"Don't smile."

They say if your passport photo actually looks like you, you should probably go to the doctor. This morning I took some ravishing 2x2 photos at a place near Grand Central. The very nice young man took approximately five photos for me. We both agreed they all looked exactly the same, no matter how many different shots he took. So, I chose the one where I looked the most like Mona Lisa. Can't go wrong looking like that smirky little bitch, right?

I can't wait to see what the final product will look like in my brand spankin' new passport book.

The answer is yes, this is the first time I will own a passport. The only country outside of the U.S. I have visited is Canada. Applying for a passport might have been the most exciting moment of my adult life so far, besides the obvious milestones of turning the legal drinking age, getting arrested for the first time, and having someone other than a family member or friend tell you they love you.

I'm sure I will always remember the day I applied for my first passport because of the guy working at the post office. Little old Korean man. Reminded me of my Papa. That's the important part. He told me that "traveling is wonderful." Maybe not so profound, but the story that accompanied those words were memorable at least. Apparently there were only ten people in this man's college graduating class in Korea. A few months ago, he come across an old photo album in his house and remembered how much he missed his classmates. This is when he looked me in the eye and told me, "Always follow your heart." So somehow he managed to get a hold of all of these people (the details were sketchy; somebody was behind me in line, etc.) and he flew to Korea, where he said each and every one of his classmates met up with each other for the first time in 25 years. The important part being all ten of them came! The way he told his story that was so special to him was what reminded me of Papa the most. Couldn't stop watching his eyes twinkle while he told it---plus the story was peppered with simple advice that I might otherwise consider cliche, except that it was coming from a man who's been around on this Earth for a while. A great feeling of satisfaction, excitement and pride came over me, like it was Papa encouraging me to embark on my travels! He wished me good luck, I bid him a good day, and I smiled all the way to . . . Starbucks.

Applying for passports requires a Starbucks iced coffee. It's just so American.

On my way back to work, I daydreamed about all the possibilities that will emerge after this new passport arrives. Besides my scheduled trip to St. Kitts to visit my best guy friend from high school and his girlfriend, I thought about the trip I want to take with Lisa to Prague and Greece . . . and the long-awaited journey I will take to Italy someday with my mom or Laura.

Then I thought about my coffee that I happened to be enjoying, which leads me to a new segment I am going to call: "In a Perfect World."

IN A PERFECT WORLD . . .

. . . you could sue corporate coffee companies for serving you regular instead of requested decaf

. . . you could take someone you're dating to small claims court for lack of communication, failure to respond to text messages, or failure to relay the message that he/she has decided to cease dating you indefinitely

. . . Freaky Friday experiments would be implemented as punishment for selfish and/or rich people, called the "Forced Karma Law"

. . . you could punch one person in the face without penalty every 3 years

More to come at a later date. Must take my leave. UNT

"Homesick for a place that doesn't exist"

This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath

No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again

(regina spektor)

UNT

Things are Lookin' Up for Ole Liz Lemon

Are things really looking up for ole Liz Lem? TBD.

You know, I originally starting writing an entry yesterday entitled "Big Hairy Expletive." It started out as a minor rant about why I can't eat peanuts like a normal human being (instead I shovel them in my mouth like a starving ape), but then the entry naturally progressed into half pity party/half too intimate rant about my dissatisfaction with my volatile dating life. It was horrendous. I had to delete it. So I scribbled some shit down in my trusty tangible journal instead and turned on Arrested Development and watched approximately 7 episodes. That always cheers me up. I even got to watch the episode where Buster makes my favorite acting choice of the entire series. It's the one where he gets his hook stuck in the dashboard of the truck because he's trying to dance to Mr. Roboto. And he turns to the side to look at Job who is driving. The look and noise he makes is pure genius, I tell you. It makes me laugh every time. And then I always have to rewind it and watch it a few more times. I may have even taken a tiny recording of it on my iPhone (illegalities) for really miserable days in the future. Ah, planning ahead! You go type A, you . . . go.

Today my mind was still feeling a little cloudy, but apparently all I needed was a frozen half banana smeared with nutella and approximately ten minutes of making fun of people with the housekeeper. And Kate Nash's "Shit Song". Honestly though, is there ever a case when making fun of people doesn't lift your spirits at least a little? Or nutella? Can somebody consume nutella without cracking a smile? Or singing lyrics to yourself like "Darling, don't give me shit, 'cause I know that you're full of it." That's pretty fun to sing. All sassy-like. And cockney-like. Yes, I do affect a dirty British accent when singing Kate Nash songs. It's really endearing, I swear.

And then an old friend from college texted me and I get to plan a small meal to cook tonight!

So basically what I'm saying is, I'm good enough to fake a smile now. #ProgressDotCom

I think when 30 Rock comes back on, quality of life will automatically be improved by 10-percent. Scientifically speaking, of course. Come onnnn September 23rd! Oh man, I wonder what my life will look like on that day. I feel so eerie-bubbly-anxious about that date! Besides the fact that it's Jordon and my brother's birthday.

I wish they invented a Wii game called "Anger Management" where you could just use the controller to virtually simulate punching somebody in the face. And you could maybe upload pictures of various people's heads or just choose a local stranger. How incredible would that be? Because sometimes, just daydreaming about it isn't enough. Maybe I shouldn't have posted this fantastic idea . . . I am going to be such a big young millionaire.

UNT

Crabcakes and Cum

What an attention-getting title. I'm aware.

I just had to get this down so I never forget:

THINGS I'M GOOD AT:

1) Cooking

2) Writing

3) Dancing

4) Making People Laugh

There's obviously a lot more than four, but those are the main things I need to not forget.

Because it can be easy to forget sometimes, right?

UNT

With a high chance of stalking on the East coast today

After checking up on my blog roll today, one particular update about Hudson Valley vacations struck my fancy as I came across this delightful little getaway:

That's right. It's a muthafuckin' lighthouse.

I am obschmessed. And look at that kitchen you can cook in! I might just have to fish in the morning off a tiny little schooner and then cook myself up the fishy deliciousness that I caught!

My imagination seriously did a 10K this afternoon. At one point, I forgot I was alive even. I was just staring off into the corner, maybe not even breathing? Breathing lightly? What the hell was I dreaming about, you ask? Oh, so many things. Trips. Futures. Camping on an island in Lake George. Riding a horse to a winery in the Adirondacks. My stunning bearded boyfriend that doesn't exist yet . . . which brings me to my next point.

Sexy Lighthouse Keepers

While doing thorough research on this lighthouse vacation I can't afford, I also came across a biography of their current lighthouse keeper. He seems like a dashing young man. According to the website, we work the same hours (8AM-4PM). Just another thing I'm sure I would have in common with him. That, and the fact that he is "accustomed to living in remote locations and working in minimal conditions." I think the dangerous island of Manhattan that I inhabit is very . . . remote. And I often work without wearing any underwear . . . so that is very minimalistic. Again, tons in common. But in all seriousness though, here is the kicker. According to his bio, Patrick (a name that writhes in sexual pleasure, historically speaking), enjoys cooking AND baking. Well, there you have it. Soulmate. Done.

He's a keeper!

So, while I drooled over bearded lighthouse boyman (manboy?), I happened to notice that the keeper keeps a daily log. Which is like a blog, but much more . . . lighthousey! Naturally, I read 2010 and 2009's entries. It was very informational. Who knew you could ice sail?! But the best part I found was an entry written by Patrick himself, a modern poet, if you will. According to him, it is maritime services tradition to write a rhyming entry for the logbook at midnight on New Year's Eve. And so he did, quite eloquently I might add:

The tide table tells me what this cloudy sky will not:

full moon overhead on New Year’s Eve.

The wind is not talking either,

mute like these clouds that refuse to leave,

but the river speaks of the moon,

shore ice cracking with the the tidal heave.

(Patrick Landewe)

I think this is actually what made me stare off into space for 20 minutes. While he was writing this (hopefully scrawling it on a weary lighthouse notepad by candlelight; his dark beard hairs glistening in the moonlight), I was watching Justin Bieber perform the worst choreography I've ever seen in my life on a television in Midtown East and simultaneously wishing a certain somebody had the balls to kiss me in front of their friends. Hah! Guess which setting I would have preferred? Okay, I'll tell you. The muthafuckin' lighthouse. MC. DUH.

But in all honesty, I really really enjoyed that rhyming post and especially daydreaming about what that man's life must be like . . . pretty positive it's a lot more interesting, rugged and full of character in comparison with mine. So now, I'm going to compose a miniature rhyme of my own, fashioned from my daydreams today:

I close my eyes, it shuts it out:

endless work days full of blood-boiling strife.

Amidst my worry, a vision appears--

bitter yet inspiring, such is this life.

I dream like a child-- unbridled, passionate and wild too.

Ah well, he probably already has a wife.

(Katie Of The Sea)

I think it's fair to say his was better, even in an objective sense. But hey, I haven't written poetry in ages. Aged cheddar years! While I was writing it, it also reminded me of that awkwardly hilarious scene in High School High where one of the students reads a poem she wrote aloud for the class and her teacher (Jon Lovitz), and it turns out to be this vile, disturbing thing with all these really putrid images about pus and stuff. Totally defies everyone's expectations, which is obviously why it's so funny. But yes, the first few drafts I wrote were really really dark, like 85% cocoa dark, so I decided to tone it down a little bit . . . for my child audience.

Back to the daily grind. Take a minute today to close your eyes and dream with reckless abandonment . . . even if just for a few minutes. I promise you'll breath better afterward. Unless you have a heart condition. Then, I don't know what to tell you. Ask your doctor. UNT

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hobbes. Jonathan won't be coming down. Ever."

I love this blog because I have the freedom to bore my readers with lengthly reviews about movies that came out 6-11 years ago as I see them for the first time. I mean, wasn't my recent review of Good Will Hunting a hoot? Well kids, I've got another one for you. Just saw Amelie last night. Picture it. 2001. This film just came out. You. Saw it. You. Liked it alright. But, I adored it. I want to make sweet, simple love to it. And moreso to Audrey Tatou. But mostly to the film itself. And the story. I really needed to be reminded that life can be about simple pleasures, surprises and is often about risk-taking and vulnerability. My favorite part is Amelie's daydreaming about her love while she's baking a cake and then she breaks down when she realizes the dream isn't real. And also, Audrey Tatou's face in the montage in the beginning when she's underneath that guy having sex . . . and she looks like she's gotta laugh so hard.

"Nino is late. Amelie can only see two explanations. 1 - he didn't get the photo. 2 - before he could assemble it, a gang of bank robbers took him hostage. The cops gave chase. They got away... but he caused a crash. When he came to, he'd lost his memory. An ex-con picked him up, mistook him for a fugitive, and shipped him to Istanbul. There he met some Afghan raiders who too him to steal some Russian warheads. But their truck hit a mine in Tajikistan. He survived, took to the hills, and became a Mujaheddin. Amelie refuses to get upset for a guy who'll eat borscht all his life in a hat like a tea cozy."

Obviously a few of her character's nuances reminded me of me . . . especially the mysterious, wild imagination part of her. And maybe also a little bit of her naivety. I found the film well-written, well-played and the underlying message quite inspiring. And, the subtitles always keep me on my toes. I had to pause the movie at least six times, mostly to rub my itchy eyes . . . and pour myself more wine . . . and order a pizza . . . and check my Facebook news feed. But really though, the film had my entire attention. Also, I practiced saying 'Merci' like Amelie over and over. I think I got it. So, when I get to France someday, I'll be officially 'ready'.

My eye is so swollen you could fry an egg on it. No? I'm so confused about proverbs.

Sometimes I want to send some of my best comedic material to Cole Escola for his comments. And then I want to publish a book of all my musings with his notes in red. It would probably make a million dollars in the first day. #farfetchity

I'm in really good spirits today. That's what fresh rejection does for my soul: invigorates it.

I'm also so hungry I'd consider chewing a half-alive buffalo carcass. Good morning, vegetarians.

Last night I had dreams about:

1) Mice

2) Facebook updates

3) My stomach bloating to the size of a large bowling ball

So, things are pretty much the same in my life.

Restaurant Week is here again. I really want to try American cuisine this time around. I've been having too much Italian lately. That's what she said! Ohhh!

I've been waiting all week for a paycheck so I can buy a new book. Check back next week to see what I'm "currently reading". Hopefully it won't take me three years to finish it like that horrid Second City book. Just kidding, I enjoyed that book. For ten straight years.

Too much exaggeration this morning. But that's all mornings for me. And afternoons. I take evenings off.

40 minutes until lunch.

Want to feel 'surreal' for approximately seven hours? Go see a good friend get married. Spooky.

I don't like sports. There, I said it.

I've decided to 'grow up' in 2012. Check back in 2012 when I finally reveal: "My Career Choice"!

With that, I take my leave. #oppositeofmaternity

I can't believe my writing has been reduced to hash tags. What a cold, sad world it is. UNT

Chopped Liver.

My blog looks exactly like my life right now. Unfinished. Messy. Disproportionate.

Cloudy.

I'm just kidding, there's no clouds on my blog design [yet]. There are some weird birds on the upper right corner though. What is that about? They're ugly, right? I gotta get rid of them. Right after I find 8 hours of my time to work on HTML coding my blog layout. Right. That'll of course be after I retile my roof and dust my furniture. Dusting is so far-fetched. It's practically magic. It's practically floo powder.

SPEAKING of floo powder, I have been thinking about it all week. Holy shit! Naturally, I just googled floo powder (as a journalist, one must research what they write about. I'm snorting journalistically) and did anyone know there is a Harry Potter Wikipedia? Can I get a 'what the fuck' or WHAT?!

Harry Potter blowjobs my mind

Back to floo powder. The other day I was trying to imagine how mice could access an apartment where there are virtually no visible holes for them to enter. And I was all like, well obviously it's magic. They are obviously using floo powder to enter through the oven, because we don't have a fireplace. Obviously.

Another thought. People who use the phrase "I promise you." What a dumb thing to say. Clearly they're unreliable.

By the way, how funny is that icon I've posted at the top of this entry? I was going to draw my own cartoon with a similar sentiment earlier, but then I thought somebody must have already thought of this. My assumption was correct.

What else, what else. Dusty is in town with a couple friends, namely Kelly. We had quite a pleasant adventure last night. Two hours on a yacht(ish) with wine and cheese at sunset on the Hudson followed by a late dinner at my favorite Thai place in West Midtown. Tried something new and it blew my mind, in an exquisite way. I am also gearing up for tonight's 7-course meal at I Trulli. We shall feast on hand-made pasta ears with rabbit ragu and braised octupus among other things. The word octupus reminds me that I need to start writing down potential porn movie titles. Octopussy. Anyone?! Ah, yess. Picture me stroking a beard like Jafar. Not my own beard. Just literally stroking Jafar's beard. And looking at you.

In all seriousness though, this summer is hot. And not in the Paris Hilton way. More like in the Al Roker sense.

I wish the news involved an astrology section where they predict your weekend. That would be fantastic. Because I really want to know a couple things about my future, and my weekend.

I can't stand when people don't catch an Arrested Development reference I'm making. It really burns me up. When I say 'illusion', you say 'Gob'. When I say 'marry' you say 'me'. When I say 'go', you say 'eagles'.

Ever get really nervous that you might have killed your roommate's plants and herbs because you forgot to water them for 8 days?

Yeah, me neither.

Starting the week after next, I am going to have a lot of free time. Like, too much time. If you know me, you know I prefer being overwhelmingly busy. So, the thought of excessive free time gives me slight anxiety. Think of all the time I'll have to overthink things and procrastinate! Eek.

Today I've been thinking about what if I was one of those really unnecessarily positive/optimistic people. I mean, I'm vaguely optimistic and always hope for the best. However, I'm no Stuart Smalley. I tried to imagine if my mindset was that 'everything is always going as planned' and 'everything will work out perfectly.' Besides the fact that I feel that mindset is unrealistic, naive and illogical, I really pondered how much better I would feel on a daily basis. Nothing could touch me. Literally. I would be unbreakable. Because I would think it was all going to work out no matter what. However, what do those people do when cold hard truth slaps them in the face and makes a poopy mess all over their rainbowy expectations? How do they cope? I am truly wondering. Perhaps I should ask one of them. I only know about two of those people currently and neither of them live in New York. There has to be a happy medium between those people and me. I intend to find it . . . this summer. And retile my roof. And dust.

UNT

Oh no. I feel a British morning coming on . . . where's my cuppa?!

British mornings sometimes come over me like the way people turn into vampires and werewolves in movies. It's like, I can't control it, I'm just . . . I'm morphing . . . it's so . . . AHHH . . . %%#%* . . . Good day, sir!

You ever feel something on your lip after you drank the last sip of coffee and think, "I don't even want to know what that is." That's my whole life right now.

Is "my grandma texts back faster than you" a burn? If so, I'm going to start using it. Today.

So, last night. After yoga. I air popped myself a bowl of plain popcorn, brewed some peppermint tea and settled down to watch a good old-fashioned film. Believe it or not, I had never seen Good Will Hunting. It's been sitting on our counter in its NetFlix envelope for about 31 days now. I finally "found the time" and the "willpower" to "sit down" and watch the damn thing. And boy, am I glad I did. I have no idea how I never got around to watching that film, and I remember when it won awards . . . but I had no idea how great it actually was. God, I love original works . . . original screenplays, original musicals, etc. Besides the film being wonderfully well-written and the parts played so truthfully (holy shit Robin Williams!), hands-down I thought the best scene in the movie was the "It's not your fault" scene. Oh man, I just lost it. It's like, you're sitting there through the whole movie, and you feel just as tense as Matt Damon's character the whole time--all you need is this release. And that scene, it was just so real for me, so honest, it reminded me of theater scenes we did in acting class. So while the film definitely moved me, I still just cannot get over how captivated I was by that one scene. It's just one of my favorite dramatic scenes in a film of all time. Nothing too profound I have to say about it, just that.

I am also watching Lady Gaga's 'Alejandro' music video for the first time. Here were my impressions: Aliens. Longest intro of my life -I feel a year older. Ugly men with hot bodies = confusing. This is really a terrible song. I don't care how visually stimulating it is. It's definitely an Ace of Base song. Had to turn it off 3/4 of the way through.

Must go back to work now. Need wine directly after this. Good thing it's Friday. UNT

Survival of the fittest

Well, it's finally happened. I finally googled something no one ever has before. Waiiit for it . . .

"Can you freeze Pellegrino?"

There it is.

After some more in-depth researching a la Google, I also discovered that sometimes if you try to freeze sparkling water, nothing will happen. UNTIL, you break the seal and try to open it, then the water will freeze right before your very eyes. What. the. Eff? That is one hell of a magic trick, people. I'm sorry, an illusion.

I'm naming one of my sons Eff.

Now that we got THAT out of the way, I can discuss something of substance. Totally kidding.

I just wanted to pop in for a mo' to let everyone know I'm still alive. It's been a whirlwind of a week since I returned from my vacation to California, and apparently the fun (sarcasm) isn't stopping any time soon!

Here's a quick little story about some of the fun things I've been doing lately. Last night I worked a private concert for Elton John and I was passing hors d'oeuvres outside on the patio in 90 degree weather in a polyester suit and people kept grabbing me and reaching over me (read:fondling me) to grab a 'slider' from my tray. Finally, this one twat of a lady tugged on my arm, hard, and was all snottily, 'Um excuse me! Can I get one of those?' After a couple hours of already coping with similar bullshit, that was it for me. I whipped around like Elizabeth Taylor in a Martha-esque fit [Virg. Woolf] and gave her a look that could freeze the Dalai Lama's heart. She literally started. As I spit the words "Excuse me?!" at her, she gave me a sheepish, albeit pathetic, smile. I guess she was sorry she was acting like a crazy person about trying to get a fucking slider by manhandling a poor butler who was just trying to get through the evening with at least half her dignity intact. There are little children starving all over the world, and yet for some reason these millionaires feel it necessary to physically assault a cater waiter in order to get one ounce of shitty beef at an event. They wouldn't know 'starving' if it bit them in the ass. And that is what I wanted to do to that lady. Bite her. In the ass. Outrageousness.

But I guess things could be worse. I just wanted to share a little tidbit of what it's like to butler at a terrible event. Not all are bad, but sometimes, even the strongest mofo can get shaken up.

I'm off! Have a pleasant, non-angry week!

UNT

Birdbath.

Should I hold a press conference to issue my public apology before or after this espresso?

Do an egg and a half cup of beans make a meal?

Am I a model?

These are this morning's unanswered questions.

Last night's Upright Citzens Brigade ASSSSCAT3000 show (featuring Donald Glover!!) had me thinking a lot about catchphrases. Mostly because the monologist (the first funny one I've seen in months-wow!) created his own catchphrase by the end of the show: "By the way, I'm super gay, so get on board!" And then we all honked our train horns (hoo hoo!) and made a chug-a-lug motion with our fists. That does not sound funny at all written out. Ay carumba. Anyway, the point is I want to coin a catchphrase. Possibly by Wednesday. And I want to use it all over the place in California next week so that I can dominate the coasts.

Possibilities:

"Things are about to get shitty."

I feel like this is already a catchphrase. And/or I've been saying it since 1999. God, I love 1999 jokes. I haven't seen a movie since 1999! I haven't worn pants since 1999! I haven't burped a baby since 1999!

"Sex and the shitty"

I'm scrapping this one already. I gave it five seconds.

"Put it on!"

No idea. Maybe I need another espresso.

"Mosquitos say what?!"

I will admit, this is my personal favorite. I wish a mosquito answered me.

Okay, I'm over catchphrases. But, I do want to bring back the word crumby. Like from 1999.

UNT

P.S. I took a picture of this bird that is always on my fire escape over the weekend. Next day, there was a dead bird on my fire escape. Obviously I drew conclusions from this. Obviously these were the conclusions: 1) Bird bodies cannot handle indoor flash 2) Anything I take a picture of will die the next day 3) Good luck for 7 years

Thursday.

I wish these coquettish texts came with a 19th-century lace fan.

How come I can never tell if I'm being a hypochondriac or if I'm being realistic?

Specifically: Do I have a concussion right now?

I am typing pretty fast. Modern science would probably assert that I do not have a concussion. Hah. Modern Science. That's a good baby name.

Oh my GOD, I just cannot seem to get through this work day. Everything turns into a fit of laughter. Late to work? Hilarious. Coffee all down my shirt? Priceless. Forgetting to do the one urgent thing my boss asked me to do? Comical. Forgetting the important part of my lunch, like the protein and fiber, in my fridge at home? Hysterical. Coworker hitting me in the head with the fridge door so hard I fall down? Uproarious.

You guys ever listen to the song by Fergie called "Labels or Love"? I swear I keep hearing her say "Buzz Lightyear," but that just cannot be correct. Can it?

Was I having difficulty breathing before getting hit in the head? Probably. That's the thing: all the symptoms for concussions I could find were things like: difficulty concentrating, confusion, fatigue, and depression. I feel those things on a daily basis though, so it's anyone's guess.

These mosquito bites on my wrist are turning into leprosy.

I have a goose egg on my head right now. I just felt it. And shuddered.

Who wants to date me?

I need a through-line for this entry. I'm totally kidding. When do my entries ever follow a straight direction of thinking?

Oh God. Am I dizzy? I just sneezed and felt weird.

I hope someone reliable is reading this.

Santa?

You know where I live.

I need to feel 100% in two hours when it's time to head to the gym.

Then after I want to feel like 100 bucks.

No. 1,000 bucks.

No. 600 Indian Rupees.

Does workwomen's comp include coworker brutality?

I think this concussion is improving my vocabulary.

!SEGUESEGUESEGUESEGUESEGUE!

I met a girl my age yesterday who is basically living the life I want to lead.

Okay, maybe not completely.

But about 1/2 of her life is the kind of life I would like to have right now.

I decided to take some time (not now) to examine this idea. It reminds me of something Hunter Bell once said: "What would you do if you could do anything and knew you couldn't fail?" Obviously he was not the originator of that statement, but I really liked that he said it, so I'm hanging onto it. This question means a lot to me, and the funny/sad thing is I know exactly how I would answer it. However, this 'goal' of sorts literally feels impossible to me due to choices I've made in the past and how old I am. I know that sounds ridiculous and I understand it's never too late, but the task just seems daunting. Maybe I don't want it bad enough? Anyway, like I said, I'd like to delve into this topic deeper . . . just not now and not in a public blog. Who knows, maybe I'll squirt out an epiphany baby. Here's to hoping!

I gotta run y'all. Have a lovely weekend and try not to get hit in the head!

UNT

p.s. You're welcome for that segue. I could have just skipped that, you know. I'm so polite.

Willard.

So after three bouts of renewing and diligent laziness, I am finally 1/4 of the way through the book I've been reading. Luckily, I have two 2-hour long bus rides planned this weekend when I venture to Philly to visit Lisa, my friend of 19 years and 8 months (and 10 hours and 3 seconds). Hopefully I will finish the book, or get some reading done, or draw a cartoon and put on makeup--which is what I accomplished last time I took the bus to Philly.

As I figured it would, the book is having a strong effect on me. Okay, maybe not strong, because I read about 2 pages every 2 weeks. Compelling book. No really, it's a great book of interviews describing the history of The Second City. Recently though, it's been getting really good . . . I'm in the 70s now and Bill Murray just signed on. They've also started telling stories of a former player, Betty Thomas. You may or may not know her. Anyway, here's a little bit of a story about the kind of woman she was, which I absolutely adore. I just cannot wait until the part when Gilda Radner and Catherine O'Hara join. These are some of the women who have always inspired me over the years and keep my belief in comedy as a high art form strong and alive.

Here's what they had to say about Betty:

Excerpt from The Second City Unscripted by Mike Thomas:

Jim Staahl

I remember we were doing some stupid-ass thing backstage, and people were arguing, and David Rasche was disagreeing with Betty [Thomas] about something. And Betty stands there and goes, "All right, I'm done with you. You think you're such hot shit. Okay, whip it out. Show me your dick." And then we're all looking around like, "Holy crap!" And I swear to God, Rasche unzips his pants, holds out his dick, and she's like, "You call that a dick?"

David Rasche

I would do that today.

Mert Rich

When you were a new guy, you had to show her your dick. Betty said it had to be done. "Come on. Show me your dick."

I laughed out loud when I read that. Sigh. I wish my typical day was creating shit at an improv theatre instead of doing whatever the hell I do at this 9-5.

Sorry--I'll try to end on a more positive note. Pirates! Churros! Baby donkeys! UNT

I haven't been outside since 1999.

Ohhhh, Daddy needs a coffee. Eyelids droopin. Mind poopin. Ears shoop-a-looping.

Ah, this entry is off to a great, mature start. I apologize for not being more 'available' on the blogosphere as of late. Just really haven't been in the mood to start writing and then carry it through to the end. Seriously. Hence, the topic of today's entry:

Abandoned Blog Entries . . .

OoOo spooky

Recently I came across a few 'drafts' of blog entries that I've never finished/posted, but have been saved on the server. I thought I'd post them for your amusement--it's like the special features-deleted scenes bonus of my blog!!!

1) Subject: I want a foam roller for my half birthday.

If I don't start learning to trust my intuition, I'm eventually just gonna get eaten by a gorilla . . . in broad daylight.

Ten dollars. Ten muthaeffin dollars. So distressing.

2) Subject: You're so domestic . . . just like my dog.

Remember when I had a crush on that guy at my catering job? And then, out of nowhere, he vanished. Just like that. Probably drowned in the Hudson. At least that's what I tell myself.

3) Subject: Untitled

So tempted to shoot a music video in my office.

Preferably to a John Legend song.

I just need a video camera, really. And a tripod.

No need for costumes. Just heavy lip-synching.

I also wish I could tape what's going on right now to music, because it's amazing.

Currently, I have a sandwich bag of ice rubber-banded to my foot. I've fashioned a foot rest out of a box top on top of my garbage can under my desk.

If I were directing my music video, I would station the camera to the left of me and keep it there, because my left side is my good side mostly. Then I would stay seated with my iced foot propped up the entire time. I would lip-synch and then maybe at the end awkwardly forget to lip synch for the last note and ruin the whole sound of the music video.

Holy shit! There was really loud chirping going on behind me just now in my office. And I thought to myself, now, how can I hear birdies so clearly when I'm way too high up for any trees? Cut to two birds literally being on the inside of the window on the ledge. What the . . ?! So naturally I lunge forward (to catch one), and they gave me the bitchiest look and then flew away. Maybe a pungent smell attracted them to my window ledge. Like my Fiber One cereal or my perfume, called Arrid XX.

Get me out of here (my office).

UNT

"How to be a Person"

Things that have defined my post-college career:

1) Eating so fast I almost choke.

It seems like I am always hiding the fact that I am eating. In creative writing class, eating my boss' bananas, stealing food at catering, etc. Either that, or I am just always eating, and it happens to interfere with the rest of the happenings in my life at the time. Probably the latter.

2) Balancing Alcoholism

How are you supposed to drink at 24? Society does not seem to accept black-out drunk like they did in college. But, you're not 30 yet, so it's okay to be annoying/loud/silly as long as you still look young. But where do you draw the line? Can you fall on your face? Can you take off your shirt on the street? Can you eff in the back of a cab? These are life's unanswered questions.

3) Free shit

I'm nervous free shit will never not appeal to me thanks to going to university. Currently I know where to get free cheese and wine samples on what day, when free Chipotle day is, where many buy one get one happy hours are, I am a member of the Free Godiva a Month club and am aware of when there will be free giveaways at Sephora. The other day I saw a 40s-ish woman ask for more free samples at Godiva when the sample tray was empty - it was somewhat embarrassing. When I see free, I have to have it. Even if I don't want it. This can't go on forever.

What a wild entry this was.

I just can't exactly think straight as I am juggling working 60 hours this week and anticipating Kamaal's arrival in NYC tomorrow! Here's to hoping I don't go broke this weekend again!

UNT