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Category Archives: lists

GI Joe told me knowing was half the battle, so here, let me half-equip you for war.

Well! Things seem to have calmed down now. We all relaxed? Good, good. Take a seat. No, no. Not there. That’s where Dumbcat likes to sit. And also vomit. Also not there, as that’s where Newcat sits, and she’ll totally wolverine-attack you if you attempt to sit near her. She’s not overly polite, that cat. There are some refreshments around here somewhere. Mostly, refreshments are half a box of Ritz cheese crackers I got tired of before I finished and a pitcher of sugar-free fruit punch, but hey, no one’s allowed to complain about free snacks. Free’s free. If you’re starving and hate those things, you should have packed a granola bar or something. NO, you can’t have my Finnish chocolate or my Flake bars, those were gifts from some of my most beloved people and I’m saving them for a day I’m really sad. I am not remotely sad enough today to break into my gift-chocolate from foreign lands, therefore I cannot eat them. And neither can you. HANDS OFF, GRABBY MCGURK!

Don't even think about it, sunshine. MINE. ALL MINE.

Don’t even think about it, sunshine. MINE. ALL MINE.

Ahem. WELCOME, NEW PEOPLE! There are over a HUNDRED of you! That is CRAZINESS AND WONDERFULNESS!

Old people (wait, you’re not OLD. That sounded TERRIBLE. People who have been here all ALONG, I should say. Please forgive. I did not mean to malign your age), you are more than welcome to read along today. This is not exclusionary toward you in the least. I LOVE YOU ALL. Also, I KNOW you’re waiting for part two of the monthly stats posts. It’s coming! Tomorrow! As long as I have time to write it tonight! Promise, promise!

New people, you are most likely here for one of two reasons: a., you popped on over from reading my guest post on Black Box Warnings earlier in the week, or b., you’re here because I was Freshly Pressed on Wednesday. If it’s the former, you probably have an idea what you’re in for. You are most likely a fan of Le Clown and his most wonderful antics, and know that if I’m part of that gang (aw, am I part of that gang now? I like that so much. That’s a gang I totally want to be part of. Do I get nunchucks? Or, as they called them in my college “list of things you can’t bring with you” brochure, “chukka sticks?”) that I’m not going to be overly reverent or serious most of the time.

Ooh, these are the BEST chukka sticks because they are SUPREME.

Ooh, these are the BEST chukka sticks because they are SUPREME.

However, the people here from Freshly Pressed – well, first, hello. I’m so glad you’re here, I’m so glad you read the post and you connected with the post and are following and reading and commenting…but I have to pre-apologize.

I am very seldom as serious as I was in that post. I feel like you need to be informed as to what goes on here, for your own safety. And possibly also sanity.

It happens, sometimes. Sure it does. Sometimes things upset me and I rant for a bit. But mostly, we talk about the following things here:

  • My dad, who thinks everything is a government conspiracy and makes me laugh harder than anyone
  • Various members of the animal kingdom, heavily including my cats, Dumbcat and Newcat (whose real names cannot be revealed because they are in the Witness Relocation Program for cats because they saw a mob hit that one time, I can’t say any more for their own safety)
  • My friends, who are all perfect and amazing in various ways
  • Theater
  • Books
  • Television
  • Things that make me snort-laugh (this is a very broad category)
  • My nephew, who is the most brilliant and amazing human on the face of the earth
  • Current events that make me laugh and/or stabby
  • SCIENCE! (More on this in a bit)
  • Things I actually leave my house and do
  • Anything else that I feel like blabbering on about on any given day

As you can see, these are not very serious topics. So I feel terrible that you’ll be waiting and waiting for me to start talking about something all serious-like and keep getting posts about “ZOMG YOU GUYS ONE TIME I WAS WALKING TO MY CAR AND I HEARD SOMEONE PLAYING ‘DANNY BOY’ ON BAGPIPES IN THE PARKING LOT BUT I DON’T KNOW WHERE IT WAS COMING FROM.” (That’s a true story, by the way. It happened just the other day. It seemed to be coming from the Vo-Tech school behind our building? If that’s the case, bravo, Vo-Tech school, you seem to be teaching your students bagpipery! And it was also very sad and mournful, which is my favorite type of music to randomly hear in the parking lot.) (SIDE NOTE! Is it politically incorrect to say Vo-Tech school? I think it has a name now but I don’t know what it is. Here in New York we call it the BOCES but it’s not the BOCES, that’s just who runs it. It’s a vocational technology school where they learn things like hairdressing and car repair. Hence, vo-tech. Apologies if I’m offending anyone. Can you even imagine if I offended everyone like the first DAY and everyone left? I’d totally have lost Freshly Pressed, right?)

I found this on the internet. What is this? What does this mean? Is it a poster for a musical or something? I am perplexed.

I found this on the internet. What is this? What does this mean? Is it a poster for a musical or something? I am perplexed.

So, anyway. I decided there are some things you probably need to know about how things are around Lucy’s Football before you get confused and/or go running off into the night because that would be dangerous for you. Because I’m nothing if not helpful. NOTHING, I say. You can also get a lot of these from my Frequently Asked Questions page, if you want. But I’ll reiterate. Like a boss.

THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW!

I use ZOMG and yo a lot. Also all-caps. And SIDE NOTES. I also make up words. I’m kind of…I guess you’d say stream-of-consciousy? This annoys some people and charms others. I get it. This is how I am in real life, too. And in real life it charms some people and annoys others as well, too. That’s nice, though. That way I can weed out the people that don’t find me charming. I mean, who wants to hang out with people that don’t find them charming, I ask you?

I write blog posts that are a lot longer than your daily RDA of blog-reading. Someone told me once that you’re supposed to publish no more than 1,000 words a day. At ABSOLUTE most. Or you’ll have no one reading. Well, I get that. I do. However, I have a billion things to say. And I’ve tried writing shorter posts? But it doesn’t work. All these words just NEED TO BE SAID. So, yeah. I’d probably have more readers if I wrote shorter posts? But then I wouldn’t be me. So where do I draw the line, really?

So many delicious words. SO MANY.

So many delicious words. SO MANY.

I am unabashedly geeky about a lot of things, and when I love something, I really, REALLY love it. I don’t understand living life in a middle gray area. I am all about going big or going home. If I love someone, I really love them. (The opposite is also true. If someone is my enemy they are DEAD. TO. ME.) I go all-out for things and people and ideas. And I’m very geeky about things I love. And I’m not at all embarrassed about this. Again, this is off-putting to some people. However, the people that aren’t put off by this – well, those are my people. And I love them more than I can even describe. And would jump in front of a herd of stampeding rhinoceroses for them, if the need arose. (Is that need going to arise? Let me know, so I can change out of my nice work clothes.)

Don't you trample my friends, rhinoceros!

Don’t you trample my friends, rhinoceros!

I have a SCIENCE FELLOW! Sometimes we like to talk about science here at Lucy’s Football. In those cases, we are very lucky; we have someone who can set us to rights. (This is good, because as much as I love it, I know very little about science.) Yes! It is true! This might be the only blog named after a Peanuts character that has its own Science Fellow. And our Andreas is not JUST a Science Fellow. He’s the BEST Science Fellow. Once in his scientific work he discovered and named his own SPECIES OF CREATURE and there is a BOOK about it. I’m not even kidding about this. Also, he’s in charge of making sure things are pretty around here (he did my beautiful blog redesign at the beginning of the year, isn’t it lovely?) and is one of my dearest friends and a wonderful blogger AND I met him in REALLY REAL LIFE earlier in the month. I know! And he is from FINLAND! And next year I am going to Finland to see HIM! And we met through TWITTER! I know, the internet is wonderful, right?

In real life, I tend to cuss like a sailor, but here, I don’t much at all. I know. It seems foolish. The interwebs are full of all the swears. You don’t know who’s going to read your blog. It could be a kid. IT COULD BE MY NEPHEW SOMEDAY. Kids can see the cussing elsewhere. Sometimes I can’t help myself, and I bust out with the swearing. But usually I try to behave myself. FOR THE CHILDREN. And for the world, because there are enough ugly things out there, and I don’t feel I need to be all cussy all the time, you know? Cool. Cool, cool, cool.

That being said, I have no problems with cussing, I do it all the time in real life, and I will never edit your comments for being cussy, unless they're offensive.

Hee, Waffle House!  (The above being said, I have no problems with cussing, I do it all the time in real life, and I will never edit your comments for being cussy, unless they’re offensive.)

Things make me stabby on a regular basis. Examples of things that make me stabby: racism, sexism, the war on women currently occurring, anyone who thinks gay marriage will put an end to the world as we know it, Fox News, people who are not kind to their (or others’) children, bullying in any form, Tom Cruise, garlic, when fruit is hidden sneakily in a dessert item and you don’t know it’s there until you bite down into it and you don’t have a napkin to spit it into, the term “fro-yo,” when people SAY “LOL” instead of actually LAUGHING OUT LOUD and it doesn’t save them any TIME and I don’t GET it, gay-bashing in any form, when anyone is cruel to any of my friends at all in any way, when people expect you to let them into traffic when they haven’t waited their turn like everyone else and then they flip you off if you don’t do it cheerily enough as if they weren’t the line-budger, terrible spelling and grammar, people who are shouty about religion, animal abuse, the scanner I have to use at work that jams every third page, and flip-flops.

*shudder* I don't like things between my toes, and I don't like feet, and I don't like the noise they make.

*shudder* I don’t like things between my toes, and I don’t like feet, and I don’t like the noise they make.

However, on a whole, I think the world is a beautiful and magical place, and it continues to amaze and surprise me daily. I think that one speaks for itself.

Oh, probably you want some background on me, yeah? I have three jobs; one’s in finance, one’s in customer service, one’s in journalism. I have two cats. I have zero romantic conquests. I live in a lovely little place in an amazing city in a wonderful area that I love very much. I have been working in community theater for most of my life but will be taking an extended hiatus starting in June. I wrote a book that was published last year. I write here, and for Insatiable Booksluts, and other places, when they’ll have me. I have Twitter and a Facebook fan page and all those good things; links to such are in the Frequently Asked Questions section. There’s an email address where you can reach me for things if you need to do that at the bottom of the blog. I live on the internet when I’m not sleeping or working, but not as much as I used to because of reasons. I have the best friends in the entire world and sometimes I cry because they are so wonderful and I never thought I’d have friends like this in a million years. (I was terribly bullied as a teenager, moving on.) I’ve been blogging for a year and nine months. I used to blog every day but had to cut back because I actually wanted to have a bit of a life, which I’ve been enjoying very much. I laugh a lot. I also cry a lot. Sometimes both at the same time. I have VERY BIG EMOTIONS. I feel huge happinesses and huge sadnesses. I love both terrible movies like Billy Madison and wonderful movies like Magnolia. I adore live theater and am REALLY into musicals. I really like girly things like soap, perfume and necklaces, but I hate girly things like skirts and high heels. I’m a gigantic glasses-wearing enigma.

"This happens. This is something that happens."

“This happens. This is something that happens.”

Mostly I am very silly here. If this disappoints you, many apologies. I try to write WELL, but it’s mostly silly with some moments of seriousness. If you like that, I’m glad. And welcome! If you don’t, I’m sorry, I did not mean to mislead you with the Freshly Pressed thing.

Still with me? Good, great, grand, awesome. So glad you’re here. Do you have questions? Your turn. Ask ‘em in the comments. (People who’ve been here all along, you can ask questions, too! If I don’t like them or don’t want to answer them publicly, I’ll just delete them. Or email you. Sound fair? Sure it does. If it doesn’t, don’t even tell me, I don’t want to know.)

Also, happiest of happy weekends to you all! May your Easter baskets contain only the best of treats. None of those awful eggs with a waxy candy shell and that terrible sort-of-marshmallow crap in the middle that taste like candy just gave up on being good in your mouth.

(As you can see, this is a typical Amy-length post. Welcome to the Thunderdome, my little lemon drops.)

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An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 21)

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

Well, happy March, people of the intertubes. I think it’s supposed to be spring now? Or spring-ish? And sometimes it kind of is. But mostly it’s still cold. I want to open the windows! I want to feel spring breezes on my face! I want to sit on my porch and not freeze my buns off! Plus, Dumbcat loves the spring. He sits in the window and his little nose goes and he squints his eyes with happiness. I don’t know if Newcat will love the window. I assume they will not love the window at the same time, because then there will be all the hissery. SO MUCH HISSERY!

So! Much! Hissery!

So! Much! Hissery!

Well, you know what time this is, right? It’s the end of the month, so that means your cable bills are due, and also your rent bills. And it’s also time to see what search terms are bringing people to the old Football this month! I know you’re probably totally anticipating this every month. I do what I can to brighten your days, my little chocolate drops.

I again tried to make this post not so insanely long this month. Mostly because I’d like to get to bed before midnight tonight. It’s tough to stay awake at my desk if I stayed up until midnight the night before blogging about tomfoolery. (SIDE NOTE: I’m very good at staying up late and not very good at getting up early. I think I have something wrong with my internal clock. That has a name, doesn’t it? Circadian rhythms, right? I like to imagine that like the Church of Scientology and their Thetans. SOMEONE FIX MY CIRCADIANS THEY’RE NOT BEHAVING!)

So, just in case you’re new, let me catch you up on this recurring post. I’m obsessed with my stats; I like to check what search terms drive people to my blog; then I feel REALLY BAD this isn’t what they were looking for. So I write them a letter of apology (this is the twenty-first one. Aw, my little posts can legally get drunk now! Be careful, little posts, or you’ll wake up on the floor next to your toilet questioning your life choices! Oh, yeah, if you’re interested, search for the others; they’re stellar.) Why do I do this? I live a very rich inner life, chickadees. As I write these, I like to imagine I’m a FANCY ROCKSTAR with a SPARKLY SEQUINED JUMPSUIT. Just roll with it.

So I’m going to break you down into categories and address you in groups. SIDE NOTE: at work, we had to break into groups today. My task was to be the person who made the chart we hung on the wall. Guess whose group had the prettiest chart? Yep, mine. I have EXCELLENT handwriting. Even the group facilitator was all, “You have lovely handwriting. My handwriting on these charts is always terrible and I’m so embarrassed.” I WIN HANDWRITING! I asked one of my group members if I could find a job where I could utilize my marker-and-large-piece-of-paper writing skills, and he said, “Yes. Pre-K teacher.” I said, “How about a job where I don’t have to deal with humans?” He shook his head sadly no.

I don't write anything like this. I always thought these Qs were RIDICULOUS. They just look like 2s. TWOS!

I don’t write anything like this. I always thought these Qs were RIDICULOUS. They just look like 2s. TWOS!

Category the First: So. Many. People.

people you may know facebook (164)

That’s right. One-hundred and sixty-four people searched using some variation of the phrase “people you may know facebook.” That Facebook post I wrote a million billion years ago? Is like the second- or third-most popular post I’ve ever written. People are OBSESSED with People You May Know. And I cannot figure that out. And – check this out. I got an EMAIL the other day from someone asking how to get rid of the People You May Know. An email! From a total stranger who doesn’t even comment on the blog! Like I’m an EXPERT on Facebook! I totally answered it, too. Nicely. And said, “You can’t get rid of that. Sorry.”

Category the Second: No. No, she can’t. Also, that’s rape, chum.

“she can sleep through” cum

Did we learn nothing from Steubenville? If someone’s sleeping, they can’t give consent. And if someone can’t give consent, it’s rape. I would go more into detail about this, but that’s really all you need. Because that’s it. If she can’t say yes or no, it’s a no. And if you go ahead with it anyway, you are a rapist. End of story.

Category the Third: Also known as, everything I’ve ever written here, ever.

a very long story about high school

I also write very long stories about travel, friends, theater, books, television, cats, and sometimes NOTHING AT ALL. You are WELCOME.

Category the Fourth: Porny porn pornerson!

beastsex beast movies sybil d’28 little baby animal porn
mournfull sex story of brother sister

That first one is a LOT of WORDS. You got your beastsex and your beast MOVIES and your Sybil and your “d’28″ whatever that is and your little baby animal porn. Put that all together and what do you have? I…don’t even know. Whatever it is, it’s worrisome, and also horrifying.

I think it’s kind of funny that you consider incest mournful (sorry, “mournfull”) and yet you still hit the Googles to search for it. Good job, creeper.

You should ask Jaime about the mournfulness, I think he'd have some serious insights for you.

You should ask Jaime about the mournfulness, I think he’d have some serious insights for you.

Category the Fifth: Ha!

“my penis is gone” srs
baby seal piñata
cant sleep cause my friends are an fire
fight on maury
girl bowel movement
girls that say they sleep sith zak bagans
hello mr. tumnus! i haven’t seen you in a while, but i just wanted to write you a letter to let you know i am doing very well.
i bet you i won’t even get one like with a puppy
married to a frog oreilly
most romantic high schools
turpentine on ebay

This is my favorite category because it cracks me up, yo.

SRS. My penis is gone for SRS. I’m sorry, dude. You probably should SRS call the cops and put in a report or something. It might show up in someone’s lost and found box, you never know.

A baby seal piñata makes me laugh because then you could totally club a baby seal at a party so it’s like multitasky. Also, I like that you put that squiggly over the n. Tilde? I think it’s a tilde? Don’t yell at me. I took French. Oui, mes petites, c’est vrai.

It is a THING! Hooray!

It is a THING! Hooray!

OMG, that is the best misheard music lyric ever. OK, so the lyric (from one of my favorite songs, “Psycho Killer”) is “I can’t sleep ’cause my bed’s on fire.” “I can’t sleep ’cause my FRIENDS are an fire” is HYSTERICAL to me. Also, of COURSE you can’t sleep if your friends are on fire. If you’re sleeping through your friends burning to death, you have no soul. I can’t sleep if my friends are even the slightest bit UPSET about something, I mean, come on, seriously. ON FIRE? Also? PUT THEM OUT!!! THEY ARE YOUR FRIENDS!!!

WHICH fight on Maury are you referring to? Because there are a billion. A BILLION FIGHTS.

Psst, here’s a secret I need to let you in on: yes. It is true. Girls have bowel movements, too. JUST LIKE GUYS. We all poop! Everyone does! Every last person and animal and even goldfish! Try not to be too shocked. I thought it was important you knew.

OMG SITH ZAK BAGANS. I knew there was something sketchy about that ghost hunter! He’s a SITH! That makes SO MUCH SENSE!

SITH!!!

SITH!!!

Why is someone writing a letter to Mr. Tumnus on my blog? OK, nevermind, I’ll pass it along to him next time I see him, I suppose. As we hang. We do a lot of hanging, me and Mr. Tumnus. We’re tight, yo.

I bet you won’t even GET one. Like with a PUPPY. *kicks rocks* *rues the day*

Aw, I love that you came here looking for Bill O’Reilly comparing gay marriage to marrying a frog. It was actually a turtle, but you’re close. Hi! And welcome! We often like to call out asshattery here; you’re in the right place if you like this kind of thing.

Most ROMANTIC high schools? It’s HIGH SCHOOL. It’s not ROMANTIC. It’s HELL. You’re lucky if you get out ALIVE. It’s not like there are candles in the hallway or chocolate-dipped-strawberries in the library.

Why are you buying turpentine on Ebay? Wouldn’t it be cheaper at Target or something? The shipping alone would be more expensive than just going out and buying it. Unless you’re looking to buy Brandi Carlile’s “Turpentine.” And if that’s the case, you want her whole album The Story, which is wonderful. You should buy it. Absolutely. Here, I haven’t been able to stop listening to this one lately.

Sorry, there’s no real video and this is kind of terrible. Just close your eyes and listen. “I was born when I met you/Now I’m dying to forget you/And that is what I know.”

Category the Sixth: Heads up: I’m pretty easy NOW. Plus I’m bendier than I’ll be then.

amy easy over 70

I’m easy when I’m over 70? Goodness gracious, when I’m over 70, I’ll be kind of tired. Why will I be easy? Also, why are you wasting my easy years, which I’m pretty sure are now? That’s totally wasteful of you. You’re not going to win any environmental awards for that.

Category the Seventh: ME!

crazy without drugs

I am crazy without drugs. I’m just larger-than-life and over the top ALL THE TIME. And there’s no drugs here, babycakes. Well, prescription drugs, but they don’t count. I mean, if I don’t take them, I’d probably die. They don’t take away the crazy, though. It’s good crazy. Don’t worry. I’m not stabbing anyone or wearing tinfoil hats. I don’t think.

Category the Ninth: Why you trying to gank my boyfriend, yo?

daryl dixon
pregnant by daryl Dixon

You cannot have Daryl Dixon. He’s taken. BY ME. I don’t want Norman Reedus, just Daryl Dixon. So, hands off, grabby. You can have Hershel if you want. He’s free. And can’t move very fast so you can totally catch him in a footrace.

MINE.

MINE.

Category the Tenth: You cannot. Better people than you have tried. And failed. Miserably.

define:lucy’s football

I reject definitions. I am MANY THINGS to MANY PEOPLE. Some days I’m all serious-face and some days I’m all jokey-face and some days I’m crying over something and some days I’m laughing so hard I’m hiccuping. I’m an enigma. Don’t you slap your definitions on me. They’ll slide right off. I’m like TEFLON, baby.

Category the Eleventh: SJ! THIS ONE IS FOR YOU!

happysj contraccion

I’m not sure what’s happening here, but it’s totally for you, sj. You’re happy and you’re…um…contraccioning? Is it like a contraction? I’m not even sure, but it makes me smile. I like that you get searches here. I’m happy about that. You’re always welcome to my searches, my most favorite sj.

Category the Twelfth: YES! That’s totally what summer’s like around here!

lucy summer red hot central

It is red-hot central around here in the summer, babes. I walk around in a BIKINI, and there are a lot of SHENANIGANS, and water-throwing, and…um…sun-tanning…and…shit, I can’t even keep this up. What I do in the summer is come home, put on my coolest clothing, and flop in front of the air conditioning and pant like an overheated Newfoundland puppy. I don’t deal well with heat. It’s the worst. The. Worst. Sorry to ruin your sexytimes thoughts.

Category the Thirteenth: Yes! Wait. Who the hell’s Patricia?

sex lucy aka patricia

I was so excited I got an indecent proposal and then I think this is misdirected and you’re looking for someone named Patricia and I am most definitely not Patricia and I’m only minimally Lucy so I think this isn’t even for me at all. Dammit. WHEN’S IT GONNA BE MY TIME?

Category the Fourteenth: They ARE? Cool, send ‘em on over.

this person is in love with you

A PERSON! Is in LOVE with me! Well, good. Listen, I’m totally looking forward to this. Because it’s been a long time. I could use a pleasant diversion. And if the guy’s already in love with me, well, there’s half the battle won. But I will tell you right now: if you, person, break my heart, I WILL STAB YOU WITH A BARBECUE SKEWER. I’ve had enough of that shit to last my whole lifetime over. So get on over here. Extra points if you bring a boombox and a trenchcoat and some Peter Gabriel, darlin’.

Is the person in love with me Lloyd Dobler? I'm down with that.

Is the person in love with me Lloyd Dobler? I’m down with that.

There. We are finished for the month! All the search terms! All in one post! ALL FOR YOU DAMIEN! I know, it’s really very impressive. I don’t know where you people come from, but I like that you’re here. You make life so much more interesting, you know? And who wants a boring life? No one, is who.

Until next month, my poor lost lambikins. May Google be kind in your searches.

Love, Me.

(As always, thank you to Mer for the inspiration for these posts!)


So You Want to Be an Actor? Huh. That’s…a bold choice.

When I was sixteen, I was pretty sure I was going to be a world-famous poet and also a Broadway actress. Because I was sixteen. A lot of things seem possible when you are sixteen. I also thought I would marry Sean Astin (I had a crush on him in The Goonies, ok? Sheesh, stop being so judgey) and have a bunch of kids and probably also live in a mansion. And I really, really wanted a convertible.

Look how cute he was. Look! SO CUTE!

Look how cute he was. Look! SO CUTE!

As you can see, all of that has come to fruition. Every. Last. Bit. I am a poet who has been read…um…in the world. I have SEEN a show on Broadway, and at one of the shows I acted like I was more pleased with our seats than I actually was. (In my defense, they were REALLY far away. The people onstage looked like ants. Little singing, dancing ants. But I acted like I was pleased, because I didn’t want to hurt the person’s feelings I was with. See? ACTING! On BROADWAY!) I’ve…um…followed Sean Astin on Twitter? And who’s to say we might not still get married someday? (OK, that one I don’t really want, because he seems like a very nice man, but our fire is out. He totally never got tall enough for me. I like tall guys. Sorry, Sean Astin. I’m sorry our love has died. These things happen.) I have two cats who have multiple personalities depending on the day so that’s LIKE having a bunch of kids, kind of, in a very sad, shut-in kind of way. I live in…a place that is near a road that is near another road that is kind of near a mansion. And if I roll down my windows and drive really fast, it’s JUST LIKE A CONVERTIBLE. See? I’m really kind of winning life.

JUST like this. Only less shiny and much less cool.

JUST like this. Only less shiny and much less cool.

I did very well, acting-wise, in high school. I was not self-aware enough to realize that was because I lived in a very, very small town, and there were very few actors there. When I went to college, in a much bigger town, with people who actually COULD act, and went to high schools with actual acting CLASSES, I realized, huh. I am…not actually very good at this, comparatively. I still act, once in a blue moon. And work backstage, which I learned I was much better at and was also much less stressful. Well, mostly less stressful. Sometimes things catch on fire. No, I’m not kidding. And sometimes the power goes out in the middle of a show. And sometimes actors have a mini-meltdown and you have to talk them down. Or sometimes all of those things happen at ONCE. But not often. Usually you get to read and relax a little, as long as the show’s going well.

Shh, actors, don't bother the stage manager.

Shh, actors, don’t bother the stage manager.

I do run into quite a few people – young people, usually – who are very starry-eyed and are planning on moving to New York City to conquer Broadway, or to L.A. to conquer the silver screen. And I don’t want to break their little hearts. I really don’t. But sometimes they leave, then they come back with sad eyes and that is just the worst. Because SO MANY people move to those places to make it big. And there are only so many roles, you know?

So last week, one of my friends posted this, which is a list of very good tips for actors or people who want to be actors or people who THINK they want to be actors. (And also fancy because he spells theater “theatre” like a FANCY FANCY PERSON.) If you have any interest in acting, it is totally worth a read. This guy is intelligent. Without being heartbreaky to all these little actory people. Let’s take a look at some of these tips, shall we? Sure we shall.

“Stealing the show” is not a compliment. The ensemble is more important than your “moments”.

True. Hard to understand when you’re young, though. Because you are VERY “look at ME! Look at ME!” when you’re young. Here’s a tip, though: if you’re a good actor, you can steal the show without stealing the show. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched a show that hasn’t been very good, but there was one actor in it that was – so I concentrated on that actor. That actor wasn’t attempting to upstage everyone, or doing things that were distracting from the action, but just by being a very good actor, he or she did steal the show. This sometimes even happens in very good shows. In comparison, if someone is ATTEMPTING to steal the show, it just gets annoying, and I stop paying attention to those people. So pay attention to your own paper and stop trying to upstage your fellow actors and you just might steal the show anyway.

This is a perfect example of the WRONG type of upstaging. Bad job, Kanye. WAY bad.

This is a perfect example of the WRONG type of upstaging. Bad job, Kanye. WAY bad.

You’d be surprised how few people are willing to pay for theatre tickets when they aren’t your friends and family and have no personal connection to you whatsoever.

Sadly, as someone who works in theater, I can tell you that this is the case. Yes, a lot of our audience members are friends and family members of the cast or crew. But the hard part is getting just your everyday human to come to the theater. Because people do not like to attend theater. People go to movies; people go to concerts and sports and such. But theater? LIVE HUMANS PUTTING ON A SHOW? That is CRAZYTALK! I’ve also told everyone I know about shows I’m working on and guess how many come? Probably 4. People just don’t go to theater. If you can think of a way we can change that, you let me know. And NO, nudity is not an answer. We tried that. Still got the same number of audience members. Although one of them did, strangely, bring a magnifying glass and used it in the nude scene. I don’t know, either.

The stage manager always works much harder than you. And technically, you work for him/her, not the other way around.

TRUE AND YES. As someone who has probably stage managed more than anything else she’s done in theater, this is very seriously true. The stage manager works their butt off, and the actors DO work for us. A good stage manager doesn’t make it SEEM like they work for us, but we do tell the actors where to go and when to be there, when and where to put their props, how best to change their clothing…the list goes on and on. And if the actors misbehave, we’re in charge of yelling at them for it. Also, be nice to your stage manager. It can only help you in the long run. Promise.

This...isn't too far off, actually.

This…isn’t too far off, actually.

Directors, casting agents, and producers care as much about how easy you will be to work with as they do about how good you are for the role. If not more so.

I am often in on the casting decisions at my theater. I can tell you that yes, of course we talk about who gave the strongest audition. But we also knock people completely out of the running if a., we’ve worked with them before and they were an utter nightmare, refused to take direction, were rude to the other actors, were a creepy stalker, or one of a million other reasons we might not want to work with them again, or b., we’ve heard they were hard to work with from someone at another theater. Listen, I’m going to give you probably the single most important piece of advice you’ll ever get in theater. Ready? Theater people talk. It’s what we’re known for. We talk, we gossip, we snark. And your reputation is something we talk about. If you’re wonderful to work with – we talk about that. If you’re a terror to work with – we talk about that, too. And you’re going to start getting offered fewer and fewer roles, because your reputation follows you wherever you go. Sometimes for years. You need to safeguard it with your life. Be nice, be polite, take direction, follow rules, make people want to work with you again. It is something you are never going to regret, if you want to act.

There are plenty more on his list, which I highly recommend, if you are at all interested in acting (either professionally or not) you read.

It kind of all boils down to this, which I am stealing, without any embarrassment, from Wil Wheaton: don’t be a dick. If you are a joy to work with, people will want to work with you. So many actors don’t understand this. They show up, they kill it at the audition, they aren’t cast, and they rant to everyone who will listen, “I don’t UNDERSTAND. I was SO MUCH BETTER THAN EVERYONE WHO WAS THERE. What is WRONG with those people? They just don’t know talent when they see it. That show will fail. I’ll never see a show there again. I’ll tell my FRIENDS to stop seeing shows there. I’m going to email the Artistic Director and demand they tell me why I wasn’t cast. I’m going to email the director. I’m going to post things on their Facebook wall.”

Would you want to work with this person? Because I sure as hell wouldn’t want to. And if another theater asked me about them? I’d tell them the truth. They’re hard to work with. We talk, you see. We want what’s best for our theaters and what’s best for the other theaters in the area. It’s not out of vindictiveness. It’s out of protectiveness. We’ve worked with this person before; this person made our lives a living hell for months. Therefore, we don’t want someone else to be subjected to that.

There. Now you have all the tools you need to be an actor or actress, right? Right. And I’d never DISCOURAGE anyone from moving to the big, bad city to give it a try. I mean, people make it every day. Just…go into it with eyes open. And maybe have a backup plan. A backup plan that does not involve prostituting yourself so you have rent and food money. OK? Cool, cool.

And, sincerely. Don’t be a dick. That’s not only good advice for theater, that’s good advice for life, as well.


An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 20)

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

It is now February. That means – DRUMROLL DRUMROLL TAH DAH TAH DAHHHHHH! We are almost to Andreas-month! Even better, only THREE MORE DAYS til Andreas-DAY! I am sitting here waiting to hear from Andreas that he arrived safely. He should be here in the next two hours. “Here” as in “in my state,” not “here” as in “in my town” because THAT would probably KILL me with excitement, I’m not even kidding. I mean, take how excited I am about him being in New York and multiply it times a bazillion and you’d get Amy dead of a heart attack, surely.

Yes, we did things a little backward this month. I know. Sometimes I like to mix things up. It’s good for you. You should try it. Also, my brain’s kind of focused on Saturday right now, to be honest. Dad keeps saying “you be careful, you’re going to drive into a lamppost.” I like that Dad thinks I live in a town with like a billion lampposts. Like I live in Narnia or something.

Mr. Tumnus! I always wanted to meet Mr. Tumnus. Do we think he's in my closet?

Mr. Tumnus! I always wanted to meet Mr. Tumnus. Do we think he’s in my closet?

I tried to cut down the searches a little this month. Let’s see how I did. I can’t guarantee anything, yo. I’m tricky like that. My “I cut down” is a normal person’s “THIS IS SO LONG (that’s what she said).”

So, just in case you’re new, let me catch you up on this recurring post.  I’m obsessed with my stats; I like to check what search terms drive people to my blog; then I feel REALLY BAD this isn’t what they were looking for. So I write them a letter of apology (this is the twentieth one. Twenty? Good grief, that seems extreme. Search for the others; they’re stellar.) Why do I do this? Well, sometimes you find yourself faced with a choice: either write a weird post about your stats, or bungee-jump off your porch with tied-together rubber-bands. And the first choice here is clearly the safer one. Although I do only live on the second floor, so I’m sure I’d be fine. Let’s table that bungee-jump thing for another time, what do you say? Great.

So I’m going to break you down into categories and address you in groups. Now find your buddies and do NOT let go of their hands. I’m serious, there are all kinds of baddies out there in the woods. I know that because I’m ONE of them, she said maliciously.

Category the First: I’m so glad, sincerely. Good. Why’d you leave in the first place, though?

i came back she was so happy 

This is nice, and probably also romantic. But my question to you is, my friend – why’d you leave in the first place? Because that’s a question I have to ask. If you love someone, don’t leave ‘em. Well, unless they’re like an abusive asshole or something, but if that’s the case, don’t come BACK. Ugh, here’s the thing: it’s a big old world. If you find someone you love enough to be HAPPY to see you come BACK, don’t LEAVE them. There. Fixed it. I win fixing things.

Category the Second: Hmm.

how to draw lucy with a football 
how to find best fuckers in males      
I think someone just called me fat         
i think you’ve got your talents from me
no heart found

These are all curious to me. Why do you want to draw Lucy with the football? Charles Schultz already drew her. You’re really just copying if you do that. And there’s probably a special circle of hell reserved for copiers, yo. Don’t go there. You’ll get all burned and shit. How to find the best fuckers. Well, I think trial and error? I think a lot of trial and error. Also, some men are better at taking direction than others, so if you find a keeper who’s just not the best at…euphemizing…maybe give him some nice (and non-ego-destroying) tips. I’m not Cosmo, so that’s as much as you’re getting out of me here. If you “think” someone just called you fat, you’re not sure. Just let it go. Don’t worry about it. Probably it’s all in your head; I know I think people are talking about me sometimes when they’re not, only because my childhood trauma is loud as hell and says things to me like “THEY’RE ALL GONNA LAUGH AT YOU!” so it’s what I’m always expecting. Tell your inner voice to stop being a jerk. I don’t think I got my talents from you, but thanks for trying to steal my thunder, bub. “No heart found” could go either serial-killy or bad-romancey. Which is it, darlin’? Either way, sorry.

Category the Third: Whoa. That’s dedication, dude.

got the shirt as an early christmas gift and was very excited until i put it on. i am a medium in every shirt i own and have owned, except in this. the length went down to the middle of my thighs, the sleeves were abnormally short, overall, the shirt just didn’t make sense. it was definitely not a medium, nor do i recommend it to anyone that thinks they wear one.     

You typed all of this into Google. You typed all of this into Google? Good grief, why? It’s like a review. Why didn’t you write it as a review wherever you BOUGHT the shirt? And why did it bring you here? And listen, I’m sorry you had a shirt with too-short sleeves and too-long shirt-tails. It sounds like a dress. Are we sure it’s not a dress?

Category the Fourth: Come on, guys, really? Go to Craig’s List for this stuff or something, sheesh.

“she is my mom” litrotica vampire          
anemal sex hooly woood actress video.com      
asian fever sex doll 
beastiality pregnant boar -download -video -board    
bestiality pigboar womem.in        
bestiality stories boar         
boar sex stories        
erotic flintstones    
local sluts with herpes        
rectal thermometer erotica fetish           
round ass in pants men     
search how to do sex          
sexual watersports  
son wears bra literotica      

This is the kind of crap I find on a daily basis when I look at my search terms, guys. Apparently, people are into – A LOT of people are into – boar-sex. I don’t want to think about this too much. We also want literotica about our family members; Fred and Wilma gettin’ their rocks off (get it? Rocks? Because Flintstones? I could do this ALL DAY, yo); local sluts with herpes (I don’t even); some sort of bum-shenanigans with a thermometer (how is that even hot? Thermometers aren’t even big enough to REGISTER. People are SO WEIRD); and my most favorite, “how to do sex.” HOW TO DO SEX! Well, I can give you tips on this. First, stop saying “do sex” or you’ll sound like Jeff Bridges in Starman.  You will never get to HAVE sex if you call it “doing sex.” Second, good grief, kiddo, if you have to hit the internet and type in “how to do sex” YOU ARE TOO YOUNG TO HAVE SEX. Wait a bit. Watch some dirty movies. Maybe not SO dirty. Maybe work your way up to dirty, I don’t know. Do some heavy-petting down at the drive-in first, Daddy-o. You don’t need to be doing sex right now, even though the cool kids all seem to be doing it. PRO TIP: A lot of the cool kids that say they’re doing sex are LYING.

I don't know what's happening here, but Groban makes me laugh SO HARD.

I don’t know what’s happening here, but Groban makes me laugh SO HARD.

Category the Fifth: Ha!

awkward pics of slacks for men    
big lucy is watching you     
blog”i hit curbs”parking     
can a turtleneck protect you from a vampire     
coupon code for remora    
dear dumbcat will you be my friend        
effing meteors unblocked from school   
lucy and the football is a euphemism for           
lucysfootball.com+crazy-people   
magic boob potion   
mcdonalds dollar menu with prices        
meaning of lucy’s football  
this thing is going to impale me   
unicorn stab people with my head           
wear hector’s coat euphemism definition          
what to wear skydiving cold turtleneck  
when a person come to reserve for a week end in a hotel when the person will pay what description will the receptionist take?         
who said “come toot” in romeo and juliet?       
why isnt raylan shooting people   

This is my favorite category because it cracks me up, yo.

You’re all about euphemisms this month. I don’t know if Lucy’s Football is a euphemism. It’s more of a…I don’t know. Is it a fable? Can it be like a fable? I don’t even know what you would call it, to be honest. On one level, it’s a simple scene in a cartoon about a bratty little girl who won’t let a sad little boy kick a football. Ever. On another level, it’s about life. And how hard it is to get the things we want. And how they’re right there…until they’re not. And how cruel that is. So it’s not really a fable. Cautionary tale? I don’t even know. All I know is? Shh, it’s a secret, but I’ll tell you. Whatever it is, it’s true.

Unless your turtleneck is made of metal and garlic, I would think a vampire would bite right through that shit. Don’t be foolish.

Coupon code for remora? The suckery things that feed on fish? I think you can have as many of those as you want. You don’t need a coupon code. Just go fishing somewhere they live. SOLVED IT!

Dumbcat can’t be your friend. People scare him. But I’ll give him a cuddle for you, it’s better for everyone.

EFFING METEOR! I wrote someone an email with “Eff” as the subject line lately and he laughed and laughed. “Who says eff?” he said. Me. I say eff.

I’m pretty sure the prices on the dollar menu are…um…a dollar?

Ooh, look, this makes me a liar, some things are NOT a dollar! Misleading!

Ooh, look, this makes me a liar, some things are NOT a dollar! Misleading!

Hee, “come toot.” I don’t know if that’s in Romeo and Juliet? I checked and I’m not seeing it. But there are a lot of interpretations. Keep searchin’, babe, you’ll find your toot someday.

Raylan totally shot someone last week, FINALLY. I know, this season’s been light on shootery, right? It’s the worst, Dad’s so upset.

I don’t understand your question about the hotel. What description? Like, what will the receptionist write in the book? Probably “paid in full?” I don’t know, this question is odd.

ZOMG “wear Hector’s coat.” I don’t even KNOW what that’s a euphemism for. Let’s see what the internet says: NOTHING. So we can totally make up what we think it means. I think condoms. Probably condoms. Also, “this thing is going to impale me.” Hee! THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!

Category the Sixth: I WANT THIS PLEASE.

this is something we call days of no worries     

I want a day of no worries. Can I have a day of no worries? Where can a person get one of these things? Is it called a coma? It’s called a coma, isn’t it? Dammit.

Category the Seventh: We talked about this last month. Yes. Stop being weird.

can you choke yourself to death with a belt      

YES YOU CAN. Stop asking. The answer doesn’t change just because you ask the question over and over. If you put something around your neck, and stop your blood and/or breath, you can die. End of story.

Category the Ninth: Aw, seriously, I’m not Dear Abby, but I can try to help, I suppose.

i’m a chicken shit, i’m a lesbian, but i’m still in the closet, depend on my controlling mother, i have two kids, in my 30s  - you are not a chickenshit, so stop that right now. You’re in a shitty situation and you’re doing your best. You need to think of your kids, and you need to think of yourself. First: stop depending on your mom. Get a job that pays enough that you don’t have to depend on her anymore. Get yourself (and your kids, who are totally, whether you know it or not, sucking up your sadness and it’s not good for them – it’s in their best interest you get yourself better) out from under. Then, when you’re on your own two feet: baby, you come out. You come out loud and you come out proud and you shout it from the rooftops. You love who you were meant to love. Your kids will be so proud of their mom for letting who she is really shine. And if there’s any chance you’re still reading this, I am so proud of you. You keep at it, ok? You’re young. In your 30s? That’s nothing. You can do this. I believe in you.

im upset interviews but no job – yeah, the economy sucks. I really can’t say anything but keep at it. If you know anyone who works anywhere with any job openings, ask them to keep you in mind. That’s how I got my job. I was so lucky. It takes a long time and it’s humbling and it’s terrifying. I know. I’m so sorry.

is it too pressurising to start a little girl to do ballet at 5 years old   – pressurising isn’t a word, first of all, but is it too much pressure? Well, here’s my question. Does she want to take ballet, or do YOU want her to take ballet because you always wanted to don the toe shoes? Don’t put pressure on her. See if she likes it. If she does, awesome. If she doesn’t – well, then, let her not like it. Don’t be one of those terrible shouty reality TV moms. Those poor kids. I feel terrible for them.

mysterious cut on cat’s face  - Dumbcat gets those. I think he scratches himself while bathing. Just keep an eye on it; if it looks infected, or the cat seems to be in pain, go to the vet, otherwise, it will heal on its own.

how to trip over your own feet for musical theatre  - hee! I like this. Walk like normal; don’t look at your feet, or you’ll telegraph what you’re about to do to the audience. While walking, put one foot closely in front of the other and kick it with the front of the other foot and then totally overreact to that and pretend to stumble. Works like a charm; I mostly know this because I do it myself on a regular basis and I’m not even trying to stumble.

Category the Tenth: Aw, you. Thanks!

congratulations on bonus euphemism
don’t know how i live without you

NOW WITH SPECIAL BONUS EUPHEMISM! FREE WITH PURCHASE!

I don’t know how I’d live without me, either. Thanks for the confidence-booster, my friend, it’s much appreciated.

There you go, my sweetest babushkas. I’m going to bed now so when I wake up, I will wake up to the news that Andreas is in my time zone. IN MY TIME ZONE!

UPDATE UPDATE HE IS HERE ANDREAS IS HEREEEEEEE! Welcome to America, Andreas, I am so happy you’re here! I don’t have enough exclamation points to express this! YAY YAY YAY!!!

Until next month, my poor lost lambikins. May Google be kind in your searches.

Love, Me.

(As always, thank you to Mer for the inspiration for these posts!)


NPR is attempting to break my brain. I think it achieved its goal.

I promised you another music post. I know, I know, I’ve been spotty about posting this week. Things are slowing down now, I promise. Here’s a little timeline, for those of you who like such things:

  • One more night of auditions (which will be done by the time you read this);
  • Two more weekends of my show;
  • 5 days until I get to see C. & C. and they see my show and we have dinner;
  • 5 days until BFF’s birthday, which as far as I’m concerned should be a national holiday;
  • 6 more days until I get a day off because of PRESIDENTS of MERKA;
  • 5 or 6 days until I *possibly* get to see R. & A. and baby Ceevee, maybe?
  • One more week until we vote on our next season at the theater, and I can tell you what it is, and that’s exciting (FINE, maybe it’s only exciting for me)
  • Two weeks and 4 days until I meet Andreas in REALLY REAL PERSON (eeeee!);
  • And, one month and 5 days until I go on a road trip to see Spring Awakening with C. at a new theater!

Lots upcoming, my little hot pockets. NOT A EUPHEMISM. Ew, I never thought of hot pockets as a euphemism before. Now you can never unthink that, can you? Yuck.

This is one grody euphemism, yo.

This is one grody euphemism, yo.

So a while ago, Mer recommended something to me on NPR (oh, I think it was this article about “Hallelujah”) and one of the links on that article was this article, about this project asking not your six favorite songs, but six questions about six songs, which they thought was more insightful than just saying, “Hey! What are your six favorite songs!” and I don’t know that I could answer that question, anyway, because it changes a lot. I’m very mercurial, song-wise.

I don’t know that I can answer what my six top songs are for these questions, either, but I’ll try. (Listen, the NPR answerer guy had super-erudite answers. You will not find those here. I will not be giving you classical selections with my answers. I think I know two classical pieces. No, wait, maybe three. I’m not a classical music person. I appreciate the work that both went into writing it, and the work that goes into performing it, but I really, really like words in my music. I know. I KNOW. This makes me kind of the worst. It’s not like I’d walk out of a classical concert. I’d just get really bored. QUIETLY bored, I wouldn’t get all foot-tappy and huffy or anything, sheesh, I can FAKE class if I HAVE to. The way I do that is nod intelligently and don’t move much. Because if I open my mouth my lack of class shows, and if I move, I am VERY SPASTIC.)

Here are the six questions:

  1. What was the first song you ever bought?
  2. What song always gets you dancing?
  3. What song takes you back to your childhood?
  4. What is your perfect love song?
  5. What song would you want at your funeral?
  6. Time for an encore. One last song that makes you, you.

Now, for some of you, these might be easy. For me? SUPER DUPER DIFFICULT. But I will venture forth. Like a brave little toaster. Man, now I want toast. With butter. Or maybe jam.

This looks like just bread with jam, but I totally want it now, because nom.

This looks like just bread with jam, but I totally want it now, because nom.

1.       What was the first song you ever bought?

I like that this assumes people answering this are in the digital age and are purchasing songs. Nope. I had to purchase an album to get a song, back in the day. And honestly, looking back, the first album I purchased, with my own money, I believe, was…oh, this is kind of embarrassing. I think it was The Goonies soundtrack. I used to be OBSESSED with The Goonies. I had such a crush on young Sean Astin. I would watch the movie over and over. It got to the point where my brother dared me to transcribe the movie without watching it AND I COULD. Well, mostly. So, yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the first thing I bought. And I can still think of some of the music that was on that album, too. Cyndi Lauper. Teena Marie. It was totally a cassette tape. I felt very fancy, owning that.

2.       What song always gets you dancing?

I don’t dance much. Because, well, do you see above? Spastic? Yep. I kind of car-dance when the boppier songs come on. Bop my head along. Tap the steering wheel. Scare the other drivers into thinking I’m going to drive into their lane, probably. But I don’t dance. But if I have to answer this question honestly, I’m going to have to say Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” I can’t sit still for that one. Sorry. I know that’s embarrassing. I was even dancing around to it a while back when it was on the TV and I realized it wasn’t Beyonce, it was actually a commercial for the latest travesty of a Chipmunks movie. That’s a dancey song. I can’t help myself. If it’s on, I have to put a ring on it, I like it that much. And yes, I know there’s an accent on Beyonce’s name. WordPress isn’t letting me do it right now, and I’m very tired. Sorry, Beyonce. I know this means you’ll never put a ring on me now.

3.       What song takes you back to your childhood?

Ooh, this is a tough one. There are actually quite a few. I’ll go back far far far, and make it one of the first songs I remember: Tammy Wynette’s “I Don’t Wanna Play House.” My mom loved Tammy Wynette and we had her greatest hits on 8-track (I’m not young, you guys) and when my mom was cleaning the house and I was playing in the living room, she would play Tammy Wynette and she would just belt along with this one, and “D-I-V-O-R-C-E” and I still know all the words to both of these, and I still put them on playlists for myself, and they still make me smile. Even though they’re not really smiley songs, but still. They remind me of much simpler times, when I was little and safe and the most difficult decision was whether to play with the Play-doh or the Legos, you know?

4.       What is your perfect love song?

Crap, now THIS is a hard one. I’ve totally been mulling this for like two weeks, no joke. Because I have a few that I think are perfect love songs, and I don’t know if I can narrow this down. So I’m going to have to read the lyrics of my four favorite love songs and then decide, based on the lyrics, which is the PERFECT love song. SO HARD YOU GUYS SO SO HARD!

Alright, with much pondering and attempting to choose something OTHER than this song, because I think a billion people my age (including the friend of the author mentioned in the article) would pick the same damn one, and I hate to be a sheep, because even though we all know sheep go to heaven and goats go to the burny place, you guys, I have to (HAVE TO) go with Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.” Just have to. It is the perfect love song. It’s not the perfect SAD song; it’s not the perfect song when my heart is broken and the tears are dripping into my ears as I try to fall asleep. I have a billion of those, and more every day, honestly. I’m a champion at finding those. But that wasn’t the question, now was it? The question was, what is MY perfect love song. And this is it. This song is my perfect love song. This is the song. This one. Even though it probably is also a lot of other people’s song, as well (and I know that at least one of my nearest and dearest wants it to be her first dance song at her wedding), it’s mine. What can I say, I will forever be molded by seeing Lloyd holding up that boombox with that both heartbroken and daringly cynically slightly hopeful look on his face. This song is someone seeing the doorway to a thousand churches in someone else’s eyes. Is that not perfection?

5.       What song would you want at your funeral?

Crap, well, that’s depressing. I don’t know that there will be MUSIC at my FUNERAL. Why are we having a dance party at my damn FUNERAL? Fine. Can it be “Hallelujah?” It’s not very funerally, but if it’s my last request, dammit, I get “Hallelujah” at my funeral. The Jeff Buckley version, please. If you play something else, my haunty ghost will be very disappointed in you.

(ZOMG IN NEWS OF CREEPY, I was just writing this, and I’m listening to Pandora, and “Hallelujah” JUST CAME ON. It’s the Rufus Wainwright version, but STILL, you guys, holy HELL.)

6.       One last song that makes you, you.

Well, this is dumb. A song that makes me, me? Silly. A song doesn’t make me, me. *I* make me, me. My DNA and my amazing brain and my sense of humor and my genetics and my heredity and my insane loyalty and love for my chosen few people and my downright dig-in-my-heels stubbornness and all that crap make me, me. Not MUSIC. Don’t be foolish.

But I came this far, I suppose I have to finish this damn thing. I think this one is asking for my favorite song, isn’t it? It totally is. It’s like a trick. I’m totally going to do something else and move on and think about this and come back in a minute, but you won’t know I did, because it’s the magic of the interwebs, yo.

OK, I have thought and thought and thought. And it can’t be a love song. A love song doesn’t make me, me. That would be about someone else, now wouldn’t it? And it can’t just be something silly, because I’m not always silly, and it can’t be something that just reminds me of my childhood, because I’m not always reminiscing. This is not an easy question. Not at all. (I know some people just throw out answers to these things, but I totally mull. I want them to be perfect.)

I’m going to go with a recent song, but it totally sums me up. It’s summed me up since I found my voice, about twenty years ago, even though the song didn’t exist then. Does it make me, me? I don’t know. I don’t think a song does that. But it’s about as close as I can come to answering this silly question. Company of Thieves’ “Won’t Go Quietly,” which I know I’ve mentioned here a million times. It’s my song. It’s my anthem. It’s what I put on when I need to power up. It’s what I put on when I need to shout. It’s what I put on when I need to center.

So, there. Aren’t I fancy? My six NPR-approved songs. You can totally play along with this game in the comments, or on your own blogs, if you want. But you have to take it seriously and think until smoke comes out of your lovely ears or it doesn’t count. I want to know what your answers are. Oh, and NPR told me I’m supposed to make a Spotify playlist of this and I know once sj told me how to do that but I’m totally technologically backward and that seems like a lot of work and not everyone even has Spotify so just click on the videos if you want to listen, isn’t that good enough? Sure it is.

OH ALSO. I forgot to tell you. When I was driving home from work the other afternoon? I was driving through this little intersection and the cars coming up on my right were all in a weird crooked line and I was all “whuh-huh?” and looked to see why? And it was because there was an OFFICE CHAIR in the middle of the ROAD. And this made me giggle for like twenty minutes. And think of how this could have gotten there. It was up on its wheels, like someone had been sitting there, and just got up for a coffee or something. That they’d be right back. Now, most likely, it just fell out of a car or a truck or something, but I like to think of the less-likely but more-entertaining solutions to problems, like someone just got fed up with work and just roooooollllllled on out the door and then when they got to the intersection they were like, screw this, this is taking too long, and hoofed it from there; or a giant hawk picked someone up from their office chair and carried them that far and then dropped them (how did that hawk get in the office in order to get the person? I don’t know, it just did, ok?) or that it was part of an elaborate hazing ritual for the new office guy, but he was like, nope, I just can’t sit here in oncoming traffic, and therefore he got up and now he’ll have to make Dunkin’ Donuts runs for the next year because he failed the test.

Office chair in the intersection, you guys. OFFICE CHAIR IN THE INTERSECTION!

And I guess this is the aftermath. NO TEXTING AND DRIVING, OFFICE CHAIR!

And I guess this is the aftermath. NO TEXTING AND DRIVING, OFFICE CHAIR!

Off I go. Happy day to you all. Watch out for office chairs in your intersections. And probably also giant hawks, I’d think.


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