Lots of typos on this one cause I’m blogging from my phone…

I am ridiculous.

And before you try to tell me why I’m not, let me just tell you why I am.

See, I keep my stage makeup and life makeup together, without really much of a distinction. All of it is tossed en masse into a pink zippered makeup case in which the cover sports two ladies freshening up in front of a mirror with the words Ready to Rock written in bold cursive underneath.

My sister has told me more than once that the bag is ugly and should be replaced. The thing is, my friend got it for me the first time I ever did a musical. It was A Chorus Line, ironically enough, and because she played Val the first half of the run an I played val the second half, she said we were those two cool girls who are putting their makeup on, so obviously ready to rock.

So, I haven’t been able to actually get rid of it, but I have managed to now leave it completely behind twice in one seven day span.

That’s right, twice.

Last Tuesday I was coming back from vacation and left that pink bag in my bedroom. Poor Drew had to run to the fedex before five and overnight it to me. And I couldn’t believe how silly I’d been.

And this Tuesday? Oh, I only left it in columbus Ohio and then proceeded to fly to Minneapolis. Lucky for me, Drew was still in Columbus
since he had a later flight than me and could once again run over to a fedex and overnight it to me.

And he never said one word of recrimination, either.

That’s some major points. Major.

But this was topped by arriving at baggage claim only to wait for 45 minutes while trying to be happy for everyone else as they grabbed their precious bags and went merrily on their way. Finally that bin came down the conveyor belt–you know, the one you never want to see because it displays the words LAST BAG in bright and maddening letters?

I walked over to the claim desk and they said something hopeful like, “Is your bag black with white polka dots?” I eagerly gave my assent
and the woman told me to follow her to a back room where I, no joke, found my bag amidst puppies and birds.

PUPPIES AND BIRDS!!!!

I can only assume my bag had learned to growl or cluck and so had been taken to be one of them. When I correctly identified it as mine (while others around me were claiming their Fidos and their homing pidgeons respectively, mind you), an airline employee lifted the bag and started resolutley away. I politely told him the bag was mine. He walked. I got louder. He still walked. I finally sort of yelled that the bag was
MINE!!!!!!!!!! And he gave me the benefit of a glance as he set my bag down on the now empty and inanimate conveyor belt. It was a waste of his energy since I had been right there the whole time, but who knows? Maybe it’s a rule that nobody can pick up a bag at an airport until
it has touched a conveyor belt.

And perhaps it’s especially true of a bag that is thought to be an animal.

They never did find the second bag, but it was back at the hotel once I got home tonight, so it wasn’t a huge deal.

And my friend took pity on the fact that the dress I was planning on wearing to the opening night party here was who knows where in the
continental US since it was packed in my missing bag and so let me borrow her Betsy Johnson dress.

Score!

And now I must leave you at that since I am really really tired and please be mindful of the fact that I blogger this post on my iPhone and please forgive the typos and this run-on sentence.