"- don't be so quick to knock it. People don't usually part with the weird shit they personally know because they know how easy it will be to punch holes in. Now I'm tellin you somethin. It's for you to poke through the soup and find the meat." John Patrick Shanley's 'the dreamer examines his pillow'

Monday, February 28, 2005

a place to rest my head

For a quick laugh, please review the following:

Elizabeth Daniels (picture her) was invited to live next year with three other girls in a party house called the Crazy Pussy (picture that).
"hello, I'm Elizabeth, and welcome to the Crazy Pussy! Now the Scrabble is in the corner over there, and I've whipped a batch of hot chocolate for everyone. Let's get this party started! No screwing in my room please."
College is a trip.
Anyway, I politely declined. I love those girls, but I couldn't handle people puking in my living room every weekend. So I decided to live in the White House (Puke factor maybe... once a month. Bonus!) And it's full of amazing actors/actresses - there's four others. It was a much coveted room, even though it's the size of a closet. The White House is like The Theater house, where people go. You know, whenever. It was my dream to live there my Senior year, if I was lucky. So I'm really excited!!
The thing I honestly don't understand, though (please don't respond to this particular part of the post, I'm not fishing for reassurance!) is why these people like me. I honestly don't get it. Seriously. I know I'm not exactly stand-offish, but I'm awkward, unsure, boring at times... I suppose nobody's perfect, but there were so many other people who are freaking awesome who they could've asked to live there, people who are fun and have huge personalities, I just don't get why they singled me out. Same with the girls at the Crazy Pussy. Honestly, it scares the poop out of me. What if they get to know me better and their impression of me is shot to pieces? I really don't know what their impression of me is - hey! what am I saying, darn it? you know what? SCREW IT. screw it screw it screw it. Who gives if anyone decides I'm not good enough? I am going to have a BLAST next year, and I don't have to live in a freaking dorm anymore. EVER. Once you have a room in a house, no one can kick you out - I'm set for the next three years if I want, at only $200 a month if I stay in the little room. Luke calls it the Vomit Closet, because the other Luke lived in that room this year and he, well, yes, he vomited in there one night and didn't clean it up for a week. But that's ok. Because I smell really good, so no one will even notice. And it's gone now anyway...

Tomorrow I find out if I got that role... Holy Crap, I'm excited
.


I find that I only want to write events and safe topics on here lately. Everyday life is so exploding with intensity, I'm tired of it by the time I sit in front of the computer. My apologies if you get bored with all this, but know that behind all this is a thousand moments of doubt, a thousand wells of beauty, three reality checks, and a million hits of pure eye-contact, for whatever it's worth.

Nobody is not human..

1 Comments:

Blogger Sarah said...

" 'Now the Scrabble is in the corner over there, and I've whipped a batch of hot chocolate for everyone.' "

Hahahaha! Oh Elizabeth I love you sososo much.

12:22 PM

 

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