Plenty of Fish... on Their Fingers

In a recent “what the hell” kind of moment, I set up an online dating profile. I mean, I don’t go clubbing, my friends all seem to be happily married, and… well, why not? The only thing I have to lose is some cool story of how we met and maybe some time (OK, and maybe a tiny bit of my dignity).

And let's face it, the closest I've come to a date in the last few years was that lovely gentleman in my Romantic Literature class (Oh, the irony!) that stared at me all semester, then wrote a somewhat-flattering, somewhat-creepy-ass poem about me. Shudder!

But with the online dating, I’ve discovered a couple of things I didn’t expect. First of all, an insane number of guys use one of two pictures. 1) The obligatory “look at this gigantic fish I caught and now have hung on my finger by its gills” pictures and 2) the at-a-loss “I guess I’ll have to take my own picture by holding up the phone to the bathroom mirror” picture. The anthropologist in me suggests that perhaps the fish pictures are a subconscious suggestion of what good providers they are and they can clearly take care of a family. Mum says that guys just don’t have their pictures taken very often, so many of them fall into one of these two categories.

I’ve also decided that online dating is like shopping at Ross. You have to dig through a WHOLE BUNCH of crap in the hope that you’ll find that fabulous blouse that makes you feel like a million bucks. In reality, you end up with a cheap dress that dissolves the first time you get caught out in the rain. And don’t even get me started on the dressing rooms…

A few tips regarding photos you should avoid (like any of you are reading my blog). First, pictures of you with a bikini-clad chick make me think you don't really need me and would probably hate me if you met me (trust me, it would be mutual). Second, pictures of you pushing your terrifying-looking mother in a wheelchair are, yes, sweet, but also make me want to run like hell. Third, (these have nothing to do with photos, but are good suggestions anyway) if you tell me how "awesome" and "hot" you are, it just makes me think that you're compensating for something. Fourth, if you message me and say "ur cute," I'm going to roll my eyes and delete it. Fifth, you better use at least some approximation of punctuation and capitalization if you want me to take you at all seriously.

I appreciate full sets of teeth, a certain amount of what I like to call "book-learnin'," and the ability to form a coherent sentence (you get bonus points for eloquence and cleverness). Also, not being a serial killer is super hot.

That being said, stranger things have happened and I'm willing to give a shot. Please, don't make me regret it.

The Whisperer in Darkness Trailer

I know. I know. It's been forever since I've posted anything. I was waiting for something truly amazing to post about and, BEHOLD, it's here!

Here is the trailer for The Whisperer in Darkness. That's right, my friends, this is what I did with my fall vacation from school. Check it out and see if you're as excited as I am!

When I embed the video in here directly, the right side gets cut off, but use this link.

You named your laptop?

My new laptop is named Cosmo.

Why? You ask.

It's bright red. Mum said it looked like cranberry juice. I said, "Like a Cosmopolitan?"

She agreed and then said something about Donald O'Connor in Singin' in the Rain.

I said Cosmo Red, rather than Cosmo Brown.

Yes, I'm a freak.

Sex and the Nation

Today was the beginning of the "Great Americans" unit in my American Civilization class and the professor went around the room asking us for one of our favorite Americans.

I started it off with Abraham Lincoln, cause he rocks.

The chick next to me continued with Martin Luther King Jr.

Next? Barack Obama. (Hooray!)

Then? Sarah Jessica Parker.

Wait. What?!

Imagine a seriously confused and vaguely affronted look on my face. And on the professor's. There was a pause and he said, "Who's that?"

He's just slighty older than dirt, so I completely understood his question.

I'm just as fond of Sex and the City as the next girl. Yes, I have all the episodes on DVD. Yes, I've had days with my girlfriends where we marathon and drink Cosmos. But Sarah Jessica Parker as a favorite American? Really?

I could probably come up with at least a hundred people that were/are more influential/crucial to our country, but that's me.

I doubt that the "Great Americans" unit is going to include Carrie Bradshaw.

Tell Me a Bedtime Story, Mr. Lovecraft

I didn't fall asleep until midnight the other night, despite the fact that I went to bed at the ridiculously early hour of 8:45pm. So, what did I do for those hours? Stared at the ceiling. Tried to get the cat to actually share the foot of the bed with me. He got pissed off and left. Listened to my sacred iPod. And finally fell asleep listening to The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society's old-time radio drama "The Dunwich Horror."

Isn't that about a slimy monster who tries to take over the world, starting with the town of Dunwich? Why, yes. Is that weird?

Picture of said greedy cat to follow...

Random Vegetable-Oriented Thoughts

Why are certain things tasty when we're little and then become nasty as we age? Or vice versa?

I used to hate tomatoes more than any other food and now I love them. And my mom tells me that I used to steal the pickled beets off her salads, but I only remember detesting them and their purpleness. Movng to L.A. helped me a lot. I discovered heirloom tomoatoes, fresh asparagus, tasty hummus, and the joys of pate. All things I used to spit at the cat.

Is it a change in body chemistry, or what?

I'm just wondering.

I'm off to find a salad for lunch. Extra tomatoes, hold the beets, thanks.

Why is it?

Why is it that we use the French word "merde" ("shit"), when we want to wish someone luck for a performance?

Anybody know?

Bring it On!

My tuition is paid, my books are purchased, I have two new pairs of (CUTE) glasses, my stage managing bag has been cleared of its theatre paraphenalia and is ready for collegiate accoutrement.

Here I am in my cutest new glasses. That's also a glimpse of my bedroom behind me. Many books, as you can see.

Classes start in just over a week and I am STOKED! I'm going to kick ass at this.

And the best part? (In my weird little twisted mind anyway.) I finally get to read The Odyssey and The Iliad.

I know. I'll just get "Geek" tattooed on my forehead now and save us all the time.

And a little side tangent... My Auntie and her hubby are stage managing Banshee's next show. It makes me feel slightly better about the fact that I buggered off and left them without an SM. Slightly better. I know they'll make me proud.

A Warning

I just watched the biggest squirrel in the history of the universe set off a car alarm. Keep an eye out for those wily little buggers. Who knows what they're after this time.

Since My Baby Left Me...

A Sky Mall catalogue arrived in the mail a few days ago. Why? I think I bought something from them, once upon a time. And on the cover was this picture...

I don't even know where to begin. First of all, CREEPY! Second of all... CREEPY! Doesn't it look like something that would eat you in your sleep? Eerie music fills the room as you open your eyes, to find it sitting on your chest, opening it's jaws and coming after your eyeballs.

Here's what they say about the "Alive Elvis Animatronic Robot." Notes in parentheses and italics are mine.

"Alive Elvis" is a lifelike and life-size bust of Elvis Presley. State-of-the-art technologies--multiple infrared vision sensors, stereo speakers, 10 precision motors with motion-capture facial animations, and 21st century materials--have been used by Wowwee to lovingly craft a robot that looks, feels (I'm sorry, WHAT?), sounds and moves like a real person (Shudder). Wowwee Alive Elvis is the first high-quality animatronic robot of any superstar ever designed for a fan's home or office.

The IR wireless remote control looks like the glittering microphone Elvis held in his '68 Comeback Special (Ha ha ha!). Experience "The King" in four modes: Press "Alive" and Elvis comes to life--checking you out and talking you up (Aaaaaaggghhh!!!); select "Monologue" and he'll share moments from his life and times (Ick.); pick "Song" to hear him sing eight of his biggest hits; or choose "Sing Along" to duet with Elvis, karaoke style (after jacking in your own microphone). What's more, you can plug in your iPod or other audio source to enjoy your own music in sync with Elvis. (Dude, you mean I can make him sing Broadway showtunes? Like, I don't know, "Memory" from Cats? SWEET!)

I can't imagine anyone who's sane paying $299.95 for this scary-ass piece of technology, but then I'm not an Elvis fan. Peanut butter and banana sandwich anyone?

Morbid Curiosity at Its Weirdest

It may be sick. It may be twisted. I've watched it for two months now and a small part of me wonders what it would be like.

This coming Saturday is the last show of Loyal Women. We're going to have at least a little bit of fake tar left over. I'm contemplating being tarred.

I don't understand it. I can't explain it. But there it is. The urge, the curiosity, to see what it's like. I don't think I'd include the feathers. That's a bit much. (Isn't it bizarre where I choose to draw the line?)

I'm sure Amanda and McKerrin wouldn't pouring tar on two people that night instead of one. And I'd have to make sure that I took a change of clothes and something to wrap around my tar covered head.

I'm still wavering. We'll see what happens when Saturday actually rolls around.

Deck the Halls....

I was debating about what to post on this post-holiday Monday.

First, I thought something about Thanksgiving itself would be apropos, but I can't seem to get excited about that.

I could post about the fact that we FINALLY had a full house for Loyal Women on Saturday night.

After all is said and done, though, I feel I have to post about a strange phenomenon that I witnessed at lunch today.

I was running errands and trying to still have time to grab food and I drove past a house with a guy putting up Christmas decorations. The weird part was the tree on the parking strip that was wrapped in tin foil.

And there was ANOTHER house two doors down that had the SAME THING!

Is there an explanation for this? Is it supposed to look like some surreal ice?

Not a very inspired post, I know, but I'm still recovering from the tryptophan-induced coma.

What the Hell?!

It's been a while since I had a post entitled this and after this morning, it's time for a new one.

It all began Sunday night after the show. I was going over to my friend Dan's house cause he has a kick-ass pub in his basement and it was time for a cast party. I was sitting at a red light and hear the sound of someone hocking up a loogie (anybody know how to spell that?). I looked over my shoulder in time to see some psycho SPITTING on my car!

What the hell?!?!?!?!

And this morning, as I was getting into my car I saw an eggshell stuck on the top. Yes, my cherubs, someone EGGED my fucking car!!!! It's all over my driver's side window and my rear-view mirror. And little pieces of shell thrown in for decoration...

What did my car ever do to you people?! Why did you feel the need to exercise your dumb-ass, juvenile tendencies on random automobiles?! What the hell is wrong with the world?!

Happy fucking Thanksgiving, you assholes.

Bathing the Chinchillas

Today on How L.A. is Different From Utah, we present - The Hostess Party.

In Utah, the hostess party is a rather demure affair. Scrap-booking, cooking paraphernalia, and yes, the ever-famous tupperware.

On the other hand, my friend Andra is having a "Passion Party" tonight. Yup, a whole room full of chicks and gay guys examining the finer qualities of vibrators, edible underwear, and naughty dice.

To me, this is weird. I'm too private to sit around with people (ANY people) and debate the bullet vs. the jack rabbit.

Fortunately, I have other things on my plate, so I'm spared the merriment.

I'm house-sitting for my friends Sean and Leslie this weekend and I'm going to have dinner with them tonight to learn how to care for their guinea pig and Sean's two chinchillas. (The dogs and cat I'm familiar with.) Maybe I'll get to give them a dust bath.

Knowing the people who will be at Andra's "Passion Party," they'll undoubtedly think that "bathing the chinchillas" is a euphemism for something completely different.

Incredulity

I'm sorry. Are you really asking me to believe that load of crap? Because I happen to think that you're full of it and don't warrant my attention any longer.

I also think I need to pluck my eyebrows.

"The Whisperer in Darkness" Teaser!

Now, you can see the teaser that I helped film a few weeks ago for the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society! Check it out!



You can read my post about filming it here!

Notice how nice the rain falls? And how well the globe turns? And the lightning? The lightning is perfection!

An Electric Performance

Monday night during rehearsal, there was a disturbance in the Force.

My auntie was on stage, acting her heart out and all of a sudden, there was a weird humming, the lights went all wonky, and you could feel the electricity in the air. It lasted for less than ten seconds and everything returned to normal.

Apparently, there was a white light in the lobby, a blue light coming under the door, and a whole cast of freaked out people.

Barry said it was caused by a mylar balloon caught in the powerlines outside. I said it was aliens coming to take us back to the mother ship.

Whatever it was, I'd like for it to never happen again.

Byakhee and Mi-Goh and Shoggoths, Oh My!

This past Saturday was meant to be a day of laundry and cleaning. As my one real day off during the week, I had it all set to take care of all the little things that had been piling up since the previous Saturday. Did that happen? No. Why not, you ask? Because my boys needed help.

My dear friends Sean and Andrew are the founders of the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society. H.P. Who? H.P. Lovecraft was a novelist during the 1920's. He wrote horror stories with strange mythical beasts, most of whom are trying to enslave humankind forever.

A few years ago, they made an award-winning movie called The Call of Cthulhu. Cthulhu being a creature that's half octopus, half ape. And there are wings in there too, just for good measure. Well, the boys have started filming the teaser for their next venture, a film based on the short story "The Whisperer in Darkness." Good title, right? They're trying to have it ready for the H.P. Lovecraft film festival which is held in Portland every October.

So, I spent the day "gripping," which is a fancy term for doing whatever needs to be done. I taped tin foil over the windows to black out the light, I went to get lunch from El Pollo Loco, I turned n the "rain" on and off, flickered lights to emulate lightning, and mopped up the "rain" when it leaked all over the floor. I meant to be there for a few hours, but finally went home at 11:30pm, after a 14 hour day. Only for these guys would I sacrifice my Saturday.

And boy were they glad to see me. They really needed an extra set of hands.

So, keep an eye out for their new trailer and hoardes of malevolent Byakhee. I have to go do my laundry.

You Call This Archaeology?

OK, I found this post through a link on Annejelynn's blog. The post is actually on Fuzzball's blog and made me laugh so hard I think I wet myself a little. Just check it out, please.

Do you think Indiana Jones ever thinks about this stuff when he's ransacking tombs?

Frankly, I'm Stunned!

HowManyOfMe.com

There are 6 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

That was with the first name Katherine! With the first name "Kati," I get that NO ONE has that name! Does that mean I don't exist?

It also says that more than 99.9% of the people named Kati are female. I'm just wondering about the .01% that are guys... I suppose that weirder stuff has happened.