Dun, Dun, DUNNNN!

When the moon is in the seventh house and Mommy and Fabian buy you a tv and you begin the first leg of a touring production of a play that requires you to play upwards of five roles (not all of them human) with singing and African dance and physical work that basically requires that you be in a squat for an hour at a time (either walking about with your booty mere inches from the ground or else to try to shave off a foot of your height) and you're premenstrual and inhaling all the carbs you can find (oh tasty tasty waffles!) and so anxiety ridden that you sleep 3 hours a night then you are ripe for a week of...

THE RETURN OF
THE SOFA OF DOOM!!!

Yes, darlings. Mom and Fabian came to town last weekend and stayed overnight which was so awesome! (It was her birthday, and yet they bought me a TV. How big of a spoiled brat am I? Or irresponsible starving artist, whatever.) Basically, I'd come home from the show with a DVD, a bag of cookies (or a box of waffles!) and other such sugary delights and pass out on my super-duper sofa in front of my beeyoutiful new TV in my brand new comfy pajamas (also courtesy of my Mom-Long Live my Mom!) in under thirty minutes, only to wake up twelve to fourteen hours later in order to just make it for my next call. Working out at the gym did not happen much. So I am now heavier than Miss Tyra. I guess that's what I get for gloating.

But I'm getting back on track this week! (Mainly because I have no choice.) However, I'm probably still going to neglect you. As long as I'm being honest, here. Unless of course you are willing to join in on the sofa sessions of sloth.

On another note: is it just me, or are there a whole lot more crazy people on the metros these days? And why do they all come up to me?