I am so incredibly tired it's not even funny. What have I been doing since my last post? I can't remember.... Oh yeah, Marten pills and lightsaber building. Lightsaber building has gone slow, I never have time for anything. Horrigan is nuts, as you all know. I have trademarked our new name, the Lost Cause Players™ <--- see the trademark? One Acts are the 16th and 17th of May, if anyone can make it. Some will be good, some will be bad. Bring produce if you want, it could be funny. AH, I'm tired, I forgot to complain about that in more detail. I closed every night last week. I only closed last night this week, but Monday and Tuesday contained more work than I want to deal with durring the last month of school. Pat Sucks. Every night I close with him we get home around midnight. I have to tell him to do everything. Catering also sucks. I officially hate costumers. I'm gonna start sticking them in the smoker and serving them to other customers. I'm tired. I tried to sing everything I said today, but I forgot the words.
I'm buying a car this weekend. It's a volvo. It has seatbelts. It will start when I want it to. It will not stop unexpectedly. It will have a radio. It will have heat. All the doors will open. It wont have an awesome turn radius, but that's okay. It wont have massive amounts of character, but that's okay, too; that will develop as I drive it. I'm excited. You can tell by how I just wrote that I'm excited in the last sentence.
It wasn't even a real Talk; it was a lecture on the evils of homosexuality and pre-marital dancing.
27 April 2006
24 April 2006
So, I shall end an old maid and teach your ten children to embroider cushions and play their instruments very ill.
So, I've been making some pretty enigmatic posts lately, and I think it is time to clarify things for you, my friends, whom I trust to NEVER BREATHE A WORD ABOUT IT if it seems likely that things will become AWKWARD. I haven't explained about it before because I really don't like talking about it, but here it is.
I have a friend at school named Jack. He directed the one-act I was in, in fact. Well, the night that I made the "Why are boys so much trouble?" post, he walked me to my door after rehearsal etc. and he asked me to go to our fake, informal formal with him. Without thinking, I said sure. It didn't even occur to me until after I'd already spoken that he seemed very shy about asking and very happy that I accepted. I freaked out. But the next day everything was back to normal, and I talked to my friend Jenaba and decided that I was probably overreacting, which she seemed to comply with. LITTLE DID I KNOW.
Well, then, the night of the faux formal, Jack was acting all weird the whole night, and I got nervous again. He walked me back to my door again, and by this time I knew what was coming but figured I might as well get it over with. So, he proceeds to explain that he really, really likes me and has liked me since "She Stoops" in the fall and that he liked me while I was going out with his roommate and he had a different girlfriend and GAH. Now, look. I just don't think I like him in that way. I don't know why, and I wish it was otherwise, but there you go. Plus, he just got out of a fairly long-standing relationship. He's been in one relationship or another ever since high school. He's a serial monogamist and doesn't know how to be alone. Anyway, we talked about it, and I told him I didn't think it would be a good idea, and he agreed that he ought to spend some time alone, and we agreed that we wanted to remain good friends.
Things got back to fairly normal fairly quickly. He and I have not directly discussed matters since.
But the following days... well, first someone was all, "What happened between you and Jack? One day he's all happy and talking about you nonstop and now he's all depressed." This really upset me, so I went to talk to one of my friends about it, and all she had in the way of comfort was, "In case there was any doubt on your part, he really, really likes you and he's really sad now." And I was like, "Gee, THANKS." Apparently he had been talking to several of my friends about this for quite some time and continues to do so; it then eventually gets around to me. So basically everyone I know knows more about the situation than I do.
And I feel like probably about the world's worst human being over the whole mess. I have seriously considered going ahead and changing my mind and trying to make it work, but I did that before and it did not turn out well for anybody, and I hated it and I don't want to do it again. But I also really hate that I'm making him so sad.
The day after shit went down was the day I hit the part of Mansfield Park where Fanny refuses Henry Crawford, and it was like even my book was trying to tell me something. See my lj for the relevant quotes.
The issue is, apparently HE saw my lj for relevant quotes also. I DID NOT KNOW HE READ MY LIVEJOURNAL. Whitney told me. Whitney told me he talked to her to ask her if I was talking about him. She played dumb about it, thank God. Granted, this is not exactly internet stalking. There's a link to my lj on facebook. But still, he never mentioned that he read it; I suppose I knew it was a risk, but I thought I was safe. Apparently not. If he goes through various channels and finds his way here, I'm really screwed. This turn of events makes me both frustrated and angry. I feel like even more of a horrible person, but I also feel like I should be able to put up quote on my lj if I want and know who is reading them. The quotes, at least, were nothing but complimentary to him. If you go by what they say, he is apparently handsome, charming, and very rich. But that's all beside the point, because it's NOT MEANT TO BE ABOUT HIM. It's about MY SITUATION. I was comparing my situation to that of Fanny Price and how those quotes came at a very apt time. It's not about YOU, it's about ME. If one can't be egotistical on one's own blog, where can one be egotistical, DAMMIT?
Anyway. I explained all this to my mom yesterday and proclaimed in my despair that I am going to die a spinster, which I am becoming more and more convinced of, and that it is going to be my fault. The really depressing part? She did not contradict me. My own MOTHER. She attempted to resign me to it. She encouraged me to collect dogs rather than cats.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what has been going on with me.
Love, Erin
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
I have a friend at school named Jack. He directed the one-act I was in, in fact. Well, the night that I made the "Why are boys so much trouble?" post, he walked me to my door after rehearsal etc. and he asked me to go to our fake, informal formal with him. Without thinking, I said sure. It didn't even occur to me until after I'd already spoken that he seemed very shy about asking and very happy that I accepted. I freaked out. But the next day everything was back to normal, and I talked to my friend Jenaba and decided that I was probably overreacting, which she seemed to comply with. LITTLE DID I KNOW.
Well, then, the night of the faux formal, Jack was acting all weird the whole night, and I got nervous again. He walked me back to my door again, and by this time I knew what was coming but figured I might as well get it over with. So, he proceeds to explain that he really, really likes me and has liked me since "She Stoops" in the fall and that he liked me while I was going out with his roommate and he had a different girlfriend and GAH. Now, look. I just don't think I like him in that way. I don't know why, and I wish it was otherwise, but there you go. Plus, he just got out of a fairly long-standing relationship. He's been in one relationship or another ever since high school. He's a serial monogamist and doesn't know how to be alone. Anyway, we talked about it, and I told him I didn't think it would be a good idea, and he agreed that he ought to spend some time alone, and we agreed that we wanted to remain good friends.
Things got back to fairly normal fairly quickly. He and I have not directly discussed matters since.
But the following days... well, first someone was all, "What happened between you and Jack? One day he's all happy and talking about you nonstop and now he's all depressed." This really upset me, so I went to talk to one of my friends about it, and all she had in the way of comfort was, "In case there was any doubt on your part, he really, really likes you and he's really sad now." And I was like, "Gee, THANKS." Apparently he had been talking to several of my friends about this for quite some time and continues to do so; it then eventually gets around to me. So basically everyone I know knows more about the situation than I do.
And I feel like probably about the world's worst human being over the whole mess. I have seriously considered going ahead and changing my mind and trying to make it work, but I did that before and it did not turn out well for anybody, and I hated it and I don't want to do it again. But I also really hate that I'm making him so sad.
The day after shit went down was the day I hit the part of Mansfield Park where Fanny refuses Henry Crawford, and it was like even my book was trying to tell me something. See my lj for the relevant quotes.
The issue is, apparently HE saw my lj for relevant quotes also. I DID NOT KNOW HE READ MY LIVEJOURNAL. Whitney told me. Whitney told me he talked to her to ask her if I was talking about him. She played dumb about it, thank God. Granted, this is not exactly internet stalking. There's a link to my lj on facebook. But still, he never mentioned that he read it; I suppose I knew it was a risk, but I thought I was safe. Apparently not. If he goes through various channels and finds his way here, I'm really screwed. This turn of events makes me both frustrated and angry. I feel like even more of a horrible person, but I also feel like I should be able to put up quote on my lj if I want and know who is reading them. The quotes, at least, were nothing but complimentary to him. If you go by what they say, he is apparently handsome, charming, and very rich. But that's all beside the point, because it's NOT MEANT TO BE ABOUT HIM. It's about MY SITUATION. I was comparing my situation to that of Fanny Price and how those quotes came at a very apt time. It's not about YOU, it's about ME. If one can't be egotistical on one's own blog, where can one be egotistical, DAMMIT?
Anyway. I explained all this to my mom yesterday and proclaimed in my despair that I am going to die a spinster, which I am becoming more and more convinced of, and that it is going to be my fault. The really depressing part? She did not contradict me. My own MOTHER. She attempted to resign me to it. She encouraged me to collect dogs rather than cats.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what has been going on with me.
Love, Erin
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
21 April 2006
Pasta Past Paste
I found my iPod! It was in my Dad's car. So I charged it up and hit shuffle, and the first thing that came up was Rob Girvin singing about how he was going to die. It was nice.
I'm going to Prom tomorrow, but not with my girlfriend. I wish I was going with my girlfriend, but I'm going with Catie, which is almost as good. It should still be fun.
I successfully made spagetti by myself, without anyone telling me what to do. And it actually tasted good.
Finally, for those of you who don't already know, I've decided to go to Wooster, despite the presence of my meddlesome doppleganger. I'll manage.
One more story I have to share. Levi was here top see West Side Story (which was awesome, by the way) and we played the party quirks game. My quirk was Morgan Freeman. Jonah got it when I picked up a chip and said "This chip will not survive the party," then ate it. It was really funny.
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
I'm going to Prom tomorrow, but not with my girlfriend. I wish I was going with my girlfriend, but I'm going with Catie, which is almost as good. It should still be fun.
I successfully made spagetti by myself, without anyone telling me what to do. And it actually tasted good.
Finally, for those of you who don't already know, I've decided to go to Wooster, despite the presence of my meddlesome doppleganger. I'll manage.
One more story I have to share. Levi was here top see West Side Story (which was awesome, by the way) and we played the party quirks game. My quirk was Morgan Freeman. Jonah got it when I picked up a chip and said "This chip will not survive the party," then ate it. It was really funny.
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
20 April 2006
Have I already used traffic cones?
Today has been a day for retrospection. It started when I realized I should start making a newspaper portfolio. I started pouring through our ridiculously disorganised archives to find papers from sophomore year. It made me think about that year, that year's seniors. How different I am now from then, and from them, and how the same too. Then in band we did the paperwork for the banquet and I had to report my favorite band memory. Anyway, it's just been a day of thinking about the past.
I like myself more now, I think, then I ever have. And other people like me too. And it wasn't the senior year that I planned for by a long shot, but I think it all worked out for the best. What's the cliche'd quote? "I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be"? Something like that. And now it's all almost over and it's all starting over again, because of course it never ends until it does, and then you're dead. That's my own quote by the way.
So, anyhoo, the blogosphere as they call it these days has been eerily quiet of late, and I dissapprove strongly. So please recommence existing, all of you. You too, Evie.
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
I like myself more now, I think, then I ever have. And other people like me too. And it wasn't the senior year that I planned for by a long shot, but I think it all worked out for the best. What's the cliche'd quote? "I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be"? Something like that. And now it's all almost over and it's all starting over again, because of course it never ends until it does, and then you're dead. That's my own quote by the way.
So, anyhoo, the blogosphere as they call it these days has been eerily quiet of late, and I dissapprove strongly. So please recommence existing, all of you. You too, Evie.
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
15 April 2006
Very well. You make me sad. Come, Patsy.
It is with the deepest regret that I inform you that in all likelihood I will not be able to attend "West Side Story." My intention was to come tomorrow, but upon arriving at home I discovered that I am previously engaged to do Easter with my mom's family beginning at 4 that day and not almost beyond question not ending until after the show has commenced. I wish this was not the case; I even wondered aloud if the festivities could be started earlier, but it was not to be. My mind then turned to attending last night, but I did not even get home until 7, which I am assuming was the time the show started.
Can you tell I've been reading Jane Austen again?
I'm really, really sorry and really, really sad. Will the performance be taped?
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
Can you tell I've been reading Jane Austen again?
I'm really, really sorry and really, really sad. Will the performance be taped?
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
14 April 2006
Clementines
So I didn't realize the PC was over until I'd already finished this: 
Too bad. Maybe I'll get in on the next one.
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
Too bad. Maybe I'll get in on the next one.
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
13 April 2006
Bagel Beagle Eagle
Nathan Pills: Will cause increased ability to do the moonwalk | ||
| 'What effect do you have on people?' at href="http://www.quizgalaxy.com" style="color: #FF0000;">QuizGalaxy.com | ||
Now that that's over with...
West Side Story. Tomorrow and Saturday. 7:00. It promises not to suck.
Also please note that my title scheme has changed, but I won't tell you how.
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
11 April 2006
Killing you is going to be terrible for my self-esteem
Marten Pills: Will cause involuntary commitment to a mental institution | ||
| 'What effect do you have on people?' at QuizGalaxy.com | ||
Ain't that the Truth. I'm gonna build a lightsaber now.
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
07 April 2006
They say they're seamstresses. Hem, hem.
Tonight is the opening night of the one-acts I'm in. "I, Said the Sparrow," my play, kicks all kinds of ass and I'm excited about it.
Tonight I also make my grand debut as a lady of negotiable affection. On Monday the girl who was supposed to be the walk-on hooker in the second show of the night quit, and I was in the right place at the right time. So now? I'm a whore!
It's really fun and exciting and involves very difficult heels and a lot of fishnet and a pleather halter dress I do not quite fill out. I spend a lot of my time getting ready giggling. When I told my mom about it, the first thing she asked was, "Is this play a comedy?" "Um... kind of. A little. Why?" "Because there's a very good chance that when you come out Aunt Barbara and I are going to start laughing."
I've been assured that I am the most unconvincing prostitute in the history of the world. But that's okay! Because we have decided that I'm not *really* a hooker. I am actually Melissa Thorne, my homicide detective character from "Sparrow," undercover in vice before she went into homicide.
So, in conclusion, wish me to break a leg (but not literally, which is a real possibility in the crazy sparkly heels). I'll be having pictures taken.
And, in conclusion, the motto of the Guild of Seamstresses: "Nil Volupti, Sine Lucre."
And, for Melissa, the motto of the Watch: "Fabricati Diem, Punc."
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
Tonight I also make my grand debut as a lady of negotiable affection. On Monday the girl who was supposed to be the walk-on hooker in the second show of the night quit, and I was in the right place at the right time. So now? I'm a whore!
It's really fun and exciting and involves very difficult heels and a lot of fishnet and a pleather halter dress I do not quite fill out. I spend a lot of my time getting ready giggling. When I told my mom about it, the first thing she asked was, "Is this play a comedy?" "Um... kind of. A little. Why?" "Because there's a very good chance that when you come out Aunt Barbara and I are going to start laughing."
I've been assured that I am the most unconvincing prostitute in the history of the world. But that's okay! Because we have decided that I'm not *really* a hooker. I am actually Melissa Thorne, my homicide detective character from "Sparrow," undercover in vice before she went into homicide.
So, in conclusion, wish me to break a leg (but not literally, which is a real possibility in the crazy sparkly heels). I'll be having pictures taken.
And, in conclusion, the motto of the Guild of Seamstresses: "Nil Volupti, Sine Lucre."
And, for Melissa, the motto of the Watch: "Fabricati Diem, Punc."
But this rooster has a beak. A beak that cries out ‘Death-a-doodle-doo!’
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