The musical.

As my coworker Mar would say, I love drama.  So I thought, what would "And I Stole Your Hat, Too" look like as a successful Broadway musical drama?  And the result was a combination of my fascination with musical theater and my pathetically annoying problems:

AND I STOLE YOUR HAT, TOO:

A Childish Musical Drama*

Starring

CJ

as

"Heroine"

John 

as

"Prince Asshat"

FCOG (not an FCOG, but really, FCOG)

as

"Princess Twat"

PVille Guy

as

"Sir Douchebag"

and

Alanna

as

"the Best Friend"

(*Actually, it may be more a long the lines of a Shakespearean Comedy now that I think about it, but funny in the way that "Merchant of Venice" was funny... like kind of not funny but it's considered a comedy because no one actually dies.)

Act I opens with a colorful and happy piece called "Don't Ever Talk to My Boyfriend Again" sung by Princess Twat while she is at a Halloween party.  Followed by a jazzy upbeat dance number with the Heroine singing "Tell Your Fucking Whore of A Girlfriend that She Should Watch Her Baby Instead of Worrying about Me" to Prince Asshat as she secretly steals his hat. (Of course, this will be choreographed by Twila Tharp.  Kicklines and tap dancing and leaping across the stage.  It will be amazing.)  Prince Asshat responds with "Don't Ever Talk to Me Again, You Stupid Bitch." Then Sir Douchebag comes into the picture and sings a song about, oh I don't know, being a complete tool ("The Toolman"). End scene.

Intermission.

Overture.

Act II begins with a song by Prince Asshat singing a lovely ballad called "I Love Her but You Mean So Much To Me Still" but that will turn into "Wait, No, I'm Confused and I Changed My Mind Again" and then a reprise of "Don't Ever Talk to Me Again, You Stupid Bitch."  Followed by the Heroine singing the title song, "And I Stole Your Hat, Too" as she creates a blog.  "I shall post things about you, dear Prince, and your immaturity, and that stupid Princess Twat and her insecurity!"  Followed by a dance number in the middle.  "And you, Sir Douchebag, will get a post too so don't, please don't, threaten to sue!"  But he does.  And there's a big crazy scene where he yells at her (singing "Young, Dumb, And Full of..."-you knew that was coming- and tells her that she's taking advantage of their "friendship" and she cries.  End scene.

Intermission

Overture

Final Act.  Opens with the Best Friend singing a song called "You're An Idiot, We're Going to Boston" to the Heroine and she realizes that all these people are morons.  "You're right! My God, you're right! I don't know how I lost my siiiiiiiight!" the Heroine sings.  As Prince Asshat and Princess Twat come on to the stage she shakes his hand and hugs her and sings "I'm Over It."  "You can have him, you can have him, he's not that great anyway.  He's bad at sex, he's really stupid, and there's never an intelligent thing he'll say."  Sir Douchebag comes in singing the reprise of "Young, Dumb, And Full of..." and she continues to sing "I'm Over It," ending with a big flip of the bird.  And then her and the Best Friend dance off to Boston in "I'm So Glad That You Losers Live in Ohio (See Ya)" with the chorus line.  Fade to black (yeah, I know that's a screenwriter's, not a playwright's, term).

Curtain.

It's lame but I'm tired and loopy and bored.  I know, I'm reaching on this one.  Oh well, you win some, you lose some.

Drunk History.

Not feeling very well today... here's something to tide you over until I do.

See more Michael Cera videos at Funny or Die

By the way, just because I'm not feeling well and I posted something about being wasted should not lead you to assume that I am hungover. I just haven't felt well all weekend- and no alcohol was involved.

This guy, however, will be hungover tomorrow.

Whirling Dervish.

So, I just thought that I would explain the concept behind Whirlyball since I mentioned it in my post from yesterday. I'm not sure how many there are nationally, but I do know that WhirlyBall is an up and coming "indoor sport" in the midwest (we have six months of winter here, what do you expect?). Specifically, Chicago and Cleveland. If you go to an official website, they basically introduce it like this:

"Agility. Speed. Strength. None of these qualities will be of any use in the highly competitive world of WhilrlyBall. Although it combines lacrosse, hockey and basketball with bumper cars, WhirlyBall has caused great athletes of every stripe to laugh and holler their way to a crushing defeat." (Basically, if you are just another average midwesterner (read: morbidly obese and otherwise uncoordinated), you finally get to even the playing field with all those athletic types).

WhirlyBall combines bumper cars with lacrosse, basketball, little bit of hockey, and soccer. You have a scoop and a whiffle ball and the goal is to either hit the backboard of the same color as your car (2 pts) or get it in the net (4 pts). Pretty easy, right? WRONG. This game is HARD. Not only do you have to figure out how to maneuver your car (which has a one hand steering device, wheel), you have to be able to catch the ball and get it down the court. You can only hold it for 20 seconds so passing becomes another obstacle. Any penalties in delay of game or fouling cost 4 points to the other team. (See demonstration by Death Cab above).

So on Sunday, I joined some friends from work and their families to play this raucous game. I had seen it before- an old boyfriend of my mother's was on a league when I was probably 13 or 14. I figured I could do this. I didn't have to run (which I hate), I just had to steer (which I can do with my car... how hard could this be?). Considering most of the 13 minute game I was trying to figure out how to back up as I got stuck in a corner and then when I finally had the ball, I couldn't get out before my twenty seconds... I'm gonna go ahead and say that I sucked.

So that's why I thought laser tag would be more fun. I had played before... it used to be a hot spot for the stoners and the bad kids during high school and I made my appearance a few times. Of course, this was like 10 years ago. So I suited up with 15 other people, about 8 of them under 10. Not only did I get my ass kicked, I got shot down by a 5 year old. He was insane! Every time I thought I had a good place to hide, my vest would light up. Who was this phantom assassin? It took me about 8 minutes to realize I was getting shot up from below by a misleadingly innocent operative, code name: Lucca. And he wasn't all stealthy, either, like James Bond or Ethan Hunt. No, Lucca used more of a Scarface method (pretty much running forward with his finger on the trigger, laughing maniacally as he mowed down rival gang members). I came to the conclusion that there is definitely a problem with our kids being exposed to too much violence.

It wasn't until I saw the results and realized that I had shot none and been shot 48 times that I thought about sticking to tennis if I wanted an indoor sport. At least on that court I get to be the crazy one.

YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS!

You know its bad when people start sending you clips of McEnroe to make you feel better. And you know it's worse when it actually does. God I love you, Johnny Mack, but we would end up killing each other. (**Thanks Jason, from executedtoday.com). To the rest of you, this is how I've been feeling on a daily basis. It's classic immaturity.

4 Years Ago...

I just had to include this from the "Alamo Diaries," a blog I had four years ago while attending Miami of Ohio in Oxford.  This was my post election day wrap-up after a devastating/awesome (we are not politically biased here) night.

Election Day Bug-a-loo.

"You told me you loved me 
I know where and when 
Come sunrise, surprise surprise 
The joke's on me again 
I know you don't love me 
You know I don't care 
Keep it hidden better 
Did I say the world is fair 
I thought I was just the guy for you and it would never end" 

-The Magnetic Fields "I Thought You Were My Boyfriend" 
(or, what John Kerry should have said in his concession speech today) 

Well, the Devil has come to collect his price. Yep, after eighty-six years of selling our souls in Boston, the Prince of Darkness gets the last laugh. George W. Bush was once again crowned King of the Infidels last night. Can I get a "Ayayayayayayayayaya!!!!" from the guys in the turbans? No? Ok. 

Well, at least I got drunk. How drunk? I'm not quite sure. Alanna and I went to Jake "the Shakes" Knight's humble abode for a little "Going Demo-craZy Bash '04" last night. Ok, it wasn't oficially called that, but I thought it was quite a clever name. Jake was super-hyper, but then again, if you know Jake you know this isn't anything out of the ordinary. Running around in a Pocahontas wig like an eight year old who had been kept up to late, we watched as he and a war-painted face Kerri performed interpretive dance to "I Thought You Were My Boyfriend" by The Magnetic Fields. 

I'll save the details of my demise, but included beer after beer after beer. Soon, when things got really bad, we turned to chain smoking. FYI, I do not condone smoking. It is bad for you. It kills people. HOWEVER there comes times in your life where ruining your lungs doesn't seem like such a bad idea when you're being faced with living the next four years of your life in complete uncertainty if you will get a job that hasn't been already outsourced while the rest of the world plans your country's demise. 

But hey, at least Miami football won last night. Go team. 

I woke up face down at about 11:00 am this morning. I looked out my window and realized the sky was gray. The thought of getting out of bed today was just too much, so I pulled the covers over my head until 1:00 pm. Pathetic, maybe. I just couldn't face the reality of my life in the next four years. 

I saw an apparition of Satan in the soap scum on our shower curtain. It could have been a possible hallucination or just coincidence, but there he was as I washed my hair with John Frieda's Brilliant Brunette. Staring. Waiting. 

I hear Toronto is lovely this time of year. 

To quote Kristen (who I still love, even though she voted for Bush)... 

"Meh."