I have burlesque class today. I looked at my calendar last night and had a little jolt as I noticed that there’s only 3 months left until the show. And then my husband pointed that I have 3 months until the show. It’s nice to have someone to throw a bucket of cold water on my neurosis. We had idea day last week and my pitch went well, although it did get a “Really? Can you pull this off?” response. Which I totally expected. Because I asked myself that, too. I know I have a bit of a Minnie Mouse thing happening. And the number is a little bit more…ahem…overt than my last one. But let me tell you, I am totally rocking it when I’m alone in my kitchen doing the dishes. Those saucers are scandalized, I tell you. I put the tap on cold and the water is heated up by the pure incendiary qualities of my shimmy. The dog has to leave the room because I’m so sexy. If I can figure out a way to work the dishes into my number, I’m all set.
In other news, Mike and I had an argument this morning because I woke up and our obese cat, Oatmeal, was sitting on my pillow. I hate when she puts her cat anus where I put my face, so of course I grumpily booted her fat ass off of it. He said that she was happy and purry on my pillow and I should let her be comfortable. I said that he should use the cat butt pillow, then. He saw my point.
Also, I was watching the Nate Berkus show while I was eating my lunch today and I started to tear up a little over a living room makeover. What is wrong with me?
That’s all for now. It feels surprisingly nice to write a diary entry, by the way. I feel like I need to go call a boy I know, giggle, and then hang up.