shaken & stirred

welcome to my martini glass


hello, curses my old friend...

Two nights in a row, the goddamn hippies woke me up in the 2 a.m. hour. Last night, when I thought my head would explode with the bad juju I was sending through the ceiling, I woke up Christopher (who can sleep through anything, except me saying, repeatedly, "I fucking hate that hippy") and sent him upstairs to tell them to quiet down. The Mistress Hippy came to the door, as always, it's never him... him with his half-stoner, half-Italian accent blurting out inanity, and said, "Drumming? What drumming?" I sent Christopher because I would probably have pushed her down. All hippies are weeble wobbles, they wobble but they don't fall down. It's true. They knocked it off. We shouldn't have to tell them to knock it off. Grrrrr.

I think I'm going to have to write a story in which someone up there dies. And also a nasty letter and leave it in their mailbox. And also get a long stick, with which I can bang on the ceiling during their vampire hours throughout the weekend. Please, let this person be kicked out soon.

I feel much better now, thanks. At least I got to have a nap this afternoon, after only working a half-day due to an annual check-up doctor thing. I am fine and alive, just as I suspected. These are good things to be reminded of, when they're true. Fine and alive.

The Magazine Reader has a piece on the magazine for people who run haunted house attractions. You can buy used ones! Who knew?! The magazine is called Haunt World Wonderful.

Must go work on script polish now, as making it to the Nicholl quarterfinals has yielded an unexpected number of people requesting the script. Yet another little work I wish I hadn't put off.


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