Hey Mr. Sandman.. you left your shoes in the Quad.

Last night I made my way down to Gordon College to visit Lucy and watch a shirtless Benjamin preform in the play, "Sueño". The journey to Wenham was terrifying. If you know me, you know I hate driving in new places. I think drivers from MA can sense this, and they hone in on me and my white knuckles like lions on a sick antelope. They turn two lanes into three (or four!), lean on the horn for no apparant reason, and seem to think that thirty miles over the speed-limit just ISN'T FAST ENOUGH. They also make a game out of forcing the NH plates to the left lane and inching them towards exits. I got lost in some industrial complex because, as it turns out, what I THOUGHT was a turn signal is actually an attack-me-now signal. My bad.

I survived, happily, and got to see what The Bubble looks like firsthand. Completely, utterly, Stars-Hollow-y CUTE. A tiny campus, yes, but large enough to get lost in a fun way. My favorite part was the Monument to Gravity, a large carved stone bedecked in shubbery dedicated to learning and the use of science. I fell in love with Lucy's dorm, and would've been willing to spend my life hidden in her closet, but I didn't think she'd go for it. Lucy herself looked fabulous, especially with the Sexy-Eyes makeup and the twirly black skirt. The large carved pitckfork was the perfect accessory for the first part of the night. (The part where we and the other villagers attacked Frankenstein's cas-...oh, wait. Wrong story.)

I saw Bejamin, and met Peter, the actor playing his father ("a man who cares more about astrology than sex"). He reminded me of an asian Carl Winslow in tone and carriage, and he was phenominal onstage, especially for a first-timer. Everyone was amazing; no flubbed lines, no wardrobe malfunctions (although rumor has it the last show had at least one). And ladies, I hate to disappoint you, but, here's the truth: Benjamin, with his shirt off, looks just like any other guy. I know, I know. You'll live. He was fantastic in the role of Segismundo. He didn't drop character at any point. (Ok, no one else will say it, but I will: the part where he sees himself in the mirror for the first time and says, "What beauty is this?" had me questioning the school's record of typecasting.) Afterwards, I got a happy hug from Ben, and an awkward goodbye from Michael (a former friend from PCA days) and wended my way home again.

The car ride home was uneventful except in the area of revelations, which always seem to happen when I'm alone in the car. I won't go into detail at this point, but I will summarize by saying that I look for validation in the worst possible places; I never noticed until last night that that's what it is, and I have yet to figure out why.

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Cocky McEgopants says, "Thanks, Mom!"

Memo to: Albatrosswoman

So! Thought you might like to know that you and I got major props from a tableful of people at Jake's birthday this weekend. Participants were my mother, yours, my grandmother, Jan, and possibly Skip. What prompted that, you ask?

Well, Kailey is swollen and drippy and snuffly with a cold, and someone looked at her and said, "You look just like your father." Not one to let such a precious comment by, I said, "Yes, they both have the same slack jaw and blank stare." There was laughter, and then I had to sit and pretend that I wasn't paying attention as the conversation turned to how "great" the two of us are at just about everything we do "capturing an image" with wit and cruel, heartless sarcasm.

Cruelty. Heartlessness. Those are two badges I wear proudly.

-Cocky McEgopants

Snap your fingers- Now tap your toes- Now pantomime . That's right, pantomime!

Wayne's watching a VHS (Mission Impossible), the previews on which include one for Harriet the Spy. Wayne is so intent on his sulking that he refuses to move his arm enough to reach the remote to fast-forward through it. Ah, Michelle Trachtenberg taking a bath while chatting up Rosie "So Out It's Not Even Funny" O'Donnell. How very far she's come.

Wayne is particularly sulky at the moment because I told one of my friends in the computer that he was singing along to a CD I had playing, and because I didn't specify that he only knew the song because it was originally done by Rod Stewart, his wig is... flipped. I must say, though, it's worth it to tell you all of my latest roadside find. This beats even the beer bounty. Are you ready? Ready? Here it comes...

A STRING QUARTET TRIBUTE TO CLAY AIKEN.

Holy hell. Someone concieved and funded this bit of American culture and, well, to quote my favorite philosopher, Santino, "You can't polish a turd." Strings be damned, is this elfin god's musical catalogue so impressive as to merit a tribute? Does anyone even know what he sounds like?

Audia; like the car, but not

Happy Birthday (a bit belated) to Miss Audia J. Feagler!

She was born on Valentine's morning, at 20 inches long and just over seven lbs. I have to say, this is probably the prettiest baby picture I've ever seen. The colors are nice, and
Here she is with daddy and mommy:


















(And while I'm here, allow me a moment to grumble at the creators of blogger, who make life and posting pictures both so very, very difficult.)

Oh, Please.

The phone rang. With an hour before my interview at Home Cheapo. It was CCS, a credit collection agency based in Portsmouth, with a job offer. As a paralegal. They found my resume on what I thought was a go-nowhere job site and liked what they saw. I have an interview at two on Monday.

Here, our main character is presented with a conflict. To take the job at HC, with low pay and no benefits, but with the flexibility and low-key atmosphere I had come to crave working for Sandy? Or, to take the job at CCS, which is a father throw because I have bad credit, but where I will have basically the same pay I had with Sandy, benefits, and a solid 40-hour work week along with the inflexitbility and stresses it provides?

I think we all know what I'm going to do. I'm terrified to do it; I could get myself into a mess if I'm not careful.

I'll go to both interviews, but my mind is pretty much made up.

Those who pray, pray for me; those who chant, chant for me; those who don't give a shit, shit for me. I need all the help I can get.