Posted on December 8, 2009


I’m here to blog about my trip to The Nutcracker—or as in my nervous state on Thursday accidentally typed: The Butcracker…

Let’s begin at the beginning. As I’ve well established I’m a bit of an agoraphobic. HATE new experiences, crowds, highway driving, being in over crowded public places…new experiences…

Thursday as the time gets closer for my adventure; I’m well and truly panicked. What am I to wear? How do I get to the theater? I can’t eat because my stomach is torn apart. For the first time I can remember I’m so freaked out I literally broke out in HIVES. I had blotches all over my face, chest, arms and legs.

I finally decide to dress in gray slacks and a mauve bell sleeved sweater with black patent leather Mary Janes. As I’m trying to get dressed, the hives are itchy welts, my hands are shaking, my palms are sweaty, my head is killing me and I just want to curl into a ball and die. I would much rather fight a pair of grizzly bears in a packed rattlesnake den, surrounded by webs filled with black widow spiders than do this…

I’m trying to fix my hair and pull out my curling iron—which I have set at molten lava. I discover this because as I’m trying to lightly curl my bangs the rod slips in my sweating palms and leaves a huge burn across my forehead. Fortunately, my limp bangs cover it.

Putting on makeup proves to be a challenge as I can’t get my contacts in my eyeballs and am forced to wear my glasses. I can’t see to apply evening’s war paint and grab my bronzer instead of my pressed powder.

Ever seen the movie Bride Wars? Remember the traffic cone scene? Yeah…

I try to apply mascara and jab myself in the eye.

DH has sweetly made dinner, which I am unable to eat.

I take the directions, load DD into the truck and we start off down the highway. I’m smoking like a chimney trying to calm my frazzled nerves. The highway I need to take has been closed for the last two years due to construction. Needless to say the directions aren’t helpful—fortunately I had the forethought to print up alternate route maps—YAY me!

The alternate route has me taking a LEFT handed freeway exit. And immediately upon landing on new interstate I need to be in the RIGHT lane as my exit is…righthere! No one is a polite driver, they’re all whizzing by, honking at the fruitcake in the pickup.

Screw it says I, I’m older, bigger and have more insurance—I grab the bull by the balls and tear over to the lane I need to be in. A Prius decides discretion is the better part of valor and stops so I can get in without incident.

We arrive and find a nearby lot completely wide open. We’ve arrived over 75 minutes EARLY. GREAT…

We find a nice little restaurant, enter and order hot chocolate.

Have I mentioned I DO NOT LIKE NEW EXPERIENCES??? I’ve never set foot in this establishment before and am very nervous as there is a huge line out the door and the place looks like the White Rabbit’s house after Alice eats the magic button…

It takes them fifteen minutes to make the hot chocolate, we don’t have silverware and the hot chocolate wasn’t mixed properly. So at the bottom of the empty mugs is this HUGE clump of cocoa mix begging to be eaten—and me without a spoon.

DD and I begin chatting about her grades and how much she loves Russian and French. She tells me that she is planning on automotive technology for a career (major?) with a minor in languages or psychology.

Then she further discusses an elementary experience in which Mrs. (_insert name here_) teached her…

I glance up. “She teached you?”

“Yeah. In third grade.”

“She teached you?” I emphasize… “I’m glad you can speak Russian because English you’re not so great at.”

She bursts out laughing. “Taught. I meant taught…”

We finish our cocoa and our wonderful hour catching up on the week then bundle up to brave the cold and cross to the theater. Our seats are in the nose bleed section. To get there we must climb what seems like fifteen hundred flights of steps…or we can ride up five floors in the metal box of death.

After three flights of steps, I opt for the metal box of death. We pack into said box with no room for oxygen, which has me white knuckling the brass banister that runs the middle section of the metal box of death.

We arrive on the fifth floor and are escorted to our seats…Which are situated on aisles that only a mountain goat can navigate. (Did I mention my fear of heights?) So we pack into these tiny little seats, I suffer vertigo as I try to figure out how I’m going to watch the performance without passing out and tumbling down to the bottom. Fortunately I’m…plump, I’d bounce…

As the lights dim I glance around and want to scream. I had spent part of the day stressing over appropriate dress only to find people in our section wearing jeans and comfortable tops.

However, I think the three people seated behind us were in the wrong theater. They were dressed for a Marilyn Manson concert rather than the ballet—but I digress. (They were friends of DD’s) I was so proud she decided to dress nicely!

I’m sitting here getting swept away by the music and realize nature is demanding I attend personal business. CRAP! Intermission is three scores away…that works to my benefit. I’ve had to wear pantyhose under my slacks because the material irritated my hives. So I have to do a strip tease in order to answer nature’s call.

By the time I’m coming out and climbing the three flights of steps back to the upper balcony, Intermission has begun so I hurry and take my seat while the crowds pass me by.

I was pleased that in our section were only 10 total seats…and only eight people seated in them so I had room to breathe. I was able to sit with my back to the wall and my front to an aisle so that also assisted with my breathing issues.

After the ballet i was introduced to her Russian teacher, a lovely Ukranian lady who couldn’t stop bragging on my daughter’s talent for languages–suggesting she consider a career as an Interpreter! How my DD is the student of her heart, how sweet and wonderful my child is and how much she adores my girl. Tell ya, it did my heart proud! I guess I’ll keep her around for a while longer after all…

I float back to the truck thinking okay made a right onto this side street and a right into the parking lot so I make a left then another left at the light…unfortunately the intersection is a NO LEFT TURN intersection. So I’m left driving about an unfamiliar part of the city. Suddenly I see my road ahead! YAY! Which way do I turn? Left or right? DD says left…my gut says right. I make the right. DD looks up and says good thing you didnt listen to me…we’d have ended up back at the theater…

On the way home we stop at Taco Bell because by this point I’m ravenous. They screwed up my order but I was just too tired to fight…took the chow home and pulled out the Tchaikovsky CD to let DD listen to.

As i reflect on the performance I realize my only question is…aside from being awed by the beautiful and talented people twirling on the stage, I was supposed to get a story out of that?!?!?! I heard the beautiful compositions by Tchaikovsky and was entranced by the beautiful, agile dancers but seeing a story line? Not so much…

The brightest spot to the entire experience? Watching my daughter’s face as she viewed the Fox Theater for the very first time.

It was hell and I’d rather crawl on my hands and knees through broken glass then swim in a tank full of great whites…but being with my baby girl…now THAT was worth it all.

Now she wants to go to see Wicked in June…I have 6 months to get ready for this outing…where’s that pit?