Oscars and the Grouch

Let’s start with me giving my opinion on every winner, loser and honouree at the Academy Awards…

Just kidding.

I only saw glimpses of it with no sound on. My only comment is that Renee Zellwegger has two black holes where her eyes should be and a scarily skeletal frame. She should be fighting He-Man somewhere, not starring in dramatic roles… as a woman.

Let’s just talk about me. Even though technically this blog involved no speaking on my part or yours.

I’ve had the busiest few days of my life. So busy, I didn’t even get to see the STM musical for the first time since they began. I tried, but it was impossible.

Thursday I drove to the North Shore for my job as Stella the Safety Skunk. For those of you who don’t know (which is mostly everyone), I drive to schools around the province and dress up as a six-foot skunk to get kids to stop smashing their own and each others’ heads open all over the place.

Don’t see the connection between a skunk and reckless behaviour? You’re the only one and should feel inferior because it’s very, very obvious.

The job is actually pretty cushy. Depending on how long I have to drive to get to the destination schools, I could make a couple hundred bucks for only about an hour of actual work with children.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t think that.

It’s true, I was in an elementary school with French children pawing at me like a six-foot animal, which sounds awful. Especially considering I dislike speaking to children, and I dislike speaking in French.

Luckily, Stella doesn’t speak – to children, in French, or in any other capacity. I love a job where not only do I not have to speak to people, but I’m encouraged to outright ignore them.

All weekend was Red and Black rehearsals, then the show Sunday night.

This one band (Adam and Dave… which I think sounds like Adam and Eve) showed up on Saturday, even though they hadn’t been to any other rehearsal.

They were the living end though, so no one really minded that we’d been working our asses off while they waltz in the day before the show. Except the organizers. Adam and Dave’s smartass attitude only added to their annoyance originally caused by questionable work ethic. But that just added to my personal amusement.

Sunday we moved into the playhouse. That was classy as hell. Lounging in a greenroom all day, waiting for our time to go on stage. All we needed were some fruit trays, booze and bottled water (No Dasani).

The show went swimmingly. People seemed to really dig it.

The after party went hilariously. I really dug it.

The after-after-party went nicely. I dug that as well.

“Yo, Liz Lemon, you goin’ to the after-after-after-after-party?”

I didn’t have that many afters. Though come to think of it, who’s to say I’m not at my own after-after-after-after-party right now.

My whole life is an after-after-after-after-party!

Alright, clearly I’m tired. I haven’t slept adequately in days, and won’t be able to for days more. And I didn’t read my James Joyce short story like I was supposed to, which means in Irish Lit tomorrow I’m going to feel uncomfortable, cranky and hope against hope he doesn’t call on me to read aloud like we’re in the 6th grade.