The Very Secret Diary of Meg Giry

Day 1: Christine acting very funny. Suspect she has gotten into Jammes' stash. Is wandering around muttering about voices in the night.

(Is also muttering about needing to get laid, but she's always muttering about that. For someone who's slept with three of my ex-boyfriends in a row, she sure complains a lot.)

Told her to go mutter somewhere else. Am trying to practice dance routine and she's just getting in the way.

Day 2: At three in the morning, that's right, three in the freaking morning, was woken by shriek so high-pitched, I'm surprised windows didn't break. Coming from Christine's room. Went to investigate and found her sitting on her bed, trying to look innocent. Turned on lights and looked under bed and in closet, but could not find the guy who she said made her do it. Does Christine have an imaginary boyfriend? Went back to bed and she started doing it again. Had to go back to her room and beat her with a music stand to make her stop. Don't really care if she has sex with imaginary boyfriend- what she does in her own room is her own business- but she could at least keep it down. People are trying to sleep around here!

On way back to room, found that everyone else in dormitory had been woken up too. Told them situation was under control. We will get revenge in the morning.

Day 3: Sale of opera to new managers was finally announced in the middle of rehearsal this afternoon. Waited patiently for people to stop giving speeches and start the rehearsal again. Carlotta started threatening to quit again and new managers freaked out. Offered to let her sing a solo. They plainly do not understand Carlotta language, in which "I will not sing anymore!" translates to "I want a raise." Scenery fell on her when she started to sing. Good old opera ghost. Can always count on him to make things interesting.

For some reason Mother suggested that Christine sing Carlotta's solo. Is she out of her mind? Christine can't sing.

Later that night: Okay, apparently Christine can sing. Though beats me where she learned. Tried to get it out of her after opera. She gave me some wild story about her dead father and an angel of music. Christine, what have you been smoking? Stories like that can't come true.

She MUST have gotten into Jammes' stash. Though still does not explain how she learned to sing.

Even later that night: No one knows where Christine has gone. Her little Vicomte person is hanging around moping, muttering something about his pretty hair. Jammes insists that she hasn't been giving anything to Christine. Says she smoked it all herself. Also complains of people having sex underneath her floor and keeping her awake. Am I the only one around here not on drugs!

Just found Vicomte in my closet, trying on one of my dresses. Chased him out and told him to go home. Note to self: write up a resume tomorrow and try to get a real job somewhere. Simply cannot put up with this place any longer.

Day 4: Everyone is getting mysterious notes except ME. They're all making a big fuss in the lobby about it. Christine showed up an hour ago, looking slightly confused and wearing the same clothes she was wearing last night. Doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out what she was out doing last night. Told her that the Vicomte had been waiting for her until almost one in the morning, but did she care? No, she did not. She asked me to tell Mom to tell everyone that she was resting and locked herself in her room. As if anyone really cares if she's resting or not. Went and told Mom anyway. Had nothing better to do, as had no mysterious notes myself. Hmph. Anyway there are some pretty wild rumors about Christine and the Vicomte going around. Almost fell down laughing when I heard them.

Then went back to my room and worked on my resume. In addition to dancing, I wrote that I had experience in delivering messages, which seems like all I do around here sometimes, and chaperoning, also known as going anywhere with Christine and managing to bring her back home with most of her clothes on.

If I were a company, I would hire me.

Day 5: For some reason, Christine was cast as a pageboy in Il Muto. Do not know why. Can't be because of her singing since pageboy doesn't sing. So why isn't she in the chorus? Who does the casting around here, seriously?

Carlotta croaked in the middle of one of her solos, and so WE, the friggen corps de ballet, had to save the show by putting on our costumes really really fast and running out there to do the dance we shouldn't have had to be doing for another two hours! Didn't even have time to fix my hair properly.

Then, to add insult to injury, or, if you want to be technical, injury to insult, a dead guy fell on me and threw off my groove. What the hell? Note to self: Before getting a new job, join a union. Things like this should not be allowed to happen without monetary compensation.

Last I saw of Christine, she was dragging the Vicomte up to the roof for a quickie. Hopefully he'll decide to stay up there with her instead of wandering back down into the dorms and getting into my closet again.

Day 6: Masquerade ruined by unnecessary drama. Some escapee from a sci-fi convention crased the party and ran around poking everyone with swords and trying to look down Christine's shirt. Before leaving, he brushed past me and whispered, "Meg, I am your father." Whoa. Someone's been watching Star Wars a few hundred too many times. Told him to bugger off, which he did. Smoke bomb thing totally unnecessary and party was in chaos afterward. Went back to room to sulk. Stupid freaks. Stupid Masquerade.

Cheered self up by remembering how I found Raoul in Christine's dressing room this morning trying on her dress, which he had embroidered little flowers on.

Made a few copies of resume and forged a letter of reccomendation or two. Must… Get… Out!

Day 7: Met very nice man with long coat, colorful hat, and cane, who said I could work for him! Said I wouldn't even need resume. Wonder what his business does? He seemed glad that I'd had experience in the entertainment industry. Asked if I'd ever done exotic dancing. Do not know what exotic means. Must find dictionary.

Later that day: Found dictionary. ex·ot·ic - adj. – 1.) From another part of the world; foreign: 2.) Intriguingly unusual or different; excitingly strange.

He wants strange? I could teach him a thing or two about strange. Try spending your entire life at the Paris Opera House with stoners, nymphomaniacs, and crossdressers who won't come out of the closet. That'll show you strange.

Day 8: My last day working here! Woohoo!

In uncommonly good mood. Went to Don Juan play. Got to see whoever they had playing Don Juan- Piangi, wasn't it?- propose to Christine onstage. You shoulda seen the look on her face. Then she tore off half his face, the chandelier fell on everyone, and something caught fire. V. entertaining. Almost worth ruin of opera house just getting to watch all the screaming guests.

As last gesture of friendship for Christine, distracted the bloodthirsty mob that was after her by leading them down to the underground swimming pool and declaring that it was the phantom's lair. Unfortunately turned out to actually be the phantom's lair. V. inconvenient, but explains why no one uses that pool anymore.

Ran into Christine and Raoul floating away on inflatable raft, singing insipid love songs. Told them I was running away to get a job as an exotic dancer. Raoul asked what exotic means. Got in argument with Christine, who seemed to think it involved the removal of clothing, but realized after a moment that this is Christine; she thinks everything involves the removal of clothing. Gave up and wished them good luck, yelled to the guy hiding behind the piano that the mob was gone and he could come out now, and walked out the door and into my fresh, new, uncomplicated life.

These are all I have written so far. If you want me to write more, let me know! At the moment my life is producting quite enough insanity on its own, but I'd be willing to indulge in creating a little more for the amusement of others.