Just Before You Succumb To Ennui...

Just when you're feeling like you want to leave an open can of tuna fish in the desk of everyone who works at the RBC Student Loan Centre (most decidedly NOT vegetarian), or when you're stressed out because you're worried about money and working two jobs. Just when you're feeling blue because you may never accomplish anything else creative in your life. Just when you think you're having kind of a shitty day, someone tells you this:

"I had to get a new credit card because one day VISA called me and asked if I'd just bought some drugs at a pharmacy in Houston and 2 one-way tickets to Libya. So I thought I'd better get a new card."

Sort of awesome, right? I mean, definitely better than the time I got rejected for a card because I had an outstanding Bay charge card because I used to eat at their restaurant and buy groceries in their pharmacy when I was a poor, starving student. Not really a story to dine out on, that one.

Let's Get Real...

Yes, fellow travelers, it's time to get real. Realer than real. Time to keep it real. Real it out. For realz.

OK, I don't really know what I'm talking about here. I've been trying to be honest with myself lately. Still working on making changes. Which reminds me that I don't want to be one of those people who's always "working on" changes as an excuse for never really changing anything. You know those people? Those people who are continually ambitious, who always have big plans, but never seem to actually implement them? Those folks who are always saying "next year will be my year." And they say that every year.

Yeah, I really don't want to be one of those people.

For example, I like to make lists. Lists of things I want to do, one day. Today that list might include:

1) Finish that knitted gift and mail it already!
2) Finish sewing that blouse.
3) Learn to play the ukulele.
4) Wear a size 8.
5) Do a solo show.
6) Do a cabaret.
7) Get back to yoga practice.
8) Get my website up and running.

And so on. Not that those all have to be accomplished by the end of the day, or even the end of the year. It's usually a mix of things that can be done immediately and longer-term things. But I am feeling like I get no closer to the long-term things.

And yes, of course, change is gradual. I hate gradual! I like instant gratification, I admit it. Who doesn't? But I need to quit feeling anxious and start doing stuff.

You know, how Dr. Phil is always telling people to put verbs in their sentences or chicken up the deep fryer or something.

Moping doesn't work. Scheming only works if followed by action. I need to take action!

Also, I realized the other day that I seem to hold on to a lot of negative feelings. Petty jealousies about people and their accomplishments, feelings of inadequacy, all that good stuff. I keep it all pent-up, because, well, frankly, I could spend all my time bitching and moaning, and that's certainly not healthy. But I also don't let fly with more than the regular cattiness, because I'm afraid people will think I'm a bitch. Or that they'll say "Hey, I just realized-- you are completely inadequate! FRAUD!" Or because I keep telling myself that I shouldn't feel that way. Or whatever.

I shan't vent that stuff here, either, because that's not really interesting or entertaining. But I'm thinking of doing the dreaded/revered morning pages for a while. Just clear out the crap at the beginning of the day and see what it makes room for.

For real!

The End of Summer...

I know, I know, there are still a good couple of weeks' worth of August to go, but where I live, this is when it starts getting crisp in the mornings and evenings, when the leaves start to turn. I miss my hometown most in the autumn (my favourite season), with it's longer, sweater-weather fall, its many colours. Here, things just suddenly get cold one day. We have a week or so of golden leaves, which all seem to drop at once.

It's the end of the Fringe Festival here, the big news being a local artistic director getting himself into a bit of trouble as he responds to a patron's blog more personally than professionally. Other than that, I saw some great shows, some disappointing shows, and started thinking about my next project.

I've been waiting to hear back on so many things-- my stupid health issues, this playwriting thing-y (I'm assuming a no at this point, but it would be nice to hear from the horse's mouth), even my wedding album (yes, over 10 months later, I still haven't received the wedding album that we didn't even get to proof. On my to-do list: finding the best site to make a photobook online for our parents, because you'd best believe we won't be ordering any more product from this photographer. He's my one vendor regret for the whole thing-- the pics we have are lovely, but he didn't get some of the things I asked for, and seemed a little more interested in partying at the reception than taking pictures. The sole consolation is we got a really good deal, pricewise; I suppose this may be a lesson in getting what you pay for). But I get that fleeting thought that perhaps I woke up one day set to "invisible", and never reset the switch. 2nd job boss hasn't responded about my end date, voice teacher hasn't responded about times for this year. And so on.

And that's very overdramatic of me, I know. Any one of these things I would just assume the person in question was busy, that I should be patient. But as they start to accumulate--well, they begin to gnaw away at the fragile parts of my brain.

Sitting in a show today, I was reading a friend's bio, and started my same old, same old of feeling inadequate, because she's far more accomplished than I am. Which isn't true, on paper, I'll bet we come out about even. Not that anyone's counting, so I shouldn't even be considering who comes out ahead, but you know what I mean. And I thought Why am I trying to make myself feel bad about her being "better" than me? Why can't I just appreciate what she's doing and keep going ahead with what I'm doing, because I'm obviously where I'm supposed to be?

I know. Can't you imagine several of my former shrinks suddenly sitting up in bed at that exact moment? Did I finally "get it"?

Is this what Oprah feels like when she has her "A-ha" moments? Or whatever it is her magazines are always shouting about?

Anyway. Things here are largely the same. I'll probably spend some time following up with all these people about all these subjects so I can go ahead and plan my life for the fall. Thankfully, my second job should be ending soon-- I'll miss the extra cash, but I'll love having my free time back.

Happy Sunday, friends!

No news is... bad news?

Still no word re: Vancouver. Realistically, I'm expecting a polite thanks-but-no-thanks letter in the mail, but still obsessively checking my email. Poop! However, this will free me up to take that acting for the camera class, so doors closed, windows open, and so forth.

My meeting yesterday was an invitation to apply to a very interesting playwrights unit, with possible money and even production down the line. Which is very cool. But it does mean I have to pitch a brand new idea. Something that strikes fear into my heart of hearts.

Because I have ideas, vague ideas of things I am interested in, but nothing that I'm ready to jump into, nothing I could hook you in with a story about. "I'm interested in writing a play somehow inspired by human anatomy."
ummm... okay? See, it doesn't have a story, or characters, or anything. I tend to sit on ideas for a long time before I'm ready to start writing. And I was already getting antsy about getting a new idea. Which begs the question no writer wants to ask:
Where do the ideas come from?

Always best never to examine that too closely. In case you never get another idea again, and serves you right for being snoopy.

Interestingly, the overriding themes in my work include: communion with the dead/the supernatural, and a character who is insurmountably The Other. I'm talking no one's going to teach you how to dress right and you'll fit in. I write about never fitting in and accepting that or fighting that. And, apparently, talking to dead people.

Maybe I should start there?

Excuses, Excuses...

Here is a list of excuses I am using to explain to myself why the playwriting people haven't called to invite me to Vancouver:

1) Time Zone
Vancouver is an entire hour behind us! They still have plenty of time to call!

2) Alphabetical Order
My last name is very close to the end of the alphabet. Perhaps they are working their way through applicants alphabetically!

3) They misprinted the date.
August 15 is Sunday. Perhaps what they meant was that they'd get in touch with people on Monday the 16th.

4) Like me, they have several jobs, and have forgotten what day of the week it is.

5) They're flying out to tell me in person, and got delayed at the airport.

6) They're calling everyone who didn't get in first, so they can end their phone calls on a high note.

7) They're working up the courage to call because, of course, they're afraid I'll say no.

8) They are simply not interested in my play at this time, but wish me luck in my future endeavors.

ETA on Monday:
OK, that last one isn't really an excuse, but will likely be the harsh reality. Hoping to hear one way or the other today, since it's a business day (ugh), and will let you know.

Waiting/Action

Still waiting. My least favourite thing. Tomorrow I supposedly find out whether or not I'm going to Vancouver in November. Though I'm not getting my hopes up too high for that one, I have already gotten a fair amount of funded support this year already, so I can see them wanting to spread the wealth around.

I also have a meeting on Monday, one that I was thinking nothing of until I heard through the grapevine that this person (and possibly the attached theatre company) "has big plans for me" and "has their eye on me". Whatever that means. I'm trying to to get too excited about it, since (a)suddenly being picked up for production is highly unlikely, and (b) I've been screwed over before. Instead I'm just remembering to be happy that others find my work cool and interesting, and that I'm ever-so-gradually forging ahead on the path.

I'm thinking of taking some acting classes in the fall, acting for the camera to be specific. Definitely a skill I could use some regular practice in. I'm hoping to hear one way or the other about Vancouver tomorrow so I can register (Vancouver might make me miss a couple of classes, so I'd have to check and see how they feel about that). If I do go to Vancouver, I'm definitely getting some new headshots done, so I'm shopping around for that.

And I think I have the germ of an idea for a solo show. It's still pretty hazy, but I saw the opening minute in my head and got that excited-chill feeling about it. That feeling I get when I have the grain of a good idea. Which is exciting. But not something to be rushed, and I can't really talk about it any more than that.

After my contract (second job) is done, I really need to get better about making time for myself and taking it. I have this huge list of projects I want to do, but I never get past the idea stage. It's a bad habit of mine. If I let things sit too long, it's almost like they get "spoiled" by the idea of actually doing them. Like the real thing could never live up to the idea of it that I've built up in my head or something. I think I just have to be braver. Just do things when I have the impulse instead of stewing about them.

How about another 5 in 7?
1)Log food and exercise on sparkpeople. This is a pretty awesome (and FREE) resource, and I've been faithfully tracking for the last 2 weeks.
2)Keep singing every day.
3)Finish knitting that baby blanket and send it sometime before the baby graduates high school.
4)Go see a bunch of stuff at the Fringe by people I've never heard of. Discover some new inspiration.
5)Drink enough water every day. (I'm terrible, terrible, terrible at hydration.)

Have a lovely weekend, fellow travellers.

Steven Slater, My Hero

OK, so by now I'm sure everyone's read about Steven Slater, the JetBlue flight attendant who lost it, cussed out a passenger over the intercom, grabbed some beers from the galley, activated the emergency slide, jumped out of the plane, and drove home, where he was subsequently arrested.

So maybe that's not the best way to quit a job. But as someone who has worked (and continues to work) in customer service, there's something about this story that makes me go Hells Yeah. Because haven't we all fantasized about that? Just quitting our shitty jobs in a blaze of glory, finally getting to tell our boss or our coworkers or our customers what we really think, instead of having to hold it all in for the sake of a paycheck?

Because sometimes, just sometimes, the customer is just not always right. In fact, sometimes, the customer is an entitled, unreasonable jerk. Sometimes the customer is downright nasty to you, just because they can be. That's right, as understanding as I try to be about people having a bad day, or going through something difficult emotionally and taking it out on me, I also have to recognize that some people are just, in plain terms, assholes. It held true on the playground, it held true in high school, and it still stands in the land of grownups.

Would I ever quit my job that way? Unlikely. I'm usually all polite and diplomatic, and giving my two weeks' notice. Except for my very first job-- I was fifteen and working at Suzy Shier. The glamour of having a job had quickly worn thin, and I was pissed that I couldn't get the time off to attend an INXS concert. Michael Hutchence was still alive, my friends, and I was determined to see him in all his sexiness. (Actually, I think I was in love with the drummer even more than with Michael, but I digress.) I tried to call in sick for that shift, when my boss (she of multiple-colored eyeliners, and big hair-sprayed bangs) quite rightly accused me of faking my illness to go to the concert.

And, completely offended, I quit. Which was ridiculous, because I was totally faking. I thought it was all very romantic, that I was somehow sticking it to the man for my love of the music, and I went to the concert. I think I still have the t-shirt, actually.

On Having Patience

Right now, I am trying to be patient. Not one of my strengths. I can endure things, I can look forward to things, but I like to know what's going to happen. I try to be a catalyst, to take charge and make things happen. I'm not so great at the "wait and see" approach to life.

And, of course, that's what a lot of life is like. Go figure.

So, I'm waiting to hear back about another playwrights' colony, this time in Vancouver. Decisions are supposed to be announced next weekend, leaving you to wonder: do they let successful applicants know a little earlier and just send out the Fuck You letters on the date? Does knowing that matter? Not really. But, like analyzing a bad date with your girlfriends, it's sometimes nice to turn over the minutiae in your mind.

I'm waiting to see if I can get my chub a little bit under control. I've been fabulously healthy in my eating, all the fruits and veg, tracking everything, no sweets, no treats. Exercising a lot more. And, of course, the thrilling pee test I mentioned in my last post. Cross your fingers for me tomorrow, guys! I know you'll be itching for updates. Waiting to see if the scale moves down. Or at least stops moving up.

I think I'm going to spend my pee day sewing, since J has been called in to work that day. Now that the studio is actually clean (and has room for my new ironing board), I'm hoping to get some work done more often.

I'm actually thinking of starting a separate blog-- I just haven't thought of a good title yet. Basically it would focus on vintage sewing, a little vintage style, and making vintage recipes, vegetarian style.

This blog will remain where it is for the purposes of talking about me, my career, and my angst.

Just Like Howard Hughes

For the record, I often get the names "Howard Hughes" and "Hugh Hefner" mixed up. Not the people behind the name, but I tend to imagine them as one person. An old guy who spends a lot of time in a bathrobe, collecting his urine and publishing naughty calendars.

(I still haven't seen The Aviator, if you can believe it. One of those movies I keep meaning to watch, but am never in the mood to see. I feel somehow, that like Dead Man Walking,it's some sort of huge time commitment.)

But speaking of saving your urine, guess what I get to do this weekend? That's right! Due to some truly lame health problems I've been experiencing lately, my doctor has requested that I save my pee. All my pee. For 24 hours. Meaning I basically have to take a day off to stay home and pee. Apparently they give you some kind of container and collection system, then you cart all your bottles of pee (the requisition slip doesn't say if they give you an anonymous brown paper bag to carry your pee-jugs in) back to the lab for analysis.

Fun times on the bus,let me tell you! I've chosen Sunday as my official pee day, because it's the only day for the next couple of weeks that I'm not working. J has volunteered to stay home with me and have a karao-pee party.

Related to lame health problems, I've gained a rather impressive amount of weight over the last couple of months, despite exercising more and eating less. So I'm feeling a little depressed about it, trying to stay positive. I don't have a lot of wardrobe options, and I'm just generally feeling rather dumpy and chub these days. Trying to continue working out, track my food. I haven't re-joined Weight Watchers yet, but I'm eating what used to work for me-- ye olde Core Plan. Hopefully I can at least maintain until my doctor figures out what is going on.

Can't wait to start peeing!

Fridge Blues

Well, my fridge has decided to recognize only two possible settings: Emergency Defrost Freezer Leakage, and Preserve All Food As Ice Cubes (Including Salad You Were Bringing For Lunch). This results either in a steady spring thaw-like dripping from the freezer into the fridge, or all fridge food, from strawberries to Tofurky, encrusted in ice crystals, much like what happens when you finally lose that game of Frozen Bubble.

I think it may be time for a new fridge. We also need a new television, new bed and a new couch. After which I will either need a new credit card or a new identity, hardy-har-har.

I'm feeling rather uninspired as of late, friends. Feeling uninspired by myself, which is the worst kind of uninspired to feel, as far as I'm concerned. I realize the world really doesn't treat me as badly as all that, and that things can't be thrilling/exciting/constant new developments-ing all the time. But I'm feeling a little dull and down and a wee bit sorry for myself.

It'll pass, I'm positive of it. This week I plan to clean out some closets and clean out a workspace for myself to get back to sewing and non-theatre-related stuff.

How do you get yourself out of a blue patch?

Update

Just a quick note-- I have blog guilt (or is that non-blogging guilt?). Anyhoo, apologies for my lack of updates: life seems to be in a bit of a holding pattern at the moment. Just working 6 days a week, which is putting a kink in my plans to relax, but I'm hard pressed to say no to extra money at the moment.

I'm waiting somewhat impatiently to be inspired-- I'd like to start a new project, but am a little bit low on ideas. Working on singing, doing some other music stuff. Thinking about giving myself a makeover.

You know, the usual.

More and better updates in the coming week! Seriously, ya'll!

Green-Eyed Monster

Yes, I confess it: I'm a jealous person. Not in the romantic way, I'm not one of those ladies whose boyfriend/husband/sweet baboo has to call her every hour on the hour when he's out, or who puts her foot down over watching television shows featuring beautiful women. No, I'm definitely a career jealous person.

Not that I've made jealousy my career. I mean, I get jealous about the careers of others. Why must my friends be so accomplished? Why do I feel like I'm being left behind?

I love my friends, I'm proud of them. Heck, I'm even happy for my less-than-friends when something good career-wise happens to them.

Except...

Except for the blinding flashes of jealousy I also get. And of course, that's my issue, obvs. It's time for deep breaths, and reassuring myself that This is not a race, and using it to spur me to move ahead. And meditating on crystals, or reading The Secret or something.

OK, just kidding about those last two.

Last week, I did awesome on my goals, with the exception of the piano. The studio is a bit of a disaster at the moment (I'm sure a shrink, or the person who wrote The Secret might say that the exterior clutter is a material representation of me blocking my pathways to success, but really, it's just mess and I'm lazy.)

So, piano will get added to this week's list.

This week's Five in Seven:

1) Practice piano

2) Drink water every day. I don't know why I have such a huge problem doing this. Maybe I need to make an inspiration board about water. Anyway, 8-10 glasses a day.

3) Sing every day. Because it seems to be working. Go figure.

4) Back to work on sewing that blouse. (This, along with piano playing, necessitates cleaning out my studio. Take that, imaginary shrinks and Secret author!)

5) Research some theatre companies, Canadian and outside the Great White North, who might like to read my skit-shows.

Have a great weekend, y'all!

Five In Seven

Sounds like some kind of infomercial weight loss plan, right? Like Deal A Meal (remember Deal A Meal?)

I was talking to an amazing, inspiring friend of mine about my frustrations about my vocal progress. I feel blocked. My reaction to feeling blocked is to take some kind of action, but I have no idea of what to do. And we had a long talk, and she gave me some homework. She said "if you really want to be a singer and you love singing, there is always something you can do to advance yourself musically." And she told me to think of 5 things I could do in one week that would move me along towards my goals.

I think that's great advice. I'm trying to get more positive and active, rather than dwelling in the negativity with the bitter people. If that means going out on a limb and trying new things, so be it.

So here's my list of things to do this week:

1) discover some new music/singers
2) review and re-remember key signatures
3) sing every day
4) get the italian translation for my aria
5) practice piano

Hopefully I'll be back with a completed list and another 5 things to by this time next week. They may or may not be singing related, though.

She also told me: "Remember, no one is ever going to come along and give you a license to be a singer. Don't wait until you think you're 'good enough'." Pretty nice advice, which can probably translate to some of my other plans and schemes.

Looks Like Dog Food, Tastes Like Vinegar.

My friends, as much as it pains me to confess it, I have very, very unpredictable cooking skills. Sometimes I'm great, sometimes I'm... well, when it's bad, it's horrible. Really, really horrible.

I take some comfort in being consistently good at baking, but a massive failure at cooking is always a crushing blow to my self-esteem. It's not that I can't follow a recipe. It's not that I don't measure. It's not that I make crazy substitutions for things. It's just something in the alchemy-- every so often, I cook something that's an unmitigated disaster for no apparent reason.

Take the Stewpie (STEW-pee) incident, for instance. When I was first living with my husband, I was trying out all kinds of new recipes. He's got a stomach thing that won't let him eat dairy or red meat, and before he met me, he was living on minute rice and cooked carrots. It never occurred to him to order a pizza without cheese, or to check out soy and rice cheeses, or just find recipes that didn't contain dairy, or whatever. So I was having mucho fun trying out a bunch of vegan recipes (I was just beginning to seriously explore vegetarianism), many of which turned out amazingly. My cooking reputation in our relationship was solid. Until, that is, I decided to try and make Stewpie.

I have no recollection of where I found the original recipe. It wasn't called Stewpie (a combo of stew and pie, for reasons that will become obvious). It was just some kind of vegetable pot pie. Which I was envisioning as a kind of yummy comfort food: flaky crust, warm thick gravy, nummy vegetables. And I think that's what it was supposed to be. And although it's hazy in my memory, I seem to recall that I even made my own pie crust. Things seemed promising. And then...

I won't try to embellish it, it was disgusting. Not disgusting in a way that would immediately induce projectile vomiting or anything. But it was horrible. Mushy, pasty, awful glop. Depressing. And J, bless him, ate TWO helpings before admitting he hated it and could barely stand to look at it. He thought that he'd hurt my feelings if he didn't eat it. But instead I find myself wondering if he *really* likes my food, or if he's just humoring me. To which he immediately responds "It's not a Stewpie!"

Anyway. Fast forward to last night. One of my friends at work had made this butternut squash dish that smelled amazing. Like, I wanted to chew off my own fingers and pretend they were butternut squash amazing. So I asked for the recipe and set out to make it last night.

Things all fell apart with the balsamic reduction. I don't know what I did, but it ended up looking like dog food and tasting like vinegar. I was laughing so hard, I was crying, because it was so disgusting and ridiculous. I tried to force myself to eat some, as a kind of penance, but I just couldn't do it.

I did get right back on the horse and make the filling for some potstickers for tonight. Hopefully those turn out a little bit better.

Television Guilty Pleasures

Yes, I have finally started watching Mad Men. As a matter of fact, I've got two seasons under my belt, and joy of joys, On Demand has finally put Season 3 up! Of course, they still show commercials for the new season during the episodes, which is maddening and causes us to stick our fingers in our ears and sing "Poker Face" at the top of our lungs while turning our eyes skywards. No spoilers, AMC!

So far, I am dying over the fashions. And all the fabulous mid-century modern decor. And the priceless things like shaking the garbage off your picnic blanket and leaving it in a glorious pile in the park. And the writing has been pretty good-- I wasn't a huge fan of parts of Season 2, particularly Don's bizarre business trip. But the last episode of Season 1, his monologue about the Kodak carousel made me crumble with jealousy a little bit. So yes, Season 3 begins tonight in my living room.

Of course, this will be after I watch the other guilty pleasures that Monday night brings, namely Intervention and Obsessed. Schadenfreude, anyone? Also, I don't really like watching Hoarders because I find it so repetitive, but I do tend to get a lot of house cleaning done. That, or I don't feel quite so bad about my own mess.

Fun At Work

I'll admit it: I've always been someone who thrives on responsibility. I was the kid who'd volunteer to take the money down to the office on hot dog day at school, who'd be the dissection class table leader. Yes, Iike being in charge of things, whether it be an envelope of quarters or a stainless steel tray of frog cadavers. Being entrusted with responsibility makes me feel accomplished, and dare I say, validated. And nearly every job I've ever had, I feel the pull of wanting to work towards promotion, to being in charge of projects. To having keys.

And, often, the thrill of validation disappears nearly instantly. Not that it leaves me in some sort of shame spiral, or hollow, esteem-less pit that drives me to drug use. It's usually replaced by at least one of two thoughts: I'd rather be doing something else, or the ever-popular People are intensely irritating.

Let me break it down. Advancing in my chosen field = awesome. The sizzle of being in charge of the odd-pay-period-wage-reports = fleeting at best.

Right now, I have 2 and a half jobs. One is working in the box office at a concert hall. It's mellow (for the most part), and they let me write plays when it's not busy. I also occasionally contract editing scripts for video games. And I do a bunch of freelance writing gigs-- newsletter articles, online publications, and so on. Plus my super-glamorous chosen field of THE THEAT-AH.

The concert hall has recently made me a key holder. Which I'm happy about, I mean, I get a pay raise, some benefits, keys to the place. But let me just put something out there. I don't know a lot about business, and I haven't worked there that long. But my thinking is, that if you have the better part of 4 hours in the afternoon to devote to drawing dragons in MS Paint, I had better not have any problems with your cashout. I mean, your cashout should be pretty much immaculate, because I can't imagine starting on the 4-tone rendering of Galthor's scales unless you'd actually finished your work for the day.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow.

And no, I won't be ranting like a 12-year-old girl in this one. I'm feeling a little more grown up and secure now. With a grown-up problem! A grown-up relationship problem. And no, it's not like that. I'm talking about being facebook friends with my hairdresser, who I'm thinking of cheating on.

Actually, I'm thinking about leaving her altogether. And in the good old days, you could just kind of disappear off the face of the earth, never to return to your old salon. Perhaps one day you would run into your old stylist in the produce aisle at Safeway, say a polite hello, or perhaps nothing at all. There would be an understanding. I mean, if you didn't have 10 inches of roots, it would just be assumed you'd moved on.

I am the worst at confrontation. Trying out a different stylist at the same salon is one thing, but just out and out leaving? Do I have the balls to drag my stuff into the living room and say "Torvald, I'm leaving." Also, my stylist's name isn't Torvald (I would never even think of leaving if it was!), that was just a bonus A Doll's House reference for the nerds out there.

The pros of my stylist:
I like the salon, and most of the people there are super nice. The rest are just pretty nice.
My stylist knows how to cut my hair really, really well. I have A LOT of coarse, wavy-ish hair, so it's hard to find someone good.
I've been going there for a few years. (Is this even a pro?)
I get a lot of compliments on my colour and cut.

The cons of staying:
They're out of my way. It's a pain in the ass to get there.
Expensive. I mean, I'm a big proponent of spending the money on your hair, but it's a little ridiculous.
I think my stylist takes me for granted.
The last couple of times I've gone, I've left with splotches of colour around my hairline, which I didn't notice till I get home, but which are a pet peeve of mine, because it's sloppy work.


So I don't know what to do. I have some ideas of salons I'd like to try, but it's hard to just make a clean break. Although this is supposing that my hairstylist cares passionately about whether or not I'm a client.

Anyone have tips on breaking up with a stylist? Or stories about cheating on your salon?

Ouch, Facebook!

So, yesterday was my birthday. Though I sometimes would like to make a big deal about it and have a party, I never do, because I live with the fat kid's fear of NO ONE SHOWING UP, PROVING EVERYONE HATES YOU ON YOUR BIRTHDAY, THE MOST HUMILIATING OF ALL DAYS TO BE HATED! Maybe that's not a very grown-up sentiment, but the whole being-left-out-of-everything-because-no-one-cares-about-you elementary school thing is, even all these years later, a huge emotional panic trigger for me. I suspect it may be a permanent background anxiety that I can usually ignore.

Speaking of, did anyone ever feel like they fit in? It seems like most people I talked to were always picked last for things, always lived in fear of other children. Do I just hang with a crowd of bully victims? What happened to all the popular kids? Do they go away to some island of beautiful people when they turn 21 (which would be disappointing, because I always imagined they would grow up to serve fries all day and be covered in unsightly boils).

ANYWAY, I must confess that I was looking forward to a little facebook birthday love. Yes, lame, I know, but it's kind of nice to have people wishing you a happy birthday. Of course, if I examined it more closely, I might wonder why none of these people talk to me at any other time, but why add more insecurity to my already-crowded plate? So yesterday, I opened up Facebook, expecting that warm-glowy feeling, and was thrilled that one of my bestest buds had wished me a happy birthday, (and didn't need facebook to tell her it was my birthday), and then...

nada. Nothing! The whole day, not one single person wished me good tidings of great joy. And it's immature and stupid and facebook, for God's sake, but it's hard not to feel a little burnt by that. And I'm trying to be a good girl and not fall into the clutches of fat kid fears. But seriously, out of 400 friends? Not even my sister wished me well! Ouch!

Fortunately, I got some birthday love in real life, which is way better. J set up the Christmas tree in the living room while I was at work Thursday night, which is a bit of an inside joke: I heart Christmas a lot, and when I was a kid, I always used to proclaim I had the best birthday, because it was exactly six months from Christmas. So the year was perfectly symetrical in terms of presents I would receive.

But I confess, I do wish that my birthday was a little closer to winter so I didn't have to wait to use this awesome gift:


Yes, that is a Snuggie. Not just any Snuggie, but a Snuggie Wild Side! I guess they were worried that their regular solid colours just wouldn't appeal to today's youth. So I've got a fab leopard print blanket with arms! With the official Snuggie Brand label on the sleeve!

I'm actually a little too excited about this.
Anyway, you now have a little less than 6 shopping months till Christmas.
Happy Saturday, everyone!

An Open Letter To The Last Three Movies I've Seen, Which, Coincidentally, Were All Pretty Disappointing

Dear Shutter Island, The Book of Eli, and Tim Burton's Alice In Wonderland,

The first thing I want you to know is that I really, really like movies. Really. Anything from film noir, to cheesy 80's capers, to musicals, to disease-of-the-week movies on tv. Psychological thrillers, documentaries, zombie movies, foreign film. I just like movies. Which is why the last couple of weeks have been so distressing to me.

Shutter Island,I confess that I wasn't totally excited to see you. I didn't really understand what you were supposed to be about going in, only that the phrase I associate with you is "THE TWIST YOU'LL NEVER SEE COMING!" And you know what, Shutter Island? I guessed it. I guessed the twist I'd never see coming, literally about 90 seconds in. Leo hadn't even arrived on the stupid island yet. And it's not like you were bad, though I could have done without the overwrought, CGI'd Twin Peaks-style dream sequences. You just weren't terribly exciting. And maybe it's my fault for guessing. But what was I supposed to do? You dared me to.

And you, The Book of Eli, you were J's idea, not mine. He'd been looking forward to seeing you for weeks. And so you show up in our living room the very day you're released with what looks like something visually interesting, something taut and tense, post-apocalyptic exciting, and you turn out to be... well, you turn out to be The Book of Eli? Seriously? I mean, I passed the time speculating on how this could be turned into a sequel to The Preacher's Wife, or wondering aloud why everyone post-apocalypse wear such uncomfortable looking clothes (if there is some kind of solar flare, or nuclear volcano, or sudden evaporation of 90% of the earth's water supply, you had best believe I won't be getting myself a bustier top, a corset, or fur leg warmers. Nor will I be wrapping my limbs in various ribbons/audio tape/whatever they use to do that.). But what pissed me off the most was that you had a great plot twist, something that could have been a lot more effective. But it was so not worth it. So. Not. Worth. It.

And finally, Tim Burton's Alice In Wonderland, I was pretty disappointed in you, as well. A whole lot of style, with very little substance. Frankly, I'd rather see Peter Jackson direct Alice in Wonderland, because I think he'd do a pretty kickass job of it. Maybe Tim Burton could direct Animal Farm, make it a new Watership Down to traumatize the kids of this generation. Either way, I bet Elijah Wood was probably pretty pissed off when he saw Johnny Depp in this movie. Because Elijah could probably have saved them a whole lot of money in animation fees:



And what the hell was wrong with Crispin Glover? All stretched out and weird-looking? Is he supposed to be a playing card, like those other red guys? Because it looks weird, but not so weird that you'd immediately assume it was done on purpose. And not so consistent that you can immediately figure out what exactly it is that's weird.

If anything, the more CGI and animation I see, the more I wonder if it's really been good for movies. I mean, yes, obviously there are some movies that use it amazingly well, and it helps tell the story without becoming the story itself. But I wonder if better and better technology is making people less creative in some way. Not neccessarily with reference to TBAIW, but overall.

Anyway, you guys, you've really left me disappointed. In fact my regret about writing this is that's a public acknowledgement that I actually sat through all three of you. I think the best thing for all of us is that we all try to forget that I arrived on your island, or apoca'd into your lypse, or fell down your rabbit hole.

You get the picture.

Love,
Me

On Shopping and Sizes, or What Is This, A Cathy Cartoon?

So the other day we were out shopping, and my husband wanted to get a pair of pants. He walked into a store, found some pants he liked, checked the tags, picked up the pants and said "Let's go."
"Don't you want to try those on?"
"Nah."
"But how do you know they'll fit?"
"Ummm..." he said, pausing to figure out how not to imply that I was dumb "because they're my size?"
And then he went to pay for his pants. Which, ps, totally fit perfectly.

At the risk of sounding like a certain cartoon, AAAAAAACCCKKKK!

(Confession: my sister has pretty much the entire collection of Cathy comics at my parents' house, which I totally binge on (irony!) when I'm there at Christmas. Oh, Irving!)

I mean, seriously. I can't imagine the day when I would just believe that a marked size would correctly match the proportions of my body. Maybe if I already owned the same exact thing and was buying a second one in a different colour. But having had the experience of being 3 different sizes of jeans in the same store (I'm looking at you, Old Navy!), I'm always prepared for pants shopping to be an epic event.

At the moment, I wear a 14. Which is better than the 20 I've previously worn, but kind of a weird size generally. Even though we're constantly hearing "That's the average American woman's size!", 14 is a strange fit. It's on the cusp of plus size, so you have a good chance of finding it in a "regular" store (I know I'm not alone in my weight goals including being able to shop in regular stores). Plus size stores generally start at a 14, though that 14 will be cut differently than a 14 in a "regular" store. Not that the numbers mean anything, really.

I remember the legend of The Gap, where at one point if you wore, say, an 8 everywhere else, you would fit a 6 in Gap clothes. Which was kind of a nice little ego boost. But then everyone started doing it. So while you wear a size 8 at one store, you might take a 10 at another, or a 6 somewhere else. And so on, until we fast forward to Old Navy and me trying on sizes 12 through 16 in jeans, all variously too big or too small, depending on the style. And my husband picking out his usual size without trying on, waiting by the cash for me.

I mean, I'm sure people of all sizes have these fit/size problems. It's probably more emotionally charged for someone who, say, couldn't find trendy clothes as a kid, and for whom clothes shopping would be marked by comments on my weight and why I couldn't fit into regular sizes. In reality, I know it's the pants that suck, not my body. And yet...

Well, enough complaining and ackkking for one day.

Strange Dreams

Last night I had a dream that Disneyland had opened a park in Red Deer, Alberta. Now Red Deer, for those of you not familiar is a city pretty much exactly halfway between Edmonton and Calgary. Currently its main attraction for me is the Donut Mill (pictured), which is just off the highway in a quaint gathering of restaurants and service stations called Gasoline Alley. The Donut Mill is exciting because it is (a) shapped like a windmill, and (b)is full of doughnuts. So you can bet I was pretty excited to have a Disneyland open up within an hour and a half's drive of me. So I hopped on a tour bus, which, disappointingly made numerous stops where we had to get off and listen to inspirational speeches made by a variety of disabled people.

At one point, a friend of mine was offering granola bars to tide us over until we reached the happiest place on earth, but when I requested one without marshmallows in it, he gave me a terribly patronizing smile, left, and never returned. Towards the end of the dream, I think I made some kind of social faux pas (I seem to recall doing tricks in someone's wheelchair), and everyone was mad at me, and we never made it to Disneyland.

I have no idea what this means.

I have a day off tomorrow, which I am greatly looking forward to. Unfortunately, working Saturdays means that I rarely have two days off in a row. So days off tend to be times when I can accomplish all the other stuff I don't get to do during the week, like pay bills, go grocery shopping, submit my taxes.

Taxes. Yes, the deadline was April 30. Yes, I still haven't submitted them. But I'm getting money back, so I doubt Revenue Canada will be chasing me down for that. But tomorrow is a day to get a lot of grown-up stuff done. And consider getting some submissions out.

Momentum is a fragile creature. While I was away from here, I feel like I had a lot of perspective on what this city is, and what it isn't. And that to further my career, I really need to look elsewhere. But it's hard to keep that momentum going when you're sucked back into the drama of this community, and the everyday grind. And another grown-up thing I have to do tomorrow is try to kick-start that momentum again, force myself to send some stuff out before the little voice in my head wakes up and starts nagging me.

Oh, and relax. Perhaps with some lemonade.

In Which I Endeavor To Do the Opposite of Letting Myself Go

I suppose the opposite of letting yourself go might be "getting yourself together", but this title uses more words. Also, I like to create obstacles for myself by trying to do a negative action as opposed to a positive action. Don't try this in rehearsal, actor kids! Always with the positive action!

Anyway. I don't think I've really "let myself go". I think that's a phrased designed to make women feel insecure and for publishing houses to continue to sell magazines after the women who buy them have already achieved their major life goals of getting hitched and having babies. But I have always yearned to be a little more put together.

Let me explain. My mother doesn't wear makeup. Well, she does if you count that she pencils in her eyebrows, because my mother is eyebrow-bald. Or extremely eyebrow-receding. Being a little gifted (one might go so far as to say overachieving) in the eyebrow department, eyebrow pencils weren't really high on my list of priorities. But the point being that I think a lot of ladies learn about make-up from their moms, and we had nothing in the house. Ditto with hair-- my mother wears her hair short, wash-and-wear. I get the sense that she thinks that primping is impractical and not for the smart girls.

But I want to primp! And though I have lived with many roommates who spent hours in front of the mirror, or wouldn't go out to get the mail without lipstick, I never really learned anything about putting on makeup. I remember envying my cousin's turquoise eyeliner! The Cover Girl ads in Seventeen that showed people whose eyes were lined in four different colours. On one eye!

Same goes for clothes. Now, I have always been a bit of a fat, insecure kid. Even when I was skinnier, I still felt like the fat kid. And so clothes shopping became a little bit of an anxiety trigger for me. Sure, I went through a brief faux-goth phase (well, probably more artsy than goth), loving that it stood out at my Catholic high school. By the time I moved on to the artsy-fartsy school, I embraced grunge, which was super comfortable, but not exactly body conscious. And now I find I love vintage clothes, bold prints, quirky stuff, classic stuff. And although I could probably put an outfit together for someone else, I never feel confident in what I wear.

In fact, I think I probably dress a little bit... frumpy... at the moment.

So it's time for an intervention.
And I'm not saying that figuring out how to pick out lipstick will change my whole life, but I have a feeling it could sure improve my confidence to feel like I look kind of good. That I put some effort into getting up and facing the world every day.

I have a pretty strict budget, but I'd like to do some stuff like:
*get my eyebrows done professionally
*figure out what lipstick looks good on me
*get some cute shoes
*start remaking my wardrobe, whether I'm skinnier or not
*get a pedicure
*try out a couple of vintage-y, pin-up-y hairstyles

And so on.
Where do you guys go for style tips? Whose style do you admire? Whose style do you hate? Any girly stuff I should absolutely try at least once? Any girly stuff I should absolutely avoid?

Ta!

Back In The Saddle

Hello, friends and neighbours,
It's been a little while since I bothered to blog (I wonder what percentage of my blog posts begin with an apology for not blogging?), and in that time, I've returned from my fancy playwrights' retreat, gone back to work, and filled my social calendar with things like fundraisers, attending the theatre, going to physio for my $%# shoulder, and making appointments for life's pesky neccessities, like getting my roots done.

In short, I suppose I've gone back to a normal life. Although it's the first time in at least a year that I haven't had to plan some major event, write a play, produce a show, or work more than one job. So life seems a little... dull? Maybe dull isn't quite the right word. Ordinary. I have an ordinary life at the moment.
I've never wanted to have an ordinary life. I mean, I suppose very few people say "When I grow up, I want to be ORDINARY!" But I think a lot of people settle into that. Heck, when I worked my government job, I met a lot of people who were thrilled with being ordinary, routine, predictable, and safe.

So feeling ordinary gives me that itch... write another play, do a one-woman show, sign myself up for some weird class, plan a vacation to Costa Rica, eat strange foods. Stuff like that. Which can be dangerous, because then I find myself planning major events, producing shows, working more than one job, all at the same time.

Once I get all that ordinary life stuff out of the way (bills, finally filing my taxes, etc.), I really do want to spend the summer doing stuff I want to do-- sewing is pretty high on the list. Music is pretty high on the list. Surprisingly, writing is pretty high on the list. And I didn't altogether like writing anymore, so I thought. Of course, The Unpleasantness with a certain AD didn't really help much.

I suppose I'm at that rare crossroad where all the crap I HAD to do is currently behind me, and all I have to do (besides working to pay my rent and bills) is stuff I want to do. Picnics! Garage sales! Goofy hairstyles! Aprons!

Summer!

Me Vs. Shyness: Part Ninety-First

Well, I don't know how many parts there are in that battle. But it's true, I'm shy. Although once people get to know me, they would probably never describe me as shy. A little quiet at times, but not shy. So... socially anxious? But isn't that the same thing as shyness?

I don't really know why shyness is considered to be a character defect anyway. But the point is, I've always been a *little* nervous around new people, and now that's rearing its ugly head. I suppose it's to be expected-- I mean, I am away from home and everyone I know, constantly meeting new people who will be reading my work and having opinions about it that, even though they are discouraged from sharing opinions about others' work, they will still have. So it's probably no surprise that, finding myself surrounded by seemingly confident, veteran Canadian theatre luminaries this morning, I felt a little shaky (ok, a lot shaky. Like, actually shaking shaky) about doing my intro in front of the group and talking about my work.

So my shyness doesn't stop me from going out into the world and doing things like buying groceries, or asking where to find a particular book. But I'll admit that it has make me curtail my social activities at times, because I'm so worried about not knowing what to say to people, or coming across as a loser or something. Which is a feature that I don't like about myself. But I don't really know too much about dealing with anxiety. I kind of assume it's a "fake it till you make it" kind of scenario. And the reality is that strangers find me perfectly pleasant, and even funny sometimes. The trick, of course, is to ask people questions about themselves. Works like a charm, every time. And, probably, not to think of all human interaction as some kind of job interview for the position of "likeable". Sometimes, people just don't like other people. Or they're jerks. Or some combination of those and other factors.

Sigh. Time for another confidence boosting mission, I think. Which is weird to need one, because people here are nothing but supportive and complimentary and excited about my work. So why do I have such a hard time with believing them?

Last night I was saying to myself that I was really looking forward to a summer of music and weight loss. Which begs the question: what am I, thirteen? Isn't that largely the same summer I wanted to have between grade seven and grade eight? Although to be fair, this summer I intend to be performing the music (sorry Bryan Adams Reckless! You had your time in the sun!), and I actually do need to lose some weight and get in shape. And after a year of planning things (weddings, shows, parties, trips), and being stressed out about things, I want to have an awesome summer of doing things I want to do.

I have the first reading of my play this afternoon. Apparently I will have to address the group at the start. Bleurgh! I'm off to prepare some brief opening remarks and try to convince myself that people will find my nervousness charming and refreshingly modest.

Mountains + Massage + Room Service = Happiness

So I've been here almost a week, at ye olde fancy prestigious playwriting retreat. It has been fabulous. And incredibly emotional, and dismal and frustrating and amazing. So, all these things. And as I'm working to deadline to turn in script draft tomorrow for a reading on Monday, I decided to try and get some of the knots out of MY ENTIRE BODY, and to just hole up in my room eating a veggie burger, rather than traipsing down to the dining hall with the rest of the writers.

I've also had Center Stage on tv in the background for company-noise, but that's neither here nor there. I'm pretty sure it isn't influencing the current draft. But the thing is I'm SO TIRED. I always thought that the mountains made me sleep better, but apparently that wears off after a few days. And now I find myself sleeping for about 2 hours at a time, twice a night. That's 4 hours of sleep, people! I mean, no wonder I'm getting emotional at times.

That, and I had no idea how much the bullshit with that last workshop had affected me. So I'm looking forward to Monday, when I can finally put that workshop behind me. And then I have another reading scheduled for the end of the week.

I'm trying to think of something to do this weekend. I'm not feeling too social, and I'm in a small, small town. I was thinking about a movie, but my choices are: Iron Man 2, Prince of Persia, Robin Hood, and Sex and The City 2...

Yikes!

Ouch! Wednesday!

No, it's not a new feature. It just happens to be Wednesday, and I have an ouch-- I slept funny, and now I seem to have a bit of a pinched nerve kind of scenario happening in my shoulder. Good times!

The show is still going okay, if with small houses. I really think that if we did it strictly as our own production, rather than under the umbrella of this "independent season" group, we would have better houses. People have strange opinions about what constitutes independent theatre. And fair enough, I have seen some wanky crap under the indie theatre umbrella, complete with unneccessary-to-the-plot nude interpretive dance, strange and sudden tunefully questionable musical numbers, and just general stage writhing. Always with the writhing, these people.

Not that that should dissuade you from going to see independent theatre. You should. Because these are the people who don't have the huge budget, who are likely using their own money, who are forced to use their imaginations instead of their bankrolls. These are the people who are doing theatre because they really feel they have to. And I'm not questioning the integrity of people who have more money, I think that's great and they are lucky, and don't I wish I had a little more of that myself? But even though it's difficult and expensive, and no one comes, these are the people who keep doing it anyway.

Case in point: in the big theatre last week, there was a high school musical. I think I said before that in my day, you did your show in the gym and liked it. But this school, they rent out a hugely expensive theatre, have a full week of tech time, and a week's run. All the (mostly entitled, rude) kids are walking around wearing wireless mics. And the cost of renting those mics alone was probably well beyond my entire budget. And of course I guess there are no comps, and everyone's friends and family are kind of obligated to come and see their little darlings, so they probably make all their money back.

But still. I wanted to invite all those little Zac Efrons and Ashley Tisdales in for a chilling glimpse into their future in professional theatre. Yes, kids, my set is made out of cardboard boxes! Some of which came from the garbage! And we perform in front of as many as fifteen people! Many of whom forgot to turn off their cell phone, or who have a medical condition causing them to develop an undeniable urge to eat hard candies when the lights are turned off!

But I kid. Hey, I'm just proving that you don't need a lot of money to become an asshole. But it certainly helps.

I must confess I'm going to be glad when this month is over. It's been a bit of a stressful time. I'm feeling very burdened by the world as of late. I think a couple of weeks to just be creative in the mountains is exactly what I need. And to be honest, the fact that what we're doing isn't causing any ripples just means that I have the freedom to do what I want. It's pretty liberating, actually.

I have a couple of ideas already for some shows next year-- I just have to pay off this one first. And I'm still not done with my idea of doing a cabaret, even though my progress in singing has been incredibly slow. Perhaps there is a rip-off-the-bandaid element to doing it.

In any case, I'm off to find some tylenols. Happy Wednesday, everyone!

opened

And... we're open. It went pretty well, barring a few glitches that always seem to happen on opening night-- most hilariously when I threw a t-shirt (which I'm supposed to do), and took out a rather important set piece (which I'm definitely not supposed to do!). Oops!
We had a crowd of about a dozen people (sadly, not unusual for indie theatre), and I'm hoping we top that tonight, seeing as how it is Friday and all.

The space where we're performing is part of what would like to be called an "arts complex"-- we're in the small black box theatre, right next door to the large 400 seat house. Unfortunately for us, this theatre has been rented out by a local high school to perform their play. Which was surprising to me--granted, I went to an artsy-fartsy high school for the last couple of years of my education, but the school I went to before that you performed your play in the gym and you liked it! But I understand this is kind of a common practice now, the schools rent out this insanely expensive theatre to do the school play. And the end result is all these 16 year olds who think they're on Glee or something shoving past you in the crossover, rolling their eyes and saying "Excuse me! I'm performing in a PLAY." Or giggling and yelling in the crossover area immediately behind our theatre while we're performing our very small, intimate, QUIET show.

A friend who came last night said it was like our house was haunted by Gershwin, to give you an idea. And it's not just us they're inconsiderate of. I understand there was a little shoving aside of our audience as they waited to get in.

Kids, I'm not saying you don't belong in High School Musical. And I'm sorry if Miley Cyrus has led you to believe that you can make The Climb. I'm not saying that Randy would say "I don't know, that was real pitchy, dog." I'm just saying that when you watch the video of this production in a couple of years for shits and giggles, you may not be as impressed with yourselves. Just saying.

I think they play until Saturday.

I'm still processing the bullshit that was yesterday. I don't know what I want to do about that, so I'm just not going to do anything. For now.

Of all the passive-aggressive revisionist emails....

Did I mention I sent an email yesterday? I can't remember, and frankly I'm too lazy to go back and check, But I sent an email yesterday, to the AD of the theatre where I had a somewhat awful workshop. And it's not just me. Others who had the circumstances described to them agreed that it was awful. So I sent a brief email withdrawing my script from an upcoming festival. I listed my reasons. And I got this really long, godawful email back, which is either painstakingly crafted to be passive-aggressive, or is just pushing my guilty buttons or some combination of the two. I won't post it here. But suffice it to say that it implies that I'm some hysterical female who doesn't have the years of professional wisdom and experience that the sender has, and that implies none too subtly that he's the only ticket to professional production.

Yikes.

And I just kind of want to cry at the moment, which is a dumb reaction. Because I hate to think of anyone thinking badly of me, even if it is just passive-aggressive bullshit. And because I got that cold prickly sick feeling all over when I read it, like I'd been smacked in the face or challenged to a duel or something. And because I open tonight and I already have a good base level of nerves going on over that. And I really don't want to deal with this.

And I did, in fact, respond. To his accusations about my email. I said I was sorry if he felt I had "tone", and I had worked hard to make my email brief and to the point. And that I would respond to the rest of his comments at another time, once I no longer had a show to open.

And of course, in last minute issues, the FOH (Front of House or ticket-takers) which I have long been assured by our producing company were taken care of, are not in fact taken care of, and we are now scrambling to find volunteers.

Madness!

Another Openin', Another Show...

Well, not quite yet. Opening is actually tomorrow night, and right now no one can say how it will go. Our Q2Q last night was a little uneven, and in fact, we're going to finish it later today before our tech dress.

For those of you who aren't theatre folks, Q2Q (or "cue to cue") is a technical rehearsal of only the cues... basically you take it from a couple of lines before the lights change or the phone rings, or whatever, and the stage manager and technical operators get to practice running the cue in the context of the show. The tech dress is a full-on rehearsal of the show with all technical components. It's like a performance without the audience there. (Although in some cases invited guests are allowed in--making it an invited dress).

I can't quite believe we're at opening already--at least now I know that however it turns out, it'll be done. I'd still like it to turn out well, though. More on this Friday morning, I suppose.

In other news, I still have to go for the blood tests my doctor ordered, because I am still continuously gaining weight FOR NO REASON. I'm feeling a little self-conscious about it. In fact, I kind of want to just chuck it all and eat crap for a week, since I'm going to gain weight anyway. But an unfortunate side effect of eating healthy for a long time is that a lot of unhealthy food will now make you feel gross and greasy. So fruits and veggies it continues to be!

Singing lessons are... frustrating. I mean some of it is from not going for a few weeks, and weird jaw tension from show-related stress. But I feel like I'm never going to get there. Like all I really wanted to do was get up and sing some songs for people and I still can't do that. Not even due to crippling fear, but to actual lack of vocal ability and consistency.

Oh, enough of my artsy-fartsy whining for the day. Think broken legs and French poop for me tomorrow night. (Note-- "merde", the French word for poop is one way of wishing show folks luck!)

Soldiering Forward...

Well, tech week is almost upon us. For any non-theatre folks, tech week is the week that you move into the theatre and incorporate all your technical cues-- lights, sound, set change, other random stuff. So whether we're ready or not, we open next Thursday. I have to say I'm glad we're almost at opening, even though I am freaking out because I'm not quite where I'd like to be. Because now I can actually see beyond the run of the show to the other stuff I'm going to do this summer.

It's been a learning experience, for sure-- my production management skills were a bit rusty, and there's some things I would be more organized about. Some people I'd think twice about working with again. But I continue onward.

And here's the thing-- I've never been one of those people that others feel the need to "rescue". Which is a good thing, I hate being rescued. But at the same time, I must project the aura of always having everything handled or something. Sometimes, the offer of a little help would be nice. And yes, silly, I do ask for help when I need it. But sometimes being the "oh, I'm sure she's fine" girl is as bad as being the "you poor dear, let me do that for you!" girl.

Anyway. This summer, I'm hoping to do some fun things. And when I saw that Butterick was having their 3-day sale on patterns, I couldn't resist picking up a few things:

Butterick 4790, the infamous "walkaway dress". I've seen it done in one colour and in contrasting fabrics, and I can't decide which I'll make. I am fascinated because of its construction (it's a unique kind of wrap dress).



Butterick 5320, which is not vintage, but is adorable! I love dresses with pockets!




Butterick 5319, also adorable and somehow vintage-y to me.





Butterick 4443, which I've had my eye on for a long time. It's actually quite similar to the silhouette of my wedding dress, and I love the different options. It's supposed to be an easy pattern, so I'm hoping to get a few uses out of this one.



Apologies for the hard-to-see picture of Vogue 1044. It's a vintage re-issue that is adorable, but quite ladylike. Like, gloves-wearing ladylike. I couldn't resist the pintucks in the front, but I don't know if I can pull it off-- it's a little fancy to go to Safeway in!



Vogue 2961 is a vintage re-issue which has optional halter straps and just seems like summer fun to me.



And last but not least, Vogue 2902 is another vintage reissue that seems perfect for summer.
I think I may have to add a crinoline to my list of summer purchases-- nothing crazy dramatic and costume-y, but maybe a little something-something to fill out all those full skirts?

Canada would be perfect if we only had...

Is the Lifetime Channel. Now, this is not to be confused with what was formerly called "Life Channel", which is now "Slice" (as in, of life? I don't know). I mean the Lifetime Movie Network, with its 24 hour movie-of-the-week deliciousness.

I mean, how is it that the networks don't do movies of the week? After the sudden influx of unauthorized movies about tv shows (Three's Company and Different Strokes, I'm looking at you), the only time the networks show a made-for-tv movie, is if it's an "Event", meaning it's going to be about an earthquake, or weather-related-mishaps, or something that will require its stars to jump away from explosions, fireballs or magma.

Last night, I caught the amazing "The Party Never Stops", a cautionary tale about binge drinking at college. While I always loved disease/disability movies (Who can forget Nancy McKeon as an architect who develops schizophrenia? Justine Bateman as a young blind woman learning to live independently?), I think I liked the judgmental boogeyman quality of "issue" movies. For example in The Party Never Stops, the heroine just about throws her future away because of her binge drinking. Fortunately, she manages to stop in time, but her best friend, who never had any real consequences before, DIES.


Isn't there usually a cautionary death in these movies? I remember fondly Kate's Secret (starring Meredith Baxter-Birney, the mom from Family Ties), which was about a housewife trying to hide her bulimia. She manages to survive, but her friend and anorexic roommate (whose name, inexplicably, was Patch)DIES.

And of course, one of my favorites, the classic The Karen Carpenter Story starring Cynthia Gibb, who I idolized because she played Holly on Fame. Who, come to think of it, also had an eating disorder for an episode. Maybe it was that research that helped Cynthia nail the role of Karen Carpenter.

In any case,do you know how maddening it is that there's an entire channel that shows movies with titles like: Deadly Honeymoon, Dying To Belong,and They Shoot Divas, Don't They? (which stars Jennifer Beals and Traci Lords, and sounds so amazingly terrible that I can barely get my head around it.

I know we got HBO Canada, finally. Which is fabulous, if you like well-written, well-acted television. But what about the cheap thrills, the tawdry titillations? What about those of us who indulge in schadenfreude and the cautionary death?

Please, tv. Bring back the movie of the week.
Please?

Multi-tasking and Stealing Posts From Facebook Messages

Hello, friends and neighbours!
I'm here at work, simultaneously trying to do some rewrites, find some rehearsal space for the days we have none, email production notes, and, of course, sell symphony subscriptions. In my free moments when I'm doing none of those things, I worry about the show and whether it will be brilliant, terrible, or forgettable and mediocre. And every time the phone rings, I want to say "People! Leave me alone! Can't you see I'm trying to run an independent theatre company here?"

But that can only be said in my inside voice. J is away this week, so I sit at home like a crazy woman, trying to make a tiny cardboard house for our poster (don't ask), wondering if I should just get a free photo from Morgefile instead.

However.

I had that workshop last week. And it was... well, I've been telling people who know those involved that it was interesting, and gave me food for thought. But in reality? When I don't have to worry about what I say getting back to anyone else? It was kind of a disaster. Here's some of what I had to say about it in a facebook message to a friend:

April 14 at 10:37am
So, I finally had my workshop on Monday... You may remember I gave "Artistic Director" the one date I was available about 3 weeks ago, and he was trying to work around (actor)'s schedule. So last Thursday, I email "Artistic Director" to ask if we're still doing this, and he says "Sure, who should I ask to be in it?"

What? Oh, you mean aside from the extensive list of actors we had talked about 3 months ago, none of whom are probably available on 3 days' notice?

So, I gave him some suggestions, and of course, no one was available. On Saturday I suggested we postpone rather than do it with random gender-appropriate people, and he said "let's wait till tomorrow to cancel. I hate it when this happens." But he does find some random girl to play (central character of play) at 9pm on Sunday.

So when I arrive, "artistic director"'s late. We eventually start, and it's going ok-ish, and at the act break we're going to the washroom and "artistic director" says to me: "You know, I don't think I've read this."

And I said "What do you mean you haven't read this? How can you have not read this? You're the one who sent me the pdf of the draft and asked me to confirm that this was the one we're using!"

And he didn't seem to think that was a problem. Turns out, he thought my play was the 25 pages or so that was read at "New Play Festival" 2 years ago, and that I'd just given up on it and hadn't worked on it since then. Which begs the question: why are you doing this workshop, are you offering me a production if you HAVEN'T READ THE PLAY?

And not reading the play doesn't exactly prepare you to guide a dramaturgically helpful discussion about said play. Which you haven't read. "Artistic director" just left me twisting in the wind during "feedback". Which was maddening, because
(lengthy paragraph describing the changes the actors insisted were neccessary to satisfy the audience, which would basically just turn the play into an episode of "Murder, She Wrote", followed by discussion of how "artistic director" couldn't help me out because he was so blown away that I'd finished writing the play.)

So naturally I went home feeling rather OUCH. Like I wasn't sure if I'd just wasted the last 3 years writing this, or if I'm wasting my time trying to get people to see my point of view. I really, really think that audiences are capable of so much more than people give them credit for. I think that an "unsatisfying" ending is neccessary sometimes. In fact, I think the ending of the play IS satisfying if you get the point of the play.


And so on. The point is, that really, really, sucked, and I would much rather have taken the day off of work and lounged around watching Days of Our Lives and eating strawberries and bagels with cream cheese.

Now, back to running a theatre company...

Working For The Weekend?

Another exciting Saturday morning where I am at work-- fortunately it is quiet today (too quiet, as they might say in a d-grade horror movie-- what's the universe holding back for us), possibly because of the insane, gale-force winds that have been plaguing us the past few days. I mean, seriously, snow? In April? And what's sad, is that I've seen it snow here in May and August as well. In fact, I think the only month of the year it hasn't ever snowed here is July.

But I'm probably jinxing myself to monthly blizzards for the rest of 2010. Sorry, everyone! My bad!

This weekend, I am working at the box office all day Saturday, followed by a four hour rehearsal that has been relocated to my house. Sunday is a day of standardized patient (you know that thing that Kramer did on Seinfeld where he pretends to be sick for med students? It's very lucrative and requires minimal effort, but does involve getting up ridiculously early on a Sunday and doing something very, very repetitive all day.), followed by another rehearsal at the house. Monday I work half the day, then have what may be a doomed workshop of the Banff play in the afternoon. Sometime between now and then, I also have to put myself on tape for a film audition which is for a pretty decently written horror movie, but the character they have me reading for is "in her forties".

Now, I may not be 20 anymore, but I was pretty confident that I don't look "in my forties" just yet. Does my agent think I look in my forties? Or do I not look in my forties, but that's what my agent keeps submitting me for, and thus I never get work? Or are there not enough women willing to admit to being in their forties so they're just seeing whoever?

I could go on. But instead I'll just say I have an insanely busy weekend and am actually looking forward to Tuesday when all I have to do is work a 12-8. Well, and some other stuff. OK, June 4, that is my new date where there is nothing to do. I resolve to spend it drinking girly drinks and reading trashy novels/watching trash television, snacking on crustless sandwiches and exotic fruits.

Confession: Style-Challenged

The last couple of items on my list got me to thinking. And thinking got me headed towards a harsh truth. And that truth is that I really don't know how to dress myself.

I mean, I don't think it's What Not To Wear time here, I don't wear acid wash or tapered jeans or horribly age-inappropriate clothing. But I certainly do dress in a boring, generic, somewhat blah and ill-fitting manner.

I think part of it was getting stuck in the "interim clothes while I lose weight" trap, and then plateauing. Because now all my clothes are either way too big or don't fit quite right, but I didn't want to spend any more money until I could buy a smaller size, and so on and so on. So I think I need to suck it up and buy some new clothes. Probably Value Village clothes, but clothes that fit me.

I also don't think I know very much about style. I mean, I know when other people are stylish, but I get overwhelmed trying to figure out how to put things together and what might look good on me.

Any recommendations on blogs/online thingies, magazines I should read? Here's what I like/have realized:
1) I appreciate it when curvier girls rock it out, and would like to learn how to do that.
2) Not everyone who's a size 2 looks good. Not everyone who looks good is a size 2.
3) I love vintage styles, but not looking like I'm wearing a costume
4) I love colours and bold prints
5) I need to learn how to accessorize
6) I love clothes that are a little quirky, or that stand out without looking like they're trying too hard
7) I don't own nearly enough shoes

So I think I'm basically trying to build a wardrobe from scratch. Hopefully my sewing escapades can help with this. But I feel lost.

And can we talk about makeup? I have no lipsticks. Well, I have lipsticks, but none that I wear regularly. I got stuck on the idea that with my big eyes, strong lips make me look a little clownish. Whether or not that's true, now when I wear lipstick, it's all I can see, so I don't know if it looks good or not. I'm pretty unskilled at makeup application to begin with, but am determined to learn.

I want to look pretty, dammit! Anyone have any suggestions on where to begin?

Stuff to Do At Some Point...

Confession: I am an ambitious person by nature. Maybe not always in the healthiest sense, I mean, I have been guilty of putting far too much stock into achievements and accomplishments. But I can't help it, I feel validated by ticking off items on a to-do list. And although I have mucho things to do until the beginning of June, I thought it would be fun to come up with a list of things to accomplish in my much-anticipated spare time.

And then it wasn't enough to come up with things to do over the summer, I wanted to make a list of things I wanted to do over the next, oh, say, year or so. Because January goal-setting is too much pressure. Or maybe I already set some goals, but they've been erased in a cascade of shame and failure. Or I'm too lazy to check previous posts. Whatever.

In any case, here are some things I plan to do sometime in the next 365 days. I'll add to it as I think of it.

1) run a 5k
2) learn to play the ukulele
3) sew a vintage pattern
4) sing for people. publicly, like.
5) drive with confidence
6) develop some mad skillz re: pin curls and victory rolls
7) bake more
8) learn to dress better
9) get clothes that fittt
10) learn to wear lipstick. and makeup in general, for that matter.

The Desmokening... Part 84

Or however many times I have tried to quit smoking thus far. Yes, friends, today is day 1. Day 1, which fills me with such a sense of loathing and bitterness, that I always vow never to have to live through it again, but, well, here we are. I've just passed hour 12 since my last cigarette. Challenges tonight include a production meeting with smoker who's always been more than willing to bum me a ciggie in my time of need. But it's time.

Jesus, listen to me. You'd think Candy Finnegan or Jeff VonVondervonvon were going to ambush me at the bus stop on my way home. Quitting sucks.

But doesn't smoking suck? Yes, in the global picture, smoking does suck, and it is gross and isn't a terribly vegetarian thing to do, and so on and so on. But I have to admit, I kind of like the physical act of smoking. I like having a prop. I like having an "out" to take a break from conversations or stressful situations. I like the secret society of smokers, we who are outcasts from healthy, intelligent society.

Still, I'm doing my best to quit. Can I guarantee that I won't ever have a single cigarette again? Probably not. I would love to be the three-times a year kind of smoker, but I don't know that I can be. In any case, I'm just trying to get through the next 12 hours without (a) bursting into tears (b) murdering someone because everyone is just so goddamned irritating! or (c) eat my weight in reduced-to-clear easter chocolate.

A Mouse In Our House

It's true, we are infested. But just a little bit. As in, one mouse. And I know, I know that there is no such thing as a singular mouse, but we have cleaned the house top to bottom, and found no other mice, not even one nugget of poop. Is it possible that we had a mouse just dash through our kitchen as he stayed one night to review us for TripAdvisor? I suppose not. And laugh at me if you must, but I'm going to get one of those humane traps, because if there's one thing I don't want to deal with, it's throwing out dead mouse bodies.

Our cat is absolutely no help. I blame it on his upbringing, how I reared him to lie on the couch watching Project Runway and Intervention in a semi-conscious state. Being so sucked into the idiot box that any movement seen out of the corner of one's eye is brushed off with a "meh, it's probably my contacts".

In other news, I am working like a crazy woman, and trying to get (a) the show and (b) the workshop with The Producing Theatre Company off the ground. I have no idea why I am organizing the workshop. Well, I'm not organizing it as much as I am being the cattle prod that ensures it gets done and I don't get emails like "Oh, by the way, we're having a workshop tomorrow, the actors and I will see you there." I want people to be organized like me! And I'm not that organized! Yesterday in the wake of house-mouse-driven-house-cleaning, I was opening mail from 2 months ago that I just hadn't bothered to open. Pay stubs and bank statements. And thinking I should get a shredder, because I'm pretty sure my method of tearing things up into bits, mixing them up and pouring old salad dressing over everything (to gross out identity thieves) is neither efficient nor protective.

I've been trying to stay on track, foodwise. Part of me feels like it's useless, because the scale really hasn't budged in, oh, about, 2 months, despite exercise and good eating. And sometimes part of me feels like I can do it. It's not clear which side is going to win here.

Anyway, I am off to the eye doctor's, where they put tainted q-tips and paper strips on my eyeballs, and then my pupils get big like I'm on drugs and I try to find my way home, looking mysterious and old-Hollywood in my sunglasses. Or I assume I will. I won't really be able to see.

Cheers, friends!

I did it!

Are you wondering what exactly it is that I did? Especially since I seem to start so many things and never talk about finishing them? Well, yesterday I took advantage of having a day off, and trucked myself down to Fabricland where I bought a membership, some fabric, and these two patterns!

They are McCall's 5631, and Simplicity 2501, a skirt and blouse respectively. Initially I just wanted a blouse pattern, since I've never really made one, and I thought it would be a good wardrobe-builder for work clothes. But I just couldn't resist a cute skirt. Mine won't be the view in the photo, it's going to be plainer with just overstitching on the hem.

In retrospect, I should probably have gotten fabrics that matched so I could wear them together, but I have a hard time with decisions to begin with, much less picking two things that will also go together.

Of course I don't know when I'm going to have time to start something new-- I think this may have to wait until closer to summer-- at least until the show opens.

But I do recommend the Fabricland membership to anyone who's going to be buying fabrics-- the discount totally paid for itself on my first visit. Plus now I get cheap cheap patterns-- so I'm going to wait until those awesome vintage Vogue and Butterick patterns go on sale. Dramatic Joan Crawford-style ladies' hats, anyone?

Customers Who I Do Not Prefer

1. The passive-aggressive customer who finds smug and "subtle" ways to point out his superiority to the CSR, alternating with painting himself as the victim of the CSR's trickery.

2. The yeller. Not to be confused with the profanitizer, who is also not a preferred customer of mine.

3. The loud talker. Ms. Loud Talker, allow me to introduce you to one of our premium products called "The Inside Voice". Has anyone ever said to you "I'm right here in the same room with you? Really? In any case, being on the phone with you is not only like being in the same room together, it's being in the same room and speaking directly into each other's ears. So pipe down, wouldya?"

4. The eater. Now, I haven't had any in-person customers eat while we conduct our transaction, but I can't imagine it would gross me out nearly as much as hearing someone eat while talking to them on the phone. "I'd like to order some tickets? "

5. S/He Who Thinks I Have Power. Or That It's All My Fault. I mean, I do have some power. Customers, you should really know that. Just as waitresses have the power to decide how much spit makes it into your meal, CSR's have some ability to proverbially spit into your file. Or at the very least, we sometimes have the power to make exceptions for you. But no matter how unjustly you feel you've been treated, no matter how much I seem not to understand the unfairness of it all, tearing a strip off me will not make your life any easier. It will not get your problem solved any faster. And really, ask yourself this: how likely is it that someone with any decision-making, policy-shaping abilities is going to be the one you're talking to at 7:55 pm on a Friday night?

6. The ATVIP. That's the Assistant To the VIP. And yes, I feel slightly guilty for calling out assistants here. I've been an assistant many times over the years. But certain executive assistants call in, on behalf of their bosses, who may be city councillors, or oil executives or judges, or someone else who is too busy with lofty matters to attend to real life, and act like I should have a big red button that stops everything. They drop names like I should gasp in awe, thanking my lucky stars for the chance to serve one so exalted. They get impatient if I ask how to spell the VIP's name. They're always in a hurry. They have to check with their boss, who they refer to as "My Minister" or "his Honour" or "his Excellency" or some other title. And a lot of times I get the feeling that they're ticked that I didn't sense their call coming, and have everything done and waiting for their stamp of approval.

7. The Crazies. OK, the Crazies would probably be my most preferred customers of this group. They can be entertaining, at least. Like the lady who wanted me to change her phone number because the people in her walls were reporting her to the CIA, but I wasn't allowed to say her new phone number out loud, because the people in her walls would hear it, and then she'd just have to get her number changed all over again. Or the guy who came in to the box office (he had an assistant crazy person, a guy who followed him around and said "yeah! yeah!" and repeated the last couple of words in this guy's sentences) and told me he was donating $100 million dollars to the paper to give scholarships for my children, and could he leave these torn polaroids inserted into various brochures in the lobby because the RCMP would know where to find missing kids, and by the way, I should never go to Tim Horton's because of his impending lawsuit about a shooting there.

8. The Everyone's-A-Suspect. Now, I don't like being called at home either, and of course I try to let businesses I deal with know that. And of course I try to limit some of the personal information I give out about myself. But I try to maintain a standard across the board. Like, if I wouldn't give you my phone number, I'm probably not going to give you my video store password. And I certainly wouldn't give you my wifi password. And so on. But if you're going to say "God! Don't you have my credit card on file?" and then sarcastically read the digits to me, you can't freak out and scream at me because I asked you if the address we have on file is correct. In fact, if you freak out and scream at me saying I have no right to your address, you really shouldn't call back in a month later demanding to know why you never got your subscription package.

Hey, y'all...

And due to the accursed limitations of the medium, you'll just have to imagine the "Oh,hay, y'awwll!" inflection, tinged with a mixture of sadness and guilt. I've been a negligent blogger. It seems that you can divide my blog posts into a couple of different categories here: non-posting guilt, and feeling more/less fat posts.

How terrible is that, y'all?
But seriously. Nothing happens to me. I'm currently working a minimum of 12 hours a day, split between two jobs. Any concept of nutrition I ever had has gone out the window. (This lead to the unfortunate veggie sandwich incident, where in my cravings for actual vegetables I decided to try a different place at the food court on my way to job #1. Thank you, giant chunk of tuna salad right in the middle of my sandwich! Mmm, mmm good!)

I am stressed. Terribly stressed, in fact. In that I currently have many expectations piled on me (including a show in 2 months, har har har), and I am constantly working and never doing anything I want to do. With no real end in sight. Oh, until mid-June, when there will be some serious relaxing happening. I'm talking margaritas and gin and tonics while eating 7-layer-dip and wearing those shorts that I would never be seen in publicly relaxing.

Did I just say that? Clearly that is not a healthy-lifestyle thought. Once in a while, though...

Things that have happened:
I found out I have two cavities that need to be filled. Eek. I could probably put it off for a while, but I figure I should just get it over with.

We have a car! It's an old car, that a darling friend has sold us for $1. Of course, we have to get it inspected, insured, and registered, but eventually there will be wonderful, wonderful freedom!

I'm going to try and make some time to get to Fabricland and get some fabric and a membership and get back to sewing. I've been reading all about the fabulous projects on Sew Retro, and those folks blow me away!