Things look different from the stage #10: You’ll spend an inordinate amount of time primping and preening.

I guess it’s a matter of perspective. I’ll let you decide!

From one point of view, I’ve been doing a horrible, horrible job at time management.

From another point of view, I’m clinically retarded and keep obligating myself to more and more things.

As such, I’m pretty damned busy.

In my defense, I’m busy doing things that I enjoy.

It’s a whole lot of work to make every day the best day ever. Like, seriously… It’s a ton of work. This is the dumbest retirement on the planet.

This morning, the missus said to me, “You’ve spent just over two and a half hours getting ready, and you’re not done!” Then she laughed at me.

I said, “No, I did’t.”

She said, “I timed you.”

I said, “Damn it!” Frustrated with the wealth of truth and damnation (but mostly the evidence) in that revelation, I followed that up with something like, “Should you be in bed?”

Which is when she laughed and said she was up ’cause it’s funny to watch me get ready for a show.

What I’m about to say next is pretty gender specific. You’ll get over it.

If you get your knickers in a wad easily, fuck off. I don’t really care and you’re not in a position of authority over me. You can suck my dick.

Well now… I’m so leaving that in there.

You menfolk may not really understand what I’m about to say.

You ladies will probably understand.

Still here? Good.

Bear with me and unwad your bloomers.

Allow me to explain.

(It’s not gonna help. Not even one bit. I’m so gonna run with this.)

I’ve stuck my dick in a lot of women. Like, unbelievable numbers of women.

I’ve lived with countless men.

In other words, I’ve observed a whole lot of people!

On average, and in my observation, women preen more than men.

The only men who preen more often that than the majority of women are United States Marines, performers, and people getting ready for a Pride Parade.

(If you’re in a hole, keep digging!)

So, ladies, this one’s for you! (Ed. Note: TheBuddha has been sacked.)

I’m too sexy for my shirt!

I know you know this. You’ve seen pictures!

The line starts to the left, ladies!

On a more serious note, I spend a fuck of a lot of time on my appearance.

I had to pick three outfits today. I have closets full of clothing, much dedicated exclusively for stage use. I had to replace some of it recently, as I came out of retirement.

On certain shirts, I have the right sleeve tailored to be 1.75 to 2.75″ shorter. I will buy shirts that I can get tailored in those amounts, or less. This is to keep my right sleeve just a little bit above the strings – so that I have less chance of muting them accidentally.

I’ve been in the shower twice today. I’ll be in it two more times, just today.

My hair, when wet, goes to the small of my back. I was using a lazy bun before it was cool. (I sometimes work on dangerous equipment.)

I won’t be wearing any makeup today. I am able to apply my own makeup and I can do an acceptable stage-job for a female or another male. I’m not a professional. I do have quite a bit of experience.

I haven’t even changed into my arrival outfit yet.

I will arrive in one outfit, hit the changing rooms (as such as they have available – it’s just an employee break room tonight), and get into my stage outfit.

I have a spare stage outfit, ’cause I’ll probably switch between sets. Bare minimum, I’ll change my shirt and do my hair – again. (I had to pick outfits that’d work for all this!)

I may well change my shirt, again, before we go to do an encore. I’m sure the audience will be fantastic and they’ll deserve one. If I do, that’ll be back into my arrival outfit shirt. They’re drunk! They won’t notice!

And, to help drive the point home, I said I had to get new stage clothing recently. I said that ’cause it’s in addition to what I already have.

So that you understand how damned hard it is to pick outfits, I want to elaborate…


I think the best way to say it is to say that I have clothing, meant exclusively for the stage, that goes back to the 1970s. I have a lot of clothing.

That’s not actually the elaboration!

Told ya, I’m writing this for the ladies!

No, to elaborate, my collection of stage clothing is such that it would be so much better – except I also have a daughter. She’s now an adult, somehow.

I’m pretty sure that actually describes it well enough for the ladies that might read this!

Seriously! She’d be wearing my shirt and I’d ask, “Why did you take my shirt.” (A stupid thing for me to do. Never ask children why they did something.)

She’d answer with, “I’m just borrowing it.” (This was often accompanied with an eye-roll, some muttering, and maybe some vulgarity if she was feeling like truly challenging authority.)

She’s my offspring and shooting her was against the law.

The term borrow was extremely subjective, by the way. A less polite way of saying that is that it was a horrible lie and the correct term is stealing.

So, it’s that kind of selection that I have to pick through.

That’s also probably the best way I can come up with to describe it!

For this show, I have to appear modern and fit the professional look, from between 1985 and 1995. By professional look, I mean to look like a professional musician – a nondescript and generic look that fits this rock, hard rock, some alternative, some grunge, a touch of metal, and a few ‘classics.’

That’s not as easy as it sounds and weed does not help that in the slightest. Nope. Pot helps that exactly none!

For many performances, my preparation probably looks like a high school senior girl getting ready for prom – except I don’t wear a dress or do that much shit to my hair.

By the way… On the subject of hair!

No, you’re right out of your fucking mind with that hair shit. I’ve had to do shit with my hair. It sucks.

Mine hangs free or gets tied back. If I’m feeling really, really mad at it, I’ll tie it back and put three evenly spaced elastics down it. Yeah, I even use those ‘tangle free’ elastics.

You can bet your ass I wear nice elastics! Those stupid cheap ones that look like straight up rubber bands are fucking retarded. Why would anyone do that?!?

I wash and condition that shit and tie it back. That’s all the work I’m really willing to put into it anymore.

You ladies are right out of your mind with that putting your hair up shit.

I don’t even understand how you do most of it. I can’t even really braid my own hair. I’m so bad at hair that my daughter learned to do her own, by the time she was like seven. (This was a significant improvement over when she tried to cut her own hair – at like the age of five. She also cut the hair of both her brother and the dog, but that was a separate instance.)

I can give a pretty good Mohawk and spikes – and can even dye them separately! I can also give you a pretty decent high and tight. I offered my daughter both, numerous times. She did not avail herself of my offerings..

Anyhow… Let’s see if I can stop beating the dead horse and finish this. I’ve got stuff to do.

The entire point of this was to (ideally) maybe share and maybe get a chuckle or two. We really do spend an insane amount of time making ourselves look good. That’s another view from the stage that people may not really get to see. It’s something folks may not realize, and so I figured this was the time to share it.

I’m pretty sure we have to do all this and look good. Yes, there are ugly performers, but they are few in number. For the most part, we probably are expected to meet certain standards of beauty. It absolutely seems to matter and that’s just part of the job. We choose this job.

Also, if you think it’s hard for us folks who are naturally devilishly handsome, you should see what the ugly people have to go through to prep for the stage!

I kid… I kid… We kick ugly people out at the door! (Ed Note: TheBuddha has been fired, again.)

It’s kinda nice not being able to be fired! I gotta finish getting ready. I’m out of here in like 3 hours. Until next time…

Shut up and play us a song!

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