Sanctuary!

Be(e) in My Bonnet

2008-01-31T02:14:00.000-06:00

So, I haven't written about this before. I really don't know why. It's not like I'm worried that someone about whom this post pertains might read it -- I'm pretty sure they are entirely uninterested in my weather reports (also, the first--and last--time any of them even mentioned anything to me about reading my blog was right around the time I posted one of those dark, bitter, angry I-hate-that-I-was-a-victim-all-those-years-ago-and-I'm-still-not-over-
it-yet-and-now-I'll-never-be-whole-again posts which occasionally rear their ugly little heads.)
Anyway. Ahem.
I used to do a fair amount of work with a company here in town. I liked them, got to be friends with them, enjoyed a drink from time to time. And then suddenly, over a period of time, they stopped asking me to do work for them. I went from a position of really wanting to be a member of this company to not being affiliated with them. At all. In literally, the span of a show. I worked with them all last season, did some work the season prior, worked on the first show this season, and then...nothing. And the thing is, I cannot help but feel like they hate me, which I know is stupid.

I just don't know what happened. I feel like I'm pretty responsive to criticism -- years of working with the likes of Marc Longlois and Ms. Manchester have taught me to grow very thick skin. I am not as sensitive as I once was. And yet. And yet...here I am, feeling really hurt by something essentially trivial in the larger picture. And I know that this emotion has been magnified a thousand times by a hundred other little things in my life as it stands right now, but that doesn't make it hurt less. My rational mind cannot calm my emotional heart.

Part of it, too, is that I wanted so badly to be a part of the club, to have my presence validated in some small way, to be an actual member of the company. In the time that I worked with them, I saw actors go from their first production with the company to having that special little asterisk by their name. I saw a resident tech get one. But I never felt like a real member of the group. I always felt just slightly outside. Which is another reason why I am so bothered by this whole thing: I never truly felt like I belonged in that boys' club, and yet I am so saddened by our break-up (for lack of a better word...it is almost 3AM).

It's like getting dumped, but professionally, and without even the poor indignity of a Dear John/Jane/etc. letter. If only I had that, I feel like I could take something away from this, hold my head up high, knowing why we split, if not feeling great about it. I just would like some understanding. And perspective.

I just hate feeling this way. It's just one more emotional bee buzzing about in my head, nagging me at odd times, and it's driving me fucking crazy. Also, now, I feel weird going to my favorite bar because of the fact that they all kinda hang out there, too. And I don't want to be an asshole. (And I've only left the house out of sheer necessity as of late...socializing is still melting my brain a bit lately...best to sit at home, rocking on the couch, knitting obsessively, with one eye glaring at the TV, on which is playing a DVD containing many episodes of a certain reality series about people rapidly traveling around the world in order to win $1,000,000. Yeah, that's totally normal and healthy. Ahem.)

The more you know.

Ergh. Off to bed.

That is all.

Um... this is fucking crazy. (Yes, this is about the weather.)

2008-01-30T01:14:00.000-06:00

So, when I posted before, I included this image from Accuweather.com from this evening, at 12:47AM:

And now, at 1:11AM, a mere 24 minutes later, this is what is up:

Yes, you are reading that correctly: "RealFeel® -37˚F" NEGATIVE.

Oh, and the national weather service has this to add:

"A WIND CHILL WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT UNTIL NOON CST TODAY.

VERY STRONG WINDS AND BITTERLY COLD TEMPERATURES WILL RESULT IN
WIND CHILLS OF 25 TO 35 DEGREES BELOW ZERO THROUGH WEDNESDAY
MORNING.

A WIND CHILL WARNING MEANS THE COMBINATION OF VERY COLD AIR AND
STRONG WINDS WILL CREATE DANGEROUSLY LOW WIND CHILL VALUES. THIS
WILL RESULT IN FROST BITE AND LEAD TO HYPOTHERMIA OR DEATH IF
PRECAUTIONS ARE NOT TAKEN."

Note that last sentence.

Chicago is trying to kill me.

Oh, and the wind has been blowing so hard that it's been snowing inside my enclosed-windows-securely-shut back porch.

Thank God for Accuweather's infographics:

That is all.

For real?! AKA "Splat! My Brain is Exploding!"

2008-01-30T00:52:00.001-06:00

So, today, when I left for work, it was 50˚F outside. Nice, warm, comfortable, balmy.

And now, a mere 11 hours later?

A friend at work cut out the weather report from the Trib, which read "Today's High:48˚ Today's Low:-1˚"

Driving home in the near-blizzard was an adventure. My new anti-lock breaks on my new car work like a charm. I know, because I unintentionally tested them. (Pics of the new car to come soon... because it's cute and red.)

Seriously, what the fuck?

On a totally unrelated note:

Also, I am a flake. If you have called me recently, and I have not responded, please don't take it personally. I have been in a crazy state of trying to ride public transit all over hell and back/hitting up Trevor for rides/strike/tech/buying a car (in the snow) and have been a shitty friend as of late. The last couple of months have been an incredible roller-coaster ride on which I have not been a very willing participant. I'm still trying to stop my head spinning. This is not an excuse, just an explanation. So, please don't hate me when I do get a chance to call you back.
[This was not prompted by any one incident, but more just self-reflection. I'm just trying to reach out little by little to the real world. Baby steps.]

Ok. That was all very random above. I've clearly had brain fryage from too many headscarves in the show. I think at last count, there were literally 25 thousand. (Exaggeration.) And jackets. There's a bajillion of those.

Brain overload.

That is all.

Tagged.

2008-01-21T22:51:00.000-06:00

Jen, my illustrious sister-in-law, tagged me a while back, and I'm slow, but here's the deal:

Tag! I’m it!

Here's how you play: Once you've been tagged you have to write a blog with 10 weird, random, facts, habits or goals about yourself, at the end choose 10 people to be tagged, list their names and why you tagged them. Don't forget to leave them a comment saying '(You're It!) and to go read your blog. You cannot tag the person that tagged you so since you can't tag me back. Let me know when you are done so that I can go read YOUR blog answers.

10 weird/ random/ facts/ habits/ goals about me:

1. I am weather obsessed. In particular, I am obsessed with very cold weather. For further evidence, please see my blog.

2. I can never remember the url to my own blog. I have to check it every time I link to it.

3. I am weirdly obsessed with geeky men in thick rimmed glasses. They are my kryptonite.

4. I really love linking to random things on my blog. Yeah, that's right.

5. I desperately miss skiing. I haven't been since December 2004. And I look up ski resorts and drool sometimes.

6. I also really want to travel to Thailand and go rock climbing and snorkeling. I often look up plane tickets and dream of buying two and running off with Bil in tow.

7. I also secretly want to be a contestant on the Amazing Race. Dude, I really want to travel. Like, really.

8. After one record-setting winter in Boston, and 2.25 blustery winters in Chicago, I still really love watching the snow fall from the sky. I get all giddy and excited and forget to link to something random when watching it fall while blogging.

9. I am knitting-obsessed. I cannot watch television without having needles and yarn in hand. Right now, I'm slowly working on a variation of these socks. And I only taught myself in October.

10. I am still completely atwitter over Alaska. I will get there one day. I will hike around, and kayak, and explore. One day... sigh.

My 10 Tagged next:

I know I'm supposed to tag people and they're supposed to respond, and all of that, but I'm going to switch this one up a bit: If you are still reading this, and you haven't done this little survey-whatsit yet, and you have 10-15 minutes to spare, and you are interested in sharing some weird shit about yourself, do it, and leave me a comment. I promise to read all the way to the end. I'd love to read them actually, so there you go. Go forth. Write weird self-obsessed drivel for the masses (or just me--whatev-). Entertain me, readers.

That is all.

WTF?!

2008-01-07T17:41:00.000-06:00

Less than a week ago, we had wind chills that made Chicago feel like -20˚ --that's BELOW ZERO. And fyi, it's very cold.
And today? 63˚ and thunderstorms....severe thunderstorms. And tornado watch. WTF, Chicago?
I have about 5 minutes until it's predicted that we get the worst part of the storm... time to go obsessively watch the weather channel and knit.
Oh, and my hometown's high temp today? 57˚. Suck it, CA.
Thank gawd for Barrow keepin' it real:

That is all.

#200: New Year's Eve 2007

2007-12-31T18:14:00.000-06:00

It's almost 2008 and I am writing my 200th post on this blog. Which seems like an awful lot of drivel to me. I started writing this three years ago when I was living in Boston, and here I am now, married and living in Chicago. A strange few years.
Bil and I didn't go home this year for the holidays--it's an expensive and lengthy process and he couldn't get the time off of work this year. We had a nice Christmas, but the whole time, I kept wondering what happened to my Christmas spirit. Normally, I really love Christmas -- I like decorating and wrapping presents that I know people will enjoy, and I like putting together stockings for Bil and the cats (don't judge). I have been in quite a funk lately.... It's been a tough couple of months in many ways. Bil's great for putting up with my misanthropic desire to never leave the house. It's not that I don't love my friends; I do--they keep me sane--but I don't want to see anyone or do anything but sit around and knit and watch TV (don't judge!). And not working this past month hasn't helped the lack of communication with the outside world thing.
My whole family is up in the mountains this week, skiing and snowboarding. I really wish I could have gone up there with them. I really miss skiing. And my family. It's been a hard year.
And like every time the family goes up to the mountains to ski, there is a calamity. Last time, there was a huge blizzard that kept us all off the mountain and in our cabin for the entire week we were there. The time before, everyone was injured (except my mom and me because we're perfect).
I got a call from my mom last night. My youngest brother (only 14) broke his arm snowboarding. My brothers are prone to broken bones -- arms in particular. But this one was the worst I've seen in my family. "Seen?" you say. Yes... because my sister posted his x-rays on Facebook™ where they belong. This was his arm before the 2.5 hour surgery to insert pins into it (note the fracture):

He spend the night in the hospital. Poor kid. And now he's on Vicodin. Great.

So here's to a better year than last year. Please no death, no destruction, no crazy shit this year, please. Just onward and upward. and maybe grad school. Maybe.

That is all.

On Knitting and the Weather... oh, and Death.

2007-12-23T12:14:00.000-06:00

I have taken up knitting. It's very calming and I love it. I love yarn, as those of you who might remember Mad Crochet D. might recall. I haven't crocheted in a while (read: a couple of months), but I have taught myself to knit via the interweb and I am in love. So much so that I knitted scarves and mittens for my entire family for Christmas this year. Because who in CA doesn't need a handknit superfine merino wool scarf in a pleasing rib pattern? In my defense, my whole family (except the two of us Chicago kids) is going skiing two days after Christmas... and skiing requires snow, and is therefore a cold sport, and ergo requires really obsessively warm handknit treasures. Right?

Mostly, this new knitting thing has been somewhat therapeutic for me. I have been pretty down as of late. My Nana's death hit me really hard, coupled with the death of a friend from high school literally the next day, the death of our pet betta fish, Bruce Lee, and the untimely demise of my car, Jane. Oh, and a lack of employment for a while. Note to parents out there who totally read this blog: if you find out via the internet that someone you think your kid might have known passed away suddenly and unexpectedly (as is often the case with people who are 26 years old), do your kid a favor and don't e-mail the obit to them; call them, please. E-mail is a shitty way to discover such a thing. Moving on.

Yesterday, there was a pleasant spring-like feel to the air (on the first day of winter... only in Chicago...). It was 50 degrees outside and totally t-shirt weather (which CA me still finds terribly funny). Gray and drizzly, yes, but warm, too. All of the mountains of snow that have adorned my fair street melted in the rain and warmth, which means that Christmas may not be white, but instead will be ugly, gray and brown. Ugh. Still waiting on that White Fucking Christmas..... grrr.

But today, today is brutally cold and windy. Don't believe me?

Then look at this:

That's the weather here, today. A mere 12-24 hours after 50 degree highs right here. Blast.

Enter depression.... but wait! What do I do every winter when I am freezing my warm-blooded California ass off in the northern regions of the country where they have Seasons (there are four, did you know? And none of them have the word "fire" in them!)? That's right, dear readers, I look up the weather in Barrow, Alaska, the United States' northernmost outpost of civilization, population: 4,065 cold, cold souls.

So, thank you, Barrow, for making me feel glad I'm here and not there. Here's to you! P.S. Now, I'll knit you a lovely warm scarf if you please don't die on me. Please?

That is all.

Hey, D. where do you live?

2007-11-28T17:18:00.000-06:00

Oh, that's right.

On the edge of the VAST SEA OF COLD.

That is all.

for now.

Goodbye.

2007-11-05T22:42:00.000-06:00

Almost a week later, and I still don't think it's fully hit me: my grandmother (on my paternal side) is dead. Nana, of Nana and Boompah (gone 16 years now), is gone. It strikes me at odd points. I'll be playing cards online and think of her teaching me to play gin and poker as a child or have a mint and think of the gum she'd chew to cover up the occasional smoker's breath. I remember the little case that she carried her toiletries in when she'd come to visit: one of those old 60's-era Samsonites with a rounded rectangular shape and a polyester interior with pockets for her many goodies. She and Boompah used to drive out from Florida in the winter to visit us in California in their Nissan with the punch-code locks. Their combo was 1432 for "I love you too."

My Mom's mother's birthday was two days ago, and I put off calling even though I wanted to talk to her because I feel guilty that I am closer to her than my Dad's mother. I went to look up her phone number in my cell and there was my other Nana's phone number right below. I just started bawling. I couldn't help myself. How many times did I scroll through that number on the way to someone else and not call her? How many times did I call her on her birthday? Or Christmas? Or Thanksgiving? Or just because. Not many.

We weren't close. And I feel incredibly guilty for that. I got tired of trying to talk to her on the phone because she didn't seem to want to talk to me. The last time I even saw her was over 5 years ago.

Towards the end of her life, it seemed to everyone in the family that she was not particularly interested in talking to anyone anymore. She didn't want to be around people, or leave the house, or bathe. She lived with my aunt, and the day before she died, my aunt convinced her to take a shower, bathe, and afterwards my aunt curled her hair so she'd look pretty. My aunt made a joke about how she knew Nana hated her for making her bathe and Nana pulled her down to eye-level and grabbed her by the hands and told her, "No. I love you." It was the first time she'd said so in a very long time. She passed quietly away in her sleep that night. No cause of death could be found, so they called it simply "old age."

I hope that we all could be so lucky to go as peacefully. I think she knew she was leaving, and I am so grateful that she had dignity in death. I think she would have wanted it that way. But I wish I could have said "Goodbye."

That is all.

Ummm. this is funny.

2007-10-04T00:55:00.000-05:00

Especially after the last appalling post about our appalling president and his appalling veto....
But check out this video. It helps if you know who Tracy Letts is (playwright of August:Osage County--which is going to New York with its entire cast intact, btw).
But this shit cracks me up. So, without further ado...

That is all.

Appalling

2007-10-03T10:09:00.000-05:00

Bush vetoes child health insurance plan

By JENNIFER LOVEN, Associated Press Writer 48 minutes ago

President Bush, in a confrontation with Congress, on Wednesday vetoed a bipartisan bill that would have dramatically expanded children's health insurance.

It was only the fourth veto of Bush's presidency, and one that some Republicans feared could carry steep risks for their party in next year's elections. The Senate approved the bill with enough votes to override the veto, but the margin in the House fell short of the required number.

The White House sought as little attention as possible, with the president wielding his veto behind closed doors without any fanfare or news coverage.

The State Children's Health Insurance Program is a joint state-federal effort that subsidizes health coverage for 6.6 million people, mostly children, from families that earn too much to qualify for Medicaid but not enough to afford their own private coverage.

The Democrats who control Congress, with significant support from Republicans, passed the legislation to add $35 billion over five years to allow an additional 4 million children into the program. It would be funded by raising the federal cigarette tax by 61 cents to $1 per pack.

The president had promised to veto it, saying the Democratic bill was too costly, took the program too far from its original intent of helping the poor, and would entice people now covered in the private sector to switch to government coverage. He wants only a $5 billion increase in funding.

Bush argued that the congressional plan would be a move toward socialized medicine by expanding the program to higher-income families.

Democrats deny that, saying their goal is to cover more of the millions of uninsured children and noting that the bill provides financial incentives for states to cover their lowest-income children first. Of the over 43 million people nationwide who lack health insurance, 9 percent, or over 6 million, are under 18 years old.

Eighteen Republicans joined Democrats in the Senate, enough to override Bush's veto. But this was not the case in the House, where despite sizable Republican support, supporters of the bill are about two dozen votes short of a successful override.

House Majority Leader Steny Hoyer, D-Md., said Democrats were imploring 15 House Republicans to switch positions but had received no agreements so far.

House Minority Whip Roy Blunt, R-Mo., said he was "absolutely confident" that the House would be able to sustain Bush's expected veto.

Senate Minority Whip Trent Lott, R-Miss., said Congress should be able to reach a compromise with Bush once he vetoes the bill. "We should not allow it to be expanded to higher and higher income levels, and to adults. This is about poor children," he said. "But we can work it out."

It took Bush six years to veto his first bill, when he blocked expanded federal research using embryonic stem cells last summer. In May, he vetoed a spending bill that would have required troop withdrawals from Iraq. In June, he vetoed another bill to ease restraints on federally funded stem cell research.

In the case of the health insurance program, the veto is a bit of a high-stakes gambit for Bush, pitting him against both the Democrats who have controlled both houses of Congress since January, but also many members of his own party and the public.

The Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee launched radio ads Monday attacking eight GOP House members who voted against the bill and face potentially tough re-election campaigns next year.

And Gerald McEntee, president of the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees union, said a coalition of liberal groups planned more than 200 events throughout the nation to highlight the issue.

475 Days Left in Office.

That is all.

I am:

2007-09-05T23:13:00.000-05:00

tired.
sneezy.
overheated.
no longer feverish.
still achy.
grumpy.
sweaty.
possibly stinky.
unable to smell anything.
pissy.
feeling gross.
wondering why my cat is licking the floor.
staring out the window, pondering existence.
grumpy.

That is all.

This is so bad its good...

2007-08-28T19:10:00.000-05:00

that is all.

You've got to be kidding me...

2007-08-17T11:48:00.000-05:00

Oh, the HORRORS.... no seriously. What in the hell is going on in our country? What the fuck?!
Look out for the thought police.... they're coming to getcha... grrr.

That is all.

Grimace.

2007-08-10T15:31:00.000-05:00

So, Teresa comes by my (and by "my," I mean Deb's vacant-only-on-Fridays when I move my itinerant ass in) office, and says, "Oh, you're in here today."

"Yes." I reply. I grimace.

"You should really go talk to Roberta." She says, solemnly, one hairy arm partially concealed by her other hand. "Has Deb or Keta mentioned any of this to you? I told them to. She's--I mean Roberta--is looking for an assistant, part time, you know."

"Oh," I reply, still grimacing. "I think Keta mentioned something about it."

"You should really talk to her."

"Um, OK," I say, clearly trying to give her the brush-off so that I can get back to what I was doing before she interrupted me.

She is undaunted, still standing in my (and by "my," I mean Deb's) office door, not ready to get back to whatever she was doing.

I slide my eyes longingly back to the computer screen and Wikipedia's entry on the Artist Formerly Known as the Artist Formerly Known as Prince. I mentally sigh. Work is so trying sometimes.

"Well," I smile, "the thing is, Teresa, I'm trying to join the wardrobe union right now, you know, with my career and so, I just don't know what my schedule's going to look like in the near future. I wouldn't want to make a commitment that I couldn't keep."

She blinks at me. "You know, I think she'd be willing to be fairly flexible with scheduling for the right person," she intoned. "And you seem to be the right person around here."

I grimace again, privately worrying that my face will freeze this way from all of the grimacing and biting my tongue over the last few months.

She continues, "I can show you where to go to talk to her." She still sounds cautiously optimistic.

My ass is firmly planting in my (and by "my," I mean Deb's) chair.

"Uh...," I falter. "Lemme just think about it and get back to you. I don't want to be rash, you know?"

I summon up mental images of my father being bossy and give her a curt--but warm--dismissive smile.

She finally leaves.

* * * * *

Why does no one seem to understand that I do not ever EVER want to work at this place, and certainly not on a more permanent basis. I hate it now. There's a reason I never show up on time, and you know why? Because I loathe coming all the way down here to use my degree to my best advantage, punching holes and stapling or copying and pasting in Windows. I have a real, honest-to-gawd CAREER, people. It's a livelihood. It's a skill and a talent and for better or worse it's what I do. Sure, I've hit a couple of rough patches here and there, but overall, I've had a moderate amount of sucess at it. And I'm damned proud of that. Stop trying to save me from the arts already. Sheesh. I feel like I've just had to fight off a Charismatic Christian proselytizing, trying to get me to be born again (which, by the way, I have been born once and that's quite enough for me thankyouverymuch).
And this is how my days really are at Chateau UIC. Gah.
That is all.

Wow...

2007-07-23T07:47:00.001-05:00

Just wow. Ok, you can talk to me again about Harry Potter. I am done.
I was going to eulogize the books. But I am too sad. I feel--as I did when finishing the Chronicals of Narnia for the first time, and the Lord of the Rings, and the fourth Thursday Next novel--that I will never read anything quite like that again.
I enjoy the discovery of reading a new book, especially these fantastical books with worlds quite outside the one we live in...and now I will greet this book as an old friend. I still savor the journey, but there is less discovery. Sigh. It's times like these that I secretly want to be a children's book editor... wouldn't it be loverly to read and comment on books for a living?? I think I would cry of joy.
Farewell, Harry Potter series. I'm not telling you the ending, readers--go out and discover it for yourself if you haven't already. It's worth the journey.

That is all.

Can't blog ...

2007-07-21T02:03:00.000-05:00

Reading book.

Mmmmm...last book.... :(

That is all.

Can't blog ...

2007-07-19T14:01:00.000-05:00

Reading book.

Mmmm....heartwrenching book.

That is all.

Rant:

2007-07-17T14:54:00.000-05:00

To the person sitting next to me in this dank lab that I have been stuck in: learn how to close your mouth when you eat. There is nothing more foul than listening to a person's mouth smacking, chewing and clicking as you suck each little morsel of food off of your molars. You have clearly got a lot of education -- you're a medical resident, which I'd estimate puts you at about twenty years of formal education at this point in your life. Did no one teach you how to eat your food without disgusting all of the people around you? It's quite simple really:
Step 1. Using an appropriate eating implement, place the food carefully into your mouth. (PS: Using an implement instead of your fingers allows your fingers to stay food-free, which means you won't need your mouth to help in the thoroughly-disgusting hand-cleaning process.)
Step 2. Close your mouth and chew, keeping your lips closed so as to keep the food in your mouth from flying out and all over the keyboard of the computer you are sitting in front of.
Step 3. Swallow all of the food before attemping to put more in your mouth so as not to overload it. Of course, if you do overload your mouth and choke, I'll be unable to remember how to do the Heimlich manouver. Sorry.
/EndRant
That is all.

Can't blog ...

2007-07-13T01:48:00.000-05:00

Reading book.

Mmmmm...long book.

That is all.

Can't blog ...

2007-07-09T01:46:00.000-05:00

Reading book.

Mmmm....love book.

That is all.

Can't blog ...

2007-07-07T14:26:00.000-05:00

Reading book....

Mmmm....delightful book.

That is all.

Can't blog ...

2007-07-06T20:50:00.000-05:00

Reading book....

Mmmm...lovely book.

That is all.

Can't blog ...

2007-07-05T18:47:00.000-05:00

Reading book...

Mmmmm.... good book.

That is all.

How Safe Are We Really?

2007-07-04T12:13:00.000-05:00

U. S. Heightens Security for Fourth of July
As you can see, I am blogging here on July 4th... from an International Airport heading through one major U.S. city in order to get to a larger U.S. city. And I accidentally left a lighter in my bag. A lighter I just discovered a moment ago. I am sitting at my gate. I am NOT a bad person. I am a patriotic person. All this heightened security... and yet how safe are we really? Any safer for all the regulations? For all the security in this world that is forever changed since the day we will never forget? Are we really any safer? Do you feel safer?

I don't.

That is all.

I ♥ Stephen Colbert

2007-06-22T16:03:00.000-05:00

And yes, that is a picture of Hugh Laurie on the wall. Sigh.

That is all.

It's that time again, kids

2007-06-22T13:50:00.001-05:00

That's right it's pride week. And the Big Gay Pride Parade in Chicago is this Sunday. And I'm totally going to be there, like the hag that I am, shilling out beads for Hats! and babysitting a costume that is travelling down the parade route. (And hopefully staying on Ms. Manchester.) I'll post pics because Bil's totally going to have to bring his camera. That's right, Bil's going to be walking the route too, sneaky breeder.
Honestly, though, I think this may be one of the funniest promotions I've seen in a while. And Melissa's only in the show for another week before the new star comes in...drum roll please.....

Betsy Randle.

"Who?" you might ask. "Why, this woman, fair reader," I might answer. Yep, that's right; the mom from "Boy Meets World." She seems nice enough, but we shall see.....

This should be one hell of weekend... I'll leave you with an image of ChicagoPride past:

Something about those socks.....
That is all.

shit

2007-06-15T04:44:00.000-05:00

It's nearly 5 am. i started writing a post for the other blog, Tip Your Waiter and haven't finished it yet. i'll work on it in the morning.... errr.. afternoon as the case may be. i may repost here, but just as a sample, it's about why i am bothered by the following paragraph:

McCartney challenged the Class of 2007 to return to their 10year high school reunion without one divorce among them. He told the young men to fight for their wives and lay down their lives if necessary. He told women to "submit" to their husbands. "It's the only way it works," he said.

And here's an awesome picture of a pregnant unicorn (thanks, Google!).

Talk amongst yourselves.

the sky is light and i'm having trouble hitting hte "shift" key. i'm going to bed.

That is all.

Missing the Ocean

2007-06-12T14:42:00.000-05:00

I guess it's seasonal, but once it gets nice and warm out and the sky is sunny and blue again, I want to go to the beach. Now, I know there's a perfectly good beach 2 miles away.... I could walk there, for Christ's sake. But Lake Michigan is a LAKE... and it smells wrong. And this bothers me. It's not quite right. I miss the ocean, the smell and taste of wet salt in the air, the sand beaten to fine sugar by the endless cycle of waves. I miss kelp for fuck's sake!

I think really, that--despite this being my second day off in a row(!)--I need an honest-to-gawd vacation. Something exotic and different... and oceany. Hawaii, Guam, Australia, New Zealand. I want to say, "Fuck Hats! I'm outta here!" And I want to have the financial wherewithall to do just that.

We are going to California for Tom and Diane's wedding at the end of the month but... we're going to rush into town, Bil will rush around with groomsman stuff, I will grab an afternoon to see my folks, we'll go to the wedding, we'll party and drink while there, we'll get up the next morning and drive all the way to Sacramento to visit his grandparents and sister, we'll be there for like 2 days, and then we're back in Chicago. Not exactly the most relaxing trip ever. And it's not like I don't want to see everyone or anything, but I would absolutely love to just take a trip to somewhere new. I want to have time to explore, to hike and swim and be outside and watch sunsets (and sunrises when I happen to still be awake) and enjoy local color and experience SOMETHING NEW... Gah.

I want to go explore Italy, and Greece, and Japan, and Thailand, and ALASKA! ....sigh..... I love Chicago, please don't get me wrong, but I want to get out and see the world some, too.

I know what's really going on here: I have lived in the same city for almost 2 years. I have lived in the same apartment for almost 1 of those years. The last time I lived in one place for so long was when I lived --ok, scratch that... I can't remember the last time I lived continuously in one domicile for this long (11 months!).

Shall we examine my living habits a bit? Prior to here: Albany Park, Chicago-10 months; transitional period (New York to Boston to Chicago bounce)-2 weeks; Loch Sheldrake, New York-almost 2 months; Somerville, Massachusetts-10 months; Whitefield, New Hampshire-3 months; Homeless cross-country trek-1 week; house on Spruce Street, Riverside, California-10 months; studio apartment on Spruce Street, Riverside, California-9 months; crappy apartment in Oak Park Apartment complex with a dodgy lodger who shall not be named (AKA "Asshole", for these and other purposes) and meth lab neighbors, Riverside, California-9 months; sketchy room in school librarian's cat-filled abode, Santa Rose, California-3 months; Bannockburn apartment (with no door on my bedroom), Riverside, California-9 months; parents' house for summer after freshman year of college-3 months; Aberdeen and Inverness Dormitories, Riverside, California-9 months; parents' house (sometimes just Mom's house)-14 years; parents' old house, Woodland Hills, California-4 years.

Okay, so the last time I lived in one place for longer than 11 months was 8 years ago, before I went to college. Jesus. No wonder my feet are getting itchy with anticipation of a summertime move. Sheesh.

The thing is that I like where I live; I like the neighbors, the area, the location, the place itself and the price. I hope that the rent doesn't skyrocket next month when the lease is up, because I really don't want to move... I just want a vacation. Somewhere with an ocean. Mmmmm....

That is all.

A for Effort

2007-06-07T12:14:00.000-05:00

I got out of the shower and went to get dressed the other day. It was there, in front of my closet that I ran into a problem. I knew it was coming, I knew it was happening, I've been sticking my head in the sand for a while, pretending that it's all okay. But there it was, right there in the mirror, staring back at me.

My bras don't fit me anymore. I thought about stuffing some tissues into the giant cavern of space between bra and boob. I returned to the bathroom, with that single-minded purpose. I gathered my wits together, sighed, and grabbed for the extra soft 3-ply with lotion...and realized I had an empty box. Damn. I thought about the old blonde joke with the Kleenex® boxes and her bra, and remembered that for the last decade, I have mostly dyed my once blonde hair anything else.

I thought, "Maybe no one will notice if I put a shirt on over the sadly empty bra." I put on a t-shirt. It was a little tight and smashed down the empty bra cup, making it look like I had deflated and warped boobs. This was definitely not going to work. Damn. I thought some more and decided I'd give the bra the day off. But all the shirts I had clean and available at the time were were thin, light-colored and therefore, um, revealing. Not good. I dug through the very back of the shelf and found a black cami with built-in mono-boob shelf bra. Perfect!

I decided to draw attention away from my floundering breasts, so I selected a skirt, and went back yet again to the bathroom. I shaved my legs faster than the speed of light, liberally applied nice, eucalyptus-scented lotion, threw the skirt on and started digging for skirt-appropriate shoes. I found my old-standby kitten heels and was ready to go.

I drove to work and had to pay $10 for Valet parking. I justified this unnecessary expense as "necessary evil to ward off boob thieves in the night," the valet just looked at me as though I was crazy and small-chested. Oh well.

I walked into work 5 minutes late (which no one noticed), and as each member of the cast or crew arrived, they asked what the special occasion was. I wanted to say, "Oh, you know, I can't seem to fit into my B-cup from Victoria's Secret anymore because MY BOOBS ARE TOO FUCKING SMALL so I dolled myself up all nice so maybe you wouldn't notice!" but what I really said was, "Oh, you know, I was stuck in the apartment all day, cleaning up and I just was tired of feeling all gross."

One lady in the cast said to me, "You have such a nice little waist." I thought, "Yes, and little boobs too, and you know why? Because I've lost all my body fat by chasing after you backstage because your 'senior moments' keep you from remembering what you're supposed to wear when!" I smiled nonchalantly, "Oh, you know, I used to do a lot of sit-ups when Bil was training for the marathon." LIES!

At 5 minutes to places, I put my blacks on, just another backstage ninja whose primary responsibility is to remain invisible, boobs and all.

* * *

Monday, I had the day off. I decided that I needed to take care of the impending bra/boob debacle. Bil was home, so I dragged him off to Kohl's with me, ostensibly so that he could look at work clothes, but mostly for moral support.

I dove into the intimates department with gusto, determined to find the friendliest bra around. And things were on sale, which made me excited. I decided to just try a couple of non-Victoria's Secret B-cups on, just in case Victoria's Secret is wrong about their sizing.

Sadly, they are not.

I decided that I would check out the new "nearly B" size, in hopes that I hadn't lost all that much of the girls.

No such luck.

After over an hour and 25 different bras, I finally found one that worked. An A-cup. I took advantage of the sale, figured that this is how it's gonna be for a while, and bought three for the price of two. Sigh.

I remember the days when I had a C+. God, that was beautiful.

Bil buys me a milkshake later that night, in hopes that it'll go straight to my boobs. Whilst enjoying my fatty chocolatey treat, I think of Nora Mae. She's an actor I had the pleasure of working with early on in the process of Hats!. She was a late arrival, in from New York, with a giant personality and 60 nodes of breast cancer, back for a second round in one breast. She took a week off to fly back to New York to have a mastectomy on one side. But she was back onstage and performing, one week later, drains and tape partially filling out what used to be fat and tissue and mammary glands and cancer. I wanted to cry at the sight of it. She said it was a selfish maneuver, that she felt better when she was onstage and performing, that it helped her psyche. She told everyone she met in the green room, the ladies room, all over the theatre to go out ASAP and have a mammogram. She started calling herself the "One Tit Wonder" and we joyfully ripped the stuffing out of a pillow to add some padding to the right side, all the while giggling like children with a secret.

She went back to New York a couple of weeks later, at the end of her contract. I haven't heard anything from her since. I hope she's well. I hope she doesn't give in. She's lost far more than I.

That is all.

For Kimberly....

2007-06-06T11:57:00.000-05:00

I promise I have got a new post in the works STOP
Do not hate me STOP
Updates to follow STOP
Was working on two shows and as a result have only had two days off all month STOP
Please do not break my knee caps please STOP
THAT IS ALL STOP

Maybe I'm biased, but...

2007-05-22T00:11:00.000-05:00

this is totally the best video ever.

That is all.

Mother's Day flowers.

2007-05-13T18:34:00.000-05:00

So this is what I (and when I say "I" I mean Bil...except when saying "I" as in "I mean," because then, it's actually just me, D. your somewhat faithful blogger...) ordered for my mom for Mother's Day:

And this is the floral arrangement that they actually delivered:

I guess she'll never know the difference.... but I do. Bastards....

That is all.

Et Tu, Queenie?

2007-05-03T20:21:00.001-05:00

Why are there red hats everywhere?

That is all.

Bloody Hell

2007-04-27T00:14:00.001-05:00

Good things that happened today:
Melissa Manchester wasn't naked.

Bad things that happened today:
I got into my car this morning and discovered--much to my chagrin--that my car has once again been burglarized. That's right, kids: twice in one week, in very different parts of the city. And this time (right in front of my house...) they did steal my stereo. Fuckers. I really hope they got seriously fucked up by all the broken glass. Off, once again, to the glass people to fix yet another window in my goddamned car.

Our production manager, Ben, electrocuted himself on a neon sign from the show while trying to fix it this afternoon. He's spending the night in the hospital for observation, but seriously, he could have died from the amount of voltage that passed through his body. All you techies out there, please remember to be careful... especially when working hundreds of hours in a matter of days to get a show up and running. Be safe.

And I found out after the preview tonight that one of our actresses is going to be pulled out of the show prior to opening because the producers and director don't feel that she's ready. She's one of my favorites, and I am really sad to see her space empty in the dressing room. She may or may not be back in the show after opening, but I think if I was her, I'd tell them all to fuck themselves. But that's just me.

I must continually remind myself that there are worse things out there than we are experiencing. Sometimes it's easier than others. Right now, I feel like there's a giant target on my head, and it's very disquieting. I'm beginning to think this show is cursed.... oy.

Be safe, kiss your family and friends and tell them you love them, and be very glad you're not working on Hats!.... unless you are, in which case, I feel your pain.

That is all.

Keeping it in Perspective

2007-04-25T10:02:00.000-05:00

I have had the week + from hell. Let's look at my last 11 days in numbers, shall we?
129 # of hours worked in 11 days which =
nearly 12 hours/day
3 shows on which I worked this week
1 opening for Hamlet
5 previews (thus far) for Hats!
1 strike for Annie Jr.
2 times the star of Hats! has bitched me out
3 times I've heard other members of the Hats! cast bitching about something wardrobe related ("Not all of my costumes were here right at half hour!!!" & "My shoes aren't rubbered!!!" & "I can't believe they cheaped out and don't even have union dressers for us!")
1 # of times I've been told by the Assistant Costume Designer that I should join the union
2 # of me there needs to be to actually dress the show without literally running back and forth from wing to wing
1 # of ex-boyfriends who came out to me this week
1 # of times my car has been broken into
0 # of things they actually stole from me
2 # of trips to the suburbs
1 with no window
80 amount of new window
3 # of drinks imbibed on Friday night after diva bitch out #1
2 # of drinks imbibed on Saturday after break-in
∞ # of tooth marks in my tongue from biting it

But here's the thing that's gotten me through all of this: my cousin is in harm's way. Real legitimate danger. He's not dressing some has-been with an attitude--he's on the front lines. He's seen his comrades fall and die. I worry tremendously about him every day. I cannot even imagine what he must be seeing and feeling... but I know that it is so much more primally frightening than dressing Melissa Manchester. Because she can get all peeved all she wants, but she's not got an IED or a gun.

I'm ok. Annoyed, yes, but alive.

That is all.

2007-04-19T02:23:00.000-05:00

Just got some interesting news-- reconnected with an ex recently... my high school sweetheart... and he's gay.

And at first, this was sort of hilarious to me.... this is not the first time I've been a beard....

And yet.

I know how hard that must have been for him to live with such a deep secret. I'd say I can't imagine, but I have my own secrets and I know how they weigh on me.

And yet.

He was my first real love, my first sex, my first real emotional investment, and ultimately my first real heartbreak.

And it was a lie. Disingenuous...?

Now, please bear in mind that we started dating nearly a decade ago... so why am I feeling so hurt by this? What is my problem?

I loved him so much, so deeply.... and he told me he loved me too.... and now my perception of events is so radically different.

Probably I'll feel better in the morning. I should be sleeping right now, but I can't and this is bouncing around in my empty head.

Of course, I have worked over 40 hours in the last 72. And I might be hormonal.

I really hope Bil's not gay. That'd be really gay.

that is all

Alas.

2007-04-16T14:05:00.000-05:00

An acquaintance's mother succumbed to cancer this morning.
31 or more people are dead in Virginia for apparently no reason.
My cousin is still fighting in Baghdad, alive, shaken, and recovering from his injuries.

Today is a day when I cannot seem to wrap my head around the randomness of life. I'm hurting for everyone everywhere, but specifically a family in Ohio; families, friends and a college in Virginia; the kids who are soldiering on in this senseless war in Iraq.

Today is a day to feel sorrow for these losses. To empathize and sympathize. To remember those people we have lost in the past. To reflect.

Today is a day to stop and think about everything wonderful that we take for granted every day. Stop, sniff those new flowers popping up for spring. Tip the people behind the counter at Starbuck's or where ever you get your coffee. Tell your family and friends how much you love them. Enjoy the birds chirping happily outside the window. Do something nice (even just something small) for a stranger today.

Tomorrow is a new day.

"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense." --Ralph Waldo Emerson

"The sun'll come out tomorrow..." -- Annie

That is all.

Shit.

2007-04-11T15:29:00.000-05:00

This just makes me feel a whole lot better. I hate this war. I hate that I have friends who have family there. I hate that I have family there. I hate the false reasons that we are there. I hate that we were conned into this war.
Gahhhh!
That is all.

This just makes me feel sick.

2007-04-10T22:35:00.000-05:00

My cousin forwarded this e-mail from my aunt today. I am worried sick.

Dear Family and Friends,
Gia and I talked to Anthony this weekend and he is okay. He is back on duty. However, last Friday, in the dark hours, Anthony was patrolling in a Humvee that was hit an IED, an explosive device. The four guys in the vehicle, including Ant, suffered concussions, and the gunner, atop the vehicle was killed. It is a sad time for the platoon, 20 guys who have worked closely together for more than a year. The young man who died has a daughter and another on the way. He is from NY. It is too sad.
Anthony has residual headaches. He is resolute and brave and determined to do his duty for God and country.
Please continue your prayers. We are grateful his life was spared in this horrible incident.
It was very hard to get the call from Casualty Notification. Again, I am asking for prayer. Anthony has repeatedly expressed appreciation for the letters. Please encourage him. If you would like to send a package, it takes ten days to get there. But we have sent him cookies anyway and he is grateful. Snacks and candy and anything but chocolate (melts, sorry) is fine.
But the letters are the best.

That is all.

Poke You, Buddy!

2007-04-08T12:44:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, I was working as a sub backstage on a show at the Mercury. One of the actors in the show is a guy I worked with in the summer of ’01 in California. I hadn’t seen him since 2001, and we had a nice time catching up and laughing about all the people with whom we had worked and where they are now. A jolly good time... until he said something that got me thinking.

“Aaron says, ‘Hi!’ by the way.”

You see, Aaron and I dated or had a fling or whatever you want to call it. It was not serious--in fact in my serially monogamous life, it stands out because of this fact. We were not supposed to continue seeing each other after the summer ended -- it was a summer romance, nothing more. But in hindsight, I think that perhaps this was not properly explained to Aaron. Because we kept hanging out and going to plays and museums and movies after the summer came to an end. We didn’t live that far apart, and it was a fairly easy commute to Orange Country for me, Riverside for him. And I kept thinking that I should end it because--whether or not I liked him enough to consider the awful possibility that I could love him--I knew that it could never work. I was only 19 at the time, young, willful, highly opinionated, but very lacking in self-esteem. He was a college graduate, in grad school, had lived all over the country, and was 27. At that time in my life, I was still dealing with some weird personal things; my parents’ divorce and subsequent remarriage to each other, a shit ton of betrayal. I was on the rebound as well--a painful breakup earlier that same summer that left me feeling like I’d been ripped in two. It was not a good situation for me. I went on a lot of first dates that summer with a variety of co-workers. Friends who know me well know that I jokingly refer to this particular summer as the “Summer of Slut.” I chronicled these dates in my journal so that I could keep track of details from one date to the next (which might explain a bit about the sickly organized parts of my life and the possibility that I might be mentally ill).

I was all set to break up with Aaron. And then the world changed. I am not a war monger, and I am not into propaganda in the least, but I don’t think that anyone can deny the effects of that one single day, that video looping over and over and over again, unedited and unbleeped, as we all tried to make sense of what had happened to our country. I will not go so far as to say that our innocence was lost on that day (and you know that one of which I write). I believe this county lost its innocence long ago, right here, in places like Manassas, Shiloh, and Gettysburg.

You see, Aaron had spent many of his formative years in New York City. Whereas for me, the experience was distant, a series of horrific images in a box, detached from my own personal reality, Aaron’s was much more personal and traumatic. We stayed together and comforted each other in the aftermath of that day, trying, like so many of our fellow countrymen, to make order of chaos. In that endeavor, I believe that we all failed.

Within a month, we broke up. It was inevitable. And beyond the fact that some of my friends who had met him thought that Aaron was a bit of an ass, not much more time was spent dissecting or discussing that relationship. It was simply another in a string of failed relationships, nothing too extraordinary.

Well, damned if Aaron didn’t pop into my dreams the other night. I cannot profess to remember whether it was a sexy dream or not, I can hardly remember if it was good or not, only that he was there, not even a starring role, but simply a player on a much grander stage. It got me thinking about breakups and what happens after. I’ve never been one for the “just friends” scenario--it doesn’t work. As a favorite radio host of mine elucidates, “You know you’re in trouble when the word ‘just’ appears in front of the word ‘friends.’ I mean it’s almost hard to think of a context where those two words are used together, a sentence constructed--unless you’re using the word ‘just’ in some radically different way, like ‘I think the verdict was just. Friends may disagree.’” So, like Ira, I’ve never been good with the “just friends” thing. After intense breakups, I was too raw, too weak to contemplate being near my former flame, and after milder ones, I was always too indifferent. Thinking about all of this got me thinking about the movie High Fidelity. You know the one where John Cusack details and contacts his five worst breakups of all time? I am suddenly tempted to do just that. But I have not recently been through any such gut-wrenching breakup. I’ve been happily married for nearly a year and a half. I have not broken up with or been dumped by anyone in over 5 years. Still, I started considering my worst breakups of all time:

#5: Surprisingly, in hindsight, Aaron. I think I might have kicked him while he was low. And I look back and feel guilty about this. I thought at the time that because he was 8 years older than me, he would be as thick-skinned as I had become. I think that may not have been the case. I’d been through a rough few years at this point and was callous in the ways that I dealt with other people.

#4: Ron. This just over a year prior to #5, and in this situation, I was the sensitive, naive romantic, and he the callous, experienced cad.

#3: Marty, part one. This one was the breakup that started off the “Summer of Slut.”

#2: Kelly. He was my long-time high school sweetheart. I went to college, he stayed behind in high school. I think really, that Kelly was the first person I ever truly loved. He was warm and safe in a time that was anything but in my life. This breakup cut me to the core.

#1: Marty, part two. Let’s just say that this was certainly the most volatile relationship and explosive breakup I’ve ever heard of, and leave it at that.

I have not talked to any of these fellows in well over a year and a half. And that was a bizarre conversation with Marty at 3 am on a Sunday. (In fairness, it was 3am in Boston, 12am in San Francisco where he was.) I received a mass e-mail from Aaron on my very outdated e-mail address (I check it once a month to make sure nothing has been accidentally sent there) letting everyone know about his new website and myspace blog. I have no idea what happened to Ron, but I suspect that he’s still working at Sizzler.

And then there’s Kelly. I have always wondered what happened to Kelly. I figure he probably went to UCLA because that was what he wanted to do and he was a stellar student. Beyond that, I don’t know.

So in the interest of research for this article, I started doing some digging. After digging through literally hundreds of Kellys (female) on myspace, and cross referencing this with people who went to my high school, I found literally nothing. Damn. So I dug some more. As the new myspace is facebook, with its organized layout, and college-y feel, I figured that perhaps I would find something there... I mean, everyone who’s not on myspace is totally on facebook, even Ira Glass. I dug around a bit, and BINGO! There he was, a graduate of UCLA, and still very blonde.

So, I now have a conundrum on my hands: do I “poke” him and say, “Hey, what’s up? Long time, no see. What ever happened to you? Where has life taken you? Do we really have anything in common at all anymore beyond a shared romantic past and a shared hometown?” Or do I let sleeping dogs lie (and perhaps, even play dead)? In the end, I wonder what I really want out of this. Do I want to prove that I am not the person I once was? Or do I want to prove that I am, and that someone else loves me for it? Because at the root of all of this curiosity, I worry--fear--that there might be some insecurity, some questioning about who I was all those years ago, and perhaps, who I am now as a result.

Someone (I don’t know who) once said that to truly understand oneself, one must love himself before he loves anyone else. I agree, but I’d like to take this ideology one step further: to truly understand myself, I believe that I must not simply love myself in the here and now, but also love my past. Our pasts are what shape us fundamentally into what we are today. Whether we rebel against those forces, or follow the current into the proverbial ocean, we are a reaction to the past; simply put, the past is who we are.

So, at the end of the day, after a couple of drinks, some quiet contemplation, a little online backgammon and a couple more shots of liquid courage, I poked him. I poked him good and hard. And now it’s entirely up to him; he can poke back, we could strike up a conversation, or--and this is probably more likely--he could ignore it. And that’ll be the end of all this. I think I’m secretly hoping that this is what happens, because while I have grown accepting of my past, I am not sure I want to reawaken it.

That is all.

For Trevor!

2007-04-07T02:36:00.000-05:00

I am drunk right now. Yes. Drunk. Drunk enough to think it was a good idea to "poke" my ex boyfriend on facebook. Damn you, Konak! Damn you, Oze and your free Tuaca! Damn and blast. And damn you, Bil for encouraging this tragic behavior. I have a whole long post that I wrote while sober about this whole thing.... it will enevtually be posted on tipyourwaiter.org.... but until then, I hope that this will suffice, trevo... damn you!
that is all

2007-03-25T01:10:00.000-05:00

14 hours until my family gets here. better start unpacking from when we moved in July.
no time for capitalization or punctuation or even spell chekc

that is all.

I should totally be sleeping right now...

2007-03-22T03:28:00.000-05:00

But... I was instead reading the best of craigslist in an attempt to rid my mind of the pesky thought that tend to crawl in late at night when I realize that I am suddenly unemployed for the whole of April.
And I came across this OCD gem, which I love, and concurrently appalls me. Enjoy.

That is all.

Fuck.

2007-03-21T18:26:00.000-05:00

I just got a text message: "Buddy cancelled. no more shows. Sorry for your lost April work. Cheers."
That was pretty much my only April work. And now, I have none. And there doesn't seem to be anything on the horizon. No jobs that look interesting in the near future that I can apply for. Nothing.

Shit. Shit. Double shit.

That is all.

For the record:

2007-03-20T12:07:00.001-05:00

I was going through some older posts on this thing, and I noticed that one of my images was missing. I went to photobucket to investigate:

My beloved picture of Min, the Egyptian god of fertility. A photograph of an antiquity. But, apparently, the image somehow violates photobucket's terms of service. Bastards. Thank God for Flickr, who have not yet, as of this moment, removed the image.

MIN

That is all.

❤❤❤

2007-03-20T03:13:00.002-05:00

That is all.

Ann Coulter is....

2007-03-04T18:11:00.000-06:00

a faggot.

Seriously, after calling Muslims "ragheads" at last year's American Conservative Union's Political Action Conference, what were they thinking asking her to speak again this year?

I don't even want to waste the energy on ranting about her... it is so not worth it. But I kinda wish she'd been a blowjob.

That is all.

I still haven't found what I'm looking for

2007-02-27T00:35:00.000-06:00

When I was young, I thought 25 was old, or at least old enough to have things pretty much figured out. Those who know me well know that at the best of times, I am still unstable--I want great things out of life, but I don't know the specifics of these so-called Great Things. When I was young, I thought I'd have written a novel, produced a great work of art, made a significant film...something by the age of 25, something significant, you know-- Oscar-worthy, Peabody-worth, even Emmy-worthy. And here I am, 25 and living in the abstract dreamworld of half-formed ideas, a typical jaded malcontent. I think I've exhaustively examined, here and privately, the reasons for my misanthropy previously, and I don't want to harp on my own depression, indecision, and disillusion further in this post, but I still wonder if I have these Great Things inside of me somewhere. If these Great Things will ever cease to be vague daydreams and will instead become specifically viable ideas. It's analogous to having a fantastic voice, and no story.

There are these bits and pieces of things--creations: pieces of beautiful music, sculpture, gorgeous writing--that make me cry to hear or see or read them, they inspire me so, but I am unable to do anything productive with that inspiration. It just becomes buried very deeply within my chest, a lump that hardens around my heart, and breaks it.

Maybe this is really the root of my problem: I don't usually put too much stock in these online quizzes, and yes, they are for entertainment purposes only, but this is the result of a "What should I Major in in College?" Quiz:

You scored as Journalism. You are an aspiring journalist, and you should major in journalism! Like me, you are passionate about writing and expressing yourself, and you want the world to understand your beliefs through writing.

Theater

100%

Philosophy

100%

English

100%

Linguistics

100%

Journalism

100%

Art

100%

Mathematics

92%

Sociology

83%

Dance

75%

Anthropology

67%

Psychology

67%

Engineering

50%

Biology

25%

Chemistry

25%

What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3)
created with QuizFarm.com

If you look at it, you can see that I scored equally high in six different fields: Journalism, Theatre, Art, Linguistics, Philosophy, and English. My passions are not singular, my aspirations are unfocussed. I have zero focus, and as such, very little actual motivation. And every now and then, I feel so burned out by freelancing in the theatre world that I really seriously consider leaving it; I am still relatively young, I could have a very productive and fulfilling career in some other field. I could go to law school and go work for the ACLU, I could get a Master's in journalism and bring other people's stories to the world, I could write that novel (if only I had a story to tell), I could stop loafing around the house in my pajamas every Monday. I could. But I don't. Looking at it in this manner, I feel like a failure all over again, because even though I have had a decent amount of success in finding and keeping good gigs as a freelancer, I don't know that I'll ever feel like I've done enough.

A couple of years ago, while I was still living in Boston, before everything turned weird there, I tried to keep a regimen where I wrote a little everyday. Little pieces of stories, things that more often than not had a total lack of narrative, and a weak, contrived voice. I took a class in creative writing in college, and had a moderate amount of success writing short stories that were not total crap. Once, I had totally misunderstood the assignment entirely and instead of writing a piece that was dialogue-driven, I wrote a narrative that, while nearly dialogue-free, still garnered me an A because the professor really liked it in spite of itself. I'm sure that--5 and a half years later--if I were to go back and reread what I had written then, I would find it angst-ridden and tragic, and really there's no way I could: I wrote every assignment for the class on my ex's computer because he had a printer that worked, and I am pretty sure that when we broke up the file was promptly deleted. I guess that the above run-on tangent is a roundabout way of saying that I wonder if all of my inspiration then was maybe used up, or has since dissipated into the ether, along with my religious beliefs, my motivation to do pretty much anything, and my actual ability to do anything beyond theatre. Because while I could, in the abstract, do any number of things not theatre related, the reality is that my resumé these days is theatre. I haven't (with the exception of 7 total weeks of temping) done anything else but theatre in nearly 2 years. There's not even a day job that I can fall back on. There's only this path that I have stubbornly carved for myself, little more really, than a rut in the road, and now I can't go beyond the boundaries of this cart track, there's no room for more development, just more freelancing, more theatre all the way to the horizon. I just wonder if I should have taken the other part of the fork in road.

I guess the greater reflection that I am seeing is a fear that there are no real big ideas happening, that nothing can connect with them anymore. Can I rise above my own mediocrity? Can I release this story boiling up under the surface of my being, or do I keep it inside because without it I am an empty husk? Perhaps this is the real root of my sudden obsession with This American Life and Ira Glass: I love the idea of stories in all of their various forms. There is music like this: a narrative without words or pictures, a story. What a beautiful idea...

I am going to do my damndest to take a road trip this summer with a very distinct purpose: I want to sit down with my grandparents and record their stories. My surviving grandparents are octogenarians, and their health is starting to suffer. I don't want all of their stories--their oral tradition--to die with them. I want to be able to keep this alive, to preserve it for future generations. This is something that I've wanted to do for a really long time, and I need to do it soon. I'd love to spend a few days with my mom's parents and a few with my dad's mom, setting it all down. And at the same time, I am scared shitless... this is not even in the realm of anything that I have experience with. Perhaps once I've got it all down, I can edit it into something cohesive, but I know myself, and these grand ideas are probably just that. For now, it's enough that I am going to get the tape.

That is all.

Intriguing...

2007-02-24T14:02:00.000-06:00

And now, I wish I got Showtime... maybe it'll come out on DVD?? Sigh.

That is all.

Holy Shit.

2007-02-21T13:52:00.000-06:00

I thought that I would have some down-time after The Weir opened. I thought that I could just temp for a while and give my brain a much-needed break from this, especially since I'm not running any show right now... just subbing on Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story, and The Bartered Bride, and striking The Show that Will Not Be Named, and doing laundry for Flanagan's Wake. Oh, and gearing up for Il Ritorno d'Ulisse in Patria. Sheesh.

And I certainly hadn't counted on getting a call form Noble Fool seeking a costume coordinator for Annie... or a call seeking from Northlight seeking a stitcher for She Stoops to Conquer and a sub for Fire on the Mountain. Christ.

All that linking has made me tired. Damn.

That is all.

On Props:

2007-02-20T13:04:00.000-06:00

I've been doing props for Signal Ensemble off and on for nearly a year now... I still don't know why they wanted me to do them, but I agreed.
I also still don't know why they continue to let me do these props, but every once in a while, I get to make something that I really love. (Naturally this is nowhere on my actual website, as I can't seem to upload anything to my stupid host anymore--FYI powweb hosting blows.)
For the last show that they produced, I had to create a book jacket for the book that one of the characters writes during the course of the play (which was Closer, in case you were wondering). I had just gotten my new lovely, beautiful computer, and slapped something together during performances of Transference on my word processor.... I was pretty pleased with it (I love props that have a lot of text on them). The book jacket:

On the next show, the one I'm currently finishing up, The Weir, I didn't think that there would be any fun props, just beer taps that had to work, and therefore scared the shit out of me. But I neglected the wine bottle. and I have to say, I am in love with the wine bottle project. I have had such fun creating a sick and twisted, but pink and pretty label for a bottle of wine that no one in their right mind would drink. And I felt a touch of pride when I sealed the corks with wax and looked at the final result (which of course I have not photographically documented because I have lost my camera's battery charger).

Creating labels cracks me up:

Especially the backs:

And so, really the point of all this is that I'm moderately pleased with myself. And I actually like doing this... which is weird. I mean I'll still find things about which to grumble and grouse, but I am enjoying doing these little bits of props.

That is all.

Overheard in the MacGaines House:

2007-02-19T13:38:00.000-06:00

D: I, uh, wouldn't go in there for a while. (gestures to el baño)
B: Bad?
D: I'm shaking.
B: Wear you out?
D: Exhausted.
B: Want some coffee?
D: What?! God! No! Why would you even suggest such a thing?!
B: For shits and giggles.

Officially an old married couple much?

That is all.

More Better

2007-02-19T13:09:00.000-06:00

The way it should be:

that is all.

I cannot fucking stand....

2007-02-13T21:23:00.000-06:00

...being treated like shit. I received the following e-mail tonight, Tuesday evening, after the theatre is closed up for the night:

"hey d,
i just wanted to make sure you remembered the valentine's day show tomorrow night and that the laundry gets taken care of for it!
thanks!
bridgette"

I usually pick up the laundry on Wednesday nights for this show and drop it off on Thursdays before the performances. And can I just go on a brief tangent to say that when I was hired on this project (in November), I was hired as an Assistant Costume Designer...not as a wardrobe maintenance person or a glorified push-over washer woman. GAH!!!! I told myself nearly a year ago that I would not work with this company because of the way that they had treated me in previous dealings (see "Grrr!" for details), and here I am getting paid a tragic amount of money for a ridiculous amount of work and being treated like an idiot. I was never even informed of this Valentine's show... in fact, I haven't been kept informed on a lot of this shit. Goddamn it. So I responded with this:

"Hi Bridgette,
It would have been nice to see a performance report or some other reminder before Tuesday night, as I typically pick up laundry on Wednesday evenings and return it on Thursday prior to the show. I will do my best to get it done, but as I was not aware of this ahead of time, it really screws with my schedule, as this is naturally not my only obligation and tomorrow is quite a busy day for me. I hope that everyone else knows about this performance, as I am sure that I am not the only person this affects. I have not even seen a performance report at all since the 8th of February. It is very difficult to keep tabs on a show when I am not receiving the necessary information.
D."

But what I really wanted to say was, "The amount of money you are going to pay me isn't worth it... fuck it, I quit. I don't want to work on your stupid little show. When I freelance, I do it to make enough money to survive, not to have some sort of artistic purpose. And while we're on the subject, there is NO artistic purpose to this show, FYI. It's trite. And I hate you and you're tacky." But that might be the anger/annoyance talking.

The best part of all this? I now have to drive downtown tomorrow morning, pick up laundry, drive home, get laundry done by noon, hop on the train to go to an interview for a job I'm pretty sure I'm not particularly interested in, drop off props materials to my design partner, get back on the train to get back home so that I can (hopefully) go buy a new tire/get my flat one repaired (because it decided this was a good week for such things), go drive back downtown (trip #3 for those of you keeping count) to drop off their fucking laundry, meet Bil down there, have him drop me off at the Mercury by 5:30 PM, where I am learning a friend's track backstage to sub for him. Yeah, that's going to happen... especially when they haven't even properly been able to plow the streets from the latest crazy fucking winter storm/miniblizzard.

I fucking hate this show. I totally hate this show. GAH!!!

That is all.

Post #150

2007-02-07T22:08:00.000-06:00

My cousin Anthony leaves for Iraq tomorrow morning. I don't know if I'll ever see him again. He's going to southern Baghdad to fight the insurgents. I am so scared for him. I have said before (as early as 2002) and I will continue to say that I think that this war is a terrible mistake. That doesn't mean that I don't support the troops; I do. I don't support the war, the reasons under which we engaged in this offensive offensive in the first place, the administration's blatant mishandling of affairs in the aftermath of "Mission Accomplished." Over 3,000 men and women have died as a result of these actions. And for what? Cheaper gas? I love this country: the freedoms it allows, the rights we have guaranteed to us as citizens, the wonders (and bureaucracy) of democracy and self-governance.

I hate this war. I hate that the man who arrogantly calls himself "the Decider" with regards to this war is a man who never bothered to show up in the National Guard. I hate that my cousin is going to Baghdad, to the heart of this insurgency. I hate that I am scared. I hate this.

Please, send your good thoughts (and if you pray, your prayers) to all of the men and women over there in Iraq fighting this senseless war, and keep my little cousin who is now all grown up in your thoughts.

That is all.

On Super Bowl XLI:

2007-02-06T18:12:00.000-06:00

...or maybe this sould be titled "Penis on the Brain"

I won't say that I was surprised by Rex Grossman's MVP performance or anything about the game really at all. Typically, when watching the Super Bowl, I like the commercials (yes, this is the only time that I appreciate someone trying to sell me something). And usually I don't even bother to watch the half-time show. I did, a couple of years back, catch Janet Jackson's bejeweled nipple action, and this year, I just wanted to see what Prince was wearing (OK, and maybe a nipple, too).

Sadly, no nipple.... but happily this little bit o' phallic fun as Prince did his best impression of the Egyptian god Min.

Prince:

Min:

Awesome. That'll give the kiddies something to talk about.

Or if that doesn't spark conversation, there's always the hidden pictures with Ariel; what can you find?

HINT:

In other news, it penis snowed today. And it's still freezing cold penis. Lame penis. Penis penis. That'll do. Yep. Vagina.

That is all.

Disheartening

2007-02-05T10:18:00.000-06:00

There is frozen frost on the inside of my bedroom window. But it's actually quite toasty in the rest of the apartment. But really cold outside. Lame.

That is all.

Who's with me?

2007-02-04T12:48:00.000-06:00

I wanna buy a VW bus, hop in and drive the Alcan to Alaska and live like a crazy dirty hippie for the summer.
Let's leave the bullshit behind.
Begin manic phase.......
Now.
GO.

That is all.

Not funny at all.

2007-02-03T23:59:00.000-06:00

I am so worried about my mom these days. My family's been going through some tough times the last couple of weeks... my sister has a secret double life and it scares the hell out of me. And my mom's caught in a really shitty place. My dad, who has never been very supportive even at the best of times, is totally in denial about the whole situation, and now he's (predictably) acting like an asshole about it, waffling from telling my sister that she's "ruining the family" (she's only 17) to telling my mom that her behavior is all made up and a great big lie (as in, "No, I'm sure she's not high every day" or, my personal favorite, "She exaggerated about how many drinks she had that night.") The night, in question, I might add, was the night that she came home so tremendously drunk that she couldn't actually sit up, and couldn't stop vomiting, and had to get an IV because she had alcohol poisoning.
There are times in the past in which my dad and I have gotten along alright, but lately, I really cannot stand his behavior. He's like a 2-year-old in the body of a 58-year-old. He expects that what he wants he should get. NOW. And he doesn't want to deal with anything too unpleasant. Like raising the 4 kids that he sired. It's gotten to the point that I just cringe when I call their house and he answers because then I have to talk to him. My father. Jesus. It's awful. I really don't know how my mom puts up with him. I've found myself gently and gradually pulling away from him since last October; we talk only when we have to and then only for the shortest polite amount of time. I called the other day and he said, "Well, I'm working from home today, and I can only spare a minute." We talked for two. My family is in crisis and I am 2000 miles from home. I have called every day for the last 2 weeks, to check in and let my mom vent as needed. My dad, who is living in their home, cannot be bothered.

Pic of the day: a photo called "The Landscape of Denial" Seems appropriate.

That is all.

Jealous...

2007-02-03T02:45:00.001-06:00

ancient forest
Originally uploaded by miss pris.

I am totally in love with this woman's photography. It's incredible. Check her out if you get a chance.... its a world filled with surreal colors and perfect light. Wish I could do that.

Oh and also, it is currently 9ºF here and tomorrow's low is -3ºF with wind chills between 20 and 30º BELOW ZERO.

And its t-shirt weather in Barrow. BASTARDS.

Just to note.

That is all.

And still curiouser....

2007-01-30T22:44:00.000-06:00

Not to scare those friends of mine who are moving here or anything, but this is the bulletin put out by the National Weather Service today regarding this weekend:

WINNEBAGO-BOONE-MCHENRY-LAKE IL-OGLE-LEE-DE KALB-KANE-DU PAGE-COOK-
LA SALLE-KENDALL-GRUNDY-WILL-KANKAKEE-LIVINGSTON-IROQUOIS-FORD-
LAKE IN-PORTER-NEWTON-JASPER-BENTON-
945 PM CST TUE JAN 30 2007

...COLDEST FEBRUARY TEMPERATURES IN OVER TEN YEARS EXPECTED THIS
WEEKEND...

FORECASTS CONTINUE TO SUGGEST THAT NORTHERN ILLINOIS AND NORTHWEST
INDIANA WILL BE EXPERIENCING A COLD SNAP WITH TEMPERATURES FALLING
WELL BELOW ZERO THIS WEEKEND AND INTO EARLY NEXT WEEK.

CURRENT COMPUTER FORECASTS SUGGEST THAT AIR NOW OVER NORTHERN CANADA
NEAR HUDSON BAY WILL BE CIRCULATING SOUTHWARD INTO THE UPPER MIDWEST
AND ACROSS THE WESTERN GREAT LAKES. ALTHOUGH TEMPERTATURES HAVE
BEEN ON THE COLD SIDE THE PAST SEVERAL DAYS...THE CORE OF THE
COLDEST ARCTIC AIR REMAINS IN CANADA. HOWEVER...A DISTURBANCE IS
FORECAST TO DIG SOUTHWARD INTO THE NORTHERN U.S. THURSDAY NIGHT INTO
FRIDAY ALLOWING ARCTIC AIR TO SURGE SOUTHWARD. THIS BITTERLY COLD
AIR IS EXPECTED TO ARRIVE FRIDAY INTO FRIDAY NIGHT.

OVER THE WEEKEND...LOW TEMPERATURES ARE FORECAST TO FALL TO AROUND
10 BELOW ZERO WITH DAYTIME READINGS STRUGGLING TO REACH POSITIVE
DIGITS. THE LAST TIME THE ROCKFORD AND CHICAGO AREAS EXPERIENCED
PROLONGED COLD OF THIS MAGNITUDE WAS IN EARLY FEBRUARY OF 1996. AT
THAT TIME...LOW TEMPERATURES AT ROCKFORD FELL TO 20 BELOW OR COLDER
AND DAYTIME HIGHS ONLY REACHED INTO THE 10 TO 15 BELOW ZERO RANGE.
IN CHICAGO DURING THIS SAME PERIOD...LOWS WERE 15 TO 20 BELOW AND
HIGHS WERE AROUND 5 BELOW ZERO.

AT THIS TIME TEMPERATURES ARE NOT EXPECTED TO BE AS COLD AS THE 1996
EPISODE...NONETHELESS...SUBZERO READINGS ARE FORECAST TO COMBINE
WITH WINDS OF 20 MPH AT TIMES TO PRODUCE DANGEROUSLY LOW WIND CHILLS
OF 20 TO 30 BELOW ZERO FROM FRIDAY NIGHT THROUGH MONDAY.

But at least in Barrow it feels like 34ºF BELOW ZERO. . .
Thanks Barrow for making me feel better and giving me something to blog about.
Yeah.

And a picture of warm lazy summer afternoons for you all:

That is all.

Curiouser and curiouser....

2007-01-30T02:03:00.000-06:00

So every time that I feel like it's really fucking cold outside, I look to the weather in a little town called Barrow, Alaska to make me feel better about the weather wherever I am. You see, two readers, Barrow is the northernmost city in the entire United States.

I figure the weather's gotta be worse there well above the Arctic Circle than it is here, wherever here may be.

BUT:

vs.

Really Chicago? Really?

Fuck it's chilly. Good thing I just got back from a much-needed excursion to the bar.

And thus ends my post about the weather... this has been a truly shitty week.

That is all,

At Last...

2007-01-26T11:11:00.002-06:00

I have successfully cleared out my e-mail box!

Success!

And because I love you all so much, here's a heretofore little-seen pic of awesomeness from the opening night party of Seascape... in the bathroom at Konak.... where I might have overdone it a bit:

And this is similar to how I looked after (but it's actually New Year's Day '07):

Ugh.

But at least I didn't look like this:

That is all.

Does it make me a nerd if....

2007-01-22T22:37:00.000-06:00

I have a wee crush on a guy who hosts/produces a radio show on NPR?

Sigh.

❤❤❤

That is all.

5 Things

2007-01-19T04:50:00.000-06:00

So, Kimberly tagged me with 5 things you may not know about me. So... it's like a challenge, right?

#1: When I was a very young child, I thought that Dr. Spock was Mr. Spock. So every time my mother consulted her Baby Bible, I envisioned Cpt. Kirk's right-hand man giving her tips on child-rearing.

vs.

#2: Also, when I was a young child I had, as many kids do, an imaginary friend. But this was not any made-up imaginary friend, this was the imaginary embodiment of Major Winchester from M*A*S*H the TV series. We had many romps before he pissed me off one day, and I threw him down the stairs and killed him off. And he never came back.

R.I.P.

#3: I am secretly obsessed with Alaska (the vast amounts of space, the history of the state, the mountains, ocean and glaciers, the last unspoiled American frontier, etc.), and will get there before I die. I will pretty much drop everything when the travel channel throws on a block of Alaska programming.

#4: I dream of learning how to fix engines so that I can buy an late '60's era VW Westfalia pop top and live out of it like a dirty hippie. (I may have been born 20 years too late).

#5: Reliable sources tell me that I was conceived on the day that John Lennon was shot outside of the Dakota building. (I took my sweet time getting out of the womb.)

R.I.P.

So, I guess those are my five things. Apparently I was far too influenced by TV as a child, and by James A. Michener's novels as an adult (especially Alaska and the Drifters). And I was born late.... not just 2 weeks late, but actually more like 20-30 years late. Also, I was a weird kid.

I tag Bil, who probably already knew all of this stuff, but needs to write something new for me to read on his blog.

That is all.

Huh.

2007-01-18T02:33:00.000-06:00

So, I got home from my first two-show day in a long time, and started browsing on the 'net. Like you do. And after Googling exes and discovering that a jackass with whom I went to high school actually shares a name with some political dude named Steve Cohen... I looked up this guy I had a crush on for like 6 months in high school. Back then he was maybe 5'2 and had a rattail... you remember rattails, right?

But, in my defense, despite the fact that we were the same height and he had the rattail, he was really hot. Whatever. Anyway... he's a record producer now. Like on the way to really doing big stuff. And I thought, "Shit. I am such a loser. What the hell am I doing with myself?"

And then I thought, "I am dressing at Steppenwolf... which is really fucking cool. And I am making my mark, and I am working my way honestly up the theatre food chain..."

And then I looked a bit further and realized that without the contributions of said rattailed hottie's father, the world may never have seen the likes of the following albums: Michael Bolton's "Soul Provider," "Greatest Hits 1985-95," "Timeless: The Classics," "All About Love," and "Hits 1985-1995:Best of the Best Gold;" Kenny G's "Silhouette," and "The Ultimate Kenny G;" and Peabo Bryson's "Can You Stop the Rain," among others. This father of Hottie is clearly the devil. And therefore Hottie is clearly Spawn of Satan.

And I am totally working at the freakin' Steppenwolf. So, like, whatever. Sources say that Malkovich only smokes fancy expensive French cigarettes. Who knew?

That is all.

Son of A Bitch!

2007-01-10T21:01:00.000-06:00

Shit.

That is all.

Mantra?

2007-01-09T18:04:00.000-06:00

I refuse to be afraid. I can't do it. I live in a country that's constantly raising terror alert levels to "Orange" and telling us about these murky terrorist threats they are secretly averting and telling us that video games make kids violent and so do guns, and all of this fear.

FEAR: Kids!, Arabs!, Foreigners! (including the band), Nuclear Bombs!, Iran!, N. Korea!, Molesters in Your Neighborhood!, Creepy People on Myspace!, Cars on the Road with Enraged Drivers!, Vice Presidents on Hunting Expeditions!, Rapists in your Neighborhood!, Muggers!, Bank Robbers!, Rollerbladers without Wrist Guards!, Drug Users!, Drug Dealers!, Pimps!, Hoes!, Hose!, Saddam Hussein ('s ghost!)!, Osama Bin Ladin!, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad!, Kim Jong Il!, Cancer!, AIDS!, Trans-fats!, the NSA!

We have been conditioned over the last 5 years to Live in Fear. I will not be afraid anymore. I will not. I am done. I cannot continue to live every minute of everyday afraid of all of the unknown elements coming to get me. There is no boogeyman and if he shows up to prove me wrong, I'll punch him in the nose. I am not afraid.

I will not be afraid of getting on an airplane, getting in my car, going out into the world, living my life. I refuse. That's not to say that I will live without caution; I have common sense. And while instincts are the key to our greater survival, fear is only something--to paraphrase FDR--to be feared. And I will not fear. And I will not be afraid. And if you don't like it, stuff it.

That is all.

WTF, Mate?

2007-01-08T22:07:00.000-06:00

So I wanted to do a crossword puzzle, so I went to what I thought was a crossword website: www.dailycrossword.com.... and came to a site titled (and I shit you not) "Nuclear Jihad." So if I don't show up to work tomorrow, I'm probably taking up residence in Gitmo. Cheers!

That is all.

A good e-mail....

2007-01-07T17:45:00.000-06:00

A friend sent this letter to me a couple of days ago, and I thought that I would share it with the two of you who read this thing. :)

A New Years Note to all my artistic friends:

It is really important as artists for us to remember that we each tend to be our own worst critic. Any outside criticism is only in addition to our own. It is sad that the value of art in modern society is so drenched in piss that we tend to cradle each positive stroke we get. "Starving artist" may have originally referred to lack of money to survive, but it is not food that we crave. We crave the process of creation, the practice, the release and the recognition. It may be recognition in the form of food or money or just one wink. But ultimately what each artist craves is already inside oneself and can need help to surface. This is why I feel it is crucial that artists support and foster each other. I'm not saying that criticism is not valuable. Constructively approached it can help challenge artists to dig deeper, try harder or find another way. And yes, of course, surround yourself with other artists who naturally trigger personal reflection in you.

Yesterday I stopped at a red light and this middle-aged guy was walking along the driver’s side of the cars in front of me. My first assumption was that he would ask me for money. I looked down to occupy myself with a sip of coffee only to raise my eyes just as he reached my car. We looked right at one another. And you know what he did? He wasn't asking for money... he pointed, smiled and winked at me as he passed in front of my car to the sidewalk. His eyes were friendly and his smile beaming wide. All I could do was grin back in impressed shock. He was purposely passing out good vibes as he walked along and loving it. When I had seen him motioning to the cars before mine, it was because he had something to share. He was happy. Hell, at that point if he had wanted money, I would have given him some dough just because of how fun that little encounter had been.

I mention this because I think it illustrates my point that whether we are artists in a community or just people living life, sometimes we need to be reminded that we shine, sometimes we need to help others shine and sometimes we just shine. Yes there is more hard work to life than the idealized "you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours" mentality. But because it can be such a cold, greedy world as we strive to grow, it is even more important that as artists we operate above it. This year I remind us to share of ourselves artistically with stated intention and clear purpose. If even for a moment you sense that another artist is down and doubtful of his or her artistic role in this society, talk with them. We are only fragmented if we allow it. From of a sense of camaraderie we build a whole and from this whole we break out stronger and more authentic than any single fallen leaf could ever be.

Originally I intended this note for a specific person, but as I wrote it I realized, we all need be reminded at times. I hope that this New Year brings each of you closer to where you want to be artistically and I challenge each of us to forge ahead this year clean of any lingering criticisms and full of fuel. I look forward to smiling, winking and pointing at you along the way.

Happy New Year!

Love,
Mel

That is all.

Should I be concerned?

2007-01-07T02:37:00.000-06:00

...or just committed?

Your Depression Level: 96%

You seem to be severely depressed.
You should seek immediate attention from your physician.
Depression can be cured - you just need to take the first step.

Are You Depressed?

That is all.

2007-01-06T16:52:00.000-06:00

I can't stop shaking right now. There's this lump in my throat and I am all alone. It's horrible. I've been trying to run for so long. And for what? I feel ill. How many times more can I run away from this awful thing in my past? Can't he just leave me alone? 7 years later, I'm still not whole. I was, and remain, broken.

I don't like the word "hate." I will use it colloquially: "I hate it when I wake up still drunk," for instance, or "I hate being run over by a wild pack of elephants," but there is no word strong enough for how I feel right now. I hate what happened. I hate him. I hate that I still feel like shit and like a victim after all this fucking time. I HATE it. I hate feeling like a mouse about to be pounced on, because that's what has happened.

I don't like feeling like I'm being played with. I cannot forgive and I cannot forget. I have been too trusting, too foolish in the past. I just want to be left alone. When a person doesn't call you back, doesn't respond to the note left on her car, doesn't try to reconnect, leave them alone. Really.

Jesus, it's only one week into the new year, and already, I hate it. I found out on New Year's Day that my cousin is getting shipped off to Iraq in Feb...to guard the convoys... I am terrified that I will never see him again. And this other asshole is apparently in the Navy... but stationed in Italy. I wish their places were reversed. I know that makes me a bad person, but I can't stop shaking, and I can't stop crying, and I can't stop feeling this way.

I going to go take a scalding hot shower and hope that denial will kick in already.... now, where's my steel wool?

That is all.

Happy New Year!

2006-12-31T17:28:00.000-06:00

So I totally don't want the last post to be my last of the year. So, happy new year! And stuff. Now go out, get drunk, vomit on the brown line, pee in an alley, and have a rockin' good time... that you can't remember. Or something.

Cheers!

That is all.

Insert Clever Title Here

2006-12-08T01:42:00.000-06:00

So, like, we leave for the airport in less than 5 hours. Laundry never got done (see comment on the previous posting), I'm completely fucking exhausted, and so naturally, I decided that now was a good time to shower and get rid of the winter coat on my legs so that I could walk around Honolulu and blind everyone with my paleness.
Here's the thing. I am, like, sooooo bad at being female in this society. I really don't know how to shave my legs without cutting myself to the point where I actually have scarring. Recently, I rediscovered the hair depilatory, a stinky, appalling chemical creation for "safely" removing unwanted hair. It's been updated so that you can scrape the depilatory from your legs with a razor-like device that has no blades. So it might be a burny, stinky process, but I cannot cut myself. Sweet. I got so into it that I decided to clean up the ~~nether regions~~ ~~down-there area~~ bikini line to beachy perfection. And then I got a little creative. I thought I might errr.... make it look a bit more interesting.
But here's the thing: contrary to popular opinion, I don't see too well without my glasses. So it's a bit off. Center. Like, really. And I fear I may have burned my legs et al with chemical evilness. Also, I have just discovered a patch on my shin that I totally missed. Shit.
But what's really scary? Bil doesn't even seem to have noticed it at all.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

That is all.

Distraction

2006-12-06T20:21:00.000-06:00

I had never missed a change in my life before tonight. I'm all amped up now that I have. It sucks because I don't like to allow myself to fuck up, and I felt like an amateur and an idiot. I'm always harder on myself than I am on anyone else, and it's really in the larger scheme of things a small issue, but it'll take a while to calm down and relax about this. I leave for Hawai'i in two days and I haven't even done the laundry necessary to go. I am getting all of the costumes together for the 1 night remount of Dumb Waiter and I am trying to scrounge up work for the rest of....well, life actually. Shit.
Also, I have just realized that Sarah Elizabeth is in the audience tonight to see the show so that she can see the changes. And now she's missed that one. Oops. What an asshole.

that is all.

and Scene!

2006-12-03T15:31:00.000-06:00

Transference closes in one week. I will come back from my Hawaiian vacation to .... unemployment. shit.

That is all.

hmmmm

2006-11-25T23:04:00.000-06:00

So I went to spray Lysol into all of the shoes this evening, like I always do. I should mention that I am on lots of Robitussin right now. And I was wandering around feeling good, getting everything sprayed. lalalalala. And I went to put the Lysol back. Right next to the Lysol... which meant the aerosol can in my hand was.....hair spray. shit.

that isall.

sick as a death.

2006-11-24T20:07:00.000-06:00

I would blame it on the cold meds, and it definitely could be a side effect of the cough suppressant. *cough cough cough lung cough cough* I am still coughing obscenely and now it seems as if my head is floating somewhere up and to the left of my body. And i have become a mouthbreather. damnit. Grammar is less than important in conveying my absolute disconnection with the world. conversation eludes me. so apparently does the "shift" key. and for the record, I just typed "shit, delete, shirt, delete, delete, shit, delete, shift." And the word "delete" is looking more and more wrong to me. i think one of the actors just called me baby. shit. brain is not functioning.

that is all.

Tuesday, 14 November 2006, 1:18 AM

2006-11-14T01:23:00.000-06:00

It's easier to demonize someone who has committed an amoral or unethical act than it is to forgive them, but I think forgiveness must feel nicer than being judgmental does. I still can't forgive those past transgressions. And they are eating me alive.
That is all.

Beautiful...

2006-11-08T12:48:00.000-06:00

I wish Bush's dialogue was written by Aaron Sorkin.... but can we just celebrate for one moment: Democrats win hugely in the House of Representatives, Jon Tester beat Conrad Burns in Montana, VA is still to close to call, but Webb is up on Allen, and there will probably be a recount, BUT Webb is UP... AND......

Rumsfeld Resigns!!!!

The Neo-Cons are falling.

A good day indeed.

That is all.

High five!

2006-11-03T12:32:00.000-06:00

That is all.

Just Wow.

2006-10-31T13:28:00.000-06:00

My black and white cat, Pepe, cries when he thinks there are no people around. I guess he's afraid of being abandoned. I understand that a bit myself. I'm 25 years old and I still feel that way sometimes. There are some things that we just don't grow out of, I guess.
I don't miss California, but I do miss the way things used to be. I miss the comforting knowledge that things were stable. It was a sad little lie, but it was infinitely comforting. I miss the people that were once all together, creating (yes, I do have that here, and it is v. comforting, but not quite the same), and working (and gossiping) in tandem. We all knew each other's secrets then, and knew each other maybe better than we knew ourselves.
And now we're all off in the Diaspora, floating on our own little islands with our own new circles, new communities of understanding. And we still want the same things, but we are maybe a bit disaffected, discouraged. It's a weird thing, this theatre community; it seems we start over fresh, too often, creating a falsified sense of intimacy in our minds as we jump into the next big thing, the next show. And when it's over, we're off again, the Diaspora calling, and we answering, diving in again, another show, another group, more false intimacy.
I'm not good at reaching out, at calling old friends, at keeping these cherished friendships alive. I'm terrified of rejection on some level, a failing of my own personality, perhaps. Partly too, it's hard because I have spent so much time running away from certain parts of my past -- the baggage that weights a person down -- that I have lost the ability to aptly communicate honestly with anyone any more.
It's not that I don't love the people here in Chicago, either. I do. But it's damned frustrating for an antisocial misanthrope to start afresh, again, in building new friendships, new connections. I can put on the act of being outrageous, talking freely about sex, love, comedically failed relationships, and the like, but in the end, I have revealed nothing too dear about myself. I won't tell you about the pain I've felt -- when my parents split up and my father told me my mom just wasn't very interesting, when I unsuccessfully (obviously) tried to off myself in high school during a severe bout of insomnia, when I accidentally drugged myself into a drunken stupor freshman year of college and what happened after. There's some dark shit for you.
Whether I like it or not, I am like my father in that I compartmentalize my life. Certain people know certain things about me, but others see me in a very different light. No one has all the facts. Maybe not even me.
I saw the first run-thru of Closer last night. It really fucked me up mentally, but I had a dinner date with an old friend from college afterwards, so I'm slowly dealing with how it affected me today. It's going to be a good show. I will see it on opening, but after that, I am booked solid through the rest of the run. I need to stay busy now for my own mental health. It's been a crazy and fucked up month. (But our 1 year anniversary was lovely.)

That is all.

Amazing

2006-10-23T22:57:00.000-05:00

That is all.

Normal?

2006-10-16T01:06:00.000-05:00

Somewhere in the last week and a half, I have gone into such an extreme tailspin that I have forgotten what normal might feel like. So many ups and downs (mostly downs). I am exhausted, but I cannot sleep. I have never wanted to get the hell out of here more that I do now. The cavalier attitudes, the absurd picture of GWB on the wall in the "library," the oppressive nature of it all... it's absolutely stifling. It's actually as if I can't breathe.
Somewhere in here, there used to be a sense of grouchy, self-deprecating humor... see this entry for a taste of said humor. Or this gem. If humor is what you're looking for, this is not the entry for you. I have none left. I've become terribly boring. And I totally miss Chicago. It's officially my home.

Maybe the worst part of all of this is the self-doubt aspect. What if I am wrong? What if I'm over-reacting? I hate feeling so alone. It's terrible up here in my head. I can't wait to get back to work so that I can be occupied with other more pressing matters. Goddamn it!!!!!!! Oh, yes, there are lovely bouts of severe uncontrollable anger, mixed in with crying over literally what seems to be nothing... as Bostonians are to honking horns, I am to the facial waterworks--at a mere moment's notice, I can turn these babies on. This family reunion should be fun! I just hope there's enough booze. It's gonna take some serious drinking to get through it. God help us all.

When I return to Chicago I will be better, promise. I'm just thoroughly ensconced in this mess right now, and I have no useful escape. It's really shitty. But I will conspire to return to my cynical, bitter, self-deprecating, bitchy, "fucking actors!," eye-rolling, grumpy, misanthropic self upon my return to the windy city. I can't wait. Seriously. I've got my bag all packed up in anticipation. It's going to be a long time until I return to CA. It's too hard now. And it's really going to suck after.

God, people, why are you reading this awful drivel? Seriously? If you are reading this, I am really doubting your sanity. My own is already really shaky... I am probably going to lose friends over this... it's so bad. Do yourself a favor and stop reading. Right now. Ok?

That is all.

2006-10-15T22:37:00.000-05:00

Mere minutes left. I feel absolutely ill. Fuck him for making me feel like this.

Silent Sigh

2006-10-05T13:53:00.000-05:00

I've been here not 5 days, and already I have made some interesting and frightening discoveries about the Geminis in my family. My immediate family. I don't know what to do. I have some very damning information about them both. Not that I want to hurt either of them or anything.... it's just that each in his/her own way is being very deceitful and now, I feel similarly because I am burdened with these secrets. I hate feeling like this.
I am sick from one particular discovery. I thought that we had moved past all this.

I guess I thought that people changed.

I was so wrong.

People don't change.

Alphonse Karr, a French writer, once said, "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose." The more things change, the more they stay the same. So many things have changed during the last decade in my life, and still certain themes persist.

I wish I could go back to not knowing. Ignorance was bliss.

And knowledge makes me use overused colloquialisms. Life is truly not fair.

I don't think I have the capacity to forgive anymore. I reached my threshold for forgiveness in December of 1999. Take a number... we're running about 7 years behind schedule and there's quite a line... you might want to bring a sack lunch.

And you wonder why I trust no one? This is one of the big reasons. I'll never trust him again.

Confidential to my two readers: if this doesn't make a whole lot of sense, I apologize. I'm discombobulated right now... apparently I'm no stronger at 25 than I was at 15. This is not a comforting notion.

That is all.

Oh, to be in So Cal.

2006-10-03T00:55:00.000-05:00

Weird to be back here after nearly a year away. I hadn't seen my family (except my mom) in nearly a year, and I hadn't seen mountains in nearly a year. My parents' house is like the Winchester Mystery House.... always under construction. It's strange that it has always metamorphosed somewhat between my increasingly rarer visits. It's hard to see the house in which I grew up anymore. So much of that has been lost in the addition of new rooms, new decor, new furniture and carpet, even new toilets. This perpetual state of construction has been going on for nearly five years with no signs of slowing or stopping. It's frightening.
I'm not going to lie; I love my family and I love seeing them, but I hate being here. All of my demons are here, and it's always a fight in my head to be here. This is really and truly no longer my home, and it's weird to hear my parents tell me I should move closer to home, as my home is now Chicago, where I live.

Demon #1

Being in suburban Southern California, where I grew up, reminds me tremendously of the demons I tried to escape in college, and later the greater expanse of the country. I was literally running away from shit; tragically obvious, I know. But what else could I do? I was too cowardly then (and now) to face certain of those issues, those demons that even now haunt me in the night. Running away where they couldn't find me was preferable.
There is a person who used to live in town (don't know if this is still the case, hope fervently it's not) who I am very afraid of running into. You never want to revisit the people who damaged you a bit. I like to pretend that I'm a strong woman, but i might just crumple if I run into this person. It would be a combination of anger, rage, fear, bile: an overload. I've been dreading it ever since I found a note on my car two and a half years ago, taunting me, "Why aren't we frends enymore?" There was more but I'm seeing red recalling it. And yes, I spelled that verbatim. There is so much wrong with this statement, and no, I'm not sharing more than that with some strange large man in his underpants chillin' on the 'net at 3am in Kansas... if you really wanna know, get me drunk and ask me. Very simple.

Demon #2

Some people seem to find it funny that I once had acrylic nails and rarely left the house without some sort of makeup on. This is truly a reflection of where I come from. In my natural state, I soooo don't belong here. Took my sister shopping for a dress for her senior Homecoming dance today and remembered all this anew. Firstly, I just don't bother with makeup. I tell people it's because Bil's totally stuck with me anyway, so why bother, but it's a pain in the ass, it totally fucks up my skin, and I'd much rather apply makeup to someone else's face that I can see, than struggle to see my own face in a mirror sans glasses. Also, I'd rather leave that run-on sentence than repair it. So we go to this really high-end, expensive boutique with pushy salesladies who try to pretend that they're younger than they really are. So lame. They kept trying to get M. into these fancy (and pricey...like my half of the rent pricey) ill-begotten halter dresses. I'd try to help her tie the dress, and Pushy Saleslady Susan would push me out of the way in her efforts to make a sale. Had I been in $200 jeans, and a faux-vintage T instead of my fave Guster concert T and a pair of $4 thrift store Gap jeans, maybe she would have been nicer to me, but really I have the credit card, and the car keys... my sister can't get the $$$$ dress without me, no matter how much she begs.
There's a huge emphasis placed on appearance in this town. Nails, pores, hair, clothing. It seeps in and takes control of what might otherwise be perfectly lovely human beings. It turns them into catty horrible fashion robots who don't understand that wide-legged cropped pants make their short, fat legs look shorter and fatter. (I, too, have my catty moments.) I hate that people judge me this way. Mostly, I don't like being judged by people I don't really even know, and secondly, I dislike being judged based on such shallow grounds. It hardly seems kind or fair to me. Yes, I am an awkward, short, pimply twenty-something who hides behind my giant glasses. What's it to you? If you talked to me, I could explain to you that the '70's disco look did not, in fact involve tie-dye. At all. Really. I promise. Sigh. It's really OK. I'm quietly judging you back.

Demon #3

Early mornings and an order of sudden adult-onset ADD, with a side of narcolepsy, please! It's part of the process of cutting off the stimulants from my system. I have no attention span and worse, I am perpetually on the verge of napping wherever I go. I'm so tired that I'm actually nearly slurring my words. It's a bit like being drunk without the fun side effects. This, people, is the real reason that I have never successfully quit before. Because I'm deathly afraid of driving without the influence of my favorite stimulant on my body. No amount of caffeine can compete with my exhaustion. I get halfway through a story and get distracted and cannot for the life of me remember where to go from there... or even what I was just saying. It's disappointing.
My family believes that travel just makes me extremely weary. Little do they know.

Demon #4

oh, crap.... I'm two hours into the writing of this stupid little blog and I just realized that I still need to check all the doors (all 7 of them) and lock them..... be right back.......................
OK. I'm back. And i can't remember what I was going to write. But, god, I'm tired..... off to bed.

Also, FYI, in my dozing state, I have plenty of time to consider Taylor Hicks, which is decidedly a good thing.

That is all.

Product Placement in my Dreams....

2006-09-22T16:26:00.000-05:00

So I had a really weird dream the other morning. Basically, Bil was leaving me for some other woman, which you know, is weird. And so I chased him to a parking lot. A parking lot attached to a very large, evil multinational fast food giant. So there were the fucking golden arches mocking me as I tried to smack some sense into my stupid bastard of a cheating husband. And then I went back home and grabbed my cats (who had multiplied from 2 to 10), collected all of them, got onto a bus furnished like a crazy granny's attic, and went to work.... where I got a call from a doctor who said I had cancer and was going to die. So, I left work, called a friend and went to Konak at 10 in the am and got drunk. So basically, a crappy dream made crappier by the fact that I got dumped essentially in the parking lot at that damned fast food joint (who I won't name here because they've gotten enough free advertising in my skull while I'm trying to enjoy a sick and twisted dream). What the hell does that all mean? So, I'm boycotting that evil fastfood giant.

Also, a note to those who would mock my sick and twisted love of a certain AlabaMAN silver-haired singer: at least I'm not subjecting you to my nostalgic appreciation of say, Rick Astley, or worse, Chris DeBurgh. Be good, Hollywood.

This boy's pretty cute.....

That is all.

For Fuck's Sake! or How I learned to stop being anal retentive about bad grammar. But not really.

2006-09-11T14:33:00.000-05:00

So here's the thing: I don't care what degrees that you have, if you have been in school for a minimum of 20 years, you should know that there is no comma in the following sentence: "She is an excellent presenter, who is engaging and warm and really connects well with students." This is an unneccesary comma. Gah! And how about this gem: "Writing a letter of recommendation from an excellent teacher like Dr. X; who is highly regarded and respected is one of the few things in life that makes you realize how certain teachers have a lasting impact on your career development." Obviously, this one's English teacher was not one of those that made an impact.
Perhaps I'm anal retentive to a fault, but what happened to respect for language? I'm sure it's not just English that is being beaten in a dank warehouse and left to die there. Are we so entrenched in a text-message/e-mail/chat-room anything goes society that we have forgotten the basic tenets of our language? Yes, English is a fucking difficult language, but it's not like basic grammar rules are the difficult aspects of the language.
Ok. I should get back to work. Really. (That's a fragment, you know, and so is this.)

That, peevish readers, is all.

Should I be concerned??

2006-08-28T13:39:00.000-05:00

The guy in the office next to mine is listening to what sounds like Russian radio, which, in itself is a bit odd, but not horribly so. Also, he sounds like he might be either having a heart attack, or getting off, a la our party conversation last night at Philip's. Would anyone else be curious about this?????

That is all for now. . . will write about my cynicism when I'm not procrastinating at the office, listening to what sounds like a suspiciously large old man either dying or experiencing la petite mort. Oh, to work in a Psych ward.... errrr, Department.

That is all.

Out of Context

2006-08-11T12:33:00.000-05:00

Hit kind of a low point last night (really low... not a good night). I decided that if I could write down and articulate all of the bad shit that has been bringing me down as of late, I could get it out of my system. I filled a page, margins, all of it. That's a lot of shit. So much bad shit since the 1st of June. Jesus.
So, ever the Libra, I decided that I needed to balance it out with some positive things that have happened this summer. (I should add that by this point, I had poured a small amount of vodka into my Coke--it was that sort of night.) My highlights list had seven items. Seven. And some of those are shapeless concepts and not events.
My summer highlights:

Drunken debauchery.

Saw two of my uncles and my cousin and her husband.

Did some theatre.

Considered finding another career path.

Was called "sexy" by very drunken, much older, somewhat married, possibly insane Communist.

Read some books.

Dreamed of something better.

That is it. The rest of the page is filled with the sort of drunken and depressed bile that comes from realizing how out of balance one's life really is.

For years I have been in perpetual motion, running away as much as possible from the issues that I have accrued over my nearly quarter century on this earth. And when I can't run away, I turn them into humor. It's a great defense mechanism. But when all of that is stripped away, and I'm alone in my back porch-y area, drinking and depressed, I'm still the same fucked up person that I always was. Because in moving so much, I have managed not to streamline my baggage, but to accrue more with each passing year, each new trip. At some point, I won't be able to carry it all around anymore. What will happen to me then? Will I gracefully let the oldest shit just fall away, my parents' divorce leave my consciousness for once and all? Or perhaps that's when I can finally let go of all those other things: the darker issues, the ones that I almost never talk about, the things that I've seen in my life that no one should ever have to see.

I was once a sensative kid. Now I'm a callous, bitter and jaded adult. I like control, being in control, of everything around me; it's why I enjoy stage managing. I keep a tight reign on my emotions (at least the dark undercurrent of emotions that I like to pretend do not exist: the depression, the anger, the angst, the hopelessness, the uncertainty.) I will not be fooled again. There is safety in control. And if I don't experience a full range of emotions in this lifetime, it's still better than admitting to the world how low I can go.

I like riding on the el because I enjoy watching all of the people. I wonder about them. Who they are; where they are going, and coming from; what makes them tick. I want to know all about them. But I don't want to actually connect. Because that scares the shit out of me too. I can only keep control over my life if I keep my circle very small. I lived in Boston for 10 months, and only in the last month that I lived there did I actually have any real friendships: people with whom to hang out, people with whom to have a drink, people who had silly nicknames for me. It took me 9 months to connect to anyone. Had Bil not been there with me, my roommates would not have even known about my birthday. There is safety in keeping everything internal, to a point. But sometimes it all blows up in my face.

I don't know anymore where exactly I'm going with all of this, but I know where I'm coming from, and it isn't pretty. I haven't yet reached my own personal catharsis, but I am hopeful. What is life without hope?

And on that note, dear readers (and random asshole from Arkansas who is reading this at 3:30am on a Tuesday, and still doesn't bother to comment), I will leave you with a song lyric that once meant something to me, maybe it still applies; you be the judge:

"Disarm you with a smile, and cut you like you want me to, / Cut that little child inside of me and such a part of you, / Oh, the years burn..."
-- from "Disarm", written by Billy Corgan and performed by the Smashing Pumpkins on their best album.

That is all.

2006-08-09T22:32:00.000-05:00

My cat was making sweet, sweet love to my sandals, and now she's smoking a cigarette. Where did I go wrong?

That is all.

Goddamn it!

2006-08-09T16:44:00.000-05:00

Fucking A. I am so fucking sick of being poor. I was supposed to get paid today by UIC. I go out to get some lunch and check my balance at the ATM: $0.00. Nothing. It's direct deposit, which I totally don't trust, so I rush back to work to find out where my money is. I can't find the HR lady. Christ. So I go back to my office, think about how much I would love to eat lunch, then think about my lack of lunch-buying ability, and get back to work, hungry. I run into HR lady in the hall, who says, "I was wondering where you were; I need you to sign this paper so that your payroll can go through." I sign the paper then and there, and--bonus!--it says that before I have even gotten paid, I've gotten a 31 cent raise. Ok, that's cool. She tells me that she'll get back to me ASAP when she knows more about when I'll get paid.

I wait, mouth watering in anticipation of lunch. . .

And I wait.

And still, I continue to wait.

I send her a pleasant, but assertive e-mail requesting more information regarding when my money will come rolling into my account.

I get no response.

I go over to her office.

She's out somewhere (probably eating a nice delicious tasty lunch).

I drink some coffee.

And some tea.

And daydream of food.

I go over once again to her office. She's there! And she has no information for me. So I calmly draw and quarter her because I am enraged and hungry and want to cry with frustration. But then what I really said was, "And about how long does this sort of thing typically take to be corrected?"

And she replies in a long, drawn-out, roundabout fashion that it should only be a few more days. DAYS?!?!?! I thought we were talking hours. I am hungry now, and I'll be dead from starvation in a matter of days! And I'll owe the bank more than the sum total of my paycheck in a matter of days!@!!!! So, I (less calmly) told her that that was unacceptable. That I was counting on this paycheck. And I thought about the fact that I couldn't afford to live anymore. That I've been waiting on money from several different places and all of them have been slow to pay up. That I have dug myself into a fucking hole of debt to helping out other people. That I have been working 14-15 hour days most of the last couple of weeks on multiple jobs. That I have not been paid or reimbursed for anything since June and I have moved since then. And mostly that I am fucking hungry.

But what I said was simply that I needed the money. That it would be great if she let me know ASAP about it.

And she gave me some sob story about how she has all of these new employees and she was here until 8pm on Monday night getting all the paperwork right. And this is the worst time of year for new hires. And blah blah blah. And I really don't give a fuck, because I am standing in front of you, starving because you fucked up my paperwork.

So judge me all you want. I am angry. And I'm not sorry about it. I WAS GOING TO GO GROCERY SHOPPING TONIGHT! Goddamnit! I fucking hate bureaucracy and bullshit.

I'm going to quietly put my head down on my desk now and have a good quiet cry in my office. And I'm going to bill the bastards for time spent.

I'm too mad to post anything cheeky about Taylor Hicks.

GAH!

That is all.

2006-08-07T15:52:00.000-05:00

So I had a bit to drink last night. And the night before, and the night before that, and the one before that too. And all that drinking caught up with me this morning. I felt like there were some spare bit of hardware from the set clanging around in my brain, and I totally looked like shit. Also, I remember just enough about the ride home last night to be assured that I probably need to apologize about ... something ... to ... someone. So I totally called in sick today and have spend the entirety of the day cat-napping on the porch, reading and rehydrating. I haven't called in sick to work in at least a year, and I think I owed it to myself.
Also, a strange observation: drinking makes me have really vivid, resonant dreams, the kind that really stick to my brain after I wake up. And sometimes, they are kinda sexy... So if I'm acting all weird around you, rest assured it's nothing personal, my brain is just very errr... active. *wink*

And now, to make Bil laugh, and to further confuse Hollywood, (who seems oddly disturbed by this, as he's brought it up disparagingly the last several nights), the Taylor Hicks newslink of the day.

That is all.

Fuckin' A

2006-08-04T17:14:00.000-05:00

I was totally in a brawl outside the bar last night. You should see the other guy. Haha.

Also, had to defend my obvious adoration of Taylor Hicks -- please don't judge me....
Sigh.
Will post more after I have retrieved my brain... if only I knew where I left it... maybe the office, the theatre, the gutter... gah.

That is all.

ummm...

2006-08-03T14:28:00.000-05:00

So this impertinent little Word paper clip is giving me bedroom eyes. Should I be concerned? Do I get to say, "Mr. Paperclip, that is sexual harassment and I don't have to take it!"? (punctuation is proving difficult right now.) I swear it just undressed me with its googly-eyes.

And a guy who I think was nuts called today while I was playing receptionist. He said his name was "Taylor Taylor." I think it's a sign.

This is what office work does to me.

'nuff said.

That is all.

Blorch.

2006-08-02T13:32:00.000-05:00

It turns out there's some truth in that old idea about heat and alcohol making you drunk and sleepy very quickly. So I only made it through 1 glass of wine last night before conking out on my back porch. I woke up at 4:30 in the am, all nestled in a chair by the window, through which a slightly less hot breeze was blowing. i should have stayed on the porch, though... it was wicked hot in the bedroom. I'm really tired of no A/C.

FYI, this post is entirely procrastination. I just don't feel like writing flowery letters to big shot shrinks quite yet. Stupid shrinks. Bah.

For all you new readers out there (you know who you are): I'm really not as angry as that last major post would suggest. Really. BUT. I was feeling kinda pissed off at that moment. And maybe a bit childish. A bit. STOP JUDGING ME! Gah!

Ok, must get back to work so that I can leave early to go get shoes and suspenders and a belt and maybe some glasses.

Oi!

And speaking of temperatures rising, get a load of this. Hot.

That is all.

Pause. Sigh.

2006-07-28T18:57:00.000-05:00

My favorite band is playing in town tonight. The show starts in 7 minutes. I am cleaning my house and getting costumes together. And preparing for the party tomorrow night. Sigh.

And I just couldn't bring myself to buy tickets to see the PopTarts American Idols tour. Mostly, because I would be the only person there over 16 who didn't escort my own kids. And it sold out before I could get them. So, no Guster and no Taylor Hicks this summer. Worst summer ever.

And no iPod. Sigh.

That is all.

Harry Potter in Equus

2006-07-28T14:59:00.000-05:00

HaHaHa. That's really all I can say.

Also, sigh.

That is all.