Activating Robin

Robin, she of the Abraham Lincoln sweatshirt, explains why she has some serious boundary issues. Pamie tries to get her to hug it out.

(Apologies for crappy webcam quality. Let’s pretend it’s 1999!)

(It sort of looks better if you click the video, let it take you to You Tube, and then click “High Quality.” I don’t know; I feel like that’s a scam.)

One Week Later…

Sorry. Didn’t mean to abandon you, there.

Let’s see. Well, I was pretty busy recapping my butt off for Boomtown and Gilmore Girls. I’m also diving back into my new novel, and I’ll allow myself to be sidetracked in a second to stop working on it, so I’ve been forcing myself to go to coffee shops to keep my head in the game.

Now so much has piled up that I haven’t discussed that I’ll have to just line-item them.

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The Continuing Adventures of Big Boob Girl

I put on my tarty best: brown jeans, tiny black top that buttoned down to expose my “ample bosom,” red lipstick, black eyeliner, and teased blonde hair in trashy finest. My call was at six, so I left 45 minutes early to account for afternoon traffic and possible parking problems.

I was in the building at 5:30.

I walked up to a man talking loudly, who carried a clipboard. “Are you Guy?” I asked him.

“No, baby,” he answered, already mesmerized by the ta-tas. “You meeting someone? He’s probably upstairs at the bar.” He talked like I was five. “Just go up these stairs right here.”

The hostess asked, “You’re here for the dating seminar?”

“I’m… sorta.”

I was told we were doing a parody of speed dating, where you get five minutes to impress someone at a table before moving on to the next man at a table, responding to the timer bell like some kind of trick dog.

“In the back, there.”

One woman was sitting at a table, writing things on index cards. She introduced herself as the producer of the segment and I sat down beside her. She was very friendly to me as I introduced myself.

“I’m the Big Boob Girl,” I smiled.

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Monday Already?

this holiday week might kill me

Okay, first of all–

Listen.

Sometimes you just write a little stream-of-consciousness entry about the thoughts running through your head when you take a bath because you’re stressed out about work and money and changing your entire life.

It doesn’t mean that you’re pregnant.

I’d like to thank everyone for your concern and care, but if I get another email asking if I’m pregnant I’m afraid it’ll make it so. I’ve already changed my ENTIRE life. Please don’t make me change my entire body too. I know, it’d be a great story. But no. Come on. Let me breathe, people.

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I'm lame.

“you call this a birthday week?”

Remember last year when Birthday Week was all festive and wonderful? Yeah, I’m sorry. This week it’s just not fitting into the massive amounts of work and stuff in my life. This means that the Birthday Week contest is going to be extended for an extra day, as I don’t think I’ll have time to round up the entries for voting until tomorrow. So, there you go. You get an extra day, if you still want to enter.

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An Actor Speaks

I may get kicked out of the club, here.

Dear Non-Actors,

I’m speaking on behalf of the acting community, here. I’m about to tell you something for your own good. It’s risky for me to do this, and I’m aware that just yesterday I was pimping Jeff, but here goes:

Don’t date us.

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close your eyes

i can’t believe people have to look at me

Eric’s back is selling t-shirts.

Oh, man. I’m tired. Tired and sleepy and looking at the end of what has been a crazy three months. Can you believe this is the end of it? Tomorrow night and all three shows have come to a close. I was rehearsing seven days a week and now they’re all going to be gone. For how long? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is I’m going to get to go home when I get off work sometimes. Sometimes I’ll get to sit on my couch and watch television. I’ll get to do all of this writing that I’ve been contracted to do. I’ll meet deadlines and such.

Until, of course, we start the next show. But I don’t have to think about that now.

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my name is skinhead girl

it’s almost over

As much as I’ve been complaining about how busy I am, I’m really sad that Polaroid Stories is ending tomorrow.  We’ve joked about how we haven’t done this much rehearsal for a show since competitive high school theatre, where you had 35 minutes to put up a show, run it and strike it, and you were up against other high schools in your state.  We were rehearsing over thirty hours a week.  When we first got there, only some of us knew each other, and we stayed pretty quiet.  Within a week, we were hanging out and laughing like we’d known each other all along.  And the hardest part about ending a show is knowing that some of those people you probably won’t see again very often.  The only reason you met was because you both were in this show.  Otherwise your lives don’t ever cross.

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