Writing papers again…two to write tonight. Actually, last week, when I said I was writing two papers? I only wrote one of them. Which left me with three to do this week. But I actually wrote one of them already tonight. Tomorrow is my final exam for my tour guide training, so in addition to turning in my papers I also have written and practical finals. Seriously – so over being a student.

In other, much more important news…Shamrock has arrived! The Dude and Cameron welcomed their son, to be known on here as Stewie (long story), yesterday morning. So I am now officially an aunt with an absolutely adorable nephew, whom The Mom and I are already working on turning into a Yankees fan.

And today is Friday the 13th. Which has me thinking about superstitions.

In general, I don’t think of myself as superstitious. I’ve broken a couple mirrors in the past few months, but I wasn’t in fear of seven years bad luck (why would I be – my luck really can’t get much worse than it’s been for the past 2.5 years). I have no fear of black cats crossing my path – if anything, I seek them out. I step on sidewalk cracks; The Mom would be more worried if their were an adage about her knees instead of her back. I will admit, though, to avoiding walking underneath ladders (well, if it were a giant Comcast/Xfinity ladder leaning against a telephone pole, you’d avoid it, too).

And then there are theatre superstitions.

Though I will usually claim that actors are the most superstitious people out there, again, I’m not superstitious. That said, there are theatre superstitions that I will follow, if only because it’s tradition and I respect that. And then there are others that I think are just plain stupid and I don’t give a shit about them.  For example: I don’t think anything will happen to me if I were to mention the title MacBeth in a theater. But I’ll probably refer to it as The Scottish Play, anyway (loved it on the Tony Awards a few years ago, when Mary-Louise Parker was reading off the nominees for something and referred to it as The Scottish Play). On the other hand, please do wish me “Good Luck.” If you tell me to “Break a Leg,” I will probably go ahead and do so – and I mean yours. I can’t stand the phrase.

And then there are the individual superstitions…quirks…eccentricities. I once did a show with a woman who refused to allow playbills in the dressing room until intermission. I have to have my eyebrows waxed before opening night.

So yes, in general…not superstitious. I didn’t anticipate any kind of bad luck today whatsoever (in fact, I received good new about a friend this morning).

But then there’s baseball…and we’ve seen what can happen when I dare to watch a Yankees game…

And as they’re playing the BloSox this weekend, I actually can get the game. But am I going to tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing? Oh, H-E-to-the-double-L NO!

(Or maybe I will and I’ll just go outside, turn around three times, and spit)

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