Oh the yarns I spin...

Although this came out last week or so, if you're in a reading mood there's more of me here.

Thanks to Babble On for the heads up. (Aren't writers supposed to be informed when they're getting published?)

But I've lost 6 pounds.

I'm FREE. 120 (completely overhauled) reviews are now edited, formatted, Mapquested and (occasionally) factchecked. (Shit, is that two words?) It took about five hours last night to get it all done, but damn if they aren't! What did I learn?

A: If I have to write about one more tanning salon... You can stand up, you can lay down, you can spray on, you can get unlimited tanning cards. AT EVERY SINGLE ONE. I mean seriously, they're indistinguishable. Now try jazzing up 32 of 'em to make each one sound unique. Just try it. I dare you.

B: I am the queen of bad puns. Desperate for something to fill space? Ain't nothing like a pun to get you there. Yoga studio? Welcome "Om". Tanning salon? I'll pull out eighteen variations of "Get your glow on" which is already so two years ago I want to fire myself. Grasping at straws peeps. Grasping at straws.

C: I need interns. Man, my life would be so much better with one. I've been obsessed with the idea ever since my boss mentioned them. I'd have someone to do my dirty work AND I WOULDN'T EVEN HAVE TO PAY THEM! Just give them college credit in, like, Life Skills or something! I would be so willing to do that!

In the meantime, I'm off to the gym. Buffness waits for no whiner.

If you don't have something nice to say, let me hear it.*

So I was reading the gossip pages yesterday and came across a sweet little story about how Jessica Simpson likes having people play with her butt.

Which led me to wonder - how do people find this stuff out? Assuming it's true that is (which I will because it's more fun that way). I mean, how? This story first came out when she was messing around with that Jackass guy and now that she's "canoodling" (best word next to "kerfuffel") with the lead singer from Maroon 5, it's started up again. Sure, people enjoy all kinds of things in the boudoir. More power to 'em! But if I were Jessica, I'd be hiding under the couch. People shouldn't know that stuff! And if they're making it up, how weird is that?! "Hmmm, let's say that Ashley Olsen likes to do bad things to dauschunds"! I mean that'd be fantastic to read but seriously, how do these stories get out?

(*My new motto, compliments of Terry O'Quinn's SAG Award acceptance speech.)

Some people say that Matt looks like him...

I find it interesting that the biggest response I've ever gotten to a post is about a grammar question. Nerds.

Date night! Yes, I took a day off from editing (well, most of a day) and got myself out of the house. Went shopping (Angel Street Thrift Shop had a pair of Theory trousers for $5! That's a find-and-a-half right there, folks.) and got some pants hemmed. (Eh.) On date night we do the whole dinner-and-a-movie thing so I decided to get myself prettified and go for a mani-pedi. (Miss Moo made me reevaluate the state of my extremities after her glorious scrub 'n paint.) So I decided on a place that I pass every day. It's clean and nice, the ladies look like the do some yummy massagy stuff - plus it's date night. I'm ready to splurge.

This place was fancy. Flowers and lemons in the soaking water. (Nice!) Do I want some tea? (Why yes I do!) There was even a gigantic bowl of miniature Luna bars. There was a skinny, Vuitton-toting girl next to me who was surgically attached to her cell, yammering in a Russian/English hybrid about her next vacation. ("It's not like I'm asking him to spend $10,000 on a vacation." After that, all I was able to make out were the words "Paris", "Four Seasons" and "Key West is closer to Mexico". ) The pedi was fine, but why is it that I never, never, ever seem to get the lady who likes to massage? People next to me are getting rubbed like it's their last day on Earth. Me? Nothin'! Same at my wedding - one of the other girls got this huuuge massage while I - THE BRIDE - got a sander taken to her foot. (I wish I was speaking euphemistically.) Since it's widely known that I have the ugliest feet around (thanks to years spent in pointe shoes) I decided to forego polish and just get my nails buffed. Plus I figured it'd save a few bucks. Then we headed to the manicure station. "Would you like to pay now?" Sure! What's the damange?

$51.

FIFTY-ONE BUCKS! That's not counting the 20% tip that I, as a service industry professional, know to give. SIXTY-ONE BUCKS! People, please. I refuse to pay that much for pants! They actually charged me $5 for not using polish. Most New York women get this done every two weeks! THAT'S LIKE A MILLION DOLLARS A MONTH! Seriously, I was steamed. As I left I marched over to that Luna bar bowl and took two of 'em.

Luckily the movie saved the day. If The Matador is playing where you live, run! (Towards it, I mean. I was good.) I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. Fuck the Bond franchise - Pierce Brosnan comes out of this thing smelling like a whisky-soaked rose. My familiarity with his oeurvre is limited (although I'm sure Nadia could catch me up on his Remington Steele years). He's fantastic and the movie is weird and fun. Two (well buffed) thumbs up!

Holy Mary Mother...

I know this is making the rounds but I can't quite get over it.

The president's explanation of Medicare Drug Bill: a verbatim quote.

WOMAN IN AUDIENCE: "I don't really understand. How is it the new plan going to fix the problem?"

PRESIDENT BUSH: (response, verbatim) "Because the, uh, all which is on the table begins to address the big costdrivers. For example, how benefits are calculated, for example, is on the table. Whether or not benefits rise based upon wage increases or price increases. There's a series of parts of the formula that are being considered. And when you couple that, those different cost drivers, affecting those -- changing those with personal accounts, the idea is to get what has been promised more likely to be -- or closer delivered to that has been promised. Does that make any sense to you? It's kind of muddled. Look, there's a series of things that cause the -- like, for example, benefits are calculated based upon the increase of wages, as opposed to the increase of prices. Some have suggested that we calculate -- the benefits will rise based upon inflation, supposed to wage increases. There is a reform that would help solve the red if that were put into effect. In other words, how fast benefits grow, how fast the promised benefits grow, if those -- if that growth is affected, it will help on the red."

Pass this on to others -- so they, too, can understand...

'Splaination

There are few phrases more beautiful to my ears than this one:

"I'll have the interns do it."

That's right! That's right! Make those poor suckers do my crap work! Man, when you have interns, you know you've made it. I don't have interns of my very own yet, but I'm hopeful. Actually it's probably for the best that I don't. They'd start out doing legit stuff like looking up Altlanta neighborhoods and cross streets (that shit is te-di-ous) but pretty soon they'd be picking up my dry cleaning and brushing my cats, I just know it.

So editing. Yes. Here's the deal: I get paid per piece. The more edits I do, the more money I make. And since this only lasts until Feb. 1st, I'm burning the candle at both ends. Sitting on the subway? Edit. Kid on the crapper? Edit. The restaurant reviews take some time because, almost without exception, I'm having to do full-on rewrites. Luckily the beauty blurbs come quick - I can usually bust through 10-20 an hour. It's damn good money.

I'll hit this harder once the job is done. In the meantime, every minute I'm not editing, I'm not getting paid...

Just a drop by!

Don't get me wrong - I like her and all - but when did Drew Barrymore get elephantitus of the titties?

So sleepy...

So's I've bitten off slightly more than I can chew with this editing thing so posting might be sketchy at best for the next few weeks. But I will come back... I WILL FIND YOU! (Quick, what's that from? And why hasn't he made a movie in, like, ever?)

(And Buff, I wish I could hire you but A: I'm only doing the Atlanta market and B: they don't give me that kind of power. Which is too bad because some of these people suuuck.)

Did you bring your gold filled shoes?

I was sitting in coat check last night when I heard this particular gem:

"You didn't bring your fur-lined raincoat?!"

Naturally, this was being asked by someone who also had a fur-lined raincoat. Who (naturally) didn't tip.

I hear it's like sleeping on a cloud...

Sorry about the lackadasical posting. Bit off more than I can chew this week but since I've decided I need a TempurPedic mattress (has anyone slept on one?) I need to make hay while the sun shines.

In the meantime, check me out!

Power is my friend.

I used to do bar reviews which was great except that I was paid so little that I'd spend all my earnings on the friggin' drink. So I stopped. But now my editor is handling reviews for eight different cities and asked for my help.

Friends, I have found my calling.

I loves being the boss! I may not be good at the important things like math or understanding political infastructures (infostructures? Gah!), but snarking out in 150 words or less? Please, I'm queen. Plus editing takes a fraction of the time it took to write an original. I'm seriously hoping that this become a full-ish time gig because that, as they say, would be SWEET.

MUST... MOCK...

So Thursday night I attended my first Weight Watchers meeting. You know, it wasn't half bad. I'm not sure what I expected (actually, I know exactly what I expected: AA. You know - church basement, semi-circle of chairs, clusters of anxious looking women huddled around a gigantic silver coffee urn. Maybe a blackboard with helpful affirmations like "It's Just Food, Not Love"...) but it was actually pretty sociable. Our "leader" (their term) was requisitely Simmons-ish and seemingly addicted to his packet of BRAVO! stickers. (You sneezed? BRAVO!) Everyone was an assortment of sizes. Most had been coming for years; all had lost pretty significant amounts of weight. One guy lost 38 lbs in 3 months, which seems a little extreme to me, but really, there's not much to say. Or rather, there's not much to mock. Damn it. It seems healthy. It's totally inexpensive. I felt no pressure to buy anything. Where's the glinty-eyed salespeople? Where's the... I don't know... ridiculousness?! Aside from being a bitch-on-wheels for the first two days because I was on the wrong plan, I feel good. Which kind of pisses me off, dammit.

Yes, yes.

Yeah, there's a new one coming, it's just taking me a bit. Keep your pants on. (Unless you're Dan. You're not wearing pants, are you, Gunderman?)

Oh GOD.

You know how I'm always really tempted to go to one of those Scientology Open Houses whenever some gleamy eyed Hubbard minion hands me a flier? Well that's how I feel about this thing.

Yes folks, Dr. Phil is getting into the dating game.

Heh.

I know I shouldn't mock. I've been lonely. Hell, I've online dated. But there's something about the touchy-feelyness of that man combined with the soul-searching flop sweat of those in search for romance that makes me think this thing's gonna blow. Oh I think he'll make a badillion dollars, but the whole fun of online dating is the pseudo-illicitness of it. I mean, come on - it's like shopping for men. (Mom, I did not shop for men.) You add Dr. Phil and the whole thing's off.

By the way, has anyone gone to one of those Scientology orientations? I'm dying to but I'm certain that they'll manage to invade my brain.

Yeouch.

So I guess Brangie (Bragelina? Aad?) are having a kid, according to the news. Does this qualify as actual "news"? Yes. Yes it does.

I'm no Jen fan but damn, that's gotta smart.

Oh come now!

Okay, even I don't believe this, and I believe everything. Leo and Lindsay?! Hell, I barely believed that he was dating Boobie Bundchen. First Chad and Hilary and now this. If it's true (I'm gunning for the Big If, peeps) what is the world coming to?

I'm soooo worth more than this.

Dude, what the hell?! Is this real money? I know it's not real money, but why isn't it real money?! Most importantly, THIS IS ALL I'M WORTH?!

(Thanks to KTBuffy for the eye opener.)

Don't kill me, O.

I did it. Hauled myself out from under my cozy down comfortor to hit the gym at dawn. I've started getting up at 7:00 now - it feels much more humane than 6:30. I fed the sleepy cats, battled a gigantic, man eating roach and settled on my couch with my tea and an Oprah mag I stole from the gym. I sooooo want to mock Oprah. It's there, right on the tips of my fingers the mocking, but oh how she defeats me. I start out all smirky at 10 Ways To Improve Your Life TODAY!!! but halfway through, there I am taking notes. Suddenly I find myself thinking, Yeah - I can call in my destiny! I start to get all excited about my life (just like Oprah said to!) and then immediately begin to feel weird because once you start buying into O's world, it's a slippery, slippery slope to taping Dr. Phil.

By the way, I swear I saw Jessica Simpson walking near Central Park. She's an unusual shade of tan and she's had some kind of work done - her lips are huuuuge.

No! NOOOOOOO!

Oh man, this totally bums me out...

I'm gonna blow!

First things first: In one month I'm changing the URL of my blog to www.lies-all-lies.blogspot.com, instead of goaskali. This means that if you try to go to goaskali in one month, you won't find me. So write this down: lies-all-lies.blogspot.com. Are we good? Good.

Okay so technically I haven't actually made it to Weight Watchers yet. Yet! The branch near me only has meetings in the mid-afternoon which interferes with my babysitting stint. I'm also starting to get a little nervous about going as I'm realizing that I'll actually have to give up things I like to eat, like Newman O's and cheese, which makes me all crochety and mean. Don't ask me how I'm going to cope at catering as it is physically impossible for me not to eat the hors d'oeuvres. I was discussing this dilemma with the other waiters last night and all agreed that hors d'oeuvre snatching is one of the sacred pleasures of cater waitering. They're always so interesting and small! And after sixteen guests have just hissed "Excuse me!" and grabbed your arm and made you hate them by laughing in your face when you tell them that something is organic ("ORGANIC MEAT?! Does it even have MEAT in it?! What is it, SOY?!") and made you get all snippy in your response ("Do you know what organic means?") and then hate yourself because they're all from the South and thought they were being funny and are now all sad faced by your superior tone, then by god you deserve that tiny organic meatloaf on brioche! Hell, you deserve six!

And no, I DIDN'T get up at 6:30 this morning to go to the gym! Aw man, don't get me started...

Those cowboys sure are cute.

Larry David outfunnies me seven days a week. You've probably already seen this but if not, enjoy.

Cowboys Are My Weakness
By LARRY DAVID
Published: January 1, 2006

Somebody had to write this, and it might as well be me. I haven't seen "Brokeback Mountain," nor do I have any intention of seeing it. In fact, cowboys would have to lasso me, drag me into the theater and tie me to the seat, and even then I would make every effort to close my eyes and cover my ears.

And I love gay people. Hey, I've got gay acquaintances. Good acquaintances, who know they can call me anytime if they had my phone number. I'm for gay marriage, gay divorce, gay this and gay that. I just don't want to watch two straight men, alone on the prairie, fall in love and kiss and hug and hold hands and whatnot. That's all. Is that so terrible? Does that mean I'm homophobic? And if I am, well, then that's too bad. Because you can call me any name you want, but I'm still not going to that movie.

To my surprise, I have some straight friends who've not only seen the movie but liked it. "One of the best love stories ever," one gushed. Another went on, "Oh, my God, you completely forget that it's two men. "You in particular will love it."

"Why me?"

"You just will, trust me."

But I don't trust him. If two cowboys, male icons who are 100 percent all-man, can succumb, what chance to do I have, half- to a quarter of a man, depending on whom I'm with at the time? I'm a very susceptible person, easily influenced, a natural-born follower with no sales-resistance. When I walk into a store, clerks wrestle one another trying to get to me first. My wife won't let me watch infomercials because of all the junk I've ordered that's now piled up in the garage. My medicine cabinet is filled with vitamins and bald cures. So who's to say I won't become enamored with the whole gay business? Let's face it, there is some appeal there. I know I've always gotten along great with men. I never once paced in my room rehearsing what to say before asking a guy if he wanted to go to the movies. And I generally don't pay for men, which of course is their most appealing attribute.

And gay guys always seem like they're having a great time. At the Christmas party I went to, they were the only ones who sang. Boy that looked like fun. I would love to sing, but this weighty, self-conscious heterosexuality I'm saddled with won't permit it.

I just know if I saw that movie, the voice inside my head that delights in torturing me would have a field day. "You like those cowboys, don't you? They're kind of cute. Go ahead, admit it, they're cute. You can't fool me, gay man. Go ahead, stop fighting it. You're gay! You're gay!"

Not that there's anything wrong with it.

Here she goes!

Okay, okay, I'll do it! The 7's and the 4's and whatever else you throw out that lets me be incredibly narcissistic and prevents me from having to mess with our new shredder and put away our Christmas stuff and clean off the craft table!

7 things I want to do before I die:
- Figure out what I want to do with my life, do it, and get paid handsomely for it.
- Buy a home.
- Have some kids.
- See the Northern Lights.
- Stay in one of those all-inclusive eco resorts in the Galapagos Islands (or wherever. I'm not picky.)
- Publish something that I'm proud of, that other people like too.
- Be on a regular on a series. (Such an old dream, but the fucker keeps hanging on...)

7 things I can't do:
- Sing really well.
- Understand higher level mathematics.
- Resist gossip.
- Make a basket. (The sporty kind.)
- "Hold it" for long periods of time.
- Not take stuff that's free, even if I don't actually want it.
- Knit.

7 things that attract me to other people (leaving aside the blatantly obvious, like humor and compassion and liking me.) :
- Accents. (But not Boston or New York or New Jersey. Or Chicago. Or Wisconsin.)
- Big noses. (Adrian Brody, not Gerard Depardieu.)
- Cold, hard cash!
- Discernable talent.
- Patience.
- A soupcon of geekiness.
- Facial hair. (A bit of scruff, not Rip Van Winkle.)

7 things I say most often:
- Oh my God!
- Awesome!
- It doesn't make SENSE! (Whenever something frustrates me, whether it be something truly mind-boggling or a jar that won't unscrew.)
- Would you care for a _____? (Insert hors d'oeuvre.)
- Wait, I have to pee.
- PAY ATTENTION TO ME!
- General whiny noises.

7 books or series I love:
- Little House, especially "These Happy Golden Years"
- Memoirs of a Geisha
- Franny and Zooey
- The East Village INKY (Technically not a book; Ayun Halliday's 'zine about raising her kids in the East Village. Well now they live in Brooklyn since her husband wrote the Broadway smash "Urinetown" but since I had drinks with them once years ago when I was dating a guy who was in a show with them, I like to pretend we have a connection. Regardless, the 'zine is awesome.)
- FOUND magazine (I'm including magazines because they're practically like books.)
- BUST
- Cottage Living/Budget Living/Real Simple

7 movies I can watch over and over:
- When Harry Met Sally
- My So-Called Life (TV counts. See "Magazines")
- Baz Luhrmann's Romeo and Juliet (only certain scenes, but over and over)
- A Christmas Story
- Firefly
- Peter Pan (the newest version starring the guy who's wasted as Lucius Malfoy)
- Best Week Ever

Four places you've been on vacation:
- Ireland
- Scotland
- Cozumel
- Paris

Four websites you visit daily
- Your blogs
- Gawker
- My bank (gotta keep an eye on those finances)
- Go Fug Yourself

Four of your favorite foods (Why isn't this one of the 7's?):
- Chips and salsa
- Shrimp cocktail
- Bread pudding with warm burbon sauce
- French bread with brie

Four places you'd rather be:
- In my very own bungalow in Asheville, NC surrounded by friends and family (if we all magically lived there)
- In my very own craftsman-style home in Northern California, surrounded by friends and family (if we all magically lived there)
- In my very own former sea shanty in Portland, Maine, surrounded by friends and family (if we all magically lived there)
- On my very own former farm turned artist's colony (minus the annoying artists) in Vermont, surrounded by friends and family (if we all magically lived there)

Four albums you can't live without (Let's do songs instead!)
- "Refugee" - Melissa Etheridge
- "Extraordinary Machine" - Fiona Apple
- "Island In The Sun" - Weezer
- "Desperado" - The Langley School Music Project

Four magazines you read: (in addition to the ones that counted as books)
- Jane (no likee the new editor, though. May have to surrender this one soon.)
- Vanity Fair
- US Weekly

Four colors you like (not necessarily together):
- Chocolate Brown
- Tiffany Blue
- Pumpkin
- Plum

Four Hollywood stars you want to have a drink with:
- Vince Vaughn
- Will Farrell
- Hugh Laurie (but only if we were both single and he acted like Dr. House)
- Ted Casablancas, the E! gossip guy (but only if he promised not to talk in that practically indescipherable patois he's developed and was willing to talk trash)

My new category! Four things you always have in your fridge:
- Soy milk
- Our Brita pitcher
- A half-empty can of cat food
- Ground flaxseed meal

I need a nap.

I loooooves to make me some grand pronouncements.

Alarm went off at 6:30. Matt batted at it until 6:45. Then the girls started chiming in (shut UP already!) so yes, I hauled myself out of bed.

Let me say this: There is no reason on God's Green Earth that anyone needs to be up before sunrise. They certainly shouldn't be up that early to go to the freakin' gym.

I'm not sure how I expected to feel, but there's something about getting up while it's still dark that goes against natural human inclination. Roosters aren't even up yet. (My mother is out the door by 6:30 almost every day of her working life and to this day I don't know how she does it.) And the gym was crowded! CROWDED! AT 6:30 AM! (Well, 7:30, by the time I managed to haul my puffy, bloaty self down there.) Guy was doing tai chi, woman was puffing away on the elliptical... I'm standing there in a daze, wondering if it would be cheating to take a nap in the meditation room. (It's at the gym so it's sort of like working out, right?) Everybody seemed pretty wide awake too. I've always wanted to be an early riser like my dad, but the fact that he's down for the count by 9 pm (I'd miss America's Next Top Model!) makes me want to re-think.

By the way, my food column was rejected. Something about her losing a writer and wanting to focus on a cooking segment. Trying hard not to be hurt by the fact that I was turned down by a place that wasn't even going to pay me. (Dude, I was free!) In the immortal words of Ghandi: "Whatevs". I'm going ot take a writing class and learn how to pitch. Then we'll see who doesn't want me to work for them for free!

I'm taking bets.

Here's my new daily regimen:

Get up at 6:30 am to go to the gym, bed at 10:30 pm. Sharp.

How many days do you think it'll last? Especially considering it's already 10:54.

"You're scared now? Right?"

Okay, fully realizing that most of you already read this on KPolly's blog (www.bitemybottom.blogspot.com) but it made my ass laugh. Yes, my ass laugh. You know how in R&B they always do that sexy talking thing in the middle? You know the part where Justin Timberlake tries to be all manly and "Don't fear me baby, it's just Justin" embarrassing-ish? Well Kristopher came up with some sample lyrics of his own and as I'm headed out and don't have time to write anything on my own, I'm stealing his genius. Enjoy.

"It's time, ladylady. It's that time when two people just know. They know what time it is. And the time is sooo so right. Don't look at your watch, girl. It's not that kind of time. It's a different kind of time. Not one that can be read on a watch. Break it down."

"Oh. Oooooh. I want to lick Nutella off your sweet butt, mon cheri. This is the kind of shit you make me think of, girl. I hope my mama ain't listening, cuz I'm about to go off! Unh! Double it! Unh Unh!"

There's more where that came from! Check him out.

Best Thing I Saw Today

There's a pizza joint down the block from us that I walk past every day. They have one of those outdoor sound systems that blares 70's and 80's rock 24/7, generally annoying all who pass. (Read: me) But every so often Dancing Man appears - and suddenly everything is all right. Dancing Man looks exactly like a grey headed Willie Nelson and loves to boogie, preferably with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth, while - wait for it - wearing a bright orange Haliburton jumpsuit. Today he was getting down to the Bee Gee's "Tragedy" ("TRAGEDY! blah-blah-blah, blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah, TRAGEDY!") He never asks for money - actually he never even speaks - he just gets down.

He's not there that often but when he is, it's a good day.

I will not sigh heavily when someone walks too slow in front of me. I will not sigh heavily...

I notice that there's been very little mention of New Year's resolutions on my fellow blogger's pages. Perhaps resolutions are soooo '05 but I think they're important. Whether or not you actually keep them is beside the point - I think it's just good to have something to aim for. (I'll check back in eleven months and see which ones I flaked on. Or is it, "on which ones I flaked"? Clearly grammer revisitation should be included...)

- Finish writing my book.
- Start writing my book.
- Wait - am I writing a book?
- Get articles published in BUST, Jane, Chow, and Time Out New York (Why not aim high?)
- Save enough money for a kitchen table (that will be placed in the living room as we barely have enough room for ourselves in the kitchen)
- Figure out what's causing the weird "morning breath" stink in the bedroom.
- Get color headshots.
- Put the max into our ROTH accounts.
- Learn to be more patient. (I'll tell you right now, that one's never gonna make it.)
- Hang out with a friend at least once a week.
- Go do something New York-y at least once every other week so I can stop bitching about how I live in this fantastic city and never do anything.
- Learn to make one signature meal.
- Take a writing class.
- Make handmade cards more often.
- Purchase a painting by Heather Smith Jones. (There's one at Signs of Life Gallery in Lawrence that's only $1100, if someone wants to knock this one off for me.)
- Write more letters instead of lazing out and resorting to email.
- Pay off Matt's student loan. (This will be aided tremendously if someone helps out with that Heather Smith Jones thing.)
- Get to a level of fitness where my potbelly doesn't rest against my thighs when I sit.
- Grow my hair out.

I'm sure there's more but I've got to pee. How those poor sons of bitches held it for seven hours on New Year's Eve, I'll never know.

Look out, Kirstie.

When did I become a person who naps?

While I was in Kansas, I slept an average of a trillion hours a day. I'd go to sleep at around 10, wake up at 8 - that's ten hours of sleep - yet require an hour nap at around 1:00. Eleven hours of sleep. Only newborns and narcoleptics require eleven hours of sleep. Combine that with the amount of food I consume in an average day and it I suddenly become a poster child for about four of the seven deadly sins. (We might as well throw "envy" in there too, as I sit on my keister and watch Laguna Beach.) This is partially why I'll be attending my first Weight Watchers meeting this Thursday. I feel a little stupid announcing it (Hello, ridicule! I still remember what happened when I announced that I was going to go into the Peace Corps during my Sophomore year...) but I figure if I put it out there then I'll be forced to go. I'm not trying to drop much, but I am trying to help myself get a little leaner for pilot season. (You know, that season I never audition for?) Plus Weight Watchers is cheap, ya'll. $13 a week, and no stupid food buying. I figure I ought to do it while there's no catering work because trying to avoid the brie en croute (that's brie wrapped in phyllo dough, topped with apricot jam, served warm) is akin to not harboring romantic fantasies about that rascally Dr. House.

I'll let you know how it goes. And as Stefanie reminded me recently, if I publish something about it I can even write it off.