No day of rest for the weary.
By Hannah Wallace
I don’t know that I’ll necessarily have any stories to tell about this coming weekend, but because my calendar (the one in my head; I’m too lazy to write things down) is full up for the next few days, I can at least describe my plans so it doesn’t look like I blindly stumbled into activities (no, sir, I stumbled into these activities with my eyes wide open).
TONIGHT: Big J, Little J, Cheetah Club Boyfriend and I have reservations for McCurdy’s late-night show—the Tennessee Tramp. Another buddy of mine, Konstantinov, and I saw the Tramp a year or so ago, and I sang her praises for weeks afterward. “She was scary, but funny,” Konstantinov said. “Scary is the best kind of funny,” I replied. On a press release sent to our office, she was the only one of McCurdy’s upcoming acts rated “Adult Bawdy”—the highest mark for bawdiness. I’m very excited.
TOMORROW: Hopefully I’ll get a little tanning time during the day. Megan the Copy Editor and I scored tickets to the Clowning Around Town gala at Selby Gardens. Black tie means good times. And for us two struggling young editors, any excuse to get dolled up and enjoy free gourmet food trumps all other comers.
SUNDAY: Hockey and hockey again. Back-to-back games up in Ellenton. And before you get all, “But what about your mother?!” on me, Ma’s got a 10-out-of-12 (that’s theater-speak for “long-ass rehearsal”), so we’ll be celebrating Mother’s Day on Monday. Not that Ma wouldn’t like to celebrate at the rink watching her little girl run into things and fall down. Most moms get flowers; mine gets teeth.
Hmm. I have no follow-up for that. Hope everyone’s weekend is as bawdy, fancy and violent as mine is shaping up to be.