The problem is that I can't hide anything. An old friend used to say that the worst expression to see on my face was no expression at all, because then I didn't care, and there is nothing worse than a person consumed with passion suddenly overtaken by apathy. I don't mind showing the anger or the hate, but the "like" is becoming a bit of a problem. See, there is this man (and such a man) that I'm ... interested in, but I can't keep my big mouth shut about it. It wouldn't be so bad if he was a big mouth like me, but he's not. He's sweet and kind and mildly introverted and I'm afraid I'm going to fuck up and say something I shouldn't about some conversation because I want everyone to know how sweet this guy is, and how much I dig his crazy scene. I'm afraid that something that was said to me will pop out of my mouth and suddenly, I'm a stupid loud mouth who talks too much. (Oh, no. Justified fear sucks.) And here I am, talking about it again, but I hope it is just an expression of my fear of saying too much. I was talking to a friend today about the woman he went on a date with recently and he said that she is a very private person so he didn't want to say anything. It's moments like that one that make me realize how much of a buffoon I am. I decided that if he should *silent prayer* ask to see me again (I asked first, anus, so don't think I'm waiting passively for a chance, when I was the first mover. Oooo, St. Augustine wrote about the "first mover" and that was God. I'm the Goddess of Looooouuuve. (Yup, that's right. Goddess of Love)), I shall tell no one. (Oh, man. I don't know if I can do it, but I shall try...)

Diesel Sweeties, the comic that I like so much, has an ad in the newest issue of Bust, which I loved like Baby Jesus, only with Robots and Underwear T-shirts. Soooooo good.

I live in a theatre that never runs good scripts. It seems as though my house is a constant place of melodrama, much to my distaste. I would much rather everything was calm and serene, so I could sit and knit or type a blog without constant interruptions about ... well, men (or boys depending on whose what is in question.) I have figured out the ultimate way to get rid of my wonderful flatmates: compare their situation to politics. For example, I told my flatmate not to "bend over backward like Bush for big oil." She rolled her eyes at me and promptly exited the vacinity. Ahhhhh, sweet, crap-loving politics, you serve me well.