Did you know?

Hey! Harry Potter is older than I am! He was born in 1980! How weird is that?

cry, go on, cry

Caution: If you have not read the 6th and 7th Harry Potter books and don't want plot points to be spoiled for you, do not read the first half of this blog.

I re-read HP book 6. I didn't cry the last time, because when I read it the first time I didn't believe it. So this time reading it again and knowing that Dumbledore does not show up again, I wept. And of course once I finished with book 6 I couldn't help but start re-reading book 7. It's interesting because this is the first time I read it all for myself. Last time Kat read most of the first part of it out to me, because I wouldn't buy it until I was done with my summer classes. So reading it fully with my own voices and my own inflection is a very interesting experience. And of course the ending of this series is such a twist that going through and re-reading the books with the knowledge you have now that you didn't have before is absolutely fascinating. Despite all of that - the only place I've cried in book 7 is the same place it was before. The death of Dobby. Just wept.
I have softened in my age. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? When I was younger I cried at almost every movie (I even cried when I watched Clueless the first time, at the point where she wasn't popular any more, I really identified with that) and then I went through a period of many, many years where I didn't cry at any movie or play or book. But the last couple of years it's been slowly creeping back up on me. I'm going to end up a weak little weeper. I don't want to be a weak little weeper.
Also I didn't used to be squeemish at all. I grew up a country bumpkin in the woods and spent half of my childhood in hospitals helping to change my own dressings. Things involving wounds I usually found cool, and while vomit was not pleasant it didn't really phase me. The same with creepy crawly things, as long as the spider wasn't on me, I was okay with it. I also like snakes. Plaid with toads. I was a tomboy in a pink polka-dot dress.
Now I find myself high maintenance enough to have to bring my own special hair dryer on trips, I get squeemish watching medical dramas, I cry in movies, and occasianally I jump and scream at the sight of spiders. What on earth happened to me?

Giving Up The Ghost

sometimes you hold on and hold on to something that it doesn't make any sense to hold on to and everyone thinks you are crazy for holding on so long.
well tonight, I was forced to come to terms with the fact that I am going to have to let go.
i am moving to new york. I will be doing this beginning of August at the latest.
see you all there.

Thanks for setting us back 50 years!

There's this commercial out there - I don't know what it is advertising because about 2 seconds into the commercial I get so livid I can no longer process information - this commercial makes me want to puke.

I think it's a vitamin commerical, now that I think about it.

It starts off by saying something like: "Of all the things made just for men" and then it proceeds to flash images of products - implying that these products are things made just for men. The pictures they show include a TV and a cordless drill. Really? TV's are made just for men? And a cordless drill? I use cordless drills! JUST for men? I feel personally affronted by this commercial. I can't actually believe that this was allowed to air.

No - for anyone out there objecting to this little rant - it does not make me feel better that there is a commercial out there that says the same thing for women. It's the women's vitamin version. The commercial starts off by saying: "Of all the things made just for women". I've not even been able to watch this commercial far enough along to see what the images of products are that they flash on this commercial. I am sure it is a washing machine, a baking pan, and a skirt or heels or something.

I cannot believe these ideas are being promoted in today's society. It's subliminally confirming what every male chauvinist believes, and brain washing America's youth to believe we are, in fact, still in the 1950s.

This commercial makes me want to throw things at my television. This commercial makes me want to break my television. This commercial makes me want to break all televisions. Maybe it would be better for everyone if I did.

geese metaphors for life

Sometimes even those capable of flight have to cross a road:



There's a metaphor for life in there somewhere right?



Now - help me pick out a future dog.

I hung out with a lhasapoo puppy all last summer and fell madly in love. That's a cross between a lhasa apso and a poodle. They're just little fluff balls. And I normally don't like small-yapper-type dogs, but this one and his whole fam were totally chill.

But I want a big dog. Which makes me want a doberman, a bull dog, a pitt bull, or a great dane (I don't really think I could deal with a great dane but they are just beautiful, aren't they?)

Bull Dog isn't really a big dog, per say, but I think our personalities would suit each other.


What do you think? Future dog? You know, for when I don't live in an apartment on the edge of brooklyn's china-town, sharing an apartment with 3 gay men.


Gotta go watch Torchwood.

life is a cabaret, old chum

Went to see the preview of cabaret at RLT last night. Can't tell you how I liked it because I didn't really see it.

what, what, what? you ask.

well, I'll tell ya - I get really excited about audience interaction and feeling like I'm all up in the action as an audience member. So when Lormarev and Jesse told me that there were seats on stage, oh yeah, I wanted those. Jesse warned me to get there early because there was this one table - the farthest up stage - which had the worst view ever. And I was early. Very early. However Abbey (who was my date that evening) was not. So of course we climb our way on stage and the only table left is the one all the way back.

So while I did enjoy seeing it from the stage and all the lovely stuff that went along with it - there was so much that I couldn't see and so much that I couldn't hear that I spent the majority of the time bored. I know, bored at cabaret.

So I'm really excited that I get to see it again tonight.

Meanwhile on the upside from last night - sitting on stage meant I got felt up by Lormarev alot! And she kissed me!

The lights came up at intermission and I looked at Abbey and said "hey! you have a kiss on her cheek!"

she said "Do I? Oh, hey! So do you!"

I kept mine on all night.

Isn't it interesting how some days everything seems connected? Like you find yourself talking about the same subjects with different people all day long. Yesterday was like that. I ate dinner at Two Guys with Lormarev and Ryan Brock, and we started talking about how we don't think we could share space if we ever got seriously involved with someone.

Lormarev was talking about her entire space, Ryan was talking about not wanting someone to see his room, and I started talking about not being willing to sleep in the same bed with someone. I do wierd things in my sleep. No one should have to see it.

So after the show I went out with Maureen (there was an extra ticket so I called her up) for ONE drink at the draft house. 3 hours and 2 beers later we finally left. We ended up talking about similar things. It was a good time. I miss Maureen. We talked about the show and movies for the first 2 hours and then didn't get to the personal stuff until after we payed our checks. So we just stayed and talked some more. It was really, really . . . nice.

Seriously, I'm gonna use this thing

I have several posts in my head - one still half done from SETC even, and several from Eleemosynary rehearsals, including one about my amusement at Susannah calling me "perfect" something I avoid being at all costs. But as none of these have made their way onto my blog, I thought I'd just get on and tell you guys what I did today.

Today I went through the pile of boxes behind the couch in the bonus room full of kitchen stuff that my mom was convinced probably all needed to be thrown away. Not true. Most of it is lovely useful stuff. But it all needed to be gone through before I moved.

Oh yeah, for those of you who haven't heard yet, I'm moving. To NYC. Either in July or September depending on Metamorphoses (long story). Either way I am moving in with Matthew Ryan sometime in the next handful of months.

So today I went through all the kitchen stuff that has been sitting behind my couch for, what, 3 years now? 4?

I miss that old apartment. I miss it a lot.

I am super sxcited about my new life in my new apartment.

The apartment which should have reality tv camera's everywhere for a tv show called: 3 gays and a girl.

Any way, I've gone through it all and posted pictures of it all on facebook for MRL to look at and tell me what stuff he wants me to bring with me.

So right now the floor of the bonus room looks like this:



and will until I find out what MRL wants me to bring. And then what? Oh well, hell, isn't that always the question?

Currently I'm using the state of the floor as an excuse not to work out.

How long do you think that will last?


I was thinking maybe I'll take at least one picture every day to put on this things. That way I have to write at least a sentence every day. That's a good goal, right?