Moving On

So, I've had a lot of problem with Blogspot and have decided to move on. Chaucerian Girl loves Word Press and swears it's the niftiest thing ever. So please come and visit me:

http://izzybella.wordpress.com/

Sleep Or the Lack Thereof

I woke up last night around 2:00 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep. Ordinarily I'd read a book or watch television for a while, but I didn't feel like doing either last night. So I laid in bed staring up at the ceiling rehashing every single stupid thing I've ever done in my whole entire life. I've done lots of stupid things, too, so that's no mean feat. The worst of it was rehashing my marriage.

J was (and I assume still is) a really decent guy. We were just too young when we got married and we grew apart. I don't regret being with him at all. And as far as divorces go, mine was really easy. We fought a lot throughout the marriage, but we were extremely cordial while ending it. There were a few fights during the process, most of them having to do with me shrilly rejecting any and all well-intentioned advice on the grounds that since he left, he didn't get to have a say anymore. I think I was right, but I probably could have been a little nicer about things. Anyway, it took me a while to get over the dissappointment of my marriage ending, but I did. And while he's turned up in a weird dream or two every now and again, I haven't consciously thought much about him in a few years. So last night just kind of sucked.

And why is it that when you wake up in the middle of the night, you can't think of all the wonderful things you have going on instead of the stupid crappy mistakes of the past? It's just so annoying. As soon as the sun came up, I was all "enough of this--I have the best family and friends a girl could ask for and life is actually pretty damn good," but before all that I was just so depressed.

The end result is that this morning I have dark circles under my eyes and I look like hell. I'm actually not in a bad mood despite last night, but I've felt better. I lack focus, too. I'll be working on something (this blog, for instance) and suddenly I'm staring off into distant nothingness. And then I sort of realize I've zoned and I un-zone. It's all very strange.

I have a pick-up rehearsal tonight. We've missed so much because of this freakish rainy weather that we're sort of behind now. It suddenly occurred to me today that we're two weeks away from tech week. I was all calm this weekend--we have plenty of time--and now I'm panicky. I'm not too worried about the tourista scene. I'm not quite off-book on it yet, but I will be by tomorrow's rehearsal. But I'm crazy worried about the Juanis scene. It's about 50% Spanish and the blocking is almost balletic. Usually I memorize after I'm blocked, but my lack of grace and my lack linguistic skill in the Spanish language is a bit demoralizing. It'll be fine. V made a CD for me to help with the language and I plan on playing it while I'm at work. I'm confident. What? I am.

Okay, I'm done blogging now. Behave.

S-Project

My latest for the S-Project. This month's assignment was Harry Potter mania. I'm not huge on fan-fiction in general (though I did recently enter a contest at The Leaky Cauldron) so I decided to use this story instead, which merely visits the world instead of fully inhabiting it. And if you liked this, check out Seduced by the Muse's story based on the same general idea, namely, what if the toy wand actually worked? Comments are welcome.

Garth Hoburn liked to walk to school even though he had a bus pass. It wasn’t out of any desire to be physically fit. It was more of a desire to live. If he got on the bus, Bill Andrew and his meat-headed buddies would be there waiting to beat the snot out of him again. Garth shook his head. Stupid Bill Andrew with his crappy two first names.

In elementary school Bill and Garth had been friends, united by their mutual love of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and Harry Potter. By the time junior high had rolled around Bill had stretched lengthwise and widthwise, and developed a fascination for girls and football, not necessarily in that order. Garth was a late bloomer. He’d eventually decided girls were okay, but he never had come round to football. Bill had found a group of friends with like-minded interests, and Garth, when he wasn’t defending himself from Bill’s fists, found himself rather on the edge of things.

He didn’t mind this so much. Garth thought of himself as a loner—a deep thinker. He preferred reading to sports and he spent the remainder of his spare time writing stories.

He always enjoyed his walks to and from school and today was no exception. He would stand up a little straighter and imagine the most wonderful things. He’d won the Pulitzer Prize for his debut novel…“Really?” he imagined himself saying to the New York Times critic. “I’m the youngest Pulitzer Prize winner ever? Well, that’s nice, I suppose. Though I don’t focus on awards, you know. I’m just interested in telling stories. Everything else is gravy.” Or perhaps he was at a Hollywood premiere of a movie he’d written. “Oh, Angelina, thank you for complimenting my writing—but you were amazing in the film. Just the Cassandra I’d imagined…nobody better really. Oh, you’d like to have dinner? What about Brad?”

Today, he was something even better. He was a wizard. Last night when he’d gone home, he’d found his mother sitting on the sofa holding a long skinny box wrapped up with a bow of vivid green.

“What’s that?” he’d asked his mother.

“A surprise for you,” she said, her smile creasing the lines of her face.

“But, we don’t have any money for surprises,” he reminded her. They didn’t either. That was one of the many things Bill Andrew made fun of him for, along with his unfashionable clothes and bottle-lens glasses.

A shadow crossed her face momentarily, but as she looked down at the package she brightened up again. “We do for this,” she said firmly, handing him the box.

He hesitated a moment and then tore the bow off, opened the lid, and pulled out a wand, richly carved, and polished to such a perfect sheen that Garth thought he could see his face in the wood. He’d wanted a wand ever since he’d read the first Harry Potter book, but he’d never expected to actually get one.

“Mom, this is amazing, but we can’t afford this!”

“We can,” she insisted. “I got a bonus at work and you know you’ve always wanted one.”

“I’m too old for toys,” he said haltingly, suddenly imagining Bill’s derisive expression at seeing him holding a wand.

“It’s not a toy,” his mother replied. “It’s a collector’s item. I bet it will be worth something some day. And anyway,” she continued, “you’ll always be my baby no matter how old you are.”

Garth rolled his eyes at this, but she was so clearly pleased with her gift that he put all thoughts of Bill away and hugged his mother. “Thanks, Mom,” he said.

She placed the wand on his desk in its stand, and the next morning, some irresistible urge made him throw it in his backpack along with his homework.

Now, walking to school, he had the same irresistible urge to pull the wand out. It would make the game of imagining he was a wizard a bit more life-like, he thought. He sat down on the curb, opened his backpack and pulled out the wand. It was made of oak and the certificate that accompanied the wand indicated a core of dragon heartstring. Gripping the wand, he had a curious sensation that some of the dragon’s strength was coursing into him. He stood up and quite easily slung his heavy backpack over his shoulder.

Holding the wand at his side, he walked to school, losing himself in his daydreams. He was Garth still, but this Garth was a wizard—not a British wizard, an American one. Bill Andrew, he reflected in satisfaction, was nothing but a dirty squib, and all of Bill Andrew’s meathead jock buddies were even stupider versions of Crabbe and Goyle. He had just pulled off a stunning bit of defensive magic, when reality veered its head. Garth hadn’t paid attention to what he was doing and the end result was that he found himself standing of the front lawn of his school holding a wand and wearing a slightly glazed expression that made him look mentally deficient. And to cap it off, Bill Andrew and his cadre were holding court at the front steps.

“Dude!” yelled Bill loudly, so that everyone in the immediate vicinity could overhear. “Is that a wand? Are you Harry Potter today?” Bill’s friends laughed appreciatively as Bill leaned casually against the railing. “Gonna do a spell, freak? Gonna turn me into a toad?”

Garth reddened and tried to sneak the wand into his pocket.

“Don’t hide your wand, dude,” said Bill nastily. “Bet the girls’ll be real impressed with that little bitty wand.” Bill laughed at his own joke and then leaned menacingly toward Garth as the pack closed in around him. “You know what I’m about to do?” He stared down at Garth, who did not reply. “I’m about to stuff your skinny ass into a locker, and then I think I’m gonna leave you there. But if your magic wand can help you, go ahead,” said Bill, smirking, “show us a spell.”

Garth barely had time for thought before Bill and his buddies picked him up and carried him, struggling and still clutching the wand, toward the nearest open locker.

“Move,” snarled Bill to a kid even scrawnier than Garth. The boy, apparently grateful that Bill wasn’t stuffing him into a locker, moved aside and took off quickly down the hallway, leaving his locker door wide open.

Bill shoved Garth into the locker, forcibly tucked his head down, and slammed the door shut. Garth heard Bill spin the dial of the lock twice and then bang on the door.

“I’ll let you out after school,” whispered Bill through the slats. “If you’re still alive. Better hope you’re dead, boy.” He pounded the door again and took off for his first period class, laughing the whole way. The bell rang and Garth could hear students rushing to get to their classes and then silence. He was alone.

A surge of hatred filled his being. He wished he was a wizard. Harry Potter might be too noble, but he wouldn’t mind using an unforgivable on Bill Andrew.

“Stupid useless wand,” said Garth bitterly. “I wish you worked.”

On a whim, he shifted as much as possible in the cramped locker, touched the lock with the tip of the wand, and said, “Alohamora.”

To his astonishment the lock clicked and the door opened of its own accord. Garth came tumbling out of the locker along with a pile of books and papers and a pair of dirty sweat socks. A glass paperweight that had been perched on the top shelf fell down and shattered on the tile floor. He sat for a moment, a bemused expression on his face. Then he pointed the wand at the shards of glass, and said, “Reparo.” The glass shards flew back into place and mended themselves together.

Garth laughed out loud in delight. It worked. His wand really worked.

“Bill Andrew,” said Garth as he rose to his feet, “I wonder where you are right now. Gotta say, I feel a little unforgiving.”

In Which Izzybella Does the Babble-Ramble Tango

I was really tired on Saturday afternoon and when I'm tired I get the giggles really easily. Usually I will collapse into giggles over something not at all funny. Or maybe just a little bit funny--the kind that makes me smirk a little, but not laugh out loud. But on Saturday, I had a full-blown giggling fit. It started with my stepmother spotting what she calls a woody-one of those old-fashioned station wagons with faux woodgrain side panels. Because I'm Dirty! that always cracks me up. She honestly doesn't get why that's funny, which is sort of cute and endearing. But the second the first giggle escaped my lips, my dad (also apparently Dirty!) snickered too. Then right afterwards we passed a telephone repairman balancing a long pole and the monster said, "My, that telephone man has a long pole!" And I lost it. I pretty much giggled hysterically for about a half-hour while my parents looked on, bemused.

We had a MoMentuM meeting yesterday. S managed to keep us on track, a task which is kind of difficult lately. For some reason I have no focus these days. Last Tuesday when we were supposed to rehearse two of my scenes, we chose to talk about other stuff instead (e.g. the wasting of time). In fairness to me, my scene partner for the second scene was sick and couldn't make it. But that doesn't excuse my complete lack of motivation to rehearse the scene I do by myself. It's really ridiculous. So yay for S being all focused and on-task. She rules.

I was talking with my co-worker E this morning and she was lamenting that she couldn't act. Now I happen to believe everyone has a little bit of actor in them. Just look at how easily and naturally children slip into another world--no advanced actor training needed at all. Betty Buckley schmuckly. (that was such a good workshop...I love her.) Now this particular person has a lovely singing voice and is part of a gospel band with her family. I was trying to express how my very favorite musicians and singers move me because I believe that they believe what they're singing. For example E is a gospel singer and she feels passionate about the music because she has a strong belief in God. But what if an athiest sang gospel? Would she find the same song moving? I don't think so because the athiest wouldn't believe what they were singing. I know that's a simplistic take on acting and it goes a bit deeper, but if I were to boil it down to one single aspect it would be that. Skilled actors believe what they're saying and doing is true, which enables an audience to believe it too. Thus ends my brief (thankfully) foray into performance philosophy.

My stepmonster bought me the new Kelly Clarkson CD. Just out of the blue. I like Kelly Clarkson,actually-I bought the Breakaway CD and have enjoyed it. I just thought it was cute that she did that. And then when I tried to thank her, she was all "whatever" like it wasn't a big deal even though this is a type of thing she rarely does. She's so odd. Probably why we get along so well. I haven't listened yet but I read the inside jacket. It's like Kelly went back to 1993 and visited Alanis Morrissette. Very angry. I'll play it later today.

Okay, must get back to this work thing. I now return you to your regularly scheduled day. Tired? Have an impossibly large amount of caffiene and sugar. It's what I would do.

Theatre Patron Loses Ring of Gold at Show About...A Ring of Gold

Seriously, and I feel really bad for her because she clearly loves the ring. I looked all over the place for her and I even emptied out the garbage cans in the ladies restroom in the hope that maybe it slipped off while she was drying her hands. No luck. It was only as I was emailing the Box Office Manager with a description of the ring and the patron's phone number that I was suddenly hit with the irony. The show we're doing is a spoof of Wagner's ring cycle, and our tabloid style ad campaign has the tag "Maniacal Dwarf Steals Magic Texas Ring of Gold."

Heavens. I only hope it wasn't the maniacal dwarf who stole her ring. 'Cause that little bastard's fast.

My Mom Is Better Than Your Mom (not really-it was just a good title)

...but she is really interesting.

I was talking with a few co-workers today about our respective moms. The mother/daughter relationship is a complex thing fraught with insecurities and aggravation. For some, there's that constant feeling that we aren't measuring up--that somehow we've disappointed mom with our life choices and she loves us even as she wears that expression. You know the one--the I-really-do-love-you-even-though-you-sort-of-fall-short expression. As I was listening to their stories about their moms, I couldn't help thinking how lucky I am.

My mom isn't like a lot of moms. She never really fussed over what I wore or whether I matched. She was always a big believer in people learning from their mistakes. She'd see me about to really mess something up and, provided it wasn't a life-threatening something, she'd let me mess it up royally. Then she'd help me figure out how to fix it. She did worry a lot if she didn't know where I was-a side effect of a career as a CSU certified latent finger print examiner. My mom was CSI way before it was cool. She likes to cook, but she's not any damn good at it. She'd rather read a book than go shopping at the mall. Her idea of mother/daughter bonding almost always involves learning something new and never once involved nail polish or hair grooming. Her fashion sense blows, and by that I mean she has an entire closet full of double knit polyester. And she feels just fine about that, thank you very much. She can talk eloquently about everything from gardening to Shakespearean theatre to the X-Files. She lacks, what am I looking for? Tact. She has little to no social graces. She feels just fine about that too.

She didn't grow up rich, and still isn't. She grew up dirt poor in a small house in East Texas with way too many brothers and one sister. But her upbringing has always seemed almost incidental. It shaped her but it didn't define her.

She has--
* been a journalist in Atlanta, GA. She had city beat and was so enthralled by what she was writing about that she decided to become a police officer.

* been a police officer, or more precisely a certified latent fingerprint examiner. She was the first female to hold that job in the state of Georgia and one of the first female officers in that state.

* battled sexism as an officer, ultimately earning the respect of her male counterparts by sheer brains and guts.

* been a teacher. She taught high school English for a little while, till she decided she wanted more.

* put herself through graduate school, ultimately earning a PhD in Creative Writing.

* been a professor of English.

* been a published author of over 15 police procedural mystery novels.

* established her own e-publishing company.

In short my mom never let being a woman or coming from an impovershed background prevent her from doing anything she set her mind to. She tried as hard as she could to pass that message along to each of her kids. She knows that we always have potential to do more no matter how old we are, and while aware of limitations, she looks at them as obstacles that can be surmounted instead of reasons why not.

She is coming to visit in August because she wants to see Chaucerian Girl and me in our show. She's managed to finagle a trip to San Antonio out of the whole deal because she wants to do some research on a new book she's writing. But mostly she wants to see Chaucerian Girl on stage for the first time. She wants to see us both perform words we've written. She wants to fall into that world for a little while and talk to her daughters about the things that matter to them. That's just one of a gazillion things I love about my mother. There are no illusions here--she's not that beautiful and gracefully aging ideal of motherhood. She looks her age and then some. Her hair is white. She walks with a cane. She won't tweeze her damn eyebrows. But I still think she's the most beautiful and perfect mother I could ever ask for.

So, yeah. My mom rules.

Clearly Dweebiness Runs In Our Family

Harry Potter Meme I stole from Chaucerian Girl:

1. Butterbeer or pumpkin juice?
If it tastes anything like what we tried to make when we had the Half Blood Prince reading party, butterbeer is definitely out.

2. What House would you most likely (or want to) be in in Hogwarts?
I would either be in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff.

3. If you were an animagus, what animal would you turn into?
A yellow lab.

4. What character do you empathize with, or resemble best?


Which HP Kid Are You?

5. What position do you play at Quidditch?
I play the person sitting in the crowd watching the game with a Gryffindor lion on my head.

6. Which teacher is your favorite?
Gonna have to go with Flitwick. Actually, in the quiz above, I was disappointed because "Charms" wasn't an option for favorite class.

7. Any Harry Potter 7 predictions?
To (sort of, we totally disagree on Snape) quote Chaucerian Girl. Only about a hundred, all of which are subject to change at a moment’s whim. Right now: Snape’s eeevil. Harry will live. Voldemort will die. Snape will probably die. If Neville dies (which he dang well better not), he will take Bellatrix with him. Harry & Ron will be in-laws, and there will be lots of fat babies in the future.

Can't Stop the Serenity or Izzybella's First Ever Fan Event Frakkin' Ruled

So Saturday night was Can't Stop the Serenity night for North Texas. I went with Chaucerian Girl, Jehara, V and her husband, C. It was so awesome that there just isn't a word awesome enough to describe it. Except for awesome. Which is slightly overused, but if I imagine Neil Patrick Harris saying it, along with a hypothetical high-five, I get all giddy with happiness.

I'm so weird.

Anyway, we got there around 6:30, picked up our tickets and then meandered over to Borders where Jane Espenson was holding a Q&A. We couldn't hear very well, though, so since CG needed food, we headed over to McAllister's where she ate, and J and I had really good sweet tea. It was so fun--we talked for about two hours about Harry Potter theories. It was really fun geeking out like that. About 8:00 we headed back over to the theatre to get in line. And I'm really glad we did because we got there early enough that it enabled us to get really good seats. We were in line for about two hours and we talked Firefly, Buffy, Angel, Equality Now and Juarez. (happy side note--J wore one of our Juarez shirts to the show and when she went to the bathroom, someone asked her about it. J didn't have a program card on her, but she told her all about the show and how it benefits the families of the women killed in Juarez. The girl was really excited about it and she took a photo of the front and back of J's shirt. Hopefully she'll be at the show in July. The more people who come, the more likely we'll be able to raise the money they need. So exciting!!!)

Finally, they let us into the theatre and it was a good thing too, because I was really hungry. Very nice theatre, too, with a great big movie screen the perfect size for showing a BDM. They started with the Cedric from Bedlam Bards (I think?) I'd never heard of him before, but he's really talented and the Firefly-themed songs he sang were terrific. I liked the Joss-focused one. Because I have a really geeky fangirl crush on Joss. 'Cause he's real smart and talented and adorable and could I love the man any more after watching the speech he gave for Equality Now? I think not. Anyway, after Cedric, Jane Espenson came onstage for another Q&A. I sound so gushy and I'm really sorry, but she's so marvelously witty and humble and down-to-earth. They showed some clips from Shindig and a few Buffy episodes that were credited to her, only it turned out later, as she told us, that except for the Shindig episode, every single clip that played was actually written by Joss. She was a really good sport about it. I also liked the answer she gave to the question, "Would you ever consider doing a screenplay for a movie?" She said, and I'm not using quotation marks because I'm totally paraphrasing here, that she wouldn't because television affords the opportunity for her to go into much greater depth. She likened movies to a short story and television to a novel. Both are great story-telling mediums, but a novel allows you to spend more time with a character and, as a writer, she finds that incredibly rewarding. Someone also questioned her about whether she'd consider doing a radio-type show. There was a bit of debate about that because she felt like radio theatre was pretty much dead, but then this one guy raised his hand and said he was a truck driver and there was more call for something like that than she might realize. And then Jane was like "Really??" and then she made this hmmm..something to think about face. It was funny. Honestly, I enjoyed that part so much that I would have paid just to see her, but I got to see a BDM TOO. These Can't Stop the Serenity people just rule.

Next was the door prizes and raffle. I won nothing and neither did anyone else in my group, but J did score one of those cute little Chinese boxes containing many fun stickers and magnets. She gave me an I'll Be In My Bunk magnet. Which is funny except the magnet also has a knife on it, which seems very phallic and odd. Then they auctioned off the BDB (big damn bag). There were so many wonderful things in that bag and J and I both really wanted it, but alas, we are poor. This girl behind us got into a bidding war for the bag and J and I found ourselves really rooting for her to win it. We even scraped up $25 between us and passed it to her and I think someone in her group ponied up $100. She wound up winning the bag for something like $1100. I was really happy she got it and she even gave J and I an autographed CD, which we gave to CG because J knew CG would appreciate it more. It was so fun. I know I'm overusing that word right now, but J and I really enjoyed rooting for her to win.

And then the movie. Love the movie. I've seen it a zillion times and so has everyone who was with me, but that didn't stop CG from crying when a VERY bad thing happened to a certain beloved character, nor did it stop J and I from biting our nails during the big fight scene. And it was so cool watching it with an entire audience filled with BDFs (big dorky fans) like ourselves. The audience would applaud during certain scenes and laugh at others and you just know everything was a little funnier and a little sadder because we were all together. This was my first fan-type outing and I would totally do it again.

Oh, and costumes!!! There was a Wash and a Zoe who came together and they looked so great. And there was an Inara and a cute little Kaylee and more than one guy wearing a brown coat (in our really HOT Texas summer--very dedicated fan there). I'm not a go in costume person myself, but I was really impressed by the care they put into their costumes. These are the coolest people in the world.

Definitely will be doing this next year!!

I could enthuse more, but the real world (e.g. my job) would like me to return to it.

(is it me or does this read like a what I did over the weekend essay for high school English???)

In Which Izzybella Feels Stupid

I'm sharing this not so you'll all agree how stupid I am (though I wouldn't blame you), but in the hopes that you've also had days where you did stupid things. It's nothing huge in the grand scheme of things. It's just kind of left me all squirmy with embarrassment. Here's what happened.

One of the functions of the group I work for is to provide continuing education to protective services professionals. Recently we scored a contract to provide a very specific training to caseworkers whose primary function is easing kids from state care to independent living. It's a very focused workshop, and we are only offering it about four times this fiscal year. So rather than have people register through the normal channels, they decided that people would register for the training locally--more specifically they email me and I email the training confirmation out. Up till today, it's been working like gangbusters [off topic]apropos of nothing, but what does doing anything "like gangbusters" mean anyway?[/off topic]. No problems at all. We're now on the last training for this fiscal year and I just sent out a mass email confirming the training to be held on Wednesday, June 27th. Well, someone emailed me back and told me the 27th was a Tuesday. Instead of confirming on my own calendar like a smart person, I attempted a recall of the email and resent with the confirmation now reading Tuesday, June 27th. Only right after I hit "send" I looked down on my desk calendar and lo and behold, June 27th is, in fact, on a Wednesday. So I had to send yet ANOTHER mass email out indicating the correct day of the week. Which made me feel very stupid.

I know it's not that big of a deal, but I have to say that if I were one of them getting about three different emails with a different day of the week on each one, I'd (one) exaggerate to all my friends that I got, like, six emails, and (two) I'd think the training organization lacked...organization. I would think less of them. So here's hoping they've all done stupid things themselves and are understanding.

In the future, I'm going to remember this just in case someone sends me three (or six!) different emails, each containing different information for the same event. I'm going to think they possibly are just having one of those mornings that results in the dreaded "dude, I'm stupid" feeling.

Aaaaand, scene.

In Which Izzybella Promises to Try to Avoid Whining Too Much...Whiney Baby

Or is that whinging baby? Como se dice in Harry Potter-ese? Or as Americans call it--English. Hee, that's funny. Goes back to a conversation my sister and I had a few weeks ago about how we've lost a bit of the HP flavor in America by having Scholastic translate from English to "American." And here I thought we spoke the same language. Clearly not. It's a shame because I think most kids would have been able to figure out, based on context, what (for example) a bogey is. And I'm sorry, but "bogey" is much more poetical than "booger." I mean really. Bat Booger Hex. Not so awe-inspiring as Bat Bogey Hex. I'm just saying.

I'm really tired today. I don't sleep that well during rehearsal month anyway, but it's been compounded lately by my over-enthusiastic puppy dog. Speaking of which, I think the Internet world at large needs another picture. It's been almost a year since I posted the last one. It's time. So for your viewing pleasure, here's my boy, Baxter. And my dad's foot. Sorry about that.



Anyway, back to the subject. Baxter is clingy. And by clingy, I mean he follows me around the house all day and sleeps at the side of my bed all night. Usually I find that incredibly adorable, because let's face it, we all like being loved, especially by cute puppy dogs. But last night it was sort of tiresome. See, I'm rehearsing right now, which means I get home much later than usual. Baxter is a neurotic dog--he gets really anxious when any of his people aren't home--he gnaws holes in his blanket (yes, he has a blanket--er rag--and we totally should have named him Linus) and then when they finally get home (much later than he would clearly like) he turns into anxious guard dog. So he barked all night last night. I kept getting up to check and see if there were burglars making off with our boston ferns or something (don't laugh, it's happened before) but nothing. I can only conclude that a butterfly in Japan was flapping it's wings and Baxter overheard. Seriously, he was driving me nuts and even though it is now daylight and I'm back to thinking he's the cutest thing ever, I was incredibly annoyed at him last night. Dad and Carol, who just two weeks ago were complaining about how I stole their dogs, were all Mr. and Mrs. Smug this morning. "Boy, your dog sure was noisy last night, huh?" Yes, he was. Bite me.

So I'm really tired today and I'm telling you there isn't enough caffiene in the world to keep me from being tired.

On the plus side, this is a really good show and I have lots of warm, fuzzy feelings about it. Naturally (since it's a V&S MoMentuM production) there's at least one scene that completely scares the crap out of me. That's a good thing, though, as it means I'm being challenged. So clearly, there are good times ahead.

Oh, and more to be excited about!! I'm going to a charity screening of Serenity benefitting Equality Now this weekend and lots of my friends are coming too. I expect a tremendously good time will be had by all.

Okay, I now return you to your regularly scheduled activities. Have a lovely day.

S-Project

This is my latest for the S-Project. Please note that ordinarily I avoid any type of poetry writing with a 10 foot pole. I enjoy reading it, but I'm not very good at writing it. So please bear that in mind if this happens to make you roll your eyes and think to yourself, "that Izzybella's a sweetie, but she ain't no poet!"

The assignment this month was to write something based on a photograph, a newspaper/magazine story, or an observation made while people-watching. I occasionally go to church with my stepmother, and without fail, there is a lovely old woman who sits in the pew in front of ours. My stepmother is Presbyterian and they're a very ceremonial type of religion-lots of standing up and sitting down throughout the service. No one would think less of this woman if she stayed seated--she is clearly frail, so stooped over she can barely walk, and anymore her cane seems even to lack the support it once did. But she still stands up. This is for her.


Even when she sits, she is bent over
back stooped with the weight of
eighty-four years worth of living.
Her cane leans against the pew
in front of her.
Her gnarled hands shake
with the effort of holding the hymnal.
The opening chords play
and the congregation rises to its feet.
She stands, too, slowly,
back still stooped, one hand holding
the back of the pew in front of her for support;
the other still tightly clutching her hymnal.
Her hand shakes so badly she cannot read,
so instead she hums.
Though she is stooped and frail;
her faith supports her.
She is not proud.
She stands because she loves Him.

Because I Can't Go A Day Without Copying Something From My Sister's Blog

Liz Needs. You know the drill. Go to Google, type your name and the word needs; enclose them in quotation marks and hit the button. Find thirteen responses that are reasonably coherent and post them in your blog.

1. Liz needs a hip display name What, someone objects to the highly creative and unique izzybella?

2. Liz needs catchy slogan You people are never satisfied.

3. Liz needs to ensure that proper steps are taken in the beginning so more serious actions aren't delayed. I hear that ALL the time.

4. Liz needs to devise a budget and stick to it. It's like they know me.

5. Liz needs to get off her pedistool and stop worrying about Jason I can hear at least one person who knows me really well saying, "Amen, sister."

6. Liz needs to calm down she was having an the big O right there. ... Um, blush.

7. Liz needs to assemble allies: I have assembled them and some day we will rule the world. Or just the town, maybe. Or the block. Baby steps.

8. liz needs a hero Seriously, for reals.

9. Liz needs to satisfy one person ... herself. Thank you, Oprah. I feel very empowered now.

10. Liz needs to be physical and energetic to avoid becoming restless. Okay, I'm going to work a lot harder on that running thing.

11. Liz needs to grow up and get a clue. Well, that's probably true, but you don't have to be nasty about it.

12. Liz needs to take voice lessons from Celine Dion Not even that would make me a good singer.

13. Liz needs her voice back. Is this my metaphorical voice or my literal one?

And the extra special bonus #14:
Liz needs her sleep, after all she is carrying Jon’s demon child in her womb. I'm speechless. I really am.

Stolen From My Sister: Item. One Meme.

My Roomate and I once: picked a bunch of lavender from a neighbor's yard in the middle of the night even though we knew the neighbor was a cranky-pants who would never in a million years voluntarily let us pick his lavender, hence the middle of the night excursion. It smelled so good though. We put it in a vase by our open window and slept really well the next three nights. Till it died. Then we stole some more.

Never in my life have I: taken an illegal substance (second-hand pot smoke does not count)

High school was: part nightmare, part fun. I wasn't popular exactly, but I knew and got along with everyone. Usual high-school traumas involving bad grades and unrequited love, but I lived for drama and my fellow drama-dorks.

When I am nervous: I talk too much. And too fast. I'm like a crazy talking machine who says stupid things and then obsesses over how stupid I'm acting.

My hair: hasn't been my natural color in about five years. Currently it's a light reddish brown, thanks to Aveda and a really good stylist.

When I was 5: I was in the first grade and I was really, really, really, quiet and painfully shy. I blushed any time I had to speak to anyone and I was so scared to ask my teacher for help that I wound up falling behind in my school work, thus beginning an endless cycle of flunking classes and making it up summer school. That continued all through high school until my senior year when I actually did pretty well in all my classes. I think all of my elementary and high school teachers would be surprised to find out that I graduated from college summa cum laude.

By this time next year: is there where I'm supposed to have a goal for next year? 'Cause really my goal is to make it through this one. One year at a time. Sheesh.

My favorite aunt is: Oh, I don't have a favorite aunt--I don't actually know any of my aunts all that well. Aunt Barbara is like super-woman. She can do anything and prefers to do three or four things at once. She has issues with sitting still. Aunt Wyann is nice, but I don't really know her well. I was blessed with many fine uncles though. So my favorite uncle is either Uncle Lee or Uncle Bill. Uncle Lee is always good for lots of fun, but Uncle Bill is the sort of uncle you can tell anything to and he'll still love you tons and tons.

I have a hard time understanding: math. I concur with Chauceriangirl. We took our math classes for college together. Neither of us would have passed if it hadn't been for her husband who spent many fine Saturday afternoons tutoring us.

You know I like you if: I'm willing to hug you. I'm really not a touchy-feely type of person, but I do hug my friends.

My ideal breakfast is: What Chauceriangirl said. Bacon, eggs, toast, and grits from Pitt Grill Fine Food. But you have to go eat breakfast BEFORE you shower, because you’ll stink from cigarette smoke and grease all day if you don’t shower after eating at Pitt Grill Fine Food.

If you visit my hometown: you'd be in Fort Worth, TX, which I consider home. But if you wanted to visit my birthplace, you'd be in Atlanta, GA. Have a mint julep and a very nice day.

If you spend the night at my house: you'd be woken up the next morning by two very large labrador retreivers who would kiss you and stick their noses right in your face. So if you don't like dogs, you should probably not stay overnight at my house.

My favorite blond is: my childhood friend, Ronnye.

My favorite brunette is: my sister.

The animal I would like to see flying is: a pegasus. What? They're cool.

I shouldn’t have been: so shy as a kid. I missed out on stuff because I was afraid someone would actually speak to me.

Last night: I worked late, went home and had dinner, and then read Harry Potter. I'm rereading in anticipation of book 7. I'm on Goblet of Fire now.

I’ve been told I look like: my Father.

If I could have any car it would be: an Escape hybrid. Then I can have the back of my truck to take my dogs places, but still get really good gas mileage.

It's No Longer Wednesday, But I Liked This Meme

Hello everyone! Welcome to another Hump. I just finished reading from a magazine, so today's meme will be about magazines.

1. Do you currently subscribe to any magazines? If so, which ones?

Yes. I subscribe to Entertainment Weekly, Glamour, Runner's World, Fitness, Cooking for Two, Interview, and US Weekly (which I wound up with after my Premier subscription was cancelled because they quite suddenly went out of business-am still sad)

2. What magazines have you subscribed to in the past?

All of the above plus Rolling Stone, Vogue, Allure, Elle, People, Jane, Self, Reader's Digest, TV Guide, and many years ago Seventeen and Sassy.

3. What do you do with the little cards that always fall out of the magazine? Do you toss them, or have you found a use for them?

I keep one as a place holder and toss the rest.

4. If you could start a magazine, what would it be about? Who or what would be on the cover of the first issue?

Ooh, how about a regional theatre magazine. The first cover would be an up and coming theatre company called MoMentuM Productions.

The rules are, there are no rules!!! All you need to do is copy and paste the above questions into your blog and add your responses. After you've finished, return here and leave us a comment so we'll know you've humped. Be sure your hump is linked back to http://bdinsanity.blogdrive.com so others can hump too.

Remember, there are no right or wrong answers. If one of the questions doesn't inspire you then simply "pass" it. Just use your imagination!

Is That a Light I See I Before Me??

At the end of the tunnel, I mean. Teen Conference is almost over and to that I say, "yay." I've learned a couple of very important things over the last couple of days. Let me sum up:

1. I missed NOTHING by not having the dorm experience in college.

2. One cannot subsist on diet coke and ice cream alone (that's Latin for I really hope I make it to the cafeteria before they close tomorrow morning--I haven't had an actual meal since Sunday night)

3. The conference crew here at the University can be bribed with leftover lemon bars and whole fruit.

4. Even too-cool-for-words teenagers will act like a kid at the prospect of spending the day at Six Flags.

5. Also the too-cool teenagers will hightail it like nobody's beeswax to the evening session after having spent the day outdoors in 95 degree weather, if you even mention free ice cream sundaes in the ballroom.

6. I have actually met a man with a heart that's three sizes too small. Four sizes. He'd probably use Cindy Lou-Who for batting practice. Even my unflappable boss was all...flapped. Because he is mean and karma will put a big kick me sign on his back and then he'll be sorry. (wow, I'm still mad and that was over 24 hours ago...)

7. The 13-year-old band camp kids sharing our dormitory think I'm somewhere near Methusalah's age and called me ma'am twice. I am now old.

8. Also, it is officially too loud. See above re: old.

9. If you mention it's for the end-of-conference slide show, previously reluctant photographic subjects will immediately preen and ham it up.

10. If someone gives you the stink-eye as you pass them while holding your camera, do NOT stop. Just move it along. That way you get to live.

Those are good things to know, I think.

I have to go put together a slide show now. So, laters, okay? (That's what this girl said to me when I said good night to her a few minutes ago...)

Random Thoughts and a Damn Good Idea

I had breakfast with my parents this morning. I love going out to breakfast because I enjoy eating all those breakfasty foods (eggs, bacon, toast) but I loathe making them. So eating out for breakfast is always good fun. Having said that, my advice to all and sundry is be sure and dry your hair before you go to the restaurant. This has nothing to do with fasion and everything to do with if-you-don't-your-hair-will-smell-like-bacon-all-day. Seriously. I want another shower. Or at the very least a shampoo.

I'm at work right now. Had a few more things to do before the mass of teenagers arrives here on Monday. If I didn't mention it before (and I'm sure I have 'cause for some reason I'm really whiney about it this year) I am on the planning and implementation committee for a conference held annually for teenagers aging out of foster care. These are GREAT kids and the purpose of the conference is to direct them to support systems that will be available when they age out and educate them on life skills. We also try to show them a good time.

This year, we're taking the kids to Six Flags. In years past, they did this and the kids loved it. But a few years ago, the budget people in Austin dictated that state funds couldn't be used for large amusement parks, even it was for the teenagers in care. So we did other less expensive things we could find ways of justifying. The kids always had a good time, but they made it clear on the conference evaluations (yes, we really do read them) that they wanted Six Flags back. Fortunately, some volunteers stepped up to the plate and offered to pay for the kids, so we didn't have to use the budget money. So the kids get Six Flags this year and I get five hours to catch up my sleep. Or you know, set up for the evening workshop. Whatever. :)

Anyway, I came into the office to work on some last minute conference stuff. Plus I need to put together materials for the lead adult rep for each region. I'm hoping to leave by about 11:00 or so, so I suppose I should stop blogging and start working. That'd be novel, wouldn't it.

Won't be online much this week-the conference ends on Wednesday and then I'm taking the rest of the week off for rest, relaxation and Pedicure Friday. Hey, that should be a national holiday. Pedicure Friday. I really like the idea. Everyone gets a paid day off to go get a pedicure. Or sleep in if they aren't fans of the pedicure. Whatever. Granted, it's not as meaningful as say, Memorial Day, when we remember and honor our military men and women who died in service of our country. Or Mother's Day, when we suck up to Mom and buy her flowers and candy in order to appease her for the crappy way we treat her the rest of the year. Kidding-that's my step-mother's rant, not mine. Besides I just gave her a used card and a $5 Sonic gift card. What? The card was Hallmark and all. And very funny, honest. I would like to tell you I was kidding about the Sonic gift card, but I'm not. I really truly bought her that. It's an inside joke. Trust me-she laughed. And hey, Mom got actual flowers. And a loving long-distance telephone call. I swear. Anyway the point is if we have a whole week for broccoli, why not one little day for pedicures? It would make the world a much happier place.

Okay, I'm outta here. Be good.

Really? In a Bubble? Okay.

Got this from Spin Doc.

Boo Hiss Stoopid Day

The header says it all. In the interest of full disclosure, I woke up cranky. I don't know why. And before anyone asks, not that anyone I know would be tacky enough to ask that, but no, it has nothing to do with monthly cycles. It's just a general not-good, bad sort of cranky. That happens sometimes on account of I am human.

I had some problems with the shared drive on my network this morning. When I called tech support, I got one of those I-Know-Computers-And-You-Don't-And-Are-Therefore-Useless, supercilious, condescending jerk tech types. I hate when the tech guys are like that. I'm already feeling a bit helpless and frustrated and then they come in with their nose all up in the air and crinkly like they're smelling something unpleasant. Big freakin' meanies. But he did fix my drive and restore my files. That should make me considerably more cheerful, don't you think? Well, it doesn't. 'Cause I'm cranky.

I miss my tech person from when I worked at the beauty supply distributor. Well, not 100% miss him, because we actually are quite good friends and still keep in touch on a weekly basis. And he did give me a hard time when I made a stupid O.E. But he didn't have a superiority complex because he knew more about computers than me. He has a superiority complex for other reasons. Kidding. Actually, he's a wonderful person and I tease only because I love.

It's been really busy at work lately and I'm a little overwhelmed. Our new person started on Monday, but the poor woman has had to divide her time between her old job in another department (same office, though) and this one all week. There is nothing fun about that. She's so stressed out that I feel kind of guilty for complaining about how I'm stressed out. Yet still I crank.

It's a shame I'm not big on lots of booze, 'cause I could really go for a Texas sized magarita right now. My friend Yalayla, who's all that and a bag of chips and salsa, likes to call me when she's really stressed out and have a virtual margarita. All we do is pretend we're drinking and then say outrageously silly and ridiculous things and then laugh and laugh and laugh as if what we were saying was actually funny, even though it is, in fact, profoundly unfunny. Good times. You might have had to actually be there.

I guess I should end this brief blogging break (hey, that's a really good tongue twister--say it three times fast!!) and return to my regular work schedule.

Gotta say, I'm really cranky about that.

I Am a Bad Person

...but I'm sorry, I have to say it. Dan Radcliffe, whom I believe to be very talented and expect will go very far in his career, looks like K.D. Lang in this photo.

I know I'm wrong to criticize, but c'mon. For reals.

I'm going to hell.

The Child is Back

He's only been here a half hour. So far he has:

1. "Crashed" his airplane into my filing cabinets resulting in a resounding and repetitive metallic thud.

2. Played bunny-hop with the step-ladder.

3. Played with the files on the table themselves until his mother made him stop.

4. Followed me around persistently asking "what are you doing?" over and over despite my giving him an answer every single time.

He's currently playing "watch this" as he creates new and imaginative ways to crash his airplane and ultimately kill his dinosaur pilot.

Honestly, if I weren't at work right now trying to get work done, I would be rather charmed. He's an adorable little guy. But I'm not in admire the cute kid mode. I'm in work mode. Arrgghh! I need to lighten up, don't I?

I Am Dua Khalil

[In April,] seventeen year old Dua Khalil was pulled into a crowd of young men, some of them (the instigators) family, who then kicked and stoned her to death. This is an example of the breath-taking oxymoron “honor killing”, in which a family member (almost always female) is murdered for some religious or ethical transgression. Dua Khalil, who was of the Yazidi faith, had been seen in the company of a Sunni Muslim, and possibly suspected of having married him or converted. That she was torturously murdered for this is not, in fact, a particularly uncommon story. But now you can watch the action up close on CNN. Because as the girl was on the ground trying to get up, her face nothing but red, the few in the group of more than twenty men who were not busy kicking her and hurling stones at her were filming the event with their camera-phones.

- Joss Whedon, on Whedonesque.com

Lexigeek, the fine graphic artist of Black Market Beagles, has created a lovely shirt, which is now available for only $5 above cost (price dependent upon style). That $5 will be donated directly to Equality Now. But if you're broke, he'll also sell them at cost. The point is to wear the shirt and start a dialogue. Get yours here.

Random Thoughts

I'm at my part-time box office job right now. Some days it's really busy, and I'm juggling multiple phone calls and walk-in reservations. Today isn't one of those days. Other than the rehearsal going on upstairs, I haven't seen a single person; and in the two hours I've been here, I had one sale and one cancellation. I'm bad--whenever a season ticket holder calls to cancel a sale, I always return the tickets to their season ticket pool, even though we technically need at least 24 hours notice in order to do that. Now, I won't return the tickets if they call right before the show or if they're no-shows and call after the fact, because c'mon. But if they make an effort? Well, they've already paid a lot of money for season tickets and I want them to like us so much that they renew for next season. I think flexibility is part of that.

Since it's so dull, I've been alternating between surfing the net and reading the book I brought with me. A couple of weeks ago, I was listening to Pottercast (a podcast by the folks at The Leaky Cauldron) and they did a segment on this fan-fiction author who wrote her own version of Book 7. Problem is someone on the net has claimed the fiction in question is a leaked copy of JKR's actual book and has been charging people to download it. So the author immediately went on the defensive, contacting all the fan sites and legal representatives of JKR to let them know that she wasn't claiming that at all, and furthermore her fiction is available free of charge from fan-fiction alley (or something like that). It's crazy-the author has no idea who's doing it or where that money is going.

Anyway, the interview got me curious so I found the author's fan-fic online and skimmed it. If I really believed it was JKR's last book in the series, I would be mightily disappointed. The author is a decent writer, so I'm not slamming her personally. It just didn't feel right, which I'm sure, has everything to do with it-wasn't-JKR. Honestly, it was just okay, not great or even what I'd call good, but I imagine some people might like it. Here's my problem with a lot of the HP fan-fic, including this one. Harry Potter is not a Harlequin romance novel. The romance between Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione and Giant Squid/anyone is not the centerpiece of this series. I really and profoundly do not want to read sex scenes in Harry Potter. Doesn't belong there. I get annoyed by angsty fiction in general, so maybe I'm not the most unbiased critic around. I also didn't like the resolution of the story and how Harry ultimately defeats Lord Voldie-thingie, which I believe defeats the general love theme JKR seems to be going with. I won't spoil it for anyone who has a great love for fan-fiction and wants to immediately go find and read it. I also won't link the book, but if you're interested, it's called "The Seventh Horcrux" and it's by Melinda something or other. Just google it-you'll find it. Again, she's a decent writer and, as she put it herself, clearly enjoyed "playing in JKR's sandbox." At the least it was a good exercise. She's a decent enough writer, though, that I'd hope she spends more time writing her own stuff.

And why do I continue to read fan-fiction when I'm so picky? I am inconsistent and make no sense.

I have a meeting for the Juarez show today. It's a potluck meeting and I was supposed to make something but found myself out of time. So I am bringing a selection of salads from Jason's Deli. I heart Jason's Deli. It's my lunch destination of choice. Well, aside from enjoying Greek food from a sun drenched balcony in Mykonos. But if you're asking me to be realistic, then I pick Jason's.

Yay! Another sale. Now we're hopping.

Okay, I'm done wasting time here on Blogger. If you've read this entire post, I sincerely apologize and hope you'll be back for when I actually have something interesting to say.

Waiting..

I'm at home right now, right smack dab in the middle of the 8:00 a.m. to 12:00 noon window Sears gave to come and fix our washing machine. It's making a funny sound and since it's one of those super-duper expensive high-end duet washers, it should only be making the lovely quiet sounds associated with high-efficiency laundering. Stupid machine. I hate waiting. I'm really bad at it.

I took some work home with me last night in anticipation of the waiting, but amazingly it doesn't take me as long to do my work at home minus interruptions as it does at work. I think that's an excellent argument for working from home. Although, I guess if I consistently worked at home, the interruptions would just follow me here. Anyway, since I finished my office homework, I decided to balance my checkbook. Done. Doesn't take long when you are poor and not buying much. Then I checked my email at home and work. Done. Then I logged onto my space and deleted the spam comment about how easy it truly is to increase the size of my manly parts. I don't have manly parts, but I'm actually sort of curious. It can't possibly work, so what does it do exactly? Is it like the mythical thigh cream that actually works? Does it just tingle?

So many mysteries. Life is good.

Pink Crosses-Scherehazade Project Submission

This is for the S-Project. The picture below was our assignment. As always, comments and critique welcome.



The girl seated herself on the ground cross-legged in front of the pink cross bearing Evangelina’s name. It was hot and sticky and she reflected, not for the first time, that it was probably a waste of time coming here; that Evangelina couldn’t possibly hear her from such a great distance. She liked to imagine that Evangelina was so loved and blessed and adored in heaven that she barely had time to direct her attention to the dusty spot where her body had been found, now marked by lines and rows of pink crosses.

The girl touched the wood, lightly tracing the ripples of cracked and peeling paint with her finger. “Mama,” she whispered. “I have good news.” The wind came from nowhere and blew her dark hair away from her face. It was so much like a caress that the girl had the sudden feeling that her mother was there, that she already knew the good news. Perhaps Evangalina wasn’t too far away after all.

The girl smiled. “You know, then. I’m leaving here. I got accepted to college in Colorado, in the US. On scholarship, mama! I don’t have to pay for anything-I just have to work hard.” The wind blew her hair again, and the girl laughed in delight. “You are happy for me, aren’t you, mama?”

She stayed there till the sun began to set, its pink and orange hues contrasting strangely with the pink crosses before her. At last, she stood up and brushed the dirt off of her pants. “I will miss you, mama, but you aren’t really here anyway are you? I want you know that I will come back home someday. But first I’m going to learn everything I can. When I come back I will be a woman, not a girl, and I will know how to begin to change things here. I promise you, I will always remember.”

The wind blew gently around the memorial site, swirling dust particles and leaves into circles, and girl smiled. “I love you, too, Mama.”

Not Friday Yet?!

So far every morning this week, after waking up and moseying my way into the kitchen for breakfast, it has suddenly dawned on me, "Today is not Friday. Why does it feel like a Friday?" It truly has every morning. I wake up with that gleeful feeling that I'm about to get out of having to do something I don't want to do, which is the only way I can describe how Fridays feel to me. And then I stop and realize--no, it's Monday. Or Tuesday. Or in today's case, Wednesday. I still have a today and a Thursday before I get to Friday. It's very odd. I've thoroughly overanalyzed it and decided that it feels like Friday because I know I don't have to rehearse or run the show again. You know--that show. I feel all free and unencumbered. It's a very pleasant feeling. I highly recommend it.

Seen and Not Heard I Wish

I like children. The sight of an adorable little child won't melt me into a pile of sticky oozy sweet goo (unless the child is my niece, but I'll spare you and not go there), but I like children. Having said that, I will now add (and I'm CAPS-locking because I feel that strongly about it) CHILDREN DON'T BELONG IN AN OFFICE ENVIRONMENT. I'm not talking about wonderful programs like Bring-Your-Child-to-Work day. Usually, there is a planned agenda for them, which will, hopefully, keep them interested and occupied. I'm talking about the practice of bringing small children, aged 4, to work and somehow expecting them to miraculously behave. It won't happen. Offices are dull places for children. There's nothing to do, no games to play, no other kids to play with, no Sesame Street to watch, and when you're that young you have the attention span of--well of a 4-year-old.

By now, it should be rather apparent that I'm speaking of a specific person who occasionally brings her son to work. I genuinely sympathize with her situation. She's a work-study graduate student, and since school is out for the semester, she doesn't get the free child care. It's a difficult situation compounded by the fact that she's a single mother on a very small income trying to make life better for her and her child. It's difficult and I do honestly appreciate that. But her kid's been driving me freaking nuts today. He's in everything, some of it rather dangerous (e.g. using the step-ladder to climb up an office chair and then spin himself madly around till he falls off said chair narrowly missing the edge of the conference table). He cries everytime she tells him not to touch something and the resultant enforced disciplinary quiet-time is quiet for NO ONE.

My head really hurts.

My Life, How I've Missed You!

I am so very sleepy this morning. I had an extremely difficult time getting out of bed and the only reason I finally did is because I had a big yellow dog staring intently at me, trying to telepathically impart the message that he was starving and also needed to pee.

So the show is over and I’m thrilled beyond measure. Actors were all talented-it was a good show in the end, but I’m truly and genuinely delighted to move on to the next thing. I have a real sense of ownership for the Juarez show and for Momentum and that makes a huge difference. We’re meeting tonight for a writer’s meeting and I think I might actually go over to S’s early for gossip and fun. Her place is very peaceful and welcoming, so it’s a good place to unwind.

And can I say how glad I am that NBC has Heroes available to watch on the Internet? I’ve become ridiculously addicted to that show and, although to be honest, I would choose spending time with my friends over watching television, I’m still glad I have a way of watching it online. Other than Tivo or DVR or whatever. Because I don’t have those things on account of how I still barely know how to work my DVD player, much less a DVR.

It’s interesting-ordinarily after a show, I’m all lost like “what do I do with this free time?” But right now I’m thinking of many things to do. For example, I have had the same three movies from Netflix sitting on my desk for about five weeks. I think I will watch them (and then possibly cancel Netflix owing to how long it takes me lately to watch what I’m sent). And then I want to reread the Harry Potter books before Book 7 comes out. And then I have a nice list of books I should read I’ve collected from S and Faithie. And then Friday night, I’m hanging with my friends. I’m very excited.

Oh, my life, how I’ve missed you.

Got Tagged

Chauceriangirl tagged me. I did one of these not too long ago, but it was six things instead of seven. So, here are 7 things you probably don't know about me unless you answer to the name Chauceriangirl, in which case you know all.

1. Lots of people will tell you they love the smell of freshly-cut grass, cookies baking, etc. And I do love those smells, but I also love the smell of gasoline and cigars (not together actually). They're both strong sense memories for me. When I was in high school my boyfriend drove a Honda Interceptor motorcycle--we used to go all over the city and up into the canyons on that bike on a weekly basis. I loved the feeling of sitting on the back, my arms wrapped around him tightly and the wind whipping through my hair (yep, no helmet, I was stupid) probably about as much as my mother hated the idea of me on the back of a 16-year old boy's motorbike. The cigars just remind me of my grandfather. He smoked swisher sweets and they smelled so fragrant before he lit them up. Lit up, though, they smelt rank. Even so, I can always tell by the smell if someone is smoking a swisher sweet and it always makes me think of him.

2. If I had a million dollars, I truly would not buy an expensive and fancy car. I genuinely can't fathom spending large sums of money on something which will depreciate the moment I drive it off the lot. On the other hand, I totally would blow a wad on world travel.

3. I talk a big game about being assertive and taking care of business, but when push comes to shove, I avoid conflict like nobody's beeswax. Unless I'm good and truly angry, in which case I wind up saying things for which I'm apologizing an hour later. I could probably use an assertiveness training or something.

4. Large groups of people freak me out. The larger the group, the more nervous I get.

5. I am currently working on a planning committee for a conference for kids aging out of foster care. I've just found out that I'm required to stay in the dorms-excuse me, RESIDENCE HALLS, as the university contact. I've complained loudly about that, but the truth is that I'm sort of looking forward to it. I never did the dorm thing in college and I feel like I'll be making up for something I lost. The best part is that it's only for 2 days, and I have a feeling the first day will be enough to make me realize how fortunate I was never to have had the full dorm experience.

6. I once had a doctor appointment, which wound up being cancelled by the doctor. Instead of going into work like I should have, I got a pedicure. Only then I felt bad about it, so I confessed to my boss. She just laughed at me.

7. I'm insanely jealous of the people who work for the Google boys, not because of the great pay, or the free haircuts, or the gourmet meals, but because they get to bring their pets to work with them. I would totally bring my dogs to work with me if I could get away with it.

There. There's seven things you may not have known.

That was hard.

I'm Being Eaten By a Boa Constrictor

That's a poem by Shel Silverstein. It's pretty funny in a profoundly creepy not-funny way, where the narrator describes being eaten by a boa constrictor from his feet all the way to his--. And then silence. Good times.

The show I'm stage managing opens tonight. Last night's rehearsal was part insane chaos of the I want to weep variety, and part inspired lunacy. This has been a tough show for all concerned, but usually the outcome is worth the headaches and trauma associated with putting it all together. We rehearsed last night until 1:30 a.m. I was overjoyed to finally leave, but still encouraged by how put-together the show seemed in comparison with the rehearsal we had just two nights ago. This really is a wonderful cast and they play well together onstage. I always love watching shows where the actors aren't so much "look-at-me-look-at-me." Actors can be that way sometimes. You know when you get the impression they aren't listening to what the other characters are saying so much as just waiting for their next cue line. This cast listens to each other. It's such a joy to see how scenes change from one performance to the next based on how each actor is approaching a particular moment. That's the part of theatre I think is just freaking fun. Everything in the world should be that cool.

And having said all that, I will be so glad when this show is done. Of course, that just means on to the next one, but I do have a month in between where I get to experience this crazy little phenom called spare time. I'm looking forward to exploring the mysteries of that particular concept. I see books and movies in my future. So exciting.

GREAT NEWS!

Faithie is well. Benign. No yucky BC. YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And now we shop.

Okay, so that's the best news I've heard in a while and I needed some good news. Notice my plucky avatar there to the left? How she's underwater and all? Yep. That's me. Drowning in the work way, not the life-in-peril way, hence the natty suit. My coworker quit-her last day is May 1-but she was off yesterday because she had to take daughter to hospital (daughter is fine, just thought she'd be having a baby yesterday and it turned out not so much) and then today she's taking an exam to get into college, so yay her!! But that does leave me with extra work, which I am currently slacking off in order to post here. But I had to post the good news, right? I did. Okay, the guilt has set in. I'm going to work now.

Hilarity (For Me, Anyway)

So the cast of this show I'm stage-managing, while remarkably talented, lacks commitment. By that I mean some of the cast members (this is an important distinction, not all of them are behaving this way) have things they'd much rather do than rehearse. I have felt that way in the past on some shows, but the primary difference between me and a few of the actors in my show, is that I went and rehearsed anyway. I think most shows are good experiences; some are great; some are awful. But agreeing to be in a show is agreeing to the time commitment required to rehearse and stage the show.

This particular show has NOT had a taxing rehearsal schedule for any of the actors. The rehearsals are set up per each scene and actors not in the scene to be rehearsed are not called. So far, no actor has had to attend a rehearsal more than three times in one week--usually for one hour each day, occasionally a bit more. So really. Not taxing at all. And yet...

One particular actor has decided she'd rather not rehearse tonight. She sent an email to my personal account claiming sickness. I was inclined to be sympathetic at first until the director told me this particular actor is "sick" a lot (at least once every show she's in, and if that's the case, WHY cast her, except that she's tremendously talented, and I just answered my own question) and requested I have her come in and rehearse anyway. So I emailed her rehearsal particulars for tonight to her work address. Her outlook email sent a "read" message and then I received an "automatic out-of-office reply." Except it totally wasn't an automatic out of office reply. It was so ridiculously faked that I can't believe she even bothered. I don't know whether I'm offended that she thinks I'm that stupid or just amused at the pathetic-ness of her attempt. I'm wavering between the two.

The thing is, she also asked to be let out of rehearsal a week ago Sunday so she could spend time with her boyfriend and I totally went to bat for her. Director did NOT want to let her off, but finally relented. So this is just kind of induces a great deal of irritation in a show/rehearsal schedule that has already been irritating enough all on it's own.

I didn't realize how much of stage-managing involved baby-sitting. To all stage managers everywhere, I say YOU FRAKKIN RULE.

My Week Or Not

So, it wasn't a great week, actually. I've started to post a few times, but decided not to inflict my negativity and seething anger on the e-world at large. I think that was a wise decision because I'm better now and focused on other things. To wit:

My sister is having a biopsy today. Getting your wallet stolen (which was how my week began) is sort of inconsequential compared to the possibility that my favoritest, most wonderfullest person in my whole world might have the big, yucky BC. Now my gut is positive, no matter the outcome, that she'll ultimately be fine. If cancer, we'll get through it and she'll be a survivor and we celebrate by shopping. If no cancer, we whoop for joy and then celebrate by shopping. Either way we shop together and that sounds pretty fun. But the worrier in me is frightened for her and frankly also pretty damn frightened for me. See, I think everyone has that one friend they can't do without and Faith is mine. When she's down, I'm equally depressed. When she's all happy, well, me too. So, nerves. Just a little nervy today.

Next, I'm happy because Clover sold her first book. I think that's the awesomest thing ever and I'm way excited for her. It reminded me of the day my mom found out she sold her first book. We'd been shopping all day at Trader's Village (North Texas shopping institution). This was before everybody on the entire earth had a cell phone. So when we finally got home around 6:30 or 7:00 p.m., the phone was ringing. Whoever was on the line hung up before we could get there, but no worries, because the phone rang again about 15 minutes later. It was mom's agent, Bart, letting her know that Walker accepted her ms and Mom was now a published mystery author. I'm certain mom's joyful war-cry was heard all over the better part of Fort Worth. That was a good day, one of the best days I think my mom has ever had, and I'm so glad Clover got to have a day like that.

Then there's Momentum. We're working really hard on the Women of Juarez. Right now it's just fragments of thoughts and ideas-the barest whisper of something solid. I've never been a part of creating something like this and it's challenging and interesting, and scary, and wonderful - all pretty much at the same time. Their stories break my heart and a lot of it just makes me wonder how strong I would or could be in the same situation. I take so much in my life for granted and I hate say I'm apathetic, but unlike V and S, I never would have thought of doing something like this. I'm learning a lot from them and learning a lot about myself-some of it, I don't like, but I think recognizing that is a positive sign.

Finally, I'm focused on the play I am stage-managing. The director and cast are all really talented and it is genuinely a really funny show. There have been some bumps along the road, or hiccups, or whatever you want to call them. A couple of actors dropped out because of time commitments and there have been other conflicts, some of which I feel like, while not my fault, I could have said or done something differently that might have helped things a bit. So I feel like I'm a bit ineffective as a stage-manager, but on the other hand, I came into the show after it was cast and after rehearsals had already started, so I hope that gives me a bit of a learning curve.

And that's my week. Or at least the version I feel better about sharing. I hope your week was really good. Hope someone made you laugh and I hope someone made you love, too.

Another 8 Hours Would be Great, Thanks...

I woke up tired this morning. I don't mean that I was still sleepy when I woke up, because that happens all the time to me and most everyone I know. I mean I woke up tired. I woke up feeling like I'd just finished working a full day, including rehearsal and a really good work out. I've had this feeling before, but usually it's because I wasn't able to sleep the night before. But I slept great last night-like a log. Like a hibernating bear. Like before being signed up for that reality show. Kidding. I'm not on a reality show. Sorry, the commercial sort of leaked it's stupid self into my brain. Anyway, I'm tired and there's no good reason for it. I wish you could call into work tired. "I'm sorry, I won't be at work today because I'm sleepy. I'll come in later this afternoon if I feel awake and alert enough." Because that would go over really well. I'm thinking even the super-nice compassionate social workers I work for would have a problem with that. So I'm at work. But I'm tired. And dude, really whiney. Sorry about that.

Yay for Rainy Weather

I'm stage-managing a show for a friend and she just called me and told me to cancel rehearsal for tonight. There were already scheduling conflicts with a couple of our actors, but rainy weather clinched it. The building manager for the location we have been rehearsing in decided to close up tonight because the storms headed our way include baseball sized hail and the possibility of tornadoes. They didn't want any legal liability issues should something happen while we were there, which I totally understand. So rehearsal is cancelled and I have a sudden bonus free night.

My big plan for the evening involves laundry and an early bedtime. I feel really good about that plan.

Hope everyone has a great weekend.

Well I'm Screwed

So, I was messing around on Blogthings this morning and I took two quizzes. The first is Which Sign Should I Date?

Your True Love Is a Virgo

Why you'll love a Virgo: Almost perfect and a total perfectionist, your Virgo will do almost anything to please you.Low maintenance and loyal, it's almost too easy to love a Virgo! Why a Virgo will love you: You're totally dependable and discreet. A Virgo knows that you can be trusted.Attractive and a high achiever, a Virgo can appreciate your attention to detail.

What'>http://www.blogthings.com/whatsignisyourtruelovequiz/">What Sign Is Your True Love?

The second is Which Sign Should I NEVER Date?

Never Date a Virgo

Demanding, picky, and a total perfectionist - there's no way you want to live up to Virgo's standards.It's not that you couldn't please a Virgo... you would just hate yourself for doing it. Instead try dating: Libra, Leo, Aquarius, or Aries

What'>http://www.blogthings.com/whatsignshouldntyoudatequiz/">What Sign Shouldn't You Date?

I'm screwed.

S-Project_Little Red in the Hood

My latest submission to the S-Project. Comments and critique welcome.

Little Red in the Hood

I remember it like it was yesterday even though it was far, far away and a long time ago. Red’s mom used to always send Red on her errands. It would be “Red, go down to the corner store and get me a diet coke” or “Red, pick up the dry cleaning, would you, and make sure that crook, Peterson, didn’t over-charge us again.” That day we were hanging in the back yard shooting the breeze, when her mom opened the back door to holler, “Red, take the leftover lasagna to your gramma’s house and be quick about it because I have a few things I need you to do back home.”

Red didn’t want to go. For starters her gramma was kind of strange. She wore bowling shirts and hung out with a bunch of crazy old ladies—dirty old ladies who liked to talk about sex and stuff. When you’re 13 there is nothing more disgusting than little old sex-obsessed ladies, unless one of them also happens to be your gramma. But besides that Red’s gramma would sometimes go out with this weird guy named Ed. Ed had a ginormous head with a great big wolfish smile. He sort of creeped Red out, even though Red’s mom said he was harmless.

“You be nice to Ed,” she was wont to say. “He’s good to your gramma and he’s a good friend.”

Red looked at her mom and set her jaw stubbornly. She actually looked kind of like her mom when she did that, but I wasn’t going to be the one to say so. “Aw, ma, I don’t wanna go. You go,” cried Red plaintively.

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady,” replied Red’s mom. “Besides, I can’t go. My soap is on. Dirk is about to pop the question to Adrianna, and I don’t want to miss it.”

Red sighed and gave me a look that plainly expressed her exasperation. “Let’s go,” she said.

“Wait a minute,” her mom yelled. “Don’t forget your coat, it looks like rain.”

Red scowled. She hated that stupid coat with its stupid babyish red hood. “It’s not going to rain, Ma,” she said. “Besides Elizabeth’s ma isn’t making her wear a coat. Why do I have to?”

“Elizabeth’s ma will regret not making her wear a coat when she catches a cold and then dies. You don’t want to die like Elizabeth, do you?” she replied snappishly. And then to me, she said, “You aren’t really going to die, dear. I’m just making a point. Would you like to borrow one of Red’s old coats?”

“No thank you, ma’am,” I replied. Red’s mom looked for a moment as if she was going to force me into a coat, but she merely shrugged her shoulders and handed Red the red monstrosity with the baby hood. Red threw the coat on over her shoulders and raised the hood. “Happy now, ma?” she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.

“Yes, I am,” said Red’s mother, choosing to be oblivious to Red’s waspish reply. “Look sharp. I’ll see you soon.”

Red grumbled the entire walk over to her gramma’s. Now I gotta be honest. Red didn’t have too much to complain about really. I mean, yeah, Red’s mom gave her a lot of chores, but she got a lot of free time still. Plus three squares a day. I’m not saying my mom starved me, because she didn’t at all. What I’m saying is that my mom wasn’t a very good cook. She tried and all, and sometimes, she’d come up with something that was pretty tasty. But usually? Ever had an egg omelet with tofu? Well, if you haven’t, then don’t. That’s all I’m saying. Red’s mom was practically gourmet, and except for her obsession with the soaps and her tendency to dress Red a bit younger than Red would have liked, she was tops as a mom. So the closer we got to Red’s gramma, the more annoyed I got.

“Your mom doesn’t censor what you read,” said Red out of nowhere.

“Yeah, well you don’t read all that much, anyway,” I pointed out.

“So what,” said Red. “It’s the principle of the matter.”

“Okay, fine, you’re censored. But you get gourmet meals all the time. You are so lucky.”

Red scowled at me. “Is that all you ever think about? Food?”

“Have you ever had a tofu omelet?” I asked her, melodramatically.

“Enough about the tofu omelet. I’m sick of hearing about the stupid tofu omelet,” said Red grumpily.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. When we got to Red’s gramma’s house, it was shut up tight.

“Did she go somewhere?” I asked Red. “I thought she was expecting us.”

“I don’t know,” answered Red. “But there’s a key under the concrete statue of the three little pigs, there by the daisy patch. Grab it for me, okay?”

I handed Red the key and she opened the door. “Gramma?” called Red.

No answer.

“C’mon,” said Red, “let’s just leave the lasagna in the fridge and go back home.” Red’s gramma had a nice kitchen. Lots of yellow gingham and a tin full of yummy-smelling cookies.

“Are those snickerdoodles?” I asked Red.

“Geez, eat one and shut up,” said Red handing me a cookie. “Let’s go.”

But just then we heard a peculiar sound coming from the bedroom.

“What is that sound?” Red asked.

I paused for a moment and listened again. “Sounds like someone snoring. Think your gramma is asleep or something?”

“That’s snoring?” asked Red incredulously. “Sounds like a freight train.”

“That’s what my step-dad sounds like when he snores. Seriously, it’s that loud. She’s probably just asleep. We should go.”

“But it’s the middle of the day,” said Red. “Maybe we should check on her.”

“Okay,” I replied. “You go. I’ll wait here.”

“No,” said Red. “You come with me. Please? Pretty-please?”

“Fine,” I said. We made our way down the hallway and to Red’s gramma’s room. Red tentatively opened the door. Red’s gramma was lying in bed completely obscured by all the blankets.

“Gramma? You okay?” asked Red.

“Mm-hm” came a muffled reply.

Red stepped closer to the bed. “You sure? Can I get you anything?”

“Nm-hm” came a muffled reply.

Red hesitated. “Are you sure, gramma? ‘Cause you have to be hot all smothered in that blanket. Let me fluff your pillows for you.”

Red’s gramma snickered funny and then replied in a high-pitched voice, “It’s okay, dear. You go home now.”

But Red had already crossed to the bed and grabbed the pillow at the top of the heap, only to expose Ed and his big wolfish grin. Red shrieked and backed away, still holding the pillow.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Gramma, emerging from the blankets. “It’s just Ed. You go home now. Hi, Elizabeth, didn’t know you were there. Go home, the both of you. And don’t tell your ma, okay? She wouldn’t understand.”

We turned on our heels and left as fast as we could. We were halfway home when Red started laughing so hard she had to stop and lean up against a tree.

“Gram and Ed,” she said, wheezing, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Ma is gonna die.”

“Don’t tell her,” I said. “Even dirty old ladies need some privacy every now and again.”

Red considered me for a moment thoughtfully. “Well I have to tell Ma something. She’s gonna ask.”

“Make something up,” I suggested.

And that’s how the fairy tale about Little Red Riding Hood was born. ‘Course nobody mentions how much trouble Red got into for telling the big whopper about her gramma and the wolf. But she kept her Gramma’s secret her whole life.

Life List

Jehara and ChaucerianGirl got me all inspired to make a life list, so I thought I should do the same thing. So I started thinking about all the stuff I wanted to do and I sort of got overwhelmed. I think there's a poem in Where the Sidewalk Ends - or maybe it's A Light in the Attic - by Shel Silverstein about eating an elephant, and how in the world do you possibly eat an elephant. Or maybe it's a hippo. Okay, I need to reread Shel. Anyway, the point is I kept thinking of more and more stuff to do and then I started wondering how in the holy heck I was going to get it all done. I have a lot of faults, and one of them is a tendency toward all or nothing thinking. It's stupid, I know it is, but my mind goes that way more often than not.

So, here's what I'm thinking. I pick one goal to start with - just a goal, something I want to accomplish and I work really hard on it till I'm feeling good about it and then I add another goal. Is that copping out, do you think?

So my goal right now is to become a runner again. I was one for a while and I let stupid little life struggles get me depressed and lethargic and fat. I'm typing that up right here so people can come back and ask me about it. (editing to clarify-please ask me how I'm doing on my goal of becoming a runner again, not about my lame pathetic struggles. I don't particularly want to revisit them, and also expect you don't really give a crap) I know that might be kind of a vain goal, since it's pretty much tied into becoming physically fit again. I mean, wouldn't it be better to work on emotional and spiritual fitness? And the answer to that is sort of. The truth is how I feel about myself physically has always played into my emotional health. When I was running every day I was happy and optimistic. I slept better. I ate better. I was inquisitive and slow to leap to conclusions and judgements. In short, I think my life was better when I was running and I think I was a much nicer person.

So that's my plan. I'll keep you updated. And who knows? Maybe making a life list won't seem so freaking scary when I'm taking care of myself again.

Harry Potter Book 7

I'm sorry, but it has to be done. I'm geeking out. I just saw the US and British Harry Potter and Deathly Hallows book covers over at The Leaky Cauldron. If you haven't seen them yet, go ahead and look. I'll wait.

You back?

Holy crap!! Yes, I do know I'm a dork, but I'm so excited. I think I like the US cover best-much more scope for the imagination. I won't post anything else here for those avoiding spoilers. Just wanted to say YAY!!! And do a little jig of joy.

Jury Deadlocked: Hamlet Remanded to Pages of Literature

So yesterday while reading the paper I came across a little blurb describing a performance at the Kennedy Center in which Hamlet was placed on trial for the murder of Polonius. Apparently, this has been done before in various parts of the US. Ruth Bader Ginsberg was part of the Washington jury about 15 years ago and "thought Hamlet quite sane and possibly also culpable in driving Ophelia to suicide." It's an unscripted performance in which actual lawyers act as prosecution and defense. This performance was tried by an actual Supreme Court justice, Anthony Kennedy, which just totally rocks. I would have loved to see this.

Here's a Reuters story about it.

Fun With Monsters

I got up yesterday at 4:30 (ish) in the morning to take my step-mother to the hospital for surgery. Minor surgery, but still the kind that requires an anesthesiologist and generally produces at least a low-level panic in the victim/patient (which ever way you look at things). Random thoughts and moments from my long day—

4:30 a.m. - Alarm. Damn. I’ll get up in a minute.

4:40 a.m. - Fine. I’m awake. Stupid freaking surgery.

5:10 a.m. - I really like driving this hour of the day. Well, okay, not as much as I enjoy being asleep this hour of the day, but we were on major highways, and there were hardly any other cars on the road. I tell my stepmother I should get a job where I go to work at 5:00 a.m. and leave at 2:00 p.m. before traffic begins sucking. She laughs hysterically at the idea of me actually getting up that early every morning and then thanks me for the distraction.

5:40 a.m. - We are sitting at the registration booth at the Emergency room of Baylor Medical. We have to check in here because the front desk will not open for another 2 hours and 20 minutes. The monster realizes that she forgot to “mark her foot” with ink. While I am slightly disturbed that they need her to remind them which foot they are operating on, she grosses out both the receptionist and me by sticking her bare foot on the desk, grabbing the pen attached to the sign in clipboard and marking a big black ‘X’ on her right foot. The receptionist says nothing, but at as we walk to the lab, I see her toss the pen and attach a new one to the clipboard.

6:45 a.m. – An orderly whisks the monster away and directs me to the waiting room, where another family has already gathered. They are passing time by talking about American Idol (they like Doolittle best—I haven’t seen it this year, so can’t comment). I pretend to be reading the newspaper, but am actually eavesdropping like crazy. I was in this scene study class with Betty Buckley and one of our assignments was to observe someone in a waiting room and then come back and interpret it. It felt creepy then, and still feels creepy. It occurs to me that I am a creep. I am now embarrassed and begin reading the newspaper in earnest.

7:15 a.m. – The waiting room telephone rings and a guy from the AI group runs to answer it. His face falls momentarily and then he looks at me and asks if I’m Elizabeth. I nod and take the phone from him gingerly, feeling irrationally guilty that it was for me and not good news for him. Monster is fine, but they’re running a bit late. They will call me when they start.

7:50 a.m. – The phone rings for the second time. The same guy answers it and the process is repeated as he passes the phone off to me again. They’ve started and will call me when they’re finished. I decide to go eat breakfast in the cafeteria. The café employee looks like she’d rather be just about anywhere else. She takes my order without comment and rings in my sale. As she gives me back my change, she erupts into a massive coughing fit. Turns out she’s sick as a dog and will be leaving as soon as her co-worker arrives. My one egg fried over-hard suddenly seems very yucky. I add an individual box of cereal and milk to my order.

8:25 a.m. – Back in the waiting room, the telephone rings again. AI guy looks at me, shrugs his shoulders, and I go and answer the phone instead. He watches me expectantly and his face falls again as he realizes the phone call is once again for me. They’ve finished and she has been moved to the recovery room. They ask me to meet the doctor in the patient consultation room right away. He is very nice and likeable and tells me the surgery went very well and he expects she’ll be up and about in no time. He gives me a few discharge instructions and we chit-chat a bit longer before he walks me back to the waiting room. He says the nurse will call in about 45 minutes or so and I will be able to see her at that time.

9:01 a.m. – I am engrossed in the October travel issue of National Geographic (Seriously, I want to go to Patagonia) when the phone rings again. AI guy looks at me. I tell him it won’t be for me quite yet and he practically leaps to the phone and answers it. His face falls again, and he hands the phone off to an older man sitting by himself in the corner. I smile sympathetically at AI guy and he heads back to his family to continue their discussion on why-Taylor-Hicks-should-never-have-won.

9:15 a.m. – Phone rings again; AI guy totally ignores it, and I wonder, as I cross to the phone, if this is a new tactic. Maybe he thinks that if he pretends the phone call is not important to him, it might be for him this time. It isn’t. It’s for me. Monster is back in her room in day surgery and ready to see me. I put the National Geographic back in the magazine rack and turn to leave. AI guy waves at me, but then his smile falters a bit, as the phone rings again. I answer it and then grin at him. It’s for him. He takes the phone from me eagerly and I leave the waiting room.

10:00 a.m. – Monster is great. She’s totally mellow like she is on Christmas day after about four whiskey sours. I consider asking for a rent decrease right then and there, but decide that would be taking unfair advantage.

3:00 p.m. – Monster is annoying the holy frakkin’ crap out of me as she keeps getting up and trying to do things around the house. I force her to sit back down and she glares at me before suddenly turning back into nice monster again. She falls asleep in the middle of Ellen and snores loudly. As if on cue, one of our labs, Cydney begins snoring too. I’m hard pressed to decide who the better snorer is. It’s sort of cute.

6:00 p.m. – I consider beating Monster with a stick, but I’m a strictly non-violent sort of person, and besides I usually like her very much. I become really smug when Dad sides with me and Monster gives in with bad grace. She’s not at all tired. Her foot feels fine. But okay, fine, if we want to be that way… We do.

I was so glad when yesterday ended. Today looks to be busy, as I have to go to work after work, but I’m okay with that. Because Dad is home with Carol and he gets to fight with her all day instead of me. That works really well for me.