Exit Stage Left

In a past life I was somewhat obsessed with Rosie O'Donnell. Okay, not somewhat. My fixation was on par with the current preoccupation with Keith Olbermann or Aaron Sorkin... and, no, I'm not a lesbian. It started during the summer of '93 when I saw her interviewed on Arsenio Hall (seriously?!) promoting A League of Their Own and it was all sort-of downhill from there, tumbling into near-stalker-like behavior. However, once her talk show went off-air I sort of lost interest and I actually swung to the complete opposite end of the spectrum: I thought she had cracked up and gone crazy, she certainly drove me crazy. The whole Taboo debacle embarrassed me as a theatre-goer and aspiring producer and I paid little attention to her after that. So, when it was recently decided that Rosie would replace the departed Meredith Viera on "The View" I wasn't interested in watching but then a couple weeks in my curiosity got the better of me. I Tivo'd one episode which quickly turned into a season pass. I rarely watch the whole show, and just tune in for"Hot Topics" and to watch Rosie decimate that idiot, Elisabeth What's-Her-Face, publicly and on an almost daily basis. Occasionally, however, there's cause to stay-tuned for the whole show.

The thing I liked most about Rosie's former daytime talk show was her shameless promotion of Broadway musicals. At least once a week she would feature a live performance from a Broadway show and frequently interviews with its cast. Aside from the Sunday New York Times and Playbill.com it can be difficult for a theatre dork such as myself to get her fill of theatre news through traditional media outlets. At the time her show aired I'd never traveled to New York, nor seen a Broadway production. Her daily show was a way for me to be a voyeur into world of which I so badly wanted to be a part. I may not have seen The Producer's on Broadway, but when I saw Matthew Broderick sing "I Wanna Be a Producer" it was almost life-changing and most certainly life-affirming (not to get too sappy, or anything).

I'm not sure how Rosie's contract with ABC and "The View" is structured, but I'm certain she has some editorial control because since she's been on-air the broadcast has echoed her past program in bringing attention to many current productions playing on Broadway. And, while I think Rosie can be a bit of a loud-mouth and should probably learn when to keep quiet occasionally, when it comes to promoting musical theatre I hope she never shuts up.

I have a reasonably good sense of humor; I laugh at myself and like it when other people laugh with me, so I figured that when I decided to dress up as Napoleon Dynamite for a Halloween party last night (Sweet!) laughter would abound and I'd be okay with the chuckles directed my way. However, almost as soon as I walked into the party with my size 13 men's black boots, "Vote for Pedro" ringer tee and circa 1976 glasses I was uncomfortable. The "where'd you get that shirt?" comments sent me into a state of perpetual wallflower for the rest of the evening. I was instantly transported back to seventh grade where everything from my curling hair, to my glasses, to the fact that I was chubby were the target of many a bully comment. I wanted to retreat into the corner with a big bowl of Halloween candy. Then I realized that I was an adult, had my own group of friends who like me just the way I am and, not only that but I have a car and a house and that I could just leave whenever I wanted to---so I did. Perhaps the reason I am so in-love with the movie "Napoleon Dynamite" is because it reminds me of my own life, in so many ways. I guess should've taken that into consideration when choosing my costume. Afterall, Halloween is supposed to be fun, not gut-wrenching.

Because my parents are engineers I tend to think that I can put together anything, hang up anything and tackle any household project with zest and ease. However, this is hardly ever the case. I'm a fairly logical thinker, so I may have an easier time than most at these sorts of tasks, but I struggle...despite my technically-inclined parental units. Afterall, I begged for my D in Physics and I'm a marketer....for theatre, no less! My genetic predispositions, or lack thereof, are a conversation for another time, though.

Hopefully some day soon the college girl in me will die and I will grow up and realize that I don't need to buy particle board furniture that "takes minutes to assemble." But until she does the do-it-yourself furniture row at Target is among my favorite. Since I moved into this house (a year ago this week, if you can believe it!) I've needed another set of bookshelves. The five boxes of remnant books and binders sitting in the front room finally got the best of this evening and being as I'm a cheap-skate who prefers to spend her money on experiences rather than possessions the $29.99 plywood special was just what I had in mind.

I've just spent about an hour and 45 minutes attempting to put together a five shelf "cherry wood" book case and have failed miserably. Somewhere along the way I guess I mixed up a couple parts and now I can't get the pre-drilled holes in the top section to fit together with those in the bottom section. I know it's hard to believe, I mean, the directions are so simple and easy to follow and, afterall, my parents are engineers! I also managed to punch a hole in the side by pushing on a dowel too hard, making it unethical to just repackage and return them--which is what I'd like to do at this point. Tomorrow morning I guess I'll break out the pliers, unscrew everything and start from scratch. I'm guessing that when all is said and done I will have spent probably three to four hours on this and while I'm sure I'll enjoy being de-cluttered I have to wonder: were the loss of time, the hassle and the paper cuts worth the actual hard cost savings of this DIY? No fucking way!

Halloween is a dangerous time of year for me. I LOVE candy and walking into every store and finding an infinite sea of candy and knowing that I have access to a line of credit is bad news for me. As a child after Halloween I would bargain with my siblings for the "good" candy and even after I'd eaten my way through the Snickers and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and was stuck with Tootsie Rolls and Butterscotch Discs I'd eat them anyway, because sugar is goodness. Now I have a reasonably good-paying job and a car that can carry me to Target on a moment's notice. I can buy up all the White Chocolate Peanut Butter Cups and Bottle Caps that my heart desires, though my ass doesn't appreciate it.

Tonight I had a craving for some of these aforementioned white chocolate treats and though I feared the streets were getting icy after our storm last night, I had a few other things I could stand to pick up, so I ventured out. I was searching for the bite sized peanut butter cups, not the standard snack size that are generally handed out to the kiddos on Halloween night. The texture of the little ones is different. Better. And aside from that, I like to wrap up all the foil wrappers into one giant ball of foil. Call it a quirk, but tonight the snack-sized wouldn't do. I walked up and down the three aisles of seasonal candy and didn't find what I was looking for. I even went over to the regular non-Halloween candy aisle and couldn't find them there, either. I was disappointed and thought about the snack-sized, but decided against it; they weren't what I had my heart set on. I was bummed out, but I'll get through it. Somehow I managed to talk myself out of the Vanilla Tootsie Rolls, the Bottle Caps AND the Peanut Butter M&M's, too---I'm still not sure how. I escaped the temptation tonight, but I have to actually buy the candy I will hand out to the hoodlums in my neighborhood this weekend--that will be another challenge entirely; will they still be around on Tuesday evening?

On another ghoulish note: does anyone have any good ideas for a simple yet clever costume? I have a party to attend on Saturday and zero creative ideas. If you come up with something and I decide to do it, I'll buy you the Halloween treat of your choice.

I have strong political beliefs that are based more on fact and consciously formed opinions than on following the crowd, or doing what's popular. I like to think that I'm a fairly well informed girl and have always been fascinated by history, government and, of course politics. Afterall, I announced my intent to be the first female President in fifth grade. 'Nough said.

We have a pretty major, not to mention important, midterm election here in Colorado this year. And the dirty political ads are getting nasty enough that even I'm ready for election season to be over. We're electing a new governor, several new Congress members, and have a ballot of amendments and referred measures a mile long. My blue book arrived in the mail a couple of weeks ago and I'm mildly embarrassed to admit that I've yet to crack mine open. Today I attended a non-partisan presentation on Colorado's ballot issues hosted by volunteer from the League of Women Voters. I was somewhat familiar with all the proposed measures, but I have to admit that there were a handful of the 14 state-wide measures that caught me completely off-guard. The League is known for boiling down the technical politi-speak of the blue book into "normal people terms," making them easier to understand and digest. In addition to this, volunteers study each issue carefully by committee and then take their findings to the state level and issue recommendations based on that research. However, the League never takes a stance on candidates for elected office, at any level. It's always nice to know how and why certain conclusions were reached on all the varying issues and while they don't always influence my final decision, sometimes they help sway me on the tricky stuff.

In addition to gaining insight into all the issues on which we're being asked to have an opinion, I learned a lot about the process of voting today and how elections are conducted and I learned more about the politics behind politics than I'd ever imagined. For example, did you know that when delivering a voting booth to a precinct (or in the case of Denver, a "Vote Center") the delivery truck must be followed and, upon delivery, inspected by a registered member of both political parties? A lot goes in to making sure that our elections are fair and that integrity is not compromised. I have to admit, it gives me great peace of mind.

I will restrain myself from posting on my specific opinions (you probably know what they are anyway) and will leave you this evening (morning?) by simply saying that voting is about more than being a D an R or a U (different from Independent, mind you, too); it's not only your right as an American but your responsibility. No matter who you are, or where you live; no matter what you support or what you oppose; no matter who you vote for, VOTE!


"Bad politicians are sent to Washington by good people who don't vote."--William E. Simon

Lately I've been thinking a lot about myself. Not in an arrogant or pompous way, but in a more of a self-reflective, observational one. I've been thinking a lot about my life: where I am, where I'm going, how I'd like it to change, how I'd like it to stay the same; wondering if I'll get married, have kids, ever live in New York and what will happen with my career. I've been worrying about wrinkles and bags under my eyes, gray hair and even death. I'm worrying and wondering about things that I've rarely even considered before. It's not all-consuming, but it's definitely there, in the fore-front of my mind.

I recently found out that my best friend from seventh grade, my oldest friend in the world, had her first baby, a little girl. This is the tenth person I know who just this year has had a baby. There are babies everywhere. Somehow I managed to avoid the wedding phase of my life, but the baby phase is in full swing, as I've mentioned before. And, while I'm excited about the babies (truly, I am, despite my bitching about it), it's brought up the questions in my own "destiny" even more.

Today at work I mentioned this to a co-worker of mine who said, "how old are you?"
"28 in August" I replied.
"Do you believe in astrology?"
"No." I answered
Then she said, "well, I don't really either, but go back to your desk and look up 'Saturn Return.' It might help you."

Well, I didn't go back to my desk and look it up, I waited until I got home but I'll be damned if it doesn't make a ton of sense! And afterall, Saturn Return has a Wikipedia entry, so it has to be somewhat valid, right? According to the venerable online encyclopedia, Saturn Return is the astrological phenomenon that occurs in a person's life between the ages of 28 and 30. Saturn's revolution around the earth takes approximately 29 years, so at roughly ages 28-30 Saturn has "returned" to the location in which it was when said person was born; it has completed its cycle in the birth chart.

Saturn is symbolically linked with: "time, challenge, fear, doubt, confusion, difficulty, seriousness, heaviness, and hard lessons, among other more positive things such as structure, significance, accomplishment, reflection, power, prestige, maturity, and order." It's because of this that astrologers consider the 30th birthday a major rite of passage, and true entry into adulthood. Saturn Return is a time of endings and new beginnings; "the Saturn Return is every individual's search for the Holy Grail."

I want to stress that despite the fact that I'm a Birkenstock lover, I'm not a granola-eating hippie who lives and dies by the reading of Tarot cards and my daily horoscope. However, after some reading on the subject, I do think that this discovery could explain a lot of why I'm feeling the way I am right now.

Now, what worries me more than anything else? I've only been in this "phase" for two months, according to the calendar, and I have two years left?! Maybe ignorance is bliss.

p.s. I never thought I'd have to worry about footnotes or end notes in a blog post. Please check the links for proper attribution and identification of quotes and references.

Sorry for excessively posting today, though it might make one of my anonymous commenters happy. :) Apparently blogging is something I am in the mood for.


Tonight, overnight, the population of the United States will be an estimated 300 million for just 11 seconds and then it will keep on growing. This seems absolutely insane to me, does it seem that way to anyone else? If we counted off one person per second it would take 3,472 days--that's nine and a half years! By then who knows what the population will be, essentially we might never stop counting. Sort of boggles your mind, doesn't it?

You can check out the US population clock here. Fascinating.

I had several things I was supposed to do tonight, but I figured that since I didn't do much that I was supposed to do during the day, I might as well stick with the trend and ignore my evening obligations, as well. I'm not sure what's going on with me, but somehow I am simply "not in the mood;" I'm not in the mood to eat, not in the mood to hang out with friends, not in the mood to go to the theatre (!!), not in the mood to watch TV, not even in the mood to just sit on my ass. I didn't know what I wanted to do tonight, but I knew none of the above would suffice, so I went to a movie ("The Departed") and while I thought the movie was fantastic--really good--I was fidgeting the whole time: twirling my hair, moving in my seat, searching in my handbag, blowing bubbles with my gum... I couldn't settle down. And now I'm home and it's late enough that I could just go to bed, but, surprise, I'm not in the mood for that either. I don't know what's going on, but I sure hope this phase passes quickly and tomorrow brings a more productive day because this is seriously out of character for me, and I don't like it; not one bit.

As much as I like to complain about my job, I actually like it quite a bit. I rarely, rarely wake up in the morning and think about calling in sick, or just simply not going in at all. And, while sometimes it takes me a few minutes to get going, once I'm here I usually make it fun, enjoy my co-workers and get 'er done. However, sometimes there are days that drag on and on: where I'm ready for lunch at 10:30 and am ready to go home at 2:00; where I can't seem to convince myself that anything I have to do is pressing enough to actually do it. Such is today. I have plenty to do. Plenty. There are always shows, always tickets to be sold, and yet, somehow, today I lack any and all motivation to actually work on selling them. I just want to surf around My Space, e-mail friends from high school (found two more over the weekend) and IM with friends who have the day off (you know who you are). It doesn't help that my boss is on vacation and that I probably actually could leave for the day and nobody would even notice--*sigh.* One hour, 56 minutes and counting...

Earlier tonight I was sitting in my chair under the window in the living room and I heard a cat meowing. It was a whiny meow, like Linus usually does, but it sounded like it was far away. I got up thinking Linus was just trying to get my attention from the other room and I turned around to see a kitten sitting in the window outside. It was pretty little, so I went outside to check on it. She was a little skittish at first, but then came right up to me and let me pick her up. I brought her some food and water, which she wolfed down in no time flat, which makes me think that she hasn't been home in quite a long time, but she doesn't seem like she's an alley cat, either, I think she really does have a home, but how do I find her owners? I posted an ad on Craigslist, but beyond that I'm not really sure. She has been in my yard for several hours now and she won't leave, unless it's to sleep underneath my car (which makes me nervous), so I think she'll be here for awhile.

I'm guessing she's about 12-14 weeks old and she's awfully cute: a grey and brown tabby with white feet. She has emerald green eyes and is very friendly, but also scared. She loves to be picked up and petted. I've named her "Spook" for now, which seems fitting and I wish I could keep her! Unfortunately, Linus is already mad at me, he won't let me pet him, even, without first hissing his disapproval. And there's simply no way I can have another cat. You know what they say, "two's company..."

P.S. I won Dave's contest, but I think he threw it to me. :)

My friend, Dave, decided to hold a contest (promoted via his website) to see which of his readers could build an avatar that most accurately depicts him. I was rather bored the other night and having never before tried to build an avatar, I decided to give it a whirl. My stab at this task is posted on Dave's site (just follow the link), though I'm still not sure if I'm the lucky winner of the Starbucks card (who won, Dave?!).

I sort of got into this avatar thing so I decided to try to create one for myself. They don't have any options that accurately depict my hair, this seems to be the closest. I'm also a bit disappointed in the selection of apparel for the "plus sized" avatar. I don't really consider myself to be "plus sized," but these normal avatars are super-skinny! I'm an unabashedly chubby girl, which I think is fairly represented in this pic.

Anyhow, creating your own avatar is easy and a fun way to waste time. Just hit up http://avatars.yahoo.com and create a Yahoo! username, log in and you're off to the races. Be sure to share once you've recreated yourself as an animated being.

Why are socks so expensive? I mean, seriously. They're covering a relatively small portion of your body and yet one pair of socks costs upwards of $10! Sure, cheaper socks are out there to be had, but they also have to be replaced with more frequency, so in the long-run more expensive socks are better. Because of the recent change in the weather I was forced to pull out real, non-athletic socks today, for the first time this season, and I realized that I was in desperate need of a new winter stock of socks. In my search for some cute, funky, coordinating socks I learned the true expense of fancy footwear.

In a past life I was responsible for staffing the DCPA booth at the many festivals that take place throughout the city. I didn't realize how much I despised said responsibility until it was no longer mine. My predecessor in this task despised it as well. I now understand her elation in pawning it off on someone else.

The Denver Art Museum held the grand opening for its new building on Saturday and in celebration it was decided that the museum would stay open for 35 hours straight: from 10 AM on Saturday through 9 PM on Sunday. There was entertainment and family activities on the plaza throughout the event. The Museum asked us to host a booth with activities for kids and families from 10-5 both days. Given that attendance estimates were 35--40,000 we decided it was a good idea to participate. I'm not sure how, but somehow this booth became my responsibility. From supplies and staffing to loading and set-up it all fell to me. I won't go into too many details of the weekend, but sufficed to say: I still hate festivals. I don't like being outside to begin with so putting me outside early in the morning, with volunteers, hundreds of children, free loaders and no restroom is enough to send me to the brink of insanity.

To top it all off, Sunday was Denver's Race for the Cure--the largest in the nation. I happen to live on the race route so in order to get downtown to the art museum I had to go out of my way just to get where I was trying to go. At some point on the drive my car started acting funny, it wasn't bad enough that I felt like I needed to pull over and it got better for a minute so I proceeded to hop on 6th Ave. and hit a top speed of at least 60 before I realized that there was something very wrong. I managed to get off the highway and pulled over to see that my right rear tire was shredded; no kidding. I'm embarrassed to admit that I didn't even notice it--aside from the car shaking. The real amusement of the morning was watching me try to remember back to driver's ed on how to change a tire. I managed to get the car jacked up, but couldn't get the lug nuts off. An onlooker took pity on me and helped to get the spare on. Thank God for good samaritans. Now, if only someone could've done something about the $150 pricetag that comes with a new tire.

I have oh so much on which to update and lack any sort of energy to do it effectively. I'm sure that by tomorrow it will all seem irrelevant and I'll again be at a loss for words, but I'm going to have to take that risk as it's 8:01 and therefore, time for me to go to sleep.

I have an issue with sweat. And, no, it's not from an obsession with working-out (do you know me?!). In the summer it's bad and when I'm nervous it's REALLY bad. I have pitted out more shirts than a construction worker paving an interstate in August, from the comfort of my air conditioned office. My left pit is particularly bad, I notice it almost immediately after getting dressed in the morning. Sweat. Reapplication of deodorant by noon has become a necessity. As has the frequent replenishment of white t-shirts; I can get about three days' worth of wear before the yellow pit stains are prominent enough that they become banished to the rag pile. Thank God for the 2 for $10 sales at Old Navy.

I've yet to find a deodorant that can stand-up to my sweaty, stinky, sticky arm pit situation. I'm constantly trying out the latest and greatest trends in anti-perspirant and they rarely live up to they hype. I've tried roll-ons, solids, gels and sprays. I even ventured over to the men's section, thinking that surely they'd do the trick. I was wrong. Not only do I always still feel like I smell after just a few hours and have ring around the armpit, but I get the deodorant goop build-up that is oh, so pleasant; particularly when wearing certain types of tops or dresses.

I recently came across a sample of the new Degree Ultra Clear that is "100% little black dress approved" and it seems to work better than most of the craptastic stuff I've come across recently so I bought a full-size and have been using it for about a week. Part of the claim to fame of this product is that it goes on clear and dries clear--no clumpy mess that leaves white residue on black clothes. A selling point for me, since I seem to have about three layers of the stuff on by the end of the day.

Last night I went to the opening night "gala" for Amadeus (yeah, I went by myself for those of you who are wondering). The attire was cocktail, perfect for the "little black dress." Alas, I don't have one that fits plus I still have a wicked bruise from where I hit the pavement in my "clicky" shoes a couple weeks ago, so I reinstated the reunion ensem: a black top with periwinkle polka dots and black slacks. The top has capped sleeves, which I love, because they offer coverage of my upper arms, which I despise, but don't make me look more matronlike than I already do. Anyhow, the point is this: I showered and got dressed around 4:00 was at the theatre by 5:30 and by the 6:30 curtain could already feel the sweat welling. I knew the goop had to be getting bad, so I fought the urge to fix my hair or wave to people across the lobby. I kept my arms at my side, waiting to get to the bathroom to sop up the mess and maybe even reapply.

At intermission, on my way to the bathrooms, I ran into a colleague in the lobby whom I haven't seen in awhile and put my arm around her in a playful hug. When I backed off, I noticed it. My "little black dress approved" deodorant is apparently "padded shoulder black suit jacket" DISapproved, because the goop wound up on the shoulder of my friend. I seemed to be the only one who noticed it or realized what it was, but it was quite possibly the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me....well, at least this week. Unless you count the retelling of the story on the Internet for public amusement. :/ Please keep it to yourself.

It doesn't happen very often, but every now and then I get bored. Such is the case tonight. I left work at 5 on the dot (I was bored there, too), came home, cooked dinner, went shopping and now I'm home again. It's only 8:45 my house is reasonably clean, there are no shows on TV I want to watch, I canceled Netflix and I have literally nothing to do. I don't even have any good topics on which to post. And, sure, I could scour the grout in my shower or organize my theatre programs (a project that's been waiting for me to complete for more than a year), I could even go to the grocery store (which I desperately need to do), but instead I will sit in my chair and watch old episodes of "The West Wing" on DVD and try to keep myself from eating the remaining food that is in my cabinets.

When I was a little girl I was scared of everything. When we lived in Elko I'd fall asleep listening to the radio (1240 AM--K-E-L-Kaaaaaayyy ) and every night at around 2:00 a.m. they'd play a PSA, "Crimestoppers." The lead-in and out music was creepy, the stories mostly lame about some liquor store being robbed, or some bicycle being stolen, but the haunting music and of crimes against my neighbors would inevitably lead me to believe that I was going to be raped and pillaged in the top bunk on the second story of 2059 Griswold Drive. I could never go back to sleep, even with my then-angelic baby brother sleeping three feet below me. When I'd go visit my dad during the summer time, being in an unfamiliar house was almost more than I could handle. My stepmother, God bless her, would sit with me on the edge of the couch every night holding the milk and cookies until I'd eventually nod off to sleep.

When I got to be about 14 or 15 I had a conversation with myself (if you know me, you know I do this a lot) and I decided that I just couldn't be afraid of the unknown anymore. I dove deep into myself and found my courage. I know it seems strange, and probably a bit unbelievable, but since I've found my inner courage fear rarely comes to the forefront of my mind. I'm generally cautious about where I go and what I do, but I refuse to live my life in fear. Maybe the fear transformed itself into guilt or nervousness, but out and out fear? It's rare.

Tonight I was at work late, filming some commercials (sounds more exciting than it is) and had about an hour break to go grab some dinner during Act 1. It was dusk, just getting dark outside and while I walked the three blocks to Subway I found myself a little on edge. Here I am, in downtown Denver with hundreds of people milling about and I found myself constantly looking over my shoulder. I was scared.

The guy in front of me in line, clearly strung out on drugs and probably homeless, was $.20 short for his sandwich. He didn't even ask me for the money, but I reached in my wallet and grabbed the only cash I had: a $1 bill. I handed it to him, because I am a nice person, or at least was in this instance. He didn't even say "thank you" at first and I was a little put-off and then he got a little weird, getting real close to me and whispering, saying how nice I am and how thankful he was. I just backed up and nodded saying, "you're welcome," but honestly I was a little weirded out. I didn't think he was necessarily dangerous, but my ears perked up, for sure.

I walked out of the "restaurant" (and I use that term loosely) and looked to be sure the coast was clear; that the weird-o "mall rat" wasn't around and I walked back to the complex in peace. I wasn't scared, I didn't feel fearful and I didn't look over my shoulder once. Maybe my earlier fear was reminding me to be on my toes, as sometimes I tend to get a little lax in my vigilance, but then again, maybe my inner-courage was just on dinner break, too.

As one of my "devoted" readers pointed out I have been a bit "relaxed" in my posting this week, but for good reason. As happens in the autumn of every year we hit this point at work where it becomes absolutely apparent that the summer is over and the season has begun. We hit that point on Thursday evening and there's no turning back. I don't like writing about work so much, because I think it's boring and because it's not good for me to dwell on it all the time. That is something with which having this blog has really helped me: thinking about things outside of work and focusing on my "real" life rather than just my work life. But, this was the kind of week where work became almost all encompassing, leaving little time to think about much else.

Thursday we had first preview for "Amadeus" and first performance of "The Lion King" as well as the first wine & theatre of the new season and the opening night of "Living Out." In addition to all that there were some noxious vapors in the Galleria theatre from a neighboring business's attempt at sealing a new floor which caused us to cancel that evening's performance (leading to some unhappy patrons, as you might imagine). It was one of those rare evenings where the weather was beautiful and every venue was filled with people, like the complex had been brought back to life. In spite of the disgruntled patrons we managed to get through the night with little incident. Friday brought two more special events, all leading up to the opening night and party for "The Lion King" last night (yep, I sure was up until 4 am).

Long story short: it's been a busy week, leaving little time for laundry, cleaning, sleeping, eating well or posting on the blog. So, forgive me and here's to hoping that this week will be a little more sane. I'm not counting on it...you probably shouldn't either.