Not Boring, Not Creepy, & Not Finished

First and foremost, I want to forecast to the world that I have completed my month-long quest to write 50,000 words of a novel. And I did it a full 26 hours before the deadline. Woo-hoo! I can officially cross off "Complete NaNoWriMo" from my list of "Things to Do Before I Die".



Also, with this post, I have posted every day for the entire month of November. Yee-haw!



And now, for my final installment of regularly scheduled programming (at least for November):

88. A fellow I went on a date with once told me, “Only boring people can be bored.” Since hearing that, I try not to be bored. I find ways to make the boring things I come across interesting by looking at the experience in a new, strange, amusing way. I never want to be bored. And I never want to be boring.

89. I’m very bad at creeping around. Especially at night. You can hear every bone in my feet and ankles crack as I take steps. My mother says that my aunt suffers from the same affliction.

90. I am in constant fear of running out of things to write about on this blog. Especially now that I’ve spat so much at you throughout November. What if that’s all I’ve got?

I try to reassure myself that my mind is nebula, perpetually creating new and interesting things. I will never run out of things to write about, because I am always changing, learning, and growing. As I have new experiences, I will reevaluate the world. I may end up elaborating on past entries, or contradicting previous statements, but my brain runneth over. I will always have something to write about. And hopefully, I will always have the desire to write it. I'm not finished writing. I will never be finished.

That said, I think I’m taking a break from writing, at least for a little while. Between my daily blog updates (a.k.a. NaBloPoMo) and the first 50,070 words of my still-not-completed novel (a.k.a. NaNoWriMo), I’m a little written out. I've written over 61,000 words in 30 days. But I have a feeling that most of my faithful readers haven’t been reading my blog daily, so you all have something to catch up on in my absence. Or you could just read my blog from the beginning. I mean, it’s only a couple of months old. How long could that possibly take? Like a week? Just spread it out. Enjoy yourselves. But I’m on hiatus. Ciao!

Musical Daydream Immunity

85. I once sang through all of the musical The Last 5 Years with a fellow I’d just met with my friend Liesl in her apartment. My friend Greg was there, and seemed wholly miserable throughout the duration of our impromptu performance. Despite that, I’d count it as one of the best nights of my entire life. I got the opportunity to span the emotional gamut through song with a built-in (i.e. hostage) audience. It was wonderful.

86. Sometimes when I’m on the L and it’s packed to the gills, if I make eye contact with a young guy standing with relative proximity to me, I have this crazy, Mean Girls-style daydream in which I lean over and start trying to make out with him, just to see what he and all the other L passengers would do. Of course, I would never, never, never actually do it (as much as I like the idea of guerilla theatre, it's really better if the other people you're directly affecting are involved). Never, never, ever, ever. But I think about it probably once a week.

87. I have a strange immune system. I have had the chicken pox twice (once in first grade, once in third grade… Yes, that’s possible. Both of my brothers had them twice as well). I’ve had a sundry of illnesses that I’m fairly certain were related to the plague (including my senior year of college when I was so sick –- fever, ear infection, throat infection, coughing up blood, vomiting, stress stomachache –- that, even on a double dose of Codine, I was awake for over 64 hours straight). I’ve been hospitalized for conjunctivitis. I had ear infections and strep. throat so frequently in third grade that I was the second most absent student in the whole grade that year, and I was about three days away from having to repeat the grade according to state law. Despite all this, I have never had the flu. *knock on wood*

Lovely Indescribable Responses

82. Sometimes I walk out of a play thinking “I have no idea what I just saw. What the hell were they thinking? That was utter garbage!” Other times, I walk out thinking “I have no idea what I just saw, but it was incredible.” (Sadly, the former occurs more often than the latter.)

So last night I went to see Farewell Umbrella (Au Revoir Parapluie) at Chicago Shakespeare Theater with my friend Anna, and it definitely fell into the latter category. I bought our tickets a month ago, because my Shakespeare instructor raved so heavily about the last show that James Thiérée (great-grandson of Eugene O’Neill and grandson of Charlie Chaplin) had brought to CST (she said that within the first five minutes she was openly weeping, and that it was the single most moving theatrical experience of her life, and that she had to see it again). I’m seeing it again tonight, because I got a free ticket when I attended a workshop on physical theatre last week (awesome).

You know a show is going to be bizarre when you can’t understand the director’s note in the program (a taste of it: “Well, what’s the story about? It’s a story about a story (about a story about a story about a story…) that cannot be told”). It was very moving, and gorgeous. It involved a great deal of aerial dance and circus work, as well as mime, dance, music, and some things that I can’t explain. It was really more about imagery than a story, although there sort of was a story, but there were also giant fishhooks dangling from the ceiling suspending long ropes. And then they ripped up the floor and planted reeds. And removed a tarp from the stage and turned it into a circus tent. And by the end of the show, it was raining shuttlecocks on stage. To try to explain it would be impossible. I'm still processing what I saw (I love it when the arts make you think). Maybe I’ll try tomorrow.

83. I decided a couple of years ago that the word “lovely” seems to follow me around. I played Mrs. Soames in a production of “Our Town”, and she says lovely/loveliest at least ten times. I played a stepsister in “Cinderella” and had to sing “A Lovely Night”. I was once described as lovely in a review of a show. I could go on, but you get the idea. Somewhere along the line, I decided to embrace it. So if you’ve noticed that I frequently use phrases like “lovely and wonderful” in life and in blogging, that’s why. It’s my signature word, if there’s such a thing.

84. I have developed a Pavlovian response to classical music. It’s completely involuntary. My father loves classical music, and is a terrific pianist. When I was a child, there were two times that I heard classical music. The first was at night as I was going to bed, because that’s when my dad chose to practice. The second was on long car trips, as that’s when my dad would drive, which was coincidentally also when I was most likely to become carsick. To this day, hearing classical music often makes me either fall asleep or feel physically ill. This is completely tragic, as I enjoy classical music very much (I was, after all, a cellist for eight years and a pianist for five). I think I'm slowly growing out of it, but it's not gone. When I was home for Thanksgiving I played page-turner for my dad. And he kept playing random things and then trying to get me to guess the composer (which, um, I'm terrible at... unless it's Mozart... I can do Mozart. But I don't know Schubert from Liszt).

Classy Winner Close to Quitting

79. I love taking theatre classes. They remind me what I love about theatre, without me having to deal with the lousy parts (like auditioning constantly, being rejected, becoming broke, or getting increasingly burnt out). I took half the day off of work yesterday to attend a Shakespeare workshop, where I worked with both my normal instructor and Jeffrey Carlson (whom my Broadway-geek friends might remember as Marilyn in the musical Taboo. And any of the people who stumble across my blog from Best Week Ever Blog will know him as Zarf on All My Children. He's really phenomenal.). Have I mentioned that I love working with Shakespearean text? Because I do. I really, really do. Can't say that enough. I have one session left in my Advanced Monologue class. While I look forward to it, I'm also terribly bummed about it. I think I'm going to take a break from First Folio Shakespeare classes and try something else. I was thinking about taking a class in Circus Arts or Aerial Dance in January. Something to make me more well-rounded as a performer, and not just turn me into a Shakespeare scholar (as much as I'd love to become one).

80. A friend of mine has listed a quotation on her facebook page that troubles me. It's something like "Winners never quit. Quitters never win." My Venn-diagramming skills tell me that there's something wrong with that. If it's true, then who came up with the phrase "Quit while you're ahead"? It couldn't have been a Winner, because they wouldn't quit. It couldn't have been a Quitter, because they never could've gotten ahead. Am I alone here?

81. I'm really beginning to worry about NaNoWriMo. The end is Friday, and I'm behind. I fell asleep while typing last night, and woke up at 6:15am in front of my laptop. I'm going to a play tonight, followed by going to a bar (to meet a friend of a friend, as I mentioned in Code Name: Princess Mojo). Tomorrow, I'm having dinner with my dad, and then going to see the same play again (will explain tomorrow). Thursday I was going to go to a Write-In (meaning a bunch of people go to a bookstore and work on their novels together). And then Friday I have to finish? And I have to send in my grad school audition application stuff this week. And I have some letters to write. And some bills to pay. And I sort of got into a complicated boy situation last night (will explain later). And I'm SO SICK OF WRITING! And what I'm writing is terrible! GAH! I don't know if I'm going to make it. But I'm SO CLOSE!

Please leave some inspiring comments to help me make it through.

Blogging, Caroling, Ceiling

76. I recently discovered that, along with NaNoWriMo, I have accidentally been participating in NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month). The goal is to post daily on your blog through the month of November. Which I’ve been doing. Because I’m awesome. And, honestly, it’s not easy. As soon as December hits, I’m going into composition hibernation. Seriously guys, I’m burnt out from all this writing. I love you all, and I’m thrilled that more people are coming on a daily basis (I’ve had over 40 visitors two days in a row now… Not sure how that happened, but I’m positively ecstatic over it). I hope that all my readers don’t up and disappear once I return to posting my massive entries once or twice a week.

77. I’m already sick of “Carol of the Bells”. It’s not even December yet. While I was visiting my family for Thanksgiving, I swear it was used in about a fifth of the commercials on television. Ridiculous. It’s such an annoying tune. Makes me want to scream. Why don’t commercials use “The Coventry Carol” (my favorite)? Or “The Holly and the Ivy”? Switch it up a bit. A buddy of mine wrote on his blog about his favorite holiday songs, and so I threw out a list of my own. In case you're curious, here they are (in no particular order):

1. "Christmas Don't Be Late" - Alvin & the Chipmunks
2. "Hard Candy Christmas" - Dolly Parton
3. "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" - Brenda Lee
4. "This Year" - Christina Aguilera
5. "Twelve Days of Christmas" - John Denver & the Muppets
6. "Christmas Lullaby" - Songs for a New World
7. "Coventry Carol" - Loreena McKennitt (or anyone, really. I just love it. Reminds me of Macbeth for some reason. Sort of a haunting carol.)
8. "Wonderful Christmas Time" - Paul McCartney
9. "Last Christmas" - Wham!
10. "All I Want for Chrismas Is You" - Mariah Carey

And if I were to throw on an 11th, it would probably be "Christmas Is All Around" by Billy Mack (a character in the movie Love, Actually). Apparently I prefer comedy, radio-play, whimsy, and musical theatre connections to actual religious significance when it comes to holiday music.

78. Most babies are born facing the floor. I was born facing the ceiling. My dad likes to say that I was “sunny side up” (obstetrician humor, I guess). I don’t think it contributes to how optimistic I am, but it might explain why I have a strange fascination with decorative ceilings (I like the lobby of the Shedd Aquarium, for example). I wonder if there’s a connection.

40,000 OCD Stars

73. NaNoWriMo Update: I passed the 40,000 word mark last night, meaning that I’m 80% of the way to my goal. I’ve started using word-padding techniques to help me finish on time. Whenever something happens to my main character, she then tells the story to her roommate, and then to her best friend. Is it good writing? No. But who cares? I’m going for quantity, not quality (and it’s really hard to remember that sometimes…). Also, I mentioned recently (in Camouflaged Delusional Insanity) that I might be a little bit infatuated with one of my own characters. My main character and he were, initially, not supposed to fit together all that well. But I like him so much that I sort of tweaked their interactions so that they haven’t spotted each other’s flaws yet. I’m trying to keep him in the story as long as possible. (Have I mentioned that I’m a freak?)

74. I’m incredibly anal-retentive/obsessive-compulsive about organizing my iTunes. All of my playlists are Smart Playlists. I type the title of the playlist into the Comments section of each song I want to be in it, separating playlist titles with commas (and listing them alphabetically). That way, I won’t ever accidentally delete a playlist (or accidentally delete a song from a playlist). I started doing it after all of my playlists on my old computer mysteriously disappeared. This way, the playlists are built into the song files themselves. I’m a huge loser with way too much time on my hands. But you knew that already.

75. My favorite constellation is Orion. When I was a kid I used to ask God to send Orion to protect me. He’s easy to spot in fall, which is my favorite season. Actually, he’s always easy to spot, because of the belt (and three is my favorite number). Plus, the fact that he has a nebula is particularly nifty. I used to look for him on my way to school in high school when I got up at an ungodly hour of the morning for an elective class called “zero hour” which was invented for students with too many interests, not enough time, and subconscious death wishes (I, of course, took 3 years worth of zero hours).

(P.S. This reminds me... Check out the song "Stars" by The Weepies. I can't find it to put on my ProjectPlaylist, but it's very nice. I actually saw it on a commercial on television a couple of days ago, hacked to bits. The vocals were removed and the song was looped oddly. Anyway. Good song.)

Fistful of Bunny Concerts

70. My favorite word is “bunny”. I like to say it in quick repetition… bunnybunnybunnybunnybunnybunnybunnybunny… Runners-up (or is it runner-ups?) include ekphrastic (the only word I know that begins with ek-), lackadaisical, cathemeral, tangentially, allele, schadenfreude, and lovely.

71. The best concert I’ve ever attended was OK Go before they were pop culture icons. They rapped, they performed a number from “Les Miserables”, and they did a choreographed dance to a recording of their song “C-C-C-Cinnamon Lips” (which at the time was my favorite song of theirs). It was sensational. The Bangles, Cake, and Tony Danza were also all tremendous. (Don’t laugh at Tony Danza. The man played the trumpet, the ukulele, and the piano. He also tap-danced and rapped. It was astonishingly good.)

72. If I started a band, I’d want to call it “The Whippersnappers”, “The Heartstrings”, or “The Fake Ideas”. I’d like to call our first album “Fistful of Half-Eaten Roses”. Actually, I might just call the band “Half-Eaten Roses”. It would work out especially well if it were all females, as it would abbreviate to H.E.R. I've thought about this more than I should, considering that I don't plan to ever start a band. Except for on Guitar Hero (I've already used Half-Eaten Roses and The Whippersnappers on that, actually).

Cloudy Travel Jenga

67. When I was a kid, I used to think that recently deceased people tried to send us messages through pictures in the clouds, and that the amount of good they did in their lives directly correlated to their cloud-shaping abilities.

68. When my brothers and I were younger, we had a house-rule for Jenga that, while playing, the only word you could say was “Jenga”. We would chant it quietly while other people were taking their turns, switching up our volume and tempo and occasionally screaming it in order to trip them up.

69. I don’t like to eat much on days that I’m traveling. I’m not sure why. It makes me nervous, I guess. Probably stems from getting carsick a great deal as a child. I still get motion sickness more often than the average person. But really, any time I'm nervous I have difficulty eating. When I moved into college my freshman year, I couldn’t eat anything for two days.

Tatiana, the Dyslectic Introvert

64. My mother wanted to name me “Liesl” or “Tatiana”. My father vetoed both names. He wanted to name me “Angela”, and since it had familial significance on both sides of the family, he was able to convince my mother that it was a good idea. (Strangely, Tatiana had familial significance on my dad’s side, and that’s exactly why he didn’t want to use it. He thought one Tatiana in a family was enough.)

I wonder if I'd be the same person with a different name. Would people have treated me the same throughout my life? Would I have reacted in the same ways? I honestly believe that our names help mold us as people (and I'm very glad I didn't get stuck with a horrid name, like Brooklyn or Heavenlee or something). I wonder what this blog would’ve been called if I had a different name… Off the top of my head, probably “Liesly Amused” or “Tatianalytical”. (What? I might’ve had a different name, but I’m sure I’d have the same corny sense of humor and love of wordplay. My grandfather instilled them in me from a very young age, and I’m sure he would’ve done so regardless of my name.) If I had been named Tatiana, I probably would've tried to institute the nickname "Tia" somewhere along the line (instead, I spent a period of time in fourth grade trying to get the nickname "Angie" to catch on, and dotted the "i" with a heart. Luckily, I grew out of that phase. And I've also had many people in my life call me Aiea, but that's a story for another day.)

65. Is it possible to be simultaneously introverted and exhibitionistic? Because if so, I think I am. It does seem rather counterintuitive (and also counterproductive). One of my readers (thanks Andrew!) sent me an article several weeks back about being an introvert (after I wrote my entry titled Angela Rigby), and I've been wondering since reading it if these two personality traits can coexist. (I’ll have to extrapolate on this when I’m back to regular posts. Remind me.)

66. In medical terminology, if someone has a condition ending in “–xia”, then when you use the word as an adjective, you replace “-xia” with “-ctic”. Therefore, someone with anorexia is anorectic (NOT anorexic), and someone with dyslexia is dyslectic (NOT dyslexic). One of those things you learn when your parents are in the medical field… Go out into the world and show off your new knowledge.

Skeezy Plastic Karaoke

61. I’m not against plastic surgery. If it makes you happy, do it. I don’t really understand extreme "Joan Rivers" type surgeries or anything involving implanting foreign objects into your body. But I understand the motivation behind “maintenance” surgeries like botox, facelifts, and tummy-tucks. I’m not saying I plan to get plastic surgery. I’m just not ruling it out as a possibility.

62. The first time I was brave enough to do karaoke by myself was on my 22nd birthday. I originally planned to sing a Kelly Clarkson song, but one of my roommates begged me not to (he didn't share my love of Miss Clarkson, apparently). I decided I was intoxicated enough that me being off-key was a distinct possibility, so I decided I should take on a less lofty goal vocally. I also decided that I might not be able to see the screen and/or enunciate properly. So I decided on “Get Busy” by Sean Paul. Because if I screwed up those lyrics, who was going to know? For the record, I sang every lyric perfectly. Yes, I know all the “words” to “Get Busy” (Just shake that booty non-stop! When the beat drops, just keep swinging it! Get jiggy! Get crunked up! Percolate! Anything you wanna call it! Oscillate ya hips and don't take pity!). And I’m incredibly proud of that.

63. I am unable to explain certain attractions that I have. For example, I love a professional wrestler known as Edge. It might have something to do with his romance-novel hair, his perfect teeth, or muscular physique… But he plays a bad guy, and he looks like a scuzz-bucket. I also used to have a strange fascination with Jack Osbourne. I find myself oddly drawn to him. I don’t find him attractive, I don’t think he’s intelligent, and I don’t think he’s particularly funny. Despite this, I used to watch The Osbournes specifically because of his presence. And in the movie Grease 2, as much as I enjoy Michael (Maxwell Caulfield... and I do really love him), I'm always left drooling over the horny skeeze-ball Louis DiMucci (Peter Frechette). I’ve never been able to understand my attraction to these people. I generally have better taste than that. I think.


(The above picture is Louis DiMucci from Grease 2.)

Camouflaged Delusional Insanity

58. I’ve mentioned recently that, although I don’t base characters in my writing off of people in my life, I do on occasion “cast” people in the “roles” of characters when I hit a wall (and then let them improvise in my head for awhile… which is probably a really weird solution… and seems vaguely like a creative form of cheating). My main character has, at this point, seven love interests (she’s flighty and boy crazy), and so I’ve cast several people in these roles (and most of them are double or triple-cast, so that I can try other possibilities if I don’t like where something is going). Anyway. I don’t really want to cast my friends in those roles, because it’s weird for me to view them in romantic ways. So instead, I’ve resorted to mentally casting a bunch of fellows with whom I’m barely acquainted (i.e. if you’re reading this, you’re male, you’ve met me in real life on one or more occasions within the last 6 months or so, and you barely know me, there’s an EXTREMELY good chance that I’ve used you. So, um, thanks for the help). Since I don’t actually know them, I can project the personality of the character onto them more easily. It’s working out rather well.

But I’ve been writing scenes in which I’m mentally casting one guy over and over in the same role. And even though I barely know him (seriously, I think I’ve conversed with him more on Facebook than in real life, and even that isn’t much... the occasional wall-post exchange), I’ve grown completely infatuated with him in this role. Today, he asked out my main character (and she accepted), and I felt this strange wave of jealousy. Essentially, I’ve made up a man that’s perfect for me (and, coincidentally, wrong for my main character), and I keep thinking that it’s this guy I’m Facebook friends with… But I know I'm just being delusional. He's probably not quite as stupendous as I imagine him to be (although, from my limited interaction with him, I know that he's a lovely person and I wish I had the opportunity to know him better).

I think I gave him the address to this blog, actually. I wonder if he reads it. I doubt it. And even if he does, and is reading this very passage (um, hi… awkward…), there’s a good chance that he doesn’t even realize it’s about him (because why on earth should I be thinking about him?). And he doesn’t know that if he asked me out completely out of the blue, I would say yes (I almost want to change my Facebook relationship status to single, just to make sure he knows… but then I’d get all those random creepy Facebook people asking me to be their friend all the time… which is why I took down my status in the first place). And I would probably pass out because of my excitement. And then be melancholic when I awoke because it’s so unlikely that he’s actually the person whom I’m imagining him to be. *sigh* Having a crush on a fictional character is never a good idea (I’ll never get over my infatuation with Quidditch commentator Lee Jordan from the Harry Potter books, who was not as hot as I wanted him to be in the movies. Thank God for Oliver Wood.), but it’s particularly unsatisfying when you’re the one writing the character. And also when you keep confusing the character with a living, breathing human who barely knows you exist.

59. When I was in kindergarten, I saw the top of a lunch bag, and said, “Look, Mommy. It’s a parallelogram.” When I was in first grade, I was reading a book aloud to my mother and came across the word “camouflage”, and I read it correctly. My mother loves to retell those stories. They’re from the collection of moments from my childhood in which she knew that I was precocious and held great promise. Sometimes, I worry that I’m disappointing her by not going into brain surgery or rocket science. And I think my dad wishes I had gone to medical school. They’ve always been supportive of me in my artistic endeavors, but still I worry. Maybe one day I’ll be cast as a character who is particularly brilliant (give me thirty years and I’ll be Vivian Bearing in W;t), and then I’ll feel like I’m living up to their expectations.

60. One of my coworkers laughs at me throughout the day. I make a lot of comments in earnest that she thinks are amusing. Usually, it’s because she missed the first part of the conversation. Sometimes, it’s just because she doesn’t understand my logic. Like last month, when I said I’d rather be insane than have fleas. Because if you’re crazy, you don’t KNOW that you’re crazy. Just because you’re crazy, doesn’t mean you have to be miserable (I've seen Girl, Interrupted). But fleas? That would make you miserable AND drive you crazy.

Literal Absolute Jesus

55. Probably my biggest grammatical pet peeve is when people modify absolute terms. A woman cannot be “very pregnant” or “a little pregnant”. Either she is or she isn’t. Nothing is “very unique”. Being unique means being “one-of-a-kind”. If something is one-of-a-kind, it can’t be described as being MORE one-of-a-kind than anything else that’s one-of-a-kind. They’re ALL unique. Or they aren’t. The word “very” cannot possibly apply. Other absolute terms include prime, parallel, equal, perfect, complete, infinite, and chief. (Do NOT argue with me on this. This is no more defensible than saying things like "most fastest".)

56. I like to keep some “literal” playlists on my iPod. It all started with my “Laundry” playlist that I made while I was living abroad, when we washed all our clothes in the sink, shower, and bidet (that’s where my roommate washed her socks… She also used it to shave her legs. We never used it for its intended purpose). It includes “Soap Disco”, “Underneath Your Clothes”, and “Dirty Little Secret”. I also have an En Route playlist (“Every Day Is a Winding Road”, “I Feel the Earth Move”, “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road?” etc.) and a “Working” playlist (“5 O’clock World”, “Whistle While You Work”, “She Works Hard for the Money”, etc.). And I recently made myself a “Post” playlist, as I have to walk to the post office in order to get mail that is larger than letter-sized (“Letterbomb”, “Please Mr. Postman”, “Letters to Noelle”, etc.)

57. I went in to South Bend for a day trip yesterday to see a delightful production of “The Importance of Being Earnest” that several of my friends worked on. And when I needed a ride back to catch a train, I called my favorite South Bend cab service, The Jesus Cab. There is a man named Scott who, instead of having a cab company, has a cab MISSION. He’s amazing. His van has a giant picture of Jesus on the side. Inside, there’s a television that he keeps on, usually tuned to someone discussing sports. There’s a novelty license plate from California on the dash that says “Jesus”, and there are small knickknacks all around that make it clear that this isn’t an ordinary cab ride. A couple years ago I rode in his cab the night after Jim Caviezel had ridden with him and called him a “modern day John the Baptist”. I had a lovely conversation with Scott, who claimed to remember me after not seeing me for two years. He told me all about his life, and how he’d been interviewed for some scholastic magazine. In the article, they wrote that Scott provides cab service while “living the light of Christ,” which he was extremely proud of. Then he gave me a Jesus Cab t-shirt. He started selling them out of the back of his taxi-van, but he likes me so much that he gave me mine for free. He makes them at home with his own t-shirt press. Anyway, if you’re ever in South Bend, Indiana (for a Notre Dame football game or to visit the College Football Hall of Fame or something) and need a cab, call Scott at (574) 621-0693.

(NOTE: Even in person it's hard to make out the words over Jesus' head. It says "FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD, THAT HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON, THAT WHOSOEVER BELIEVETH ON [sic] HIM SHOULD NOT PERISH, BUT HAVE EVERLASTING LIFE!" And next to Jesus, it says "JOHN 3:16".

Irrational Bollywood Furniture

52. Maybe I should move to India. I think I could fit in quite well with a culture that embraces Bollywood, despite never having seen a Bollywood movie. The closest I've come to seeing one would be the "Hindi Sad Diamonds" part of Moulin Rouge. From my understanding, they have dancing, and singing, and confetti, and pretty colors. I think I’d like it very much. I wish real life were a big, colorful, high-budget musical adventure. I can't imagine a happier life than that.

53. I used to have an irrational fear of waitresses. Well, wait-staff, really, but it was worse with waitresses. I was unable to order for myself. I’ve pretty much conquered it, but I still feel most comfortable if I order last. I will usually take a seat far away from where the waiter/waitress will be to avoid going first. If it looks like they’re going to make me go first, sometimes I feign not having decided on what to order. I don’t know why it should make me uncomfortable… Actually, I have a separate fear of going first (which I’m mostly over), so maybe it’s unrelated.

54. I once heard a woman described as having “Furniture Syndrome”, meaning she had her “chest in her drawers.” I think that’s hilarious. And I hope to never suffer from it.

One-Man Third-World Logic

49. I have successfully made it through one week of being a vegetarian. And, I have to be honest, I hate it. Everything I’ve been eating has been things I’d eat anyway (I’ve had a lot of spinach salad, pasta, and potatoes… all with balsamic vinaigrette), but there are so many things that I’ve wanted to eat and haven’t been able to. Like chicken parmesan at dinner on Tuesday. Or turkey at lunch on Wednesday. And the fact that I can still remember the things I couldn’t eat (and couldn’t begin to tell you what I HAVE eaten) probably isn’t a good sign. I promised myself that I’d try to stick with the vegetarian thing until I go to Connecticut for Thanksgiving. I leave on Tuesday night. As much as I would love to be able to be a vegetarian, I just can’t. I’m too picky of an eater. And I’ve gained three pounds this week from all the carbs I’ve ingested. Don’t want to get chubbier than I already am. Maybe someday I’ll be able to do it, but not now. One of my coworkers told me that he, his wife, and his stepdaughter are on what they call a “third-world country” form of vegetarianism. They eat meat once a week (just like you would in a third world country… he was an anthropology major). Maybe I’ll give that a go. I mean, I’ve learned that it is physically possible to go for a week without eating meat… It just isn’t particularly pleasant. Maybe I’ll just cut back a lot. That would still help the plight of the animals. And it would still keep a bunch of those hormones, toxins, and whatnot that I read about out of my system. We’ll see.

50. I really enjoyed the math section of the SAT. It’s more about logic than actual math skills. If I could do it for free, I’d probably take it once a month, just for fun. It's fun in the same way that crossword puzzles and sudokus are.

51. I don’t understand how one person can qualify as a music group. Five for Fighting. A Fine Frenzy. Feist. (By the way, just noticed the frequency of the letter “F” in these one-man-bands… Apparently the letter “F” is trendy. It’s a good letter. In kindergarten when we learned our letters, there was a little Letter People song and dance for “Mr. F and His Funny Feet” which I performed around the house at the drop of a hat). A two-person band is debatable (Nine Inch Nails. Jack’s Mannequin. The Calling during their second album after they kicked out half the band). And The White Stripes is very questionable. I argue that it’s really just a Jack White solo act, as Meg White is probably about as skilled at the drums as a monkey with a breadstick. But one person? That’s not a band. That’s just egotism run rampant. Sort of like when Billy Corgan single-handedly recorded a Smashing Pumpkins album while he told the other band members that they were “on a break.” (I heard that somewhere once... and I didn’t doubt it for a second. I suppose it's possible that it never happened, but it fit my mental image of Billy Corgan quite well).

Snazzy Cereal Dating

46. I am officially past the half-way point of NaNoWriMo. In 15 days, I wrote over 25,000 words, making this officially the longest thing I have ever written in my entire life. I still have no idea where this story is going. My main character is getting a little annoying, because I’ve made her quirky for the sake of comedy. Imagine someone more neurotic and cerebral than I am, who imagines marrying every man she meets and spends every waking moment over-thinking relationships that never happen. So really, she’s like me to the nth degree, but with a fascination with marriage chucked in (whereas I am more likely to ignore romantic potential in members of the opposite sex, she sees it where it doesn’t exist). Right now, she’s mentally planning her wedding to a man she talked to on the train (she met him less than 24 hours before this… she’s totally wedding-crazy). She's a serial-dater with less stability in her love life than Paris Hilton. I’ve introduced four love interests, and even I don’t know which one she’s going to end up with (if any). I'm enjoying the adventure of writing this, as things keep happening that I don't expect (and I'm not sure how that's even possible).

47. One of my coworkers told me yesterday that he thinks I’m a snazzy dresser. I don’t believe anyone has ever told me that before. I was thrilled. I always try to put interesting ensembles together, but generally it goes unnoticed. And I have some coworkers who are always dressed a little more formally than I am, so I assume I look bad. But apparently not. My coworker thinks I always look put together. So yay-hooray for that!

48. I’m terrible at gauging cereal-to-milk ratios. I always end up overflowing. So, when I’m by myself, I pour the milk in the bowl before the cereal. It makes it much easier. I don’t do it in front of other people, because I don’t want them to see how weird I am. Add this to the list of random things I’m bad at.

Judging Theatre Scrubs

43. I firmly believe that the more you know about theatre, the less you can enjoy it. You spend too much time analyzing all the elements of the form within the production, and you forget how to sit back and be entertained. You also get much pickier about what you’re willing to be entertained by. I think it’s probably true of music, art, dance, film, and other forms of the arts as well.

44. I don’t mind washing dishes by hand. It reminds me of washing paintbrushes, which reminds me of my scene painting class in college, and also of set building in high school. I associate it with the pleasant experiences, and therefore it becomes a pleasant task. It's also very relaxing to have your hands immersed in warm water. But I hate washing cups. Cups are tricky, and I’m never satisfied that they’re fully clean. At the moment, I don't have a dishwasher, so I don't have much of a choice in the matter. I have to wash the cups by hand... Because of this, I usually drink out of paper cups. I also dislike washing pots and pans, but as I rarely cook it's not really a big issue.

45. Do judges ever sit on juries? I was just wondering. I imagine that they’d still get called for jury duty. But do they ever actually get chosen? I suppose I’d nominate the judge to be the jury foreman… it only seems right. But that must suck for the judge. If I were a judge, I think I’d try to avoid that like the plague. But then, it would be even more frustrating to NOT be trying to run things if you’re used to running a courtroom. Of course, it’s possible that judges would be exempt from jury duty altogether because of their preexisting roles within the judicial system. But I think I've heard of lawyers being on juries... so wouldn't it be the same? Or not, because the lawyers aren't employed by the state? And what about District Attorneys? I must meet a judge and ask these questions, as they are obviously vitally important.

Code Name: Princess Mojo

40. After my Shakespeare class last week, I went with a classmate of mine to the restaurant she used to work at to pick up her last check. This week she told me that her former boss asked about me. He then told her that she should come back sometime... and bring me (and he told her he'd slip her free drinks if she did this). This is terribly exciting (ignoring the skeeze factor), because it's been awhile since someone inquired after me (Woo-hoo! I’ve still got juice!). The classmate and I happen to both be attending a forum on "Physical Theatre" next Monday, so we're going to the restaurant after that. I'm not actually expecting this to go anywhere. I mostly just agreed to it because I find it entertaining.

41. Whenever I took aptitude tests in middle and high school that suggested career paths, they all proposed FBI or CIA agent for me. I kid you not. Sadly, the government never contacted me (they dropped the ball, I think... obviously if an eighth grader is well suited for espionage, the government should do immediate follow-up), and thus I'm not working for them now.

42. One of my ancestors (my great-great-great-great-grandmother, I think) was a Norwegian Princess. She had long blonde braids. She fell in love with an Italian commoner, and left Norway to be with him. I don’t know what her name was before she Italianized it (it ended up being something like Evangelina... her great-granddaughter was named Angelina after her, and I was named after Angelina) so I’ve been unable to find any records of her online, and thus far I’ve been too lazy to try any form of actual research.

Happenstance? Fire? Skidoo!

37. Last night, on a whim, my friend Anna and I went to see a screening of the 1968 movie Skidoo, one of the biggest flops in film history. It’s an Otto Preminger film. Jackie Gleason plays a serious role in the middle of a comedic film, as a man who has been snuck into jail by the mob so that he can kill Mickey Rooney. Carol Channing tries to seduce a young Frankie Avalon. Groucho Marx, in his last film, dons his famous glasses and mustache one last time in order to play a germophobic gangster named God who lives on a boat. About a quarter of the movie is various people tripping on acid (which includes a “Garbage Can Ballet” scene). The guys who played The Joker, The Riddler, and The Penguin in the old Batman television show are in it (and the director played Mr. Freeze). There are a few hippies in the film wearing little more than body paint. And God’s lover is a black woman who wears a backless, assless chartreuse pantsuit onesie thing. And the truly famous scene of the movie is actually the credits. Every credit in the film in sung. Even the crew. By Harry Nilsson.

There is only one print still in existence of the movie (the print we saw last night) because the director hated it, the studio is embarrassed by it, and Preminger’s wife asked that it not be shown at an retrospective festival of his work last year because she didn’t want their friends to see it.

Despite this, you can find it on YouTube. Here is a link to the final 7 minutes of the movie. You will see a bunch of hippies taking over God’s boat as Carol Channing sings most of the title song. You will see an interracial wedding between God’s mistress and Frankie Avalon, followed by a hippie wedding, and then an implied gay relationship between God and a nerdy professor from the jail as they ride away on a boat. And finally, you will get to see the credits (or just skip the first four minutes or so to get right to the credits).

Here are some of the quotes I loved:

Tony: No daughter of mine is marrying a hippie
Darlene: Hippies don't even get married!

Flo: I bet you're a good dancer.
Angie: I'm a good everything.
Flo: Prove it.
Angie: *checks his watch* Okay.

God's Mistress: *trying to seduce him* You know, I've never met anyone like you before.
Stash: *trying to escape* There are plenty like me.
God's Mistress: Yes, but you're here. Relax. I'm very good at this.

Fred the Professor: If it's any consolation, there's no problem I can't solve.

Leech the Criminal: *points to envelopes laced with LSD* Hey, maybe if I took some of that stuff, I wouldn't have to rape anybody no more.

Prison Guard 1: *tripping on acid* Hey! Hey, you look like a flower!
Prison Guard 2: *tripping on acid* That's funny, I feel like a flower!

Prison Guard 2: *tripping* Do you see what I see?
Prison Guard 1: *tripping* Scrambled eggs?
Prison Guard 2: No. Jello. *cheerfully* Reminds me of my wife.

And a lyric from the title song...
Flo: Skidoo! Skidoo! Between the 1 and 3 there is a 2!

38. When I write fiction, I don’t base characters off of people I know (which I think is a common habit). But, when I get stuck, I’ll mentally cast someone in the role of the character who has similar mannerisms. Sometimes it’s a movie star, sometimes it’s a friend, and sometimes it’s someone I barely know. Sunday night, I cast someone I met a year ago but have spoken with only a handful of times in my life in a role of a random male character. Then, as I was typing my novel at work, the guy came up to me and started asking questions about what I was writing. So I told Anna all about it, and how it was weird that I was working on a scene involving that character right when he came up to me (actually, I hadn't even cast him in that particular scene, but it was still weird). I rarely actually have the opportunity to talk to him. Strange coincidence, right? Then, when I was coming home from “Skidoo”, at the L stop, I heard a voice say, “Hey! How many words have you written now?” And it was him. Apparently, he lives near me. We struck up a whole conversation. Really nice guy, turns out. Ah, happenstance. If my life were a romantic comedy, we’d surely end up together. And if it were a murder mystery, he'd be the killer (but my life is more of a foreign film… Remind me to explain eventually).

39. Instead of fighting fire with fire, I think we should fight fire with fire code. (That's your random slice of Angela Wisdom for the day).

Picky Intellectual Insomniac

34. My cathemeral sleeping habits (i.e. characterized by having no pattern whatsoever) have returned. In full swing. I’ve been having a lot of difficulty getting to sleep and staying asleep for the last few weeks now (a problem that began for me around fifth grade). I’ve been late to work twice as a result of not waking up when my alarm clock went off (which, while it was a problem for me while sorting out my medication in college, hasn’t been an issue for the last couple of years. I stopped taking my meds around June, but I haven’t slept through my alarm since then. And I’ve been living alone for the past few months). I spent all of last night tossing and turning. I don’t remember sleeping or waking up, although I suppose it’s possible that I nodded off somewhere in the middle. I looked at the clock until around 2:00am (Note: I got into bed around 11:30pm) at which point I decided to stop myself from checking the time every five minutes (it just becomes aggravating after awhile). The next time I looked at the clock was a little before 5:00am, at which point I decided to give up on sleep and just get up. So now I’m typing before 6:00am, and my alarm clock hasn’t even gone off yet. Oh, insomnia, how I loathe you.

35. I have a tendency to dislike books that:
A. Have almost entirely male character lists
B. Take place mostly outdoors
C. Have more description than dialogue

I hated The Lord of the Flies with a burning passion. And I couldn't make it past page 20 of The Hobbit.

36. The most memorable backhanded compliment I’ve ever received was written on an essay I wrote by a professor of mine. His comment was, "It’s disappointing to see mediocre work from such a fine mind."

Costumed Vegetarian Novelist

31. Within the last day and a half, I have purchased, read, and been terrified by the book Skinny Bitch. Enough that I went to Whole Foods for the first time in my life and stocked up on vegan cuisine. I’m seriously considering becoming a vegetarian. And I’m on a fruits, veggies, and whole grains kick. I bought some chocolate soy milk that’s delicious. And some non-dairy frozen desert that looks like ice cream but is actually made of rice according to the ingredients list (rice cream?). I bought some organic cookies. And a bunch of Kashi whatnot. And some frozen dinners (such as the vegetarian chicken fettuccini I ate. God only knows what the “chicken” actually was). So now I’m on a vegetarian test run. I only expect it to last a couple of days, because I’m extremely fickle. That, and I have no will power when it comes to food-related lifestyle changes. There’s virtually no chance I’ll make it through Thanksgiving. I don’t even eat the turkey, but by the sheer fact that I’ll be near my mother’s cooking… well, there’s just no way I can pass up her lemon chicken if she makes it. Not possible.

32. I was a little behind on my NaNoWriMo novel the last couple of days, but I have gotten sufficiently caught up now. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to do this. It’s exhausting, and it’s really hard. Some days, it’s downright unpleasant having to coax myself into continuing to write, and then frustrating because I know that everything I’m writing is far below my normal standards. I’m going out of town twice this month, which will make it even more difficult than it already is. How am I going to write 1,667 words a day on a novel when I’m with my family and friends? I feel like I’m doomed to fail on this. Thank God for my tenacity.

33. It has occurred to me that I never posted pictures from Halloween. I successfully avoided all forms of the dreaded "Sexy Halloween" that I find so distasteful. I ended up having three costumes. As I mentioned before, I was a Formal Apology for my friend Anna’s party (which I think looked better in person than it does in the picture). I was Daria Morgendorffer from the cartoon “Daria” on Halloween. And I was Meg Griffin from “Family Guy” for my work Halloween party (I pinned my hair up under my hat to make it look shorter). I already have a slew of ideas for next year. These include Sexy Corpse, Whistler’s Mother, Amish Hooker, and Jackson Pollack Painting.

Change, Cheating, & Chimbos

28. I don’t think coins are real money. In my mind, change is like vouchers for real money. Only paper money is truly valid. When I get coins back after buying something, I often put all of it in the tip jar (which the employees seem to appreciate) or the penny tray. Now, though, I have a gumball machine in my apartment. So if I happen to have a pocket full of change at the end of my day (as I often do), I can chew gum while surfing the internet. And I then save the change to get an Amazon gift certificate from a CoinStar machine (they don't charge you a fee if you do that). So I suppose change isn't all bad.

29. When I was younger, I thought that studying was cheating. If you didn’t learn all of the material in class, then something was wrong with you. I didn’t start studying on a regular basis until my second semester of college, in which I had to study in order to keep up in my Italian class. I think I still only got a B-, but it was good enough to get into the study abroad program I was applying for (which was all I really cared about anyway).

30. I really like blended words, such as “chimbo” (cheerleading bimbo), “blackcent” (black accent, meaning that thing that Justin Timberlake has), and “Crazians” (crazy Asians, like the people I used to work for at the random Asian store in my mall back home. Not to be confused with the cranberry-raisin blends, “Craisins”, which are delicious).

Charming Insanity, Bad Wrists, & Dream Splits

25. I sat next to an insane guy on the L today who was sort of adorable. He looked to be in his early thirties, and was dressed nicely. If he hadn’t opened his mouth, I never would have looked at him twice. He leaned over and asked (at an inappropriately loud volume), “Do you have to time young lady? Or middle age lady? Old lady? What kind of lady should I call you, I don’t know…” After I told him it was five, he started asking other people on the train different questions. He asked a man how to tie his necktie into a Windsor knot. He asked a woman who was wearing a horrible red fur thing around her neck on if it was made of “rabbit foots” (it did look like that, actually). And then he started asking if we agreed with his psychiatrist that he shouldn’t be allowed out of the hospital because he was “too friendly”. And then he said he couldn’t remember why he’d gotten on the train and that he’d really like to go “back home to the loony bin.” And then he whipped out his harmonica and started playing for us. I think some of the people on the train weird annoyed, but I found him to be oddly charming. I think the ladies sitting behind him found his antics endearing as well. I hope he gets back to the hospital safely.

26. Everybody has a body part that they dislike more than anything else. I think for a lot of people it’s their noses (I have no problem with mine). I hate my wrists. They’re boney, they’re weak, and they make me feel awkward and vulnerable. I try to avoid wearing bracelets and watches, as that would draw attention to them.

27. For several years now, I have had a recurring dream of being able to do the splits. I get it every couple of months. In the dream, I always think, “Wow! I really can do the splits! Just like in that dream I always have… I guess my dreams are prophetic.” But then I wake up, and I’m disappointed. I wonder what a psychologist would say these dreams represent. I could do the splits when I was a kid. I don’t know why I can’t any more, but when my legs divide any further than a 90-degree angle, I’m in pain. I honestly believe that one day I’ll wake up after having had this dream, and I will magically be able to do the splits. It will happen.

Prickly, Bruised-Hearted, Popular Girl

22. I’ve never had my heart broken as a result of a relationship. I haven’t been in many relationships, so I guess that’s not surprising. And I’m extremely self-protective, which is because my heart has a layer of scar tissue from friendships gone awry. I’ve had a few friendships through the years that have been downright abusive (and one of those was a roommate situation... remind me to elaborate in December when I've returned to regular format). If I have trust issues, which I have been accused of having, that’s why. I have recently been disappointed by a couple of friends, and I don’t think they realize how injured I am as a result of their (seemingly innocuous) actions. Can someone break your heart and not even know it? Or at least bruise it a little?

23. One of my college professors once described me as being “intellectually prickly” in an academic progress meeting. I agreed with him. He seemed pleasantly surprised that I had done so, made some comment about how it was good that I knew myself, and never brought it up again. I've been trying to work on that character flaw ever since.

24. Today is the two month anniversary of my blog (I started it on September 8th, 2007, for those of you who aren't math whizzes). In those two months, there have been 1,077 visits and 1,729 page views by 418 "unique visitors" (although I'm not entirely certain as to what that means). There have been visits from 19 countries (including visits from Ghana, Peru and New Zealand, and repeat visits from Norway, Malaysia and Chile. Just thought those were unusual countries. Mexico, Canada, and the UK make a lot more sense in my head. And even Germany, because I think they got here by googling Vince Vaughn or something. I have a suspicion that Germany is filled with pop culture geeks).

Within the USA, the hits have come from 183 cities in 39 "regions" (which means 38 states and D.C.). 54 of the hits have come from Houghton, MI (which looks to be in the upper peninsula) and I have no idea who it could be that loves my blog that much (but hey, Houghton person, thanks for visiting 54 times in, like 60-some days. That's awesome. WHO ARE YOU??? Please post in comments if you know it's you. It's been driving me nuts). I'd like to also thank my fans in Nesconset, Lowell, Akron, Raleigh, and Tonawanda, as I have a feeling there's only one fan in each of those cities and they're still racking up hits. Other cities with large numbers of repeated viewings are Lansing, South Bend, and Chicago, but that really isn't surprising since I've lived in all three and made friends there (not that I don't love you all for reading. I do. Please come back). And it would be more surprising that New York is the state with the second most hits (behind Illinois, but I'm sure that, like, 90% of those are me), except for that I have a feeling they're all coming here from Broadway World (hello my BWW buddies!).



Also, turns out this whole "updating daily" thing gives me more hits. When I was updating bi-weekly, I was averaging around 8 hits a day (that's a rough guess based on a bar graph). Lately, I've been averaging 15 hits a day. Which is awesome. See, I thought that no one was going to want to read this in November, as I was pretty sure it'd be boring. But apparently, it's not all that boring. Because people in Malaysia wouldn't waste their time if it were (my logic is flawless).

Anyway. Happy Two-Month-iversary to my blog. And thank you all for coming. You have no idea how much it means to me that people are willing to read what I'm writing. It makes me feel a little less alone. And it helps my heart heal from its bruises. And actually, I feel a little more valuable to society. But that's an issue I'll have to expound upon another day. As it is, I'll be late for work if I don't stop typing.

Crazy Talented Pig Fan

19. Every once in awhile it occurs to me that I’m talented and smart. I’m in another of my esoteric-Shakespeare classes at the moment, and last night it became apparent that some things that are obvious to me are extremely challenging for others. At one point, our instructor said the problem part of a line was really challenging and she doubted any of us would guess it. And I knew it. I wasn’t guessing, I just knew. It was in plain sight to me (it involved the word “learn” having to be two syllables in order to fit the scansion… it’s hard to explain out of context). She was surprised when I got it right, and looked at me as though I held promise, then made some reaffirming statement like, "Really great work, Cookie" before continuing. I had three moments like that in class, where I could solve a problem that others couldn't. And when I was reciting my monologue, it just felt natural. I really know my stuff. It is a life goal of mine to be considered a scholar, and I think Shakespeare might be my way in to that club.

20. On the way home from class, I found myself seated at the back of the bus directly between two men who were talking to themselves (there are a lot of crazies in the city). And then they began talking to each other, ignoring me in the middle. It was one of the weirdest city experiences I’ve ever had. I wasn’t really scared or anything. I mean, I talk to myself all the time. I just try not to do it when other people are within earshot. Or, you know, sitting right next to me.

21. I have a stuffed pig and a blanket that I slept with throughout my childhood. They bear the names “Piggy” and “Blankie” (I have a feeling that my mother named them). I refrain from eating pork and ham to this day because it bothered me so much as a kid that I was eating Piggy. When I was a kid, I wouldn't go anywhere without them. This means that I dragged them through Europe, and that my dad once had to run around Mackinac Island looking for Piggy after he fell onto the road during a carriage ride (he found him in some weeds on the side of the street, looking vaguely like roadkill). I have them in my apartment now, and when I’m having a bad day, I curl up with them. It’s comforting. I've actually slept with them for the last couple of nights, just for fun.

Miss America's Next Top Ugly Pajama Model

16. I wanted to be on America’s Next Top Model, but I don’t meet the height requirement. The height minimum is 5’7” (I’m 5’5” 3/4, which is well above the USA female average of 5’4”), which is stupid because Eva Pigford (one of the past winners) is only 5’6”, and she WON the damn thing. I once wrote a strongly worded letter to Tyra Banks on the subject. I never heard back. Her loss. I photograph well, I can act, and the girls they get on that show are halfwits.

17. My freshman year of college, I had a reputation for having ugly nightwear. And I do. I have some of the most hideous (and shamefully comfortable) winter nightgowns in existence. I also have a weird (but warm) bodysuit thing. It’s black, red, and yellow. I got most of these nightgowns from my grandmother, who claims that they are all “designer” garments that she “bought at Saks” and were “not cheap”. But I reiterate, they’re hideous.

18. As a child, I was absolutely convinced I was going to be Miss America someday. I have the autographs of 5 Miss Americas from the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, which I attained because my parents used to attend the Detroit autoshow, which was a function Miss America appeared at (I grew up in Michigan, so it's not shocking that I had a couple relatives in the automotive industry). I have them in my apartment, but I haven’t figured out a good place to hang them up. A family friend actually made it into the Miss America pageant this past year. Sadly, she didn't make it into the top ten, but it was a bit of a kick just seeing her on there (even though I haven't seen her since she was in diapers). I was insanely jealous.

Falling for Spicy Vince Vaughn

13. It never fully feels like fall until I’ve caught a leaf before it hits the ground. This is a lot more challenging now that I live in a city than it was when I was in the good part of the Midwest. But I caught two yesterday, on my way to a coffee shop in order to work on my novel. Excellent.

14. Why is it that salt and pepper are the matched sets of spices on tables? Why not salt and paprika? Or pepper and basil? How did that come to be? (Seriously, if you have an answer, I’d like to know.) I was thinking about that last night as I put oregano and pepper on my microwave dinner (I also put on two kinds of vinegar: red wine on the potatoes, balsalmic on the meat... I have an addiction).

15. Tonight, my friend Anna and I went to wait outside the red carpet for the premiere of Fred Clause. The security guy actually opened up the barricade for me so that I could step onto the red carpet when he overheard me tell Anna that it was on my list of things to do before I die (yay! I can check off stepping on the red carpet!). We saw Bill Rancic, Kim Coles, Brian Urlacher (who is MASSIVE, by the way), John Michael Higgins, and Vince Vaughn (who plays the title character). I had a giggle fit as soon as I saw Vince and promptly hid behind Anna, who stuck out my notebook to get his autograph for me. As you can see, his signature looks more like a series of lines and checkmarks than an actual name.

No Groove 4 Noder Daym

10. I have a green bra that I bought in Italy that is lucky for Notre Dame’s football team. Since 2004, it seems that every time I remember to wear it, Notre Dame wins. Seriously, my bra has a far better track record of predicting ND wins than any professional sports commentator. I get phone calls and text messages from people on every game day telling me to hunt it down and put it on (I went to Saint Mary's College, across the street from ND, so all my college friends are ND fans). There have only been a handful times when the magic of the bra did not work. One was the ND vs. USC game in 2005 (which Notre Dame arguably should have won… Technically, the clock ran out and they were ahead, but due to some questionable refereeing, they lost). Three other times have been bowl games, and I think they don’t count since it’s the post season. Besides, Notre Dame hasn’t won a bowl game since, like, 1996 or something. Anyway, I couldn’t find my green bra for most of this season, which is why Notre Dame has sucked. (Sorry, ND fans. My bad.) But I did wear it for the Navy game this weekend, which Notre Dame lost in double overtime. I guess they’re so tragically terrible this year that even the bra can’t help them. Either that, or the bra doesn’t work for overtime. And technically, I think I put it on after the game had already started, so that may have altered its potency.

11. Bad spelling/grammar is a deal-breaker for me. If a guy can’t tell the difference between “piece” and “peace”, or "your" and "you're", I’ll say goodbye. Obviously, we’re on two completely different planes, and we will never be happy together. Or, at least, I will never be happy with him. And he will probably never be happy because I’ll correct him every ten seconds.

12. If I had a theme song for my life, I think it would have to be “Groove Is in the Heart”, by Dee-Lite. I have groove in my heart. And in every other part of my body. Actually, now that I think about the lyrics, it might not be a good theme for me, because I would most certainly “dance for another”… I must rethink this. I’ll let you know if I come up with something.

Oral & Technological Elevation Elation

7. Anytime I’m alone in an elevator, I’m either singing or dancing. And then when the doors open I act as though I’ve just been standing there, bored.

8. I hate it when people use incorrect grammar and spelling in instant messaging, text messages, and e-mails. It is NOT okay. Technology is not an excuse for stupidity. Stop text messaging like a pre-teen girl.

9. I have a raging oral fixation. Don’t read anything kinky into that. I’ve heard that many people with ADHD have oral fixations. I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m certainly afflicted. I sucked my thumb when I was a kid. To this day I bite my nails. I’m constantly snacking on something or chewing gum… and I occasionally chew on inedible things… Styrofoam cups, for example. Or drinking straws. Or the caps from water bottles.

Insomniacs Can't Stop Traffic in Pajamas

4. Traffic stops for me because I’m cute. So I cross the street at times when other, more cautious people would not. I haven’t gotten killed yet. Therefore, I assume that my theory is correct that I can stop traffic. And that I’m adorable.

5. When I was younger, I used to write myself to sleep at night. I did it every night for a whole summer once when I was in middle school. I had a lot of late nights that summer… And also did a lot of great work. I had notebooks full of paintings, drawings, sketches, poems, and the like. It was lovely. I was quite proud of it. I’m much more creative when I’m sleep deprived. Turns out, my cathemeral nature and inconsistent insomnia can be put to good use.

6. I don’t go out into public in pajama pants. I just don’t. Even in college. I never once went to class in pajama pants in four years of college. And I attended a WOMEN’S college. Who was I trying to impress? No one. I just really didn’t feel comfortable wearing those things to class. Living in Rome probably tainted me against it, as I always had to dress up for class there. No one wears jeans in Rome.

Glorious Hiccoughing Muse

Less than 24 hours ago I outlined my modus operandi for relationships. So don't miss that simply because this new post is following so quickly on its heels. Unless you want to miss it. Totally your choice.

During the month of November, I will be participating in NaNoWriMo, as I have mentioned before. Because of this, I doubt that I will be able to update my blog in any sort of normal fashion… So, instead of trying to do that, I’m going to take on a new format for one month. (Don’t worry! It’s only temporary! I SWEAR!)

The new format? Lists of short random comments. Whenever I think of something I want to mention, I’m jotting it down in a notebook, and I will them just type up lists of things and post them here. They will not flow. They will be distinct, separate thoughts. Maybe, in December, January, or beyond, I will expand upon them. And maybe not. But just be glad that you’re still getting a little taste of me in your life.

So, here goes.

1. I would like to be a Muse. I have inspired people to do things in the past, often not even meaning to. I inspired someone to audition for a play when she hadn't done any theatre in 30 years. I inspired someone to overcome fear and act in a Shakespeare play. My relationship with my father inspired someone to write a musical (and I'm up for the role that was based off of me for the L.A. workshop. Wish me luck). I have inspired at least two people to attempt NaNoWriMo with me (and possibly a third... he's still deciding). And I've been told that my passion for life has made a good friend reconsider what was important to him. I love inspiring people to do things that they wouldn't have ordinarily tried. I would like to be a professional Muse. It's a lovely task, and it gives me joy.

2. I love Natalie Imbruglia's latest single, "Glorious". It makes me feel like skipping over to the playground down the block from me and riding the swings.

3. I get the hiccoughs more than anyone I know (yes, that is the correct spelling. It’s not “hiccups”. It’s “hiccoughs”. Trust me on this). I get them generally at least once a day. One of my coworkers has this miracle cure in which he slowly punches his hand into his fist. Watching that cures me about 4/5 of the time. No clue why it works. Another of my coworkers tries to scare me by saying things like “We have to work on Saturday,” or “Your ex-boyfriend called.” Although funny, those don’t generally work. My record is 8 times in one day, which happened on 10/22/07. Six of the eight attacks were at work, so I have witnesses for those. My coworkers were both amazed and annoyed. Someone once told me that when you get the hiccoughs, they don’t fully leave your body for a week. If that’s true, then I think I’ve had the same case of the hiccoughs for at least three years now.