Also

I suck. I'm a day behind, trying to catch up. Yesterday I danced for old folks, and got to look all official and stuff with a walkie talkie at the LA Zoo's Beastly Ball. Today was Father's Day and my dad (tried) to teach me to drive a stick shift. I was decent at shifting out of first to second gear, but stop signs were my downfall. Everyone in my Orthodox Jewish neighborhood must HATE me now. I don't even know how many times I stalled out the car and/or squealed around a corner. AND the battery died midway through. My dad says the battery wasn't my fault. I mostly believe him, since he spent the entire time laughing at me anyways, so I have a feeling that if I had actually killed the car, he would have had no qualms letting me know. Nonetheless, he kept telling me to "listen to the car" (kind of like Patrick Swayze telling Baby to "feel the music" in Dirty Dancing, except without dancing and you know, Patrick Swayze), that it would tell me what to do. In the movie version of my life, this would have been a series quick cuts of me stalling the car and the car jerking around a corner (kind of like the montage when Baby is trying to get the lifts right but just keeps falling in the lake) interspersed with me making apologetic faces and shrugging my shoulders at passing cars and dogwalkers; but it would have ended with me listening to the car and executing a perfect shift to first gear from a complete stop.

This did not happen.

It's official: my life is not a movie. And in other news, Clay Aiken is gay.

You know what else did not happen? Novel-writing. And there's another episode of "True Blood" tonight! But alas, it will have to wait. I have almost 4,000 words to tackle. Get your towels ready! It's about to go down!!

Also: is this not the most fantastic thing? It walks on its toes! I hung out with it at the Zoo.