I'm still waiting for the snow.
And now, it's time for a Christmas story. With barf.
I'm famous. I'm not sure if you knew that, but I totally am. I'm famous - an actress and singer. Bet you didn't know that!
I'm famous because, at the young age of ten, I was given the most lines in our family's church Christmas Pageants, as the Angel of the Lord.
A very exciting role! Though all of us wanted the coveted role of Mary (my reason was that the costume for Mary had a bit of a bustier in the front, and I so badly wanted something to 'boost' up - my "I must, I must, I must increase my bust" exercises hadn't started to work yet), the role of the Angel of the Lord was super exciting because it meant that you got to wear the fanciest angel costume, and you got to stand on top of the organ to recite your lines.
I loved being the center of attention (hey, I was the second oldest in a family of five). I knew all the boys would be watching (I loooooved boys), and my parents would shine with pride. I'd master my lines and be scouted by a movie producer, who would take me to Hollywood. There, I would grow boobs and meet Andrew Keegan, and live happily ever after.
The night of my debut, I was giddy and excited. We had breakfast for dinner, and the only thing I could get down was a large amount of hash brown patties.
I was feeling a little queasy as we gathered in the church basement, getting ready, and going over our lines. The clock ticked by, and before I knew it, it was time to go on.
And I hid in the bathroom, and threw up.
It was curtain call - everyone was looking for me. Where could Patti be?
I was in the bathroom, revisiting my hash brown patties.
Finally, my older sister found me. She helped clean me up, and ran upstairs with me, right in time for me to take the stage... on top of the organ.
My lines that night were delivered in a squeaky, high pitched, wavering voice, as I fought off the urge to throw up on the angels and shephards below me. And I forgot my lines.
How that was possible, when I studied them so much? I still remember them to this day:
"Do not fear, for behold. I bring good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For onto you is born this day, a saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign onto you. Ye will find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."
My sister had to prompt me. And so ended my career in the theater.
To be fair, however, I get it honestly. I think it's a genetic trait. Besides the Babester, who played the lead role in her highschool as many times as was humanly possible, and Dan Dan the Diving Man, we were all prone to pukage. Her twin, Turbo, threw up all over his principal's shoes at his grade 3 elementary school Christmas pageant (I guess pageants are not really good for us Adairs).
But the best story at all centers around my older sister, Did. The one who prompted me and helped clean me up. Aren't you happy I'm sharing this story, Did?
It was April, and we were.. oh, I don't know - it may have been Did's 11th birthday? Our church hosted a fundraising variety show, and man - it was fun times! They even had blacklights for special badass puppetry.
Anyway, Did was cast as the star role, with a solo, to "five little monkeys jumping on the bed." We were all so excited for her, and the variety show took place over her birthday weekend, so we decided to bring all of her guests to the variety show. That way, her closest friends and family would be there to see her take the stage. In her pajamas. Awesome.
We all lined up in front row seats. We were so excited! I was hanging out with the older girls, so that was fun for me.
When Diddy came out on stage, her face looked weird. I thought she looked green. You can read Did's mood like a book because she shows it on her face, and she was NOT happy. I debated on pushing her offstage and taking her part (middle child syndrome), but my mom told me it was Christa's time to shine.
"Five little monkeys, jumping on the bed," the five children sang, each one jumping off stage at the "one fell off and bumped his head" part of the song. At the end of the sign, Did's job was to sing "I've got the whole mattress, to myself," and she almost made it through, except "to myself" became "to my........ PUKE." She didn't sing 'puke', but that's what she did, right on stage, in front of the black lights (it was glowing), at the feet of all of her friends and family. Although I felt horrible for my sister, it was kind of marvelous. Especially when she went home and straight to bed, and I got to play with all her friends.
I think all of this explains my aversion to churches. They're barfaramas waiting to happen. Three out of five children have been sick to their stomachs when attempting to perform in a religious setting.
Coincidence? I think not.