Warning: this has been partially cross-posted from diaryland. Yes, I am a nerd with an online diary. Chut up!
I am now the resident Bitch Lady (actual title) of a local sketch comedy troupe that goes by the moniker 'Dancing Cock Brothers.' It seemed somehow fitting for a smutty girl like me, and I've got nothing better to do than boss around 5 guys, look for props, try to drum up some cash, and invite everyone I know to their show on the 30th (9pm at Club One; tickets only $10, bring a friend, bring a lover, bring money for BOOZE!).
Well, yeah, I could be making some fucking MONEY, but as nobody in the world who has access to cash is calling or emailing me back, I'm not sure how that's supposed to work. And the idiot who keeps harassing me about being on the masthead of my magazine just sent me a totally retarded email replying to my question about whether he had any ability to get a discount on advertising at the local paper he works for. He asked me what I wanted to advertise, and I replied 'the magazine.' He wrote back 'thanks for that pithy and non-obvious response. i meant what SPECIFICALLY...?'
Um... what specifically do I want to advertise? MY FUCKING MAGAZINE, YOU DIMWITTED MUMBLECRUST!!
I told him I had a pdf if that was what he was asking. Otherwise, he's getting a foot in the crotch next time we cross paths.
I spent most of my weekend going to lame fringe shows, drinking with two of the DCBs, and not getting fucked (mmm, yeast infection!). Now I just have to find out where the heck these guys rehearse so I can attend said rehearsal this evening. Oh! And the ConU co-op bookstore contacted me about selling the mag on consignment over there. Sounds good to me!
Note to creepy old men: do not say hi to me in the library. In fact, do not say hi to me at all. I neither know nor *want* to know you, mmmkay? Yes, my hair is blue. And pink. Please go down on yourselves in the men's bathroom now and leave me alone.
I am now the resident Bitch Lady (actual title) of a local sketch comedy troupe that goes by the moniker 'Dancing Cock Brothers.' It seemed somehow fitting for a smutty girl like me, and I've got nothing better to do than boss around 5 guys, look for props, try to drum up some cash, and invite everyone I know to their show on the 30th (9pm at Club One; tickets only $10, bring a friend, bring a lover, bring money for BOOZE!).
Well, yeah, I could be making some fucking MONEY, but as nobody in the world who has access to cash is calling or emailing me back, I'm not sure how that's supposed to work. And the idiot who keeps harassing me about being on the masthead of my magazine just sent me a totally retarded email replying to my question about whether he had any ability to get a discount on advertising at the local paper he works for. He asked me what I wanted to advertise, and I replied 'the magazine.' He wrote back 'thanks for that pithy and non-obvious response. i meant what SPECIFICALLY...?'
Um... what specifically do I want to advertise? MY FUCKING MAGAZINE, YOU DIMWITTED MUMBLECRUST!!
I told him I had a pdf if that was what he was asking. Otherwise, he's getting a foot in the crotch next time we cross paths.
I spent most of my weekend going to lame fringe shows, drinking with two of the DCBs, and not getting fucked (mmm, yeast infection!). Now I just have to find out where the heck these guys rehearse so I can attend said rehearsal this evening. Oh! And the ConU co-op bookstore contacted me about selling the mag on consignment over there. Sounds good to me!
Note to creepy old men: do not say hi to me in the library. In fact, do not say hi to me at all. I neither know nor *want* to know you, mmmkay? Yes, my hair is blue. And pink. Please go down on yourselves in the men's bathroom now and leave me alone.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
psyko514:
I wasn't actually at a show, yesterday, I just remembered. It was more of a beer tent. They screened a little recap of a few of last year's shows, including a dance show that my best friend permormed in.
tonsecret:
Am I an old man? 