What has turned into my Diary. Edited.

Okay.

2010-10-29T22:58:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-09-02T18:36:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-07-24T19:49:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-07-17T20:56:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-07-16T11:24:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-06T16:12:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-07-04T16:02:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-06-29T17:49:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-06-24T06:24:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-04-27T21:11:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-13T18:07:00.002-08:00

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

2010-03-13T18:07:00.001-08:00

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

2010-03-13T16:00:00.001-08:00

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.

2010-03-07T19:30:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-02-28T15:12:00.001-08:00

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.

2010-02-20T05:34:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-02-13T17:22:00.001-08:00

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?

2010-01-22T16:26:00.001-08:00

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?

2010-01-21T07:06:00.000-08:00

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.

Suggestions please.

2009-12-22T17:12:00.001-08:00

So, a really good activity is to come up with chewy adorable costumes to stuff a baby in.

What are your ideas?

Top ones of the evening so far:

A tube of tennis balls

a ham

a bowl of mashed potatoes

egg roll

a beer

Cogsworth.

a codpiece

a liver

Ruminate on that.

I expect to be tickled.

Grayscale!

2009-12-21T14:39:00.001-08:00

Learned today:

1. Driving in the snow/ice is my new all-time favorite activity. Besides singing. And raising kittens.

2. It is irrational for bald people not to appreciate homemade hats.

3. When attending one's first therapy session it is interesting to have the first thing your therapist says to be: "Oh- you're that crazy little girl with the pigtails!" Yes. Yes I am. Enjoy.

Therapy is necessary I've decided.

Also buying kick-ass presents for very sweet roommates that you know they will get really REALLY excited about and then waiting jittering and shivering with excitement for them to come home and open said presents. Oh- I didn't finish that sentence. Is great.

My car was stuck this morning. Of course. After yesterday I was Jasmine Bond and amazingly revved my car out of it's pit to drive to Erin's Christmas party. Then got stuck on a hill going home and together with Matt and Brett shoved the car up the hill while Maggie drove (most fun I have had in YEARS).

But after this party, I made sure to find a nice parking spot that looked relatively easy to navigate.

No such luck. STUCK this morning.

Had to catch a ride to the North Pole with Hannah in her SUV complete with three dollish children named Petunias, Perfection, and Sausage Curls.

Arrived mere seconds after places.

Now will take a hopefully hot shower. And if it's not hot then sorry everyone I am going to see tonight cause I'm not taking it.

The birthday boy and I are attending "Billy-Christopher's Holiday Hoo-Ha" starring Margaret.

Then we are attending that fancy bar Balliceaux where Hannah worked for 17 minutes and is really down the rabbit hole.

I have to wash my hair. Because I bought a new yellow cap.

Arlene, Kristoff and Curtis.

2009-12-19T20:45:00.000-08:00

Today was a good day overall.

I better make this a good post.

Already the person I want to make it good for will have read that first sentence and said to himself, "Who cares if you had a good day? Why should anyone else care? Why should I read this?"

Adam is in the kitchen storing the leftover tablespoon of chili in a tupperware and he just said, "I don't even like chili."

However, he sprang out of bed at 11:45 this morning and immediately set about making a detailed list of chili ingredients that we then were all assembled to trudge through the devastation to Ukrops to acquire. Because we had to make this chili. That he doesn't like.

I love how the snow looks at night especially. With the Christmas lights on and everything so still and quiet and everyone moving so slowly. I love it. I love that you can hear the snow falling. I sat in my car after I blindly and haphazardly parallel-parked with the engine turned off just to listen to the crackle and tiny sizzle of the snow.

Then this morning I received a phone call at pretty early o'clock from Tom telling me Drifty X for the day. To which my cantankerous crabby ill self replied something very cheerful.

Which was rude of me.

But I think I can't quite be held completely accountable for remarks I make while still in REM sleep mode with my throat swathed in drill bits and pink attic insulation.

Anyway, I go back to sleep for three and a half hours and then am awakened to the sounds of Frank Sinatra muttering about Christmas on the record player.

Margaret and Adam are doing the dishes. I sit on the couch.

We all ignore each other until Adam whips out the Good Crocker Keeping Cookbook from early feudal London. You know the one. It has red plaid on it.

We make a huge list of what we need to buy at the store. We have decided to devote our entire day off to cooking lots of food that none of us feel we need to eat.

I put on all of my clothes. All.

Maggie manages to look incredible for our snow jaunt. She has on sleek grey jeans, lovely stylish dark snow boots and a swinging, elegant cape-ish thingy. With a knit grey beret and her beautiful blond hair making her look very expensive.

Adam and I, on the other hand, are having quite the challenge just to fit through the doorways.

More so me.

I put on my father's old non-matching high school softball knee socks first. Followed by a pair of those white athletic socks that around the arch of your foot become a corset to promote good foot health or something. Then my blue jeans, then my pajama bottoms. Then my blue thermal shirt, my "life is good" shirt, my green hoodie, my giant red winter jacket, my pink scarf, and my festive blue and orange toboggan hat that my father hates for me to wear, but I love because it is funny and colorful and no one can tell if the creatures on it are supposed to be chess pawns or characters from Pac-Man.

Then I realize I have cleverly left the snow boots that my wonderful mother had the foresight to bring to me yesterday at the Mill in the trunk of my car. So I decide to stride out the door in my highly specialized rubber orthopedic shoes.

Which worked just fine.

Boring details. That particular person is not going to find this amusing.

We go to Ellwood Thompsons. I eat a nasty sample of banana bread.

We go to Blockbuster whereupon the heaven opened up and angels and love and small round porcupines in belly shirts rained down upon me. They had a display of those squeezy head pens that I love. And I have been in need of a fresh one. Bing Crabsby has yet to run out of ink, but due to the high altitude in the new Theatre IV rehearsal space, has lost all of his inflatability. So now he has a friend. A snowman named Curtis.

We all three got one. See title.

The man working the Blockbuster register was very puzzled by we three people who had obviously braved the WEATHER to come to Blockbuster and buy pop-eye pens.

Then we went home and made chili and cookies and cornbread and fielded extremely entertaining text messages, and laid in the floor and made hats.

Well just I made a hat.

I'm pretty sure that if we do Spelling Bee tomorrow, the entire audience will be onstage with us just to meet the quota of volunteers.

I have now bought 1 gift.

2009-12-17T14:59:00.000-08:00

Well, I have twenty-five minutes to wait until I go pick up Jason Winebarger.

Today I did Drifty. Tom is pretty sure it is going to snow and all of Colonial Heights will be cancelled.

I kind of hope it snows. But I want to be somewhere I find most necessary if it does so that I can be stuckedly content.

Last year when it snowed for 45 seconds Maggie and I made a huge production out of traipsing through the slush and massive millimeters of snow to dig her car out of the trauma and drive to Krispy Kreme while Brett and Adam stayed safe and toasty in the house. By the time we got back from Krispy Kreme it was 75 degrees and daffodils were blooming on the porch.

I need to pick another job. One that will make me lots of money- well not lots. I don't need lots, but enough money.

So that my acting money can go towards things like razors and kitten clothes.

I don't think Lola has any thunder to steal, Adam.

It is funny to me that Ginny Weasley is now taller than Daniel Radcliffe. I bet the casting people said, "whoops."

Ok here goes Adam-

Sometimes snow is invisible after you pass through doorways.

Also, I might become a nurse for the shoes, and mom jeans are never ok for cowpokes.

Also- it was Professor Mullet in the water closet with the foam donut.

Well, I don't have anything else I want to say right now.

Hot water.

2009-12-16T11:18:00.000-08:00

I haven't bought anyone anything.

Today a small boy strode up to Tom dressed as Cowboy Jim in the parking lot and said, "hello there......Farmer Jeff."

I liked that a lot.

Then Tom made like he was going to go inside because it was so cold, so I began to go with him. And then he stopped going inside so that I would have to stay outside too.

Which I respect.

I think maybe I'll stop plucking my mustache and errant chin hairs. If I could manage to grow a beard I might be warmer.

I saw Russell today. Which was nice. I handed him his intricately decorated envelope with his script and score inside. I hope he appreciates all the work I put in on that bunny and flower and rendering of him in large plaid bell bottoms as Pete.

We're going to see "Bus Stop" tonight. I hope there will be egg casserole and mint tea served in the lobby.

Casserole. Another good name for a cat.

It's time for Betty's surgery!

Everything gets a little awkward when the family pet is horny. Especially at Christmas time.

Well then. Fountains?

2009-12-14T16:56:00.000-08:00

How much happiness is not enough?

I am not Carrie Bradshaw, nor do I write a column about sex and relationships, but that is a good title for one, no?

I want to write a column for some paper. Who wants me to write a column for their paper? How do I get that job.

However, I will steadfastly refuse to dye awful looking roots into my hair and run around looking tacky. Me? Never.

I ADORE the Christmas lights on Monument Ave. Always have. However, this year there seems to be an unsettling aquamarine theme going around.

I don't approve. I feel as though we should have had an avenue meeting and discussed/voted on a good color.

I like the white ones myself. Or the giant bursts for multi-colored lights that are artfully arranged to appear haplessly hurled over the balcony.

I just went out and bought a fleece for the cat.

Margaret is at play practice counting chairs with R. Cooper Timberline.

Adam is off listening to some actors read a play and seeping blood out of his thumb.

I have a frosty and am going to watch Dexter. Happy as a clam in a pig.

I cannot wait to watch the clip of Sam's tap performance at Lincoln Center last night on some computer that will actually load the clip and make it look like a movie instead of a lazy artist's flip book.

I CANNOT WAIT to humiliate Betty's soul into a pile of charred empty fragments of nothingness by making her wear this sweater.

Long fancy fingernails are just not me. Neither perhaps are stumpy chewed ones. Something nice and tidy and practical I think.

Um, well NOT mauve.

2009-12-11T05:20:00.000-08:00

I'm awake.

My throat doesn't hurt at the moment, which makes me hopeful that the "energy work" Dee did to my head yesterday has been a success. I've never had anything like that done to me before, but am game for any new activity, so I stood still while she put her hands on my throat and back and thought healing thoughts at me.

I was pretty sure I had ruined the whole thing though, because she started out by telling me to envision a coiling tube of three different colored lights beaming into the top of my head. She instructed me as to what two of the colors were, and then told me to make the third color whatever color I find to be the most soothing.

So I say confidently, "Ok!."

She begins. I have lied with my confident "Ok" because I know that whenever anyone asks me to pick a favorite anything or dream role or pretty much any question in general, my mind goes into a tizzy and cannot come up with one answer, or any answer, and I seem to know nothing whatever about what my opinions are.

So I spend the whole time trying to decide on a color. I think of soothing gray aluminum first, because whenever I am sick or nauseous for some reason thinking of hard metal tables that are cool and hard and flat and shiny makes me feel better.

But then I think, no, maybe green.

Then, no- some sort of baby blue

Then, well f$*## it, Audra, I'm sure you've ruined the whole thing by now and instead of your throat feeling better it is going to start sprouting potatoes or something.

But it seems to have worked a bit. So we'll see.

Thanks, Dee.

Then I went home and found Adam and Maggie watching "Elf." I watch for a bit and realize that this is just a movie starring Matt Shofner as Leaf Coneybear.

Maggie is sprinkling organic powdered sugar on a fresh batch of those cookies I mentioned.

I tuck Betty's face into the crook of my elbow and wander around the house supporting her only from that point. I am curious to see how long she will put up with such ill treatment.

Indefinitely is apparently the answer.

Oh- there really is nothing you can't do with duct tape. I tried.

I begin telling Adam a story and then look up to catch him standing framed in the kitchen archway holding my loaf of wheat bread with a look of incredulous hurt and disappointment on his face. I wonder what have I done. This look says, "Audra. AUDRA. How could you ever think you could or should bring a loaf of wheat bread into this house and not be caught?"

I ask him what in the world is wrong.

He beckons me over. I see now that my loaf has grown a Christmas sweater. A lime green, mohair Christmas sweater.

Which is really too bad as I had two pieces of toast two days ago for breakfast and probably ate the sleeves. Cause it's dark in here in the mornings and who knew.

Today the big trip to Burlington Coat Factory is happening. For the most delightful tacky Christmas sweaters we can find. I'll keep you posted.

Also Joseph is coming to town to be in the math show at the Barksdale. Very excited.

There should never be crunching noises when cats bathe themselves down there.

Betty.

Carrie Bradshaw.

2009-12-10T20:00:00.000-08:00

It would be nice for doorknobs if they enjoyed sex. Huh? Huh?

Sayonara Betty.

2009-12-09T20:04:00.000-08:00

I need a rifle. And one bullet. It will not go to waste.

And then, after I do that, all the ornaments will stay on the Christmas tree.

So nevermind about the whole every day in December a new post thing. I realized swiftly that my December days are going to be pretty much groundhog days. (Even though I've never seen that movie, I'm pretty sure that I know what I'm talking about.)

I go to the Mill. I look in the refrigerator. Force of habit. There is never anything in there that I can eat, and only Tom's Sunkists to drink that I bought him for his birthday and therefore feel reticent to ask for. I do have some scruples.

Remember that tv movie "Scruples?" I feel like it was Danielle Steel.

I like that word.

I look also in the freezer.

I put on my Pepita regalia.

I bother Tom.

I think that Ray Schriener is very handsome.

I shiver and mope and gripe and ask Tom fruitlessly to turn the heat up.

I do the Drifty play.

I go home, turn on my space heater and bundle under my comforter. I sleep for two hours. I get up, take a shower, may or may not shave my legs as I wear slacks in Spelling Bee so ha.

I go rotate the laundry.

I press Aly's pink linen jumper. For 19 hours.

I do the Spelling Bee play.

I go home, eat a pretentious party cookie that Maggie whipped up a batch of the other night and make me feel like my name is Thelma.

I go to bed.

Repeat.

So really, I've caught you up.

Tonight I wore Disney Princess nail tips on my fingernails for the Spelling Bee. MADE MY NIGHT.

Liz Hopper has made it abundantly clear that she likes Logainne to have bizarre things on her fingernails, and this, I feel, took the cake. Not sure how I'm going to top it.

Also today Ford told me to stop my whining, gave me a bag of delicious holiday candy, and told me I should find another profession. In that order. What a gem.

A Holiday Homily

2009-12-02T19:01:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time in Ireland there was an alarming surplus of plaid fabric and everyone in the land was forced to wear a plaid cloak, dress, what have you, so the plaid would not go to waste.

It was cold. The weather alternated between snow and very heavy cloud cover.

A very good actor lived in a house with no walls and a 5 and a half foot ceiling. The actor kept his business in a similar building where he was frequently visited by distinguished alumni from Shenandoah Conservatory and the University of Richmond.

The actor wanted them to leave right away.

Working for the actor was a cheery young chap who looked very well in a vest and used to perform in a popular boy band but had been forced to quit due to a shoulder injury he received doing a regional production of "A Christmas Carol."

It was the holidays in the land, and the actor sent everyone home for the night, and then retired to his home.

Suddenly the clock struck 22 and Chase Kniffen walked into the actor's living room with a blue recliner.

Then the floor opened up and a very dusty man from Revolutionary France appeared in the living room.

He was sent from hell to teach the actor that if you misbehave during your lifetime you are forced to wear voluminous muslin hairbows for all of eternity.

He becomes irritated that his mic does not have reverb and leaves.

The actor retires to his bed. It is fortunate that the actor used to be a professional dresser so he never has any trouble donning his nightgown, which he keeps laid out in the floor in the perfect position for the quick change.

Then all the power goes out.

When the lights come back on the actor is surprised to find Baby June standing in his foyer.

She is dressed all in white as Marie Antoinette and orders the actor to leave his house and come with her to stand in the center of a large empty dark stage where she instinctively knows her costume will show to it's best advantage.

Baby June and the actor do several sweeping waltz steps during which the actor thinks, "Boy, my union will be really upset if I fall down doing these turns with this little girl in the fog."

Suddenly the actor has a memory of himself in his first show when he played Tom Sawyer. He clearly remembers every moment of his power ballad in the classroom scene.

(For the record- the actor was VERY GOOD at his power ballad when he was younger. The actor should probably win a Grammy for his performance.)

Baby June and the actor continue to reminisce about his past performances. One when he was a young man and performed in Les Miz. He remembers in astonishing detail the entire "Master of the House" sequence.

By this time Baby June has worn herself out weaving back and forth among the musical numbers from downstage left to downstage right and gets decidedly cranky.

She- having been taught well by her Mama Rose- unerringly finds the tight special at center and yells at the actor. Tells him to go home and not to worry- there will be at least two more famous pop culture characters appearing to him before the night is out.

The actor is left standing in the center special alone. He normally would like this, but this time is upset because he realizes in the montage of memories he just experienced his award-winning turn in "Eurydice" at the Firehouse Theatre was grossly overlooked.

He decides he needs fifteen minutes to pull himself together.

*******

The actor awakes. He stretches languidly. He feels very refreshed after his power nap.

Then he realizes two things.

One- he has gone to bed in his dress slacks.

Two- Hagrid is sitting in his bedroom.

The actor is pretty excited about both of these things. He thinks, "well, it is better that I am wearing pants. If ever I was to wake up from a nap in front of a room of 300 people, it would be better for them not to see my junk under my nightgown." And the actor is a big fan of the Harry Potter series. He prefers it to Gypsy. So everything is looking up.

Hagrid talks the actor into visiting a few friends. First, they visit the house of a very devout family. They are poor, and humble, and consequently have spotless morals, are very self-sacrificial, and wear lots of taupe.

Indeed, the only questionable thing this family has ever done is condone the practice of mocking crippled children by placing them on very high surfaces and letting go of their hand.

Next they visit the home of a very enterprising up and coming young producer in the Richmond area. He is swilling wine, wearing burgundy pants, and entertaining his guests with tales of the staged reading he did last week.

Nothing of consequence really happens on either of these visits.

Both the actor and Hagrid get a little bored and unanimously decide to leave when both households decide to light trees on fire and sing Christmas carols.

At this point, Hagrid, who has always secretly wanted to play Baby June and has read the first part of this blog, drags the actor back to the same center special and proceeds to re-enact the yelling scene from earlier in the story.

He leaves.

Or more specifically, exits upstage right. Which serves well as a dramatic device and also provides nice visual continuity as the the next entrance is from upstage left.

By this time the actor is excited. He has gotten to go to two parties, see clips from his reel, and hang out with Hagrid. He can hardly contain his excitement as he waits for the next surprise guest.

He waits and waits. While he is waiting a homeless man still wearing his Halloween costume wanders by. The actor wonders fleetingly what he was supposed to be. A velociraptor? A parrot? It is unclear.

Then the homeless man approaches the actor and it suddenly becomes clear that he is a has-been from the male ensemble of the first national of "Fosse."

Against his better judgment, but desperate to pass the time while he waits for his next guest, as he is standing in a graveyard and the cloud cover has suddenly become suspiciously heavy, the actor attempts to engage the poor confused hobo in conversation.

Nothing. All he can get out of him are sweeping upstage crosses and the occasional 8-bar dance break from "Pippin."

The actor grows tired of trying to engage the homeless Fosse velociraptor in conversation and begins exploring the area. He stumbles across a light cue from "No Good Deed," and then a particularly suspicious electronic tombstone that from distances as far as, say, a third balcony, might seem to read "BEEZE ROOG."

This is all too much for the actor, and also for the beaked chorus boy, who leaves.

The actor returns longingly to the center special. He stands a moment and fleetingly wishes that his last guest had been someone really bangin,' like, Big Bird. Or David Bridgewater.

Then, with a sigh, he returns to his bed.

He settles in with a contented sigh. He can sleep well knowing that all he has to do tomorrow is one relatively low-stress group number.

The End

Is you a crayon?

2009-12-02T14:23:00.000-08:00

I think I am going to try and write one blog post for every day in December. Yes I realize I am already behind on December 2nd, BUT, I am going to include in this post the goings-on of yesterday as well as today, so that can count as both. I've decided. And it's my blog so who cares what you think.

Also I will, in this post, explain the title.

So, Pepita the Elf has acquired a fetching little bright green costume that is pretty fitted and has chili peppers and stripes all over it. Also she has one of those spacious hats that flops over and has a tassel on the end. She usually wears her hair down under this hat.

However, this morning Pepita had to be filmed having a nervous breakdown on the local news, so her hair was already in braids when she arrived at the Mill to do her show.

So up went the braids into the cavernous hat. Thusly making the hat stick straight up and it look sort of like I was doing a bad job of smuggling several dildos around the north pole.

But the point is, my hat was forming a point straight into the air.

After the show, we go downstairs to clench our teeth at and avoid touching the children.

One of these children says to me from his seat, "Is you a crayon?"

I don't think I need to elaborate any further on this story. It was the best thing I'd ever heard.

And yes, I think Pepita should potentially be a crayon from here on out. We'll just have to stencil the words PISSY GREEN down my outer thigh with a sharpie.

So what else today.

Today started with Adam and I sitting staring sullenly at Betty (the kitten, not the FANTASTIC new tree angel wearing slutty lingerie and smoking a joint) and just commenting every few seconds about how much we don't like her.

This is all a crock though. I've seen Adam cuddle her and kiss her forehead on numerous occasions.

Then we went and were on tv. Which always entertains me because everyone from their childhood has a vision of the tv studio being somewhere fancy. Then you go in and really it is like shooting a movie in someone's toolshed where your only props are green construction paper and pancake makeup.

Greg McQuade should be awarded five or six Artsie awards just for his portrayal this morning of "Man Intently Watching and Invested in the Clip of Precious."

We have the entire news team a little wary of all of us I feel. Not every day their special musical guests lisp and twitch and do industrial belting about India and their feet.

Judi Crenshaw is there with us. As always looking on the very cusp of all things stylish. Her jacket is woven supermodel carcass.

I go down to the Mill and do two relaxing performances of Crab at Drifty.

I then drink a Monster energy drink and do a matinee of Spelling Bee.

Which is really a lot of fun, I think primarily because it is different every night. Each and every show from here on out should at each performance include four audience volunteers. That would be fascinating in "The Grapes of Wrath." Or "The Sound of Music." The Captain von Trapp could just be slightly more prolific and in addition to Liesl, Frederich, Louisa, Brigitta, Kurt, Marta and Gretel have also Wunderschoen, Bunterbitten, Struedel, and Hasenpfeffer.

Also fun because I get to wear roomy slacks covered in anchors and admire my shiny fingernails for the majority of Act I.

Anyway, I'm hitting up the Verry Berry in a few minutes with the edible members of the Spelling Bee cast and then we are going somewhere else. The end of that story.

Also I want to see Julie and Julia at the Byrd. Kind of.

Yesterday, December 1st- was lovely as well.

We did the heavenforsaken 10am student matinee of Spelling Bee for a bunch of Varina high schoolers who were actuallly a lot more composed than I had been expecting.

I was secretly looking forward to a little hell raising and potentially getting to slap one of them for getting rowdy on the bleachers next to me, but no. They were most excited about Matt Polson throwing them bags of chips. Their teacher was sitting next to me on the bleachers and was extremely suspicious of me. Can't say that I blame her. Logainne is one suspicious dude.

I think everyone in the cast would like to throw over their role and play Mitch Mahoney instead.

Logainne is in love with Mitch Mahoney.

Anyway, after some mild planning the day before and a quick recap of said planning during the last scene when we are all supposed to be talking about the trophy, we set our brunch and mimosas plan into effect.

Half of us go to Kroger to get the appropriate ingredients for French toast and mimosas while the other half of us stay in the dressing room and caterwaul for about fifteen minutes.

We then adjourn to Matt Polson's house which overlooks the park and has lovely Christmas decorations up and, as a unit, each become 65 years old for the next three hours.

We put on the Christmas music station on the television, and all cram ourselves into the sunlight kitchen where we all help and giggle and interact with each other. And we are all friendly. This blows my mind. I break eggs and squeeze the bacon. Matt Polson manlyly fries bread. Ford has given the boys the tip of including vanilla ice cream instead of milk in the French toast batter. I protest this as I am always mistrusting of anything Ford says and am pretty sure in this instance he is trying to get bread to curdle in my belly, but we all go ahead.

Yvonne makes movies of all the action with her phone. Yvonne loves to make movies. Yvonne has several reels of footage of the moment of her conception.

William and Eric and I go outside to clean off the table. We are bad at this.

Matt Shofner makes everyone mimosas.

They are excellent.

We make fruit compote and eggs.

We go out on the porch, eat, clean up, and at once become completely comatose and worthless.

So I go home and get as did as I can get when I am stuffed of Uncle Flannagan's Poisonous Toast.

I drive to Colonial Heights where I have the honor of being Tom's "date" to the Roslyn Farms Christmas party. Otherwise known as Tom's "person in his life who will hassle him and gripe and whine to high holy hell if he goes to another party at which he plays skee ball and bowling and dance dance revolution and eats london broil and holds in over my head for another year."

Tom and I are a stunning pair. We stride in, avoid the food entirely and head straight for the skee ball.

This is a wonderful time. We ride the simulated roller coaster and shoot at animated deer. I have unconsciously had the foresight to wear thick socks over my tights under Maggie's fancy boots, so I merrily take the boots off and bowl and play Dance Dance Revolution in my athletic socks and cocktail dress.

They also just freaking GIVE me a cherry slushie. I think my face must have lit up like the sunshine when they told me they would give me this for free because both the bartenders looked as though they wanted to cry.

Poor homeless young woman in the Cole Haan boots and red lipstick and diamond studded hair pins who has never been able to afford really nice things like a cherry slushie.

Then I go home and don't remember anything after that.

I'm cold.

2009-11-27T13:22:00.000-08:00

My forehead looks as though it might have a baby. Rather bulge-ish. Don't know where I got that from. Perhaps the result of a high wind in the birth canal?

Today is lovely outdoors. I walked Elliott and Petey and then went to B&N and Target. Where I discovered- when I am in good spirits, I love being surrounded by lots of people. Almost applied for a job at the B&N just so I could help others accomplish their Christmas shopping.

I hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving. I just looked through some Thanksgiving albums on facebook and noticed primarily that every single person related to Paul Deiss has the most magnificent bone structure of all time.

Also, I will be dressing up any future baby I might have as a turkey. A whole turkey. With little turkey feet boots and the floppy red thingy on the head and stuffing and feathers. It will not be able to move and can then safely be propped up in a corner for the holiday season and not dealt with.

My Thanksgiving was very nice, as always. My mother and aunts all have the whole process down pat. And it has altered not a stitch as long as I can remember.

Always, I arrive an hour or so early to find my father outdoors doing some sort of manly yard work while he waits for the turkeys to fry in the deep-fat fryer. This year this portion of the day was a little extreme, as my father retired three weeks ago and didn't make it four days without becoming so overwhelmingly antsy that he had to find a little something to fill the time. Like uproot and remove every single tree from our property with his bare hands.

So he did that. My yard now barren. My mother furious.

And as I climbed up the driveway yesterday, my father is bearing down on me with the leaf blower going full bore. I notice that when I walk down Monument Ave., and there are crews of men out using leaf blowers, they will turn the blowers off if they see a pedestrian approaching and wait until said pedestrian has passed by before resuming.

Not my dad.

I receive a one armed hug and some sort of greeting that I cannot make out due to the 900 Rev Horsepower Blow Your Flesh Off Glory Hallelujah that is gunning in my ear.

I casually toss a greeting to Molly, our beautiful round fluffy dear Sheltie whom no one really cares about right now because of the puppy.

I don't see Jazz, my cat. Not unusual. Jazz is a hard, seasoned bitter old cynic who decided years ago that though she is fed and pampered quite lovingly each day of her life, she saw no reason not to effectively kill every creature in the woods behind my house smaller than she is for the past 15 years.

She's moving up though, as I am certain she is going to kill this puppy.

I find the puppy. Helpless waves of giggles and smiles overtake me despite my best efforts.

Oh my God the puppy.

Rather than socialize with my family, I spend the next twenty minutes flat on my bottom on the cement floor of the garage peeling a scab away from the under elbow of the puppy's left front leg.

Calling it "the puppy" makes it cuter in my head that calling it "Mya."

Jazz strolls by somewhere in here, delivers a stinging backhand to the puppy's face, and continues on her way.

So let's see. I go in the house, where my mother is, as always, clad in a crisp fresh cotton apron printed with things like irons and calla lilies. The parade is on the tv. Which I love. I keep thinking I want to go to that parade one year, but then after having lived in New York for a while, I think it would be horrible miserable furious experience. Might need to be in it one day instead. Doesn't matter much doing what. Could be me on a giant float made of cake and shaped like the grouchy Carebear.

My mother instantly asks me to put ice in the glasses.

Now. My duty, as well as my brother and various cousins' duty, all our lives has been to go around with a pad and pencil and officiously find out what everyone would like to drink. Then the ice bit was added to the job. Without fail, my mother suggests me putting the ice in the glasses a good hour and a half before the guests are due to even start arriving. I talk her out of this this year. I talk her down to half an hour. Which still meant the ice was 2/3 melted, but it's progress. As a side note, I also snap the dainty ice tweezers or whatever they are in half 15 seconds into the job. Threw them out.

The parade goes off and the dog show goes on. I become worthless to everyone for the next hour.

I wander around the house on commercial breaks eating the random snacks my mom has set out in the good cut glass bowls. This year, these are large mixed nuts (X), goldfish crackers (check), and these white chocolate peppermint drops with sprinkles on top. I clean out this bowl before anyone shows up.

My father and brother, meanwhile, are outdoors setting up the ping pong table in the garage. For that is what they do when company comes over. My mother is keeping busy removing casseroles from the oven, transferring the contents of the casserole dish into another dish, which I then begin to take to the table and am told that no, this is just the intermediary dish between baking dish and presentation dish. All this is beyond me. I ask why the extraneous dish. She says she wants to use her mother's china. I can get behind that. But it sure makes for a comical amount of dirty dishes.

At this point my Aunt Ruth, Uncle AJ, and cousin Adam arrive. Aunt Ruth is on my side in the kitchen, which helps. Instead of asking why there are four separate spoons allotted for the chopped chives, we just meet eyes and smile. Everyone makes a brou-ha-ha about the puppy.

Oh my God the puppy.

Then my brother's girlfriend arrives. Looking like a young professional woman. I think, great. This is what my father wants me to look like. Nice fitted jeans, a "TOP." A tasteful necklace, some ankle boots. X. I am looking a lot like a blind dizzy bag lady.

My Aunt Debbie and Uncle Glenn are every year late. Every year. And every year, they bring raw oysters that we then have to take the time to fry. This year, fortunately the oysters had been parlayed into a questionable "seafood" casserole. You couldn't identify anything by looking at it. Except bread crumbs and some gelatinous off taupe-colored ooze. It was good.

They bring my grandmother Rassie. Who of course looks amazing and is wearing what appears to be a brightly colored top from Forever 21.

I feel a little bit as though it would be nice for there to be another extremely old person or two at my family gatherings so my grandmother could have a cohort. It could happen. She is being ardently pursued by this randy bachelor with plaid pants and a red face named Linky at the assisted living facility. He can get her to crack a smile. Which is doing something.

My brother, myself, my cousin, and my brother's young professional sit at a smaller table in the room adjacent to the dining room. We like this because we are without fail all overtaken with severe giggles just overhearing the conversations in the next room and feel safer at a distance.

We like listening to them all say things to each other like, "what a lovely spacious room!" and, "so after dinner, I thought maybe a walk and then supper around five thirty or six?"

We all vow that we will not talk about things like that, which seem to be obvious POLITE CONVERSATION when we are in charge of Thanksgivings. I'm sure we will though, at least some.

This year the conversation was heavy on persimmons.

My brother stands up abruptly and spills my glass of tea all over the place. We spot the neighbor girl coming out of her house across the street and all make snide remarks about how large she has gotten. Mean. But I was speaking from experience. You shouldn't have seen me when I went to college.

My uncle Bert then slices the pecan pie into slivers the width of a tooth, which are thus next to impossible to serve out of the pie pan. Is because when asked what dessert they would like, every woman in my family and my Uncle Bert all say, "just a TIIIIIIINY piece. And I mean TINY. No no Bert- that's HUGE. I said TINY."

Except Uncle Bert. He does not say this to himself. I think secretly Uncle Bert actually likes his piece of pie to be visible to the naked eye.

Uncle Bert is great. Tall, handsome, smart, funny. He uses the expression, "squared away," which has made my brother and I giggle since we were little.

Everything is delicious. My mother is a fabulous host.

Right after dinner MY COUSIN Adam and I snap into the kitchen and begin efficiently and silently cleaning as fast as we can so as to avoid as much as we can of the largely ineffectual crowded melee that cleaning will become when everyone gets there.

Then the young professional's daughter arrives. My father immediately becomes the world's best candidate EVER for being a grandfather.

The puppy bites my face.

I put a Diet Coke in my pocket and leave.

My family is great. Kindest, most wonderful loving mother in the world, most wonderful smart father in the world, funniest aunts of all time, cousins that get my jokes, uncles that are all so funny and different. And my brother. He's pretty great too.

And the puppy.

The Debra said I should write another blog.

2009-11-25T19:52:00.001-08:00

So. Things I have learned today.

1. Lasagna crotch is not as funny as you think it is going to be.

2. Sometimes I can get really peaceful and terrifyingly happy just walking slowly alone down Monument Ave. in the wet leaves at 10:45pm.

My fingernails are painted. I always like painting my thumb nails, because they are large and allow room to spread out. It is easy not to make an error there, and when I see them sparkling up at me in a shade like my new fancy red glitter, it makes me almost smile.

But the other nails are a pain in my ass. I am always splootching over onto the sides of my fingers and that irritates me to high heaven and makes me irrationally angry and inclined to give up on everything.

Working on those impulses.

But I decided Logainne Schwartzandgrubenierre has her fingernails painted the colors of the American flag and damn it, so she shall. Unless I decide to go back to fluorescent orange, or to apply the Disney princess nail tips that Adam and Maggie purchased for me at Target.

The Droops have gone to California and Herndon for Thanksgiving and left me here and responsible for watching the cat throw up for four days. But don't worry, I have experience.

My brother got a beautiful precious perfect adorable goo and piddle puppy. Her name is Mya. Which X, because what isn't named Mya (or some variation thereof) anymore, and also I feel her name should obviously be not Mya, but something that hasn't occurred to me yet.

When asking someone the question, "Am I allowed to say crotch?" via text message, remember to provide the context of the question as well.

I need a replacement right pinkie finger.

Urgh. I'm tired.

Aaron seems to be an idiot.

3. when ironing linen, spritzing it with water first helps tremendously.

It would be beneficial I think, for people to apply the principle of Thanksgiving to every day of their lives. Difficult, but beneficial.

I can't imagine who would send Adam all these texts. Hmm.

2009-11-01T11:25:00.000-08:00

Well, Betty has popped another air mattress. X Betty.

Suprise is made of plush. And yes, his name is spelled "Suprise." Because that is how you say it when you talk to him.

Or how anybody ever says the word "surprise."

It is cold and rainy today. I embarked for brunch with one of my roommates and his friend Richard wearing my new soft pink beret and soft pink scarf and soft pink t-shirt in an effort to combat the weather conditions. No. After my shower will immediately change into all navy colors and dense fabrics. Maybe some snow boots.

Lola Lola Mashed Potola just walked by me. This is only worth noting because that means she was in my room and I didn't know about it.

What did I do yesterday.

Well, yesterday was Halloween actually, but I felt like we had Halloween the day before and yesterday was just brutal wasteland aftermath.

Hannah rang me up and proposed having a jaunt with various friends to Kings Dominion on Friday night. This sounded great. I like roller coasters a lot. Especially going on ones that are very intense and then acting calm about it. Makes me feel like I've really gone above and beyond. Above and beyond what I don't know. Maybe above my imagination and beyond all realm of sanity.

But lately, roller coasters have begun to turn my stomach. Just a hair. But enough for me to notice and think, "oh x. this is what adults say about roller coasters- they make them sick in ways they didn't when they were young."

Oh well. Stuff like that actually happens. Like seeing college students and wondering if they are on a field trip from middle school.

So anyway. I was excited. Then Hannah follows up with a text proposing Ashland Berry Farm instead. So I peruse the website. According to the website Hannah is throwing over plans for roller coasters and funnel cake in preference of sitting under a gazebo drinking Earl Gray and gazing at tea-lights.

I call her immediately.

She informs me about the famed haunted hayride that goes down Octobers at said Berry Farm.

I AGREE we should go.

So I issue invitations to pretty much everyone I see.

Everyone seems pretty excited. Yvonne says she will not go. She is the first person to arrive.

We begin the evening by The Droops and I having our ritual Mexican date (with the lovely addition of Anna) at El Toro Loco. We like this. It is always a game to see just how many jackets I have to bring to be able to endure dinner without coming down with gangrene.

Also a game to see how to get any single person on the waitstaff to actually bring Maggie a side of sour cream.

We are getting pretty good at both of these games.

Adam and I always find a good handful of babies in there that are nice to stare at. We both have that creepy proclivity toward chewing on fat baby cheeks.

I have decided that when Margaret and Adam have a kid, I should try to work out a kid at about the same time so that he and I can go to the baby costume store and buy 365 baby costumes. One for every day of the year. He likes it when babies are vegetables. I think this is good. A baby dressed as a zucchini. You cannot go wrong. And my baby will be things like, a scrapbook. A bag of granola. An ottoman. A dulcimer. And of course, the requisite tubby round things like a persimmon and the earth. So many costumes.

Really mad about my flat mattress.

So we eat. Then the three of them go off to "Souvenir," and I go home to try on necklaces and sing heart-wrenching love ballads from "Chess" while I wash the frying pan.

Then it is time to meet over at Hannah's.

We meet.

We go. We drive all together in a tour van. Which was fun and I probably shouldn't go into.

I love riding in the backs of trucks. Lying down and looking at the sky as you drive.

But we get there. I have no idea where we are. It is a huge forest. There is mist hovering three feet above the ground as far as you can see. And a drizzle. Just enough of one so that it takes hours to actually become damp. Perfect Halloween.

Also the entire human race.

Line for 3.5 hours. No kidding.

I squat, I tap dance, I make conversation with people I don't know. Desperate times, you know.

We go on the hayride. The hay is damp and it is dark. It is midnight by the time we get in the wagon.

We are driven out a curving dirt path and dropped off to wait in another line. We decide this is the only way the people running this outfit can get the patrons to wait in lines this long. By shipping them out into the middle of the woods and having them resume line at that time.

The line curves through the fog and mist up to a giant bonfire. Everyone gets to the bonfire and then like lemmings, gullible lemmings, all crowd around and stare into the flames.

I, however, have read lots of books and therefore trust the motives of no one and no thing, and am fully aware that this bonfire is a device to cause your eyes to become adjusted to bright light. So then, when you enter the woods, you SEE X.

And are thusly super more freaked out.

I feel very much like a wise old special agent standing in the rain silently thinking about this.

We go into the woods. I am recruited to go first by all parties involved. Well, that's not true. Matt goes first right up until the entrance to the trees. He "goes first" by executing a very sprightly "Off to see the wizard" step.

Then I go first.

Determined (for some bizarre completely uncalled for reason) to prove I am not scared, I stride briskly along. I have enveloped my entire body in a "THINGS ARE GOING TO TRY AND SCARE YOU AND YOU WILL. NOT. FLINCH." attitude. I think, "this is silly. It is ok to be startled." But then it becomes a game. See if I can NOT flinch.

I don't. There are dark black mazes where there is only space enough to crawl. Everyone is shrieking and carrying on. Most of the people in my group are actors so I realize we are spoiling all the fun of the workers there by commenting to them when they try and scare us, "Oh wow- that was really convincing. Well played."

We are so smug.

Then we get back in the van and I fall almost asleep. Then we are stopped and I pop my head up over the window and see that we have arrived at a Waffle House in somewhere I have certainly never been before.

We sat at the bar in a row. And I didn't say anything. I was a. tired, and b. absolutely in awe of the expediency with which the staff of this Waffle House fried and waffled and added and wrote. Think that level of productivity must be very satisfying.

Then we go home.

3 a.m.

SLEEP.

The next morning feel like I have just come back from sky-diving without the parachute.

We all straggle up to rehearsal clutching with white knuckles our various coffee mugs and enormous bottles of caffiene.

Rehearsal was fun. We danced. I really like the Magic Foot choreography. And the pas de deux choreography. They look great. Whenever I see pas de deux's I want to do a dance where a man picks me up in a pretty fancy lift and I point my foot. And cast down my lashes and all that hooey.

Matt Shofner and I see Katrinah in the Rite Aid. This was very exciting for the two of them. Less so for me, as I see Katrinah all the time.

We all go home to GET READY.

Adam and Anna have painted themselves and look incredible.

Margaret is a zebra and looks incredible.

I am Rainbow Brite and certainly look very colorful. Was such a fun outfit.

I pass out some candy on an awesome porch (see- I did get to sit on a porch and enjoy it) on Rosewood Ave. Very sweet children. Who, as they were not born then, find Rainbow Brite to be a rather intimidating figure.

Ellie and Jon, as usual, have an excellent party.

Excellent cast at the party.

I peeled a bullet hole off of the forehead of Chris Stewart.

Then I drove Pocahontas home.

This morning we went to Galaxy. I ordered a chocolate milk, which I housed. In two swallows.

I think, perhaps when one enjoys something this much, one should slow down and savor it. And I think that's valid. But sometimes I think, just get as much as you can as fast as you can and LOVE it.

When the exhausted waitress with her dreadlocks (which I learned today were initially grown so God would have something to grab onto when he reached down out of the sky to snatch you up- which I feel is not saying very much for these people's opinions of God's athletic skills) arrived with my platter o' pancakes, I see how thick and porky they are and bounce in my booth like an excited 2-year old. This, I notice, makes the exhausted waitress smile.

The three of us finish the Brick crossword.

We are now sitting in the den.

And I have to dry my hair and go to "Youno's." This is how my mom pronounces "Uno's."

Then.....Mad Men?

I have never done all out on Halloween like that. It was fun. I now have freckles.

I can't see.

2009-10-29T21:25:00.000-07:00

I was not expecting anyone at home to be awake when I got here.

They are.

Adam and Anna are sitting in the den in the mood lighting having DISCUSSIONS.

Which they are kindly allowing me to be privy to as I am sitting on the couch beside Adam typing this.

When Betty touches my toes, it tickles.

Tonight was awesome.

Today- I was crabby because I can't see. But I ordered some new glasses online today for wicked cheap and I am very excited about that.

But tonight. I ate my Fiber 1 bar, ate the last birthday cupcake, because, it's mine, and someone has to.

I washed my hair, dried my hair, curled my hair, painted and dried my nails, got all dolly, and trotted off to rehearsal. It really is most lovely walking through the van in this day and time.

The leaves are SPLENDID.

I receive a pleasant surprise of a phone call on my way there, so I have a very nice chat, and arrive and sit on the sidewalk to wait til it is time for rehearsal.

We go in.

Tonight we danced. I really like everyone in this cast. And I am so excited about that. I think we are going to have a splendid time.

We did "Magic Foot." Eric really is bang-on. And so sweet.

Chase was a super ballerina all night.

Matt Shofner and I, after having discovered our proclivity for the "off to see the wizard step," volunteer ourselves to replace two other cast members who were not so gung ho about said step and do our cross downstage. We are very excited about this. Cannot keep the grin off my face when we meet at center.

We also very gungholey (ahaha) volunteer ourselves like shots out of a cannon to be the two people who stand and dance on the top riser of the "omelet bleachers." "Omelet Bleachers," for whoever's information that cares, is what I am going to be calling this show.

Once we get up there though, and Chase has us nimbly skipping up and down the stairs and doing high kicks while jumping in 180 degree circles, I realize in a very faint whisper to myself that perhaps this is not the best idea to be doing when I have in only one contact- ergo- no depth perception.

Oh well, life's an adventure.

Ford spends the entire evening subtly encouraging (read: violently threatening under his breath) me to only cross upstage of him at any time that our paths should cross. He said, "Audra, I am THIS CLOSE..." you know, when you hold your thumb and pointer finger very close together. I say, "to what, Ford?"

He has nothing to say to this.

Yvonne did her split tonight. Aly and I experienced dropped jaws.

I suggest to Eric that as a killer final pose for his big number that he end on the button with a bell kick. And freeze it in mid-air.

He gamely tries. As he is wont to do. He's such a good little wont gamer.

Sandy has the flu. Want badly to bundle her into a snuggie and submerge her in a carton of soup until she feels better.

Steve and Rick sit at the table with both matching plaid and furrowed brows.

Then they laugh, every now and then.

We all decide via mutters between dance instructions that we are starving and should adjourn to Joe's post-play-practice.

Aly, David, Chase, Yvonne, Matt and I go.

And it was really very nice. I enjoyed myself. Love that I enjoy myself conversing with people.

I used to think that I was the sort of person who would prefer to be all by myself most of the time. That I would thrive in that way.

But I think I am realizing like a tidal wave, that it is so very important for me to be around lots of different interesting people. For so many reasons. I think that makes me feel great. And I think, is very important.

Unless I am reading. Then you leave me alone.

We have a ceramic taupe colored duck who is for casseroles who we have named Knox. He has been full of candy corn pumpkins lately, but Adam and I have no shame re our gluttony in that regard, so he has been effectively gutted.

Adam is about the business of drugging the cat. YAY!

I have discovered that- well, first of all- I have heard of contact high, or is it contact buzz? When you are around people who are stoned or something and you sort of pick up on it? Well, I haven't experienced that, but if I am around people who have been/are drinking, I instantly begin to feel loopy and giggly. Without touching a drop. Which I think will prove to be a very amusing, enjoyable trait.

I love that this apartment has a record player. And a heap of records to play on it. Love that. Sitting around playing records.

The cat is getting high.

Rosalitas got high, and then she became cranky and bald on her fanny. But she was always cranky. Only loved Matt.

Matt Shofner moves so well.

Tomorrow night. :) I have rustled up QUITE a posse. And I'm very excited.

Many members of the posse are excited as well. Some in the- I think I will need to wear a diaper- excited kind of way.

Peanut.

2009-10-28T14:01:00.000-07:00

Anyway,

This morning I slept in- which was rough, as I am no longer acclimated to that. But I forced myself through it. :)

I got up, ate my toast, showered, and puttered off to the airport. Where I go all the time now. I am a professional airport goertoer.

And it is a slammingly beautiful day. Blue, orange, red, yellow. Sigh love.

I pick up Anna. Who reminds me of a small expensive Thai doll. Very expensive. Has the sort of skin that could have been peeled right off a pricey mahogany dining room table.

She is wearing fuschia lipstick.

I deliver her to the apartment, fully intact, and buzz instantly down to the Mill, where I cover myself in sawdust and rainwater for three hours until I unearth a box of bridles Tom and I borrowed from Dr. Debby and needed to return.

I am asked out on a date.

I am turned down by my walking buddy.

Tom and I go to the clinic to drop off the bridles. We then take a lovely scenic turn through Blanford Cemetery. Which is much more expansive than it appears from the road. Cemeteries I feel to be rather peaceful places. I decide that if I ever have a child, sometime before it pops out I will take a lengthy stroll through some cemeteries and locate some amazing old-fashioned name on some tombstone with which to label my child.

Saw one headstone for- no kidding- Light Lewis Leavenworth.

Betty's ear is in my nose.

We then eat lots of things we are not supposed to tell Paul about because he is currently devoting himself to hunting the elusive mozzerella.

We push a red button at the Sonic that is labeled- CORNDOGS. I am secretly hoping that when we push this button a corndog will shoot out of some slot on the order board.

Delicious burgers.

Then a pumpkin blizzard. I tell Tom as we stand at the counter that I am secretly wanting to try this one. We both agree that it doesn't look very good. He says I should go ahead and get something I know I will like. I decide to get the pumpkin thing so that then I won't still be wondering if I would have liked it and then have to go back and get another one.

And I am glad I did so. Very convoluted. Proud of myself.

Must now shower. Lengthily. And have my stroll to play practice.

Walking around here is so lovely right now.

Previous two Mad Mens. At once.

2009-10-27T17:48:00.000-07:00

Well, I have discovered EXACTLY what I want to be for Halloween. And I have found the EXACT costume. In an EXACTLY convenient store. And it costs EXACTLY too much money for me to justify spending on a Halloween costume with my brand new responsible financial outlook.

I wanted to cast myself into the floor and scream and kick and wail at the injustice of it all.

It is a pluperfect Rainbow Brite costume. And it comes in a plastic bag at the Halloween Mega-Store that is currently where the CVS is supposed to be by the Barksdale.

Oh well. I have decided something brilliant for me to be for Halloween will drop into my life just in time for the throwdown.

Also I have to find my black corset for Matt.

Today I was walking up some street practicing my new assignment of smiling at people I pass on the street. I have had good results with this so far. And this woman I smiled at stopped and said, "Audra?" And I recognized her as the small woman who lives where Jim used to live and has a horrible contorting speech impediment. And is so sweet. I should have said the sweet part first. I mention the speech impediment because I am always so pleasantly surprised that I can understand what she is saying to me enough to have a conversation. I don't like it when I cannot understand what people say, and I think that is largely my fault when it happens. But for some reason, I can get the gist of everything this lady says. She told me all about how she was coming to see Spelling Bee, and she had heard it was supposed to be really funny, and that she was going to go see Boleros but didn't because she thought it was going to be a musical and a good friend of hers was in the hospital dealing with leukemia at the time and thusly she didn't feel like going to see anything sprightly and upbeat.

I then told her I had to go sign a paper for Lucas and we parted ways.

Love Lucas. He's great.

I then drooled on my hat.

Had a lovely rehearsal this evening.

Going to the airport in the morning.

Do you know they make diet bread? Hmm.

Anybody want that concert ticket- time is ticking.

Kisses?

2009-10-22T18:38:00.000-07:00

I like that Natalie girl on "Love, Actually." I like that she has a high pitched girl voice.

Might have a crack at that voice.

I want to go to Hooters.

I want to go to Buz and Ned's.

I want to be taken to the movies.

I want to go fishing (and have today been invited to do so, so that's lovely).

I want to take salsa/ballroom dancing classes.

I want to play "Devil Went Down to Georgia" on the fiddle.

I think it is an amazing thing to be able to play the organ.

My birthday was lovely.

I held Suprise in my lap.

I painted my fingernails traffic cone orange and wore a hot pink belt.

I want to drink a beer. Don't know where that came from. I like the smell, not as much the taste.

I should go get a beer from somewhere and open it and set it on the counter next to me and just sniff periodically. Like a Yankee candle.

It was a beautiful day yesterday. And today. As I am getting a little worn down these past couple of days with up at 5:30 in the morning and bed a little post-midnight, I was a touch snarly this morning at 6:30 when I got into the car, but then I rounded the corner by the Diamond, and the sky was a miracle to behold. It was lava. Just, dark, thick purple night sky, then, just above the horizon, thin flaming strip of lava color. Amazing.

And I continued to be happy and gaze at the sky all the way to the Chippenham Parkway, at which point I got to a song on my 2000 Grammy Winners CD that I didn't like and had to turn my attention to finding "Baby One More Time."

I love that CD. I have a large white cardboard box in the floor of a closet in my parents' house with all the CDs I listened to in high school. I have been taking a few each time I have been home lately.

This one is tops. Has Backstreet Boys, Santana, Christina Aguilera, TLC "No Scrubs." All in all, I feel pretty freaking hip as I motor down the freeway applying my chapstick.

Yesterday during set up, Tom announces to me that my cake is in the passenger seat of his car. I squeal and beam. Tom is the best cake baker EVER. It was round, chocolate, two-tier with buttercream icing and those tiny colorful sprinkles that are round. I gaze at it a lot.

He asks me what time I was born. I tell him I think around 9:30am. Then add that I don't remember.

Then realize, of course I don't remember.

We giggle about this.

Then Tom says he actually finds this surprising. He would have expected nothing less than me making my first appearance, giving my mother an arch look and muttering, "well Mother, I really think that took longer than was necessary."

Between shows Joy and I make plans to get giant boxes of salad from Ukrops and take in a couple of episodes of "Sex and the City."

I wait on her porch for her to get back from popping by Sean's school.

Whilst sitting on the porch, I receive lots of wonderful birthday messages. I think how grateful I am for all the lovely people in my life and for the beautiful day, and suck all the icing off the sides of the cake. So really there's not much better than that.

It is warm enough to walk to rehearsal, so I do that, and enjoy it.

I am presented with two more EXCELLENT--ICE CREAM cakes at rehearsal. Also balloons. And cards.

We watch "Spellbound." Which I very much enjoyed, until it got near the end and I found myself leaning forward in my chair feverishly trying to come up with the correct spellings of the words the competitors get before they start spelling. This was exhilarating. And I got the last word right. Which delighted me. All this going on inside my head.

We sing. Which I love.

Saturday I am off. So I have decided I will do all the things on Saturday that I would like to do for my birthday this year. Think I will pop in on Hannah while she's tending bar at her new job. Think I will gather up a motley posse at hit the Celtic Festival.

And who knows what else. But it will be wonderful.

I need apostrophe rehearsal.

2009-10-19T14:06:00.000-07:00

I think I may have single-handedly removed all the finish and 1/8th of wood from the O'Willard's sitting room floor in the middle of the night. Not my fault. Also haven't heard a word about it. And Ginnie is never one to shy away from words about it.

So yesterday was the Awards.

Shivering, chattering and dripping from the nose, I bang into the apartment a little after noon.

I am stopped in my tracks (literally- second time in three weeks a man has done that to me- different man last time) by the sight of Adam sitting on the couch in his tux.

Adam is one of those men that are in stories. The dark, jaw, brood, smolder, all that squash. The man has it.

I gathered myself together within seconds and proceeded to sit on the floor and whine and wail about how whenever I have to get all dressed up (which I secretly love, let's be honest, but just need more practice doing so I don't get stressed about it) I seethe for hours just before and during.

I paint my fingernails. I am bad at this. Better yesterday than ever before though. And four layers of polish, one layer of setting goop and one layer of Gray Poupon later, I think I am pretty set. I nimbly bounce into the kitchen to retrieve my cup of tea and grip it firmly with great delight. I sip it, burn my tongue, decide I am a big fan of Maggie's Blue Whale Fin Natural Tooth Sweetner, and set my cup down. I have of course ruined the polish on all the fingers of my right hand.

Again.

Maggie and I have a serious discussion involving planners and ovulation charts regarding the times and windows of opportunity in which it would be most opportune to take our showers and straighten our hair, curl our hair, curl our lips, etc.

Adam leaves immediately to go to the Hair Cuttery.

We have showered and have just finished re-wiring the circuit breakers we have blown blow-drying our respective mops when we receive EMERGENCY HIGH ALERT RED ALARM FACEBOOK MESSAGE from Joy re Derek's contraction of the swine flu and the cancellation of that evening's performance of "Easy Street."

I regard Maggie with a dark look for a few moments as she snuggles down into the couch under a blanket in her slipper socks with her kitten and her cocktail while I embark out into the cold to attempt to keep my fingers off of everyone and everything I see so I will be intact for the evening.

The rehearsal was lovely and low key. I sat with Tom and bickered like crackers in the second row the entire time. One of my favorite activities.

Jen Meharg looked amazing at the rehearsal. And at the event.

I am escorted to the podium with a man's hand VERY FIRMLY on my back. Was really no need for such firm escortedness. I can walk. Is fine. He probably thought I was fourteen, much like the woman in the lingerie section of Macy's last week who asked me what size training bra I would like.

I then drive back to the apartment. TO GET READY.

After I remember that I can talk to Adam and he is not a poster, I recruit he and Margaret into the bathroom with me and every curling iron and bobby pin in the house.

We have done extensive internet research for at least four minutes on how to accomplish the hairstyle I want to wear.

We take the computer and our cocktails into the bathroom. We all stand. We may as well have scrubbed in. Deep breaths.

This is sort of like sending Wendy Vandergrift, Dawn Westbrook and Eric Pastore into a linen closet with a sheep and telling them not to come out until the sheep has been transformed into a vibrator.

Many pins and grunts and sharp sucked in breaths of trepidation later, we empty an entire can of hairspray onto my head and move on to the makeup. I can do most of this by myself now. With great thanks to Robyn O., Robin Harris-Jones, The Debra, and countless others who have massaged powder into my cheeks and eyelids over the years in the dressing room. Maggie instructs me on curling my eyelashes. We do this. Relatively pointless. My eyelashes are a lot like five o'clock shadow.

We doll ourselves up. Adam takes pictures of Margaret and I being lewd in front of the door. And of us being cheery and peppy in front of the door.

We are picked up.

We arrive, narrowly avoiding running over the parade of pink skirts across Adams on the way to the Empire.

So many lovely wonderful people looking lovely and wonderful in the lobby. It was FUN.

I had a blast. The singing was thrilling. The music, the lights, the mikes, the crowd. Ahhhhhh.

I swished my hips a lot on purpose. Felt very giddy and daring to do this.

Robyn O'Neill is a fabulous date.

I am asked for my number by a man who walks on his arms perhaps more than he walks on his feet.

When I was called to go onstage, I thought as I approached the stairs, "my goodness. what is going to happen now is that i am going to trip up these stairs, then say something bumbling and weird that is going to cause tom to take a big bite out of the seat back in front of him, and perhaps even slur a word. or two."

These thoughts are a result of the two cocktails I had had. Was in no way drunk. But have certainly never attempted public speaking in front of, you know, 700 people anything but completely rested, nervous, and sober.

Speaking in front of people as Audra used to TERRIFY me. But much much less so now. And I am very very glad about that. Want to do it some more.

I will have to see about creating some more opportunities to that end, perhaps.

We then, and by we I mean everyone in the southeastern portion of the USA, went to the White Dog.

We then left and went somewhere where we could sit down.

I then went to sleep and slept soundly until about 3:30 am when I was jolted awake by a horrendous (and my first) calf cramp. BIG X.

And felt it and felt it. Could find no where on my leg that felt hard or needed pressing. But it went away eventually.

Woke up this morning.

Went to get my phone charger.

Visited Essie. Essie sassing everyone in the hospital and knowing exactly what she wants. This is reportedly big progress from this morning.

The sky was so beautifully blue today, against the leaves. It doesn't matter if it is cold when it is beautiful.

I am off to rehearsal shortly. I am going to walk. And go by 7-11 to have another crack at the coffee thing. I've decided to try the darker roast to see if that counters the watery-ness.

I'm excited about rehearsal. Good people.

And I'm excited about Magicthedebra tomorrow.

And I'm excited about a lot of things.

And that's exciting.

Ain't life grand. Also, my coffee is really not tasting like I want it to. Further analysis and experimentation of creamer/sugar ratio required.

2009-10-17T08:57:00.000-07:00

I am, in a very consistent fashion, acquiring a runny nose. Just this time last year I had a crippling runny nose. I brought it with me to the illustrious awards ceremony. There was I, my glitter studded formal gown, my fierce red pumps, my hairspray, mascara and my roll of Charmin.
Was hoping to avoid that final accessory this year. Ah well. We'll see how quickly this progresses.
Might just be running because IT IS COLD. IT IS GOING TO SNOW. Before noon.
I think it is probably not actually that cold. It is more the fact that, last Friday, I was frolicking merrily through the fan (which today smells like old fish) and strolling around the lake wearing not much more than deoderant and elastic feeling warm and breezy. And today I am wearing all of my clothes.
This is because I have realized I do not have any of my cold weather clothes at Adam and Maggie's. (Adam? Apostrophe? You may rap my knuckes if I've erred.)
As a result I am wearing my jeans, my orthopedic shoes (for massive rubber content=insulation), socks, my threadbare Honaker Redbud Festival T-shirt, my enormous UVA sweatshirt, a red fleece winter vest, my dinosaur and lizard mittens, a sky blue scarf which was lovely and is now stained with what appears to be antique urine, and a giant thick bright blue and orange toboggan cap with a puff on top that Sam gave me.
Because one day in September all we did was give each other hats.
After I type this I am going to look up the phone number for the 7-11 in the fan across from Cafe Diem. For I was rude to the counter lady and am going to apologize. I wasn't just rude for fun, there was a misunderstanding. Nonetheless. Am a little excited about phoning up a 7-11. Feel like only grown-ups get to do that. And CIA agents.
Robyn and Ginnie are at the beach. Because that seems like a good idea. I wondered aloud to Robin Arthur this morning why in the world anyone would go to the beach in this weather. She made several good points I hadn't thought of. But those are her points, and alas, not mine to relay.
As a result of this beach trip, I have been hired on to keep a watch on Scott Melton for two days.
Cagey bugger. Highly suspicious activity at all hours.
So, I am growing what could be anything from a zit to a zucchini on the inside of my right eyelid.
I know this because for the past week, no matter how rigorously and thoroughly I scrub my contact, after it has been in my eye for thirty seconds, it slides off center. And I try and try to put it back. Will not stay. Can, as a result, see only 70% of everything. Which makes me feel like it is imperative that I go to bed. Always when I can't see, my mind decides it must be sleepy.
Anyway, with shrewd deductive reasoning I have determined that there is surely a foreign body inside my eye that is shoving my contact off course.
I bring this up to Tom yesterday between shows in the hope that he can rectify the problem and I will be able to see everything for show number two, thus decreasing my odds of falling off the stage or lighting a child on fire.
He peers into my lower brainular area, says he cannot see anything, but that what "they" do in these situations is to put a pencil on the eyelid and roll the eyelid backwards over this pencil to see underneath. Then they will cut or rip off the offending object. This sounds good to me.
He makes no move to do so. I tell him to go ahead.
He will not. Squeamish.
I love Tom. Tom and my brother both able to make me laugh very hard and spontaneously by saying things that, ordinarily, I would not find that funny.
Went to the Cracker Barrel in Fiddlesquat, Virginia last week for lunch with, ahem... Joy Williams aka Drifty the Snowman, Paul Deiss, and THE DEBRA. Shouldn't really talk about that.
Just kept thinking how interesting and wonderful life is.
Apparently some man in the Colonial Heights Walmart took Tom aside late one night last week and told him that he had the hots for Pepita.
This is just the sort of thing I like to hear. Really.
I am in the mood for going to the movies.
Alright. I must look up phone number and how to make my hair lovely for the event. When I arrive in a calico bonnet everyone will know why.

Magic. Delicious enticing cafeteria lunches. Honestly.

2009-10-16T14:51:00.000-07:00

Borderline by the Peas and by the Virgins and Billy Joel got me home awake.
I really love Billy Joel music. Need to get a CD of his burned onto my computer. Ripped? Rent asunder?
Also I would like to go to a Dave Matthews Band concert. Do those still happen? Or have the bandmates been bronzed?
I'm in the mood for some hot ice cream.

It's hers. Let her suck it.

2009-10-11T14:12:00.000-07:00

I want to be in productions of:

Chicago- because of the Cell Block Tango. Have no real preference of role, just want a few steel bars and some heels and some hot drums.

Cabaret- would happily play any female in the cast. Would like to have a solid crack at Sally as everytime I have seen the show I find her to be mostly comprised of Bubblicious and rust. I believe it is possible for there to be some evidence of DNA and neurons in her portrayal. Just some. Or any of the Kit Kat girls. Want to loll around on banisters in fishnets and silk with track marks and black eyes painted onto myself. (there is a story here about bruises that I will probably not tell) Also I would deign to go on as the giant chimp if the need arose. Would be kind of like playing the large albino celery in Bunnicula.

In the Heights- nothing really needs to be said. I'd be any of the five leads. Six. Male or female.

I fancy myself a bit of a rapess. Rap. Not rape. Good grief.

Footloose- love the drums and the beats and the rhythms of this. Gets me steamy.

Hairspray- just should. Want to play Penny and sing about black twinkies. Or the girl, what is her name, Tracy. Could just put on a muumuu and run around flailing and gyrating in what I'm sure would be a very emotionally satisfying manner.

There was another one I meant to add to this list. Do not remember. Will remember later.

Also Chess. But just for the song.

Today slept what felt like in- til 9:30. Am glad that feels like "in" now.

Got up, ate toast, cursed Betty (my fault, bad parent, you should see my other two children), went for my jog.

Stopped by to observe football and frustrate Ford for a bit. Saw Elliott's extra-terrestrial shoes. Secretly- no- straight up want some.

David had on a hat I liked very much.

I hollered out (knowing full well what the reaction would be cause it always is) "I'M NOT PLAYING!" David said, "ok." Immediately sails windless. Nice work.

Eric Williams is one of the dearest men currently breathing.

BETTY I HATE YOU.

Not entirely sure why I am such a spoilsport about football. Should probably play. Will at least be something to face. And might get to shove Ford inside a tree.

Ford doesn't read this does he?

For some reason Lola takes on with the vapors whenever the Droops leave me here alone with her. I may be coming over, Ginnie, to borrow the Murphy's.

Moseyed down to the Empire to meet my mother and brother and take in the folk festival.

I was very excited about the festival. As I have discovered I like a lot of the music at the festivals I have recently taken myself to. This was not quite what I was expecting. Some of it was fun, but some I could appreciate for its' uniqueness and skill required but didn't really enjoy listening to per se. Like the Rhododendrion Uvula Twiddling etc.

My mother said she would buy us something to eat. Scott selected a large Italian sausage at once. Bout the size of nevermind. He removes every onion from the fair and puts them on top.

I sidle up to the Alligator Chunk Surprise Booth and point. Say very confidently, "I want THAT."

She says, "fifteen dollars."

I feel horrible. But it is done. And I did want that. I have cancelled all birthday present orders.

Was a round styrofoam plate of food (no, not a blue plate, very cute little man from Artichoke- I need to remember that) that had I think some of everything they offered. Was gumbo, lots of rice, what appeared to be barbecued wolf tonsils, a huge crabcake and alligator nuggets. Ate most of it. Wasn't supremely good or anything, but I've always wanted to eat alligator.

Alligators and sharks I just think tend to be unreasonably nasty.

Then we heard some good music. My mother and I sat in the grass and ate our grease. My brother stood up. Because that's what he does. I guess. I at one point found myself swaying in the breeze and singing just as loud and pitchlessly as I wanted. It was lovely. Was that song, "it's alright, have a good time, cause it's alright..."

GET HER LOLA GET HER BETTY GET HER LOLA GET HER BETTY. Oh I can't decide.

So I am going away tonight. Away to wash my jeans. Tomorrow I am going to fly and be a drummer and go to North Carolina. The rest all depends on Durron. As always.

Folks to their festival.

2009-10-10T20:08:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the most delicious thing you've ever tasted is the most difficult thing you've ever had to swallow.

I'm trying. I'm REALLY trying to do my best on that.

Anyway, I'm exhausted.

I just worked harder than I think I may ever have worked in my life.

The family for which Hannah Izold nannies had a wedding yesterday and this evening threw a soiree to celebrate.

They wanted Hannah and one other girl to come and just help out, serve the hors douvres, clear wine glasses, etc.

Except Hannah is out of the state tonight and so it was going to be me and Ali T.

Then this morning the lady of the manor decided that she only needed one girl.

Great. Now I will have no one to talk to. That I know.

But I go. I have asked the woman what to wear, and she says whatever you would wear out on a Saturday night. So I pretend to be a normal dresser and put on a cute red dress I haven't worn in years and 3 bobbie pins and Margaret's black Cole Haan boots.

Margaret is always conveniently out of town whenever the occasion arises for me to need those boots.

I get lost. Repeatedly. Which is a trifle off-putting to myself because normally I am pretty good at finding out where I am going when I have no idea where I am.

I call Hannah. I find it.

Enormous house. Enormouser gravel driveway.

I park at the far perimeter of this driveway to allow for easy getaway when the time is right.

I wiggle out of the car and prince (prance/priss- I've decided we need this word) toward the house. From the panoramic picture windows I can see inside and quickly determine that my dress is a bit much. (I'm sharp.) So I don the little black sweater that I lifted from the Barksdale after finding out how long it had been in lost and found. Done.

I go in.

Large family. Millions of blond sisters in their thirties. Meek stooped husbands- some with black glasses, some with orthopedic leg wraps. A murder of children all draped upon the furniture and doing that thing that I remember doing well when you are a child and really super excited about the fact that there is a large family gathering in your house and you are pretty damn important and feeling fine because of it.

My first order is to put ice into all the ice buckets. At this point everyone is observing me like a hawk because I am a. not Hannah, and b. probably appear to be not terribly fluent in English.

I drop ice all over the floor. I am given a wide berth.

I stand behind the island beginning to feel panicky at all the people I don't know. Then I decide to f@*$ing stop that. I am so sick of being nervous.

I do things like refill the mustard dish, and reload the glass tray with Ritz Crackers when I see the need arise. Once the lady of the house sees me transport a grape or two successfully to the bowl, she whooshes out of the kitchen in her capris and I am left to my own BE VERY HELPFUL AND TAKE ALL THE INITIATIVE IN THE WORLD devices.

I am getting pretty good at keeping a sharp eye on the chedder slices and the party is really heating up, I'd say about 35 people. Then our lady swoops back into the kitchen, nips a large box of pasta and an enormous satchel of chicken nuggets out of the cupboard and garbles off some instructions that meant: Make the children dinner.

Well, I of course nodded and smiled breezily. Sure, this is something I do every day.

Now- it should be noted- I do know how to cook pasta. And to use an oven. It is just not generally something I do in front of people. Let alone a wedding party and eight starving delirious humans below 10.

But I do it. I pop the nuggets in the oven, I don't burn myself, I boil the water, stir the pasta.

I get sassy about this time. I have in me a previously untapped reserve of natural ability to flirt rapaciously with middle-aged men.

I have noticed that I look pretty good, as on one of my cracker crosses I caught view of myself in the window and thought, "I look pretty good."

So this gives me the confidence, whilst I stir my Barilla, to cock a hip and say things to the paunchy uncomfortable uncles who are trying to steal the chicken nuggets, "Ah ah ah-- those are for the kids. But I suppose you could have just one. I won't tell." And smiiiiiillllllle.

And then go back to stirring my pasta and wonder when I was planning on being introduced to myself.

Worked well though. The uncles spending considerably larger amounts of time in the kitchen after that. Great. Just what I wanted?

All the blond women strut around with their very heavy diamond rings and plastic cups full of wine that they keep setting by the sink as if to indicate- done with this. So I dump out, recycle or wash. They then wander back by wondering where their cups went. I remind myself of what I think is some character in a movie that maniacally cleans and you cannot stop it. Is perhaps a machine or invention. Anyone?

The blond women also cast what they think are sly downward glances at my boots as they do sweeping crosses upstage of the giant marble island in the kitchen. Thanks Mag.

Another thing to be said about this family. They have long spoons.

Never let it be said that I do not enjoy the smell of beer/alcohol. For I do very much. But after about three hours of party it became like taking shots through my pores every time someone crossed into my wing of the house.

Worked, cleaned, scrubbed. This party was catered by Maggiano's. Which love. And paid for by one elderly aunt of the bride whom, when the newly married couple entered the house, stationed herself beside the pantry, whipped out a harmonica and proceeded to give a rendition of "Here Comes The Bride" that could grow teeth on moss.

One of the husbands is snapping along to this ditty. On the one and three.

Makes one really appreciate good music.

My feet were by this time killing me. I had cleaned and washed everything I could get my hands on. So I decided I should probably be dismissed and that they would agree if they would just remember I was there. This did not seem imminent. So I sat "wearily" in a chair in the kitchen- in view of some of the guests- and proceeded to fiddle laboriously with my contact for just long enough so it looks like "Oh- her contact is really giving her trouble. I bet she's tired." Point taken.

Paid, dismissed. Thanked heartily. Invited to spend a week with the extended family in Myrtle Beach as long as I will clean up after their parties.

Love adventures.

Also learned today that VCU teaches that the best performances can only be given in bare feet.

I tell you what.

2009-10-07T13:57:00.000-07:00

This has been a fabulous day.

First of all, well, most recently of all as I just came in from there, my hallway smells divinely of key lime pie. Someone send a team over to keep me from scraping the linoleum with my molars.

I am not surprisingly all about this getting up at a very early hour and exercising with Team Droop. Or by myself.

The interesting thing about waking up in Adam and Maggie's house is that, up until four pm every day, there is no natural light in the house at all. No matter what the weather conditions.

So you wake up, have a healthy cleansing session of throw the cat against the wall, squint and tiptoe gingerly through the kitchen to make your toast, wash your face, wash your teeth, and by this time you have automatically adopted the mindset that you are in the bleak midwinter.

You step outside. There are birds and animated heroines dripping from the trees everywhere. SUN.

This morning I got up after my five hours of sleep (because last night I went out with some friends, and some new friends, and then made some fresh friends. Went. Enjoyed myself. Am SO EXCITED that I enjoy things like that now ; ) and sat in the chair in the living room waiting for Adam to get up so we could walk to the Empire. We had planned on leaving at 8:15 sharp.

Promptly at 8:16 Adam exits his bedroom. He stands a moment in the hallway looking very rumpled and Vietnamese.

By 8:30 he is ready to go. So I get ready to go. I had not gotten ready to go previously because when he hadn't appeared whistling and making dandy little sandwiches at 7:30 I grew very b suspicious that he had thrown over our plans.

But we go. We walk to Lowes, where my car thankfully still sits.

We drive to the Empire. We moan and whine our way up the sidewalk about how we do not have time to go to Lift. We run into Matt. Matt hands us a box of bagels. Isn't life lovely.

We go upstairs, receive a passive-aggressive talking to, and then Wendy trots off the elevator, surveys our bereft cream cheesed faces and announces we are going downtown to storage to "check out the situation."

Bless her.

We go.

The situation complete x as everyone knew it would be, but I suggested that we carry some crap up the alley anyway because it wasn't that far to walk. I suspected that this would earn us a gold star sticker from Mr. Bruce Rennie.

It did.

My dad buys me a milkshake, which I drink languidly while surveying the sunlight and the water spurting out of the fountain and feel the breeze and look at large color pictures of The Debra and Jonathan Spivey playing the piano (which SO impresses me). I then immediately feel as though I am going to vomit. Hard. My body has vetoed its' open arms policy to vats of sugar every hour on the hour. Which I think is a good thing. Will be good for me to keep it that way.

Also- the flowers around here smell wonderful. Flowers, pie and jerky. The scents of the fan.

We do some work, blah blah blah.

I go home and shower, then meet Hannah on Colonial and we have a very necessary drive to the Tavern to take in the show.

The show was lovely. Jonathan played the piano during blackouts. Definitely did. Few things impress me more than the ability to play the piano without music and just improvise. While being completely relaxed. He came out on the back patio after the show and took a seat at the wrought-iron table over which I was artfully draped. I sat up after he sat down and continued conversing with Hannah- but all the while I was secretly thinking. I know that man. That man plays the piano and doesn't even try. HOW important am I?

So I'm going to bring a friend day in the morning with Hannah. It is her birthday.

I told her I already went and you are not allowed to go again. She made the very good point that last time I went it was the middle of winter and I was wearing my green huarf and a pea coat. So no one will recognize me.

But I'm excited. A bunch of us are having breakfast afterwards.

It's time for the Droop Posse Routine.

Then I am catching up on my favorite. And eating something that I'm sure will be extraordinary. Am excited to find out what.

oh i want to learn to tie a tie.

2009-10-05T20:09:00.001-07:00

I am, much to my delight, realizing that people I used to get sort of crusty over I now find to be absolutely amazing.

By crusty I mean I was intimidated so I nitpicked.

Which X. Moving right along.

NOTHING REALLY EVER HAPPENS ON MAD MEN.

This does not preclude me in any way from sitting here in the den staring with fascination at an episode from Season Two with commentary wherein the director speechifies on the appropriate length of paddle ball elastic.

Also- important someone remind me- I tasted something called Woodchuck Beaver Beer or something last night, and liked it very much. I would like to try this again.

I want my hair to look like women's hair looked in the forties. Or sixties.

So this reading. I think is extremely well cast. I know almost no one in the reading, which makes me feel as though I am doing a production in another country.

Maggie and I noted tonight that we have never before been in a show with so many solidly good-looking boys who are straight. (Some of which have very nice upper arms.)

They sit around and have handstand competitions and mumble and console each other about their various sports franchises.

We sit in our chairs and scan the room taking in all the attributes surrounding us and feel as though we are in the exotic animal display at the National Zoo.

Tomorrow, in preparation for looking teenaged and woeful, I will be straightening my hair. I will be rising at 5 am to begin.

Pig Pen: this is a boy who I know because he has a habit of overindulging with his "w's," and once upon a time while participating in a reading with me got so absorbed in his performance that he knocked a music stand off the stage using his forehead. Blood. This boy is white, but when he begins the scene is immediately black and Eminem all at once. This I find impressive. Also his tan boots.

Beethoven: is a tall, slender boy who wears those long jean cut off shorts that are all the rage now among the hip theater young folk. He is quiet and friends with Maggie and has one of those faces that you are pretty sure all girls think is VERY ATTRACTIVE. His legs appear to be very white and very functional.

Jacob: I do not know this boy outside of this reading, but I think he is my friend on facebook. He is very slight. Is kind of how I imagine a very sweet gentle woodland creature would look were this woodland creature a human. He IS that character. He is soft-spoken and has a nice nose and reminds me of Paul and has lots of shiny floppy hair. I am pretty sure BC had this boy made to order for this role. The name of which I can't remember at the moment.

The Charlie Brown Boy: Is VERY cute. All are in agreement. Looks like George Clooney when he smiles. And can sure throw a chair at a wall in such a way as to make me excited about popsicles and old pie crust. He gave me a granola bar. Which I graciously accepted.

Um. Do not really remember who else.

Is Margaret, who, whatever.

Is a girl named Gabby? Presley? Monka? She has hair like me which inspires me have whispered conversations in the second row with Maggie as to how I can acquire golden sheep princess eyelash hair like Maggie and Aly and less hair like this other girl. This girl is going to wear red glasses and a red headband and a red mouth as her costume.

Marcia? Trixie? Some character: is played by Aly. Aly is most lovely. I think she looks like the Miss Sunbeam doll I had when I was little. (This is the girl on the bag of bread, for those who are not well versed in small town breadstore propaganda.) Is blond shiny hair, blue doll eyes, all those bits about the face that the pretty girls have.

Monka, Aly, Bleeding Forehead and Small Ferret Man all have a scene in which they discuss a lot of food.

This has led me to put it out there that we make a cast trip to Denny's tomorrow night post show.

I ate a SALAD today. Am currently obsessed with salad. Also peppers. I know. I think I might be getting a little carried away.

Then went and watched The Debra get stabbed in the throat. This was not something that should ever happen.

The Debra, Drifty and I adjourned post lunch to Peebles where I got smacked a lot for saying things like, "we should look for dresses to wear to the Ratcocks!" SMACK. Each time I mentioned the Ratcocks, a smart swat on the shoulder from the Debra, who rightly felt that I was probably offending all of the elderly church-going Colonial Heights women who were shopping for festive scarecrow sweaters.

Anyway, I've been up for a very long time. Tomorrow I am going to WORK. I want to better my golf game. And to go to some of these sharp looking new restaurants/pubs that I see tucked into various nooks in the fan.

The fan, as it happens, smells like beef jerky tonight.

hahjgie;ghia;

2009-10-04T05:00:00.001-07:00

On the corner of Cary and Belmont this morning, under the awning of an abandoned building that once was a store selling gowns and shawls made of witches skin and frog bladders, a wee wizened man stood getting DOWN on his harmonica. And the sun had just come up, there were no cars, the sky was just so blue, and he was just a-wailin'. I had made it about another block and a half by the time he finished his song, but applauded from there. I thought he was fantastic. Might get up in the morning and pop by that corner to see what act has been booked for Monday.

The fair.

The tent full of pigs featuring a ring of fascinated/terrified humans surrounding a particular pen o' pigs that were ANGRY and making the most unholy noises I've ever heard from something that was alive. Just furious. For no apparent reason. Kept it up for a solid twenty minutes.

Pigs sleep on their sides with their legs sticking straight out to the side in the air. Look dead.

The tents of bunnies. My brother and I (surprise to me) share a penchant for giggling when we come upon a particularly round bunny with particularly round eyes and miniscule stunted ears.

The enormous bunnies that more resembled station wagon sized fur bathmats. DO NOT TOUCH said the sign on these important bunnies.

Please.

The demolition derby. I didn't know that I would like that, but I was squalling and hollering right along with the pack. One of the contending vehicles was an old, old car that looked as though it wouldn't go at all and had a plastic mold of a Canada goose affixed to the roof. Margaret and I immediately decide to be staunch supporters of this car.

And it won.

And after it won, and there were flames shooting out of the bottom of the car and smoke permeating the sky all the way to Charleston, the driver of the car squirmed free of the vehicle, climbed atop the hood, plucked the goose from the roof, put it on his head and started dancing.

I developed a hot scratchy crush at once.

Ate funnel cake. Wanted a turkey leg, an elephant ear, a hot dog, a corn dog, an ice cream, a chocolate covered banana, an iced tea, a root bear, I could go on.

I have thusly decided that the fair would be quite a stellar date. And will need to find a date who is loaded to take me there and feed me appropriately.

Perhaps most importantly, the pig races.

Scott and I were a little late to this event, having been stuck chortling and cooing over the ducklings and the newly hatched chick with it's left leg stuck in the radiator grid.

But this event featured a sawdust/straw track, throngs of squealing people, a pretty great old man serving as pig-wrangler, and a perky admirably energetic and devoted girl serving as emcee. Talked FAST. And with great energy and clarity.

The first couple of rounds of pigs came out, got loaded up into their gates, and then booked it around the track at a pretty respectable trot en route to receive their cookies at the finish line.

(Note: it was not lost on me that hogs and Audras both will race for cookies.)

Then the much hyped final group of pigs was to be brought out. They were heralded as the fastest, the most exciting pigs of the entire fair.

The tent flap opens, heavy, funky club techno is pumped loudly into the tent.

We see nothing. All of the other pigs have come tearing in and begun rooting around in the straw with great gusto.

Then-- slowly, inch by inch, the head, and then shoulders.... of the pigs appear.

These pigs are enormous hooved goiters.

Racing pot-bellied pigs.

Do not miss this in your life.

The computer is about to lose battery.

So perhaps more details to follow.

But the giant swings- that was heaven. Music so loud I could yell and not hear myself, the wind so cold and fast, arching my back over the back of my seat and looking up at the spinning tilting flashing roof of the ride. And all the lights spread out over the whole carnival.

LOVE.

Shower.

Kill Betty.

Long nails make typing loud.

2009-09-30T19:39:00.001-07:00

Today the clouds were so brilliant. All day. And they kept changing from new brilliant to new brilliant. I wanted to be above them. And among them. And I smiled at them. And noticed I was smiling at clouds. Which made me feel more like smiling.

Today, under duress, I ate an entire pint of what was supposed to be brown rice with my right hand.

So I can do that.

I have an evening of souffles planned for next Wednesday. That is very exciting.

And I think I'm right when I say that yes, marshmallows can be roasted over a grill. If anyone knows different, chime in.

It is nice to be a girl.

...

2009-09-22T23:08:00.000-07:00

My Usnavi AND My Hugh Laurie AT THE SAME TIME AND I DIDN'T SEE IT.

nevermind life.
nevermind ice cream.

Fizz.

2009-09-17T19:24:00.001-07:00

Well, I have successfully been hit by a car.

And I'm fine. Will have (gleefully) a lovely bruisy gash on my left thigh to show everyone next weekend. Hope it lasts that long. I know you're excited, Ginnie.

But was really nothing serious.

Really, Mom. And Moms 2-10.

LA is kind of blah. In my personal opinion. Looks like somebody with a relatively mediocre imagination decided to build a city out of Legos. Neutral-toned Legos.

I got off the plane from Chicago Tuesday night. Got on the plane to LA Wednesday night. Planes feeling to me for the moment like elevators.

Watched America's Next Top Model on the flight out here. Realized with shock that I don't care about it anymore.

Then promptly at dinner tonight Jake's surprise dinner guest turned out to be one of the casting directors for ANTM.

I debated becoming obsessed again and decided against it. He said if I'd been here a couple of days earlier I could have helped him work the castings tomorrow.

Oh well, that means I'm stuck going to San Diego instead.

I'm going to explore the dickens out of this hotel. Cannot remember the name of it right now. But Joseph has EVENTS to attend, so I am going to be trolling around by myself and hopefully playing in the ocean.

Jake is VERY good-looking. Smiles now, twinkles. Happy he seems happy.

Ryland is a love. We have been singing The Secret Garden and Little Shop all day. After we overruled Joseph's penchant for Alice Ripley and Renee Fleming.

We performed "238" in his den for our own amusement. Four or five of you might know what I'm talking about.

We went to a delectable establishment where you can acquire for $1.50 two cookies of your choice with the ice cream of your choice serving as filling sandwiched between them.

My body almost went into shock. I realized I hadn't had ice cream since July.

Then we went to a boutique that sells all the fancy designer duds for almost free and Joseph and Ryland played dolly-dress-up with me. Some of these hemlines. Absurd.

I am now back at their apartment (which is lovely), as I think I am coming down with nuclear bronchitis and would rather spend the evening watching any of their glorious array of dvds than sit at a bar and watch them drink those drinks that look like tall thin glasses full of swamp.

Chicago is BEAUTIFUL. I'd been once before but it was very cold and when I am very cold I enjoy everything about as much as I enjoy necking with a shark.

But this weather (according to my two friends who live there) was the nicest in months.

I walked and walked. That is, I have decided, my favorite way to see and learn new places. Just get dropped off in the middle of nowhere, be told which way is east, and then be left for dead.

I examined all of downtown, was almost run down by a Segue tour, napped in Grant Park, walked for miles along the Lake, which was the most beautiful blue-green water I have ever seen, staggered up and down Navy Pier, then came out onto a beach. Right there in the middle of a huge city. Saw a production of Cabaret in a giant theatre full of red crushed velvet and glittering enormous crystal chandeliers.

Every time I see a production of "Cabaret," I violently want to be in a production of "Cabaret" for the next two weeks. As any of the girls. Or the monkey.

Sat beside a lovely older couple who three minutes after sitting down struck up a conversation with me that went on for forty-five minutes and culminated with them asking if they could take me out for dinner following the show and me giving them information about the Barksdale Theatre and Spelling Bee.

There were enough tears during this curtain call to comfortably house a whale for a month.

I am told by my friend Michael who is in the show that after curtain call most evenings, the sobbing cast members usually adjourn to the neighboring bar and drown their sorrows and try to forget the horrible experiences they had living through World War II.

Wanted to remind them: Act.

Drove to Indiana. Because at one point during my driven tour with my friends, the driver informs me that "Indiana is only a few blocks that way." I bite my lip, then go ahead and ask that he drive me over there just so I can say I've gone.

Didn't have time to work in Wisconsin.

Saw Hyde Park. Saw where the Olympics main stadium will be built if Chicago gets to host them in 2016. This will be like the Olympics being held behind 7 1/2.

Saw so many boats. The boats looked like they were cars in a parking lot.

Walked and walked.

Found a Barnes & Noble. Went in and read an autobiography I've been curious about but didn't want to spend the money on. Managed to complete it in a brief enough time that no employee got suspicious.

Rode the Red Line to a friend's apartment where I ate burritos and sausage and sat in the floor. Played cards. Miss playing cards.

Swang in some swings. Talked to Riley, which was great.

Went to the zoo. Saw a lion, a tiger, a leopard and a snow leopard. Got very excited I was seeing a lion because of "The Lion King." Between Riley and myself there was a lot of squealing, pointing and exclaiming "OH LOOK!"

Requested that I be driven to Buckingham Fountain. Which is lovely and the last time I was there was not in season and was therefore just a giant empty cement pot.

But this night it was lit up beautifully. And the view from its east side is wonderful. I got a very lovely gentleman to dance the waltz with me in front of the fountain.

Then. THEN.

I brushed my hair and teeth, put on my new newsie cap that Sam gave me because it makes him look like a baker, and we all went out to a swing dance club.

And THAT WAS FUN.

It is one of those things that terrify me. Being somewhere where I might be approached and spoken to by people I don't know, or asked to do something I don't really know how to do.

But did it. And got asked to dance lots of times, once by an attractive (though rather red-faced) man who said the following to me:

1. I got into dancing because I like the ladies, and they find dancing attractive.

2. You just turn off your brain. I'll do it. (secretly kind of worked)

3. Most women have a hard time turning off their brains. (Kiss my grits, asshole.)

And I had FUN. And I learned lindy-hop. And I want to learn more.

And I learned I like cranberry juice. (Adam and Maggie- there will be further discussion on this point.)

And I just loved that all these great people meet every night at all these different bars in the city and go upstairs and just dance and enjoy each other spinning and twirling and sweating to awesome swing music.

Also there is apparently blues dancing. Which, from what I can tell, involves a lot more grinding.

Next time, perhaps.

Oh, all the boys are back now.

Dixie and Pretzel have to go out to poop.

Cousin pizza.

2009-09-11T18:23:00.001-07:00

Winking drunk Korean woman.

"IT'S SNOWING!" scream all the women in Jean Ferre. It's not.

Fiber 1!

2009-09-07T15:26:00.001-07:00

Yesterday evening Sam and I went for a drive. Our first order of business was to ride by Gillette's castle and see what their hours would be so we could be there bright and early today.

We drive through several herds of deer who are very accustomed to automobiles and will stroll up to the window and ask you for a light.

We twist and turn and wind and wend and finally arrive at a nearly abandoned parking lot where we find a sign saying, "Closes at Sunset." It is about seven minutes shy of sunset at this point. Literally. We decide to do the castle at light speed.

This is the castle that was built by the old eccentric character actor in the 1920's. He lived there alone, in the dark, then died and willed the castle to whoever was smart enough to do something cool with it. So it's a state park.

This castle is made of jaggedly cut stones and very tall and angular. It is VERY creepy and in the dark/at Halloween would be the most ultimate place for a party ever. We peer in the windows. It looks sort of like Irene's house.

The view off the back terrace is staggering. Some river. I think the Connecticut one. And just trees and screaming wildcats and water as far as you can see.

I felt like feudal lord Honaker.

So then it's dark.

We leave, and decide to follow the signs to the "scenic route." This "scenic route" turns out to be a winding twisting narrow hill of death. There are signs that say "SCHOOL BUS X-ING." And a street called, "Bone Hill."

We stifle our sobs and turn around. We drive to Chester.

There is a Chester in every state I have visited in the past five weeks. This Chester is adorable. And quaint. And I don't say that deroggatorially. Isn't a word. Is now.

All of the shops and restaurants in this Chester (which stretches on for four blocks, honest) have signs on the doors that say, "Open By Chance."

Which is awesome. The strange boy with a hawk nose and pretty eyes who I don't know on the orange couch agrees with me.

Philia is sitting next to me eating soggy soy crisps. Which reminds me of Maggie.

Soggy.

I've got another Starbucks option I'm going to try. I'm getting recommendations.

What did we do after that. This is becoming a record for me to remember this trip, so sorry if it is getting tedious.

Oh- we drove to Middleton because we were animals and starving and that was our best guess at where we could find the nearest Burger King. Thirty minutes away. But we were right.

Then we come back to the house and assemble in the grand parlor with half the cast and two of us watch Mad Men while the rest of everyone cackles and makes jokes and is VERY disrespectful. I swear. Adam, some people. The associate choreographer and I were the only ones demonstrating appropriate reverence.

Then eleven o'clock strikes and the entire cast evaporates. Here in Connecticut everyone goes to bed at 7:30 pm every night, so 11pm was a real stretch.

Today, Sam and I got up early and drove to Mystic. Which was really lovely. Sailboats and displays of pandas. They have a small drawbridge that works by dropping these two enormous ivory colored cubes of concrete to one side. When the bridge is going to open a bell shrills and all of Mystic becomes hushed. They watch.

Everyone there was SO KIND. I went into the army surplus store on the main street because I am all about getting a pair of those baggy pocketed camo pants, and the old man behind the counter was so dear. He had a slight gap between his front teeth. Or was that the man in the parking lot booth, who, when I informed him that when we arrived, there was no one in the booth to give us a ticket, smiled and said, "Well, then you just drive right through. We can't very well penalize you for my not being in the booth, can we?" This boggled Sam's mind.

We got very close to some ducklings, talked to a large brunette woman in a bright pink mumu walking her bichon frises and then climbed a very tall rusty staircase that followed the side of a hill. I was sure at the top we would empty out into an asylum. One of those asylums with spacious lawns where the allow visitors to see their inmates and have picnics and pretend their are not locked up. But it turned out to be nursing home. We then walk until we find the huge Victorian house that had clearly suffered a massive fire many years before. Sam laughs and takes pictures of this house for his mother. A concrete wall has been erected around this house as well as a wire fence. I suppose to prevent people like me from going inside and looking for cats and pretending to be a ghost. If it had been dark though, I'd have tried to climb.

We then lunch at Mystic Pizza. Which is not where the movie was shot but is still covered in stills from the film and shows the movie on loop.

This pizza was good. It was not even approaching Artichoke or Papa Johns.

We watch some men fishing. That was my favorite part of the morning.

We drive back, collect the courtesans and Philia and whoever it is that is sitting on that orange couch right now and drive to the Haddam Neck Fair. We have obtained the Fair itinerary from the Company Manager earlier and are very excited by the contents. Let me show you:

11:30 am- Ox Pull

12:30 pm- Skillet Throwing Competition

1:30 pm- The Baby Show

3:30 pm- Multiple Birth Contest

Not even kidding.

So we are all expecting tar pits and corn cobs.

We arrive.

Acres of parking, Ferris wheels, the scrambler, so much livestock, fried dough, etc.

Crowds.

The first thing we do is raid the bunny tent. There. Are. So. Many. Cute. Fat. Round. Baby. Bunnies.

Sam took a lot of pictures. I grinned a lot.

Also huge angry chickens.

We pet the camels, the llamas, the ponies, the sheep.

We eat oil.
We examine the tent that features locked cages full of the prize-winning pies, and the prize-winning snaps, and the prize-winning floss.
I get sick and drive Sam's car back to Victorian England.
I discuss groceries and pigs with Carol. During this discussion I decide not to google any of the actors/choreographers/etc. I meet while I am here until after I am back to New York. That way I won't find out anything that might shock me, like, oh, I just spent the afternoon sorting socks with Chita Rivera.
Then a bunch of us drive almost to Rhode Island to see the movies. We are the only ones in the theatre. It is very thrilling to shout at the top of your lungs things like, "GUYS, I'M GOING TO GET A SODA, BE RIGHT BACK!" in a movie theater.
I wore my 3-D glasses on my way to get a diet coke because I had noticed on the way in that the carpeting in the theater was dark purple with moons and comets and stars. I thought this might be fascinating to view in 3-D. But I only tripped a few times, so the experience wasn't all that I'd hoped it'd be.
OH. And MOST importantly. I learned how to milk a cow.

Pseudolos just bought me a soda.

2009-09-06T13:07:00.001-07:00

I don't know how to spell that. But the man playing him here is very dear and kind and round and has a curly, bouncy ring of graying hair around his head, all bald on top. He was wearing generous wrinkly plaid shorts and a pair of glasses that had vivid yellow lenses.
We are the only two in the house right now. And you sit in this house, in whichever parlor you choose, and you can hear crickets. The crickets kick-off at noon here. Crickets and the occasional torrent of motorcycles driving by. He wandered into the room and said my name and asked me where my hat was and then sat down on the heavy yellow couch and started talking to me. And we talked. I talked to someone I didn't know a bit for about half an hour. And I got around to enjoying myself.
He has three sons. The youngest of which begins his senior year of high school on Wednesday. He loves his family very much. He also thinks there is an alarming number of richoldwhite here.
We discussed how there isn't even anywhere here to get a soda except the rehearsal hall, and how the house where all the courtesans are staying is called "the sorority house" and how they all get on their outfits and get drunk like they are going to go somewhere. Perhaps northeast Haddam? To watch the new shelving units get installed at the liquor store? He finds them entertaining.
It was just very nice.
Then he went out to rehearsal and came back three minutes later with an ice cold Diet Coke. Massive amounts of love.
Anyway, I am now alone with all the lace and cherubim, and the US Open is on tv, which makes me inexplicably happy. I think though, it's because I like watching tennis with my Dad and I watched the US Open my first couple of weeks at W&M.
Between 12:30 and 12:45, one at a time, the entire female ensemble of Camelot walked by the window. You can tell which ones the actors are because they are a. under 70, and b. all wearing their NYC clothes and dark large sunglasses.
So I, in direct opposition to their maidenly attire, put on my snowflake pants and a ponytail and walk down behind the theater to sit on the dock. I sit there, I read "Brave New World," which I'm pretty into, and am lying on my tummy gripped by the depths of a particularly interesting chapter, when someone throws a rope on top of me.
So I roll over.
There is an enormous yacht pulling up to the dock 1 foot behind my ankles. The man on board says, "Sorry! I was aiming for the pileon/pilon/(how the hell do you spell that) not you!"
Well, he missed. So I sit up, he hands me this elaborate knot 4 feet in circumference that I am instructed to loop around the thingy. I loop it.
I observe the entire of contents of Westminster Canterbury processing single file across the wooden bridge leading to the theatre. Just in time for the matinee. I observe a small boy with a bright orange inflatable guitar and matching bright orange hair rocking out in a drainage ditch. I observe his sister stealing his guitar.
I observe many old couples sitting in lawn chairs by the river. The women are all dead asleep and the color of traffic cones and pennies and their husbands are either sketching (which I found endearing) or reading, or staring at the procession of old folks going into the theater and thinking they sure are glad they are not going to the matinee.
I decide I am about to turn into an Audra Fritatta and decide that the lure of putting my feet in the water trumps the slight threat of snakes or ticks or falling in in my flannels, so I take off my shoes, stuff them in a crevice and climb down the rocks underneath the dock to get to the water. I arrive. I leave almost immediately because the instant my toe touched the water all of my blood ran out of my ears and my foot fell off.
So I walk to the center of the meadow and sit on the largest, most elevated manhole cover I have ever run across. I begin to resume my book, but then notice that right next to me, mid-field, dozens of white folding chairs are being set up for a wedding later today. I am about to offer to help when I notice two other women hurrying in my direction. One has verrrrrrrrry long poorly cared for hair (I know this because it looks exactly how mine looked when it was super long) and is wearing woven tie-dyed skirts and fringed shawls and holding two camo-print feathers with red tips. She is also holding a small leather purse. Her companion is wearing flip flops, has on spotty blue toenail polish and a black cocktail dress with a wide white satin sash. Also bright red lipstick. And one of those hairstyles that is obviously "trendy."
The Duchess of Split Ends and Feathers shouts to a person a few feet behind me, "I'M JUST SCATTERING SOME TAR!" I swear she said tar. She proceeds to walk round and around the chair area dribbling her "tar" out of her pouch. Blessing the area I suppose. I decide not to move even though I'm bound to get blessed on sitting where I am. Couldn't hurt.
I do a crossword puzzle.
I look up. Feathers has now broken out a red ceramic urn and has given it to Sash to hold. She lights whatever is in it on fire, and then together they walk the same path around the chairs, this time with Feathers using her army print feathers to fan the smoke into the air.
Fascinating. I almost asked what that was for. Might go back and do so.
So now I am sitting in a pink chair.
The Barksdale chair department would go batty for all these chairs. Chairs, and side tables, and elegant couches. PROPS. I can't look at anything anymore without evaluating it for it's potential use as a good prop.
Philia and I stood in the kitchen and conversed this morning. That's all there really is to say about that. She made a salad, I made a peanut butter bagel.
And this peanut butter you have to stir. It's good. Still. Open-minded Audra, open-minded.
There may be another one of these before the evening is out.
Also I love screen doors to walk around porches. I'm giving serious thought to mashing my face into that screen as hard as I can for two minutes and then seeing how much of a waffle I look like. I've got at least an hour before rehearsal is over.

Walk.

2009-09-06T08:04:00.000-07:00

It has only been a few hours since I wrote, but I have seen so much. So as not to forget-

I went to sleep last night on a lima bean shaped couch in front of an arc of four floor to ceiling 12ft. windows. Romance, art. Sculpture. The amount of gilt and brocade and cushioning in this house is staggering.
Sam said he has been waking up each night he has been here on the dot of 3:58am gasping. And Sam DOES NOT WAKE UP DURING THE NIGHT. He's like a mummy. We all here think this is the ghost at work. I did not wake up during the night, but I did have a night of horrible peculiar dreams one right after the other.
I got up at eight. With a horrible crick in my neck, because as we all know, lima beans only curve one way.
In the daylight, East Haddam is beautiful. It is a little chilly, and the Connecticut River is about three minutes from the door. And it's so lovely. There are little white boats everywhere on it. And just so we're all clear, the Goodspeed is really the doll-house version of the Barksdale. I know this because when we walked through the parking lot at 9am there were several cars of the old folks pulling up and hefting their old woman cargo out onto the pavement. The matinee is at 2:30.
I'm considering going, but it's "Camelot," and I did want to be available for my thirtieth.
We walked the short loop and the long loop. The short loop goes around from the actor housing to the theater and back again. It is very quiet, riddled with dead frogs and snakes, and reminds me of that area behind the Swift Creek Mill Wawa that you pass on the right if you go out of the Wawa the back way. Only much more elaborate and wealthy.
Then we did the big loop. I sweated and panted and gasped. Climbed so many mountains. Many wide golden fields with yellow and lavendar flowers. Tom would love it up here. The big loop is about four miles. We saw a large pile of horse poop, which we enjoyed because we enjoy horses. The minute we got back in the kitchen one of the Proteans, who runs this route every morning and is therefore built like a very very sturdy ox said, "Oh- did you guys notice that huge pile of fresh bear poop?"
Good.
As we neared the end of the loop we passed the church, and the graveyard next to it. I wanted to go into this graveyard because the newest stone looked to be from the mid 1800s and some of them were so faded and lichen-covered that I was curious to see if there was any visible etching anywhere. There was. They said things like, "Annabel Southton, Wife. b. 1403 d. 1407."
So that was all fascinating. I ran my fingers over the words on the tombstones and imagined the people carving it so long ago. And realized, well, we'll all be dead pretty soon now." Time fast.
Each house here has a plaque (in some cases, a green piece of construction paper in a black plastic frame in others) stating when the house was built and the name of the original occupying family. This is cool.
We pass the sweet shop, which of course is closed. They sell lots of stuffed animals in there. And Doug & Melissa items. Also a large antique barn that looked a whole lot like Class 'n Trash in Ashland. They have a large wooden leopard wall hanging that Sam is pretty sure he's going to sneak out one night and steal.
Except that will be a challenge because in all of our four miles I maybe saw 1 streetlight.
I am now sitting at a mahogany table beside lace curtains listening to all the Proteans and Sam wandering around the house warming up. They all have rehearsal in about five minutes, and to get there they have to walk across the side yard and jump a ditch.
Tomorrow we have big plans. There is the East Haddam Neck County Fair. I know. I'm hoping for lots of ponies, piglets, and necks.
Then we are going to see this place called Gillette's Castle, which was apparently built by some man who got the lead in some big show a few years ago and decided with his paycheck he would build a castle in Connecticut.
We are going to Mystic for lunch. Most exciting.
We are going to go find a ladder and go upstairs into the turreted room and climb up into the attic playroom of little girl ghost Emily who died a horrible death and now spends her time waking up the male ingenues of Goodspeed productions at four in the morning.
But I just found out that one of the women in this show, I think the one playing Sam's mother who carries her dog around with her, is insisting that we all gather in the ante-parlor tonight to watch Mad Men.
I squealed.

Peanut allergy.

2009-09-05T18:50:00.000-07:00

Well, I stayed up very late last night, and then had to get up at a decent hour. Which was HARD. But I did it. I always try and gauge the number of other people in the house before I go out to take my shower so I can decide if I want to go out to the bathroom in my towel, my jeans and a sweatshirt, or my underpants. I decide that I am the only one in the house. I march to the bathroom wearing my bra, a purple skirt and clutching my towel and some things I shouldn't mention in a public forum. The door is shut, but the shower is not on, which means I now probably do not have time to get back into my room before the door opens and I am in full view.
Then Brianne materializes out of nowhere and during our 2 1/2 minute conversation, I manage to drop first my towel, then my underpants, then my unmentionables on the floor of the hallway. Bri says nothing about this. She is great. She is the white Katrinah.
Then out of the bathroom comes a relatively attractive tall man with curvy hips. In a towel. Bri introduces me to this man who is Marnix, or Mushkin, or something like that. He is her brother in law who is in town to watch the US Open. And to use everyone else's toothbrush.
We all have some conversation about how many cats are raped in the yard behind the house each night and then I take my shower.
Which was lovely. This shower has necessary water pressure, which is something I adore.
I then brush my hair, sweat and curse and struggle my way into my what you guys all called "sexy Dorothy" dress (which was difficult because of many reasons. This is a dress one should only wear when one has a roommate that can tie sturdy knots) and my trusty orthopedic shoes.
I realize I might be running a few minutes late, but decide to sacrifice the time to apply some mascara and lipgloss. I know.
So I scowl and hiss all the way to the subway because for some reason whenever I go out in public looking halfway decent I tend to try and look as mean as I can to discourage anyone from speaking to me or saying anything that might make me feel threatened like, "you look nice."
Whatever. It's a problem.
I am so distracted by the fact that I am wearing a form-fitting top that I entirely miss my subway stop. So I get out one later and walk back to 42nd St. and the Starbucks that has been assigned me.
Alanna walks in in a fedora and one of those cute sundresses that you can wear very breezily and casually if you are somewhat flat-chested. Envy.
Oops. That sounds like I've insulted Alanna. I haven't.
We drink tall mocha somethings, which tastes a little less like tar sludge than some coffee I've had, and then we just start walking around Times Square. She just likes to get inspired as she happens upon things in the street.
It was so much fun. Even got to the point where I was being provocative sitting in a gray baseball mitt and throwing my arms around a pair of sailors.
Then I dropped Alanna off for lunch with her very nice boyfriend who looks like the Apostle Paul.
I go home to pack. Easy. Since I've learned that rolling up your clothes trick, easy. I stuff my backpack with flannel pants and chocolate chips and head off to the train.
I become FURIOUS in the train station because my train is fifteen minutes late and the other trains that are not late are coming ahead of mine. Imagine that.
But my fury subsides in due course because I have learned that when I get irrationally furious like that, it is best just to let myself be so, and it will slide right away.
I get on the train. In the back row, which I have all to myself except for a lumpy middle-aged woman wearing capris and reading lots of newspaper clippings about the Golden Arches.
From my position in the back row I learn everything there could possibly ever be to know about the pale red-headed graduate student in psychology who has changed her focus and wants to now focus more on counseling lesbian and gay high school students that have been kicked out of their house even though in New York once she gets above the southern part of the islands where the streets have no rhyme or reason and into the logical numbered part, she gets completely lost and can walk for "blocks and blocks" when she gets out of the subway and have no idea where she is.
Which frankly, makes you an idiot.
Oh- the end of that run on sentence should be --who is sitting in front of me.
All I heard from the girl sitting next to her are a few grunts and some soft sobs.
But once I started to see Connecticut (another new state for me) out the window, I got very happy. Connecticut has trees and clouds and a sun.
And when I got out at the station at Old Saybrook I heard crickets and frogs and nothing else. I also got completely lost. This train station was the size of a cocktail napkin. Never been more confused.
Finally see Sam coming across the parking lot.
We drive to pick up Stephanie, who is the dance captian/Tintinabula/understudy ensemble swing/rundown dancer/bleak single woman for Sam's production of Forum from the Super Save Shucks grocery store or something.
She emerges from the store, looking bleak as Sam has described.
She gets into the car and grills me about my orthopedic shoes. I sell her a pair.
We drive down a lovely tree-lined freeway that reminds me of the lovely tree-lined freeway I once rode down to grab a bus in the middle of the night on Cape Cod, and get off at exit 7. Which is probably irrelevant.
I get VERY excited when I realize that this is where Katharine Hepburn lived and xed.
We pass the Chinese place, I get even more excited.
We cross a gray bridge over what I assume was water but we'll never know until tomorrow when the sun comes back on.
(Speaking of water, I have decided that I a. do not care for negativity at all, and b. would like very much to marry a man who might one day have a boat that I could go out on.)
The Goodspeed looks like a straight and tall shiny bright white doll house twinkling on the hill as you cross the bridge. It lit up promptly at 8 when Camelot began for the evening. Camelot will come down at about 3 hours from Thursday.
We drive completely through the town in 3 meters during which we pass the liquor store/sweet shop. Where I will be going first thing.
Sam is living in this enormous haunted creaky turreted house. Which I imagined to be located on a lush lawn nestled about half a mile off the road. In reality you can get hit by a car rolling over in bed.
In this house, and I expect in every house that is owned by the Goodspeed, things are thoroughly labeled. There is a paper label on Sam's door that says, "Sam." There are labels on the closets that say, "closet." There are labels inside the labeled cupboards that label the labels on the mayonnaise, carrots and ground beef.
There are two refrigerators in the kitchen. Inside these refrigerators are lettuce, hummus, water, diet water, some bottles of Ex-Lax, some bottles of tears.
Apparently the women playing the hookers in this show have all been told that they need to lose fifty pounds each and they are going to stark naked in the show under fluorescent lighting. And everyone in the audience is going to be given a telescope which they will use to count the dimples on the girls' fannies.
There is apparently a ghost here named Emily. Also the girl playing Philia is named Emily. This Emily believes that Connecticut is south of New York.
Anyway. Sam and I are sitting here on a very heavy couch playing on our computers watching a television program about a small Pomeranian puppy named Peanut. This is really too much.
Tomorrow I'm going to sit on the dock.

Dexter is GOOD. Dexbert. Dexsomebodyelseheremindsmeofandican'tthinkofit.

2009-09-04T14:59:00.001-07:00

Let's begin with the things that have solidly occurred to me today:
I really don't like it when people say things are stupid without learning about them or trying them first.
Saw this in the mirror, you could say.
And I so wish I could be one of those girls who at college had a ball and made friends and went to parties and was super excited about the weekend.
Instead of being so shy and afraid.
I hope it's not too late for me to do things like that.
But anyone would say to that- it's never too late.

Anyway, tomorrow I go on the train. And I'm really looking forward to that. I really like trains. Today Joseph gave me a manuscript that might be submitted for publishing, and it was one of the most peaceful things I've ever experienced, just sitting on the subway rocking back and forth and reading these pages. I almost stayed on til the end of the line and then rode back, but I was thirsty.
My computer now has iTunes. This is obviously bad news for Brianne and Mark.
I have done twenty push-ups every day for four days now. Murder. Have gotten to know a lot about what kinds of people and animals have napped on the rug in the sitting room.
There is an ice-cream truck that goes by this house each day around 5:45. And you can hear it for about ten minutes, and never ever see it. The second I heard it today I stuck my head out the window and remained there until it stopped. No sign.
But it does make me really want ice cream. I've decided that on one of my next two weekend trips I shall buy some ice cream.
Those SPARC kids sure are loud.
And they sound great. And Ali T. is a gorgeous Cosette, and Michael Hawke is the epitome of Javert, and Jason looks very well in his role as the Christ.
After hearing so much about this new splendiferous Centerstage opening, I asked Jason if he thought anyone would be taping it. He assured me in hushed tones that no, they would not. This thing is taking on all the pomp and reverence I would normally only associate with the marriage of Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King.
Jr.
I bet it'll be great though, with all the nuns and stenogs and homeless French people.
I wonder why they're not called Fiber 2's?
Or Fiber 5's. That's catchy.

I met Joseph at HarperCollins today to go for pizza.
Joseph likes to speedwalk through the subway station jogging up and down escalators (which- WHY? Where is the fun in that?), and then arrive at the platform where he strides up onto the yellow bump area and glares down the tunnel, like this is going to make the train come faster.
Whenever he does this, I feel such like the wise mother and think things like I just typed, "do you really think that is going to make the train come any faster, Joseph?" And then I can remember myself doing things like that just for effect so many times. And think how irked I would be if my mother had said that to me.
LEARNING.
Though for Joseph, the train probably does get the lead out.
Got a text from someone very dear to me the other day telling me they were running a few minutes late because they had to take a "hurricane shit."
I just thought that was very funny phraseology.
Tomorrow morning I am meeting Alanna at 11 at the Starbucks in Times Square (don't worry, I have specifics) and we are going to "have coffee" (I might actually get one of those iced coffees everyone is so horny for. I've been tempted for weeks now), and then have a photo session. She has a new camera and has been following her friends around taking pictures of them with manhole covers and loose teeth and then photoshopping color onto the other objects in the picture while her friends are in black and white. I think this will be fun. I will wear a dress and tell her to shoot from the ankles up.
Does Kim Clark really have a new pet pig?
What are our thoughts on if it will be a. legal, and b. a scientifically good idea to bring a 2 Liter of Pineapple Sunkist on an airplane with me?

National Geographic

2009-09-03T14:50:00.000-07:00

Well, I stayed up until 4:30 in the morning last night, slept til noon on the button and then got up, at my toast sitting in the window, and washed my hair as planned.

Then I got on- oh wait- first, some orbish older man comments to me from in front of the laundromat, "that's quite the ensemble." And this was not a compliment. And I was frankly a little surprised by this. I am wearing something relatively low-key, for me, and there are people walking around this city wearing boots made of tuna fish, pleather panties and aluminum foil.

But anyway, I got on the 7 and rode it for days and days until suddenly the rows of hot brick graffiti-ed buildings cleared and there was an enormous parking lot full of cars, surrounded by trees, and a huge baseball stadium. And then more trees. And you get off the subway, and walk down this half-mile wooden gangplank where it is breezy and beautiful and at the base of this gangplank you arrive at the US Open.

Just because you arrive at the US Open in no way means that you discover the entrance to the US Open.

I hadn't decided if I wanted to pay money to go watch some people play that I hadn't heard of, so I consulted a map of this area and discovered it was a park. Complete with ice rink and many lakes. So I decide to make a circle starting in the opposite direction from the tennis courts. And I walk and walk. Find some dirty looking lakes, but then a huge round lake surrounded by Canada geese. I walked in a circle around this lake, and then off toward this giant metal sculpture I could see the top of over the trees.

Throughout this park are millions of Latino boys on bicycles.

The metal sculpture turns out to be an enormous model of the world held up over top of hundreds of those fountains that spurt out of the ground so children can play in them. Except I don't know if children are the appropriate objects to be playing in this strong of a fountain. I might recommend moose.

I watch many toddlers run laughing into the water, and then do a pivot turn and run screaming away from it.

You will get drenched in this water.

I read the plaque in front of this statue. This statue is created in honor of world peace and steel. Or something.

So then I decide I might as well try and see how much it costs to get in. I accidentally go to two baggage checks before myself and a kind middle-aged man manage to find the actual box office.

He was very nice. I asked him who his favorites were and he said he really liked Maria Sharapova because she is modest.

I discover that it costs more than I am prepared to spend to go in, and decide that it is plenty good enough just to go and see where they play. So I take a picture for my parents and get back on the train. Which I take to Grand Central Station and get off.

Which I have never done before, and let me tell you, I am so glad I did.

Because this part of New York, which I guess you refer to as the Middle East (and even if you don't, that's what I am going to refer to it as from now on), is by far the most appealing to me so far. It is sort of quiet and pretty, with big buildings, but not tons of traffic or people and some trees. I think there were some UN buildings over there. I heard an elderly woman with jet-black hair discussing how she was going to play tennis later today with Mr. Warbucks.

I walked by a playground, sent Tom a riddle in a text message which he figured out right away, thus ruining my entire afternoon, and had a footrace with a pigeon up 1st Ave. between 43rd and 44th.

It was close until he began cheating.
And Maggie- I FOUND THE QDOBA.
I found the best Barnes & Noble up here with huge windows that overlook the street and the restaurant that is two floors below. I sat at a round table with a sweet older man who didn't really speak English and could scarcely believe it when he asked me if that chair was taken and I smiled and said no. I had to really drill the point home.
Then I got on the subway at the same time as a new mother and her best friend, both of whom were dressed to the nines in flowy striped sundresses and hip shoes. The baby was dressed to the nines as far as I could tell. His stroller was one of those spaceship strollers that is shockingly expensive and has a French brand name. It is a good thing it was a good stroller too, as mom and friend were very involved in their conversation and during that conversation the baby's stroller would roll around the subway car, banging into poles and benches and people. But it's ok. I'm sure that stroller has very expensive bumpers.
My wonderful mother sent me a package of Fiber 1 bars, as I think I have mentioned. It arrived today. I love my mom.
Tonight is Project Runway. And Dexter and Chinese, I have decided.
Hope everyone is not too hot.

Taffy.

2009-09-02T21:13:00.000-07:00

Today I bought a planner. And it is beautiful. It is red/blue/yellow diagonal plaid with sparkly gold numbers reading 2010 on the front. And I'm excited. Who knew.
Today I bought hair conditioner. Being in such close quarters with Joseph who sneers and scoffs at my hair care regime has finally worn me down. I did however, persuade him to let me buy a relatively inexpensive brand. Even though he is sure this brand is only worthy of greasing cow enemas, if that.
Tomorrow I plan to wash my hair. And condition it. And yes- leave the conditioner in for upwards of three minutes. I'll have to make plans to fill the time.
Then I plan to get cute and take the 7 into parts heretofore unchartered by yours truly to see what there is to see at the U.S. Open. I'm pretty sure that they will allow me in for cheap, if not beg me to come in to watch the #679 seeded match where Yelena Catguten will play Grunta Spifflewacker.
I went to Perry's tonight with Joseph, where we had big plans to watch a documentary on Hasidic Jews narrated by Sarah Jessica Parker. And while this piqued my interest, what we ended up doing was much more fun. Perry, his roommate Someboy, and Someboy's girlfriend Addie were there having dinner and drinking wine. Joseph set right about making his nightly snack of edamame. Someboy and Addie were eating- now crap, I've forg- no I haven't- caprese.
Which for those of you who are not elegant is a slab of tomato, a chunk of mozarella cheese, a basil leaf and some viniagarette. In a pile. It looked delicious. I am for some reason currently obsessed with tomatoes.
Wine was disappearing by the gallon. Absinthe was brought up as an option. I decided if I was going to see proper tennis in the morning I better not drink anything that was going to turn me into a scantily clad fairy the color of a boxwood.
Though that's not a bad idea for Halloween. Sookie is better. Though Adam has now this hare-brained notion that we should go as the Scooby-Doo people. This touches a sour place in me because in eleventh grade, the big football star of the school Monsanto Pope came up to me and told me that I looked like Velma.
Which is true.
So where is the fun in dressing up for Halloween like yourself. I told Adam I'd consider it if he bleaches his hair to be Fred.
Anyway, with all this wine flying around, the conversation soon turned to FUPAs.
Look it up.
I ate a slice of red pepper dipped in hummus and almost wept.
Hummus, vegetables, wheat bread, sliced turkey. Who knew.
I'm really excited about conditioning my hair.
Saturday I am going to Connecticut. I have never been to Connecticut. But from the pictures Sam sends me of this place he is staying, I will like it a lot. It is a beautiful old Victorian mansion with giant (some word, maybe pier) mirros rimmed in gold, with canopied beds and velveteen window seats. Also many secret passageways, abandoned children's nurseries from the 1800's, and a creaky, curving staircase leading up to a widow's walk. We can hardly wait to break out the black tshirt and bed sheet and run around setting up Samara in terrifying places.
This lovely home also, accordingly to Goodspeed lore, features clogged pipes as a result of Kristin Chenoweth trying to flush a turkey down the toilet.
I will be taking the train. Sniff sniff.
The train features a snack car. And that is probably the most exciting thing that has happened to me this trip. I believe I will purchase a snack, recline in my chair to it's maximum setting-a 96 degree angle, and read a NOVEL. I feel that is what one does on train trips to the north country.
I have decided I would like to go to Europe NEXT summer. Not this coming summer, as Adam and Maggie INSIST on throwing a wrench into the works and having a wedding, but the next.
I have always wanted to see Ireland and Scotland and Austria. The rest I would see, you know, if you made me.
I'm thinking of going down to Central Park sometime after 3am tonight and letting all the horses go.
I learned tonight how to get pictures I take onto this computer, and from the computer, onto facebook. I hopefully can soon figure out how to get them onto this blog, because I've got some doozies.
Goodnight all. Sweet dreams, few jackhammers.

Oscar the grouch.

2009-09-01T14:05:00.000-07:00

I really like the name "Cheddar." Might change my name to Cheddar.
Well, I didn't get pizza today because Joseph had a rush of 13 different nationally acclaimed newspapers vying to get him to be featured on the front page or something at 12:57 and was unable to step away from the office for more than an hour.
Vying. Vieing? X. I'll look it up.
We are going to get pizza on Friday.
I did go to the Cloisters. Which was epic.
I took the A train (just like Usnavi says, don't think I didn't feel smugly gigglish about that) up to 1,548th St. where I got off, rode an elevator up to the street level. Went outside and was immediately in Elizabethan garden times.
Felt SERENE. Walked the quarter mile to the actual Cloisters and on the way passed meadows overlooking the river dotted with families on blankets, and girls and boys reading books, and older couples talking. Serene. Swans.
One of my favorite things about here is, obviously the subway, but why I like the subway so much is that I see so many different kinds of people. And they speak in so many different ways. And people play so many different types of music in the subways. And I just think it's wonderful.
And this was what these meadows were like.
The Cloisters itself is a branch of the Met (the art one), that was made possible, as you can read on any number of plaques, by Rockefeller. Most things here were made possible by Rockefeller and that Tisch guy. Including the pigeons.
Also I'm pretty sure that thin crispy pizza crust is a wrong.
But you pay however much you want, and go in. And it is this enormous stone, turreted ancient looking castle thingy like you would find in King Arthur times. Or like the temple level on Goldeneye for N64.
And you can walk around and lay your eyes on sarcophagi and basins and statues, lots of boring stuff. But I just liked the atmosphere.
I have read now two book about raising elephants in the past three weeks.
I'm looking forward to going gown shopping with Margaret.
My brother is no longer coming to see me. This is fine. I will go to Connecticut.
My mother is sending me a box of Fiber 1 bars. Bless her.
I've grown out my fingernails and hardly noticed.
What shall I do tonight....

Really did the dishes.

2009-08-31T18:30:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I am going to ride up to the Cloisters.
Tomorrow I am going to have pizza.
Today I just walked and walked. On the lower west side, where I hadn't walked before. I liked it there. It was sunset, and I was very moved by the way the light lit up the solid brick apartment buildings down there. Like safe fire.
I walked on the Highline, which is a (I think) new park built on top of an old elevated train track. Runs over top of the meatpacking district. I wonder if they still pack meat there.
Matt- would you like to go up to the Cloisters tomorrow? It's free, and reportedly pretty serene.
It's almost cold here. To me. Which is probably perfectly comfortable for 98% of everyone else.
I have seen more teensy picky little dogs than I thought possible.

Errrr.

2009-08-30T20:43:00.000-07:00

1. Joseph's roommate, Brianne, likes to shriek while she blowdries her hair. Says it helps her to "get out all the crazy."

2. New Yorkers are hideously stingy with their Diet Coke.

3. Cocoa butter is amazing.

So tonight, I exit my building. I turn to head down the steps and am immediately whistled at. You know, the sort of whistle you get from truckers, or tacky men in their cars as your are walking to the Barksdale to do the laundry. And one of these whistles is usually 90% annoying, the other percent secretly complimentary. You figure, they would not whistle at my grandmother, after all.
I of course decide not to turn around to examine who is whistling at me, and carry on. But this man keeps on whistling. And whistling. I began to think perhaps it was an attack of Turrets that just happened to kickoff when I stepped onto the porch. At any rate, this man has no doubt whistled his way to a very uncomfortable tonsillectomy.
I evaulate what I am wearing that is causing such a fuss. Blue sundress that zips up the front (which I hear can be very attractive--unzip, and there you go) but that zipper is currently hidden under my very sexy backpack strap. Flat filthy pink crocs. And then I realize- I brushed my hair. That must have been what did it.
Anyhow, I walk briskly to the 7 train which is a staggering 3 blocks away and not outside my bedroom door like the E/V. But there is a sign at all the E/V stations that essentially says, "For the duration of Audra Honaker's holiday in New York, all E/V trains will not run between the hours of anytime convenient-when you have no business being outside."
I take the train into the not-numbered section of Manhattan.
I arrive at Spring St. No idea. Glance at the wall map to see if I can get a handle on where I am. The map has a helpful circle that says "You Are Here." This circle encompasses, at minimum, seven city blocks.
So I cockily jounce up the steps thinking I can surely figure this out. And walk for twenty minutes before I break down and call Sam after having encountered a gaggle of policemen surrounding a small Korean woman lying flat on her back in the middle of Kenmore Ave. Nothing appeared to be drastically wrong. She seemed to have just decided she needed to lay down. People were being sent for ice.
So I find this bar Epistrophy. Which is no small miracle even given that I had the address and explicit directions. Sam tends to favor all the bars and cafes in this city that do not have their title on them anywhere. The first day I got here he gave me text directions to his favorite cafe, Cafe Ost. I walk directly to this corner and see it nowhere. A few days ago we passed this corner and he points it out to me. I tell him that this is obviously an abandoned building with a few chairs inside and ask why there is no sign. He tells me oh but there is and under careful scrutiny, on tip toe, squinting, with those special night vision goggles from Jurassic Park you can make out

cafe Ost

This bar Epistrophy was no different. Elite, I suppose. It was nice though, with necessary tables outside and couches and magazines inside. Not too dark, and wine everywhere. I asked to see a menu just to see if one existed. It did. In an entirely different language. Ice cream was phrased, "Illettimontitti Parufsnial."
Sam is stationed on a couch directly inside and to the right next to what would happen if Joseph and Matt Shofner had a son. And then the son grew up and wore tight mahogany pants and glasses you are pretty sure he doesn't actually need.
I approach the bar and ask for what I ask for anywhere I go, "the biggest Diet Coke you've got." With smile.
The forlorn waif behind the bar does not smile back. She looks completely crestfallen and tells me, "it's pretty small." She then hands me a munchkin sized glass bottle of diet coke with a small glass cup and three pieces of ice. I thank her and go to sit on a velvet cushioned window seat. I set the glass and ice aside and have my shot of diet coke. Put the bottle directly into my backpack. Maggie will be appropriately horrified by the size of this bottle.
From my sateen seat I commence meeting all of Sam's friends all at once. This is sort of his "going away" party, even though not really because he's only going to be in Connecticut for three months.
Turns out Maseph Shopa is the man who wrote the music for "Saved." Don't know what that is. He is also currently working on a show about porn which requires him to diligently fly out to San Diego four or five times a week to watch pornos being made. He watches things like, a woman having sex on a couch and then inbetween takes getting a phone call telling her she has lost custody of her children. Resume sex. X.
Then next in the "Get To Know Audra Seat" on the couch is an older gentleman with whom I discuss being shy at parties. He tells me he is shy too but has just made himself mostly get over it. I told him I agree with that, and for all my time here I just remind myself, "this enormous room full of people you have never seen before has no idea that you are shy and sit in the corner eating cake barefoot at parties." So I smile and strike up conversations. I think they have yet to find me out. This man's name is Bruce and he is, according to Maseph, the most brilliant orchestrator in New York. I'll believe him.
Then a VERY HANDSOME man comes and sits next to me. I sort of recognize him, and so I figure that will be a good way to meet him. So I say, "you are the man naked with the cats." I am right. This is a long story. This man is very hairy. But has a beautiful face. He is in Sam's dance/theatre/dramatic flailing company Witness Relocation. I discover he is also the man I have seen a clip of tossing a woman around on a yoga mat to a recording of the Moses/Nefritiri scene from "The Ten Commandments."
The woman from the yoga mat is there as well. She turned thirty last weekend and threw a bevy of parties for herself. Parties titled, "Turning Thirty Sucks! Come Wipe Up My Tears."
Also a boy named Juan who Sam went to college with. Juan looks like he is on a ten from dance rehearsal for "Anchors Aweigh." NO ONE should wear shorts that small and white and then put their leg up on a bench like they have just founded the New World when one's legs are that burly and hairy. NO ONE. Looked like a walrus popping out of a condom. Maseph and I snicker about this. We have stationed ourselves in the corner as we have realized that neither one of us know anyone there except Sam and are doing our level best to meet people and then inform the other.
A scruffy looking man wearing a long scarf and winter hat comes in. Stands still, extends his arm, points at Masesph and says, "asshole." I correctly guess that they are acquainted. This man turns out to be Dan, who runs Witness Relocation and has a storage unit where Sam is storing his Buddha, his Virgin and his seal.
Ali comes in, who is Sam's friend who SINGS and is wheelchair bound due to a traffic accident when she was two that appeared to have left her scratchless until that night in bed she suffered a spinal seizure and was paralyzed from the ribs down. She is beautiful and is wearing my pink high-top Reeboks. I say, "Ali. I have your shoes." She stares for about twenty seconds. Then laughs. She has thought I meant I have stolen a pair of her shoes. Am always curious about how people with that sort of paralysis deal with things. Like, do they lift their own legs up to get out of their chair/into a car? How heavy do they feel? Sam says she is very agile and will crawl with her arms up the stairs to go onstage when necessary. Many people throughout the evening are seen kneeling before her very reverently. Also there are Jo and Anistasia, who are both very thin, and currently lesbians. Anistasia is pronounced "Ahhhhhhhhnistahhhhhhhhhhhhsiahhhhhhhh."
But MOST IMPORTANTLY- Many of you may not have seen the 80's miniseries "North & South." Well, thanks to a friend of mine, that miniseries and "The Temptations" on VH1 were what I did from tenth to twelfth grade. And there is an outstanding character in "North & South" of whom both Joseph and I are fond. And her daughter was there. Is a friend of Sam's. And I......spoke to her. I did not bring this up, the fact that I would like to meet her mother. If you have seen that miniseries, the character is Ashton.
So Joseph breezed in pretty late in the proceedings- he had been seeing "The Family Goes To Hell While Alice Ripley Makes Throat Sausage" with Ali T. Chase went to see "Our Town" I think. They got here yesterday at about 1:45 and have seen four shows. I have forgotten that there are shows here. Really just want to see "In the Heights" again.

Tomorrow have a lunch date at Artichoke. So excited. Would like to-oh just everything- with that pizza sauce.

Jason, your life is plenty interesting.

2009-08-28T20:31:00.000-07:00

It's a beautiful, rainy night in Brooklyn and I am Put Out.
Due to:
1. I may have to break down and throw out my high school gym shorts. Which are the most comfortable shorts I have ever owned. Washed them in gum. Oh well. I remember taking great pains to write my name in Sharpie on the name tag area in a way that I would, as an adult, think was very mature and awesome.
2. The moving walkway in the subway stop is turned off. X. Huge X. I am not above running into Queens for some lint just to ride on the moving walkway.

Other than that, it's a lovely night. It is a bright night- you know what I mean, where even in the middle of a field in the middle of the night surrounded by only trees you could see clearly.
Not the kind of bright night you get on 42nd St. where you can learn intimate details about the pores of people living in Cincinnati.
Today I painted Sam's apartment. Was very relieving to be covered in paint spatter again. At one point lost my balance on the pink and green glitter stepladder and fell completely into the freshly painted wall. Wish I had a camera.
Then a group of three girls came by and together with Sam chit-chatted and traded spices and vintage tops from the 80's for about twenty minutes. I felt like Mathilde the cleaning woman in the corner with my paintbrush quietly humming to herself while the younguns had their little visit.
Cold. Well, nippy. Wonderful. Jeans and long-sleeved shirt. Don't know if I can go on wearing this long-sleeved shirt though, because that thing has happened where one of the drawstrings around the neck has come out much farther than the other, and I have been unable to fix it. And I don't think I can handle it.
While browsing through Perry's DVD collection tonight I noticed "The Silence of the Lambs." Mentioned off-handedly that I used to put myself to sleep at night reciting the Hannibal/Clarice scenes in that movie from memory. With the voice.
Joseph thought that was one the most disturbing things he had ever heard.
Wrote a fan letter to Anthony Hopkins once. Was obsessed with that movie. Never heard back. Whatever.
Tomorrow Chali is coming for a visit. And Cha will want to go to Cosi. That is where he always likes to go. Chali will then go see 9-5 after which Chali, Poseph and I will adjourn to a lovely large apartment somewhere in Chelsea owned by two men named something like Stringfellow and Bundlecrunch. They have some type of dog that Joseph will not tell me about. I guess for fear I will not go over there. So it must really be something else. Am not afraid of dogs. Might be a Pomeranian and he is afraid I will steal it.
Watched the first episode of "Dexter" tonight. Liked it very much. Went home directly after that because x walking in the hurricane to get to the train in the middle of the night, but was offered on my way out the door to attend a favorite bakery of Joseph's in the morning.
Now- this bears discussion.
While this bakery will doubtless feature buns and muffins and donuts and all of the things I hold most dear the name of this bakery is-- wait for it--- PETER PAN.
I think we all know why that would be a problem for me.
Do tell him if you see him- any of you who work at the Theatre IV. Tell him he is enough to put me off my Danish.
And then let me know what he says. Cause that's really saying something.
Ate a bowl of beans tonight.
Am very exicted about receiving my prize from the Navy.
Did 20 push-ups today. Feel like I have an angry cat situated inside my armpit.
Sunday night there are plans for a minor-incredibly intense going away hoo-ha for Sam. At some bar in the East Village called---wait for it again---this one is worth a long wait---
Epistrophy.
Now- that might be a word all to itself that I am just ignorant of the meaning, but upon first hearing I felt sure that it was some clever take on Apostrophe. Which just strains my teeth.
David and Aly get married on Tuesday. I think they are most necessary together and hope all goes off well. I will expect a report on the food from someone.
That Epistrophy thing might very well be clever. I'll investigate.
Joe Doran is about to explode through my skylight in a blaze of orange curls and black denim. I have not gone out to The Duplex to hear Zak sing something Sondheim.
I will catch it about this tomorrow.
But for now- I have Season 1 of Dawson's Creek. Borrowed from Perry. Have decided since it is raining and I don't have to be up early that I will sit here on this big red couch and watch the entire thing. Enjoy Pacey.

The Last Five Years

2009-08-27T19:55:00.001-07:00

1. Spanish rap really gets me going.

2. Why is the Statue of Liberty green? Who picked that? I will look it up.

So this morning, after I overslept and missed going to see a show with Sam, I took a LENGTHY shower, wherein I washed everything-- oh no no no- first of all, when I opened my eyes this morning, I thought, "I feel chilly." And then I started wide awake and grinned like a monkey and was so happy. Pranced directly into the kitchen to stand in front of the giant window and feel the breeze. Because feeling nip in the wind like that reminds me of fall and Christmas, which I love. And I got very happy.

But then shower. And put on my tomato shirt that has profanity on it, and my cute blue skirt and my ever present orthopedic shoes and minced off to meet Sam at his apartment. Unfortunately, the subway is completely broken. We go one stop and then stall for about twenty minutes. Which to me is fine. I wear my sunglasses in the subway so as to stare at and analyze whomever I wish without appearing rude. But the man next to me was furious. Stamping his feet, swearing, bouncing up and down, storming back and forth. Finally got off. The train immediately resumed.

Sam and I go to find him an orange juice so he doesn't "kill everyone." We then drive to the outskirts of Philadelphia where we are scheduled to drop off a few boxes at his friend Alyse's parents' house to hold until after he gets back from his winter theater gig. In the car on the way there, we stop at the first Burger King we find. My soul rejoices at the first slurp of my french fries. I get a veggie burger, thanks to Scott. I am immediately in a better mood because now there are spaces between buildings.

We drive for about an hour. I announce that I am going to be an angry woman unless I get a diet coke. We discuss how Alyse's mother will no doubt try to force some lunch down us and be overly helpful in every way. Sam calls her to reassure her that we have already eaten and are about an hour away.

We arrive, I am clapsed to Nancy's bosom in a hug straightaway. She urges us to go "attend to ourselves in the lavatory, and then come out for HOAGIES!" She serves us meatwad sandwiches the size of my calf -and we all know how large that is, don't we Chase? We cannot eat these very easily because of the recent Burger King, but we try. We are there for about an hour and a half, and during this time, Nancy does not draw breath. She talks. We chew. And smile and have manners.

We then leave under the pretense of going to watch a rehearsal in central Philly, but in reality just drive there, park, get out and walk around to look at all the sights. The historical sights. We go into where the Declaration of Independence took place. We are given a free tour by a tour guide man who treated all of the tourists as though they were new recruits to boot camp. If you leaned against a drape wrong you knew you would be dropping and giving fifty. Or shot.

Before we go into this place, we have to be searched by the cops. As I hand over my backpack, thereby removing the strap from across my chest, I remember about my shirt. The second I do, the large burly policeman begins reading it aloud. I am stuck still, wondering whether he will be highly insulted and demand me to leave and certainly not go into Liberty Hall or whatever it was with that bit of profanity on my breasts, or be amused.

He then bellows with laughter. He encourages all of his cop buddies to read it as well. So that was a hit.

I have now been to Philadelphia. Remembered today that I have also been to Massachusettes. Liked Cape Cod.

I'm pooped.

Holy Cokunion.

2009-08-26T17:22:00.000-07:00

Ok. Let's see.
Once again- no- twice again now, I have begun blogs and then hit that damned button combination that I have mentioned before. So this time I am typing like my fingers are en pointe.
So this will probably be very short.
The other night I was up all night sweating and having heart palpitations because I had a nightmare where I ran into Tom in a mud shower in the grand foyer of a delapitated historical New Orleans mansion and he immediately turned into John Lithgow and began trying to murder me.
Terror. He LOVES that I had this dream.
So in the intervening time since last I blogged, I have done much of the same as I have been doing. Helped Sam pack primarily. We had everything boxed up and ready to go and found ourselves with half an hour of downtime so he flopped out and began drooling and I put some Ben Folds on the music player and began to read. His mother calls within seconds. And proceeds to call every 54 seconds on the button for the next half hour.
She was on her way to New York and, true to form, had decided to overrule all of Sam's instructions on how to drive into Manhattan and to follow her GPS. Unfortunately the GPS directed her to a small island in the middle of the Atlantic that Sam had never heard of.
I stop listening after phone call #6.
She finally arrives, with her dog Petra, a Ziploc bag of gorgeous mushy banana bread (I can make some bitchin' banana bread, if anyone was wondering) and fully gowned in a brown velour sweatsuit with an enormous pink poppy embroidered over the right half of her butt.
Sam and his mother both declare right off that it will be no problem to have this all loaded in about twenty minutes.
We then spend about an hour and a half discussing, staring, eating bread, feeding the dog, speaking with the dog, arguing, debating, sobbing, sweating, etc. until the decision is finally made as to what needs to be carried out to the truck first.
There is a small bald man who sits out on Sam's stoop everyday and has for the last 22 years or something like that who does not speak to anyone, but beams at you if you make eye contact, and when he walks, tilts noticeably to the rear. This is reportedly due to a lobotomy he experienced early on in life. We know this because June, Sam's landlady, is very forthcoming and Swedish.
The truck is finally successfully, and I might add, impressively loaded. Sam's mother has contorted herself several times throughout the evening into the size of pretzel that would fit into a box of Nerds.
During all this, I have lashed the dog to the piano. Having figured out that this was the best way to contain the animal, I performed the slip knot with great speed and agility and was secretly very impressed with myself and thought my father would be proud.
Then Sam and his mother go out for steaks and I go home for chunk chicken.
I don't remember what happened the day after that. Oh yes I do. I went into Manhattan for some small errand or the other, and once completed, decided I would walk to the top of Central Park. From Union Square. Took quite some time. Was FORCED to buy a bottle of water. That is one good thing about oppressive heat and thighs that touch. You want, and get, water.
Walked almost to the top. Which was lovely, and windy and I saw the Alice in Wonderland statue behind which Michael Hawke likes to tell me, he would lay out in the grass and charbroil himself for years at a time. Was excited about walking all the way up to the "Resevoir." Because on the map of the park just outside of giant stone prison that gets no mention on any map anywhere and may have just been in my imagination, the "Resevoir" looks enormous and very alluring.
Finally crest the hill, my calves pouring blood from my orthopedic shoes, and see it.
I approach.
Very unimpressive. It's just an enormous water hole with a wrought-iron fence around it. You may in no way approach the water, or even sit near it. Unless you want a fence pole up your instep.
Thusly discouraged, I exit the park at my nearest exit. Find myself on 89th and Central Park West. The nearest subway that I know of to get back (which is not saying a whole lot) is located at 50th. So I text Joseph to get his opinion. He texts back the same one I am thinking of. I think to myself, "I should have texted Sam."
So I walk. I stop on benches every 30 blocks or so to do a crossword. Am almost up to the Wednesdays. Once that happens I will be irate for days at a time. (Adam- I hope you're practicing.)
I go home to wait for Sam to call me. We had plans to go to Philly the next day and be touristy.
Sam does call me shortly thereafter.
We then spend an illuminating evening in the emergency room of Lenox Hill Hospital. Nothing happened, everyone is fine. High points of the night were the baby that was ahead of Sam in line in the lobby to be admitted to triage who was squealing and flashing her Flintstones panties, drinking handsoap out of the wall dispenser and singing about sunshine and vitamins. Clearly NOT ill. Also the other woman in line ahead of Sam. Looked a lot like Deb Clinton and as near as we could tell was stricken with the debilitating heath scare of having a rip in her contact.
We are finally taken back by Peter, who is a jolly, (Sam said homosexual) Korean teddy bear of a fellow. As he is taking Sam's information, he pauses periodically to have a gentle ribbing session with another nurse over who is using more of the printer paper, and to provide a detailed and lengthy explanation to an elderly gentleman in a dapper gray golf shirt who has staggered into the office on where he may go smoke his cigarette. Meanwhile Sam is fairly sure that his other lung is now collapsing. Oh well, priorities.
Sam compliments Peter on his sneakers. Peter is genuinely insulted.
Anyway, we finally go back to hook Sam up to the machines. We discover that Sam does not produce blood, only clotted cherry preserves.
We discover that in New York, the little sticky things they apply all over your chest to give you an EKG are substantially larger than those they use in Richmond. These are far too large for me to have gotten one lost under my breast for days.
We discover that after the late late late late late late re-run of the prior late show is over, poker comes on tv. Well, really only I discover that as at some point the doctor came in, pressed and prodded Sam all while staring deeply into my eyes, and then injected Sam's iv with some pain meds. He shortly thereafter started kicking his legs under the blanket like a toddler splashing in a mud puddle, giggling, and then zonked completely out.
We ulitmately discover that nothing serious is the matter, unplug Sam and go to the Hot & Crusty on 1st at 4 o'clock in the morning for pizza and sandwiches. This was very thrilling for me.
We then sleep.
I then apply putty to the nail holes in the walls of Sam's apartment. I cannot express in numeric form that human beings can grasp how many of those there are. Sam is an amazing, THOROUGH decorator.
I then become severely cranky and go home for a nap.
Joseph comes home and after he and Bri chug a gallon of Nutella and giggle about their new plates they are going to hang on the wall (I pointed out that it would be REALLY too bad if ever there were a earthquake) we head to Perry's for a relaxing evening of playing cards and eating salad.
Today I went to a very fishy and suspicous casting call, but it was interesting enough to stay for. Had my polaroid taken by some Ukranian woman with bobbed red curls. I was told they "liked my blue eyes." Very funny.
Then came home, read a book Joseph had fed me the night before about a woman's struggle with anorexia, bulimia, everything else under the sun that had me feeling like pressing my face into an iron when I was done.
Then got did, shuttled up to Harper Collins where I immediately used the bathroom, and then congregated with Joseph, Perry, Bri, and an entire bushel of Harper Collins publicists to begin the trek to someplace called Dumbo in Brooklyn where there was a very hooty hoo book-signing going on.
I was promised food, so I went.
This flock of Harper Collins people was most I think, like the Pick-A-Little ladies from The Music Man.
Never in my life have I seen so many pink slacks, white shoes (ONLY FOR TWO MORE WEEKS CAN WE RUN THIS RISK!!-Joseph Papa), fluorescent pink tropical flower printed shirts (this was the men), and skirts skirts skirts (from the girls). Skirts with things like green thin vines growing up your behind from the hem. Draws attention. Sometimes unnecessarily.
Everyone was flitting and schmoozing their way through the subway station. I took one look at Perry and realized that he was with me in that I would be much happier sitting on a porch shelling beans.
We go to a cement bookstore with columns and ART on the walls in this place called Dumbo. It is actually quite nice. I eat all of their grapes and am poured a cup of Diet Coke by the daughter of the author who seemed to be under the impression she was portioning out the liquid for Holy Communion.
As soon as it is over, I make sure my dress is still zipped, ask Perry where I am in the world, and play another round of Where Will This Subway Take You?
Arrived home. Tired. Tomorrow am going to Philadelphia with Sam, where I am in hopes that Alyse's mother will make us some grilled cheeses.
Robyn and Ginnie are back from California. That's good. I will keep my eyes peeled for the CNN report of Doris Day's disappearance.

Dickchicken. Or "full head of teeth." Couldn't decide.

2009-08-21T23:57:00.000-07:00

Tonight I learned two things.

One- I enjoyed having the "car called round."

Two- I want to work at the zoo.

I'm SORRY ADAM- that I have thus far been unable to come up with a pose next to to the Jon Hamm/water bus-stop that I feel is clever enough to take a picture of to send you.

Trust me, I try. Each time I pass one, and they are about 3 a block, I stop and stand in utter despair for about a minute trying to wrack my brain for amusing possibilities. So far the best idea I have come up with is to find a pitcher of water and pour it over my head while someone takes a picture of me standing next to old Jonny. But that would involve someone else holding my phone. Which x.

I have taken several pictures today of things that I felt were amusing. I sent these pictures to the people I thought would find them amusing as well. Have I heard anything in reply? NO. The excuse Tom will give is that he is in rehearsal.

One that I wanted to take a picture of but didn't as I elected to get inside somewhere instead of dying of sweat on the sidewalk was an enormous inflatable rooster on the corner by a Polish convenience store. Wanted to sling my arm around it's shoulders good-naturedly. Joseph wanted to call it, "Audra and her Cock." Which I felt was an economy sized can of worms to put up on facebook.

Yesterday I helped Sam move. Well, pack up. We decided via conference call at 2am that morning that he would call in sick to work with food poisoning. I was able to offer lots of tips on sounding convincingly ill on the phone. This is how I was able to be absent for most of fifth grade.
We spend a solid twenty minutes packing and then go out for refreshments. And to get boxes. He gets a bagel from a place called "Hot and Crusty." Everytime I see that title I think really hard for a little while. Feel sure there is some nastier name for that. Like, "Saggy and Crusty." But want to come up with a really good one before I decide.
We pack some more. I begin to stink. Because here, you can sit in a chair in front of a fan and still have your liver liquefied by the heat. Isn't really the heat so much I guess. Is that it is humid enough to choke a cat.
We then go out for lunch. To a very small newish pizza place a block from Sam's apartment called Artichoke. This place really entertains me because the counter is a height that my eyebrows can see over if I am fully on point in my orthopedic shoes. And they are high. Sam ordered our pizza with just his eyes showing. And the people behind the counter couldn't see over it either. But that piece of pizza, if married with a slice of Brunetti's- was the best pizza I have ever had. It was spinach/artichoke. And holy hell. I giggled and cried throughout the slice.
Which was a lot of giggling and crying because the slice was large enough that I was still eating for the next four blocks and through Sam's trips to Buffalo Exchange and some thrift store where he pawned off some old sweaters and wallets that appeared to be trash to me, but weren't.
Nothing takes me that long to eat. I was impressed. My mother, on the other hand, could easily spend an entire afternoon eating a radish slice. With knife and fork.
We pack some more. We both become furious and irrational. When this happens to Sam and I neither of us say a word. You can feel it. You know it will pass. And if either of us looks at the other we burst into giggles because we know we are being ridiculous.
At some point after I had thrown all the tupperware in the garbage and carefully removed his 4 foot porcelain/cement Madonna from the top of the kitchen cabinets, we decide to call it a day.
He walks me to the subway by way of a liquor store nearby called something like WASTED ON 1ST where he asks me if I would please go in and ask for boxes as they hate him in there now for his continued asking.
So, despite the fact that I am wearing men's XL basketball shorts and my orthopedic shoes, I gamely yank down my tank top a couple of inches in the front, lick the sweat off my teeth and sail inside. Sam is murmuring behind me, "Tits and teeth, Audra, tits and teeth." I approach the counter, cock a hip, tilt my head and with the dimples and drawl worthy of Plantation Atlanta O'Honaker say, "Hi! I'm movin', and I was just wondrin' if you had any little boxes around here that I could please take to help me out a little bit?"
I am immediately given the deed to the store.
So Sam goes into the back with the storekeeper's henchman while I fiddle around with the crates of wine at the counter and smile and sigh a lot.
He comes back momentarily with more boxes than you could shake a stick at, I simper, "Thank you SO much." And we are almost out when a really awesome Madonna song from the eighties comes on the radio. Without thinking I grumble in pure Audranian "Now, might be necessary to stay here and listen to this song."
Sam snatches me out of the store faster than I've ever been snatched anywhere.
I have no memory of what I did last night after I got home and took the world's longest shower. Think might have gone to bed - oh nope- went to Perry's to watch Project Runway.
Then tonight Joseph and I and his Penthouse magazine walked across the bridge to Brooklyn to hang out at Perry's. On our walk across the bridge he made sure I saw all the high points, like where the great oil spill of 1957 happened, and where Perry was mugged at knifepoint. Twice.
This is part of why I had a car called round to bring me home this evening.
We went out for sushi at a place called Wasabi in that had a framed photo on the wall of the entire staff surrounding John Travolta, a lone purple fish, and a bathroom where you got rained on while you washed your hands.
Then we played a lengthy game of cards called Phase 10. I'm going to teach Perry how to play Pounce so that we can have some diversion during our afternoons of making necklaces for Miley Cyrus.
Am going to go do that trapeze thing by the river I think. I looked it up today, and it is not nearly as expensive as I had thought it would be.
Ok. I can't see anymore. Downside of contacts of fans.

Janine in a straw hat.

2009-08-20T16:21:00.000-07:00

Adam wants a new one one of these everyday, and I thought I was being all considerate by waiting until the evening to type so as to cover the maximum of whatever has gone down on a particular day.
But NO- I get a crabby facebook message from him at about 4pm today grilling my cheese for a new entry. So I suppose I'll set my alarm for 4 in the morning and get right on top of that.
Completely kidding.
So let's see.
Oh yes- the Russian book signing. I was the only girl there in a multitude of at least 19- all middle aged scroungy looking men with ratty limp gray ponytails and stained t-shirts. All of them completely besotted with Anna Karenina or whatever her name was. They were there an hour early (and yes, I was too, but that's only because I wasn't certain what train to get on and could very easily have wound up in Denver).
When Lliudmilla finally appeared it was in black opaque tights, leather boots that stopped just sub-crotch and a tiiiiiiiny white t-shirt that said something like "Strangulate" in black twisty letters.
She had hair bleached 16 shades of blond and a face bleached 16 shades of raisin. She had what appeared to be a chain of 5 or 6 cotton balls on a stick under one arm but then I noticed it had eyes. Turned out to be her doggie Gorbie. I met Gorbie later on as Joseph had been assigned to hold him after Marina dumped him on the floor mid-presentation and he began to make motions suspiciously indicative of urination. I had SUCH high hopes for a urination onstage at the Columbus Circle Borders.
Gorbie was shaved so closely to the skin that he looked like a pig who had had an accident regarding glue and Q-tip residue. He was shaking. From cold or from horror it was unclear. I patted him very hard and that didn't help at all.
Natalia had good things to say- inspiring things about how she had moved here straight from here Geography class in Moscow six years ago (where she hadn't learned anything from being too busy staring at her professor) to be an au pair in California. And then she just decided, "Hey, no one that I know of puts on their bra and leather panties and defines carrot in front of the camera for the world to see! I'll do that!" And how she spent a year doing it on her own and then got picked up to do a book deal etc. It was a very high-spirited speech.
But Katarina had no concept of order or framework to her speech and by the time 3 1/2 hours had passed her boyfriend Socrates (might not have been her boyfriend, might just have been a large pulsing pile of spilled tattoo ink) began jumping up and down wildly behind the back row to get her to can it.
After this, I strolled over to Lincoln Center, where I was supposed to meet Sam and Co. for an outdoor concert by a pair of people named Stu and Heidi.
I'm tired of typing now.
Will say more about this tomorrow potentially.
Had a great time at the concert. Was the first one I'd ever been too. Was loud, and there were drums, and horns and it was AWESOME. And four black people wailing their gums off DR and at one point during what was apparently a really invigorating rendition of "It Don't Mean A Thing," I look over and nudge Sam when I notice hot attractive young man and voluptuous slightly older woman have abandoned their microphones altogether in favor of a far DR cross where they have forgotten there is a concert going on altogether and have commenced dry-humping instead.
For the rest of the concert, Voluptuous Slightly Older would look over at Hot Attractive Young during his ooohs and lick her lips just a little.
Was so so good though. Will say more.

Puppies in pouches.

2009-08-19T11:40:00.000-07:00

I typed an ENORMOUS post last night. And then deleted the entire thing because something in the way I hold my hands when I type keeps hitting some mysterious combitnation of buttons on this computer that have staggering results like deleting my blogs and causing the computer to vanish entirely.
And now I don't remember anything that I had typed about. Except running into Jonathan Spivey on a corner just north of Union Square and having him give me a one armed hug and turn the corner without breaking stride. Don't think he knew he I was, but as I seemed to know his name, he felt obliged.
In some show someday when I'm in my sunset years I will need to base my character off of this woman in the Fedex. You'll just have to wait and see.
Ginnie just told me she just witnessed an orca killing and then consuming a sea lion. I don't think I have ever been more jealous.
I'm really into my new magic shoes. They make me about three inches taller and something about the way the bottoms curve makes it possible for me to produce the swingy ponytail/wind in the hair thing with every stride.
I'm trying to figure out some way to go to Canada over the next five weeks. I have realized that if all goes as planned, from top to bottom of this holiday, I will have visited 11 states. Which ups my total considerably. No-12.
I have been so busy walking around and swinging my hair that I have completely forgotten to chew my fingernails. My father will be THRILLED.
Fell madly into romantic novel damsel in self-inflicted distress love with the subway attendant last night. Am now pretty much over it. But the tale might bear telling.
At around 9pm, I had constructed an outfit that, while completely covering all my private areas, and still looking non-hoey, managed to weigh only 4.7 oz and keep me relatively cool. I put on my sparkling orthopedic shoes and skipped down the stairs. Shut all three doors of the apartment behind me. Locked. Knew I had no key yet but had firm plans to make a copy of Joseph's in the morning.
Shut the door. Turned around. The sky was full of more lightening than I have ever seen all at once. And there were whipping gusts of wind and if I looked to my right I could see the Empire State Building swaying just a little.
Oh well, locked out.
Go down into the subway. Sit. Stare back at the construction men. Then stare at the sign that says that from today until the end of October there will be no more late-night trains into Manhattan from this stop.
Exit the subway directly into the end of the world. Exit the end of the world directly into the pizza place on the corner.
Am getting pretty good at the subways, and after several rounds of "Get On The Subway Without Consulting The Map And See Where You Go And See If You Can Get Back Without Cheating," I am confident in my Manhattan abilities.
In Queens I may as well be trying to alphabetize jelly.
So I call Joseph who tells me that he will call the upstairs neighbor. She doesn't answer. (Joseph is out for the evening, by the way, not just being a jerk and letting me learn my lesson for locking myself out.) So I lean against the pizza parlor and observe the streaks of lightening and feel the hot little prickles of pre-storm droplets and decide that being stranded outside lost in the electrical storm disaster of '09 can either be a scary death situation or a grand adventure. Decide on the latter as I have on my brown hat from the Mill and my polka dot skirt and am feeling pretty untouchable.
Immediately after I make this decision the Pacific Ocean is dumped onto the corner of 44th and the pizza place.
I go underground. (See, doesn't that just sound so dangerous and exciting?)
I am approached by a handsome Indian man who works in the subway and informed that the trains x. I tell him I know this and ask if I can please wait here until the deluge is over.
I do not hear how he answers due to a earth-shaking thunderclap, but he walks away so I figure it's fine.
Well, the rain doesn't stop, so the man approaches me again, asks me where I'm going, and asks if I would like to take the shuttle.
Whenever someone asks me if I would like to take the shuttle, I get nervous. For no good reason, except in my mind I envision some tubular vehicle that will be way up high and cost me a lot of money which I will be required to know something about space in order to ride.
This shuttle is a bus. He says for me to come with him.
So I go. He thinks I am interesting I think, as he keeps looking sideways at me. I ask him a question so he will have something talk about.
As we walk down under the streets along the subway lines we pass dozens of wet, bereft people, construction workers, a dazzling Jamaican woman wearing a rainbow dress, an Indian woman wearing a drapery from Linens 'N Things and her little brother; and to each party of people Sir Subway announes "NO MORE TRAINS!"
Watching each of their faces as he announced this was very entertaining.
So one by one they start following us.
We are like Moses and his trusty sidekick She-Ra. Or something. Felt like I was in the Poseiden after it has just flipped when someone finally decided to find a way out, and some banded together to try, and we were those people.
(Sidenote- my father told me one Sunday on the way home from church that "The Poseidon Adventure" had been on that morning, he had taped it, and it was a good movie that I would enjoy. I go into the basement and watch it. I still have nightmares.)
So we arrive at the end of a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG corridor with those moving walkways which I adore. They are of course not on. But Sir Subway gestures to the end of the walkway 5 kilometers away and indicates a woman in a orange vest from whom I am to get a ticket. I am then to go outside and get on the shuttle which will take me to eia;heia eiagoa (had no idea what he said) and then I can get on a train to Manhattan.
Ok.
So I smile and thank him and stride off.
Me, Jamaica, and Indian brother woman hustle down this walkway.
I get my ticket and go outside.
Outside is the Great Tampoon.
The only vehicle I can see anywhere that is running is a small van across the street. So I swim across the street and smile and tap on the window. It is rolled down to reveal a bus full of construction workers and one of their girlfriends cackling at this wet dotted woman in orthopedic shoes who is trying to board the construction bus. They point out the shuttle stop a block away.
So I go down there and lean against a plexiglass wall next to a Japanese man who is wearing brown, tan and ecru. I glance over at what he is doing on his phone. He is watching Beyonce videos.
I get excited and feel very cultural when I realize that I think out of all eight people under the shelter I am the only one with English as a first language.
About half an hour later, after I have learned all there is to know about the poor health and hospitalized state of Abdu Kharam Ahkal who is the father of the woman in front of me, the shuttle comes. I get on.
The bus driver is an elderly white haired tub of a man with round spectacles. He says to me, "Hello, Gorgeous," and I turn around immediately to make sure Jamaica and Indian brother woman are getting on with me. They are.
This bus is really something. It has blue seats and a balcony in the back. I just sat there and thought about how wonderful it was that a bus had a balcony.
So we ride the bus for about twenty minutes during which I make a few attempts to look out the window and gauge where I might be. I decided it was either Astoria or Boise.
Stopped trying to figure it out.
We stop at a dark rainy corner and are ejected from the bus.
We go down an escalator that is covered in trash and hasn't moved for 15 years for about three stories into one of the upper levels of hell where all the walls are burning orange and everyone you see presents a threat of crimes against your person ranging from pick-pocketing to kitten assassination.
I sit on a bench between my new buddies Jamaica and Indian Brother.
The first train that comes everyone lifts off the bench to board like cobras had just gotten up their skirts.
We get on. By now I am secretly hoping that I will go somewhere utterly bizarre just so I can add to this story.
We ride long enough for me to finish about eight chapters of Kevin Nealon's new book about his wife's pregnancy.
I consult the stops list (in the interest of time, as Sam had been expecting me for what was going on two hours now and should have been 20 minutes) and decide to get off at 14th St. As to where on 14th St. that would be was anyone's guess.
Indian Brother had gotten off several stops ago and 3% of me wanted to go with her as I at least knew if I went with her I would either end up eating something spicy, or in the Intensive Care Unit visting her father.
Got off at 14th. Was immediately presented with the option of boarding the bus to Jersey.
Decided against that. Went to the nearest exit.
Emerged to a beautiful, wonderfully just-rained smelling corner of Manhattan that I understood.
Still had to walk about 17 blocks east to get where I was going, but was worth it. I love how it smells after it has just rained, and I think having a lot of wet pavement makes the smell even better.
So that's what I did last night.
Am tonight scheduled to go to a book signing Joseph is in charge of with some Mattel-manufactured Russian blond who has written a book explaining the etymology of lots of English words and wears leather and pink lace and has a boyfriend named Socrates.

He's so dreamy.

2009-08-16T19:58:00.000-07:00

Woke up like a (well I was going to say cock but that is just asking for it) rooster every thirteen minutes throughout the night last night. No idea why.
When I finally woke up for the morning I went to open my eyes and could not. Eyelids stuck together like thighs and a carseat. Glued by sleepy cheese.
Dealt with that. Then decided since yesterday I walked up and down Manhattan today I would walk side to side. That went very well for about five blocks until I found myself in the middle of an industrial plant and millions of middle aged women in sweatsuits.
Turned around. Decided to walk to the other side and look at the water. But got distracted by the siren's song of the Strand Bookstore. I told Adam that is where I want my ashes scattered.
By this time it was 567 degrees outside so I found a pile of mulch under a tree in Union Square and sat myself down to do a crossword puzzle. I was surrounded by millions of thin veiny Native Americans sunning themselves and one hairy blond man explaining to everyone that he was a peace-causer and demonstrating how he could sound exactly like a whale.
Sat there until I was hungry and then went to the market for some lunch. Was dressed down thoroughy and, I felt, a touch harshly by a man beside me in line when I failed to properly decode the 64 inch flatscreen tv that flashed numbers backed with various shades of pastel to indicate which line you are to check out in.
Oh well, ate my sushi.
Read a book about Carrie Fisher and why she is bitter and tries to make inappropriate comments to mask her insecurity. Also how she wasn't allowed to wear a bra in space and had to use gaffe tape.
Hailed a cab with Joseph and moved all my stuff to Brooklyn.
Went for a lovely walk around Perry's neighborhood during which I met an elderly blond crunched up woman and her matching Pekingese. Named WADDLES.
Ate pizza, watched Zac Efron on tv and listened to Joseph squirm and spiggle on the couch behind me whenever Zac would act or inhale.
Met two alarmingly thin girls who knew Joseph. Thought they were twins. One of them kept darting her eyes around throughout the whole conversation. This one had a carrot once.
The other one kept laughing to show how amused she was and when she would laugh her nose would erupt into an ocean of wrinkles. Did not point this out. This is the sort of thing she would be devastated by, I got a feeling.
The young man behind the counter in the pizza establishment called out "Ladies? What can I do for you?" I look over my shoulder. Joseph and I are the last in line. Joseph soothes the couterperson by telling him that he is frequently mistaken for a a girl.
It's hot as a mole scrotum.

Lesson.

2009-08-15T19:53:00.001-07:00

Yesterday Sam and I got up silently and with great fury at 5am. We spuffled into our shoes and walked in utter darkness the quarter mile to the beach. Utter darkness that is, until the floodlamp from a giant trashtruck came out of the black like the killer in any horror movie you may have seen.

We avoid getting hit by said trashtruck.

We stand on the beach after arranging Shamova in a very appealing "adopt me young child" pose at the base of the stairs by the beach access.

We then walk down the beach toward the north to wait for the sunrise after we realize that we have perhaps arrived approximately half an hour too early.

I based my judgment on sunrise time off of sunrise time three weeks ago when Robyn and I went and got wet and fancy in the river.

Time has passed.

So we wait until all of the sky is rosier than before. We have realized we will see no such sunrise this morning as there are clouds everywhere.

Then we load up the car with our two blond sons and more luggage than should be discussed and begin to drive.

We proceed to drive for 14 hours.

Along the way we stop at Stuckey's. I stop myself from buying a glittery ceramic mermaid on a rock.

We experience three "tampoons" which is a new word for heavy rainstorm.

We drive through the base of Virginia at 160 miles an hour and drop Joseph and Perry off at the airport where they collect a rental car and depart to maybe have breakfast with Katie Ukrop.

I realize that it is still breakfast time.

Sam and I go to Hopewell, where I hug and kiss my mother, zip up my sundresses in a garment bag and steal a Fiber1 bar. Which are now my new favorite thing.

We go to Petersburg, where we attempt to raid the refrigerator but fail as it contains naught but coke and yogurt, steal a brooch from Sam's mother's store and I roll around in the floor with Petra.

We then go and utterly confound the employees of the Colonial Heights Burger King by ordering veggie burgers.

I consider driving by the Mill just to ask Tom if I can borrow a Sunkist.

We then drive to New York.

I will say nothing on the topic of this leg of trip except to mention that Sam and I should be cast as Coalhouse and Sarah at once and I think they rename the rest stops on the Jersey Turnpike every few years as they used to be recognizable, like Molly Pitcher, and are now things like Janice Butts.

We go through the Holland Tunnel.

Sam chains me to the bumper while he unloads our luggage into his apartment as we did not find a parking space in front and having me as an accessory would doubtless discourage most car thieves.

Sam then leans down with a face full of despair and bags and hands me the keys. I go inside. He goes to pick up his friend Ali and drive to Philadelphia.

Texted him this morning to make sure he made it in once piece and he did. He is full of cheesesteak and exhausted beyond any understanding of metaphor. I tried.

I met his subletter when she strode directly into Sam's room from the front door and was met by the vision of me in his bed without my shirt on.

Met her.

Feel sure she spent at least ten minutes back in her room shaking her head and muttering, "I would have SWORN Sam was gay."

Slept.

Woke up.

Took a brief shower so as not to contract feral rust cancer from the showerhead, dressed, loaded up my trusty backpack (thank you Scott- for that anyway), and set off.

Walked 914,637 miles. Decided to teach myself New York today.

Have a debit sized card with a map of Manhattan on it. Promised myself not to look at it.

Went to bank, park, considered asking the softball players if they needed a first baseman then remembered I was wearing a short skirt.

Sweated a lot.

Developed a fearsome boiling toothed rash on my thighs.

Smiled at a lot of people. Said hello and was friendly to those waiting on me. Enjoyed it. Have someone very particular to thank for that.

Went to the movies. They have seats here that are sitting by themselves. Joy.

Saw a movie where you are shown how it will end REPEATEDLY throughout and everyone sobs anyway. I did not sob. I kept trying to figure out Angie's obsession with Eric Bana. He is a very handsome man.

Shucks the kitten.

2009-08-11T08:58:00.000-07:00

Well, the beach.

We were off to a energetic start two hours later than we'd planned on. I was not a bit surprised by this. We nearly lost the passenger side door and half of Adam when we narrowly avoided a sideswipe from a round Muslim woman the color of driftwood wearing crocs outside of the UPS store in Carytown.

Then it was decided we wanted something to drink. I suggested 7-11. I was the only member of the party willing to purchase coffee from 7-11. Joseph feels he is being the opposite of pretentious by refusing to do so. So we decide on a trendy little appropriately pretentious coffee shop in Carytown where everyone except me purchases danishes and sandwiches and iced coffee. Joseph purchased 3 large sweet teas. I said nothing about this.

So we squish into the backseat. I read a book about an elephant named Modoc who was very sweet and got a bull hook in her eye.

We take one violently wrong turn by a 7-11 in North Carolina which took us straight into Surry Co., VA. Then we turned around.

Arrived at the beach FAR TOO EARLY. We went to eat lunch at some little restaurant where a woman worked behind the bar who is from Hopewell and knows my mother and Sam.

Bought my brother a t-shirt from The Black Pelican as the one he bought when he was 10 is now a little worn.

Go by the rental office to see if we can have the key three hours early. Cannot. Decide to drive by and see the house and walk on the beach while we wait. We arrive on the beach. Adam has to pee instantly. We leave. Go to Wings for the peeing. While in Wings I purchase a large beach towel with a black horse on it because I thought I forgot my large sunshine towel. Didn't. Also purchased for $12.00 one of those seven foot inflatable killer whales to ride on. Used to love blowing those up when I was little. It seemed to impress everyone and make them say things like, "We always knew Audra was full of hot air." Which I remember thinking probably wasn't a very nice thing to say, but still, I had just blown up a freaking shark.

So I blow up some of the whale and then Joseph takes it and becomes very light-headed and says nothing that makes any sense for half an hour.

Named him Shamova as the instructions printed on his belly are in Russian. He's talking more and more every day.

But anyway, we finally get into the house. Which is like the Golden Girls house if all the rooms were in a stack on top of each other.

The water is cold. Which in the past would have completely immobilized me but for some reason this time I don't mind.

The tanning competition is going well. Joseph and I are pretty much neck and neck, though at the moment he is gaining some ground because I am at the house waiting for Sam to arrive.

We've all agreed that the woman playing "Wednesday" in the Nuvaring birth control commercial is really a stand-out.

Joseph and I have gotten into a big fight about polar bear preservation. Which I think is for now just shelved and will be brought up with gusto when we are in the nursing home.

Maggie keeps making egg salad.

Adam and I do lots of crossword puzzles.

Perry catches me lots of little crabs on the beach for me to play with.

I have so far nudged and picked up a jellyfish. An x jellyfish. Today hope to slice one up.

We have gone on many evening beach walks. Beach sits.

I threw the porch table over the side of the building.

This morning I came downstairs and there was a box of fresh hot Duck Donuts. At Duck Donuts, they dunk the donuts in the frosting of your choice right in front of you.

Oh, yesterday Adam spotted a whole slew of dolphins not very far from shore. They were jumping and circling all around a man in a kayak.

Also we are making a list of fabulous future kitten names that we will randomly come up with throughout the day. I will post this list after vacation.

Found my blue hoodie. Ruined it.

2009-08-05T10:22:00.001-07:00

Most important bulletin in years: There is now a craft/antique shop located on the road to the Mill called: DUMPLIN' HOLLER.
I don't have the words.
Clearly someone drained my brainwaves and wrote down the two words that most encapsulate me and carved them into a sign.
Makes me want to be cheeks.
Second most important bulletin in years: I was eating my cucumber and hummus and doing the-- beating Adam at-- the crossword at Joe's Inn yesterday when my friend Ben, who is the bartender, strolled up with what appeared to be a cup of chocolate milk. Wasn't. He proceeded to explain that instead of receiving a shipment of chocolate milk, they received liquid chocolate ice cream mixture.
And I got to drink it.
Was so naughty feeling.
Delish.
Also, the "Lord of the Rings" application on Photoshop makes you look like you have a flashlight in your liver.
Made chicken fajitas with Ginnie the other night. I think I was actually a little helpful and not quite so underfoot this time. Though I was completely stumped when she offhandedly instructed me to slice the chicken breasts in half length-wise- from the side. I just stood there holding the knife and staring at the four breasts until she realized I had no idea what to do and showed me.
Slept with my reluctant lover, Ned, for about ten minutes the other night.
What have I done? Know I had a lot to write about and now cannot remember.
Oh.
I ate lobster. It was excellent, but I must confess the real joy of the process was shredding apart the shell and extracting the chubby meat. I got to do most everyone's at the table. As a result, my shells bucket was overflowing.
Also, there is a reality show on BBC-TV that is a competition to determine who will play Maria in the West End production of "The Sound of Music." One of the competitors performed "Cabaret" clad in a sequined red tissue mounted on the crotch of a male ensemble member.
Might make new word: ensembler.
I am not one to boast of selecting fabulous audition material, but really.
Starving. I am supposed to select where we go out for dinner tonight, and I HATE that. I always know exactly where I want to go when it is just me. Should not open that can of worms.
My brother, who hasn't smiled since kindergarten, was recently spotted grinning in front of the fridge. We discovered he was looking at the picture of me upside down in the river.
Priceless.
Painted the back wall of the Empire today in "Antique Mahoghany." Find it funny that the name of the shade used for the back wall of cinderblocks is "Antique Mahoghany."
Is that how you spell that?
Third important bulletin- SEAN WILLIAMS IS A GRYFFINDOR.*
Adam said he tried to discipline Betty Draper the other day by placing her under the faucet of running water. Instead of being alarmed, she went into limp pussy mode and hung there with her characteristic disinterested scowl. I reminded him that those kittens had three baths a day when they were small so that will not work as punishment.
Not sure what to recommend as an alternative. Perhaps fire.
Everyone should shave their housecat at least once.
I am so excited about the beach. We are now amply armed with crosswords and books. Which is all I really do at the beach anyway. Except this time I have to compete with Joseph in the tanning-off. Which will be a fairly interesting race until Sam arrives and is Ethiopian in half an hour.
Also I PLAY at the beach. Which is why I typically beach in board shorts and a tank top. One is just asking for a comprimising situation when one is going to tumble around in the waves in pink thread and a couple of eye-patches.
My brother and I used to play Baywatch when we were little. I think this time that Joseph will not object too strenuously to being the victim so that Sam and I can shout things like "Daphne! I've got this! Back me up!" and drag him to shore.
Maggie had stated firmly that she will do nothing but stand in the inch high water with her hands on her hips staring off to sea. This is perfect for Maggie. Probably she will shift her weight to one leg and lift one hand to shade her eyes as she squints to read one of those helicopter banners too. That is what those standing beach people do.
What should it say. I should have one flown over.
It will say, MARGARET GET IN THE WATER YOU OLD WOMAN. Or, JOSEPH YOUR HAIR HAS LOOKED BETTER!
Or, ADAM DID YOU REMEMBER TO TOUCH UP THAT RED SPOT IN THE SKY ON THE SHOEMAKER SET????
This will be fun. I welcome more suggestions.

*I don't really think that, but he was apparently very disapproving of his assignment. So if his mother shows this to him, I have typed ample blather between that statement and this footnote to keep him from seeing the explanation.

Where do porcupines live in the winter?

2009-07-25T11:14:00.001-07:00

Last night.

Oh I just noticed I have a big pink stain on my dress. Is probably popsicle.

I went to see "Fully Committed." Had a very fetching date (MV) in a sky blue shirt and ivory slacks. That sounds mysterious. We ate globs of mozzarella cheese, fried green tomatoes and crab dip. Also I had diet coke, which I received free.

Got some tomatoes as well, which leaked all over my crotch in the car and made for a real-conversation starter of a stain.

Saw Essie. I complimented her on her necessary cow pin with three pearls dangling as udders. Thought, "I would love to wear that."

After the show, she gave it to me. Which was the most wonderful thing in weeks. Put it right on.

Jill Bari wants it now.

Have named it Esther.

Scott was stupendously excellent.

There. I've said a nice thing about him. That'll be that.

Robert Throckmorton was there. He always looks so nice. And expensive. White slacks.

Also so funny. Feel like I have an in with some important titled people in England because I know him.

Want to bring my whole family to see it.

The show, not Robert. Boy, that'd be awkward.

Though it was a very different experience watching him do it as opposed to just listening to him do it from the floor with my eyes closed. Wantatuba had choreography I wasn't mentally prepared for. No matter. She still made me clutch my cheeks and chortle.

Anyhow. I didn't go to softball this morning as I was out rather late eating pie with Wendy and Michael and arguing with Scott. Also I woke up at the crack of 6am certain that someone was locked in my bathroom. Trapped. I heroically sprang out of bed and ran around to the door and knocked smartly.

Wasn't trapped.

Admired the sunlight on the wall and hardwood floor as it looks so beautiful at that hour and not again during the day. Then went back to sleep.

Surprise sleeps between my jaw and my shoulder. He loves me.

I have done quite a collection of astoundingly peculiar things in my sleep. Woke up once kneeling on the side of the bed with my face pressed to the wall hissing like a snake. Loudly. Was, I think, convinced I was Harry Potter.

Also once woke Brett up clapping my hands and squealing "Oh look! Oh look! My collection!" Woke up, realized I had been sure I had designed my final collection for Project Runway based around my Carebear that sits at the head of the bed. He's the grouchy one with thunder on his tummy. I also had a big yellow Carebear when I was small with a cupcake on his tummy. I don't remember him from the books.

Grouchiness and cupcakes.

It's a beautiful day.

Just went over to feed Lola and Betty Draper. Betty Draper greeted me with lots of bites and scratches so I kicked her across the room. That got through to her pretty well. I think Maggie is more tender in her discipline. Betty then draped (ahahaha) herself all over me with licks and purring and then nestled down to sleep on my back. I am dozing off as well when I hear SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK!

I roll over and notice that she has gotten a good fourth of her tail down her throat and has been cheerfully sucking it for all it's worth.

Now- this is a recurring problem. When kittens are very young, they are blind, and all they do is nurse and sleep. And fall off of high counter tops, but that's beside the point.

You just put the bottle in their mouth and off they go. Well, Betty really liked the sucking action from the bottle. Soothing to her.

Also- when kittens are under 3-4 weeks old they have to be stimulated to cause them to use the bathroom. This is typically done by the mother, who licks them in their "AREAS."

But when you raise them by hand you have to do it. With your mouth.

Really with a paper towel.

But back to the blind thing. When I would leave the kittens alone in their box they would be asleep. Then I would come home and there would be pee and poop all over the place and Surprise would by lying prone on his back with a look of shock (hence the name) on his face. Betty would be right there between his legs going to town.

In her blindness, she mistook his junk for a nipple. Which in turn, made him pee and poop with no end in sight.

And this was not something I could ever get her to stop. It was like sharks after a hemophiliac.

You would just have to grab her and toss her across the room.

Thought that she had outgrown this habit. Nope. That is what she is doing with her tail.

Loud. Can't nap through it.

Debra and I are going to wear our brightly colored woolies to the cabaret tomorrow.

I'm starving.

Boar vagina.

2009-07-23T17:31:00.001-07:00

So a game I like to play is to come up with outlandish ideas for what the secret ingredient would be on Iron Chef America.

This is a fabulous game.

Just try.

The title is one example.

Also I like to think how I would be on that show and the ingredient would be swordfish and the commentator would be so confused watching me plate bowls of Fruity Pebbles and Pop-Tarts and just laying a whole entire swordfish over top of all of my plates.

I have never eaten lobster. I would like to. Imagine it might taste like shrimp.

I really want to go to IHOP. Am all for getting a bunch of us together and going.

Oh the sky is lovely tonight. Is lavender with balls of pink.

Went to see "The Hangover" today. I laughed very much. I also enjoyed that my party was the only party in the theater. I always secretly hope that will happen and it hasn't til today. But then I do think it takes away a bit from the movie-going experience when you do not have to whisper.

Apparently such a thing exists as "mashed potato soup." I just got very excited.

I imagine one would have to use an awful lot of quail eggs to make a decent sized omelet.

This has turned into an all about food blog. Should be on Janine's page.

Am trying to read "Love in the Time of Gonorrhea." Have yet to get hooked, though the description on the back seems promising.

I'm hungry now. Must decide what to do about that.

Ok.

2009-07-22T08:29:00.000-07:00

ALL THIS IS MEANT AS HIGHEST COMPLIMENT. I HAVE NEVER BEEN ONE TO FEEL THAT ANY OF THE HOUSES HAVE AN INHERENTLY NEGATIVE CONNOTATION.

My reasons could be as simple as I think you would look good in the house colors.

And why would I have put you on here if I didn't hold you in high regard. I wouldn't.

Harry Potter House Assignments:

RAVENCLAW

Paul Deiss

Brett Ambler
Emily Becker
Richard Koch

Ali Thibodeau

Jon Perez
Susan Sanford

Maggie Roop

Rachel Abrams

Frank Creasy

Lisa Kotula

Aly Wepplo

David Janeski

Erin Thomas

Deb Clinton

Robin Harris-Jones

HUFFLEPUFF

Durron Tyre

Joe Doran

Jen Meharg

Ellie Atwood (Hufflepuff Homecoming Queen)

Fern Rivadeniera

Peggy Thibodeau

Sean Dunavant

Cory Williams

Matt Shofner

Tony Foley

Jennings Whiteway

Michael Vandergrift

Alia Bisharat

Jacquie O'Connor

Brandon Becker

GRYFFINDOR

Hannah Zold

John Story

Tom Width*

Joseph Papa (though he yearns to be in Hufflepuff)

Robyn O'Neill

Ginnie Willard (Captain of Quidditch)

Chase (descended from long line of Hufflepuffs)

Wendy Gentile
Lucas Hall

Eric Stallings

Drew Siegla

Sandy Dacus

Adam Dorland

Joy Williams

Hanna Clinton

Mary-Page Nance
Vicki McLeod

SLYTHERIN

ROBIN ARTHUR (how I managed to forget that one)

Sam Pinkleton

Katrinah Lewis

The Debra

Janine Serresseque (the hat had trouble with this)

Matt Hackman

Joe Pabst

Michael Hawke

Mackenzie Mercer

Eric Williams

Sean Williams

Jill Bari

Chris Stewart
John Hagadorn

AMPLEBUFFER

Audra Honaker

Jason Marks- Choir Teacher at Hogwarts School of Wizardry.

Ford Flannagan- Defense Against the Darks Arts teacher

Steve Perigard- Greenhouse tenderperson. Can just see him with his snips. In green.

Robert Throckmorton- Minerva McGonagall

Scott Wichmann- House Elf

I was watching an episode of The Office yesterday online and it was having trouble "buffering" so I thought, I bet if I went up to the tv and pressed my chest against it it would be amply buffered.

Then realized "Amplebuffer" is a top-notch name for a Hogwarts house. And that I would be in it. And the hat would cry out (very confusedly) AMPLEBUFFER! And Audra Mason is the only one in this house! AND- she's a Muggle! How did she get in here?

And then I would have to sit at my own small round table in the great hall and eat pancakes at meals.

And I would have a cape with glitter and kittens and hippos on it.

And my lost cat Jack Cheese would be my owl.

And because I was a Muggle, I would have no spells, except for the spell "AGOIGUM!" which I will scream as I run up to you and yank down your pants.

Everyone there will be very annoyed by me.

And when I somehow get into Diagon Alley, I will go to the wand store and Mr. Ollivander will excuse himself upon meeting me to run across the street to the Weasley's toy store and buy one of those oversized pencils like we used in "Urinetown." He will present this to me and tell me it is "pine with a core of graphite." And I will wave this around and have it next to my plate when I eat.

I am very pleased with this.

If I have forgotten anyone, or if you would like to be re-sorted, do let me know.

Twisty hookers.

2009-07-20T16:06:00.001-07:00

I've been convinced it was 7pm since 2:30pm this afternoon. Remain so.

Is probably due to the rain.

Surprise has completely exhausted himself and is napping in my face. When he gets to this point, I could shut him in the freezer and he wouldn't flinch.

Tonight is Sam's birthday. We forget about each others' birthdays every single year.

Almost threw out my grandmothers' engagement ring today. ACCIDENTALLY MOM. I was horrified. Have been wearing it since. Though I don't usually wear jewelry and it makes me feel like my hand is caught in a can opener.

Hannah is coming over to have a True Blood catchupathon.

Who thinks I should get bangs?

I'll tell you what. It is not my favorite thing to perform the solos of large black tenors with lovelorn sincerity.

It IS one of my favorite things to perform "Agony" from "Into the Woods." Have always wanted to perform that somewhere. With Russell or Sam.

Guess this reality show: So You Think You Can Corn Darts.

Hannah and I are going to walk over to 7-11 before I turn nasty.

I "can" stay up later than Chris.

2009-07-19T19:29:00.000-07:00

Had a very relaxing day today of doing nothing irksome and seeing very few people. Not that I don't like seeing people.

Had a sleepover last night. I love waking up at other people's homes. Like when I house-sit and such. Washed Joy's tights. Sat in Adam and Maggie's den for half an hour. Went home. Napped with Surprise. Made dinner. Went for walk. Laughed a LOT. Had my shoe tied. Wrestled in the grass. Watched "True Blood."

Now typing.

Sometimes wish I could be awake while I sleep as to more thoroughly enjoy myself.

I think the whole male hairstyle/gel thing is extremely out of hand.

I really want to brush my teeth.

Brief.

2009-07-15T16:35:00.000-07:00

Just went to see HARRY POTTER AND THE ELEVENTH GRADERS WHO WOULDN'T STAY OUT OF THE ATTIC.

It was very good. Might have liked it partially because other people said they didn't. But I liked it.

Really liked all the scenes about the romances and stuff.

It is Kid's Jeopardy this week. Furious.

Want Alex Trebek to be embarrassed. That's very mean of me.

But he does have on a nice tie.

Do not like chihuahuas.

Is all I have to say at this time.

Thirsty.

2009-07-13T18:24:00.000-07:00

I keep forgetting that Margaret and I have painted our toenails neon colors. So every time I remove my sneakers I am surprised and feel sassy.

Saw a deep red luscious looking birthday cake that was shaped like a lobster in a window on my walk tonight. WANT THIS CAKE FOR MY BIRTHDAY. Anyone who cares to remember that may. Was reminded of how much I like walking at night and seeing things in windows and in the sky and on people's porches and whatnot. Did that one night in Chicago by myself. Was so lovely. Saw lots of lit up bushes and other things that I wanted to send friends pictures of when I saw something someone in particular would particularly like.

Also this beautiful cloud over Willow Lawn tonight. Looked like a brain. Was pink and wrinkled and rumply and just beautiful. Took a picture with my phone. In phone picture, looks like a thumb.

My downstairs neighbors are obviously renting that apartment for use as a recording studio and nothing else. Do not understand how one thinks it is ok to play electric guitar and sing into a microphone at 3 a.m. in a building with 12 other people trying to sleep. Do not mind at all during the day. Up to a point. Find it humorous. I think they have played a grand total of 5, maybe 6 chords since they landed here a month ago. Occasionally someone will come by to play who is very good. Also they have trumpet. But have honestly seen eight or ten people going and coming from that apartment, never the same person, and tonight was behind a girl trying to go in the front door with a key (doesn't require a key-- the DOWNSTAIRS DOOR Robyn) who had on those shorts that display 3/8 of the lower portion of one's fanny. Blonde hair, eyes that were looking everywhere all at once. Entered the foyer. I sprang past her with a cordial smile and last I saw she was crouched on the tiles muttering curses to a pizza box.

Went to camp this morning. Wanted to stuff all the children into a hamper. But it is always those days that wind up being the most fun. Practiced their songs once, then got them all up on the Driving Miss Daisy set and forced them to learn the dance break to "God Put The Rhythm in Me" from Altar Boyz. This went over VERY WELL. Some of them thought I was "cool." Others kept tugging on my shorts asking through their panting if we could please play something called Kitty in the Corner. I do not play this. Do not know what it is, but do not play it.

Is probably a result of whatever made me absolutely terrified to play such things as Duck Duck Goose growing up. Unplanned interaction TERRIFYING then. Still sort of. But regardless, still that sort of game makes me want to gargle caulk.

Really enjoy using caulk to frost prop cakes. Like pressing caulk. Also like pressing all the meats in the packages in the grocery store. Love that.

Went for long walk today. Walked to the bookstore, purchased magazine and then came back by the GameStop where I wandered in to see if Scott could putt-putt me the rest of the way home but he said he will be working til one. So I hung out in there for awhile with him and Petty Officer Wanker. Now- Scott will tell you that he has been telling me this man's name is Winker all along. Untrue. He's been talking about him ever since he began morphing into a navally person and calling him Wanker. Then I see his nametag and it is Winker. He immediately asks me if I am from Britain.

The staff of the GameStop and I carefully analyzed the Mary-Louise Parker photo spread in Esquire magazine wherein she is holding pies wearing only an apron. I had been hearing buzz about this article so was disappointed to see that in this shot I'd been hearing about her fanny resembled a mostly depleted baggie of pudding.

Still really want to go to a Japanese restaurant. If anyone likes that food, holla.

Bunions. Chipmunks.

2009-07-12T11:14:00.000-07:00

The bunions part of that title has absolutely no significance. I was laying on my back on the porch and suddenly I thought "bunions."

Now that I've thought of that though, my Nana had bunions. I remember her talking about them. Hannah has a cool little round mushroom looking thing on her second toe that pops up whenever she wears close toed shoes. I don't know if that is a bunion.

As to the chipmunks, there are 45 million of them on Monument Ave. And they are fighting and running and biting and chattering and carrying on. I see them when I walk. Everywhere.

There was a party last night.

The kitten is on the table. I've decided not to worry about this.

At the show yesterday evening were the Resnicks- this was discovered when a beautiful shiny bag full of plump cinnamon muffins was delivered backstage before the show. I squeezed a bunch of them, and after curtain call, took one out into the lobby to eat while I went to find Mrs. Resnick to thank her and compliment her on her muffins.

So I am standing there like a squirrel with crumbs on my face and my cheeks stuffed to popping with muffin scanning the crowd for Mrs. Resnick. I do not see her. Am not completely sure I remember what she looks like. Then Chase starts talking to me, and Hannah, and then this other woman comes up and compliments us on the show and I am chatting with her, eating, thinking where in the hell is Zak's mom? But I never see her, so I figure she has left.

Drew informs me at the party later in the evening that the woman with whom I had been chatting was Mrs. Resnick.

Oh well. I have seemed rude. And completely like I hated her muffins.

Now the kitten is straight-up eating my ponytail. What a jerk. That'll be a hairball that'll scour the surface off his liver.

Hungry. Want shrimp risotto.

Then there was a celebratory opening night party at some cast members'** house. This was fun. Maggie and I eventually steeled ourselves against the memory of screaming babies and toddlers who are aggravatingly selective about their pajama bottoms enough to cross the threshold.

Oh- backtrack. Went to softball yesterday. The turnout was really something else. At least 75 people all merrily stretching wearing their best gear being jovial and pert and quipping and jesting to beat the band. To death. This is of course all fantastic, except I had gone to bed at three thirty the previous evening (for professional reasons) and was not feeling quippy.

Oh now I just made a new word. I like that one. Might name something that.

Ford aimed each and every hit straight at my head. This is always very invigorating. Scott accused me of approaching the plate like Rue McClanahan. I don't know how he would know that, but it wouldn't surprise me if he has some sort of Badgering Outreach Program that operates on West Coast as well and he's managed somehow to get her to come out for a game.

Anyhow, I left very shortly after I arrived and went home. Slept for four months.

Party.

Now, everyone knows that there are iguanas and old women and polio living in the basements of some of these sorts of houses. However. Our hosts for the evening have turned this one into quite a gem. Perhaps a gem one could easily find on discount at Claire's Boutique, but a gem nonetheless. The back porch a necessary cozy haven with lots of plants hanging from the roof (that had flowers on them) and a awesome little garden of all sort of spicy peppers. Also tomatoes, lettuce, and strawberries. I was very impressed. Have decided when I have space for it I will grow some planty stuff.

There was a homemade green salsa which everyone loved, a bowl of real live cherries, which I don't prefer because I prefer maraschino; vegetables, burgers, hot dogs. All sorts of stuff. I took a shot of cherry vodka out of a tupperware. Went into the bathroom to do it because when I take a shot my face screws up into a horrible grimace that I can't undo for sometimes upwards of ten minutes. And no one needs to see that after ten pm. It smelled really good. Tasted really bad. Knew it would. Alcohol tastes BAD. But I'm a sucker for cherries, so thought I'd give it a swallow.

Then Drew and I stood over top of the food inhaled an entire bag of tortilla chips and debated the necessariness of some of the acting techniques he is being presented with at Juilliard. I am convinced that Drew and I between the two of us could eat all of Thanksgiving. All of America's Thanksgiving for the year 2009. For snack.

Frank Creasy was there, which was awesome, because as Adam pointed out, "he's Frank Creasy."

Beyonce came on tv and most of the cast stood three inches from the screen and jiggled and moaned and locked for about ten minutes trying to dance like her.

Also have come to the conclusion that I need the new Black Eyed Peas cd and a black leather bodysuit.

Chris Stewart stood in the kitchen, leaned against the counter and delivered a soaring, inspiring speech on his valiant struggle with insomnia which he has been losing for the last 20 years. I am always impressed with insomnia. Do not think I could do it. Ten minutes later I went to find him and he was asleep never to be heard from again.

Chris and I also did a fine flip yesterday. Hannah helped. Part of why Hannah is terrific is because she will tell you exactly what she thinks about anything in such a way as to make you agree completely and take no offense. She will say, for example, "You really should stop blinking for three weeks and starch and iron your kitten because you will look ridiculous if you don't," and I will think, "my goodness, she's exactly right."

She actually says honest HELPFUL things.

But she said that the flip looked crazy and out of control because my legs were coming apart and I was landing on one foot. I explained my logic behind this- 1. no one ever taught us how to do it. 2.if the first foot misses, at least I have the other one coming round that will also have a chance to hold me up. But this is a flimsy excuse for sloppy flips, so I went out there when the time came and stuck my legs together hard as I could.

We were like Shawn Johnson. Stuck our landing. Stood up and Chris was beaming.

Really want to go to Verry Berry.

Also we did a midnight show the other night. Which I thought was going to be a performance of Summer of 42 and actually turned out to be a performance of The Michael Jackson/Phish/Jesus Christ Reunion Tour '09. At least that is what it sounded like.

I scuffled into the lobby following the show, scowled at everyone, drove home, tucked Surprise into my cleavage and fell deeply asleep.

Also there was one point somewhere past 2am where I found myself using the women's restroom with Ginnie and Chase.

Will now eat my Santa Fe beans and rice.

Good party.

Fourth of July

2009-07-04T19:12:00.000-07:00

Why people publish many many photographs on facebook of things like fireworks and buildings that everyone has already seen pictures of escapes me. Unless you are a talented photographer like Robyn O., or the day you are viewing the Eiffel Tower there happens to be a ladder of kittens hanging from the top, we do not need to see these pictures. Should put yourself in them, or just not post them. I think.

I love kissing Surprise's salt and pepper belly.

So today.

I had EVERY INTENTION. EVERY INTENTION SCOTT of going to softball. Then I opened my eyes this morning, thought it was raining. It wasn't. Realized I was disappointed. But I knew Hannah would string me up by my nipples if I backed out of going, so I was just lying there, resigned, when I received a magical completely out of character text from Hannah saying that she didn't want to go anymore. I latched right onto this.

Now, I LOVE going to softball. I love to play softball, I love to bat and catch and throw and- well, the running I could do without, but I love to go. However I considered that I could use as an excuse the fact that I took a header into a pile of rocks last night and rolled over three times before scudding to a stop giggling like a loon. Could say I had damaged my knee. But this was not true, I was fine and I realized I didn't want anyone thinking I was some sort of delicate flower.

So that all worked out. Received a minorly scathing voicemail from Herr Wichmann which I disregarded completely and deleted before it finished playing. Idle threats.

So got up. Received text from Robyn and Ginnie inviting me to take the dogs to the river. I was game, but didn't know what that meant specifically. In my family, this sort of thing means packing up six coolers, washing the car, making hotel reservations, getting someone to feed the cat and stopping at Hardee's for breakfast. Robyn said we could be back in two hours, which worked out well, as I had long standing plans with myself to make very impressive cinnamon rolls.

So we go. I take Surprise downstairs when they arrive to show Ginnie, as she took a shine to him weeks ago and would have adopted him if she could have gotten it by her boss. This went over fairly well, with only one choking hiss issuing from the kitten when he was nearly eaten by the German Shepherd.

We go down to the Pony Pastures. The dogs all poop immediately, except for Piper, who doesn't poop anywhere over the property line. Alice feels it her obligation to poop everywhere she goes. Bella is just permanently overstimulated.

I told R+G walking Alice is like walking a hot dog bun. You would understand.

Today the bottom of the river was covered in slime and grease. This is fun to me, because when I am not (in my imagination) nimbly scampering from rock to rock like Pocahontas from the movie, I can crawl around from rock to rock like some sort of scary forest hunter. Bella swam all over the place. The whole time making noises like she was passing a cantaloupe. Alice momentarily forgot herself and swam out a goodly ways. Then realized it and promptly became a cement statue mid-marsh.

Piper doesn't do the swim thing.

So after much mud and bleeding, we went back to the car and I was taken home.

I showered, didn't wash my suffering hair because I had forgotten to get shampoo, and put on what I considered to be an appropriate sundress for baking in my kitchen.

I then watched two episodes of "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant." This show is hysterical. Not because of these situations people find themselves in, but because of the acting that is required to reenact those situations. Also the stunt babies that are cast are comparable to large Butterball Turkeys. Then the narrator will say, "Miraculously, at 12 weeks premature and only 4.36 ounces, Baby Timothy was healthy." Then they show "Baby Timothy" overflowing his mother's arms and learning how to ride a bicycle.

So then I had to go buy yeast. Which Tom likes to remind me at all times are bread farts.

So then I go home and make these buns. Made dough. Dropped 13 pounds kneading dough for twenty minutes. Then flung the dough out mashed it up into a rectangle, covered it with unspeakable amounts of butter and cinnamon and rolled it up. Baked it over at a friend's house where I was invited to grill out. Weren't that good. Were fine. I shouldn't have put them in the oven. Always I prefer dough over baked dough.

At this party were many U of R graduates. Many "men" wandering around secretly being 23 wearing mauve seersucker shorts delicately embroidered with masculine icons like foxes and shrimp.

Lots of girls in "sexy tops." Some very nice people. I talked to a lot of them. I was very pleased with myself. I ate my first rib, and got myself arranged to help a new friend of mine gut one of his kills next hunting season.

There was a very nice middle-aged man there passing out glow-sticks. I got one.

Also a kicking game of what appeared to be THROW THE FRISBEE IN THE FLOOR AS HARD AS YOU CAN taking place in the back alley. I spent a lot of time observing this.

Hannah was at a party across the alley. She and I and John and Paul Major met up and walked over to the goose pond in Byrd Park to view the 'works. I loved that. Those hateful nasty conniving geese were all marooned out there on their crappy little island because they were out-numbered by people. Hah. Nasty hateful geese. They will try to kill you.

The fireworks went like this: Firework. 90 seconds. 2 fireworks. 120 seconds. 3. Several bursts of three in a row. The end.

Walked back to the car accompanied most of the way by someone's very drunk fiancee in a yellow dress and overdone eyeliner speaking dramatic French to a four year old boy who had no interest in discussing anything other than the fact that he had made the decision to propose to his cousin.

Drove home. Went over some really big holes in the alley. Love that. My father used to drive the church bus to pick up and take all the kids to choir practice and I would always sit in the back row and holler "GO FASTER OVER THE BUMPS, DADDY!"

My hair REALLY hurts.

2009-07-03T14:59:00.000-07:00

Some people may not understand what I mean by this. Maggie does. Isn't my hair, I suppose, but my scalp. Also might be more noticeable in people who have hair weighing the same as a backhoe.

And it's not dirty. Just washed yesterday.

I don't wash my hair everyday- some people find this gross. But it takes my hair 8 hours to dry and every time I wash it I get comments like "What happened to you?" every time I see someone.

Betty Draper Droop went to the dentist today. Didn't. Typing without thinking. The vet.

She was declared in pristine health, which secretly made me feel proud as I managed to raise at least that one without it contracting camel nuclear cirrhosis or something. No feline HIV, no nothing. Got her nails trimmed.

Might look into how long it takes to become a vet. If this is something I can get done in the afternoons, I might be into that.

At this vet on Patterson Ave. there are at least thirty tanks and cages in the lobby containing beautiful cats and buff colored kittens, a big ugly turtle, lots of fat snakes and fish the size of footballs.

I immediately signed Surprise up for a visit next week. At this visit I am hoping they will inform me of his species. Also he is now registered officially as Surprise Honaker. I feel this has an interesting ring to it.

Jason has begun going to the chiropractor. I feel this merits a mention.

Tomorrow I am going to make cinnamon rolls. In my house. For the Fourth of July. So if anyone comes by before seven people come by, they may have one. These buns will not have raisins and nuts. Waste of dessert, putting fruit in.

My mother told me I used to call bananas "Ba-nahs." In a British accent. Not on purpose, but I was a baby and didn't know. Also said "leyow." This is still say from time to time without thinking. Also sometimes I confuse green and orange when I am talking.

Sometimes I just would like to throw things at people when they are unsuspecting. Like pillows. Some people would not like this.

Everyone should go to Stage 1 if for no other reason than to sample the buffet.

Bev Kniffen has made this chocolate chip bundt cake for years and it is moist like juicy kitten polenta and amazing. And she makes it for sale behind the lobby bar.

Side note- I do not like saying that word "bundt" to people. If I go somewhere and order a small bundt cake, I will get very nervous and embarrassed and order it by gesturing toward it instead of saying anything.

When my hair hurts this badly it makes my teeth sweat.

If anyone wants to have splendid dessert tonight, call me. I want it, and am not sure where I am going to get it. What I want is that heap of cake, ice cream and strawberries from Strawberry St.

Everybody should go and get the Style this week to view the picture of Scott glaring imperiously at Five Guys.

I don't know if I was supposed to say that's what he was looking at. I am sure he was also gazing at the visions of boats and heroic deeds of his naval ancestors that are trouncing around in his brain.

So sorry.

Now Surprise is napping on my lap and may prevent me from having a shower.

I am a very skilled neck-hair cutterer. In case anyone needs one of those.

Also one time we shaved my cat and gave him a flesh saddle.

Mountains.

2009-06-26T21:10:00.000-07:00

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

Could be waiting a while.

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

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

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

I really enjoy the cast of Summer of 42.

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

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

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

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

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

Ok. I want a pizza now.

Almost one.

2009-06-24T21:40:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like candles.

It is very dark tonight.

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

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

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

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

Don't like coffee.

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

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

Wish I knew where to find the cartoons.

2009-06-20T12:28:00.001-07:00

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