I went to this concert tonight with my dad and it was fabulous. Broadway/Kelly Dehaan/wow. So anyway, it was great and then I was thinking about musicals and then I thought about musicals that I have been in and that made me think of high school and on and on until we arrive at the point where I thought of one solitary moment in time that makes me grin here and now, almost four years later.
My sophomore year in High School we did Once Upon a Mattress. And in the culture of what we call "Musical Season" at Taylorsville, after every company meeting and before every curtain call we would have a cast prayer. unnofficial, of course. Cause we are in school. But everyone participated. Cause we are in school in Utah. So one time my friend Bryce was saying the prayer, and it went something like this:
" Heavenly Father, please help us to do our best, and kick this show's trash. Amen."
(Something like that. Slightly irreverent, but I maintain my belief that God has a keen sense of humor, and our hearts were in the right place. So I choose to feel okay about it.)
That phrase. Kicking Trash. Where did it come from, I wonder? What does it mean? Every teenage knows, but it is hard to explain.I tried once. To my mother. But explaining generational phrases to my mother is a whole new blog. I think I will attempt to define said phrase. (with my kick-trash english skills. yep.)
To Kick Trash:
The establishment of superiority and/or well recognized triumph of a noun over another (beaten to the ground in humiliation) noun. To do a good job of, or thoroughly beat the crap out of some endeavor. To dominate.
I came to a conclusion today. There are some situations in which I kick trash. In others, well, I am the (beaten to the ground in humiliation) noun. Following this conclusion, I came to a decision. Life will stop kicking my trash. Because I am the trash kicker in this relationship, dang it. My life has no business kicking my trash, because it's mine! HA!
So now the question is, how do I go about the trash kicking? Anecdotal Sidenote: When I was little, my brother Alex would wear steel toed boots and sometimes, like the brat I was(am. ahem) I would try to kick him or stomp on his toes and end up just hurting myself. When I was sixteen, and once again in a musical, I tripped and landed with all my weight on the heel of my character shoe.....on my friend's foot. There was some bone breaking involved. And while I felt horrible, and the bruised swelling horror that I inflicted still sometimes shows up in my nightmares, this experience served a purpose in that I realized that I had a shoe weapon Alex doesn't have. High heels. Those babies are dangerous. And since I realized that, I don't worry as much walking alone at night when I am wearing my Steve Madden heels because those four inch stilletos are made of steel and they are potentially hazardous. I feel.....powerful. (insert evil laugh here?)
Analogy alluding to the Anecdotal Sidenote:
Alex's steel toed boots= My status as the trash kickee
Steve Madden Heels= My status as the trash kicker
So now I just have to make sure that my attitude in life matches the Stilletos.
Math tests, College decision making, to do lists, Dang Job, I am wearing my killer heels and your trash is about to be kicked.
(There's feminism for ya!)