If you think the beer shits are annoying, spend a morning drinking nothing but green tea and then come talk to me.

Just like books, movies need editors. Before the shooting even begins, movies need editors.

Is it wrong that even though I've not been in school for years, my date book of choice is still the Chandler's assignment notebook?

I'm supposedly getting new shoes tomorrow. Assuming the Devil's Delivery Service doesn't screw up yet another order. They look like Chucks, but are made humanely by people who get paid a fair wage. And they're made out of hemp. And they're mostly white, but with black toes. I have yet to decide if I can pull that off or not. We'll find out tomorrow, won't we?

Hopefully.

So it's been raining a lot lately. Granted, we're not talking "gather ye two of every animal and build ye an ark" kind of rain, but it has been rainy and icky for the past several days. And it's gotten me thinking: Maybe I should invest in an umbrella.

Well, I did it. I have a talk show appearance under my belt. I'm pretty sure I came off as a jackass, so just keep that in mind as you watch the clip. It should be up on the show's website very soon. What can I say? I was nervous. I was asked questions that I wasn't expecting or really prepared for. And I dropped my pick halfway through my second song. Oh well. I guess part of my charm is that I'm a a normal person who happens to get to do really cool stuff, like be on talk shows and build puppets and things. And that beng the case, this appearance was a perfect showcase of me and who I really am. Man, I don't even remember half the things I said on the show. As I was driving away, I thought to myself, "Did I really say that? Sweet jebus..." So yeah, just keep that in mind as you watch it. And like a good, self-conscious musician, I went out and got nice and squiffy after the show. Mmm...squiffy...

I'm taping a TV show tonight. In front of a (supposedly) large studio audience.

Eep.

So the host of the show kind of requested that I play "Mona Lisa." I love "Mona Lisa." I think it's a really great song, if I'm allowed to say that about my own work. The only problem with it is that it requires that I retune my guitar. So do I go in with it tuned for that, then tune it back to standard for a second song? Or do I do a song or two in standard tuning and then retune for "Mona Lisa?" It would be fun to do either "Hamburg" or "Coming Home" and then "Mona Lisa." Hmmm...

On the up side, I do know what I'm going to wear. So I don't have to worry about that part. Just about what I'm going to play. Wish me luck! And yes, I'll let you know when it airs.

Moby once said something along the lines of, "It would take an unusual individual to see me as any sort of catch."

Amen, brutha man. Amen.

And I blame Grey's Anatomy for making me think there are billions of such individuals. Stupid stupid awesome show with super hot McDreamy. Why oh why must you move to Thursday nights?

It's been decided. I lead a very strange life. I mean seriously, how many people do you know lose a job and get booked to appear on television all in the same day? Well, I know you know at least one. Because that's me. That's the day I had today.

Yup, after my super crazy week last week, I come back to my regularly scheduled programming only to find that Tuesdays are being dropped for budgetary reasons. Which is fine. I kind of saw that one coming. But still.

Then I come home and get a phone call from a gentleman to whom I sent my press kit months and months ago to be on his show asking if I can do his show this coming Friday. So I'll be taping an episode of The Steve Levy Show this Friday, to be aired at a later date (which I will, of course, let you all know as soon as I know when it's going to air). But yeah, it's a late night talk show, with monologue and guests and stuff. And I get to be one of the musical guests. How cool is that?

So should I be upset that I lost the one gig? Maybe, but I'm not really. It opens up other doors for me. Should I be geeked that I get to be on television? Of course! That's always fun. Now I just gotta figure out what I'm going to play...and what I'm going to wear...

There's a spider who lives in my shower. I think her name is Emily. I feel a little bit bad that my daily bathing habits freak her out so much, but she is the one who decided to live in a shower. It was a shower before she got there. And I bathed there daily before she got there. If she doesn't like it so much, she should move.

So hi, Emily. Welcome to my shower. Sorry the water bit freaks you out. Please don't have millions of babies in my shower. That would not be pleasant. For me, anyway. I might have to do something drastic then and nobody wants that. But you're welcome to all of the mosquitos and such that happen to fly into my shower as well. Enjoy them!

Okay, this is going to be long and rambly because I haven't gotten to do a good brain dump in a while. I've not had a good brain movement in days, so I ate some extra fiber and look out! Here it comes!

I have to admit that as of late, I've been feeling like maybe I'm not so good at what I do. There are several things that feed into this, a lot of which I don't really need to get into the nitty gritty of, but let's just say that some of it is a lack of positive reinforcement from my peers and superiors, and some of it is just part of the learning process. When you're learning something new, you're bound to screw up a lot, which I have been doing, and it makes me feel less than good at what I do.

So I go do this PA job all week last week and I'm reminded of the fact that I am really good at that stuff. I am really good at doing what other people tell me to do. Give me a task and I'll get it done fast and I'll get it done right. I'll drive myself crazy doing it, but you'll be very much impressed with the end result. And in some ways, it was really fun to be a PA for a week and to have tasks to do and places to be and so on and so forth. And in some other ways, it reminded me of exactly why I left my day job oh so many months ago. When you're a PA, you're not really a person. At least I don't feel like one. The person you are helping is the one who has needs and opinions and mood swings and outbursts and blah blah blah, but you're not allowed to. You do your job, keep your mouth shut, speak when spoken to (or when there's something really important to say) and you go home and bitch about it later. It was really strange to go for five days without the people around me knowing I'm a musician and an actor. To have that part of my life completely shut off and ignored. Even by me.

On Friday, I got to go play at the sammich shop, though. They asked me if I could work on Friday with not really enough notice to tell the sammich shop I couldn't go, and besides, I wanted to play. I was coming off of a week of playing every day to a week of not even picking up my guitar once, and I wanted to play. And it was the best time I've ever had playing at that sammich shop. A lot of the customers noticed me and made positive comments. A three year old boy played air guitar with me. A frat boy did a goofy little dance while he was waiting for his friends. And I got to sing. And play. And make people happy. This man came in with his father and at first they didn't even notice I was up there. It took them a good ten minutes or so to realize it was an actual person making the music, not piped in stuff. They were blown away. It felt wonderful. It felt so frickin' good to get that kind of positive reinforcement. I needed that little reminder that I am good at what I do. I'm good at what I love.

I know I complain that it's weird to play for people who are largely disinterested. But I have to say that I'm the luckiest person in the world that I get to make music for people on a regular basis, AND I get paid to do it. How cool is that?

Adn then there's the boy front. Or lack thereof. My hot bartender has a girlfriend, so there goes one totally unrealistic crush. I think for the first time in a long time, I have no idea what I want, but I want something. Which is why I'm kind of sticking with my "I want an incredibly hot man" thing. Not just someone who is kind of cute if you look at him the right way. Not someone who becomes attractive because I've gotten to know him. I want a guy who my girlfriends will look at and go "Damn, where did she find him and does he have a brother?" I want strangers walking down the street to look at us and go, "Girlfriend did good." BUT (and it's a really big but) I don't want a purely physical relationship with him. I still want to be able to trust him. I still want loyalty and exclusivity. But I don't know that I want him to be my proverbial soul mate with whom I will spend the rest of my life. I want it easy going and relaxed, but I still want to feel safe and secure in the knowledge that I'm the only one he's spending his romantic energies on. Where does one find such a man? And how does one go about approaching the situation? "Hi. You're the hottest thing I have ever seen in my life. You wanna have a high school-esque relationship with me where we talk about really unimportant stuff, never get into the nitty gritty, have sex on occasion, but spend the majority of our time just making out?" Is it crazy to want that? I take that back. It's okay for me to want whatever I want. But I'm guessing that I'm the only person in the greater Chicagoland area who wants that, so I'll probably remain single/non-dating for a while longer until I'm ready to open my heart up to someone again. That's going to be the tough part.

And yeah. Got a show tonight. I hope it goes better than last week. I should look at my script again. And I gotta start getting ready to send out an agent mailing. Wish me luck with that one. And my musical instrument/equipment collection is growing, so maybe I'll play around with Garageband a bit more and see what I come up with. Never hurts to play around.

I hope you all are doing well and staying cool. Say hi to your respective families for me. Scritch any pets you might have. Unless they're fish. Fish don't usually take well to scritching.

You know, I'd still like to see the Cubs versus the Cardinals in the playoffs. Because chances are, we'd kick their asses. That'd be fun.

I think the hardest part about being a personal assistant is having to pretend you're an extrovert. Granted, I doubt extroverts find this problematic. Inroverts, however, might find it challenging. Having to always shadow your person. Having to talk lots and lots. Though in some ways, introverts make great personal assistants because 1) they listen well and 2) they only spit back out the important information without all sorts of mindless chatter surrounding it. In any case, being someone's personal assistant is taxing. Pays well, but it's exhausting.

I've had a fun week, though. I like being involved in film type stuff. This was the first commercial I've worked on, and essentially, it was like working on a movie, but with the time period significantly condensed. And I impressed all of the right people, which is good. I was quiet when I needed to be and the take-charge type when I needed to be and I got everything done that needed to be done. I impressed the right people to such an extent, actually, that they hired me on for today, too. So five days instead of the three they originally asked about. And they asked if I'd be interested in doing this kind of stuff again. I said I would. So between the music and the acting and my theater and freelance PA work, I'm going to be one busy little bee. Which is a good thing. A very good thing.

Gotta go to work now. I'll chat more later. Love you guys!

I just wanted to say a real quick happy birthday to my honorary sister today. Wow. We're getting old.

Tee hee.

One more day of craziness and then I'll be able to post more and fill y'all in on what's been going on. Hang in there. I know you're dying to know.

But happy birthday, honorary sister!

Hi. Stop.

Crazy busy. Stop.

Enjoying it. Stop.

Super tired. Stop.

Will be glad when I can sleep past 7am again. Stop.

Hope you are well. Stop.

Say hi to the kids for me. Stop.

Stop. Stop.

It feels really good to work hard. So hard that you're exhausted by the time you get home.

On the down side, I have to do it again tonight. In just a couple of hours.

On the up side, I didn't have to do it a third time. That one I got out of.

On the down side, I have to start again at the proverbial butt crack of dawn tomorrow.

On the up side, I'm getting paid really well. And it's only through Thursday.

It feels really good to work hard.

So this character I'm playing in the puppet show is kind of the office ditz/slut. She spends a fair amount of time reading magazines, taking quizzes, and doing crossword puzzles. So as a prop, I went out and purchased a certain women's magazine that is pretty well known. I won't say which one, but I'm sure you can imagine. Anyway, before the show and a little bit onstage, I've been reading this magazine and all I have to say is no wonder women are neurotic! There are a million and one tips on how to make sex better for him. Better for him? Honey, the fact that he's getting any at all means he's doing pretty darn well. Where's the section on how to train him to "hit the right spot" so to speak? Instead, we are given exercises that we can do to increase the strength of our muscles down there to make our orgasms better. We're told that essentially, men want to be able to do as little as possible while making love. And that if we don't make sex exciting enoug for him, he'll dump us. We're told what handbag we absolutely can't live without. We're told where to find those oh-so-affordable $150 jeans that will be popular until maybe November. Sweet Jebus, no wonder our culture is falling apart.

Now, I know people like to busy themselves with the mundane. It makes them feel important. But come on. There is a page in the magazine titled "Man without a shirt" and it's just a picture of some random guy not wearing a shirt, and about three sentences on how he got those amazing abs. Now, as much as I'm in my shallow phase right now, do we really need to be perpetuating this? There's an article saying that big butts are now preferred over big boobs. So thanks to my genes, I'm now in fashion. What about all of those women who spent all kinds of money on boob jobs? Now they're being told they have to get more plastic surgery to get a proper booty, that will go out of style as soon as the newest cellulite cream hits the market.

It honestly makes me sad. And that isn't even talking about the 8,000,000 ads in the magazine full of sexy women wearing next to nothing, highlighting some new nail polish color. It's no wonder women hate each other. Stuff like this encourages us to go into direct competition with each other about everything -- men, clothes, jobs, physicality.

I have to admit that when I was younger, I did read some of these types of magazines on a semi-regular basis. I've not read one (this most recent one being the exception) in probably ten or fifteen years. And I can honestly say, my life is much better, richer and fuller not knowing where to buy gaucho pants and how to use them to get the man of my dreams. Just let me be me and do my own thing, thanks.

I hate to get all esoteric on you, but life is really funny sometimes, you know? We get all stressed out about things that all work out in the end. We feel we never have enough time, yet somehow, all of the important stuff gets done anyway. We feel we never have enough money, but then something strange happens and we get a bonus at work or something. We feel disconnected from other people, and then we find friends we never knew we had in unusual places. And the weirdest part about it is that I seem to have dreams about a lot of this stuff beforehand. I had a dream two nights ago that my bank account was really low and I needed to find a job, and now I'm about to embark on my biggest money-making week since I left my day job. I had that dream oh so long ago about meeting a hot drummer and then I did. So last night I dreamt that I had gone out of the country and on the plane ride home, someone stole the photographs from my driver's license and passport, so I couldn't get back into the United States. What do you think that one means? I shouldn't take a trip abroad? Or if I do, I should just buy a one-way ticket? Meh. We'll see.

It's amazing what a simple "thank you" can do.

It's also amazing what happens when said "thank you" is missing.

I also wonder what the differences in oxytocin levels between introverts and extroverts are. If any.

I wonder what the world record is for number of cucumbers consumed by an individual person in a twenty-four hour period.

I love it when I get to be a part of something really cool. Like when the sammich shop where I work asks if I'll provide the music for their fundraiser to help the music therapy program at Children's Memorial Hospital. Which they did. And I accepted. And I'm so excited that I get to be involved!

This Tuesday, I'll be playing at the Potbelly's in Lincoln Park from about 11am - 3pm (I know, four hours! My fingers are going to hate me) as part of their fundraising efforts. And 100% of the sales from that store on that day go to the music therapy program at Children's. 100%! So if you live near there or work near there or might happen to be walking through that neighborhood, stop in and get a sammich. And maybe some chili. And a shake. And some pretzels. And a bottle of water. Because whatever you spend there on Tuesday will go to help sick kids know the healing power of music. How cool is that?

I'm warning you, it will be packed in there. But they're going to have a lot of staff on hand and things run pretty smoothly with that bunch, so your wait shouldn't be too long. And it's for charity, people. You can spend the rest of your day knowing you did something good for someone other than yourself. And, you'll get to hear me play cover songs. How fun is that? I hope to see you there!

And thank you to Potbelly's for letting me be a part of something really cool.

I slept in my own bed last night. Under the sheets. With my cat sleeping above the sheets on his side of the bed. And I can't even tell you how wonderful it was. Okay, partially because it's a new bed and it's really comfortable, but also because sleeping in the living room on my futon was getting a little bit old. But it was cool enough last night to allow me back in my own room. Yay!

Okay, I'll admit it. The heat wave made me cranky. I apologize for being cranky. You'd be cranky, too, though, if you felt like your brain was melting inside your head.

But then last night and this morning we had the most spectacular thunderstorms. We're talking torrential downpours for six minutes and then drizzle for an hour and then "big ol' fat rain" for a little while, all the time peppered with huge cracks of thunder and stunning bolts of lightning. Does lightning have an e in it? Lightening? I always spell that wrong. It's my weakness. Everybody has one. People can ask me how to spell spectacular and I'll rattle it off no problem, but lightening always screws me up. I do love to look at it. And frightening as some of the thunder can be, I really do enjoy watching lightening and hearing thunder. It makes me feel safe somehow. The world is working as it should be.

AND, it cooled off the outside air temperature by about thirty degrees. Meaning I could sleep last night. I'm wearing my jeans today and socks and I feel so much better. Calmer. More relaxed. My cat is liking this a lot better, too. He was sleeping behind the toilet for most of the day yesterday, just to be near the cool porcelain. Today he's playful and begging for attention again.

So anyway, I'm sorry I've been cranky. And for those of you still being cooked on the east coast, relief is on the way. Maybe only for a day or two, but even a day or two makes a world of difference.

I know it was a move that was better for their own personal careers, but it breaks my heart a little bit to see Maddux and Walker go. Maddux because he should end his career in Chicago. And because now we have yet another hole in our starting rotation. Walker because he was/is a great player. Great fielder, great bat, great pinch hitter. And the best looking man in baseball. I'm kind of miffed that he was traded for one minor league pitcher. I think he is worth more than that.

So long, boys. I hate to see you go. And if it helps at all, when you play against us, I won't hate you. I'll still be happy to see you on the field.