First of all, I'm not going to Mexico. More on that later. Second of all, I'm going to make my MTA debut (that's Muhlenberg Theatre Association) as Monica Welles in Rehearsal for Murder. I'm the lovely leading lady who gets bumped off, hopefully not within the first five minutes.
But I'm not going to Mexico. If you don't know what I'm talking about, don't ask (except you, Maddie, I'll tell you soon). But it's really ok, because now I get to write a David Sedaris-style story called "The Best Cruise I Never Went On" or something like that. Except without the awkward placement of the preposition. Sorry.
Now I'm going to go to bed! Or maybe write more for my essay on The Seventh Seal. Oh, Bergman. Honestly, if you invite a bunch of people to your house during a wicked thunderstorm and everyone's completely unwired and freaked out, do you really think it's a good idea to read them excerpts from The Book of Revelation?!?! Honestly, Ingmar. And the Lamb opened the Seventh Seal, and there was silence in heaven for the space of about half an hour.
And then someone farted. Only not. Oh, I need to go to bed.