Drunken theatrics

Last night a few of us went out to dinner theater in Andover for D's 30th birthday. We had such high hopes! I mean, dinner theater is all adult and stuff. We were being cultural and sophisticated (ie not spending the evening watching Adult Swim on the Comedy Channel). In the end, we were just suckers. It was $55 worth of theatrical badness. You know it's a bad scene when the actors are counting on the audience to get fall-down drunk so they don't notice how bad the play really is. It was a murder mystery with no plot and TERRIBLE acting, $6 drinks and, despite the whole "dinner theater" sobriquet, there was no actual dinner, just hors d'oeuvres like baby quiche, spanakopita and chicken on a stick. A man with scallops wrapped in bacon made one round of the room and we never saw him again. There were ten of us and we hatched a brilliant plot of our own to take over the kitchen and rustle up some real food, and the poor catering people began to avoid us because we emptied their trays whenever they came by.

In my Cosmo-induced drunken haze, I decided to seduce the actor playing the psuedo-Jude Law role in the murder plot, but I downed my drink too fast and ended up collapsing on the floor because we had to stand up for like a half hour and listen to drunken guests interview the actors for clues to the murder. But then--miracle of miracles--the Jude guy sat down on the floor next to me. I am not invisible to men after all!!! After some scrambling, he managed to drop his faux British accent and we talked. He sort of reminded me of a guy I dated after college who tried to impress me by making a Caesar salad in a garbage bag--flaky and deluded (during our talk, I found out he's an aspiring actor who does guerilla marketing on the side. Judging from the acting I saw last night, he should stick with the day job), but still fun to flirt with. Sadly, he never asked for my digits and I've decided that any guy who isn't ballsy enough to ask isn't worth the time, dammit. But I'm getting my groove back, baby.