Whistling Dixie

Yesterday I clocked out of work, got on the elevator and was greeted by an older gentleman who took one look at me and announced - "You are such a sad lookin' little lady!". I tried to wrap my head around this, wondering if he had just correctly picked up on some super truth sprouting from my aura, or whether he was remarking on the fact that I probably resembled death after a long work day, what with my hair wadded up on top of my head and a giant hand print on the side of my face from where I had been propping myself up on my desk. As he looked at me expectantly, I realized he wanted an explanation, which I couldn't fathom giving in the four seconds we had before the doors opened and we were released into the lobby. So I just gave a half hearted chuckle and stared at the numbers lighting up as we moved down.
Four seconds! How could anyone possibly sum up all their troubles in four seconds? Oh hell, I'll give it a shot.
man: You are such a sad lookin' little lady!
me: Well sir, I've been waiting a long time to be happy.
Bam! Two seconds! Shit! What a depressing thing to say!
This is perhaps a mighty discovery. One that should encourage me to make my own happiness; a "happiness cocktail"(outside of having an actual cocktail named Happiness, which I will totally partake in if discovered). It seems downright impossible to not let those nasty life garnishes get in the way, but if I figure this out, I will be delighted to share the secret with the general public.
Moving on- I have been listening to more Gainsbourg than I care to admit. I tried to ignore her, simply because I would always imagine David Wain leaning over a cd player with her album in hand, murmuring, "How about a little... fuck music?". I mean, lets be honest. She has some tunes made for snuggling, if you will. It feels a little contrived. That being said, she's taken over my itunes. You win this round, Charlotte!
I am thoroughly excited about starting rehearsals in a few months. It may be a major ingredient in the aforementioned cocktail. Of course, after the run, I have to figure out where I am going to live, simply because I can't bear the thought of renewing my lease another year. I love Birmingham; it is one of my many homes - but it is definitely time to gypsy my way on out of here. There is a place I have my heart set on, but... well, "but" is a nasty garnish . It's the safety drink- the appletini of excuses! One that makes you continue to wait for happiness, right?
By the way, it appears that I have mouse problem. While Dobby is delighted, I am horrified. I need a humane way of getting rid of these little guys. Dobby has caught four in the past month. Four! They are cute and all, but they spend more time showing up half dead in corners, instead of helping out with chores, or staring out the window, singing at the moon. Take it to the street, mice! Take it to the street.