I think I finally figured it out.

I was under the impression that if I leave home at 11.10a at the latest, I'll get to work at noon. This is a giant lie. I mean, sometimes it worked, but leaving at 11.10a at the latest generally meant starting to leave at 11.10a, and generally ending up standing at the bus stop at 11.25a thinking, "If the van comes right now and there's no traffic at all, I should make it."

This generally meant me rushing and racing and getting to work eight minutes late. And it finally occurred to me that I really have to leave the house at 11a, so I should just fucking do that.

So, this morning, I set the alarm for 10a, got up at 10.24a (that's hitting snooze three times), went to the bathroom, fed the cats, watched an episode of Good Eats, checked my email, combed my hair, got dressed, remembered to get my work shirt out of the dryer, put a load of laundry into the washer, packed up my computer, was out the door at 11.04a, and made it to work at 11.45a. And that included picking up some food to bring with me.

I know I've said this before, but it really wasn't that hard to leave the house on time. Of course, I didn't have anything to bring in and I didn't have to shower, which did make it easier, but how hard can it be to leave the house on time? I ask you.

So, yesterday was my Day Off, which I did love with all of my heart and my soul and my life and my mind, but it's the last one through July, since the festival doesn't have Wednesday matinees.

This does not break my heart, since I really can't afford to only work four days a week (at that job, since I really work seven days a week at both jobs), but it really was sweet to have these last two Wednesdays off. Two days of work, a day off, then two more days, then a weekend. Now that's a civilized work schedule.

Or, you know, it would be if I also wasn't working eight shows this week at Love Creek. This seven day schedule is killing me, though it is much easier now that I am on break and not also trying to find time to rehearse.

So, I hung around the house and did some writing and did some reading and listened to Jonathan Coulton and watched The 50 Top Greatest Teen Idols of All Time on VH1.

Shaun Cassidy was only #20, for some insane reason. Since he was, of course, my teen idol, I would rate him rather higher. Not above David, but closer. Like maybe #5 or so. Now that's what I need to get on cd, Shaun Cassidy. God, he was cute.

Corey Feldman, with nothing at all better to do, commented on every. Single. One. Seriously, Corey, get a job. Nobody really cares about your views on Molly Ringwald. Amusingly, he was identified as "Corey Feldman--Actor/Musician. I suppose they had to write something.

Britney Spears was #1, which is a little arguable, but certainly possible, but it was clear that the show was shot a year or two ago, since nobody mentioned what a white-trash skank she turned into. Gosh, remember when Britney was sweet? Ah, those halcyon days...

The show last night had a pretty good audience, and I made $20 concessions, which brings me a little over $5 in profit! Yay!

I sold six cupcakes, which means that I was left with three, so apparently a dozen wasn't a bad guess for what I needed early in the week. I made another dozen last night, but less variety. The chocolate got chocolate frosting and the white got white frosting. The end. And there were a couple more plain-topped ones, as not everybody likes jimmies. Hell, I don't like jimmies!

I left them on the counter in a pan covered with a tea towel, because I don't like to refrigerate cake or bread unless it won't be eaten for several days, which of course meant that when I got up this morning, one of the cats had walked across it.

Only one cupcake was smooshed, fortunately, and I can still sell it reduced, since it was smooshed while covered with the tea towel, not by her filthy naked cat paw. Not that I know for certain which of them bad kitties did the smooshing, but I have a pretty good idea.

I was on my way to the theatre when I saw a guy riding his bicycle down the street, big smile on his face, honking his little bulb horn at the intersection, "Wonka wonka wonka!"

These two black kids were walking by, and they yelled "Shut the fuck up!" at the guy on the bike. He skidded to a halt, his face cold and hard. They kept walking towards him, and he sat stock-still in traffic, waiting for them to get close to him.

The stepped in front of his bike, and he, face contorted with anger, violently...squeezed his little bulb horn at them. Several times. "Wonka wonka wonka!!" That's show them.

Today's horoscope:
After days of thinking about it, you've decided it's time to change something about yourself that you haven't been satisfied with for some time. Well, get going. Think of how proud you'll be when it's done.

One year ago today:
On the other hand, Marlon Wayans was absolutely horrifyingly bad. Of course, his role was pretty horrible, but he couldn't have been worse.

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Last Updated Thurs 21 April 13:17:09 2005