Procrastination Rules!

As some of you may or may not know, aside from hustling tips at the Duke of Perth, and doing this acting stuff, I also freelance write. Well I have a story due tomorrow, 2000 words are needed, I believe I'm on word 601. Currently I'm procrastinating by doing what I do best: Being self-indulgent.

So a friend suggested that I post this story that I wrote about three years ago. Here I go!!!!

Enjoy!

Oh and it's 100% true. (oh and beware of the pukey writing style, it was years ago, rememebr, but still a fun story!)


A Semi-Inconspicuous Brassiere at The Parsnip County Shindig!
By Jolene Turner

My friend Dennis, an actor in town, invited me to a showing of his interactive play, The Parsnip County Shindig. This was definitely interactive theater at its best-or worst, depending on your attitude. Dennis, a sweet, upstanding man told me that this was one "not to miss." Although I'm not a huge fan of interactive theater, I am actress, so I understood the importance of supporting a friend's work, especially when a complimentary ticket accompanies it! Not knowing full well what I was getting myself into I was at least armed with Kristin, another compassionate actress, and a freshly poured creamy Guinness. Kristin and I decided it’d be best to leave our well-known killer cynicism at the door.

Upon entering the Shindig we were requested to dress up and become members of one of the families that inhabited Parsnip County. Kristin and I were soon transported from sleek, sophisticated city girls to two of Parsnip County's best, Tinka Snartemo and Gudrun Snartemo. As 20-year-old Tinka, I was the youngest Snartemo, very sweet, yet very naïve; Kristin was Gudrun, my smart and secretly pregnant, motherly sister-in-law. Donning floral wreaths, wrapped around our noggins, and cotton aprons covering our cute urban ensembles, Gudrun and I officially, and finally entered the Parsnip County Shindig!

The evening began with ridiculous square dances, polkas and the Doe-Si-Doe. There were fiddlers, games, contests, and, of course, parsnips galore. The first character I see of course is Dennis, now Soren Snartemo, my older brother. We greet one another as long lost friends. At first I was skeptical to thoroughly jump into the Shindig and "interact" with the real Parsnip County residents, the rehearsed actors. For one reason, as an actress myself, I do this nearly everyday in rehearsal and for a second, more embarrassing reason, this was not an escape for me, but rather a test. Suddenly my often-touted improv skills and apparent talent for transforming into character was on the line; Every insecurity inside of me squelched.

And then all it took was one quick glimpse of Gudrun, in full character yelping, "these are some mighty fine parsnips, don't-cha-know?" next to our other transformed Snartemo family members, looking horrified, and I suddenly became Tinka Snartemo. Secretly inside I was thanking God that sweet Tinka’s character description included her inability to hold lengthy conversations and her perpetual desire to smile. Grinning like a kitten that just discovered catnip, I was soon dancing up a storm with Soren, Gudrun and a sleuth of Parsnip county residents.

Two hours, five ho-downs and one session of bad Parsnip County poetry later, Gudrun and I realized it was time to relieve ourselves from the now much appreciated, and quickly moving Guinness. In the lady's room we chitchatted about the Shindig, our secret desire to leave, and my big dilemma: My evil bra darting its wiry, fabric-laden support into my delicate sternum.

I cried out, "that's it! I've had it! This damn bra is killing me!" So I asked Gudrun if she thought it'd be inappropriate if I just take it off. We both decided it was late in the evening and I was in too much pain to consider what's "appropriate", so off went the bra! Unfortunately my purse was in the other room, but resourceful woman that I am, I knew I could come up with a plan. Within moments my bra was wrapped up neatly and concealed tightly under my apron strings-no one would ever know! We left the lady's room, me feeling quite fantastic, and Gudrun feeling hungry; it was time for a jolt of sugar. Stopping at the concession to ogle over the freshly baked cookies, Gudrun got a twinkle in her eye, and with even quicker wit than my bra dilemma, she activated her sweet charm. In a flash she slyly tricked the refreshment counter men into providing us with day-old cookies for free as opposed to the fresh ones for $1.25. I am pleased with Gudrun's quick-witted thinking. After all we are starving actresses.

With bellies full of chocolate and cooked dough we returned to the Parsnip County Shindig just in time for the crowning of the Parsnip Royalty, including this year's Parsnip County Princess! Elated with the thought of my crowning glory, I smiled even bigger! As Miss City girl I may have some insecurities, but as Tinka Snartemo I was one confident dame. As we waited to hear the winners, I planned my acceptance speech. I decided there was only one way to accept the crown of Parsnip County Princess-Halle Berry style! Finally the moment arrived and actor Ben Chadwick, playing Ralph "Buddy" Concourse, said: "And this year's Parsnip County Princess is...Gudrun Snartemo!”

Gudrun Snartemo?! What!? Wait a Minute! I'm the sweet one! I'm single. I'm not pregnant! And I'm the Grand Prize Winner for this year's Best Baked Goods County Contest for goodness sakes! What just happened? So I did the "Halle Berry" anyway.

Sweet, good Gudrun walked nervously, yet so modestly, to accept her new royal status, and I sat in the background balling at the top of my lungs. Gudrun accepted her crown in style and announced her new home and pregnancy with husband Steve. The County was excited and pleased with her good fortune. I could have cared less.

The ceremony was soon over and now it was time to dance! Princess Gudrun let me hold her beautiful crown, only for a moment, and as my sadness dwindled we grabbed our dancing partners for the final Parsnip County dance of the night. We Doe-Si-Doed, played follow the leader, swung one another, and grooved until our heart's content. The dancing eventually winded down and our faces were flushed with the excitement of fiddler men and polka music. We began to turn in our Parsnip County accessories one by one and slowly slip back into our 2002 city selves.

Back in black and a little less cynical, I looked forward to retreating to a bar for an evening drink, or two, and then it hit me: Where the hell is my bra?! Suddenly all my happiness and joy was gone, I shifted from sweet, fun dancing girl to psycho-find-my-bra girl. Frantically I tore through the clothing pieces of Parsnip County and I grabbed Kristin. Speechless, I pointed at the clothes, I could not vocalize the words that needed to be said. Finally in a scratchy whisper I confessed, "my bra! my bra!" Kristin, knowing full well what has happened, simply looked at me, smiled and instantaneously laughed. Then a wonderful thing happened. My anxiety slipped into laughter as well, uncontrollable lively laughter, "What the hell was I thinking?"

Realizing it's gone, and dreadfully embarrassed, I decided the best thing to do was just get out of there before someone finds it, after all the thing gave me much pain, why would I want it back? But then I realized I had to say ‘hello, good job and goodbye’ to Dennis. As he walked up to greet me, Kristin and I were still engulfed in wild laughter, and my insecurities were in full bloom. He asked what is so funny, I somewhat composingly replied: "Oh nothing...really, just my costume got messed up."

He wanted to know full details. But, you see, I couldn’t have innocent, sweet Dennis know that my bra is somewhere on the set and not where it should be, hugging my bosoms! I quickly changed the subject. Success! Dennis and I chitchatted, while Kristin scanned the dance floor. The bra was nowhere. But I calmed down. It will be okay, I thought. No it won’t! I tore through the accessories again, nothing, and a buzz of actors and friends joked amongst us as we began our final good byes.

Kristin and I inspected the remains of the Parsnip County Shindig one last time. Could it be in the Town Hall? At the parsnip sculpting booth? Or, gulp, in someone’s perplexed hands? This thought is too overwhelming, I had to give up, I began to leave and then I heard it, the boisterous screech of an actress, "So whose brassiere was that on the dance floor?"

Consecutively I shrieked, Kristin laughed and Dennis’ pure little head whipped around with jaw-dropped, eyes bulged and fingers pointed, and then he uttered, "is that yours?" Flustered I lied, "no! No! God, NO!" It was too late, in his heart he knew the truth and soon everyone would! They would know that my modest bazookas were unsupported and humiliated as I was with the thought that there, now on the stage, was MY bra! My sad green-colored, off brand bra. There was nothing I could do, but take a tip from my evenings alter-ego Tinka, I smiled stupidly and didn’t say a word.

Finally I ran far from the Parsnip County Shindig, holding my loose breasts so as to keep them from swinging. I ran deep back into the city, where I could remain anonymous, enjoy another Guinness, revel in learning the Doe-Si-Doe, and smile broadly, as myself, the foolish girl who thought she could go braless and get away with it.