Magic Smoking Monkey

This weekend I went to the RAC and saw The Ten Commandments, live, by the Magic Smoking Monkey Theater group. They're always campy and entertaining; guaranteed yuks. I've seen them perform Speed Racer (one of my favorite cartoons as a kid, totally had a crush on ol' Speed Racer and his big blue eyes), It's A Wonderful Life, and Refer Madness. I highly recommend their performances.

I took someone whom I've just started dating - inducting him into the elite followers of these primate antics. Normally there is no audience participation nor any type of projectile that falls on the audience. So I felt confident sitting in the front row - even though my date was a little skeptical about the proximity. And rightfully so. This time there were locusts (aka rubber insects) as well as hail (aka ping pong balls) thrown into the audience. The crowning worry was when a theater member handed out a plastic tarp to the front row, stating that there were two times during the course of the show when we might get wet! My poor date had a very small corner of the edge of the tarp - it wasn't long enough for the entire row and, just like sharing the bedroom comforter, he had to tug to get just a corner. Luckily there wasn't much projectile liquid and we both remained dry - but that'll teach me to sit in the front row so casually in the future!

Then, we enjoyed drinks afterwards and a rather awkward attempt at a first kiss. We hugged and I didn't realize he was going in for a kiss. So his lips landed on some strange quadrant of my cheek. Somewhere between my lips and right ear. I was a little tipsy and feeling like 15 all over again.

Times like these remind me of pimples, boy-girl dances, and not having the 'right' clothes to be cool. And then realizing that even having the in-clothes would not make me cool. That while I did date the captain of a high school sports team - it just wasn't the football team, the baseball team, the basketball or even the soccer team. I was the girlfriend of the captain of the bowling team. He wore man jewelry (a gold necklace) which was cool in the late 80s. Maybe.

I remember my first attempt at French kissing as a young teen. He said "it's not a race" after a few minutes of my tongue lapping his, looping around and around as quickly as possible. I was embarrassed, but had no idea how to do it "right."

I guess that's kind of the gritty (and witty) reality of new relationships - the awkwardness, the uncertainty, the first this & the first that - but boy is it comical.