It is a weird party. I know that is easy to say, but it really is. The house apparently belongs to a bunch of theater students. And as stereotypes go, they are theater students. It isn’t simply the black clothes or the dyed hair. I know enough of those to not be phased. It is the obviously sexually confused kids, the stuffed animals, the blatant and uninhibited making out. The yelling and the inside jokes, usually set off by a quote from some show or other, which invariably leads to either several people reciting a scene or singing some song I’ve never heard before comes next.
I am jealous. I want a crew, people to feed me my lines from across the room. I only have to deliver them well. I don’t have to write them.
I want a script for my life.
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