Thanksgiving was good. I made a crappy pumpkin pie, that came out like pudding because there was a small mix up between the half and half and the cream. Whatever. But gah, I put a shit load of time into it only for it to come out like crap. UGH.
AS “won” tickets to see Noel Coward’s Private Lives with Kim Cattrall on Broadway. It wasn’t so much “winning” as it was that AS has a Broadway hook up through work. We went Thanksgiving night. DB, who works on Broadway, didn’t even know the show was happening, but he did a little research and dug up this NY Mag interview on Cattrall. Bitch is nearing 60. That shit is bananas! The show was fantastic. Trevortin, AS and I went together and were all smug in our awesome free seats and the general pithiness of the entire show. And hey, Paul Gross is kind of sexy so what’s not to like.
Friday afternoon I suggested my entire family go see Lars Von Trier’s Melancholia at Village East Cinema. My dad loves Kirsten Dunst, and has watched that sub par film Elizabethtown countless times because he just loves her so. He warned me before we sat down that she’s been in some god awful films.
God awful does not even begin to describe how I felt while watching this. The camera handling was like a drunk toddler was in charge. It was swinging every which way. I had motion sickness, and peaced out before the end, because I thought I was going to vomit on the people sitting in front of me. Needless to say, I saw Alexander Skarsgard in a tux, but not Earth colliding with Melancholia. I’ll rent it when it comes out on Netflix and will hopefully not need to take a Dramamine on that occasion.
Saturday night we went to see Handel’s Rodelinda at the Met. DB texted to ask what opera it was, and when I replied “Rodelinda” he said “an entire opera about the smallest state?” Yes, ladies and gentleman, this is the kind of quipping I am up against each and every day via text message. It was actually an opera with a happy ending, though the counter tenor’s voice was so high sometimes I couldn’t tell if it was the man or woman singing. Oopsie. Also, the old man behind me dropped several hard candies on me throughout the performance, and had commentary for everything. He claimed he could smell the horse on stage. I consider myself to have a very sensitive nose and could not smell a thing from the balcony. I almost turned around to tell him so, but noted that his foot was at my eye level and this just seemed like a terrible idea.
Trevortin’s birthday was Friday. I meant to post a happy birthday kitteh extravaganza post, but time got away from me. I was also supposed to come to the classy drinks affair last night, but since the opera lasted 12-1/2 hours, it didn’t quite happen.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TREVORTIN! May this year bring more babes, booze, and booze in sippy cups than you know what to do with.
XXOO, THIS LITTEL KITTEH.