It's been a weird couple of days for me. I have decided not to pursue any jobs in summer theatres this year in order to plan the wedding. It's hard enough to plan an LA wedding from Boston, but it would be even harder from a remote location with iffy cell service.
I really hate Thursdays. I got suckered into teaching an after-school class to middle schoolers. The subject: Fashion Design. Did I mention that these kids are ghetto? Well, they are. Really fucking ghetto. I had them drawing their designs on male and female forms (Barbie and Ken- style with no genitalia) -- the scenario was that these two were on a date and the kids were supposed to give them appropriate attire for the occasion -- and I see one girl, B. has not only decided to put her female in little more than some skanky lingerie, but has also errrmmm.. enhanced the woman's bust about ten cup sizes. She and her friend, M. are giggling at it, as I walk by, so I look at it, and B. says to me, "She's a prostitute!"
I grinned at her and replied, "Yes, but this is a date, so she's not working tonight."
M. looks up at me and tells me that I'm really cool.
Thank God the ghetto 6th graders think that I'm cool.
It's sad that it felt warm today even though it never even hit 50 degrees. Also, there are no good roads to cruise on here. I miss the joy of driving. I think about that, and although if you ask me about this later, I'll never admit it to you, right now, I really miss California. Even and maybe especially, Riverside. Shitty air quality, brown craggy mountains, and giant flying cockroaches aside, I actually miss it. I miss being on the verge of too warm even in the evenings from mid-April through October. I miss the smell of the orange groves on a spring evening as you're driving down Victoria Ave. I miss hanging out and drinking and smoking half the night away with good friends in the back yard, that ugly fucking Corona bottle pinata softly bouncing against the patio cover in the breeze. I think that I might miss college. Fuck. That sucks. I didn't even like the whole education part of it that much -- but I think I might miss my friends. I'll be in California for a few days the first week of April, but even now, I know that it won't be the same, that I cannot recapture the nostalgic whimsy of my college years, that I am really a grown up now with an honest-to-God day planner that's blocked out to the minute.
I'm going out there to plan my wedding. We're actually gonna do it. It's kind of exciting and scary. Talk to me more about it on the 23rd of October. I might feel differently with it behind me. Life's a funny thing, but I don't really feel like laughing right now. Right now, I just really miss home.
that is all
17.3.05
15.3.05
grumble grumble grumble
So, here's the thing: I've done the roommate thing both successfully and not before. This is sort of one of those in-between situations. Bil and I've lived together for well over a year and a half now, and we're very compatible (if not a bit... messy). And our last roommates in CA K. and P., were excellent roommates. When they weren't outright entertaining and fun, they were fighting like cats in one or the other's room, which was, in and of itself, quite amusing. We had good times for the year that we lived there with them. We survived the Spruces, the company housing over the summer. And now we're living with some of the people who we met there. They are good people. But I'm starting to think that I might not be roommate-compatible with them.
I really hate being made to feel guilty and being told what to do. Really. I hate it. And often times, I am finding myself grinding my teeth together in anger/annoyance at this. There'll be a note on the fridge: "June Cleaver: O.: you clean this part of the house. B. & D.: you clean this part of the house. We have done the rest." Well howdy-fucking-do for you! I work full time -- I logged (between two jobs) 45.5 hours last week, not including time spent planning a lesson (for Job #3 -- teaching a class on Fashion Design), commuting the 45 minutes from one job to another, trying to plan a wedding, and being sick. Really fucking sick. I'm tired. And I never cook anymore. Which brings me to my other favorite note: "We did the dishes today. Plz remember to do your dishes when you make the mess." Which would explain why, when I find this note after work periodically, in the evening, there are dirty dishes the aforementioned "we" have left in the sink. Which renders it useless unless I want to do their dishes.
The thing is, I know that we all have busy lives and such, but these notes and the notes calling for a household meeting that I see an hour before the meeting is scheduled to begin are very frustrating. They instantly put me on the defensive. They make me feel like a fuck up (which is still debatable, at this juncture).
Today I found a note scrawled on a piece of paper towel in the kitchen instructing me and/or Bil to let the neighbor's dog come up and hang out in our house until the notewriter gets home, as the neighbor, L., is out of town. This is the first that I've heard of L. going away, and I am not in the mood to play pet sitter tonight. Plus the dog scares the shit out of my cat, with whom, I would ideally like to curl up for a quiet evening. If the roomies have taken on the responsibility of taking care of the dog for L., then I don't think that this responsibility would be passed off on me, especially as the dog is rambunctious and typically tries to rip my arm off multiple times when going on a simple tour around the block. The dog's cute, but he's not my responsibility. I have cats because they are more self-sufficient. They don't need my undivided attention. They sleep 20 hours a day. I really like cats.
Additionally, the roommates will on occasion make me feel uncomfortable in my own house. This is really not cool. I don't care what you're doing in your bedroom, but please, keep it in the bedroom. I don't want to have to wait to use the one bathroom in the house (shared by five people) because you're fucking in the shower. Is this so much to ask? sheesh. Also, remember to flush the toilet. There's this little lever, on the left side of the tank... it's silver... you know it? Pull down. Make the badness go away. Please? What grade are we in? Oh, that's right, we're adults!
I'm really ready to get a place just for me and Bil and our cats and our fish... Then, when I'm sick, there will be no one who says, "Hey, let's invite everyone we know in the Boston Metro area over for a party tonight. Who cares that it's a Monday night? Let's get loud and wasted!"
grumble grumble grumble.
I'm in a crappy mood because as I was leaving work today, I was chatting with a co-worker, and a customer trundled right into me, and not quickly mind you. I jumped aside, thinking of my pockets being picked, and yelped, "Excuse me!" He walked another five or so steps, turned around, looked at me, eyes blurry in his scabby, peeling face, and shouted, "DON'T YOU KNOW THE RULES? YOU GET OUT OF MY WAY!" Then he turned on his heel and headed out the door as I said to his back, "FUCK OFF, ASSHOLE!" and checked that my belongings were still in my pockets (they were). Sometime around three in the morning, I'll come up with some witty comeback that would have served me so well in that situation. Alas.
that is all.
I really hate being made to feel guilty and being told what to do. Really. I hate it. And often times, I am finding myself grinding my teeth together in anger/annoyance at this. There'll be a note on the fridge: "June Cleaver: O.: you clean this part of the house. B. & D.: you clean this part of the house. We have done the rest." Well howdy-fucking-do for you! I work full time -- I logged (between two jobs) 45.5 hours last week, not including time spent planning a lesson (for Job #3 -- teaching a class on Fashion Design), commuting the 45 minutes from one job to another, trying to plan a wedding, and being sick. Really fucking sick. I'm tired. And I never cook anymore. Which brings me to my other favorite note: "We did the dishes today. Plz remember to do your dishes when you make the mess." Which would explain why, when I find this note after work periodically, in the evening, there are dirty dishes the aforementioned "we" have left in the sink. Which renders it useless unless I want to do their dishes.
The thing is, I know that we all have busy lives and such, but these notes and the notes calling for a household meeting that I see an hour before the meeting is scheduled to begin are very frustrating. They instantly put me on the defensive. They make me feel like a fuck up (which is still debatable, at this juncture).
Today I found a note scrawled on a piece of paper towel in the kitchen instructing me and/or Bil to let the neighbor's dog come up and hang out in our house until the notewriter gets home, as the neighbor, L., is out of town. This is the first that I've heard of L. going away, and I am not in the mood to play pet sitter tonight. Plus the dog scares the shit out of my cat, with whom, I would ideally like to curl up for a quiet evening. If the roomies have taken on the responsibility of taking care of the dog for L., then I don't think that this responsibility would be passed off on me, especially as the dog is rambunctious and typically tries to rip my arm off multiple times when going on a simple tour around the block. The dog's cute, but he's not my responsibility. I have cats because they are more self-sufficient. They don't need my undivided attention. They sleep 20 hours a day. I really like cats.
Additionally, the roommates will on occasion make me feel uncomfortable in my own house. This is really not cool. I don't care what you're doing in your bedroom, but please, keep it in the bedroom. I don't want to have to wait to use the one bathroom in the house (shared by five people) because you're fucking in the shower. Is this so much to ask? sheesh. Also, remember to flush the toilet. There's this little lever, on the left side of the tank... it's silver... you know it? Pull down. Make the badness go away. Please? What grade are we in? Oh, that's right, we're adults!
I'm really ready to get a place just for me and Bil and our cats and our fish... Then, when I'm sick, there will be no one who says, "Hey, let's invite everyone we know in the Boston Metro area over for a party tonight. Who cares that it's a Monday night? Let's get loud and wasted!"
grumble grumble grumble.
I'm in a crappy mood because as I was leaving work today, I was chatting with a co-worker, and a customer trundled right into me, and not quickly mind you. I jumped aside, thinking of my pockets being picked, and yelped, "Excuse me!" He walked another five or so steps, turned around, looked at me, eyes blurry in his scabby, peeling face, and shouted, "DON'T YOU KNOW THE RULES? YOU GET OUT OF MY WAY!" Then he turned on his heel and headed out the door as I said to his back, "FUCK OFF, ASSHOLE!" and checked that my belongings were still in my pockets (they were). Sometime around three in the morning, I'll come up with some witty comeback that would have served me so well in that situation. Alas.
that is all.
6.3.05
New Room = Happy D.
So, finally, after a bit (or maybe a lot...) of nagging, and some crazy scheduling, Bil and I have started work on the beautification of our previously tragic and hideously messy bedroom.
Along the way, Bil had an encounter with a duster...
...and I found the place where all of the left socks go.
Additionally, we have made three trips to Target in our endeavours. But half of the room is finally in a good place. And this makes me (at least temporarily) very happy.
That, my friends, is all.
Along the way, Bil had an encounter with a duster...
...and I found the place where all of the left socks go.
Additionally, we have made three trips to Target in our endeavours. But half of the room is finally in a good place. And this makes me (at least temporarily) very happy.
That, my friends, is all.
4.3.05
Gap Gripes
Why Gap, Why? What were you thinking?
This is not really even a shrug. It's an ugly vest. And if you really don't believe me, go check it out at your local Gap. Sigh. There are some cute things that we just got in, but seriously... the "shrug" vest has to go!
additionally, this top makes everyone look like they got knocked up and tried to hide it with Grandma's favorite slip cover:
But these are pretty cute...
And this dress -- I love this!
But I did just find this atrocity -- What the fuck is this? Is it a denim dog straight-jacket?
Comically disturbing, if only for the denim dog wearing the denim dog jacket -- doesn't his owner know not to match denim?! This image makes me laugh so hard -- it's really been a long day...
Argh.
That is all.
This is not really even a shrug. It's an ugly vest. And if you really don't believe me, go check it out at your local Gap. Sigh. There are some cute things that we just got in, but seriously... the "shrug" vest has to go!
additionally, this top makes everyone look like they got knocked up and tried to hide it with Grandma's favorite slip cover:
But these are pretty cute...
And this dress -- I love this!
But I did just find this atrocity -- What the fuck is this? Is it a denim dog straight-jacket?
Comically disturbing, if only for the denim dog wearing the denim dog jacket -- doesn't his owner know not to match denim?! This image makes me laugh so hard -- it's really been a long day...
Argh.
That is all.
1.3.05
Yay iPod Shuffle! and weird musings
So, finally, the iPod shuffle arrived via Fedex today whilst I was at work. I set it all up, loaded it up with music from the ol' computer, and the first song it decided to play for me? "It's Easy, mmmKay?" from South Park, Bigger, Longer and Uncut. I think that the iPod and I will be great friends. (This is all after I decided to blatantly ignore Apple's warnings and tried to eat the cute little iPod....). Sigh. Love the lovely music.
* * *
In other news, I've obviously been in quite a funk lately (read the previous post for evidence) and I think that it's due to the resurfacing of old drama. I'm not going to go into it at this time; it's late and I don't really have the energy in all honesty. Also, other people have beaten the subject to death on their own blogs. About a year ago I actually made a decision to which I really have tried to be faithful: No more drama. Those of you who know me (all 3 of you...:) ) know how much I love gossip. I do. I love talking about other people's drama. I love to know details about it. I adore dissecting it. It's so much easier to talk about other people than to look inside yourself and see all of you own faults and problems, all of your own deeply-buried, dusty issues. I moved to New Hampshire, glad to be away from the drama of a small incestuous Theatre Department, and ready to start afresh. It's absolutely so liberating to leave it all behind and start over -- you can become whoever you want to and no one will question you. I have done this thrice in my life at critical times and it's hard because you're discovering yourself right along with all of your new friends. But it's very freeing.
For so long I haven't known who I was. At the end of high school, I wasn't sure who I was or what I really wanted out of life (I still don't know that, but I have an inkling now...). I started fresh in college: a new town, no parents, new D. I kept the HS boyfriend around for a while, but we broke up because of the dreaded distance factor. I have tragically forgotten much of the essence of that relationship now. It's weird to read my journal from then; I feel like I'm reading about someone else's life. There's such a bizarre disconnect -- I have no emotional memory of K.
Somewhere along the line in college I found myself in the midst of intense drama. No. That's not quite accurate. The first dramatics of my college years started for me on 23 March 2000. I was assaulted. I'll never forget the hazy memories of that night, nor will I forget the aftermath. I'll never forgive him for it. And I'll never fully forgive myself for being weak in that moment. Tragically, that has become one of the defining moments of my life. And very few people even know about it. I locked it up in a box. Stuffed it into a corner. Threw some very heavy old books on top of it to make sure it didn't get opened up ever. Covered it in an old ratty afghan. Tried to forget about it. But it wouldn't be forgotten. It wouldn't let me go. Five years later, and I still have nightmares about it on occasion. I've survived. But I'm not thriving. All of this rehashing of old Theatre Department drama has reminded me quite piercingly of it.
I am bigger than this. All 5'2 of me. I will keep trying to move on. As if to mock me, 14 months ago, he left a note on my car when I was home for Christmas. I found it when I took Bil to the airport. I had to drive home from LAX alone. And I couldn't stop shaking. It reminded me of everything. And that damned lockbox of mine failed me.
When I told my parents about "the incident," as I like to dramatically refer to it, my mom was incredibly sympathetic, but she told me that I had to tell my father. Who made me tell him over the phone. I was a terrified 18-year-old and he berated me for "letting it happen." Please don't think him a bad person; he's a control freak who lost control and got angry. He's been trying to make up for that and other things for the last five years.
Anyway, the point: I have gone through a lot of dramatics in the last few years (ok, the last decade) of my life. And I'm tired. Tired of drama. Tired of gossip. Tired of getting mixed up in it and tired of starting it and tired of getting swept up by it. I'm done. Drama is in everyone who is malcontent with the state of things within themselves, and I am really tired of being so malcontent. (I do still plan to be a curmudgeon, but I don't want drama in my life -- this is the stuff of stage and page and screen.)
I wish I could have some sort of cathartic final statement, answer the question "So what?" conclude with dignity, but mostly, I just want to have for myself a little piece of the dignity that was taken from me so long ago.
That is all.
* * *
In other news, I've obviously been in quite a funk lately (read the previous post for evidence) and I think that it's due to the resurfacing of old drama. I'm not going to go into it at this time; it's late and I don't really have the energy in all honesty. Also, other people have beaten the subject to death on their own blogs. About a year ago I actually made a decision to which I really have tried to be faithful: No more drama. Those of you who know me (all 3 of you...:) ) know how much I love gossip. I do. I love talking about other people's drama. I love to know details about it. I adore dissecting it. It's so much easier to talk about other people than to look inside yourself and see all of you own faults and problems, all of your own deeply-buried, dusty issues. I moved to New Hampshire, glad to be away from the drama of a small incestuous Theatre Department, and ready to start afresh. It's absolutely so liberating to leave it all behind and start over -- you can become whoever you want to and no one will question you. I have done this thrice in my life at critical times and it's hard because you're discovering yourself right along with all of your new friends. But it's very freeing.
For so long I haven't known who I was. At the end of high school, I wasn't sure who I was or what I really wanted out of life (I still don't know that, but I have an inkling now...). I started fresh in college: a new town, no parents, new D. I kept the HS boyfriend around for a while, but we broke up because of the dreaded distance factor. I have tragically forgotten much of the essence of that relationship now. It's weird to read my journal from then; I feel like I'm reading about someone else's life. There's such a bizarre disconnect -- I have no emotional memory of K.
Somewhere along the line in college I found myself in the midst of intense drama. No. That's not quite accurate. The first dramatics of my college years started for me on 23 March 2000. I was assaulted. I'll never forget the hazy memories of that night, nor will I forget the aftermath. I'll never forgive him for it. And I'll never fully forgive myself for being weak in that moment. Tragically, that has become one of the defining moments of my life. And very few people even know about it. I locked it up in a box. Stuffed it into a corner. Threw some very heavy old books on top of it to make sure it didn't get opened up ever. Covered it in an old ratty afghan. Tried to forget about it. But it wouldn't be forgotten. It wouldn't let me go. Five years later, and I still have nightmares about it on occasion. I've survived. But I'm not thriving. All of this rehashing of old Theatre Department drama has reminded me quite piercingly of it.
I am bigger than this. All 5'2 of me. I will keep trying to move on. As if to mock me, 14 months ago, he left a note on my car when I was home for Christmas. I found it when I took Bil to the airport. I had to drive home from LAX alone. And I couldn't stop shaking. It reminded me of everything. And that damned lockbox of mine failed me.
When I told my parents about "the incident," as I like to dramatically refer to it, my mom was incredibly sympathetic, but she told me that I had to tell my father. Who made me tell him over the phone. I was a terrified 18-year-old and he berated me for "letting it happen." Please don't think him a bad person; he's a control freak who lost control and got angry. He's been trying to make up for that and other things for the last five years.
Anyway, the point: I have gone through a lot of dramatics in the last few years (ok, the last decade) of my life. And I'm tired. Tired of drama. Tired of gossip. Tired of getting mixed up in it and tired of starting it and tired of getting swept up by it. I'm done. Drama is in everyone who is malcontent with the state of things within themselves, and I am really tired of being so malcontent. (I do still plan to be a curmudgeon, but I don't want drama in my life -- this is the stuff of stage and page and screen.)
I wish I could have some sort of cathartic final statement, answer the question "So what?" conclude with dignity, but mostly, I just want to have for myself a little piece of the dignity that was taken from me so long ago.
That is all.
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