Thanks to my cousin Tom for posting this on Facebook.
Never mind, scratch that!
Leave it to the world of drama to have lots of- you guessed it- drama. Oh, SURE. Make me think I don’t get a callback, grab the popcorn while I cry, then call hours later after I’ve been on an emotional roller-coaster to tell me that I DO have a callback.
Real funny, people.
This is all to say that I got a callback, and I think I stand a pretty good chance of landing a role, if only for the fact that there were not a whole lot of people there.
For better or for worse, the director only had me read lines for the character of Little Red. Not sure if that is good or bad, but hey… Until I know otherwise, I may as well consider it a good thing. 
Oh yeah… And I hate this song with a burning passion. As in, more than I hate potato salad.
I really and truly believe that this is the song from Hell. If you don’t believe me, try this.
- Learn it in fifteen minutes flat.
- Choreograph it.
- Perform it.
- Listen to twenty more people learn it for the next two hours.
- Listen to them sing it.
- Sing it all as a group and pretend to just LOOOOOOOOVE it!!
Do you see where I’m going with this?
When I said earlier that there were not a whole lot of people there, there really weren’t. But the girl to guy ratio was exactly what you would expect in musical theater. I would say there were five girls to every one guy. Of the guys, two were under the age of thirty.
Kody had time to kill (a friend from JROTC and my prom date, for those of you who don’t remember who that is) and so he decided to tag along for part of the callbacks to provide moral support.
The director was all over him. “Are you here to audition? You can if you want, you know. Are you sure? Okay…”
He declined, and declined again, and then again when the costume director spotted him. “Yes, I’m positive.”
Positive, my foot. Ten minutes into the drive home he called me and said, “So I was thinking…”
“No kidding, I can smell the smoke.”
“…That I might audition, if it isn’t too late.”
And he didn’t mention this twenty minutes ago… Why?
But I gave him the director’s brother’s number, who gave him the director’s number, and he left a message. This could be VERY interesting.
So continue crossing your fingers, praying, and pouring out raw milk for me! (Don’t worry if you don’t get the raw milk thing… It was mostly for my mother’s benefit.)
~Evelyn
Not. Going. To cry.
Nope… I’m a big girl. Callbacks, big whoop, right?
Translation: I bombed my audition. I mean, seriously bombed. I froze up in the middle of my song and missed a line and a half.
Usually when I recite my chosen monolouge, I end up making myself cry. (It’s a very sad monolouge.) This time it didn’t work, so I probably just sounded annoyed, rather than grief-striken and vengeful.
The cold reading didn’t go so great either. Let’s just say that when you’re trying to read something you have never seen before, huge amounts of stage directions sprinkled everywhere are NOT your friend.
No callback for me, I guess. Pass the Ben and Jerry’s, please.
-Evelyn
Into the woods, and home before dark!
Don’t you just love summer? Although I love the summer clothes, warm weather, and all that goes with it as much as the next girl, I think I speak for all of us when I say that one of the best parts is my stepdad getting home from work before the sun goes down. It’s no fun when he gets home and the dark has made him too tired to do much with us. What can we say? We’re plants.
So that’s the “home before dark” part.
Most of you know that I L-O-V-E musical theater, and if you don’t, well… I do. It would be hard for me to pick a favorite musical, but “Into The Woods” is absolutely in the top five.
Two years ago the local community theater performed The Sound of Music. I did not land a role, but my mom did, (Sister Margareta… Would anybody care to explain a nun with six kids? Does not compute!) and she said it was a wonderful experience.
Tomorrow I’m auditioning for Into The Woods. I’m hoping for the role of one of Cinderella’s stepsisters (who doesn’t love being the bad guy once in a while?) or Little Red Riding Hood. Honestly, I do not expect to get a part, as it is a VERY musically demanding show. However, I’ll probably scream if I make the callbacks. Not while Matthew is sleeping, of course…
I would say that he’s growing like a weed, but I’m pretty sure that babies grow faster than weeds… Hmm. So I guess I’ll just say that he’s growing, because saying that the baby is growing like a baby is rather pointless.
Big brother, little brother.
~Evelyn
I want a one-way ticket off this planet
Our society is seriously screwed up. I am now accepting applications from those of you interested in keeping in touch with me after I move to the rain forest to survive by my wits.
Last night was a JROTC drill. We have been invited to do the 21 gun salute on Memorial Day, and we are drilling like we have never drilled before.
Afterwards, we all went to the park to toss a Frisbee and generally goof around while my Mom did the grocery shopping. Max’s mom was supposed tocome pick him up after about 45 minutes. Half an hour into it, though, it started pouring rain. Awesome.
Even though it was raining, it was still hot as heck, so sitting in the car while we waited was torture.
Fast-forward to a Suburban full of teenagers driving up and down Small Town USA, wondering where we would go if we were Max’s mother. We didn’t find her. Long story short, and many blonde jokes later, we ended up at McDonalds. Where we met up with not Max’s mom, but my mom.
Mom decided to head back to the park and look for the AWOL Mrs. Harvey.
Now, Matthew wasn’t so excited about getting back in the car, so Mom left him with me after saying, “Don’t loose the baby.”
“Mom. How would I loose a baby?”
“Don’t ask me, you lost Mrs. Harvey.”
Touche.
Picture this, if you will. Two girls, two guys, and one of the girls has a baby with her. There is no older, more matronly person to be seen. Where does YOUR mind go?
Yeah, that’s where the minds of the high school track team that came in went, too. You could HEAR the whispering.
It was a good laugh after the embarrassment died down. 
Anyway, the baby’s name is officially Matthew. 
-Evelyn
Prom, babies, and Downton Abbey
Judging by the seemingly random topics I have put in the title of this post, you can probably guess that I do, in fact, have legit reasons for taking so long to write another post.
Yeah, I would definitely call this a legit reason.
My new baby brother made his appearance at 10:15 PM on Wednesday the 25th, weighing- are you ready for this?- eleven pounds. That broke the tied record set by Joshua and Elizabeth at 10-13.
22.5 inches long, eleven fingers, and twelve toes. Yes folks, you read that right. Extra digits run in the family. Eleanor had a full set of twelve and twelve!
Name is still pending, but options being considered are Caleb, Nathan, or Matthew.
Prom. Was. Awesome.
It probably would have been worth going just for the food. Oh my goodness, it was the best barbecue sauce I have ever had.
Looking good, Ashton!
Darwin and Elizabeth
Everybody said that Kody and I were the cutest couple there,
but I think that award goes to Ashton and Todd.
Group picture!Not that I know most of the people in it…
And this is Darwin the chick magnet! …. Wait. I have just been informed that
this is actually just a certain age group. Sorry, Darwin.
Elisa
Y-M-C-A!
Kindly ignore the dress malfunction. It was not exactly custom-tailored.
Danielle is airborne!
I have no clue who these people are, but I thought it was a funny picture anyway.
Wow, that was a lot of pictures
So I don’t know how many of you have heard of/watch the TV show “Downton Abbey.” For the purposes of this post, all you need to know is that it’s the story of an English family and their servants.
This last week I have channeled my inner Downton Abbey, and catered at semi-formal events. So much for the maids not serving in the dining room. A friend of a friend (actually it gets more complicated than that, but I’ll spare you the details) owns a catering company, and one day they had three different events, at the same time. Needless to say, they needed more people.
So I went to the Goodwill, bought some slacks and a blouse, and hoped I wouldn’t spill iced tea on anybody important. (I didn’t. But last night I almost dropped a brownie with ice cream on somebody who I later found out is the mayor. Oops.)
I’ve done this twice now, and what’s more, they want me to come back again on the 12th! Which means… No, not another paycheck. LEFTOVERS. That’s the important part.
~Evelyn
Oh, the joys of being a girl.
Heels. You either love ‘em or you hate ‘em. Generally speaking, I fall into the latter category. This may be partly due to the fact that I hardly ever wear them, and they are therefore foreign.
It’s been about six months since I wore heels anywhere, which means it would be a really stupid idea to try to go to prom without a bit of practice.
So to my siblings, this is why I was wearing two and a half inch heels paired with an old t-shirt while I was cleaning the kitchen this morning.
You all have to be amazed… I only fell once. Okay, twice. But the second time was the cat’s fault.
~Evelyn
Women’s bodies according to our culture
Thanks to Naomi for referring me to a documentary called “Killing Us Softly,” by Jean Kilbourne about women’s bodies and the media. Look it up on YouTube, it will amaze you.
How many of us have seen an ad where a woman’s body is used to sell something? Ask a silly question, right? Asking who hasn’t would make more sense.
When I was nine years old, we lived in a suburb of Portland, Oregon, and would frequently drive to the Willamette river to have a picnic lunch with my stepdad on his lunch break. En route to his office was a billboard advertising beer, and I remember thinking, on multiple occasions, “What does that lady have to do with beer?”
As a high schooler, though, I think I have it figured out.
The message they are sending is not, “Buy our beer because this woman is pretty.” It is not, “Our beer is as good tasting as she is good-looking.”
It is “If you buy this beer, you’ll be cool enough to buy girls like her.” Because she has become an object for sale.
And although we have become objects, we are not even portrayed as good objects, are we?
”Don’t be such a girl.”
”Chick flicks.”
”Crying like a girl.”
So we starve and exercise and diet ourselves into being Barbie, and then our femininity is dismissed as weak, unattractive, and pathetic. Except, of course, the countless instances of being portrayed as the “sexy schoolgirl.” So we had better be either a six-year-old with curves or the slightly masculine wild child who sleeps with multiple men a month. According to our culture, there are no other alternatives even worth considering.
Even the Christian pop culture has gotten in on this. How many of us have seen the fairly trendy slogan “modest is hottest”? In our effort to push modesty and self-respect, we have sunk ourselves even deeper into the pit of endless sexuality, giving girls a loophole and continuing to project the message that tells us that if we aren’t hot, there is no hope.
Women are not objects.
Crying is not a sign of weakness.
We have alternatives.
The media does not have to dictate everything about us.
But the low number of women and girls who consciously choose to think and believe this is heartbreaking.
Please don’t be a statistic.
The Fiddlers strike again!
My apologies to my subscribers, once again, on behalf of my Fiddlers. *fuming*
Last night a friend who lives in my dad’s town spent the night, and we had a blast staying up until 2:00 AM, drinking Dr. Pepper, (well, okay, that was me) giggling over boys, and messing with each others hair.
Naomi and I have been friends for, oh… Forever? We met when we were seven and her family came over to our house after my brother was born. They pitched in and gave us a hand catching up on housework, because they are seriously awesome like that.
Oh yeah, did I mention that we’re only 11 hours apart in age? I’m older, but she’s taller. *sigh*
Naomi is much better at doing hair than I am, and did a Katniss braid on me,
us being the Hunger Games fans that we have become.
Oh yeah, and then she hijacked my cellphone and wrote all sorts of embarrassing
text drafts that I would never in a million years send. Nope, don’t ask. Don’t ask.
The black and brown demon-dog you see is Misty, the dog of one of my stepmom’s co-workers,
currently on vacation in California.
My stepsister Shelby was adopted by my father on Thursday, after a long and tedious adoption process. Her bio-dad put up a fuss, despite the fact that he had not seen her, nor asked to see her, since she was two.
Going in…
Posing with the wonderful woman who made it all happen, the attorney who’s name escapes me. :-/
With the judge.
Post-adoption happy dance.
I wish I had the picture that was taken on my stepmom’s camera. Right before it was taken somebody said,
(don’t remember who) “Just think of all the weddings you’ll have to pay for!” Great picture; we were all laughing. Somebody is missing in this picture, though.
We missed you, Princess Chatty!
Heading home.
Oh, wait! We didn’t go home!
We went to the Cheesecake Factory!
Shirly Temple=yumminess. Memorize that equation, it will be on your test.
… You realize that those are girl sunglasses, right? Okay, just checking.
~Evelyn
New farm pictures
