Readings From My Teenage Diary

Last summer, I recorded myself reading entries of my childhood diary, and kind of forgot about it. Want a peek into my younger self? Let’s just say some things never change. Forever a fangirl. Forever loving Batman, U2, Monty Python, The Monkees, SNL, Keanu Reeves, and some other random junk.


Funeral Songs. My Demand.

First of all, when I die, and there people around who feel I deserve some kind of send-off, I have one demand. If it’s not met, I’ll become a mean force ghost and haunt everyone. That demand is, THESE SONGS BETTER BE PLAYED:

1. Into The West by Annie Lennox

I may be crying right now, by the way. It is impossible for me to hear that song and not do a bit of ugly sobbing. Speaking of sobbing, back to the matter at hand. I’d like to get all the tears out of the way at my funeral, and this lovely piece will do it. Everyone will imagine me in my hobbit cloak, boarding a ship with Gandalf and the other ring-bearers, giving that final smile to everyone. But don’t be too sad, folks. Once I get to the Undying Lands, me and the Valar are going be FULL ON PARTYING.


2. White And Nerdy by Weird Al Yankovic

It’s as good a theme song as any, amirite? I mean, it’s by Al, my comedy music hero. It defines me. I’ll ace any trivia quiz you bring on, I memorized Holy Grail really well, I can recite it right now and have you R-O-T-F-L-O-L, even made a homepage for my dog, yo. So at this point you all can talk about my nerdy accomplishments in life. I’m sure there will be many of them. Maybe do a slide show of all the photo ops I managed to get at comic conventions. There better be one of me and Tom Hiddleston, or I will have lived for nothing. Just kidding. Sort of.


3. Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life, by Eric Idle

This will be the grand finale, people. And everyone will have to sing along. My force ghost powers will increase and I will torture every attendee of my service if they aren’t belting this out at the top of their lungs. And after it’s finished, and everyone has wiped their tears of joy and laughter, go to a bar and get shit faced. Then move on with your life. Because remember that the last laugh is on you.




Hermit The Frog

Whenever I think of a hermit, I always picture Terry Jones’ character in Life of Brian. I’m not 100% sure that he actually was a hermit; more of a spiritual dude doing monk-type things (being naked and taking a vow of silence?  And growing juniper bushes?). But whatever.  Hermits.  They don’t go anywhere. They don’t socialize. They revel in their own abode, doing wonderful solitary things like sleeping, reading, watching television and/or movies. Maybe do a bit of internet lurking. I’ve been about that hermit life lately, and while most of their typical activities are right up my alley, it wasn’t something I particularly wanted to do.

Last year, around the holidays, two massively expensive, craptastic things happened.  A new washing machine was purchased, and my dude discovered a tiny hole in a pipe leading to our water heater, which resulted in a new pipe.  Hooray.  Basically, my laundry room was the asshole room of the house. These two things woke me up.  In order to take care of our crippling debt, we had to make some extreme changes.  Spending money BAD. No more going out to bars/restaurants and being a social butterfly.  This, along with the usual seasonal depression, turned me into a really sad panda.



At the same time, I was right in the midst of taking an improv class, and really enjoying the shit out of it.  There were great folks involved, I was learning cool things, and I didn’t feel like I sucked at it.  Well, I missed one class because of illness, and then another because of the sad panda thing.  So I basically flunked it on my terms, because if I don’t do everything that is required of me, I don’t feel like I accomplished a task.  BOOM.  More sad panda-ness.

I think things are slowly getting better.  I realize sacrifices can be made without completely isolating myself.  As long as I learn more frugality and stuff.  No need to become Howard Hughes, who I just remembered as I was typing this blog, was a super crazy hermit in his later life.  No, I will not pee in jars and grow my nails out super long.  I’ll get out once in a while to see my peeps and support the local comedy scene.  I’ll rack my brain to come up with a cool idea for a podcast of my own, while still being a part of the Mouthy Broadcast.

You know, at this point, I feel like I’m about to break into Let It Go.

The cold never bothered me either.