evidence of mental deranged-ness

I dreamed last night that I was on the finals of Top Model, except that--instead of eliminating girls as they went along, they had a huge group at the end to finish off like at a pagent. Tyra was helping me pick my dress. Apparently, when everyone else is wearing black, you should wear the opposite to help stand out. (The opposite was shiny with fringe and at least two inches shorter than I'd wear in real life.) Did I stand out? As we went to commercial break, I looked like a Vegas showgirl in a sea of cocktail dresses.

Probably worse than dreaming I was on a guilty pleasure reality competition were the commercials in between bouts of house drama. The one I remember most (as it played frequently) was the movie trailer for the writer doing everything he can do to avoid working on his latest book and the reader he meets who could be the first to provide him with real inspiration again. Key scene: the reader (Denise Richards) walks up to the writer (Ashton Kutcher) sitting at a bake sale booth, sets down her backpack, and the writer mocks her for having read six books already that morning.

Also, I'm about ten minutes from leaving to get the theater (on a 10:30 show day), just to avoid the possible rain when all my umbrellas are under my desk at work.

It's taken until now, but I think this can be called my room being as messy as before. It helps that I've done laundry (not put away), pulled out some boxes to look for an old piece of paper (not put away), and have worn several assorted pairs of shoes in the past weeks (not put away, not any, not how).

Since today is supposed to be all rainy and such, I think that calls for cleaning rather than shopping.

[this much sleep related posting prior to 10 p.m. does not bode well for the rest of tonight's projects]

I really wish I had a decent lawn so I could sleep outside. I could just fall asleep in a lounge chair, but it wouldn't be the same. (Plus, we have fierce looking spiders. And the Marriott's always lit up.)

Over the weekend, I did the next closest thing, which was sleep on my own floor. I guess that's either "next closest thing" or "weird nostalgia," as it was on the same smaller-than-myself air mattress I used the first week in this apartment before I had a bed, a couch, or any other sleeping-comprable furniture. My back has not been the same since, which is approximately how it was back then, too.

I wish there were a movie I actually wanted to "watch" right now, because then I'd so get to fall asleep before 10:30 like I kinda want.

I think this is the first tech week that *hasn't* turned into a post about tech week, quickly followed by five other stress-fueled posts.

That said, I am a bit nervous about today, seeing as I haven't run a sound board for a show since I was a naive little intern. (Oh, the things I've seen since then.) Also, I wasn't calling the show at the same time back then.

Big news yesterday was that, despite the change in personnel (We'll miss you, Lisa!), I will still be finished for the season once this show ends in a month (36 days and change, according to my phone countdown clock). Status of vacations during my grand summer of box officing: pending, approved, and pending.

Status of me for today: should be getting a move on it, even if rehearsal doesn't start until 10.

paper? ribbons? coupons? buttercups?

Any particular reason why I'm watching Making Fiends at almost midnight?

Not really. Hee-hee!

The leaf blower outside sounds like it's going to blow my door down.

Seriously, dude, just knock. And be delivering a pizza.


[That makes no sense, but I'm going to leave it anyway. Welcome to my dysfunctional, but highly entertaining, Friday!]

The IRS has accepted your form. Press next to continue.

ONE. I'm so glad (?) that I'm poor enough to not have to pay for e-filing.

TWO. I got to talk to the exact right person, and I suppose I will no longer be looking to move elsewhere at the end of this season. This is good, because my room's really clean right now, and I'd hate to tear it all apart.

TWO.1 I still don't think I overreacted to TWO by eating a dinner of popcorn and Peeps.

TWO.2 I'm probably not going to share about TWO unless your name starts with F and ends with Amily. Sorry. Just know that I've worked it out.

THREE. I wish NBC and iTunes weren't in a fight so I could download sweet 30 Rock goodness to travel everywhere.

FOUR. The whole world seems to want me to have a vespa. Anyone wanna help a poor girl out?

Guess what I'm forcing myself to do right now?

There's a small (apparently insecure) part of me that's afraid that, if I somehow screw up my taxes, that's grounds for revoking my Adulthood badge. Not, the IRS will track me down, not that I'll have to pay out the porthole; that I'll have an item that exists purely in my imagination taken away.

This is the world I live in daily. Amazing, isn't it?


[Edited: Oooh! That's a nice number...would buy much polish for shinning badges...]

no more room on my desk

Even when it ends up being a "two clicks together and you have your prize" toy, the Kinder Egg was worth it for it being the Fezzik of the Vikings: large and confused about the world.

five hours later, room still clean

I love the slickness of a freshly cleaned out computer mouse, especially when I've fought with it for several days before finally pulling out the tweezers.

taxes, taxes, taxes - do your taxes

I spent half of yesterday and most of today cleaning my room. It no longer looks like a derranged bag (and box) woman lives there with her infinite piles of unsorted stuff. (I give it about three days tops before that changes, but hopefully that's enough time to vaccum first.)

I love beverages best out of a cold glass bottle. Plus, then I get a mini-light show when opening my Coke. (Our bottle opener mimics a lava lamp when used.)

Must do taxes, send out birthday cards, find someone who wants to discuss the Battlestar opener, stop buying candy (based on the amounts found while cleaning).

right now

Right now, I'm still in the green sundress I threw on when blazing hot from this afternoon's humidity and sunshine on the walk back from the library. (Thankfully, no one else is home to see such blatant girl-ness occur midweek.)

Right now, I'm watching the John Adams miniseries on HBO, but I'm somehow on the LatinHBO channel, so George Washington is swearing in as el presidente de los Estados Unidos as Paul Giamatti stands by (without Paul Giamatti's voice). This is way funnier than it should be.

Right now, I should move the leftover pizza to the fridge to prevent staleness. Instead, I'll probably pop the last disc of Battlestar Galactic into the player so I can finish off the third season. (I have to combat the girliness with something.)