“Pantyhose are itchy. Itchy itchy itchy…”

Lead Pipe Boots

I just took 35 lbs. of lead to the recycler in exchange for two crisp fives. Fives so crisp you almost want to keep them just so you can marvel at how straight and fine a thing can be that’s hatched from the bowels of the government. Two crisp fives that bought me a gallon of skim milk, two boxes of generic cereal, a generic frozen pizza, and a plastic tub of grape tomatoes, with a shiny nickel and dime left over for my growing change cup.

“Going without.” My the things you learn to marvel at.

Last Night’s Dreams

I’m convinced my neighbors upstairs- the new ones- cannot weigh in at less than 900 lbs. a piece. Around 11 pm they begin tromping up and down the hallway, and don’t stop until about 3 in the morning.

Dream #1:

In my dream last night I went out in the hallway to confirm that my noisy neighbors were not, in fact, in my floor’s hallway since the noise was just so loud. My hair was wet and I wore nothing but a small, blue bath towel, yet somehow in spite of these facts stepping out into the hallway seemed like a brilliant plan…

When I got into the hallway I saw someone else standing there; a (non-existant) neighbor of mine. He looked to be mid twenties, gelled blond hair, wife beater, kind smile, a bit white trash, and thoroughly unattractive. And I mean really and truly unattractive.

As I struggled to keep my towel on what I noticed was a far nicer version of my body than could ever exist on a non-animated person, my neighbor and I began chatting mindlessly about the neighbors upstairs, how noisy they are, how annoying it is to be woken in the night by their loud conversations and music and stomping. Suddenly it hit me that here I am, dripping wet in a too-small towel I can barely keep closed on this upgraded model of my shivering bod, and this guy doesn’t even notice or care.

Now: because it was a dream I had the luxury of assurance that this wasn’t a result of his being gay, or of his desire to be respectful, or anything like that. This was just some young hetero dude standing here alone with some young hetero chick in a hallway in the middle of the night, not caring in the slightest that her towel is shrinking in direct proportion to how awkward she feels at being so completely and utterly ignored in spite of the fact that she’s 1) practically nude and 2) sporting a totally impossible body most women (animated or not) would kill to have.


Call it pitiful anti-feminism or whatever else you like, but then tell me how you’d feel if the best physical version imaginable of your gender was soundly and completely rejected as attractive, or even noticeable, by a similarly oriented member of your preferred sex.

What the heck am I afraid of? Am I afraid I’m invisible as a sexual being? Am I afraid there’s no possibility of ever being “good enough”? Am I afraid that even if I were an ultra-hot mega-babe I couldn’t… attract…


Paging Dr. Freud. Your assistance in the F Wing is no longer required.

Dreams of Being Naked: “In other cases, the dreamer is aware of his or her nakedness but no one else seems to notice at all… [and] just goes on about their business and make no comments. These types of dreams are often manifestations of the dreamer’s fears.”


In conclusion: This is why I need the company of ferrets.

Dream #2:

The much lighter end of my dream was the part in which I was hanging out with Janelle S. from college. We were the only ones still in the room at some big hotel party and I was explaining to her that I’d just lost my cell phone. We both found this situation hilarious for some reason. Even funnier to us was when she got on the room’s phone with some FBI theft unit and started railing on them for not being more concerned about the loss. She’d cover the mouthpiece to mask our uproarious laughter, and then uncover it to resume her rant about “How would you like it if your phone was missing” and other arguments that only make sense when you’re dead asleep.

We tried explaining what was so funny about it to other guests at the party, but mysteriously enough no one else seemed to find it nearly as amusing as we…

Dreams of Lost Objects: “Hunting or searching for something or someone is related to the symbolism of the specific thing that cannot be found. For instance, lost objects or persons may relate to lost values, aspects of your identity…, unfinished business. You may have lost sight of your goals or direction.”

Other Stuff

I’m not really hungry, but I’m fairly certain that all I’ve eaten today was a single packet of Easy Mac. I guess when you’re not doing anything you don’t really need much fuel. :P

We’re off book for the first half of the show this Sunday. *tugs at collar with index finger and makes “Eeee eeee eeee” face at Rachael and Marlee* I wrote down my scenes on a piece of paper so I could memorize them in chunks, but so far I’m just “really familiar” with them as opposed to “memorized.” And you see how that could be a problem? One of the nice things I discovered upon doing this, however, was that I only actually speak on 50 of those 60 pages. There are another 3 or so where I’m on stage but silent (Woohoo!!), and another 7 where I’m gone daddy gone.

I haven’t even begun to work on the second half of the show. Dear God above…

I picked up MST3K’s Volume 4 four-pack of DVDs from the library the other afternoon. Not a bad selection. It’s got Girl in Gold Boots and Hamlet which I’m just sort of *meh* about. But then it also has Overdrawn At The Memory Bank which is amusing in its badness, and Space Mutiny, my fave of the four.

The only one I have left to watch is Space Mutiny and I’m hesitating to put it in because– well once I’ve watched it what’s left for me to do besides read my lines over and over and over and over and over, polish up my resume and cover letter… again, maybe take a crack at the dishes piling up by the kitchen sink. But then what?

Please, somebody who’s hiring and pays enough: Want Me!

And now, the adorable and talented Ms. Deschanel:

Isn’t she a cutie pie?!


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