Mountains.

Have decided to write a blog in light of the fact that I have grown tired of waiting for Scott to come up with a witty reply to my comment on facebook.

Could be waiting a while.

Actually, he does prove to be quite clever from time to time. Though he enjoys staring at me to see if he will succeed in making me giggle after he says one of his remarks. This results in lengthy staring competitions which end only when I decide to go back to reading my US Weekly.

It is thundering something fierce. Which is so very neat. If it doesn't start raining as well, I might sleep on the porch again.

I was forced to take a three hour nap today because Surprise was napping on top of me.

I really enjoy the cast of Summer of 42.

I have an aunt- well scratch that. I am pretty sure I recall her x about a year ago. HAD an aunt. Something with her kidneys. Had to drive all the way to Tennessee to check into the hospital because in Honaker, VA on the Big A mountain there are no kidney units. Her name was Roxy. I love that name. Might name my child that. My child will have no memory of this original Roxy. Roxy bore a chilling resemblance to Albert Einstein. Large bushy white hair. Constant blue housecoat. Bare, red, chapped skin. Wandering around in the paddocks by her tiny house on the side of the hill with her cows and chickens and yellow ponies. Occasional chicken in the house.

Last time I caught sight of her I was on my Aunt Julie's porch cross the holler and was being advised NOT to take the walk up the path by Roxy's porch because there was apparently now a very real risk that she would take the shotgun to anyone she saw pass, great niece or not.

Aunt Julie is amazing. Might top 4'5". Pistol. Fiesty. Married to Bernard since she was 15. Bernard recently x, and Julie carries the sadness, though she soldiers on, as you would expect any mountain raised woman to do. There is a picture of Julie and Bernard when they were just married. She looks like a beautiful woodland fairy. Long blond hair, fair skin, downcast blue eyes, tiny slip of a girl. And Bernard looking plaid and rough and sturdy. They look very happy.

Also among these pictures is a photo of my great-grandmother Rachel who I never met. She was GORGEOUS. Looked like one of those Gibson Girls. One of those people you find hard to believe existed in reality. She married my great-grandfather and he promptly sired 13 children and became completely inappropriate.

My grandmother Rassie ended up raising most of her siblings. Which accounts, I think, for her hardened expression in any picture of her from age 12 on. She honestly doesn't remember all of their names without considerable thought. And this has nothing to do with a deteriorating mental capacity. I think it just wasn't what was most important.

Ok. I want a pizza now.

Almost one.

Tonight we went to Bottom's Up. One really feels like one is having a life experience sitting down there listening to the trains rattle overhead. And looking at the flood wall. And being angry at the flies. I like to look at the way people's skin creases when they smile. I notice that this happens to babies too. Like everyone has too much skin on purpose.

Maggie got pasta. She didn't like it. I ate it.

Mad Men is super good. I was telling Adam, I think the episodes are BORING until the last fifteen seconds wherein something FASCINATING invariably happens.

I can now throw Surprise clean across the room without any fear of damaging him.

On Saturday I think I am going to drag the Summer of '42 people down to the river.

Slept on my balcony last night. Was wonderful. The silhouette of the tree branches looked red against the clouds, which were in a big hurry last night. Wonder if they do laps. Then at 4:48 I woke up to being rained on. Went inside.

Haven't been to the gym all week. Decided I was very pleased to have two whole days and nights off. Became bored before noon of the first day.

Like candles.

It is very dark tonight.

Now Surprise has gray legs, feet, and belly. Cannot wait to see what happens to him.

I am displeased that the Apple store does not offer deals like, "Two laptops for the price of one."

I would use this deal. Or get someone I knew to.

Hear that "Thoroughly Modern Millie" is doing some condensed performances at the Essie Eats Canterbury Eggs in November Institution. Hope no one there is prone to strokes.

Don't like coffee.

Did the crossword today in under 20 minutes. Thank you Tom.

Guess I'll go to bed. Might get up early and go to the Empire to play Jeopardy.

Wish I knew where to find the cartoons.

So I've decided it is wonderfully alright to be honest with myself. I don't like children. Well, that's not entirely true. I like some of them. The reserved practical ones who don't talk except to answer a question and sit with their ankles crossed. Also I like the tubby cute ones you can squeeze. Besides that, no.
Do not care for feeling as though it is your job to make sure it doesn't get hurt. And I'll do it for money on occasion. And it won't get hurt. But still.
There is currently a gorgeous blonde toddler with an alarmingly developed come-hither pout standing on my left beating me in the forearm with a picture book and screaming "FUCK!" repeatedly. This did manage to catch my attention so I glanced down and saw her stabbing her finger at a picture of a "duck."
Close.
It's hot today. Very. I gave a detailed explanation to this same toddler regarding the humidity and heat index in Richmond which successfully discouraged her from going out for another walk.
She then locked herself in her bedroom and began screaming "POOP!" Just great.
Got her out. Did not panic. Has the same door as my little brother had growing up which I swiftly learned could be unlocked from the outside with the nearest available shoelace. MUCH to his chagrin.
I also used to follow along behind my brother when he was learning to walk and just shove him to the floor. He, being one year old, was not too cynical yet and would never turn around to see what had happened. This was nasty of me. I did make up for it though, but martyring myself out to read him millions of picture books while he was stricken with the chicken pox. I later learned that my mother had only allowed me to do this so I would contract the disease as well. But I secretly only read to him because I enjoyed feeling like Clara Barton (my Nana had recently purchased me as series of children's historical biographies and I had taken quite a shine to Clara, Helen, and John Paul Jones).
Tonight Summer of '42 opens. This is very exciting. I saw Millie and got reminded how awesome it is to watch fun dancing and performing. The last show I did consisted mainly of doing acting. Less music. Whatever music there was was Adele, which I fancied greatly prior to the show and now would rather give a camel a tongue-bath than hear again.
This toddler is now alternating attempting to remove my bra and pinching up chub rolls from my stomach to show to me.
Now she wants me to put her in her brown long-sleeved top with gold trim. She is currently wearing a purple seersucker gown with flowers and cockroaches appliqued to the front. These items will clearly not go together. For a flash I considered telling her we'd have to change her whole outfit but then remembered about me.
She is now wearing both. Looks great.
I'm excited about Mad Men coming on. Also, So You Think You Can Dance is outstanding. Mary Page should go on there at once. I've been standing around wherever I happen to be doing standing up splits like she does in top of Act II. Can do it. But while she looks like a lithe gazelle I look like one of those Koopa toys you used to get at MacDonalds that had suction cups on their chins you could stick to their feet and make them turn a flip.
So the kitten/bat Surprise is turning white. He was coal black through and through. Then I noticed one day that he appeared to be balding behind his ears. I examined this closely and discovered that the hair behind his ears is turing snow white from the roots. Weird and fascinating. Now it is spreading around his neck. His back is gray when your stroke his fur the wrong way, and the entire underside of his tail is white like a rabbit. Sam says he is a white cat.
I say he is a mood cat.
I hear Scott Wichmann ate FISH the other day. I must say, I'm surprised he could fit that in between his commitments to being a royal pain in my......
Now the golden baby wants me to brush its' hair. Please excuse me.

Yankees hat/Red Sox hat......thoughts?

Tomorrow- or Monday- one of the kittens departs for her new life with her lover and her competition for that lover, Margaret. This kitten is Betty. Her days for the last four weeks have been comprised mainly of narrowing her eyes at me and being long-suffering. She is nothing if not consistent. 

Who does the Amy Burley actress on True Blood remind me of?

Ouisus goes away on Wednesday. I debated over nipping down to the animal shelter and securing a matching grey kitten to pass off to my friend who is planning toadopt Ouisus, but then decided I would just get the (bad word) over it.

She wants to name him Waffles. 

Now- this is not entirely ok. Simply because, while I feel Waffles to be a stellar outstanding name, and love to eat waffles, I do not feel that this kitten is named that. He is a sturdy knockabout town sort of fellow who proclaims things about his adventures in boastful tones. Trust me. 

But whatever. She can name him what she wants. He is very agreeable and loungy.

I might go over to 7-11 and get some cookie dough presently.

I am about ready to be done with these kittens. They are at the point now when at the break of day, they all trot in single file and sit in a semi-circle at the base of the toilet bowl to gaze up at you doing your thing with expressions of great hopefulness.

Joseph told me the other day that they would gain more weight if they ate solely kitten chow and not a mix of adult cat food and kitten chow. They have been switched. Few things better than a chubby kitten.

Also- few things better than wearing one's pajamas to the theater for the show and then forgetting you wore them and then having them to snuggle into when you take off your costume at the end of the evening. Sheer bliss.

You ought to see this pail of Diet Coke I have acquired. It is 52 oz.  And I am allowed to get refills at 7-11 for one dollar. I carry it around with me. One fill-up sustained Robyn, Chase and I through a six hour rehearsal.

I learned I am capable of doing a flip at rehearsal last week. I was standing in a trance down left on the ramp while Chase directed something happening upstage that didn't involve me. Then I heard him end a sentence with "......and then one of these." The next thing I know I am entirely upside down with no part of my body touching the floor. Then I am standing up again and have turned a flip over his forearm.  This, I feel, is a fabulous way to try new things. No preparation or warning leaves one no time to get into a potential stew about technicalities. Can now do a flip. Though I think I gave Chris a hernia the first time we tried it. This after he had courteously asked me if I a. trusted him, and b. was ready to try it.  CHASE.

When True Blood gets made into a musical, I will be wanting to play Sookie. I will dye my hair blonde, and go tanning and ride the bikes at the old folks gym to Moscow and back.

Robyn says I can have Ned. I think she is kidding me. Which is nasty of her. I do love Ned.

The kittens are now inside the back of the couch. 

Fruity Pebbles are not very filling. Very good, not very filling.

Ooooo, I really want that cookie dough.

Also, I had so many interesting props stories to put on here and have plum forgotten them at the moment. I need dough.

No subject.

Haughty. Bollocks.

Moment.

A man named Wolfgang and his pack of middle-aged women in what are clearly TOPS from Dillards are taking pictures of the cast of Summer of '42. This is hysterical because he keeps telling us to look haughy and serious and not to smile. And doing a straddle split whilst he photographs. He has long wavy gray hair and a oily bang which I feel helps with his artistry. I feel this is worth noting.
Today Maggie shut Ouisus' front paw in the laundry room door. Such a howl went up as to de-dazzle Kathy Halenda. He then was fine. He then noticed our concern and commenced limping pitifully around the house.
I must go act now. And slither down Chris Stewart.