Three auditions in the very near future. One at five this afternoon, another at half past seven. The third and final is tomorrow at noon, a gothling fashionista who replied to the Tribe casting call, some I'd probably already know if I was even remotely involved with the goth scene anymore. Then I have to decide. Meep.

5:30pm

One down, two to go. I liked her a lot and can totally see her in the role, and she seemed enthusiastic about all the right things. Unfortunately, she's also out of town from tomorrow through Tuesday, making her in absentia for the two big rehearsals, the ones where we'll be working out blocking and all those minor details. That is a very not-good thing. On the plus side, she actually lives near The Dark Room—the other auditioners (auditionees?) live in The Beast, and beyond—meaning she's much more available for potential last minute and/or after-hours sessions. That, and she has this nice weird intensity which would serve the role well. We read a scene, probably the most emotional of the entire play, and she really sold it. By her own admission, she momentarily forgot that we were sitting in Seattle's Best Coffee with at least a dozen people in the immediate vicinity, most of whom turned to look as she practically screamed at me. Hell yeah.

Of course, this is me. I'll probably like all three of them equally, and have to flip a three-sided coin or something.

6:13pm

For every problem, there is a solution. Even if it is wrong, it's still a solution.

It's taking longer than I would have liked, but I have a couple prospects for the new lead in my Twilight Zone episode. This is exactly what I didn't want to have to do: audition people. Strangers, no less. Worse, I'm going to have to turn someone down, and I hate doing that. (Weep for me, damn you! I have it so rough!) Still, in spite of the time crunch—the show is exactly a month from now—I'm forcing myself to not just go with the first person to show interest. After all, I want to do it right. The increased stress makes it all the more important.

Sunday afternoon was a readthrough of Dav'id's episode, in which I have a bit part. I'm playing myself, so I was able to veto the use of the word "honey." From there, Anamoly and I walked to the Eureka Valley Rec Center, where the Sisters had relocated their Easter festivities due to the continued potential of water falling from the sky. Around Dolores and 18th, we encountered Jesus on his way to the Hunky (Himself) Contest. Like many people, he didn't know about the reolcation from Dolores Park to the Castro. So, we walked the rest of the way with him, probably appearing in the background of more than a few pictures. Sadly, by the time we got to Center, the Contest was over, even though it wasn't technically scheduled to begin yet. Such, as I say, is showbiz.

Vash was already there, and we left just as the aforementioned potential water started falling from the sky. Though we both had work to do, and I was hoping to get a few hours at home before Bad Movie Night, a desire for virus-killing soup lead us into the Richmond for Spices II. I hadn't been for several months, and Vash had never been at all. It was worth the weather. Few things are.

Bad Movie Night was a lot of fun. Good crowd, and the movie (Road House) was as perfect as I'd hoped. We're starting a new monthly series later this week, Bad Porn Night. Self-explanatory, I think.

Vash and I were both feeling icky on Monday morning, so we called in sick to work. It may have looked from the outside like playing hooky, but really, it wasn't. As fires burned in the evening, I set my cell phone to silent and we went to Wonderland for the night. The fires were still there this morning. I'm sneezing even more now than I did yesterday, but, of course, I went to work. Two sick days in a row, when I'm not actively hurling my guts or running a fever in the triple digits? Yeah, that'll happen.

11:36pm

Sometimes, you've gotta roll the hard six.

Goddamn you, Dalton. You have a point.

Yeah, I had a hunch this was coming:

"Quit crying. Please, quit crying about the rain," said [a Seattle resident of 35 years] who has almost no sympathy for San Francisco residents whining about a measly six weeks of rain.

I post-dated my check to the IRS for April 15 (a partial payment along with an extension), yet it's already gone through. Guess neither them nor Wells Fargo noticed the date. Don't know what I was expecting, really.

Maddy was working the Center for Sex and Culture's gallery for Gotham's Fantasies on Wednesday night, so I swung by and we rehearsed my Twilight Zone script. Afterwards, I hooked up with Vash (who'd been at a play rehearsal of her own) at the Eagle. While we were there, a genial but drunk fellow glommed onto us, and didn't let us go until we actually excused ourselves and left. Seems to happen a lot there. Friendly establishment, it is.

Thursday was yet another rehearsal at Nell's, this time me, Maddy and Nell. The third castmember, Dav'id, will be joining us next week. It's coming along fairly nicely, especially considering that the show is barely twenty minutes long and doesn't open for a month.

My landline voicemail (which I'm strongly considering cancelling since I'm a dedicated cell zombie now) was flashing when I got home Wednesday night. The gym trainer's supervisor had told me that he'd left a message for me, so I didn't bother to check it, since I'd already spoken to him in person. Finally listening to the voicemail when I got home from rehearsal at Nell's Thursday night, I discovered that not only was there the message from the gym, there was also one from Erin at The Dark Room, offering me the use of the theater for rehearsal on Thursday. Whoops. Mea culpa.

As hoped, my new locker is in a less stressful area, far away from the person I'd begun to consider my arch-nemesis. Y'know that feeling, where someone hasn't done a damn thing to you yet they make your hackles rise? (Of course you don't.) I've also started using the conditioner they provide in the shower, as well as the gel and hairspray on the counter. I intend to get the most out of my fees, damnit.

I've been going to the gym every weekday for two weeks straight now, but I still don't fit into any of my size 32 pants at home. I hate how long this sort of thing takes. However long it takes is how long I'll do it, and then I'll keep on going.

The rep who signed me up is learning how high-maintenance I can be; not only did I ask to be moved to a different locker in a less populated area (a request she was able to grant, yay!), but I also pointed that I have yet to recieve the promised phone call regarding my complimentary session with a personal trainer, damnit. Just as well, perhaps, since I was able to specify the one I wanted, a girl. If my doctor is gonna be male, my trainer sure as hell ain't.

I didn't forget my mother's birthday this year. Go me. I still think I had a valid excuse last year, being in the thick of the breakup with Maddy and all.

Had a one-on-one Twilight Zone rehearsal this evening with Nell, who's playing the other lead opposite Maddy. It's going to be a really great show.

Returned home to find a message from San Francisco General Hospital. They want me to make an appointment for a pap test. I'm not sure if that's validation or not, but it make me laugh, and that's good enough.