I honestly am having a difficult time coping with the insane speed time is flying by. Thanksgiving JUST HAPPENED. Yet somehow I’m leaving for my British Christmas a week from tomorrow. My niece’s baby shower is this weekend. I get to tell the whole world this baby is a girl baby when I have my ultrasound next week. (Okay, so maybe my other half still thinks it’s a boy baby, only ONE OF US can be right.) I’m almost halfway through this cooking phase of parenthood. HALF. WAY. I’ve gotten only 40% of my Christmas shopping done.
All this is happening so incredibly fast I can barely keep up.
I was sick over the past couple of days. While this kind of sick could usually be patched up with a couple of vicodin and a swig of DayQuil and a shot of Pepto, my desire to not want to birth a crack baby meant I had to settle for rest and fluids. REST AND FLUIDS. Like it’s the year 1623. The rest was nice, but I couldn’t DO anything but that. No catching up on bills or writing Christmas cards or online shopping or writing or cleaning the house or organizing or ANYTHING. I did manage to catch up on every Big Bang Theory episode in existence, though. So there’s something.
I saw The Nutcracker on Friday. And being completely unfamiliar with it (no, really.) I had no idea what I was in for. A friend of mine asked me if I wanted a brief summary before I went in but I decided to go in cold.
Which meant I left completely bewildered at what the hell I had just seen. WHERE WERE ALL THE NUTCRACKERS? What was up with that giant woman? Why go through all plot building that with the weird uncle in the beginning if you were never going to revisit it again?
Oh, okay. LOTS OF DANCING.
Where in the hell did the mice come from? Why were they fighting soldiers? Was this commentary on the French Revolution? (Nope. Wrong musical.)
OH MY GOD THERE’S SO MUCH DANCING.
And then the end? They just straight up JR Ewing-ed that ending with, “Oh hai! Just a dream y’all!”
Let me tell you, tonight is the annual Austin Chronicle Best of Austin party and even though I’ve been looking soooooo forward to it ALL I WANT TO DO IS GO HOME AND SLEEP.
My insomnia is 85% better now that I’ve backed off both the sleeping pills and the caffeine and my dreams have experienced a 95% increase in WTF. But my sleep is restless and my back is achey and hello what is going on, is this the blog of the old and withered? Want some licorice? Get off my lawn?
It’s damn near Halloween and I don’t have a costume. A friend is getting married the Saturday of that weekend, so in my head I think it’s a good reason to sit out any spooktastic festivities. But with Halloween brings the onset of the holidays. (Yay holidays!) Our British contingent will be traveling to Texas next month for a two-week visit. That’s going to be stellar. I haven’t started in with the Thanksgiving dinner menu palpitations just yet, but you can bet that’s on its way.
And Christmas? We’re going to spend it in Cambridge with Daniel’s family this year. Two years in row? (Yep, more on that later.) The first time I was in London for Christmas I was floored, FLOORED by street corner vendors selling fresh roasted chestnuts. That’s right. Actual chestnuts roasting on an open fire. For real. I flipped out like a kid watching cotton candy being made for the first time and kept pointing and shouting, “CHESTNUTS!! ROASTING!! ON. AN. OPEN. FIRE.”
Essentially I was this:
CHESTNUTS! ROASTING! ON AN OPEN FIRE!
After what can only be the longest break I’ve had off from improv since I started, I’m finally in Level 5. After an entire session of The Harold, I’m having trouble turning off the “tie everything together” plot-focused mentality to get back in the mindset of character development. Maybe I should find a Level 3 to sit in on to brush up those skills. Being away from improv for as long as I was, and being a total asshole and not checking out shows in the interim, got my attention span dangerously close to spinning off the improv radar. I need to fix this quick because I know how I am with the follow through. EYES ON THE PRIZE, WOODROFFE.
Holy mother of dragons there’s SO MUCH I need to be updating here, but if I don’t stay focused blurbing I will miss my deadlines and have an editor very angry with me. I have yet to ever incur her wrath, but WINTER IS COMING, Y’ALL and I need to get with the getting and soon if I want to keep those record grooves clean.
BTW, I just finished book three in A Song of Ice and Fire. Shit just got real. Real-er, even. I don’t even KNOW how to handle what’s coming. (Besides winter. Because it’s coming. Are we all clear on that? WINTER IS COMING.)
I haven’t been sleeping well. I need to get out of my head and back to my regular-scheduled programming.
I want to talk about Arcade Fire tomorrow night and Jazz Fest in New Orleans in four days and the ways I’m trying to twist my brain around thoughts of content and strategy and other particularly interesting endeavors like making with the funny and little calculators that say when to go and when to stay really, really still.
But instead, I ramble and hem and haw. I’m scattered. Disconnected just a notch to the left of where I should be. My brain is misfiring and I’m forgetting things and dropping things. My words aren’t working. If my words don’t work, neither do I.
This post was going to be about how much 80s Corey Hart looks just like Nick Lachey, but when I dove into Google images to find definitive proof my brain melted into so much bad hair, bleach and photos with Pink’s tongue and Jessica Simpson’s … face, that I just couldn’t.
So reach back in your actual 80s memory bank or your VH-1 “I Love the 80s” memory bank and think about it.
And then think about how much they both look like David Duchovny.
Best lyric ever.
Mike on the mike:
“imzadi22; Pretty Pandas eat bamboo ”
So I’m biased.
Oh Squishy – we hardly knew ya.
My big plan for the weekend was to go visit my folks. I don’t see them nearly enough, and they only live one and a half hours away, so it’s really ridiculous that I don’t go more often.
Because of the too many vodka tonics from the night before, B and I woke up way late — way, way, late — and I had to get on the road as fast as I could. I had a weird feeling though, like something wasn’t right. That this trip wasn’t going to happen.
I hate feelings like that.
So I’m a little over halfway there when B calls — turns out his keys were in my purse. I turned around and headed back to Austin, called my Mom who didn’t think it was a good idea for me to come after all of this, since I was going to have to turn right around in the morning and head back.
So I’m here. What’s weird about it is I *knew* I wasn’t going. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just knew this wasn’t going to happen. I thought my car would break down, or something like that, and it would prevent me from going.
I’m rambling. But things are weird in my head right now. I feel like I’m not where I’m supposed to be. That I missed something somewhere. Time is completely distorted — well not completely, just off.
Something is just off.
Interested in growing your own skin?
“Hobby Biotech” is your answer, kiddos!
Even includes a link about research gathered in growing back your long-lost foreskin…