When It Rains, It Pours...

Carol, Little Munch's mom, emailed me last night--1) she has a proofreading project for me (yay--now I can buy a dual-deck VCR), and 2) Mia's being submitted for "A Little Princess" and could she possibly stay with me when she's in town for the audition? I said of course, although I can't really take her around much. So now, in October, I have to:

1) Fly down to DC to go to the farm;
2) Rehearse and perform a lead role in a full-length play;
3) Host Little Munch;
4) Start rehearsals for Fare for All;
5) Find time to workout;
6) Get my headshots and postcards printed up;
7) Do a mailing;
8) Proofread a manuscript.

sigh...

Presenting...

...Tatiana the Sausage Kitty!

She's horribly horrible!

Telephone Irritation...

There are days when I long to reach through the cord and slap the shit out of people.

When calling for a lowly analyst (one for whom the evening assistant is not expected to take messages--in fact I'm not even supposed to answer his goddamn phone, I just can't always tell the difference between the rings), the correct response to "Would you like voice mail?" is not to hem and haw and play with your dick and then ask if I can try him again. No, I can't. He's not here. No, really. No. Really. How do I know this? Because the Managing Director, who is much more important than the analyst you're trying to reach, HAS A CALL COMING THROUGH!!! Don't make me be rude! I am thisclose to hanging up on your indecisive ass!

I think a Dirty Dancing quotation applies here:

Robbie (slapping a copy of Atlas Shrugged into Baby's hand): Some people count--some don't. Read it. But don't mess it up, I've got notes in the margin.