Spending muggy Sunday afternoons outdoors in August never makes any sense to me. Unless I'm mashing the pedals and crashing into trees while falling off my mountain bike on some out-of-town trails.

Suffice it to say that the idea of passing my afternoon in the city shuttling between performing arts venues downtown on foot didn't exactly appeal to me.

Enter Capital One Bank Theater District Open House. Otherwise known as The Good Time I Didn't Know I'd Have Despite Sweating. Or The Prequel to Fayzanation, whatever you prefer.

Even though you won't find me applauding the idea of an effective block party in Houston during the dog days of summer, I must admit — Theater District Open House won me over. And strengthened my visions of my own personal greatness.

On what other day of, well, my lifetime can I pretend to be in the starring role of a Wortham Theater production? Granted, the only occupied seats in the house were way up in the rafters, where eager Houstonians were getting a lecture in theater-related things. And yes, the stage itself was packed with children frolicking under a lively demonstration of stage snow.

The Fayza Show, it was not. Yet.

But so? I stood center stage, and I reckoned with those red velvet seats until they cowered in the shadow of my awesomeness. I'm destined to be a superstar, and my not-so-dormant diva appetite was whetted once again.

The Theater District Open House volunteers didn't even snicker when I asked where my name would be placed on the dressing room door. I took that as a good sign that preparations were in the works to make me the next headlining actress. I'll check back next week.

I even let my companion sit in front of the lights in my dressing room. She'd look really good as a supporting actress. No upstaging me, of course.

Meandering over to the Alley Theatre, I was a little disappointed with the lack of theatrical inroads I could make. A swashbuckling pirate-type gentleman had already taken the stage (effectively nixing my ability to deliver the soliloquy I had diligently rehearsed), cracking a whip and illustrating the usage of other stage weapons.

Nice, if you like beating your fellow actors up with cool medieval toys. I'm a little higher brow than that.

Since scripted violence isn't my bag, I oohed, I aahed, and sought out more opportunities for my overdue superstardom.

While Jones Hall was massive and overwhelmingly impressive to my virgin orchestral eyes, I simply couldn't believe all those people were there to see the Houston Symphony.

Like, huh? With me so near? I was just on stage at the Wortham an hour prior. Where were the adoring fans then?

They must've gotten mesmerized by the magical siren song of violas and cellos and woodwinds. Oh my.

Figures. Simple folk.

As my friend and I walked dejectedly back to my car (well, after a quick head poke into Samba Grille — I figured someone would have to treat me like the celebrity I am there, right?), I realized I'd spent a pleasant afternoon getting acquainted with a part of Houston I'd only read about on CultureMap.

And my career aspirations had finally taken shape.

First, the Wortham. Next? Broadway, baby!

Watch out, Wicked. Here comes your witch of the southwest.