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scyllacat

November 2024

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That's the sound I make in my head when I try to describe this.
Thanks, [livejournal.com profile] sophocles, I have your cold or whatever the fuck. Not to mention that weird mannerism you have of squinting and wrinkling your nose when you're skeptical about something. Take that back, too, ok? ;-P
I do say that jokingly, because otherwise, it's been quite an enjoyable weekend so far. Swords of Mars, Wes ([livejournal.com profile] dreadalus) is out of the house (which is good because my shit is falling apart and we'd drive each other nuts), I get to see Mark ([livejournal.com profile] dosferatu, like he ever writes) tomorrow, I just watched "The Killing," and ... Oh Yeah! I'm not working at the house. Maybe I'll get a chance to cook those mashed potatoes before they take root and grow on the kitchen counter.
Jay-zus Criest, we don't get paid nearly enough.
I mean, fuck, I'd kill for getting a chance at an audience like that, but daaay-um, not three and seven and 10 at a time all night long. I think of this. I just played for over five hours, on stage, with an audience of like ah, what, 3,000? with a lot of success. In 30-second intervals. Ow. Every fucking thing hurts. What a rush. Ow. Shit. I'm an actor. This is going to kill me. Shoot me, Strobel. Shoot me now.
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