I'm having such a day. It begins like so:

The alarm sounds at 7:30. I snooze, I snooze, I snooze, until it is 8 AM and I drag myself from bed and get dressed. I have 15 minutes to get out of the house. I throw on jeans and a shirt that looks suspiciously like Loretta Lynn's pajamas but 4 degrees cooler, I hope, woefully underdressed for work. I begin to feel dizzy, and I sit down on my bed, which is exactly where I am 30 minutes later. Sitting upright, fast asleep. Traffic is kind to me and I am only 10 minutes late for work, but there you go. Happy Tuesday.

As it happens, driving 15 hours from Wisconsin to Maryland is tiring. Who knew?

during layover today, I got a snack which made me feel ill, and I overheard the following:

totally random customer to roy rogers employee: do you love Jesus?

roy rogers employee to totally random customer (pleased): yes

totally random customer to roy rogers employee (blissfully relieved): me too!

then he looked at me and I shook my head solemnly.

THE END

p.s. My hotel room is... the best thing that ever existed. Ever. EVER. There is a kitchen. With free popcorn and cocoa and candy. There's a little sitting area with a couch and some armchairs. There's a HUGE bathroom and dressing room. And ethernet! I've never seen a thing like it, and it's 3 floors away from the rest of my family. It's like a fort, if forts had kitchens with breakfast bars.

In a recent comment to Ro's livejournal post, I claimed to fear: deep water, heights, cars going at least 20 mph over the limit, crawling bugs, pilot light ignition, housing complexes with multiple structures of the same design, singing in front of fewer than 20 people, ghosts, and the restaurant Pu Pu Hot Pot. I'd like to add one, if I may. And it's my website, so I may. Thank you.

I had an MRI on Friday, and it turns out I'm a little claustrophobic. It turns out, in fact, that being locked inside an alien-egg white tube with my arms pinned to my sides for a half hour is among my least favorite activities ever, right up there with eating Pu Pu Hot Pot take-out in the deep end of a pool in a haunted raised-ranch suburban development.

As if my eerie glowing plasticoffin were not disconcerting enough on its own, the MRI is louder than the wrath of Zeus. We can clone sheep and give people perfect vision with laser beams but can't figure out a way to quiet down our magnetic imaging? If Maytag can do it, I believe the medical community has the resources, and they should use them. Because the only thing worse than immobility in the tube of phosphorescent purgatory is immobility while an angry cavalry rides over you and wields chainsaws in the basic vicinity of your HEAD.

The MRI was ordered to figure out the deal with my sore back, which hurts barely at all this week. As Alanis Morrisette would say, incorrectly as usual, how ironic!

Idly watching Lord of the Rings with my mother, who says: "Why is Frito crying? Doesn't he know Gondola's a wizard?"

I am heartbroken. I believe those who voted for Bush will get what's coming to them. Unfortunately, the rest of us will also get what's coming to them. Four more years is nearly unthinkable, but equally bad: I didn't want to admit how vile our country had become. But really. Fool us twice and that's a fucking shame, or whatever the hell our commander-in-thief said. We gave Bush the thumbs-up, knowing the kind of man he is, for all the world to see. I'm so ashamed.

Okay, what the HELL? Watching tv and they're showing yet another fictional makeover that consists of popping in some contacts and letting down the ponyail. Look, she was a hottie after all, under all those glasses and hair elastics.

You know what I want to see? I want to see one goddamn tv show where they sex up the girl by putting glasses ON her.

In college, when I was merely a member of my comedy troupe and not yet the Almighty Ruler And President, I played a Bond girl in a show. I wore a red lycra dress with a rack from here to Havana -- my body was the body of a 19 year old, and I looked plenty fine, let me tell you. The director, Ross B, pulled me aside about an hour before the show. "You look great," he said, "but can you lose the glasses? The character's supposed to be sexy, you know?" It was weird, because in his personal life he gravitated toward the bespectacled. I said, "Not unless you want me to trip and break my nose. That would be considerably less sexy."

So I kept the glasses, obviously, and I got plenty of woo-woos from the audience, which I listen to on tape sometimes when I feel lonely. But I never forgot what Ross said, and I'm still waiting for the Sexy Librarian who gets to keep her glasses on.