I knew last September that joining Hens on Ice and being part of a major show that tours through Europe would be a life-changing experience in many ways. I expected that I would learn the ins and outs of being part of a professional show, make new friends and see amazing sites in Europe. But here are some things I couldn't predict.
|I swear I'm unpacking.|
1. Seeing that the articles of clothing in my wardrobe aren't all facing the same direction makes me anxious. Yes, I will thank Hens on Ice for giving me a case of OCD. The Hens on Ice brand has a certain image to keep, and all of us performer hens must act accordingly. One of the many rules is that all our feathered costumes must be hanging with the front facing left and fully zipped. I never knew my own closets were in such disarray. Now I see shirts unbuttoned, front facing right, and I can't breathe. And after hours of flipping shirts around and buttoning or zipping them, I am still finding right-facing rebels. Two days after my arrival home, my clothes from tour still aren't hung.
|...it's more like TiiiiooooME....|
2. Cher and the way she sings become commonplace daily conversation. Cher is an icon over which most all show hens could bond. Infamous for ending a phrase with a powerful note that rattles lower (such as "turn back Tiiiiiiiiii
ME" and "believe in life after Looooooooooo
Cher's singing style infected out group more than that winter flu bug. It started normal enough: playing Cher during warm up a few times and watching Burlesque. But it quickly escalated. Singing along to songs at the bars all turned Cher style after one more drink. It was too easy: Britney Spears, "Baby One More Tiiiiooooo
ME," the end of every phrase in "Moves Like Jagger," J Lo's "On the FLooooooo
R," and the list goes on. It carried on to work. Passing each other, "hellos" got replaced with Cher-like "Oooooooooohs
!" like so:
Finally, those "Oooooohs!" flew onto the ice and into the show. There's nothing like a finale with green army men, a cow girl and a space ranger randomly making Cher noises at one another.
3. I don't care for Switzerland. And the Swiss aren't that great, either (avert your judging eyes from my cackle). When I first saw our itinerary, I was eager to visit one Swiss city: Geneva. We traveled there in the middle of winter, and I'm sure I would have liked it more in the summer. But I'm sure even Siberia is half pleasant in the summer. Thankfully, we only spent half a week in Geneva because it was by far the most overpriced and gray city I saw in eight months on the road.
My first problem is that this tiny country filled with mountains and chocolates in the heart of Europe has the nerve skip out on the Euro and keep their Swiss Franc currency. At least the UK using the British Pound is composed of islands off the coast of mainland Europe, so go ahead, Brits, do your own thing. But Switzerland is plopped in the middle of many Euro-using nations. Get with the program, Switzerland! I'm not eager to come back from the currency hassle alone. Although the conversion rate of US Dollars to Swiss Francs isn't terrible (1 Swiss Franc = $1.09), paying 55 Swiss Francs for a modest Domino's order is just obscene. There'd better be weight loss pills crushed into the crust for that price.
Switzerland isn't all bad. It has efficient public transit. The Swiss make a good watch and Cuckoo Clock. The toilets are out of the future (the seats move when you flush!), and the mountains are apparently majestic under those clouds. But for this hen to fly back, the Swiss need to lower the prices, join me in a cackle instead of looking in horror, or at least fill in the holes in the damn cheese.
|Who ate the rest of this?|
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