Very Wonderful...

This is amazing: Postsecret

It made me think so much about...things. I want to make up my own postcard now, though mine would probably suck. This is very cool awesome art. Like Art art. I can't think of cool things like that. Or, in fairness, even if I thought of something cool like that, I would never get around to doing it, or would not do it right. But...well, wow.

Meg's doing fine. :-) Everyone is, really. Me too, I guess. I have a lot to get completed before I leave, and I hate this part of travel. Once I'm there, everything's always ok; it's just all the crap planning leading up to it that blows--the making sure you didn't forget anything, that every reservation &c is made, that someone will feed my kitties, that I've turned off everything, that someone will pick up my mail, that...

Oh, just name it. ::singing:: And I'm so worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow...

Yeah, my theme song. :-)

I think I have almost everything taken care of. And I'm playing trivia online right now, and losing miserably. It's a chatroom trivia game; it's hilariously funny, but for some reason I do better with non-chatroom trivia. I don't know why; maybe it's the distractions of the funny people. :-) But the host of this game is a really nice person that I pestered for suggestions about one of the cities I've got to be in. I like this group because they're very friendly and nice. This same host told us tonight about a stray dog he found and is keeping because she's older and would probably not find a nice home if he turned her in. Why can't more people be like this? Just...nice.

On a different topic (the "being nice" wasn't meant as a segue by any stretch of the imagination) I've gotten a going-away prezzie for Nastypants. I guess I should change her name. She could suck worse. I mean, I'm still so completely anti- nastiness to waitstaff and all, but...I guess she could be a worse person. And she's somewhat calmed down. Maybe she really was that unhappy before--who knows? So I bought a cylindrical carrying case (it's supposed to be for blueprints and such) for her posters/presentations, and then I had to construct a handle for it which was tricky, but I managed. I might get one for Meg later on; I've already gotten one for myself, but no one in my group has ever seen it. They're terribly useful (at least in my/our field), and oddly, I don't see many in use in my/our field. This is the resourceful former theatre tech in me coming out. :-) When I was doing theatre stuff, we used to go drool over things in the art store. We were relegated to drooling 'cos we were all broke, but that's a different story. But so I sashayed my self down to our local art supply store and bought one for her that is big enough to carry her posters in as well as other people's if need be, but not so big in circumference as to be obnoxious. Plus I bought two extenders so it will be long enough to house the typically asked-for poster size. Then I went to the fabric store and bought a bootload of nylon webby stuff and made a handle that can be hand-held or hung from the shoulder. All in all, it wasn't overly expensive; I brought it in for around $35-ish. I hope that doesn't make it worth less in her eyes (I'm unsure about that part), but I figure that if it does, then that's her damage. Not that I'm going to tell her how much it was, but... There's enough of her negative personality shrapnel still around that I have my doubts. But oh, well. I'm not changing it; I'm so against trying to buy friends, plus doing more money-wise (but less in terms of knowing someone's needs and trying to anticipate them) would make for a lame-ass blowoff kind of gift.

In my opinion.

But then again, most of my prized-possession gifts are things that someone cleaning my house would probably throw away. :-) My favourite is a small wooden goblet that I was given back in my theatre days; the girl who gave it to me painted it with white-out and red nailpolish (did I mention we were all poor as hell?), and wrote something nice on the bottom of it. And, honest, if someone tried to steal that from me, I'd fight them for it. They can take my jewellery, electronics, whatever. Put the goblet down, or you're dead. :-)

Most of the things I gave back then were stuff like handwritten notes, stories, poems, and that sort of thing. It's funny now, but I was like, the *absolute* poorest of the lot; I'd done the dropping out and running away from home thing, and I was back in school, but still intermitently running away from home, and wasn't in a position to ask either parent for money, seeing as how I wasn't talking to either of them at the time. :-) Yes, I know that if your mother knows she can find you sleeping in the prop room (provided she remembers how to get to your theatre), it's not *technically* running away from home, but whatever. Doing that sucked significantly less than the period of time that I had *actually* run away from home.

Well, it was decidedly less cold and rainy indoors. I'm slow to pick up on things, but I'm not *that* slow.

And this period of time is now something that is family legend, for the most part ("Remember back when Ancodia was a kooky little fuckup that we were sure was destined to end up dead in a gutter somewhere?").

Butsoanyway.

I must be on a theatre-reminiscing kick, or maybe it was going to this same art store a few days ago to get Meg's charm beads (like this whole chaining thing, where now I'm thinking theatre everywhere). When I stopped on the way home to procure food (I'd gone in for only cherries, grapes, and soy milk; that was my intended dinner), I passed by the microwaveable burritos, and I bought four. I didn't eat them yet, but I maybe will. Well, not all four at once, but eventually over time. When I was doing the living in the theatre thing, I practically lived on microwaveable burritos. Those kind that get sold in vending machines and 7-11s. I mean like one a day, literally. But it worked out, 'cos they were only like, $1.00 or so if I remember correctly. Once, one of that season's directors was trying to talk everyone into going out to eat, and I (of course) didn't have the money to do it, so my plan was to surreptitiously skulk back upstairs, wait until everyone left, and then go get a burrito. :-) Well, I didn't want to cramp anyone's style--especially since I was the youngest there, and in a lot of ways they were totally tolerating me. So just as I was thinking I'd made a clean getaway, this director screams--literally--*screams* out, "ANCODIA, GET YOUR ASS BACK IN HERE! YOU ARE *NOT* GOING TO EAT ANOTHER GOD DAMNED BURRITO!"

:-) Okay, that was really embarrassing. So I went back down (one did *not* fuck with him when he screamed), and he drove me and paid for me. Awfully sweet. And he said I had to eat a salad and something with protein so maybe I would stop being so weird. :-)

Sigh...weirdness induced by a protein deficiency. If only it were that simple.

I have to meet Miss NP tomorrow. That means I have to wake up at a reasonable time. Sigh. And I'm physically exhausted, but I'm not mentally tired. I hate it when that happens. Hopefully I will be once I get off the computer. But I'm going to check on Squoosh and then go sleep on the couch. CNN should have me asleep within an hour. Lord...I hope. If not, I'll have to bring out the Big Guns.

Yep, C-SPAN.