I think Abby meant this...

I have an audition with Alvin Ailey on May 9.

Wish me luck. And dance ability, which may have flown out the window since the last time I had a dance class.

So yeah, that's pretty cool. I'm really excited about it.

And the Band Played On...

There's debate on whether the IM conversation was funny or not. I'm leaving it because it still makes me chuckle and it's all about ME ME ME!

I took Keleen to see the Big Fat Reds (my friend Eric's band--no, not that one) and we had a funk-tastic good time.

After being around a 7 year old (fabulous as he is) for such an excessive amount of time, it was nice to be around adults. Granted, we are all adults that act like 7 year olds, but at least with these kids, I can drink whiskey.

Keleen got the lead singers mixed up and thought that I had slept with Eric.

"No, not that one. The one behind you."

"Ooooooooooohhhhhh, now I get it. He's cute. Good for you."

Well, I do what I can.

We leaned into each other at the bar for a brief but sordid history. Walking into these situations with this crew is like walking into a Chekhov play. There's a lot of backstory and subtext to understand why everyone is the way that they are.

"I love them!"

Just like whiskey, they're intoxicating.

It was fun to let loose and dance. It was fun to be the kid. It was just fun, and I was in some serious need of it.

I don't have anything else to say right now. Hmph. Today is going to be a long day, I can feel it.

If this IM conversation isn't funny, let me know and I'll delete it

But it amused the hell out of me and so I include it in its epic nature.

ikanread: aron! you gonna be around in 10 min? i'm going to go smoke
ZiplocKity: yesh
ZiplocKity: but only ten minutes because that's when the cyanide will kick in
ikanread: i love cyanide in my morning coffee
ikanread: it's the best part of waking up
ZiplocKity: oh hi
ZiplocKity: I'm not dead afterall
ikanread: i'm so glad
ZiplocKity: what did you dream about last night?
ZiplocKity: wait, shouldn't you be out nannying or something
ikanread: i dreamt i was the child of these two friends of mine. they were holding my hands on either side of me and swinging me
ikanread: no, i nanny at night
ikanread: i'm 9-5ing it during the day
ZiplocKity: oooh. that sounds dangerous
ikanread: i know
ZiplocKity: oh.
ikanread: yup. i'm a workin' gal
ZiplocKity: I'm half assing it during the day
ikanread: why are you up so early?
ikanread: are you working? what are you doing? who am i? why am i in this handbasket?
ZiplocKity: no, but lately I haven't rolled out of bed until noon sometimes as late as 3, but that usually means I'm rolling out of someone else's bed.
ikanread: you little skank
ZiplocKity: so how is everyone there
ZiplocKity: do you guys hang out with moby all the time?
ikanread: good--i'm doing a good job of rolling out of their beds as well
ikanread: moby's a pussy who goes to bed early
ZiplocKity: you are such a star fffffffffffucker
ZiplocKity: and you draw on his ass with a gigantic sharpy when he passes out
ikanread: exactly
ikanread: actually this one night, dru and devon passed out early and i wrote "911" on their foreheads with a red sharpie
ZiplocKity: that... that's not funny carrie... oh god... how could you?
ikanread: ah, debauchery
ikanread: i'm evil
ikanread: didn't you get the memo?
ZiplocKity: apparently
ZiplocKity: mmmm... yes?
ikanread: my fall from grace was quick and lasting
ZiplocKity: yeah, I got it but it was on stationary with teddy bears and balloons on it, so i thought it was a misprint
ikanread: that's always misleading
ZiplocKity: rather
ikanread: how's life for you my dear?
ZiplocKity: next thing you know you'll be the real evil kind of evil not just debauchery, but like building malls in airplanes that run on the dreams of small children
ikanread: how did you know what i was up to?
ZiplocKity: I dunno. everyone seems to know apparently
ikanread: all the goddamn memos
ZiplocKity: you may be evil and a genius but you sure got a big mouth
ikanread: i need to start killing witnesses
ZiplocKity: a big beautiful luscious big mouth
ikanread: getting randy, are we?
ZiplocKity: with lips like the finest escargot
ikanread: my lips are like snails?
ikanread: are you calling me fat?
ZiplocKity: oh? uhhh... is THAT what escargot is?! No! no! I mean... your lips are like...uhhh... a mothers vagina?
ikanread: wow. thanks. [blushes]
ZiplocKity: ha don't mention it [suckerpunches]
ikanread: i sure know how to pick 'em [stabs with ice-pick]
ZiplocKity: hey can you see my little icon... i mean, my buddy icon. what kind of computer are you using?
ikanread: a fancy one and yes i can see your icon. you should really zip that up
ZiplocKity: like, I'm on a mac so for AIM I see your little buddy icon right next to everything you type
ikanread: your icon is next to the "warn" button
ikanread: which is appropriate i feel
ZiplocKity: my icon can hit the warn button on it's own
ZiplocKity: wait. we're talkinga bout my dick right?
ikanread: yes. and it's totally hitting my warn button.
ikanread: you should buy me dinner first.
ikanread: who am i kidding? tell me i look pretty while getting me a beer and we're good to go
ZiplocKity: I'll call up the taj mahal long distance and have then deliver you live dolphin and a giant spiked bat
ZiplocKity: and a bib
ikanread: but i already got a live dolphin for christmas
ikanread: [whines, pouts, eviscerates]
ZiplocKity: you can eat that and drink wine (which you will provide for yourself) and then we can talk on the phone whilst I eat MY dolphin and drink whiskey and it'll be like the best date ever. we'll just pretend we're in opposite rooms and that our parents won't let us see each other before the arranged wedding
ZiplocKity: don't worry, I won't actually marry you though.
ikanread: it's okay. i've been betrothed to another for a sack of wheat and some gold galleons
ikanread: and a goat
ikanread: i ain't cheap
ZiplocKity: yes you are
ikanread: [sigh] i know
ZiplocKity: you totally are
ZiplocKity: don't act so upset though, I mean. too many things are expensive these days, cheap shit like you is hard to find.
ikanread: OKAY, ALREADY. I'M A BIG CHEAP WHORE.
ikanread: it's like a public service
ikanread: changing the world, one orgasm at a time
ZiplocKity: you actually orgasm when junebug gives it to yah?
ikanread: i'm like jesus...turning water into pussy
ZiplocKity: ringing water out of pussy
ikanread: why? did junebug not make you come?
ZiplocKity: no.
ZiplocKity: well...
ikanread: did he at least hold you?
ikanread: 'cuz he didn't hold me
ZiplocKity: I mean, he was going at it for a long time and then I told him to stop and so he moved his head away and right as he did that I used all the inner motivation I could and I just went right in his face, the skinny bastard never saw it coming
ZiplocKity: ooh.
ikanread: well, at least you maintained control
ZiplocKity: did he at least give you a pillow to hug?
ikanread: no. i think he threw a large heineken at me
ZiplocKity: it was our friends kristen and claire who told me about your ummm.. escapades
ZiplocKity: but you drank it right?
ikanread: yes, but i couldn't distinguish the beer from my TEARS
ikanread: [strokes can] at least you love me
ZiplocKity: you don't really have hurt feelings or anything though do you?
ikanread: wow. a sincere question
ikanread: i don't know
ikanread: it's weird
ikanread: we were really good friends. i went over to their place yesterday and he didn't even look at me
ZiplocKity: yeah, I think it is pretty tough to determine how to respond to sexual awkwardness
ZiplocKity: he's all guilty and shit
ikanread: weird thing is, i don't feel awkward about it. and i'm a girl who generally jumps to awkward land and settles in with the natives. i think he may have been trying to prove how NOT special i am. or something. you know, big cheap whore syndrome
ikanread: or maybe he feels guilty
ikanread: i don't know
ikanread: you menfolk are hard to read sometimes
ZiplocKity: yeah, but junebug is grown up now and obviously you are a friend, so if it's not some guilt thing and it is some ego thing then he's ummm a ... I can't think of an insult. does chode work?
ikanread: chode works for everything, methinks.
ikanread: i don't know. it just happened, so maybe time will sort things out
ikanread: the human interaction part is really getting in the way of getting laid
ZiplocKity: yeah, but obviously this guy has no idea of how building a harem works. you're supposed to fake niceness for a little while and THEN act like nothing ever happened so you always have that girl in your pocket to "bed" her again later. Now he's just gone and made you pregnant and his cock is eternally soft
ikanread: eternal softness of the luckless cock
ZiplocKity: that's a good movie
ikanread: the last time we slept together, he kinda avoided me, and then was fine about a week later, so i think it will be okay
ikanread: and that movie's in production, by the by
ikanread: starring junebug's luckless cock and mickey rourke as the eternal softness of it
ZiplocKity: well if you need a producer I could use some street cred, so I suppose I could help out with that.
ikanread: you have street cred?
ZiplocKity: yeah.
ZiplocKity: Quite a bit
ikanread: wow. when did you become thug?
ZiplocKity: they gave me business cards
ZiplocKity: I became thug when my momma's water broke
ZiplocKity: because I fucked her and made her pregnant and she had the baby
ZiplocKity: see?
ZiplocKity: look at that i think i talked about pregnant stuff twice already in this conversation.
ikanread: i know
ikanread: seriously
ZiplocKity: well, the stuff being either you or my mom
ZiplocKity: but you're both good stuff
ZiplocKity: there's no doubting that
ikanread: i am good stuff
ikanread: i'm the best stuff--the jesus of sex, remember?
ZiplocKity: I won't ever forget oh righteous one
ikanread: who you knockin' boots with these days?
ZiplocKity: this Israeli-itallian chick. she is a fucking fox and D-O-W-N and that's how we get down
ikanread: thug life 4-eva!
ikanread: so she's hairy, right?
ZiplocKity: no, she's actually got leukemia and has to wear a wig
ikanread: so i hope you fuck her gently
ZiplocKity: that's why she's with me.
ZiplocKity: no way!
ikanread: oh god--i feel a chemo-sex joke coming
ZiplocKity: I don't want her to suffer much longer, I figure if I fuck her hard maybe she'll die having sex
ikanread: not a bad way to go, i've decided, now that i'm getting the hang of it
ikanread: certainly beats having your heart cut out with a spoon
ikanread: but just barely
ZiplocKity: spooning is so nice
ikanread: are you talking about actual spooning, death by spooning, or going to a spoon concert?
ZiplocKity: I'm not talking about ANY of those things
ZiplocKity: okay. it don't matter. You can come back to Austin and work for me, its crap pay but I'll feed and cloth you and let you sleep in the toolshed
ikanread: will you give me a pillow to hold?
ZiplocKity: I just read that and kind of bit my lip and rolled my eyes. it was a sincere feeling of "oh GOD! shhhhut UP!"
ikanread: man--what is it about fucking me that elicits that response?
ZiplocKity: but I guess I'll give you some hay stuffed in burlap
ikanread: you are nothing if not a gentleman
ZiplocKity: maybe it's just funny
ZiplocKity: maybe it's just a harmless joke that everyone thinks you'll get , but you don't understand because the whole sex thing is new to you and you're kinda like... but... what... what did I do wrong? instead of "ha! good one. you too."
ikanread: or it's the whole cheap whore thing...i am coming austin soon though. we should meet up.
ZiplocKity: fantastic! I will be gone for a little bit in June, but I don't really think i'll ge going anywheres again until august, and that's when I go to NYC only to visit though
ZiplocKity: hey, I should probably get to work though.
ikanread: you're coming here!!! awesome
ikanread: ok
ZiplocKity: so i will hopefully talk to you again soon
ZiplocKity: good bye and I love you.
ikanread: bye. love you too

I think we should take our act on the road.

But if this is only amusing to me, just give a holla and I'll write something more sincere.

Those the River Keeps...

Yesterday's poetry extravaganza warmed 'me heart. And kept me giggling through most of the day.

Other than that, yesterday was a frenzy of running around town and not having enough time to do anything. I went to the employment agency and could only fill out the forms in the time allotted for lunch. I have to go back and test today. And then interview tomorrow. I've kinda given up on the idea that I will ever have a lunch sitting down--usually wolfing a hot dog on the way to somewhere else.

I get off work. And then I have to rush home to wolf some semblance of dinner before bolting to babysitting. I do what I do when funds are low (which seems to be a persistent state of being for me). I pick up egg drop soup--$1.65 and somewhat filling. At the place I go, they have this cute little Yorkie that hangs out all day. He knows me so well that when I walk in, he comes over and rolls onto his back. I rub his belly until my soup is ready. I know he knows it's me because he does not do this to other patrons. It's our moment.

And it repeats often.

I've decided a good portion of my life is like a Beckett play. Existential repetitiveness. The other portion is like a Durang play. Wildly absurd. And a small fraction of the debauchery and self-destruction is like Rabe. Utter Hurly Burly.

That's a lot of theatre references for those who read this and don't know theatre. I apologize. In non-theatre speak: my life is a combination of same shit different day, freakish occurrences, mixed with an excess of chemicals.

There. Theatre History 301 for Druggies: An Application of Theatre into Your Own Fucked-Up Life.

I helped Max (the 15 year old) pick out a perfect song for the bit of filming (he's gonna be the next Tim Burton, kids) he did on Broadway. Just filming random homeless people and cabs and the blowing of tulips in the wind. But when you put it with the right song, it's lovely.

Sunday morning I'm waking up
Can't even focus on a coffee cup
Don't even know whose bed I'm in
Where do I start?
Where do I begin?

Perhaps I felt it was so perfect because it's kinda exactly how I feel currently--especially after the past two months.

And then Dustin called me.

"I'm going to ask you a question and then I'm going to hang up and you can only call back when you know the answer."

He does stuff like this. I figure it's just some random artistic thing he wants me to do.

"Alright. What's the question?"

"Where do we go from here?"

Wow. Appropriate.

I sit down and freestyle, figuring I can find an answer somewhere in my rambling, jumbling, mumbling mind.

What I wrote:

Where do we go from here?
This is the question posed before me.
So I imagine if I put one foot in front
of the other
I'll step right into it-
Right into the question.
And then we're knee deep in it.
When I was little the snow was once as tall as me
(My eyes peeked over the edge)
But that was then
And this is now
And I'm knee-deep in a question
I trust my feet know which way to go
One step at a time is how they've always gone
And that seems an acceptable plan.
So there's your answer
Where do we go from here?
I suppose wherever our mind takes us
And we hope our feet can
Catch up.

Turns out it was for Dustin's friend's advertising project. She loved my ideas about feet in regard to direction, and she's going to do something with that.

Glad I could be of service.

These are the questions that flow through my mind.

Where do I start?
Where do I begin?
Where do we go from here?

There's got to be a cheat sheet somewhere.

And then I'll stop talking about my Jeejer...

I'm taking a long lunch and going to another employment agency. Amelia recommended them because they actually give her what she asks for, as opposed to where I am and I say, "I need $14/hr" and they always send me out for $10/hr. Which is crap. I'm so done. My boss here told me lunch is an hour but what the fuck do I care if they don't like me? They have to put up with me for a week, and then I'm switching agencies. Take that, suckas.

That was uninteresting. But it's what's floating through my brain right now.

Money makes the world go 'round...

I'm really exhausted from the weekend. Which is odd, because I stayed in on Saturday and napped on Sunday. I guess Friday was enough debauchery to last me a good while.

It was amazing to see Brady. I haven't laughed that hard in a while.

Well, maybe since Ashlee was in town.

And then with Keleen and the Jeejer business from the other night.

So I figure: Carrie + time with her girlfriends = happier and high

Carrie + time with her boyfriends = naked and hungover

You do the math.

Money makes the world go 'round...

Here you go, ladies, for your Jeejer's needs.

Mine should be arriving in a few days. I'll let you know how it turns out. Like I really need to be more in the mood. Seriously. I'm like the Energizer Bunny as it is.

So this could get bad. There could be utter destruction.

Chances are I'll just end up breaking my vibrator. That's okay. I want to get a new one anyway.

I will try to make it the rest of the week without discussing my Jeejer at length. And you know what that means. PICTURES!

Ha. Not really.

Oh, how weird it all is.

They think I saddle up my Anger and ride and ride...

I'm like Mother-fucking-Theresa to those boys, they just don't know it.

If only I had brought my script writer with me.

I had my quest for the weekend. And it was getting out of the apartment and getting Cold Stone ice cream. And I just succeeded.

Life is good.

"Sleazy, was I high maintenance?"

"No. But you were crazy, which requires a certain amount of maintenance."

True enough. Not like he was a walk through the park, either. We are all stark-raving mad.

I had more rage surging through my body yesterday than I have ever felt in my life. Laura left the most passive-agressive note before bailing to Texas. She's a note-leaver. She won't say a goddamn word when you're both around, she just leaves a note and expects everything to be fixed by the time she returns.

Grr...Argh...

Then I had a dream about fighting about it with her and woke up at 5am and couldn't get back to sleep. That's how mad I was.

Grr..Argh...

Eat your ice cream, it will all be okay.

Watch Antique Roadshow, it will soothe the wild soul.

Once again, this weekend started with good intentions. I always wind up naked, though.

I walked into the apartment yesterday and Devon took one look at me and said,

"I'm so going out and getting your chastity belt and padlock."

Debauchery is as Debauchery does.

Grr...Argh...

We Travel Without Seatbelts On...

Dude. Ok. So I'll share a PG moment and then I'll go elsewhere.

I babysat again yesterday and had a very pleasant moment with Max, their 15 year old son. Sweet, smart, and awkward teen, but he happens to be blessed with an excellent taste in music. We started talking after I made dinner about the Garden State soundtrack and how much we love it.

Then on to a discussion of Interpol, the Killers, and Zero 7. So I offered a suggestion. I told him about the Decemberists.

I love sharing music. My own musical taste is very much shaped by the people I love, especially my sisters. Music, if you're not about to have kids anytime soon, is a good thing to pass on to the younger generation. It is Music Evolution. It warms my heart that I finally got to do it.

Then I had a creepy moment of realizing that (until Mon when I turned 23) I was 22 and he was 15, which is the exact age difference between me and Aaron when we got together. A creepy shudder of doom ran down my body. What a pervert he was. Max is a good kid, but he's a kid. It was very disconcerting and disturbing.

And now for something completely different...

I get home and Conor is passed out and Keleen is up waiting for me (Dirty Thursday and all). We grab our drinks and other supplies and go into the other room to let our man-angels sleep, where we proceed to discuss, go figure, boys. And sex. And sex with boys (and she was curious about my sex with a girl as well).

"I didn't know you were so kinky, Carrie! You look so innocent!"

That's how I get them, my dear. I didn't know, either. I don't see anything I've done as particularly kinky. Perhaps my standards for kinky are different from hers. Me? I don't think it's kinky unless there's a goat involved. Or blood-letting. Does biting until breaking skin count? I wouldn't necessarily think so, more like extreme enthusiasm, but all the same...

There I go. Focus, damnit.

She went to a sex toy party (her version of kinky) and she told me how the woman hosting it gave her a q-tip with this lotion you're supposed to put on your "twat" (Keleen won 1000 cool points for use of the word "twat," since that is currently my favorite term for the female anatomy).

"Oh my God, Carrie! I can't even describe it! You put it on and suddenly there's tingling fire all through your body...You cross your legs and you're like, 'Oh my God my Jeejer! [ed note: Jeejer? Hi-larious]'"

Long story short...

I just ordered some.

Awesome.

Off to take of the children now!

Rub a Dub-dub, Ho Hum, Hi-Ho...

I have a head set at this reception job. I am in a suit.

I wonder if being a stripper feels this dirty.

I bet it does.

Why can't someone pay me to just recommend good tv to them?

I could do that.

It would be enjoyable.

Ah well. I go straight from here to more babysitting.

Murray (the kid I babysit for) is so cute. I really like this family. They're liberal and smart and as far as I can tell, not fucking up their children beyond repair (they have a 15 year old son, too, but I don't help him bathe). He does this really cute thing where he loves my British accent, but doesn't want to ask me to do it. So we were putting together this puzzle (he's a very smart kid) and he'll just look at me and go--

"You'd better not do that funny voice again."

Which is my cue to do the funny voice again. And then he'll giggle and roll around on the floor.

I had to do bath time last night. In all my years of babysitting, this was actually the first time I had to do bath time with a boy. A vast majority of the families I used to babysit for had girls. Now it's all boys. It was a little awkward. Funny, too, because I had him wash himself "down there" but I washed the rest of him, which doesn't allow for a lot of modesty. But then when I got him a towel to get out, he said--

"Turn around. I don't want you to see my privates."

Dude, did you think the water was opaque? Of course I saw them. Nice Jewish family.

Ha.

More pressing matters. Where am I going to eat?

Hot dogs are definitely out.

Instant Karma's Gonna Get You...

Every once in a while, when a bird is not shitting on you, the universe will cut you some slack.

There was gonna be no way that I made rent this month.

None. The temp agency hasn't be sending me out enough.

And then one of my families called and needs me to babysit every night for a week for 5 or 6 hours. That's $75-90 a night. Thank God.

Still wasn't sure if I'd make rent. Yup. It's that bad.

A lifesaver is held out to me.

A lifesaver that is our federal government.

Thank you, tax rebate check. You've got a very grateful citizen in me.

Didn't think I'd ever think that.

***********************************

I like when people don't call on my birthday. Because then they call later. And "Happy Belated Birthday" is sometimes even better to me. Because then it's about celebrating me on a day that I wasn't born. I could've just as easily popped out into the world yesterday, or today, or next week.

So keep the love coming.

Last night, at about 1am, I got a belated birthday call and a drunk dial all in one. It's been a while since I've gotten a drunk dial that wasn't my sister. So that made me smile into my pillow. I was initially grumpy about it, and then I thought about all of them that I had woken up, and I figured it was karma, and that made it pretty fair to me.

I am the Sun and the Air...

A very good birthday, indeed.

The temp agency didn't have anything for me because they didn't call. So I didn't call them because I figured Fate was telling me to take the day off.

And you don't fuck with Fate.

I tried to stay in bed all day. I ordered a lot of food. I tried to stay naked all day as well (you have to do the most with alone time when you're as packed in as we are).

I took a bath. I did my nails. I watched a marathon of Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction on the Sci-Fi channel.

Jon Stewart was on Oprah. I took this as a good omen for year 23.

I won free tickets to a comedy club (10 of them) and I managed to rassle up 8. So at least I know I have 8 friends in New York. That's comforting. And I had a delegate from every crowd I hang with: representing NTI was Amelia, Conor and Keleen holding up the Kingwood folks, Eric for the Random Boy contingency, Flame-throwing Corey for the Coked-Up Gay Man Brigade, Devon as my Gay Husband, and Yvette from the Degenerate crew.

For a Monday night show, it was pretty fucking funny. There was only one guy who missed the mark. Because if you're going to make offensive jokes (which I am completely in favor for), you'd better make them funny. Especially when dealing with rape or Hitler.

But we all laughed a whole lot and that's how you should always be.

I got calls and text messages from many many people and I felt very loved and protected.

I realize I can't be too bad of a person. Since the firing, I have had so many people jump to my aid. I'm getting help from everywhere. Even my directing teacher Donny from NTI is putting in a good word with some higher ups at this company that deals in the arts and is a pretty sweet deal. And I hadn't even called him since moving to the city, which is kinda bastard-ish, but he's helping me out all the same.

This maybe implies that I'm not totally evil. That's a comfort.

I have a team of people who want to hold me up when all I want to do is fall down and stay there. They won't let me. They love me and they want me up. Maybe it's because they think I couldn't do it myself, but the amount of support I have received in the past two weeks is astounding and I am so unbelievably thankful for all of it.

I feel like I need to do an epic recount of my time with Eric. Conor has fallen in love with him. He thinks Eric's by far the cutest and nicest one out of my little harem of men currently. I like everything about Eric except for the way he kisses me. And I started our little fling for his visit this time, but I don't know if I should continue with it.

Saturday. We're together, and it's nice to feel so wanted. I roll over onto him and retrieve a condom.

"I should tell you something."

Awww, hell. The worst thing to hear from someone when you're trying to fuck them.

"I haven't been with anyone since you."

Oh, hell. That was--shit, let me think. He and I hooked up and then I first started with Sleazy. So that's like a millenia ago. And by millenia, I guess I mean 7 months.

I really shouldn't do this to him. So I don't. Now I don't know if I can, since I know it would mean far more than just a hey-you're-in-town-let's-hook-up to him. I could tell it in his eyes. It's nice to be looked at so adoringly, but I don't look at him the same way. I've already lead him on by his nipple clamps once before. I can't screw over another nice guy. And I sure as shit shouldn't do it to the same guy twice. I already pulled that with Tim, and I'm still dealing with the Shame Spiral fallout on that one.

Where does that leave it? Your guess is as good as mine.

And the rest of my harem? I don't know there, either. It's raining men and I forgot my umbrella.

HA! I'm hi-larious.

I miss feeling really connected to someone. Maybe someday. Right now it seems to be all about diversion. And diversity. I am equal-opportunity. I am Affirmative Action in Action getting Action.

So I guess I should shut my now-23-year-old trap and just ride my own melt.

Woman Fucked Violently in G Minor...

Don't ask. I couldn't begin to explain.

Saturday was a quest for the Paris Hilton porn and so the intentions started out innocently enough and wound up...

A German Shepherd fucking a woman and Woman Fucked Violently in G Minor.

With all that porn, it was bound to get debaucherous.

I haven't had that much fun on a weekend in I don't know how long.

Laughter. Love. Whiskey. Boys. Oh, the boys. But it's really not a birthday celebration weekend without constant hooking up with as many different people as you can manage. I managed two. One per night. Conservative, I know. But I'm an angel. What kind of girl do you think I am?

I love me some Ashlee. We certainly got silly enough. And I should note on Friday, I think we had a total of 5 drunken heart-to-hearts in the biker bar we went to (when our mouths weren't otherwise engaged), blocking the bathroom to the rest of the patrons. And yet, Ashlee peed twice in the street. And it seemed perfectly logical to me. We've never had to explain much of our behavior to each other. No need to start now.

And then we topped it all off with a weird Mexican breakfast and ended it by seeing Sin City. Which, just so you know, is quite possibly the coolest movie ever made. Seriously. It was like all those film noir movies that I love. Veronica Lake on Crack. AWESOME. I'm telling ya, go see it. And then see it again. On substances of your own choosing.

People I love. Warm Wishes. Much liquor. Much Love.

This might be one of my favorite birthdays to date.

23 ain't lookin' so bad, kids. If it's anything like 22, it's bound to be freakishly epic and hilariously tragic. Which is how I like my life. It's also how I like my coffee, but that's more of a story for my shrink.

[lays down on couch]

Ready for the psycho-analysis. And by that, I mean beer.

We need Someone to Cover Left Field...

Because that's where it's all coming from.

For real.

I can't go into it now, but my life has become a Dali painting.

Ashlee's in town. We are currently giggling.

I love her so much.

And we made out for-ever with the boys at the bar and closed that shit down, and in true Ashlee fashion, as we get into the cab she says,

"Let's go make out with more boys!"

Happy Happy Joy Joy.

Eric's in town, too. We can't decide who should make out with him. I vote Ashlee since she likes a lot of tongue.

"We'll go to a bar and you pick one and I'll take the rest."

It's that kind of ambition that I find impressive.

I did get pissed off because Julie told Sleazy about some random comment I made to her friend. Girlfriends don't tell shit to exes. I don't get it. I think it must have something to do with her obsession with Chris.

Attack Spring! Attack Carrie! Love ME!

Whatever.

It's the birthday celebration weekend, and I refuse to care anymore. All the Degenerates seem to want to believe the worst in me, and let them. I know who I am.

I'm going to go make out now.

Dream a little Dream of Me...

Yesterday was weird. I was all over the place, and I was drunk doing it.

I got fired. I felt that I was supposed to spend the day drinking. So I did.

I went crazy with text-messaging. I even texted Ian (and no, Daniel, it was not the more suggestive type of text message that I wanted to send the other night). And in true Nice Guy form, he did not text back. He called.

Once again, knocked off my ass by being treated kindly.

I talked to Jaime. I talked to Lyle. I talked to Chloe. I talked to Marina (who is helping me with my resume--she's says I'm "very marketable" aka, I look good on paper. Urine, apparently, is an entirely different story.) I talked to Julie (New York Julie, not senorita Julz). I talked to Dru. Hell, I even talked to Sleazy.

"You didn't really want to work there, anyway."

I know. But a gym membership would have been nice. So would a 401K.

I passed out before American Idol even finished. Drinking slowly yet steadily all day can wear a girl out.

I had the most fucked up dream. There was a lot of sex in it, and all in very odd situations. There were two different guys (not at the same time) and both are vastly different choices. All my friends showed up and were happy I had hooked up with one, and didn't know I had hooked up with the other. There was a game where everyone was hung from scaffolding and regulated by an army of robot Nicole Kidmans. I shit you not. I hung on there and started throwing corn on the cob to hit the scaffolding near the bottom and corn just went flying. It exploded. Freda complimented my skills (yup, Freda made an appearance). Then me and one of my male companions climbed up into this abandoned warehouse with a beautiful look-out where apparently we had messed around before. In January. So said the girl who came with us, who complained she didn't know how to kiss (and if I revealed who the girl was, you bust out laughing because I'm sure she has had much kissing experience). And so I planted one on her. We have a threesome (the second one I had in the dream, just so you know) and then she leaves and Boy 2 has the power to turn into Boy 1 and keeps fucking with me (I suppose while fucking me). Then I'm freaking out because Julie (senorita Julz) wanted me to pick up wine for our camping trip with the girls for my birthday. And I'm whining because I don't want to pick up wine, I shouldn't have to, it's my birthday. And then I'm freaking out because I need to find wine that comes in a plastic bottle because we can't have glass at the camp site. I give up and buy beer and try to stuff it into my NYSE bag.

Then I wake up. It's the temp agency calling me at 7:30 am to tell me they don't have anything for me today. Well, fine. But did you have to wake me? I was getting a lot of ass in my dream and it was awesome. Now the moment is ruined because I know it was a dream.

Abby is right. Reality is so not the best option.

Pain and Comfort, Deep Within You...

Odd day of unemployment, and not completely unenjoyable.

I danced naked in my apartment while doing dishes to the Postal Service and Massive Attack.

I showered. I got clean.

I went to Wall Street and got my paycheck. It was okay.

I walked around Ground Zero. I have never spent much time there, though I walked by it almost everyday at work. I went there because I hate myself, well, generally most of the time, but especially when I'm feeling sorry for myself. Abby is right. We Taylor women know how to hang on, against all odds.

It's important to have a strong perspective of what true tragedy is. I walked around and let my own excess of empathy soak in what it means to truly lose something bigger than yourself. I walked around and knew I was looking at what a broken heart looks like.

Rubble. Rebuilding. Because what other choice is there?

I could kill myself.

Or I could move on.

Something rises out of the rubble, and it may not all be pretty, but it's a start.

The answer lies in there.

Please don't worry about me too much. You can. Blythe called me yesterday and wanted me to talk, and when I wouldn't, she said,

"I don't like this. A quiet Carrie scares me."

It should. I'm not well. But I've been worse and I've seen worse and I've lived worse and every time I never thought that I'd be able to pull through, that this tragedy would be the one that would break me, and yet it didn't. Everytime it didn't. I've seen more shit and I've witnessed more than I will ever talk about (something Conor doesn't like and doesn't understand), but I've come out of it still young and laughing. Laughing excessively. Laughing with abandon. Because what other choice is there?

That's got to mean something. Sometimes it's the only thing that means anything to me. I have a bottle next to me that could kill me if I wanted, and part of me does, but I don't, because in the end, there's just more I need to laugh at. There's more I need to see. And maybe it will all disappoint me in the end, but at least I gave it a try, and in the end, if there is a Creator, he has got to know my intentions were always good.

Things fall apart.

And then they build themselves back again.

If only we were given the gift of patience to see it all through.

Breathe. Love. Learn.

So sayeth the prophet in accordance to the prophecy.

I'm such a dork.

And that's why you love me.

I should feel cheap, but I just feel free...

My current level of depression makes what I went through after New Year's look like a tampon commercial--frolicking through the fields in a summer dress.

"I don't let something like my period get me down!"

Maybe it's because the last time was due to a boy and a criminal.

This time it's just myself.

Huh. It's lonely at the top.

I worked at this law firm for the day. One day jobs as temps suck. It's like the worst first date in the world. You both know you're never going to see each other again--this is it. So, you make the most half-assed conversation instead.

"So where are you from again?"

"Texas."

"That must be interesting."

"It had its moments."

"That's a big state."

"Yeah, it is."

And at the end of it all, it's incredibly awkward.

"Umm, this was fun/ Could you sign my timesheet?"

"Maybe I'll give you a call sometime/ Maybe we'll need you again soon."

"Take care of yourself/ Take care of yourself."

And then you go home and shower just so you can feel clean again.

We'll see how long I can go giving my best impersonation of a living person.

I know, I know. MELODRAMATIC. My mom didn't call me "Ophelia" for nothing. Don't worry. I'm not going to stick my head in the oven like Sylvia Plath. Our oven doesn't work.

Said the girl who was fired from Wall Street

I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.I hate my life.

I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.I'm such a fuck-up.

I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.I'm going to crawl into a hole and die now.

You slight me, I smite thee...

I think a certain situation that concluded itself this weekend could best be summed up by my peeps The Decemberists:

The film was a bust, but we stayed to the ending
Hair all a mussed but your clothes didn't look so bad
And back on the street, the rain was descending
In cold dirty sheets, so under the awning we sat
And then you hailed yourself a yellow cab

And I sat for a time by the valets in line
And I read what you wrote on the card
Above a cowboy you drew a big dark balloon
saying "try not to take it so hard"
but there's this nagging suspicion that won't leave me alone tonight
its just that everything I try to do, nothing seems to turn out right

We laid on our backs and stared at the ceiling
Messed with your slacks, but ended up just holding your hand
The rain will remain, the tv was telling
a drip of the drain as your legs lifted brilliantly bent
and fall to resting on the ottoman

So we turned off the tube and we crawled to your room
leaving discarded clothes in our way
and we both had some fun, though I twice bit my tongue
and it lasted too long for my taste
and there's this nagging suspicion that won't leave me alone tonight
its just that everything I try to do, nothing seems to turn out right

and there's this nagging suspicion that won't leave me alone tonight
its just that everything I try to do, nothing seems to turn out right

A wink and a wave and you're off to your family's
I sit and watch as the taxis lights distantly fade
I guess I always thought it'd end this way

And then it's done. There was a straw, it broke the camel's back, and there is only so much I can forgive. This was not one of them.

That's all I can really say for now. This is my first "official" day at the Exchange and I spent half the morning at orientation and so I have a lot to catch up on here at work, so I'll talk about the show and whatnot tomorrow. I will say, though, I got to go on the trading floor of the NYSE and watch the opening bell which was cool. That place is insane and you can see dollar signs in everyone's eyes. And they gave me a welcome bag that is kick-ass and says NYSE on it, which looks soooooooooo official.

I have officially become a useful member of society. Weird. I feel like I should burn a flag or something just to keep in touch with my more rebellious side.

I'm blown to Hell/ Crash/ I'm the Last Splash...

Everything looks perfect from far away.

I really don't feel like going into it. But it should be noted my intentions were pure and my heart was in the right place. Just sadly, a beer was constantly in the right place as well, and by the right place, I mean constantly in my hand and being brought to my mouth.

I was just going to see Chris' show (which I enjoyed thoroughly, laughing loud and often because one twitch of Chris' eyebrow can send me into hysterics). I swear. Julie convinced me to go the bar for "a drink."

I have no idea how I wound up back there. I vaguely remember climbing the stairs. And that's it. Cut to morning and lateness and battle wounds and broken body and peeing in a cup.

I have decided to become a subscriber to the belief that if you don't remember it, it didn't happen. It keeps the Shame Spiral at bay.

It's getting ridiculous, kids.

So in the interest of justice (well, not really, but that phrase makes it all sound so professional), I have decided that there is only one real course of action to take from this point out to prevent further dalliances.

I'm booby-trapping my vagina.

Yup.

I'll be messing around with a guy, he'll go to take off my underwear and reach toward my naughty parts and that's when a snake will spring out of it and start hypnotically dancing in front of my beau of the moment:

"You musssssssssst ceasssssssssse and desisssssssssssssst"

And then it will strike at the poor chap until he runs screaming from the room.

And then I feed it a mouse.

Or something.

This is going to work, methinks.

And yesterday, despite the absolute death I felt, there were more phermones flying off the walls and weirdness and the show was great and my legs were shaky and someone couldn't stop talking about my ass and a few beers because hair of the dog and whatnot and Conor and I love each other very deeply and soberly and Keleen is a trip and a half and jukeboxes excite me and fuck it I'm taking a cab and crawl into bed and nest there forever. Or at least till the alarm went off today.

I caught a glimpse of myself on the way into my building today. My work blazer and my collared shirt and my nice black pants and coffee in one hand, the morning paper in the other. It was my best impression of an adult to date.

But I'm not really fooling anybody and we all know it.

This weekend is going to be insane. I know it. Mercury is in retrograde [actually I have no idea if it is or not, but I like to think I can blame the stars if all goes horribly, horribly awry].

You should see the Other Guy...

I will never do anything bad ever again.

Just please let me pass that test.

I swear. I'll skip to the nunnery. Not a protest. I probably should head there anyway.

The conclave starts on my birthday. Coincidence? I think not.

I didn't wake up. I was late to my drug test. There was an amusing moment of me getting a cab and getting to say,

"I need to get to Broadway and Wall Street. And step on it!"

If that moment isn't New York, I don't know what is.

I didn't believe him until I smelled myself and I smelled like us. God. Damnit.

I'm such a fuck-up.

[throws up at desk, gets to work, skips to nunnery]

a low riding junkie girl
rode down south to your little world like a dream
you can do it if you want to
you can do it if you want to
you can do it if you want to be like me
i wouldn't need a hero if i wasn't such a zero
if i wasn't such a zero
good to go
all i ever see around here is things of hers that you left lying around
it's all i ever see around here
she kicked new york like a curse
and you traced her footsteps in reverse up to queens
you can do it if you want to
you can do it if you want to
you can do it if you want to be like me
i wouldn't need a hero if i wasn't such a zero
if i wasn't such a zero
good to go
all i ever see around here is things of hers that you left lying around
it's all i ever see around here
some empty envelopes from some other town
it's all i ever see around here
i'm waiting for something that's not coming

--Elliott Smith

"Honesty" "Accuracy" are really just "Popular Opinion."

That's a Bright Eyes lyric. Genius. I've started listing all the bands and songs I love on launchcast and it's turning into quite the list: Bright Eyes, Enon, Copeland, Kasabian, The Paper Chase, the Perishers, the Jealous Sound, Kaiser Chiefs, Iron and Wine, Neutral Milk Hotel...

And on and on. Love it!

We take a brief pause in the self-obsessed ramblings of the new Neverland Found (it was objectionable at work to have PORN AND CHOCOLATE splattered across my screen) to bring you my outrage I experienced last night, sadly after a very soothing and pleasant conversation with my sister.

There are certain truths we hold to be self-evident: that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Well, I don't know about the Creator Business, but I know something of unalienable rights, especially the pursuit of happiness.

There are certain truths I hold to be self-evident. The sun will rise tomorrow and the moon will come out tonight. There may be cloud coverage, but we know it's there. The sky is blue. Puppies are cute, always. Work will always expand to fill the time allotted to complete it.

And Law and Order: SVU will end with a verdict.

But then they didn't. What the fuck, man? I started yelling at the screen. You're going to get me all wrapped up in this rape trial and then you're not going to tell me what happened??!! Our justice system is by no means infallible, but even when they fuck up you at least get a verdict. I never thought I could expect more from the legal system than I do from Law and Order, but there it is.

Now I don't know whether the sun will rise tomorrow. Apocalypse is nigh, nigh indeed.

Yup. Not concerning myself with the Senate trying to get rid of the fillibuster so they can pass Bush's agenda, not concerned with the Right to Die, not concerned about the falling status of our nation in the Global Perspective...

Law and Order: SVU--How dare you?

Hmph [righteously indignant pout].

My body is just exhausted today. I didn't sleep well last night. I woke up in the middle of the night with a weird blend of the Shins "Caring is Creepy" and the Beta Band's "Simple." The songs kept swishing around in my head like whiskey and coke, but sadly didn't have the same effect as whiskey and coke on my metal acuity.

I was telling Abby last night that my dreams have been amusing me. Not for their vividness or hidden truths, but for the utter mundane things that have been occurring. One night I balanced my checkbook (something I have never done in my waking life, perhaps my mind is trying to tell me something). Another night I dreamt I organized my CD case and almost cried when I couldn't find my Decemberists CD. And the other night, I had a dream I was counseling this freshman at UT and she was sitting with the Course Schedule crying, and sobbing--

"I don't know what to do!"

I hold her in my arms and give the best advice in the world.

"It's college. Do everything."

end scene.

Maybe my life will become more boring and the dreams will pick back up again, but we'll just have to see. But if I dream of cleaning the bathroom, I'm going to a specialist.

Going to yoga tonight. Yay, yoga! Time to have my legs over my head with more innocent intentions in mind. Namaste, bitch.

Warm comfort, Cold comfort, Southern Comfort...

This launchcast.com thing is getting out of hand. I have already decided that my first big "adult" purchase with the new job is going to be a laptop where I can download these songs and make the BEST MIX CD'S EVER!!!!

Yup. Not--Now I can donate to charity.

Not--Now I can pay all my bills on time.

Not--Now I am financially secure enough to start saving.

Hell, no. Blow it all on a fancy toy that will give me endless hours of lovely lovely music. At least it's not an iPod. Though that's probably gonna come up soon enough.

Oh, yeah, my whole point. Check these lyrics out--

There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week
I keep on talkin' trash but I never say anything
And the talkin' leads to touchin'
and the touchin' leads to sex
and then there is no mystery left

And it's bad news
Baby I'm bad news
I'm just bad news, bad news, bad news

I know I'm alone if I'm with or without you
but just bein' around you offers me another form of relief
When the lonliness leads to bad dreams
and the bad dreams lead me to callin' you
and I call you and say "C'MERE!"

'Cause you're just damage control
for a walking corpse like me - like you

'Cause we'll all be
Portions for foxes
Yeah we'll all be
Portions for foxes

There's a pretty young thing in front of you
and she's real pretty and she's real into you
and then she's sleepin' inside of you
and the talkin' leads to touchin'
and the touchin' leads to sex
and then there is no mystery left

And it's bad news
I don't blame you
I do the same thing
I get lonely too

You're bad news
Baby you're bad news
and you're bad news
Baby you're bad news
and you're bad news
I don't care I like you
and you're bad news
I don't care I like you
I like you

--Rilo Kiley "Portions for Foxes"

Kickass. For real. And I just ordered the Postal Service CD. But just one. I can't spend my money before I make it. I take my drug test on Thursday to make it all official. I'm drinking cranberry juice right now.

So that's the happy job stuff. The supply guy was really happy for me, "They couldn't have made a better choice!" and got really excited about making my name plate and even have my phone say my name as well with all the contact info. One of the good things about looking as young as I do is that people in the office will adopt you, "Atta, girl!" They asked if I wanted to move to a different cubicle, but I'm happy here, I have a good lookout for all the comings and goings in the office (more importantly, knowing when everyone leaves so I can leave, too).

I ran into Lindsey Orman on the subway again this morning. I got the same reaction to the "I work on Wall Street" line. Yup, it's a little odd.

Walking home from work yesterday, thinking about the craziness that has been my life for the past couple of months (and this past month being kinda a doozie), I have decided it's all New York's fault. Nothing you do is crazier than anything else anyone else is doing and so it relieves all pressure for protocol or decorum from your shoulders. So, you got drunk and threw up in a street? That guy just shit himself. He wins. So you slept with an entire band? That guy doesn't like to tell his "johns" he's a guy until it's time to pay up. He's serviced the entire West Side of Manhattan. He wins.

The pace does it to you, too. Constantly on the street or sidewalk there is something buzzing past you at 30mph. I'm convinced the city itself is actually moving 30 mph to Europe or something. Maybe we'll go to Iceland. We'll be there in 20 years. But the buzzing past you knocks you off your feet sometimes, until you notice that with every step you take, your own gait is becoming sharper and faster. With all the directional changes and all the speed, life in New York becomes this insane tilt-a-whirl ride and when it slows down enough to get your bearings, you find you're gripping the sides, trying not to vomit all over the place.

But that has never stopped anyone from getting on the tilt-a-whirl.

And then Mr. Saturday Night called. On Monday Night. Hmmm...I didn't give him my number. It confirmed my suspicions from the other night.

Uh oh. This guy is a Nice Guy.

Not that I'm opposed to Nice Guys. I just don't know what to do with them. All the men in my life, though I love them dearly and treasure them as people, are assholes, at least when it comes to this kind of stuff. I was incredibly taken aback that someone had seen me naked and actually called a day or so later to "check in." I don't know what to do with that. You're supposed to avoid me until you're horny again or until our paths inexplicably cross again where we can chalk it all up to the booze and you can hit on my friend.

I'm not saying I prefer this more. I'm just saying that is a familiar experience that I can deal with. I immediately go on the defensive (which, in case everyone hasn't been completely convinced, is my sarcasm).

"Did you get home okay?"

"No, I'm still on the subway."

It came out a little bitchier than I intended. I just don't know how to be nice to a Nice Guy. It's easy to be nice to the Assholes, it creates balance. But chances are if you're sweet to me, I'm coming back at you with my rapier wit and I won't stop until I emasculate you.

But this time around, I'm recognizing these little things. Perhaps I can let this one lie. Perhaps I can avoid my usual behavior with the usual suspects and actually try to be nice.

Chances are I'm going 'round again, and hopefully I can grip tight and not vomit all over the place.

Surprise, Surprise...

I had no idea it could be that easy.

[yawns, reaches up, makes notch on bedpost, sleeps all day Sunday]

3 different weekends, 3 different guys...

I'm getting good at this, kids.

I would chalk it up to March Madness, but we've moved on into April now. So I guess that just makes it Madness.

In a not-so-lurid moment, I was walking to the subway this morning, working out a conversation in my head (I'm not the only one who does that, right? Perhaps it's best not to know). I make a joke so digusting, I can't avoid making a gross face in the real world. That must have looked strange. But every once in a while, I can control what comes out of my mouth, even with my impulse control issues. My facial twitches are a different matter all together.

I was lying naked next to Mr. Saturday Night when his alarm went off to NPR and heard the news of the Pope's death. On top of Mitch Hedberg. On top of Schiavo. On top of Cochran. Spring apparently is not the slow season for Death. But it's the season of mating, for sure, and Pope's death or not, I love messing around in the morning.

We were just trying to spread his message of love (and by "his message of love" I mean "my legs." Just kidding--or am I? What has little Porn and Chocolate gotten herself into this time?).

What happens next, kids? Well, I have a full day on Wall Street, the Postal Service is playing on my radio and there's a michievious twinkle in my eye. My birthday month is my month of Self-Indulgence. Impulse control be damned!

I'll wear my badge... a vinyl sticker with big block letters adherent to my chest
That tells your new friends I am a visitor here...
I am not permanent
And the only thing keeping me dry is
Where I am

--The Postal Service

I'd hook up with the Strokes' drummer, too...

Man, sometimes it just feels all so epic.

Drunk. High. Odd evening, good show.

I hung out with Mahdi for the first time in many moon. More importantly, it was the first time I remembered why I ever liked him in the first place. He's a really funny guy. I don't want him anymore or anything, and maybe that's why I can enjoy his company now, I don't know. But it was fun.

And then we watched that South Park episode again, because yes, it is that good.

And now I am so high it's insane.

Odd.

I got nothin'. I am sublimely blank.

Remind me to tell you about my dreams.

Existentialism on Prom Night...

That title comes from this song, which I enjoy much much.

Dear Lord, this is funny.

I don't know where to pick up where I left off. I can say, I have been a machine at work which is ridiculous because no one's here. If a temp does more than her fair share at work and no one is there to see it, did the work really get done?

Ah well. I'm gonna go home at like 3. Someone already signed my time sheet saying I was here until 5. And not only did I do my work, but Vanessa's as well since she's not here. So fuck it, I'm gonna go home and smoke a bowl before I do "The Ritual" again.

The show went well. I think the audience was very confused about what world Daniel had put them in (and us, too). It's one of those things where if we had a budget it would be easier to have a set that would let people know they were in for a crazy ride, but alas, we'll have to wait until we take it to Broadway.

I was a hit, though. Which is odd because this part has made me bang my head up against a wall in frustration more than any other part I've ever played. I think it's the make-up.

I come home and Conor and Keleen Snowgren are sitting in my apartment. I haven't seen Keleen in many moon (according to her, I saw her at my UT graduation party--"You were obliterated!"--yup, sounds about right). It's really amazing to see her--we have a very very long and very very odd history--now friends, now not, now friends, etc. etc. She let herself become a bitch for a while, a fact which she admits to, but her essence is sweet and loving.

"You've shrunk!"

Jesus. Everyone seems to be commenting on how small I am these days. As far as I know, I'm the same height I've always been. I do know that I've dropped 10 pounds since moving to the city, so that could be it. I don't know. I look in the mirror and still think I look 16. And when I was anorexic, I thought I was hideously fat. Now I just know that I can't really trust what I see in the mirror. I am who I am and I'm pretty pleased with her, so really in the end it doesn't matter I suppose.

We get really high and look through my old high school pictures. You want journey to Nostalgia Land? Oh, dear lord. We were Thespian Society Officers, but we couldn't remember what positions Jaime and I held. So, after having played phone tag with Ms. Jaime for a couple of months, I get a hold of her.

She can't remember what we were, either. Too much pot ago, methinks.

She asks me what I'm doing. I tell her.

"WHAT THE FUCK??!!! YOU WORK ON WALL STREET?"

It was the first time I've paused to think how cracked out it is that I do. Of all people, of all my crew in high school, little hippie/stoner/English fanatic/theatre freak, would wind up on Wall Street is sort of amazing. Sometimes the current carries you so easily and swiftly you forget to notice where you ended up--Holy crap, I'm getting swept into the ocean.

South Park was the most brilliant episode ever. Keleen and I try to get our life stories in the commercial breaks, with Conor being TV Marshall and hushing us when it starts back up.

I was in a million worlds yesterday, all of which were thrilling and interesting and all-consuming, and I am exhausted and spent and wiped and wired and look forward to doing it for the next few weeks.

Awesome.

Naked and Screaming on Your Front Lawn...

Yesterday was eight days in one so I'm starting now, before I do any work to get it all out. I may be posting a lot. Or maybe not. There might be a lot of work to do--I don't know, I haven't checked.

Ack! I just spilled coffee on myself. I swear to God that happens without fail. It was actually a big joke at NTI that I could never make through the day without spilling coffee on myself.

Hold on. Let me check what a slacker I plan on being.

It's not too bad. I can share some now and then I need to look busy or something.

I should hear about the job soon. Seeing as how I will be overdrawn once Laura cashes my rent check, there could be nothing that would be a greater relief than getting this job.

I meet up with Sarah at about 3 so she can interview me for her dialect class. But, wait, you don't really have an accent. I say "ya'll" and stuff, but I grew up with a British dad and a Mom who never went south of the Mason-Dixon growing up, but you can take the girl outta Texas...

I put on my best Texas accent (a subtle one) and get interviewed about my life. The questions the teacher gave them were so weird.

Do you remember your first friend?

Yes. Next question.

Did your family ever travel together?

Yes. Next question.

Seriously. I know it's not supposed to be Inside the Actor's Studio or anything, but come on.

I did it twice since Sarah recorded me for her ex-boyfriend-now-whatever-the-hell-it-is-because-they-still-fuck-and-go-to-school-together [hyphen-happy alert!]. She bought me lunch. She loaned me money. We giggled a lot. I love that girl. Hopefully, we'll get to hang out more after the show wraps up.

The show, the show...

I leave work early (about 4:30) so I can go home and take a leisurely shower and try to relax for about 2 seconds before having to go to the theatre. Devon briefly comes in, showers before me, and then heads out because he's got to be there early to run some sound cues (oh yeah, did I mention Devon became our Techie Galore?).

Perfect. I can do my ritual now.

You know how I am with ritual. Some people call it OCD. But somehow it's a little more acceptable to have such rituals when it comes to theatre, I suppose because it's always been a little tied to the fringe and the supernatural and the superstitious. It's a beautiful world.

It's good that Devon's gone because I developed these habits after living by myself for a long time. It's nothing too weird, but I just don't feel right unless I do them.

I take a shower, the hottest shower I can possibly stand, and run lines. The key to this ritual is that I cannot leave the shower until I have run all my lines. This isn't too much of an issue with this show, where I'm not the lead. I can tell you that when I was the Shrew, I was in the shower for over a half-hour.

Then I just do my regular OCD behavior, obsessively moisturizing, but that's just me.

I stay naked. I walk around and run lines again, this time naked. This serves multiple purposes. You know how it's a common nightmare that you show up at school or for a play and you're naked and no one else is? Well, this way, if that nightmare should come to life, I know what it feels like to say my lines naked. Then it becomes part of the thing, that I've done all these lines in nothing but my skin and then everything that gets put on afterward is somehow related to my character.

Choosing underwear is quite possibly the best preparation for any part ever. If the essence of who I am as a woman is my vagina, then whatever is closest to that is an important statement.

When I was in Blood Wedding, I wore black satin.

When I was in Taming of the Shrew, I wore lace. I figure maybe Katherine was so bitchy because lace is uncomfortable for long periods of time. Not to mention the corset.

Beggar's Opera? Laundry underwear that have holes in them.

This show? My character's name is Fire. My character refuses to tell anyone what gender he/she is. So, of course, I chose blood red underwear. And luckily enough, I have a pair of these in the boy-brief cut, and my heart soared that they were clean because they are perfect for Fire.

I felt I had already won and I hadn't even left the apartment yet.

I run lines as I walk to the subway, but cease when I get on the train. It's a little weird to be sitting across from someone who's mouth is moving but they're not talking to you. So I decided to give myself a break and read Sleazy's play on the way to the theatre.

I think the dichotomy of my personality is best expressed by the fact that I thoroughly enjoy both Sleazy's and Daniel's writing styles. Daniel's writing is champagne. Sleazy's is whiskey. And I'm an alcoholic. Sleazy's play is how I would imagine it would be--intelligent and haunting.

But I'm in a comedy. How do I get out of the atmosphere that was created on the 6 train? I chuckle to myself. Sleazy's play is exactly what Fire would read on the subway. Brilliant. And I'm back.

I'm calm. I'm Zen.

Then the MTA decides to fuck me right up the ass. They tell me too late that they're not stopping where I need to get off, so now I'm running behind schedule and being deposited in an area I'm not uber-familiar with.

Damn you, MTA. Remind me to send them a fruit basket or something.

I wander around, panicking, but then I run into CBGB's and immediately get my bearings back.

I head to the theatre. Conor's waiting for me. No, he's not seeing the show. He wants to do our Thursday ritual so much that he's taking the keys from me and watching it at my place without me or Devon. But it's okay. Because he loaned me money, too.

I go in.

I now must work. Thus ends Part I.