So I have lots to say.

I have lots to say in general, usually, (maybe I should work on that) but more specifically, I have a lot to catch you up on, having had my life eaten by the theatre for the last week.

Minutia of life and contest stuff under the cut... )

So that's it. Well, no, there was probably more, but I've forgotten it, due to age and general business of the brain. In any case, I hope you all have a great week!

Love, love!
I've been to the theatre a lot lately, even more so than usual for me, and I'd like to get a few things off my chest in regards to theatre etiquette, if I may. Last week as the topper to my birthday, Nolan and I enjoyed the Addison Water Tower Theatre's production of Laughter on the 23rd Floor.  The play is standard Neil Simon fare:  jokes, jokes, funny characters, jokes, poignant moment, more jokes, and a monologue conclusion.  The acting was good, the set was nice, Nolan and I looked good, smelled great and were by far and away the youngest people in the building.  Evidently the Thursday Night Preview 'Pink Tints and Blue Rinse' crowd transcends the boundaries of my little town.  No lie; the median age had to be eighty-seven.  That means that yep, there were indeed some one hundred and forty-two year olds.  I'm just saying.

I digress.

The reason for this little jaunt into internet land is to address the Lady in the Blue Sweater who was sitting two rows ahead and two seats to the right of me ... Yeah, you know who you are:  When they make that clever little announcement at the beginning of the play, you know the one that says "Please silence all pagers and cellular phones?"  What that really means is to FREAKING SILENCE YOUR DAMN CELLULAR PHONE.  That includes the little blip that notifies you of a missed call.  You were HOLDING the silly thing, I KNOW you heard them, too. All TWO DOZEN OF THEM.  If you didn't, Blue Sweater Lady, certainly you could hear the HUFFS of DISDAIN from everyone within a ten foot radius to your seat.  Also, to the couple in front of us last night at The Wizard of OZ?  Maybe during "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead" is not the best time to have your tongues DOWN EACH OTHER'S THROATS.

Ahem.

There is a special hell for people that talk in the theatre, and below that hell is the hell for people that think they're too important to be unavailable for an hour an a half so that you don't ruin the suspension of disbelief for everyone else.  If you're THAT important, you probably don't need to expend the time it takes to see a play. You should be doing something important like manning a space station or performing a kidney transplant or something.

In short, it's NOT all about you, Blue Sweater and Idiot Couple Making Out.  Turn off your cell phone and keep your tongues to yourself, or risk really loud huffs and a petite redhead kicking your shins in the parking lot after the show is over.  I mean it.

Thanks so much,

Carrie Leigh
So things are rocking right along. The signing away of our life is at 1:00, and then I can start putting crap in the house. Hurrah! Nolan did call the phone company, and they do have to do their thang out there, who knows how long it'll be before I have internet? Not me. I'm a bit put out, though.

So the neighborhood we're moving into is really nice. We are not the norm, out there. It's filled with doctors and lawyers, engineers that work at Pantex (the nuclear disarmorment plant) , etc. No other electrical contractors and actresses, for the most part. And I knew that going in. But the elementary school is one of the best, and we liked the neighborhood.

I digress.

Yesterday I drop by the house to look at a chandelier that one of our guys hung, to check the height or whatever, and I find that the builder (who reminds me a little of a used car salesman - really charming, but don't believe a word he says) has brought two women into the house to show them around. It's the norm, he did that with us, too. Took us around to his other houses to show us finishes and so forth.

Anyhoo, the women are the epitome of the Junior league rich bitch: Brighton sunglasses and shoes, really expensive, yet understated jewelry, Ralph Lauren everything; to be honest, the first thing I thought when I looked at one of them was 'Oh, my gosh, it's Pansy!'

Which proves that my dorkiness is firmly ingrained, thankyouverymuch.

Anyway, they chat with me a bit, keeping in mind that I look like a total scrub, I've been cleaning and packing boxes all day.

Pansy. You have a beautiful home. We especially like the landscaping. (shares a look with the other woman)

Me. Thank you. I think.

Pansy. So when is your move in date?

Me. Thursday. (I smile at the builder)

Pansy. (Looks around her, apparent distaste etched on every line of her made up face) Well. My, that's ...ambitious.

Quite frankly, I was floored. Did she think it wasn't finished? The cleaning crew is in today, clearing up construction debris and dust and so forth. My first thought was, "If you don't like it, then get the eff out, lady. The builder started backpedaling, and I left. i was done with all that.

So that's what I'm moving into. Let's hope my artistic temperment-AC/DC listening-dramatic-junior league hating-bullshit filtering personality goes over well out there, y'all. Bring it on, collective pains in the asses. I'm ready.
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