This is not my beautiful house! What am I doing here?

For God’s sakes, I am still here! My cat may be dead of starvation, and I will never know. John wanted me to stay because we have another video we want to shoot of some auditions for A Midsummer Nights Dream (Beach Blanket Bingo Version, of course) on Sunday. And I knew we were going to be doing that but I thought that I’d see the inside of my house for more than five frickin’ minutes a day! I do have to admit that everyone has been very accommodating and their couch is ten times more comfy than my hammock. Still, I never stay at anybody’s house for too long and I’m afraid that they’ll be too polite to tell me when I’ve outworn my welcome.
John didn’t kill himself in the ring with Rob “Steel City” Schwabb today. In fact he sort of handled our blue-haired hero with kid gloves. Kid… boxing… gloves…. yeah. So he’s not dead. Which is– um, good? Yeah. We’ll go with good. We were going to call Amanda and act like we were on the way to the hospital just to mess with her, but Brian pussied out and couldn’t call.
Why Brian?
She knows I would be immature and pull a prank like that
John couldn’t do it. For obvious reasons.
Brian is the most honest of the bunch. He never misses his Science Fiction theatre show.
I bought a pizza because I didn’t want to eat other peoples’ food. (I already used some of their pink shower stuff. I smell like a girl.) Now I am bored. I mean, freaking bored. I’ve been watching Futurama and playing Snood and Tony Hawk on PS2.
Now I am on John’s computer. I think I may sleep soon.
This is a mac. Its all clear and bubbly creeepy. Like Hollowman. or Jeff Goldblum.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s