Well, damn, that was fun. I just wish I hadn't been wrapped so soon, because we got out at 2 pm after an 8 am start...this was fine in terms of getting tired, but not so hot for getting any overtime.
Our scene was in a battered women's shelter, with Tracy Morgan and Jack MacBrayer (is that how you spell him?), who plays Kenneth. I got to exchange words with both of them (mainly since I was sitting practically in their laps). Tracy Morgan, by the by, can't remember lines to save his life, in case you care. It gave us a good laugh, anyway.
I'm presuming this will air around Christmas, since there were Christmas decorations on set. I couldn't get the name of it, but it's Episode 5.10 (meaning the 10th episode of the 5th season), and you can look it up on their website. I should be very clearly visible, because they gave me a small bit to do involving my inhaler...you just never know what'll come in handy.
The reason I'm dying to see what the hell the episode is about is that the people coming in for the afternoon shoot were fascinating...four large drag queens (one of whom was on roller skates) and at least one little person. I confess to having a LOT of trouble imagining what on earth you would do with a plot involving battered women, drag queens and little people.
Then Saturday night a friend came in town and brought me a carton of cigarettes, for which I am forever in her debt...Sarah, I love you! (Yes, her name is Sarah too.)
And on Sunday I trotted off to Spanish Harlem for the annual Marathon Party with Saint Tiger Lily and the Boss...and got to snuggle up with absolutely the world's most adorable and happy baby, the one and only Nico. This is why I didn't watch Boardwalk Empire last night (although I caught up with it tonight and was rewarded by a flashing glimpse of myself on the Boardwalk in that awful Lesbian On The Boardwalk khaki suit) and why when I started to write this blog last night I decided not to...as usual after one of these events, what I was typing was complete gobbledy gook, so I decided to wait until cooler heads (those less filled with beer and magnificent banh mi with three kinds of pork) could prevail. I always feel that if you find you suddenly have twelve typing fingers on each hand, bed is the only answer.
And this week yawns before me with absolutely nothing to do, which is probably good, since my house is humongously disgusting...anyway, announcing that I'm going to clean the house is usually the best way for people to start calling me with jobs. This doesn't help the house, of course, which is why it looks the way it does (disgusting, remember?).
Food and sleep beckon...