I want to be a really good interviewer. I don't know if I have that special gift of making people comfortable and drawing them out. But I can try, can't I?
I also want to be really positive, and fearless! I want to be fearless! Fear is lame and holds you back.
I want to see more of Canada!
I want to help someone in a profound way.
I want to write something cool and important.
I want to accomplish something I am proud of!
I want to keep on loving BORPE!
Yay love!
I've succumbed to a mild case of ill today and have dutifully called in sick. As soon as I get my butt in the shower so as to not be unfresh, I will drive my sick self to the nearest Vietnamese pho establishment and warm my scratchy, icky throat with steamy hot pho. Then I will come back here and do some stuff. I have already prepared oatmeal and assembled crockpot chicken cacciatore for this evening's meal. I could benefit from some further slumber.
I have a wedding blorg. If you'd like to see it, leave a comment or e-mail me and I'll send you the link. I do not want to link it here in case bad people who pointedly are NOT INVITED (and there are some) try to crash or want to send some performing dwarves my way. Uh-uh. The blog makes reference to "loud, ugly bedspreads."
I'm headed to Oakland on Thursday to spend my berfday weekend with my besto friendo and matron of honour Cassi and her 18-month-old daughter, who recently got her first pair of hard shoes, as that kid shreds. At her age, walking was anathema to me and I was more concerned with delivering soliloquys on the topic of Take Me to the Potty. I was also mad trained. So advanced. And where has it gotten me?
I plowed into a stationary object last night during movement warm-ups at improv rehearsal and now have a lovely bruise on my thigh. I also saw Brokeback Mountain yesterday. T'was quite possibly the most predictable film ever, but I felt good about seeing it, if for no other reason that I had to take part in this bizarre cultural moment wherein the Repugs and their minions want to take away rights and personhood to my queer bretheren and the top contender for the Oscar this year is the gay cowboy movie. Hmmm.
To the shower!
Bob and I purchased matching jogsuit jackets today at Sears! They say CANADA on them, and then under the last A in CANADA, there is an applique of a maple leaf and inside the leaf it says "Bootleg Liquors." These items were on sale. They are so funny! Bob and I are usually against matching clothing, but this was an opportunity not to be missed! We love Canada AND bootleg liquors! Who doesn't? Even our cashier, yet another unfortunate Austin service worker who had to put up with us, liked Canada and bootleg liquors.
WE'RE CHAVS!
YES!
The man to whom I am to be wed has...
...an imdb page! What a simcha!
We're going places! Such as Canada! YES!
For most of my twenties (which will be over in a mere 11 days), I've always felt like I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Especially over the last couple years, I've constantly felt like I've been on hold, waiting for that magical time when I could leave the burdensome world of a career I am not suited for and take on life on my own terms, which was something I couldn't seem to muster in my younger day. Every Monday is not its own joyous day of life, rich with possibility, it's just the furthest point from the weekend! And what the hell is THAT?
I'm thinking of tapping the gay wedding planning market. All this wedding crap is profitable as hell. Any thoughts?
I am thankful I live in Austin.
Austin has a bridal store that caters to women who have no desire to be foofy brides. Like me. There are no dresses with trains or sequins. The staff doesn't act like you've waited your whole life for this moment to come into a dress shop and expect to be treated like a princess. They have many samples of plain, attractive wedding dresses in all sizes. They are helpful, but not up-the-butt and don't try to upsell you on shoes and veils and underwear.
If had to endure any other shopping experience, I'd scream and throw a fit.
I haven't been writing much because I am nonplussed by the whole bridal experience. Also, I don't remember a time in my life where I have been this depressed. Also, my mom was recently in town, so that took up all my time and energy, as does this wedding business, and as does, to a lesser extent, improv. I feel like my insides have been cored out. I am very little fun. I am a pain in the ass to myself and others. I am lucky that Bob still loves me and wants to marry me.
On the upside of things, my ring is gorgeous as hell and in six months I'm gonna be on the sandy shores of the Maritime Provinces, beyotch, so I'm actually doing better than I think I am.
PARIS: THE MUSICAL
Chubby AMY JO (Andrea) is getting married in Paris--her lifelong dream!
NATE and DUDE are backpackers at Jim Morrison's grave. NATE (Shana) wants more than just a stoner experience. DUDE (me) doesn't seem to care.
ANGELINA (Caitlin) and JEAN-JACQUES (Shelly) are in love. Angelina is a "naughty girl". Everyone in Paris loves Angelina.
AMY JO and NATE get into a fight at a patisserie. AMY JO'S dad reveals that NATE is her arranged husband to be. They are both Mormon from Idaho.
JEAN-JACQUES proposes to ANGELINA but turns him down. J-J is outraged.
NATE asks DUDE how to get out of marrying AMY JO, since he hates her. NATE and DUDE pretend to be gay but it doesn't work. AMY JO'S DAD (me) wants her married regardless because she's so homely.
AMY JO and NATE chase each other around Paris and end up falling in love. EXCELLENT scene/song about sexual tension.
NATE tells DUDE he loves AMY JO and goes after her to marry her.
ANGELINA feels ugly. A tourist mistakes her for David Sedaris.
AMY JO feels rejected and runs to the airport to go home. NATE follows her there. ANGELINA is also at the airport and J-J finds her there. Love song! Everyone is in love and happy!
FIN
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This has been a horrible week for losing women who are heroes!
I feel dirty admitting this, but I, uh...was shopping for a wedding dress when Betty Friedan '42 died.
The bitter irony.
Oh yeah, I'm engaged. That's why I haven't been writing so much. Headtrip. Weird. I don't really want to talk about it. There's nothing to talk about.
At any rate, I have to get, predictably, what I am calling a "prescription dress," because of the damn hole in my chest, I have to get this matronly looking thing with a high neckline.
Betty, Wendy, Coretta...this is too much for one week.