Moby concert in Milwaukee last night. Another one in Chicago tonight. I think my heart might just explode with love for the human race.

I've been feeling, well, a little off as of late. There have been some nasty things said about me to my face which on first glance are, well, really nasty. But I've had a chance to think about them, really think about them, and I can see that they aren't really true. Just an attempt to make me feel bad about myself. So I go by myself to this Moby show last night, and I meet two very lovely people who spend their evening talking to me and dancing with me and enjoying fireworks with me and all of that. They could have ignored strange girl sitting by herself, but chose to open themselves up to someone new, and I chose to open myself up to someone new, too, and we all had a lovely evening. No games. No manipulation. Just people enjoying good music. I thank them for that. Thank you!

And damn, was that good music! I almost fell off the bench we were standing on about twenty times, but had I broken my neck at the concert, it would have been totally worth it. If you have never gotten to see someone doing what he or she most loves to do, totally aware of the fact that he or she is completely blessed that he or she gets to do this, you'll have no idea what I'm talking about. But Moby and his whole band just have so much fun on the stage! They love playing music. They love playing music with each other. They love playing music with each other for thousands of screaming fans. And the fans love every second of it, too. Such good energy. It was like taking a spiritual bath and afterwards, I just felt good.

I got to meet him again, too, behind the venue. A bunch of people were waiting for autographs and stuff, and he was very patiently and very diligently trying to get to everyone. I got my "Hotel" cover signed and a bunch of good pictures. He signed this one woman's breasts, but didn't turn it into a lewd thing. I was impressed by that. He's so gentle and unassuming and he even seemed a little overwhelmed by how many people were there who wanted to greet him. He knows he is blessed and is thankful for it, you can tell. And in addition to being intelligent and artistic and non-judgmental and socially aware...I know I've said it before and I'll probably say it again, and I apologize for the redundancy, but he is a credit to the human race.

Thank you, Moby, for everything that you do and for being who you are.

Happy Fourth of July, everybody!

I know in the past year or so, I have said some disparaging things about this country and it's current administration. Truth of the matter is, I love my country, despite it's current administration. I love it that I live in a country where I can say what I want to say on this public journal, I can live in my own space, I can hold whatever job I choose, I can dream as big as I want. And I particuarly love the city in which I live. Chicago is my home. Chicago welcomes you with open arms, great food, wonderful music, all kinds of cultural opportunitites. Yes, it gets hot in the summer and cold in the winter, but it is home to the greatest baseball park in the world, that is home to the team with the greatest heart in all of baseball. Chicago has the greatest skyline. Chicago has wonderful parks and beaches and festivals and theaters and shops and schools and people and on and on and on. I love my home in Chicago and I am thankful every day that I get to live here.

Have a safe and happy Fourth!

I think more people should take voice lessons. And I'm not just talking about voice lessons for singing purposes, I'm talking about for speaking purposes, too. How to open up your wind passages, and bellow things out from the diaphragm, completely unobstructed. Partially because it would be more enjoyable for the listeners if we all had good, strong speaking and singing voices, and partially because it just feels so darn good to speak or sing with your whole body, instead of just with your mouth.

And wouldn't it be cool if in these voice lessons, we could also learn how to say the things that really need to be said? I guess that's called therapy. But if instead of learning how to effectively sing, "La la la la la," you could go to your voice lesson and learn how to powerfully say, "I need a peanut butter sandwich," or "If I don't get to a bathroom quickly, there is going to be an awful mess to deal with." You know. Important stuff.

Tee hee.

So I get to do a last minute gig tonight. One of my fellow Chicago female musicians has this show out in Glen Ellyn and her opening band had to cancel due to some emergency. I am quite flattered that she asked me to fill in. I'm sure she asked others, too, but that she thought of me in that group is amazing. And that I got to her first and ended up with the gig is that much cooler. Yay!

So I'll be skipping out of work early today to trek out to the burbs and play a little set for an entirely new audience. I hope people actually come out for it. I hope I don't get booed off the stage. I hope I remember how to play my songs this time. Wish me luck!

It's all about networking and dependability...

You know what I need? And pardon me for sounding totally shallow and inappropriate with this comment, but I'm going to say it anyway. I need a really aesthetically beautiful man in my life. One of those men you see in a movie and are just mesmerized by. I'd be okay with just having him around to look at, if he didn't mind just being looked at. That would be fine. And not to downplay the attractiveness of my current male friends because a lot of them are really hot, but in their own way, or in some strange way that only I find attractive. But I'm talking about rippling muscles, perfect hair, chisled jaw, piercing eyes good looks.

So in addition to all of those qualities in a man I am looking for that I listed so long ago in the hopes of manifesting such a partner for myself, let's add: I'd like to be with a man so beautiful, I never get tired of looking at him. But not so vain that he never stops looking at himself.

Tee hee.

Oh! And a very happy anniversary to a very dear couple I know who moved far away and I miss very much, and a very happy birthday to a very dear friend of mine. I hope you all have really lovely days. Full of hot men.

I slept in my own bed last night! Hooray!

When I bought my futon, I bought one that would be extra comfortable, so that when people come to visit my house, they can hopefully get a good night's sleep out of the deal. And granted, it is a comfortable futon. But there is something about sleeping in my own bed. Having my house back as my house, not as an apartment with a bed in the living room and an oven where I keep my clothes. I feel like a person again and it feels good.

I did my nails last night, too. Since I'm not playing Leroy again until July 8, I figured now is my chance to look like a girl. They're purple, but a sort of pastel purple, so nothing too crazy. I like it. It is, to be honest, the only color of vegan nail polish I have. Buying nail polish is hard -- there are so many fun colors, but so many of them are completely inappropriate for an office type setting.

Speaking of which, I found another job at the University for which I could apply. It would be a different department, different office, very similar responsibilities. I keep telling myself I should go ahead and just submit my resume -- what can it hurt, right? They won't necessarily want to hire me, and even if I'm offered the job, I can decline if things are changing here or whatever. But it is still a very scary thing to be thinking about. Leaving this office where I have spent eight hours a day for the last five years. Leaving my boss who I really like and get along with. The rest of the people in this office though...it's not like I expected everyone to remember. I knew most people would forget. But the people at work? Who have it written down on their bulletin boards? Who make a big deal out of it for everyone else? I'm sorry, I don't want to sound petty, but it hurts. As if I didn't already know I don't belong here. And if I got a different job at the University, I'd still have my same medical, dental, retirement, and vacation benefits, but I might actually be utilized, you know? My talents might not go to waste on a daily basis. It can't hurt to send off my resume, right?

Happy things. I fed Herman this morning. I hope he likes it at my house. I really like having him there.

Oh! And for those of you who are wondering, I only had one piece of cake all weekend. I know, I failed. But I had cookies yesterday and lots of pizza on Sunday, so it was still an All-Good-Food-All-The-Time weekend. Not a total loss.

So it really was just another day. I marched in the Gay Pride Parade. Hung out with a bunch of people, none of whom even knew. And then I went home, ordered a pizza, and watched television for the rest of the night. I got phone calls from a bunch of people, which was nice. The ones who knew but forgot were exactly the ones who I knew would.

The strange part, though, is that since it really, truly, honestly was just another day, it doesn't feel like it happened. I know it did, but it doesn't feel like it. Weird. Anyway. Moving on.

If you ever get the chance to march in a Gay Pride Parade, take it. It is so much fun! Even in sweltering heat, even outside walking for three miles in the middle of the day, it is so much fun! So many people, so many styles, so many winks and gropes and chances to flirt. So much fun. I was, for the most part, creeping people out, dressed as Leroy, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. I hope this turns into a yearly thing.

And for the record, no, I am not gay. I was there promoting "The Bad Seed." But I saw one guy on the news say that it's not about whether you are gay, straight, bisexual, or whatever. Pride Day is about celebrating who you are. I think we could all use a little more of that, especially if it involves bright colors, bubbles, and fun music.

Wow, lots to catch up on. I may have to split this up into several entries.

I have a new member of my family -- Herman. He is a pepperomia, whatever that is. A cute little hanging plant, that will supposedly get more vine-y as he gets older. He's really cute and unassuming and he gets along fine with Owen. So between Owen and Simon and Herman and Nigel and Charlene and I, it's no wonder it gets hot in my aparment. But I like my little family. We're totally non-traditional, but we each have our place and we all get along, and we all love each other, so that's what is important.

Welcome to the family, Herman!

I think I just might have to have an all cake all the time weekend this weekend. Because let's face it, life is just that much brighter after you've had some cake. Cake cures all. And if I'm ever going to have an all cake all the time weekend, it should be this weekend. And anyone who would like to join me in my all cake all the time weekend is more than welcome. I'll be eating vegan cake, of course, but that shouldn't stop you from having some, too, either vegan or regular.

Mmm...cake...

So finally, I get the summer I've been waiting for. The summer I've been wanting. The summer so sweltering hot, you can't sleep, can't breathe, can't move. I love it!

I slept in my living room last night to be near the window fan without moving the window fan, and it was kind of nice, because my cat joined me. As much fun as it is not to wake up at 4:30 in the morning, it is exceptionally nice to wake up and see a sweet little fuzzy face staring back at you and to be able to give that sweet little fuzzy face sleepy kisses without falling back asleep with fur on your lips. I don't know if that made any sense or not. I woke up at 4:30, kissed my cat, and went back to sleep. It's more fun to talk about the other way.

Long weekend ahead. And here's hoping the Cubs pound the Sox. Go, Cubbies!

There is a paper clip holding my shoe on, and I must say, it is doing a really good job.

So I'm feeling pretty good. I have plenty to complain about -- job still sucks and I don't want to be here, I'm feeling kind of fat as of late, I don't forsee another day off until mid July, etc. -- but none of it is really getting me down. I know that if I hang in there long enough with the job thing, something will happen. And even if that something is me getting fired, I know I'll still land on my feet. I always do. With the fat thing, I know it is because of my cycle. It's funny how in tune with my body I became once I became vegan. But I know there are a couple of days every month when I just can't seem to stop eating, but there will also be a couple of days where I don't feel like eating at all, so it will all balance out in the end. And the no days off, well, that one is a little annoying. I would like to have one day wherein I don't have to talk to anyone if I don't want to. No answering the phone. No going to work. No going to the theater. Maybe go see a movie, but alone, so the only talking I have to do is saying, "One, please," to the person at the box office. Just a full day that is mine. I have, just within the past couple of days, rediscovered the joy that is video games. I pulled out my Super Nintendo and played Zelda the other night and was really enjoying it. Yes, I suck at it, but it was really fun.

Video games. Hot topic, and one on which I have a lot of opinions. I don't like point of view games, where you see the back of your character's head, or sometimes just your character's gun in the bottom center of the screen, and everything else moves around you. Call me a wuss, but I get dizzy with those games. Yes, the graphics are amazing and lifelike and blah blah blah, but I get dizzy with those games. And I don't like not being able to see what's behind me. I like profile type games, like Super Mario or Sonic or even things like Donkey Kong, where you can see what's in front of you, what's behind you, where you need to go next, that kind of thing. Yes, the graphics are primitive, but I love them just the same. Tell me Mario in the frog outfit in Super Mario 3 for the original Nintendo wasn't adorable. Go ahead and try. Won't work. It was like he was wearing little green footie pajamas. So cute. Anyway.

I don't think that video games are the root of all evil. There are a lot of good things to be learned from video games, like hand-eye coordination, and they keep the brain much more active than simply watching television. Did you know that you burn more calories sleeping than you do watching television? It's true. But video games stimulate the mind more than TV does. That's a good thing. And I think that with proper supervision, any child will be able to tell the difference between violence in a video game and violence in real life. A lot of that, I hate to say it, has to fall on the parents. Which is why, maybe, they should stick to fantasy type video games like Donkey Kong instead of realistic You're Fighting In Iraq With The Latest Military Technology games. I dunno. Just a thought.

But yeah, I have rediscovered the joy that is video games. And I would very much like to have a day wherein I don't have to do ANYTHING, and I can sit around playing video games and trying to keep my cat from chewing apart the controller cables. But else than that, I'm doing pretty good. My apartment is staying cool enough (so far) that I can kind of sleep. I wish Owen's sleeping rhythm would fall back in with mine so I wouldn't have to keep shutting him out of my room at night. There really is nothing sweeter than waking up next to a sleeping cat. Watching him yawn and stretch, bleary eyed, as I carry him into the kitchen to get breakfast. If you have a pet, you know the joy of which I speak. Now imagine that, followed up by a day of video games and cartoons and junk cereal. Perfection.

So my security deposit is supposedly on its way to me, after being sent back to my old property managment company because they put the wrong zip code on it. I moved across the street from a building they manage and they put the wrong zip code on it. After I left them my forwarding address in an envelope with my keys, they put the wrong zip code on it. They got the right street number, but the wrong zip code. Not sure how they managed that one, but hey, at least my security deposit is on its way. I'll be interested to see how much it is.

They said I could stop by and pick it up, too. I think the last place I want to go is into that office.

Happy birthday, Grandma!

I spent too much money this weekend. Kind of a monetary bulemia, characterized by binging and purging, but I think the binge is over, and I should be good from here on out.

I got paid last week, ending my month-long monetary drought, so I had to spend some money. I put gas in my car and got it washed. I went grocery shopping (and have decided that my fridge is a mini-fridge, because while I did buy a lot of food, it's not that much more than I used to buy and the thing is PACKED). I went to the mall to try to buy some new underwear, but they didn't have anything cute and in my size, so I bought three new tops instead. Kind of girly things that I'm not sure yet if I can pull off, but if I'm going to be a girl one of these days, I'm going to have to start dressing the part. I'm wearing one of the new tops now and I go back and forth between thinking it is really cute and thinking it makes me look pregnant. But all in all, the things I purchased were things I needed (except the clothes, but you have to treat yourself from time to time), so I don't feel too bad about it. I'll be back on my budget for the rest of the month.

One music festival that I will not be in.

I'm glad they e-mailed me to say I wasn't accepted this year, though. At least I don't have to sit and think about it anymore. And I knew I wasn't going to get a slot -- this was my practice year.

Next year, though, I'm going to knock 'em all on their asses.

I got an invitation to my 10 year high school reunion in the mail yesterday. I was kind of worried that I hadn't gotten one yet, and I'm kind of relieved that there is, in fact, going to be a reunion.

The strange thing is, there are really only about three, maybe four people who I would want to see. One, I think we could probably catch up in about ten minutes. One is the first guy I ever went on a date with. I hear he's married now. One is a woman who is a fantastic artist and I'd love to see her and talk to her again. And then there's the one who won't show up.

I know I've talked about him before, but I want to talk about him again. I really miss him and wonder if he is okay. I know what it is like to need distance from the people you knew at a certain point in your life, but I still want to know that he is okay. He was so sweet and so intelligent and so wonderful, but so miserable. I want to know that he is happy with his life now.

I remember at our senior breakfast, we all had to fill out a survey thingy, with our favorite movie, etc., that is supposedly going to be presented to us at our reunion so we can see how we've changed since then. Under favorite actor, I saw on his sheet that he wrote my name. This is before I could get cast in anything, because I was part of the wrong clique. But he knew I wanted to be an actor, he knew how much I loved movies, and he put down my name. I want him to know that I am an actor now, and that I'm in a Jeff Recommended show. I want him to know that I'm a musician, too. I want to share that creative side of my life with him, because we shared our dreams of that kind of a life back when we were in high school. Is that selfish?

I have no idea how to find this guy, and I guess I just hope that if I talk about how much I'd like to see him again enough, he'll appear somewhere, out of the blue. I am alomst 100% sure that the last place in the world he will reappear is at our high school reunion - he hated that place even more than I did, if that's possible - but I'm tempted to go just on the off chance that he'll be there and I can hug him and tell him that I miss him and I should have been better to him when we were in high school, I should have been more present. I hope to meet his wife (if he has one) and shake her hand and tell her how lucky she is to have a man like him.

I know he won't show up. I'll go to the reunion, see my other friends, and generally have a miserable time. But I will spend the next four months with little butterflies in my stomach, anticipating the chance that I might see my friend again.

I have to admit it, I've been reading personal ads as of late. I'm sorry, but they are funny. And I would like to offer a few words of advice to those of you out there who might be considering writing a personal ad.

1. Do not list among the things that you like to do, "having fun." This is akin to saying, "I am a human being, of the person sort." EVERYBODY likes to have fun. That's what we're all about. If you weren't looking to have fun, you wouldn't be on a dating site in the first place. Tell us a little bit about what you consider fun and that might be helpful. "I like to torture small animals" will tell us loads about who you are, as will "I like to blow bubbles in public places." But simply saying "I like to have fun" tells us nothing.

2. If you are 22 and "sick of the bar scene," you've got problems. Maybe you had a good fake ID and you've been going to bars since you were twelve and getting nowhere, but still. That, in and of itself, tells us a lot about you. If you are the sort who was never into the bar scene, tell us that. But to be so jaded when you are a whopping 22 years old is a pretty big turn off, especially seeing as most of the people reading your ad "just want to have fun."

3. Calling all of the other people who post personal ads losers and crying out that you'll never find a decent person on [insert website here] will do nothing for your social life. Especially if you continue on to say that the women on the site are full of shit when they say they want to meet a nice guy but none of them has given you a chance because you are four-foot-two and weigh six hundred pounds and just want to be loved. There is something to be said for honesty in personal ads, but lambasting the general public will not make you more popular.

4. It's lovely that you include a picture with your ad, really it is. But if it is a picture of you from 100 yards away, or one of you with 16 of your closest friends and no indicator as to which one you are, that's really not very helpful, now, is it?

5. Spelung und gramer do cont. Honest. If you're add is ful of erors, that speks volums aboot hoo you r and what ur aboot.

I think that should about do it for now. Just follow these five steps to a better personal ad and I can pretty much guarantee you will get more responses. Or some responses. Maybe. I don't know. Do personal ads even work?

I just found out a man I knew died yesterday. I didn't know him terribly well, but I was lucky enough to be at his wedding, and to dance with him from time to time. We shared some really wonderful times, and I knew him well enough to know that he loved life. He loved his family. He loved being a part of the world around him. He always had a smile for everyone, and a kind word. He is in one of the pictures hanging in my office. But the cancer in his brain turned out to be too much for him, and now his wife, daugher, and unborn child will have to live out the rest of their lives without him.

My heart goes out to them. He was a beautiful man, and the world is a sadder place that he is no longer in it. We will miss you, Scott.

You know, I have come to really love Pat Hughes and Ron Santo as Cubs radio announcers, but there have been so many moments in the past three years where I have wished, really wished, that Harry Carry was still around. When the Cubs were the Division Champions in 2003. When the Cubs played the Yankees. And now today, when the Cubs are playing the Red Sox for the first time since 1918 when they met in the World Series. I can hear him going crazy. I can hear him on each of the two home runs that have already been hit by our beloved boys in blue in this first game of the series -- "It might be. It could be. It is! Ho-ly cow!" I never met the man, but I'm getting misty because I miss him. "Ah-1, ah-2, ah-3! Take me out to the ballgame. Take me out to the crowd. Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack. I don't care if I ever get back for it's root, root, root for the CUBBIES. If they don't win, it's a shame. For it's ONE, TWO, THREE strikes you're out at the old ballgame. Let's get some runs!"

That's not to slight Pat and Ron. I have grown to love Pat and Ron. They have such a wonderful rapport with each other, and they both truly love the Cubs. Not only do they love baseball, they love the Cubs. That makes all the difference when it comes to announcers. And Ron gets so excited when the Cubbies do something good. But I still miss Harry. I grew up mesmerized by his giant, tinted glasses, and the way his bottom lip was always wet like he was drooling. I grew up listening to him play games with the players' names, saying them backwards and forwards and upside down. Harry Carry was a voice of comfort for me growing up, and he will always be the voice of the Cubbies, and it makes me sad that he doesn't get to see the team he loved so much doing so well and/or making history. I know he would have loved this.

I miss you, Harry Carry.

But yay Cubbies! Beat those Red Sox!

Man, I really just can't make myself care about my job. I have so much crap lying around in my office and I just can't make myself do anything about it. I just can't. What's wrong with me?

Oh, yeah, that's right. This job doesn't care about me, and hasn't for a very long time.

That's not to say the people I work with are insensitive bastards or anything -- they're not. They are, for the most part, a lovely group of people and they are the reason I have stayed here as long as I have. But the job itself, with all of this restructuring and reorganizing and whatnot, I seem to be the only one who nobody is talking to. My co-workers are being wooed by other departments. My bosses get to talk to their bosses (even though nothing really gets to be straightened out). And I get to sit in an office full of paper, doing stupid, menial tasks that an untrained gerbil could do, all the while, being NOT talked to. I don't know what is going to happen to my job. I don't know what is going to happen to the jobs of those around me. And I'm tired of it. So I just don't care anymore if my stack of "things to be filed" reaches the ceiling. You know what? I don't have any more space in which to file things. I don't care if this travel reimbursement doesn't get processed today because the woman who gave it to me will collect receipts for six months before she hands them in to get reimbursed. And I really don't care if these little meetings get scheduled or not because when it comes time for the meeting to take place, it will most likely get canceled because something more important came up.

So I'm sorry, but I'm turning into a crappy employee. But you know what? I busted my butt trying to impress the people here for the past five years and where did it get me? In a room full of paper. I don't want to be in a room full of paper, especially if nobody is talking to me to tell me if I'm going to have to sit in a different room full of paper sometime in the near future. I want to be on a stage, either in full make-up and costume, or with my guitar. And you know what? I can see those things happening. I have a show tonight, and one tomorrow, and our extension is almost sold out and I have a music-type show in a couple of weeks and blah and blah and blah. So please forgive me if I don't give a rat's ass about this job. It's sunny outside and I can't be bothered with filing.

So I feel good. Not physically (Monkey SARS), but for the most part, I feel good. And it's a little unnerving. But if I talk about what it is that is making me feel good, then maybe just the fact that it is out there and acknowledged will mean it is okay, you know? Anyway.

It is finally hot outside. Yes, this makes it kind of miserable to try to sleep at night, but I think I figured out how to make my bedroom cool enough to sleep in. I think I need to get another fan, though because...

My apartment is too big for one fan to keep it cool. I know this could sound like a bad thing, but it means my apartment is big. Big enough that I can have people over. Big enough that I can close Owen out of my room at night and he can run around and have his night crazies without waking me up. Of course, then he's really vocal in the morning and we have to have a good chat before I go to work, but it is also really nice to talk to my cat in the morning. He has a lot of really good things to say. Which brings me to...

My cat. I know I gush about him all of the time, probably more than I should, but he really is just about the most beautiful thing in the world. I love him for moving with me and making the best of this new situation. I love it that he still likes to sleep in my closet or the kitchen cabinet. And I love it that he gets antsy for me to get out of the shower in the morning so we can talk and I can kiss him a million times before I go to work. If you've never had a pet, you won't understand, but if you do have a pet or have had one in the past, you know the bond that forms there. He is my love, my joy, my baby. And he's been really great while I've been sick, too, just sleeping next to me and hanging out and stuff. Thank you, smooshy face.

The show I'm in is doing really well. Really well. We're extending the run, all of the critics love it, our audiences love it and keep coming back to see it multiple times. It's crazy and a little unnerving. But I got to see DVD footage of it yesterday and I look pretty good. I look not like me, so that's encouraging. I've always wanted to be the kind of actor who looks different for every role and really brings to life the character who is supposed to be on stage/the screen. So I like it that I was able to transform myself into this creepy janitor guy, and then I can go home and put on a skirt and look like an elf, as my stepmother called me. I take that as a good indication that I am doing well in my craft.

I have this new friend who I have never talked to in person, but we've e-mailed a lot and talked on the phone and I think she is exactly the kind of friend I needed, namely a girl friend. I'd been feeling a lack of girl friends as of late, and I think I found myself a good one. We have this wonderful, open, honest on-going conversation thing happening. We both appreciate each other's strengths and weaknesses and are working on a bunch of things together. I kind of like knowing that I have someone in my corner who is always happy to hear from me, who likes me anyway, you know? I know there are other people in my life who fit this description, too, but there's something different about having a girl friend (and no, not in a romantic way). If you're not a girl, you won't get it. If you are a girl, you know of what I speak. You need those girl friends to talk about everything and nothing with, to be your cheerleaders, to share intimate moments with.

I found a silver needle white tea at Whole Foods last week and it's really yummy. Not quite as good at the stuff at TeaNY, but still tasty. And yes, I'm still drinking tea even though it is really hot outside.

I also have a really good guy friend right now. Completely Platonic, but a really good guy friend. One of those people you can most likely call up at the last minute and say, "You wanna go grab a beer?" and he'll say, "Sure. I'll be there in ten minutes." It's nice to have one of those. We always have fun when we hang out, and I feel like there's a decent give and take in our friendship. He supports what I do as best as he can, and I support what he does as best I can. We're invested in each other's lives, which is really nice. And honestly, it's that much nicer because we're not romanically involved. There's no pressure, no expectations. Just lots of e-mails and darts and movies.

My bedroom is green now, and I have fish on my living room walls.

My job still sucks, but I've stopped caring. Honestly. I come in and do what I'm supposed to and I go home and whatever happens to my job is what will happen to my job. I'll be fine. I know I've been broke this month, but I also know that I will be okay. Whatever happens. If I end up quitting this job and working at Trader Joe's, I know I'll be okay. That's a very comforting realization to come to.

I'm going to see two Moby shows next month.

I'm going to get to meet my new girl friend face to face in a couple of months.

I'm working on the kids show I'm going to direct in the fall and I'm getting really excited about it. I'm talking to a couple of guys about doing the music and the stuff I've gotten back so far is incredible! I'm really excited. I think it's going to turn into a fun little show.

I played my guitar for a bit yesterday. I sometimes go for a little while without playing and I kind of forget how much fun and how therapeutic it is to pick up my guitar, bang on it for a while, and sing out as loud as I can. I need to distribute some flyers for my upcoming show. Maybe I'll do that this weekend.

I think I have a weekend to myself this weekend. To do with as I please. Which will mean cleaning up after the party I'm throwing and watching the Cubs/Red Sox games.

So yeah, I feel like I have a lot going for me right now. It's slow going, but it's going and I'm content.

So I got a copy of the DVD that my mom (with some help from the guys at work) made of a performance of the show I'm currently in and I have to say, I'm creepy. I look like this midget janitor who idolizes Gollum or something. Which, aside from the midget part, is kind of what I was going for. But it's really funny for me to watch the DVD and then go look at myself in the mirror, especially because I've been wearing skirts and dresses to work for the past couple of days since it's been so hot out. I see this shriveled, twisted, creepy man, slinking around the stage, and then this svelt, attractive pixie staring back at me from the other side of the mirror. Just an interesting juxtaposition, I think.

But I also have to say this: since I don't look like me on the DVD, I can watch my performance with at least a pseudo-non-biased opinion and I have to say, I'm pretty good. I am creepy. I am engaging. I am entertaining. I think there's things I could do better, but my walk is not mine. My posture is not mine. My voice is not mine. It's kind of cool to watch.

Okay, enough tooting my own horn for now. If you all want to see the performance, come see it! We just extended the run for two weeks in our theater, and then we're moving to a bigger theater to do the show on Friday nights for ten more weeks. So there's plenty of time and opportunity to see it. And, if you see it in person, you get to see more of my facial expressions than you do on the DVD. So come see the show!

Good morning!

The weekend started off for me on Friday afternoon when I went to check in for the Walk at the Hyatt downtown. There is something about being in a room full of that many people, who all want to change something that is wrong with the world – in this case, breast cancer. There were dozens of people, men and women, with the names of loved ones on their t-shirts. There was a woman asking the people standing in line if they needed any more donations to meet their minimum requirement, holding up a blank check. Just being there was almost more than I could take. On my way out, I stopped to look at some pink ribbon jewelry that a woman makes to raise money year-round. I didn’t buy any of it, but the woman said to me, “Together, we can beat this.” I hugged her, agreed, and the tears started flowing. I sobbed in my car the whole way home.

I thought a lot about how selfish it was of me to want to shoot the film on Sunday, and about how selfish it was of me to want to be there for the second day of the Walk. I thought about everything I was going to miss out on the second day – the rest stops, the conversations, the amazing thrill of skipping across the finish line. I realized that the Walk is something bigger than me, and that is why I wanted to do it in the first place. We spend so much of our lives focusing on what is immediately in front of us; here is my chance to look at the world as a whole, and to make a little dent in it. I decided that I was going to skip the film and do both days of the walk.

Saturday morning, I woke up earlier than any human being should have to wake up on a Saturday morning. I packed my backpack, loaded up with water and snacks and spare clothes in case I needed them, and my mom and aunt picked me up to take me to Soldier Field – thank you, guys! I had some breakfast when I got there, did some serious stretching, and before I knew it, it was time for the opening ceremony. The woman on my right was walking for the fourth time, in the hopes that her daughters will never know the horrors of breast cancer. The woman on my left was celebrating one year cancer free. I hugged them both and we all set out to conquer the first day.

The path was in many ways longer this year, but in many ways, shorter, too. I found myself clipping along with the front of the pack at about four miles per hour. I hit the six-mile mark without even realizing it. My breaks at the rest stops and quick stops were quick and efficient – replenish the liquids as needed, visit the port-o-johns, stretch, keep moving. By lunchtime, I was a little sore, but feeling good and about an hour and a half ahead of my pace from last year.

The afternoon was long, though. I missed my friends from last year. Yes, I made new friends and had lots of people to talk to this year, but it wasn’t the same. I missed our calling out “lateral!” when we would pass other groups. I missed singing “Put your hands up in the air!” when we would raise our swollen hands to try to get the blood to flow back out of our fingers. But every time I found myself missing them, I would look at the names on my shirt and remember all of the love and support you guys gave me to take with me on the Walk, and I would smile and keep going.

Also, by the halfway point, I was starting to hurt pretty badly. My left hip was really tight and no matter what stretch or combination of stretches I did at each stop, it didn’t want to loosen up. Fortunately, my mom met me at the halfway point and massaged my hip for a bit, and then even walked about a mile and a half with me after that, so I felt much better, both physically and spiritually.

At rest stop E, I received a great honor. Every three minutes during the Walk, the staff and crew hand out pink ribbons to a walker selected at random that say, “Every Three Minutes” on them. These ribbons symbolize the people who are diagnosed with breast cancer as we are walking. They are given out at random because breast cancer strikes at random. They are even given out during the night because breast cancer does not sleep. At rest stop E, I was selected to wear one of these ribbons and I wore it with pride for the rest of the walk, remembering the people hearing for the first time, “You have cancer.”

Shortly after rest stop E, the winds picked up and it got downright cold outside. It was sort of a welcome change, considering the afternoon had gotten uncomfortably hot and muggy. Nonetheless, we were worried it might start to rain, so I pulled out my poncho and got it on with the help of one woman who I walked with for a bit. I was just in time as it turns out, because it very suddenly started hailing very hard. The hailstones weren’t very big, maybe pea-sized if that, but it did, in fact, hail on us. The hail turned into big, old, fat rain, as Forrest Gump calls it, and while our backpacks and heads stayed dry, our feet, shoes and socks were soaked. Fortunately, the rain didn’t continue for very long and at the next quick stop, I was able to change into dry socks. The cool air and the rain rejuvenated me somehow and for a little while, I forgot about how badly my left leg was hurting. But I was pretty sure I had a blister on my left foot from walking in squishy socks for three miles. At rest stop F, I subjected the medical staff to looking at/touching my pruney feet, was given some moleskin to cushion the forming blister (which was too small to actually lance at that point), and set off to finish the last mile and a half of the walk!

I remembered this stretch of the walk from last year – through residential neighborhoods, kids outside playing, telling us how much farther we had to go, my friend meeting us and walking us into the Wellness Village. I was very much relieved to find another woman walking into the Village at the same time and pace as me, or I would have missed my friends too much. She also helped keep me going even though my left leg was now threatening succession from my body, so I thank her for that. At approximately 5:15pm, we entered the Wellness Village, greeted by dozens of walkers and crew members, cheering us on. What a relief!

I checked out of the Village and a friend of mine picked me up and brought me home – thank you to him, too! It hurt to sit down in his car. It hurt to walk up the stairs to my apartment. It hurt to lie down and stretch once I got here. I remember being stiff and sore last year, but I don’t know what I did or didn’t do differently this year to hurt so badly. I made what I think was a very wise decision to not do the second day of the walk, nor the film. I fell asleep at about eight o’clock and woke up every time I went to turn over and my left leg said, “I don’t think so.” I did get some rest, and woke up with my cat by my side, looking out for my health.

I don’t think any serious damage was done to my leg. I’m sure I’ll be fine with rest and stretching. But I feel like I really put in a good effort this year. I walked through rain, hail, and scorching sun. I cried I don’t know how many tears. I hugged a half a dozen strangers, drank four liters of water, and three of Gatorade. I used probably twenty port-o-johns and walked 26.2 miles (limping badly for the last four miles) so that someday, people will no longer have to hear “You have breast cancer.” With your last minute donations, we raised $2,900 so that people who are diagnosed but don’t have insurance or a health care provider can get the help they need. We made a difference this weekend. We did something that is bigger than any one of us. There were over 2400 walkers this year who so far raised over $5.6 million, and the donations are still coming in.

I thank you for being with me on the walk. I thank you for your love and support and encouragement. I thank my mom for walking with me, and Amy for the phone calls/text messages of encouragement along the way. I will wear my beaten up leg as a badge of honor, a sign of all of the hard work you guys have put in over the past months.

We made a difference this weekend. Thank you. And I’ll see you all next year!!
Much love,
Kitty

I'm scared for this weekend. I have a show to do tonight, I have to go check in for Event Eve, I have to finish writing last minute names on the shirt I'm wearing for the Walk, I have to pack up everything I'll need tomorrow on the walk, I have to make my apartment at least semi-paintable, I have to pick up beer for the woman who is painting my apartment this weekend, I have to think about what costumes I'm going to bring to the shoot on Sunday, I have to do the Walk tomorrow and pray for rain on Sunday, but if it doesn't rain, I have to go be in a movie on Sunday, and all of this while I am sick. I'm scared that I won't get it all done. I'm scared that my body will give out half way through something. I'm scared that I will forget something. I'm scared that I won't get enough sleep or that I'll get too much sleep. I'm scared that the woman coming in to paint my apartment won't be able to get at the walls because there is too much crap in the way. I'm scared that my cat is going to run around puking all weekend. I'm scared that I'm going to get horribly sunburnt.

I know in my heart of hearts that everything will turn out fine. It always does. This weekend is just a perfect example of Kitty taking on too much at once and freaking out when it all comes to a head. So for the moment, I'm going to eat my trail mix and drink my silver needle white tea that I found at Whole Foods last night and decided I needed to treat myself to. Once the weekend starts, I have no real control over where it will go. I can just hang on, do my best, and hope that nobody dies. Wish me luck!

It's strange to walk past my old place every day now with the knowledge that I can't go in there anymore. I'm sure it will get easier as time passes, but it's strange for now.

I also got an e-mail from a woman I haven't talked to in probably six years -- not since I graduated from college. She sent me a "my past six years in 50 words or less" e-mail, and I sent one back to her and realized that the past six years of my life can't be summed up in fifty words or less. It's like you have to pick an area of my life and then I can talk about it in a few words, but all of it at once? Can't do it. I guess that's a good thing.

I thought I had something really pithy to say today, but it has left me. Ah well. I'm doing the Avon Walk and shooting a film this weekend, so that should be fun. Assuming the monkey SARS doesn't kill me first.

Ugh, I'm boring today. Sorry about that.

My old apartment looks so boring now that it is white and empty.

My new apartment looks all cluttered.

The insides of my face would like to be on the outside and I'm doing everything in my power to prevent that, but I feel like I'm failing.

I'm covered in paint.

I let them weigh me at the doctor's office today and everyone is right -- I have lost weight.

I slept most of the night with a Kleenex sticking out of my right nostril because it would spontaneously run and I didn't want to wake up on a snotty pillow.

I think my head would be much happier if it was somewhere else.

My office is a mess, but I just don't have it in me to clean it today.

It's almost June. How the hell is it almost June?

And I'm almost done with the whole moving thing. I hand in my keys today. It was kind of hard to paint over my walls and remove every trace of my life there. I was listening to Moby's "Hotel" as I was painting and it seemed somehow fitting with what he says about hotels and why he named the album "Hotel." I spent five very full years in that apartment and now I'm trying to make it look like nobody ever lived there. They will never know how many times I cried or how hard I laughed or how often Owen and I fought and played and napped together or that I spent the most intimate night of my life in that apartment. In my new apartment, I have only been vegan. I did a LOT in the five years I lived in that apartment and it is sad to see it all washed away, covered up in a coat of white paint.

My face hurts.

The really strange thing about my new apartment is the lack of mirrors. In my old place, the closet doors in my bedroom were mirrors, so I could see myself, full length, a million times a day. In my new place, the one full length mirror is on the outside of the bathroom door, so I don't see myself in it very much. And I've been seeing myself in costume so much lately that I've kind of forgotten what I actually look like, without make up, in normal clothes. I have no idea if I look good or not. It's kind of odd.

I'm ready to go home now and take a nap. After I gargle with hot salt water. The doctor told me that would help.

Juice is an amazing thing.

Trail mix with raw nuts isn't quite as satisfying as trail mix with roasted nuts.

Do they sell replacement heads on the internet?

So last night, I went where all of the non-pretty people in the world go to party and truth be told, I don't remember the last time I had that much fun at a club. There was a particularly large man in a kilt, dancing his heart out. There was a Robert Plant wannabe. There was a guy who seems to think it is 1782. There were real-sized women. I loved it. I almost didn't go because I was so tired, but I'm so glad I went. Everyone was just there dancing, having fun. I wasn't concerned about people watching me on the dance floor because everyone was dancing for themself.

And I got to hang out with a bunch of friends who I see very seldom now. I miss them. New friends are nice, but old friends, the ones who know you, are a treasure. Our lives just kind of pulled us apart, which is really sad, but it was wonderful to get to see them again and know that they're still there. So thanks, guys, for that.

I had a lot more to say about going out last night, but it has left me. Oh well. I had fun, and I think I may have found a new place to just hang out when I don't want to have to interact with people, but I don't want to sit in my house alone.

Oh my god, I could see Moby twice more this summer. He's playing at Summerfest and the Taste of Chicago. Granted, I hate the Taste of Chicago, but I'd go to see Moby play again. Two days in a row, I could see him.

Okay, now I am in a much better mood.

Man, if people didn't know I've been moving for the last week and a half, they'd think I had a very abusive boyfriend or something. I have:

• A very nice bruise on my upper arm (right)
• Bruises on both wrists
• Two smaller bruises on my lower arm (left)
• Two bruises on my right shin
• Three bruises on my left leg
• One bruise on my lower back
• One scratch/bruise in my armpit (left)
  

I'm a mess. And last night, between about 2:45 am and 6:15 am was the closest I have had to a decent night's sleep in a very long time. I think. But since it was such a short amount of time, I really don't feel rested. I'm tired and sore and cranky and I feel like my eyes look puffy and my skin is breaking out like crazy. I tried playing my guitar yesterday in my new house -- the first time I've done that since I moved in. Didn't sound very good. I'll have to just keep at it.

On the up side, I got my dining room table and chairs yesterday and they are all assembled and in place. So cute! I am very happy with my purchase. No, it is not the greatest, highest quality table in the world, but it will serve it's purpose, I'm sure. I think I need to make a list of things that are currently bringing me joy:

• Owen perched himself on my dining room table last night and did this kind of sideways-sniff-the-flower-in-the-vase thing that was absolutely adorable. Sometimes he is so beautiful, I want to weep.
• The Cubs have won three games in a row now (knock on wood).
• I'm wearing my sneakers at work for two reasons -- 1) my boots that I normally wear to work are still at my old apartment and 2) I'm tired and sore all over, so I thought I'd go with comfortable footwear today.
• My coffee shop now carries a green and white tea blend.
• I'm in a show right now that is getting recognition and big, appreciative audiences.
• Even though the vast majority of my stuff is in my new apartment, it does not yet feel cluttered.
• My money troubles are temporary.

I know, I was really reaching on a couple of those there, but it is the simple things that bring the most joy, and it is on those simple things that I need to focus during times like this when I have a lot of stress and very little control over when said stress will end/lessen/go away. I just heard that something may be happening to my job, soon, too. Could be a good thing, could be a bad thing, I don't know. And I won't know until it happens. On the up side, my car will be paid off in January and my other living expenses have gone down significantly, so if I have to leave this job in January, I can do it.

Next time you are feeling crappy, try this and I can almost guarantee you will feel better:

Get into your car.
Turn on the radio or the CD player.
Play "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers on the radio or the CD player.
Slam dance.

(Now, by "slam dance," I do NOT mean "ram your car into other cars/pedestrians/random things hanging out by the roadside." I mean bounce in the driver's seat. Let your right shoulder lead your dancing. Slam your shoulder into the seat behind you. Bop your head back and forth and side to side as feels appropriate. Randmolly punch the air in between yourself and the windshield. That is what I mean by "slam dance.")

Become aware of exactly how silly you must appear to every other car around you.
Revel in exactly how silly you must appear to every other car around you.
Dance harder.

You will feel better, I guarantee it.

I've logged more stairs than I care to count. My legs and butt are sore. But my place is livable. I still have some odds and ends to move over from the old place, and then I have to clean and paint it, but I can live in my new place, no problem. And I'm supposed to hear from the shippers of my dining room table today to find out when they can deliver it to my house, so sometime this week, I'll have a dining room table.

And I'm back at work this week, too, and hating it already. So much mundane work for me to do, and absolutely nothing interesting. Schedule meetings. Distribute correspondence. Check the status of a couple of projects. You know, if "The Bad Seed: The Musical" continues to do as well as it has and all of our dreams about it come to fruition, I would have absolutely no problem leaving my current job to go be on Broadway or something. But I don't think it's going to go that far. And at some point, we may have to invest in a wig because there's no way I'm going to stop growing my hair back out. I miss my hair, damn it!

My old apartment is starting to look empty and my new apartment is starting to look lived in. I felt like a horrible mother the other night, though. I moved Owen over to my new place and he was petrified. I don't think he slept all night, nor did I. He just set up camp in my bedroom closet, presumably because with all of my clothes in there, it smelled like home. He's doing better now. He still prefers to be within visual range of me, and he tries to make a break for it when I open the front door, but he's getting more and more comfortable as I bring over more and more stuff.

I really do like it here. With all of the craziness and headaches and sore muscles, I think this was a good move.

So the move is coming along. Not as quickly as I might have hoped because I need to keep it largely empty so we can shoot a film in here. But it's coming along. I took my first shower in the new place today. Not fantastic water pressure. I'll have to dunk the shower head in vinegar and see if that helps. And the stains the tile cleaner created in the bathtub seem to be fading. Either that, or I'm getting used to them. One of the girls from "The Bad Seed" came over last night to talk about paint and I'm really excited. I think it will look great.

So yeah, I'm excited to get it all together and finished and bring Owen over here so we can start this new chapter of our lives.

Sweet jebus, I'm tired. I didn't go to bed any later last night than I have the rest of the week. I did have a couple of beers after the show, but not enough to get wasted or anything. But I woke up this morning, much against my better judgment, completely prepared to instantly go back to sleep. Owen wasn't having any of that, though.

I have to be really distasteful and gush for a minute. I love my cat. He's got such a sweet face and a sweet meow and yes, he drives me nuts a lot of the time, but when he looks at me like, "Where are you going?" as I'm leaving the house in the morning, my heart just melts. And when I come home and he buries his face into my chest while I scritch his back...if you've never had a pet, you have no idea what I'm talking about. But if you have had a pet, you know exactly what I mean. This animal isn't an animal. It is another living, breathing being that is fully dependent on you for all of it's needs, and it knows it's needs will be met, and it thanks you for that. As much as it irritates me that Owen wakes me up at the proverbial ass-crack of dawn every morning, there is no way I would rather be awoken than by his sweet face nudging mine or him stretching onto my stomach. He'll sit there and watch me trying to wake up. It's adorable.

So yeah, I'm looking forward to a couple of days wherein I can wake up when my body is ready to wake up. Jebus knows next week is going to be crazy with the move and everything, so I have to enjoy this weekend of peace in between. Finish packing. Start cleaning. For on Monday, I will have a new home.

I'm checking websites almost obsessively to find "Bad Seed" reviews. I've only found one so far, and it is good. The music got a nod, as did a couple of the performances. Yay!

I hate to admit it, but this show is growing on me. I missed the cast when we didn't do the show for four days. I'm looking foward to performing it for the next four and a half weeks. I guess that's a good thing, huh?

My friend's dog passed away yesterday. You all know I'm more of a cat person than a dog person, but he wasn't a dog. He was a family member and a friend. He had so much character! He was the sweetest dog you could ask for, with these eyes...the end was rough for him. I'm glad he's not hurting anymore, but it's sad to see him go. You are very much loved, Scooby, and will be very much missed.

Random tidbits because I'm bored stupid:

I'm waiting for white tea to take over the world. It is so much tastier than green tea, and better for you, too. More antioxidants, less caffeine. And yet if you go into a big coffee/tea chain store, they don't have white tea available. You either have to buy it loose or in bags at the grocery store, and even then, not every grocery store has white tea. Trader Joe's does. This is why we love Trader Joe's.

The Cubs really aren't a "streaky" team. I think that might be why fans still go to Wrigley day after day, year after year. There is always the possibility that the Cubs will pound the crap out of their opponents. Every day, every game is a new chance. Even in the middle of a supposed slump, they'll pop up for a game and shut out the competition 12-0 or something like that. I love it.

Speaking of the Cubs, I'm getting tired of people ragging on them because they don't have Sosa or Alou and because they are in third place in their division right now. Hi, the Cubs are leading the National League in home runs. Derrick Lee is leading the National League in all three triple crown categories and this is a guy who doesn't usually get hot until June. Ramirez and Patterson keep knocking the ball out of the park -- Patterson alone got two homers last night. Granted, there is something that is not clicking, or we'd have a much better record than we do. I blame LaTroy Hawkins. Sure, his teammates say he loves the Cubs as much as any of the rest of us do, but the man can't step on the mound without giving up two or three runs. Dusty Baker needs to give him a few days off. Let Rothchild work with him a little, get his control back. Then put him in for one or two batters in the sixth inning and get him out of there. That's how you'll get him his confidence back. That's how you'll get the fans to stop booing him. If he gives up two runs in the sixth, we still have plenty of time to catch up again. If he gives up two runs in the ninth, we're screwed, see? So yeah, lay off of Hawkins for a while and I think the rest of it will fall into place. Yes, we have a lot of injuries, but those guys are doing their best to get healthy again, and we still have a lot of great ball players out on the field busting their asses every day. If all you look at is wins and losses, no, the Cubs don't look like the best team. But if you actually watch the games, you'll see there is a lot more to this team than wins and losses.

I'm kind of excited to go back and do the show tonight. I miss my cast mates. I miss singing my song. I don't miss the make up, but the rest of it, I'll be excited to get back to. And tomorrow, a bunch of the reviews should come out, which will hopefully translate into bigger audiences. Hooray!

Another $80-some-odd-billion to fund the military efforts in the Middle East.
The Arctic Wilderness open to oil drilling.
Gasoline prices holding steady at almost $2.50/gallon.
United Airlines offered the option of eliminating the pensions of all of it's employees to save itself from bankruptcy.
Less than half of the kids in Chicago public schools are going to college.

Since when are big businesses more important than the people who work for them?
Since when is a six-month oil supply more important than the pristine beauty of this country?
Since when is military action in other countries (which is all post-war action, mind you, as the "war" ended two and a half? three years ago?) more important than educating our children?

I'm sorry to get political on you. I'd been quiet for a while. But then I hear about a grenade thrown near President Bush and my heart actually jumped. Why couldn't it have been a real grenade? He wouldn't necessarily have to die; just get hurt. Something to wake him up to the fact that he is doing a crappy ass job of running this country. But it was a dud. Intended to scare him. Very easy to forget about.

Maybe I should be moving farther away than just across the street.

The artwork is mostly down off the walls. The medicine cabinet is empty, save the items I'm going to need for the next couple of days. The bookshelves are bare. My desktop is cleaner than it has been in years. I'm actually moving.

I know people move all of the time. Every weekend, there is somebody moving. And it's not like I'm leaving all of my stuff behind to start a completely new life or anything; I'm just moving across the street. But there is so much of my history in that apartment. I wrote dozens of songs there. I cried countless nights. I laughed and squeaked so often and so loudly, it no longer scares my cat, or the other cats who live in the building. I mourned the loss of my first true love, and then found him again. I became a vegan in that apartment. I found Moby living in that apartment. I made a dozen films and became a company member at my theater. I cheered for so many Cubs games, and cursed so many opposing teams. I would go for long walks all around the world, and always felt safe once I was back in my little corner of the world.

I'm not saying I won't have new, great memories in my new place. I'm starting off my life there filming a movie for my friend. And of course, Owen will be with me. But it's sad to say goodbye to those old memories. For every new chapter that begins, another has to end.

That, and I'm going to be broke as hell for the next month. All liquor donations will be happily accepted. I'll get you back in July.

And they're off! Festival submissions are in the mail. Man, was that nerve wracking. Thank you, to Miss Lesley, for giving me a couple of tips on my press kit. The one I sent off is not fantabulous, but it's not horrible either, I don't think. And now I know what kinds of things I need to keep track of for future press kits. Once it's started, it's easier to build up. It's the first step that is the hard part.

And worst case scenario is that I don't get into either of these festivals this year. This does not preclude me from playing elsewhere or submitting again next year. But if I didn't submit, I wouldn't get to play. If I do submit, there is a slight chance I might get to perform. And it is for that slight chance that I suck it up, prepare myself for the little financial hit (submission fees), and send out what I have to send out. And then I pray that the people on the submission committees hear the same things the people at my concert on Sunday heard that motivated them to stay and hear more.

So keep your fingers crossed for me! And remind me to get one of my concerts reviewed one of these days so I have some press to put into my press kit.

I'm going to do it. I'm going to submit my music to a couple of music festivals. It would be helpful if I had other music festival experience, but the only way to get festival experience is to play festivals and the only way to do that is to send in tunes and cross your fingers. But I'm going to do it. I'm going to get a press kit together and submit.

I played a show last night for a room full of strangers. Literally. There was not a single person in the audience that I knew. And I hate to admit it, but it freaked me out and made me not want to play. But I reminded myself that I had no idea who these people were, either, and they deserved to see a good show just as much as anyone else. If I do get into these festivals and things, it's not going to be my friends in the audience. I have to get used to playing these gigs solo. So anyway, I got up and did my set. I was pretty sure the people there were there to see the guy who played before me and that they would leave as soon as I got on stage. A bunch of them did. Well, they waited for about four songs from me before they left. But a bunch of them stayed. And they really enjoyed the songs I sang. They laughed at "That's What You Get." A couple even sang along when I did "Scarlet Ribbons," as a tribute to my mother. And when I was finished, three of them bought CDs and one asked to be put on my mailing list.

It never ceases to amaze me the people that my music reaches. Going in, I would have thought that generational differences would prevent my music from speaking to the people there. But it didn't. My music got through. They let it into their hearts and really listened and really enjoyed it. I guess it just goes to show that I shouldn't judge my audiences prematurely. I should have confidence in my songs and I should just play them the best I can and let the listeners decide for themselves if they want to listen or not.

So thank you to the people at the Red Line Tap last night who stuck around to listen to a twenty-something year old singer/songwriter. It was a pleasure to meet you and play for you. I hope to see you out again some day.

So the show I'm in right now received a Jeff Recommendation. For those of you who don't know, the Jeff Awards are kind of like the Tonys, but are specific to Chicago theater. Meaning, this is a big deal. This is the first Corn show to receive a Jeff Recommendation. Ever. In fourteen years of putting up boys in dresses shows, this is the first one that has been deemed worthy of a nod. That's pretty exciting.

Apparently, it kind of works like this -- members of the Jeff Committee will go see shows and if X number of them like the show in Y number of categories, the show will get a recommendation. Then, throughout the run of the show, the rest of the Committee members will go see it and score it on their own, too. If X number of members recommend the show in the same category, the show (or actor, director, choreographer, etc.) will get a Jeff Nomination and can attend the awards ceremony, which will be next year. Right now, we have no idea in what categories we got high marks, and I don't think we will be allowed to know, unless, of course, we get an actual nomination. My curiosity is, of course, piqued. Is it the script that they like? The music? A specific performance? The lighting? I want to know when we'll know if we got an actual nomination. Because something like that looks amazing on your resume. "I was in 'The Bad Seed: The Musical,' which earned a Jeff Nomination for [insert category here]." Or better yet, "I was nominated for a Jeff Award for my performance in 'The Bad Seed: The Musical.'" Tee hee. I'm giggling as I'm writing that, too.

Regardless, this is excellent news and we're all really excited about it. If anything, I think the number "Mean" deserves mention. It's great music, great choreography, and excellent lighting. Opening night, the audience started applauding before the song was even finished because they just couldn't hold it in any longer. It is a beautiful number in it's creepiness.

And I guess it is a good thing, now, that I decided to do this show, huh? Thank you, Robert, for twisting my arm into doing this part. I'm glad I got to be a part of Corn history.

And thank you to the Jeff Committee for recognizing our little storefront theater. We put a lot of hard work into this show and we're thrilled that you like it.

I'm ready for this month to be over. I don't know that by "this month" I mean "May," but rather the last four or so weeks. I'm ready for them to be over. They seem to have been characterized by me doing a lot of stupid things. I'm smarter than that and I'm getting tired of feeling dumb.

So here's hoping the next four or so weeks (and beyond) are characterized by wise decisions and happy days. Warm days. I wonder if Mother Nature got my letter yet...

Today my brother turns 30.

Happy birthday, Andy!

I remember idolizing my brother when we were kids. Whatever he was in to, I wanted to be in to, too. I think that kind of goes with the territory between siblings who are only a couple of years apart, but he was also in to a lot of cool stuff when we were kids. Magic. Making fires in tuna cans. Model planes. Baseball. Drawing. Legos. He was so smart growing up, and I was so eager to keep up with him. We used to play for hours, either just the two of us, or with our other two honorary siblings. And yes, we fought like wild animals sometimes, but just a few years ago, my honorary sister told me that Andy has always been fiercely protective of me. I never saw it, but she said it was there and I trust her. We had a birthday party for my brother at my grandmother's house over the weekend and there was a lot of reminiscing about Andy as a kid and he was just a really wonderful person. And he still is. He is thoughtful and considerate and funny and brilliant. If anyone ever wanted to make an argument for yuppies being good people, too, they would need to look no further than my brother. (I know that sounds kind of mean, but I think you know what I mean.) We don't always agree on everything, we lead very different lives, but I cherish the time I do get to spend with my brother and I am honored that he is in my life.

Happy birthday, Andy. I love you very much.

So how come they don't make right and left footed socks? I know they now make socks with individual toes, but that's not what I'm talking about. I don't want individual toes. I don't like having things in between my toes. Flip flops -- can't stand 'em. I'm talking about socks that are slightly slanted in the general toe-al area. Have you ever purchase socks that are not slanted in the toe-al area, but rather have a seam across the toes that then gets all bunchy by your little toe? And it rubs against your toe and creates a blister. And you think to yourself, "If I switched my socks, this funky extra bit of seam would be on the big toe of my other foot, and it wouldn't bug me so much," so you switch your socks, only to discover that the other sock also has a funky extra bit of seam that was hiding on your big toe, but now has nowhere else to go beyond the already-ready-to-burst blister on your little toe. If they made socks especially for right feet, small right toes would not have to suffer. If they made socks especially for left feet, small left toes would not be blistered. But alas, they don't. They only make unifooted socks and millions of small toes everywhere pay the price. I ask you fashion industry, do you care not for our feet? You make all these lovely, tortue devices and call them shoes; must we suffer when we're not wearing shoes as well? Let our left feet be proud to be left! Let our right feet be proud to be not left! We've got custom built houses and shoes and cars and furniture, personally designed diet and workout plans, personalized videos you can buy at the mall, it's high time we had specilaized socks!

Oh, and if you could make them argyle, that would be fabulous.

Dear Mother Nature,

Hi! How are you? It's been a while since we chatted. Sorry about that. Things get crazy for both of us around this time of year, I know.

I see that some of the trees and flowers are starting to bloom. Things are looking lovely! Kudos to you!

If I could ask a little favor, though. I know you can't rush great art, and I must say, the trees and flowers and bugs and stuff are truly great art. They inspire every other piece of art ever created by man, and you deserve major props for that. But if you would be so kind as to look at your calendar. It is now May. And it's still cold outside. It's been cold outside since October. Now, I know I have the option of moving to somewhere warmer. I like having that kind of freedom as a mobile being. But I really do like my home in Chicago. And Chicago isn't always this cold. In the summertime, it actually gets quite hot in Chicago, and every year, I look forward to that because frankly, I don't like being cold. And this eight months of coldness is getting to be a bit much for me. So if you wouldn't mind, could we get a few more degrees of warmth sometime in the near future?

Other than that, things are going quite swimmingly. As I said, I'm really enjoying the flowers this year. They smell particuarly lovely.

Thanks! I hope you are well.
Kitty

My new apartment is awesome.

I remember the last time I moved, when I found the place I'm in now, I was all panicked because none of the places I looked at was all that, and then I found my place when I was just about ready to give up on looking all together. Same thing happened this time. Weird, huh? Let this be a lesson to you, Miss Kitty, to not stop looking. Just when you're ready to give up is when you will find what you are looking for.

But seriously, it's awesome. I'm moving up in the world to five rooms instead of four. Huge bedroom, huge living room, little dining room, little kitchen (but bigger than the other place in the same building that I looked at), medium-sized bathroom. But probably the thing that sold me on the place is that it has character. It has those random little shelves sticking out from the walls like they used to have in old apartments. You can tell that when this place was redone (if it ever was) that they kept a lot of the old detail, and I like that. I think I will be very happy living there, even if it is only for a year. But probably the best part is that it's cheaper than where I'm living now. And I'll have one less utility bill because gas is included. So less expense, more space, more character. I can hardly wait to move in!

So with all of the annoyingness and frustration and whatnot this week/month, I decided I deserved a present yesterday, so I bought myself a new bathmat. Owen had coughed up one too many hairballs on the old one. Actually, I'm not even sure they are hairballs. Sometimes, he'll eat breakfast, throw it up, and eat it again. I'm not sure if I should be worried about this or not. But it resulted in the death of my bathmat earlier this week and I'm sorry, I tried stepping out of the shower onto cold tile, but it's really just not pleasant. So I went to get a new bathmat, and it's all plushy and fuzzy and warm and green. I love it.

But of course, when you go to the store to get a bathmat, you can't just get a bathmat. So I found a heather gray zip up hoodie sweatshirt that was on sale for nine dollars and I bought it. Everyone else in the world has a heather gray zip up hoodie sweatshirt and I figured it was about time I owned a heather gray zip up hoodie sweatshirt, too. The smallest size they had was an extra large, but that's fine because heather gray zip up hoodie sweatshirts are supposed to be big and warm and comfortable. And lemme tell you, my new heather gray zip up hoodie sweatshirt is big and warm and comfortable. Have you ever bought an article of clothing and it instantly became your favorite article of clothing? That's what's going on here with my heather gray zip up hoodie sweatshirt. I love it. I feel silly expressing my love for my heather gray zip up hoodie sweatshirt when I haven't even owned it for twenty four hours, but I can't help it. I love my heather gray zip up hoodie sweatshirt. And like I told my cast last night, I finally feel like I look like a vegan now. Short red spiky hair. Heather gray zip up hoodie sweatshirt under brown overcoat. Dark jeans rolled up once at the cuffs because they are too long. My No Sweat sneakers that look like Chuck Taylors. Rubber studded belt. Ratty green pseudo military looking bag slung over one shoulder. I look like a vegan. I look like a little punk kid with lofty ideals. And I love it!

So needless to say, I'm feeling a touch better today than I did yesterday. I still didn't want to wake up this morning, and I'm debating taking some time off of work to move, and I'm still singing songs that I don't sing in my show all the time, but I'm feeling a little better than I did yesterday. Very soon, I will feel wonderful again.

The whole apartment debacle may be over in a day or two. Which makes me insanely happy. It's really stressful not knowing where you are going to live. But I think I found a place that will do. It's carpeted, which would not be my first choice (I'm a sucker for hardwood floors), but it may keep it warmer in there. And there are windows that Owen can sit in and look out of. And it's cheaper than where I live now, so all of my goals with finding a new place will have been accomplished. It's right across the street from where I am now, too, so I know I like the neighborhood and will still have easy access to everything I have access to now. It's a little farther back off the street, though, so it should be a little quieter than my current apartment. Apparently, the building is populated with largely young single people, too, so I might actually get to meet my neighbors. If I have a get-together, they might pop by. And I see no reason why they wouldn't accept my application, so it should all be in the bag in a day or two.

Which also means I get to start packing up my life now. I'm guessing there are a lot of things I can get rid of. And there will be new things I'll want to pick up once I move in, too. For instance, I think the bedroom is big enough that I could actually get a table in there to set up my sewing machine on. Easy access whenever I want it! I was up half the night last night, half singing songs that I don't even sing in this show I'm in, and half trying to figure out where I'm going to put all of my stuff.

I also have to take a minute and say how much I love my mother. It's calming to talk to her. She's a great sounding board and it is a great help to me to just be able to talk things through with her. And she has said that if I need extra storage space, I can put things in her storage locker, which is an offer she has made before that I've not taken her up on, but it's nice to know that the option is there, you know? So thank you, Mom, for always being there for me to talk to, and for supporting me, and just in general making it feel like things will be okay. Thank you.

I hope Owen likes the new place. I'm a little bit worried about him. He's lived his whole life in the place we're at now -- how will he adapt to new surroundings? Granted, it will be all the same stuff in the new place, but he'll have to find new patterns and sleeping spots and so on and so forth. My guess is that he will be fine. He's not exactly a timid cat. But still, it's stressful to move an animal. I'm hoping he trusts me enough to know that he will still be taken care of in the new place. It's not something I can explain to him beforehand, or even afterwards. I hope he just gets it when he realizes that I come home to this new place every day. I'm not leaving him with strangers, you know? We're still roomies.

And once this whole thing is over, I can get back to worrying about the things that are really important. Like Cubs games.

Well fuck. And not in the good way.

After becoming so uber frustrated and stressed out with the whole trying to move thing and talking to my landlord and having them tell me they would try to work something out, they let this woman sign a lease for my apartment over the weekend. Fuck. That's all I can really say about it. Fuck. I called and yelled at them. They tried to throw policy at me and I told them that they asked me way early if I wanted to move out or not, and then they got snippy with me for "pointing fingers." I'm so furious. Granted, I am probably just as much at fault as they are because I did say I was going to move. But I asked them not to show the place because I wanted to stay, and they showed it and signed a lease anyway. I asked her if I had no rights as the current tenant. She offered to have their people move me and I told her that wasn't the issue.

Am I wrong to be pissed? Do I have any sort of rights here?

I'm looking at a place across the street from where I am now after work today. A one bedroom that is cheaper. I'm tempted to file a complaint against my current property managment company busting them for everything they have failed to do as landlords, busting them for every detail they overlooked. Fuck. I'm tempted to not repaint when I leave and to then fight tooth and nail for every last cent of my security deposit. Did you know that technically, landlords owe you interest on your security deposit if they hold it longer than six months? Check out Chicago Municipal Code Section 5-12-080, specifically subsections (c) and (d). In Section 5-12-080(f), it says that a landlord's failure to comply with any of the previous subsections gives the tenant the right to twice the amount of the security deposit. I don't know about you, but I never received any interest at the end of any of my 12-month rental periods that I spent in my apartment.

God, I'm sickened by myself and how vicious this whole thing is making me. Somebody hit me, please.

I'm just annoyed. Annoyed with my property management company because of their lack of concern about anything aside from how much money they will make. Annoyed with their throwing the "rules" in my face, but bending them to make life better and/or easier for themselves. Annoyed with that guy who cashed a check that he shouldn't have. Annoyed with myself for being so wishy-washy about whether or not I wanted to move in the first place.

Please let this place I'm seeing today be cool. Please let it be acceptable so I can tell my property managment company to shove it up their collective asses. Am I being completely unreasonable? To the uninvolved observer, am I being ridiculous? Please tell me if I am. I can't tell. I kind of feel like I am, but then again, I have a tendency to downplay things all the time and maybe this is how normal people react to things. I can't tell.

Either way, I'm annoyed that I have to leave my home. I hate my property management company.

I love Moby concerts. It was lovely. I love watching him make music. He can take the spotlight on the songs that are supposed to be big and grandiose, and he can support the rest of his band when someone else is supposed to take focus. His banter is entertaining and witty. I don't care how badly my friends tried to ruin it for me by saying other concerts have been better and his talking is annoying. I had a blast. I was dancing like a complete ass the whole time. I have no idea if I was irritating the people around me or not. I would think not because even when I was jumping, I was jumping straight up and down, in my own dancing space, you know? But yeah, I was dancing like an idiot and I had an amazing time. He played all of the songs I really wanted to hear. All of them. And then did a sort of bossa nova cover song encore. I was squeaking I was laughing so hard. I love Moby shows. And afterwards, we stood out in the rain and the sleet and the cold and the ick to wait for him and it paid off. He came out and I had him sign my "Animal Rights" cover, and then gave him a copy of "Extra-Ordinary." Who knows if he'll actually listen to it or not, or what he will think of it, but I gave it to him and he put it in his pocket and said thank you.

So thank you to my friends who went with me for going with me and putting up with my little obsession. And thank you to Moby for putting on an excellent show and just in general rocking. *sigh* So content.

I need someone else to make a decision for me. Somebody is coming to look at my apartment this morning. That bothers me. This is my home. It has been for the last five years. It's like watching an old lover with someone new. And to make matters worse, I haven't found my new home yet. I'm getting frustrated and irritated to the point that I just don't want to deal with it anymore. I asked my property management company if it was too late for me to say I'm staying and they said my apartment has been promised to this other girl already. I don't know if she has signed a lease yet or not, and she might be happy with a studio in the same building. But the way I'm thinking now, I don't want to leave. I don't want to find a two bedroom with this guy from the show I'm in. I don't want to pack up my whole life and move it elsewhere in two weeks. And I'm debating how nasty I'm willing to get to keep my place. My apartment is kind of messy, and I'm not really trying to do anything to make it prettier before they come to look at it this morning. And I'm going to be here, because they always end up locking me out when they show my apartment, which they've "accidentally" done in the past when it isn't even my apartment that's up for rent. I've even thought about pointing out all of the little foibles this place has that kind of drive me nuts that would make it not be a perfect place for anyone else, like the fact that you can't really use the cold water tap in the bathroom or that they never give notification when they're going to turn off the water or anything and that even though it is supposed to snow today, the heat has not come back on.

I also feel bad for the guy I had talked about sharing an apartment with. I know he'll be fine. I think he still has a studio waiting for him. The thing is, I'm pretty sure he'a a nice guy and we'd get along okay, but I know for a fact that I'm a nice person and I love living with me.

I dunno. I kind of also feel like I need to do something different with my life. The job hunt is going nowhere. Maybe my wanting a new apartment was just in an attempt to shake things up. But in all truth, I love my apartment. I love my home. I love the location, the apartment itself, how I've decorated it. I really hope I get to stay.

But am I a bad person if I do? The poor girl who got her hopes up about this place will be disappointed like I've been with the last six places that have fallen through. The property management company will probably give me shit about not following their policies, even though I could point out a half-dozen places where they have fallen short in the property management arena in the last five years. And the guy who I thought about sharing an apartment with has probably gotten his hopes up about finding a cooler place than just a studio, but not having to spend as much.

Crap. Either way, I'm being stupid.

And all of this has gotten in the way of me enjoying the fact that I'm going to see Moby tonight.

I'M GOING TO SEE MOBY TONIGHT!!!!

Once these people come look at my place and get out of here, I can focus on the good stuff. I so need this concert. Fortunately, it is a mere nine hours away.

Something to add to the ever growing list of Things of Which I'm Not Terribly Fond: Property managment companies. You know, those big corporations that buy buildings and then rent them out. I'll tell you why I'm not a fan of property management companies.

Property managment companies are interested in making money. That's it. They're not concerned with who their tenants are or what their tenants require. If you don't like their terms, tough. They can find sixty other tenants to take your place like that. I have made appointments to see three or four apartments run by property managment companies in the past week and three of them were cancelled because the property was rented in between the time I made the appointment and the time I called to say I was running ahead of schedule, could I get in early, and I am left wondering if anyone was going to let me know the apartments were rented or if I was just going to show up for a viewing and wait and wait and wait until I called to find out why they were late and I'd find out then the apartment was no longer available, and the other appointment, the agent's car died. Bad omens. Bad way of doing business.

I should find somewhere cheap to live so I can save up and buy my own place and then I won't have to deal with a property managment company at all. Ever again.

I'm so worried about my apartment and my show and this film I'm doing later this week that I am completely losing sight of what's really important -- I get to see a Moby concert on Saturday.

I love apartment hunting, and I hate apartment hunting.

The one place was in a great neighborhood, but the apartment itself was meh. The other place was in a meh neighborhood, but the apartment was amazing. Almost too amazing. Way too much space for just me, and with the rent he's asking (even though he said he'd lower it if it's just me living there), I wouldn't be able to afford to really fill it in and furnish it properly and stuff in the year I'd be there. Because I don't think I'd want to stay in that neighborhood longer than that. I think he really wants me to move in there, though. Very nice man.

So now I'm looking at one bedrooms that wouldn't necessarily save me money over what I'm paying now, but that would save me money over what my current managment company would want me to spend if I stayed where I am. I have to look at it that way. At the very least, I'm maintaining status quo. I hope one of the places I'm looking at this week works out. I don't have a whole lot of time to shop, you know?

And then my brother throws out a possible future option, if he decides to buy something in the city, I could live there and he'd stay there on the weekends. Maybe. Nothing is set in stone. That would be a really sweet deal for me, though. I'm not going to find a more understanding landlord than my brother, and I know he'd find a really nice place to live. But I'm not holding my breath for that one. I gotta find someplace to live now. Wish me luck!

I'm trying to be realistic about this whole apartment thing. There are two credit checks that are going to be run on me this week, from the places I looked at on Friday, but truth be told, I don't think I'll take either. One is a meh apartment in a great neighborhood and one is a great apartment in a meh neighborhood. And while the great apartment is great, I honestly don't know what I would do with all of that space, either. Sure, it would be cool to have a three bedroom to myself, but I wouldn't have the money to put into decorating it and stuff. So I'm going to look at one bedrooms that are cheaper than where I'm at. In all honesty, I also don't think fucknut is ready to move to the city. I was trying to help him out, but as I've learned a million times before, you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped.

I feel good about this decision. I much prefer living alone anyway.

Oh, yeah. And happy birthday, fucknut.

Apartment shopping this afternoon. I'm petrified about the money part of it. I'm looking at two bedroom places that I could afford by myself if I had to, and I'm not worried about affording the places once I'm moved in and so on and so forth. I'm worried about the next two months wherein I'll have to put down a security deposit plus rent, plus pay the last month's rent on my current place. Wow. I'm in the last month that I will live in my current home. I've really loved living there. I've had some really wonderful times in my apartment. Some wonderful guests. A lot of laughter. And I've had some really awful times there, too. I'm sure I'll be fine wherever I end up, but it's going to be sad to leave my home that I've loved so dearly.

But a new place! With new possibilities and new streets to walk and new routes to take and new little neighborhood treasures to explore. It's exciting. Especially if fucknut comes to live with me. I know, I know, all y'all are cringing at that thought. It will be good. All will be fine. And if it's not, I can do this all again in a year and make things good and fine.

Wish me luck!

My hair is long enough to handle product! I can style it! I can shape it!

Well, theoretically I can. A normal person could. I'm not very good with hair. It wasn't until about a year ago that I even bought a blow dryer. I can do kinda craptastic jelly rolls, and I rock out with pony tails and pig tails and braids and easy stuff. But with hair this short? I'm not exactly sure what to do with it. I was kind of in a rush this morning, too, so I didn't put in all that much time, but I was mostly just excited to discover that I can put product in my hair and make it go a specified direction. We're making progress, people! w00t.

I need to stop saying w00t.

I'm looking at an apartment this afternoon. I really really really hope it is in my price range and has good energy. Most people will tell you that price and location are the most important bits about finding an apartment. Well, I already know that this location is great -- it's just down the street from where I live now, so I know I like the neighborhood and I have easy access to all of the same wonderful things I have access to now -- my apothecary, the movie theater, my theater, the bars and restaurants, the cute little stores, the train station, etc. If the price works...but see, the other thing people forget to take into account when finding an apartment is the energy of the place. Does it feel good to be there? Can you see yourself being happy there? Will the landlord let me paint? Is it okay that I have Owen? Will they get really annoyed with me playing the guitar if I try to keep my playing to daytime hours? How is the water pressure in the shower? Does the toilet flush on the first try? Can I set up a little garden on the back porch?

I have to remember that there are a million apartments for rent in Chicago, so if this one isn't perfect, I'll find another that is. I don't have to take the first place I see. I have some time -- I can choose an apartment where I really want to live. But I'm excited to be out apartment shopping. Eep! Big changes in my life. Hopefully all for the better.

I've had dreams two nights in a row now wherein my hair grew back insanely fast and I had shoulder length hair right now. I know everybody says it's really cute short like this, but I miss my hair! I'm ready to have it back.

I'm looking forward to apartment hunting.

There is a bee in my office. A very large, fuzzy bee. He's just chillin' on the window sill. Kind of cute. Not really hurting anyone. Probably just wanted to get out of the wind for a bit. I wonder what his name is.

As much time as I've spent in my life complaining about my body, it's a good one. It works as well as it is supposed to. It bends in all the right places. It heals itself as necessary. It takes a beating, with all the stuff I put it through, and it always comes back for more. There are people out there who will tell you that my body is pleasing to the eye, and there are people out there who will tell you that it isn't. I'm both. But when it comes right down to it, I have a great body. It is dependable and reliable and strong. I am always reminded of that when I get a massage. I should get massages more often.

My tenure in my beautiful, quiet little corner of the world may be coming to an end. It scares the crap out of me, but at the same time, it feels like it's time to move on. The thought of finding a new place to live and then turning it into a home is exciting. It's time for this. But it's still scary. It's a lot of work to move, and it's not like I don't already have a billion things on my plate. But cleaning things out, putting together a new home...it could be a lot of fun. Get a place where I can actually have people over. Get a place that maybe has a yard or a deck so I could get a grill. Here's hoping my roommate and I don't kill each other. Yes, that's right, I'd be going back to living with a roommate. Eep. It'll be an adjustment. But it will be significantly less expensive for me, meaning if I have to quit my current job and get something that pays significantly less, I'll still be okay. And like everything, it's just temporary. Moving in with a roommate now doesn't mean I'll never have my own space again. It's still scary though. Wish me luck.

Cubbies home opener! Cubbies home opener!

There's a nice little rivalry brewing in my office, between the two of us who are devout Cubs fans and the guy who likes the Sox when they are doing well. I'm convinced he just won't get it because he doesn't love baseball. He likes sports. He knows a lot about sports. But he doesn't LOVE baseball. He doesn't love his teams. There have been a million comedians who talk about the fact that we're really just cheering for a uniform, because the players come and go, but somehow with the Cubs, it's more than that. We're cheering for the history. We're cheering for the legends. We're cheering for the underdog in all of us. I know, sappy, but I'm listening to the WXRT live morning broadcast that's all about opening day and it's making me sappy. I love my Cubs. Always have, always will. There's something magical about the Cubs -- ask any fan, ask the players. The Cubs seem to have more lifetime Cubs than any other team. Guys just like playing in Chicago. It's like the fans being the tenth member of the team is an actuality up in Wrigleyville. We help them win; we comfort them when they lose. And I think the players know that, they can feel it, and it makes them want to play harder, regardless of salary, regardless of money brought in at the park. They love us back, which makes us cheer that much harder.

Man, when the Cubs take the pennant, the city is going to explode. I hope I'm there.

This whole "waking up in the morning" thing is really not my bag, baby.