sneak attack

Welcome back, Senor Silence. It’s been awhile.

cast your own adventure

So, let’s say your life was a movie. Who would play you, and who would play your friends and family? Here are my answers - submit yours here. Also, please envision appropriate hair and wardrobe for these people. Some are picked for appearance, some for mannerisms, some for character “type”. That’s for you to figure out. Any suggestions?

Freesia: Angelina Jolie, obviously. A close second would be Fairuza Balk.
Freesia’s little brother: Max Kasch
Ernie: Patrick Renna
Nate: Jack Black
Ida: Parker Posey
Molly: Elizabeth Anne Allen
Sjet: Azura Skye
Ryan: Paulo Costanzo
Julia: Clare Kramer
Casie: Robin Tunney
Patti: Janeane Garofalo
Amandalee: Busy Phillips
D.D.: Danny Masterson

I don’t know about you, but I would pay money to see this movie.

Ms. Pratt: Pauley Perrette
Jaye Rhea: Rachael Leigh Cook
Comte: Jason Alexander
Joel: Shaobo Qin
Eli: Samm Levine
Bill: Topher Grace
Mitch: Tom Green
Josh: Henry Rollins
Kater: Lauren Ambrose

And finally - drumroll, please - I figured it out!
Benlau: Charlie Korsmo

Zachypants: Liev Schreiber
Mikey Rollins: Breckin Meyer

she’s ba-aaack…

Welcome home, Megan. Nice to have you in the country again.

stolen from sarah

1. Would you rather become extremely successful due to a lucky break, a smart gamble, or hard work?
Smart gamble. I’ll never get rich with my work ethic, but I’ve got good instincts (and better karma than I deserve).

2. Do you think you would be more, or less, easily corrupted by power than your closest friend?
First of all, I don’t have a closest friend, so that sort of makes this question moot. Would I be easily corruptible? I don’t know. As someone with an admittedly addictive personality, I think I’d be okay until I got a little taste of it, and then it would all go to hell.

3. If drinking fountains could dispense another liquid besides water, what would you prefer it to be?
At the moment, I’d have to say Soy Chai, but that’s probably just because I’m drinking one. It’s TASTY.

4. If your life were a movie, what would the title be?
Gahd, I don’t know. Probably a song lyric. Maybe “The Juxtaposition of Past and Present Time” although that’s really fucking long. Good song, though. Maybe “Phobos to Kalon”, which would be much more appropriate but would take forever to explain.

5. What songs would be on the soundtrack?
Poe, Busta Rhymes, Fiona Apple, Prodigy, Princess Superstar. Probably some Animaniacs for good measure.

6. Would it be a live-action film or animated? Why?
Live-action, of course. I’m an actor, what did you expect me to say?

7. Casting: who would play you, members of your family, friends, etc?
I once said that I’d like Pauley Perrette to play me, but I think I’ve outgrown that idea. I still like Fairuza Balk. That would be better. How accurate do we have to be, here? ‘Cause I’ve got some great ideas for the casting of my friends…

8. Describe the movie preview/trailer.
Shadowy and incongruous - quick shots of a million different things, randomly slowing down so that you can actually see what’s going on and then speeding back up again. Flashing back and forward in time, millions of camera angles, shots where you can hear something but don’t know what you’re looking at. Multiple tracks of music fading in and out over each other, all coming to a brief (if unilluminating) moment of clarity at the end. Blackout.

Going to sit behind the wheel
Going to drive along the road
Oh, how happy I will feel

I just received a voicemail from Ms. Ida Sly, letting me know that she is standing on the steps of the state capitol building in Boise, Idaho. Marble #4 is quietly resting in the wood of the bell. She will be all right. She will follow the crumbs and find her way home.

Got to talk to D.D. last night, as Eli calls him. (It stands for Tasty Poison Cake. Or maybe it doesn’t.) He knew I was having a shitty time, so he called to check in. He is one of the few people I know who has never (that I know of) done anything to hurt me. He is one of those people that pops up when I least expect it - which, often, is also when I need him most. He was the first one to call me in my new place last year after my life had fallen apart. And somehow - mostly by accident, I figure - he consistently manages to tell me what I need to hear. (Not what I want to hear.) I can tell him things - like the real reason I sent him those pictures - and he’ll appreciate it in the spirit it’s given. He calls me on things that nobody else dares to - and unlike a certain other person who occasionally tries to because he likes to think he’s got me figured, D.D. actually knows what he’s talking about. I’ve got enough history with him that he’s experienced my whole crazy progression - and because of that, I find his opinions on me far more interesting than most. He also says he doesn’t ever read my blog. I occasionally wonder if he tells me that so I’ll feel more free to post stuff like this. We’ll see.

Talked to Nate for awhile - after our piercing debacle last year, I had to tell him about my amazing stretching experience. He laughed far more than I thought he would, and decided that I am officially a “total S’n’M freak” and that for Christmas he is going to get me - and I quote - “a spiked dildo or something.” Next time, I’ll have to call Sarah first. I’m willing to bet she’ll know what I’m talking about - and at most, will only laugh at me a little. Oh, and for the record - this is the famous Robert, who has now had his hands on my piercings six times. (Yeah, I know.)

I think I may have found a new hairstylist. Now, up to about a year ago, I’d never gone to the same one more than once. I didn’t like having them talk to me and found that going to a different one each time lessened my chances of that happening. However, last fall I found Dayna and just loved her. Then, of course, she moved to New York. During my last appointment, she said “I think you should try Shirley. You’d love her, she’s crazy.” I didn’t even know who she was - but upon meeting her for the first time, I was impressed. Bizarre blue hair, tiny funky glasses, multiple piercings and tattoos, loud and boisterous, with a full mouth of gleaming junior-high-flashback braces. We talked about her current tattoo project - a huge fairy that covers her entire back - and about all the haircuts and hours of babysitting she’s had to barter in exchange for the gradual completion of this piece. We talked about my job. We talked about missing Dayna. I walked out of there a damn happy camper, and I think I just may have a new hairstylist girlfriend.

Finally got to talk to Kater Patater Skater Fellater, who was one of my best college girlfriends. She’s living in Portland with Todd (her boy) and LH, a guy who frankly defies description. She just got a new puppy. Her first voicemail to me was from “Tracy”, who worked for the “Porn Call of the Month Club” or some such thing. I really missed this girl, and am PSYCHED that she’s so close. One of these days, she’s coming to visit. Look out, Seattle. You’ve never been fellated with a potato quite like this.

Okay, time to go home. Good night, good night, my people, my public.
See you in the morning.

oh, i almost forgot

Corey backed out at the last minute. Do you want to move into my house?

open letter #2

Dear Mother of two of my former campers,

There are several things that I think you should know. I’m going to put them in numerical order so that you can understand them. Ahem.

1. Do not write a nasty letter about me to my employer without knowing the whole story.

2. When I write home letters every single day saying “Your daughters aren’t participating” or “Your daughters only talk to each other” or “We can’t seem to get your daughters engaged in any of our activities”, you should probably take this into consideration in a larger context.

3. If you are going to write a nasty letter, at least put your name on it so that someone can call you to either explain or apologize. Especially when it turns out that you are WRONG WRONG WRONG - this means that I am not allowed to call you and say “Listen. You have it wrong, and I am going to set you right.” even though I know perfectly well who you are.

4. I am not going to ignore all of my other campers - who are following the rules - in order to cater to your daughters.

The reason that your daughters were the last ones checked out every day was because they could not even open their mouths long enough to tell me the code word. It is not because I was neglecting them. It is not because I was treating them in an unprofessional manner. It was because there are rules at this camp, and your daughters were not following them. Of COURSE I was going to check out the other kids first, since the other kids were following the correct procedure. A procedure, might I add, that was set in place for the protection of YOUR DAUGHTERS. Once the kids who know how to follow simple instructions checked out, then I had time to come over and give your kids the special attention you apparently think they needed. I was not going to make the other parents wait while I brushed their kids aside and said “Hey there bucko, you’re just going to have to settle down. I have a couple of disinterested kids that need to be my priority today.” I put up with your girls’ clearly-broadcast-ennui all week, and I watched them convince some of the other kids - who were originally pretty fascinated by what we were doing - that it really wasn’t interesting enough to merit their attention.

I have already had a really terrible week and this is DEFINITELY NOT HELPING.

Best Regards,
Freesia

weak end

Worst … birthday party … ever. I messed up big time, kids. Due to a sequence of stupid coincidences (most of which, for the record, were NOT my fault), things got screwed up so badly that I might have action taken against me. (Not of a legal nature, simply of a “Um, don’t teach with us anymore” variety.)

Went out with 2/3 of the other Fat Boys to shop for things for the missing 1/3. This resulted in us getting drunk and bleaching each other’s hair. I did Mol’s, and then she let me use the rest of her bleach to freehand-highlight my own head. Didn’t turn out too shabby, if I do say so myself.

Had my first experience getting a piercing stretched (by Robert, whom I love more and more every time I go in there). It was SO FUCKING GREAT. Let me tell you, it feels amazing - not just the stretching feeling, but also the new weight of the bigger jewelry. I want to go back and do it again. (Give it a try sometime.)

Ida is gone. Hot, sweaty, in a tanktop and sandals, with her hair in a ponytail. We’ll miss you, Ms. Sly. Come back soon.

open letter

Dear stupid cunt who almost crashed into my car this morning,

There are several things you should know. First and foremost, never turn a corner into oncoming traffic if you have not first LOOKED to make sure that said oncoming traffic is not going to hit you. Secondly, do NOT honk angrily at them as they are driving, since you are the one who has just proved to the world that you are a fucking moron. Thirdly, do not roll down your window and scream obscenities at them, as that merely showcases your bad upbringing.

And last but not least, do not do all of the above when you are TURNING LEFT ONTO A ONE-WAY STREET GOING RIGHT, you pathetic waste of skin. When the poor woman in the Tracer tries to signal to you - ostensibly for your safety - that you are going the wrong way down a one-way street, do not respond by vehemently flipping her off. Your car may be expensive, but your gray matter obviously was not. How fucking dare you totally ruin my mood all morning, you ugly bag of mostly water? Firstly, get a life. Secondly, don’t drive a million-dollar car if you don’t have your fucking drivers’ license. Thirdly, just kill yourself now and save me the hassle. If you are in fact my neighbor and you ever pull that shit with me again, I am getting out of my car and sticking my fingers into your EYE SOCKETS until I feel better.

Best regards,
Freesia

updatus

Weekend. Birthday party with dry ice at mobile park in Renton. Birthday party with cotton candy in HUGE brick number in Capitol Hill. Hanging out with Nate. Roaming Northgate with the Fat Boys. Conversations with landlord. Trying desperately - FOR THE LOVE OF GOD - to sell the last of that goddamned furniture I bought with Bill. (Seriously, what the fuck? It’s cute, it’s not beaten up, somebody just buy it already.) Laundry and stale bourbon and Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and more laundry and sleeping and stressing and training. Don’t remember much of it, honestly. It was spent in a stupor.

Part of it I DO remember. When the Fat Boys are all in attendance, we look like cover models for four wildly disparate fashion catalogs. We have gotten to the point where we see things in stores and pick them out - not for ourselves - but for one of the other fat boys, whose style it fits. We are a fascinating sociological experiment. (I am fairly certain that’s why the lame-ass high school girls were staring at us.) There are choruses of “So good, or no good?” After a week of stress and general crapitude, I needed them for awhile.

marking it, one more time

Jenn and Jim - here are links to the pages I was talking about.

and the other, gold

So, Nate came back through town yesterday. I got to hang out with him for an hour or so at Uwajimaya, which reminded me how much I miss that guy. I mean, seriously. What the fuck was he thinking, going on tour? Bah. In a funny “God, what a small world” turn of events, his tour partner spent the entire time on the phone with Taralynn, who used to be Bill’s tour partner. Incest is best, put your coworkers to the test.

In any case, now he’s gone again. He wants me to go on tour - specifically, with him. When I tried to explain why I wasn’t interested, he just didn’t seem to get it. This non-getting-ness is not to be held against him, of course, but I found myself increasingly frustrated by the fact that I just couldn’t convince him that I knew what I wanted. He seemed to think that I was giving him a pat answer and that I didn’t really feel that way. In any case, I like coming home to the same bed every night. Believe it, don’t believe it, I don’t care… but please come visit. Often.

Also, thanks to SRaeRob for selling me her old desk! It’s dreamy.

vive la revolucion

Happy Motherfucking Fourth of July. I am at Gilded Lily right now, listening to a whole bunch of drunky-mc-drunkersons dancing to “Come on Eileen” and making the floor shake. A few observations after the past few hours:

I braved the scary porch of death (tm) for the second year in a row, and I am still alive.

Krebs is wearing a matching baby blue jacket, cravate, and pair of shorts.

Tracing chalk outlines of drunk people on the street, sidewalks, and lawn is a really good idea. Especially if you’re me and Ali, and your dead people are both dead and in love. (Sort of a Juliet and Juliet sort of thing.)

Sometimes, it’s also a really good idea to call friends (like Townie and Moros, for instance) who are far away to share some long-distance holiday love with them. Not everyone gets to party with a huge group of fantastic theatre people on their major holidays, and that sort of karma is too good to keep all to yourself.

Sonya showed up in a skirt she made this morning.

Ray said, while watching me dance (and drink bourbon from my spiked flask), “Freesia, you are so badass.” I tried to argue with him, but he would not be budged. Go figure.

I love my 7 Strangers friends. Eli and Tyler and Corey and Ray and I had our own little mini-reunion, and it felt like coming home.

Ian likes to smack me. I find that I like it.

Tyler laughs like a girl. I can hear him cackling in the background RIGHT NOW.

Sometimes, when people get drunk and act immature, I want to kick them in the jugular. This is not a good idea and should be avoided at all costs.

There was a bat that kept dive-bombing the house while we were waiting for the fireworks. It was really cute.

Now, “I will survive” is on. Hoboy.

Earlier, everyone was having an argument about which high school graduating class was the best. It was shouted, loudly, in groups from opposite sides of the dance floor. For example, “95 is alive!”, blah blah fucking blah.

Being slightly drunk, and being allowed to chase a 7 year old boy around the house, and tickling him, all with the permission of his mother, is a really great way to spend half an hour. Especially when you start wrestling with one of those giant exercise balls.

The Aussie interns both do DAMN GOOD American accents. It put every accent I’ve ever done to shame.

Everyone, at some point in their life, should be lucky enough to have Ida nibble on your neck. Seriously.

I wore red, white, and blue today. By accident.

Nate E. is going to be swinging through here on Sunday.

Eli and Tyler mooned Annie’s party, which we could actually SEE from the scary porch (tm). I have photographic evidence.

John Osebold is cutting off his hair tomorrow. Sorry, ladies.

Dancing with Sanders can make anyone feel graceful. Try it sometime.

Giving a three-year-old a huge zoology textbook can keep them amused for hours.

And, most importantly, COREY Q. IS MOVING INTO MY HOUSE!

I know there’s something else important that should be included here, but I’ve forgotten what it is. Okay, now it’s Sonya’s turn to blog.

Sarah Michelle Gell-dar

Apparently, Grunk thinks I look like Sarah Michelle Gellar in this picture Yuki took of me this evening. I think he’s smoking crack, and would like a second, third, and fourth opinion. Click on it to see the full version, and then cast your vote!

Spin the Bottle was both great and fucking awful tonight. Starhole 67 (Julie Rawley, Chuck Leggett, Basil Harris) was great, as were Ben and Paul, and some other parts sucked donkeyballs. (If you really want to know, ask me.)

I’m at Yuki’s right now, and as usual he is improvising. Mark McC is here, which expands our audience by another 100%.

I love potatoes
garlic mashed potatoes
they are the uber-tuber
oh my potatoes

I did not know this morning I would face the bathroom of death …
rub a dub dub
bleach in the tub
mold in the grubs
under the suds

He handed the guitar to Grunk, who sang

The yellow FLUID …

at which point we demanded that the guitar be given back. This is probably for the best.

well, that explains it

You are pink. You are in limbo. Not pure and manipulated like white, not impure and noble like red. You are unsure of your real identity, but whatever you chose it to be, you can be it. That is your power. You change everyone you touch, and everyone remembers you. In literature, pink represents the place between heaven and hell. You are the one we will never forget.