Monday, March 31, 2008

I Vant to Suck Your Blood

Though money is tight at the Falk household these days (I’m doing some freelance writing on the weekends for a former employer to help bolster the budget … damn that Dave Ramsey!), thankfully, that is not the case for most of my friends. (Yippee!)

My friend Susan, always the lookout for cool stuff to do about town, sent me a shiny, happy text last Wednesday afternoon asking if I wanted to go to the ballet with her on Sunday. In my naturally eloquent manner I replied with an enthusiastic, “Hell yes!”

And so, yesterday, Susan, sitting next to a man who can only be described as Jon Bon Jovi’s doppelganger, and I, with a blissfully empty seat, were lured into the dark, medieval underworld. We watched (and desperately tried not to be distracted by the idiot mother who brought her alternately screaming and jabbering tot) as Dracula sucked the blood of poor, poor Fiona and attempted to dispense the same fate upon Svetlana, the fiancé of the too-tight-tights-wearing Frederick.

The ballet was great, although, I wouldn’t agree with The New York Times review, which called it “exquisitely beautiful and atmospheric.” No, my experience didn’t reach any level of exquisiteness … except in my head(ache). The performance was marred ever so slightly (by more than just the idiot mother) because I thought it would be a lovely idea to indulge in a pre-ballet, early-Sunday afternoon, 1-oz(ish), $11 cocktail (of which half landed in the trash).

As I sat, crammed midrow, the lights dimmed, and as the curtains rose, so did my level of remorse. I felt dizzy, tipsy even, and I could feel a gurgle growing in my stomach. My brain took this moment to remind me that I had popped a “poop pill” earlier that day and I prayed (yes, really!) that I would not have to make a mad dash to the bathroom before intermission (I doubted Jon Bon would let me pass by while tights-wearing men were prancing about on stage).

Thankfully, 2.5 hours later, Dracula had been vanquished, disappearing into a plum of smoke and lights, Svetlana and her too-tight-tights-wearing Frederick were reunited and no mad dash had occurred. I did, however, have a raging mid-day hangover (what??!!), leaving my head throbbing and stomach contents threatening to make a reappearance.

Maybe I should’ve purchased a set of commemorative Dracula teeth instead of the cocktail. It would’ve been much more exciting to say, “I vant to suck your blood,” when I got home, instead of, “Babe, pass the Tylenol and a puke bowl.” Sigh.

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