The Stresses of Being a Cat Mom

Their love is so cute I can't even handle it.

My cats are making my gray hairs multiply faster than Obama's every time Joe Biden's let out of his cage.*

It started about two months, ago, when Kirby started obsessively licking his gentlemanly parts and crying. After a few days of this, I became concerned enough to take him to the vet.

You probably think your pet hates the vet. All pets do, right? Well, amigo, I can almost guarantee you your pet's got nothing on my fuzzy little demon baby. Kirby has a special note in his file. I'm not sure what it says, but whenever the receptionist sees it, she gets a panicked look on her face and rushes in the back to warn the vet. He has to be sedated (to the tune of $90) for a standard check up. It once took 4 people to hold him down so the vet could perform a simple procedure. Vet visits with Kirby always end with everyone (especially me) covered in blood, shredded clothing, and their own tears. Add to that the fun fact that Kirby is apparently a genetic cesspool of maladies and in constant need of medical attention, and you've got a recipe for a fairly frequent draining of money, blood, and joy. 

And so, I find myself sitting in a waiting room, stroking my furious cat's little face and softly offering assurances in my absolutely insane cat voice (it's sort of a combination of Gollum and Marcel the Shell with Shoes On and maybe a muppet or something). In walks Dr.Hotface McGee the vet, sending me into a flurry of flirtation. Not easy, let me tell you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to seductively talk about bladder infections and stool samples? But Stella and Kirby need a father figure, and they're certainly not going to get one by me NOT using every professional interaction to inappropriately flirt my face off.

The vet then begins to try to examine Kirby, which prompts him to leap approximately 3 feet into the air, and come down in a gnashing lashing fury of teeth and claws. I start trying to wrangle him to the ground, and as the vet looks on with concern.

Vet: Um... are you ok?
Me: (having my shirt ripped, arms gashed, shoulders bit) Yep! Haha yeah, totally fine! Sorry, he's normally... um... kind of friendly.... he's just really scared.
Kirby: MREEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!
Vet: (timidly hiding in the corner. I have quickly become entirely disenchanted with him. Seriously, dude? You're a damn animal professional. Grow a pair and let my cat chew on you for a second.) Um... well... I don't want you to get hurt...
Kirby: (Chomping down on the center of my thumbnail as hard as he can.)
Me: SHIT!
Vet: (Perhaps noticing the blood that is now oozing out from under my nail) Um... you know, we can always sedate him...
Me: Nope! No, thank you, I really think I can handle it... OW! Um, yeah, I can't really - DAMMIT - afford to have him sedated right now so.....crap.... just let me try to calm him down...

Moral of the story, we eventually calm Kirby enough to get a urine sample, and find out he has crystals in his urine. I buy some expensive-ass prescription cat food, and we're on our way.

Now, some of you may know that I used to work at a holistic pet food store. It's basically resulted in me being as much of a snob about my pets' diets as my own. The cats get expensive, grain-free food. Pippin gets organic rat food with fresh fruits and veggies every day. They all drink filtered water. And I treat almost all of their health problems holistically. Therefore, I knew that prescription food from a vets is low-quality, grain-laden shit pumped full of chemicals. However, urine crystals can quickly turn into kidney stones, so I figured this was the less of two evils.

It started off ok. Kirby stopped awkwardly crying over his genitals, and they both loved the new food. However, after a couple weeks, he started to have an allergic reaction called a hot spot. It basically means his skin was itchy, so he was licking a spot on his back leg so much the fur was falling off. This was unfortunate, but since the change in diet was only temporary, I figured I'd let it go. Within a matter of days, though, Kirby had turned his leg and a huge spot on his stomach into hairless, oozing sores. I rushed off to Big Bad Woof for a hot spot ointment. Kirby screeched with fury every time I applied it, as was to be expected, but then actually started licking the spots even more in an attempt to get the ointment off. Next bet I figured was to get him an e-collar.

Not Kirby. Just a doppelganger. Kirby looked much sadder.

Well. In true Kirby drama queen fashion, this was a freaking catastrophe. When I first put the collar on him, he had a straight up panic attack. He flopped about, ran around the room in terror, tried to claw it off himself, and cried. Stella was equally frightened, and appeared to think the scary new collar was attacking Kirby. She seemed to think the best way to handle this was to TACKLE HIM AND BITE THE SHIT OUT OF THE COLLAR. This obviously made the situation tons better. 

Once Kirby got past the initial shock of the collar, he went into a state of deep depression. He barely ate and pretty much spent the next three days sleeping in my closet, occasionally being ambushed by Stella, who was apparently still under the impression that the collar was a monster that needed to be battled. Nothing would console him. Every time I saw him I wanted to cry. It was awful, but I figured it would be worth it once the sores were gone.

In the midst of all this, Stella, who had lost her playmate due to his epic despair, had decided to regress to her kittenish tyrannical misbehavior from her earliest days with us. She was jumping on the counter. She was jumping on the stove. She was jumping in the dishwasher. And the thing was, she would wait til we were looking at her, wait til we said, "NO, Stella", then, hold eye contact with us as she fucking did it anyway. She decided she no longer cared about the spray bottle, so we had to up her punishment to holding her down and spraying her repeatedly in the face. It's not fun having to punish one cat non-stop and forcing another cat to live in utter misery. I was suffering from some serious cat-mama guilt.

Then, after a few days, I get a call from Ann, saying that despite the damn cone Kirby can still lick his gross stupid gimpy leg. I make the executive decision to lose the collar and switch him back over to his regular food (at this point he had been on the prescription diet as long as the vet had recommended). I hoped the hot spots would go away, now that the allergen was gone. 

Nope. Still there (and getting worse). So I went back to the store, this time looking for a product that would act as a healing agent as well as a taste deterrent. I came back with an all natural (of course) product chock full of cayenne pepper. I held Kirby down, and Ann doused his sores with this new spray.

Holy. Fucking. Hell. We both started choking and gasping on that pepper spray and could not stop. Kirby ran off, not appearing to have such problems. As per usual, he ran a safe distance from us and tried to start licking his leg.

And stopped. And coughed. And tried again. And gagged. And finally gave us a disgusted look and ran off into my room.

We've been keeping it up for a few days, and already his wounds are scabbing and his fur's growing back in. I'm finally starting to calm down. Kirby is acting a little less trusting of us lately, but is being a surprisingly good sport, considering all he's been through the past couple months. I'm trying to make an extra effort to play with Stella a lot and to hold her more. (She loves being carried like a baby. She'll cry until you pick her up, rest her on your shoulder, and walk around the room bouncing her. She'll fall asleep like that. It's adorable.) I thought maybe helping her find an extra-curricular activity like modeling would help her burn off energy, but she told me she doesn't appreciate the materialism of the modeling industry. 

Of course, the day I finally sit down to write a post about how effing stressful they've been lately, they both are sleeping soundly like little angels. Jerks.

*Don't get me wrong, I love Joe. But there's no denying that a PR nightmare erupts every time someone lets that guy talk.

Changing Seasons

OH em gee.

I love seasons. I love each season. I try to squeeze every seasonally appropriate thing I can get out of each of them. (Working outside everyday helps a bunch.) This summer, I went to the beach, ate a lot of crabs, ate a ton of produce (berries and cucumbers and watermelon and peaches and corn), went kayaking, went to barbecues, showed off my tramp stamp every chance I got, saw 4th of July fireworks, took a road trip, hung out at the pool most weekends, wore sun dresses, swam in the river, spent a lot of time barefoot, did a Fringe show (which is quintessential summer for me), went to King's Dominion, went white water tubing, held a lot of cicadas (I <3<3<3 cicadas), went to an outdoor concert, and got pretty tan.

Therefore, it is with the knowledge that I have milked summer for all it is worth, that as we fast approach the end of August, I can shout from the rooftops that

I AM HELLA EXCITED ABOUT FALL.

And of course, because I love me some lists, I'm going to break it down for you all, list style (a la my similar spring post). Let's go.

1. Autumnal activities. I am so freaking pumped to go apple picking, pumpkin picking, vineyard touring... not to mention all the other outdoorsy things that are just more beautiful in the fall. The way the light looks, the crisp air, the gorgeous changing leaves, that fall smell... it makes camping, hiking, and general outdoorsiness so much more beautiful. It definitely makes dog walking more scenic.

2. Fall clothes. I have loved the light, breezy clothes of summer, but there's something so cozy about tights and boots and sweaters. I currently have an embarrassingly large word document where I have been putting pictures of outfits I find on the internet and want. (Yes, I understand this is a ghetto version of Pinterest. Yes, I have a Pinterest account that I use rather frequently. No, I cannot tell you why on earth I am not just actually pinning these things.) Plus, I really want some green skinny cords from Old Navy, and that shit just does not work in the summer.

3. Fall food. Of course. I'm always excited about food. I'm going to make homemade applesauce and pumpkin bread and roasted eggplant and vegetarian chili and more soups and stews than your little heart can imagine. Come over for dinner and let me feed you. It'll be a win all around.*

4. HALLOWEEN. Did you all know how out of control obsessed with Halloween I am? Oh sweet lord. I am all the crap about Halloween. I already decided on my costume (which is going to be fan-fucking-tastic). The cats will also have costumes. I'm not positive, but I'm thinking devil costume for Kirby and a princess costume for Stella. Plus, my October will be chock-full of ghost tours, late night ghost stories, scary movies, haunted houses, haunted trails, and a stay in a real haunted house (Ann and I are going back to the Farnsworth Inn in Gettysburg). If I don't end this October possessed/haunted forever by a restless spirit I've angered, I've done something wrong.

So yeah. Fall. I hope you all just got real excited. We still have a week of summer left, so we should all still be wearing our flip flops and doing summery things (I'm going to my family's annual reunion/crab feast this weekend). But soon, guys. Get psyched.

*Holy hell I almost forgot about PUMPKIN BEER.

Yo Yo Yiggity Yo

Good day, peaches. (I'm sipping a peach and nectarine smoothie right now, which is why I addressed you all as peaches instead of muffins or gumdrops or some equally obnoxious pet name.) I've been busy doing all sorts of important business as of late, such as:

1. Setting myself on fire.

That doesn't look safe.

I was supervised by my friend who is a professional stunt-man (aka don't go home and try this and expect not to die in a fiery inferno). I screamed the whole time it was happening. My mom found this picture on Facebook and was fairly alarmed.

2. Finally getting around to watching season two of Game of Thrones. It's amazing, of course. But you know how season one is chock-full of completely unnecessary, extremely graphic sex scenes? (So graphic. I literally googled "how the hell do they film Game of Thrones sex scenes without actually making the actors bone?" I didn't find an answer, which I think is a bit suspicious.) Well, in season two, they decide to do away with a lot of that, and add a crap-ton of nausea-inducing violence. You know what I like watching? Hot people having sex. You know what I don't like watching? Hot people getting eaten by rats. I usually have a pretty strong stomach for gory movies, but this literally had me jumping around and screaming on the opposite end of the room from my muted computer for a couple of scenes. On the plus side, I have a new fake person crush on Jon Snow. (Other contenders include Nick from New Girl and Adam from 50/50). So if anyone knows of any sword-wielding medieval-attired hotties with some good facial scruff to carry me through the snowy wilderness and protect me from dangerous brutes.... let me know.

3. Trimming my nails. I've had short nails for years, and decided to see what I would look like with lady-hands. My long nails were lovely, but they pretty much made it impossible to play the guitar. I've been trying to ignore this fact for the past few months, but recently my increasingly-wretched guitar playing has been making me somewhat miserable. I hacked them all off last night and serenaded the cats for an hour. Expect less awful videos in the future.

4. Getting antsy for fall. I love summer so mucho, but I love fall so so mucho. I'm starting to get excited about apple picking and boots and all things pumpkin. It's almost fall, y'all.

I also did more interesting things, like going to the zoo and King's Dominion and going white-water tubing, but I don't really feel like describing how awesome they were right now. Just know that they were better than most things you've done this summer, probably.

Hope you have a great day, my gumdroppy muffins! You're my absolute freaking favorite (yes, you).

Why Are All the Best Blues Songs Written for Men?

I don't know what it is about being happy that makes me want to sing the blues. Maybe it's because singing the blues when you're sad would just be too depressing. And bluesy songs have a kind of fun feel to them that most sad songs don't. Whatever the reason, I came back from the pool on Saturday and felt like playing my favorite summer blues song.

This song really sounds better with a piano. I don't have a piano, though. I have a guitar. And I can't play it very well. If anyone would like to get me a piano, I would be more than happy to paint it a fun color and serenade you all with equally unsophisticated piano music. Or I could call on one of my piano playing gent friends (I'm looking at you, Andrew Lincoln) to accompany me as I lounge across the top of the piano like a smokey bar songstress.

Unfortunately for you, this recording is just going to be me and my shitty guitar skills. Feel free to close your eyes and imagine a much more musically gifted pianist playing a hand-painted, candy apple red piano as I stretch luxuriously across the top in a slinky, sequined dress, smoking a cigarette and singing you some tunes. Or just watch me in all my pool-hair glory. Up to you.

Jeffries Sisters Do NC

Disclaimer: I started writing this post this morning, took a break, and got back to it late at night. It is now 1:30 am. See if you can guess which point in the story I start to get a little sleep-deprived.

About a month and a half ago, my sister Lara and I ventured to North Carolina, mostly to enjoy the glory that is the food of Charlotte and Asheville. I took a lot of pictures, and intended to blog about it immediately uponst my return. When I got home, I realized I couldn't find my cord-connecting-camera-uploady-computer thing anywhere. I still haven't found it, but I did find Ann's. And now, fair readers, I share with you the glory that is my long weekend down south. (That ended up sounding more like an innuendo than I intended.)

I'm the shortest one in my family.

We started our journey at my parents' house, where I picked up Lara. See my car in the background? That's the last time it ever appeared unscathed. About two minutes after this picture was taken, I backed out of the driveway and slammed the front bumper on the steep driveway edge. About ten minutes on the road, I start noticing a terrible sound coming from the bottom front left corner of the car, like something's dragging. I pull over, check the tire, but don't notice anything weird. We continue on our journey, with Lara occasionally voicing concerns and me responding with "Meh, it's probably fine..." Just as we hit DC, the sounds start to get truly alarming, so I pull over into a Checkers parking lot. That's when I discover that the bottom of the bumper has scraped off and is dragging along the road, taking a bit from around the tire with it. (I'm pretty unfamiliar with car anatomy, so that's about as good a description of what was happening as you're going to get). I'm standing here, looking a bit flummoxed, when a gentleman who appears to maybe be a janitor comes strolling across the parking lot. He says, "Oh, no, sister, what did you do here?" I babble on a bit about my predicament, and he says, "Well, you're just going to have to pull this off." He then proceeds to rip the loose part of my bumper off of my car. I respond with alarm, saying, "Whoa! Um. Is that ok? I don't know that you should do that." He points out that I can't keep driving with part of my car dangling behind me, and that it's damaged beyond repair anyway. I'm not 100% sure letting a questionable stranger yank pieces off my car is the best idea, but he does have a point, so I let him carry on. After refusing to give him my number, but promising to meet up at Checkers again so he can buy me a milkshake, we hop into my now battered little car and continue on our way.*

We continue our eight hour drive, which mostly consists of me insisting we listen to country music (because we're in the South, duh) and Lara mostly being a good sport, but occasionally begging that we listen to her music (which is a fair request; she has infinitely better taste in music than me). We eventually arrive in Charlotte, at the super-swank hotel suite she'd reserved for us.

Softest bed in all the land

It had a living room and a kitchen and this giant-as-crap bed. A year of singledom has really enhanced some of my poor sleeping habits, namely my tendency to flop across a bed like a dying spider and kick whatever people/cats might be in my near vicinity. This beauty, however, was big enough that I could share with Lara without face-palming her in my sleep. 

We got dolled up, and made our way out to Cowfish. 

ADORABLE.

The food was amazeaballs. I had the Granny's Southern Pimento Cheese veggie burger and pretty much screamed with delight through the entire meal.

This drink was a bit too strong for me, as evident by my dead fish eyes.

We also dined on edamame.

Tiny and tasty.

The next morning, I woke up bright and early to go to Y2 Yoga and meet the lovely Katie Levans of Sweet Tater fame. A week previously, when Katie suggested I go to the advanced, fast-paced 90 minute class at her HOT yoga studio, I considered the fact that I am an intermediate yogi used to practicing at a moderate temperature and had only been practicing on a weekly basis for the past couple months (as opposed to my former daily yoga addiction habit) and answered with a resounding "Heck yes".

This was stupid. My first tip-off was when I noticed the physiques of my fellow yogis as I entered the studio. I consider myself to be in pretty good shape, but apparently I should stop doing that. This people had abs you could grate cheese on. Butts you could bounce a quarter off of. Arms you could mow a lawn with (I don't know what I mean by that... just, you know, really freaking ripped arms). My second tip was when class started, and I began to sweat more fluids than I realized my body possessed. (Seriously. I drank about a gallon of water and didn't need to pee for like two days.) Then my body started to just kirk the fuck out. I thought I was going to be ok until about forty-five minutes in. My muscles were shaking and my vision was going blurry and my lungs felt like they were wrapped in a soggy towel. And don't even start with me, Bikram-lovers. This was the temp of a Bikram class, only instead of moving slowly and gracefully, we were doing a damn aerobic work out.

Now, normally, I am a bit stubborn in yoga. I don't keep working until I'm going to hurt myself, but I like to go a little tough on myself. I don't like to take breaks in child's pose. I really like to push my body as hard as I can. It became clear, however, that if I didn't take a breather soon, I was going to pass out. Or throw up. Or throw up and pass out in a pile of my own vomit. So I took my slice of humble pie and left, slipping and squelching across the sweat-soaked floor. I hung around the lobby regaining my quickly-dwindling motor functions, and gasped about how crazy intense the class was with my fellow quitters break-takers.

Eventually, I decided I would feel like a big loser if I didn't at least go back for the last fifteen minutes, so I tip-toed back into the studio for the cool-down portion of the class, and savasana, which I felt was much-deserved despite my thirty minute break. Once class was over, I staggered over to Katie and we got ready to go meet up with Lara (who had wisely opted to hang out in Barnes and Noble).

Katie, for those of you who follow her blog, is just as charming in person as she is on the internet, and her hair is even more magnificent in life than in pictures. She promptly took us on a tour-de-Charlotte, beginning at a nearby farmers market.

Note to anyone traveling anywhere ever: befriend a food blogger and make them tell you where/what to eat. Best decision of my life. At the market Katie marched around, sharing delicious recommendations, the most epic of all being Buchi Kombucha. The Fire flavor, to be exact. Sweet Jehovah. The best thing my taste buds have e'er encountered. Horrifically, it is only sold in North Carolina. I consumed no less than a dozen bottles on the rest of our trip. I am not kidding at all.

Katie then took us off to the hipster portion of Charlotte. I was delighted to discover that hipsters exist in South Carolina, and even more delighted to hear hipsters talking in Southern accents. We wandered around a funky little thrift shop for awhile until Katie had to go to one of her many yoga excursions.

This is about the time I started dressing like a homeless person.

Lara and I poked through fun, artsy little shops and I bought entirely too much jewelry. Then we went to Fern, a fantastic vegetarian restaurant at Katie's suggestion. Lara and I both stuffed our faces with their famous Om burgers and some Buchi. After Fern, we decided to bid Charlotte fucking adieu and carry on to Asheville.

Have you ever been to Asheville? You should go to Asheville. It's where I would live if I wasn't a stupid actor. It's this amazing liberal artist environmentally-friendly hippie town that serves nothing but the best damn gourmet vegetarian health food your little heart can imagine. I saw more tattoos, dreads, and piercings than I see in NYC. Walking down the streets, I just about had a joy-seizure.

After checking into our (much cheaper) (much shittier) hotel that I had been responsible for booking, we were starving and went out in search of more food. We got dinner at the Green Light Cafe, where we had more Buchi and both had enchiladas with mole. For some reason, we pretty stupidly got the exact same thing at every restaurant we went to. Probably would have made a heckuva lot more sense to get different things and try each others' meals... but here we are. 

We wandered around downtown for a bit, and then decided to turn in for the night. Lara isn't twenty-one yet (less than two weeks from now!), so we bought some beer and got drunk in our hotel room watching 30 Rock. The Jeffries gals are nothing if not classy.

The next morning, we decided to go hiking in the mountains around Warren Wilson College. 

Braving the wide, wild wilderness.

We found a Christmas tree made out of pinecones.

I was thrilled.

We found a pretty little scenic nook.

Like a fairy princess of sorts.

Then I picked some wildflowers and arranged them in a beautiful bottle.

So, so beautiful.

All this hiking about made us thirsty, so we headed back into town for some rejuvenating beverages. Lara, ever the java-lover, had some coffee.

Mmm.

I had beet and carrot juice.

OMFG BEETS.

We probably had lunch too, but I don't remember that happening so you don't get to hear about it. We then began to more thoroughly explore Asheville and its many fantastic shops. I proceeded to spend money I don't have on jewelry and soaps and knick knacks. Lara found these glasses.

Well done.

I found this cat.

What a perfect little cat house!

We stopped in a precious little tea shop for afternoon tea, where we learned that there was a nearby store that sold copious quantities of Buchi. We hastily gulped down the rest of out tea and sped off to buy a box of 20 bottles. It was very expensive and worth every glorious drop. We stopped back at our shit-tastic hotel for a nap (it really wasn't that bad... like at all. It just wasn't that great) and then went out to the holy grail of vegetarian dining, Laughing Seed. They specialize in raw vegan food and all that is good in the world. Tell me you don't like health food, and I'll take you to this place. And you'll effing love it. Promise.

I ate this.

What is this devilry?

Doesn't look like lasagna, right? Well, it is. It's raw vegan lasagna, and it tasted like angels. I'm sure all my non-health nuts don't believe me, but seriously. So damn good. 

The night commenced with more hotel-drinking and 30 Rock-watching. The next morning we stopped in a quaint little shop for some particularly tasty coffee, poked around a couple more stores, and were off. But not before taking a picture of Lara with a giant-ass iron.

No but seriously, what the hell?

Ten hours later and we were home. All in all, it was a really fantasmic trip. I would highly recommend either of these places to anyone who likes Baltimore or Brooklyn and always wondered what those cities would be like if they were in the south with healthier food. Hit up some of the many food bloggers in Charlotte - they'll tell you where to go for great eats in either location. If you do ever go there, pleasepleaseplease bring me back absurd amounts of Buchi Fire. I can't speak for Lara, but my share of Buchi was gone in 4 days. 

*This car situation straight up makes me want to kill myself. This is a brand freaking new car. I bought it in November. It has taken me a grand total of 7 months to seriously damage it. And of course, my broke ass can't afford to get it fixed anytime soon, so I'm just driving along with my rattley, gimpy bumper. Le sigh.

Kids, Cats, Theatre

This is an exciting week for me. On Friday, I open my kick-ass show Gorgeous Raptors.

Have you ever seen a sexier design?

This is rather ill-timed, as I have to be on the road at 6:30 the next morning to drive up to NYC and retrieve my long-lost roommate Ann. I figure the best way to handle this is to stay out unnecessarily late partying with my cast mates on Friday, then dragging my hungover ass out of bed at 6:25 before making my trek up to New York.

So, the opening of my show and my reunion with Ann are the main highlights of this week. I also have recently fostered a friendship with a group of small children that live near one of my clients. Every time I walk past their house, this group of 5 and 6 year olds come running off the porch hollering "CAN I PET YOUR DOG?" Then we all hang out and visit with DC, an elderly, laid back chocolate lab. Our conversations usually go a bit like this.

"Can I touch his ears?"
"Sure."
"Can I touch his nose?"
"Sure."
"Can I stick my fingers in his mouth and touch his teeth?"
"No."
"Is that his balls?"
"Almost. Not quite."
"It looks weird!"
"It looks like a tongue!"
"Can I touch it?"
"Nope."
"Does he eat grass?"
"Sometimes."
"Can I feed him grass?"
"You can try."
"Can I feed him my gum?"
"No. Hey, I wasn't kidding. You really can't touch him there."
"Is this your phone?"
"Yep."
"Can I call someone on it?"
"Eh. Sure. Why not."
"How do I do that?"
"You have to try and figure it out. If you do, your prize is you get to call someone."
"Look at me blow a bubble!"
"Look at me ride my bike!"
"Look, I'm petting him with my foot!"

These kids are one of my favorite daily occurrences. I'm not entirely sure they have parents, though. I've never seen them.

~ * ~

Once a month in our apartment, I trim the cats' nails. Ann finds their indignant little meows and squirms hilarious, and always makes sure to be present so she can laugh at Stella and Kirby's misery and take pictures of them. Since she was going to have to miss it this month, I thought it would be a good idea to film myself trimming their nails and post it on her Facebook wall. About the time I started on Kirby's second paw, it started to occur to me the this was probably just going to be a boring, awkward five minute video. Kirby was clearly thinking the same thing, and helpfully decided to make things more exciting. Of the three people I've shown it to, two of them found it funny. I figure these are good enough odds to warrant sharing it with you.

Alright, amigos. I'm off to slurp down the rest of this smoothie and rent out apartments. Happy Wednesday!

When I Hear Songs They Sound Like This One

I should come up with a cute name for my lists. I really like them a lot more than normal, paragraph-style writing.

1. My computer is dying. Fast. I bought it old and used for $400 last year from my friend Pedro, who is  a computer whiz. It's a 2008 Mac, and he guaranteed me a year out of it, and free fix-ups if it were ever to kirk out on me. He's fixed it up for me once, and I've had it for a year. I feel like I've gotten my money's worth. And now, on it's last leg, he very helpfully has helped me pick out a new (refurbished) one. Until I actually buy it, I can only see about 2/3 of my screen. Keep that in mind if this post is riddled with typos.

2. On Friday, a huge storm wreaked havoc on apparently everyone in the Mid-Atlantic region except for me. Over a million people were without power (many still are), huge trees down, streets closed, all kinds of calamity. On Saturday, a day when almost everyone was without power, I left my air-conditioned apartment to lie poolside. Unfortunately, I couldn't actually go in the pool, because it was filled with leaves and branches and crap. I forced myself to stay out an hour longer than I wanted to and risk heat stroke so I could even out my tan. By the time I finally went inside, I felt dizzy and mildly nauseous. First world problems.

3. I ate 2 pints of blueberries in one sitting last week. All the antioxidants probably cancelled out the cancer I got from laying in the sun without sunscreen for two hours. Delicious and helpful.

4. I'm working on a show that opens in a couple weeks. It's called Gorgeous Raptors and it's part of the Capital Fringe Festival (big DC theatre fest). If you live in the area, you should come see it. If you don't live in the area, you should take a trip to your nation's capital and come see it. It's a funny (and sometimes upsetting) coming-of-age story about social outcasts. I play a hot girl, a middle-aged hippie, and a sheep, and I pretty much just make out with people whenever I'm onstage. You don't want to miss it.

5. I saw someone sleeping in a shopping cart last night.

6. I haven't been doing very much yoga lately. Not really sure why. I noticed in the past week that I've been getting a little more stressed about mundane things than I did when I was practicing on a regular basis and that my shoulders have been gradually creeping back up towards my ears. My body is getting a little bit tighter, and I'm holding my breath more often. I've been trying to get myself back into yoga for the past few months, but my motivation was more focused on my arms, which were losing their previous svelteness. Now, I'm feeling a stronger pull back to my practice, and I think it's because this time I'm missing yoga, not just exercise.

7. This is the best song I've heard in a year. It gets me like nothing has in a long time.

Adieu, buttercups! Happy (almost) 4th of July!