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Please listen to this as you read this post. It will help you get in the mood.

I know I haven't written all week. It's only Monday. I mean I haven't written since last week. Oh hell, I'm going back to bed. I have suddenly reached critical mass, the tipping point, whatever it is, I'm broken. Officially. I have successfully piled too much on my plate, and now I'm full, and I can't take another bite, but guess what, there are six more courses. The sad part of this statement is that I don't have a job. Not really. Not a job job, where you get up in the morning, and have to put on clothes that convince your coworkers that you are not a hobo or a schizophrenic. I do have to go to auditions, and from time to time, report to a set at some ungodly hour, but that's only like ten times a year. So how did I end up this Monday in February, deeply in need of a nap, vacation, bubble bath, lobotomy? I blame apple computers. We have four of them. FOUR OF THEM. Not including the iphones that we all have, including Jack. NO, I did not go buy my two year old an iphone. He has my old one that we loaded up with kids games, and movies, and he knows how to navigate youtube to find his favorite videos, because he was born in the future. 

There is no way to escape information in this house. I can't dodge an email, or a phone call, or a text message, or the huffington post, or etsy, or my bank account, or that pre-school that we're looking into, or that rug on anthropologie.com, or my blog, or other people's blogs, or taking pictures, or playing monopoly, or watching this really funny video that my husband's sister's mother in law's gynecologist posted, or FACEBOOK. All of these things are unavoidable because of the multitude of apple computers at hand in this house. And now it looks like we might be getting another one, because none of the FOUR that we have has a fast enough processor to handle the video files from my new camera. WHAT THE F*#K! When did this happen? Can Steve Jobs just install the chip in my head and get it over with? I want that new mac smell right in my very own body. 

I've been guest blogging on a site called photocinenews.com. You can read those posts here and here. I'm working on shooting a parody of a Lady Gaga music video. As in, I got this idea one night while standing in the kitchen, so I wrote some new lyrics to one of her songs, handed it over to Cleo's mommy, who I thought would record the lyrics over a karaoke version of the song. Nope, she and the uber talented sound engineer for their band remixed the whole thing so it sounds like oh I don't know, LADY GAGA is singing it. Sadie offered up her backyard for the shoot, and her dance skills. Uhm. Pressure on.

I've been making props, glitter gluing Barbie dolls, making macaroni face masks, figuring out costumes, making shot lists, thinking about getting SAG contracts, choreographing some dance moves (DUDES, this is not going to be pretty), and learning how to use the camera. I just threw that last one in last because if I can't use the camera, none of the rest of this will matter. It should be number one on the list. But I have some kind of genetic abnormality that causes me to wait until the last possible minute, when the pressure to perform is so intense my eyeballs are bugging out of their sockets. Then I sit down and cram. Not really the best way to learn, and I'm hoping I can steer Jack towards some better study skills. Do as I say, not as I do Buttercup.

I've been trying to get some of the home projects done. The bathroom painting I know, is a big joke. I think we are coming up on the half year anniversary of the whole paint pen fiasco. Maybe it'll never be finished. It's the potty of shame. It's also the only working toilet in this house. The upstairs toilet will only flush water. If you put so much as three sheets of toilet paper in it, it clogs. Our handyman Roberto came over to fix it, and $100 later, it doesn't flush any better, but it now sprays water on you when you flush it, which sort of makes it like a poor man's bidet.

The pink man cave/craft room/office has indeed brought a great deal of satisfaction in it's fledgling stages, but it's also caused all manner of strife and indecision. The rug I ordered from Overstock.com turned out to be revolting. As soon as I took it out the packaging, I knew it, but I was paralyzed by the thought of navigating returning a rug through the mail. Turns out it was easy as pie, so kudos to overstock.com for not making me want to take an entire bottle of xanax. And kudos to Brenda, our nanny, who this morning without hesitation told me the rug was ugly and she hated it. Thank you Brenda, I was trapped in a procrastination spiral that was sure to last until the last possible day before I could return the thing, followed by cursing and some pinot noir, a handful of m&ms and a xanax.

I mentioned I was doing Nipper's cousin's wife's biggest loser challenge. Thanks again to the damn interwebs and apple computer, I'm now engaged in a long distance shame game, whereby if I don't drop this last 5 pounds in the next 4 weeks, it's not just me I'm lying to about unbuttoning my pants while I drive. I was going to go to the gym this morning, but Roberto called me and said he could take out the window to remove the couch from Jack's room to put in the pink man cave. I waited around for him, and ate the leftovers from Hattie's birthday cake. Did I mention I spent 10 hours on Saturday licking frosting and batter off my fingers while making a Minnie Mouse cake for Sadie's daughter's 3rd birthday? Oink oink.

I wore big orange rubber gloves to mix the black food coloring into the fondant. Good thing too, because I had to throw them out when I was done. A million manicures wouldn't get that ink out of my cuticles.

This afternoon, at an audition I ran into another actor who's putting together a show of women doing 5-10 minutes as their mothers. I'm in. Wait, did I say I was in? Did I say I'd have my first draft in a few weeks. Around the same time we'll be shooting the Lady Gaga video? What is wrong with me? Has ANYONE read that ADHD article yet???

Jack moved from his crib into a big boy bed in his new room, which was our old office last week. He's fine. I'm devastated. I know it's cliched but I feel like I just brought him home from the hospital. I just heard his little cry for the first time, all sweet and raspy. I just gave him his first bath in the bathroom sink. Just said "I'm so happy to meet you, I'm your mommy". I moved the rest of his furniture out of what was "the nursery" today. I just stood there in this empty room, save his crib, and some baby toys that he's grown out of. Time is moving too quickly and I'm trying to savor all the little moments.