Living Happily Ever After
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On Stage

Date: May 18, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“You are never so alone as when you are ill on stage. The most nightmarish feeling in the world is suddenly to feel like throwing up in front of four thousand people.”  (Judy Garland)

The next adventure of my business trip occurred shortly after my impressive vocal solo performed backstage for Donny Osmond. It actually took place while he was onstage. When I joined him in the spotlight! (Unfortunately, it wasn’t because of what you might think.)

In the middle of his performance, a few women from the audience joined him onstage. When the first few made it to him, I watched light dawn in the minds of many women in the auditorium. The room began to look like one of those gopher arcade games—where creatures pop up at various intervals, at various locations, and you have to bop them on the head to score. Each woman appeared to be heading to the stage to get close to Donny! I looked around me and started feeling sick to my stomach. I’d been to an autograph signing with Donny and I’d seen firsthand not only how much women love him but how out-of-hand things can get without the proper control (and security.) I knew somebody had to do something. I sat there for a few seconds more, observing women here and there, leaving their seats and heading for the stage and not really sure of what to do, but frantic to prevent a situation that could become out of control. So…I joined them!

As I climbed the steps to the stage and walked out into the spotlight, I felt sick. “I am NOT doing this. I cannot believe I have to do this. What am I doing? Why in the world am I going onstage in the middle of a Donny Osmond performance?” But I did it anyway (someone had to) and began directing the adoring female fans back to their seats. Donny was attempting to do the same and must have seen me out of the corner of his eye and thought I was one of the fans because as I directed the last one back toward her seat and prepared to follow her back to mine, he grabbed my arm, looked like he was ready to tell me to take my seat, but instead realized who I was and said, “Oh, it’s YOU!” and with relief, continued the show.

I returned to my seat and cringed at the unexpected adventure I’d just had. Disaster averted. The story of the time I joined Donny Osmond onstage—in the middle of a performance—and lived to tell about it. (I’m sure if I’d had to sing, the outcome would have been drastically different. I’ll leave the performing to Donny…and Marie.)

“If you take my performance or my understanding of the role and my appreciation for story…I guess becomes an action film.” (Vin Diesel)

Another Adventure

Date: May 17, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“You have to believe in yourself, otherwise you can’t do it. If you don’t believe in yourself, how do expect anyone else to? Because ultimately, you’re the one who has to do it.” (Donny Osmond)

Apparently, I had to do it—although I did it more without thinking than with any real belief behind the attempt. Here’s how it all went down.

As I’ve mentioned before, I have the good fortune to work with Donny Osmond on behalf of my company (he’s our spokesperson, I’m in public relations.) Donny is the consummate professional, not to mention uber-talented, a fabulous singer and entertainer with nearly five decades of show business behind him, and he is a NICE man and a family man to boot. I learn so much from him!

On my recent business trip, Donny flew in for the day to speak to and perform for my company. While waiting to go on stage, we chatted and caught up a little bit on what had taken place at our event prior to his arrival. I told him I’d seen an amazing talent the night before—a man who played a guitar and harmonica as  he sang a song while riding a unicycle on a running treadmill (don’t ask! I don’t know how he did it, much less came up with the idea of doing it!) Donny was intrigued.

“What song was it?” he asked.

My mind went blank.

I couldn’t think of the song title or the words. I stumbled around trying to describe the song, but all I could remember was the tune. Without thinking, I started singing/humming it. And as I’m a few measures into it, humming away, I (finally) had the presence of mind to think, “WHAT in the world are you doing? You are singing a solo for Donny Osmond! Why would you do that? How are you going to get out of this one?” but I was already doing it and didn’t know what else to do…so I kept going until I’d finished the song!

“Oh, THAT song!” Donny said, politely, when I was through. “I know that song. That must have been something to see.”

Uh-huh. Much more to see than what I’d just put him through. One more thing off my bucket list before it even made it on: sing a solo for Donny Osmond. Check!

Another unexpected adventure. And this one was totally my fault.

“I was asked to act when I couldn’t act. I was asked to sing ‘Funny Face’ when I couldn’t sing, and dance with Fred Astaire when I couldn’t dance – and do all kinds of things I wasn’t prepared for. Then I tried like mad to cope with it.” (Audrey Hepburn)

Still trying to cope.

My First Audition—Almost

Date: April 12, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Simon would not want to audition in front of Simon.” (Paula Abdul)

Have you ever looked at your life and wondered how you got there? That happened to me the other day. I call it, “The Audition.” Get ready.

I confess I never imagined “audition” and “Andrea” would be mentioned in the same sentence, much less in connection with my life, unexpected or otherwise. But sometimes in life, you get things you never expected! (Wise words, where have I read them before…Oh, yes, in the “About Me” section of this blog.)

One night my husband was talking to me about a theater opportunity he was going to audition for. He made the mistake of mentioning how much the job paid and without thinking (because I’m always trying to figure out ways to enhance my income–still short every month, three years later, darn it) I said, “Really? Maybe I should audition!”

Did I REALLY just say that?

It came out of my mouth on a whim, as a joke or a warped version of wishful thinking in the way you dream of being the recipient of a little extra money…but  before I knew it, my husband was off and running with the idea. He began planning: talked to me all about it, told me what to expect, said he’d help me work up a song to audition with, and when his married son dropped by, he started telling “everyone” (his children and my children and that always leads to information shared to many others:) what I was up to. Sort of a problem for me.

First, I hadn’t figured out how I was going to tell my kids that I was considering attempting something crazy. Second, I was still thinking I was in the “considering it” phase, not actually “planning to do it.” Third, believe it or not and contrary to what this blog may imply, I like to do things without having everyone know about it unless I choose to put it out there, like in this blog, and I always put it out there after the fact—after I’ve experienced it, processed it, mentally recovered from it and made sure enough time has passed I’m not imposing on anyone’s privacy. And fourth, in remarriage with children those opportunities for total privacy are few and far between. It feels like other parties always have to be notified of something we’re planning and thus, know my business almost as quickly as I do, so I relish the few things not connected to parenting/children that my husband and I can do without informing or involving anyone else…and then he told the kids right off the bat! (I know, I know, I’m hypersensitive where boundaries are concerned. I’m pretty sure it’s just an issue I have, but it has been a challenge because our two different families with two different cultures, which includes completely different ideas about boundaries, expectations and everything else, don’t always align. What’s normal to one family and the way they’ve always done it, doesn’t necessarily mesh with my expectations or isn’t how my family has always done it…you get the picture. Lets just say marriage, and especially remarriage, is a continual lesson in compromise, among many other things, is it not?)

Over the next few days, my husband continued to talk about the audition like it was a reality and I was really going to do it, left potential audition songs for me on the piano, and finally, the night before the audition, sat me down at the piano, had me sing a few songs, and selected one for me to master. Which led to an impromptu singing lesson because as he gave me vocal direction I could only look at him with a blank face. “Huh?” I frequently questioned. “What does that mean?” He’d demonstrate, we’d work on it and after quite a bit of time, he told me we were ready to leave it and he made a plan for us to go to the audition the next morning together.

As I stood in my living room, singing a solo in front of my husband and trying to sing in a more classical style (a huge challenge for me, lets just say I was Madonna on a cruise ship for a reason!), I had a hard time not laughing. I just kept thinking, “What in the heck am I doing? How did I get myself into this? This is NOT me. Didn’t I say I was never going to sing in public? I never would have imagined, on our first date, that someday my husband would be giving me a singing lesson…preparatory to an AUDITION!” Yet there I stood, preparing to do that very thing on the morrow.

And then wouldn’t you know it, after all of that time, work, effort and near humiliation I finally thought to check my calendar…and discovered I have a big work event scheduled the same weekend the show opens. Even if I were good enough (by some fluke) to make the show on the very first audition of my life, they’d never cast me if I were going to miss opening weekend performances!

I didn’t audition after all.

Saved by a scheduling conflict.

“A lot affects the outcome. It boils down to scheduling and the commitment of the network.” (David Ogden Stiers)

And that is the story of my first audition. Or the audition that actually didn’t happen. Whew—close call on that one!

Do-Be-Do-Be-Do

Date: January 21, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Do be do be do.” (Frank Sinatra)

Too soon, the final night of the cruise, THE show, was upon me. I was dressed, I was ready to go (well, as ready as I’d ever be—HATING the costume, especially the wig I had to wear; filled with dread at what I was about to do; and unable to do anything but just get it over with.) The good news? I hated the wig so much, I was more focused on that than the fact I had to sing a solo in front of hundreds of strangers!

More good news? I wasn’t alone.

My husband was also in the show, dressed in a tuxedo and hat (looking very handsome, I might add!) to sing a Frank Sinatra song. He was backstage with me, sitting by me as we watched the show on monitors and waited for our call. As many times as I’ve sat in the audience and watched him perform, I confess I’ve wondered what he does backstage . Now I know. He says he sits and reads, but that night he sat and worried about another performer. And it wasn’t even me, it was Garth Brooks! (His brother, my brother-in-law, was singing a Garth Brooks song.) Apparently, the brother bond is stronger than even Madonna.

And before I knew it, my personal escort (the handsome young male dancer from Australia) came for me. They’d told us our escorts would walk us on stage, but instead, mine thrust the mike in my hand, whispered, “Go!” and sent me out into the spotlight alone as my boys (the male dancers in tight, tiny shorts and tight, tiny shirts with sequined “M”s on the front) started busting their moves.

I sang my song. I don’t think I forgot the words, but yet, I don’t have a clue what words I sang. My husband was right about the muscle memory thing though—somehow my mouth sang the words of its own volition, because all I was doing was standing there thinking, “What in the world have I gotten myself into? THIS isn’t what I do. The last time I was on-stage impersonating a pop star and singing for a crowd was 1982! I wonder how much longer this will take? I wonder who is in the crowd? How many people are in the theater? What did I just sing? Who does this type of thing at 44 years old? I must be crazy. I wonder what the male dancers are up to behind me?” and a host of other thoughts.

And then it was done. Over. Relief! I’m pretty sure the audience felt the same way.

That is the tale of my one chance in life to sing with a live band.

And I survived it.

“I’m for whatever gets you through the night.” (Frank Sinatra)

Another totally unexpected adventure in my unexpected life.

The 13th Clown

Date: January 20, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

Funny how a 7-day cruise flies by when you have to sing a solo in front of hundreds of people on the last night! At least, that’s how it was for me. Thank goodness for dress rehearsals!

Just kidding. I mean, it was nice to know where to stand on the stage (the big “X”). But I confess, it made me nervous when the handsome young cast member/dancer from Australia told me not to move too much as I sang…because my male backup dancers would be dancing all around me. Wearing short-shorts and tight tiny t-shirts. And their moves had to be something to behold (I couldn’t see them, as they were dancing behind me) because my husband commented several times about them.

Oh, good. Then the dance moves would match the lyrics.

The song? “Like A Virgin.”

When I heard what I had to sing, I wanted to die. ”I can’t sing this!” I told my husband.

“Sure you can, you’ve heard it before. You’re an 80s girl. You listened to Madonna, you know this song!” he remarked.

“Well apparently, I never listened to the words—or I didn’t understand them if I did,” I said. “I’m older now, I’m a newlywed, and I can’t believe them! I should be mortified!” I exclaimed. (Thank goodness for Ponzi schemes, crime, public divorce and familial downfall to take away any sense of mortification or humiliation. I told you, I can’t be humiliated anymore!)

But it was too late to do anything about it. My husband told me the show was counting on me. It was too late to get anyone else to do it. So like the unexpected life, sometimes you’ve just got to push through it. My sister-in-law helped me do 1980s makeup (and blue eye shadow), I cringed as I put on every article of the provided costume—black boots, black bustier, pink netting skirt—and comforted myself that at least I wouldn’t know anyone in the audience.

Turns out, I was wrong about that too.

“If there are 12 clowns in a ring, you can jump in the middle and start reciting Shakespeare, but to the audience, you’ll just be the 13th clown.” (Adam Walinsky)