Just Because

Moving On

2007-07-10T10:36:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-09T12:55:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-06T14:15:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-03T09:15:00.000-05:00

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

2007-06-28T21:09:00.000-05:00

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)

2007-06-28T14:04:00.000-05:00

...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

2007-06-26T10:32:00.000-05:00

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

2007-06-25T09:46:00.000-05:00

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

2007-06-22T10:02:00.000-05:00

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

2007-06-21T08:45:00.001-05:00

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

2007-06-19T10:25:00.000-05:00

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

2007-06-15T14:16:00.000-05:00

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.

2007-06-13T09:08:00.000-05:00

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

2007-06-11T17:30:00.000-05:00

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??

2007-06-05T22:45:00.000-05:00

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

2007-06-02T08:39:00.000-05:00

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.

2007-05-25T11:48:00.000-05:00

Got this from Spin Doc.

Boo Hiss Stoopid Day

2007-05-24T13:04:00.000-05:00

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

2007-05-22T10:26:00.000-05:00

...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

2007-05-21T10:50:00.000-05:00

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

2007-05-21T09:35:00.000-05:00

[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

2007-05-19T11:41:00.000-05:00

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..

2007-05-17T10:13:00.000-05:00

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

2007-05-16T15:29:00.000-05:00

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?!

2007-05-16T08:51:00.000-05:00

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

2007-05-14T11:41:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-05-14T09:51:00.000-05:00

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

2007-05-10T08:58:00.000-05:00

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

2007-05-04T15:46:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-04-26T09:22:00.000-05:00

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)

2007-04-23T15:38:00.000-05:00

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

2007-04-20T09:33:00.000-05:00

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...

2007-04-16T11:12:00.000-05:00

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

2007-04-13T15:53:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-31T10:42:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-29T15:08:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-28T15:49:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-28T10:06:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-19T12:24:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-09T12:52:00.000-06:00

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.

This Post Brought To You By The Letter 'B'

2007-03-06T16:40:00.000-06:00

Another meme from ChaucerianGirl. In her own words:

Yes, it's another meme. But that's because I'm really busy and have been going back and forth between about 10 different things all at once. Amanda posted this today on her blog; it's one of those fun "get-to-know-you" memes that will probably teach you more about me than you all care to know, however it's fun for me to do! All I had to do was request a letter and once received, I tell you all 10 things I love that start with that letter. I was handed an "R," so here are my 10 items I just love, all beginning with R, in no particular order.

She gave me the letter 'B' even though she really wanted to give me the letter 'Q' or 'Z' all because I had the audacity to call her briefcase a briefcase. She think's it's a purse. You be the judge. It looks a little like this except it's black. I don't know what brand, but probably a good one, because she's a purse snob. Except in this case it's a briefcase. Or at least an attache. It's not a purse.

Oh yeah-10 things I love that start with the letter B.

1. Books. Yeah, I know ChaucerianGirl said reading and this could be construed as copying off her paper, but it's a very true thing. Our mother raised us to love books, much to the distress of anyone who's ever had to help any one of us move. I paid a mover last time, though, so he kept his comments to himself. Minus one little bitty, "Wow, you sure do like to read, don't you?" Yes. Yes, I do.

2. Baxter. He's my beautiful yellow lab. One of them anyway. I love Cydney bunches and bunches too, but her name begins with a C.

3. Being on stage. Dude, that was totally a cheat, but true.

4. Banana splits. I've only had a banana split once or twice in my life, but I really love them. I seriously doubt I could eat one all by myself right now, but when I was a little girl and I got my first one, I ate the whole thing. I was really little too and my dad didn't think I could do it. There's a whole story about the banana split with which I will not bore you.

5. Beach. I love the beach. I love the ocean. I love being on boats. Hey! Boats. A'nuther B word.

6. Ooh, and B-word made me think of bitches which made me think of bit-cahs. Two of my favorite people always get cranky when I tell them they're sweet. They say they're bitches/bit-cahs and who am I to argue. But if they really are bitches, then I must think bitches are pretty damn cool.

7. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's a good television show. Why do I always feel like I have to defend myself every time I say I like it? Oh, yeah. 'Cause it's called Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

8. Bohemian Rhapsody. What? It's a good song. It's especially good when you're with your sister in the car on a road trip. Seriously.

9. Brainstorm. As in having a fabulous idea right when one is sorely needed.

10. Breakfast. Lately, anyway. I actually get up early enough to sit down and eat some breakfast over the morning paper with two truly adorable dogs sitting close by. That's pretty frakkin' close to perfect.

The Usual Stuff

2007-03-02T15:21:00.000-06:00

I'm a little grouchy right now because as soon as I get off work, I have to go to work. Apparently, that's a side effect of having two jobs. I'm working at the theatre tonight. Well, sort of working. I'm in the process of helping to train a new box office person. Tonight, he'll be doing everything and I will be shadowing in case anything strange comes up. Believe me, I'm highly motivated to get him all nice and trained so he can pick up a few shifts. I know I sound like I hate my second job or something. That's actually not true. I love theatre whether I'm working in a box office or acting on a stage. And the people at this theatre are particularly nice. I'm just kind of tired and truthfully I'd rather go see a movie tonight. I don't really care what movie-I don't even know what's playing right now. I just want to sit in a dark theatre with a box of junior mints and be mindlessly entertained for a couple of hours. Then I want to go home and go to bed. I'm easy. Not like that. Sheesh. Dirty.

Banned Books

2007-03-02T10:57:00.000-06:00

A meme invented by Chaucerian Girl based on the Banned Books Challenge.

Below is the 100 Most Frequently Challenged Books of 1990 - 2000. Read any? Bold them. Any in your personal library? Place a + in front of them. Any you want to read? Italicize them. Which do you plan to read for the Banned Books Challenge? Make them large. Any you just don't want to read? Make them tiny. And as per ChaucerianGirl, it's okay if you don't want to read a book. Just don't try to take it away from others who do want to read it!

Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz

Daddy's Roommate by Michael Willhoite

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

+Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

+Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling

Forever by Judy Blume - Judy Blume rocks. I read everything of hers when I was a kid.

Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson

Alice (Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman

My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger - Add me to the list of "hated this book." I didn't care about a single character in it.

+The Giver by Lois Lowry

It's Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris

Goosebumps (Series) by R.L. Stine - My little sister had a few of these in her bookcase when she was a kid and I read one of them when I was babysitting her.

A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck

The Color Purple by Alice Walker - I've seen the movie, but have yet to read the book.

Sex by Madonna - Friend owned it. I read it. Not that big of a deal.

Earth's Children (Series) by Jean M. Auel

The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson

+A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle - This is actually one of my favorite books.

Go Ask Alice by Anonymous

Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers

In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak

The Stupids (Series) by Harry Allard

+The Witches by Roald Dahl

The New Joy of Gay Sex by Charles Silverstein

Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry - Have NOT read the whole series, just one or two book in it.

The Goats by Brock Cole

Kaffir Boy by Mark Mathabane

Blubber by Judy Blume

Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan

Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam

We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier

Final Exit by Derek Humphry

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood - MA has strongly recommend Margaret Atwood to me. I trust her, so I'm definitely going to have to read this.

Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

What's Happening to my Body? Book for Girls: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Daughters by Lynda Madaras

+To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Beloved by Toni Morrison - My mom loaned it to me when I was in high school. I really like it a lot.

+The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton

The Pigman by Paul Zindel

Bumps in the Night by Harry Allard

Deenie by Judy Blume

+Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes - Was assigned this in the 9th grade and expected to hate it, but I loved it.

Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden

The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar

Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat by Alvin Schwartz

+A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by A.N. Roquelaure (Anne Rice) - Yep, this is sort of filthy. By sort of, I mean totally way filthy.

Asking About Sex and Growing Up by Joanna Cole

Cujo by Stephen King

James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl - Really, they tried to ban this?

The Anarchist Cookbook by William Powell

Boys and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy

Ordinary People by Judith Guest

American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis - I have no idea why I want to read this because I'm not really into violence and anarchy, but I've wanted to read it since I first heard about it high school. I'll probably hate it.

What's Happening to my Body? Book for Boys: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Sons by Lynda Madaras

Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume - My all time ever favorite Judy Blume book.

Crazy Lady by Jane Conly

Athletic Shorts by Chris Crutcher

Fade by Robert Cormier

Guess What? by Mem Fox

The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende

The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline Cooney

+Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut

Lord of the Flies by William Golding

Native Son by Richard Wright

Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women's Fantasies by Nancy Friday

Curses, Hexes and Spells by Daniel Cohen

Jack by A.M. Homes

Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo A. Anaya

Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle

Carrie by Stephen King

Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume

On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer

Arizona Kid by Ron Koertge

Family Secrets by Norma Klein

Mommy Laid An Egg by Babette Cole

The Dead Zone by Stephen King

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison

Always Running by Luis Rodriguez

Private Parts by Howard Stern

Where's Waldo? by Martin Hanford - Shut up! They banned Where's Waldo?? Seriously?

Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene

Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman

Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett

Running Loose by Chris Crutcher

Sex Education by Jenny Davis

The Drowning of Stephen Jones by Bette Greene

Girls and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy

How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell

View from the Cherry Tree by Willo Davis Roberts

The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

The Terrorist by Caroline Cooney

Jump Ship to Freedom by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier

I didn't mark any as a "not-interested-at-all," because I don't know enough about them to indicate that. No tagging. Do it if you feel like. Don't if you don't.

The Truth About a Lie I Told

2007-02-26T14:55:00.000-06:00

(For the S-Project)

I was a very little girl the day it happened. I couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old. My much adored older sister was out, who knows where, and there sitting on her vanity like a personal invitation was her make-up bag, half-open with colorful bottles and tubes spilling out.

Even at that age, I loved make-up. My sister, who had a habit of spoiling me rotten, had occasionally purchased bonnie bell lip smackers for me. Our mother wasn’t crazy about the idea of giving a five-year-old any make-up whatsoever, even something as innocuous as glorified chapstick, but she let it pass. In delight, I smothered my lips with cherry flavored lip smackers and made kissy faces in the mirror while my older sister looked on in amusement. But bonnie bell aside, I yearned to wear makeup like Faithie did.

And here was the perfect opportunity. I was well aware that Faithie might object to me using her make-up. Though she was very generous with her allowance and baby-sitting money, I thought she was awfully stingy with her personal possessions. Her reaction to finding me playing in her Candies pumps taught me quickly to keep my hands off her stuff. So, I reasoned to myself, if I were to use her make-up, I’d have to be very careful and put it right back where I found it.

I stared at the counter for a very long time trying to memorize exactly where each tube and container lay on the counter. If I misplaced even one little tube, I knew I’d be in trouble, and I loved Faithie so much that it truly hurt when she was angry with me. Plus she might tell Mom, and Mom, whatever her faults with regard to little girls and make-up, respected other people’s space. There would be no spinning this in my favor. Such an endeavor required stealth, and I felt up to the challenge.

Gingerly, I picked up a plastic case containing blue eyeshadow and opened it. The applicator was smudged blue on both sides, so it wouldn’t matter which side of the wand I used. I rubbed the applicator in the shadow, then applied it to my eyelids, just like I’d watched Faithie do countless times. Next was blusher-great big cherry colored splotches on the apples of my cheeks. I followed that with a pinky-red lipstick. Smack. Blot. I finished it off with two coats of pink nail polish. This was less satisfactory as I couldn’t get the polish to go on smooth, the way Faithie’s did. Instead it looked grainy and lumpy, but it was still pink. And pink, I reflected, was much prettier than no nail polish at all even if it wasn’t perfect. I surveyed myself in the mirror.

I was beautiful.

The only thing missing was my tiara, because I truly was a princess. Problem was, there was no tiara anywhere to be found in the whole house. I improvised. My mother had a cheap set of red plastic beads in her jewelry box she let me play with sometimes. I liked to wear them and pretend they were rubies. That day I draped them over my tangled hair and pretended they were a ruby crown. I glided from room to room, haughtily acknowledging my subjects (e.g. my dolls).

I lost track of time. All too soon, Faithie was home. I yanked Mom’s beads off my head, taking a few fine blonde hairs with it, and ran to Faithie’s room to ensure the make-up looked the same as it had when she’d left that afternoon. Satisfied that I’d done a good job covering my tracks I sat down in my bedroom and began playing with my dolls.

Faithie went into her bedroom and emerged a moment later, holding her make-up bag and glowering at me. “You were in my make-up, weren’t you?” she accused.

Indignantly, I denied it. “Everything is right where you left it,” I replied solemnly.

She looked at me disbelievingly. “You’re telling me you weren’t in my make-up?” she asked shaking the bag at me.

Just then Mom walked into the room and looked from me to Faith and back again. “Betsy,” she said, “why were you in your sister’s make-up?”

I then did what I always did when under great pressure as a child. I cried. Between great gulping sobs I denied again that I’d been in her make-up, pointed out that it was exactly where Faithie’d left it and how come I always get blamed for every thing and no way was I anywhere near Faithie’s stupid make-up.

“You’re WEARING it!” Faith exclaimed impatiently, interrupting me.

For just a moment, I stopped crying. It hadn’t occurred to me that anyone would see the make-up on my face. It seemed impossible that I didn’t think of that, but clearly I didn’t. I looked up at Faithie, and at the anger etched across her face, burst into tears again. My sister was mad at me and I knew she’d never love me again and I deserved it. I was bad and mean and awful. I cried and cried and cried for hours till Faithie came over and curled up next to me.

“You know I still love you, don’t you, squirt?” she said sweetly, wiping my hair out of my face and tapping the tip of my tear-stained nose.

“You do?” I said, sniffling.

“I really do,” she replied. “But you have to stay out of my stuff, okay?”

I nodded and snuggled next to her. And I never got into her stuff ever again.

That very last sentence was a lie.

Book Meme

2007-02-26T12:49:00.000-06:00

ChaucerianGirl tagged me, so I guess I'm it. P.S. This was HARD.

Character you'd most like to have over for tea? Amelia Peabody Emerson. Actually, I'd like to have the whole Emerson clan over for tea (spiked tea!) and then read Mrs. E's journal entry of the occasion to discover first-hand how she changed the event to suit her sense of decorum.

Character you'd most like to have as a sibling? Dy Brougham. See this trilogy by Pamela Aiden, Pride and Prejudice retold from the point of view of Mr. Darcy. Dy is a most excellent character who would be an awesome big brother.

Character you'd most like to be friends with? I'm entirely unoriginal, but I'd love to be friends with Elizabeth Bennett. She's witty, loyal, funny, and good-hearted.

Character you'd most like to have as a cousin? Stephanie Plum. What can I say? She's funny and she knows the value of shop-therapy and the efficacy of junk-food in dealing with broken hearts. 'Course if I was related to her, I'd also be related to her crazy, perverted cousin Vinnie. That would be gross.

Character you'd most like to have an adventure with? Fred and George Weasley. Seriously, they'd be fun. True, there would be more adventury-adventures with Harry Potter, but I'd be more likely to live through one with Fred and George.

Favorite quirky character? I must agree with ChaucerianGirl, who was agreeing with Erin. Luna Lovegood. Simply put, I admire the way she goes merrily about her own way without caring what others think. That takes a kind of courage that is quite rare in one so young.

Favorite love-to-hate character? Again, I'm being unoriginal and agreeing with ChaucerianGirl who agreed with Erin. Delores Jane Umbridge, Hogwarts High Inquisitor. She's such a nasty piece of work. I yelled at her while I was reading the book, for all the good it did.

Favorite bad guy? Snape, Snape, Snape. Although, I'm actually of the opinion that, like Harry, he's Dumbledore's man through and through. But I also think he genuinely hates Harry, and I love that. Honestly, I think Harry hates Snape as much Voldemort now. And why wouldn't he?

And the category ChaucerianGirl added:

Character to whom you've most often been compared? No one has ever compared me to a character in fiction that I know of. At least not to my face.

TAGGING TIME: I tag Spin_Doc. Just because.

69

2007-02-23T08:40:00.000-06:00

Stolen from Spin_Doc who stole it from Chesney Girl.

1. Are your parents married or divorced? Divorced, and then remarried. They're both better off the second time around.

2. Are you a vegetarian? No, I like steak way too much. I should be, though, as I would probably be much healthier.

3. Do you believe in Heaven? After losing my little sister, I find I have to.

4. Have you ever come close to dying? Nope, unless you count the time I had my stomach pumped when I was four for drinking some nail polish remover.

5. What jewelry do you wear 24/7? No jewelry. I used to work in a jewelry store where we had to wear earrings, necklace, and bracelet every day-I got jewelried out. Is jewelried a word? I don't think it is. I probably wear earrings more than anything else, but I only wear them once or twice a week.

6. Favorite time of day? Around 10:00 a.m. or so, I suddenly become incredibly alert and productive.

7. Do you eat the stems of broccoli? Yes, but I prefer the little florets.

8. Do you wear makeup? Yes.

9. Ever have plastic surgery? No.

10. If you did have plastic surgery, what would you do? I honestly can't see myself getting plastic surgery, but never say never, I guess.

11. What do you wear to bed? I am the pajama queen. I buy pajamas the way other women buy shoes.

12. Have you ever done anything illegal? No, I am remarkably law-abiding.

13. Can you roll your tongue? No, and I also can't whistle very well.

14. Do you tweeze your eyebrows? In between waxing, yes.

15. What kind of sneakers? I own nikes, skechers, and keds. Oh, my.

16. Do you believe in abortions? I'm against abortion for me, personally, but I am glad they're legal and hope they stay that way.

17. What is your hair color? Currently, it's a very pretty and warm shade of brown, thanks to the power of Aveda and a terrific hair-stylist. Naturally, my hair is a shade commonly referred to as dirty dishwater blonde.

18. Future child’s name? I don't see myself having children, but when I was younger I always liked Sarah for a girl, and Joshua for a boy.

19. Do you snore? No, but I grind my teeth in my sleep.

20. If you could go anywhere in the world where would it be? I really want to go to Greece.

21. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? I do not.

22. If you won the lottery, what would you do first? Buy myself a house.

23. Gold or silver? Gold

24. Hamburger or hot dog? Hamburger.

25. Only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be? Geez, whatever I picked, I'd get awfully sick of really fast. Let's say mexican food. There's lots of different choices that way.

26. City, beach or country? Beach, definitely.

27. What was the last thing you touched? Aside from the keyboard, the newspaper.

28. Where did you eat last? At work.

29. When’s the last time you cried? A couple of weeks ago.

30. Do you read blogs? Yes.

31. Would you ever go out dressed like the opposite sex? Sure, but my er, um, assets would be difficult to hide. Lets just say I'm definitely a girl.

32. Ever been involved with the police? Well, other than my mom used to be a cop, not so much.

33. What’s your favorite shampoo conditioner and soap? Right now I'm using one from Redken. I change frequently.

34. Do you talk in your sleep? Not that I'm aware of and no one has ever told me I do.

35. Ocean or pool? Ocean.

36. Sauna or whirlpool? Whirlpool.

37. Starbucks or Krispy Kreme? Starbucks.

38. Window seat or aisle? Aisle-get off the plane about 3 seconds faster that way. And that 3 seconds is clearly VERY important.

39. Ever met anyone famous? Yes, writers and actors both. The last time was when I took an intensive acting workshop from Betty Buckley (think Eight is Enough and the tony award for CATS). She was nice, plus I liked her for calling B.S. on people's crap.

40. Do you feel that you’ve had a truly successful life? I feel it's still a work in progress.

41. Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it? Cut.

42. Ricki Lake or Oprah Winfrey? Oprah.

43. Basketball or Football? I prefer watching basketball. Generally speaking, I'm not much of a football fan, though I sort of got into it when we were watching the last Cowboys game. They lost. Poor Tony Romo. It was very sad.

44. How long do your showers last? Usually about 15-20 minutes.

45. Automatic or do you drive a stick? I love driving a stick unless I'm stuck in traffic, in which case I prefer an automatic. In the past, I've always had manual transmission, but traffic in North Texas blows, so when I bought the Escape, I chose automatic.

46. Cake or ice cream? Depends on which type of cake or ice cream is being offered.

47. Are you self-conscious? On stage, I will do just about anything, but in the real world I can be horribly self-conscious.

48. Have you ever drank so much you threw up? Not since high school.

49. Have you ever given money to a beggar? Yes.

50. Have you been in love? Yes.

51. Where do you wish you were? On that dream vacation in Greece.

52. Are you wearing socks? Yes.

53. Have you ever ridden in an ambulance? Yes, twice. Once when I was a little girl-my mom rolled our car after an Atlanta Braves game and we all went away in an ambulance; and once as a teenager during an S.A.D.D. exercise.

54. Can you tango? Very badly.

55. Last gift you received? Hmm...the last gift I opened at Christmas was a bottle of Ralph Lauren Turquoise perfume from my brother-in-law. So I guess that's the last gift.

56. Last sport you played? Oh, geez, does walking the dog count?

57. Things you spend a lot of money on? Books. I buy way too many books. And it's stupid because I have no where to put them.

58. Where do you live? In North Texas.

59. Where were you born? Atlanta, GA.

60. Last wedding attended? Oh my gosh, it's been a while. I still lived in Utah.

62. Favorite position? (I'm going with Spin_Doc's reply here) I think this means something else, but I am going with sitting down.

63. Most hated food(s)? Squash, raspberries, strawberries (most red fruit, I know I'm odd), thai food (which I used to love, but after food poisoning, the love waned), etc.

64. Most hated soda pop? Pepsi.

65. Can you sing? No, and I really wish I could. I also can't dance, which could possibly be the reason why I've never been cast in a musical.

66. Last person you instant messaged? Roger.

67. Last place you went on holiday? What is this thing you call holiday?

68. Favorite regular drink? Lately, water. Haven't had a soda in about 3 weeks.

69. Current Song? Dude, I know nothing about the current music. Mostly I just listen to books on tape when I'm not actually reading a book. This week I'm listening to Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince on CD in my car.

In Which Izzybella Procrastinates...Again

2007-02-21T13:37:00.000-06:00

One of the requirements at my place of employment is that each staff member obtain 16 hours of continuing education every year. Usually, I have my continuing education units complete by around June, and that would have been the case this year, except that the two website design courses I'd signed up for were cancelled due to low enrollment. After that I just sort of put the training to the back burner figuring I'd get around to it eventually. Eventually arrived last week in the form of an email from my supervisor requesting my training documentation for the last fiscal year. I pulled my training folder out and my last training certificate was from 2005! So, in order to satisfy the training requirement, I will be spending all day Thursday and next Tuesday in the computer lab attending Access II and Access III. I expect to be bored. I actually know Access very well--I would have rather taken a course for a program I don't know, but the Access courses were all that was available before the March 1 deadline. Next year, I will be finishing the CEUs before summer's out. And why, oh why, do I always choose to learn things the hard way??? Does anyone else do that? I'm not talking about procrastination necessarily, just the tendency to, in spite of possessing at least a little common sense, royally muck something up at least once before actually doing it the right way. Gah!

Aaaaaaaand, Scene!

2007-02-20T13:58:00.000-06:00

So, last night Baxter (yellow lab #1) really wanted to play with Cydney (yellow lab #2). He scrunched down in that cute pounce position, front legs and paws on the floor, tail straight up in the air and wagging about 100 mph. He barked. He growled. He humped. (Incidentally, I think he’s confused about the whole humping thing. He sort of just stands next to her and dry humps the air, while she gives him this what-the-hell look.) All this to no avail. Cydney, who at 10 years old, pretty much just wants to sleep all day, yawned widely and rolled over on her other side, her back to Baxter. Baxter stood there for a moment contemplating the rejection, hung his head down and made his way over to the loveseat next to me, all hangdog looking for all the world like Eeyore. It was so sad and pitiful. He’s an older dog, too-around eight-but he’s never really grown out of the puppy stage. He’s so melodramatic. The only thing missing was the “aaaaaaand, scene!” gesture with his paw.

Star-Crossed Fossils

2007-02-08T08:45:00.000-06:00

Thought this was so cool!

Found outside Mantua, 25 miles south of Verona-dating to Neolithic Period

Chatty Hair Stylists

2007-02-06T14:33:00.000-06:00

So, I just got my hair cut today by the same person who did it last time. I requested her on purpose because I really liked the cut she did--one of those that just does what it's supposed to even without being prodded by a round brush and blow dryer. I love the cut. Seriously. I mean that. I got six compliments just coming back into work from the parking lot. Love, love, love the hair. I loathe the chatty.

I know I'm in the minority-clearly, because every other person getting their hair done in the salon seemed to have an extra good chatty stylist/client relationship. I know it's wierd, but I've never liked being chatty with my hairstylist. The only exception was when my friend B used to style my hair, but B was my friend before she became my stylist. A lot of this stems from (and I can hear those who know me really well laughing their asses off) the fact that I'm very shy with people I don't know that well. Said person may speak with the tongue of men and angels and it will still take me a little while to warm up to them. I don't know why. Can't explain it. Always been that way.

So today, I was asked all kinds of questions about everything under the sun. Where do I work? Do I have any kids? No? Do I want any? Married? Single? Oh, that's too bad. Am I from around here? Do I watch any television shows regularly? OMG, you watch Heroes? I don't. My husband doesn't like it. Do I like movies? How about music? What do I think of Jenny McCarthy and Jim Carrey dating? (They are? Really?)

All of her questions were really nice and I could tell she was trying to build up a good client/stylist relationship. B always considered herself as much a counselor as she did a stylist. Still, I feel awkward talking about myself so much (says the girl with the blog, but I do!!!!!!!). So, finally, I gave in and started asking her questions instead. Unlike me, my stylist loves talking, not just about herself, but pretty much about anything. And then, lo and behold, I found myself enjoying the conversation. It was very relaxing being the one giving conversational prompts instead of receiving them.

So there's a lesson to be learned here, something about stop worrying about yourself and put the focus back on others or some such blah-blah. Yeah. The real lesson is keep the stylist happy so you have pretty hair.

Lying Liars Who Lie

2007-01-26T09:59:00.000-06:00

So, apparantly a lot of people lie about the books they read, at least according to a survey in Britain. At first I was all judgmental and then I remembered that I did it myself in high school to impress a cute boy. (Wasted effort by the way--he didn't really give a crap about books so much as boobs.) So just for fun and in the interest of full disclosure, I am copying the top-ten lied about books here and will reveal whether I've actually read them. (Ooh, you say sarcastically, you're so excited--too that I say, "Shoosh. Be nice.")

1. The Lord of the Rings – J.R.R Tolkien
Well, I skimmed it. I have read The Hobbit a couple of times, but I have never, and believe me, I've tried, been able to read LotR all the way through without falling asleep. So I read the interesting parts and skimmed the dull. I'd say that pretty much counts as a not-read.

2. War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy
I've never even tried.

3. Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte
I've read it a few times. Heathcliff is not my favorite romantic hero. He's kind of whiny.

4. Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus – John Gray
Not read. My ex-husband did actually buy it for me while we were still married. He was into self-help books and really wanted me to be into them too. I wasn't. Perhaps this might partially explain why I'm his ex.

5. 1984 – George Orwell
Read it in high school with the kind of focus I can now demonstrate by telling you I don't remember anything other than the basic plot.

6. Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone – J.K Rowling
Read it many, many, many times.

7. Great Expectations – Charles Dickens
Haven't read it. Another one I started and put down midway through.

8. Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte
I've read it probably 3 or 4 times.

9. The Da Vinci Code – Dan Brown
I've read it and I feel a compelling need to add that it's FICTION and that's why it lives in the FICTION section of the bookstore.

10. Diary of Anne Frank – Anne Frank
I've read it a few times. I love it--how can you not love Anne, with her hopes and her dreams that wouldn't die?

So, there you have it. I guess I'm not as well-read as I thought I was. The valuable lesson to be learned is--don't lie, because someone who really has read it will start asking you questions about it and then you'll look stupid. And that would suck.

Theatre Thought for the Day

2007-01-26T09:18:00.000-06:00

I got this from my friends at Momentum Theatre. I just joined the permanent ensemble and they read this at the induction ceremony, which was awesome! It pretty much expresses how I feel about theatre and what, specifically, makes it rock so hard. I especially love the "pretentious" line. It's a fault some theatre practitioners have that what they do is so unbelievably important and so unbearably beautiful, it can't be expressed in any words. I hope there are always words to express my meaning; else how do I express it? Besides there's as much value in silly plays and movies as there is in meaningful drama. For example, a good friend took me to see "There's Something About Mary" the day I started my divorce proceedings. I laughed so hard during that movie that I swallowed my coke the wrong way and blew it out of my nose. And I needed that laughter. So this is why theatre and art and music and all those things make my life better.

HELP!
Theatre come to my rescue!
I am asleep, wake me.
I am lost in the dark, guide me, at least towards a candle.
I am lazy, shame me.
I am tired, raise me up.
I am indifferent, strike me.
I remain indifferent, beat me up.
I am afraid, encourage me.
I am ignorant, teach me.
I am monstrous, make me human.
I am pretentious, make me die of laughter.
I am cynical, take me down a peg.
I am foolish, transform me.
I am wicked, punish me.
I am dominating and cruel, fight against me.
I am pedantic, make fun of me.
I am vulgar, elevate me.
I am mute, untie my tongue.
I no longer dream, call me a coward or a fool.
I have forgotten, throw memory in my face.
I feel old and stale, make the child in me leap up.
I am heavy, give me music.
I am sad, bring me joy.
I am deaf, make pain shriek like a storm.
I am agitated, let wisdom rise within me.
I am weak, kindle friendship.
I am blind, summon all the lights.
I am dominated by ugliness, bring in conquering beauty.
I have been recruited by hatred, unleash all forces of love.

A Year Ago Today

2007-01-25T09:05:00.000-06:00

My Little Sister

I still miss you.

I miss the way you'd say whatever was on your mind no matter what.

I miss the way you used to laugh till your face turned purple, so unladylike.

I miss the way you held my hand so tightly when you were a little girl.

I miss watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer with you, even knowing you would drive me crazy by reciting lines along with the actors.

I miss the way your face would light up when you talked about your daughter, all freckles and red hair, just like you.

I miss eating macaroni and cheese with you--the ultimate comfort food--and talking about boys. I miss shopping with you at the mall.

I even miss fighting with you. I'd give anything even for another fight.

I miss you.

Grrrrr....

2007-01-18T08:50:00.000-06:00

I typed up a nice friendly little post yesterday on my excruciatingly slow home Internet connection and just when I clicked on "Publish," Blogger gave me a big ole' error message and told me to get lost. So I grumbled and then I decided to get lost on account of the excruciatingly slow home Internet connection.

So not much happened this week. It was very busy at work, but co-worker is back today (and her grand-daughter is much better), so hopefully things will slow down a little. I had yesterday off. It was a snow day. For a half-inch of snow. I'm two minds about this. The first tends to want to justify the snow day. You see, the half-inch of snow covered a layer of ice, and Texans have no clue how to drive on snow and ice. We don't get it often enough. And there were plenty of car-wrecks in North Texas. The other mind is all "We had a snow day. For a half-inch of snow." It is kind of a little sad and wimpy.

I wasn't complaining though. Day off=happiness. I was a little concerned at first we wouldn't even get it. The president of the university I work for is from the north. He's pretty much of only one mind about snow days for a half-inch of snow, and it's not favorable. By the time 6:30 a.m. came and went without word of the school's closure, I dragged myself out of bed and took a shower, muttering "Damn Yankee" under my breath. But when I got out of the shower, the university closure was scrolling across the bottom of the television screen. So that's all good.

Have lots to do now. Must go and do it.

Even my avatar...

2007-01-10T09:20:00.000-06:00

See my avatar to the left all geared up in the rock-n-roll ensemble with the screaming fans? Don't you think she looks kind of like the Sally Field Gidget trying to be cool? That is a problem. I can't look tough and bad-ass. I've tried. Once, in the tenth grade, I got a bit part in one of those educational films they show kids in high school to scare them straight. I had a little blue dye in the hair, a low-cut top, a too-tight skirt and slutty ankle boots. Did I look hardcore and slutty? No. I looked like a twelve year old trying on big-sister's clothes. CR, a fellow drama-dork, gave me a big hug and said that's why he loved me so much. Did not improve the mood. Sometimes a girl just wants to look bad-ass and scary. And save for an extended scene of CR, RB, and me walking along the railroad tracks like homeless little wayward orphans, they cut almost every scene I was in. All I got out of the experience was much mocking and that stupid "Signs, Signs, everywhere a sign" theme song I still know by heart. Oh, now I must share:

Signs! Signs! Everywhere a sign!
Stop, look, and listen to the SIGNS!
Go on the green light;
Stop on the red;
SLOW DOWN! There's a corner ahead!
Signs! Signs! Everywhere a sign!
Stop, look and listen to the--
SIGNS!

Oh, dear heaven, I heard that song in my sleep for months afterward. There was one scene where we were all dressed as various traffic signs and another actor got "lost" amongst the signs. Seriously. The sledge-hammer was so obvious, they considering putting it in costume too.

Yeah. Good times.

Okay, I'd better get back to work. Turns out co-worker will be gone all week, so I'm definitely not lacking for stuff to do. My in-box looks like one of those cartoon in-boxes that might topple over at any moment. Be good, kids!

Mint & Peanut Butter Don't Mix

2007-01-09T10:24:00.000-06:00

I have a candy jar at my desk filled with peppermints given me by a co-worker the week before Christmas. I received a few peanut butter kisses from a theatre buddy and instead of eating them right away, I added them to my candy jar. This morning I thought "mmm, chocolate." So I pulled a peanut butter kiss out of the candy jar and ate it, only to discover the minty goodness of the mints tried marrying the chocolatey peanut butter. Turns out to be a very bad and unhealthy relationship. I'm just saying. There's a reason they don't make Reese's Peanut Butter Mint Cups.

It's really busy at work today. Was busy yesterday too. And yet here I am, writing on my blog. Why, you ask? May I quote Ron Weasley, who when asked by Hermione why he missed Snape's mention of polyjuice potion during class, replied, "Do you think I have anything better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?" Hee. That made me giggle. I'm "reading" Harry Potter in the car on my drive to and from work. I used to be kind of a book snob with a firm belief that books on tape is cheating. I've come around to a more flexible point-of-view since then. Someone gave me "Of Mice and Men" read by Gary Sinise, and I absolutely loved it. I'll always prefer reading to being read to, but I'm way nicer in traffic jams now that I have a constant source of amusement. Besides the voice acting on the Harry Potter CDs is wonderful. My sister was just saying the other day that she hates Umbridge even more the way Jim Dales reads her. That's saying a lot because I know for a fact that during her first read-through she yelled at Umbridge and called her many rude names.

Okay. Work. Guess I must. My co-worker's granddaughter is extremely ill and so she hasn't been in the office. This pretty much doubles my workload. I worked straight through lunch yesterday and today looks to be skewing the same direction. Sigh. Could be worse. I actually do like my job.

Scheherazade Project-Cars

2007-01-08T09:58:00.000-06:00

Here's my submission for the S-project. Be forewarned. One reviewer accused me of putting him in sugar shock. Just consider it a modern day fairy-tale. Nothing gritty or realistic about it!

Also, in case you're wondering, Leroy is a composite of two men I worked for one summer as a painter. The car analogy is theirs, all the way down to the Blue Book clause. And, yes, I loved them both as much as Prue loves Leroy.

HERE IN MY CAR...

Men are like cars. At least that’s what Leroy liked to say and he knew because he was a man. The analogy made sense the way Leroy explained it.

“You have your fast cars, Prue—the Porsches, Lamborghinis; cars like those are made to drive fast and hard, but you know they aren’t really practical for everyday use. Men like those kinds of cars, but the men who drive them all the time aren’t really useful for much,” Leroy said.

Leroy was a janitor at my father’s law firm. Not a sanitation engineer, or a maintenance engineer, or anything with “engineer” in the title—a janitor. Leroy would never have gone for some high-falutin’, politically-correct title meant to instill self-respect and pride in one’s work. You either had those qualities or you didn’t. Changing the title didn’t change the way a man thought about himself. Leroy liked to say that, too.

Although Leroy had worked for my father’s firm, Lockhart, Monson and Price, for over 20 years, I didn’t meet him until the summer before I started college. Dad and his partners wanted to remodel the four-story mansion that housed the firm. In an effort to save money on the remodeling costs, he assigned the task of painting the interior to Leroy. And in an effort to engender a sense of responsibility and appreciation for my own good fortune in life, he informed me I would be assisting Leroy for minimum wage.

It might be a bit of an understatement when I tell you I wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea. The summer plans I’d hoped for were more along the lines of laying out at the beach or going on an extended road trip with my two best friends, Glennie and Carolyn, both of whom were going to different colleges than I was.

“Can’t you just tell your dad you don’t want to?” asked Glennie, petulantly. The three of us were sprawled out in Carolyn’s room debating my parentally-imposed employment. The matter was simple for Glennie, who always did exactly what she wanted without too much concern for anyone else.

“We’re college women now,” she continued. “We’re adults.” Her pronouncement would have carried more weight had we not been sitting in her bedroom, a revoltingly frilly concoction of lace, ruffles, and stuffed animals, only slightly mitigated by three over-sized posters of Sting, and a cardboard cutout of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

“Besides,” added Carolyn, “we’re moving to opposite ends of the coast. It’s the last summer we’ll have together.”

“That is so not true,” said Glennie. “We’ll always be friends.”

“Yeah, but it won’t be the same,” said Carolyn. “I mean, yeah, we’ll always be friends, you guys. But we’re going to college now. Far away from each other. We’ll all make new friends and gradually we’ll stop calling each other as often and summers home won’t be the same anymore. In fifteen years, I’ll be living in Connecticut with my husband, the doctor, and I’ll be much too busy with my children and volunteer activities to keep in close contact; Glennie will be a famous movie-star, too important to remember her little friends from home; and you’ll be…who knows…working for your father?”

“Wow,” I said. “You are really a pessimist. And kind of bitchy, too.”

“Bitchy, maybe, but not pessimistic,” said Carolyn. “Realistic. I’m just saying… I’m sorry, Prue. Play with us this summer. We’re young and we’re supposed to be having fun. We need to play now before we start looking like our mothers. Just tell your dad you can’t work for him this summer.”

“Too late,” I replied. “He used the word, ‘responsibility,’ and the phrase, ‘teach you to appreciate your own good fortune.’ He thinks he’s teaching me a lesson. No way is he gonna back down.”

He didn’t either. The day after Glennie and Carolyn took off for a road trip to Austin, Texas, I showed up at Lockhart, Monson and Price in a pair of worn overalls and reported to Leroy at precisely 8:00 A.M.

“You must be Prue,” said Leroy, extending a calloused hand. His hands were huge, with large oversized palms and short bent fingers. He wasn’t very tall, average maybe, not quite six feet. But he was stocky-built like the proverbial tank. He appeared to be in his late fifties, early sixties. Unlike my father, who was around the same age and balding, Leroy had a full head of steel gray, thick, wavy hair. No one could ever call Leroy vain, but I would quickly learn that he was very proud of his hair and meticulous in keeping it neatly groomed.

He was sizing me up the same time I was sizing him up. Finally he said, “You look like a Prue. That’s a good name.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I replied. “Now I don’t have to worry about changing it.”

Leroy laughed. “I like when people look like their names. Makes it easier to remember.”

We spent that first day painting the conference room. “It’s a big room for your first day painting, but pretty straight-forward,” said Leroy. “No weird corners to look out for.”

Leroy showed me how to prep a room before painting: taping the baseboards, removing light-switch covers, and draping everything. He showed me the proper method of stirring, pouring and storing paint. He taught me how to cut and paint walls so there weren’t any lines, and then he taught me how to put everything away correctly when we were finished, rinsing the brushes and rollers until the water ran clear.

The first week passed quickly by without much conversation, aside from instruction, by Leroy.

The next Monday we started on the lobby. We worked for a while in silence, the only sound the sticky splatter of paint being rolled onto the walls.

“You got you a boyfriend, Prue?” asked Leroy suddenly.

“No,” I answered, which was mostly true. I’d dated Christopher off and on throughout my entire high school career. We were currently off, but he’d shown up over the weekend and taken me to see a movie.

“I was just wondering,” said Leroy. “Seems like a nice girl like you probably has the boys hanging around. My boys would like you.”

This was new. I didn’t know Leroy had children. This was the first time he’d mentioned them.

“I got three boys,” he said. “No girls. Wouldn’t have minded having a daughter though. I’m proud of my sons but I bet if we’d had a girl, she’d have been pretty like my wife.”

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Well, they’re all grown-up. Oldest is 34; youngest is 22. They’re good men. They were good boys, too. ‘Course we trained them up to be Honda Accord or Ford Taurus types instead of Pintos. No son of mine is gonna be a Pinto,” said Leroy grimly.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

“A Pinto?” I asked. “What do you mean by that?”

“All men are like cars,” said Leroy. And that was the day I heard Leroy’s analogy.

“You got your Pinto guys; they’re good for nothing, make a lot of excuses instead of just working hard. I drove a Pinto once and it was a pain to shift gears. They get the job done, but barely, you know what I’m saying? Then on the other end of the spectrum, you got your fancy sports cars that cost upwards of $100K. Now those cars look nice and go fast, but they don’t like to stick around in one spot. You understand?”

I nodded. I had the gist of it at least, but since when did a Honda beat out a Ferrari? I needed clarification. “So you’re saying a Honda Accord is better than a Ferrari because?”

“Well, a Honda Accord is a nice looking car, don’t you think? Plus it’s reliable—has a good service record. You get you a Honda Accord and it’ll take you where you need to go, plus you’ll look pretty respectable driving it. People will look at you in your Honda and think, ‘now there’s a real nice down-to-earth person.’ But you get you a Ferrari and you start driving too fast, ‘cause a Ferrari is built to go fast, people look at you and think, ‘that’s a lot of car for one person. Wonder why they need that much car.’ Plus, when you want to slow down, the Ferrari wants to speed up.”

“Yeah,” I began, “but a Ferrari looks way better than a Honda Accord. Besides they’re both just cars. They can both break down, for instance.”

Leroy grinned at me. “Well, I can tell you it’s way more expensive to fix a broke-down Ferrari than a Honda Accord.”

“Okay, but c’mon…a FERRARI. No one’s going to think less of me if I drive a Ferrari,” I persisted.

“Not if you happen to be a Ferrari yourself. Then it’s fine for you to drive a Ferrari.”

“Leroy,” I protested, “are you saying I’m not a Ferrari? Should I be offended?”

He laughed. “No, I don’t think you’re a Ferrari and you shouldn’t be offended at that. You’re a nice girl, though. I can see why a Ferrari might pull up to you and offer you a ride. Just don’t lose sight of the fact that he’s a Ferrari and you’re not.”

“So what am I then?” I asked.

Leroy shrugged. “You gotta figure that out for yourself.”

“Foul!” I exclaimed. “That’s avoidance. Not a good answer, Leroy.”

“Too bad,” he replied, grinning at me. “It’s the only answer you’re getting from me.”

Later that day I asked him, “What about a Cadillac? Can I date a Cadillac?”

“Too old for you, Prue,” he said. “Don’t go dating a Cadillac.”

The summer passed by quickly. Each day Leroy and I learned something more about one another. One day he told me how he met and courted his wife. Another day he told me about the day he received his high school diploma at age 35. He didn’t want a GED. He wanted a real diploma, and he worked hard for it. He told me about his dog he had when he was a boy and how much he loved it. “Lived a long time, that dog. I still miss him.” He still had dogs, too. “It’s not a home without a dog.” His wife loved cats and he had finally reconciled himself to the way “that damn cat” would curl up into a ball on top his newspaper every time he tried to read it.

And each day Leroy would tell me, “Be careful, Prue. Don’t pick yourself a lemon. You need a good, steady, reliable automobile. I saw one of those Nissan Altimas the other day. Nice car, but a little flashy, don’t you think?”

I left for college late August. Before I left, Leroy gave me a gift—a copy of the annual Consumer’s Digest Auto Rating issue. Inside he’d scribbled, “Just a reference guide in case you need it. Love, Leroy.”

It took me a while to adjust to life on campus. I was lonesome at first and I missed Glennie and Carolyn. But one day everything seemed to fall into place and I knew where I fit and who my friends were. I even got lucky by being assigned a roommate I really, really got along with.

That first year my roommate fell in and out of love on a regular and predictable schedule. Eddie lasted through fall semester. Dan took her through spring break. Will lasted exactly two weeks, but it wasn’t until Benjamin broke her heart that I showed her the Consumer’s Digest Auto Rating issue and told her about Leroy’s analogy.

“That makes so much sense,” exclaimed Janice. “I mean, think about it—some cars are beautiful, but they have a horrible maintenance record. I know this one girl with a Jag and the thing is always breaking down,” she said. Then she added, “Of course, when it’s running, she looks totally hot.”

After that Janice began describing each crush: “Darren is a F-150, kind of sturdy and good-looking…Joe is sort of like a Mustang convertible, he’s gonna be fun while it lasts…Alex is a total Mercedes!”

They were fitting for the most part too. Darren turned out to have a lot of baggage, hence the extended truck bed. Joe was definitely a hot convertible, problem was, he knew it. But Alex turned out to be an early model Mercedes, the ones who chug gallons upon gallons of diesel fuel. I couldn’t help thinking Janice would be better off with one of those eco cars, the ones that run on electricity.

Each summer I went home, and no visit was complete without stopping at Dad’s office to see Leroy. He asked a million questions about what I’d been doing, always ending with an admonition to stay away from the fast cars. “They’re fun, but you miss the scenery when you’re going that fast!”

My senior year, I met Brian. He was a geology grad student—obsessed with rocks. Our early dates consisted of prolonged drives to various geological hotspots to examine the strata. He could be absentminded, but every now and then he’d look at me just so and my heart would start beating fast. I told my family and friends about him. I bored Janice to tears rhapsodizing on his wonderful qualities. When I realized I wanted to tell Leroy about him, I knew I loved him. I also knew Leroy’s first question would be, “What kind of car is he?”

I flipped through Leroy’s Consumer Digest magazine trying to figure out what Brian was. An SUV like an Explorer or a Suburban? No, Brian was ecologically minded, but he wasn’t a Prius either. He also wasn’t a Saturn, a Mazda, a Volkswagen, or any of the Korean automobiles. Maybe a Jeep? Those were outdoorsy geological type automobiles. A Jeep, then. But not a fancy Jeep, tricked out with tons of extras. He was a bare bones Jeep Wrangler, a true off-roader.

I picked up the phone and called Leroy.

“I met the perfect car,” I said by way of greeting.

I could practically see Leroy’s left eyebrow rise as he asked, “What kind of car is he?”

“A Jeep,” I said.

“A Jeep,” he repeated. “I’ve seen some damn ugly Jeeps in my life. What kind of Jeep exactly?”

I laughed. “Just a Jeep Wrangler. Not one of those fancy ones or the type with monster tires. Just a Jeep.”

Leroy paused a moment. “Just a Jeep,” he repeated again. “I guess a Jeep ain’t so bad. Any nicks or scratches? Any dents?”

“None that I can see,” I said. “I mean there’s probably some somewhere—there’s bound to be. He’s only human. But I like him, Leroy. I like him a lot.”

“You bringing him home?” he asked casually.

“We’re not at the bringing home stage quite yet. But maybe. Maybe soon,” I said.

“A Jeep. Okay, so’d you check Blue Book?” he asked.

“You never told me about the Blue Book, Leroy.”

“Prue, you gotta consider everything. How can you not look at Blue Book?”

Leroy sighed as I laughed out loud.

“Leroy, he’s nice. You’ll like him when you meet him, I promise.”

“Okay,” he began, “but don’t do anything till you bring him home. Your folks ain’t the only ones who have to approve.”

Eventually Brian and I got to the bringing home stage. Accordingly, he came home with me with me for spring break. My parents liked him, and Gwennie did too. Carolyn wasn’t around to pass judgment—her school’s spring break wasn’t until the week following. Brian charmed everyone with ease, but he was a little worried about Leroy.

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” I told him. “Just be yourself. He’ll like you fine.”

Brian wasn’t so sure. “You have him on a pedestal, Prue. If I can reach that high, I’m sure I’ll like him. I’m just worried he won’t like me very much and I’m afraid if he disapproves, you’ll cut me loose. I don’t want to be cut loose, Prue.”

“You won’t be,” I promised.

Brian met Leroy the night before we had to leave. Leroy’s wife, Diane, made dinner for us, her special spaghetti and a salad with warm crusty bread. After dinner I helped Diane clean up while Brian followed Leroy into the living room.

Diane and I quickly set up a system with me rinsing dishes off and Diane loading the dishwasher. “Leroy cares about you, you know,” she said. “He always calls you the daughter we were supposed to have.”

She smiled at me. “Did he ever tell you what kind of car he thinks you are?”

“No,” I said. “Did he tell you? Please tell me he told you-then you can tell me, because he’ll never say.”

Diane laughed. “Can’t do that,” she said. “If he hasn’t told you, then he doesn’t want to tell you.”

“Gimme a hint?” I begged. “Please??”

“Nope! Sorry, kiddo.” She started the dishwasher and led me out of the kitchen. “We’d better go rescue your friend. Leroy’s probably grilling him on his maintenance records and mileage.”

As we were leaving that night, Leroy pulled me aside and whispered in my ear. “Yep, a Jeep. But a good one, I think.”

One year later, Brian and I were married. Our reception was big and noisy. My entire family was there, along with Brian’s family, Dad’s business associates, and a few well-heeled clients. Glennie and Carolyn flew home to be my bridesmaids.

Leroy was there, too, with Diane. They’d been among the first to arrive at the wedding and reception. They danced together most of the afternoon, Leroy holding Diane tightly as they moved together on the dance floor.

Later, as Brian and I were dancing together, Leroy tapped him on the shoulder. “May I cut in?” he asked.

“Of course,” Brian said.

Leroy was surprisingly graceful for such a stocky man. He moved like Fred Astaire and compensated beautifully for the fact that I was no Ginger Rogers. We danced together in silence. Occasionally he would smile down at me, his eyes and mouth crinkling with the evidence of years of laughter.

“Did I ever tell you what kind of car I think you are?” he asked.

Finally! “No, you didn’t,” I said, expectantly.

“Oh,” he replied, and then lapsed again into silence.

“Leroy,” I said with exasperation, “aren’t you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he said.

“The car, Leroy. What kind of car am I?”

“Oh, that,” he said. “Don’t you know what kind of car you are?”

I rolled my eyes. “I want to know what kind of car you think I am.”

Leroy cocked his head to one side and considered for a moment. “Don’t really matter much what I think, does it?” he said.

“It does matter, Leroy” I said. “It just does.”

He smiled again and then gently led me back to Brian. “Here she is, just as pretty as she was a few minutes ago.”

“Wait,” I exclaimed to Leroy. “You have to tell me!”

“Don’t have time now,” replied Leroy. “I think your daddy wants you to go cut the cake now.”

I could hear Leroy’s amused laughter trailing me as Brian and I made our way to the cake table. The cake was beautiful: a three-tiered masterpiece covered in yellow and pink roses, with the traditional bride and groom decorating the top. As we got closer, though, Brian nudged me, “What happened to ‘little us’ on top of the cake?” he asked, pointing to where the bride and groom used to be.

The bride and groom were indeed gone, replaced by a model Jeep and something else. I glanced back at Leroy. He smiled and nodded. Leaning against the Jeep was a model Vespa, painted powder-blue.

A Vespa? Leroy thought I was a motor scooter? I looked again at Leroy, holding Diane’s hand, smiling at me with suspiciously shining eyes.

“Always liked Vespas,” I heard him say to Diane. “They’re sort of open, you know. Real friendly and fun and young enough to still think the world is a wonderful place full of possibilities.”

Leroy smiled at me, leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Always wanted a daughter,” he said. “Tell your daddy thanks for sharing. He’s a bit of a Rolls Royce, if you ask me.”

I Love Sundays

2007-01-07T13:54:00.000-06:00

Sundays are great. They involve a much bigger-than-usual newspaper to peruse, the smell of Columbian coffee brewing, shared blueberry English muffins, and cuddly puppy dogs who wag their tails at the slightest provocation. It really has been a nice day. At the moment I'm sitting here at the computer with one of the aforementioned puppy dogs laying beside me. The other dog is in the living room, no doubt, laying half-in/half-out of her bed. She's adorable, but she's rather inelegant when she sleeps.

My arm hurts today, a direct result of fighting and, ultimately vanquishing, the refrigerator monster living in Chaucerian Girl's fridge. I feel mighty. Chaucerian Girl is doing all kinds of neat things to her home. I especially like her Egypt room. I'm not clever enough to come up with themes for each room in my house. I pretty much limit myself to bedroom. Living room. Kitchen. Etc. You get the picture. Chaucerian Girl, however, has a good eye for that kind of stuff. If the writing doesn't pan out (and it will), she could probably make a decent living as an interior decorator. I know the end result will justify the work and I have to say it's kind of fun being a part of the process.

Have you ever had one of those days where everything, no matter how frankly un-funny or mundane, is suddenly hilarious? See, I totally had one of those days. I know when I type this out, it will seem only stupid and remarkably not funny, but at the time? I was laughing so hard there were tears. I went grocery shopping with the parents and we were beyond silly. I have no idea what got into us. First, my stepmother cannot pass by one of those cute little animated/motion toys without pressing the button and watching it go. (by the by, Chaucerian Girl is the same way. Why is this???) Kroger had this little stuffed Scooby Doo who sang along with "Why Do Fools Fall in Love?" The first time it hit the chorus, the little Scooby voice said, "rI, ron't know..." and for some reason it struck me as really funny and I collapsed into a fit of giggles. Then my dad went off on a tangent about people and cell phones. He loathes it when people have cell phones attached to their ear like some strange appendage. So I pulled out my cell phone while we were standing there and called him. The monster found this tremendously amusing. After that, we were arguing about whether we should take the free Dryer's ice cream offer:

Stepmonster: We don't have room in the freezer.
Me: But it's free!!!
Stepmonster: We don't have room in the freezer.
Me: But it's free!!!!!!

At which point the ice cream slipped out of her hands and fell on the floor. I picked it up in a huff and told her if she didn't want the damn ice cream, she should have said so, but throwing it on the floor was kind of rude. At this point, she collapsed into giggles. This was followed by more joking and even more giggling, prompting several people to steer their carts way clear of the crazies in the ice cream aisle. And see? I just read what I wrote. Not funny. But it was at the time. Honest. You had to be there.

Well, there's considerably more Sunday left and I don't feel like spending it on the computer. I have a couple of Netflix flicks waiting. Or I could read a book? Hmmm.... I so very love Sundays.

TGIF

2007-01-05T16:31:00.000-06:00

They really make you pay for all that time off, don't they??? It's been a crazy week, much busier than usual, compounded by the fact that yesterday was the second time in less than 30 days that we've mysteriously lost data from our database. Help Desk is tremendously unhelpful as usual. I miss my old job sometimes where I could flirt the tech-guy into actually helping. There was mocking too, on account of my profound lack of technological skills, but there was always helping. The school (my current job) is so big that we have to call a central help line first. No good flirting there, unless I want to try my hand at phone sex, and somehow I think that would be frowned upon. Not to mention that I'd have virtually no idea what to say in that particular scenario. I'm a phone sex virgin and I feel okay about that. That might possibly have been too much information. Sorry about that.

Busy weekend ahead. Chaucerian Girl has enlisted my help in tearing down the current decoration scheme in her kitchen. Yes! Destruction. Me like destroy things. Her current scheme is very cute. Super cute. By that I mean icky. She was emotionally/mentally in a different place when she selected the current design--she's about 180 degrees opposite now, and I know she'll be glad to have something different she can live with. I owe her on account of how she spent so much time in December forcing me, I mean helping me, to pack and move. I loathe moving. Incidentally, so does she, hence the big owing.

A friend was telling me today that he'd made a New Year's resolution to read the meat of the newspaper before reading the comics. I get it, I do, and I'm genuinely not judging his New Year's resolutions (that would be hypocritical because I refused to make any of my own this year), but I say life is short. Read the comics first, then the rest of it. In fact, I further recommend that on Fridays, when all the movie reviews are out, that you read only the movie reviews, the comics, your horrible-scope, the Lifestyles section, and Anne Landers, and leave the rest for later, or not at all. Starts the weekend off nice. And speaking of, I really kind of want to see Miss Potter. Probably not this weekend though because I will busy with the aforementioned destruction. Good fun.

Okay, I'm out of here. Want to check in on my blog buddies before I log off. Have a GREAT weekend!

Aaaaaaaand, I'm Back

2007-01-03T08:55:00.000-06:00

But not for long as there's a great deal of work-type stuff demanding my attention. It was nice being off, though. I completely closed out the old apartment, a relief, and I even managed to fit in some fun. Faith and I hit the mall once or twice and watched the movie we've been planning on seeing for the last three months. We saw Eragon--pretty good. I wound up picking up the book at Barnes and Noble and reading it over the holiday. I'm now working on Eldest. Generally speaking, I'm not a fan of the fantasy genre. Eragon is a good representation of why I don't tend to enjoy it--I have no objection to wordy people (please, I am a wordy people!), but there's word vomit all over Eragon. The story is quite interesting, but the tangents are many and vary from mildly intruiguing to boring-me-into-a-coma. If the movie hadn't invested me in the characters, I doubt I'd have finished it.

I also finished the Fitzwilliam Darcy Gentleman trilogy yesterday. It's a retelling of Pride and Prejudice from Darcy's POV, and overall, it's quite good. Aiden, the author, created some delicious new characters (Dy Brougham, in the vein of the Scarlet Pimpernel) and fleshed out some characters that Austen left bare, most particularly Georgiana and Lady Anne De Bourgh. Good stuff. Not nearly as good as Jane Austen, but the next best thing.

Okay, back to work. I'll be dropping in on the blog buddies later on today when I take another break.

Merry Whatever You Celebrate and Happy New Year!!!

2006-12-21T16:58:00.000-06:00

I sincerely doubt I'll be posting much until after the new year, so I'm just taking this opportunity to wish each and everyone of you a Merry Whatever and a happy new year!

Tis the Season-

2006-12-19T16:31:00.000-06:00

for too many office parties!

Between today and tomorrow, I'll have attended three office parties--one for the entire school, one for my specific department, and one for the theatre I work at part-time. Of the three, the theatre party is best, because (1), I'm not required to cook--the other two parties are potluck, but this one is being held at a local Italian restaurant--and (2), because the gift exchange is limited to less than $5 and the gift itself is required to be obscenely tacky, yet not necessarily obscene. Always good fun. I bought a hand-held disco ball with rotating lights. It's the cheesiest thing I've ever seen, and I wouldn't have found at all were it not for chaucerian girl, who possesses an uncanny knack for finding the tacky. Please don't misunderstand. Chaucerian girl is in NO WAY tacky herself, but she's definitely quirky, and she's a class-A shopper. Seriously. Girl has talent.

The theatre party is tonight--the department party is tomorrow afternoon. They've themed it as an "international" potluck, and I drew Italian. In and of itself, this is not so bad. I like Italian food, but I don't cook Italian food. Or food in general. The reason for this is that I'm a terrible cook. To quote the divine Ms. C, "I don't cook-I stir." I can make dip. I do okay at reheating things which have already been cooked. I make a mean boxed macaroni and cheese; and I can heat up a frozen dinner like nobody's business. The only type of food I actually prepare, as well as make, is soup. I make really good soups and chowders. I just have to be in the mood to make them, and honestly, I'm just not. I've decided, therefore, to visit my local Whole Foods Market and buy something Italian there. I'm supposed to include a recipe for whatever I bring, so I was thinking I'd just give everyone a copy of the Mapquest map with directions from the university to Whole Foods.

Okay, logging off now. Many fine parties to prepare for. That trek to Whole Foods is gonna take some serious energy...