A frozen banana.

I shall soon be free from the tyranny and oppression of dorm housing. I've just put down a deposit on an apartment. This makes my heart smile. I can do naked cartwheels at my will without ridicule. And the peasants did rejoice.

And Mitch Hedberg died. Damnit. And the peasants did weep.

When I came to Paris I wore red shoes, and I wanted to be an actress...

The start of Hell Week for Shooting Simone has launched me into show mode. The ultra-focused, tunnel-visioned bitch has returned. For those unfamiliar with this facet of my personality, some symptoms include: chronic twitching and fidgeting, a predisposition toward biting you head off in the most savage manner possible, giving militant diatribes about production work to all who'll listen (and even those who won't), a complete disregard for all things non-show related, and a tendency toward the anti-social, and an overall bitchiness that is scarcely ever witnessed. Think PMS x 20.

But perhaps most imprtantly, don't touch me unless you want you gentials severed and subsequently set on fire.

I'm having slight reservations about how well the show will be received. The mental acquity of the average audience member is less than that of a bar of soap, and this is a show that relies heavily on the ability of an audience to think. But, I think we all know what that mean...........FUCK THE AUDIENCE. Naked cartwheels will shortly follow.

We open on Friday.

There are some who call me...........Douchebag?

Few things are worse than getting a call from your stage manager informing you that cue-to-cue started an hour ago, not 5 hours from now. I have reached a level of indescribable shittiness which I have never felt before, and what's more: it was completely unprofessional.

I just made a shirt that says, "I am a douchebag who loves the vagina," which I'll wear to the rescheduled (because of me) cue-to-cue tonight. I also bought everyone donuts. And I'll sleep with each member of the company to make it up to them.

It is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born

110 days until Harry Potter and the Half - Blood Prince is released.

I'm just saying.

I didn't know you were called "Dennis"

There are few things more self-satisfying than introducing a friend to Monty Python.

I showed the R The Holy Grail last night, and then watched it in Lego, and with subtitle's for people who didn't like the film. That's thee times. No more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt watch and the number of the watching shall be three. Thou shalt not watch it four times, neither watch thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, three being the third number, be reached, then removest thy Holy DVD of Python and liest thy head down to bed.

It's warm, help me take off my layers

I did something incredibly stupid, v.v. stupid. Stupid in the sense that I knew that it was a bad idea to begin with, but I did it anyway (thinking there was a small chance it might help), and sure enough, it was a stupid idea to end with as well. Person on the recieving end of this can attest to this fact.

Becoming uber frustrated with Shooting Simone. Not all of it, just some. Mainly the Sartre portions. For as much as I admire and respect their relationship, I can't seem to replicate it at all, even in the lamest sense. I know it's no easy feat, but I'm completely bombing. Most of it has to do with me and my I-am-NOT-affectionate! personality; I'm cold by nature, and I really can't open myself up. James is really helping by being more open, natural, and relaxed, even tender, but I still can't reciprocate any of it. Talking to Whit tomorrow will probably help, but no matter what she says, it's still me who has to make the changes; there's no magical switch that she can flick that will help me. I'm trying really hard, but it just isn't coming, and that is the worst feeling in the world.

I'm severly pissed right now. And the fact that I can't smoke a cigarette correctly isn't helping.

Seeing life through VERY rose colored glasses

I would just like to take this time to thanks and profess my undying gratitude to one Ms. Punknpink82. This woman has singlehandedly turned my life into a euphoric frenzy. WHat caused this changed, you ask? Why, the presentation to me of a Spamalot Playbill signed by none other than my beloved DAVID HYDE PIERCE and corresponding snapshots after the show. I won't be brought down from this high for quite a while.

Let the ritual animal sacrifices in her name begin.

So I'm doing something right?

I've just gotten one of the greatest compliments ever. I completely made my week. However, this momentary feeling of jubilation was quickly replaced by a mild depression at the realization that it comes from someone in another country who doesn't know me. Now, if only I can get people who I've actually met to think this, I'll be golden.

On the upside, I was flirted with by a seemingly intelligent, attractive, non-theatre major. This hasn't happened since..............this has never happened. It feels so good to be appreciated by those outside my field of study (especially since thespians are prone to excessive flirting, and genuine affection is rare, and I file dating them in the Class A: Very Bad Idea category). Sometimes I wish I had time to hang out with people other than those I'm in a production with. Sometimes.

The 13 vestial virgins await

And Conan reintroduced the Walker: Texas Ranger lever back into Late Night. This reinforces the fact that Conan is a God, and should be sacrificed to accordingly.

Because I know you're all been waiting with baited breath

Olbigatory Spring Break update:

Took Moira home. Parents less-than-thrilled.

Am completely addicted to the Facebook. God help me. With things like Facebook, Blogger, Livejournal, AIM, Yahoo and Myspace, who actually needs inter-personal communication? I know I don't.

No rehearsals for Shooting Simone all week = forgetting all the lines from Act II. Run-through tomorrow from Dr. Neilson and the designers. Here's to hoping we keep the line-calling to under 15. Researched ad nauseum on Simone de Beauvoir.

Said a grand total of 25 words to my Step-Dad all break.

Got a pool table back home. There's something strangely satisfying about leaving my 9-year-old sister in tears after I totally kicked her ass.

Gross out alert! All those with a Y chromosome, avert your eyes.
Cramps like no other. Good lord. I was writhing around on the floor and moaning like a mad woman. I am about 2 seconds away from ripping out my uterus.

Officially gave up giving up David Hyde Pierce for Lent. He was on the Today Show discussing "Spamalot" on Broadway, and I couldn't resist the pull of my dear beloved. Of course, the interview was conducted by Katie Couric, who I loathe with every fiber of my being. We're not even going to go into my deepset dislike for KC.

Bought new shoes and 2 skirts with money I don't have. Whatev. I haven't bought anything all year.

Watched The Land Before Time for the first time in about 9 years. I cried. Twice. And of course, the velociraptor nightmares will be back. I'll go into the long sad history behind those in a later entry.

Am still boyfriend-less, but Shooting Simone is making my symptoms of wanting one worse. Something about having the Simone de Beauvoir/Jean-Paul Sartre relationship beat into your head for hours every night..... I love it and hate it. Whatev. I'm starting to sound mildly emo again. This must stop. I never want a relationship. I'm the self-professed work-a-holic commitment phob. But at the moment, I may be experiencing a relape.

What's with today, today?*

I've read a lot of banal sentences on LJ live feed. Hell, I've written a lot of banal sentences. But this one takes the cake.

xhatemelove writes:
"today was weird and i was in a weird mood and i was in a weird mood at practice and i dont know why its just weird..."

Let's leave aside the fact that there is no punctuation or capital "I"s. This is by far the most interesting thing I've read in ages.

*another reference, which you all should know

Her soul is a three-decker sauerkraut toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce*

As I was coming out of class today, I saw this small group of children playing around outside. Now, most of you know of my thorough dislike of children, and my thorough like of setting them on fire. However, for whatever reason, I was drawn to observe this gaggle for a few seconds.

What a mistake that was.

This girl was running around outside the school on campus singing, "I've got a flower, I've got a flower," and waving her flower in the air. A shy little boy sidled up to her and asked very politely, "Can I have a flower?" to which she militantly replied, "No! Jesus gave me this flower. He did NOT give you a flower."

I think baby Jesus died a little bit just then. And so did I. So did all of us.

*bonus points if you catch the title reference

I lack flow and structure

Watching Brian Williams on "The Daily Show", and all I can think about is, "Why couldn't I have ahd a sex dream about him instead of Peter Jennings?" Why did I have to have a sex dream about any newscaster?

Biologue is over. Hell fucking yeah. It was decidely non-heinous. No, screw that. I ROCKED. Thank you. Hi, my name is humble.

Shooting Simone going quite well. Having a bit of trouble trying to find what parts of Simone De Beauvoir's real life personality (or what I perceive it to be) to incorporate, because the playwright wrote her from such a specific point of view, and so her characteristics are a bit hazy to play. Of course, the playwright was also a nut-job stoner who was in a cult. Whatev. I think with all the work on our own over the break, things are going to look amazing. Especially the slight lllllleeeeeessssbbbbbiiiiaaaannnnn action between Sara and I. Rock.

And I think I officially broke my DHP portion of Lent. I created a group on Facebook called, "David Hyde Pierce might be gay, but I'd marry him anyway." The pull of my beloved is just too strong. At least I haven't eaten a burger yet........

Saw a clip of Martha Stewart getting out of prison, and a member of the press asked her what she missed the most while being in the big house. Her response: lemons.

the entry with the invisible title

What I'd like to be doing now that my biologue is thankfully presented (decidedly unheinous) is loafing around, playing with Moira, sleeping, or watching a movie. Instead I'm attempting to get off book for act II of Shooting Simone. Yes, my life is soooooooo hard.

The show is goint quite well. Good cast, fun script. Mild lesbian action for myself, and a stage kiss (completely unrelated to the lesbian scene). And I kill someone. Again. Sort of. Come and see.

Cover released for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. And the peasants rejoiced. And I did, too. You have no idea how ridiculously happy this makes me.

I can see No-Doze in my near future

I should not be writing this right now. I should either be:

a.) working on my biolog (other wise known as Hell in paper form),
b.) studying for Western Civ. II,
c.) memorizing lines for Shooting Simone, or
d.) doing laundry.

What I should not be doing is:
a.) sleeping in until 11,
b.) writing an entry,
c.) aimlessly surfing the internet, and
d.) playing with Moira (which is more or less just me messing around with a string, and her giving me this looks of complete superiority and aloofness).

My what-I-shouldn't-do to what-I-should-do ratio is completely out of proportion. I'll be offering classes in time-management skills next semester.


And I just signed up for The Facebook, adding yet another complete waste of time to my list that so far includes Livejournal, Blogger, and Myspace. Oh, bandwagon, how I love thee.

The solution to all our problems

I wish all contestants on "The Price is Right" were like this guy. In fact, I wish all people on the face of the planet were like this. There would be no wars. Just a sever sugar and ritalin/aderol shortage.