am i nervous yet?
As I explained to Snufkina as I stuck my head in the grocery freezer case, yes and no. I'm not nervous about the actual dancing part of tomorrow night or Saturday. I am nervous about the events themselves, whether they come off as planned (if planned is quite the word; I'm not sure. "Aggregated" might be better), whether we'll make back our investment. A two-night stand is a big commitment. We need lots of people to come through the door, and I have so much more ownership of the event this year than I did last year that if they don't, I'll be disappointed.
Earring sent out a list of things we needed to know about tomorrow, like, don't forget your ID and remember that once you're in, you're not leaving until the end of the night. I don't remember this, but last year a member of the troupe forgot her ID, and had to run home to get it.
Home to Oakland, that is. So Earring's taking no chances on absent dancers this year.
She also sent a handy printable checklist of things to remember to bring--costume pieces, makeup, and "Acoutramonts"--took me a moment to figure out what those last might be.
But the part that I liked best, besides the chance to mock her spelling (I never said I was a nice person) was her suggestion that we bring something to ground ourselves, like a teddy bear if we had one. And I thought that was so sweet! Sweet of her (and completely counter to her tough-girl persona), and a sweet image; a dozen bare-bellied babes in sexy-gritty costumes, makeup, and tattoos. Each clutching a bedraggled stuffed animal of indeterminate color, maybe with an eye or an ear or a nose loved off, stuffing poking out of a worn spot. I mean, come ON, we're Ultra Gypsy! We're tough and urban and dark! Grrrrrrr!
No, I'm not bringing my bear. He's too large. And shy.
But I am debating a little collection of items that either remind me of, or were given to me by, people I care about. Some Entenman's chocolate chip cookies. A black-and-red carved Chinese bracelet. A handkerchief. A teensy tarot card. My costume pants, which I conveniently need to bring anyway. A can of papaya juice and a battered copy of Portnoy's Complaint to read during the slow moments.
I am all set.
