Nope, I didn't die. (But you probably already knew that). Here's a big shout out to RY and Holly, and the other 6 people who read my blog. I'm sorry to have disappointed you for the past year and a half, but to be fair, we all knew it would happen.* I have had a zillion ridiculous adventures since moving to SF, but something happened last night that I felt the urge to share en masse.
Having zero plans and low funds, my friends and I decided to attend a free show by a local improv class. (We had the same low expectations for the show as you have reading this post). Little did we know before arriving that the basis of the show was messed up relationships, they randomly chose one member of the audience to share their last bad experience and then acted the whole thing out. Predictably enough, I was the unfortunate audience member chosen.***
I was called up to stage to be interviewed, but before they asked any questions about the story, they asked about me. Upon hearing that I was an opera singer, the interviewer began to trivialize my work and education. (Yes, the community improv performer was making fun of what I do). He was shocked that I didn't just go around and "opera" all the time and asked what I did all day, which I futilely attempted to explain. Finally he said, "And you like, are a performer?", to which I foolishly joked, "Of course, it's like what you do, but harder".**** BIG FREAKING MISTAKE.
Apparently improv folks don't like you joking, because that is their job. What followed was the world's most awkward show which consisted of half the troupe acting out my embarrassing dating past, and the other half acting out variations of me insulting them. Great. Sitting in the audience my cheeks got redder and redder, and not because it was hot or I'd had one too many. I would have apologized, but that was before they made fun of my hat, my vest, and my career. It was sort of like that dream where you are really embarrassed in front of a large group of people, but then you wake up and get some coffee and everything is better. Only I didn't get to wake up and there wasn't any coffee, so I guess it wasn't anything like that dream.
Mercifully enough, the show finally ended and little damage was done. I was able to walk away with very few people knowing what happened. And then I typed it up and put it on the internet. Whoops.
*Just to clarify: The way that I disappointed them was through not writing any blog posts, not by something else disappointing like dating someone they wouldn't approve of**, or robbing a mini-mall.
**Although Holly did meet the person I'm currently dating, and I'm not sure if she approves or not.
***If you are caught up on my dating life, me getting chosen makes complete sense. For those of you who are unfamiliar, picking me to talk about bad relationships was like picking Emeril to discuss recipes...
****Comedians: Before you get mad, you should know that I auditioned for the improv troupe in high school and didn't get in. Maybe if I had I would have developed a whole different set of interests. As it is, I am a singer who respects good comedy and good comedians. Don't get huffy.
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Thursday, June 13, 2013
I'm not homeless, I just have a general disregard for personal hygiene
Congratulate me- I took my car in for an oil change. (This doesn't seem like the biggest deal to those who don't know me, so let me explain). I saw this as a totally grown-up thing to do as I was preparing to drive my car across the freaking country.* I took time last Saturday, went to the mechanic, and had my oil changed. As I drove away, the breaks went out. Whoops. I had my car towed back to the mechanic after they were already closed Saturday night, which sets the scene for Sunday's event. (In case you wondering what an oil change had to do with me being mistaken for a vagrant).
Desperately in want of something to eat (but having no car to pick it up and nothing in my kitchen to cook with) I walked to the drug store near my home. I picked out a diet coke, a frozen pizza, and some diapers for Maude which I paid for with all of the loose change found around the home while packing.** Immediately after I finished paying I began to laugh manically, but after realizing that laughing to yourself wasn't super normskies, I tried to explain to the puzzled cashier that I had just bought a frozen pizza and had nothing to cook it on or cut it with. He didn't seem to find me as funny as I found me.
Complete Stranger in the parking lot (CS): "Ma'am, do you live near here?"
Me: "Yea, sure. I stay nearby." (Thinking I shouldn't tell her my house was around the corner, stranger danger and all that).
CS: "Well, my church has a program to help people like you".
Me: "Oh, I'll be fine. I have a way to heat it up, and I can get creative with everything else!" (Figuring she was offering to help me with the frozen pizza dilemma).
CS: "Well we have a program that can help you get clean, find a job and a place to live..."
Me: "No worries, my friend is picking me up for work tomorrow morning, and I still have a place to live" (Clearly not getting it).
CS: "We can even help you find some new clothes"
Me: "What's wrong with my clothes?"
CS: "You are wearing long sleeves and pants in layers, and it's over 80 degrees out".
Me: "I'm a redhead, I burn easily".
At this point I turned to leave, she reached into her wallet and tried to hand me money, which I declined as I walked up and into the woods. I chose to meander in the trees for a bit, because I didn't want this weirdo following me to my house. It wasn't until ten minutes later that I replayed the conversation and realized that the woman thought I was a drug addict, and homeless, and probably hiding a young baby in the woods- due to my purchasing Maude's diapers.
How does this always happen to me? *** Admittedly, I had been packing up my house and walking around in high heat, so I wasn't very clean or smell goody. I also paid for my mini-mart purchases in spare change, which probably didn't help the scenario. But dude, didn't she see my glasses?****
Next time this happens I should probably take the money. I am a musician, after all, and am never far from asking for handouts anyways.
*Planning, thinking ahead, and giving any thought or consideration towards automobiles are not things I normally do well. Mommy wow, I'm a big kid now!
**Which I carried in a basket. That's not weird at all. I carried a basket to the mini-mart, as opposed to loading all of the nickels and dimes into my purse and counting them from there.
***I say "this" in reference to ridiculous encounters with complete strangers. I do not use "this" in reference to being mistaken for a homeless druggy, because that was the first time it has ever happened to me. I'd like to say first and only, but let's just say first for now.
****MegRo and I play a lovely game called homeless or hipster. At times the only way you can tell them apart is that the hipster carries an iphone and the vagrant carries a sign. And the glasses. Hipsters wear glasses.*****
*****Not that I'm a hipster. But I do wear glasses. That's all I meant. I'm not a hipster. I'm not.
Desperately in want of something to eat (but having no car to pick it up and nothing in my kitchen to cook with) I walked to the drug store near my home. I picked out a diet coke, a frozen pizza, and some diapers for Maude which I paid for with all of the loose change found around the home while packing.** Immediately after I finished paying I began to laugh manically, but after realizing that laughing to yourself wasn't super normskies, I tried to explain to the puzzled cashier that I had just bought a frozen pizza and had nothing to cook it on or cut it with. He didn't seem to find me as funny as I found me.
Complete Stranger in the parking lot (CS): "Ma'am, do you live near here?"
Me: "Yea, sure. I stay nearby." (Thinking I shouldn't tell her my house was around the corner, stranger danger and all that).
CS: "Well, my church has a program to help people like you".
Me: "Oh, I'll be fine. I have a way to heat it up, and I can get creative with everything else!" (Figuring she was offering to help me with the frozen pizza dilemma).
CS: "Well we have a program that can help you get clean, find a job and a place to live..."
Me: "No worries, my friend is picking me up for work tomorrow morning, and I still have a place to live" (Clearly not getting it).
CS: "We can even help you find some new clothes"
Me: "What's wrong with my clothes?"
CS: "You are wearing long sleeves and pants in layers, and it's over 80 degrees out".
Me: "I'm a redhead, I burn easily".
At this point I turned to leave, she reached into her wallet and tried to hand me money, which I declined as I walked up and into the woods. I chose to meander in the trees for a bit, because I didn't want this weirdo following me to my house. It wasn't until ten minutes later that I replayed the conversation and realized that the woman thought I was a drug addict, and homeless, and probably hiding a young baby in the woods- due to my purchasing Maude's diapers.
How does this always happen to me? *** Admittedly, I had been packing up my house and walking around in high heat, so I wasn't very clean or smell goody. I also paid for my mini-mart purchases in spare change, which probably didn't help the scenario. But dude, didn't she see my glasses?****
Next time this happens I should probably take the money. I am a musician, after all, and am never far from asking for handouts anyways.
*Planning, thinking ahead, and giving any thought or consideration towards automobiles are not things I normally do well. Mommy wow, I'm a big kid now!
**Which I carried in a basket. That's not weird at all. I carried a basket to the mini-mart, as opposed to loading all of the nickels and dimes into my purse and counting them from there.
***I say "this" in reference to ridiculous encounters with complete strangers. I do not use "this" in reference to being mistaken for a homeless druggy, because that was the first time it has ever happened to me. I'd like to say first and only, but let's just say first for now.
****MegRo and I play a lovely game called homeless or hipster. At times the only way you can tell them apart is that the hipster carries an iphone and the vagrant carries a sign. And the glasses. Hipsters wear glasses.*****
*****Not that I'm a hipster. But I do wear glasses. That's all I meant. I'm not a hipster. I'm not.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
When someone helps you move, the polite thing to do is immobilize them in plastic... right?
"How am I a 27 year old woman that doesn't own a matching set of glasses, but has a shot glass from every state and seven cookie sheets?" - A worthy question from a worthy Sister as we pack up our kitchen.
I am facing my last week in my lovely little home in the Wood. Not that this matters to most of you, as most of my readers and friends are spread across the country/globe/universe. I can hear you questioning now "Oh shoot, is this going to be sentimental nonsense instead of a funny story?" The answer is a resounding NO! I just wanted to share this awesome picture of the TDS* wrapped up in mover's plastic wrap.
*Third Durham Sister. We have accepted her as one of us.
**She did ask for wine, which also seemed reasonable. However when I returned with a cheap white we realized that the kitchen had already been packed. The most logical thing to do? Unpack the kitchen boxes until we find a corkscrew, drink the wine, repack the kitchen boxes. Not the most brilliant plan, but definitely the most rewarding.
I am facing my last week in my lovely little home in the Wood. Not that this matters to most of you, as most of my readers and friends are spread across the country/globe/universe. I can hear you questioning now "Oh shoot, is this going to be sentimental nonsense instead of a funny story?" The answer is a resounding NO! I just wanted to share this awesome picture of the TDS* wrapped up in mover's plastic wrap.
She came to the house and spent hours helping us pack asking for nothing but the nickels and dimes she found on the floor**, and we rewarded her by wrapping her up and taking photos. Lovely.
This is my last week in this little state, and then my adventures will be coming to you via the road between here and San Francisco!
*Third Durham Sister. We have accepted her as one of us.
**She did ask for wine, which also seemed reasonable. However when I returned with a cheap white we realized that the kitchen had already been packed. The most logical thing to do? Unpack the kitchen boxes until we find a corkscrew, drink the wine, repack the kitchen boxes. Not the most brilliant plan, but definitely the most rewarding.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Turns out, my sister's not a murderer
Before you get too involved with the post, please consider how similar these two pictures are:
It's no secret that Maude and Sister don't get along very well. One of them consistently calls the other mean names while the other habitually urinates on the former's carpet. (See if you can figure out which is which...) I love them both, and usually try to stay out of whatever feud it is that they have had running for the past two years.*
Yesterday was a banner day for the two of them. Maude somehow broke free of her kennel, broke out of her diaper**, broke into Sister's room and defecated*** throughout. Sister was a little angry and told me she was going to "kill my dog", a threat I've heard before and never taken to heart. I told her she should be impressed that my severely handicapped dog was so handicapable.
Some hours later, Katie sends me a text warning me not to park in the driveway. When I ask her why, she sent a very disturbing text:
(Warning. This photo has been blurred to protect you from the gruesome image that appeared on my phone screen).
Holy smokes, my sister actually killed my dog! I knew she was mildly passive aggressive, but this was just downright cruel! Just yesterday I had seen Maude in the same position and found her pathetic and adorable:
To make what could be an episode of Judge Judy short- the animal in our driveway was a rabbit. And it was dead when she got there. Sister has once again evaded the iron hammer of the law by doing nothing wrong. If you could zoom in on the picture that I blurred, you would see a large pair of rabbit ears, just like I saw when I zoomed in on the text. But you can't zoom in, because I don't want to put a picture of blood and guts on my blog. That stuff is yucky, and this isn't that type of blog.
Some of you may ask why I just spent a whole twenty minutes typing a story about how I thought for a split second that my sister killed my dog. Why is this worth your time? Why did you bother reading to the end? I'll tell you: Think what a good story it is now that she didn't actually die. You just had all of the joy of reading a story of sibling rivalry, revenge, and animal cruelty- but nothing bad actually happened at the end so you don't have to feel sad. Louisa May Alcott wishes she had written this story!
*I know what the feud is over. I'm pretty sure it is about me. They both want to be the center of my attention and for me to take constant care of them. Yea, that's probably it.
**Because my dog is not only blind and deaf, but she wears a diaper. Only yesterday she didn't.
***Somebody should give me an award for using the medical term instead of something juvenile. I could have used any number of words****, but I chose to stay above bathroom humor.
****Words I could have used instead of "defecated", were I less mature: feces, stool, poop, doo doo, turd, mud cake, dookie, dump, deuce, load, butt mud... but I didn't use any of those. Yay me.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
My sister finally killed my dog... but Maude lives on!
First and foremost, thank you for all of the wonderful birthday presents/texts/songs/and statements. Here are a few of my favorites in each category...
Sung Voicemails:
1).
(To the tune of "Call Me Maybe")
Hey Molly its Jill. And it is Sunday. And I am calling, to say Happy Birthday! I know you're 25, but don't you worry. It's a good age, so Happy Birthday!
2).
Well here's a cheerful little ditty for you birthday:
Happy Birthday. Uh. Happy Birthday. Uh. People dying everywhere, misery and dark despair but Happy Birthday. Uh.
And many happy returns.
Spoken Voicemails:
1).
Hey buttface I was just calling to say Happy Birthday. So, Happy Birthday.
2).
Well I hope you have had a great birthday, if you chose to celebrate it. Because sometimes you like to pretend it didn't happen. If we are pretending, then ignore this message.
Texts:
1.)
You did it! You were birthed, way to go.
2).
I'm texting you to say Happy Birthday even if you aren't celebrating again this year. Because not celebrating is dumb. I don't mean you're dumb, just some of the things you do and think. Hope this made your day a bit brighter.
What great friends and family I have! I love/hate how my friends like to recognize that I don't like celebrating birthdays by calling me to talk about it.* The only thing missing was my annual text from Wham Bam with my face in a plate of bacon.**
There were a few not so great things about my birthday. Like how we left our first establishment and Sister had blood on her shirt that was definitely not hers.**** Or how some moron fell on the dance floor and got his adult beverage in my eye. Or how I got ridiculous flowers from some idiot I dated a few months back.*****
No matter though, my birthday was truly spectacular- I even got to see RY and his fabulous AY! Everything was going swimmingly until the next day when Sister killed Maude.This post has gotten a bit long though... I'll have write that story in the next installment!
*Not that I've ever been accused of being too dramatic, but I think my life ended after my 21st birthday. After all who was it that said "You're almost 16, you become 21, you turn 30, you push 40, you reach 50, you make it to 60". Aging is awful and I want no part in it. I've decided to stay 21 forever.
**He used to text it to me every birthday. I didn't get it this year and a piece of me died. (But a significantly smaller piece than the piece of me that dies seeing a picture of myself asleep in an IHOP booth at 3 am with my face in a plate of bacon)***
***Don't judge the things that happen after a long night of karaoke!
****Guh-ross. I don't know that we'll ever know who's blood it is. I do know that she is surprisingly adept at getting blood out of her shirt in a bathroom. Makes you wonder how many bar fights she's been in!
*****I guess when I said "Never contact me again", I must have added in, "Unless it's to send me flowers on my birthday". I've gotta stop doing that!******
****** Seriously though, the card was signed "Star crossed love". I mean, it has been awhile since I read R&J, but I'm pretty sure they weren't together because of circumstances out of their control- not because one of them was married and the other one found out and peace'd out asap. Should I brush up on my Billy Shakespeare before I head back to school?
Sung Voicemails:
1).
(To the tune of "Call Me Maybe")
Hey Molly its Jill. And it is Sunday. And I am calling, to say Happy Birthday! I know you're 25, but don't you worry. It's a good age, so Happy Birthday!
2).
Well here's a cheerful little ditty for you birthday:
Happy Birthday. Uh. Happy Birthday. Uh. People dying everywhere, misery and dark despair but Happy Birthday. Uh.
And many happy returns.
Spoken Voicemails:
1).
Hey buttface I was just calling to say Happy Birthday. So, Happy Birthday.
2).
Well I hope you have had a great birthday, if you chose to celebrate it. Because sometimes you like to pretend it didn't happen. If we are pretending, then ignore this message.
Texts:
1.)
You did it! You were birthed, way to go.
2).
I'm texting you to say Happy Birthday even if you aren't celebrating again this year. Because not celebrating is dumb. I don't mean you're dumb, just some of the things you do and think. Hope this made your day a bit brighter.
What great friends and family I have! I love/hate how my friends like to recognize that I don't like celebrating birthdays by calling me to talk about it.* The only thing missing was my annual text from Wham Bam with my face in a plate of bacon.**
There were a few not so great things about my birthday. Like how we left our first establishment and Sister had blood on her shirt that was definitely not hers.**** Or how some moron fell on the dance floor and got his adult beverage in my eye. Or how I got ridiculous flowers from some idiot I dated a few months back.*****
No matter though, my birthday was truly spectacular- I even got to see RY and his fabulous AY! Everything was going swimmingly until the next day when Sister killed Maude.This post has gotten a bit long though... I'll have write that story in the next installment!
*Not that I've ever been accused of being too dramatic, but I think my life ended after my 21st birthday. After all who was it that said "You're almost 16, you become 21, you turn 30, you push 40, you reach 50, you make it to 60". Aging is awful and I want no part in it. I've decided to stay 21 forever.
**He used to text it to me every birthday. I didn't get it this year and a piece of me died. (But a significantly smaller piece than the piece of me that dies seeing a picture of myself asleep in an IHOP booth at 3 am with my face in a plate of bacon)***
***Don't judge the things that happen after a long night of karaoke!
****Guh-ross. I don't know that we'll ever know who's blood it is. I do know that she is surprisingly adept at getting blood out of her shirt in a bathroom. Makes you wonder how many bar fights she's been in!
*****I guess when I said "Never contact me again", I must have added in, "Unless it's to send me flowers on my birthday". I've gotta stop doing that!******
****** Seriously though, the card was signed "Star crossed love". I mean, it has been awhile since I read R&J, but I'm pretty sure they weren't together because of circumstances out of their control- not because one of them was married and the other one found out and peace'd out asap. Should I brush up on my Billy Shakespeare before I head back to school?
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Because all 5 year olds love Sandi Patty
A beautiful quote from RY:
Well put RY. It does happen, a lot of it. Sometimes there just isn't enough time to write down all of the crazy shtuff that happens in my life. Sometimes there aren't words to describe certain life events. And sometimes I am trying to reduce my online presence due to an online stalker. And sometimes I exaggerate. (But rarely, so very rarely).
I have every intention of writing how Kho walked in to find me squatting over Sister's face and rolling her back and forth on a foam noodle while singing Coldplay, but that's tomorrow's little gem. Today I plan on giving you, fair reader*, 3 snippets and vignettes to update the past few days.
1. The conversation between myself and That Woman
Me: My voice teacher wants me to learn Carmen. I don't know that I can do it. I don't know that I can be seductive.
TW: Of course you can.
Me: I mean, I know I can be seductive, I'm just not sure if I can do it on stage. Oh crap, I just said that to my mother.
This was followed by a conversation about Doris Day singing "Bushel and a Peck", after which I had to hang up. I mean, there were just so many "Bushel and a Peck" jokes I was dying to make- and couldn't see myself making them to my mother! I can't make them on here either, since she reads this blog. Somebody please call me and bring up this song so I can share the slew of jokes I've conjured!
2. The hour and a half conversation I had with my bank customer service rep.*** During this phone call I learned the etymology of his name, how he thought he was Elvis in his former life, and how his dream is to work at Graceland- because he thinks that the Elvis inside him wants to return home. This phone call was only cut short because his supervisor got on the line and asked if I needed any further assistance. Did I need any further assistance? YES!!! I needed another hour to talk to this man and learn all of his fascinating crazy. Unfortunately, the call ended. (But now I can say that I met Elvis, which is pretty darn cool!)
3. My last concert as a teacher has become increasingly ridiculous due to my own whims. It started by assigning a class of fourth grade scholars a yodeling song. (In the name of world music, of course). It continued when I added instruments to the choir's song. (A washboard, musical spoons, a train whistle, slide whistles, and kazoos****). Now the concert will be further enhanced by the final song sung by all scholars. They are performing a piece by the one and only... Sandi Patty. Complete with sign language. Somebody stop me before I hurt myself. Or them.
Anywho, it's getting late and I have a big day of yodeling and washboarding to do, so I will see you all tomorrow for my own made for TLC rehab***** story. Get pumped.
*I say "fair reader" to presume you are fair as in impartial, not fair as in beautiful. I assume you are in fact partial, or you wouldn't be reading my blog. I can't, however assume you are beautiful. You could be rather homely and still be reading my blog. Or James Blunt could have written a song about you. I don't know and I don't really care**. You all have inner beauty, blah, blah, blah.
**I would care if James Blunt wrote a song about you. I really detest James Blunt.
***Due to the supposed fraudulent activity on my credit card. It wasn't fraudulent activity. It was spur of the moment online shopping in the middle of the night after watching too many infomercials. I feel slightly judged by Wells Fargo.
****I've said it before, the kazoo is my favorite instrument. Fun, silly, easy to play. All children and adults should on a kazoo.
*****Rehab as in for a back injury. How dare you think anything else!
"When you don't blog,
i ask myself "is her life reduced to utter boringness, such that she
doesn't have anything to share, or is she just too busy for her fans, as
she will be once she hits the big time?"
I usually choose the later, because I have all of the faith that cray
cray stuff still happens, even when there is no one in the forest to
hear the tree fall".
Well put RY. It does happen, a lot of it. Sometimes there just isn't enough time to write down all of the crazy shtuff that happens in my life. Sometimes there aren't words to describe certain life events. And sometimes I am trying to reduce my online presence due to an online stalker. And sometimes I exaggerate. (But rarely, so very rarely).
I have every intention of writing how Kho walked in to find me squatting over Sister's face and rolling her back and forth on a foam noodle while singing Coldplay, but that's tomorrow's little gem. Today I plan on giving you, fair reader*, 3 snippets and vignettes to update the past few days.
1. The conversation between myself and That Woman
Me: My voice teacher wants me to learn Carmen. I don't know that I can do it. I don't know that I can be seductive.
TW: Of course you can.
Me: I mean, I know I can be seductive, I'm just not sure if I can do it on stage. Oh crap, I just said that to my mother.
This was followed by a conversation about Doris Day singing "Bushel and a Peck", after which I had to hang up. I mean, there were just so many "Bushel and a Peck" jokes I was dying to make- and couldn't see myself making them to my mother! I can't make them on here either, since she reads this blog. Somebody please call me and bring up this song so I can share the slew of jokes I've conjured!
2. The hour and a half conversation I had with my bank customer service rep.*** During this phone call I learned the etymology of his name, how he thought he was Elvis in his former life, and how his dream is to work at Graceland- because he thinks that the Elvis inside him wants to return home. This phone call was only cut short because his supervisor got on the line and asked if I needed any further assistance. Did I need any further assistance? YES!!! I needed another hour to talk to this man and learn all of his fascinating crazy. Unfortunately, the call ended. (But now I can say that I met Elvis, which is pretty darn cool!)
3. My last concert as a teacher has become increasingly ridiculous due to my own whims. It started by assigning a class of fourth grade scholars a yodeling song. (In the name of world music, of course). It continued when I added instruments to the choir's song. (A washboard, musical spoons, a train whistle, slide whistles, and kazoos****). Now the concert will be further enhanced by the final song sung by all scholars. They are performing a piece by the one and only... Sandi Patty. Complete with sign language. Somebody stop me before I hurt myself. Or them.
Anywho, it's getting late and I have a big day of yodeling and washboarding to do, so I will see you all tomorrow for my own made for TLC rehab***** story. Get pumped.
*I say "fair reader" to presume you are fair as in impartial, not fair as in beautiful. I assume you are in fact partial, or you wouldn't be reading my blog. I can't, however assume you are beautiful. You could be rather homely and still be reading my blog. Or James Blunt could have written a song about you. I don't know and I don't really care**. You all have inner beauty, blah, blah, blah.
**I would care if James Blunt wrote a song about you. I really detest James Blunt.
***Due to the supposed fraudulent activity on my credit card. It wasn't fraudulent activity. It was spur of the moment online shopping in the middle of the night after watching too many infomercials. I feel slightly judged by Wells Fargo.
****I've said it before, the kazoo is my favorite instrument. Fun, silly, easy to play. All children and adults should on a kazoo.
*****Rehab as in for a back injury. How dare you think anything else!
Monday, March 18, 2013
An adventure without the "mis"- who knew?
RY is pressuring me to update my blog*, and I've been meaning to... but I've just been so darn busy! Many of you are itching to know what my life's been like for the past few days, and you should know that it has been absolutely fabulous. (No scary or embarrassing encounters, sorry to disappoint). I was invited to Hometown to sing in a concert with some of the most talented people I know, which was nerve-racking, thrilling, honoring, and humbling. It was great to see some of my Eastern friends again, and to hear the deep voice of Fearless Leader telling me to save my voice. I can't wait for the next opportunity to perform with this group again!
Events in the past four days:
Parties: 4 (maybe 5 if you count a late night of pizza and prosecco at a mansion, which I do. So 5)
Concerts: 1 (unless you count singing at the parties, because then it would be 5. But I don't. So 1)
Glasses of champagne: ???
Peking Ducks: 13 (all in one night, which is just pretty awesome)
Reviews in the Hometown Post: 1
New Friends: 1,000,000
Grad School Offers: 2
So yeah, it's been a pretty awesome weekend.
I promise to write more soon, but now I just want to curl up and listen to the rain and some Miles Davis- if ya know what I mean.***
*Because he's a pusher. He pushes people to do things.**
**Yep, awesome MG's mention. Someday somebody will be sorry for showing me that movie, because I pretty much live by it now!
***Which most of you don't. To those of you that do, well, it's true. Shame on me, I know.
Events in the past four days:
Parties: 4 (maybe 5 if you count a late night of pizza and prosecco at a mansion, which I do. So 5)
Concerts: 1 (unless you count singing at the parties, because then it would be 5. But I don't. So 1)
Glasses of champagne: ???
Peking Ducks: 13 (all in one night, which is just pretty awesome)
Reviews in the Hometown Post: 1
New Friends: 1,000,000
Grad School Offers: 2
So yeah, it's been a pretty awesome weekend.
I promise to write more soon, but now I just want to curl up and listen to the rain and some Miles Davis- if ya know what I mean.***
*Because he's a pusher. He pushes people to do things.**
**Yep, awesome MG's mention. Someday somebody will be sorry for showing me that movie, because I pretty much live by it now!
***Which most of you don't. To those of you that do, well, it's true. Shame on me, I know.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)