Does this count as my Christmas Letter?

Hello, Culture of Doing Things.

Many thing are being done.

On Monday Dec 13, the play I wrote Santa Claus-tatrophe is being performed by the nufan ensemble in Chicago, IL.

Sweet right?

And the monologue Being Reasonable is being performed in Madison, WI with Forward Theatre at teh Overture Center for the Arts. This is cool because Christopher Durang and Beth Henley also submitted to this and got it. They only choose 12 entries.

It's like I am a famous playwright too.

word.

More Roots with Eyes

I think they might be planning something

Accidents

So yesterday I ended up naming a holiday Rollergirl team, here are their names:

Mrs. Claws

Holi-dazed

Silver Hells and her twin sister Jingle Hells

Missle Toe

Christmas Carol?

Carrots with Eyes!

I got invited to the Monster Ball and had not a thing to wear

I have been to only a few concerts. What I consider concerts are events with people/groups/bands/dancelines that I have heard of before said concert, because I know nothing about musics. I'm sure I've seen other stuff too, right? I don't know, but I am talking about stand-in-a-big-line-with-a-printed-ticket-stuff.

Concerts I have been to:

1999 Goo-Goo Dolls-I was in college and we wore black vynl jackets because that was cool. However, since everyone was hyper vigilante about people in matching jackets since the Columbine Shooting, you can figure it out.

2000 Weird Al Yankovic-Met a boyfriend there. Al wore a lot of costumes.

2007 Rob Zombie and Ozzy Osborne-It was on Halloween and I went dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, accompanied by a friend dressed as Velma. We were not threatening enough to be at that concert. At least we got to eat bacon wrapped things in a private box thing. Rob Zombie had a lot of fire. Ozzie had a foam shooting gun and almost fell down and a crew member ran out to catch him.

2008 They Might be Giants-That was at First Avenue, that means I am hip in Minneapolis

2010 Lady Gaga-That was a show. Naomi and I were so fashiony, read more by clicking this link! I went dressed like this:

Yeah, does that eyeball necklace look familiar? You're right!  Go here! And that is shiny duck tape, good eye! Who is that guy back there?

There's Naomi! Where are her pants!!!!

I don't know.

Dinosaur eyes!

Obligatory concert shots from the inside!!!!!!!!!!

There's the opening band Semi Precious Weapons. Which I want to call Fully Precious Puss-n-Boots Frankenstein.

Best Quotes from Naomi of the night:

"I feel like I need more shit in my hair."

and "Shut up! This is the plot!" as Gaga and her dancers were acting out the story line.

Pretty awesome.

Once a spaz, always a spaz

As a spaz, I never disappoint. 

 Check out me spazzing out at my mom's birthday. You can't see it but there is a plastic turkey on that cake because I insisted my Aunt put the turkey on the cake. Nothing says Happy Birthday Mom like a tiny plastic turkey.

The spazzing doesn't stop when the candles get blown out!!!

If you got here from my Tweet about Fellatio, you're going to be disappointed.

The Infamous Turkey Sandwich Story

-Because not all of you are lucky enough to see it performed. And this is only entertaining when it is performed (like fellatio) not so much when it is read (also like fellatio). So sucks to be you (is that also a fellatio joke?)

In 3^rd grade the coolest thing to do was to hate school lunch. And in 3^rd grade almost all of my class ate school lunch. So our lunchtime was filled with complaints about the food and nibbling at the side dishes. One day lunch was turkey sandwiches. Just turkey, hanging out inside a hamburger bun: turkey sandwich. The sandwich also came with a personal size packet to mayo, for your mayonais-ing pleasure.

The turkey sandwich was the most evil of all the lunches. Everyone hated the turkey sandwiches. It was as if turkey sandwich was the reason the Challenger blew up [out dated reference]. Turkey sandwich was the oppressor of the 3^rd graders. My classmates hated turkey sandwich. Stupid turkey sandwich and its diabolical sidekick mayo. Mayo: don’t even get the 3^rd graders of Lincoln elementary school started on the dastardly deeds of mayonnaise. Turkey sandwich and evil sidekick mayo.  Combined, those two were mastervillians in crime, terror and general awfulness.  The turkey sandwich deserves so much hate, because it knows what it did.

I love turkey sandwiches.  I love turkey sandwiches with mayo. Turkey sandwiches might be my reason for living. I love turkey sandwiches.

But I also love not being the target of my much cooler classmates’ rage.

But I couldn’t not eat turkey sandwich. Here was dilemma.  I remember it was like having two Heathers on my shoulder Cool Heather who says, “Everyone hates this turkey sandwich, and I shall not eat it and be a part of everyone.” And then Turkey Sandwich Heather who says, “These are delicious turkey sandwiches and even more divine if you crack open that personal-sized packet of mayo, Heather you cannot let this sandwich go to waste.”

“Heather!” Cool Heather says to Turkey Sandwich Heather, “You cannot eat this sandwich, you will be outcast, and they will know you are different. And how dare you even entertain the thought of releasing mayo in to this equation. Mayo will seal the deal of your complete uncoolness.”

“I can’t not do it.” Turkey Sandwich Heather says back to Cool Heather. “I have to eat this sandwich; it is too good, to delicious, too fleeting. I must eat”

“Nooo!” wailed my cooler side as it was shoved aside by my lust for turkey sandwich.

I reached for the sandwich. I knew it was risky, but the danger made this turkey sandwich all the better. I ripped open the mayo dispensed its fatty, whiteness upon my already very pale turkey sandwich. And I ate.

And it was awesome.

I tired to hide from my classmates, the fact I was eating the turkey sandwich, by hunching over my lunch tray, but there was no hiding such lust and passion.

I knew they were watching me. I knew it was coming One of them said, “Gross, Heather is eating it!” I was ready for this. “Yeah, I know, it’s only because I am hungry it is really gross.” I said taking more bites of the sandwich in my mouth. “It is so gross, so gross” I emphasis, putting more mayo on my sandwich, “Yeah, if I wasn’t so hungry, I wouldn’t have to eat this gross thing.”

My classmates could see right through my lie. They swiftly inched as far away from me as possible on a crowed lunch table and continued their rants on the evils of turkey sandwich and the evil that now lived in me after I indulged in such a devilish nosh, my classmates abandoned me leaving me in my own personal leper colony of turkey sandwich lovers.

I do not regret my love of turkey sandwich. I only regret not taking the uneaten sandwiches off my classmates' plates, because I was most horrified that so many delicious turkey sandwiches would go uneaten. Like music unplayed or a prayer unprayed.

I love you turkey sandwich. And now you are all this 3^rd grader has. Turkey sandwich, will you play with me a recess?

It didn’t play with me at recess that day because it was a sandwich and I had eaten it.

Damn it. 

Free flavored things I was given this week.

The week of flavored things.

Flavor thing #1.

Butter flavored lip balm from the Star Tribune booth at the MN State Fair.

Flavor thing #2.

Mint flavored condom from Courtney McClean and The Dirty Curls' Grand Ole Orgy at the Bryant Lake Bowl.

She bangs!!!

I am not going to blog about my haircut. But I totally am blogging about my haircut. I don't usually get haircuts. But I did today and I was pretty much given the haircut I have been trying my whole life to over come.

Hairdressers like to give my giant forehead bangs. I am sure they look fine but to me bangs just make me think of awkward growing-up-ness. I had the bangs that started on the center top of my head and came forward making a thick dense curtain just above my brow bone. It took me all of my seventh grade year to overcome those bangs until finally I got rid of them completely and have recovered from bangs vowed never to go back there again. I should have stopped her but I let Lushtastic cut away and away and ta-da, they are back.

Why is my arm doing that? Did I have an itch? That is my "I'd rather be riding Ginger" t-shirt. Look at those bangs!!!

And here is me 20 years ago with the same haircut:

And obviously the same sense of style. Bright colored t-shirts. And yes, my tongue still makes that weird shape.

Bangs.

What the hell is a yumberry?

Life tip #1: adding berry on the end of anything instantly makes it delicious and awesome. Example yogurt flavors, fruit juices and sports drink colors.

Look I prove it:


Weatherberries and Celestialberries:
Rainberry, windberry, snowberry, sleetberry, hailberry, sunberry, moonberry, starberry, Marsberry, cometberry, planetberry, nebulaeberry, thunderberry, fogberry, hazeberry, dawnberry, eveberry, nightberry, noonberry, orbitberry, stormberry, drizzleberry, sprinkleberry, iceberry, partlycloudyberry

Eatberries:
Noodleberry, soupberry, breadberry, tonicwaterberry, tomatoberry, lettuceberry, burgerberry, pickleberry, potatoberry, stewberry, pieberry, cakeberry, brownieberry, cookieberry, eggberry, baconberry, toastberry, roastberry, porkberry, hamberry, spamberry, bolognaberry, pimentoloafberry, crackerberry, hummusberry

Numberberries:
oneberry, twoberry, threeberry, fourberry, fiveberry, sixberry, firstberry, secondberry, TRIPLEberry, fourthberry, unoberry, millionberry, negativesevenberry, piberry, 4982berry, xequalsberry, solveforsberry, proofberry, triangleberry, sphereberry, hypotenuseberry, rightangleberry

Envelopeberries:
murderberry, immigrationberry, rapeberry, gunfightberry, abortionberry, rustnailberry, brokenneedleinarmberry, nomoreherionberry, maritimelawberry, nuclearberry, arsonberry, suicideberry, posionberry, constipationberry, rabiddogberry, thekittenwasbornwithnofaceberry, barefootandpregnantinthekitchenberry.


Berry makes everything ok.

Hugs not Bugs.

I saw a giant bug in my kitchen on Monday night. It might have been a roach. I am a clean person. cleanish. 

It scurried out from underneath my fridge (no one cleans under there). I wasn't scared. I was startled. I am not scared of bugs. Snakes, very much so. The bug ran out and parked himself against the cabinet; it was trapped between me and the wall. Instead of killing the bug, I thought "this is why I have a cat!" I picked up my cat who was conveniently laying in the kitchen window sill and used my cat as a laser pointer and pointed at the bug.  Cooper would not look at the bug. I aimed him more at the bug, "See it!" I told my cat. Cooper flopped his head to the other side, annoyed at my grip on his ribcage and the lack of floor beneath is hovering paws. "Get it!" I commanded. And the bug retreated beneath the fridge. So much for the cat. I rationalized that Cooper would be a better predator if it was a mammal, then he could smell the hot blood. Do insects have hot blood? Is my cat a vampire? He spends a lot of time in the sun. And really likes BBQ potato chips, do vampires like BBQ potato chips? I think so.

So there was a bug. So I cleaned my already(sort of) clean floor and Googled how to get rid of bugs (roaches). Borax will do it! I love Borax! Borax will also hurt my cat. I also love my cat. At least, I think it's love he moved in with me in May, so I guess we are still in the honeymoon period. He always greets me at the door, once in a while he doesn't greet me at the door. Is that the beginning of the end?

Baking soda mixed with powdered sugar will kill the bugs! I felt so diabolical as I mixed one white powder with another. Then I threw the white powder all around my fridge, like a salt circle to ward off witches, or an isolated Frigidaire snow shower. Eat the powder bug! It's not a trap.

I think I might rearrange the powder in straight lines on mirror. Just so the bug thinks its illegal to eat and therefore more desirable. 

Totally Vanity Project Blog

Excitedly distracted by the Minnesota Fringe right now. Last night I saw two shows. Speech! and Rachel Teagle Believes in Ghosts. Now I can't stop looking at the fringe sight, planning my next attacks.

I only have a ten card punch. Every year, I toy with the idea of an Ulta Pass but with a recent brand new fuel pump, the filming of a TV show, screenwriting class and other engagements, I just wouldn't make it work.

Mainly, because if an Ultra pass found its way into my hands I would see a show in every slot since I am results oriented. So to control myself, time and get other things done. I did not get an Ultra pass (but I so want one).

I know tonight I am going to St. Christopher of Financial Aid (after my appearance at Week-long Naughty-billy Hoe-down Smutty Open mic, or what ever the dirty open mic Courtney McClean and the Dirty Curls are hosting this week at Storefront-in-a-Box) and on Sat, seeing The Anton Kissbougel Technique as well as Do Not Kill Me, Killer Robots.

The Uptown Art fair is also going on in my backyard so a million people will be everywhere there too.

And I am a finalist for the TCLimerick contest which is on Sunday, but I am also performing Improv at Impro-A-Go-Go at the same time, so I just need to clone myself by Sunday.

There are more shows I am seeing. 33 and 1/3 dates, I know is one. But I can't remember the others.

This might be a really boring blogpost, but whatever you read it until the end.

Vanity!

Evil Stepmother: Because rewriting fairy tales is cliche and fun.

Stop calling me evil stepmother. That’s not my name. My name is Dorothy and the reason I don’t like Cinderella is because she is the constant whiny reminder of my husband’s infidelity. She’s his lovechild, with my sister, who’s dead from a heroin overdose that she purchased with my college fund. Yeah, I can’t say she’s my favorite thing to look at. Since it’s looking at suck.  My husband thought since it was with my sister that I would love her like one of my own since my sister and I share the same DNA. Well, thank you science, once again you’ve proven love is less smart than math.

Yes, I make her do work. She needs to learn discipline. She’s already milking the ‘half-orphan’ title she keeps calling herself. To me half orphan doesn’t seem too bad. If I were half lesbian people would just say I was drunk. Half orphan, well, I’d put her in a half-orphanage if that existed. I’m half Dutch and that’s ironic.

The Prince’s ball, the big fucking ball, No I didn’t want her to go. She’s a slut. No stepmother of a fake half-orphan is going to let her loose labia-ed daughter near an available prince. And Prince Charming? What kind of moniker is that? He is just looking for more bitches to dance behind him in a music video. Letting your slutty daughter near a man named Prince Charming is like telling her to be an intern during the Clinton Administration. (Old joke, I know but I am a frazzled mother of a half-orphan here and accurate is accurate. Fuck off.)

Oh, my daughters, yes, my husband’s other children. I love them. They were begot within the bonds of marriage and all was correct and moral and good. Until the lovechild showed up. How do you tell two little girls that they have a new sister because Aunt Mindy and Daddy shot up an eggshell full of crack and played cave waterfalls of milk. And how do you explain that yes, you are related to this girl and no not normally do families share daddies and no, I’m sorry my lesbian daughter it is not healthy to have a crush on someone that shares the same DNA as you, no matter how much science says you can’t make to four ovaries into one baby.

So Cinderella conjures up the soul of her limbo laden dead mother, puts her glass water pipes on her big toes and crashes the ball. Seduces the prince by fellating his thumb during the counter dance and then running away to meet her dealer and losing a shoe.  

Next thing I know, Prince “Wanna writhe on top of my BMW while I rap about tits?” shows up at our door with her fucking glass pipe shoe. My daughters and I make a show about trying them on and making them not fit so he will leave and never come back to make our little half-orphan slut-bag a video vixen. Well, little grunge goddess herself stumbles out of her hangover nap to jam her big toe in the top of pipe and proclaim that it fits.

Prince Charming is so distracted by her open bathrobe and roughly shaven pussy that he agrees and marries her.  Cinderella doesn’t move out of the house in to the castle because Prince Charming and Prince Charming’s Ex are still ‘figuring things out.”

If that makes me evil, then fuck it.

News

Congress returns to a full plate in another attempt to going the clean plate club.

From A to Zebra: 30 days wrap-up

30 Days of Creativity is done! And I did it all 30 days of June. I am just waiting for the parade to be thrown. I know it is being planned so secretly.

Here is the last few things I did:

Day 27:

The Short Story that makes people ask if it is real!

Day 28:

last minute Post-It art.

Day 29:

This was one of my favorite and most last minute creations. 

Day 30:

Crazy, kaleidoscope zebra! 

Popularity Index

I periodically Google myself to see how my goal of becoming the top Heather Meyer search is going. Stilling finding myself in a room of other me s. I searched my name and Zombie Sweater.






I found my film on these websites:

http://www.frequency.com/video/zombie-sweater/96321

http://www.nailseacourt.com/index.php?key=heather+meyer

http://videos.wittysparks.com/id/1985673868

http://trendingtopicsblog.com/entertainment/zombie-sweater/

I have no idea what these websites are, but they seem to be something that happens to famous people. 

I am well on my way. 

I think this is the first short story I've written since high school.

I think this is a short story. I don't remember, I haven't been in high school English class in a while. 

Lather, Rinse, Umbrella Drinks.

By

Heather Meyer

            He turns to me and asks,” Have you seen this one Family Guy…”

            “I hate it when you start sentences like that.” I interrupt. No, I wasn’t supposed to fall for an improv actor. Especially not an improv actor on a cruise ship. 

            I had seen him perform. The show was fun because jokes about seasickness and buffets are always topical; at least they were topical on a cruise. Later, he was teaching an intro to improv class in the Stardream Lounge.

             To the class, I deliberately wore a bright sundress to distract from the minefield of inflamed acne that had erupted on my back. He was friendly, funny and fleshy. He had an unparalleled smile, meaning his teeth were not parallel, that they were a bit askew. As the class finished and the ships’ elders dispersed, he said to me, “You look young and fun.”             “And you are husky and observant,” I answer back baiting him with a smile. He returned the grin with his lips stretching around his two rows of linearly challenged teeth.

             In lounge chairs on the Lido deck, we exchanged the predictable autobiographical details. Then we found ourselves, correction, found myself whipping out my ship card to purchase two rum concoctions in bright pink cups festooned with umbrellas and pineapples. My bacne was starting to itch from the sun, but I refused to scratch it to avoid an incident with pus and blood so soon in a date.

            One fruit-lined rum drink lead to another and then to five, now that I was ambitious, I leaned forward to kiss him but ended up grazing his cheek in a drive-by snogging.  “Follow me,” he said so clichéd-ly with a wink that almost distracted me from his rickety pirate teeth. He walked toward the elevators. “Not in the elevators!” I whisper in a sudden display of conservatism. “We’ll take the stairs,” he answered again with that wink that I was starting to think might be a facial tick.

            In the movies, we would have slid laughingly down the banisters together. In reality, my fruity rum buzz and lust for mediocre comedy were waning with every series of endless stairs. So many staircases, I regretted my prudishness towards the elevators, at least then the zits on my back wouldn’t have been flaring up from the sweat. We finally reached the last stair, the last stair on the ship; there was no further down we could go.  I felt like I was on the bottom of the ocean, and yet I was still somehow on a cruise ship. We had reached his cabin. Yes, cabins on cruise ships are small, but this was a water closet. There were four beds, two on the floor, two lofted and eight inches separating them.

            “Are we at camp?” I ask.           

            “If by camp you mean Poseidon’s sex dungeon,” He improvises so wittily. Then, his distorted dentals were at me. Soon my lips grew tired of dodging Stonehenge and since I was already on the bed and my sundress was on floor we move toward deeper waters. He explored my coastline and I discovered his mast was just as crooked as his smile.

            Afterwards and after-glowing he rubs his hand on my back as if to read the Braille that was my bacne asked what my sign was. It was such a retro question, I wondered if the tidal pool betwixt my legs had become a time warp. I looked over at him and he just smiled his imprecise, boulder toothed smile and replied, “Have you seen this one Family Guy…?”

Who's on the table? The Cast of Condiments.

Salt and Pepper: Super gay

Sugar: Girl next door

Sweet and Lo: Slut!

Equal: Lesbian

Ketchup: It's not a party with out Ketchup!

Splenda: Porn Star hot, created in a lab or on an operating table. Incredibly attractive. Hates

A-1: Super man (not like the hero, just really manly)

Tabasco: depressed, like that blue mule from Winne-the-Pooh

Mustard: Who invited Mustard? He never showers.

Coffee Creamers: That annoying clique of unattractive yet really made-up girls

Even more validation Day 23 and Day 24

Yes! My pic from yesterday is a highlight. Looks like I am on the awesomeness radar now!

I took this photo yesterday while waiting for a table at Carson's in Chicago. I was tired and lazy from huge airport delay at MPS that morning then a sprint from back of cab to instant onstage comedy.

It's a cool ceiling light. I wanted to see if each of the light arms bent any which way but I was on the floor and it was on the ceiling.

This is the creativity for today:

Art. 

VALIDATION!!!!!

After faithfully creating something everyday and writing yesterday's long photo/blog post detailing my highlight reel ambitions....today on the 22nd day, I have become a highlight!!! Dreams really do come true.

My creation from yesterday made it on the highlights for June 21st!

I was here. Uptown Cafeteria and Support Group and it is as cool as it seems but there is a patio and $5 martinis (that are more like lemonade in a triangle glass). I ordered a Monte Cristo, to which the waitress said, "That's a bold choice," forcing me to up the ante (reminiscent of this not the crush part, the underestimation of me by waitstaff)  and order fries along with it. Bring on the fried-ness. My heart attack will be worth it.


I am taking full credit for this creation even through other people were there. (And I spent much of my time eavesdropping on the blind date behind me) Steph tried to put a ray gun (fried bit of Monte Cristo) on one of the guys but it fell off. Alex helped too somehow but I don't remember how. Mary moved one of the guys into place, so I guess she was like a choreographer. Michaela did stuff too but I mainly remember myself bossing her around to move the silverware out of the photo.

Here is what I made today.

(It's sideways, just move your computer, dummy)

Really pushing at the highlight reel again. Once is never enough, obviously (Naomi's been up there at least three times!)


There were a lot of links in this blog post. Good work at stating the obvious, Heather.

And a lot of name-dropping happened here, that is if my friends were famous.
(But Sven Sundgaard was there wearing a bright orange workout jersey and being all short and pseudo-famous.)

Days 21-11 of 30 Days of Creativity! And my obsession about the highlight reel.

Here's what's been up:    This was yesterday's (day 20) creation.

I was in Chicago and this looks all types of artsy/photography-y. But my real creativity was un-photographable ability to eat a fig in a blanket. Yes, fig not pig.

Moving along backwards: Day 19

We tried to put the cat in a tu-tu but he was much to masculine

Day 18: Silly Putty

I was lazy but thought Silly Putty would appeal to the geeks and get my stuff of the 30 Days of Creativity Highlight Slideshow

Day 17:

Easy way out.

Day 16: 

Origami Jumping Frog! Out of someone's business card, sorry Metro Sound and Lighting

Day 15: 

I saved a pigeon. Don't worry there will be a blog about it later. Took it to rehab.

Day 14:

TV sitcom pitch: Short Attention Dan and Manta Ray O'Conner. He's little and affectionate, she's a supreme court fish.

Day 13:

Beans and plastic fish (Why was this not on the highlight reel? Combining foods and non-foods is always spectacular!)

Day 12: 

Totally lazy and sick of not being on the highlight reel, I take the easy and pretentious route.

It is the shadow of a bowl on my table. 

Day 11:

Again, really lazy and busy, I tried to make something smart enough to be on the highlight reel. 

Purity Rings, Class Rings, Engagement Rings, Wedding Rings...now Single Rings?

Here's I what I have to say about that.

Geisha Dates at the Airport

I am not a geisha but I am pretty sure men at the airport think so.

First example:

Me sitting by myself trying to figure out my smart phone. A man in uniform enters, I think, "I am annoyed at you for wearing your uniform." I glance down the sparsely populated gate area at people on laptops and the instant I have the thought, "I wonder if people ever meet in airports anymore since we all have screens to keep us company," uniform man sits right next to me, with only my carry on separated us (since is was on the seat next to me and I was on the aisle.). Then he starts talking to me. He says something about my bag and keeps talking. And talking to me. He is 32, a doctor in the army and Jewish. He also has poor teeth, a slight beer belly and has missed his flight because of being drunk by himself in New Orleans at a bar called the Dungeon.

I realize he is using me for my conversation. I am not geisha.

He talks to me for hours. I know everything about him. Except his name but on his uniform is said 'Ritch". He raw away from home, blah, blah, blah. I my Larry King on and I just keep asking questions about his life. He does not inquire about me at all even after he mentions that he loves aquariums and I insert how I used to work at an aquarium. I would think that would be a great opening to learn about the pretty girl that you are using to conversationally entertain you while you wait for your standby opening on the New Mexico flight. But no, more about him. That is when I have realized I am entertainment. Free attention of an attractive young woman at the airport is what it was. I was not impressed with his doctoring because he was not attractive nor funny. But yet he kept talking to me.

I could have stopped talking and pretended I had important things to do but I am not a liar and I also have a four hour wait at the airport. And I had the secret audience of my brother sitting in the gate row in front of me, eavesdropping but not saving me from the conversation.

So he kept talking, finally, he left after I was witness three hours of a oral autobiography's.

I am not a geisha. They get paid to entertain like that.

Then there was another time, but we were seatmates on the plane and that was a lot more fun and attractive. It was fine being the geisha for that (because he was more attractive and funny) (and we kept in touch.)

Lesson learned: Geisha Heather accepts money or in lieu of cash will accept hours of attractiveness and humor.

And I am flying to Chicago twice next week, so hopefully I'll get more attractive funny patrons. 

Day 10: 30 days of, you know, so here's the truth.

Today I did this:

Like a overweight football fan I painted my eye. Not to support a team with my fleshy brightly hued body, but to be creative for 30 Days of Creativity.

No, that's a lie. I did it not just for the innocent soul of creativity but to try to get listed as a highlight on 30 Days of Creativity. Everyday the website lists about 15-20 'highlights' of the previous day. Everyday I look for mine and so far, nothing. I want to be a highlight. I want the attention and recognition that the weird stuff I make is something too. (Look, insecurity, the mask slips, I am a honest person! Awards all around!!!). I like being noticed (see this self-centered blog post.

I like attention. I know it. I have a Twitter account and a blog. 

So I painted myself. For attention.

The photo above is sort of artsy, I thought people might think I took a photo of a dancer before an emotional emoting movement piece.

But it's my eye

and below my eye was a dinosaur.

 

Sad, weird clown am I.

ROAR!!!

The 'est' in the room.

I hate the 'est' in the room. The smartest, the shortest, the tallest, the whitest, the blackest, the clumsiest, the fattest, the thinnest, the youngest, the oldest, the dumbest, the girliest, the manliest, the meanest,the most average-est, the richest, the poorest, the honest(est), the funniest, the serious-est and forever.

Why? Why do I hate them?

Well, look.

Welcome to the Party

A short play.

By Heather Meyer

The Most Average-est:
Hi Bingo, how are you? This birthday party smells weird.

The Shortest:
Oh, I know I can barely see over everyone's crotch so imagine the smell I am smelling. I wish I could blow my nose but I can't reach the tissues.

Smartest Person:
The reason the smell is so thick in this room is because the cake has been baked with feces folded in to the frosting, I can tell because I had a book published about my hometown once.

Girliest Person:
It smells like sparkles. I like sparkles. Oh pink. I am such a girl.

Fattest Person:
Hey, here I am, tons of fun is here!

The Honest(est):
You're obese and you are making the smell worse. I am just being honest.

(The Fattest punches the Honest(est))

The Manliest:
Oh! Right cross, nice do you work out? What about the MMA fight last night? I kept thinking about it as I was parking my monster truck on top of some pussies(men not cats or lady bits) outside the fighting cage this morning.

The Fattest:
I would but I am too fat to ride horses so I can't work out.

The Most Average-est:
(to The Honest(est) who is still on the floor bleeding)
Are you alright?

(The Clumsiest trips over the fallen The Honest(est))

The Honest(est):
Ouch! I am already bleeding and I don't have health insurance.

The Smartest:
According to the new health care reform you will get fined for that, I know because I had a paperback book about my hometown published ten years ago.

The Clumsiest:
Oops! My bad! I am so clumsy! That is why I can't have nice things.

The Honest(est):
Or nice friends.

The Meanest:
(Pointing at The Honest(est))
Bitch!
(Pointing at The Clumsiest)
Stumpy whore leg!

The End.

Sometimes I email myself notes and find them a year later

That Movie with the blue guy, Watchmen.

So what is with Dr. Manhattan's underpants? Why does he where them when he is quite
comfortable naked or when wanting to appear decent he wears the suit. Why the
underpants? Fleeting modesty? Or does he crave support sometimes? Just sometimes
though.

I'm glad I didn't have to see his parts when he was huge. That is like Clifford the
Big Blue Dong. Not nearly has helpful but as comical as the orginal Clifford.

Day 8: Ninosaur

Beware the Ninosaur!

Blogging about a blog

This blog, New Dress a Day is brilliant. The author, Marisa, inspired by the movie Julie & Julia (which inspires me to hope that this blog will also be a movie filled with a Oscar winner and nominnee), challenged herself to not buy any new clothes the entire year. Instead she gave herself a budget of $365 to spend on only thrift store duds that she then rehashes and slashes in to brand new awesomeness!

These are the type of things I want to pretend to be able to make. I am so excited someone is realizing my dream for me!!!

Look at her go!

Day 7:Creativity: Things in Wigs

A wig on stuff.