Tonight at the Fringe Party, I hearby swear that I shall not do the following:
1. Drink an entire 1.5 litre bottle of wine within half an hour of my arrival.
2. Get inexplicably depressed about, oh, you know, life.
3. Get walked home, sobbing, at 1:30 in the morning.
Not that this has ever happened.
Also, thank you Rocky Horror for being so great. I mean, I knew it was going to be great when I discovered that there was an X-Files cast member in the show, but how could I have possibly predicted that really fabulous green lab coat or Janet’s really nice underwear that I would totally buy if it were available in stores or that time when Magenta looked like She-Ra? Thanks, Canstage, for being the best theatre company I’ve never heard of. Also, I really liked wearing my bra (tacky and red with rhinestones, $8 at the Chez Zellers lingerie boutique) on the outside of my shirt and I think I might do that more often.
Oh, and, last night I had this dream where this guy I know was dancing with me and was spinning me around and I think we were actually flying at one point and he was totally groping my tits and it was a really great dream and I really liked where it was heading (ie: towards fornication) and then the fucking muscular dystrophy association called to ask for money which woke me up and made me really mad because that was an amazing dream. A really amazing dream. Hot damn.
Alright, I have successfully done emergency repairs on the skirt I want to wear tonight using my stapler (don’t believe them when they tell you I’m not classy) and I can feel that highly artificial pink energy beverage starting to kick in, so it’s probably time to go to that party.