Morrison and I in fact live just down the road from Thaitown, Los Angeles, which features a Thai Plaza filled with restaurants and bakeries and everything you might want to suspend your disbelief and convince yourself that you are not in your life, but actually still on your honeymoon. In said plaza, newlyweds can order deep fried whole fishes and those weird little pancakes with marshmallow and corn and Chang declare to no one, ‘this is almost as good as when we were in Thailand but slightly not as good because right now we are not in Thailand but actually just in a strip mall’ and also ‘PS WE WENT TO THAILAND.’
Me as little as two years ago: “I put my email address on my blog because I really like to be able to share plays upon request, and answer questions, and in general just be very accessible as opposed to mysterious and hard to reach.” Bekah as little as two years ago, let me be the first to say, aw, that is so sweet, and you are so cute. Me today: “AHHHH MORRISON PLEASE HELP ME TAKE MY EMAIL ADDRESS OFF MY BLOG, AS MUCH AS I WOULD LOVE TO HELP EVERY THEATER STUDENT, no but really I would love that, IF I GET ONE MORE POLITE REQUEST FOR A PIECE OF MY BRAIN I AM GOING TO DIG A HOLE IN THE GROUND FOR ME TO CRAWL INTO WHILE SOBBING
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Today on what is right with America, Pizza Hut has released a pair of shoes called pie tops. They sync to your phone, you know, like shoes do, and when you press the tongue of said shoe, it connects to your phone and orders you a pizza, because it’s way too simple to just order a pizza from your phone and it’s just way more fun to lean down and press upon your shoe and make pizza happen and just know for the rest of the day that your foot summoned food. I’d really like to tell you more about them but I really must away and find said shoes in GIANT HUSBAND SIZE.
I had dinner with another Rebecca last night, and what are two Rebecca’s to discuss other than the intricacies of their own names? At some point during the 3 hour linguistic breakdown of the seven letters:
Me: I changed to B-e-k-a-h cause I just didn’t like the way B-e-c-c-a looked.
Other Rebecca: Yeah, it looks like pasta.
Me: That is exactly what it looks like!!!!
Other Rebecca: Right?
Me: YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, I HAVE NEVER HEARD ANYTHING MORE FULLY TRUE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.
Please don’t tell anyone I owe any sort of script to, but by ‘going to hotel to write’ I actually mean ‘hiding in hotel room with room service watching cheerleading competitions wishing I could go back in time and be either a strong or portable person who cheered competitively in college.’
I can remove myself from my involvement with This is Us and say with confidence that this week’s episode, Memphis, is the one of the top saddest, most beautiful episodes I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen at least ten to fifteen episodes of television. Morrison and I cried so much that Cracker literally came over just to see if we were okay. You have to watch it to get the significance of these Ducks, which are heartbreaking and breathtaking when they appear at the end, in a way that regular old ducks never quite have been. Clearly it has gone to these ducks’ heads, as they now have a TWITTER PAGE.
Very pleased to announce that we have graduated from crappy, flammable Ikea furniture to sturdy, maybe slightly less flammable, moderately priced CB2 furniture. I am also proud to announce that the bookshelf contains a great many old issues of the Babysitter’s Club, and that Morrison plays video games on the TV. ARE WE GROWN UPS YET?
This is Us had its Season 1 wrap party last night. It was a beautiful celebration for the best cast and crew there EVER WAS. A wrap party is basically a chance for everyone to come together and celebrate months of crazy hours and hard work, and to, nine times out of ten, eat dessert with the show’s names written all over it, and / or inside food jokes thematically related to episodes. My head is currently full of vodka soda and frosting and fondness and tears, so I will just leave all of these here.
At some point, I decided to stick these words at the end of the The Cake script:
END OF PLAY.
NOTE: This is the end of the play part of the play. Ideally, upon exiting the theater, the audience is surprised with an actual CAKE, waiting for them. The wonderfully terrible grocery store cake that you never let yourself eat. Ideally, everyone then stands around together, eating cake.
And I will NEVER. REGRET IT.
This special on the local Winston-Salem news last night CLAIMS to be an interview with a This is Us writer.
But it is ACTUALLY just an interview with a giant gnarled scrunched up Big Toe in a wig with facial features painted on with makeup. LIES. LIES!!!!!!!!!! GIVE US THE TRUTH.