Or at least stage, in this case.
I was just a little theatre tramp this week. Fresh off my trans-bay voyage to Berkeley Rep for Zorro in Hell, last night I went to the San Francisco Playhouse to see my friend Stephanie in a show. I met Stephanie about a year and a half ago when she and I were in a play called 411. Steph would absolutely crack me up during rehearsals, and at one particular moment of hilarity, she turned to me and said, "You so want to be my best friend, don't you?" In fact, while I have far too many friends to honestly call one the "best," she was pretty much right. And it has so been worth it. In addition to offering sparkling conversation over dinners and friend-discounted singing lessons, Best Friend threw one mean all-girls slumber party last year. The six or so of us sang karaoke, watched Flashdance and Mean Girls, ate tons of snacks, drank cosmos and crank called boys. A better time could not have been had, especially by the boys who received our phone calls.
Anyway, Best Friend is currently in a production of Our Lady of 121st Street, which features many laugh out loud moments along with some excellent acting. And Best Friend was, of course, phenomenal. Afterward, I joined her and some of her castmates for cocktails, which was much fun. And the odd thing was that several of them seemed to recognize me from my days as an actor. Prior to 411, the last time I had graced a stage was in 2001 for two one-day play festivals, and the last full production I had done was in 2000. But I guess I'm memorable in some way. Weird.
And tonight, after going out three nights in a row as well as facing a long work day tomorrow which will be followed by more socializing, I am staying in. Erin, Jack and Helen are all out and invited me to come along, but I am happy as a clam in my pajamas and out of the rainy weather. Plus, I had macaroni and cheese for dinner and found a couple of episodes of Six Feet Under on cable. Sounds like a great Friday night to me.