I Can't Spell That Word

At some point in college the phrase "Goin' to Indiana" became a euphemism for "Booty Call." I guess someone had one of those fake Canadian girlfriend things going on except she was in Indiana so we made a short hop and there conclusions were (name that TV show). I don't know that many, if any, of my college cabal read here but in case they do I want to make aboslutely sure we're clear that I'm not talking about that kind of trip!

I am going to Indiana, though. I'm going to Indiana to act, just act, for a whole week at the beginning of December. Which, at this juncture, might be even more satisfying than the other meaning of the phrase.

Might.

We'll do two one-acts, my dating play and another similar one. My good friend, Peter Weekly, will direct and a friend of his from DC will be my onstage partner. I'm petrified. I'm excited. I'm blase. I am woman, you know hear me...something.

Hard on the heels of this offer came some hoopla over some language I wrote on the internet. So much of the hoop and then a huge heaping helping of the la that my excitement for anything from brushing my teeth to performing at Carnegie Hall has been sapped. So, for the record, I am really glad to be going to Indiana, I'm just recovering from going to the Golden Gloves over one, four-letter word, so it'll be a while before you can read any expression on my face.

I thought you ought to know I was going, though.