KELLEY HAS DSL.

Does that imply that I'd take the time to enjoy it?
Well, I have been stuck on AccuBroadway.com.
But that's a given.
I've been granted a whole new appreciation for Stephen Sondheim since returning from New York. I can't say I understand why, but his music is reaching me in a way it never had...
So much for being a "butch theatre" girl.
After all, "that's what it's really about, isn't it?"
Time to go hit myself in the head.

THERE'S A FINE, FINE LINE.

Solo musical, anyone? (I've been trying to convince Backel not to have anyone else sing it, never once revealing that I, myself, earnestly seek to do it for Districts.)
This has been the most exhausting week since Alexander the Great liked women.
I have no stamina, yet I keep typing.
I don't feel the need to rehash my New York trip for the world to read, seeing as I'm the only one who reads this, and, well, I was there.
Too bad. It would have made a nice story.
Oh, well.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT POST THIS IS; LA, LA, LA, LA, LA.

It's something from New York. Beyond that, I have no ideas.

UNTITLED AUDIO POST, LOSER.

I'M JANET RENO, AND I APPROVE THIS MESSAGE.

I'll me making the most minor of diversions this weekend...
It's off to New York for I!
Tee hee!
Not only am I lucky enough to finally bask in the glow of Nathan Lane, God Of All Things Musical And Therefore Holy, but I will catch his final performance in The Frogs.
Sunday...Egad; I can hardly wait.
[Editor's Note: My ranting and raving, especially over Mr. Lane, would be of a much rowdier nature if it weren't for the fact that I've yet to sleep and/or participate normally as a human being this week. I'm exhausted, yet overly giddy, and truly excited over the coming week.]
[Editor's Note: And Roger Bart. Oh, gracious Lord, let us not forget Roger Bart.]
I promise to be of a much more excited demeanor as the hours roll past, and furthermore, I hope to discontinue this lag in posting. It's simply been ages since I've taken the time to sit down and write, let alone stop and think, beyond breathing, in its infinite power and glory.
I will AudioBlog, because I have Nationwide long-distance after seven.
Final note:
Nathan,
Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, break every freaking bone in your body.
And it better be an amazing Broadway show, because it's the only one I can afford to attend.

CLUB 8O'S.

How creative our Student Government Association is!
May they rot in hell...Except for the cute ones.
I have no deafening sighs of protest running through my mind when I realize that I will not attend my Senior year Homecoming dance. It's an entirely frivolous waste of my time, and I hardly prefer frantic dress shopping over life as a miserable, cat-woman-spinster, but not in the cool, Halle Berry-wearing-tights, sense.
In fact, I so overly prefer this style of living that I have decided to spend the rest of my existence in solitude. Pitman says that it's healthy. What could be more inviting than enumerated hours all at my leisure, discounted argumentation, as I would be sheltered from the rest of the fragile and moronic populace, and wholly developmental growth time, in the sense that I could take my weary hours of freedom and hone viable, important talents, such as keyboarding or telekinesis.
Your mouse is floating in the air right now, isn't it?
Eh, merde.
I wanted to go. Just a little bit, but still...
Ahh. I'll rehash all of these unbridled mental incompetencies at a later date, possibly lying on a couch in a session of over-priced therapy.
As long as I'm not paying for it.