This was me January 10th at Wiley's Comedy Club in Dayton, Ohio. I'll be back there Feb 21st.
Friday, 9 October, 1942, pg. 36
There are unfamiliar voices downstairs, voices I do not recognize, but their words and tone I do. They are soldiers. I dare not make a sound. I hear them milling about downstairs, searching, opening doors. I dare not make a sound. Someone is in the kitchen, and the aroma of popping corn on the stove creeps up into this attic. It smells delicious, and it reminds me of the times when I would go to the theatre. Those were happier times. Times when we were free. I want to cry for those times, but I dare not make a sound. The soldiers have not left, but the television comes on. I believe the soldiers are watching a movie. Oh, how I wish I could talk through the movie. "Run bitch!" I scream in my mind, but I dare not make a sound.
I went to go buy a new bed the other day. The sales guy asked me what kind of bed I had, and I told him I had a twin right now. He asked me if I had ever slept in a queen. I told him I had a couple times in college when I needed the money.
I was discussing with a friend of mine today about an incident she had with a friend and her ex-boyfriend. The two had never met, but her friend, having observed conversation between her and her ex, decided to follow him into the bathroom and ask general questions about him. This reminded me of an awkward situation I had been in earlier in the week, in which I, standing at the urinal, junk in hand, was asked by a coworker if he could help me with anything today. I had been working on an earlier project for a company we sophomorically call “Golden Showers,” and he was referring, of course, to that. So as I was peeing, I was being asked if I needed any help with Golden Showers.
I hate Saturdays, but I love DVR. If it wasn’t for catching up on all the quality programming I didn’t have time to watch during the week, I’d be stuck with the Nerd Pride Marathons all weekend long. I’m talking, of course, about the SyFy channel original movies.
