I want french fries...

>WARNING: SATURATED FAT CONTENT<

SO ##$@%$ what! I heard somewhere someone heard on NPR that they're going to put addiction labels on french fries and potato chips. Well, hell. They put that on there and I'm going out and gettin' a whole damn bushel. French fries can't all be bad, regardless of what they're made out of. I mean, the good people over there at ACME french fries and pig foot jelly came up with it, so it has to be good.

Oh my god. I've lost it.

This is what training a teenager on a Mac and a handful of peanuts for dinner does to the fragile bottle blonde.

help.

it is really ten days?

Since my last post? Wow.

No light yet in the long dark passage to opening of Damn Yankees. The one show for this summer that I didn't get called back for. Not that I would have been cast at all, considering. Apparently I'm just waaaaay too valuable as a workhorse of limited talent.

But I'm not bitter.

I must say I'm lamenting the lack of time I have. My interns are wonderful and have risen to my highest expectations. Im sad that I couldn't be with them more.

I am NEVER doing this to myself again. I have no time for my friends, no time to sleep, no time to do my roots!

And during one of the busiest times. I've done this to myself, I know I know I KNOW.

FEH.

But at Least listening to Maria Callas sing "Un Bel Di Vedremo", and realizing that a million people in Louisiana and surrounding states have nothing left, is tempering my tendency to feel like a victim. The Big Easy is underneath floodwaters, people's pets are most likely drowned, and it'll be months (?) until they get anything back. Totally sucks. I wish I had time to go volunteer.

"you know what I want?...

I'll tell you what I want. I want Ken Ralings to walk in here and say Pam Shorts' broken both her legs, and I want to dance with you..."

I've never been the most patient of women. I feel like I've been waiting for hours for the last 3956 files to compress on my computer. Oh wait, I have been waiting hours.

In fact I was able to watch all of "Strictly Ballroom" and field an incident with my car and one of my brothers' teenage friends, and there are still 1743 files to compress. I do realize that it's all the fruits of 2 years and more of productive (if not lucrative) freelance work - and it makes me appreciate really advanced archiving systems all the more. But I hate waiting!

Another thing I hate waiting for is seeing my friends. Although I wether that sort of waiting with considerably greater amount of aplomb, because, well, they're my friends. The part I truly detest is when unforseen thing happen and I can't see them as I plan, especially when I have important girl things to discuss with them. Nope, not patient at all.

I hate waiting!

indulgence

I did a bad Bad BAD thing this morning. I became ravenous at just past the intersection of 280 and 101. All of a sudden, it hit me. Actual hunger pangs. Not only have I been suffering allergy symptoms late at night, and breathing issues (like anyone cares Mo!), and my claws need to be cliped at the groomer this weekend (because I keep hitting the wrong keys). So my body told me I needed a salt and saturated fat bomb.

Now, who am I to deny the needs of my poor battered self? Not to mention I actually weathered a great deal of stress with, if n0t aplomb, I at least didn't fall apart.

So I went to McDonald's.

Sausage buscuits.

YES.

the unbearable emptiness...

...of rushing out of the house in a flurry and realizing when one is halfway to work, that one has, indeed, left one's cell phone at home.

Ackthppppffffth! I drove the rest of the way down to the vastness of the South Bay spluttering and enduring a vague emptiness brought on by this very realization. the emptiness moved from vague, to annoying, to unendurable. I feel lost, cut off, and alone. I even toyed with the idea of getting one of those "go" phones, just for the interim.

It's made the day all the longer, being cut off from civilization in the form of microchips and staticky microphones. I don't even get that many calls. In fact, I dread getting calls. You never know when some ichor dripping fiend may get a hold of your phone number (or remember it from your dating fiasco of a few months ago) and call you up to ask why you never called him back.

But the chiefest part of my unending discomfort at being so ungracefully separated from my little commlink, is that I'm terrified now that my car will develop a leak, a fire, or an unavoidable attraction to passing alien ships. What would I do if I got hit in the windshield, carjacked (like anyone would want my car!) or horrors, a flat tire. I can just picture my helpless self, stranded on the 280, blonde hair whipped in a froth around my head, praying for a phone, esp, or just a nice person.

Ah, me. My life is so hard.

recalcitrant objects.

I despise all objects this month (well, actually all last month and this month). Machinery refuses to work, my car blows up (I know, not really), and I'm clumsy as all hell. And according to my nifty handy dandy internet tool, it's all because of Mercury going retrograde in the last part of July and through August 30th.

Damn you Mercury!!