(no subject)
My father bashed his shin against the hitching post that sticks out the back of the U-Haul. By eleven AM, it was swollen and bloody. Also, the moving men threw miniature temper tantrums because apparently, no one informed them that there were stairs.
As you can see, it set out to be a brilliant day.
Saying goodbye to my wife was much harder than I thought it would be. I broke down like a blubbering weenie and bawwwwwed in the bathroom 'til I could bawwwwwww no more. But we were on the road by one, which was earlier than we'd expected. Our tiny caravan included my dad in the U-Haul, me in Blink (AKA my ancient but well-maintained CRV) and my mother in her RAV.
And as it turns out, I still had plenty of liquid left to weep out. One of the first songs to come on my iPod was "Put It Out For Good" by Amy Ray, which contains the lyrics "I'm an overachiever of the wrong persuasion" and "I've got this spark, I've got to feed it something or put it out for good."
Directly afterwards was Jack's Manneqin's "Swim." - "You gotta swim, don't let yourself sink; just find the horizon, I promise you it's not as far as you think."
I almost crashed my car. Tears make it real hard to see, in case you didn't know, f-list.
We stopped for dinner in a hokey little Alabama joint whose name I can't remember. Deliciousness ensued.
We've stopped in an equally hokey little Alabama town whose name I can't remember. We're about an hour and a half outside of Atlanta, and I've been spending my evening watching season two of The IT Crowd.
I made the mistake of checking MySpace and saw that the Boosh boys are doing a secret show in NY on the 21st. Which I naturally can't go to. Nor can I go to San Diego to view their shenanigans at Comicon.
I don't understand why this leaves me near tears. Actually, yeah. I do. I want their lives. Good God, I would give up twenty years of my own life to be Noel or Julian on the night of one of their live shows. I'm not kidding.
I have to remind myself that they're just two people. They're two very clever, very funny people, but they're two people, nonetheless. I'm clever. I'm funny. Not as much so as they are, but I've got my own charms. And I shouldn't strive for someone else's life. I should strive for my own way to make an impression on the world.
So, why not get my own comedy group together? I've joked about it before, but seriously. Why not? All female, all American.
And I've got another idea for a TV show. Possibly more mainstream. Sort of... I dunno, Sex in the City meets Entourage meets Ugly Betty. More on that later.
Maybe the Boosh boys will go to DragonCon. Hell, there's no reason I couldn't go to DragonCon. As of tomorrow, I'll be an official Atlanta resident, after all. :3 And if anyone is planning on going, let me know. Maybe we can meet up, hang out, chillax. You know the deal.
I've never been so overwhelmed with the inescapable, physically painful desire to be famous. Okay, "famous" is a bad word. I don't want to have to wear big hats and dark glasses every time I leave the house. I just want a few people to recognize me every now and then. But still, that's a horrible thing to wish for; I'm only setting myself up for disaster. But I can't help it. That's what I want. People don't really want that, do they? I mean, yeah, everyone dreams, but to seriously think that it could happen? To honestly give the idea merit? Who the fuck does that?
It's about time for me to get the hell over myself. Dontcha think, f-list? :/
Last night, I had a dream that I was in a press conference with Obama, and he walked out, declaring that he had better things to do, and his time wasn't free. Then, I walked around the convention center with Lee Tergeson, and we held hands.
I don't know what this means, but I feel Albuquerque looming.
As you can see, it set out to be a brilliant day.
Saying goodbye to my wife was much harder than I thought it would be. I broke down like a blubbering weenie and bawwwwwed in the bathroom 'til I could bawwwwwww no more. But we were on the road by one, which was earlier than we'd expected. Our tiny caravan included my dad in the U-Haul, me in Blink (AKA my ancient but well-maintained CRV) and my mother in her RAV.
And as it turns out, I still had plenty of liquid left to weep out. One of the first songs to come on my iPod was "Put It Out For Good" by Amy Ray, which contains the lyrics "I'm an overachiever of the wrong persuasion" and "I've got this spark, I've got to feed it something or put it out for good."
Directly afterwards was Jack's Manneqin's "Swim." - "You gotta swim, don't let yourself sink; just find the horizon, I promise you it's not as far as you think."
I almost crashed my car. Tears make it real hard to see, in case you didn't know, f-list.
We stopped for dinner in a hokey little Alabama joint whose name I can't remember. Deliciousness ensued.
We've stopped in an equally hokey little Alabama town whose name I can't remember. We're about an hour and a half outside of Atlanta, and I've been spending my evening watching season two of The IT Crowd.
I made the mistake of checking MySpace and saw that the Boosh boys are doing a secret show in NY on the 21st. Which I naturally can't go to. Nor can I go to San Diego to view their shenanigans at Comicon.
I don't understand why this leaves me near tears. Actually, yeah. I do. I want their lives. Good God, I would give up twenty years of my own life to be Noel or Julian on the night of one of their live shows. I'm not kidding.
I have to remind myself that they're just two people. They're two very clever, very funny people, but they're two people, nonetheless. I'm clever. I'm funny. Not as much so as they are, but I've got my own charms. And I shouldn't strive for someone else's life. I should strive for my own way to make an impression on the world.
So, why not get my own comedy group together? I've joked about it before, but seriously. Why not? All female, all American.
And I've got another idea for a TV show. Possibly more mainstream. Sort of... I dunno, Sex in the City meets Entourage meets Ugly Betty. More on that later.
Maybe the Boosh boys will go to DragonCon. Hell, there's no reason I couldn't go to DragonCon. As of tomorrow, I'll be an official Atlanta resident, after all. :3 And if anyone is planning on going, let me know. Maybe we can meet up, hang out, chillax. You know the deal.
I've never been so overwhelmed with the inescapable, physically painful desire to be famous. Okay, "famous" is a bad word. I don't want to have to wear big hats and dark glasses every time I leave the house. I just want a few people to recognize me every now and then. But still, that's a horrible thing to wish for; I'm only setting myself up for disaster. But I can't help it. That's what I want. People don't really want that, do they? I mean, yeah, everyone dreams, but to seriously think that it could happen? To honestly give the idea merit? Who the fuck does that?
It's about time for me to get the hell over myself. Dontcha think, f-list? :/
Last night, I had a dream that I was in a press conference with Obama, and he walked out, declaring that he had better things to do, and his time wasn't free. Then, I walked around the convention center with Lee Tergeson, and we held hands.
I don't know what this means, but I feel Albuquerque looming.