God, but we are dorks.
So we went back to New York this weekend. So we saw Rent again, for the second time in two months. So what, you wanna fight about it?
We didn't sit quite so near those people this time, although I did get to overhear the charming story of how a Renthead met her boyfriend? In the line? And he was a Renthead? And they've been together ever since? And they've seen the show like, way more times than you? What? No, he's not here today because he had to work? At the Gap?
I heard this from seven rows away. It's like I have a nerdsense. A very, very hypocritical nerdsense.
"Honey, your boyfriend is gay," I said to no one in particular, my voice serious and bitter from experience with boys with a deep love for musical theater, but then Jason shushed me and correctly pointed out every casting change that's been made since August, based solely on the Who's Who page in his Playbill.
"On second thought, you should probably marry him."
(More bathroom action over at the Fall Shopping Guide, written after 40 minutes of running around the hotel room going, "I need a post! I need a post! Shit!" I talk big talk about working best in a crunch, but I am really so full of crap sometimes.)