A Singer, A Failed Workout, A Massage and Some Snot

Christian Abbott opened last night at the theater, and I loved her. The best part of my job is hanging out with artists before the show so that when they're on-stage, their mannerisms mean a lot more to you. It's hard to explain, but it's a very cool experience. She was really friendly and she gave us a copy of her CD (Rob traded and gave her a John Charles CD). I've been listening to it all day.

Like us, her and her husband are on the verge of moving into their dream house.

"And," she said, "my biological clock is ticking. I have to tell it to keep quiet for a few more years! Even though I'm still young, so it's dumb."

I asked how old she was. She's 25. I assured her I heard ticking, too, and so we bonded.

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I optimistically bought a yoga mat and a 25 minute Pilates DVD. I got through 10 minutes of sort-of following but mostly cheating along before my stomach muscles were in the WORST PAIN EVER, so I turned it off, turned over, and fell asleep on the mat. The dog, delighted that I was on his level for a change, immediately curled up next to me to keep me cozy, and we snoozed for about two hours.

I'll try again later.


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The other night I had a nightmare; I was dreaming that the dentist I had worked with back in March/April was chasing me through a dark parking lot. I jumped into my car and it stalled as I tried to start it (which happens every day in real life). Then, when I got it running, it wouldn't change gears and would only creep along at a snails pace up the hill (which also happens every day in real life... piece-a-shit car...). He was pounding on my window and screaming "I'm going to kill you! I'm going to kill you!"

When I woke up, my neck was so stiff from being freaked out and tense that I had a monster headache. Later my mother, being super awesome, did her massage thing on my shoulders and neck, and I was better. Between that and Claritin, I was drowsy all afternoon. I don't care what it says on the box, that shit knocked me out. It is the only way, however, I can get through the day without nosebleeds, sneezing and embarrassing myself with huge boogers coming out of my nose, the likes of which have not been seen since I was five and unable to get the hang of using a hanky. I can feel it coming, and I can't stop it, and I'm all, "Don't look! Don't look!" as I run around with my hand over my nose desperately searching for a tissue with a dingle-danglely snotter hanging from the end. It's really gross.

Oh, I'm sorry, you weren't having lunch, were you?