It was a really great show. I was awfully proud of this one.
There's nothing like taking a simple messenger role and making him the most evil character in the play. Man, it's *so fun* to be the bad guy.
Today I'm travelling to Illinwaa to speak to Moggie's graduating class about what New York is really like.
Since Manhattan turned into an oven overnight and I'm trying to stop wearing shorts (I try every year until about June or July), I decided to wear the next best thing.
My sexy pants.
They're the ones with holes in them. But the holes are in borderline inappropriate places. Take, for example, the sexiest hole. It's that peek-a-boo tear right below my right butt cheek.
Yeah. I know it's there. And you know what? I don't care. I can't help it if my hot bod acts as clothing-repellant.
Yes, I'm going on a trip dressed in rags.
And as I was going through my canvas Bed, Bath, and Beyond drawers looking for things to pack, I realized I have an abundance of white undershirts and little else.
I guess that comes from the fact that it doesn't matter how I look when I show up to work. Because as long as I don't wear anything, they don't care what I wear.
It would be so great if we could board the plane already.
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1 comment:
Ooh.
There is such a thing as TOO much exposure, you know.
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