Tu me fais chier

After the latest hiatus, full of parents and friends and less lonely times, I'd love to offer you brilliant pearls of relevent wisdom.

However, all I really have to impart this evening is this: two very angry French (does this sound familiar?) parents, yelling in English about the opera, yelling in French about how disgusting, disturbing, and rude we all are, while their teenage son stands around, looking at the floor, quietly trying to calm them down. Their daughter picked up the tickets (on time) and is sitting inside, enjoying the show, and they are 5 minutes (too) late and completely livid.

No, we will not ask your daughter to come out here. Why? For the same reason that we won't let you inside to see the show. Hard to understand? Really?

Je vous deteste, aussi.

Suddenly Everything Has Changed

Yesterday, 10:30 A.M. A balmy 62 degrees in NYC. People are out without coats on.

Yesterday, 3:30 P.M. Rainy, 40 degrees. I check mattmat.com for the first time in ages, read the new posts, make plans to start listening to Mr. F's eternal mix as soon as possible.

Today, 4 P.M. It hasn't stopped snowing in 9 hours, and mattmat.com is now a website for flooring.

The world is crumbling all around me. I think I need a hug.

Tonight's Special Guest

Michael Stipe. Yes. Seriously.

In other Mr. Sleepy news, surf on over to http://christianscientistsonline.blogspot.com/, scroll to February 5th, and read what the Christian Scientists have to say about the show. Yes. Seriously.

189 Fiber Pills Later. . .

Thinner. More regular. Happily full of banana pancakes, eggs, and coffee.

It's a good day to be alive and no longer dietarily restricted.

Stars In My Eyes

Laurie Anderson and Lou Reed picked up tickets for the show tonight. Seeing Laurie Anderson in the flesh took my breath away, in the silliest, most wonderful schoolgirl way, while Eduardo kicked my chair like a little boy. Whee!

I did manage to pull it together enough to tell them that they had seats in Row 3.

Awkward Moon

Full Moon Treats Tonight, Kiddies:

Two cranky Parisians sat in seats at the theatre that were reserved for someone else, and when they were asked to kindly move their butts, they refused, and were promptly asked to leave. A small altercation between the Parisians and our Maestro ensued, in which he called them "very unpleasant people," they referred to him as the "very unpleasant manager," and claimed rights to any seat they liked as per the general seating advisory online. He's the Maestro, he tells you to jump and you jump, goddamit. They didnt' seem to understand this idea, or perhaps have any idea who they were dealing with.

Too bad they paid with a credit card so they had to stand around while I refunded their tickets via the internet and have Shannon print out the receipt, all the while the Maestro telling them just to take cash and telling me we'd eat the difference, just to get them out of the box office faster. (They ended up taking Shannon's name and number instead, and for that our cash box thanks them.)

The Cranky Parisian gentleman's last words? "Yes, well, take a good look at my face." Really? Now what is it, exactly, that this face is planning to do?

Uncomfortable.

Because God Likes It That Way

Why, oh, why does St. Mark's always have to be SO FUCKING COLD inside? I have to keep on my coat and my gloves just to be reasonably defrosted. Snow I can handle, but this I can't take much more of. Box office girl needs a space heater.

Luckily (knock on wood) tonight is quiet out in the lobby. It is my job to sell tickets and merchandise, of course, but really I have been hired as the front line of defense against over-enthusiastic talkers and loud dance shows and 9/11 conspiracy meetings. The biggest event so far that I've been involved in dealing with was when the security alarms got triggered by one of the church staff and he couldn't get them to shut off. They were going off in two parts of the building. . .I couldn't help, because I didn't have the code, Shannon ran out of her office to help, Richard left the theatre in the middle of the show to tell us this was a disaster (yes, we know), thankfully the show kept going (thank God), and eventually things got settled down. I had to talk to the police ("no, officer, everything is fine. could you please keep your voice down, we have a performance going on."), but now I have the code, should it happen again. Yikes.

Well, those crashes sound like the end of the show. Better get ready to open the doors.

B-b-b-bye.

Blind Travels

I walked to return a video/ rent some bad TV at Reel Life, about a 20 minute walk from my house, since I don't have to be anywhere tomorrow until 6 (I have a few of these kind of days coming up, and plan to balance useful and useless activities. So far, useful: laundry, useless: Nip/Tuck. If you have any papers you'd like me to edit or liturature you think I ought to drink in, please help me add them to the "useful" category.), and I had to walk most of the way there by memory because my glasses were coated in snow. That's right, we're finally having some winter weather here in NYC, a fact by which I was initially perturbed, as my coat was breaking and I couldn't keep track of my gloves, but with this incredibly beautiful snowfall, all I could think as I was walking was, "I. Fucking. Love. Snow." Bring it on, Winter. I'm going to buy a hat, and then I'll be fucking READY.

I'm waiting for my asparagus to finish cooking, which I am having with baby carrots for a late dinner, proud to be at the end of day 7 of my liver reconfiguration.

(Yet I am dreaming, once again, of banana pancakes.)

Buildings and Bridges

We closed wicked fast tonight, and I was out the door by 1:15. I took this, and the extremely mild weather of the wee hours, as a sign that I should walk home. Perhaps not the safest idea, but what the hey, you only live once, etc.

Half way across the Williamsburg bridge, right when I was over the river, I realized that literally no one else was on the whole foot bridge, going either direction. I only saw three cyclists the whole half hour I spent walking the bridge. I took this as another sign: that I should start singing very loudly along with my music. I didn't stop until I was a block away from my house.

I hope to remember this evening most of all.

Always Yes? Always (No)?

Numero Uno: I've spent too many hours a week (say, 45 minimum) around baked goods and chocolate. I've been eating too many waffles/ not enough vegetables. My body is revolting against this routine, and I am paying attention, so a week from tomorrow I am going to start re-cleansing my liver. I'm waiting until after the big dinner that Richard is having for everyone working on the show, and I should be done just in time for my mother's visit to the city. Wish me and my digestive system luck.

Numero Dos: Exciting things are happening in May. I'll give more public info as the Spring draws nearer, or if you'd like to know more now, just ask.

Much love from a much less grumpy girl.

Post Script

Okay, I can't lie.

I miss my Kansas friends like mad. All of you. Those of you still there and those of you galavanting. I'm glad that I'm here but I sure wish that I was seeing you all sooner.

Love love love,
-b

The Stone That Rolls Up the Hill Backwards Is Called. . .

There are so many things that I've been meaning to tell you, darling. More than I could ever go into without a seriously long vacation on a beach somewhere and your solemn promise not interrupt me, or to be irritated about not interrupting me. So we'll just start fresh in the new year, and we'll keep the lines of communication open. Cheers to a healthier, more active relationship, Blog! To 2007!

I would like you to know this, however, because I feel it is important:

Richard Foreman's two favorite horror movies are:

1. The Shining

and

2. "The first one of the those Sam Raimi things," also known as Evil Dead.

While sometimes a little too discerning, I do respect the man's taste.

(Note: I am, sadly, giving up my position at the bakery de la country music as of next Saturday, but for a good reason that I will go into at a later date. This means, however, that in two weeks I'm going to have the first entire day off from working somewhere (if not multiple locations) that I've had in three months. I'm going to get to have a day off EVERY WEEK. Big plans for actually seeing some of this city I live in, and entertaining visitors.)

Just Like Little Red Riding Hood

Today, one of the actors in the show had an appointment he could not reschedule. Guess who got to stand in for him all morning, pretend she was acting in the play, AND wear his fighter pilot hat and goggles? Yep, that's right.

Value Judgements (RE: Job Security)

1. One of my beautiful/terrifying bosses at the chocolate mecca told me I had made him the best Milk Chocolat he had ever tasted in said establishment. My face got hot and I had to take deep breaths, as this was as bold (coming from a man that first told me that he would send his drinks back until they were passable, and to whom "Not bad" is his version of "Excellent" ) as him asking me to marry him.

2. I was late to work (again) at the bakery on Saturday, and as I sat on the train running deep into Brooklyn, all I could think of was how I was going to get fired, and how I wouldn't be able to say anything other than, "Yes, I understand. I am much more trouble than I am worth." Turns out, the first thing my boss did when I got there was ask me if I would join her family for Thanksgiving dinner. This is the opposite of getting fired.

3. I'm going to start training tomorrow to be an expeditor. This means more responsibility without a raise in pay, and more waiters spending time hating me. I am, however, kind of excited. I like the idea of being the captain of this particular (sometimes sinking) ship.

Also, a simple delight: I've started making friends. The real kind you hang out with when you're not working. I didn't think I would ever have time for such a thing, but even half hour lunch breaks can prove useful in this endeavor. I'm starting to feel like I have a place in this dirty, pretty city.

Chocolate Is Good For You

Now, usually I am not really in a position to consume the massive quantities of chocolate that I handle each week. Eating behind the bar is completely forbidden, and the only time desserts are free for employees is when they are either 1. broken or 2. a mistake. So, my chocolate consumption is basically limited to drinks that I make when no one is paying attention to me. Tonight, though, I got to try three of the big sellers, due to some training session I didn't particularly understand, and DAMN do we make fine desserts. I was taking my dinner break at the time, and any attention I might have paid to my chicken sandwich was given over to bites of a hazelnut praline and chocolate crepe, a "Munchies" waffle (sweet waffles with whipped cream, toasted hazelnuts, ice cream, and chocolate coated wheat balls), and "Mess" (chocolate sponge cake, chocolate ganosh, ice cream, whipped cream, milk chocolate chunks and sprinkles). I realized what a blessing it is that we don't have access to these desserts on a regular basis, because our staff is shockingly attractive and fit across the board, and I'm certain this wouldn't stay the case for long if it weren't for strict consumption rules.

In a few weeks, before they open the new store, they're having an open house for employees at which we can order anything we want, and nurse it for hours, if we so desire. I've hatched a plan with one of my favorite co-workers to first get extremely intoxicated pre-soiree, then to order one Banana Mess and one Strawberry Mess (enough to feed 8-12 people), stay for as many hours as it takes to eat every last bite, and find someone who will care for us during the food coma that will follow.

I'm thinking of fasting in preparation.

"Ah, It Comes and Goes, Comes and Goes."

Okay, I've neglected my duties as a New York City Blogger for over a month now, a fact which was brought to my attention just enough times by groups spanning just enough geographical space for me to realize that if people are reading, then I should be writing. So, while my laundry spins to the sounds of Univision at the laundromat around the corner, I will be sipping a Smuttynose Pumpkin Ale and filling in some gaps.

Job Update:
I work 'til the wee hours in the land of chocolate. I am trained to dress waffles, crepes, and other chocolate goodies, as well as making frozen drinks, hot drinks (my favorite. . .I get to do extra hot drink training next week because I show promise, or something similar), register, and take-out. I, along with my fellows behind the bar, make uncomfortably less than the waitstaff for many hours of hard work, but we're surviving. The pressure is always on, and the turn-over rate is kind of insane. I, however, am sticking it out and enjoying getting to know all of my ridiculously beautiful co-workers. In a few weeks, they're opening a second location a mere block from the Ontological, and I have yet to hear whether or not I'm going to be transfered. I have heard, though, that I was being fought over by the bar managers of each; yay, job security! I leave everyday covered in crusty chocolate.

Also, I still work on Saturdays at a bakery in Brooklyn. This makes life complicated, but my boss asks me about my internship and my mother, so I've grown attached to her, and can't imagine quitting. Also, they haven't fired me even though I've been late for 4 out of my last 5 shifts, all for totally unrelated reasons. I think that my boss's husband would enjoy firing me, but my boss won't let him. Heh.

OHT Update:
I'm an ASM, so I take blocking notes (and occassionally notes for Richard) three days a week at rehearsal. Used to be four, but we had some interns quit, so schedules got shifted and I got moved to an extra night of tech. Seeing Richard work never ceases to be a kick in the pants- he works his way through the show, then goes back to the beginning and keeps a few elements but basically changes the whole thing. He will often say outloud, "Well. That's stupid." Most used sentence opener: "I'm concerned that. . ." usually having to do with the stability of props. The new ending, as of yesterday, involves shackles and dancing parachutes. We'll have to see exactly how long that lasts.

Rehearsals are Tuesday through Sunday, 10-4:30. Tech is Sunday through Friday, 5-9, with a full day on Monday. Interns do about seven shifts a week, split between the two. Tech shifts are used to accomplish the notes that Richard gives after rehearsal, to further develop/create costumes, props, and scenic elements. Initially, I thought that I would just kind of grit-my-teeth-and-bear-it through tech shifts, using rehearsals as the bulk of my learning process. It turns out, though, that I while watching Richard work is bizarre and amazing, I often have very little to do during rehearsals, especially when he's messing with lighting. Not being actively involved sometimes makes it hard to be completely engaged in what's going on. During tech, on the other hand, there is always something to get done, and the work is continuously shifting and growing. I get to put into play all of the random skills I learned in production classes in college, as well as traverse the city in search of materials ranging from mundane (dry wall screws, black elastic) to complicated (4-wire cables) to utterly bizarre (shackles). I am consistantly delighted to be working with my superiors (Peter, Megan, Brendan, and Shannon), as well as my intern cohorts.

I realize that watching the show develop makes it hard for me to keep a grip on what the overall product will evoke, or be 'about' as it were. The themes running through expand and contract, but don't disappear completely, since the video that Richard is working with is in itself a static entity, not subject to a change in content; so, too, are the data banks of voice tapes that Richard has on file. However, the eventual combination of elements could become anything, and we won't know what that is for a long time. What I am looking forward to, in the distant future, is viewing the finished product with people who don't carrywith them the history that I will have, the history of the development, and discussing what they experience in comparison to what I know and see. So, come to New York, fine friends, and we'll have an extravaganza.

If anyone is interested, there's a live podcast of rehearsal every Wednesday at Free103point9.org from 10-4:30 EST, and we have a blog available for your perusal at http://www.wakeupmrsleepy.blogspot.com .

Physical Negligence Update:
1. My second day at the Ontological, I almost got a concussion. I was cutting wood on the chop saw, and when I finished, promptly stood up into the steel stairs to the dimmer room. I immediately had a walnut sized goose egg on my forehead, and had to spend an hour in the production office, icing my head and making sure I didn't vomit. Perks: the swelling went down by the time I went to bed, and I got to hear about every theatre related injury ever sustained by the TD.

2. I have cut both my left hand on the knuckle and my right on my index finger tip while cleaning the meat slicer at the bakery.

3. I sustained a long thin burn on my left arm last Friday on a pizza pan.

4. While not initially painful, I warded off the advances of a Ukranian man on the train on Halloween night by vomiting the entire contents of my stomach (cream of spinach soup, chicken wrap, whiskey and water, orange cosmopolitan, etc.) into my purse. Totally disgusting, I know, but please picture me on the train, one minute trying not to have a conversation with a 35-year-old Ukranian, the next making every effort not to throw up, giving up that effort, throwing up into my bag, excusing myself, getting off the train a stop early, and walking the rest of the way home. Now, that's comedy. The pain, of course, came the next morning/day with the raging, equalibrium-busting hangover that I suffered during rehearsal. Oh, Trashy New York can be so entertaining.

Tomorrow morning I am waking up early to help one of the other interns shoot some footage for an experimental film he's making. On that note, this will have to be all for now, but there will be more to come, in a timely fashion.

All the best from Brooklyn!

Mr. Sleepy: Weeks One and Two

So far, I have done all of the following at the OHT:

1. Received a very embarrassing head wound.
2. Re-met Richard. He, of course, shows no signs of recalling the first time that we met. I think that I might be frightened if he did.
3. Painted heads.
4. Bought and schlepped paint, dowels, screws, buckets, luan (which I subsequently scraped my neck on), and large blue mailing tubes.
5. Drank more cups of Mud coffee than I'd like to go into.
6. Successfully maneuvered a jigsaw, a chop saw, drills, an electric sander, and a 3-hole punch.
7. Not so successfully maneuvered poxy, and smelled like it until I changed for work tonight. Sick.
8. Painted heads, built pedestals, drew 1' yellow diamonds on white walls, marked 1/4" stripes on the floor, and hung Christmas lights using an extension ladder (whoa. scary.) and a staple gun.
9. Heard some of loops for this year's show. They made me laugh, even out of context.

Rehearsals start on Tuesday, and I'm excited. It's better than I ever would have expected.

Ha!: There's talk of having some sort of event for the bloggers that hate Richard, where they get discounted tickets and have a talkback moderated by Anne Bogart, who at Bard started an "I Hate Foreman" club, but who subsequently has become friends with him. I think that this is brilliant.

Also: The interns are going to be assigned days to ask Richard questions, and these plus the subsequent responses will be posted on the OHT website. So, if any of you have any questions that desperately need to be answered, please send them my way and I will attempt to work them into the mix.

i don't care if no one cares what i had for lunch

If you ever come to visit me in Williamsburg, I will take to you the Alligator Lounge, where with every beer purchase they give you a free pizza. My friend Jesica takes herself on dates there, and I'm planning to follow suit in the future.

Also, Theresa has been talking about this restaurant she really likes called Moto since I got here. She said that it was close, that it was tasty, etc. etc. We finally went there today with her parents, who are visiting, and by God if it isn't two blocks away with paninis and brunch and attentive waitresses and a huge wine selection. I will also take you there.

By the way: baked eggs, mixed greens, grilled bread, and two americanos. Don't you wish you were me?

This Dirty, Pretty City

I can't help but enjoy the skyline, even in this slogging, rainy excuse for weather that's going on outside. And all the streets are clean, at least for a day, as the rain beats down on them. Especially in Central Part West. Damn it's clean over there.

I've spent the last two days handing out flyers to Jewish people all over Manhattan, for a Yom Kippur celebration in Union Square that combines various traditional rituals with performance art. I was given a list of Jewish events around town, and asked to flyer them as best I could. I'm not sure that I was very good at my job, as I refused to be aggressive in the way people who usually hand out flyers tend to be. However, I just asked each person "Can I give you one of these?" and smiled, and 90% of them said okay and smiled back. The whole gig definitely made me appreciate how cool and calm working the box office for Fringe Encore has been. I'm going to be really glad, though, when I have a steady income and no longer have to do things like flyer the Upper West Side.

The days of steady (if meager) income are fast approaching, if my sources are correct. More to come on that front, and by God if it doesn't involve thousands of pounds of chocolate. You think I'm kidding? Don't question me.

Tonight when I got off the L train I decided it was time to purchase some groceries and actually cook some food that wasn't eggs with bean sprouts. I made squash blossom quesadillas and broccoli pasta soup. There are leftovers. It's good for me to do these sorts of things in these fateful last few days when I'll actually have the time and energy. My internship starts on Monday, and soon, I will never be able to catch up on my sleep.

P.S. Mystery Commenter: I like this game. Let's play some more.

Voyeurism

I can see into the window of 3C.

They are clearly watching porn on their computer.

Dirty.

Goodbye Blue Monday

Last night I drank Sangria Blanco and PBR in a bar filled with stacks of records, old typewriters, and seating made out of pianos and sewing machines. The drinks were cheap, the barkeep was friendly, and the company reminded me of home. Actually, as far as home is concerned, the whole place was reminiscent, down to the smell, of my old house on Laramie Street.

As a Labor Day gift to myself, I have done whatever has struck my fancy all day. I got up earlier than I had hoped to, due to the knocking and subsequent messing about and loud Russian of the super and his laborer, yet I came out of the deal with a closet door that swings on its hinges and a radiator that will work in the winter. I have eaten several meals, I went out for coffee, got some exercise, read a book, talked to MegaClar, sent some emails, and generally lounged about. Replenishing my various resources before continuing Ye Olde Job Hunt on the morrow.

All the Best from Brooklyn.

Danish and Dolly Parton

I got a job working at a bakery on Saturdays (with the forthcoming possibility of more afternoons during the week) in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. I serve coffee, make lots and lots of sandwiches, and have spent every minute so far trying not to get fired, as I feel as though the woman that hired me likes me, but her husband is interested in having me prove my worth as a human being as he stares at me constantly while I work.

The best and strangest thing about this man, however, is his obsession with country music. These people have lived in Brooklyn for at least 20 years, and yet I feel when I'm working as though I haven't really left the midwest at all. To his credit, his love of country extends way beyond Country and Western (thank God) and into Johnny Cash and even Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins (I was near choking when I found that album in his stacks of CDs. . .good thing he wasn't there to scrutinize me at that moment).

And when it's not country, that means the pseudo-father figure isn't working, and it's instead my new corn-rowed friend who introduced me around the neighborhood after my first day of work, and that means there is extremely loud hip-hop on the stereo.

And the bagels are awesome.

Also:

I finally have keys to my apartment.

I finally made it to my apartment after having been unable to go home, for one reason or another, since yesterday at 1:30PM.

I finally bought an umbrella, after trudging through the rain for 10 blocks on my way to the train after work. It's really ugly, and that's okay.

Brooklyn Begins

I'm sitting crosslegged on my new bed (!) in my new apartment in a new city, surfing the interweb by candlelight. There are big, tall buildings outside, and a train that I can see from my window. The air is cool and clean after some recent rain, so I have the blind pulled up and the window thrown open wide. So, here I am.

Please send letters that I can put up on my walls. You know the kind I mean. These walls are just begging to be filled with new, exciting things.

Can I just mention how poorly I navigated the city today? What should have taken me 2 hours took 5, and I spent enough time lost on foot that my feet are still on fire. However, I did eventually make it to my two job interviews today, and there are no sure things, that's not bad for my first full day as a New Yorker.

Tomorrow I plan to call everyone I know that lives in the city and ask them if their jobs are hiring. Theresa is going to help me get copies of my resume, so Friday will be dedicated to tossing my credentials at every passing stranger. Once that is taken care of, I plan to actually start living a New York life. That is not to say that I haven't already had a great time (my plan is to see just how many match books I can steal from Barcade), and I've already gotten to see several of my lovely friends that are braving this city life. I just know that I'll get out my brush and start painting this town once I have an actual income with which to purchase paint.

Ah, the sound of sirens in the night.

Chicago, Part I

1. I am alone in Dawn's house, preparing dinner. I hope that someone comes home to eat it.

2. Dawn's cat is grooming my armhair with her mouth, and there's nothing I can do about it, as it's vastly preferable to what she was doing moments ago (trying to sit on the keyboard of my open computer, since that is clearly the focus of my attention currently).

I made it, so, so far so good. It's pretty damn swell here.

Wednesday Night at The Ghost Parlor

Mt. Gigantic was adorable. I hope they make it to Iowa City in good shape.

I missed most of Hunter Dragon, thinking I would be able to tell when he was starting from the back porch, but being sorely mistaken.

Olympics:

1. DAMN Matt Fields can play the saxaphone.
2. I am really glad that I can call these guys my friends.
3. Record, already.

And: I drank too much Skinny Dip, and spouted what was quite possibly total nonsense in the backyard for over half an hour. Only Mr. F knows the truth.

The evening, in its entirety, was exactly what I needed in my current workaholic state. Thanks.



P.S. There's a surprise torrential downpour outside, just when I thought I might burst. There's thunder and everything.

The Good News

I want the Excitement to live separately from the Trauma.

This apartment is clearly going to be full of magic for us.

*It will be full of fabulous roommates.
*It is only a 15-minute commute from the Ontological Hysteric Theater.
*It actually has 3 bedrooms for 3 roommates (not a sure thing ever in NY).
*One bedroom is smaller, so I can pay a little bit less rent.
*We have a fire escape.
*We can paint it. Fabulous roommates-to-be are painting this weekend.
*Nearby, there is a cute bar, a Walgreens, and a gas station.
*Mike found us a TV/VCR. Though I will never have time to watch it, it is still good to know it will be there.

That's what I know without having even seen it. Think of the possibilities.

Plane tickets have been purchased. The countdown has begun.

Labor

A few days ago, the universe exploded. At least that's how I described it to my father. While I was at work, I received 4 voicemails from Theresa:

Message 1: We found an apartment.
Message 2: Camron is looking at the apartment.
Message 3: We want the apartment.
Message 4: We need 2000 dollars from you, preferably today.

As exciting as the first three messages were, all excitement was demolished by the prospect of the fourth. I spent the rest of work feeling like I was going to vomit. So did my mother.

After work I went home and took a three hour nap to avoid dealing with the world.

Then, somehow, we managed to scrape together 1500, which is what had to happen right away. That money was officially wired this morning. Thank God.

To increase the chances of having enough money for my September rent in the bank when I leave Kansas in 17 days, I am now doing what I should have been doing all summer: supplementing my income with odd jobs. I am extremely lucky that various opportunities have been made for me over the last few days, opportunities that, I hope, will keep me extremely busy until the moment I leave. In addition to working regularly scheduled hours at the Market:

Job #1: Various feats of manual labor at Jane's house.
Duties include: scrubbing mold, scraping metal, painting walls, cleaning cabinets, vacuuming cobwebs, etc.
Job benefits include: food and beverage, Jeremy's iPod
Lessons learned: Mouthwash helps with mold stains. Metal primer doesn't come off your hands, even with a Brillo pad. Brillo pads will, however, take off skin and irritate seasonal finger bumps. I missed the TV on the Radio memo, but thank God I found out.

Job #2: Yard work/ MXTW organization for Jim.
Duties include: laying mulch and insecticide, readying MXTW info (reader lists, company lists, scripts, author blurbs, etc.) for MXTW.org, and filing
Job benefits include: caffeination, Megan Clark, learning about my history
Lessons learned: MegaClar is good at scrapbooking against her will. Jim will always accidentally call me Gwethalyn.

Job #3: Possible yard work for Jim's neighbors. All has yet to be determined.

I will make it through all of this. I don't have any other choice.

i blame blogspot.com

So, the content of my blog disappeared after I attempted to add some new links.

Just as suddenly, all is well, except my links disappeared and I had to figure out where in the source code to write them back in.

Thanks to Joey for offering to help me figure things out. Apparently they just needed to figure themselves out, and I was only getting in the way. Oh, you boys with your fancy .coms and aesthetically pleasing headers. I might be a little bit jealous.

Today's tasks, now that work is done:

1. Take a nap.
2. Start deep cleaning Jane's house.
3. Jump in the lake.

Showers

It's finally raining, and it makes me want to slow dance in the living room to something sweet and vaguely melancholic.

Sometimes I am a walking, laughing, smoking cliche. You don't mind, do you?

Filming Extravaganza II, or, The Mother of All Scenes

Wednesday, July 19th, 2006

Final day of filming for Extravaganza, including The Mother of All Scenes.

8:30 PM: Empathy belly construction.* Boiling bits of plastic baby in giant pot on gas stove in my kitchen. Room temperature exceeds 100 degrees farenheit.

Baby bits soften but do not melt. Plan to meld together baby bits aborted.

Plan to staple baby bits together using industrial staple gun briefly considered.

Decision made to purchase nude colored clothing to create empathy belly.

Boiled baby bits left floating in pot on stove.

9:00 PM: Beige/nude colored clothing apparently not in style. Camisoles of any color, especially beige/nude, apparently not in style.

9:10 PM: Discovery of seamless underpants exactly matching my skin tone that extend above the waist by atleast 7 inches in the Intimates section.



Loud discussion of how pregnant I can look in "slimming" underpants near dressing room before fitting.

9:30 PM: Loud discussion of underpants logistics in cashier's line.

Megan: . . . We can stuff some of the baby bits into the underwear and you'll still look pregnant!

Me: Megan, remember where you are.

Cashier: (look of utter bewilderment)

Megan: Oh. Sorry. I. Uh. I'd like to run this as credit, please. Thanks.

Cashier: Have fun with your baby bits.

10:30 PM: Baby bits stuffed down my underpants.

10:45 PM: Filming begins. One sequence shot over and over, as follows:

1. Sit in bathtub. Bob head back and forth humming "Three Blind Mice."

2. The Bohemian enters, prepares himself, preps for birth. Girl In a Green Dress: dress up, legs splayed out over either side of tub.

3. The Bohemian attempts to enduce natural birth, but is torn away by invisible forces.

4. Girl In a Blue Dress enters tub for C-Section.

5. Girls are horrified. I am ashamed.


Thursday, July 20th, 2006

12:30 AM: One shot to perform C-Section using real scalpel on empathy belly. Bits of batting pop out everywhere.

Gorify C-Section, batting, boiled baby bits and all.

And finally.

A TWO-HEADED, BUG-EYED BABY ERUPTS FROM MY STOMACH.** I am proud. My Dad flickers in the background.


This makes my exhaustion worthwhile. And remember, kids: this IS a comedy.





*This is the second time in two summers I have been fitted for an empathy belly.
**This is the second time in seven years that I have birthed a disfigured doll child in a show at the MAC. Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it.

Faulty Framework

Last summer, during warm-ups for There Is No More Firmament, I was not paying enough attention to where my feet were in proximity to someone elses feet, and as I shifted from a high level to a low one, I lost my balance and threw my head on the ground. I kept going, assuming that I would be just fine. An hour later, not only did my head hurt (concussed?), but I couldn't turn my head to the right. That's right: I'd given myself whiplash. I had to go to Lawrence to see my chiropractor the next day to right this painful wrong.

Today, with no amusing anecdote about my occassional lack of control over my body, I woke up in my mom's room* and, once again, could not turn my head to the right without seering pain. It's been long enough (almost exactly a year) since the last episode that I can't say whether this feels the same. I do know, however, that 1. I'm having trouble reaching behind my own frame on the right side (reaching the toilet paper should not take so long), 2. it took me two minutes to figure out how to get up from lying down sans pain, a prospect I eventually gave up, and 3. it is totally impossible for me to tip my head towards my right shoulder.

Now, this would be unfortunate enough as it's own little battle. However, this is the final week of rehearsal before tech week for Extravaganza. This is also the week I start rehearsing my solo piece. And this is the first week in eight years of selling fruit that I have been given more than 40 hours.

Someone find me a new body, STAT.



*I slept in the kitchen when I got home last night. It was still probably 90 degrees in the front room of my mom's apartment when I got home, so I decided to drag my sleeping mat into the kitchen, the only room with an air conditioner. When my mom got up for work, she asked me to go sleep in her room so that she could make breakfast.

Pipe down a minute, Chachi. You there: Explain yourself.

"Oh my gosh! I just realized how many boyfriends you have this summer!"

"Yeah, but that pretty one has a girlfriend and lives out of town. . ."

"Oh, but that's better!"

"And none of them know that we're in love."

"You're my hero."

One Word

Snaggletooth.

The Downside. . .

. . .of shooting at an abandoned house surrounded by tall grass: the entire lower half of my body is covered in extremely itchy chigger bites. AHHHHH!!! Not a pretty sight.

Filming Extravaganza

We've been filming various video elements for Extravaganza in Scene Seven, and I have gotten to do all of the following things:

1. Have tea in a bathtub with Charlie at sunrise.

2. Pretend to be hit by a car on a dirt road.

3. Slow dance in a bathtub with Charlie in the blaze of the afternoon.

4. Brawl in slow motion with eight other people, including my father.

5. Fondle a noose.

6. Die a painful, drooling death by poison-filled syringe.

7. Bang on an abandoned, falling down house until my hands were stained white from the paint.

I love my life.

Also, I just had carrots and tuna straight from the can for dinner. It seemed more efficient than trying to make something out of what I had in the kitchen, not to mention I was ravenous the moment I walked in the door. Classy lady.

The Saddest Kind of Irony

Kevin's parents didn't want him to have his Honda Accord in Chicago due to the high crime rate. He didn't want to fly because he wanted to bring his collection of musical instruments with him. So I threw caution to the wind, and went with him to Chicago on Sunday in his car so that he could take his stuff, spent half a day enjoying Dawn's backyard, seeing Millenium park, meeting the infamous marvelous roommate. and overeating, then drove the car back from Illinois by myself in time to make it to work at three yesterday.

I asked if it would be okay if I took the car back tonight, since I had quite a few places I had to be today. I ended up extending that deadline until tomorrow morning.

This evening, SOME FUCKER THREW A ROCK THROUGH KEVIN'S WINDOW in the parking lot of the high school, where I had to be to shoot scenes for Megan's play. Smashed the whole thing. Stole a tiny bag out the backseat. They also stole stuff from the surrounding cars. I had to call Kevin's parents and tell them about this.

"But that was why we had you drive the car back from Chicago."

I'm waiting for the part where I stop feeling like shit and this turns into a bizarre story that I can tell like it happened to someone else. Kevin's parents were nice to me, but angry with him. Kevin told me not be upset, but I wish that he were here to tell me that in person, which he can't because he's in Chicago, which is what started this mess in the first place. DAMN IT ALL.

At least no one got hurt, right?

I'm going to bed.

Grillin' and Chillin'

Tonight MegaClar made me laugh so hard my cheeks spasmed while she described in detail how awkward she is in every social situation. I cannot even describe how much it felt like my face was going to combust and then fall off my face in a pile of ashes.

And I ate too much, in the best way.

And I got to hold hands with a handsome gentleman under the table, but alas, had to go home to my own home because of how early I have to go to work in the morning. That part was sad, but I'll get over it.

And someone called and told me the joke about the family of tomatoes like I had never heard it before, and MegaClar sang the Music Man to me (twice) which combined into a nice cap to the evening.

May everyone's weekend be spent as happily as this, or more. Cheers.

But I LOVE Summer

Something is making me feel swollen. I blame, in part, all of the salt I have had to eat in the last couple of days (I've just started going to Bob's at night again.) However, I think the real culprit is the HEAT. Uh-oh. It's only going to get worse.

Also, I was watering plants at work yesterday, and it took a little bit longer than I thought it would, resulting in a ridiculous sunburn on my arms, chest, and back (not on my legs. . .never on my legs. . .they will be bluish white for the rest of my life). Seriously. I put sunscreen on my face, and that is now neither painful nor red, but the rest of my upper body where it was not covered by tank top is ON FIRE. Add to that all the soreness from holding the watering wand, layered with the feeling of swelling caused by salt and heat, and you can see that I am 1. extremely wimpy, and 2. a mess.

And who's gonna put lotion on the part of my back that I can't reach?

Life Is Good

First of all, someone in my mother's building has wireless, and my internet is working like woah. This is gonna be a totally sweet summer.

Secondly, thanks to the sage advice of a distant friend, I just bought a variety pack of Fruit Roll Ups. Yeah, that's right. It's 3:30 in the morning on a Wednesday and I just bought sticky, multicolored pre-adolescent snack food. I have NO intention of growing up before it's officially time.

At my graduation party, my cousin Erin looked over at me at some point, laughed, and said "I'm having fun imagining you with kids." She has three cutie pies herself, whom I adore, but the sentiment seemed a little vengeful. I will admit I was frightened of just how delighted the thought of me with babies made her. So. I'm staying up way too late and eating sweet things packed with preservatives in an attempt to assert my youth and independence.

I'm gonna need to eat so many vegetables tomorrow to make this (and the 6 cups of Bob's coffee I drank tonight) up to my stomach. It is soooo worth it.

5 Years and 37 Nervous Breakdowns Later. . .

I have graduated from college. Granted, I won't be able to pick up my diploma until I have paid quite a few dollars to both the library and the health center; however, I am standing on the breathe-easy end of an arduous college career, and life is looking pretty damn good. And to think, I almost transferred/dropped out after my first semester, which had a little bit to do with French IV and living in the dorms, and a lot to do with the terror that was Acting I.

Having grown up a bit, I now realize how formative and useful that class was, but at the time, I wanted to die every time I walked down the hill from my dorm to Murphy for Acting. I had never quite felt like such a waste of space as when I did scenes for that class. Yet nostalgia kicks in, as it has a tendency to do, and now I remember even the worst moments of this class with some amount of fondness. One memory now stands out as particularly funny/awkward: I had been paired with Andrew for the first time (we did two scenes together in that class, admittedly an oversight made by the teacher, but one that I think helped to foster our eventual friendship), and we made plans to meet on a Sunday morning to rehearse the pecan scene from Crimes of the Heart. That Saturday night, however, I spent with Adam, drinking a concoction of frozen orange juice concentrate and vanilla vodka that Adam had dubbed the "Get a Girl Drunk." It lived up to its name, I slept curled in a little ball on Adam's bed, and when I awoke the next morning in pools of my own sweat (not vomit, thank God), I had only moments to spare before I had to meet Andrew on Memorial Hill. I arrived, a vision in Hangover, hiding behind sunglasses, contacts gooey and fighting to hold their grip on my eyeballs. And there was Andrew, waiting for me on a bench: fresh, morning-faced, clearly showered, and obviously arrived directly from church. As we rehearsed in the sun, I did my damnedest to stay far enough away from him that he wouldn't be overpowered by my morning breath or boozy sweat, and became increasingly wary of just how lovely and pristine he seemed. He seemed equally wary of me, clearly for different reasons. Who would have guessed that he would end up being one of my very best friends from college? Well, as of that Sunday, definitely not me. Fate, though, had her way with us, and threw us together again and again until we had no choice but to get each other's backs.

Anyhow. College was hard. I learned an incredible amount of both useful and useless things, due in part to a few stellar teachers, and even more so to a bunch of amazing collegues. I know a lot more about the world, and have developed my artistic whatnot. You know, all those things you're supposed to do as student. We'll see how much my education has prepared me for life-from-now-on. Regardless, I powered through some rooooouuuugh patches, enjoyed a lot of people, places, and things, and couldn't ask for much more than what I got.

Last night my cousin Jordan and I had a graduation party at my aunt's house. The weather was perfect, the food delicious, the guests congratulatory and overwhelmingly attractive (my relatives kept asking me if I had any friends that weren't gorgeous. I didn't do it on purpose, but truly, I have a rash of extremely beautiful friends.) I wore a pretty party dress and had the pleasure of flitting from one guest to another as if I was the host without having to do any of the pre-party dirty work. I ate quiche and drank beer and opened presents (lots of great cards, wine, chocolate, bubble bath, tea, a journal, cookies, and thanks to the kindness and generosity of my lovely family, my very own G4, on which I currently type. I'm not bragging, I'm just very excited). All I had to do was make it through five years at the University. Yeah, that. Okay, okay, I'm clearly proud of myself. Deal with it.

Today I sang songs out in the backyard with my father and had a bittersweet last meal with Lalalalaura before we head our separate ways for awhile. However, I gathered from the tone of last night's party and today's activities that while the daily routine is about to drastically change, my life-in-general is headed somewhere pretty awesome. So, I'm gonna keep on keepin' on, and I'll see what happens.

Love,
-b

Self-involved?

I just Googled myself, as I do from time to time, and was pleased to note that the scathing review I suffered last year in the Pitch for my performance in Self-Torture and Strenuous Exercise has been neatly displaced to the second page of entries that turn up when you Google my name. The first thing you get a picture from the Lawrence Journal World of Bird and I dancing our bashful, silly dance from As You Like It. I'm glad that the Pitch review exists in this world, but I'm also glad that you'd have to really want to know more about me to find it on the internet.

on the subject of firsts

An addendum:

Yesterday, for the first time in my entire life (including those terrifying President's fitness tests in grade school when we were supposed to run a mile-- I was always last because I walked a significant part of the way) I jogged for 20 minutes. Without stopping. Not even for a second.

I can walk extremely quickly, ride an exercise bicycle, or use an elliptical machine for an hour without stopping, but until yesterday I had never been able to fight my way through the impact and exhertion necessary to actually jog for more than about 7 minutes, max.

I think that I might be possessed.

Droopy Britches

I have had to part with many a lovely pair of pants over the years. Reasons for retirement have included (but are not limited to): beet stains, broken zippers, torn knees, ass rips (I once wore a pair of jeans to a day of set building for MXTW that ripped all the way up the back when I took a moment to tie my shoe. I had to borrow Chris's car to go home and change pants), and overly stained cuffs. The number one criteria for sending clothes to slack-heaven, though, has always been that they had become uncomfortable in some way or other - - usually, they had become entirely too tight to wear in public.

This morning I put on a pair of jeans I bought last summer that were, at the time of purchase, a little tight all around, but nevertheless fairly flattering. I haven't worn them much (due mostly to a debacle involving some tree sap and my behind. . .an enitre afternoon of repeatedly applying Imperial Cleaner and washing them eventually took care of that problem), but it was raining when I got up, and I figured I'd give them a chance this morning, as I didn't mind them getting wet and a little muddy around the cuffs.

I slipped on these freshly washed jeans with a little extra time before I had to leave for class with the intention of doing a few lunges around the house to stretch them out, because, if you aren't aware of this phenomenon, that's what people do when their pants are a bit too tight post-wash.

Then: a miracle. There were definitely no lunges this morning, because MY PANTS ARE TOO BIG. They were made to sit somewhere a few inches below my belly button, and are currently hanging precariously on my hips. They are baggy in the legs, and subsequently a little bit too long. So, for the first time in the history of my wardrobe, a pair of my pants is up for review for being entirely too large for me to wear them.

Oh, yeah.

I'm moving to New York in September. In the event that anyone who doesn't frequently speak with me reads this ol' thing, I got an internship working for Richard Foreman's Ontological-Hysteric Theater, and will be working 40 hours a week for free from September to January. I don't care if I spend all of my time shining shoes. I. Am. Delighted.

I'm currently in the process of finding a place to live. I will find a real, buy-the-groceries job once I've found out my schedule at the OHT. I've got a gig at the Market in Manhattan over the summer slinging fresh fruit (when I'm not directing high schoolers) so as too have a little money tucked away for my move, so I'll probably be really tan and in need of a vacation by the time I move. I'm totally okay with this.

I will keep the inter-web updated as things move forward.

Squeeky Clean Part II

Today is my first day of dietary freedom. Food/beverages consumed that I haven't been able to have in three weeks: a spoonful of tuna salad, a shot of espresso (with soy milk- good girl!), and an extremely delicious Phish Food waffle cone from Ben & Jerry's. More exciting, however, is all of the good-for-me things I ate today in spite of my ability to eat dairy/carbs/sugar, etc.: a mango/pineapple/strawberry/carrot-orange juice/soy milk/flax seed oil/Standard Process powder smoothie for breakfast, a salad with oil and vinegar (here's where the spoonful of tuna salad came in to play) for lunch, and a baggie full of spinach, mushrooms, carrots, and plain tuna for dinner. I can dig it- I feel pretty damn good, and plan to continue feeling this good for a long time.

On that note, I feel a little bit weird, post-icecream. So much dairy! So much sugar! It was, however, worth the wait and the bizarre tingling feeling I'm currently experiencing.

Squeeky Clean

While I was in New Mexico, I experienced a mildly excruciating case of heartburn the evening of the first full day we were there. I asked our hostess if she had anything I could take for it, and as Bette passed me some Gas-X with antacid, my aunt remarked that I wouldn't have heartburn anymore if I did "the Cleanse." This is a dietary endeavor that she recommends to some of her patients, as well as her best friend, both of my grandparents, and she herself has gone thru the process. I asked no questions other than "Will it help my skin, too?" before I told her I would start as soon as we returned home.

I was very near backing out as I contemplated what I might be enduring not drinking coffee or eating bread during this busy month, but the night before I was to begin my cleanse, I got a case of heartburn so bad that no amount of Kroger brand Tums could cure it, and realized some drastic action must be taken. So. The SP Standard Purification Process it was.

I received a big brown sack full of supplements, shake powder, and reading material (propaganda) concerning my Standard Purification Process. The propaganda is really good, though, and made me want to clean out my insides for real.

Basically, I can only eat fresh fruits and vegetable, with a tiny bit of unseasoned lean meat or eggs thrown into the mix. Let's think about all of the things that I like to consume that that rules out: dairy (cheese!), wheat based products, refined sugar, potatoes, chocolate, alcohol, and COFFEE. Who am I without coffee??? I also have plenty of pills (30ish) to take daily, and drink what feels like gallons of filtered water a day. I thought I had to pee a lot before. . .

For all of the thought I have to put into this, and all of the effort to not consume the things I am not supposed to consume, I can say this: I feel a little cleaner on the inside. I haven't had heartburn in since I started, which is a good sign that it won't come back after I'm done (I'm not making that up, that's what my auntie told me). And I am no longer afflicted with a lack-of-caffeine headache. I'm looking forward to the buzz I will feel the first time I drink coffee after my insides are all cleaned out, a buzz I have not known since I was approximately 14 and became addicted to coffee. I can now enjoy it for it's taste and smell, rather than needing an IV-drip to survive.

I have some serious plans to go out for ice cream the night I'm done with this ol' thing. Waffle cone. Chocolate. Yesssss.

Ladies' Holiday

In approximately 15 hours I will be on my way to spectacular Santa Fe, New Mexico. I will be traveling with my mother, her sister, her sister's best friend, and her sister's best friend's daughter. Weather.com tells us that it will be 60 degrees and mostly sunny for most of the time we are there. Which is a big step up from the cold, drizzly Kansas pseudo-spring we are currently experiencing.

I will have finally finished a draft of the script I have been putting together, off and on, for the past 8 months. I will finish the final section (section six out of eight) in the next hour, if everything goes well, and will send it on it's way to my editors tomorrow morning. That will allow me some breathing room for the trip, although I will allow it to plague me to some extent, as I will need to start memorizing and staging as soon as I return to my home turf. I will also need to begin learning my lines for As You Like It, and read for Western Civ II (a novel idea, I know). This, however, is what 15 hour car trips and Dramamine are for.

On my trip proper, I plan to take lots of long walks in uncharted territory, buy some fancy silver jewelry, drink wine and other assundry fancy beverages, nap, talk to my lady friends, read a couple of books for pleasure (Harry Potter VI, here I come!), and generally have the first relaxing vacation I've been able to partake in since August. I might even see some of the local artifacts/culture, like a good little traveler.

In the real world, the proverbial shit is about to hit the proverbial fan. I have too much to do in waaaaaay too little time. In the magical world of Spring Break, though: Life. Is. Beautiful. And all I can say is: Thank GOD.

Today (Just Like Any Other)

1. My back is extremely itchy.

2. I'm doing inventory. Supposedly. Yeah, yeah, I'm more than half done. I'll have it done before it's due. The question is: Why are all of the Basic Video light stands broken?

3. I'm listening to alternapop via the internet, and it makes me want to hit the road, for real. Thankfully I'm only hours away from what will be my last ill-advised trip to the Star of the North before graduation.

If I don't come back. . .you'll know I'm happy.

Re: Birthday

For my birthday (proper) I went to work, to lunch with another birthday girl, to class (Acting with an Accent sang "Happy Birthday." Sadly, not in a Russian accent. That would have been sweet.), to rehearsal, and then to the Bourgeois Pig.

There, the festivities commenced for real. I spent a brief period of time doing the crossword by myself, drinking a glass of Pinot Grigio, but by the end of the night I kept thinking loving thoughts about how many friends/acquaintances I have who could be counted on to come out on a Thursday night and buy me drinks. There were, in fact, more people who wanted to buy me drinks than I could effectively take up on the offer. (I did let the bartender who insists on calling me by name buy me a glass of wine, because who could say no to that.)

So. I stayed out until 3AM and got 1. a little ridiculous, 2. a lot of hugs, and 3. a birthday cake and a flower at 1:45 on a Friday morning.

Quite a few pictures were taken, but to the best of my knowledge, I am in none of them. Typically, that would be a good thing. . .but it was my birthday so I'm not going to bother with pictures that I am not in and did not take myself. Birthdays are excuse enough to be selfish and self-centered, right?

I'm a grown up now. You just think about that.

Because I Said So

It's my 22nd birthday, and as I did not get particularly drunk on my 21st birthday, I planned to get duh-runk this evening. So there. I'll let you all know how that turns out.

Pre-Birthday Lovelies

So, it's not quite my birthday. However, my parents were in town for my aunt Connie's engagement party over the weekend, so we decided on a little pre-birthday bash on Sunday afternoon. Yummy Thai food was had by all (sadly, not a good experience for Ari, or more specifically, Ari's stomach. . .Curse you, Thai Green Curry Noodles! Curse you!!!), then chocolate carrot cake and vanilla ice cream (see below: FOOD) and then. . .PRESENTS!

I love picking out presents for other people, when I can find the perfect thing. However, the best part about birthdays is that you don't have to remember to get presents for anyone else, nor do you even have to remember that it's your birthday until it is upon you.

For my 22nd year as a human being/first year as a real honest-to-God a-dult, the family decided to make kitchen/food/beverage gifts into a tradition. And I like it. I am now the proud owner of:

(1) wooden/steel spice rack, complete with
(20) full-to-the-brim spice jars
(2) sparkingly etched HUMONGOUS wine glasses
(1) bottle of Leaping Lizards Cabernet Savignon (Mom totally picked it out because she liked the label. Just as I would have.)
(2) olive green linen napkins
Macaroni & Cheese, a cookbook detailing recipes for 50+ variations on the classic
Cooking With Just Four Ingredients, detailing all of the most beautiful using (you guessed it) only four main ingredients
(1) red candle frame (Yep. A candle frame. It's pretty, and I don't understand it at all. I love my mother SOOO much.)

Sometimes being enthralled with material goods affords a vast quantity of happiness.

On a related note, pre-birthday dessert conversation included a retelling of my father buying beets from my mother at the Market, pre-dating.

Dad: I'm going to make beet juice.
Mom: Well. Good for you.

Note the recognizable Adams tone, resting gently between sarcasm and genuine well-wishing. My mother insists her subtext was "Are you going to make any for me?" while my father insists that he was really confused. This anecdote proves that I am, in fact, my mother's daughter.

This tale was followed shortly by another involving food, in which my mother made bran muffins for my father while he was still living in his parent's basement. He wasn't home when she went to deliver them, so she wrote him a note/poem wishing him, basically, happy pooping.

FOOD: This weekend I consumed more food than any one human being has a right or reason to consume. (I told this to a friend at some point on Saturday, and they made a snarky comment about needing food to live, which I may have deserved, but prompted me to clarify: consume IN ONE WEEKEND.)

Saturday morning Ari woke me up at 10, insisting that we eat some breakfast. I offered her my wide selection of breakfast options, and she opted for eggs with onions and cheese, Boca sausage, wheat toast, and coffee. This would have been fine, lovely even, except that at 1:30 we dashed off to consume more food at Ari's mom's birthday lunch. So. Salads and a split order of fish and chips, plus birthday carrot cake. Ari went spiralling into a food coma that lasted the rest of the night, while I had to settle for a shower and quick nap, as I had a performance to give. I then attended my aunt's engagement party, still a little full. I wasn't planning to eat anything (ever again), but then it turned out that the party was Mardi Gras themed, stocked with Etouffee, spinach/roma tomato dip, crab dip, shrimp cocktail, champaigne, chocolate cake. . .I SWEAR I only had a little bite of everything, but WHY OH WHY my stomach grumbled later that night.

Between Saturday's and Sunday's combined overindulgence, I didn't have to eat again until 6:00PM Monday night.

Happy Pooping, everyone.

Dance-Off 2006!

Saturday, the Undergraduate Theatre Council, for which I am the chairperson, threw a dance for the Department of Theatre and Film. The justification for this event is that we have a rally in August, and banquet in May, and not a bit of an department-wide event in between. So, we decided to have a wedding-reception style dance, complete with DJ and a dance competition. While it didn't end up being widely attended, the thing was definitely a fucking BLAST. It was about two hours long, we were in a room way too big for how many people attended, there was plenty of food and lemonade, a vast number of people danced til they had stomach cramps (oh, man, did I have a stitch) and everyone laughed a lot.

Highlights include:

* the DJ playing "Heartbeat" by Annie, which I sang along to while everyone looked at me funny
* making boys dance that had no intention of ever doing so, perhaps in their entire lives
* breakin' it down with TH&F's Cutter/Draper, Associate Director of Theatre, and Administrative Specialist, just to name a few
* the Dance Contest in it's entirety: 5 rounds, with elimination (Jon and I stayed in through the 4th round! We were proud.): Swing, Hip Hop (professors + hip hop = brilliant; this is when Del and Ione dropped out, sadly), Slow Dance, the Hand Jive, and Salsa

Many consolation prizes were awarded, including Hardest Worker Award (Brady Blevins), Explosive Award (Del Unruh for complaining about the volume of the music more than once), Rhythm Award (Eric Avery/Omofalabo Ajayi), and Weirdest Dancer (Adam Burnett), among others. The ultimate winners of the contest, for being the best dancers all around, were Gail Trottier and "The Boss."

Ultimately, it was a hit. Those who came and enjoyed have promised to spread the word for next year. I really hope Jeanne comes and wins the whole damn thing. Pictures of the event will be used in the banquet slide show to mortify us all, and as soon as I get some of them, I will probably post them. Even ones of me. I make stupid faces when I dance, so I can just about guarantee that I look sillier than everyone else. And proud of it.

We're sorry you weren't there, KatieG! Everyone asked about you. Feel better soon.

Hitting the Road

This May, I will be graduating from college. Finally. First things first: I will be making my way home to direct the Manhattan Experimental Theatre Workshop, celebrating my 10th year of involvement with the workshop. That's one spectacular anniversary. I will sleep on my mother's floor, as tradition dictates, trying to stay cool. I am currently attempting to find some steady work for my summer in MHK.

The real task at hand, however, is to find something to do with myself when that ol' lease is up in August. I'm exploring a number of options to ensure that I will in fact be able to move out of Kansas for the first time in my career as a human being. Basically, I'll be moving somewhere across state lines in August; where exactly will depend on a variety of factors.

I'm currently exploring the following avenues to attain some sort of occupational status for the fall:

1. I've sent off a letter to the Ontological-Hysteric Theater in New York City, in the hopes of getting an internship with Richard Foreman. I will happily buy his coffee, paint his trashcans, work 40 free hours a week, and get a real job to support myself, if it means watching Richard do what he does.

2. I've sent a similar letter to the Theatre de la Jeune Lune in Minneapolis. For reasons, see above.

3. I'm driving with a group to the Unified Professional Theatre Auditions in Memphis, TN in a week, where representatives from a bazillion theatre companies will watch our 90 second auditions (I'm attempting to do 2 monologues in 90 seconds, which means 6 lines of Shakespeare and the veeeeery end of a contemporary monologue. Yikes.) and decide if they want to call us back to see more. There are some swell companies (Shanendoah Shakespeare) and some questionable companies. If nothing else, I'll get to see Graceland.

4. I'm driving with a group to the Twin Cities Unified Theatre Auditions at the Jungle in Minneapolis. This is like the better (cheaper, less intimidating, no chance of getting called back by a cruise ship) version of the UPTAs. I don't have to rent a hotel room and I can eat at True Thai. Big score.

5. I'm trying to get the UT SM to teach me how to use Final Cut Pro, so that I can be a viable candidate to apply for the This American Life internship in Chicago. (This is an internship I will apply for in the next few years, regardless of whether I apply for the fall.) I'm pretty sure I'm wearing him down. Plus his sound assistant just quit, so I might even be useful.

I used to think to myself after getting out of Audition techniques, "I admire people that do that. I'm never going to do that in A MILLION YEARS." Heh. It's a good thing I heart irony.

If nothing pans out, I'm moving to Minneapolis, finding a job as a barista, living with Ariana (actually, that part is a given no matter where I go, unless I join a touring company. . .weird idea), taking the GRE, and perhaps applying to Aveda so I can learn a lucrative skill. What's great is that while some options are better than others, none of them are bad. Life is full of possibilities.

I will have a lot more to say on this subject in the upcoming months, so watch out. I have a feeling they will get progressively more frantic.

Spectacles

For those of you who were not witness to my incessant bitching, let me tell you a (not so) brief story.

FALL 2004: One rainy day, on my way to Polish class, I stopped at the Underground to get a cup of coffee. As I stepped in the doors, I took off my maroon Eddie Bauer specs to wipe them clean of rain. As I wrapped the soft cloth of my t-shirt around the left lens, they snapped in half at the bridge. So. I walked home blind, found my old glasses, a pair of big oval wire frames I stopped wearing my junior year in high school but thankfully kept in the bottom of a box, missed the first 20 minutes of Polish, and bought a new pair of frames that my old lenses could be cut to fit that afternoon.

The new frames were dark brown, semi-thick rectangular plastic. They were a little too small for my face, but no one but Ariana could possibly have ever noticed.

Fast-forward to FALL 2005: One night I took off my glasses before sleeping, and put them under my bed. My assumption is that my blanket off of my bed, as it has a tendency to do, and when I pulled it back up at some point in the night, it pulled my glasses out of their hiding place. I awoke the next morning at some ungodly hour to meet my parents for breakfast, decided to hit the snooze on my alarm which is across the room, and as I scurried back to bed, heard the crack of what could only have been, you guessed it, my stupid glasses breaking.



My lovely auntie drove me all around town to find an optometrist able to see me that day. We ended up at Crandon and Crandon, her eye doctor, and she tried on frames with me until they took me away to do all those weird things they do when they test your eyes. This time around, it was agreed that I should get some damn cool, fancy EYEWEAR, as who knows when the next time I'll get a new pair will be.

(Please note: I had my eyes dilated approximately an hour before giving a presentation in my Intro to the English Language class. Not only could I not read my notes, I also felt nauseous and had creepy eyes. One eye recovered faster than the other and made me look even creepier.)

So, new snazzy glasses were on the way. However, except for those few occasions that called for sunglasses, I was stuck in these classy things:



from my childhood that make me feel fourteen and hideous. They contributed to the worst time I've ever had at a college party, but that's an even more petty story, and I'll save it for another time. Anyway, they hurt my nose, and made me grumpy every time I looked in the mirror.

And then. . .NOVEMBER 2005




When I originally started this post, this was the end of the story. I finally had my new, beautiful specs, and was awaiting public recognition for how sweet they were. They were publicly applauded, I was content, and I put them in their case every night before I went to bed. Yet there is now an addition to the story.

DECEMBER 30, 2005

I hunkered down with Ariana to watch Playing By Heart (Jon Stewart is, was, and always will be sexy), take my glasses off clean them, and they split above the right lens. My first thought was that I was having a nightmare, which would have been bad enough. Ariana had to attempt to calm my fears of them not getting replaced and having to wear my old glasses forever (which, this time, were in a different town than the initial break), not to mention leading me around Manhattan by the arm to keep me from running into things. She even read me road signs on the way home to keep me calm. I attempted to have them repaired, but after glue and acetone, they were a little more melty and no less crap.

Anyone that was wondering, this is why I wore my sunglasses to the New Year's Eve party. In case you were thinking I was just that cool.

Crandon and Crandon are my heroes, however, and ordered a new front part for my frames and fixed them within three days, no questions asked.

Since this latest development in the corrective lenses debauchal, I have taken to switching to my crap glasses before exercising, cleaning, extreme cooking, and past midnight. Just as long as no one will catch a glimpse of me wearing them. All for the love of my specs.

FIN

"Kitty, do you even know who Graham Greene is?"

Can they save their little ones from our pornography (read: famous literature)?

Citizens in Johnson County are trying to ban obscenity from K-12.

This May Cause Rioting

I almost received a beheading recently when I mentioned to my friends that I thought the 3rd Harry Potter movie was better than the 4th. Hey, I liked the 4th movie, it was exciting and beautiful, Ron and Harry continue to become better actors (poor Emma Watson. . .someday her time will come), and Robbie Coltrane is my hero. Seriously, though, I just watched Prisoner of Azkaban again, and it's totally got Goblet of Fire beat all over the place. It has what feels like a complete plot, with the proper amount of exposition, suspense, and build, and no one bellows with their face upturned to the heavens ("NOOOOOoooooOOOO!!!!"). Watch 3 again, people. I'm serious.

You're Fuckin' Right I Did

Yep, that's right. I finished it. Works cited and everything. It ain't good, but it ain't so bad neither.

Until revisions,
bebe

P.S. I ran into a friend, and for some reason he mentioned my prefered interweb signature, pronouncing it bay-bay. It was totally delightful and I was too pleased to correct him.

P.P.S. I'd better wake up Eric (who is asleep in my bed after working on his paper for class at my place) and get some Dunkin' Donuts or I might cry. Greasy sausage croissant (kwassont! kwassont!) + sugary creamy coffee = only way I'm gonna survive the rest of the day.

(re)making, or why I'm glad it's almost Thanksgiving

It's nearing 6 in the morning, and after switching the font of my paper from Helvetica to Arial, I have only two pages left to write of my paper, thank the fucking gods. I hate it when I'm just reaching and reaching and reaching to get there, because clearly that means I have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I sure don't give a fuck about Orestes or Orestes 2.0 anymore. So. . .I have two and a half hours to crank out two more pages on violent images as a device used to present the story of the house of Atreus to a modern audience.

Well, the internet is working in my room, which is fun. Atleast I have that.

In-Class Essay Makeup

This is how I spent my afternoon. Oh, Western Civilization.

Below is a straightforward question in line with the readings and discussions so far during the second half of the semester. You have an hour or so to complete your essay based on the question. Here's what I'd like to see at the end of that time.

(Yada yada yada.)

Now, here's the question.

Does God play a role in a life lived according to nature?

Good luck.

Thank you, David Dewar, for prompting what was perhaps the worst essay I have written since Mrs. Cobb's American Lit class six years ago. You got me. Next time I'll know better than to skip half of the reading, because I will remember that one time I had to answer a question about religion and nature using Chaucer and Luther, when if I'd have read everything, I would have had Augustine and Aquinas at my fingertips.

Good trick.

Four Eyed Monsters

This whole thing is way cute, and very smart. Check it out here or:

The FEM Video Blog Episode 2 "The Investment" SUBSCRIBE to this MySpace Video Blog

Windows Media Version If you want to see each episode then one-click-subscribe-in-iTunes or one-click-subscribe-on-MySpace. You can post text, audio or video comments about this episode on our MySpace Video Blog. Music in this episode by National Eye on the label Park the Van.

This Week In the Arts

This past week I made up for some lost time (read: Three Sisters black hole) and went to a ludicrous number of events around town. I only fell asleep during one of them, and even then only briefly. More importantly, I only paid for my ticket to one of them, and that one was only $6. A brief description of the week as it was:

Monday 7 November - BARRAGE: Vagabond Tales

Do I really even need to say anything?

I would have thought it was just about the coolest thing ever when I was ten.

Seriously, the show has been described as 'STOMP meets Riverdance,' and the audience was clearly eating this shit up. Okay, it's pretty cool that these guys can fiddle and dance at the same time, but it was saved from Lord of the Dance status only because they never said anything like 'He is the greatest dancer in the world' or whatever shit they say about Michael Flatley. Not outloud anyway.

PLEASE NOTE: The percussionist had a serious 80's classic rock mullet. It was the best part of the show. The second best part of the show was the sexy British accent of one of the fiddle players.

My friend that took me was marginally embarrassed about the show's. . .well, the show's existence. I do not blame him; his mother bought him the tickets.

Wednesday 9 November - Ravi Shankar: Festival of India II

Ravi Shankar has been a peaceful, talented badass for 85 years now. He has also populated the world with gorgeous, musically talented daughters (Anoushka Shankar and Norah Jones). The music was haunting and cyclical and made me incredibly sleepy. I fell asleep on my mother's shoulder and had lovely hallucinatory dreams.

Friday 11 November 8PM- The Big Funk

He's about 2 minutes away from covering her face and hair in Vaseline. Mmmm, greasy.

I got to see this show, directed by one of my favorite cohorts, Laura Leffler-McCabe, while it was still in rehearsals. I'd have probably gone to see it during the run anyway, but it was already so good before their tech week started that I new things could only go from great to awesome, and I was right. Laura, I believe, understands the idea that the best way to make theatre that is good is to make theatre that you, as a director, actually like. I got to watch good actors have clear revelations, with good timing, good jokes, and great music. Hurray for a show that I liked beginning to end!

Also, an audience member ended up with a throwing knife in her lap, which was exciting. She probably won't forget the show any time soon.

Friday 11 November 11PM- Atmosphere

1. Slug is my hero.

2. When Ant came out to spin (the first part of the set was with musicians) the bass was so heavy I felt like I was going to vomit.

It was everything I had hoped it would be and way fucking more.

Saturday 12 November - The Mammals and Arlo Guthrie

This darling of a man bears many a striking resemblence with my father. Just look at him. Dad's a little more of a wild and crazy guy on stage than Arlo, but they both know how to tell a story. I got to sit next to my pop during the show, which was totally awesome.

Now, for the big question. WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME ABOUT THE MAMMALS? I've totally been in the dark. Folk-rock-bluegrass brilliance, I tell you. Just enough fiddle to make me wanna dance, just enough sad banjo to make me cry a little. It was like all the best parts of Trail Mix without Fiona Ritchie (sad) and Irish folk music (hooray!). Not to mention they were all ridiculously cute (Pete Seeger's grandson Tao Rodriguez-Seeger absolutely included) and the bad-ass fiddle playing girl reminded me of Cara of Dusty Bookshelf fame.

WHOO! May my life always be this exciting. For real.

if found, please return to: home away from home

Just over a month after my return from the North Star State, I will again pursue a whirlwind adventure, this time with different company and a slightly more reliable car. Atch is looking at MCAD, where they wish to make her an honest to God I-paint-for-a-living artist, and I have been invited to be her driver/navigator the weekend before Thanksgiving. Thank the Lord, and apparently, screw Theatre In Western Civ. (Research paper on Euripedes and Chuck Mee? Oh, I'll get it done.)

If this summer's trip to the mountains can be referenced as evidence, we are perfect road trip buddies. We need pee breaks at the same time, neither of us feels too weird if the other starts to cry, whether it be due to stress or to nothing at all, and we both like to eat a lot of cheese. We get to drive the family Ford Focus (the make and model of which, by the way, definitely made an appearance as a Minnesota roadtrip vehicle in a series of abandonment dreams circa Fall 2004, though belonging to another owner entirely) and we have extremely complimentary music tastes. If I'm lucky, she'll draw pictures of me while I'm driving and singing along to the stereo, and really, what more could I possibly ask for?

This time around, I'm thinking of actually getting in touch with my friends in the Cities before I go, so that perhaps I might actually see them. Otherwise, I'll just wander around town as per usual, and no doubt will have a blast (and probably catch a cold).

Anyway, I'm taking a camera this time, and if anything exciting/unseemly happens, or there are any more dogs in costumes, I will have a record, goddamit.

MySpace Can Go to Hell

Roman Numeral One: MySpace makes me feel like a teenager

Capital Letter A: Not in a comfortable, nastolgic sort of way but in a way that I never felt like one when I was one.

Arabic Numeral One: Evidence (see "sending MySpace messages to cute boys")

Capital Letter B: The whole site looks/feels like a poorly organized, hipster Xanga

Arabic Numeral One: That is just not okay

Roman Numeral Two: I'm minorly convinced of my own cleverness

Arabic Numeral One: Fight me on this. I dare you.

Roman Numeral Three: I shall transfer all of my old MySpace posts to blogger, post haste (see Roman Numeral Two)

One For Our Side

Harold Pinter has won a Nobel Prize in Literature.

"who in his plays uncovers the precipice under everyday prattle and forces entry into oppression's closed rooms"

high speed taper shanked spiral flute reemer
bronze draw off cock with hand wheel
bronze draw off cock without hand wheel
hemi unibal spherical rodend

there are rodends and rodends

"There are things I remember which may never have happened but as I recall them so they take place."

All of my best to you, Harold. You deserve this. Thank you for teaching us how to look at life.

Post Script: Scholars are now categorizing Pinter's plays as "Comedy of Menace," as opposed to a variation of absurdism. This is also the category (if the title of her collected works says anything about it) in which Joan Schenkar is placed. According to the biography of Pinter on the Nobel site, comedy of menace is "a genre where the writer allows us to eavesdrop on the play of domination and submission hidden in the most mundane of conversations." The similarities between these two playwrights, each writing in their own very particular style, can be seen in looking at the description above, and how it is exemplified in, let's say, Pinter's "The Applicant" and Schenkar's Burning Desires.

Post Post Script: Pinter is retiring from writing to focus on the fight for human rights.

Post Post Post Script: Thanks for the heads up, Dawn. (I should stop only listening to NPR when I'm waking up.)

L'Etoile du Nord, or Escape from Mount Oread

Wednesday, October 12, 5:00PM: All essential items packed in to back pack. Two t-shirts, two pairs of underwear, toothbrush. Collection of burned CDs, in accordance with the rules of PirateAudio. Pepperidge Farm Milanos, aka "Official Happiness Cookies" and a pair of shoes with sequins added at last minute.

Wednesday, October 12, 5:30PM: Retrieved from apartment, aka "Stewing Post," and whisked away to purchase obligatory cups of coffee. Car has been cleaned and belts have been adjusted. Things are good and getting better.

Wednesday, October 12, 6PM to Thursday, October 13, 2AM: I-70 to I-29 to I-35N to I-35WN (Minneapolis) to E. Hennepin to 15th Ave. Pit stops at "Modern Rest Area," favorite Wendy's in Des Moines, some blip on the Minnesota border. No mishaps, barring a brief ordeal involving menstrual blood and a long sleeve western shirt. Upon arrival, adorable boys apologize for lack of clean cups and two give up beds for exhausted girls to sleep in.

What? What's that? You just want to know about the best bits? Alright, that's understandable. That tactic may have turned a bit tedious. The best bits are these:

1. FOOD: Seward Cafe (cute dirty hippypunks serving delicious breakfast), Campus Pizza (even if it is in Stadium Village), Al's Breakfast (in line for 45 minutes while Ari literally almost passed out for possibly the best hashbrowns and definitely the best toast of my entire life), Devanni's (the chicken was good, the tuna was better), and Duffy's (the six of us got the last six slices they could sell before they ran out of dough. Seriously.)

2. THE BOOT: parked in lot adjacent to actual Campus Pizza parking lot long enough to eat pizza and purchase 2 cases of Grain Belt (tasty!) from the sauce shop and suffered the consequences. $120 immediately due for small man in zippy car to remove boot from front tire. In the end, bizarrely worth it.

3. THE DANCE PARTY: mixed tape made lovingly, painstakingly by boys who know music. Quarters played at 6PM in preparation. Collection jar with note explaining The Boot displayed prominantly throughout party. 1/6 cost of boot made from sweet, generous Minnesotans. Lots of dancing, until 2 noise complaints. I ♥ Dance Parties. Who would have guessed.

4. LYNLAKE: Bill's Imported Foods=dried pear halves. Vera's=good coffee/friendly barista/lotsa gays. Heavenly Soles=tiny ninjas and an employee's pug dog running around in a Yoda costume. No shit. It was awesome.

5. THOSE BOYS: adorable, adorable, adorable.

All in all, a great success. I think I may have been cured of my surliness. Thank you, Star of the North!

(Note: to those friends living in Minneapolis/St.Paul that I did not visit, please love me anyway.)

"Remember When" Mix includes Wraith Pinned to the Mist (and other games) (Of Montreal) and Chicago (Sufjan Stevens). This was psychically agreed upon, so no need to question it.

Letter to Beloved Crankypants, 1530 Naismith Dr.

Dearest Beloved,

You're exhausted, I know you are. Your skin's a wreck, there are bags under your eyes, you're drinking alone, and I saw you shout at that telephone pole. You are grapevining spastically between the goalposts of madness. I hate to see you this way, so I think it's time for some advice. Please read closely as I have only your best interest at heart.

When life is getting you down, take a quick glance at your surroundings. Could you be depressed, perhaps, because you see the same people every day? Walk up the same hill? Curse the same alarm clock? Have even the sweeter things in life (coffee, cigarettes, long walks) become bitter in the particular way the light shines down at home? Are you tired of everything, but have neither mono nor a really good excuse?

If so, pack a bag, hop in the car, and get the hell outta town. Consider these facts: people in England pay atleast 3 times as much for gas as you do. Singing along to music is much better on the road than in your room. Gas station food is delicious. And boys and girls in foreign lands (read: atleast 3 hours away) are always prettier than ones at home. Is there any real reason not to flee your own digs, if just for a short minute? If you are lucky, you will come home with a few stories and a greater sense of well being ("The world IS bigger than this black hole of a town!"), and if you are luckier, you will find a way to just stay wherever you end up.

Prepare the following:
two t-shirts*
one pair of jeans*
two pairs of underwear*
a jacket**
one toothbrush (all toiletries should be pilfered)
as much music as you can possibly carry***
a block of cheese
a box of crackers
two cups of coffee (they can both be for you, or you can share, but there must be two of them)

Alright, you're ready to hit the road! Try calling ahead to your destination of choice to find a couch to crash on, but if you don't get through, surely they'll be happy to see you, right? If you show up unannounced or plan to stay for an extended period of time, make sure to relegate yourself to the most uncomfortable sleeping quarters. Keep in mind this motto: "Call ahead, sleep in a bed!"

Go, Go, GO! There's no time to waste!

Best wishes, and call me when (and if) you return. I look forward to seeing you in better spirits.

kisses,
bebe

*It doesn't matter how long you'll be gone. It is doubtful you will ever wear more than this, even if you bring it. Any other clothing items that prove necessary can be purchased or stolen.
**Not only will this covering keep out the wind and rain, it will also serve as a pillow, a placemat, something to keep your feet warm if you have bad circulation and forgot to pack socks, and a sleep mask, perfect for blocking that pesky early morning sunlight.
***If you only have AM radio, please look into taking this trip with someone who has a better car than you. It is best to include The Beatles and a little bit of classical music, regardless of your preference for them, as well as something produced in the town which you plan to visit, if possible.

Opening NIght (check-In is in the morning, assholes)

I've been battling the urge to throw things all day.

I was a good girl, I was in bed at 11:15, pillow between my knees so my back would be less crunchy than usual, fan on medium to ensure maximum white noise haze. I put lotion on my legs and a cool mask on my eyes. I even counted slowly backwards from six, visualizing each number with its corresponding color of the rainbow (a red six, an orange 5. . .) all lazily dancing in a pretty green meadow.

And what did I get for all of that careful, loving preparation for a good night's sleep?

Half-asleep hallucinations of tap numbers, rolling around on a concrete floor, and people I love spitting in my face. Lots of sweat. Muscle cramps in my jaw.

So. I got up at 8:15, full of innocent hope that my day would be better than my night. I took a shower, I made coffee and breakfast, I listened to Of Montreal. I dressed in green and brown and gold. Things were looking up.

And then.

Ari's car had an almost flat tire that I didn't have the time or money to fill back up. I fell asleep three times in Western Civ. By the time I got back to work my arms and hands were covered with coffee and some combination of pineapple juice and cottage cheese, and my entire body was covered with sweat. My arms were sore from trying to A. carry my coffee cup in such a way that it wouldn't vomit its contents all over me, and B. carrying my stupid make-up kit/lunch/dinner because I don't have time to go home before call AND I have to eat before 5 or my corset won't fit.

Then I show up to work and before I even get in the building I see all of the people that were supposed to check in this morning (check in is in the morning, assholes) lined up to check in at 2PM. Do people not read signs? More importantly, do people not read THE CONTRACTS THEY ARE MADE TO SIGN??? So I spent the first 45 minutes of my afternoon shift literally knee deep in video equipment. Not to mention one of the guys checking in was rude to me about not having the right cable to make his field monitor work.

You know what? They hired me knowing full well I didn't know how any of this equipment works. It's not my fucking fault. I direct plays. I have used a camcorder three times in my life. Once for somebody else's English project in the 9th grade. Once when it was briefly proposed that I do a TV show for my high school. Once to video tape my 609. If you need the cable, ask for it, and I will kindly give it to you. But I'm not here to make suggestions, buddy. FUCK OFF.

And then? Eight text messages from a friend, all of which were sent to make me feel guilty about not paying attention to her. Really, I'm glad she and I are friends again after a several year hiatus, but when she starts in like this, I cannot help but flash back to similar guilt trips, along with some occasionally screaming, that led to our friendship hiatus in the first place. I understand wanting to be paid some attention. God, do I understand. Really, though, there is a limit. Especially today.

After that? You guessed it. I sat down and had myself a little cry, in lieu of throwing coffee in someone's face.

I'm going to Murphy early to do some yoga before I cinch in my waist/paint up my face/shellac my hair. Then I'm going to be a raging bitch like this is the last time I'll ever be on stage.

I have some things to discuss with karma.