And every time I become ecstatic, I, being the incredibly lame domestic (say it with me now..."WHAT THE HELL IS A DOMESTIC?"...thank you) I am, immediatly hop on Ye Olde Diaryland to update this piece of crap.

So anyway, now you know that I'm ecstatic and that I'm a loser. Why do I keep reiterating this?

I went online yesterday to see if by some miracle I could buy tickets for "Cats", which is coming to the Saenger Theatre in the very near future. It's nearly impossible to get tickets, but (ssshhh...) I know the house manager of the theatre and sometimes he can give me free tickets.

Are you catching on yet? Huh? Huh?!?

"Yeah, I am...free tickets! Hooray!" you say.

Actually...uh, no.

You see, the guy I know...he's not that cool. At least, not cool enough to give me free tickets to "Cats". Cool enough for tickets to "Seussical the Musical", but not "Cats".

I don't get it.

So...I go online and try to buy some tickets, figuring that it's all in vain anyway.

But lo! I see that there are tickets available! Oh joy! Oh rapture!

".....Nosebleed, right?" you say.

How dare you doubt my ability to maniulate the system! Of course not, Doubtre! (That's my made-up English word for "doubter". I'm going through this phase where I must Anglicize {?} everything by reversing the 'e' and the 'r'.)

I someway finagled my way down to the floor. Not the back part of the floor, either. By the orchestra.

Yeah, buddy. Orchestra's the shiznit.

I love that place, I really do. I go there whenever the oppoutunity arises. But I guess I have that look about me, because out-of-towners always ask me if I know where so-and-so is.

"Excuse me, where's the bathroom?"

"Down the hall to the right."

"Can you tell me where my seat is?"

"Um..in the second balcony I think."

"Can you tell me the life history of Alex Trebek?"

"He had a moustache and now he doesn't."

"Oh, can you tell me how to get to Bourbon Street?"

"You know where the Ursaline Convent is? Go there, it's right across the street."

"So...take a left at the nun-house?"

"....Yeah."

"Great. Thanks."

"No problem. Now go away before I become a tourist magnet."

That's the one of the hassles of living in a metropolis.

---------------------------------------------

Like I said before, it's so much more easy now that you know where I live so I don't have to say things like Ye Olde Big Theatre as a sorry excuse for the Saenger. But anyway. It's not like I'm going to attract the Baton Rouge serial killer all the way from across the Causeway. I doubt he would go through all that trouble.

Oh, and if I say things like, "I'm going to Starbucks".....you'll never find me. There's a Starbucks on every corner and they all look different. Some look like colonial houses, other like England flats, some like moonhomes. It's really weird, I still am figuring out which is which.

Okay, well, I have to go do more homework. Meet me at Starbucks.

© alexa

The counter keeps breaking and pissing me off, so NO MORE COUNTER! Mwahaha!