If apes can do sign language...

...then certainly we can solve this looming problem.

Having toilets that flush automatically is an astounding privilege, and you are abusing it. It's as if we take for granted that we have usable hands or some shit. Since the beginning of the automatic toilet's creation, I have seen hundreds, thousands, probably millions of public bowls sullied with yellow-brown water, wads of toilet paper, menstrual blood, you name it. Often times I give the pissers, shitters, and menstruators before me the benefit of the doubt and assume, "That thing must be broken."

There are signs behind most of these toilets next to buttons that read "Press to flush." I always give the button the old college try because I do not care to add my urine to the existing muck so someone else can gaze upon all those natural colors. Nine times out of ten, the waste flushes down to where it needs to be--out of fucking sight. Am I the only person who can read these signs? No. You are just lazy and nasty

People of Earth who use public restrooms, I implore you! You are not kings and queens. I know this because monarchs do not frequent toilets at stadiums and airports. If they did they would probably have an assistant accompany them in order to take care of Royal Flush anyway. (You're welcome.) If the automatic mechanism does not work you should have the damn decency to flush the fucking commode.

Let me put it this way. If you walked up to an automatic door that did not open upon your arrival, would you not shop at that grocery store? Would you just stand there like the little dog from that episode of Two Stupid Dogs I loved so much? No. You'd push. It takes more manpower to push open a door than it does to push the tiny button on these new-fangled toilets that aren't so much a novelty in this day and age as they are an expectation. Button pushing is satisfying as hell! We push buttons repeatedly throughout the day while sitting at computers or communicating via text. We love pushing buttons. Think of it as a game. Think back to when you were potty training and you loved to watch your business spiral into what seemed like an alternate universe. Better yet, think of your fellow man, the person who has to come into the stall behind you. That person could be me, and I do not care to view your fecal matter.

So remember- if you piss or shit in town and the automatic flush don't come 'round, flush it down.

Life is a cancer. A wonderful, glorious cancer.

I will begin this post by stating that I am fine. I am going to be okay. Typically, I am opposed to sharing something so personal via the web unless, of course, it's hilarious. Inspiration struck about an hour ago and, though you may be reading this after several days have passed and I've begun to regret the decision to be so open, I promise to leave this posted because it is important information.

Cancer is a terrifying thing and, even though I've known people to die from and overcome it, I have never thought about it beyond the scope of its mere existence. As a young buck (Actually, I suppose I'm a doe.) no one imagines they'll have to seek an answer to that dreaded question- Is it cancer? The term "cancer scare" now has a whole new meaning to me.

Luckily, when I discovered my body's latest...uh...development, I was a week away from an already scheduled appointment. I spent one agonizing weekend worrying that I could be knocking on death's door. After that appointment, where I was told I was not allowed to worry or stress which did not work, I was referred to Stroger hospital. As a newly insured American citizen, I did not have a regular doctor to see and all recommended physicians had mile-long waiting lists.

Another agonizing couple of days. A trip to the ER because, apparently, that's how you start things at Stroger. Initially, I was told that my insurance would not cover the cost of the ER visit to which I responded, "You mean I have to pay out the ass and jump through hoops to find out I'm not dying of cancer?" I don't know if it was my talent for being extremely blunt when I am scared or the tears I shed that won over the administrator's heart, but she personally walked down to Stroger's financial services office to make certain I was covered. I was. Considering I would have left without treatment had I not been, I am grateful for this woman and glad that I terrified her.

Hours later, I was sitting on a cold table in the emergency room, my heart pounding out of my chest, the nurse asks, "What brings you in today?"

"Um. I found something. In my breast. I want to make sure it's not cancer."

My voice was shaky. I was timid. It was the first time I'd said it aloud to anyone while looking them in the face, and I wanted to handle this with discretion. (I'd handle it publicly later.) She made some notes on my chart, told me the doctor would be in shortly and, closing the door behind her as she exited, shouted, "IT'S HER BREAST!" So much for being discrete. The doctor came in, felt of the thing, said, "Yep," and scheduled me for another appointment. More worry. More stress. Another appointment at a clinic that had clearly not been remodeled since the late 70's. Still no answers. This happened twice more before my favorite doctor throughout this entire process said, "I'm going to stick a needle in this."

These words should have terrified me but, on the contrary, they gave me a bit of relief. Not to go into too much detail but sticking a needle into this sucker could tell her whether or not it was a cyst or something much more sinister. Favorite doctor (Should have learned her name)set up an appointment for an ultrasound, which meant there would be more waiting. The thing I had was indeed a cyst but, as she put it creepily, "There could be something lurking behind it." I was given my choice of bandaid- "Barbie, peace sign, princess frog, or Disney princesses?" - for the spot on my ta-ta where I'd been pierced with a needle. Wasn't this a place for, I don't know, adults?

"Uh...peace sign?"

Upon seeing my psychedelic bandage, I contemplated doing a ton of flashing that day, but I didn't.

For the ultrasound appointment one month later, I sat in a mammography clinic full of women where the receptionist used always gross to hear, "Ma'am?" whenever she needed anyone's attention. Because, when you're in a room full of thirty women, that's the easiest way to single out a specific individual. I kept telling myself to find the comedy in this situation, so I was grateful this woman existed and that her method was so piss poor. I sat in my chair and played with my new, pink breast cancer awareness pen until my name was called. Worry.

I saw the ultrasound tech. She asked if I'd ever had an ultrasound before and, after a game of "Who's on first?" we both understood that I had not. She spread the goop on me and looked at the cloudy abyss that is the inside of my body. It occurred to me how I'd always imagined my first ultrasound. I never thought I would be nervous about it. Happy would have been more like it. I kept hoping she would say, "It's not cancer, Casey. You're just pregnant...in your boob." I don't particularly want a baby at this stage in life, but at least I'd know what to do with one. How do you nurture a cancer? Instead of giving me any feedback, however, she said, "You'll have to see the doctor. He'll be here in about thirty minutes. Please get dressed and go back out to the waiting room." Great. Another half an hour of waiting, more goop, and finally! The ultrasound confirmed that Favorite Doctor was correct. This was a cyst and, most importantly, it was not sinister and there was nothing lurking beyond it. I didn't have cancer. A weight was lifted from my shoulders.

I've been to Stroger once since the ultrasound for a follow up. I will have to go back in six months just to make sure everything is okay. In the past four months, I have had about ten medical appointments. There's a reason why I am eager to see the end of this year. I'm tired of cold exam tables and paper gowns. All things considered, I am grateful for those appointments because they gave me peace of mind and put the rest of my year into perspective. In the past twelve months I have:

-Written, co-produced and performed in my own one-person show
-Attempted and survived stand-up comedy many times
-Been a storyteller
-Said goodbye to one great roommate and friend but gained a new great roommate in a two week span
-Started work on two other plays as well as mapped out plans for a sketch revue
-Started a brand new job at Second City- a place I've loved and worshiped since way before I knew I would make Chicago my home

Everything I experienced this year caused me stress and worry. My first thought when I found this thing was that everything had been a waste. Of course I'd get cancer after a couple of months of finally feeling settled and fulfilled. Why wouldn't I? And how great of me to be a worrier all my life? I had ruined perfectly good days of living by being freaked out that my shoes were dirty, or my mom had a headache, or my windshield wipers needed to be replaced. Now, here I was, at the potential end of my life, and I would fret about what was killing me. A few weeks into the process, I realized that stress and worry were in fact my strongest motivators, because they kept me going back for answers. I had to make certain I was well, to eliminate that stress because I still had work to do. Fun to have. Stress to manage. Things to make and other stupid shit to worry about.

Thinking you could have cancer makes you appreciate the following:

*Production schedules
*Comedy
*Theatre
*Music
*Friends who sit with you in the ER and buy you giant Hello Kitty dolls
*Moms, grandmothers, aunts, and best friends who listen as you cry into the phone and offer words of encouragement
*Roommates who make you laugh and make you food
*Boyfriends who know the importance of wine and strong shoulders
*Love, as gross as it is
*Planned Parenthood
*Gchat
*Fucking Lifetime movies
*Harry Potter, especially those last two movies. Glad I lived to see those!
*Work, but not too much work
*Sitting on the stoop watching your neighbors interact with their dogs and children
*Beer
*Fat cats
*Peace sign bandaids
*Text messages from my dad about weird last names he heard
*Slamming my thumb in a car door
*This pad thai that I am currently eating
*Trips to New York
*and football

I'm just kidding about that last one, but I think that's a pretty stellar list. I used to believe that I would be famous by now. I thought I would be selling out shows on Broadway, starring in major motion pictures, creating brilliant art that spoke to the world, and/or publishing novels that set the world on fire. I haven't done any of those things. At the end of the day, I am just a lady who does regular stuff and makes things she hopes people will like. I'm not saying I'll never stress over little things or where my life is headed. I believe I can attribute 80% of my personality to the presence of stress in my life and how I handle it. (I deal with it like a crazy person, by the way.) Most importantly, though, stress means I'm alive. It means I have a life. Even if I'm not where I thought I would be, I am someplace good even if I don't always remember that.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm glad I'm not dying? Not at an accelerated speed anyway. I have a new understanding and respect for those who have lived with cancer. I get it. The fear is palpable even if you don't have it. Getting yourself checked is important, ladies. Peace of mind is everything! I am incredibly lucky to be out of the woods and surrounded by supportive people. Instead of worrying about my day-to-day stress, I'm going to embrace it and then move past it. You'll probably hear me bitch a lot. Just remind me in times like that, friends, that I am not sick, it's just a bad day. Also, remind me that I once had a ten-day vacation...which I should be packing for at this very moment instead of writing this. Fuck.

The Muppets. I mean, come on, guys! So good!

As a child of the 80's, I expected to like this movie. I did not, however, expect to fall in love with it.

The script is perfect. There was probably no better way to reintroduce the world to the beloved Muppets than by calling out the fact that we seem to have forgotten about their brilliance over the past couple of decades. I've been saying it for years, and I appreciate this movie for saying it as well: Today's idea of entertainment for children is watered down, idiotic, and probably turning our future leaders into morons. These are the people who will be taking care of you when you're old. Treat children with respect. They're smart. Also, it wouldn't kill you to write family films that (Here's a novel idea!) the entire family can actually enjoy, would it? Clearly, according to what I saw this weekend, it can be done. I'm an adult, but I laughed and cried my way through this entire movie and plan on seeing it again. My best friend's 3 year old son, also a fan. I'm sure my grandmother would enjoy it as well. I know my parents would! So...there's that.

The music killed me. The direction was stellar. Why? Because two of the people responsible for the Flight of the Conchords success had their hands all up in this thing. James Bobin and Bret McKenzie, take a bow.

Jason Segel, what can I say? I love you. I love you to pieces, and you should be proud. (He's not really reading this, but this is what I would say to him if he walked into the room right now. Chill out.) What better person to bring back our old friends? This project came from a genuine place of fandom which is probably why I can't say a bad thing about the film. It made me happy as hell. This proud member of the Muppets generation thanks you, and you've found a forever fan in me.

And, to our newest Muppet, Walter: Welcome! No cousin Oliver/Scrappy Doo syndrome here. Thank sweet shit for that. Walter is just as delightful, charming, and lovable as Kermit, Fozzie, Beaker, Animal, Miss Piggy, the Swedish Chef, Janice, Gonzo, Sweetums...do you get where I'm going with this?

Today's brilliance.

Sometimes comedy writes itself, and sometimes Perez Hilton inadvertently writes it for you.

This is not real.

Are you kidding me? Facebook users actually believe that a surgeon sat down with a family and said, "Your son is in need of a heart transplant. The surgery will cost you upwards of one hundred and forty-five thousand dollars. But, hold on! Don't cry, Mrs. Waters. Have I got a deal for you! If you act now and take a sad photo of your child hooked up to life support and post it on Facebook, and if one hundred people share that picture, I'll do the surgery for free. I'm just that nice of a guy. Whadya say?! One hundred shares. That's all I'm asking. That's less than the dollar amount. I really need this to happen. I love Facebook sharing. It's my drug. Make it happen."

Bullshit.

Why should you respect your techie or stage manager?

Think about it. They don't get a bow. They do not get reviewed. They do not receive applause. Rarely will the average audience member or critic rave about the props, the set, the lighting, or the sound. A technician's job is often thankless and, this may cause a few pairs of undies to bunch, some may argue they even work harder than you do, dear actors. Yes, that's right. There is a reason why it is easier to find a paid stage manager than a wealthy performer in Chicago. There is a reason why you point to the booth during the curtain call. It isn't to stave off some old superstition.It is to direct the audience's attention to the person behind the glass, the man behind the curtain. A long time ago, some person (perhaps it was a director) had the brilliant idea to make it customary because actors, while basking in the glow of audience affection or the stage lighting that makes them look oh, so pretty, would most likely forget to do so. The performer who does not appreciate and thank his or her technicians (And understudies, dammit! Even talented people get explosive diarrhea at inopportune moments.) deserve a literal leg break.

Do not disrespect those who are in a position to truly at the helm of your little show. And, by the way, to ignore is to disrespect. You may receive most of the glory, but the show is in your technicians' hands. Your stage managers should be considered gods. They have the power the cut the lights at any time. Perhaps when you're exiting down a flight of stairs...

Think about it, pretty assholes.

On a very special episode of CSI...

I call this photo 'Make Out Point' or...'Where the Body Was Found'

All things I find difficult to do with this smashed thumb: a list

-Typing this list
-Everything else

Sometimes, I think.

I was only nine when I realized how quickly life can change. I had never lost a grandparent, never buried a pet. My parents had divorced the year prior and, though that did have some impact on my life, I can't say I was in much of a mourning phase at the time. Perhaps things were just too rocky towards the end of that marriage for me to view that split as an unwelcome development. Or, perhaps I was a kid. All I knew were the facts. My uncle Jeffrey was just 23 years old. He was young, smart, sarcastic, funny, and he loved 80's pop music. He was sick. And then, just like that, he was gone.

This isn't some story about my uncle's death or how I went to my first funeral or a cheap way for me to get attention and sympathy for something that happened two decades ago. Though, now that I've written that out, I cannot believe that much time has passed. I can't say that the death of my uncle was the most painful or only loss that I would suffer. When I was 17, my younger stepbrother was accidentally killed. When I was Jeffrey's age I not only experienced firsthand how incredibly young that feels, especially when it comes to the subject of dying, that was also the year I lost my 28 year old cousin abruptly. One year later, my great grandmother passed. The year after that, another cousin was killed in a car accident. There were family friends who were killed suddenly. I watched my parents divorce from their respective second spouses, I fell in and out of touch with people I'd known as constants in my life, I watched my mother battle addiction and lose time and time again, and then things just seemed to even out.

As all of it was happening around me, I knew,

"Casey Gayle, this is a tough pill to swallow. Nothing lasts forever."

And when I stood amongst my peers, a group of youthful, idealistic dreamers who thought and believed we had our entire lives in front of us, my knowledge of time's ability to zip by in an instant and change your reality and my unfortunate familiarity with the finality of death made me an outcast. I was, in many ways, an old woman trapped in a young body. But I knew one thing to be true- the fire in my gut was not indigestion, it was a desire to go, to be, to do, and to become. I set out to prove I could be anything I wanted to be and, having dealt with what I'd dealt with, I was pretty cocky about it. Terrified, yes, but I'd found that most overly- confident fuckers are scared out of their minds anyway. The fear was nothing more than a motivator.

Moving was in my blood. My mother and I lived in more houses in my youth than most people even visited in their lifetime, so I knew I could pack up and go. All I had to do was search and I would find what I needed. My path took me across the country not once, but twice. Alone. The minute I got settled into a "daily grind", I had to move on. I was going to be the greatest success my small Georgia town had ever seen. I would write films, I would write books, I would write books that would be turned into to films, I would star in those films, I would marry Elijah Wood or someone equally as geeky, and I would have money to buy my remaining family members what they needed since their business went bankrupt and they didn't have very much. It was not a question of "if" but a question of "when." Every show that I did was a step toward that better future where I was an accomplished whatever the hell I was meant to be and people were intimidated by how awesome I had become. I wanted and needed to work. Sleep? Who needed it? Money for food? I'd find it. Parties with friends? Later...after rehearsal...when they were all too drunk to remember. I worked my fingers to the bone, I lost too much weight, and I lived a life full of wants. And then 2009 happened.

It wasn't as if I never expected to get another phone call like the ones I'd received in my youth. I knew it would happen again, because that is the unfortunate reality that is life. I just didn't think it would happen when I was so far away from my home, nor did I think I would experience two losses so close to one another. April of that year my grandfather passed and two months later, almost to the exact day, my grandmother on the other side of the family died quickly and suddenly. Two people with direct lines to my childhood, gone. I realized then that the death of a loved one has a completely different effect on you if you're an adult. As a child, you know it can happen. When it happens, you grieve, you send that person's soul to heaven, and you move on. As a grown-up, the pain was like a third arm. It was palpable. I could taste it. It was present in everything I saw and did. It took over my spirit for months and made me question everything about myself. What did I want out of life?

I came out of that a different person. I wouldn't say I'm any weaker, though stronger doesn't seem quite right either. My life did take on new meaning. I started to take root in Chicago. For the first time, I really felt I had a home away from home. Visions of moving off to LA and New York vanished from my mind. This is where I came to find out new things, and this is where I would stay. My goals didn't change, but my approach did. I backed off. I started seeing things right in front of me and taking them at face value: I have a job that I do not like. That needs to change today. I'm not doing the shows I want to do or getting the roles I think I deserve. That needs to change today. I am not acknowledging other people's birthdays or special events like I should. That needs to change today. Everything I saw, everything I felt, everything I believed, it was happening to me and it was happening today. I couldn't say what or where I would be tomorrow, because that was not something I was guaranteed as a human being. I simply had today. So, what would I do with it?

I still only have today. I still live part of my life on pins and needles waiting for news-both good and bad. But I slowed down for today. I can't spend countless hours working towards something that is not guaranteed to be mine tomorrow if I don't even have tomorrow's contract signed and in my hand. It shocks me to this day that those deaths had that impact on my work ethic. The very thing that sped me up and made me a workaholic in my youth slowed me down when I got older. I hold onto goals and dreams, and sometimes those wants and desires are much larger than my willingness to do and to work. I still put forth an effort and I try to "make something of myself" even if I'm not sure what the fuck that means half the time. But I do my best to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. At times, the thought of not having a tomorrow causes me to cling to people, to panic about my current day and worry I won't get things done. But, I have to take a step back and look at life like this: You spend the first few years of your life wrapped up safely in someone's arms. As you develop and grow, you are thrust out into a world that can be cruel and unforgiving. It can scar you. But, if you can end your life wrapped in that same security, whether it's the arms of a friend, a significant other, or someone you've helped in some way, then how can life really be so bad? How can all of the trivial nonsense we bitch about on a daily basis because we're spoiled American brats really matter? If you can't be certain you'll reach the first half of tomorrow, why spend the last half of today consumed with regret and worry?

As artists, as 20 and 30-somethings, as people, we long for what is right around the corner. We beat ourselves up if things don't go our way. We criticize and judge ourselves based on how successful we've become, how much money they make, how many expensive trips we can afford. What if we just cut ourselves some slack? What if we gave ourselves some fucking peace? What if, just once, we sat on the front stoop and caught up with an old friend? What if we made it a point to do that every day? What if we relished in the little things? Would that get us to the goals of tomorrow any faster? Most likely not. But, it would really sweeten our existence today.

Girl talk

Meghan: I really like your ring.
Me:Thanks! You know, I don't know where I got this ring. You would think a ring THIS big, I would recall getting it, but I don't. I mean...maybe it was a gift...
Meghan: Maybe you stole it.
Me: Right! Maybe I just lifted it as a rebellious teen.
Nicole: Perhaps you made it.
Me: Yeah. I mean, perhaps it was forged in the fires of Mount Doom. Who's to say?
Meghan: That ring may have evil powers.
Me: It must be destroyed.

I bought a DVD today...

You know what keeps me from thinking Kristen Wiig may have followed me around to gain inspiration for this character? Her hair and clothes are better than mine. I suppose Hollywood tried to throw me off her track. Not falling for it, Wiig.

KW to the rescue

I can't get over what a darling Kate Winslet is! She saved an old woman from a house fire. She's a legit hero and LOOK AT HER! I have no words...just emotion, MS Paint, and not enough work to do. (The last line is a 'Titanic' joke. If you don't get that reference, consider yourself a success. If you do, you're a friend.)

Idea overload

I'm starting to get so many good ideas for scripts that it's difficult to decide where to begin. I wish someone would pay me just to sit in a room, drink a bottle of wine, and talk about the shit that comes to mind. Throw in a few friends, and I could make millions. (I'd split that with the friends.)


By the way, this is a photo that comes up on Google when you search "script ideas" and I am embracing its pretentious weirdness.

What's odd about the entire thing is having a work ethic. Actually sitting down and putting ideas onto paper is time consuming and frustrating. I am easily distracted by things like puppies, or a nice day, or cupcakes. No joke- mentally, I am a six year old child.

Mark my words. If I can get motivated again, I will make it my mission to get published.

So, you've decided to ride your bike...

(Please note this is not a slam against those who ride bikes. It is a slam against idiots.)

You bike to work. That is commendable. Riding a bike in the city is something I choose to avoid. It isn't because I like to cause pollution that I drive my car. To put it plainly, I am a spazz and do not trust myself when operating such a simple vehicle especially when said vehicle was not designed to give me a false sense of security in the form of doors and a roof of some sort. What you do on a daily basis is praiseworthy, because it is very dangerous. I am a firm believer in cyclists' rights as I know and love many people who ride bikes to and from work every day. So, let it be said, I am watching out for you. But would it kill you to watch out for me and other motorists as well? Or yourselves for that matter? I'm fairly certain the answer to that question is- no, it will not kill you, and thank goodness for that!

Cyclists make me nervous because, for every one person I see on their bike with both hands on the handlebars, their eyes on the road, signaling before they make each turn, I see about three doing the exact opposite. They're swerving in and out of the bike lane, they're showing lack of concern for their own well-being, and they're texting or chatting on their cell phone while riding one-handed in high traffic areas. Since when did your bicycle become your free pass to be a jackass? The last time I checked, the only people who have an excuse to go about their day performing feats of lunatic daring and idiocy while leaving the responsibility of their own safety in the hands of other people are children and, even then, I question whether or not I agree with such practices. Your safety is important to me but you are also an adult and, if you don't necessarily care about getting to and fro in one piece, why do I have to then take all of that weight onto my shoulders?

I am on the roads every day, and I know that people drive cars like idiots, some people ride bikes like idiots, and even pedestrians are known to walk like idiots. We're only human after all. I am not the bully just because I am in a car. I am doing my part as a responsible motorist by looking out for you, but is it too much to ask for us to all look out for one another? I am tired of seeing news articles about serious and fatal bike accidents throughout the city. As a concerned friend, I lose sleep over it and it breaks my heart. But know this- it doesn't matter if you hit someone or you are the one on the receiving end of the blow; only the details of an accident determine whether or not you are the victim or the asshole.

Motorists, cyclists, and pedestrians- keep your eyes open and be safe!

Warning: Some Sketch comedy scenes could incite an orgy

There will be women there, and I don't want any of them to be uncomfortable. I mean, there will be drinking so there's no telling what could happen.

-A client

Lessons in love from this idiot here.

OR, you could say "Yeah, speaking of alleys..." then say something witty about your vagina.

-How to respond to an email sent by someone you think should ask you out

Year of Myself

I am a shy person;I always have been. As a kid I was terrified to speak out of turn or draw attention to myself in a bold way. There is a part of me that is still a bit fearful of that today. I'm also an only child. When I discovered theater it was a way for me to feel like I was part of the group. I tried everything from musicals to improv. As long as I was serving a team, I was happy.

Some time last year, those feelings changed. The desire to work with "reputable" companies within the city and have Chris Jones remember your name fondly was palpable...for most. It wasn't for me. I auditioned for some shows and theaters because I thought it was what I "have to do in order to make it." Then I realized that I don't know what it means to "make it", I think auditions are more awkward than shitting your pants on a first date, and my desire in life is to be creatively fulfilled, not necessarily a working actor. And with that, I decided to write my own shit and be a solo performer.

Just like when I started out in theater, I was scared out of my mind. The shy and awkward only child's place is not the stage, and the idea of standing alone on that stage sent me into hysterics regularly. However, the only child does have a sense of independence and, if you want something done right, you force yourself to do it even if it makes you so fearful you feel as if you are on the verge of upchucking all hours of the day and night. What will you learn in the process? Let's find out, shall we.

I started out my Year of Myself by writing a one-woman show. I didn't know if it would be produced or not. I wasn't even certain that people would like it, but I shared it with a select few then moved on to my next conquest- stand up comedy. Standing up with a microphone was a breeze, and I didn't die. As a matter of fact, I finally knew what it was like to speak to a group of people and not have them interrupt me with much funnier and wittier bits than my own. Once stand up was put down for a nap, my one-woman show was produced. I got to perform my own words for six weeks, and no one said they hated it. After all that madness, I decided to try storytelling and, once again, not a single one of the "cool kids" who came out to listen thought it was terrible. That is to say no one was man enough to hate me to my face in the past few months and, therefore, I consider them my adoring public. I had an invigorating year and, as always, putting myself in situations I fear most proved to be the best thing for me.

Why am I writing this? Because I hope it will go viral and spawn my blogging career? No, but it you want to share this, you have my blessing. Basically, I just want my artistic friends to know how important it is to not follow these guidelines and rules set up in our industry which is, come on, folks, centered around make believe anyway, to the letter. You can do absolutely anything if your goal is to simply do that thing, and it will be satisfying. In art, as long one tries, one cannot fail. In addition to that, even if you do attempt to step up onto that stage all by your lonesome, you are not by yourself. It took an army of fabulous friends to act as my emotional support, my audience, my directors and producers in order to make my year what it was--a success in my eyes.

The main purpose of this entry, however, should be-- personal, emotional upkeep and motivator. I need this positive recollection of the year's events because, when I am scared to do something in the future, all I have to do is go back and read this. It probably won't make me any more or less brave to do the thing, but at least I'll know I survived to write this. And I will survive again.

There you have it, people. I took a year-long absence from that comfortable little spot behind my tree, and I stand before you...pretty much the same person I was before, only with more assurance. I am shy at times. (But I'm not standoffish because I'm bitchy. We just need to set that record straight once and for now, if not for all. Introverts happen, and you're going to have to deal with it. We can't all be the life of the party. Some of us just need to attend.) I am loud at times. I may do some things on stage that fail and some things that others consider brilliant. I will have more misses than hits, but at least I know now I have the ability to stand on my own two feet regardless of the outcome. I am no longer crippled by fear of creating alone, and it is pretty awesome. This is probably what it feels like to be asexual...

Love letter

Last week, in a moment of emotional distress and dramatic fanaticism, I expressed my adoration for a particular series of books and movies in the form of a love letter. It was posted on SpunkyBean.com. It is over-the-top, but I am damn proud of what I expressed. Also, I'm dead serious. I loved the hell out of this saga.



Dear Harry,

I was twenty-one years old when my best friend introduced me to you and your companions. In other words, I was way too old to be getting involved with a boy wizard, yet she and I both indulged in your story. At first, I thought it was the silliest damn thing my friend had ever suggested, and we were both silly enough as it was. How in the hell did she expect me to pick up a series of books that my pre-teen cousin deemed quality reading material? Magic and wizards? Was this a joke? Nevertheless, worried that I may destroy some bond of nerdy sisterhood, I gave into her demands.

Okay, so it was a mild suggestion. Some say I’m dramatic. Those people also say I’m obsessive. I prefer “passionate,” and it didn’t take long for me to pour that passion into reveling in your world. I was immersed and finally capable of appreciating what everyone was raving about nonstop.

Reading about your adventures was exhilarating. My heart raced, I was nervous, my stomach was in knots. You know how it is…when you’re falling in love. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic love, though you did occupy quite a bit of my free time. Between speculating as to what would happen in the next book to fawning over the spot-on casting for each movie, you became “my everything” in a way. I felt at home with familiar characters and enraged when their well-being was threatened. I cheered when there were triumphs and cried over deaths as if I’d lost members of my own family. And I think it’s safe to say that I latched onto a pop culture trend because there was depth and weight to it. Behind the lighthearted, kiddie facade of spells and wands and a school of adorable British children learning to be witches and wizards, there was heart and there were brains. You weren’t just another pretty face. I think anyone who has ever been crippled by the death of a loved one can relate to the tale of “The Boy Who Lived.” I know for a fact that great personal loss was what led me to you. It’s the crux of your entire story and the reason you came to be. It is also, unfortunately, a topic with which I was a bit too familiar to be so young at the time. And, as it is an unfortunate part of life, knowledge of and familiarity with those particular feelings only grow stronger. It is an event that we all will, undoubtedly, experience again and again, and it is dealt with so beautifully on page after page, in scene after scene of the Harry Potter series. How could I not be mystified?

But this is about those movies. Yes, there were movies- Sorcerer’s Stone and Chamber of Secrets. Not to discredit Chris Columbus for his tireless efforts. He built the legs on which this franchise now stands, and there is no denying how brilliant he was at visualizing and depicting the Potterverse. It wasn’t until Azkaban, however, that we were able to use to word “film” to refer to these on-screen representations. That was when I began anticipating the film releases as much as the book publishing dates. Another way to relish the journey! Soon the pictures in my head became synonymous with the cast Chris Columbus had assembled. I should send personal thank you letters to each crew and cast member for handling that precious material so delicately and loving it as much as any rabid fan. I should send fruit baskets (or some shit) to the force that is Maggie Smith, the incomparable Alan Rickman, the lovable Michael Gambon and the late (and perfect) Richard Harris, each and every actor with red hair in the series (dyed or natural), the charming cast of characters who portray Harry’s classmates, and even those fortunate enough to land roles as some of the most hated villains in the series. They are immensely talented, and it’s sickening in the best way. Thank you, Emma Watson, for being intelligent and likable. Thank you, Rupert Grint for just about everything you do. And thank you, Daniel Radcliffe, for becoming a surprisingly talented actor, a seemingly well-rounded human being, and adorably short-an unlikely hero. I’ll bet it was strange having the world watch you grow up, but you all did so with unbelievable grace. And, it’s odd, I feel proud of you in some strange way, as if you’re my younger siblings and I’ve watched you make your way in the world. I have no room or time to mention everyone and they won’t read this anyway, but please know how much I appreciate Gary Oldman and just about anyone else who appeared only a handful of times in the series.

Like any good love story I was reluctant to begin and now, here we are. Over the course of this wild and crazy decade, we’ve built a strong foundation. Seven books spawning ten years of movie making history and it all comes to a close this summer. The phenomenon has been nothing short of fascinating to watch. Those of us who “have stuck with Harry until the very end” will have seen all there is to see. Personally, I know that all good things must end eventually, but I am sad to let you go. I have so many memories tied to you; I’ve bonded with numerous people just by talking about you. You are, without question, one of the quickest and most absolute ways into my heart. All a person has to do is mention your name (with affection), and I’ll cling to them. Potter fandom is its own permanent stick charm, the secret to many friendships. Some have loved you longer, but I am more than willing to share. I may be putting you to rest, old friend, but I will not say goodbye. Farewells are a messy business. And besides, “the ones that love us, never really leave us.” It’s cheesy as hell, but the sentiment here is pretty legitimate. Damn, I hate to see you go.



Sincerely,
A loyal fan and friend



P.S. Read any good books lately? Seriously, I need to occupy the rest of my days…

Sometimes, you can't say enough good things

Last September I sat down to write a show about a job that I had outgrown. Tonight, I closed that show after a very successful six-week run. I am blown away by what Paul Whitehouse and I were able to achieve as artists. I am floored by the encouragement I've received over the past eight months. In that time I have feared failure, having to cancel shows due to low house counts, negative feedback, and a weekly train wreck due to my very tech-heavy half of the production. I got none of that.

What may have seemed like a very modest response to some felt monumental to me. 'Sucked Into Service', as a whole, exceeded my expectations by leaps and bounds. Thank you to every one who attended when they could, those who shared kind words, and those who worked harder than they probably should have for such a little show. I don't have enough love in my heart, words in my vocabulary, or money in my bank account to thank the following people: Sarah Rose Graber, Paul Whitehouse, Lina Bunte, Sarah Borer, Jerrod Howe, Mark Beers, Dan Wagner, John McCloskey, Kimberly Hickman, Troy Heard, and Dan Granata. If you weren't working on the show, you were listening to me worry about it. Thank you. (Wags and McCloskey, thank you for the props I used. Oh! And while I'm at it, Eric Roach, thank you for that rolling chair!) "Trapped in a Box" itself may come back, but it will probably never be produced in this way again. It was a beast at times and, if ever remounted, there is no way it will be the same. Watching something I've created grow and change and morph into something surprisingly different can be easily equated to watching your own child develop. I guess. I don't know, really. I've never had a kid, but that's how people talk about it, and I am beyond proud of my baby. That's the beauty of this whole damn thing. Congratulations to Paul for his show, '1/2 Caf Chronicles' as well. Paul, I hope you are proud. It was an honor to work with you on this.

For a formerly shy child who still appears very standoffish and tends to "hide behind her tree", this goes beyond anything I ever thought I could accomplish. My family can't even believe I did it. Not only did I survive, I had fun! Thank you for helping me realize a tiny dream.

Night, night! I love you so much, it's gross. Hey, look! A kitty...

Stop Sign Nazi

Chicago drivers, this is a stop sign. I'm telling you this because there seems to be some confusion as to what happens when you see one of these.

Do what the sign says when your car approaches said sign. If you cannot read, perhaps memorize the color and, if you are colorblind, the shape. Then, put on the brakes! Nothing is more embarrassing than having your SUV nearly mow me down in my little Ford Focus when, clearly, I have the right of way. I was the first person at the 4-way stop, after all. That's how this works.

So, please. Utilize the stop sign and stop. They are there for a reason, and I don't want to die today.

Gender-Free Parenting

If you haven't heard, this Canadian couple has decided to keep the gender of their baby, Storm, a secret in order to free him or her from societal norms.
Check out this great MSN video: ‘Storm’ of controversy over gender-free parenting

Now, I get the concept and I understand the meaning behind this but, are they just being progressive for the sake of being progressive or what? Aside from the fact that their name choices (Storm's older siblings are named Jazz and Kio.) sound as if these two are more-suited for dog ownership than parenting, I feel their approach to beating societal norms may do more harm than good.

You want to teach your children that their gender does not define who they are and what they do? Great. I'm all for that. If your little boy wants to wear a dress or your daughter prefers football and trucks to dolls, so be it. Embrace and encourage this. But, we cannot ignore how our bodies are made. That's ridiculous. And would going through childhood "genderless" actually enable one to beat the stereotypes set in place by society once the child "chooses" its own gender? This is, after all, what this couple has planned for their kid. How is that any better than just saying, "We had a boy!" then allowing that boy child to be whoever or whatever he wants to be?

In order to break societal norms and change the world, we have to admit who and what we are and be proud. We have to face adversity head-on to prove to the world that we can. Black people do not have civil rights today because they once all pretended they were white.I don't shove tube socks or a sausage into the front of my pants when I go in to vote. (Easy.) We are people. All of us. If you're a closeted homosexual, get the hell out of there! There are people here who will welcome you with open arms and support you. We're fighting for you now. If you're a woman trying to make it in the corporate world, put on your damn fighting panties and get that shit done. And, if you're a man who prefers things typically classified as "ladies' stuff" then, great! You'll make a fantastic boyfriend. Who gives a shit what other people think.


Again, I understand the idea behind Kathy Witterick and David Stocker's decision, but how will they react if and when Storm grows up, chooses a gender, and disowns his/her parents for their kookiness? Bound to happen with at least one of their three offspring. Ignoring society's trivial expectations = good rebellion. Ignoring biology and anatomy= absurd.

Don't even get me started on what will happen if the kid decides its a boy then starts its period...

It's Just Hair, People!

Here is a preposterous "news" story out of Columbus, Georgia- not too far from where I grew up myself.




Pink and purple: Controversy over Columbus student's hair
She was asked to lead the Pledge of Allegiance, then told to dye her hair.
By Alison Flowers
Blackmon Road Middle School student Angelica Rosado dyed purple and pink streaks in her hair back in April. Recently, a school counselor asked her to lead the Pledge of Allegiance at an awards ceremony in Columbus.

But two days before the ceremony, Rosado was told she would need to dye her hair back to its natural color, or she couldn't take the stage.

The school has a policy against extreme hair color. The Muscogee County School District's policy guards against disruptive grooming habits.

"I'm happy with the way it looks," said Rosado's mother, Dora Moreno, a stylist who performed the dye job. "She's got a lot of compliments. I think even the principal complimented it."

Principal Marty Richburg tells News 3 he tried to reach a resolution with the family, asking Moreno to tone down her daughter's hair--something Moreno isn't willing to do because she says it would put extra stress on the hair due to required bleaching.

Richburg said Rosado is welcome to attend the ceremony, just not represent the entire school with her hair the way it is.

"It's not fair," Rosado said. "I mean, it's a free country, so why not?"

As I do not know Angelica Rosado personally, I am going out on a limb by saying she probably isn't a bad kid. When you consider the fact that she was asked to lead the Pledge of Allegiance, I feel pretty confident in this assumption. Now, I haven't stepped foot inside a middle school since 1996 and thank goodness for that. And, though I am not surprised that the minds of southern school officials have not opened in the new millennium, it enrages the 30 year-old me as much as it would my 14 year-old former self. Because, quite frankly, this is ridiculous. It's just hair.

We are living, sadly, in an era when bullying can lead to a child's suicide, school shootings are so common we are nearly desensitized by the news, and hate is so widespread we actually have to remind our children every day to not be terrified of being themselves. When I was a kid, I worried about being teased to the point of embarrassment. I was never afraid for my life. Point being, there have to be disciplinary issues in this particular school that are much more pressing than this young lady's hair. This ludicrous and asinine debate over nothing but a choice of style aside, it is the principle of the matter. Even if I did believe Rosado's colorful mane caused such a ruckus that she should be expelled, I would come to her defense on this issue because, if her hair color violated a school rule, she should have been A) called out for this weeks ago and B) not asked to lead the Pledge in the first place. I've seen some comments stating that Rosado's mother is teaching her daughter that breaking the rules is acceptable behavior. I think Blackmon Road Middle School is teaching their students the fine art of giving something away then taking it back which, in many instances, is a much more criminal offense. I understand that there is a policy which states "students cannot distract, unreasonably, the attention of other students with their grooming," but this is 2011. I doubt there are many young people out there who are blown away by the sight of purple hair at this point.

If I could say anything to Angelica it is this: I am sorry your principal is so lame. You should be thankful that your mom is so cool! Mine would have done the same thing. She would have stuck by me. When I first read the headline, I have to admit, I was expecting something really extreme. Then I saw your hair. Not only was I outraged by the ridiculousness of this entire thing, I was jealous. You look great! A really good friend of mine is in her mid-30's, she has magenta streaks in her black hair, and she works in a law firm here in Chicago. No one bats an eye. I am sorry you've got such a "controversy" on your hands. Just remember this: in some areas north of the Bible Belt, the world is changing...one purple-haired freak at a time.

"Conversation" with Dad

Me: Hello?
Dad: Hey!
Me: Hey.
Dad: What are you doin'?
Me: I'm at work.
Dad: Ahhh...well, I was just callin' to tell ya we just got back from havin' Memaw's eye taken out.
Me: What?!
Dad (laughing): She had a cataract. She's doin' real good. Doctor said it couldn't have gone any better.
Me: Well, that's good.
Dad: She's back there recoverin' right now. She'll be able to see now. And see how pretty I am!
Me: Ha!

Dad:Had a good time once that pain medicine kicked in. Yeah, I went out there, and thought it was gonna take a long time. She went in, so I thought I'd go outside, smoke me a cigarette, then I'd come in the waitin' room and watch tv. Hell, I hadn't been outside that long, I come in and she's 'bout finished. She said she walked back there and he was finishin' one up, so he just went ahead and got her done up too. Then we come home and the first thing she yells about is Tylenol. Where's the Tylenol? Jamie and Tiffany went with us, and Jamie's sick. We came over the hill and there comes this car flashing its lights. Mama says, "That car is flashing its lights." So I stop the van and it's Tiffany drivin'..she said, "I just hit a dog!" They asked if we saw a dog back there in the road and I said, "I ain't worried about no dog. I gotta get to the hospital by 7." But we didn't see a dog.

Anyway...we get down there and, Jamie's sick so he keeps coughin' and coverin' his mouth. Finally, Mama said, "Go on into the doctor and see if he can't give you somethin'" so he left. Tiffany left him there! So, Mama comes out of surgery, and Jamie had gotten a shot from the doctor. I said, "You want a ride? We're goin' to the house?" He said "Naw, Tiffany's comin' back." Then Jimmy called her and asked how everything was going and Tiffany said, "It went fine. They gave him a shot in his butt and now he's asleep." Jimmy said, "Ya'll didn't go to the hospital?" She said, "Yeah, we went." And he said "Well how's Mama?" "I don't know."
I had already told her everything went fine.

Then, we come in and Mama goes back there to the bedroom and she asked for some toast and some milk. Jimmy comes up there wantin' to know about makin' the toast and I said, "I ain't believin' as fat as you are, you don't know how to make toast." So, then I went back there and I said, "What do you want for lunch?" And she said, "Jimmy got it." I said, "Well, I can't believe it!" And I think the milk made her sick.

Me: Well, I'm really glad she's okay, but the phones are ringing. I have to get back to work.
Dad: Alright, love ya! Just thought I'd tell ya how the surgery went.

Just Long Enough (or perhaps too long)

The Idiot Gods have smiled down on me in the form of this ridiculous customer interaction. I am so thankful that I was able to work here long enough to receive this call. It is like nothing I have experienced! And that is coming from a person who once spent twenty minutes on a call with a schizophrenic girl who begged for my job and a lady who claimed she was fired because her boss was fat and bitchy.

I like to call this one "Hi. Welcome to the World."

Me: Second City Box Office?
Her: Yeah, this is the box office?
Me: Yes, it is!
Her: Oh, well I wanted Second City.
Me: This is Second City.
Her: Well, I went to your website, but it said 'Welcome to the Box Office'
Me: Right, it's the Second City box office.
Her: I want tickets for Fair and Unbalanced on the 13th of June. Is that a show you have?
Me: Yes, it is.
Her: I just don't know if this is your website. There's nothing telling me it's not, but I don't know. It says 'box office'
Me: Ma'am a box office is a general name for any place at a theater where a person could buy tickets. Every theater has a box office.
Her: Yeah, but...do you sell through TicketMaster? I'm scared to put my credit card into the computer if this isn't your site. Is your website just thesecondcityboxoffice.com?
Me: No, actually. It's just www.secondcity.com and "second" is all spelled out. We sell tickets through Laughstub. That's the ticketing system.
Her: I just don't know about buying these on here.
Me: Well, I can sell you tickets over the phone. This is...the box office for Second City, so why don't we just do that?
Her: No. No, I think I'll try this first.

For the record, I did go look at our website to see if I could clear up her confusion. If you navigate from the main page, to the show calendar, to the "Buy Tickets" tab you get to this page:


The fun did not stop there. Just as I screencapped this photo, she called back.

Her: Hi, I am trying to get these tickets off your website. I believe I just spoke with you.
Me: Yes, you did.
Her: Right, so there's no place for me to put my address. How will they mail my tickets if I don't put that in.
Me: We don't mail your tickets. You pick them up when you arrive.(She is still in some state of denial that I actually sell tickets to these shows, I guess. And then...just for shits and giggles, I finished with.) At the box office. Here.
Her: Right. Okay, so when can I get them?
Me:Any time after you place the order?
Her: But I could wait until show time?
Me: Right. So, any time after you order, you can swing by the box office and grab those tickets.
Her: Oh, I don't know where we're staying so I don't know when I can come, but before show is fine?
Me: Right.
Her: And what time could I come if I wanted to pick them up before show time?
Me: Well, the box office here at the Second City is pretty much open all day. We're here all day selling tickets and can also print ones that are already purchased for shows.
Her: Well, then I'll just buy these from the site as long as you can assure me this site is secure.
Me: Yes, ma'am. It is secure. If you went to secondcity. com, that is our website.
Her: Well, no other site sells your tickets, right?
Me: That's right!
Her: Okay, good.

She wasn't finished...

Her: Hi. I am on your website and-
Me: Yes?
Her: Well, my husband wanted me to check on this. I clicked on the tickets where it said "Welcome to the Box Office" and it took me to www.laughstub.secondcity.--
Me: Ma'am, Laughstub is our ticketing system.
Her: So this is secure?
Me: I assure you that everything will be fine with your order. I promise.

Questions Commonly Heard While You're In Rehearsals For The Show You Wrote

(And the people who ask them)
(And what you say)
(And what you wish you said)


Roommate: Where have you been? ("Where are you going?" would also work here.)
You: Rehearsal.
What your brain wants you to say: Where do you think? You know where I'm going. Same place I've been going every day/night for the past few weeks. Are you being funny? Because, I have to admit, it's breaking my heart seeing you lounge and enjoy cereal and play with the cats. Dammit! Why did I decide to be an artist?

Friend/Acquaintance: How's the show going?
You: It's good, thanks.
What your brain wants you to say: Fine, really. In fact it was going super well because that was the first five minutes I've spent not thinking about the damn thing since I put the words onto paper and now you have, of course, completely blown it. Thanks for bringing it up.
(You don't do this. These are nice people.)


Coworker: You look tired. Are you tired?
You: Yeah, sort of. Any coffee?
What your brain wants you to say: Am I tired? Is that a joke? Look at my face! Yes, I am tired. I could fall asleep on top of you, but I'm afraid you might accuse me of harassment. I am so tired that, inside, I am crying, but my tear ducts can't produce any liquid right now due to extreme exhaustion so everything is coming out in the form of vapor. Stand closer to my eyes and pretend you're chilling in one of the big mister machines at Six Flags. That'll be fun for all.

Someone at the theater where you are performing your masterpiece: Can you get me some photos for a press release?
You: Sure.
What your brain wants you to say: When? Now? Shit. Why didn't I write this thing then find someone much younger and tougher to produce it?

Director: Did you want to go over that bit one more time so it's solid?
You: Absolutely.
What your brain wants you to say: No. No, I don't. Why didn't I just write this then get someone much younger and prettier to perform it?

Director: Are you okay with cutting these few lines here?
You: Of course.
What your brain wants you to say: A few? If we cut most of them, and I just sit on the stage in silence for over half an hour, do you think the show would have the same impact? I'm loving that idea right now.

A Person: You got anything going on right now?
You: Yeah, I'm doing a one woman show at Chemically Imbalanced Comedy theater on Thursday nights starting May 19th.
What your brain wants you to say: Am I doing anything right now? I don't know. Why don't you look at posters-the first show poster to ever have my face on it, by the way- or read your damn emails or Facebook invites? Why the hell are we Facebook friends anyway? Come to my show anyway.

Another actor friend: Come to my show then we'll hang out after.
You: Okay!
What your brain wants you to say: Ha!

You: Does putting in a twelve hour day between work and rehearsals and training for a new job count as my workout, or should I be scrambling to find time for that as well.
You: Of course it does.
What your brain tells you: You little idiot. It doesn't at all. Have you lost me? Yeah, you're working and rehearsing, but you're sitting through most of those activities.
You: Yeah, but...working the brain...that...counts. That burns calories, yeah?
You: Right. Of course it does.
Brain: Fat chance. Pun intended. Tone your tummy.

Please know that I absolutely adore anyone who asks me questions about my life (within reason). This blog post is brought on by pure tiredness.

Cut out these bad habits

Here is a list of common "jokes" that we should probably all stop using:

Person 1 (who is also pregnant): I am so tired.
Person 2: Oh! Well! Just you wait 'til that little one gets here!

The saying, "It's funny because it's true," does not mean if something is true then it must also be funny. No one has ever chortled over the idea of an infant keeping them awake all hours of the night. Basking in someone's misery is really not becoming of any human being, unless the miserable person is also an incredible asshole.


Person 1: The bar is open.
Person 2: OH! a-haha! Oh, well! Thank goodness for that! Haha! That's all we care about! The important things!

Alcoholism is only funny when served with a shot of indifference. Examples:
Finding me with an up-turned bottle of wine attached to my face- funny.
My calling it out, then laughing about it- sad. It also turns me into that kid in middle school who tried cigarettes for the first time, then made certain to smoke in front of all the other students while shouting, "Oh, man! This is like, my hundredth cigarette today! Wow. Emphysema, here I come!"

Person 1: My fiance and I haven't had sex in over a week.
Person 2: Ha! Wait until you guys are married. Then you'll really miss sex.

I shouldn't have to explain to you why I don't find the idea of loveless, passionless marriages amusing. Legalize gay marriage and this may become less of an issue.

Person 1 (Who is also a kid): I don't want to go to school.
Person 2: You grow up and get a job! Then you'll beg to go back to school!

This is not entirely true. I work. I've thought about going back to school. The idea of it terrifies, bewilders, and sickens me. I don't like working either, so get off your high horse, adults! You know damn good and well that you can empathize with this school-hating child. No matter the form of compensation-monetary gains or letter grades-sitting inside all day sucks a sack of balls.

Person 1 (upon hearing a fussy child): Well. Sounds like someone's unhappy.

Right. Because your little quip just made all of us standing in line at Barnes and Noble a bit more tolerant of this disagreeable and obnoxious baby. Thank you, for that.

Person 1: I thought I'd lost my cell phone, but then I found it in between the couch cushions.
Person 2: Ha! Yeah. Well, it's always in the last place you look.

Just stop.

*Rest assured, friends. This entry has "reoccurring series" written all over it. Spending one day reading Facebook comments is evidence enough of that.*

She's preggers

Me: And, do you have any dietary restrictions or anything you feel the restaurant should be notified of ahead of time?
Him: No. Well...now, I take that back. One of the ladies in our party is with child, but I don't think the restaurant needs to know about that, do you?

*This is the only time in my life that I sincerely hope someone was being extremely condescending towards me. Otherwise, this man thought for a split second that an Italian restaurant would need advance notice of a patron's pregnancy. Fetal Chicken Parmesan Syndrome is on the rise, I guess.

Harry Lives

September 11th happened a little over two months before the first Harry Potter film hit the big screen.

Osama bin Laden is killed a little over two months before the last Harry Potter film opens.

I told you guys that dude was Voldemort!

From STFU, Parents

"C’mon people. Don’t yell at employees who make minimum wage to man a table of grains just so you and your son can stuff your faces as you shop. That makes about as much sense as tinting your windows so dark that a cop has the right to issue you a ticket. I never understand why people do that."

Collection

I collect quotes...


" The woman who follows the crowd will usually go on further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has ever been before." Albert Einstein

"Talking about art is like dancing about architecture."-David Bowie

"In my heart, I'm a vegan. But in my mouth, I lack discipline."
...
"Writing, like kindness, is never a wasted activity. Never."

"So, I'm watching this show about a girl who was abducted and taken to Ireland, and I can't help but be jealous. I mean, at least she got to go somewhere."--Sarah Sargent

"Everytime I log into Myspace, I feel like a boy."

"This would be really funny if I didn't want ice cream right now!"

"I didn't know they were gay until my senior year of college. I just thought they were two friends who liked tigers."---Sarah Sargent, about Siegfried and Roy

"That's the problem with them fables, they're putting animals together that wouldn't meet. I don't know where a scorpion is knockin' around with a frog." - Karl Pilkington, a distant relative

"I just realized I'm 46 and have no idea why people keep going to the moon."

"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night." Edgar Allan Poe

"Sometimes when I see unattractive couples I get grossed out, but then I get happy that somebody thinks they are attractive and loves them.
Then if I think about them doing it I get grossed out again"- Emily Harrison Bethune

"About 2% of my Christmas shopping is all I'm gonna do, 'cause that's the best kind of milk, and that's the best kind of shopping."

Where we're going...we need Ambien

I can't sleep so I decided to travel back to 2004 instead. Remember these fucking things?


***********FOODOLOGY************



What is your salad dressing of choice? Sun-dried tomato vinaigrette


What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick of? I'm going to go ahead and cheat with the answer ice cream. There are so many Ben and Jerry's flavors. Hooray! I've won this battle!



What do you like to put on your toast? eggs, cheese, peanut butter, nutella, jam, jelly, tuna, chicken salad...ham and cheese. Toast is basically just a container for a protein or a sweet thing, yes?



***********TECHNOLOGY***********



How many televisions are in your house? I don't know. I think there are 4, though I am only responsible for one of them and your judgment is not welcome here.


What color is your cellphone? gray...?



Do you have an iPod? I do. Her name is Mama Cass because she's big and white.



***************BIOLOGY************



Are you right-handed or left-handed? Right. Well, that was boring.


Have you ever been knocked unconscious? No. (Also boring)




************BULLOLOGY*************



If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die? I worry about this enough as it is. I think I'd rather be surprised.



If you could change your name, what would you change it to? Tina Fey...and then I would welcome all the confusion this may cause. (Second choice would be Oprah Winfrey.)


Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000? Absolutely, especially if the person giving me the money was the one who came up with this dumbass questionnaire, because you gave no time constraint. That means in two months' time, once this bottle of Sriracha is finished, your ass has to pay up, sucker.


**************FAVORITOLOGY*******



Season? Fall! Are you kidding me with all these other seasons?



Holiday? Flag Day.



Day of the week? Nope



***********CURRENTOLOGY*********



Missing someone? This is constant.



Mood? Irritated. I would rather be sleeping right now.



What are you listening to? A woman on Headline News


Current worry? Memorizing this entire play that I wrote in a month.



************RANDOMOLOGY*********



First place you went this morning? Home. It was wild Sunday night.



What's the last movie you saw? Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang


Do you smile often? I do more these days than I have in the past probably, but I don't really keep track of of shit like this.





**********OTHER-OLOGY************



How many pairs of flip flops do you own? No comment



Last time you had a run-in with the cops? When I made that illegal U-turn back in March so I could grab some Dunkin Donuts' coffee before work.



Last person you talked to? David.



Last person you hugged? Some dude named Dan



Do you always answer your phone? Nope.



It's four in the morning and you get a text message, who is it? Someone who shouldn't expect me to read that message until 8 or 9 am.


If you could change your eye color what would it be? blue



Have you ever had a pet fish? Yes. I had a Crayola fish tank with a heater. I turned the thing on too high and when I came back to my room my poor fish, Pee Wee, Paula Abdul, and Mac (Macaulay Culkin) were swimming upside down and backwards. I'm still not 100% convinced that my naming a fish after her then torturing it is not what made Miss Abdul go batshit nuts.


Favorite Christmas song? Um.

What's on your wish list for your birthday? Tickets to anywhere in the world but Georgia. (No offense, Georgia, but I'm overdue for a real vacation.)



Can you do push ups? Yes. I say this confidently because you did not specify how many. ("You"? Who am do I think I'm talking to?)



Can you do a split? That's personal.

Does the future make you more nervous or excited? I don't think about it that much anymore because when I do I'm afraid the idea of it will make me nervous when what I want to be is excited. Ya know?


Do you have any saved texts? One particularly special one and several that include street addresses, because I'm too lazy to transfer them elsewhere.



Do you have an accent? A "drawl"...a "twang"...something. The more I drink, the more you hear it.



What is the last movie to make you cry? I don't know, but I'm hoping the Lifetime movie about William and Kate makes me sob, because it's so bad.



Plans tonight? I planned to sleep, but that fell through.



Have you ever felt like you hit rock bottom? I thought so once, yes, but then I realized I was too young and had too much ahead of me, so I quit whining.



Name 3 things you bought last? tea, a pita from Pita Pit, dinner

Have you ever been given roses? Sure



Met someone who changed your life? Most of them have in a way. . .



Name two people who might complete this? n/a



Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? Yes! I would chat with everyone I know who has died and then, if I had the time, I'd go guest star on a episode of 'Full House'



Do you have any tattoos/piercings? This is stupid.

Does anyone love you? This is also stupid



Would you be a pirate? Oh, I steal music and tv through illegal download all the time.



What songs do you sing in the shower? Why am I doing this right now?



Ever had someone sing to you? I have...



When did you last cry? earlier



Have you held hands with anyone today? No



Who was the last person you took a picture of? Dan



Are most of the friends in your life new or old? It's sort of a happy blend.



Do you like pulpy orange juice? Yes!


What is something your friends make fun of you for? being disgruntled, I think. The friends who make fun of me the best are the old ones, and I haven't spent time with them in a while. I used to be teased about never dating. Well, screw you guys. I miss you so much!


I.
Can't.
Believe.
I did this.

Today's Thoughts

#1- Am I overly thrilled by the fact that there's a town in California called "Oxnard"? Um...define "overly"...

#2- To the girl who burst from some other dimension and ran directly in front of my car at the 4-way stop without giving me so much as a glance: Bright purple jacket? Nice choice. Otherwise, you would have been turned into a speed bump by a white Ford Focus today. As a pedestrian you do have the right of way, but you still have to proceed with caution and pay attention. Having the right of way does not make you invincible.

Unless...wait! Now I'm thinking about how you seemed to appear out of thin air. Bitch, do you have powers?!

#3- Speaking of 4-way stops, here's a thing most of Chicago seems to not know! When approaching an intersection with a stop sign it is absolutely necessary to stop when the car in front of you does because, well, you don't have much of a choice. However, and here is where some of you seem to be getting confused, when the car ahead of you goes and you pull forward to the stop sign, you still have to stop. "Again?!" Yes, again. See, the car in front of you stopping does not also count as your stop at the intersection. That's not how this works. Know how I know that? Because a stop sign, oddly enough, is not a traffic light, therefore the process is not the same. I hope this helps you not kill me and/or yourself during the morning commute. (Consider this my good deed for the day.)

#4- Ladies wearing flats without socks in 50-degree weather: Hoes, it is still nippy out. I know you're eager to show a little skin after the brutality that is Winter, but your time will come. Also, my socks and oxfords indicate that you are definitely not any better or cooler than I am. What have you got to prove anyway? Warmer weather is coming, I promise. Relax a bit.

#5- To the customers who try to memorize their credit card numbers then recite them while placing orders: Folks, I've said it before, I'll say it again, this shit is not necessary at all. It is printed across the plastic for a reason, and you are causing yourself much more frustration than you believe by trying to attempt this feat of lunatic daring. I will not think less of you if you are holding the card in front of you and reading it into the phone. In fact, I won't know the damn difference, because I can't see you through said phone. Also, I don't give a shit. Memorize something more useful in this situation like, for instance, which show you want to see or which night you'll be attending. (Though, even that could be written on a Post-It or something. It's cool.)