Thursday, February 26, 2009

Earrings should not weigh more than pets.

Tony Foley only receives the crossword puzzle on the weekends. Whatever.
My kitten just got really excited.
So aforementioned wiry young actor has joined the navy.
What one has to do to join the navy is as follows:
a.  heaps of paperwork regarding all previous employment, marriage certification, resumes, vocal range, eye color, how many times you blew your nose in the past year, etc.
b.  a seven hour standardized test on basic subjects like algebra, reading, and a whole new alphabet that has nothing to do with anything and features pairings like M: Mule Hickey and S:  sinusitis.
c.  an intense physical examination. Shots, sweating, lots of probing in all probability. I refuse to inquire any further into that subject.
d.  having a DEAR CLOSE PERSONAL FRIEND drive you out to the middle of an abandoned strip of run down hotels in the middle of a sewage strewn field next to the airport in the middle of the night and leave you for dead.
You are then fetched at dawn's crack by a bus from God knows where and driven to the nearest army base where you are ridiculed for practicing vegetarianism, your fine humor is completely misunderstood , and for all your trouble you are resplendently assigned to man the naval gift shop.
I would rather chew on a Rotunda.
Anyway, I am very pleased for this actor. And I think I am getting an assault rifle out of the deal.
Tonight I tried to drink champagne. I really did. I drank one cup by staring at Jan and repeating to myself, "If she can do it, humans can do it."
But then I got around to my second cup and just could not get past the fact that I was drinking Lysol, so I stopped and gorged myself on chubby grapes and some oniony glue-ish dip spread onto Wheat Thins.
Nancy really enjoys her ribbed tops.
Today Brett referred to me as a nasty fat rodent and I beamed for hours. This is something I don't have the fingerpower to go into explaining.
I really love Hardee's sweet tea.

Thursday, February 19, 2009


I think my cat is the softest cat in the world.
It is a beautiful day.
I am going to wake up at six in the morning. And by eight thirty, I will be glad I did so. 
Some monkey ripped some woman's face off. They should have kept his nails filed.
I think it would be fun were it possible to get temporary plastic surgery as a Halloween costume. I would totally get my nose thinned like a baby carrot, A LOT of lip plumping and get my eyes opened real wide. This would be a hoot.
Maggie and I decided to be Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh for Halloween last year. And then we undecided it. But I still think it would be fun next year. Although cold. 
It's really a shame I am not in Altar Boyz.
Maybe I should run for governor. 
Oh balls. It is going to be cold in the morning.
There is some picture of Beyonce laying on the beach in a black bikini attempting to look sexy and carefree and she appears to have a salamander glued to her ass. Takes away a little bit.
Hoo de hoo.
I am apparently going to have one little girl someday. This is according to a needle. But this needle seems to have a good track record, so I have decided to resign myself to this prospect. I have discovered the bright side, which is: I will dress it up every single day as things like a bean, a raccoon and a butternut squash. It will HATE me. 
Brandon Becker has highlighted his hair. I'm still reeling with bleary confusion.
If anyone who reads this happens to see Scott W. this coming week, please strongly suggest to him that he take the governor switch off his little motorbike. I am a supremely accomplished pesterer and I feel between the however many of us we can convince him to do this. Actually probably not, but it is worth a try and I am just aching to ride the putt-putt to the Tavern.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Getting good at getting mucous out.

I have three sheep now. This is splendid.
First is Elsinore. She is a globe. She faints whenever Brett talks to her, which is fun due to the fact that she is perfectly round and as such quite rolly, so I always try to schedule her encounters with Brett near the edge of some high piece of furniture.
(Also I noticed this morning that she definitely is supposed to be a ram, as she has horns. I will not let this change anything.)
Then there is Borgnine. I found him stuffed into the yarn section of the Colonial Heights Wal-Mart and after I had pressed him against my cheek decided I had to have him. He is most soft. On the drive home I decided that he is blind, and as such, thinks he is a cow. So he says Moo a lot. He also aims himself incorrectly whenever attempting conversations with Brett.
But Borgnine is mostly Brett's sheep, because when I presented him upon my arrival home, Brett took him off to serve as a pillow and I haven't really been permitted to lay hands on him since.
And then last night in Kroger I spied in the seasonal Easter section ANOTHER sheep that resembles Borgnine, but was a girl. So I bought her and some steak.
It occurred to me upon opening my eyes this morning that her name is Genevieve. And I don't even like that name, but oh well. 
Today Brett combed his hair straight back when he got out of the shower and now he looks like Dracula.
Tom McGranahan is ill, Scott is getting ill, the accompanist is ill, Brett is getting ill. All of this is probably actually my fault.
I want to make something with sweetbreads. I wonder if there is just a miscellaneous box of sweetbreads you get in the store that features all different body parts or if you can specify. They look squishy. I bet Ginnie knows how to make stuff with sweetbreads. I don't understand why they are called breads. 

Monday, February 16, 2009

Ill. I blame Richard entirely.

I don't know how Janine said "Swedish Match." I can hardly type it. Makes my lips feel like chubby dumplings. Hardest tongue twister I've ever tried to wrap my mind around.
I have had two pieces of cake and half a pint of ice cream for breakfast today. Delicious. 
Ill. Played fifth-grade Rondi as a dried up bitter lawn mower all weekend.
What is that birth control that looks like a turkey wishbone that you stick up in yourself? How does that even work? Does it have to pierce stuff?
Have taken three showers since last night. Have become obsessed with shaving my legs this weekend. All because I have been stealing Durron's lotion to put on myself and I enjoy smelling like a s'more. Also discovered last night that Mary Page has a long, slicey scar similar to mine on the side of her leg. I will ask her how she got hers.
Tonight 24 is on.  Jack Bauer is my boyfriend. Also King Kong. And Ned. 
Robin Arthur and I might take welding together.
I don't understand how people wear tube tops.
Oh I just realized I forgot to take the cough drops out of my overalls pocket. I will now inform the costume shop before they wash them. Though- if they wash them, they will be ruined, and then maybe I can have them.
This is not very interesting. 
Saw lots of thin boys fouette-ing last night in jazz pants.
Tony Foley is very kind to give me his crossword puzzles. Though I have made a poor showing of my skills in that area for the past two weeks.
Do they have taxes in Burma? I will move there and get a kitten and an elephant.
While house-sitting last week, I was one evening gifted with a gutted sparrow carcass. 
So I messaged Ginnie asking if there was some specific place for bird bodies.
I messaged this without thinking that she would of course assume that I had finally made good on my threat to kill her pet "bird" Bud. 
That's pretty much the end of that story.
I like that Bo walks on his tiptoes. 
I really think it's too bad that Hannah is now too old to go on America's Next Top Model.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Flu. Probably. Doesn't matter.

My grandmother Rassie (yes Rassie-short for jack shit) has been elected Geriatric Valentine Queen of the Brighter Living (or Darker Dying as one resident fondly calls it) Assisted Living Facility.
Lots of parentheses.
She is so far unaware of this. But she does have her fingernails painted. 
This is a stitch I feel because my grandmother is that sort of backwoods hard-ass raised all 13 of her siblings by herself because her mother was under the weather for about 12 years and now can't remember the names of most of them kind of woman.
I so hope she is awarded a tiara. Which I then so hope she bequeaths to me.
Never wear the pants of the people you are house-sitting for. Well, never if they have dogs. Because you will have noses inside of you in unfathomable places.
Have to go now. Starving. Might report back on the Brighter Living Inauguration Ceremony.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Meat at the carillon.

Well, this morning I turned my thighs into cold cuts.
A certain wiry young actor featuring horrifying enthusiasm for waking for the day before 8pm the previous evening and going out in lots of tights and flailing around in the dirt has been haranguing me for months to attend this SEAL Team thing. So I finally decided to go. 
So I went. Hannah and Alia went too. 
I didn't like it when they tried to make me talk. 
"Hoo-yah" is not something I have to say. 
There was lots of annoyingly perky encouragement from all parties involved. 
All in all, I feel it is probably a marvelous way to get into shape. And, as such, I will take all the information gleaned from this morning and parlay it into what I would do as exercise. ALONE. AT MY HOUSE. I will torque my gall bladder and crunch my ovaries and flex my nipples and all that crap, and I will do it without 180 strangers in black spandex Hoo-yah-ing me in the middle of the night.
I really love my kitten. He sits with me when I am sad. Only then. He just knows.
I think that is fascinating about animals. There is some cat down in Florida who lives at a nursing home and the staff always knows when someone soon X because the cat will go sit with them. Then they always promptly keel over. 
Then I did my show this morning. I am always saddened in my show during the second act because we get to eat cookies. Those doughy soft Christ-like sugar cookies with mounds of thick frosting and sprinkles. I manage two enormous bites, but due to the acting that has been assigned me, that is all I can fit in. Due to the consistency of the frosting, I have added about 7 minutes onto the show taking the time to de-spackle my molars before my next line.
I told Durron I wished he was made of chocolate because I would totally eat him. This went over big and I wasn't sure why for a moment, but then was made to understand.
There is  a baby doing chin-ups in the Theatre IV Touring Production of Rumplestiltskin.
I am supposed to go downtown now and drop off the rent check. 
Might take long hot shower first. To thaw out my thighs. My thighs were like frozen salamis for about 3 hours after I arrived home this morning.