May 31, 2014 § Leave a comment
I have an altered circadian rhythm (self-diagnosed), and I’m a workaholic and a procrastinator, so my nightly schedule is naturally a little odd. Mr. B has a new job that requires him to be up before me for the first time basically since we’ve been together. I’ve gotten about 9 hours of sleep in the past two days combined. Today is the first day in recent memory where we have NO plans or requirements.
All these factors led me to coming home, seeing that Mr. B was napping, shoveling carbs into my face because for some reason I always eat like someone is going to take it away from me, teasing a still sleeping Mr. B that he will regret sleeping so long later, laying down next to him, and passing out. At 7:30pm.
And now it’s 4am and we’ve both been awake for a half hour. I just put on pajamas and fed the cats. The fat one politely waited until we were awake, but once we were, all bets were off. At one point he was gripping the floor and yowling like his stomach was collapsing in on itself. (Our delicate flowers get fed 3x a day. He was fine.)
We did this once before, vacationing in New Orleans. We had what amounted to an 8-course meal if you count the bottle of wine, because New Orleans. I almost cried as we waddled back to our hotel (“I think I’m going to lose it..” “NO! THAT WAS A REALLY EXPENSIVE MEAL YOU ARE KEEPING IT”) and we were both passed out cold by 8pm. Then we woke up at 4am and battled each other in Pokemon and watched Silent Library on MTV for 6 hours. It may have been my favorite part of that vacation.
May 29, 2014 § Leave a comment
I can’t sleep because I had too much coffee today, which is a problem because I have to be at work early to finish up client work and my promised renderings (to another work) aren’t finished but my brain won’t focus on anything that matters.
I hate renderings.
There, I said it. I don’t feel confident in my drawing capabilities, and it’s not something that comes easily to me, and I’m lazy because I was always smart growing up and it made me lazy. That’s a lazy excuse I know, but here we are. I don’t like to do things I’m not good at, like these:
I keep making these half hearted attempts at “exploring my boundaries” when I’m really just searching for my style. Do I prefer pencils? Charcoal? Pastels? Watercolors? Computer graphics? So far the answer is I dread all of them. Honestly I would probably enjoy mixed media the most, because I prefer to build and sculpt with my hands above all else. But I’m lazy and tired and overbooked, and don’t like to try new things I might not be good at, ESPECIALLY if they take more than half an hour.
Not looking for answers tonight, just ranting into my phone because I’m too full of caffeine to do what I should, ie the thing I constantly lecture everyone I know and love to do more of, ie take care of my body.
Oh, and I’m supposed to go to Bikram tomorrow night, so what with the coffee and the wine and the perfume that I’m definitely allergic to but wear anyway, I plan on having many regrets. Why not add ugly renderings to the mix; I’ll sweat those out with the rest of them.
May 28, 2014 § Leave a comment
Last night I wrote a despairing and angry post about the kind of world we live in, that needs such a thing as #yesallwomen to bring to light its repressed atrocities, but I published it privately because I knew it wasn’t exactly my whole feeling on the subject. (Update: I just opened it up because I feel more comfortable with another more hopeful post to even it out, and regardless of my nervousness to show it to the public, it’s still true of the other side of my feelings.)
Then this morning I (along with the rest of the DC Theatre community) got news that one of my actors, a sweet and beloved man throughout the community, was brutally attacked about a half hour after I saw him last night and now lay in the emergency room with terrible injuries to his face and head. And as shocked and upset as I was to hear of this random and violent crime, the outpouring of love, well-wishes, and community strength that I have witnessed today gave me new feelings of hope and fondness for the community I call mine.
On my drive home today, I was listening to NPR’s news cycle flipping almost solely between the stories coming out of Isla Vista and our own human interest story here in DC, and I just started crying. I was tired, and frustrated, and sad, and afraid for where our world is going. But then I really started thinking about the future, the little people now who will someday own it, and the amazing men and women I know who are raising them.
And it reminded me of my friend who, years ago when we were much younger and more ignorant, learned that another close friend had been assaulted, and his immediate reaction was to join the campus chapter of RAINN and begin speaking to other young men like him who were unaware how much power they had in their hands to help stop sexual violence, or even had no idea what constitutes as harassment or rape. And another friend, whose response to the events of the weekend is to offer a free self defense class to anyone who will show up. And my parent friends, who I am perpetually in awe of, who are raising little men and women with grace and love. Every little boy I know well is sweet, and caring, and empathetic, because that is how his parents are raising him. They are the kind of little boys who aren’t afraid of their own feelings, and can spot a person’s hurt from across the room. Watching them interact with the world around them fills me with hope that they will carry this sweetness and sensitivity into their adulthood, and that they aren’t alone.
The beautiful, sweet, proactive people in the world exist, and they are working to make the world better, one person at a time. It’s something I have to cling to so I will leave the house, but at its core I believe it is true.
May 27, 2014 § 1 Comment
I, like most women, have had my butt slapped, bra snapped, boobs groped, and ochlear senses assaulted by catcalls, directions on how I should walk, and descriptions of how I look, all from total strangers, since my tweens.
I was 11 years old the first time I was groped by a stranger; some boy was dared by his friends to run up and slap my butt while the giant cartoon bucket at the kids’ side of the water park poured down on me and I couldn’t see anyone around.
Welcome to puberty, B, get used to it. Because between the ages of 13 and 25 the number of men who will pass you in their car, turn around, and come back to roll by and hang out their truck window until you back or run away from the spot you occupied first, will be countless. The number of times you will count the number of silhouettes on the street because it’s late and that man is walking too close, is countless. The fact that your own future husband, whose only crime is being unable to grasp how many men in the world have the opposite viewpoint he holds, and how truly dangerous each of them are, will be unable to relate or understand why you bring this subject up so often.
The summer after we graduated, Mr. B and I were walking down the sidewalk together in our college town, and some drunk asshole leaned over from the fence he was relying on for balance and slapped me, hard, on the butt. At the time Mr. B was in the middle of a background check for his future employer, and felt powerless to react. We continued walking, and he shook from agitation, wanting to do something to defend me “in my honor,” and being unable to do anything because he would get in more trouble for fighting a man on a public sidewalk than that dude would for assaulting a woman. I remember so clearly the snapping out of the last light of hope I had had, for a fantasy in which someone twice my size and who loves me with every fiber in his being is able to protect me from the everyday misery that is Walking While Female. I certainly can’t be my own protector; I’m 5’3″ and only moderately in shape and I can think of at least one situation in the last three years where Mr. B’s presence was the only reason I wasn’t physically assaulted on the street, because I’m now often incapable of taking verbal abuse and not dishing it back.
Because I’m 28 years old and living in a first world country in the age of enlightenment and I have still seen too much. I have seen too many friends assaulted, harassed, taken advantage of, and destroyed by men (and a few women) who think a woman’s body is their right. Because I’m tired of holding up my phone in my car so it looks like I’m dialing 911, in case that car that suddenly started tailgating me at 1am has ulterior motives. I’m tired of constantly coming up with escape plans and actively trying to lose potential followers if I’m by myself. I’m tired of trusting absolutely no one, especially if that person is a male who appears not to have a significant other.
And I’m tired of that completely powerless feeling when I walk up the stairs in my apartment complex and the men in the stairwell make sure to stand beneath as I walk up in a skirt, or when I accidentally make eye contact with someone across the bar and they invite themselves over to talk without interruption for over an hour, or the guilt when something happens to someone I love and I wasn’t there, or I didn’t know what to do at the time.
May 24, 2014 § Leave a comment
Things I did today that made me realize I’m addicted to work:
1) Woke up this morning and my first thought was that I forgot to do one final tiny director-requested adjustment for my show
1a) Sure enough, when I checked my email there was a reply to the rehearsal report requesting that tiny change happen OR ELSE (danger implied). Which obviously does not help the whole “you’re on vacation, relax!” thing. Luckily someone wonderful who is still in-state offered to do it for me.
2) Moved essential items from my purse to a beach bag; had to sit for several seconds as I went back and forth about whether to bring my receipt organizer (Why? What show am I pulling for? More importantly, what show am I doing returns for?), and measuring tape (Again, why? Above reasons.)
3) A group of drunken prom attendees showed up at the wrong hotel (ie mine) and every single one of those girls needed alterations to her dress. And I thought about all of them. I also had a lot of unsaid questions for the bikini-clad hot moms at the pool about the inner workings of their swimwear.
**Update: I spent all night tossing and turning with dreams about a particular client at the sewing day job. Mr. B teased me this morning saying I can’t stand being here, but I think it’s more an issue of needing time to untangle myself before I can really enjoy being off. Too bad we go straight back into the grind tomorrow. Oh well. Don’t feel too bad for me, I’m taking my complaints to the pool now.
May 22, 2014 § Leave a comment
– put “costume a full show in a week and a half” on bucket list
– cross off “costume a full show in a week and a half” on bucket list
I am starting this entry while hiding in the ladies’ dressing room enjoying my first real dinner all week* in between racing upstairs to see how my final few additions look under the lights.
Mr. B and I are flying to Florida tomorrow, just as my show enters into previews, so everything has to pretty much be finished tonight (plus it’s picture night, ie the only day that matters.) Peacing out 4 days before opening would normally be completely out of the question, but I was hired for this show on my birthday, as in 12 days ago, as in I already had 2 birthday parties (one being my own), a bridal shower, and a faux-cation** on the books.
Buuuut I said yes. For several reasons:
1) I haven’t worked with this theater in several years, and never as a lead designer
2) the show is awesome
3) it’s a remount, and about half of the cast was in the previous iteration, so much of the character work was done
4) I had a bit of help from another wonderful designer who pulled from the stock at her work for me
5) frankly, I need the money. What I’ll earn here will help to undo some of the monetary damage I did to myself on my last show, because I am the worst and I want what I want, which often means pulling from my own wallet when my budget won’t cover what I want.
So today is the last day that I can change anything, and I’m pretty damn happy with what I’ve been able to pull off. Everyone from producers to stage management to actors has been so wonderful and helpful and encouraging, I can’t help but be happy I said yes, despite my many sleepless nights this past week and a half. I can also confidently say, however, that now that I have done it, I’m really not keen on doing it again.
Here is what I learned:
1) as much as I act like I hate the beginning discussion and meeting stages of the design process, I really really hate not having it. I can’t help but wish I had been here from the beginning, because as good as it looks now, this show could have been so much more “me.”
2) going off of someone else’s design, especially someone who cannot be present and who has a very different style from yourself, is REALLY EFFING HARD. There are still a couple design pieces that I don’t feel completely clear on why the previous designer chose, that the entire design team was in love with from the last run. So in those pieces stay, and I just have to be happy that the whole picture looks good and hope that particular detail makes sense to someone.
3) when it’s a remount and you’re going off of someone else’s design from six years ago, it is inevitable that the director will be completely in love with the most specific design components, which will inevitably be impossible to find because they are either out of season or no longer in fashion.
4) nothing is impossible to find, because I am amazing and I CAN MAKE THAT SHIT
*pad thai from Noodles compared to yesterday’s protein smoothie from Smoothie King and Monday’s bagel and cream cheese from Panera stuffed almost whole into my mouth on break
**following my husband to a swanky hotel in Florida where he’ll be in training and I’ll drink margaritas on the beach