March of the pantyhose penguin

(Reposted from my old blog. New blogs coming soon!)

I overslept this morning.

I was up late last night, reviewing the audition tapes.

I don't know. I'm having such a hard time narrowing it down to just a few girls. But that's all I can realistically afford.

MORE than I can afford, if you want the truth.

It's awful.

I'm having to reuse coffee filters.

I'm relying on Popeye's Tuesday night 99-cent two-piece chicken special to provide me my meals for the entire week. Heaven forbid they ever raise the price to a DOLLAR.

I may have to start siphoning gas soon.

That trip to Target the other night set me back big time. "Stocking up on stockings" may be the thing that ultimately drives me to bankruptcy.

Between work pantyhose and "work" pantyhose, I'm hemmorhaging money all over the place.

The damn things run the first time you put them on.

And half the ones I bought the other night are two sizes too small. I tried on a pair, and was only able to pull them up to my knees.

Ooh, sexy.

Just then, of course, the phone rang.

I had to quickly waddle across the room, penguin-style, and literally leap for the phone.

Stubbed the fuck out of my toe.

Picked up the phone on the last half-ring. Completely missed whoever the hell it was.

But that's okay, because just then my building's fire alarm went off.

I barely had time to throw on a robe and frantically waddle out the door.

I raced down the hallway, as best I could manage.

Okay, I wasn't racing so much as hopping.

And stumbling. And tripping. And falling. And scrambling back to my feet.

Followed by more hopping.

I must have looked like I was losing the potato sack race at a No Nonsense company picnic.

The best part was trying to negotiate the stairs.

Let's just say I was on the losing end of those negotiations.

I tumbled end-over-end down the staircase, banged and beaten up every inch of the way, until I collapsed in a heap on the landing.

By the time my landlord Habib found me, I was shivering in the corner, balled up in a fetal position and crying my eyes out.

And still wearing those goddamn pantyhose around my knees.

He literally carried me back to my apartment and layed me down on the couch.

He's a good guy, when he's not hounding me for back rent.

Which he did IMMEDIATELY after asking me if I was okay.

I found the strength to get up and push him out the door.

Then the phone rang again.

It was the Jehovah's Witnesses. Asking me just what the hell I'd done to the girl they sent around the other night.

I didn't have the time or energy to explain or argue.

Long story short, I now have a subscription to The Watchtower.

How the hell I'm going to pay for it, who knows...

Love you! See you all soon!