Don’t Eat Me!
So a few nights ago, I offered to help an anonymous friend clean her house. Let’s call her lady.
Lady: Will you really?
Liz: Sure, I don’t have anything better to do.
Lady: Oh, Liz, I’ll eat your pussy.
Liz: *laughs*
Lady: You can’t blog that!
Just for the record, she didn’t. Sadly.
So I had this crazy dream last night. It was one of those ridiculous/ scary dreams:
Linda St. Clair was directing this movie that I was in. I was a main staple in the movie, but all I had to do was be dead. In the opening scense, someone kills me, but I’m dragged around and such, so I’m in just about every scene of the movie. Welp, we were rehearsing in front of an audience, and as I was laying there, little by little in each scene, they would really kill me. First, they slit my eyelids. Then they beat me over the head with something. Then they stabbed me in the leg. And I couldn’t move. If I moved, Linda would yell at me. So they all took a cigarette break, and I tried to escape. They audience was watching me, and Linda came running after me. She told me that if I left, they would kill me. I then began to really regret ever choosing to be in this film… if I stayed in the film, I died. If I quit, I died and the film would be a disaster. It was a lose lose situation.
And I know exactly why I dreamt this.
This play that I’m in, Noises Off, is horrendous. Only a few of us know our lines, and I am definitely not one of them. Of course I came in weeks late to cover someone else’s ass, but in theatre, that’s no excuse. This play is really really really stressing me out. It’s keeping me away from Matthew, I had to reschedule Freshman Orientation twice because of it, and of course I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I really really wish I hadn’t agreed to do this. I wouldn’t quit, because that would be in poor character, but I’m at the point where I hope I fall off the set and break my leg so I don’t have to do this.
I was slightly worried about the whole running around in my underwear thing until I saw pictures of the girl whose part I took. heh heh heh. Union City, Tennessee can thank me later.
“You can’t go in there! I’m dropping fucking sardines all over the place!”
Emmi liked that : ) I really like her. She’s a sweet girl. She just gets stressed about that husband of hers.
I really like Michele, too. She’s kind of like a big sister to me. Not in the Big Brothers/ Big Sisters for the kids in the ghetto kind of way.
I was at her appartment and she had this fab orange polka dot robe. I tried it on, and she said, “Do you like that robe? You know what? I’ll wash that and you can have it.” Then she took it and was looking over it and saw a myserious brownish purpley stain. “Oh my gosh, what is that? You don’t want this. That’s not period is it?!” She then rubbed it on her crotch. “No, I don’t think I would do that.” We eventually concluded that it was hair dye.
Michele is the third person I’ve ever heard call menstrual fluid “period.”
1. Some guy in some short film. Interweb stuff, you know.
2. Holly Tittle when we were dying my hair bright red. She mixed it up and said, “Hey Liz, what does that look like?” I made a face. She said, “It does look like period.” Then she slopped it on my head.
3. Michele in the above paragraph.
You know how dogs sometimes chew on panties?
Well once upon a time, I walked into the laundry room where Trixie was to notice that she was quite sluggish. Like not moving sluggish. She couldn’t make any noise, so I began giving her rescue breaths. I couldn’t get any air in, so as a healthcare pre-professional, I knew that there had to be something stuck in her airway. I looked down her little doggie throat, and sure enough, I saw something red in there. I pulled on it, and out came a pair of my panties. She immediately came back to life.
I told this story to Matt’s grandmother and sister, only I said “white” instead of “red,” because I didn’t want Nana to know that I wore red panties. I figured if I said “white,” she would automatically think pack- of- six- granny- panties, not sleeping- with- my- grandson- thongs. I don’t really care if Colleen knows what kind of underwear I wear, because when I was borrowing her clothes without her knowing, I saw several pair of dirty thongs on her bedroom floor. Sunny- side- up. Yum.
So yesterday I took my mom to the airport in Nashville. Naturally, I went to Matt’s afterward. We thought maybe he could come home with me, and then I could take him back when I came back to pick mum up from the airport on the 10th. My original plan was to just stay in Nashville, but you know, that damn play. Welp, Matt still lives with his mommy, you know, so he called her to axe if he could come home with me, and she didn’t like that at all. She’s out of town and he had to stay at the house so the guy could come fix the air conditioner, etc.
I was horribley, horribley saddened.
I was all excited for spending ten whole days with him, and then that turned into just a few hours. It’s like when you get your tastebuds all ready for Pink Bubblegum icecream, and when you get to Baskin Robbins, you find that stupid Rainbow Sherbet has taken its place.
It really ruined everything. On my way back home (90 mph on I40 as to not be late to stupid rehearsal), I was plotting on how I could see him when I picked my mom up from the airport. I was going to have to miss rehearsal on that day (Saturday) anyway, so I thought that on Friday night, I could leave Union City after rehearsal and be at his house by midnight. Then I could spend that time with him until three when I had to be at the airport.
Welp, that was screwed, because when I told Paula that I had to be in Nashville on the 10th, she rescheduled it for 8:30 that morning so I could be out of Union City by 11:30.
Gay.
Gay Gay Gay.
Speaking of gay, this morning I was getting ready to go to the grocery store, and I had Michele’s profile up. She has the Beach Boys playing on her page, you know. Welp, I found myself dancing naked in front of the bathroom mirror to Wouldn’t It Be Nice.
I’m sure that’s funnier to people who don’t know me that well, because those of you who do know that I’m naked 45% of the time, and I dance 72% of the time.
It was still just really funny to catch myself in that situation.
Yesterday moring I had Oops I Did It Again in my head. That was really getting on my mom’s nerves.
“I’m really excited about going to Dollywood. I want to ride the Areola Coaster.”
Anywho, I did have fun with Matt in the few hours I got to spend with him.
The first thing I did after noticing his hot grown out beard thing was crawl into bed with him and fall asleep. His puppy kept trying to eat me.
When we woke up, we went out for sushi. I had red snapper, clam, and squid. The squid was my favourite, because
1.) It tasted the best.
2.) It had the best texture.
3.) It was the prettiest.
Matt thought it looked kind of scary. He said it looked like a flower. It really did, which is why I liked it. He also said it looked like it might still be alive. Spth. So all in all, I had 6 different animals in that one sitting.
1. Red snaper
2. Clam
3. Squid
4. Crab
5. Eel
6. Shrimp
I didn’t know I ate crab until after I ate it. The taste was kind of covered up with cream cheese.
So Matt wants to open up his own Japanese restaurant, and he has this idea for kids. Instead of offering hamburgers and things like most grown up people restaurants do for kids, he’s going to have sushi for kids. He got this idea from us making our sushi talk to one another. (ie, “Eat me, Liz!”) With cream cheese, fish eggs, and seaweed, he’s going to put little faces on sushi so they’ll be more appealing and fun. He could also make little animals out of them. A snail would be easy. A cat would be hard.
So in conclusion, I’m really really trying to get the Monday Bear sticker, but things such as Mexican kids, buggy boys, and people I know are keeping me from doing so. Damn you, Offensive Coyote. Damn you to hell.