Tales of Freelance Writing (I am so boring)

It's been very windy the last two days. Like, bonkers windy. Like, purple skies, "STORMS A-BREWIN'" windy. Luckily, we don't really have twisters here, so despite the large and small bits of palm trees littering the streets and wreaking havoc on my daily commute to the...I don't commute anywhere, to the fuckin' smoothie shop or whatever...there's no real damage or anything.

But it was still a strange day. First I found a squirrel corpse in the yard. He wasn't roughed up, so I'm pretty sure my cat didn't wrestle him into submission. I think he blew out of the tree. It's possible. After some debate (with my cat) I wrapped him (the squirrel) in some plastic bags and tossed the little guy in the trash.

Later, as leaves and things blew in through the windows, the lights went out. My first thought: "Now is when the zombies come."

My second: "Squirrel zombies."

I made a quick exit.

I saw Paranormal Activity with Soph, which was scary, sure, but not as scary as coming home to a house with no lights and a boyfriend who thinks it's funny when I shriek in ABJECT TERROR at his saying, "Boo." Seriously. I'm so lame.

Anyway, in the car, I heard a review, complete with a few tracks, of Bob Dylan's Christmas album. Now that's terrifying.



SERIOUSLY HAVE YOU HEARD THIS? I HOPE HE KNOWS HE'S JOKING, THAT'S ALL I GOTTA SAY.

I have been watching wrestling with my boyfriend.

Shit is serious.



(Actually, that happened in a WCW match. CHECK YOUR FACTS, y'all. Check 'em.)

Starting previews of "Love in Bloom," a new musical by Evelyn Rudie, at the Santa Monica Playhouse this weekend. I play Lady Merrymount - pun intended - and, within the first 8 minutes, "orgasm" on a vurry high note. Shit is serious.