Fuck Girls Gone Wild. I just got a piece of spam promising Mortgage Rates Gone Wild. Now that's hott with two Ts.

Such teases, those naughty mortgage rates.

Anyway, I was gonna do a Senseless Photo Essay instead of actually wasting energy writing a real entry, but I don't feel like formatting it. Yeah, I know. You're totally upset that you won't be seeing what my hair looks like in a ponytail and a pretty spring day as witnessed from my grandmother's driveway. Heartbreaking. Totally.

I want to thank those of you who responded to my last entry. The more feedback I get regarding certain aspects of the play, the more confidence I have that I can successfully stand up for my script. I've never been put in the position where I have to defend my work and the thought of trying to convince the play dude that his suggestions will pretty much ruin the story makes my stomach fluttery.

And, yeah, I'm almost positive his comments warrant an enthusiastic dispute.

Key word, though...almost.

If anyone has a spare set of guts lying around, I could use some.

In other, much more important news, I still have not received my lacy under things.

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