I have a million-and-one
other things to be doing, yet I awoke this morning with blog bubbling inside
me, waiting to be released. (Coincidentally, it's a year to the day since I
posted my first entry on here, so happy blogbirthday Lizzie Rebooted!) Much of
interest is going on in the Life of Lizzie that I'd love to scribble about. Unfortunately,
it's not going to be simple. I'm up against the challenge of reporting incidents
without naming, upsetting nor misrepresenting the people involved. Not only
that, but I must consider my feelings: do I really want everyone in the world
to have access to my head? Surely some things should remain private? Yet, as
always, the urge to share burns within me like untreated cystitis. Crack open
the cranberry juice, and let's see how I do:
Firstly, here's a dating
update:
Men who've viewed my
profile: 73 89
Men whose profiles I've
viewed: 79 94
I like: 16 16
Like me: 12 14
Mutual likes: 1 2
Messages I've sent to
chaps that I haven't had a reply from: Still 8
Messages chaps have sent
to me that I haven't replied to 'cos the bloke in question isn't really what I
am looking for: Still 3
Ongoing GS messaging
threads: 0 1
Dates: 1 3
Yes, I went on a date with
a different chap, and he's turned out to be very sweet and a good guy, and
we've been on a second date, and we're messaging a little, and... and... I'm not going to go into any more detail! He's
a smasher - I wouldn't want to pull a Lizzie and ruin things with a mouth-based
foot incident. Maybe it's more fun for you when it does all go horribly wrong. Sorry to disappoint.
 |
| First-date-with-my-second-date nerves |
NB The website isn't
necessarily for romance. You get to say what you are looking for under the
"relationship sought" bracket. These are the options:
* A fling
* Just friends
* Let's see what happens
* Long-term relationship
* Marriage
* Short-term relaionship
Some people tick 'em all.
As I haven't a clue what I'm looking for (which is becoming more evident as the
weeks pass) I've only selected "Let's see what happens". I think
that's the most natural way out of this forced procedure.
I've been a bit too busy
to surf Soulmates anyway, what with a flare of activity from the musical
theatre direction. The two-day concert that I was in last week proved an
effective absorber of time. Costumes were sewn; words were repeated til they
sunk in; grooves were worn in the floorboards practising routines - all of
which meant extra horizontal moments to gather enough energy to do it all
again. It was the usual conflicting mix of heaven and hell.
 |
| I sew all my own sequins, you know. (To other people's gowns!) |
Heaven: Working as a team
is the best feeling ever. I consider the group members as extended family, and
all pulling together is a sensation like no other. The greatest moments are when
we share laughter. Like in the second dress rehearsal, when our director
informed us that during our silent tribute to the men and women who lost their
lives in World War 2, the glitter ball for the next section began to descend
slowly from the ceiling, in full visibility of the audience. Being one of
forty-odd (or forty odd) folk guffawing away at the incongruous image for a
full minute - well, it was divine.
Hell: Ah, you really have
to psyche yourself up to be on stage. It occurred to me that this would be the
first ever show that I had done with this group that my ex ("X") was
not involved in. Not only that, but it was to be his debut in the audience of
one of my musical performances. (He's usually behind me, thrashing away at a
keyboard and wondering where the flip I've got to in the music...) So the
pressure was on for the Saturday night, when I knew he'd be watching. (Actually
he was there the previous night, but that doesn't count as I hadn't known until
after the performance.)
My first solo song was
"When You're Good To Mama" - A feisty number, that I'd completely
misread as being sexy when auditioning. This led to the director requesting me
to "be more butch" about it.
 |
| More butch, bitch! |
In the dressing room, I made the change
to the second of six ballgowns. (Yes, six. I didn't have much to do in the
concert, but I was going to do it in style!) I puffed myself up with attitude;
the song before mine began and I lobbed my false eyelashes at the unsuspecting
make-up lady, who applied them with jaw-dropping efficiency. I strode off into
the wings. I was ready. Bring it on.
 |
| The ACTUAL moment before... if only I had a photo-jumping time machine! |
Of course that is the
point where it dawned on me that I hadn't connected my radio mic to the
receiver pack. Oh, I'd put both of them on in my rigorous and swift
preparation. But I'd neglected to attach them, thus rendering them useless. The
cable from the headset was swinging loose between my increasingly trembly
thighs. WAH! With Cell Block Tango in its dying moments, who could help? The
only person in the wings with me was the stage manager. Imagine his surprise as
I charged over to him, whipping up my skirt and bending over, and urging him to
"Plug it in! Quick!" To strains of "He had it coming... he had
it coming..." the poor chap fumbled about with my pants (where I tuck the
pouch for extra safety, actually) and finally gave up, declaring
"You'll have to ask one of the chorus to do it."
There was no chorus. What
there was, was silence. The applause had died, the stage was braced for my
entrance. I was going to have to go on and perform this powerful, low-pitched
song unamplified. X would not be blown away by my musical prowess and magnetic
stage presence, but instead was party to a rotten shouty version of said song,
accompanied by moves that were more frantic than fierce as I tried to hover near
the stage mics while retaining the drama. Only when I got to the second part
did I realise that I could have grabbed the hand mic that we were using and
waved it at the guy in the sound box, who would have adjusted accordingly. But
it was too late. Dammit.
 |
| Flat like abandoned ginger beer. Dammit indeed. |
I returned to the dressing
room more deflated than a sci-fi fan's inflatable female companion. What a
screw-up! The applause following the song had been polite, but unrewarding - a
comment on my ability. I sank into a chair and felt the pain of failure.
However, we all know that the Show Must Go On, and go on it did. I rallied
enough to partake of the remains of the first half, and sort myself out in the
interval for Act Two. This began with a WW2 segment, and air raid sound effects
to which we all had to react. In the darkness, ducking and wincing as the bombs
hit, I acted my fishnets off. In mock fear, I closed my eyes tightly... and
only one of them opened again. The glue holding my left eyelash on had got
under my eye and stuck both halves of it together. It was impossible not to
laugh! With my back to the audience I stage-whispered my predicament to the row
behind me, who also dissolved into giggles which increased along with my panic
as I tried to release everything while staying in character. The lights would
be on in a sec and I'd have one heavily-lashed eye sealed shut throughout the
most sombre part of the show. As missiles flew overhead, I had rendered several
members of the cast (along with myself) useless. One even put her arm around me
(also in character), asking "Are you all right, love?" while shaking
with mirth. It was the funniest air raid ever. Luckily I managed to disconnect
it in time, and all was well.
Then to my second solo - a
chance to redeem myself after the first pitiful attempt. I had only one song to
change into my dress for this, and one song after to change out of it. Dress
on, hair ready, I grabbed the long gloves that I needed to wear and headed for
the wings. Of course they were in the same state that they had been left in
after the previous night's speedy transformation. Have you ever tried to put a
pair of inside-out long gloves on quickly in the dark while listening as the
previous number gets closer and closer to its close? It's not like rubber
gloves, that you simply blow into to pop back into shape... oh no. It's like
"Oh my god I've got two fingers in one finger hole and two finger holes
merged together and three fingers in the thumb hole I'll have to go on looking
like some sort of American fairground freak which will totally ruin the nuance
of the song and I'll have blown it again oh my god oh my god that's applause...
I'm on!!"
 |
| The phantom arse-grabber of Old Thornbury strikes again... |
Amazingly, I untangled
myself just as I stepped onto the stage, and executed "Fever" with a
calm sensuality that I was most certainly not feeling! Cue a rapturous response
and my spirit soaring off the same distance as it had plummeted an hour
earlier. Heaven and hell in equal measures.
Before the above palaver,
I was aware of how comfortable I am on the stage. During the opening numbers I
wasn't nervous. It was totally natural to me to be in front of a sea of faces,
making like I was in an old-fashioned nightclub, thrilled to see the Grisettes
highly kicking their dainty heels (they were the Spice Girls of their day,
don't you know?) then joining in with the rousing chorus. I do love it.
Of course the
divine/devilsome analogy creeps out to the offstage drama that is being part of
a theatre group. We are all performers, and so do things with a lot of spirit
and feeling. Two days ago we held our AGM. I've been on the last two
committees, gently nudged into the position of Vice Chair last year as no-one
else stood. In fact, it was quite a poorly-attended meeting. Not so this
year...
A quick note about
committee work: While it's time-consuming, not only with duties to do, but
worrying about duties to do, it is most rewarding because you are giving
something back. I am always proud to be part of the body of folk running the
group, even though it can be a thankless activity. And that's at best! At
worst, you put yourself in for quite a bashing email-wise when anyone in the
group is disgruntled, which can be often. One can't please everyone every time.
It's funny how people rarely get in touch when they're happy with
something you've done, eh? I know how much this can mean, so I try to give
positive feedback to people, no matter how small. If you're reading this, why
not give it a try? Pay it forward - compliment a colleague or pal on something
that you genuinely think they've done well. (NB No lies! You must feel
it, or it doesn't count.) Do it now! You'll make their day.
Now then, back to
Wednesday night: The outgoing Chair has had a rough year, and as VC it has been
my duty to cover his absence. I was aware that he might not make the meeting
due to a family situation. By 6.30pm I imagined that all was well as he'd not been in touch. Just check
your email Lizzie, to make absolutely sure... Fifteen minutes later I was
hurtling toward the hall in my car, gulping the air nervously and quaffing
Rescue Remedy by the bucketload. My third ever AGM; my second on the committee;
my first on the executive committee; and my public chairing debut.
I would have been so much
calmer if I'd thought it through, but I honestly hadn't expected to have to do
this. For example, I would have made sure that someone who arrived as early as
I did had the key to the hall! This would have meant no milling about outside,
getting more and more worried as the mill-ees increased and the minutes until
we started didn't. I would also have had a printed copy of the constitution on
the table in front of me, to be absolutely sure of procedure, and not have
had to keep consulting my fellow members in front of my other fellow
members.
I decided to proceed as
naturally as I could, while keeping things relevant and concise. Nobody enjoys
a meeting! Especially when there is Rambling On. I read the outgoing Chair's
report and got into the swing of my duties. I was feeling quite competent and
comfortable. Until we got to item six on the agenda: Election of officers and
members of the Executive Committee.
I make no mention of the
underlying politics or internal issues that the group may or may not have. This
is about my experience and what turned out to be the most humiliatingly painful
ten minutes of my young life so far. My year as VC had done something to me
that I had not been expecting - it showed me that actually I, Lizziechops, da
Chops da Liz, was capable of chairing a committee, all grown-up and efficient-like.
Not only capable, but that I actually enjoyed it. And no, it had
absolutely nothing to do with power! That doesn't bob my barge. No, what I
liked was looking at a situation from all angles, weighing it up, and making
decisions based on what was fair and good for as many members of the group as
possible. As such, I decided to put my head above the parapet and stand as
Chair. Why not? I've served two years; I'm outgoing VC; the Chair is stepping
down. It's a no-brainer, this. Of course, it didn't occur to me that anyone
can stand for Chair, as long as they are a member. Well dur! And someone -
let's call them "D" - did.
It was between D and me.
Quick discussion decided us on a secret vote. Voting forms (and NOT scraps of
hastily-torn A4. Uh uh. Nope.) were handed out, collected back, and counted.
Too late I remembered what inevitably happens to me when I do
parapet-protruding - my bonce gets shot clean off my shoulders. As the
"returning officer" returned, I knew he was about to tell me that it
wasn't my day.
Everything went slow for a
second. My dream of Chairing the group so dear to my heart was dashed. Ah, but
not to worry. The vote for Vice Chair is next. I have another chance!
*sigh*
To save time, re-read the
last two paragraphs, because history repeated itself almost as soon as it had
happened. The only differences were the one other candidate ("H" this
time), and the fact that I already knew what the outcome was going to be as I
feebly scrawled my own name on my voting slip, with as much futility as a
squirrel attempts to cross the M5 on a Friday night. I shrink from competition
of any kind. I'm not a popular girl, probably as I'm
surly/gloomy/strict/antisocial in varying amounts. If I had thought harder, I
could have saved everyone a second vote and all that paper!
This time I mouthed H's
name to the returning officer, and he could only nod apologetically. I smiled
resignedly. Of course. And so my humiliation was complete.
The people sitting in
front of me had rejected me in favour of someone else - twice! (It's still
rejection, no matter what the reasons are.) I knew it. They knew it. And now we
were going to have to look each other in the eye in the face of my double defeat
and continue with the meeting, as the new committee only come into force at the
end of it. Other officers were voted in, and final body of group reps chosen.
My name was on this list. I had thought that I would still want to be part of
the committee whatever the outcome. However now things had changed. To see that
the group had no faith in me, nor valued what I had to offer made me wonder if
I'd just be wasting my time. The only reason I might have stayed would be for some
sort of continuity, but - as a member pointed out - why was that important? Why
indeed. Their words had the same effect as a kick up the butt to an indecisive
platform diver.
"I withdraw my
nomination," I said as I plummeted, hitting the water with a belly flop. I
was no longer on the committee.
And yet there was still
the rest of the agenda, and I was the one that had to get us through it,
including reading another report from the absent Chair (also Publicity rep).
All eyes were on me. I had nowhere to hide. Miraculously, I willed the tears
back into their ducts, and, as my lobsterly skin returned to its usual shade, I
pulled off one of the greatest acting jobs of my life. Great in terms of size
and effort. By the time we got to the end - and we did get to the end - I was
drained. I had enough left to smile at the friends who offered me sympathy on
my way to my car, and keep smiling until I was safely out of eyeshot.
 |
| Bracc offers his sympathy, though it's hard to bear. |
I'm facing quite a
peaceful weekend. In the sense that it'll be mostly work as the Food Fair is in
eight days' time and I'd really like to make the most of it being Father's Day
the day after. It's also auditions for the next show on that day, but I don't
know. I think I've had enough rejection for one year. Maybe I should pour my
energy into some differen
Will fathers' fare get
flogged at the food fair? Will Lizzie audition for Calam or will it be "anything I can do, you can do better"? Will that poor stage
manager ever have enough therapy to get over the pants episode? Brace your
eyeballs for more blog, coming to a screen near you this summer...
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