Monday, September 7, 2009


Good morning, starshine. It's two a.m., or something like that. And I am up, because it's the last night of the summer. I haven't had any Powerade tonight. I swear to God. The doctors told me I had to stop with that, because I was getting too many electrolytes and calories, or something like that. So I'm up, in some desperate last-ditch attempt to make my summer last longer. Or something like that. And what a summer it's been, don't you agree? I love my life right now, which is not something I would usually say. I just watched a video of Rondi Reed getting into her Madame Morrible, which is always not something I would usually say. So this summer's been a mix of ups and downs. Okay, it was mostly up. Sorry, friends. I don't want to rub it in, but I really did have one great summer. I think the best days of it were:

1. August 20
2. August 8
3. July 13

And now I am awake, and tired, and having a panic attack because it's over. I don't do well with letting stuff go. I still have a bouquet of year-old prop flowers the Spring Awakening stage door man gave me. Lenora can attest to this. They are currently standing upside-down on my vanity, an eyesore but a fountain of memories. Of course, if I tried to touch them they would probably crumble faster than Alice Ripley's descent into madness. (But I still effing adore Alice Ripley, and it makes no difference to me whether or not she's on crack. So what? Carey Grant did LSD. So you can all just shut up about that.) I cannot tell you all the embarrassing things I've done to keep myself awake. I read some of Emily Kinney's blog posts. She's Jean on the August: Osage County tour. The only acceptable Jean for me is Madeleine Martin, just like Vivien Leigh is the only acceptable Blanche DuBois and blue is the only acceptable Powerade flavor. I leafed through August: OC and counted the number of times Barbara says f-ck. Trust me. It's a lot. After that I looked at some old pictures and marveled at how fat I was as a child. In an hour I will watch Family Guy. While we're on the subject, some poor unfortunate soul had the absolute unmitigated gall to tell me that South Park was funnier than Family Guy. That is an utterly unacceptable thing to say, and horrifying too. Jesus, I'm soooo tired. How tired, you ask? So tired that if I were Caissie Levy I'd be ripping my weave out right now. And then the world would rejoice. Sorry, Caissie Levy. I'm backing off now. You do what you want with your hair, and I'll just silently judge you. Don't take it personal. I do that to everybody.

So I saw Taking Woodstock last night. (Technically, two days ago?) Yeah. You know that scene in Schindler's List where all the women see the children being taken off to the gas chambers? That was a lot less painful.

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