REASON NUMBER SEVENTEEN MILLION FOR HATING PEOPLE:

THEY SUCK. PERIOD.

Why am I so easily disappointed in people?
It kills me that I lose respect for individuals in such a miniscule span of time, and I'm entirely sick of sitting through the whole process over and over again.
I hate this.
I hate this.

MIDNIGHT BREAKFAST=FOOD FOR THE DAY.

I find it rather disappointing when my only opportunity for food consumption is cradled in an excuse for Scary College Students to dress up as...Well...Slutty College Students.
I stopped in for five minutes, realized that I was going to find myself bored to death (no matter how many people seemed to like my "Costume"), and instead, sat at Steak-n-Shake with Michael. I had a Grilled Cheese Sandwich.
It was lovely.
Seriously, it was nice to have a real conversation with someone. It was shop talk, mind you, but it was more intelligent and interesting than most of the banter I've shared with individuals here in my short time at Flagler. Overall, good stuff.
And tomorrow (today) holds only Phyllis' class at eleven. Not that I really want to attend, but it's at least nice to know that Don Robbins is more committed to the Golf Team than to teaching Liberal Arts Math. But then again, who wouldn't be? It's freaking LIBERAL ARTS MATH, for Christ's sake!
It's nice to know that I can still hear music being played (Read: BLASTED) from three floors below. I bet a bass line like that could chip the paint off of the ceiling, shatter the Tiffany stained-glass windows, AND bring Christopher Walken as Henry Flagler out to shout, "More Naked Babies!"
I have a fever, and the only cure is-

ARROWED!!!

BECAUSE THERE'S "CRAZY" IN THE BREAKDOWN.

Why is it that everyone around me is losing it?
How is it that I am the sane, calm, and contained one? What the hell is going on?
I am immensely supportive of everyone, but it baffles me that everyone finds themselves simultaneously falling apart. Perhaps it's something in the air. Or the water. Maybe it's the fact that I don't seem to have the capacity to make logical, rational thoughts at the moment.
I've listened to so much talking and sadness and hurt emotion over the past few days that I'm amazed I've kept myself above it. I don't need to drag myself into this radical, intensive emotion that lingers over the heads of these afflicted individuals, and yet, I genuinely hope that they realize I am still here to sympathize and lend an ever-affectionate ear.
And to sit through the crazy talk.
Because that's what I'm here for.

FRIDAY NIGHT.

---Drove to Jacksonville, which was an adventure in itself. Did not die.

---Stopped at a mall of some sort (The Avenues, perhaps?) and spent $19 on a bright green corduroy jacket. Torrential rain locked us in the store for some time, but eventually, we were forced to make a break for it. Screamed our way through the streets and into The Cheesecake Factory.

---Stood, dripping, while we waited for a table. Had a fantastic meal, took ridiculous pictures, and paid far too much (as was expected).

---Godiva Chocolate Cheesecake is amazing.

---Traveled some distance (and almost died several times) to Tinsel Town and watched "Waiting." Totally worth the wait, and insanely cute, if not slightly horrifying.

---Crammed into the car and raced to Fuel, where we met some insanely cool people, took more ridiculous pictures, and allowed cute strangers to hit on Rachel, but only as we walked out the door. Managed to get picked up and carried around after we got out the door.

---Back to the dorm. Tired. Sleep. Now...

STEPHEN, I LOVE YOU.

I am madly in love with Stephen Colbert. And he's deaf in one ear.
Boo-hoo.
I adore him.

ONE OF THOSE DAYS.

I had a fellow cast member speak of today as "one of those times when everything you are sure of becomes fair game for questioning."
[Editor's Note: I took some liberty with the quote- sue my ass. And then, get over it.]
There are certainly moments when I will myself towards failure for the sake of failure. Today didn't seem to be one of them: I woke up, and I honestly started off in a reasonable manner, determined to push my way through any lingering negativity I was still facing.
But, within an hour of Wakened Glory, I was already dreading Indulgences rehearsal. It's become something I genuinely fear, simply because I feel so very displaced no matter the effort I put forward. It's the most challenging part I've ever dealt with, the largest role I've ever had (although I'd never admit it in conversation for my own vanity's sake), and I find myself with a group of people I'm thoroughly intimidated by.
With the sudden and unexpected departure of Matt Faison (Damn you, Wilma, and all the insanity you bring!), The L.H. suggested that we allow ourselves some "getting to know you" time. Reasonable, but wholly intimidating when you are a socially inept individual, such as I.
And, of course, it was. My uncomfortable silence is often interpreted as arrogance; why is that? If I had intentions of arrogance, people would certainly know about it. Nevertheless, I was provided with far more information than I ever knew or had the ambition to know about most of the individuals in the room (Although one revelation, that which I think few took for any kind of magnitude, struck me as quite sincere, and something I genuinely felt empathetic towards).
I wish I found myself comfortable around people. I wish I was exuberant, lively, and enjoyed by those I spend time with. I wish confidence came easily to me.
But it doesn't.
Which is why I sit here typing at 2:00 AM to an audience that will never care enough to read my thoughts.
I guess it's easier that way.

BECAUSE FLAT STANLEY IS AMAZING.

Jon Stewart is cool, too.

[Editor's Note: I have to admit that I am loving The Colbert Report. Maybe just Stephen Colbert. Maybe it's his "It's French, Bitch" quote. But that's not my point. It's wonderful, and that's that. The end.]

THIS IS WHY KELLEY DOESN'T TALK ON PHONES.

Because bad things happen when Blogger is just a touch-tone away.

BATTLE OF THE "BAND."

Okay, I was a bad participant.
I showed up for the last band. And then walked along the beach for roughly half an hour with Rachel.
Baaaad Kelley.
I'm making my way down to Dunedin later on today. Which should be fun.
Ugh. Math time.

FLORENCE.

I've never found myself so lost in character that I'm afraid to come up for air- what it might do to me, how I'll have to force myself to interact with the world at large.
I'm frightened.
Genuinely, truly, horribly frightened.
I want her to go away.

WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND.

Sickness, that is.
And that's all I have to say.
Bedtime.

INDULGENCES IN THE FLAGLER HAREM.

I had an interesting pseudo-chat-in-passing with Matt Faison. I sort of knew that it was bound to happen. It's difficult to avoid your director in the auditorium parking lot.
Awkward, and difficult.
I know I'm not the outward, vocal individual of the group. I understand that I'm the one that doesn't necessarily fit in. And I continually face that. And I knew that he was aware of that. I just didn't know that he seems to understand that, too.
I don't think I've ever worked with a director who felt the need to assist me in justifying my own value. I have genuinely, without deviation, felt absolutely useless among that group of people. As though everything I'm doing is wrong, every movement I make is too calculated, not calculated enough, lacking whatever it is I'm supposed to have. And it kills me.
When he walks over to me this evening, his movement as calculated as my initial avoidance from his rather compassionate air, he plants himself and questions me. Literally, boldly, honestly questions me. I, of course, have no course of action but to avoid his human emotion like the plague, mumbling something like "I'm still feeling my way around," or other such rational garbage.
He looks at me, says words that I vaguely recall (yet could recite verbatim), and puts his hand on my shoulder.
Simple.
Profound.
Meaningless? Astutely meaningful.
Still, undeniably awkward.
I hate it when people care.

[Editor's Note: "Three's Company" has to be the most senseless, crazy, time-consuming guilty pleasure. And, dammit, I miss the crap out of John Ritter.]

WHAT???!!! JB??!!!

I was channel flipping, and I caught a glimpse of Tom Cavanagh. I thought, "wow, Ed, it's good to see you on television again."
And then, someone else came onscreen.
It wasn't God, but it was very, very close.
It was James. My glorious, beautiful James.
And I was forced to leave the room for "medical reasons."
(I had to dye my hair.)
James Barbour's movie-that-never-was, "Alchemy," is playing for the first time on ABC Family this weekend. And I will be watching it OVER AND OVER again.
And I'll watch the clip of him performing "This Is The Moment" (HA!) OVER AND OVER again.

IT'S DARK.

Aggh. I hate it.

HA.

Listening to Richard Cheese. He's amazing.
Oh, yeah.
But, then again, he always has been.
Ah, repetition.

ALLIGATOR FARM.

So, while we chilled with the Gators and Crocks, I noticed the Tiki masks. And I decided that they would look really cool in some sort of movie trailer.
Little did I know that the Wedding Crashers website has a "Trailer Crashers" promo, in which you can put a photo of yourself and/or a friend into the trailer.
Needless to say, it's amazing.

Here are the two Tiki masks having fun with Chris Walken.
But, then again, who wouldn't have fun with Chris Walken?

Catch Lord Kookamunga and Chief Rublerocka in "Trailer Crashers." Seriously. Do it. NOW.

xFISHCOREx

Hmm.
I've no idea what the weekend shall hold.
Something grand, I imagine.
And my fish is amazing.
(I can't wait to find out what my roommate thinks. Ha.)