this day is out of control. first of all, i woke up sobered. because of the day. then i went back to sleep hoping the feeling would pass. especially since i was tipsy last night.
then i woke up again. 5 minutes before my interview AT THE MALL. holyflippingspatula.
i had to call them and tell them i had a flat tire (and i can’t get out of bed!). if they read this, well i guess i wasn’t meant to work there anyway. ow. i need to stop playing with fire. postponing an interview 1 minute before it is scheduled is a no-no even in the slacker’s guidebook to life. but psssssshh it happens.
then i made chocolate chip pancakes. it was the next logical step. think about it. then the pancakes didn’t even make a dent in my stomach. why? i don’t know why! apparently logic is taking a personal day today. so i turned to the lucky charms, which i impulsively bought this weekend in a fit of youth. i could use some lucky charms. both in life and in a bowl!
get this. i reached in for a handful and GOT ONLY FROSTED OAT BITS. not a single stinking colorful sucrose marshmallow in my trembling palm. what are the chances? luckily i’m not superstitious, i’m just moderatelystitious, so i didn’t freak out about it. i just had to handpick out a few marshmallows with which to stud the bowl.
THEN i remembered this entry was supposed to be about this party on saturday night. the party was crazy. it was like one big performance art piece. all i could do was sit back and watch as people took on alternate dimensions, personalities and physical contextualities. it was like college meets salvador dali. my favorite part was when one of the foreign PhD students says after grappling a piece of pineapple out of the fruit salad with HIS HAND, as if to excuse himself, “vat? i like unt froot.”
yeah, and i like cooties. get out. all of you. my friend did manage to start a dance party though where the faux-modest girl blew us away with her hip gyrations while we all stared at our feet in faux-shame. later my friend punched a guy in the chest two times. just because she could. i only share that information so it will be stored in the archives.
then i had my improv recital yesterday night and my scene parter and i were dead first. and i totally fumbled our scene, mouthing something pathetically not funny about honeydew melon in the little blackbox theater. the sadness of it echoed off the walls. oh improv, you fickle pickle.
peace and love to the world on this day.
here are some comedy photos courtesy of Flickr.com:
my comedian friend diana and i
we’re so lovable
comediennes are good news packaged to look like bad news.