I don't think I've mentioned how much Joe's little phone/MM conversations crack me up, so, for the record - cracked the fuck up. Yes indeed.

Anyway, meanwhile, I'm really having one of those I-Think-I'm-Starring-In-A-Crap-Sitcom kind of evenings. I can practically hear the laugh track. So having returned home after tutoring a kid after school, I got changed to go down to the gym. It was 6pm - I had time for half an hour in the gym, then jump in a shower, then jump into new clothes, then dash out and jump into a taxi with 30 mins or so to get to the 7.30 rehearsal for my play.

As I was standing outside the elevator waiting to go downstairs to the gym, listening to Hedwig-the-iPod-shuffle, a faint voice in the back of my head screamed: 'Are you sure it's 7.30?'

Hmm, I thought to myself. Hmmm, my self thought back. So I scurried back to the apartment and checked my email.

FUCK! Nope, nope, because we've got a photoshoot (for which we should be taking clothes, and I've got the clothes all set out), we're supposed to be there at 6.30 at the latest.

FUCK!

I am in no fit state to be in sexy cleavagey dress etc. At all. Fuck.

Jump into shower, frantically shave legs at a million miles an hour, jump out of shower, manage not to slip and break neck (even with the assistance of the cat), leap into new clothes, leap out of new clothes, put new clothes on again, but right way round rather than back-to-front, scoop up dress and heels and wallet and script and hurtle out of house.

Jump into Tuk Tuk.

Pray to the Traffic Gods.

Hear their hollow laughter. It is 6.15, foolish mortal, and you know fine well that the 10 minute drive you need to take will not be less than 30 mins if you are very lucky indeed, for the traffic she is PACKED.

Also, I have managed to find the only Tuk Tuk in Bangkok that likes to go slow and take it easy. "Can't we overtake illegally like they just did?" I implore my driver. Eventually he does a little bit of the driving-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-road to humour me, but mostly, not so much with the humouring.

I look at my phone.

It is 6.30 and I am still on my own street.

I make small whimpering noises.

Eventually we arrive at the place. I am only 15 minutes late, so it's not too bad. As I fly up the stairs, my phone starts ringing. "Where are you?" asks the director. "Here! I'm here! Look!" I say, waving at her through the window.

And then I spent the next 4 hours demonstrating no social skills because of the proximity of A Bloke I Fancy, (who was in a tux) and boggling at the sheer smoking hotness of the very lovely straight girl I fancy. Who was snuggled into my cleavage for half the photo shoot, and who later asked me to unzip her and help her rip off her corset and then rezip her. Um. Leaving her sans underwear in the general breast region. Um. And then there was the talk of jello wrestling.

Good GOD.

No wonder I drank vodka on an empty stomach and spent most of the rehearsal giggling like a lunatic.

Meanwhile, the Oddly Crackly Ear thing continues apace.

but when that typo turns them into Christ, it could get sticky.

Uh oh.

sj, that's fabulous! I knew you'd gotten the apartment, but I didn't realize it was SO much cheaper. Also, check Craigslist for a portable dishwasher. They have them there for SO much cheaper than buying a new one...and often they're not that old.

Hi, all. Pulling myself out from the thesis to say hi! So, hi!

Also, what is with the difficult tutoring students this semester? I have one that's about to have a nervous breakdown and one that just outright lied to me. Feh on them all.

Fay, I'm pretty sure there needs to be a sitcom about teaching whiny kids in Bangkok and acting in community theater.

We have fended off Matilda's (out of character) morning grump by playing the video for Gorillaz's "Feel Good, Inc." seven times in a row. Now we've switched to Weird Al's "White and Nerdy."

MM's phone riff is like Bob Newhart crossed with Hunter S. Thompson. Surprisingly fertile territory.

wrod. Hec, I told my dad to buy your book.

MM's phone riff is like Bob Newhart crossed with Hunter S. Thompson. Surprisingly fertile territory.

Now I'm picturing scientists trying to create a Newhart/Thompson hybrid... the first half-dozen attempts end up as horrible mutations, a la the attempts to clone Ripely in Aliens 3....

MM's phone riff is like Bob Newhart crossed with Hunter S. Thompson. Surprisingly fertile territory.

Wow. High praise, dude. I'm very nearly shocked and humbled into speechlessness.

Nearly.

Isn't Newhart, like, the anti-Thompson? So much of Newhart is based on a slightly embarrassed calm niceness, while Thompson... is from a universe that holds none of those words. Including "slightly."

wrod. Hec, I told my dad to buy your book.

Well pimped!

Wow. High praise, dude. I'm very nearly shocked and humbled into speechlessness.

I could be wrong. You might be - as Tommyrot suggests - a horrible mutation. Or possibly a brilliant mutation.

a horrible mutation. Or possibly a brilliant mutation.

Maybe sorta' like Brundlefly....

Isn't Newhart, like, the anti-Thompson?

Hence the humor! Unless you're suggesting they cancel each other out. Though you are probably ignorant of Newhart's breakthrough comedy albums which were all based on one-sided phone conversations.