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Friday, January 30, 2009

banned from the elevator!

   Mmmmmm. My stomach feels absolutely satisfied. See, I just came back from my friend's Dominican mother's delicious cooking. Did you follow that? Becky's mom is visiting. She is from the Dominican Republic. She made us some fantastic cuisine after the show tonight. Makes sense now? Good.

   This was a really good thing because during our final number in the show, I literally felt like I was going to fall over from sheer hunger and need of protein. All I could think of was hamburgers. And what I needed to be thinking of was choreography, lyrics, and looking like I was enjoying myself. See my dilemma?

    Of course I embarrassed myself while walking to the elevator en route to our dressing rooms and saying, I just need to eat something really big. Apparently I was not specific enough because some of the guys made comments that were quite ungentlemanly. 


   Ew, gross. 

   I know, to the pure all things are pure, but I was still quick to specify that I wanted to eat a hamburger.  A really big hamburger.  

    Oh, and speaking of the elevator, well, I have earned a bit of a reputation with regards to the Fisher Theater's finicky elevator.  See, it acts up and sometimes decides to trap people in it for lengthy amounts of time.  The thing is that I have only ridden the elevator three times--once each week I have been here--and each time I have ridden it, it has broken down.  

  So now everybody thinks I have bad elevator juju. The first time, I figured it was just a fluke. The second time--still, it was a coincidence--but there was a number of people who remembered and kindly pointed out that I had been in it the last time it had broken down and had not been in it until it broke down again. Tonight, however, I was tired and just did not feel like walking the three flights of stairs to my dressing room (remember, I was in sore need of protein and also had hamburgers on the brain) after the finale. So, I walked resolutely up to the elevator doors and told the boys I was going to prove to them that I did not make the elevator break down.  

  They all groaned. I laughed. It was silly, after all.

   We got in. We pressed the appropriate buttons. The elevator started to move...And then abruptly stopped. It. Would. Not. Budge.  Every pair of eyes zeroed in on me...I said, Come on, guys--let's not be hasty--it's probably just warming up...

   Nope. The thing was stuck again.  We waited. We pressed the little emergency button. We waited. It finally started moving again but not before I promised them I would not ride the Fisher Theater elevator again.  

   Sheesh. I am glad we are only here for a few more days.  Any ideas on getting rid of bad elevator juju?
    

7 comments:

jason said...

You have to ride to the 13th floor while standing on your head. It cures it every time.

Mom said...

I'll send you one of my favorite books, The Women's Guide to Spiritual Warfare. It'll tell you exactly how to get rid of the demons of bad juju!

What a funny story!

Still miss you!

Jessica Latshaw said...

uh-oh--there is no thirteenth floor!!!

and sounds like a plan, Mom!

kathiek said...

Bad juju? More like someone slacking on elevator maintenance! ;-)

Jessica Latshaw said...

well, to put it delicately..I don't think there is much in the way of extra funds hanging around Detroit lately...;-(

kathiek said...

Hmm, that sounds rather thoughtless of me, doesn't it? That was not my intent at all, sorry.

Jessica Latshaw said...

not at all, Kathie! It was quite a good and practical way of looking at the situation! ;-)