpocket masterminds would creep out of hiding and rob us all blind.
That saran wrap/mugging ploy is getting so old.
But Eddie handled it all pretty well. The heat. The idiotic, persistent cat calls from certain sections of the audience (no, it wasn�t me�stop looking at me like that). And those really fabulous heels he was wearing. I could see me, kidding myself into thinking that heels that height aren�t really as difficult as they appear, attempting to don a pair, and then being able to balance on them for 2.36 seconds before the cat breathes on me and I go over like redwood, managing to sprain both ankles, pull a disc, and catch a case of influenza all at once.
Damn those transvestites. Always emphasizing my lack of femininity like no woman ever has.
Plus, Eddie�s tits are better than mine. Couldn�t he at least have left me the breast advantage?
So�OH and I did a lot of other fun stuffs in Seattle as well. Visited my brother and his partner. Ate a lot of really good food. Went to the Space Needle, and the butterfly room in the Pacific Science Center, and Pike Place Market, and the aquarium. Checked out the Russian Foxtrot submarine. And, for good measure, got �Hi! I�m a lameass tourist! Punch me!� tattooed on our foreheads.
Stunning. Truly.
When I got back from vacation, Work was waiting in the bushes by my front door. I remember it jumped out at me, pealing off a high-pitched, wordless scream of war, and then everything went black. I came to with the immediate thoughts, �I must update my diary!� and �What happened to my pants?�
So now you know my pain. Gainful employment. What a bitch.
If anyone has any suggestions about what I can whine about next, lay �em on me. As evidenced on a regular basis: you know I�m good for it.
1:45 p.m. - 2003-09-18
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------