Les Miserables (or, as we cool theater-goers call it, Les Miz). I’ve been wanting to see this show forEVer, because we own the Les Miserables – The Dream Cast Recording, and I’ve seen it hundreds of times, but have never seen the show in it’s entirety. The show was amazing, aside from the fact that I was sitting on the very end of the second row, so a few things (Valjean tearing up his yellow paper, for instance) took place where I couldn’t see them, but I don’t really feel like I missed anything, and did I mention it was amazing? Of course, it would have been even better if the assmonkeys didn’t insist upon sitting RIGHT by us. First of all, we were a couple of songs in, when someone walked by my row, stood and stared down the first row, and then walked back to consult with the usher sitting by the door. The usher walked up and stared down the row in front of us, and then walked back to consult with the other person. Over the course of the next half hour, every minute and a half someone would walk up to stare down the front row. Clearly someone was sitting in the wrong seats and the people who had those seats wanted them, but what the fuck, man? Was it necessary to be annoying and distracting for such a long time? Fucking people. When the show went to intermission, I stood up and headed for the door to get something to drink, and a security guy all but ran by me, to the front row. I wanted desperately to see what was going to happen, but I was blocking the aisle and thirsty as hell, so I have no confrontation (“You’re in MY FUCKING SEAT, motherfucker!”) to report. Secondly, we were sitting in front of a family. A family that included two fairly young kids. Two fairly young kids that spent half the motherfucking show whispering to each other as they tried to figure out what the fuck was going on. At one point I came thisclose, I swear to you, to turning around and yelling “YES! Yes, she’s sick! No, she’s not sleeping, she’s SICK, and SHE’S ABOUT TO DIE, NOW WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?!” Of course, I don’t blame the kids for whispering, but rather their parents for not shutting them the fuck up. Grrrrr. Despite that, it was – have I mentioned? – awesome. Valjean and Javert were both – you guessed it! – awesome. I must have teared up six different times during the show, and once even sobbed a little sob that luckily no one heard. Two thumbs up! As a side effect of seeing Les Miz, we’ve spent the past few days singing songs from the show, adapted to include the names of our cats. Which would explain why I just sang a rousing rendition of “Don’t you fret, M’sieur Poopypants, I don’t feeeeeeeeel any pain. A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me nowwwww…” to the Bean.
Clearly, my Secret Goddess knows the way to my heart! Yesterday in the mail I got a box. In the box were two pencil cases with “Bitchypoo” on them, and in one of the pencil cases were pencils with “Bitchypoo” on them! Also, a sheet of cat stickers, and a small voodoo kit. I haven’t decided yet who I’m going to use the voodoo doll to hurt, so you’d better be nice to me!
(Thanks again, Secret Goddess!)
Smoldering and sexy, or just about to fall asleep while sitting up? You decide!
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