Itchy.

I have what some might term an obsessive personality. I don't wash my hands 50,000 times or touch every doorknob ten times before I enter a room. It's not that extreme. But when I decide I want or need to do something, it's all that I can think about...even when I am procrastinating and putting it off.

Case in point. I decided that in the midst of all my day job, writing columns, creating comics, and a couple of trips to see family and go to ComicCon, that I should create a brand for PMS. I spent every night for the last two weeks working on it. I denied invites to go out with friends, rejected a date (which wasn't really that hard to do as the guy was a little strange and only talked about his ex-girlfriend, his crappy roommate, and how much weed he used to smoke), and even blew off plans for a personal day with myself to just sit, in my pj's and type. I sent in a request to go live tonight, but I am still twitching wondering if the design is dynamic enough, spending the few hours til midnight dwelling on things that still need to be done (like collaborate on a PMS theme song with the lovely Bailee on ukulele.)

This morning I also broke a nail. I didn't exclaim in girly dismay at the loss of my long tip. I just got out my travel manicure kit and trimmed the unsightly, ragged edge and moved on with my work day. As I'm typing, though, I can feel the distinct difference in nail length and it is totally distracting me. My fingertips start to itch as I plot when I can sneak the kit out and even the playing field. My boss went outside to oversee a project, and I thought, "Do it now, Lauren!! He won't know any differently!" But the logical part of my brain said, "No, Lauren. Trimming your fingernails at work is weird. Someone could get a clipping and make a voodoo doll. USE YOUR BRAIN!" Though the logic side has won out this time, my hands are still twitchy and my eyes are drawn to the little stub on the middle finger of my left hand.

I never said I was normal.

"And the winner is..."

Saturday night I went to a banquet for the Pineapple Playhouse, where I did my first show after quitting The Jove. I had been lazy all day and was supposed to meet my friends at their house to carpool at 5pm. Around 4, I started to get ready. Nothing fit. All of my dressy clothes were at least one size too small for me. So, I put on a dress I had purchased for my cousin's wedding that my mom deemed "too plain" for that event. I put on my great-grandmother's earrings, my grandmother's ring, and a diamond necklace from my maternal grandfather, and I was set. The sky was filled with rolling storm clouds as I headed to Jupiter, though the rain stayed away as we made our way to the Knights of Columbus in Port St. Lucie.

We headed inside, surrounded by Virgin Mary statues and photos of the members of the PSL chapter. The room had been decorated in silver and green star balloons with whole pineapples as centerpieces. The median age was 50. The cast of Beauty and the Beast, Really grabbed two tables in the back corner, and I was fortunate enough to sit with the woman who played my mom, her husband, my friends, and the girl who played my stepsister along with her boyfriend. As people arrived, I'd give them big hugs and we'd all catch up. Except for one girl, who barely acknowledged that any of us were there. Janna and I had a rough relationship during the run of the show as I thought her self-indulgent, lazy and entitled. She would prove me right yet again on this night.

The DJ was about 80 years old, and kept making indecipherable announcements regarding a car that was blocking a fire exit, listing in detail how we would all die if there was a fire. This really set the mood for the party. A cash bar, buffet, and dessert table lead us to overindulge while we were being entertained by Steve Zimmerman.

Mr. Zimmerman came out onto the dance floor, a large black man dressed all in black with tan tap shoes on. He explained that his name sometimes confused people, and that he really was "the" Steve Zimmerman. This guy was in Taps with Gregory Hines, and pulled out a tap dancing set that was accentuated by his overly played loud breathing and bulging eyes. His set lasted about a half hour, and the crowd was probably an unexpected change from the usual Knights of Columbus groups he had played in front of during prior gigs. This was a theater crowd, and everyone tried to one up his jokes as he told them. It was funny and weird and set the mood for the rest of the evening.

The Board Members of the theater were all brought up on stage and thanked for their services. New board members were inaugurated. The President accepted an appreciation award that had her name misspelled on it. Weird level orange.

The acting awards finally came around. As each category was announced, the cast would hold hands, trying to give off a positive vibe for the person nominated. They got to the Best Female Newcomer category, and it was between myself, Cherlise who played Beauty, and Janna, the "show stealer" and myself. As they announced the three nominees, I started chanting in my head, "Cherlise or me, Cherlise or me." It's no secret that I am not a fan of the other girl. So, when they announced, "Lorraine Pottinger, Lulu in Beauty and the Beast, Really" (obviously not my name or the name of the character, Lula, but who cares)I was shocked and delighted. As I grabbed the award and posed for a picture, I thought they would let me make a speech. They didn't.

Janna did win an award for "Best Female Minor Role" and they let her talk. With her stage time of about 5 minutes, a lack of ability to sing and dance at the same time, and her diva nature, it wasn't surprising when her speech comprised of saying, "It wasn't a big part, but we all know that I stole the show." I had imbibed a single beer during the dinner portion of the evening, and I couldn't help myself when I started chuckling loudly at the complete nerve of this woman, who had to leave a rehearsal early so she could go and see opening night of that crappy Christina Aguilera/Cher movie. From this point on I was hot...and not just because of the combo beer and satin dress lining. I leaned over to Leslie, my mom, and said, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

When the next category came up where Cherlise and I were both nominated for Best Female Lead, we all grabbed hands again (sans Janna). It was a three way tie between myself and the two female leads of the show, Arsenic and Old Lace. "And Laura Pottinger, Lula in Beauty and the Beast, Really,"(again, not my name but the character's name was right.) Neither of the ladies from AOL were actually there that night, so I thought I'd get to speak. No again. Maybe there was something in my face that made them not want to give me the microphone. Maybe they realized that the awards ceremony was lasting 3 hours. Whatever it was, I was unable to declare my appreciation for the whole cast and crew who worked their butts off to make the show what it was...begrudgingly, Janna included.

After the awards were over, I got another beer and the censors disappeared. Cherlise and I were shaking it on the dance floor. Janna went to leave and I dismissed her with a waggle of the hand. We closed the place down after she left, and it was a relief to have her sour puss out of my peripheral. We then headed to Friendly's with my TWO awards (remember, I beat Janna in one category). Ice cream, good conversation and some french fries later I was beat and ready for bed. I headed home to my empty house, hugged Bailey and let him outside, put on my pj's and as I slipped into slumber, I muttered, "Stole the show, my ass."

So, here's the speech I would have given.

Many thanks to Mark Brinkerhoff, who not only played and recorded all the music, directed us, built the set, had twin baby boys, and dealt with Janna. To the entire cast and crew who helped me believe in myself more than I ever have in an unfamiliar territory of musical theater. To Cherlise specifically, for being beautiful inside and out and for hitting the high notes so I didn't have to. To Justin for forgiving me for the attitude every day. To Lara and Megan for listening to me vent on the long drive from Jupiter to Ft. Pierce. And to the warm and welcoming community of the Pineapple, where even asshats like Janna can be onstage. Thank you."

I may still be a little peeved. :)

Beauty hurts...

I am an idiot when it comes to girly things like styling hair and make-up. I love buying products but can never seem to get them to work the way they are intended. Any time there is a major event that I am invited to attend, my little sister swoops in and takes care of things like curlers, eyeshadow, contouring, all that. I sang at a friends wedding...she swept my hair into an updo and added baby's breath. I participated in a Rock and Roll karaoke contest to win $10,000...she picked the tank top, cropped leather jacket, and black knee high boots. I went on my first date after a long time recovering from a bad relationship...she covered all my blemishes and gave me smoky eyes. She introduced me to skinny jeans and layering. She's really my guru when it comes to all things fashion or cosmetic.

Recently, I decided I wanted to try and be more...something. Girly, put together, professional. Any set of words that when stringed together would negate my entire college experience which encapsulated a lot of plain T-shirts, overalls and too light highlights. Something that would help me recover from 3 years of working in a Rock and Roll club where black eyeliner and teased hair with fishnets and micro mini's were the norm. I have always been a casual individual, but I felt the need to be an adult and look like a 29 year old woman with her life together (no need to mention the fact that I live at home with my parents.)

So, one morning, as I was blowing my stick straight hair dry with a round brush and mousse (which has been my "look" for the last 3 years), I noticed a large barrel curling iron plugged into the outlet. I flicked it on. Images of luxurious waves streaming down from the sides of my face with rays of light radiating from the red strands smoothed by the heat of the instrument that I would instinctively know how to use started flicking through my mind. I clicked off the dryer. I grabbed the iron. I pulled half of my hair (still partially damp as I don't usually blow the back dry) into a hair clip. "How hard can this be?" I asked myself, not realizing that a lack of sleep and caffeine were going to be my downfall on this day.

Hair, meet iron. Iron, meet ear. The scent of perfume mingling with burnt flesh is not an appealing aroma.

I burned myself on the first try. The hair I had so carefully wound around the large barrel of the curling iron had a slight curl in it...at the top, near the roots, where I had inadvertently crimped it. The ear was only a minor burn, but still smarted enough that it was a constant reminder throughout my work day that I had lost my woman card that morning. In the days since I have tried it again, and have gotten to a point where my hair at least looks like I TRIED to do something with it other than allowing it to plaster itself to my skull. Someday, maybe when I am older and able to multi-task/learn new tricks, I will be proficient enough to look put together. For now, I'll call my sister. Good thing she lives just down the hall.