Soup / Extra-ing.

So like Saturday I went to a friend's co-op for dinner, and they had lentil soup, so immediately I looked at the shirt I was wearing, a brown-and-white striped shirt that I had somehow managed to keep immaculately white, and I feared for it, and I ate very carefully over the table, only to have some kid bump the back of my chair behind me and spill soup over both shoulders and all the way down my back, which I had actually envisioned happening like a couple minutes before (a musing like, "wouldn't it be ironic if someone bumped into me and spilled their soup all over my shirt which I'm carefully trying to keep clean?").

Luckily, though, I grabbed a container of salt and ran to the bathroom and got all the stains out immediately with salt and cold water, though when I returned to the table, it was like I was a contestant in a wet polo shirt contest, though my nipples weren't that prominent, to tell the truth.

On another note, they say that the best part of being an extra is the other extras, and I've found that half true, since a lot of them are assholes. But, there's a few nice ones, like this one old woman I sympathized with during the Thursday night shoot, when we were all out in the rain at 4am for hours on a street corner, and women had it worse off then men since they had thin shoes and short skirts and no scarves to fill in their low-cut coats, and this woman had it worse than that even, since she was like in her late 60s and frail-looking and they asked her not to wear a hat, since her costume looked better that way.

Anyhow, we turned out to talk a little yesterday during the movie theater shoot, and she was pleasant enough - we talked about this and that, like how she had gotten the sniffles from the last shoot, and how I had liked the chicken salad on the buffet, since the caterers had mixed in dry roast peanuts, which I found odd at first but then kind of nice, though I still wished they had added in some red onion -- and then somehow I mentioned how I had borrowed the car of a friend to drive out to the shoot, and that I had filled the tank for her as a thank-you, and how I'm also taking her to martini night as a thank-you, since martinis are only $4.25 and I can get her seriously fucked up for a very reasonable price on some very good martinis.

At that point, then, the lady asked about the martini lounge and where it was and if they had a good dirty martini, and how many it took me to get messed up, and when I said four or five, if we're talking seriously, she said she loved them and it would only take her two or three but she gave them up because alcohol gives you wrinkles, and she used to drink them with friends at this one ritzy legendary bar when she lived downtown before moving to her posh suburb she now lives in, and how actually she used to drink manhattans more than martinis, until one day when she had five manhattans and went home and threw up on the sidewalk outside her apartment and the next afternoon when she left her apartment there was this big stain from her vomit on the sidewalk, and the stain stayed there for over a year, which she laughs about now.

I also met her husband, who grew up in a town an hour away from me. He was okay.