Part Deux...

So anyway, I finally phoned my bandleader, and he came down to rescue me. SO then I had fifteen minutes to get changed, throw on some makeup and choose from an assortment of wigs before we go on stage. Guess who's supposed to kick off the festivities with a rousing rendition of Aretha Franklin? Yep, yours truly. Anyhooo,

Who says women take forever to get ready? I managed to just slap on some lipstick right before we had to rush down to the backstage and get ready to go onstage. Where I learned that all of our chit chatting, and entertainment had to be in French, and that we were performing for an awards night. The Association of Chefs in Montreal or somesuch. And the Director of the Association was completely hammered and having to hang on to the podium microphone to remain upright. She skipped right over our segment of the evening's festivities and continued to to present awards and blather on (with only the faintest detectable slurring). Oh, the sound crews were vexed. I learned colourful new curse words in French (wish I'd have known them when I was in the taxi) and laughing so hard, and yet so quietly that I was sure I would burst my corset. Happily, I didn't and all of my bits and pieces stayed inside the costume where they belonged.

Half an hour later (yes, we're still waiting in the wings offstage) they manage to trundle the poor drunken sot offstage, and we went on to do our bit for the remaining ten minutes alottted to us for our first set. And when it came time to do our second set, which was scheduled a mere twenty minutes later, we had another twenty minute wait while the aforementioned Drunken Duchess giggled into the microphone.

But we made it through alive, all of my naughty bits remained covered, although I didn't feel personally it was my best show ever. The sound man didn't route my voice into the stage monitors, so I had to bellow to hear myself in the speakers in the room. He couldn't seem to understand my sign language gestures indicating to him to raise the volume in the monitors--perhaps my gestures were too subtle. But he didn't seem to notice the musicians frantically windmilling their arms to get his attention either, so...maybe he just thought it was our band choreography. Dunno.

Gotta love those corporate gigs. And why? 'Cause we got paid. And they liked us anyway. So how about that? Just goes to show you, the product they're looking for has little to do with musical virtuosity and everything to do with chicks in sparkly outfits with lots of decolletage.

Thus ends the saga.

While I'm bellyachin' about my life, I'd just like to say that the Concordia Library computers in the lab are CRAP. This is the third time they have corrupted my diskettes and I have been unable to access my homework. We are not amused.

And the snow is pretty innit? If only I could watch it through a window by the fireplace in a lovely chalet while being served glasses of wine, and buckets of Popeye's fried chicken, bags of swedish berries, and philly cheesesteaks by a hunky manservant named Julio.