L is for the way you look at me...

I don't know why it's so hard for me to understand the deep and neverending connection of love. A person would sacrifice life for another. How is that possible? And why am I so moved by it? I just saw the most cheesiest thing on myspace about love. It was a video showing a woman who meets a photographer. They fall madly and deeply and irrevocably in love.

And then tragedy occurs. The girl, while going into her love's dark room at the pictures she reaches up and there lies an opened bottle of photo chemical and falls straight into her gorgeous brown eyes. The boy goes through trauma while the girl is in recovery and finally the boy leaves for some reason unknown to the viewer.

Until we see the girl's eyes unwrapped. I think it's to infer that she's had an eye transplant. You know, they're common nowadways. Not really. That was badly phrased sarcasm. But as she finally finds her one and true love he's given up his eyes, his sight (remember, lovers, he's a photographer. This is his life.) for her. She cries and never tells him that she is even there.

I shed a tear.

I think I did because I can't imagine that sort of devotion (no matter how unlikely the plot). And some part of me wants that. But some part of me thinks that sort of attachment to another person is ridiculous. I can't fathom myself giving myself in that much to another being. It comes with a certain kind of weakness that I'm not too enthusiastic to have. I'm a loner. I'm an only child with internal dialogue. I can't have someone sneak in on that. I would get jealous of them for getting all my attention.

But there is some...attraction in the idea of unconditional completely devoted love. It's something truly...foriegn to me. And things we've not experienced are often things which we would like to at least once.

Maybe the Wal-a-phed is having an affect on me. But don't think I'm ready to throw in the towel on independence. I may be dependent on someone fixing me dinner every night, but certainly not on giving everything up. I don't know what you gain. I don't know if it's worth it. It's probably not. But you wouldn't know it to be in it, would you? But from out here? It's not worth it. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

By the way, my nose is acting up. Would someone please bring out a nose-whip? Huh? Can I get a little attention on this? I'm sick. Pity me, Coddernit!

currently: high on sudaphed--life is overrated

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Arrrcrap.

I not only missed "Talk Like a Pirate Day" but I also missed "Belated Talk Like a Pirate Day." There couldn't possibly be a Belated, Belated Talk Like a Pirate Day, hm?

I know what you're thinking. E.M. Green, why are you stll up? Because the sleeping pill hasn't kicked in, I says. I just got off from work (a rambunctious third shift, in case you're confused) and I'm waiting for pills from my supervisor to kick in. It's funny, watching a grown man yip at the force of a buffer on the loose. Shush, I will disclaimer you now that this entry won't make any sense.

This pill that's dissolving in my digestive system right now is supposed to use your natural sleeping chemical to get you a-sleeping. Our bodies are like one of those really cool chemistry sets. We have so many chemicals. I bet if we mix them we'll explode. Or maybe stink real bad. I suppose that happens anyway. All we need now is some of those...tube thingies and a white labcoat.

I think the pills kicking in.

And out.

currently: i...huh?

current picture: - _ - zzzzzzz...etc...

They Call me Mellow Mallow

Well. I finally updated layreview (www.layreview.blogspot.com) with the last minute review on Unidentified Human Remains and the True Nature of Love...*faints from lack of oxygen*

I'm going to a wedding tomorrow, leaving today. I'm not going to be anything in the wedding. This doesn't really upset me at all. You think it would, being that she's my cousin and all. But do you know what being nothing in a wedding means? It means that I don't have to buy a custom-made dress. It means I don't have to go to rehearsals. It means I'm not involved if the bride goes through self-hatred or pushiness. It means I don't have to stand another fitter telling me that my shape is so unusual that there's not bra to fit me. It also means that I'll eat free food, watch a wedding, and give gifts. This, in my mind, is the epitome of lazy-arse family fun.

I also get to wear my fabulous shoes!

And after everything is over and I'm back home I'll finally get to schedule my hair buzzing!

Unfortunately this means I won't be staying for the closing night of...that play I mentioned up there that I reviewed. But, no worries, I'll have accomplices that will tell me exactly what went on.

Though being an umbrella seems the most intriguing choice of costume for the Gorey Masquerade, I'm slowly realizing how complex the costume might have to be. But no worries, I have a back up! I always do.

currently: Ugh, shouldn't have eaten so many marshmallows

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Paris Hilton in Space

I have one thing to say on the return to the 80's fashion that's going around: camel toe is never cool and will never be coo.

As I was swimming home from work the day before yesterday I was trying to think if I had any interesting tidbits that I could share on my...blog. That's right. I'm now preplanning my blogs in my head. I had the camel-toe bit swimming around there a while.

To the one person waiting for the review to the play he's starring in (if he's still reading my blog) I am still trying to gather a cohesive opinion to Unidentified Human (forgot that word in my entry about it) Remains and the True Nature of Love to put in Layreview. I really want to get this one out before the show ends.

Does anyone have any idea where to get a cheapish santa clause coat and/or zebra tights so that I can be a fabulous drumming drag queen from RENT? I am having way too much trouble with these simple items. Maybe I'm being too picky. I feel like I should continue that thought, but I don't have anything interesting to add.

Oh, by the way, in my world right now it's after three A.M. I can't, for the life of me, get to sleep. Granted, I haven't tried. Well, I did a little bit. No, I didn't.

I'm going to volunteer again this Saturday at the Black Box. Maybe this time I'll be, you know, social or something. I'm going to be with my friend, Jay. So at least I can alienate everyone else by only talking to her if worse comes to worse.

You know, I just have to say something about theatre people just for a little moment. I have this theory, I don't care if I'm offending because it's not meant to be offensive it's meant to be pure observation from a social worker's daughter. Anyway, I have this theory that theatre people are just as socially inept as I am, but have found a collection, a cliqué if you will, of other people who can be socially inept in the exactly same way as they are. They speak in their own language and completely leave anyone not theatre oriented out of the conversation.

I think theatre people are fantastic, though. I think they're fantastic because they can do something I cannot, will not, nor have any desire to do. (Okay, maybe a little hidden cheeky desire.) They create in themselves, from themselves, directly. I can create, I'm not disputing my ego--I'm awesome. But I can't create directly from my body, mind, and emotion to someone else. I can't speak and move my body and effect people by a look. It's amazing! I am in awe of that sort of talent.

But not in that creepy obsessive way. No, I save that sort of adoration for drag queens, Alan Cumming, and the Hedwig soundtrack.

Well, actually, those are the actor theatre people. I think the others are fantastic too, though. Because they have this amazing ability to see beyond what I have the ability to and see what can be. Right now I couldn't plan a play if I wanted to. I could plan a movie, but not a play. My brian isn't tuned to it.

I just erased a paragraph because I didn't like it. I thought that was needed to be known because it's after three A.M. and I have every right to erase a paragraph and tell everyone about it.

Okay, before I spend thirty minutes making another eraseable paragraph I'm gonna be off with me. Expect a new layreview entry...eventually.

Oh, and hello, Howie. Abby told me you commented and I looked back and saw you had. Then I followed your link and remembered who you were. And you probably aren't actually still reading this, but I thought I'd say hello. Hello. Person not there.

currently: In England it's nine fifty-one A.M.

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The Unidentified Remains and the True Nature of Love

Um. Hm.

I...hm.

...

People who know me know that I don't cry often. Not that I'm not sad often, everyone is sad. But I don't cry often.

Yeah--um. That's all I really had to say about that.

Digressing:

I came early to the Black Box Theatre so that I would make sure to have proper time to get helplessly lost, which is what tends to happen to me even in the most simplest of journeys. I was bored out of my eyesockets for most of the time. The dancing lady in curlers helped.

I'm painfully shy, at times. This was one of those times. I felt like I would have felt much better squirrelled up in a corner. Everyne had their "in" jokes about some guy named Jimmy giving them great seats at the U.T. theatre and whatnot and I was just...out of every loop made in the Black Box. Loopless and loopy. And don't dare leave a comment that says "Oh, yeah! I know Jimmy! He's fantastic!" Because I don't. And so make an entry dedicated to Jimmy in your own journals.

Erm, so, yes, I do apologize for being offish at both the beginning and end of the night. I'll get over it. I promise I can say more than hi and bye and shyly stand in every corner I can find. You all at the Black Box intimidate me. No no, I know you're harmless...right?

Anyway, I handed out pillows and Cha-Cha's solicitating cards and stood and stared at conversations and got touched by a fabulously done play. Night done. Oh oh! But more than that! When I was coming home I was behind a drunk person in a white car. Everytime they'd go into the other lane I heroically honked at them saving them, and the other person, from a messy death.

Oh, and apparently the Black Box smells like pooh. I must be permanently dissensitized to it, for all I smelt were candles. I met some great people today: Ben who runs the switch board, Guy who helped him run the switch board who's sister is known by other people, Red-haired guy who does the box office stuff, Chick who knows Laurel Smith, Laurel who isn't Laurel Smith but plays incredibly sexy Benita, and Apprentice Chick who tap dances.

The end.

currently: My head hurts a little. My eyes a tad tired.

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And to Think, I Could Have Been a Potato

I'm exhausted.

Oh, don't do it. Don't say it. Don't say, "Yeah, well I've been doing such and such and I'm going to discredit the fact that you're absolutely pooped by giving you a greater reason for it." Because I might bite you until you bleed if you say that. I have a deserved right to be tired. I've worked 8 hours nearly every day for the past week doing cleaning in a retail store. Don't bring down my pity party, dernit! Can't I just have one?

The truth is I am completely over this job. The truer truth is I'm completely over the idea of any job. I'm tired of making money just to lose it by paying for essentials. I have less than a hundred dollars saved up for next year's college. A college, by the way, I'm unsure, yet, of the name of. Too many commas in that last sentence. It read like William Shatner.

Hopefully having something to distract me, like researching plays I've never read and writing about them by pure research should be...really hard. My friend, Kaethe (don't hurt yourself, it's pronounced Cathy), said she could never be a dramaturg, too many details. I about had a heart attack. I've read Kaethe's papers. This girl puts the tail in details. I mean, she writes essays like I spread butter on my toast. I'm...I'm doubtful. I just picture this large blank program coming after me with a hallibut and smacking me in the arse.

*sigh*

I'm volunteering to do work, now. I'm a glutton for it. Now, I'm not only getting paid too little I've decided to skip the payment part all together. This better earn me mucho karma points. Imagine, if you had to turn in your karma taxes and get a return. Except then you get your dogma returns too. If it were like that on regular taxes I imagine some IRS guys coming door to door and smacking you up side the head. Then taking your car.

I need a new job. A job that pays more than 6.95. If anyone knows of one I'm open for it. Gimme two weeks and I'll be there lickity split. Or, as the lesbians say it, lickity spit. Or, as the jews say it...erm...thrifity spiff? Or, as the bi's say it, pickity which? There, I think I've insulted all of me, now.

currently: balancing my laptop in the direction of my stolen internet access.

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