I know! I'll write about how stupid I am!

Originally posted on MySpace blog on 11/21/06

All right. Clearly, it's a good thing I'm not breeding yet.
Last night at rehearsal, I decided to start dressing up in my costumes. Dress-rehearsals start next week, but we were told we could start now if we wanted to. So, one of my first costume changes is into a snowman, complete with top hat and corn-cob pipe. My character, Felicity, is clumsy and not taken entirely seriously because she's the youngest. At one point in the scene where I am the snowman, one of the characters-- who's dressed as Santa-- whacks me with a bag of toys a knocks me to the ground.
Do you see where I'm going with this? I'll elaborate.
This was the first rehearsal I'd used the corn-cob pipe in. I'd actually just bought it, yesterday, for $3.00 (I'm so proud that I paid so little). In every rehearsal to that point, Santa had been smacking me in the face with the toy sack because, let's face it, that's funny.
Okay, you see where I'm going with this now, right? It's common sense to avoid getting hit in the face when you have a pointy something in your mouth. Children aren't usually taught this in school or anything, but it's sort of understood. It's stupid to get smacked in the face when there's a pointy stick in your mouth.
Well, that's not what I was thinking about at the time. I'm not sure what I was thinking, actually. It was probably something along the lines of, "I hope this looks funny." Sigh...
So, Santa smacks me in the face, and I fall like I'm suppose to. Before I fall, the pipe shoots all the way to the back of my throat. At the time, I thought the back of my tongue stopped it. I say, "I don't think that's going to work," and promptly start crying. The whole cast starts comforting me and asking if I'm going to be alright. I blubber that I'll be fine and that I always cry when I get hit in the face. One of my cast members comforts me with sarcasm.
"I love getting hit in the face. Sometimes I pay people to hit me in the face." She says.
Santa feels just awful, but I assure her that it's my fault, because I should have realized that wasn't a good idea. We reblock the scene so that Santa whacks me in the chest, and I don't even have the pipe in my mouth by that time.
We go through rehearsal with my throat sore. The whole time, I'm assuming I have a welt on my tongue. It wasn't until I came home and tried to show it to my mom, when she shrieked and informed me I had a hole in the back of my throat. I went into the bathroom, saying "No I don't", and looked in the mirror. Sure enough, there was a hole the size of the mouth-piece of the pipe in the back of my throat. I promptly said, "Oh, I do."
So we looked online to see what action to take next. WebMD was down for updating, so I went on ask.com and typed in, "puncture wound to the back of the throat." I immediately got a link to a site that said the wound had to be treated within 6-8 hours after it occured (or else, I could get bad infections, like encephalitis or other scary things). So it was off to the emergency room.
Fortunately, most people had not been as stupid as I had and we got in right away. The doctor looked at the wound, I had x-rays taken, I recieved a shot of antibiotics in my butt (which is still sore, by the way), I was given a ten-day prescription of antibiotics and sent home. They told me that the inside of the mouth heals quickly and on it's own, so I should be fine.
I don't have health insurance, so they had me file paperwork for county aid. If I'm refused by the county, the hospital has a payment program for me. So, yes, I'm looking for a new or second job. I don't feel so bad about my lack of finding employement over the course of this year. There was a story in Sunday's paper about how there are just over 161,000 working people living in the High Desert, and just over 51,000 jobs for all of them, and those numbers keep rising, because more and more people keep moving here. So, as long as I can justify the gas I may look down the hill, again. We'll see.

Most things in life don't go according to plan, anyway

Originally posted on MySpace blog on 11/4/06:

This week was an interesting week. I was kind of frustrated at how things have turned out, but that's sort of the norm for me. I was stressed over spending money to make my Halloween costume work. I was a fairy with green hair and purple wings. I took pictures, but I am not a fan of the Photobucket (because it takes, like, half a day to load one picture) and I've forgotten my password. The pics shall be posted, but I'm not making any promises as to when. Also, once I figure out how to do that, I'm going to erase and replace my current pics, as they're directly from my computer and the only ones I can fit onto my pics page.
Anyway, onto that whole money thing. How can I describe this without being too blunt about the situation? Say you're a mermaid and you want to make a pearl necklace, as mermaids are oft to do. You need 100 pearls to make a decent necklace. Every day for a month, you help King Neptune keep the currents going the way their supposed to and you keep up with your sailor-drowning quota. At the end of the month, the king pays you only 4 pearls. Also, each month, the loan sharks take three of those pearls away, leaving you only one pearl a month. You soon figure it out that you may never make that necklace as long as you work for King Neptune. So you make your plans to get yourself into a better situation. You're not entirely sure how that's going to come about, but you're optimistic. In the mean-time, you're still just drowning sailors.
Well, that's basically how I've been feeling for a while, now. Except, I'm not underwater and I'm not actually killing anyone. Otherwise, it's almost the exact same thing. Almost.
Rehearsals for the play are going pretty well. We need to be off-book for the first act by Monday. I'm starting to get critical about the play, but I'm mostly keeping it to myself. It's not anything terrible, just little things. Most likely, those things will fix themselves once we're off-book.
Well, I think that pretty much covers things, for now.

Guess what's premiering tonight?

Originally posted on MySpace blog on 10/4/06:

Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost!

Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost!

Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost!
Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost!

Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost!

Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost!

Oh, yeah, and I dyed my hair back to brunette. Also, I made it into that play. I'll post info on my page when I have it all. If you're in the area, you should come see it. It'll be funnier than, um, lots of things.

I have to admit, it's getting better.

Originally posted on MySpace, 9/21/06:

Just a little update to let you know that things are actually okay. A few weeks ago, my mom had shoulder surgery. Her shoulder had gotten so bad ("how bad was it?"), that if they hadn't opperated fairly soon, we may have had to nick-name her "Lefty". I am not even kidding, it was apparently very bad, but she's doing fine, now. She's going to be in physical therapy for a while, and I am now her chauffer. You know, I don't mind it so much. I thought we'd drive each other crazy, but we're getting along pretty well. The oddest thing has been happening when we do piss each other off: we talk it out. I know! Strange though it may seem, it actually works. So that's cool.
Also, I think I have a decent shot at getting into a play. This would completely rock, as the production sounds like loads of fun and it would be my first time acting in, like, six years. For about a week, I haven't been looking for a job. You know what? A place I interviewed with called me this morning and offered me a job. It meets all of my requirements (a. It pays me with a check, and b. I don't have to worry about getting seriously injured there). And then I got a call from another place that I'd like to work at for an interview. I told them I'd accepted a job, but they told me if it didn't work out that I could give them a call.
So I'm not going to push it and say that things are turning around, but they certainly seem to be going in a good direction. Soon, I can start paying bills and go to the salon, where I think I may become a brunette, again. Because, honestly, I haven't had more fun as a blonde. It's also hard to keep up when you're broke. It's been like ten weeks since I've colored my hair. I'm starting to look like a brunette with a lousy at-home highlight job.

Hello?... Anybody there?...

Granted, it's been a long time since I've posted here. If anyone actually reads my posts anymore, I'm sorry for neglecting you. The truth is, I've been posting solely on MySpace. I said I wasn't going to do that, but I've up and done it. I'm not going to abandon this blog, because it was my first, and I don't know if can actually abandon it. I think it'll just float forever in virtual reality, like some non-existant space junk. So what I'm going to start doing is double posting. For ever blog post I put on my MySpace blog, I'll put here, too. I know, it's not nearly as personal, and it's the epitome of redundancy, but it's the best thing I can think of at the moment.
I'll also post a link to my MySpace page. Even if you're not a member, I think you can pretty much look at it. So I'll just post my past blog post from there and date them, and then I'll just double-post in mostly-real time from then on.

Our Trip to the Zoo, Part 5

Poor zebra, he's so bored. He longs to be free to roam the zoo, buy a pretzel and get his picture taken by someone who'll charge him $20 a print. Mr. Z, you don't know how good you've got it.
The Flamingos were great. They're housed with the ducks, who are very raucous neighbors. They were making all kinds of noise, chasing eachother and occasionally running into these pink birds.
This third one reminded Janet of a vaccuum cleaner as he continued to drag his beak accross the pond's floor. I like the ripplage in this picture.
Thus concludes my series of zoo pics.

 

Our Trip to the Zoo, Part 4

This is the daddy panda. The panda exhibit kind of bugged me, not because of the signs that said we had to be quiet, but because of the way it is formatted. Instead of being able to walk up to the panda habitat, guests have to walk through a line. An unecessarily long line. The line was dragged outside of the exhibit, and when we finally got inside the exhibit we saw that the congestion was caused by stupid people. These people would wait to get as close to the pandas as they possibly could, whip out their $500+ cameras and spend minutes taking pictures. In a normal exhibit that's understandable to me, but this was a line. Lines are meant to move; click, click and you're done! Now I know their cameras are great and all, but come on! These people weren't satisfied with one or two great shots, oh no. They had to get every moment of cuteness these pandas could squeeze out. I was extremely lucky to get this second picture of the baby panda about to pick his teeth or his nose with his lunch!
The third picture is of a sunburned Me on a reflective polar bear stature. I don't know if you could tell, but staying on that bear was not an easy task.
 

Our Trip to the Zoo, Part 3

This is what's known as a Bearded Warthog. We knew him as stinky. For being so fierce (you can't see his teeth in this picture), these guys were actually kind of cute. At one point they just kept chasing each other around their pin. He kind of reminds me of a soldier in the Civil War.
I'm not really sure what this next little guy is. I missed the sign. But he kind of looks like a punked-out Bambi. He has his little mohawk and his antler piercings. He's hard core and cute as can be!
The third photo is of some flowers at a break area. I just liked the colors. Just in case you don't already know, the drinking fountain water at the zoo is yucky, and made me feel crummy in the tummy. Of course, it could've also been the heat and all of the walking we did. You're better off paying $3.50 (part of the money is a zoo donation) for a bottle of water from a machine.
 

Our Trip to the Zoo, Part 2

Our following two photos are of meerkats. If you've ever wondered what meerkats look like, or live under a rock and have never watched "The Lion King", then feast your eyes upon the first two cuddly pictures. Look at the first little guy digging a hole so he can hide from all of our cameras. Aww... Or the second one, who was posing for us. You can tell which one has been there a while.
The third photo is of a mommy and baby warthog eating together. I was so proud of this pic. I framed them in the leaves and it looked great in the viewer on my camera. But upon loading it onto my computer, I realized I had a great picture of some leaves. But I decided to post it, anyway, for memory's sake.

Our Trip to the Zoo, Part 1

Last Thursday, Briggidy, Brandy, Their Aunt Kathy, their cousins Julie, Janet and I all went to the San Diego Zoo. It was great. We all laughed at everything and all the animals were super-cute. By the end, we were all tired and cranky. Okay, by the end, I was tired and cranky. But we still all had fun. I was sore and exhausted for three days, afterwards, after all of the walking we did. But we finished off the night with chocolate chip pancakes, so it was all in all a great day.
I didn't take nearly as many pictures as some of the others, but I thought I would space these out, anyway. The first one is of a Tree Kangaroo, who clearly is not in a tree. The second photo is of two of the Giraffs you can feed at two different times each day. Most of us fed them. Their tongues are long and slimey, but they have hand sanitizer for after they've taken your biscut. The third photo is a cute baby Giraff. Apparently, when a Giraff is born, she falls six feet to the ground. We think it's scary when we're born: it's cold, bright and who are all these people staring at you? At least we don't have to drop a great distance to the ground and are expected to immediately stand up. We're such wimps.