Eau de Flamboya

On my way hence to yon theatre audition, I needed to refuel the Moore-mobile to ensure I’d arrive at all, let alone on time.  There I am, standing in the mild January weather monitoring the rise of the numbers on the pump, and as I take a small step back toward the truck, my foot slips precariously on the ice.  In my haste and automatic reaction, my hand lashes out to grab the only thing closest to me:  the gas pump handle.

Damn, that stuff comes out fast!  (insert your metaphor of choice here)  It splashed all over the side of the truck and doused me in fuel – all over the front of my pants and front of my faux leather jacket (which was thankfully zipped shut). 

Aside from the smell now emitting from my clothing, I was now a trifle worried about my safety… I took great care in handling anything metal from that point forward to avoid any random sparks that might ignite my human torch.  I gingerly climbed back into the truck and headed home to change pants.  The jacket is a lost cause and is now relegated to the back of the truck until we can safely dispose of it. 

Talk about lighting a fire under my ass to get to the audition – thankfully, it wasn’t quite literal, but definitely figurative as I had to haul my buns to get there in time after the gasoline debaucle.  Here’s hoping the audition judges took more note of my singing voice than of a trace smell of vehicle fuel that lingered in the room upon my departure.

Car Windows Aren’t Opaque

So here’s a confession:  I sing in the car.  And I’m not talking about just softly singing along with the radio… I am talking about full-blown Red-Rocks-volume facial-expressions singing.  I usually will pop on an iTunes playlist through my phone for the sole purpose of blasting out the interior of the vehicle with my vocal cord exploits.  Lately the soundtrack of Wicked has been my background of choice, and it gets even scarier when showtunes are involved because, naturally, you have to add more theatrical aspect to it. :p

Why do I engage in this potentially embarrassing practice, you may ask?  Well, I love to sing.  And I’m pretty decent at it (used to be better, but I haven’t been practicing as I should to keep it up to par.  And goodness knows I don’t have time nor space to pop on the tunes at home, crank the volume to blasting, and belt it out to my heart’s content… not when little baby might be napping or toddler son is covering his ears because “It’s too loud, Mommy!”  Thus I must resort to car-singing. 

Some people pick their nose while driving… I sing really, REALLY loud whilst being totally oblivious to who might be watching/pointing/laughing.  Don’t judge.