I'm bored.

So this week we started rehearsal for a show that's going to New York. On Monday, we had an intense day physically, which meant that my hip hurt like a BITCH on Tuesday (because I'm old). It was really stiff, and I had a super pimp-limp all day. Anyway, I was running to get back to a movie (I had to pee in the middle of it), and my hip gave out... which means I rolled my ankle. Now, my hip doesn't hurt but my FUCKING ANKLE IS KILLING ME, which is making me pouty and whiny. Not attractive.

I haven't been able to do much today over than RICE my ankle. What's RICE? Rest, ice, compression, and elevation. I'd never heard of it either, until I Googled "rolled ankle" to see if I could do anything other than ice it. Thanks, internet! You're the best friend a girl can have. Diamonds are too mean, in my opinion.

I could have worked on many things that involve me sitting on my ass with my computer, but instead, I did nothing. So it's my own damn fault that I'm bored, and blogging about it. Man... this might be the boringest blogsby I've ever blogged. Blog. BLOG. Blog is a dumb-ass word. Blogsby might be dumber, but it's a close race. (WOAH, what if, like, Nascar had 2 cars, one named Blog and one named Blogsby, and they raced each other? I bet that wouldn't be very interesting. OOH! What if it were llamas instead of race cars? That'd be fun. I'd watch the shit out of that.)

[poop break]

You know what I hate? I fucking hate when I STRONGLY feel like I have to poop, and then I go to the bathroom, but I can't poop. I HATE IT. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE. SO MUCH HATE. And NOW I feel like I have to poop again (I'm off the toilet AND I didn't poop the first time), but I'm not going back into that bathroom until I'm literally about to POOP MY FUCKING PANTS. Stupid digestive system. (I'd like to take a moment here to apologize to Zane Harris, in case he happens to read this.)

Okay, so there's this lady who is, like, in EVERY commercial right now. I tried to Google "woman who is in lots of commercials," but that didn't work. You know what, internet? You're supposed to work all the time. NOT just when I need to fix my rolled ankle. I'M SO DISAPPOINTED IN YOU. You're like that baby I threw into a dumpster when I was drunk at the prom, and then it grew up into a genius who got a law degree when he was, like, 12, and then he sued me for "dumpster-birthing." Did you know that was a thing? I TOTALLY DIDN'T. Thanks, dumpster-baby lawyer, for RUINING MY LIFE. Just like the internet did. (Just kids, that totally didn't happen. I don't think. Whatever happened to that little dumpster-baby? I hope it's a hobo. Hobos are awesome.)

Anyway, this lady. She's Jack's wife in the Jack in the Box commercials, she talks to some dude on a couch in the Rooms to Go commercials, and she's recently been added to the E-surance commercials... and I'm almost positive she's in one or two other commercials too, but I haven't seen those recently. WHO IS SHE? Why won't the internet tell meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee? It's upsetting to me. AND when I see one of her commercials with someone else in the room, they don't recognize her from other commercials. UGH.

AHMAGAHAHMAHGAHAHMAHGAH. So I wanted to find the videos to show y'all, and I Googled "jack in the box commercial wife," and I FUCKING FOUND HER. Her name is Gillian Vigman. GILLIAN VIGMAN, YOU GUYS. I figured it out. Or rather, the internet did. YAY INTERNET! (I'm sorry I called you a dumpster-baby lawyer. That was mean of me.) She's actually been in a lot of shit, although I can't find anything about the commercials she's in. Well... that's not true. But I can't find anything about the commercials I CARE about. Ah well.

I made up "ah mah gah," and I just realized that having that many "h"s are kind of annoying. Ugh. I don't like looking at all those "AHMAHGAH"s up there. And I'm doing it again. I'm the WORST. Also, I want to start saying/writing "uch" instead of "ugh." It seems it's a more intense "ugh." DUDE, SO MANY QUOTATION MARKS. I hate everything I'm doing right now. I should stop doing all of it. Uch. (See? It works.)

It kinda bothers me more people aren't interested in inviting me places. And... I was gonna go on a diatribe about it, but it all sounded whiny in my head, so I stopped. Hey, friends: if you SAY you wanna hang out with me (or that you miss me), contact me and we'll hang out! It's that easy. If you don't wanna hang out with me, stop saying it to me. It's mean.

My foot is numb. Oooh, what if I AMPUTATED it? That would be a bad idea. But then I could attach a robot wheel to it (like Tracy Jordan in 30 Rock, with his diabetes), and that would be awesome. If I got to be a HUGE theatre director, I could train myself to wheel up thisclose to someone's face if they got mouthy with me. That would be a bad ASS idea. Ew, that looks weird, like it's an ass idea that's bad. I don't know what I'm saying anymore. Maybe I should go to sleep.

But seriously... ROBOT WHEEL FOOT.