Okay.

I think this is the first time I made a title before I wrote my post.
Hey you guys. Want this Diet Dr. Pepper I have in my purse?
So how is everyone?

You must all come to Chicago sometime just to see the merry hilarious spectacle this wind makes of us silly walkers. Actual gusts that bluster you into the side of a building. I find this very amusing and giggle while I stagger. I've told Eric to be on the lookout for sales on skiing goggles at Burton so I can wear a pair to keep my eyes free of debris. Like newspapers and dirt. And Walgreenses.
Need my eyes.
Though this morning I discovered a pustule pulsing on the right lower rim of my right eye. Or is it my left eye, cause I was looking in the mirror.
This news will prompt memories in most everyone of the story about Mickey and his sty upon sty upon sty and Robyn saying "Cor stymie!" And reducing everyone to fits. Such an effective story.
I like that you have a dog, The Debra. I especially like that he makes all sorts of mischief and you love him still. This I cannot say for myself and Suprise. Though I still love him still, there are huge swaths of time cut through my nights when I feel shocked by the amount of hatred I can feel for him. Hatred. He enjoys leaving strips of the shower curtain in various locations throughout the house. Also Riley can most always, if she is missing some produce (garlic, leeks, scissors), find it all under the couch.
And he KNOWS. Knows what he is doing. He has learned that it is not my favorite for him to hook his claws into my dresses and yank them off their hangers to the floor. He has learned this so well in fact, that now, whenever he feels the first ticklings of hunger, he immediately jumps off the bed, strides into the closet, takes a seat directly beneath my sundress section and then turns slowly and fixes me with a meaningful gaze. We stare at each other, knowing exactly what the other is thinking. I reach slowly for the green plastic squirt bottle. Suprise, unblinking, reaches slowly up with his front feet to the hems of my dresses. Maintaining eye contact, he SUDDENLYSTARTSSCRATCHINGANDPULLINGMYDRESSESSASHARDASHECAN.
This prompts me, like a starter pistol, to leap from the bed and crash into the closet, shouting "NO!" and squirting him way many more times than necessary. But it bothers me so because he is doing it ON PURPOSE. Just because he is hungry. And I know this would be solved by my taking his sitting beneath my skirts as a signal, and feeding him right away. But this is not something I can bring myself to give in to. I will not be controlled by that pygmie crossbreed bat that I raised myself. I mean- I probably will- but I'm going to put up a nice loud fight for at least a few months more.
My brother bought my a stuffed pillow that is a penguin for my birthday. And it has changed my life. I now sleep at least 5 hours more a night. And practically fall into a coma. Many times I have awoken to find the lower quadrants of the penguin seeping with drool.
Tonight was Halloween. Except it wasn't. But I can tell, in Chicago Halloween starts the 28th of October. Don't know how long it'll carry on.
My new darling friend Nicole was throwing a bash tonight at her ridiculously expansive nooked and crannied apartment off the fancy twitching Belmont stop. Jake and Eric and I knew about this well in advance, and have been muttering occassionally about what our costumes should be for about 2 weeks. The boys decided to go as each other. Which is dear. Cause they are pretty much Daisy and Violet. Or Beavis and Butthead. You know, I've never seen that show. What awful names. Also I shouldn't draw comparisons when I don't know what I'm talking about.
Anyway.
I didn't know what to go as, and had almost decided to throw in the costume towel entirely once I realized I could not, in fact, get the Triceratops costume for babies I saw in an adult medium, when a stroke of brilliance hit me during game 1 of the World Series (this is for the baseball, for those of you who don't know). I could USE my shoddy riduculous haircut for good! I can be my current crush (I guess it's a crush. Having crushes makes me feel silly), Tim Lincecum.
Tim is starting pitcher (though after Wednesday, he may be demoted to water boy) for the San Francisco Giants. And he looks a little like a starved Dickensian orphan who is dying of polio. But something about him....
Jake says he's the ugliest man he's ever seen. Eric I'm sure would have had something to say, except he WASN'T AT THE BASEBALL GAME. And none of us know why....
Anyway, Jake has all the baseball and football suits of all the necessary players, so costume design wasn't going to be a problem.
Well, today, after work, I trotted over to the Hancock Observatory, where they sell cheesecake and offensively large televisions, to get some cash out of the ATM. I do my thing. I receive a receipt. I do not receive cash. I think: groan. But at least, I think, this is good cause the branch is right upstairs and they will correct the problem.
So I stride responsibly inside, receipt clenched- no not clenched, but held neatly so as not to ruin it- in my hand. (Tom says when he needs receipts from me they are most likely scrumpled up in the bottom of my shoe. He's near right.)
So this receipt, being important, was held responsibly flat.
I present it to the teller and explain my problem. I am passed immediately off to a swarthy sticky looking man named Brett Lourdeveaux or something stupid. (Not the Brett part.)
Swarthy Sticky sits me down and says, "Well, that's too bad. I guess you can file a complaint with the bank branch in Skokie and after a long process they might be able to get you your money. But really you should switch to our bank." I tell him that is not why I'm there. He gets in about three more jabs as to why I'm a fool for using Wells Fargo. I decide I hate him. I leave. And they did not give me my money.
So I decide to go home and watch Disc 1 of Season 3 of The Tudors and take a walk down to Great China where I hope to pick up a Chinese Food menu to tack to my wall. I've always thought they were pretty.
I ring up Eric to tell him to have a great show tonight and break a leg. He-being perceptive- realizes this means I'm not coming to the show, and secures me a comp. I think, oh good. I'll go. Then I realize the show starts in 45 minutes and I am a 45 minute train ride, a walk to the train station, and a costume away from being there.
I know what to do first. I strap on as many bras as I have clean. This is standard procedure. Takes only seconds. I yank on the Lincecum shirt Jake has loaned me. I am now in a shirt. And underwear. I cannot go out like this. I decide if I cannot wear a full baseball uniform, I will do the next most logical thing. I apply black tights, black and white striped leggings, Maggie's golden glitter bubble skirt I found in the discard pile at Theatre IV, Maggie's enormous silver hoop earrings with stars attached to the bottoms and my zesty white go-go boots. Also a newsie cap and a houndstooth coat and the thick thick woolen mittens Brett's mom gave me two Christmases ago that are extremely effective and keep your hands as warm as they would be if you were giving two tiny buffalo pelvic exams.
Also raspberry shine lip gloss. So I look astonishing.
I pretend to be Carrie Bradshaw running through traffic in her high heels as I clomp gracelessly down to the train station at an unhealthy clip.
I am, of course, late to the show, but get there in time to see most of Eric's business. He does a great job, and is the most professional one up there, we think.
Then he decides he wants burritos, and lo and behold, there is a Chipotle on the first floor of Second City. Of course.
So I admire my ensemble in the window while the boys eat burritos. Then one of the guys that was in the show with Eric walks in. He sits down with us and proceeds to take everything that we say completely seriously for the next 20 minutes. So that was no fun.
Then Eric leaves to go to 4 or 5 parties he has lined up before the 1 measly party Jake and I have been invited to. We agree to all meet up at Nicole's.
We take the train. Jake does the Sudoku. He does Sudoku, I do crosswords. We are going to crosstrain each other so we can have races. I must keep my wits sharp so I can continue wiping the floor with Adam in this arena when I get home.
The party.
We are near to the first people there. I have no idea who ANYONE is supposed to be except the man who was dressed as Morning Wood. And I did not figure that out by reading his t-shirt.
It is almost completely dark.
I go in the bathroom and look under the sink. I also use the bathroom. I'm not that creepy.
Though as a child I had a family that lived under the sink in my Nana's house. The Lysols. There are details. I will not go into now.
I come out of the bathroom.
Nicole erupts from her bedroom wearing a suit jacket, fishnets, panties and lots of old age makeup. You can always tell those VCU kids. She proceeds to interview me with a microphone she has fashioned ingeniously out of a toilet paper roll and a gutted tennis ball. I allow myself to be interviewed and then ask Jake who she is supposed to be. He says Harry Caray? I don't know how to spell that. I only know he has Xed and is Will Ferrell talking about cheese.
There are also lots of girls apparently going as their own breasts. And a Newsie. And one of the girls who lives there is a costume designer, I remembered that, and she is costumed as what appears to be a transvestite model jockey. Turns out she is David Bowie from Labyrinth.
Nobody knows what I am, but also nobody knows WHO I am, so all is well. I settle in on the couch with a cup of spiced cider to do what I do at parties and watch.
Then a person comes in as Santa Claus. There is no way to know if this is a man or a woman. Also Mulan? And a princess Jasmine who immediately sat down next to me on the couch with her boyfriend who was costumed as Wolverine and began to eat an enormous piece of deep dish pizza she has pulled out of her purse. For this she removed her veil.
Frodo comes in, and removes his Chucks to make things more authentic. Then another roommate bursts out of her room as Lara Croft and does awkwardly low squats for an awkwardly long amount of time in the foyer while she fires her toy light-up guns. This is something she repeats (for just as long) anytime she is addressed by anyone.
Someone else is dressed as the freeway.
Then a very darling boy enters from what is either the walk in freezer or another door to the outside I didn't know about. He is wearing all gray, and looks to be costumed as a successful downtown New York actor. Jake leans over and explains that he is wearing all gray, and has a "T" printed on his t-shirt. So he is......Great. Is clever.
Other featured ensemble members include the blue-haired girl from Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, a Swedish milkmaid on whom you could practically SEE the gangrene forming, and an extremely drunk fairy whose dress was so tight it was performing a double masectomy on her while she lurched and staggered around the room swilling Vitamin Water and whiskey and narrowly avoiding putting people's eyes out with her wing tips.
Also this fairy had a whip. Which was handed to me at one point by a Robin Hood who did not know that Merry Men probably did not get their pantyhose in the women's department, and which I passed off at once to the gender ambiguous Santa Claus. I felt that best.
After that I decided to go home and write it all down.
In the years since I graduated college, I've wished sometimes for the opportunity to do all those college things that people do when they are that age. You know- have wild parties, drink on the porch, sing, dance, mingle. Chat, laugh uncontrollably. (Well that one I do most of the time.)
Cause when I was in college I spoke to no one, looked at no one, and attended as infrequently as possible. So I feel like I want those experiences I was just too shy to attend to. I thought maybe I had missed something I would have loved.
But you know- I think that parties like that are certainly a great experience- so much to see and listen to and so many interesting people doing so many interesting things. And that's great. And I don't know why I just feel useless at parties, unless I'm playing a game, or helping in the kitchen, or having some activity. I don't do well at all with idle chatter. And I thought, while I sat on the couch between Jasmine and the Morning Wood, maybe this just isn't something I'm cut out to revel in. Shy or not. Cause I have tried. And that is ok.

Fudge gopher.

I think my mirror may be a scoch off center.
I'll just move my dresser.
You guys ought to see this. I have:

1. Folded my clothes. And put them in drawers. And Adam, blast it all, is right. Clothes do take up much less space when folded and placed neatly in drawers than they do when flung into a heap on the floor. So that's annoying.
2. Purchased vanilla votives.
3. Purchased ice trays.
4. Put several things back in the closet after taking them out.
5. Kept my bed made. Nevermind that that is because I skipped putting sheets on it and have just been laying on top of the comfortor.

This list is getting boring.

So Chicago is most necessary. I know- I KNOW- I will get cold and furious. And you'll hear about that too.
But right now, it is breezy and there are puppies and houses that look like the houses on the Northside of Richmond, and a Walgreens and all the 7-11s I could ask for.

I threw out 70% of my belongings while packing to move. And tried to throw out about 30% of Adam's and Maggie's, but I am kind enough to ask first when the item doesn't belong to me, and Adam is possessed of less willingness to deem items completely irrelevant that I am.
For example: if a shirt is missing two buttons, he will want to replace them/sew them back on. Or, if the cat is annoying, he keeps it.
Anyway- I managed to trim my belongings down to 2 suitcases. One of full of clothes and one full of Christmas socks. Had no idea I'd accumulated so many. Couldn't be happier.

So we ride in the car for months and months through a list of states that (I swear on Suprise) went like this: Virginia, West Virginia Maryland, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Ohio, Inidiana, Illinois, Indiana, Illinois, Inidiana, Illinois.
This is because my father did brilliantly and purchased a GPS. I immediately christen her Estelle. Estelle is of the opinion that we should take the Pennsylvania Turpike for the majority of our trip. My mother and I are in agreement. But my father has decided Estelle is not to be trusted and her suggestion is no more direct than his idea, which involves shooting straight across to the middle of Kansas and then making a turn for the North.
I am puzzled by this.
But regardless of the difference of opinion, we are on the Turnpike for about 10 miles. During this time we stop at a rest stop- when I discover the real reason for the alternate route. My father cannot abide the idea that he will be forced-FORCED-to pay two dollars more for his Whopper Value Meal at a Burger King on the Turnpike than he would were he not on the Turnpike. He feels as though the goverment is in charge here. And this will not do.
I point out that the potential 6 dollars (as there are 3 of us) that we might end up spending on lunch might still come out to less than the minimum $70 extra of gas money we will spend by taking the Pacific Highway from Richmond to Chicago.
Overruled.
It's like arguing with myself. Absolutely no application of logic. Just stubborn. You can change the minds of my father and myself with the ease with which you can change the mind of a dead mule.
So naturally this debate was LOADS of fun for me. Kind of like debating with Tom about why I should logically get the last Diet Sunkist. But my mom does not like us to debate things in this loud tone of voice. So Dad gets in the backseat and watches a DVD of a Garth Brooks concert while Mom and I jam to Sirius radio to "Mame,"and stuff like that. Was so much fun.
Suprise rode in the car and made one peep. And that was when, as I crossed the parking lot to the car after our stay in a hotel in Richmond, Indiana, he spied me from his perch on the dashboard and he peeped at me. I like to think to say hello.
But I didn't even put him in a cat carrier. He looked out the window from my lap for about an hour, then got down on the floor mat and took a bath, then napped in my armpit, then hopped up on the console en route to spend some time under the gas pedal.
Estelle as well during this time got more and more of an edge in her tone.
Ohio is completely irrelevant.
Looks like a giant set for one of those horror movies when civilization has come to a screeching halt and all life forms have vanished. But before everything gets covered in the dust that always shows up in those movies.
Am upset that I bothered to write that much about it.
All the other states look exactly like Virginia.
Until Indiana, when suddenly there were giant statues of candles and beans and I was happy. So much corn.
Then we rode through that part with the enormous white windmills that are in all photo spreads of people who are attempting to be environmentally conscious.
My father immediately decides he wants one for the front yard.
We enjoy imagining the Christmas decorations we could display with that bad boy.
Hoo-do-hoo-de-hoo, we hit Chicago and a lot of traffic because apparently people in Chicago also carry the disease of being compelled to go out in packs and toil at a high clip up and down the streets for hours on end on foot. But even at 1.1 miles an hour, there is so much to look at, and boats and parks and water. I point out that slanty roof building that I like. I say, "Look Dad- to your left! See that building with the slanty roof?" He says, "Yes?" I say- nothing. Because I don't know what it is. I just know I think it's pretty. And that didn't sound very factually impressive.
We find my house. There are cement garden pots and a balcony full of geraniums leading down to the private beach. Everyone may refer to me as Duchess Audra for the next year. This beach I think we share with the building on the end which is where the really rich people live, but it is so necessary. And Riley is outside looking as per usual. We take things upstairs, we go to Subway, we fall asleep.
The next day we sightsaw. Some sights and stuff. Water, boats. OH-
and the best part of Chicago- there is this turtle at the Shedd Aquarium. When you walk by his tank, you think nothing is in it. Then you peek again- he looks like a stump. It is a 100 pound snapping turtle. Covered in fur that is really algae. Has beautiful french-manicured tonails that are whiter and tidier than mine. He is all underwater except for his nose. And then one of the docents strolls up and tells us that he is 18 years old, and that he is so fat that the aquarium staff want to find out how much he weighs, but he refuses to come out of the water, so they cannot get him on a scale. No one is willing to pick him up because he might actually kill you. So they are attempting to trick him by placing his food only outside of the reach of the water on a ramp. So if he wants to eat, he has to come out. I suppose eventually they will just put his food on the scale and do it that way.
Want it. Would be a necessary item to have stuffed after its' death and use as a footstool.
So then we eat Giordano's pizza. I must have had my boobs out more than usual, for when I ask our waiter for some more ice for my dad, that he likes a lot of ice, the waiter returns with an entire pitcher full of ice and places it in front of me with a sly smile.
I sly smile back, whatever.
Then Mom and Dad returned to VA, and I have no memory of what else happened that night. Probably I went to bed. Suprise slept in the crook of my arm like a doll. Or on my face/in my mouth. Like a doll.
Since then mostly I have been watching improv and drinking Diet Coke with Eric. Also we watched "The Land Before Time." Had no idea it was only 67 minutes long. Feel bad for my parents that it wasn't longer. But it is so good. I just love Spike. Want to be him for Halloween.
Have now developed quite the list of things I want to be for Halloween.
Will have to get Adam to remind me. Know that Dr. Evil is high on the list.
Urg. Will write again soon. Made this entry a bit more mainstream because I just sent the link to a couple of blogger hiring thingamajigs and want them not to feel as though this is in goose hieroglyphics should then read it.

I guess I'll go SCOOP THE LITTER BOX.

And chicken!

Alrighty, then.
Today was quite a day. I am going to write it all down. I like writing "quite a day"s down because then I don't have to go to the trouble of remembering them.
First of all.
If ever you are presented with the opportunity, AGREE AT ONCE to house-sit for Bo and Jan.
When I arrived yesterday after camp, it was to find a novel to read, a brand new electric-orange loofah, three tank tops for me to have, and three giant smutty magazines with kittens on the covers.
Also an economy-sized basin of hummuth in the refrigerator that is spinach/artichoke flavored.
I know, Adam and Maggie and Joseph.
Not to mention, three new boxes of Pop-Tarts.
Also all the tv in the world and the softest bed ever. I woke up three times last night and each time noted that the view greeting my eyes was identical. I had not budged an inch.
Also honeybuns and donut holes.
I do take on so.
Anyway. My brother came to the Mill after the show last night to meet up with a bunch of us to go out and get something to eat and to talk to each other. Which I think is a lovely practice.
We all go to Kitchen 64- after much discussion on whether or not Chase would be satisfied with that decision. I declare that I am not concerned with Chase's level of satisfaction in proportion to the satisfaction of the other 13 members of the dinner party, and rationality prevails.
Also, Chase had no prob. with Kitchen 64 to begin with, so I'm not sure why all the hullabaloo.
Perhaps it is because he is the Associate of Artisticness.
We arrive. I am seated next to one end of the table across from my brother with Brett at the very end. I, true to form, immediately scour all my dinner companions until I find a pen (which Hannah always has) and begin the nearest crossword puzzle. Brett immediately announces that he is switching seats with me if I am going to do a puzzle because he wants to talk to people.
In the interest of not being left out, and also maintaining my seat next to the only film director I know, I put the puzzle away. Great sacrifice on my part.
I also agree to order something that the waiter suggested, which is really bizarre for me and has happened twice this weekend. Someone should probably take me to a specialist.
Hannah lets me eat several of her clams? mollusks?
So we leave.
My brother and I go back to Jan's joint, where we collapse on the couch (AFTER FEEDING AND TENDING TO THE DOGS), and flip back and forth between the season finale of Season 3 of America's Next Top Model and an episode of American Gangsters.
Pretty much the same thing.
Then I get my brother what appears to be an oversized doily from Jan's bed to cover up with on the couch and I go to sleep.
Then I woke up.
I help myself to 2 brown sugar-cinnamon Pop-Tarts and a great big swallow of what very unfortunately turns out to be buttermilk.
Do not drink that.
Though I don't understand why it should taste so nasty. The title would seem to imply pleasant things. Oh well.
Had to get out another glass for the regular milk when I found it. Couldn't bear the thought that some of the buttermilk aura might still be stuck to the glass.
I rap my brother sharply on the ankle about six times and he wakes up.
He is secretly impressed that we are at the home of the Haynes lady. (As am I, but I don't say that.)
We go pick up Brett, for today is the day that Wilson is to be taken to his new home.
We return my brother to the Mill, and proceed directly to Rassie's house.
Rassie is my grandmother, in whose garage the cats were being kept.
I don't know if I have mentioned on here yet, but while I was at the beach earlier this week with my brother and cousin, my mother called crestfallen to tell me that when she had opened the garage door that morning to feed the cats, Suprise had bolted hell for leather out of the garage, down the side yard, and vanished into the underbrush. She called and called and rattled food, to no avail.
She thought this was rather peculiar, because for the life of any of us, for as long as Suprise and Wilson have been staying in that garage, the only way I can extract them from the drywall is with hope and a contortionist. They will not allow themselves to be seen, let alone venture outdoors.
Anyway. I realize to my shock that I might cry. And that happened twice. Two times I almost cried. My heart is becoming exposed, people. But I get over it. Cause as we all know, me and cats just should not own each other.
So we go down there today to get Wilson. I open the garage, start gathering together his litter and food while Brett goes into the back corner with a flashlight to fetch Wilson.
He peeps behind the cabinet where Wilson likes to hide and says, "Hey, buddy."
I experience a pang and say somewhat mournfully, "I'm sad that you still have a buddy and I don't."
Brett reaches his hand down to scruff Wilson.
Then says, "I don't think this is my buddy."
I scamper over. I peep.
Definitly Suprise. Vacant and loopy as ever. Happy as a clam to see us.
I exclaim something and scoop him up and nuzzle him and am so happy even though I am simultaneously thinking, "now I have to keep paying for cat food."
So Brett goes out beating the bushes and calling for Wilson.
Nothing.
Oh well. I find it odd that my mother would mistake Wilson for Suprise, and do not like to think of her beginning to descend into senility, but what else to make of it, I don't know.
We get in the car to buzz over to my parents house, because Suprise has this trick where, if you scoop him up like a baby, he will go completely limp and lay in your arms like a dead person. I am gleeful at the sight this will be as I mount the steps to my parents' front porch with what appears to be Suprise's dead body in my arms. I realize this is hateful of me.
So we go. I ring the bell. I hear my brother growl from inside, "It's Audra. And Brett. AND SUPRISE!"
My mother joyfully flings open the door and says, "You found him!"
I explain what has happened and that, unfortunately, it was Wilson who escaped.
She shakes her head and tells us that she is SURE that the cat that ran out was black.
I believe her, cause she is a smart woman, and no one wants to think that their mother is hallucinating or on mushrooms.
But this is clearly impossible.
At this moment my father pipes up from behind the newspaper, "There's been a stray cat sniffing around the garage over there. Maybe he got stuck in the garage one time when the door was up."
I latch right onto this theory. This is clearly AWESOME.
We get back in the car. Suprise fiddles with the radio, has a coffee.
And sure enough, there is Wilson. Happily miserable stuffed behind the turkey fryer.
So my father saved the day.
We rip Wilson out of the catacombs of the garage and shuttle him straight away to his new home.
Wilson, who LOVES to complain, bitched and howled and gasped and woed himself all the way there. Until the instant I turn into the driveway of his new home. Which is lined with poplars and has several very expensive looking cars in the circular driveway. Wilson has always been one for pomp and snoot.
Then I sleep for an hour and a half.
Then I lose all my hair down the drain in the shower.
THEN. THE PREMIERE.
I wear my diamonds I have on borrow from Robyn. Obviously.
We watch 10 or 12 of the 48-Hour Film Project Films.
I liked:
1. Ours was good.
2. When the man jumped onto the jet ski with absolutely no pants on.
3. The way that animated gray tubby superhero ran down hallways.
It was neat to be able to identify places around town that you recognize in the movies.
I was going to go into more detail about that but now I don't feel like it.
Anyway, the show was once again great fun tonight.
Tom and Paul have almost convinced me that I am going out of my mind because SOMEBODY- and it MAY have been me- kept putting my Snapple back in the fridge. I did not think it was me.
They swear it was. But then I saw Paul being crafty with my snapple by the balcony railing. So we shall see.
Tom informed me that he would rather not go to dinner at Robyn and Ginnie's if I was going to go too.
And Susan and Jody and John Moon and Jeff M. and Dee and Scott Melton was there-always good to know his whereabouts.
And mostly, as we all frisked/staggered into the green room after curtain call, we were greeted by the sight of two very tall, very businessish looking police officers.
I am at once certain they have tracked me down for my expired license plate tags.
But I am wrong.
Goodness.
I'm going to have more milk.

I'm going to the Jefferson in the morning.

I am a film-maker.

The skills one needs to be a film-maker are as follows:

1. taking dictation.

2. driving a car.

3. shutting the fuck up Honaker.



This morning- well, last night- began the 48-Hour Film Project Thingy that Matt has been so gung-ho about for months now.

We had a staff meeting to toss out ideas about a month ago.

That was fun. I ate pizza and watched Jeopardy and told stories about my cats.

But yesterday was the big day, as we were presented with our film genre at 6pm. Matt sent Hannah "in his stead" (when he said that I really knew this was serious), and she sat at a small table in The Camel bar on Broad St. while she waited for the announcement.

A girl came and sat with her. Hannah struck up a conversation, which was going well until Hannah mentioned that she thought the "Twilight" movies were ok, but she was not a huge fan.

The girl then refused to make eye contact with or speak to Hannah for the next fifteen minutes.

Whatever.

Anyway.

We are assigned Film Noir.

Which I know means black and white with detectives. And The Maltese Falcon.

That's all I know.

So I shoot Matt a voicemail with the first idea that pops into my head, which involves Leann Rimes and a copyright infringement, and then I do my show.

After show, I am requested at Matt's house to assist with the script writing.

Brett and I hustle straight over. It is a good thing we have hurried because immediately upon our arrival we are herded directly into Matt's bedroom and made to watch a SPARC promotional video. We (being me) are still not clear on exactly why we watched this.

Ben shows us his postcard of himself as a turkey having coffee in Joe's Inn.

I suggest that we maybe write a script?

So Ben and Hannah leave, I situate myself on the couch between Matt and Brett and proceed to toss out words and periodically go into the freezer for an ice cube.

I also eat Matt's entire box of cheese crackers. I did this directly after he said, "Audra, don't eat all my crackers."

But we write a whole script. By 2:30 it is done. 17 lines. Which I feel might be a bit spare, but I am loudly overruled. And I don't care anyway, because I have had a FOUR drink from 7-11, which Jacob Pennington says means I have fallen on hard times.

A FOUR drink is about the size of a regulation Monster energy drink, and is half energy drink, 12% alcohol.

I can stomach the taste, and one of them tastes a little like Hawaiian punch, so I have one from time to time.

WASTES ME OUT.

1 can of partial alcohol. I am very amused that I can drink 7 entire bottles of Firefly vodka and perform on beam at Olympic trials, but I cannot drink one of those FOUR drinks.

Oh well.

Anyway, I go home, have a nice chat with Lola, and turn it.
Because Herculean Hannah is picking me up at 7 this morning to begin work on the film.
Promptly at 7am I begin receiving phone calls and messages from Matt and Hannah.
She picks me up. We drive to SPARC office, where Matt Polson is already arrived and very obviously ready to be a film director. You can tell by his tall black socks.
I have donned my enormous beige overalls and my pink wife-beater. I feel that this makes me look very filmish.
We arrive.
I am immediately dispatched to Martin's to pick up a breakfast pizza and 24 Diet Cokes.
Which- I carry. Alone. I am awesome.
I dispatch myself back to SPARC. Still just Matt and Hannah. I fool around on Jason's computer for a while. I design the business card for the detective character in our film. I whine and complain about being cold until Hannah sends Matt home to get me a sweatshirt, among other things, because, she says, she does not want to have to hear me whine about it all day.
Knows me. Still loves me. Feel very blessed to have so many people loving me despite all my whining and hanging up on people.
Hannah and I have a lovely discussion about appreciating life, and then in short order Matt arrives, followed by Ben and that blond gal who bartends at Joe's and is very comfortable frowning.
I screech into the lobby asking Matt where is my hoodie, he screeches back that it is in his bag.
So I stride confidently into the lobby and open this bag. I find inside only a rumpled black men's t-shirt. I am suspicious of this. What a poor choice for warmth. Also, it will probably fit snugly round my hips, which I hate in my loungewear.
I sniff it. Smells like person.
Obviously came out of the dirty laundry pile.
So I pace around the lobby railing to Hannah and anyone within earshot that I cannot POSSIBLY be expected to keep warm in this.
Ben walks through. He stops. Looks. Says- "Did you go in my bag?"
I say, "oops."
He takes his shirt back and says, "It's CLEAN."
Oh well.
I am really off on the wrong foot with Ben so far today because already he has shown me the sign he printed up based on my design for us to stick onto Hannah's car. I said I thought it should be shaped like a cloud. He puts it away in his bag (that I dare not re-enter) faster than anyone has ever put anything away.
I think he must have been talking to Adam about my fiddling and causing trouble.
I wouldn't have messed it up.
Oh- and Matt had actually done well. Brought me a warm red zip-up jacket. That didn't smell like person.
Hannah braids my hair four times while Jacquie tells us a story about guns and depression and then we all form a caravan for the ride out to Ali's house.
I call Tom on the way to inquire after the health of a friend of mine.
He answers the phone, "Haiti people."
I won't go into this, but just LET ME POINT OUT- HE DID NOT SAY HELLO. Who does that.
So we get there, we make a movie, Hannah and Ali and flop on the bed like we are having a sleepover and try not to giggle and stay UTTERLY SILENT as Jacquie O does some fabulous acting in front of a mirror.
It feels much like my 10th grade history project when six of us decided to make a video, only slightly more high tech.
There were the three girls on the bed watching and taking VERY IMPORTANT SERIOUS NOTATIONS while Ben, Chase and Matt handled all the manly equipment and directed the actors in hushed tones.
At one point Hannah and I found ourselves huddled in the fetal position behind Ali's bed trying to take our notations and be completely silent and NOT BE IN THE SHOT.
There will be a photo forthcoming.
Then we all drank Diet Coke and ate pasta salad that Brigitta's mother has made and brought over in a pitcher. To each his own.
Chase handles the boom. Which involved a lot of him standing in the shrubbery and being very close to Matt Polson.
Ali's job is to bang the clapper.
I write things down, and so does Hannah, until Hannah has to do some of the acting, and I do Hannah's writing and my writing.
Ben paddles me in the fanny with a piece of posterboard, which I cannot handle because of the dream I mentioned earlier.
Matt's brother arrives and says no word to anyone for six and a half hours.
Then we have a wrap. Everyone applauds, which I find to be a little silly.
Movie-making is the biggest bunch of nothing to do I have ever heard of. If you are one of the actors.
Jacquie O should be kept under close surveillance until tomorrow, as during the course of shooting I think she had up to 20 aspirin in her mouth.
I'm tired of talking about this now.
I'm supposed to go over tomorrow and see the finished product.
The show was lots of fun tonight.

Lola loves me more than you, Adam.

I should really clean out the litter boxes.
I now have 2 clean wife-beaters. Thrill.
I hope Richard is ok. Received a violent panicked text last night re "Jeopardy."
Which I unfortunately missed.
Tom loves cats. Didn't you know?
Its' name is Buster. It ought to be Esther. Except for the fact that Tom claims to have seen his penis.
Today I lied to 30 children. I think it was a helpful lie though.
And then I almost won a prize for wearing a Christmas sweater and brushing my hair, but then ALISON GILMAN and MEG CARNAHAN were late to SPARC play practice, and the prize went out the window.
During SPARC rehearsal, Jason was clearly heard to proclaim to the children, "DON'T PRACTICE!"
Direct quote.
It is useless to get a Big Gulp full of tea. Because it is not carbonated, you can drink an entire Super Big Gulp of tea in the time it takes to walk a block and a half. And that is if you are pacing yourself. Waste of money.
Chase has given up-- excuse me-- "cut out" soda. Also bread in restaurants. He feels this will help him with his choreographer skills.
I just think it helps him look more expensive.
If anyone is looking for them, the Theatre IV/Barksdale Theatre production meetings have been hiding in the women's dressing room at the Barksdale.
Felix Gotschalk is a riot. Sings. Debonair. Wears fedoras- or did until all of the camp girls were so overcome with passion by the sight of him in his fedora that they literally began flocking behind him into the men's bathroom. Such is life.
Also his name is Felix. People whose names include an X are obviously going to be devastatingly attractive. Unless the X begins the name. Like "Xander." Please. Trying too hard.
I dreamed last night that Ben Hill grabbed me and kissed me and then Rich got all excited and happy and Suprise had surgery and there was a monsoon.
Joseph will enjoy that dream.
So, as follows naturally, I will go around all day today being attracted to Ben.
You know how you have a romantic dream about someone and then for the whole next day, your mind is convinced that you have a crush on them?
Considered texting Ben to let him know, but have thought better of it. As he is probably out on his back porch using his table saw and I don't want to alarm him.
Everybody should go see his art though. It's up in Joe's Inn. Very pricey.
I figure if I do him enough favors, he might consent to make me a wallet-sized one for free. Of True Blood.
I did a reading the other day. About murder, sex, homosexuality and orange juice. Run of the mill. It was a huge comedic success. Who knew.
During the reading I did not do the following:
1. fall down the stairs.
2. any of my blocking.

But I think I am forgiven.
Mushrooms are good, but useless.
Happy Friday everybody.
COME SEE MOON OVER BUFFALO. IT'S REALLY QUITE GOOD, AND I WOULDN'T ENCOURAGE YOU TO COME IF IT WASN'T.

Dickmaster

Today I went to the barn.
First though, I woke up on the couch. Where I had no recollection of falling asleep.
It was bizarre. I was home by myself last night, tidying up (which is a new thing that Adam taught me), watching tv, petting the cats, and I discovered a leftover JOOSE in the fridge.
So I drank it while I did some internet research.
One drink.
And BOY WAS I DRUNK. I have no idea how that happened off of one measly drink, but boy whee.
Woke up this morning on the couch with a Chanello's box to my right with an untouched tomato/pineapple pizza inside.
Bizarre.
Anyway.
Woke up this morning, did not shower, cause who showers before going to muck out stalls, purchased Benadryl, H2O, and sunscreen, and drove out to the barn.
(I am KILLING on kid's Jeopardy, by the way.)
There are so many horses there. Just around every corner there are three more. Big ones, small ones. I looked immediately for the one that looked like a hirsute shoebox who was named Snickers. Did not see him.
Then found him standing tethered to a low fence waiting to be ridden. He has received a SEVERE haircut and now looks like a pony instead of walking underbrush.
All the ponies were in and out all day because the riders alternate between taking trail rides, doing ring work, and receiving lectures on horse care. I followed Jan around for most of these lectures and learned how to do things like wrap horses' legs when they are going to be traveling. On the resume.
All along the back fence are tied a long row of miserable ponies. It is too hot. There is Thunder, who is from all I can see an actual albino. His lips are very chubby and crinkly. So I squeezed them.
Then there was George, a bay who recently underwent shoulder surgery and hates everyone. I stood next to him and stroked his neck and he switched his tail and stamped his front foot over and over again. Cannot really blame him. If I had just had surgery, I would prefer to be in my room on my Percocet to being roped to a fence standing in dung being fretted over by first graders.
Also Elmo, who looked dumb as sour cream and who likes to keep his front foot inside his water bucket.
Spotlight is a pinto who sufferes seasonal allergies and as a result has to be kept in her room and not ridden.
Oreo is a wee pony about the size of a house cat who was very well behaved even though he had to stand in the sun all day.
For a moment, I thought I saw one of the campers riding Ashley, who is Nora's snow white horse, but then I thought, NO, it couldn't be. Ashley is much more suited for a career as lawn sculpture than she is to trot in circles with some grimy child on her back.
I learned that a horse barn is essentially a gigantic litter box. Jan showed me w here the horse-sized litter box scoopers are, and I was put on poop patrol.
Which surprisingly doesn't smell bad. There is a definite technique one must acquire though.
I saw Merlin, who is a 35 year old pony whose spine is like a steak knife and all but exposed for you to sit on. But he has no idea he is 35, which makes him in horse years like 670. He is brisk and quite lovely and looks Arabian to me though that is not a very educated guess.
Then I got to go in with a brush (I tried to pick on that wasn't a Brillo pad) and groom Bert.
Bert is so named because he belonged to Burt Bacarach. He is a LARGE Thoroughbred. He is 18. Burt B. decided he didn't want equine Bert anymore after equine Bert grew out of running races.
Bert was so hot. He has a fan rigged up in the ceiling of his stall and he places his face directly in front of the fan. His bottom lip dangles open lethargically. His penis keeps peeping in and out of it's- well, it's where it goes. I don't know if that has anything to do with the heat.
Anyway, I go in and bolt the stall door shut behind me and brush him until he looks like a dining room table. He is a good boy. Nora is going to ride Bert later today in a horse show.
There is a beautiful chestnut horse in a stall next to the horse showers. His stall is covered in large white posterboard signs saying DO NOT FEED THIS HORSE ANY SNACKS! ANY SNACKS AT ALL!
I ask Jan why this is. I think perhaps he has special dietary needs. Jan says he is too fat.
Then I start to feel nauseous again, perhaps from Benadryl on mostly empty stomach, and go home.
I take money to the costume shop.
I come home, make an annoying phone call (I wasn't annoying- the person I called was- fancy that, Tom), work some more on my crossword and take a nap.
I don't know what to do about myself. I will figure it out. I have lots of friends and postcards with ducks on them.
Adam- btw- Megan read the duck postcard, and halfway through the reading looked up at me with a quizzical expression and said, "Dickmaster?"

blue nails.

Hello all.

Happy 4th of July.

I think I have finally happened upon the ideal way for me to experience the fireworks.

Riding one of those winged genital worts from Lord of the Rings around and amidst the fireworks with industrial strength earplugs in.

That's what I'd like to do.

Lola is my new best friend.

I can only assume this is because in lieu of Adam and Maggie, she has gravitated toward my dark head of hair. And is squinting really hard to make the rest look like a 6 foot man.

Caught up on "True Blood" last night.

One of the reasons I love Hannah so much is that she allows me to attend her parties and sequester myself in the tv room and drink a Pepsi and watch my tv and not speak to anyone.

She understands that I had a WONDERFUL time doing just that. And I love knowing my friends are nearby in the next room. Enjoy overhearing conversations.

Lisa Kotula came in and watched with me. She was an excellent co-watcher.

Also Mark Persinger and Jon Perez made cameos and then exited with beautiful timing.

Sound of Music closed today. Good thing too- I worried every night about Maria singing on the fault line of that mountain range. Narrowly avoided catastrophe.

I just really wish Frodo and Samwise were not in Lord of the Rings. What a shitty editing job.

I must tell Hooker that I wore my new orange turtle shirt to 4th of July dinner and my dad showered it with compliments.

I think Adam and Maggie are in the Grand Canyon.

I really hope Jan calls me tomorrow or the next day and lets me go to horse camp with her.

I've been absolutely PINING to go riding. Mount up, pick the hooves and all that.

Do not know where I could go trail riding around here for not much money.

I should stroll down to the police station and harass them into letting me have the summer job of playing with their police ponies. You know- the ones they keep in that shed under the I-95 overpass at Chamberlayne.

Apparently some Splenda comes in packets that are not so much paper as they are wool or corduroy. Had a packet of this yesterday. Felt wasteful and disrespectful tearing it open.

I'm doing a reading about the internet and acting and bedsheets next week. Or the week after. Sometime.

I'm excited about that.

Free shot glass Slurpee day is coming right up.

err.

Dear Betty,

I'm sorry that you are insane. Perhaps I take partial responsibility for that, as it was I who mostly raised your nasty little ass, and I accept whatever responsibility that may be. (Even though if any of this is a result of your header off the kitchen counter at the age of 6.5 hours which resulted in your cock eye- that was Brett and not me, so get over it.)
It is also NOT MY FAULT that you spent the first 10 weeks of your life sucking your brothers' penis for all it was worth.
You will never know the repercussions your behavior has had.
(Now that I think on it, perhaps that is why one of his testicles was missing. It no doubt retreated in holy terror to his shoulder blade to escape your cavernous maw. You owe me $260.)
I don't really see where you current behavior issues are stemming from. You suck on your tail, so that urge is seen to. In fact, you can get a good six inches down there. And I think you are abrading the lining of your esophagus with this behavior as the sucked portion of your tail is now tinged maroon with what appears to be old blood.
Not my problem.
You are also fed, and watered, and littered at all times.
Ergo, there is no reason for you to poop in the shower, remove the screens from the windows, and poop on my CareBear cup.
I had to throw it out.
I do not believe that you speak English, you nasty little interloper critter, so you cannot be upset due to overhearing Adam and I ecstatically plot your demise.
I guess you know Maggie loves you. Which she DOES, make no mistake.
And she's not here now.
But she will be back, so I'm going to need for you to just settle down, stop missing your mother, and STOP LOOKING AT ME.

Your former stepmother,

Audra

Sounded AMAZING.

Once upon a time a show started. You weren't sure of this, because what happened was what appeared to be one of the crew wandered out on stage (the fact that he wandered instead of minced was impressive due to the snugness of his britches), sat down and began fiddling with the guitar prop.
Next, Charlie Brown came onstage and gave everyone in the audience a complete set breakdown/tour.
Toward the end of the tour, Durron made a phone call down right.
Finally the cast appeared onstage and sang a rousing number about not being financially responsible while simultaneously having a contest to see who could dislocate their bottom jaw first.
Then everyone left, except for the man with the plaid tights (whom we have now ascertained is definitely in the show), and to celebrate his victory in the "How Wide Can You Open Your Mouth" contest, he sang another song in which he cleverly used the word "glory" a lot because the "o" vowel is one that really shows off that particular skill.
Then he is interrupted by a small girl with two bad knees who at first just wants to borrow a match, but ends up staying for most of the next two hours.
While she is here on this first visit, she enchants plaid man with her daredevil personality by narrowly avoiding setting her hair (not to mention his cardboard house) on fire and letting him see what the crotch of electric blue leggings looks like.
Then Durron comes back and teaches everyone a lesson about how not to be an Indian giver with his bucket of Captain Crunch.
A man dressed as Santa jumps around on the furniture for a while until Durron decides he really should take back his Captain Crunch and get out of there.
Then Charlie Brown sings a song with Joy Newsome who is really talented and wearing slacks. They get a lot done during the song. With the exception of a minor quaffle over where one of the set pieces should live, they manage to rehearse their number, and show Maggie Marlin how well they are coming along with the choreography.
Meanwhile, Durron has been sitting backstage and thinking about how much fun he had goading his friends with his pseudo-gift of Captain Crunch, and is thinking how much MORE FUN it would be to taunt homeless people with the possibility of cereal and then take it away. Especially since it's Christmas, and the poor fuckers might actually think he was giving them a present.
So Santa and Durron and Charlie Brown go downtown and perform a number from "Newsies" for the homeless people, which turns out to be so inspiring that some of them do a dance break and are so invigorated that they really don't mind so much when, during the set change, Durron once again reclaims his Captain Crunch.
At this point, apparently the costumer had sent word backstage that there needed to be some costume re-assignments, so a bunch of the inventory is brought out onstage and fittings take place while the cast sings through another one of their numbers.
Sadly for me, this one really awesome colorful plaid coat was ruled out as an option for Durron, but he did end up getting a really great leather jacket, so that's good.
Then all the lights went out.
Then a woman with a wide stance did the Maureen number about cows. Very well done. During the number, the cranky landlord fellow (who is upset because he married a girl who in the first scene, tricked him into thinking she was rather well-to-do, but turned out to be a homeless person who doesn't have even the sense not to go out in the snow in only pantyhose) arrives and watches for a little while.
He remains cranky and leaves.
Then everyone goes out to Applebees where they really annoy the staff by asking to put like five tables together and ordering a lot of food that isn't even on the menu just before closing.
They sing a song and behave somewhat lewdly while they wait for their appetizers.
Matt James is having dinner on the terrace nearby and is privy to the whole thing, but wisely remains in his seat.
The girl with the bad knees and the blue leggings from before has been participating wholeheartedly in the impromptu recititation of every item any of the cast has ever heard about, but it goes on a little long, so she heads out side to clear her head and take an aspirin. Unfortunatly, Plaid Man follows her and proceeds to make her headache worse by making jokes about her name, "Mimi," and the word "me."
She decides to go home with him anyway because she knows that her costume for Act II is much more comfortable and is anxious to get to intermission so she can change.
Charlie Brown comes downstage one more time with his toy camera and says something about something.
Then a bump cue doesn't happen so we wait a while as the lights fade to black.
I eat some brownie bites.
When the evening resumes, we discover that during intermission, the entire cast has been arrested and, as a result, are forced to perform 525,600 Minutes while waiting in line for their mugshots.
But that doesn't take long, and so the show resumes.
Everyone gets really excited about a new set piece they have found, so they prop it up at center stage and hang out there for a while.
They Joy Newsome and the woman with the wide stance sing a fantastic duet, during which Durron is forced to carry Santa around the stage because he has the sniffles and is being a picky baby about which picnic table he wants to fall asleep on.
Next, Bad Knees drops her bag of cocaine on the floor, and, as her bad knees to do not allow for her to bend down and pick it up, she sings a gut-wrenching solo about how sad she will be now that she is forced to go without it.
Somewhere during all the orthopedic woe, Santa Claus dies, and as a penalty, is forced to strike the largest bedsheet all by himself during the next scene change.
Durron (who apparently had really enjoyed the last number) wanders brokenly downstage and bemoans the fact that is is over. But he proves to be inconsolable, and all he can think of to do to distract himself is to polish the silver. He does such a fine job with the ice bucket that he brings it out onstage and sets it on the up center platform for everyone to admire.
Which they do.
Then everyone breaks up with everyone else, Bad Knees changes into another pair of leggings, and just when, much to Charlie Brown's chagrin, everyone seems to be at odds forever, someone has the great idea of putting on a performance of "Sleeping Beauty," which they do, and everyone lives happily ever after.

Thar's a high wind blowing in this house.

It's a lovely night for walking outdoors. Just be sure you have a light shrug. And a floor length crushed velvet evening gown with drapery-pull tassel straps, uggs, and a sweatshirt your dad brought you from work five years ago. And you're fine.

I am a vision.

Also a top-knot. We have decided in all appropriateness that one can simply not so much as cater the crackers for an even such as that which is going down tomorrow night if one is not sporting a top-knot. Mine is very top. And not in the same spot on my head as my samurai ponytail, which Robyn hates.

Betty is so gross. Who humps wet blue towels after having been spayed? Honestly.

So before I forget about it, someone should write this down. And it will be me, despite the fact that my fingernails have progressed to such a length now as to make me feel like I ought to be on "Dallas," and as such, every word has to be typed twice.

So last Thursday I carted Rich (who makes hotpanties/nutpotti/zitpeepee (some sort of crushed up red dip with feta in it- DEEELISH), Ben (my friend who is the lead bartender/manager of Joe's Inn and let's me do things like snap my fingers and wave my arms from the far side of the restaurant and when he looks at me, I raise an eyebrow and then he brings me a big huge cup full of something that tastes like gummi bears and kitten feelings and I drink it and then feel giggly and tingly and also gets enormous tattoos of skeletons riding putt-putts wearing scarves and allows me to suggest patterns for said scarf, like, since it's a skeleton's scarf, perhaps it should be patterned with heads and forearms--skulls and crossbones for the deceased), and Adam (who- whatever) to the train station. They were all going up to NYC for Adam's bachelor weekend. I was HIGHLY MIFFED that I was not invited. Not really, but sort of. I decided I must have a bachelor weekend, cause it sounds like all you do is go somewhere with the people you like and have them buy you things.

Anyway, we pull into the train station and I am dumping them out of the car when Adam shuts the door and then says through the window, "There's something fallin-------", and then Adam has my car door in his hands. And no longer on my car.

So I, the stalwart Hitler-Pebbles with my lip quivering, raise woebegone eyes to the three cheery boys standing outside my car, and Ben sees my quivering and says, "Don't worry Audra, we will fix it when I get back on Monday." Which made me feel better in the moment. Have since realized that one does not really NEED the outside facing of one's car door. Also it makes me feel relatively close to being a thug and I do like those bouncy cars that thugs have.

But I violently digress.

(Also if you want to know why I am Hitler-Pebbles, come see Little Red Hen.)

Anyway, Adam's rousing bachelor weekend consisted of the standard things. Napping, homemade hummuth, and strolling in the park. Probably also browsing thrift stores and crossing of legs while discussing angles of one's fedora.

But THEN they decided to go to a burlesque show. Which they arrived at too late due to aforementioned naps and only got to see the last act, which turned out to be a man. So haha.

But MOSTLY.

On the last night there (and details are fuzzy due to Firefly tea), they go somewhere, see this woman dancer/stripper/whatnot who has:

1. Taped hair into her armpits

2. Pasties in the form of monkey heads

3. The ability to hold her arms over her head and make the monkey heads spin in circles whilst causing her breasts to clap. (This is not hard.)

4. A Barbie on a small table which she proceeds to light on fire.

5. A large, VERY FULL bucket of water on which she proceeds to sit, strain VERY HARD for purposes of sucking the water INTO her vagina, then hobble quickly over to the flaming Barbie, and squirt the water her vagina is holding in its' mouth onto the Barbie to extinguish the flames.

I am pretty sure this is one of the most entertaining stories I have ever heard that that is more than bears documenting. What a great bachelor party story.

What is that word people use for when vaginas have teeth?

It is a medical word. I need not feel bad for saying it.

Also need to write about Margaret's show which was a very long, emphatic, personally affecting commercial for a sale on Menswear at Sears.

Also Jackie Jones making the best noise ever.

Also Margaret looking like a movie star, some really bad-ass markers, and everyone searching very hard for something on the floor while Billy-Christopher leads Jackie Jones on a tour through the land of the giants.

What else. I'm tired, and distracted by the Divas Concert. But I really liked Maggie's show. Even though I don't usually go to things like that. It was obviously quite well done.

Tomorrow is the Divas concert. And they sound AMAZING. And I very professionally eat Cheez-Its and mutter to Sandy under my breath about how I think they should sing "The Ladies Who Lunch" instead of that Andrew Lloyd Webber medley which won't be over til early March of next year and may cause you to have a seizure. It's like if someone started singing the ABC's in an octave only dogs and Cathy Motley-Fitch are cognizant of while at the same time someone else began tattooing fractions on your face while giving you a lobotomy with an old toe.

And that is not to say it doesn't sound FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC. Cause it does.

But if you know all three of those songs that are in the medley, you want desperately to hear all of them and to follow along with all of them, and then they start singing all of them at the same time in different time signatures like 6/4 and 4/sasquatch time and you cannot follow along, and your teeth begin to bleed.

Sounds AMAZING.

And they all look amazing and there is lots of glitter and ponytails with very fancy names and enough jewelry to fill a box normally used for shipping sides of beef.

Needless to say, I get all worked up and flit around a lot.

I must endeavor not to flit around while I'm seated in my professional page-turning chair.

Also Tom and Paul are coming and sitting in the hole, so I will hear about it if I flit around.

I must endeavor to be the soul of musicianship.

But I am very excited. I am going to see if my mom wants to come see it.

Got goosebumps on numerous occasions.

Georgia Farmer is a very funny lady. She sent me a text message today that I cannot repeat in a public forum and which Adam immediately submitted to textsfromlastnight.com

also

the white man with wheat colored eyes and the dreadlocks at my 7-11 feels it is his duty to father me every time I go in there and buy something.

example: What do you have on your head?

-a tiger hat. it was a gift.

-huh.

-it keeps my hair out of my face.

-some of it.

example 2: You don't need that Monster.

-I need energy today.

-eat a banana.

also

Jeopardy. Suck it, Dorland. (Play on SNL... get it?)

I grow tired of that picture that makes me look like an oompa-loompa. Will perhaps change it to that one of me in the fetching fire engine bouffant.

Also, more importantly, Suprise has now been posted online in all of his nipular glory. I advise having a peek.

Yesterday was fun. And now that I have sat down to type about it I have no memory of what the hell happened before noon.

I'm eating nuts. Turning into my grandfather. And Hannah. So, my Handfather. Or Grandannah.

Nuts, it turns out, have fat that is good for me. I have argued Adam into the ground about this. Or was it Adam? Hard to recall, I argue with lots of people about lots of things.

Anyway, nuts have pleasant mannerly fat. So I am eating a hippo full. Actually. Use your imaginations.

Animal Farm we read yet AGAIN yesterday. For another huge tribe of middle schoolers wearing lots of eyeliner and baggy khakis. They were all surprisingly well behaved though.

Animal Farm consisted of us all processing with great pomp out to our hard wooden stools (except for two members of the cast who had cushy tall stools with backs), me tripping violently over all the connecting wires Tom had rigged up for our reading lights, and recovering just in time to make my goat noise.

I have gleaned from Animal Farm that John Moon has a very impressive profile and fascinating neck veins, that Paul is an amazing donkey, and that I can sit in all sorts of extreme yoga positions on top of a bar stool without toppling over.

Also that Boxer was the admiration of everybody.

Finished my nuts. Big Gulp?

Anyway, read that.

Had my daily examination of Tom's facebook page.

Drove somewhere. Where did I go.

Probably went to the Barksdale to put the laundry in. Oh yes- and then picked up Anna from the airport and ate Mexican food and a giant slurpee while secretly trying to figure out how to steal Anna's amulet.

We return to the Empire. I lay in the floor and watch Wendy steam fabric plates. I am a little dizzy at this point.

Anyway, hoo de hoo de hoo, we all go home. We discover we all need showers. I claim that I must have one as I have not had one for a shameful amount of time. This is quickly agreed to by the other members of the household, which makes me suspect that perhaps I stink.

So I take a shower. I do not condition my hair for the first time in months. Ever since Joseph harangued me into doing it all the time. He was right. But I ran out of my kangaroo conditioner, and last time I washed my hair I tried Margaret's new leave in conditioner spray, but that only resulted in my looking like a overgrown armpit, so yesterday I just shampooed.

No good. Now look like a furry hassock.

Oh well. At least it is clean. Always feel like I've lost fifteen pounds when I wash my hair, due to oil x I suppose.

Also, in breaking awful news, my Ned is ill. Ill with hypertubbia. Robyn and I are going to try to take him on walks.

Decided to go with Adam and Anna to Margaret's show. Not to watch, as I watched it several times before last weekend, and then watched it from onstage four times last weekend, but just to be around people and have good company. Also to bother Chase. Always a good time.

Somewhere in here I drank a chocolate apple cherry martini. Or was that the day before? Was the day before.

But Adam can make a banging CACM. In mine he just pours in half a bottle of maraschino cherries and I am good to go.

Still makes me make a pinched face but I can swallow it.

So I go downtown to retrieve my air mattress from Durron at the Empire. I smile and am rewarded with cherries. EVERYONE IN RICHMOND IS PARKED AT THE EMPIRE. Never seen so many cars illegally parked in my life.

Then drive in a very roundabout winding route to the Barksdale to distribute the laundry. I have a premonition as I climb the back stairs that after all of that driving, I bet someone has already gone and gotten the clothes out of the dryer, as it was nearly 7pm, and many of the castmates are set upon by the vapors if their socks are not at their seat shortly before lunch.

And I am right. That Tom Joad.

But I use my free time while I wait for the Droops to gain instruction in applying makeup to cover tattoos. Learned that. On the resume.

Then the Droops arrive and we all drive to the Tavern. Adam has brought his iPod in the car, so he takes turns picking out a song for Maggie, Anna, and me, in a cycle. My dedications included such Honaker favorites as "Hollaback Girl," and "Don't Make Me Hit You With My Pocketbook."

Then he puts on something featuring violins and haystacks and whining and I crab until it is changed back to Dr. Dre.

We arrive.

The very very necessary couple that ushers there every night, Danny and Beverly, announce they have a gift for me. I get very excited, as once Danny gave me a bag full of strawberries. Which I promptly forgot about and left in my car for a month, but that is beside the point.

So at intermission, Danny opens the door of the booth and tosses in a small plastic bag knotted at the top. I think, "surely you do not toss fresh berries, " and open it. I am deeeelighted. When I was in the show last weekend, I noticed one night Danny was wearing a NEON ELECTRIC BRIGHT FLUORESCENT yellow t-shirt. I announced that I loved it and would wear it every day if I had one like it.

And now I do. :) Made my week.

I think it is a shirt that you wear when you go hunting so you are not mistaken for a bison.

Adam says it is my hi-liter costume.

Put it straight on. Then Chase pointed out that I couldn't wear it in the booth as I would glow like the Star of Bethlehem and pose a potential distraction during scenes of great withering emotional x, so I put on his big black vest over top of it and settled in for Act II.

Please hold. Have to go get Anna and Adam off the porch for Jeopardy.

They said, "thank you, 3."

I love how actors describe objects in their lives in terms of upstage/downstage. Like, "You have a smear of ice cream on your chest. No, no- downstage left. More downstage. Ok,you got it."

So then we all ride back to Richmond, I am dropped off at the Dale to begin the laundry and then to meet everyone at Joe's. Chase and I have decided during Act I that we will both get The Big Breakfast and I will give him one pancake for one slice of his French Toast.

I go upstairs and ask whoever is in the dressing room how much acting is left to go. The boys tell me fifteen minutes.

I start to show my dad's awesome card trick to the very nice boy in the cast who has a pretty smile as well as that fascinating skin condition where you are pretty much made of elastic. SO cool. He can affix any number of clothespins to his face and neck and anywhere on him and it doesn't hurt at all. Might try to develop this friendship so I can pull on him.

But anyway, he seems markedly calm about my card trick and then I find out that he knows A LOT about card tricks. We remove ourselves to the back hallway and he teaches me all kinds of cool stuff for the rest of Act II. Like one tidbit in particular that I will not disclose, but will begin trying to find the right situation to employ immediately.

I put in the laundry.

I go to Joe's. We laugh hard and a lot. Which is wonderful.

Go home, read a novel. To bed.

Slept stiff.

Well, I'll say, as a fan of pretty gowns, that this years Oscar crop looks like a collection of bunchy garbage bags.

Hasn't anyone heard of a hoop skirt?

Today was BEAUTIFUL.

I habitually got out of bed, knifed the mascara off my eyes, bundled all up in my cozies and tramped outside to go do the Grapes laundry. (Which, by the way, I woke up at 7:30 and then slept in til 9:30 and then freaked out realizing that the laundry would not be done by noon! Then caught myself- they do not need their laundry by noon. X giving into to the impracticality.)

So, to resume, I had tramped about halfway down the block and then was struck still by the realization that teh day was beautiful. The sun I could feel on my face, the sky was blue, it was almost warm, and there was a darling breeze.

I smiled cheekily and continued my jaunt to my car. I arrive at the end of my jaunt and realized I must jaunt on, as my car was nowhere to be seen. I find it eventually, and am glad of the walk in the weather.

So I go. I put in the laundry. I go over to CVS to get vitamin water because my eyelashes are disintegrating and my liver has shrunken to the size of a cat nipple due to dehydration. And because Maggie told me that last week when she was dehydrated she felt like a new woman after drinking Vitamin water and Pedialyte.

I get two.

Red ones.

I go back over to the theater and get my book about Elizabeth Taylor going on a diet and Russell's tweed dinner jacket that has been hanging backstage since the heyday of the Confederacy and go back outdoors to sit on the bench and feel the sunshine.

I fall asleep.

I am awakened once by three small girls marching by with their Daddy chanting "BOOGER KING! BOOGER KING! BOOGER KING!"

Their father was not responding.

I am awakened twice by my jam session/trash dumping buddy Tim, who is rumbling by with the grocery cart and is concerned that I have locked myself out of the building. I suppose he thinks this because I am prone drooling on a bench bundled in tweed.

I am awakened once again by Tom Joad ringing me from thirty paces down the sidewalk to let him into the building.

(It is 11:30 at this time. Showtime: 2pm)

I let him in. He forges very quickly ahead, but manners have apparently been instilled and he waits to hold the door. In my opinion, if he wouldn't rush off ahead so much, he would have to spend less time holding the door. But that's my opinion.

I inform him that I will be joining him today for Sealquacking in the conference room as I feel like I have been run over by a cement truck.

We do that. I am then dismissed and I don't know what all went on in the conference room for the next thirty minutes.

I distribute the laundry.

I go home to meet Margaret for the matinee.

I eat a banana.

We go to the Tavern.

We put on obscene amounts of makeup, curl my hair, which by this point in the weekend has the consistency of driftwood, and shiggle into our skirts.

We go downstairs, and do the play, which involves cutting napkins, giggling and giving lots of meaningful looks to Maggie.

Also lots of crying. Which worked out particularly well this time, due in part to my being blocked to stand directly beneath the air duct.

I see my wonderful mother. I love her so much.

My mother and I drive to Qdoba at Vcoo.

We eat, we talk, I open up the women's bathroom to the sight of a substantial woman pooping.

We go to Lowes to drop me off for the carpool.

We watch the audience exit the Firehouse following the matinee of Crumble, Lay on Top of me Justin Timberlake, or whatever it is.

We watch Jackie Jones in her apricot colored top- you all know the one- mince daintily across the street with what appears to be a platter of her oat-fudgies.

Joe Carlson pulls up in his car directly beside us. I divine from this that the Grapes matinee is over. I say, "Joe, this is my mom. We sit in Lowes parking lots."

He nods and tells me he is going across to the Camel for dinner.

He leaves.

My mother points out that I did not ever actually explain what we were doing there. I like this.

Bet he thinks I'm REAL weird now.

I call Katrinah when she is five minutes late. She answers. I have woken her from her nap.

She peels into the parking lot five minutes later. And proceeds to peel right past me. I assume she is doing another lap and then will pick me up. She reaches the corner and takes an abrupt left back onto Lombardy, and then away.

I am glad my mother has not pulled off yet. I flag her down and she drives me down to play practice.

At play practice, I fended off my coma, drank Sunkist, and did HEAVY PARTNERING with Brandon Beckman. Which I so adore.

Then Katrinah drove me home. We are smushed against the center guardrail by a semi that was going to get over like it or not.

We drive down the shoulder for a while.

And now we are are watching the Oscars and Adam is torturing us by chopping onions in the next room. But I will forgive, as he is chopping them to make fancy little pizzas and salad.

Maggie just said to the cat- "you have got to grow your fur back. Cause I am sick of looking at your nipples."

Shoes.

Well, the Olympics are over. They were not as exciting for me as I had hoped they would be this year. Eh- not true completely. The women's downhill with all the wipeouts and devastation and thrilling recklessness was Amazing. But the night of the women's free program in figure skating somehow became overshadowed due to what turns out to be a lethal combination of bananas, sheep, dice and muscles.

Anyway. Now all we really need the converter box for is so I can beat Adam at Jeopardy every night. But I am in hopes that some necessary new series will come on regular tv so we can all watch. I always forget though, that I do have access to House and 24. Both of which I love.

Lola is anxious for Adam to come home. She is snooty to me and Maggie.

Maggie got her hair cut today and now looks French and expensive. Especially because she wears gray leggings so well.

Oh Adam just got home. Whoop-de-doo.

Also he apparently brought both Margaret and I prizes. Oh goodygoodygoody.

I retract prior sarcasm.

In about ten minutes Joy is picking me up to drive me down to the Mill to make sure I can still read.

Have to go. Maggie is putting on her wedding shoes.

Sham.

Yesterday was a fun day.
Due to massive pothole devastation throughout Richmond, Brett's car has decided to be a whiny little girl and x at every possible opportunity.
So it was in the shop/so he needed a ride to work. Done.
So I spring out of the bed bright and early and putter over there to visit with my dear Suprise before we go.
I visit. I coo, I nuzzle, I discover that he for some reason looks like he's recently gone swimming in an oil spill and that he needs a bath. I decide to set aside 48 hours sometime next week to thoroughly bathe and blow dry him so he doesn't take a chill.
I fall asleep.
I offer for Brett to take my car and drive himself to work as I can cuddle with Suprise some more and I have nothing to do except the laundry at the Barksdale and it would do me heaps of good to walk there.
He does.
So Suprise and I stare into each others eyes and give kisses for another hour or so. Wilson snuggles up close to us (within 1 ft.) and turns his back snootily, like he does. So I am happy as a duck with two gorgeous cats and a blanket.
I decide to check my phone. I have of course three text messages all inviting me to do fun things in the next two hours. My phone immediately dies.
Oh well.
One of the fun things was Jennings inviting me to help with a mailing for Fairy Tale Ball. I love sticking labels on things and writing fancy addresses on envelopes so I am all about this. She tells me Hannah has offered to pick me up from my apartment.
So I trudge briskly out in the slush and walk through the back alleys (this thrills me because I know the whole time--YOUR PARENTS WOULD NOT LIKE THAT YOU ARE DOING THIS! DANGEROUS DANGEROUS!) and behind the huge house that at Christmas was decorated over every millimeter and had a festive sign on the front in somber black lettering saying "In Memory of Our Deceased Son." Who I can only assume, really enjoyed Christmas.
I stroll down Boulevard. Two blocks down I realize that I am STARVING. Starving. To a crippling degree.
Now- it should be noted that when I say I am "starving" what is probably actually the case is that I haven't eaten in about three hours and am getting slightly grumpy.
But nevertheless. With my usual flair for the dramatic and intense suffering situations, I pretend I am really in a pickle and have to walk all this way and may or may not pass out due to hunger.
I also admire the curly shadow my hair makes on the sidewalk. Really quite lovely.
Also- I do not have my keys. So I cannot get in my house (though I am considering the window- I would really fancy myself cool if I did that) to charge my phone.
So I round the corner onto Monument. I squint down the street. I see Hannah's car! Which you know is Hannah's car because it is the only one like it in America. For real.
I scooch up her steps and knock on her door. Love having friends all living within blocks of each other.
Her dog puts up a mightly fuss and then she lets me in. I collapse on the couch and explain while I am there. She offers me some water. I offer myself some food.
She displays the options of yogurt, fruit, cereal, hummus, coffee....
I settle on a Pepsi. And a banana- AND a banana.
Bananas are always amazing tasting when you have one for the first time in several years.
Because Hannah can always solve any problem she charges my phone with John's phone charger and then we shuttle off to the Barksdale to put in the laundry. The irrelevant laundry that is actually made diritier by washing it. Oh well.
Hannah then announces that we are going to wash her car. I get excited because I like going through those car wash tunnels. But she has in mind the do-it-yourself car wash next to Wendy's.
I am at first substantially less excited because I do not like to do things like vacuuming myself.
But then she puts in all the quarters and I start helping and then she gives me the power washer stick and turns it on and I start chortling like a toddler with cake.
It is very cool. And cheap. And has options for wash, wax, rinse, scrub, and a special option for tire washing.
Fun. Ruined my dinosaur mittens. Worth it.
Hannah eyes all the fun I am having suspiciously.
We then go down to the Empire to stuff envelopes.
Jeff lets us in. Good ol' Jeff. Like him an awful lot.
Jennings, in her usual amazing party presenter fashion, has set out pretzel sticks and lollipops and allows us to have Diet Cokes. The very Diet Cokes I have been crabbing about not being able to have for months.
We stuff. I take two trips over to the theater to pick up envelopes and nose around at Lepettiponce.
The company that has provided the magnets we are mailing has included as a free sample two festive in your face magnets for the Football Squad the Saints. No idea where they are from. New Orleans? Beside the point. All I know is that Ford LOVES the Colts. And thereby probably does not much care for the Saints. So I march right into his office and affix both magnets prominently to his filing cabinet. This gives me a great sense of peace.
We finish envelopes. Hannah and Jennings decide to go running later on today. I try to talk them out of it. I do not succeed. Good for them.
We go to the bank. The branch John works at downtown.
It should be noted that I am SO IMPRESSED with myself for knowing someone like John who works so successfully at a bank. And then comes over and watches action movies.
This bank should never be attended to deposit your check. We wait in line for absolute MINUTES. Upwards of twenty-five I am sure. I do alot of shifting my weight from foot to foot and whining. Hannah tells me a story about the little girl she nannies for peeing on herself and Hannah making her clean it up herself. Hannah, is AWESOME.
But it is mostly worth it when we get to the front of the line and I discover a necessary little metal door under the teller window that you can open and close. And so I put one of Hannah's crumpled up receipts inside. Would have been cool if I had opened the door again and it had been gone.
We go home. I am picked up by Brett as I am crossing the Monument median and we go to his house and drop him off. We youtube my new boyfriend Shaun White doing his little snowboarding.
I go to pick up Dorland.
He has a brownie. A. One.
He eats it.
We go put the laundry in the dryer and then go home.
I shower and peform most of "Oklahoma."
Maggie eats noodles and blows her nose.
Wendy pops by to drop off the fruits of the crime she and Adam and I committed the day before.
That's all I'm going to say about that. Actual crime.
I hop in her van and she takes me to the B'dale, where she is bartending.
I invite myself to lay in the floor with Joe Carlson and learn about the process of flailing and wheezing and pretnding to be a seal called "Oxyrhythmics."
He graciously allows me to join and manages to continue his warm-up all the while feeding me a constant stream of instruction and ignoring my giggles when it is fun to do something like put your legs straight up in the air and then touch them to the floor over your head. I realize as I am going that this is probably not meant to be "fun."
Have now learned how to do that.
Is good for relaxing and stretching.
I watch Michael Hawke eat a salad.
I find out more than I want to about the Grapes boys and their long underwear.
I "fix" a costume note in under two seconds using the scissors.
We all listen to the Debra singing in the lobby.
Adam comes to pick me up.
We go to Short Pump.
We go to Pottery Barn. We make thirty laps of the store looking for a green duvet cover.
I wonder if Adam is going to ask the salesgirl where it might be as we have driven all the way to Short Pump.
Adam and I do not like to ask sales people anything. Or to order pizza over the phone. We make Maggie do it. Or whoever else happens to be in the house.
I CAN do it. I am working on it.
He of course finds it before asking, which robs me of any satisfaction of him having to ask.
We go to urban outfitters where we find lots of things we NEED. Like telephones shaped like hamburgers and unicorn keys.
I decide I might faint if I don't have beef.
So we go to Wendy's. We eat in silence, as you can do with good friends. I think about how nice it is to have so many good friends that I can ignore completely most of the time.
Two small girls are dining in Wendy's with their mothers. They are sent to the bathroom to wash their hands. They emerge from the bathroom and loudly announce that there is a gun in there.
Adam and I are riveted and blatantly staring.
The mother investigates. No gun. Shucks.
I teach Adam the back way to the Short Pump target.
In Target we (well I-- Adam purchased only boring things like tupperware for sweaters and pillowcases) I found very necessary items.
-Shoes I can wear to sing tonight and that Maggie likes as well so we can share as they are heels and she will wear them more.
-Swim goggles for snowboarding excursion tomorrow night. So I don't have to spend the whole time crying blood and fire.
-An enormous new bath towel featuring Sleeping Beauty.
We go get Frosties.
We go home.

Best reason ever.

Well, I cannot be a grandmother.

And I have been reeling from this knowledge all the way since Tuesday, folks.

Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, yesterday Adam and I went to Barnes & Noble after we finished vacuuming, dusting, washing and shaving the Grapes of Wrath set. We like it there. We would live there. Take out a small cot under the Babysitters' Club section.

I've forgotten what I was saying.

Oh yes.

I sharply spy the new Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition on the rack by the register.

We unanimously decide to get this.

He pays, as he is a boy. I purchase a small bright bookmark featuring the picture of a kitten in a sweater looking put out.

We go home, silently doff our coats, turn on the light and take up positions on the couch for the viewing.

Now, let it be said that Adam and I enjoy this magazine for different reasons.

Ever since I can remember, in the magazine rack next to my grandfather's ancient recliner was one Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. I have no idea what year it was from, but it remained in that rack for the better part of my childhood and teen years.

And every holiday and occasion my brother, my cousin Megan and I would look at this book.

I found it almost unbelievable how they could paint those bathing suits on those girls and make it look SO real. We would peer and peer to see if we could see any trace of nipple or any other body part that would make us think, "well, really then, I suppose this is not quite so impressive as it seems after all." But no. So I've always liked seeing that spread to see how well done it is.

Adam reads this magazine for God knows why. I guess watching girls suffering in harsh weather conditions wearing only their bones and the occasional brightly patterned tea bag.

Whatever.

But just for everyone's information, the painted bathing suit spread in this year's issue is lacking in real-ness. In my opinion. And in Adam's. And he knows. He is a painter.

There are some erroneously placed shadows, and someone got over-ambitious and decided they could make two-dimensional ruffly lace look like the real thing.

Try again.

So anyway, that was pretty much a bust. Ahaha.

The most amusing part of the whole exercise was when it occurred to me what a sight it would be for Maggie to behold when she walked in the door from work to discover Adam and I seated on the couch poring and squinting over the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue together.

She didn't.

Also.

When I adopted and raised and those three fuzzy Happy Meal sized kittens, I knew that one day, they would need to be spayed/neutered.

I knew this most certainly about Betty, for if she were ever to reproduce the world would undoubtedly be overtaken by her bat-gargoyle soulless spawn and every human would be furious for the rest of their lives.

Ouisus I knew would grow to be a refrigerator and a hunk o' burning pussy, as it were, and be extremely sought after by all the cats within the tri-state area. And I didn't want him breaking any hearts.

Suprise I would love to have reproduce, as he is wonderful and I love him in every way, but unfortunately, his general unawareness of everything around him down to and including his own body and whether or not he can walk across the ceiling on his tongue would most probably render him useless in figuring out the mechanics of where to stick it.

Having said all that, and in light of the fact that once Betty went into heat she began aggressively sexually accosting any male that came to our house in a most embarrassing way (sorry Matt Shofner) and Suprise, in a good humor, commenced merrily spraying on everything Brett owns just to spread the good cheer, I made appointments for the children to have their parts sawed off.

So I take them in for a pre-surgery check up/rabies shot.

I discover a deaf cat in the lobby of the vet clinic. This is fun because you stand by it's cage until it turns around and then it is startled and jumps and goes "YEOOOOW."

They examine Betty. They coo and ooh and ahh and call her things like "sweet angel" and "petite little lady."

I bite my tongue and roll my eyes. I wish that Adam were there so we could pompously scoff at this gross misperception together. (Maggie loves Betty. She is not all alone in the world.)

They examine Suprise. Who, by the way, is the most relaxed cat I have every come across. He has sat in my lap the entire car ride and gazed contemplatively out the window, occassionally bathing a paw. He has spent Betty's examination reclining in the corner chair, leafing through the February issue of Cat Fancy.

While examining Suprise they discover (besides that he is amazing), that my baby only has one descended testicle. I figure this is not uncommon. But the vet then proceeds to press on his lower body searching for said testicle. She presses higher and higher, until finally, somewhere around his larynx, she says, "Ah. There it is."

I find this peculiar.

But he is Suprise. He does lots of Suprising things. Which now include storing one of his balls on his clavicle.

All this means, she tells me, is that instead of them just popping open his scrotum and spooning out his testicles there, they will have to do a deeply invasive procedure to fish out the rogue ball.

I immediately almost burst into tears.

But I take comfort in the fact that, no matter what they do to him, anesthesia or not, he will not notice. He's just that laid back.

All goes according to plan. Betty sails through surgery- a "routine spay" they tell me (much to mine and Adam's secret disappointment), and Suprise does as well, with the exception of them having to do a bit more shoveling around through his abdomen than they had previously anticipated.

Again- tears.

We go to pick them up. They tell me, "That will be $256.00. For Suprise." I smile and say, "No it will not."

So I pay something I find feasible, though I am forced to go a little overboard due to the wandering nut. Apparently, when they have to go on expansive testicles searches, they really are putting themselves out so they can charge you more money.

We return Suprise home. His roommate Wilson has forgotten about him completely in the five hours he has been out of the house and hisses and moans to beat the band. I give him a withering look and a sharp smack on the rump. Suprise immediately lurches himself up onto the round footstool and sits up straight as an arrow. He is squinting violently and swaying from side to side.

I call Brett four hours later to check in on him.

He is still on the footstool.

But the next morning, he was all duckies and cupcakes. That's my boy.

So I am pleased.

Also it is really something to relish when you can cancel certain things you were planning on paying for by saying, "I'm sorry, I can't come to that now. My cat had one undescended testicle."

I was in China three times today. Now I have to go save all the depressed people from their blue rashes.

Someone gave me a rose today. I don't know who it was.

Nor, Hannah, do I care.

Pinkie X?

So. Yesterday me and Eric and David and Ben went skiing/snowboarding. And it was necessary.

However.

I have been unable to regain feeling in the tip of my left pinkie finger since said snowboarding.

I have been walking around for parts of today with the tip of my pinkie covered up though, and have decided that if one must have something amputated, the pinkie tip is the way to go.

Maggie and Tom have decided I have nerve damage.

David says as long as my finger doesn't smell TOO bad, it's probably fine.

I have decided I agree with the nerve damage diagnosis, for after my irreparable error on the curtains at the Mill today I set about poking my finger tip with the needle and nothing.

But Tom said the nerves could regenerate after many many years. Which I am interpreting as maybe a week or two.

Man that was fun though.

I COMPLETE AWFUL HUGE INELEGANT X roughly 64 times during the first 3 feet down the mountain.

Which taught me the following:

1. X while snowboarding hurts. So it is best to not x.

2. Regaining one's feet (well- giant plastic foot) after x is rather difficult, and better if done quickly.

3. Always try snowboarding for the first time with three kind gentlemen friends who will board/ski along behind you and after you slam into the fence or the 'GO SLOWLY' sign and are laid out like an old squashed banana midway down the bunny trail, they will ski up behind you having gathered your belongings that have been jolted off your person in the wreckage. Like your scarf, your glasses, your gloves, your liver.

All three of them were very sweet in that regard. And helpful with tips on how not to fall over.

My greatest motivation not to fall over though was my stubborness. I finally decided not to fall over. And managed to avoid doing so 96% of the rest of the day.

Have never fallen down so hard in my life. Understand the term "bone-jarring" now.

And today feel like my muscles are made of rotten strung out Vienna sausage.

But that is irrelevant. Had a wonderful time. Would go again in a flash. And bring everyone.

I would love to teach my brother how to do that.

I must run.

Must go watch Margaret get really upset and throw things and scream obscenities.

Then we're going to put on footie pajamas and braid each other's hair while we watch horror movies until Adam comes home and finds us in each others laps with all the lights on screaming and horrorstruck.

He better bring snacks.

All the frosties X?

I say to the man working the Wendy's drive thru. I am met with silence. Silence and static.

Whatever. We found something to eat just the same.

Also, well, I suppose I could just write about yesterday and get to this part at the end.

So yesterday, my plan was to trot by the Empire and cajole Chase into letting me use a piece of paper.

Got it.

Then discovered a disease sitting on top of Ford's filing cabinet.

Also cleaned the cat's litter box prior to all of this. I love my cat.

I discover while I am flouncing around doing pirouettes while Adam uses the copy machine that I have gotten poop on my scarf.

Which might be the best facebook status update in years.

But I am stricken. I love this scarf. And this scarf has already been through a lot, as one time the ends of it were accidentally dangled in the toilet. X.

Adam glances over and notices me standing there stricken and calmly suggests I go wash it.

I do.

By the time I emerge from the bathroom with my tidy scarf everyone in a thirty mile radius has found out about the scarf poop.

I then decide to stay and help out with Myulin as I have no plans for the rest of the day.

My first assignment is to pull staples. Got it. On the resume.

Second- to beat the fire walls with a stick tied to little strips of fabric. I do this for awhile and then decide I don't like it very much. So I return the stick to Adam and Ginnie takes me next door to fix me up with the belt sander.

I am presented with a fabulous pair of green goggles (which in hindsight I should have stolen as I am going snowboarding today and could use them. Last time we went skiing all of my facial skin was lost somewhere on the bunny trail.) and some ear coverers. I am assigned to sand the merchant carts. I am photographed wielding the belt sander in all my regalia. Probably to be filed away for use in my obituary as everyone at every theater in the tri-cities is convinced I should never be allowed anywhere near a power tool.

But I sand successfully. I then go immediately next door and announce to everyone that I made the carts.

Then we go to lunch. We go to Tarrant's because I wanted to see Russell and they give big diet cokes.

Russell wasn't there, the diet coke was flat. Oh well. We console ourselves with garlic rolls and an ENTIRE pizza.

My next job is to base coat the carts. Adam gives me this gray bucket full of what he insists is white paint. But I'm no fool. It is clearly a bucket of albumen and mayonnaise.

I paint the cart, all the while sneaking cautious glances over my shoulder because I know that Ford is in the building rehearsing a tour and that means I am a sitting duck for him to creep up behind me and shout my name as he is wont to do.

I decide I don't like painting carts. When I am done, I go upstairs and staple music for Maleia while sitting in the floor.

I do enjoy sitting in the floor.

Riley thinks it's funny that I say "in" the floor. I suppose so.

I go back downstairs. There is another cart waiting for me. Adam gives me a LOOK. So I paint it.

Wendy recruits me to walk with her to Backstage to pick up the gels for Grapes of Wrath. I suggest that they use all brown gels.

I drive Adam home, and I draw a blank as to what happened between then and play practice.

Probably I did what I do, and got out a biography, turned the space heater on full blast and straddled it. One needs bigger space heaters. Because you have to alternate between getting your legs hot and your feet hot.

But then I pick up Whyvon and we go to China. In China I wave ribbons and flags and hand knives to people and practice tai-chi. I enjoy China.

I call Eric to verify ski plans for today. Eric tells me I should say hello when someone answers the phone. For the first time, I consider it. I think because he said it so calmly.

Adam and I go to Kinkos, where I crochet Matt's hat while Adam makes syllabi.

I feel a touch smug as I always do when I remember that Adam TEACHES AT A UNIVERSITY and I am his friend.

We then try to go to Wendy's where we are told that they are out of frosties.

So we go to Kroger. But all worked out for the best as I have been in the market for a large soft stuffed animal to sit on my pillows. I was trying to hold out for a round yellow chick, but was getting impatient.

Then, last night, behind the sign that said "Ladbury Eggs," was a gigantic hot pink stuffed unicorn. I could immediately tell that she loved me. So I saved her our of her crate where she was co-existing with hedgehogs and puppies and other such miscreants and took her home.

We try to name her in the car. I decide it needs to end with "-ia." But that falls by the wayside after "Rosacea" is the best I can come up with. I considered naming her Kitana after the woman who throws knives on Mortal Kombat. But then we started talking about She-Ra, and decide that probably her name should be Aurora, as I have always liked that name.

Anyway. She has fat hooves I like to squeeze.

So in a few minutes I am going skiing with Barfay and Bob Cratchit. Should be fun. I've decided to try snowboarding today just to see.

Ben is going as well. Ben practically runs Joe's Inn. I may begin referring to it as "Ben's Inn." Which is kind of interesting to say.

And then Myulin.

And then perhaps "The Orphan" with Margaret. So excited.