good lord.

ok!
My life is boring. I love Macbeth more than anything in the world, which says a lot considering m-roz lives in the world (as does my boyfriend, blah blah blah, boopboop-a-do.). I'm sure my attitude will be changing soon enough, but I am enjoying it for now. The other witches are whiners. Only one actually knows my name and deigns to talk to me, but she's the coolest one, so that's ok. (yeah, there are six witches, and I am number six. I have four lines.)
I watched most of Pearl Harbor last night. Although it reaffirmed that Ben Affleck is currently my real pretend boyfriend, I felt like I was watching a three hour insurance commercial.
I also watched I'm the one that I want
My name is Gwen I'm here to WAAAAAAAAASH your vagina
How sick is it that I watched it and said, "Wow, I wish I could lose thirty pounds in two weeks"? Pretty sick, is the answer.

There is some juicyish gossip going around, but I can't babble about it here, the walls having ears and such. None of it has to do with me, because it never, ever does.
I did just burp on the phone. I tried not to, but my esophogas wouldn't cooperate. I talk on the phone all day, it was bound to happen eventually.
Last night I made up a game where you have to puncuate every sentence with "boopboop-a-do". It was very, very funny. Todd kept losing.
"You are crazy."
"You lose, boopboop-a-do."

The trashheap has spoken.

famous people have blogs.

This article was written in haste.

feel: warm
drink: echinacea tea
wear: too tight jeans, white tshirt from amvets, the woven choker as always .
listen: blissful silence
sore: throat. and I have to sing tomorrow.
read: American Gods
eat: too much cherry jello
cozy, ol' fashioned crush: Ben Affleck

thanks taves. :)
(I wasn't fishing for compliments, really.)
I hate to be so shallow like that, but it's hard around certain people. Especially when being pretty is their job. I feels better today.

My article is to be sucking.
My loins are to be petrified.

I'm in collision
with every stone I ever threw.

I have to stop swearing and talking about the kids in the hall in this blog. The refferrals are breaking my heart.

I just got back from a long lunch with my Tracey. Yummy hummus and yummy tears and yummy self-disclosure. I haven't had a girlfriend around in a long time, not one I could hold a real time conversation with.

It's odd though, because I always come away from spending time with her feeling like a gelatinous mountain of hideous hag. It's not her fault that she's pretty and that I'm not, it's just that self-hatred is such a handy emotion. It's shallow to talk that way, I know, but it's how I feel.

I work very hard at not hating myself every minute of the day, that takes a lot of energy.

Which Kevin 'Fro Are You?
Brought to you by Kevin McDonald: the Kid in the Hall We DO Like.

[blog humor] I had a plain bagel with olive cream cheese for breakfast. [/blog humor]

I guess I've been a little busy. My life this week has been consumed by The-No-Longer-Scottish-But-Now-South-American Scottish Play. I'm going to be babbling about this a lot from now on. I am going to research a psychosis and start building a character as soon as I can stop throwing up and crying. Figuratively speaking, of course. (There's nothing like puking figuratively.) I have some ideas but I have to wait for some direct direction. I know what kind of lady I want her to be, but I'm still in the market for an action and a want.
How do the witches feel about Mac?
Why interact with him at all?
How does he affect them?
Anybody have any opinions? I have ideas, but need serious input.

In other, even more boring news, I started reading _American Gods_ (too lazy to link), I'm finding it quite good.

So

very


hungover.

Woke up, still drunk. I hate the sun. I like gin. and lime. and actors.

hate the sun.

Delicious.

A whirlwind weekend--OH! Bowling! Wedding shower! ATOC! Again! A cast party for a show I wasn't in! Oh!

Tonight I'm going to the Arties, which is like the Tonys only just for Buffalo theatre and entirely meaningless. I'm not nominated for anything, mainly because I didn't work this season. Imagine that. The good thing is, my friend from LA is in for the summer and she'll be there, so I have someone to talk to. Just so you know, I have no interest in getting dressed up for this. At all.

I just re-read a post about my hyperventilation and self doubt surrounding my part in the scottich play and it sounds like I think I'm 'hot'. Mmmmm . . .false self-confidence is charming, right? right??
I hate me.

"I am very 'ot and I like soixante neuf."
"six eggs?"

I refuse to give spoilers, so I will say only these things:
The Anakin onanism scene that George Lucas meant to leave out made it's way back in.
As Dave so eloquently put it, "You hated Jar Jar, huh? Thought he was annoying? Hey 3-PO, you're up buddy."
There's a lot of hard work to get there, but the last fifteen minutes are the greatest anything, ever.

ooo-breezy.
I like the "die alone" part.
(link from nic et al.)

The "union" put four of our non-union subcontractors in the hospital this morning, macing them and beating them in their cars while the state police watched. I'm told it won't be in the news. I shouldn't even be talking about it.

What's happening to everybody?
{{{{{{{{}}}}}}}}

I turned in my asshole blinders for asshole radar, and it's finally kicking in.

In about seven hours and forty minutes I, among many friends and strangers, will be weeping openly.

I can pick up my script anytime before tuesday. Hee hee.
(I'm not sweating, I'm glistening.)
Did I mention this is the second largest outdoor Shakepeare festival in North America (or so it claims to be)?
(Somebody open a window . . . )
And the funny part,
seriously,
the funny part,
wait, this is good,
trust me,
the funny part is I've never done Shakespeare before.

Some fantastic indeed.

I say this will full knowledge of what a loser I will sound like:
smallville kicks ass.
There, I said it. The past two episodes have been so good I'm willing to blubber like a thirteen-year-old. (Not that there's anything wrong with acting thirteen, of course. I do it often and with flourish.)

My heart hurts so much today. Maybe I expect more than I deserve. I'm too needy. I need people to be nice to me. I don't know. dumb dumb dumb. stupid girl-heart.
I bought David Gray [grey?]: Lost Songs the other day. It is such a perfect album. It's been raining for three days straight around here, and this album is so perfect for waiting for the bus in the rain and thinking about kissing.

"Goodbye Brak:happy-go-lucky man-about-town, Hello Brak: heartless clam-slayer!"

My throat hurts.
My family is fun to be with, even though they're all horribly loud and catholic.
I watched I Bury the Living today, which was not quite as good as it sounds. I want tomorrow to be White Zombie day, but it will become "watch all the star wars movies back-to-back" day.

Damn. My friggin throat.

I'm such a loser. I was poised to go out, and I had somebody drop me off at home. I realize it's saturday, but it's not an "out" night. My throat is swollen. There are scary movies on AMC. I'll be on the lay-zee-boy.

My god, I'm boring.
I'm going bowling.

Nothing of import to say, except that I am not dead, just bored.

I've gotten so much good feedback on my column that I am to freeze. That's not a pat on my own personal back, I'm just pressured now to produce. Before I didn't care if I was any good. Now I'm all wiggity jiggity and all my writing smacks of self-consciousness and effort and crappiness.

I am craving a gin and tonic and a cigarette. It's three in the afternoon.

I hopped on the scale today and realized with horror that three days in Indianapolis has undone a month of work. Poo. Everytime I go away I come home with ten pounds of travel all hanging hatefully from my belly.
Nice image, eh?
At least I'm finally awake. Yesterday I woke up late, called the lady to accept my part, watched urban legend again, worked out for an hour and then came home and passed out on my bed for two hours. I kept trying to wake up and I couldn't even open my eyes. Todd kept coming in to talk to me and make fun of me and essentially prevent me from getting any quality sleep, which he's quite good at, the bastard.

I saw my cousin on my way to the atm. He lives five doors down from my office, I knew I'd bump into him eventually. I haven't seen him ages. Like, a year.

I take that back, I'm not awake. I'm fully zombified.

The other secretary requested a new desk for us, considering the one we've been using is just two huge flats of untreated wood resting on filing cabinets and we're getting out clothes caught on it not to mention the one million tiny hunks of wood I carry home with me on a daily basis.
We got an email back that my boss is all over it. I came in this morning and there is a long piece of tape covering the exposed edges.
Ha.

Ethel Mer . . . man oh man.

What a long friggin weekend.
High points-
The line where Anthony Daniels ends and C-3PO begins is blurrier than anyone is comfortable admitting.
I want Carrie Fisher to be my mom.
Hotels and restaurant eating are great.
I got my picture taken with a wookie. Not THE wookie, but a wookie all the same.

What else . . . oh yeah and um . . .shakespeare in the park. I'm a witch in Macbeth.
yes, I said.
I'm alternating between cocooning in self-doubt and dancing with joy at how friggin awesome it will be.
Boil and toil, baby.

Finally got SGND in the mail. I am three months behind the rest of the planet.
I'm going to indianapolis until monday. I will miss you. check out dhka on friday. I think I may have written something decent. I'm not sure though, you know, because of the gin.

I dreamt last night that I had a hairy chest.