Thanks to all of you that had kind words to say after my last penned meltdown...I just wish I had read my blog comments before going to work, where I cried AGAIN. Geez. This is getting to be a bad habit.

And for those of you who didn't have kind words, I've made a list, and I'm just psycho enough these days to hunt you all down and do...something. I'll figure it out. I might cry on you and ruin your shirt. Yeah...I'll wear extra mascara and be sure to work up a good nose full of snot. You're all screwed now.

And quit twisting that last sentence, pervs.

Well, it's official. I was worried over nothing. My dance solo has now been cut from the show--under pretenses that "I don't care how good you are, I don't want to see just you dancing for 60 measures."

I bet no one ever said that to Barishnykov. Or The Star Wars Kid.

I probably should be a little offended, but I'm so relieved, that I'm conveniently forgetting to have my feelings hurt. Seriously, thank you, Deb. Now I can just focus on my acting and singing and looking cute in my fringe skirt. I've decided that I'm just going to Sharon Stone it for this production, too, and skip the dance briefs. I'm not sure if that will make you more or less likely to come to the show.

Probably less, since I've been meaning to tell you all: I'm a dude.

Alright, all this crying has made me downright silly and weird. I'm going to bed.