Thank GOD all the men & women are NOT modern actors. I'm standing in this small theater...or should I say teatro, my jaw to the floor & my eyes two full moons smashed into my skull. [Enter Vampire Vic] "Maybe you could pretend like you know what's going on...I'm going to hear about this later." In that 'I'm about drive back to Houston this very instant' voice, I respond, "Don't tell ME how to act!" I can't help it that actors are freaks, and I was forced to watch them 'warm up' for their show by clodding around the stage one time acting like chimpanzes one time acting like unicorns. Then the stretching. "Why do they have to stretch?" I innocently inquire. All I received for about 10 seconds was this 'don't question the artists' look. Then I was told of the ways of theater...how one must be completely attuned to ones body while on stage. "Oh" I respond in typical 'I'm NOT impressed' Susan style. I was kind of pissed for being told how to act...but that's because it's that time...so I got over it. The play was really good. Vampire Vic didn't write this one, but a friend of his did. He helped with a few scenes. I was impressed.
The rest of the weekend was fabulous. We met a couple of his friends at the Angry Dog in Deep Ellum...where I got my tattoo...for lunch Saturday. They were all very artistic types...asking me if I was into film as well. I say straight up no. V.V. quickly announces that I write...in fact I just started really writing and I want to write novels. I suppose to prove to them that I in fact am artsy enough to hang. I didn't mind...anyone that wants to introduce me to their friends as a writer...I am MORE than happy with. V.V. is telling be all about his life...how he went to Booker T. for high school. That's the HSPVA of Dallas. How he's been to Spain by himself for a visit. The different plays he's written. Life at SMU. Telling the stories of the art on his walls. Mimes on a roof top. Mexican pyramids. I was in heaven. Watched the news on tv...that's it. Sat on the couch. Drank a bottle of Shiraz. And went to bed. He's always writing in his head...but he'll say whatever it is that's going on up there. I love it. I'm acutally not the freaky one. Back to bed. We're laying there and I'm running my fingers along his britsly chest. Quietly, he whispers, "You know, if some other girl was doing that exact same thing...it wouldn't feel nearly as good." Like butter on a hot stove top I melted into that sentence. Usually I try to guard myself against cheap talk, but it was just delivered so well my Venusian roots grabbed hold of my legs and wouldn't let me move. I hope there's a next time...
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