Let's just get this out in the open: I've been a crap blogger this week. There, I've said it. Can I let go of the guilt now? (I think I take way too much personal responsibility and feel way too much guilt in general. I'd say I was working on it, but that would be a lie, and I'd feel guilty for telling it.)
--A relevant anecdote from today: Thom and I were under-charged for a case of wine at Trader Joe's. When I discovered the mistake in the parking lot (charged for one bottle, not 12), I seriously considered thanking my lucky, cash-deficient stars and driving that puppy straight home...Like any normal human being would do, right? But no. I consider how guilty I'm going to feel whenever I open one of those pilfered bottles of wine--wondering who would have to pay for my greed. The sweet cashier girl? The manager of the store? The folks who pick the grapes? So, back we go into the store to correct the mistake.--
All of this is just to say I know I've owed you a Vegas update, and I feel genuinely bad for not writing before today.
The reason I haven't written sooner is because this has been a big-old, crappy, icky, stupidly-useless joke of a week. I came back from Vegas and I was tired, jet-lagged, and recovering from a few days of drinking and not sleeping. So instead of getting my affairs in order, you know, unpacking, checking email, following through on acting leads and such, I decided to avoid all that and redecorate my office.
It took two trips to Home Depot and three days of work, but the color of the walls is fantastic, and I love my new furniture arrangement. So that rocks. Yet still I have these looming piles of scripts I should read, mail I should respond to, and laundry I should do--funny how a fresh coat of paint didn't make all of that go away.
I'm hoping for a fresh start tomorrow--some time to go through all those backed-up emails and piles of paper. And once that's done, this weight of impending doom will hopefully lift from my shoulders and I'll be in a much better condition to recap what was truly a fantastic weekend.
For now I'm just trying to survive this insane bout of neurotic self-loathing
When did I turn into Woody Allen?
Talking To A Friend
17 hours ago
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7 comments:
You will only turn into Woody Allen as soon as you develop an unnatural attraction to your adopted stepchild. Until that day I think you're doing okay...
Damn, Andy stole my only Woody Allen joke. I've been working on my Woody Allen joke repetoire since I woke up this morning, but because that was a mere three minutes ago, that already posted joke was as far as I got. I'll keep at it though. And when I get one, you can bet I'll...be too lazy to post it.
Feeling the same as you lately, love. I'm sure it will pass. And if it doesn't, we can always spend hours on the phone with each other batting around our neurosis'.
Love you
j
Is this the same Jenn from Playing Chicken with Marsala???
If so, I loved reading your now-defunt blog.
Tis me, indeed! And many thanks for your readership...which outlasted my blogership, I'm sure. I've thought about relaunching it, now that we're nearing blogging season, but my lazyness always thwarts my best laid plans. Instead I'm planning to make and market (the marketing will probably just consist of me telling you I plan to do it) a Playing Chicken with Marsala t-shirt. That way anyone can own a small piece of blog history. Now to find a t-shirt designer...
I may want to own a piece of your blogging history or I may just want to tell you that so you'll go ahead and make a t-shirt. HAHAHAHHAHA! Mine is an evil laugh.
You two are so cute and have totally put a smile on my face today! o_o
p.s. put me down for a case of chickeny-goodness T-shirts. May I suggest jeffrey rowland (www.wigu.com) as an excellent t-shirt designer?
"I'm cute! She thinks I'm cute!!" Yes, I am reduced to quoting talking reindeer - but only because I don't have a Playing Chicken with Marsala t-shirt and really, what else am I supposed to do with myself until that day?
Leave it to Summer to actually have a T-shirt guy in her extended network. :-)
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