Catching up . . .

I’m finding that my life really isn’t all that interesting. It really doesn’t warrant commentary in my on-line journal as a certain person informed me that the term "blog" makes him want to hurt people.

Over the last few weeks, I confirmed that I don’t like musicals. Especially when they happen to be adaptations of books. I won’t give away the ending, but let’s just say there’s a lot of singing in Wicked and a lot of liberties taken with the story. Plus, if you get good seats, there’s a lot of spitting. It lands mostly on stage and into the orchestra pit, but consider yourself warned. I thought I could justify going because I found the book magical (aside from the obvious). I thought I could overlook the singing because it wouldn’t be out of place for people to break out into song and then go back to dialog in such a magical setting. Plus, I really loved the book, which helped me come to terms with the fact that I still can’t watch the movie because it scares me. As does the story of the Three Little Pigs—who reads that to a toddler??? You won’t catch me at a Cats revival. There’s nothing magical about alley cats no matter how impressive the leotards are. I also won’t be seeing Rent in any form.

Had an excellent Thanksgiving and birthday. I am thankful to have great friends and family to spend time with and a shitload of vacation days to do it and recover. AND, I will treasure my Foxy Lady Motel keychain always. Another warning: while Thanksgiving dinner at The Drake is lovely, if you’re not one for giblets, avoid the stuffing and gravy. Those aren’t lima beans. Trust me, stick to the seafood on the ends and the oysters and mini-crab cakes in the middle. You’re on your own with the dessert table. Although, if you can successfully swipe the white chocolate-dipped strawberry tree (not the strawberries, just the stump covered in white chocolate), I will be your best friend. I'm easy.

Met someone I admire (well, spoke to while she was signing my book) so that I can stop stalking her now. Not that I was really stalking her, I just happen to see her around town (purely coincidence--I try to play it cool and not stare and point) and I've attended a couple of her readings. Her book and her websites are wonderfully entertaining. There's 1 copy of the book in circulation in KY, and I purchased another copy for her to sign--so don't feel obligated to return the KY copy, please keep passing it around. Buy more for your friends and family. That said, I wonder when David Sedaris will be in town again? Where does he go when he’s in town? Not that I would stalk him either, but we do share a common fear of zombies and I think that could be a good foundation for friendship. Yes, I am delusional.

I came to terms with letting Dieta go. I hope to find her a good home. Someone who will care for her in the manner she deserves. Someone who will polish her rings on a regular basis, get her out on a freeway in 5th, keep her interior clean, crank up her stereo, drive her on a daily basis. I know that I can replace her one day, but it won't be the same (um, because there will be a warranty). I know that I can use Jurgen (my name for his car since he won't name it anything other than "Car"), but it's still not like having MY OWN CAR. I haven't been without a car since I was 17. Gas wasn't $2.60 a gallon either, though. Maybe this will force me to wwwwalk more. I used to be good at that. I should purchase some shoes that are designed for that purpose and not just the "athletic lifestyle" shoes that look oh so good on the train that let people know that I'm corporate but fun (and that I would sprain something if I had to walk from the train to the office in anything over 2").

What else?

My dad informed me that he has taken up cowboys and Indians. No, he’s not mentally challenged, but I am starting to question his sanity. After asking him what he wanted for X-Mas, I was given a list of miscellaneous western gear (not a big deal there) and oh, blank shooters/cap pistols (wha?). Being the smartass I am, I asked, “what, are you like playing ‘cowboys and Indians’?” His answer, “yes, but it’s like paintball.” Okay, it’s like paintball when there are paint pellets involved. It’s like cowboys and Indians when paint isn’t involved. I mean, at least they are using blank shooters and not wandering around some forest preserve in North Carolina yelling “bang bang” using their hands as pistols. Right? I would assume there’s some playing dead. Apparently this is a new craze like strip aerobics. I wonder if it's too late to exploit for financial gain? I shouldn’t be surprised after hearing about the yoga retreat last year. BUT I AM!
So I guess that’s something else to be thankful for . . . not seeing one of my parents on Real Sex. Yoga retreat my ass.