Sleepless Bloggery

So I’ve recently lost the ability to sleep at night.

I took this photo of myself pretending to sleep. Fake like the moon landing!

I know my nutty schedule had something big to do with it–I’m generally at work from 7 p.m. ish to 2 a.m. ish, and sometimes later than that. I’m only on air from 8 p.m. to 11 p.m. but there is prep work to be done beforehand, and afterward there is audio to be edited and there are often CDs to copy and send out to people who were guests on the show and who very much want to have evidence of themselves talking on the satellite magic radio, which I completely understand. There are also loads of emails to catch up on and guests to book and things of that nature. And I also enjoy dawdling a bit and returning personal emails and looking at the Internet. I guess I like the peace and quiet of the office at night. It’s a place with a ton of energy swirling around during the day, but at night everything quiets down.

Although there is this one gentlemen who works for a different channel who can sometimes be heard yelling, “FUCK!” at 2 a.m. I think he has technical difficulties and gets frustrated. Or maybe he just likes yelling.

Also at work, there are interesting books and toys. I get a lot of free sex toys. I give most of them away and sometimes keep one for myself. But the books are even better.

I keep meaning to email this one to Margaret Cho, who once went to a dog monastery.

That book isn’t remotely connected to the channel I work for, but it was laying about in the studio and I was psyched to see it.

The other day I auditioned for fUSE (just a short-term gig, I loves my radio job), and I looked sort of like this, I guess, while preparing for it:

I am some sort of 1960s personage.

The other day, I was delighted to finally get to meet Amanda in person. She is a rising 9th grader and she first wrote me back when the Palin vlogs were getting popular. She’s whip-smart and will probably be in charge of the NSA one day. She and her lovely mom, Simone, came to the city with the primary reason of getting to see Anne Hathaway in Shakespeare in the Park and meet her in person, and the secondary reason of having fun doing city things, and the tertiary reason of meeting me at their hotel. Which is just what we did, and Amanda wrote more cool poetry, and her mom gave me a magnificent afghan that she created herself. I want to display it properly before I photograph it.

We are thugs. Taken by Simone.

Now we are well-behaved. Taken by Simone.

The three of us. We enjoy poetry, comedy, and afghans.

Amanda got to meet La Hathaway and give her a five-page letter she’d written her. Amazing. This kid gets stuff done.

And here’s me in my brother’s hat, which I lost and must replace quite swiftly.

Sorry, Steve.

I was looking at Olivia Munn’s Playboy photos and thinking that maybe I should go on an intense diet and work out for hours each day and straighten my hair and wear makeup so that I can look like one of those shiny pretty girls. There are plenty of them to use as role models in this regard. Maybe if I worked out a lot and wore foundation and ate exactly 1200 calories a day, I could do that. There’s a part of me that kind of wants to, in weird middle-of-the-night moments. I’m not saying Olivia starves herself or has to work out a lot. Maybe she’s just got one of those bodies. I’m just saying that I would have to starve myself and work out a ton to look like she does.

But that’s not who I am. It is who Olivia is and it works for her. I have a couple of friends for whom it works, too. They are shiny pretty girls and they do TV stuff where they talk about the Events of the Day, and they do magazine stuff where they pose in their underpants, and they’re good at doing that stuff. It seems to come naturally for them, even if it doesn’t actually come naturally for them. They will have very beautiful photographs to show their grandchildren (I am totally showing my granddaughters hottie photos of myself once they’re in their teens).

Working in entertainment, I sometimes get caught up in plastic culture and think I need to get a tit lift and a nose reduction (please, reduce my ability to breathe, thanks) and straighten my hair and cause myself lots and lots of pain in order to get a flatter tummy (I doubt I could ever get it completely flat).

I recognize that most women in America (and in many many other places) also have these concerns, regardless of their career. We pick ourselves apart in photographs. For example, in the cab backseat photo above, I think my nose looks too big and my hair looks too thin. But I like the photo where I’m standing next to Amanda, because I think the t-shirt doesn’t make me look as chubby as I thought it did when I put it on.

See? Crazy. Makes no sense.

My insecurities are also nutty considering I post photos of myself in a bikini in various places as a publicity tool, to give people manboners and girlboners and to entice them to look at my videos and buy tickets to my shows, where hopefully they will heartily laugh and not pervily hit on me even though I tried to suck them in with a titillating photo. HIGHLY ILLOGICAL.

Note that the bikini bottom covers my tummy pudge. Not very Playboy of me.

Anyway, here’s a photo of me. I think I look very ugly in it, because of my clothes and hair and lack of makeup. But I seem to be happy, with my now-ex-common-law-stepcat on my lap, in my old backyard.

I think this was last summer.

Oy, I hate that fucking photo of me. But I loved, and love, that cat.

This post has nothing to do with anything and something to do with everything. At any rate, I’m going on vacation and performing in Charleston next week. Info is in the post below. I suppose that makes it a working vacation. I get uncomfortable when I don’t have any assignments. I’ll probably call my boss at least twice while I’m at the beach. I’ve got to get a script together. I have to finally get a fucking book proposal together. I have to remember what happens in my show. I think I’m doing some radio down there to promote my show.

When I originally planned this vacation, someone else was coming along, and we were just going to chill and not do work. And now he’s not coming along, and I guess I’m trying to fill the vacant space where he would have been with work. I can’t bring along a partner, so I’ll bring along a razzle-dazzle show! Doesn’t quite work out that neatly, however.

Ugh.

Emo feelingsblogging. I’ve no right to complain or fret about any of this. These are First World Problems (TM) if ever there were any.

I’m just lonely and thinking out loud.

Thanks for reading.

Best,
Sara