inner, and somewhat disturbing, workings of my brain

So I'm in the shower shaving my legs because I have that modeling call tomorrow. I'm feeling irritable, at the thought of having to be in Brooklyn at 6 all glammed up when I know I'm just going to lock myself in the bathroom when it's over, scrub the hell out of my face and change into the men's clothes (the clothes, specifically from the Player's Club adventure, because I _need_ a Jen Zak photo of myself lookling like that). I'm whiney. I don't want to wear a dress, blah blah blah.

But I can't bag the audition, because the gig would be fun and high profile and the free tickets to the DoV festival would save a lot of money for Patty and I, an idea particularly pressing in light of the ongoing Germanic nightmare.

And then it occurs to me. It being the sign I am exhausted and should go to bed immediately. If Jack had to wear a dress to do for him and his, he'd do it and think it was hilarious. Considering I am actually, in fact, female, I need to shut my mouth, wear the dress, work the lipstick and get that damn gig tomorrow. And then yes, change my clothes with glee and haste.

I know, I know -- still owe a fencing post, but I have a headache. Tomorrow.

sundries

- Talked to Patty again! (they had the weekend off)

- New offer from me on Live Long and Marry -- critique from the perspective of a particular expertise of mine.

- Dances of Vice!

- Doing a big update on my iPod. Really need to stop being all into that Buildings and Mountains song by The Republic Tigers (what a shitty band name).

(no subject)

In my dress and it feels okay. Actually it feels hilarious. I found the heels I like, which helps. The other clothes are packed (a moment of extreme domestic oddness) and I'm forgoing an elaborate 1940s girl haristyle for the dress because the humidity has made my hair huge, tossled and sexy and I might as well use it while I can.

I am now having BPAL angst.

Buck Moon -- too young
The Hesperides -- too sweet
King of Clubs -- too heavy


Anyway. Onward.