It's that time of year again. The time of year when Chicago turns into a sauna for about two weeks. Everyone complains that it is too hot to move or function and we get all sorts of humidity jokes and comments about frying eggs outside and that sort of thing. Personally, I love it. Not the egg jokes, though. Those get old.
See, I'm the sort that would rather be too hot than too cold. When it's too cold, I get panicky. When it's too hot, it's like an excuse to sit still and read a book and eat ice cubes (or ice cream or popsicles or watermelon or whatever). There is an odd calm about being too hot for me. It makes us all slow down a bit. And as Chicago is a bit cold for my taste much more of the year than it is too hot for my taste, I treasure these sweltering couple of weeks when it's too hot to sleep. I refuse to put in an air conditioner (even though my cat would probably appreciate it) because my skin needs a chance to stock up on warm before the thermometer plummets and we're back to talking about wind chills instead of heat indices.
I will admit, though, that when it is too hot to sleep, I don't sleep well and my brain function becomes somewhat impaired. Which is why this particular blog entry is going to be somewhat disjointed. Sorry about that.
One of my cousins is getting married on Saturday. I tell you this, because it will factor into the random story I am about to tell which will lead to what motivated me to post today in the first place. It is also important to note that the cousin getting married has a younger sister who is not getting married anytime soon (to the best of my knowledge) and that these cousins are from the same side of my family as several other cousins, many of whom are married and a couple of which are not.
So I had a dream last night that I was going to my cousin's wedding. Except the cousin who is actually getting married was not there. One of my cousins who is already married was there re-marrying her wife, wearing a really sassy, flattering white dress. I, too, was wearing a sassy, flattering white dress, but for some reason, nobody seemed to mind. Meanwhile, the sister of the cousin who is actually getting married but was not present in my dream, was having her engagement party in the back row of the church. Which might have just been a room at the YMCA or something. And by "engagement party," I mean she was opening "Congratulations on your engagement" cards while sitting in the back row. She had to sort of scramble them up when it was time to go participate in her sister's wedding. Which was not her sister's wedding, but her cousin's remarriage to the woman she is already married to.
And the odd thing about this dream (because apparently, it wasn't strange enough to begin with) is that while I was dreaming it, I was fully aware of how hot and humid it was in my bedroom and how unsatisfying the rest I was getting felt. I woke up thinking I was very not rested and wouldn't it be nice to spend the entire day in my bed, but then I remembered the dream and realized I must have gotten some decent sleep if I got to a dream state, right?
So in my morning crankiness, in my toasty warm apartment, I decided it was too hot to blow dry my hair, so I pulled it back in two barrettes. And my right eye decided it would have none of this whole "contact lens" thing today, so I put on my thick-rimmed black-framed eyeglasses. My legs didn't want anything to do with "pants," so I threw on a sort-of pencil skirt that I have and a black tank top (my little black sweater is currently living at my office so I can look office-appropriate when I get there, but be comfortable on the commute). And my feet couldn't handle the thought of socks, so I slipped on a pair of ballet flat sneakers that kind of look like two-tone wing-tip shoes. All in all, I left the house feeling rather like a schlub. Hair not done. Eyes not done. Sort of the minimum amount of clothing I could get away with wearing to the office. There was almost no effort put into my physical appearance today on account of the heat.
But the funny thing is, as I was walking in to the office, I caught a glimpse of myself in a window and realized that in certain circles, my outfit today would qualify as adorkable. All I'm really missing is bright red lipstick and I could give Monti on Master Chef a run for her money. I certainly don't look as schlub-ish as I originally thought I did, and I oddly don't look like someone who just recently completed another trip around the sun. Looking at me, you'd probably not guess my number of revolutions around the sun correctly. So yeah. What started out as an odd day with an odd dream and an odd outfit turned into something kinda sorta cute. Can I be on "New Girl" now as Jess' sister or something?
Told ya. Random brain meltiness. Sorry.
Thursday, July 05, 2012
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Getting There
We had a three and a half hour derby movement workshop tonight, so we can start piecing this show together - see what works and what doesn't and whatnot. And for maybe the first time that I have skated with my team mates, I felt pretty good. I know I still have work to do, but I feel like I'm making progress. Noticeable progress. And maybe I'm not so far behind that I won't be able to catch up.
I expressed some of my concerns to one team mate and she said she didn't think anyone was worried that I won't get there. The writer and director remarked at the end of the night that they can see tremendous progress so far, too, which helped a lot. I know I will continue to be my own harshest critic, but it is nice to know that so far, they're not disappointed in me. It makes me want to work that little smidge harder to make sure I don't let them down in the future either.
And it felt good to skate. It felt good to move. It felt good to sweat and jam and talk to my team mates. I felt like part of the group this time, like someone who could contribute instead of someone who was holding everyone else back. I needed that.
All that said, I'm betting I'm going to need new knees at some point in my life. They sound like bubble wrap when I walk up stairs.
I expressed some of my concerns to one team mate and she said she didn't think anyone was worried that I won't get there. The writer and director remarked at the end of the night that they can see tremendous progress so far, too, which helped a lot. I know I will continue to be my own harshest critic, but it is nice to know that so far, they're not disappointed in me. It makes me want to work that little smidge harder to make sure I don't let them down in the future either.
And it felt good to skate. It felt good to move. It felt good to sweat and jam and talk to my team mates. I felt like part of the group this time, like someone who could contribute instead of someone who was holding everyone else back. I needed that.
All that said, I'm betting I'm going to need new knees at some point in my life. They sound like bubble wrap when I walk up stairs.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
A Note to Shoemakers
Hi.
I'm guessing that most shoe designers out there are men. At least those designing the really expensive women's shoes that are supposed to make our calves look all shapely and whatnot. And that's fine - there is no reason men can't design women's shoes. I would like to point out that it might behoove them to wear some women's shoes from time to time so they have a better idea how the product they are designing functions, but whatever. If they have not tried this approach, I would like to offer up a couple of suggestions.
1) High heels are not comfortable. I don't care who you are or how long you have been wearing them; if you are at the point where high heels are comfortable, it is because you have killed all of the nerve endings in your feet and/or built up callouses that could, by themselves, qualify as shoes. There is nothing in human anatomy that makes walking around on the balls of your feet all day comfortable. We are not built like elephants. Though if you want to take a tip from elephant physiology, if you must design high heels, put a huge pad of gristle under our heels to relieve the stress on our bones. Which is why wedges are more comfortable than high heels.
1a) Another thing that helps the pain of high heels a bit is the platform heel - that extra cushioning under the ball of the foot is actually really nice and since the platform ads extra height by itself, the angle of the foot doesn't always need to be so severe to achieve the desired taller look with the sexy calves. I'm just sayin'. Yay for the person(s) who brought platforms back.
2) There are lots of ladies shoes that women like to wear without any sort of hosiery - sandals, open toed shoes, ballet flats in the summertime. It would be really nice if the interior of these shoes was not simply glued in place because as un-lady-like as it seems, women's feet sweat. Sweat undoes glue. Which means the part of the shoe in direct contact with the lady's foot becomes bunchy, uncomfortable, and sometimes sticky. I realize that this might be intentional, so as to inspire her to throw them out and go buy new shoes. But as shoe styles change all of the time and some are just plain hideous, once a lady finds a shoe she likes, it can be traumatic to have them die in a couple of weeks when she is unable to find a replacement pair that work equally well with so many of her outfits. Either keep some styles constant so replacements are easy to find, or attach shoe linings with something other than glue.
3) Along the same lines, and for similar reasons, shoe linings probably shouldn't be leather or pleather or any other material that just doesn't breathe. Again, feet sweat. Sweat on leather = ick.
4) Flip-flops are not shoes. Stop trying to sell them to us like they are acceptable footwear for locations other than the shower at the gym or by the pool.
5) If you plan on making shoes with lots of straps crossing back and forth over the foot, be careful where you place said straps and how wide they are. A very thin strap of some sort of unforgiving material (plastic, pleather, etc) across the toes right where the toe meets the foot is just going to end up digging into the wearer's foot and causing blisters. Same with really stiff heel-areas on shoes. If there is something sharp right about where her foot bends naturally, she will get a blister and will stop wearing the shoes.
So with these things in mind, I expect to see a whole slew of new, comfy shoes hitting the market in the upcoming season. I hope you've enjoyed this installment of "Please Make Things I'd Actually Like to Wear," and we'll see you next time when we tackle trousers - how to make trousers that allow women to have curves without flashing everyone seated behind her.
I'm guessing that most shoe designers out there are men. At least those designing the really expensive women's shoes that are supposed to make our calves look all shapely and whatnot. And that's fine - there is no reason men can't design women's shoes. I would like to point out that it might behoove them to wear some women's shoes from time to time so they have a better idea how the product they are designing functions, but whatever. If they have not tried this approach, I would like to offer up a couple of suggestions.
1) High heels are not comfortable. I don't care who you are or how long you have been wearing them; if you are at the point where high heels are comfortable, it is because you have killed all of the nerve endings in your feet and/or built up callouses that could, by themselves, qualify as shoes. There is nothing in human anatomy that makes walking around on the balls of your feet all day comfortable. We are not built like elephants. Though if you want to take a tip from elephant physiology, if you must design high heels, put a huge pad of gristle under our heels to relieve the stress on our bones. Which is why wedges are more comfortable than high heels.
1a) Another thing that helps the pain of high heels a bit is the platform heel - that extra cushioning under the ball of the foot is actually really nice and since the platform ads extra height by itself, the angle of the foot doesn't always need to be so severe to achieve the desired taller look with the sexy calves. I'm just sayin'. Yay for the person(s) who brought platforms back.
2) There are lots of ladies shoes that women like to wear without any sort of hosiery - sandals, open toed shoes, ballet flats in the summertime. It would be really nice if the interior of these shoes was not simply glued in place because as un-lady-like as it seems, women's feet sweat. Sweat undoes glue. Which means the part of the shoe in direct contact with the lady's foot becomes bunchy, uncomfortable, and sometimes sticky. I realize that this might be intentional, so as to inspire her to throw them out and go buy new shoes. But as shoe styles change all of the time and some are just plain hideous, once a lady finds a shoe she likes, it can be traumatic to have them die in a couple of weeks when she is unable to find a replacement pair that work equally well with so many of her outfits. Either keep some styles constant so replacements are easy to find, or attach shoe linings with something other than glue.
3) Along the same lines, and for similar reasons, shoe linings probably shouldn't be leather or pleather or any other material that just doesn't breathe. Again, feet sweat. Sweat on leather = ick.
4) Flip-flops are not shoes. Stop trying to sell them to us like they are acceptable footwear for locations other than the shower at the gym or by the pool.
5) If you plan on making shoes with lots of straps crossing back and forth over the foot, be careful where you place said straps and how wide they are. A very thin strap of some sort of unforgiving material (plastic, pleather, etc) across the toes right where the toe meets the foot is just going to end up digging into the wearer's foot and causing blisters. Same with really stiff heel-areas on shoes. If there is something sharp right about where her foot bends naturally, she will get a blister and will stop wearing the shoes.
So with these things in mind, I expect to see a whole slew of new, comfy shoes hitting the market in the upcoming season. I hope you've enjoyed this installment of "Please Make Things I'd Actually Like to Wear," and we'll see you next time when we tackle trousers - how to make trousers that allow women to have curves without flashing everyone seated behind her.
Friday, June 08, 2012
BEDJ 8 - A Drabble
"I look like an idiot," thinks the movie star in water wings as she begrudgingly dips her toe in the shallow end. "But we all have to start somewhere, right?"
The three year old in a pink and orange bathing suit leaps from the high dive and enters the water with no splash. She comes up giggling, splashing, playing with complete abandon. She spies her favorite movie star across the pool and offers up a shy smile before hurling herself back into the water.
Their thoughts meet in mid-air: "When I grow up, I want to be just like you."
A drabble is a short work of fiction in 100 words.
The three year old in a pink and orange bathing suit leaps from the high dive and enters the water with no splash. She comes up giggling, splashing, playing with complete abandon. She spies her favorite movie star across the pool and offers up a shy smile before hurling herself back into the water.
Their thoughts meet in mid-air: "When I grow up, I want to be just like you."
A drabble is a short work of fiction in 100 words.
Thursday, June 07, 2012
Wednesday, June 06, 2012
Tuesday, June 05, 2012
BEDJ 5 - Really?
Today's suggested topic for Blog Every Day in June is Television. Today is also the day of the Venus Transit - when Venus passes between the Sun and Earth. There is a connection here; trust me.
I was re-watching the brilliant British re-imagining of Sherlock Holmes last night, appropriately titled Sherlock, and there is one episode wherein we find out that Sherlock doesn't know that Earth revolves around the Sun. It's funny and he has an excuse (he uses his brain for really important information and it really doesn't effect his deductive reasoning skills to know where Earth is located in relation to the Sun) for not knowing and it helps knock Mr. Super Crazy Brilliant down a peg. It's good for a laugh. The whole show is brilliant, and if you're not watching it, you should be.
Which brings me to the Venus Transit. This is an event that will not happen again until 2117, so if you want to see it, do so today. It should start at about 5:05 CDT, so the parts of the world that are dark and sleepy just then probably won't be able to see anything. My first thought was to get a shoe box, poke a hole in it, and see if I can observe the event that way - like how we watched solar eclipses when I was a kid. You know, because looking directly at the sun without protection is bad. Very bad.
But then I hear conversation floating around in my office about where Earth falls in the solar system (My Very English Mother Jumped Straight Up Near Pluto, or My Very English Mother Jumped Straight Up Now, since Pluto has been lumped in with an asteroid belt and demoted from planetary status), and people genuinely surprised to find that Venus is closer to the Sun than we are, but Mars is not. Because, really, how is Venus supposed to pass between us and the Sun if it is farther away from the Sun than we are? There was also talk in this conversation about viewing the event through sunglasses. And unlike on the brilliant British television program, this unawareness of our place in the universe was not funny. It actually made me really sad that my colleagues didn't know this stuff. How do you get to this position in corporate America not knowing this stuff?
Is this because I'm too much of a sci-fi geek? Do I like and remember science stuff too much?
So anyway, tonight, may I suggest you take a break from whatever television program you happen to be watching (it will likely still be there when you get back, since we all watch stuff on Netflix and Hulu and DVRs anyway), and go outside with an appropriate viewing device to watch the Venus Transit as best you can from millions of miles away.
I was re-watching the brilliant British re-imagining of Sherlock Holmes last night, appropriately titled Sherlock, and there is one episode wherein we find out that Sherlock doesn't know that Earth revolves around the Sun. It's funny and he has an excuse (he uses his brain for really important information and it really doesn't effect his deductive reasoning skills to know where Earth is located in relation to the Sun) for not knowing and it helps knock Mr. Super Crazy Brilliant down a peg. It's good for a laugh. The whole show is brilliant, and if you're not watching it, you should be.
Which brings me to the Venus Transit. This is an event that will not happen again until 2117, so if you want to see it, do so today. It should start at about 5:05 CDT, so the parts of the world that are dark and sleepy just then probably won't be able to see anything. My first thought was to get a shoe box, poke a hole in it, and see if I can observe the event that way - like how we watched solar eclipses when I was a kid. You know, because looking directly at the sun without protection is bad. Very bad.
But then I hear conversation floating around in my office about where Earth falls in the solar system (My Very English Mother Jumped Straight Up Near Pluto, or My Very English Mother Jumped Straight Up Now, since Pluto has been lumped in with an asteroid belt and demoted from planetary status), and people genuinely surprised to find that Venus is closer to the Sun than we are, but Mars is not. Because, really, how is Venus supposed to pass between us and the Sun if it is farther away from the Sun than we are? There was also talk in this conversation about viewing the event through sunglasses. And unlike on the brilliant British television program, this unawareness of our place in the universe was not funny. It actually made me really sad that my colleagues didn't know this stuff. How do you get to this position in corporate America not knowing this stuff?
Is this because I'm too much of a sci-fi geek? Do I like and remember science stuff too much?
So anyway, tonight, may I suggest you take a break from whatever television program you happen to be watching (it will likely still be there when you get back, since we all watch stuff on Netflix and Hulu and DVRs anyway), and go outside with an appropriate viewing device to watch the Venus Transit as best you can from millions of miles away.
Monday, June 04, 2012
BEDJ 4 - Dirty Talk
I would like (you would, would you?), if I may (you may) to take you (where?) through the sordid story of my trouble with toilets.
Sorry. Y'all thought this was going to be THAT kind of dirty, didn't you? No, this blog is brought on by the fact that I almost forgot over the weekend just how messed up the toilet in the ladies room at work is.
I would like to think that most people who know me know that I am a fairly easy going person. I get immense joy out of the smallest things and sometimes, I need to "dream bigger," as my best friend told me over the weekend when I spotted a cute derby-adjacent boy in a Misfits t-shirt. One thing that would bring me almost unspeakable joy is if I could get to a place in my life where all of the toilets I encounter on a regular basis work the way they are supposed to without extra effort on my part. I know - dream bigger.
But think about it - the automatic flush toilets in public restrooms that flush as you sit down, but then have to be flushed manually as you stand up. The toilet in the half-bathroom downstairs where you have to jiggle then handle. The toilet in your local theater or coffee shop that has a sign above it asking you to hold the handle down until it flushes all the way. Why do we have such problems getting toilets to work properly?
There are two stalls in the ladies room at work - a smallish one and a larger handicapped accessible one (which is a bit of a joke because you have to go up stairs to even get to the freight elevator in this building, so how someone in a wheelchair would make it to our third floor bathroom is beyond me - unless they arrived in the back of a freight-type truck and could wheel onto the loading dock). There are also only two women in my office (it's a smallish company), and she prefers the larger stall and I prefer the smaller stall, so it's like we each have our own toilet. For a while, both of them were having problems, though - you have to jiggle the handle or "prime" them before you could actually flush them. Something about the tanks refilling with water. Whatever.
My toilet, however, has taken a recent nose dive. The filler float somehow doesn't ever get low enough to trigger the toilet to refill. A week or so ago, I decided to just leave the lid off of the toilet tank so instead of going in and "priming" the toilet for use by jiggling the handle, I can prime it by pushing the filler float down just enough for the tank to refill. There is a seemingly random chain attached to the filler float that isn't attached to anything on the other end, but I'm not a plumber, so I don't know where that chain goes. I do know it occasionally gets sucked under the flush valve flapper assembly, which lets all of the water being pumped in to refill the tank drain out immediately. To fix this, I just drape the chain over the filler float assembly until it falls off again.
Then there is the matter of the hose that refills the tank with water - it will occasionally get stuck under the flush valve as well, so I had to sort of pin it behind a random bit of pipe to keep it out of the way.
And finally, there is the matter of the lift rod that connects the flush handle to the chain that pulls the flush valve up. Being made of plastic and having to deal with all of this "priming," the plastic weakened to the point where it just plain broke on Friday. Snapped in half. The flush handle is now completely useless because it is not attached to anything.
Which means in order to use my work toilet, I have to first reach in and push the filler float down so the tank can fill while I empty, and then I have to reach back in to grab the lift rod and pull it up to make the thing actually flush. Needless to say, I'm taking a bit of extra hand-washing time before I exit the ladies room altogether.
But this seems an awful lot of work to just use the restroom. And as a result of this, I dream of a day wherein all of the toilets I interact with on a daily basis work the way they are supposed to without any extra effort from me. *sigh* Dream bigger, Kitty. Dream bigger.
Sorry. Y'all thought this was going to be THAT kind of dirty, didn't you? No, this blog is brought on by the fact that I almost forgot over the weekend just how messed up the toilet in the ladies room at work is.
I would like to think that most people who know me know that I am a fairly easy going person. I get immense joy out of the smallest things and sometimes, I need to "dream bigger," as my best friend told me over the weekend when I spotted a cute derby-adjacent boy in a Misfits t-shirt. One thing that would bring me almost unspeakable joy is if I could get to a place in my life where all of the toilets I encounter on a regular basis work the way they are supposed to without extra effort on my part. I know - dream bigger.
But think about it - the automatic flush toilets in public restrooms that flush as you sit down, but then have to be flushed manually as you stand up. The toilet in the half-bathroom downstairs where you have to jiggle then handle. The toilet in your local theater or coffee shop that has a sign above it asking you to hold the handle down until it flushes all the way. Why do we have such problems getting toilets to work properly?
There are two stalls in the ladies room at work - a smallish one and a larger handicapped accessible one (which is a bit of a joke because you have to go up stairs to even get to the freight elevator in this building, so how someone in a wheelchair would make it to our third floor bathroom is beyond me - unless they arrived in the back of a freight-type truck and could wheel onto the loading dock). There are also only two women in my office (it's a smallish company), and she prefers the larger stall and I prefer the smaller stall, so it's like we each have our own toilet. For a while, both of them were having problems, though - you have to jiggle the handle or "prime" them before you could actually flush them. Something about the tanks refilling with water. Whatever.
My toilet, however, has taken a recent nose dive. The filler float somehow doesn't ever get low enough to trigger the toilet to refill. A week or so ago, I decided to just leave the lid off of the toilet tank so instead of going in and "priming" the toilet for use by jiggling the handle, I can prime it by pushing the filler float down just enough for the tank to refill. There is a seemingly random chain attached to the filler float that isn't attached to anything on the other end, but I'm not a plumber, so I don't know where that chain goes. I do know it occasionally gets sucked under the flush valve flapper assembly, which lets all of the water being pumped in to refill the tank drain out immediately. To fix this, I just drape the chain over the filler float assembly until it falls off again.
Then there is the matter of the hose that refills the tank with water - it will occasionally get stuck under the flush valve as well, so I had to sort of pin it behind a random bit of pipe to keep it out of the way.
And finally, there is the matter of the lift rod that connects the flush handle to the chain that pulls the flush valve up. Being made of plastic and having to deal with all of this "priming," the plastic weakened to the point where it just plain broke on Friday. Snapped in half. The flush handle is now completely useless because it is not attached to anything.
Which means in order to use my work toilet, I have to first reach in and push the filler float down so the tank can fill while I empty, and then I have to reach back in to grab the lift rod and pull it up to make the thing actually flush. Needless to say, I'm taking a bit of extra hand-washing time before I exit the ladies room altogether.
But this seems an awful lot of work to just use the restroom. And as a result of this, I dream of a day wherein all of the toilets I interact with on a daily basis work the way they are supposed to without any extra effort from me. *sigh* Dream bigger, Kitty. Dream bigger.
Sunday, June 03, 2012
BEDJ 3 - Fear
I have to leave in about fifteen minutes to go roller skating with the rest of the cast of the derby play I'll be doing later this fall and I am terrified. Terrified.
I'm trying to figure out why this is such a scary proposition, but nothing rational is coming to mind. I've been practicing a lot since the last time they saw me skate and I have made marked improvements. But I also went to a derby bout last night and know that I look nothing like that. I skate nothing like that. And I know I don't have to yet - I have a few months to really get good - but I guess it is just this interim period when I'm not that good yet that terrifies me.
But, as we all know, "vivir con miedo es como vivir a medias." (Thank you, Strictly Ballroom.) And I don't intend to "half-live," so I have to go do the things that terrify me. And then comfort myself with the thought of comfy pajamas when I get home.
I'm trying to figure out why this is such a scary proposition, but nothing rational is coming to mind. I've been practicing a lot since the last time they saw me skate and I have made marked improvements. But I also went to a derby bout last night and know that I look nothing like that. I skate nothing like that. And I know I don't have to yet - I have a few months to really get good - but I guess it is just this interim period when I'm not that good yet that terrifies me.
But, as we all know, "vivir con miedo es como vivir a medias." (Thank you, Strictly Ballroom.) And I don't intend to "half-live," so I have to go do the things that terrify me. And then comfort myself with the thought of comfy pajamas when I get home.
Saturday, June 02, 2012
BEDJ - Saving Face
I have a lot to do today, so I want to get this blog down before I get too caught up in taking care of business, so to speak. And/or I don't want to be doing what I have to get done today, so I thought I'd post my blog.
I had a weird thought as I was putting on my mascara this morning. I don't know if other people experience this or not, but when I imagine what I look like in my head, it seldom matches what I see when I look in the mirror. Especially when I wait a while to put on my eyeliner and mascara in the morning - I've gotten so used to what I look like with them on, it's often a bit of a shock to see me with no makeup whatsoever. Which is funny because I didn't get into the habit of wearing make up until I was in college. A friend of mine in the dorms took me to Wal-Mart and helped me pick out colors and then told me how to use these various products.
What's really funny about my make-up usage in college is that I had horrible skin. HORRIBLE skin. My doctor eventually put me on Accutane because my skin was so terrible and nothing else was really working. My cheeks looked like mini mountain ranges and yet this magical substance called "concealer" was supposed to offer the illusion of flawless skin. Flawless my ass. It just made the mini mountain ranges skin-colored and cake-y looking as opposed to red and kind of shiny. At the time, I thought the stuff was necessary to go out in public and look socially acceptable. In retrospect, I realize that nothing about that stuff was really socially acceptable and it wasn't fooling anyone into thinking I had decent skin. Eventually, my skin got a little better and I realized that it was probably better for my skin in general if I stopped caking it up every day with this pinkish paste and decided that I should probably just suck it up and learn to go out in public with horrible skin.
My skin is much better now. I still get the occasional blemish, but it is, for the most part, smooth and soft. I still wear the eyeliner and mascara every day to make my eyes "pop." I remember a lot of people asking me in high school (before make-up) if I was okay as I was just walking down the hall. Apparently, without make-up, I look comatose. Someone actually said that to me - "You look comatose." I took to lining my lower lid when I shaved my head to really make my eyes noticeable. Something about having no hair made me think big eyes and big earrings were necessary. It takes a lot longer for hair to grow out than you might think, so I just line both lids all the time now. The show I just did asked me to not line my lower lids, which made me feel like I looked funny, though people kept telling me how beautiful I looked in that show.
This morning, when I was putting on my mascara, it occurred to me that this history of my make-up usage means that I spent many of my formative years being ashamed of my face. The horrible skin. The tiny nose. The comatose eyes. I spent most of the years when I was trying to figure out who I was and who I was supposed to be, being ashamed of my face. And I wondered what that does to a person.
I'm not ashamed of my face any more. Not really. I still prefer to have eyeliner and mascara on than to not, but I think that's pretty significant progress. In general, I'm of the opinion that it's a rather nice face. I do have to wonder, though, who I would be now if I knew that all along.
I had a weird thought as I was putting on my mascara this morning. I don't know if other people experience this or not, but when I imagine what I look like in my head, it seldom matches what I see when I look in the mirror. Especially when I wait a while to put on my eyeliner and mascara in the morning - I've gotten so used to what I look like with them on, it's often a bit of a shock to see me with no makeup whatsoever. Which is funny because I didn't get into the habit of wearing make up until I was in college. A friend of mine in the dorms took me to Wal-Mart and helped me pick out colors and then told me how to use these various products.
What's really funny about my make-up usage in college is that I had horrible skin. HORRIBLE skin. My doctor eventually put me on Accutane because my skin was so terrible and nothing else was really working. My cheeks looked like mini mountain ranges and yet this magical substance called "concealer" was supposed to offer the illusion of flawless skin. Flawless my ass. It just made the mini mountain ranges skin-colored and cake-y looking as opposed to red and kind of shiny. At the time, I thought the stuff was necessary to go out in public and look socially acceptable. In retrospect, I realize that nothing about that stuff was really socially acceptable and it wasn't fooling anyone into thinking I had decent skin. Eventually, my skin got a little better and I realized that it was probably better for my skin in general if I stopped caking it up every day with this pinkish paste and decided that I should probably just suck it up and learn to go out in public with horrible skin.
My skin is much better now. I still get the occasional blemish, but it is, for the most part, smooth and soft. I still wear the eyeliner and mascara every day to make my eyes "pop." I remember a lot of people asking me in high school (before make-up) if I was okay as I was just walking down the hall. Apparently, without make-up, I look comatose. Someone actually said that to me - "You look comatose." I took to lining my lower lid when I shaved my head to really make my eyes noticeable. Something about having no hair made me think big eyes and big earrings were necessary. It takes a lot longer for hair to grow out than you might think, so I just line both lids all the time now. The show I just did asked me to not line my lower lids, which made me feel like I looked funny, though people kept telling me how beautiful I looked in that show.
This morning, when I was putting on my mascara, it occurred to me that this history of my make-up usage means that I spent many of my formative years being ashamed of my face. The horrible skin. The tiny nose. The comatose eyes. I spent most of the years when I was trying to figure out who I was and who I was supposed to be, being ashamed of my face. And I wondered what that does to a person.
I'm not ashamed of my face any more. Not really. I still prefer to have eyeliner and mascara on than to not, but I think that's pretty significant progress. In general, I'm of the opinion that it's a rather nice face. I do have to wonder, though, who I would be now if I knew that all along.
Friday, June 01, 2012
Because I Don't Have Enough On My Plate...
Last August, I participated in Vlog Every Day in August (VEDA) and had a blast doing it. A few of the people I met doing that plan on blogging every day in June (BEDJ), which isn't as easy to pronounce as VEDA, but since it's all in written form, maybe that doesn't matter so much. And since I'm not doing enough at the moment (insert wild laughter here), I decided about three minutes ago that I should give it a go, too.
I've not done the "group blogging" thing before, where a bunch of people blog about the same topic on the same day. This should be interesting.
Anyway, today's topic is food. Which is kind of a nice segue into the fact that I am coming up on my ten-year anniversary of being vegan.
For those of you who don't know, I went vegan (almost ten years ago) sort of on a whim. I decided to try it just for the sake of trying it, and I was going to do it for a year just to see what happened. Turns out, I love it. I love the food, I love the products, I love the lifestyle. I did not start out with a moral or ethical agenda, but I did gain a sort of sense that I'm doing something good not only for my body but for the planet as well.
I am not one of those vegans who will bombard other people with images of cows being tortured, though. I don't think that's necessarily the best way to spread the joy of veganism. I am the sort of vegan who will bake something and bring it to work or rehearsal just for fun and if people want to try what I brought, fantastic. If they don't, fine. Just between you and me, I don't always tell people from the get-go that my stuff is vegan, so the people who don't know, probably don't know. Yes, I am that good.
It helps that I found a vegan cookbook author who I absolutely adore. I think I own all of her books. There was only one thing I made from them (so far) that I wasn't over the moon about - it was a chili that had espresso in it or something, and I'm not a coffee person so it wasn't really my cup of tea (yay mixed metaphors!). But everything else has been fantastic. I can make a vat of the Seitanic Red Bean Jambalaya (but I use Tofurkey sausage instead of seitan because I'm not big on seitan) and live off of it for two weeks. The Hottie Black Eyed Peas with Greens plus homemade Scallion Cornbread are amazing. And the woman wrote a whole cookbook on pie. Let me say that again: an entire cookbook about nothing but pie. I made pie from scratch and the crust even turned out well. She's a genius. Anyway.
I think my biggest thing about veganism is that while I would never force anyone else to be vegan (except maybe my children if I have them), I do wish it was considered just another type of cuisine. That people weren't so afraid of it. I think vegan food has gotten a bad rep for being bland and dry and dull, but it doesn't have to be. These days, especially in a major metropolitan area, the selection of vegan food is amazing. It's flavorful and colorful and leaves you satisfied. Instead of being some mysterious, scary, gross thing, I wish vegan food was just another option. "We had Chinese last night, and we have your cousin's barbecue this weekend, so how about vegan tonight?" Because seriously, it's too tasty for me to eat all of it by myself. Wanna share?
I've not done the "group blogging" thing before, where a bunch of people blog about the same topic on the same day. This should be interesting.
Anyway, today's topic is food. Which is kind of a nice segue into the fact that I am coming up on my ten-year anniversary of being vegan.
For those of you who don't know, I went vegan (almost ten years ago) sort of on a whim. I decided to try it just for the sake of trying it, and I was going to do it for a year just to see what happened. Turns out, I love it. I love the food, I love the products, I love the lifestyle. I did not start out with a moral or ethical agenda, but I did gain a sort of sense that I'm doing something good not only for my body but for the planet as well.
I am not one of those vegans who will bombard other people with images of cows being tortured, though. I don't think that's necessarily the best way to spread the joy of veganism. I am the sort of vegan who will bake something and bring it to work or rehearsal just for fun and if people want to try what I brought, fantastic. If they don't, fine. Just between you and me, I don't always tell people from the get-go that my stuff is vegan, so the people who don't know, probably don't know. Yes, I am that good.
It helps that I found a vegan cookbook author who I absolutely adore. I think I own all of her books. There was only one thing I made from them (so far) that I wasn't over the moon about - it was a chili that had espresso in it or something, and I'm not a coffee person so it wasn't really my cup of tea (yay mixed metaphors!). But everything else has been fantastic. I can make a vat of the Seitanic Red Bean Jambalaya (but I use Tofurkey sausage instead of seitan because I'm not big on seitan) and live off of it for two weeks. The Hottie Black Eyed Peas with Greens plus homemade Scallion Cornbread are amazing. And the woman wrote a whole cookbook on pie. Let me say that again: an entire cookbook about nothing but pie. I made pie from scratch and the crust even turned out well. She's a genius. Anyway.
I think my biggest thing about veganism is that while I would never force anyone else to be vegan (except maybe my children if I have them), I do wish it was considered just another type of cuisine. That people weren't so afraid of it. I think vegan food has gotten a bad rep for being bland and dry and dull, but it doesn't have to be. These days, especially in a major metropolitan area, the selection of vegan food is amazing. It's flavorful and colorful and leaves you satisfied. Instead of being some mysterious, scary, gross thing, I wish vegan food was just another option. "We had Chinese last night, and we have your cousin's barbecue this weekend, so how about vegan tonight?" Because seriously, it's too tasty for me to eat all of it by myself. Wanna share?
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Skating: Part Deux
As a follow up to my tremendous failure at roller skating on Sunday, I drove about an hour outside the city to a suburban roller rink with drop-in lessons on Monday nights last night.
Side note: This suburb isn't really an hour outside of Chicago - it took me about an hour and fifteen minutes to get there in rush hour traffic, and about forty-five minutes to get home in non-rush hour traffic, so it's really not that bad. I just don't know how many miles it is, which is why I gave the time measurement instead.
What a difference an hour makes!
When I first stepped on the floor, everything about me must have screamed "BEGINNER!" in part because I am one, and in part because I was essentially pulling myself along the wall going around the rink. It was sad and pathetic. I know that. But I thought if I could just get used to the feeling of moving on skates, maybe I could get used to the balance thing and then I wouldn't feel so totally out of control of my body and then maybe I could figure out how to pick one foot up at a time and actually skate.
I got about half-way around the rink and a very nice gentleman skated over to me and said, "Just relax, just relax," as he grabbed my hands and sort of shook them to release the tension. I told him this was my second time on skates and that I was an actor in a play for which I needed to learn to skate and found out he was familiar with the show already. He, apparently, helped procure the skates and gear for us. He told me the lesson would be starting shortly and that I should try to get back to the (now) far end of the rink because that is where the beginners would be.
I made my way over there and started skating back and forth against the wall. I felt bad for going against traffic half of the time, but the other skaters on the rink were far enough away from the wall that it wasn't a huge deal. The instructor came over and told me to just practice almost walking in the skates, keeping my feet under me. When you try to step in front of yourself, you lose control of the skate and fall on your butt. If you keep your feet under you, you actually start moving in the skates. Which is what the woman on Sunday must have meant when she said, "It's kind of like marching." So I did. I "marched" back and forth next to the wall, trying to hold on to it less and less with each pass. The instructor started working with his other beginning skaters on other things, but told me to just keep at what I was doing, and in five or ten minutes, he wanted me far enough away from the wall that I couldn't catch myself if I wanted/needed to. I took that to mean, "try this now," and moved away from the wall. Miraculously, I stayed standing! And moved across the floor, gaining more confidence and (some) speed with each pass. There were a few trips across the floor where I actually felt like I was skating - my balance was in the right place, the foot movement was easy, I could look up at where I was going instead of at the floor, I could almost give a little push to get some extra momentum, I was gliding. I decided I would throw in a toe stop at the end of each pass so I can get used to actual derby girl skate moves while I'm learning and figured out that I must be left-footed. My left toe stop is much better than my right.
After about a half an hour, the instructor came over and gave me my own set of cones to skate between. He wanted me to slalom around them, to encourage me to pick up my feet, which makes changing directions and turning easier. So I did. I slalomed around the cones. I was doing so well with it, in fact, that he added another cone in the middle to make two of the turns tighter. Only once in all of my passes did I stumble enough that I had to put one knee down on the rink. But I got right back up (since I know how) and finished the pass, turned around, and went back for more.
I have no idea how many times I skated across the rink last night. An hour's worth of times. And when the class was over, I thanked the instructor profusely. He had no idea how much his simple instructions helped me, but they did. I kind of get it now. I'm not saying I'm great at it by any stretch of the imagination, but I was able to skate back to the bench near my locker when the lesson was over without holding on to anything or falling over.
I'm sure I looked silly out there in the full gear when I could barely skate. And I'm sure the tall, slender hot guy who skated like a pro was thinking a woman shaped like me should not be wearing yoga pants in public. But you know what? I didn't care. I didn't care in the slightest. This was not about looking good, or showing off, or dressing up so someone would hit on me. This was about me gaining a skill. This was about me gaining confidence. Which I totally did. I know I'm not great yet, but after last night, I know I can get there, which is something I didn't know after Sunday night. The instructor told me the next time I come back for the drop-in lessons, he'll have me away from the wall in the lesson with the other beginners. He was impressed with the progress I made in an hour. I was impressed with the progress I made. And I talked briefly to a couple of the other beginning skaters as we were taking off our skates and they were really nice. Including an older gentleman (probably in his sixties?) who just decided that he wanted to learn to skate, so he's been coming to the Monday night lessons for a few weeks already. He told me I look beautiful on skates.
I think it also did me a world of good to go and try this at my own speed in a place where I knew nobody. There was no fear of shame or humiliation - if I was really awful, I wouldn't necessarily have to go back to that rink. Nobody had to watch me learn or judge my progress, which means I was comfortable flailing my arms to regain balance when I needed to do that. I found myself biting my lip a lot and licking my lips - my signature "I'm concentrating really hard" ticks. But none of that mattered. I was learning to skate at my own pace in my own time. And I think a couple more sessions like that and I'll feel better keeping up with the girls at our next derby skate date.
A huge thank you to the suburban roller rink for being an awesome place with awesome people, and a huge thank you to the instructor who just let me learn in my own time. You have no idea how much you helped!
Side note: This suburb isn't really an hour outside of Chicago - it took me about an hour and fifteen minutes to get there in rush hour traffic, and about forty-five minutes to get home in non-rush hour traffic, so it's really not that bad. I just don't know how many miles it is, which is why I gave the time measurement instead.
What a difference an hour makes!
When I first stepped on the floor, everything about me must have screamed "BEGINNER!" in part because I am one, and in part because I was essentially pulling myself along the wall going around the rink. It was sad and pathetic. I know that. But I thought if I could just get used to the feeling of moving on skates, maybe I could get used to the balance thing and then I wouldn't feel so totally out of control of my body and then maybe I could figure out how to pick one foot up at a time and actually skate.
I got about half-way around the rink and a very nice gentleman skated over to me and said, "Just relax, just relax," as he grabbed my hands and sort of shook them to release the tension. I told him this was my second time on skates and that I was an actor in a play for which I needed to learn to skate and found out he was familiar with the show already. He, apparently, helped procure the skates and gear for us. He told me the lesson would be starting shortly and that I should try to get back to the (now) far end of the rink because that is where the beginners would be.
I made my way over there and started skating back and forth against the wall. I felt bad for going against traffic half of the time, but the other skaters on the rink were far enough away from the wall that it wasn't a huge deal. The instructor came over and told me to just practice almost walking in the skates, keeping my feet under me. When you try to step in front of yourself, you lose control of the skate and fall on your butt. If you keep your feet under you, you actually start moving in the skates. Which is what the woman on Sunday must have meant when she said, "It's kind of like marching." So I did. I "marched" back and forth next to the wall, trying to hold on to it less and less with each pass. The instructor started working with his other beginning skaters on other things, but told me to just keep at what I was doing, and in five or ten minutes, he wanted me far enough away from the wall that I couldn't catch myself if I wanted/needed to. I took that to mean, "try this now," and moved away from the wall. Miraculously, I stayed standing! And moved across the floor, gaining more confidence and (some) speed with each pass. There were a few trips across the floor where I actually felt like I was skating - my balance was in the right place, the foot movement was easy, I could look up at where I was going instead of at the floor, I could almost give a little push to get some extra momentum, I was gliding. I decided I would throw in a toe stop at the end of each pass so I can get used to actual derby girl skate moves while I'm learning and figured out that I must be left-footed. My left toe stop is much better than my right.
After about a half an hour, the instructor came over and gave me my own set of cones to skate between. He wanted me to slalom around them, to encourage me to pick up my feet, which makes changing directions and turning easier. So I did. I slalomed around the cones. I was doing so well with it, in fact, that he added another cone in the middle to make two of the turns tighter. Only once in all of my passes did I stumble enough that I had to put one knee down on the rink. But I got right back up (since I know how) and finished the pass, turned around, and went back for more.
I have no idea how many times I skated across the rink last night. An hour's worth of times. And when the class was over, I thanked the instructor profusely. He had no idea how much his simple instructions helped me, but they did. I kind of get it now. I'm not saying I'm great at it by any stretch of the imagination, but I was able to skate back to the bench near my locker when the lesson was over without holding on to anything or falling over.
I'm sure I looked silly out there in the full gear when I could barely skate. And I'm sure the tall, slender hot guy who skated like a pro was thinking a woman shaped like me should not be wearing yoga pants in public. But you know what? I didn't care. I didn't care in the slightest. This was not about looking good, or showing off, or dressing up so someone would hit on me. This was about me gaining a skill. This was about me gaining confidence. Which I totally did. I know I'm not great yet, but after last night, I know I can get there, which is something I didn't know after Sunday night. The instructor told me the next time I come back for the drop-in lessons, he'll have me away from the wall in the lesson with the other beginners. He was impressed with the progress I made in an hour. I was impressed with the progress I made. And I talked briefly to a couple of the other beginning skaters as we were taking off our skates and they were really nice. Including an older gentleman (probably in his sixties?) who just decided that he wanted to learn to skate, so he's been coming to the Monday night lessons for a few weeks already. He told me I look beautiful on skates.
I think it also did me a world of good to go and try this at my own speed in a place where I knew nobody. There was no fear of shame or humiliation - if I was really awful, I wouldn't necessarily have to go back to that rink. Nobody had to watch me learn or judge my progress, which means I was comfortable flailing my arms to regain balance when I needed to do that. I found myself biting my lip a lot and licking my lips - my signature "I'm concentrating really hard" ticks. But none of that mattered. I was learning to skate at my own pace in my own time. And I think a couple more sessions like that and I'll feel better keeping up with the girls at our next derby skate date.
A huge thank you to the suburban roller rink for being an awesome place with awesome people, and a huge thank you to the instructor who just let me learn in my own time. You have no idea how much you helped!
Monday, May 21, 2012
Sometimes, You Just Have to Fail
I realize that the title of this post sounds very negative, and I realize that a lot of this post will contain negative language, but it is kind of necessary for documenting this process. I know if I document how awful it felt at the beginning, it will feel that much better at the end.
I have been cast in a play about the roller derby that goes up in November, in which I play a derby girl. I was thrilled to even be invited to audition for this company (they do great work and are awesome people), and even more thrilled when they offered me a role. It is a script they have already been workshopping for about a year, and they decided that they needed more derby girls in it to make it feel more authentic, so they did some searching and rounded out the cast with a total of ten derby girls. I think I was among the last to join the cast, if not the actual last person to join, so while this process has been in motion for a year already, it's only been a part of my life for about three weeks. This can be an issue in and of itself in some productions, but the writer, director, and other actors have been awesome so far in making me feel like part of the group. It has me really excited for the show, even though it is six months away.
Now the fun part. I don't know how to roller skate. I skated once at somebody's birthday party when I was in elementary school (if you count "pulling yourself along the wall while wearing roller skates" as "skating"), and of course I fell at some point and some other kid rolled over my wrist. I cried and sat on the sidelines until somebody took me home. And that is the extent of my experience with roller skating. I think my mom tried rollerblading when I was in high school, and I may have put the blades on and walked through the (carpeted) living room wearing them, but that was it. I was never much of an ice skater, either. I could maintain balance and use the toe pick to give myself a bit of momentum, but yeah. When it comes to roller skating, I am a total beginner.
Everyone else in the cast knows how to skate.
Last night, we went out to a facility where a woman who used to be a derby girl helps train women who want to try out for the derby. In other words, this woman knows what she's talking about. When she tells you to put your helmet on first and don't take it off until you leave the floor, you put your helmet on and don't touch it until your skates are off and you're seated in the lobby. We have a couple more of these skate dates scheduled to try to get the cast into good enough skating shape that we'll look like derby girls on stage. So we went over safety equipment (helmet, mouth guards, knee and elbow pads, wrist guards) and learned how to fall before even putting on skates. I was doing great up until that point - I can fall like a pro, especially when I have knee pads and wrist guards on. Besides, falling from skater stance means you're only falling about eight inches, so it's not that big of a deal.
Then the skates went on and my dignity and self-respect went out the window. I could stand up on them, and learned fairly quickly how to maintain a stationary position (toe stop or t-stand). But then they told us to move over to the wall and I was completely lost. I don't know how to move in these things. I know the theory of it, but my body has never done this before. Somehow, my feet felt glued to the ground and I was afraid to pick my skates up more than about half of an inch. Despite our falling lessons, showing us how to fall forward without injuring ourselves, I found myself relying on my stage combat experience of learning how to fall backward without injuring myself. I landed on my bum within about a foot of where I initially stood up. The first one to fall. And it was suddenly broadcast to everyone in the room - the rest of the cast, the director, the writer, the trainers - just how far behind I am on the learning curve. There was no hiding it - I suck at roller skating.
Once up on our skates, the trainers/instructors started us on what they feel were the basic things you need to know as a derby girl - how to stop and how to fall. In conjunction with "how to fall" is "how to get back up again really fast so you're not a target on the track and don't turn into a squished speed bump." I fully agree that these are important things to know how to do and I listened attentively to the theories presented. When we had to actually do them...how can you practice a good left toe stop if you're not moving to begin with? One of the instructors came over to me for about ten seconds and I told her I had never skated before in my life. She encouraged me to just practice skating back and forth across the floor, then, instead of focusing on the stops, and told me, "It's kind of like marching," before she skated away. In each drill, I was the last girl to get moving, the last to make it across the floor. I know my cast mates/team mates don't hold that against me at this point, but after a while, I couldn't tell if my face was bright red from exertion or embarrassment. I'm not used to being not grounded in my body and I'm not used to sucking so badly in a public forum with people I've not known very long.
When it was time to take a five minute break and get water, it took me the entire five minutes to get over to the side where I finally had to suck it up and ask one of the other women (a former derby girl herself) to bring my water bottle to me. And we were right back into it, now doing training drills. Skate like normal, then when the whistle blows, take the skater stance and hold it until the second whistle. I couldn't get moving, but I could hold the stance, no problem. Now we're going to skate and on the whistles, do our various stops, then our various falls, then switch directions and do it all again and again and again. "Skating" around in circles, I was hugging the inside of the track, which I realized was probably awful floor positioning for someone as inept at skating as I am, largely from the standpoint of my team mates - I was right exactly in their way a lot of the time. And finally, my frustration and exhaustion hit its peak and I crawled into the infield and made my way off the floor. I was largely a hazard at that point, anyway, so I felt justified in crawling off of the floor. One woman helped me get across the lanes of traffic at the end, and she was concerned for my well-being. I'm sure my face was neon red by this point - it was still flushed when I got home forty-five minutes later. I felt dejected and disappointed in myself and humiliated. Perhaps even a little bit angry. I know the point of the evening was not to work with an absolute beginner and help her learn to skate, but I felt thrust into something way beyond my skill level with no safety net, so to speak.
If this was something I was doing just for fun in my normal life, I probably would not go out of my way to skate again. But I am learning to do this for a show, and I have at least nine other women out there counting on me to get my ass in gear by the time we open. I apologized to the writer and director for having to call it quits early in the evening and promised them I would do better. They both thanked me for putting myself out there and trying in the first place. Because if there is one major lesson that we all learned last night, it is that when you fall down, you get back up as quick as you can and keep going.
So I'm going to drive about an hour tonight to get to a roller rink in the suburbs (they don't have many in the city anymore) where they have lessons on Monday nights before free skating time. And I'm going to take my helmet and pads and skates and I'm going to get back out there on that floor and hopefully learn how to move. Because this is not about my humiliation. This is not about my disappointment. This is about picking myself back up as quick as I can because there are people counting on me to do this. Last night when people were saying, "By the end of this, you'll be the best skater of all of us," and when the instructor pointed me out at the end of the night saying, "I think you did a really great job tonight, too," I felt like the three-year-old playing T-ball who can't hit the ball off of the tee, but gets a Participant Trophy at the end of the season. Except as an adult, I know exactly what that Participant Trophy means.
I'm not giving up - I think we all know by now that I don't give up on things that scare me. I feel like crap about this at the moment, though, and I thought it was important for me to keep track of that, so six months from now, when I'm flying around the track just like all of the other girls, I will be able to fully appreciate exactly how sweet that is. Sometimes, you have to fail first so you know how to succeed later.
And, on the up side, I have enough booty that I walked away from last night with only a bruised ego.
I have been cast in a play about the roller derby that goes up in November, in which I play a derby girl. I was thrilled to even be invited to audition for this company (they do great work and are awesome people), and even more thrilled when they offered me a role. It is a script they have already been workshopping for about a year, and they decided that they needed more derby girls in it to make it feel more authentic, so they did some searching and rounded out the cast with a total of ten derby girls. I think I was among the last to join the cast, if not the actual last person to join, so while this process has been in motion for a year already, it's only been a part of my life for about three weeks. This can be an issue in and of itself in some productions, but the writer, director, and other actors have been awesome so far in making me feel like part of the group. It has me really excited for the show, even though it is six months away.
Now the fun part. I don't know how to roller skate. I skated once at somebody's birthday party when I was in elementary school (if you count "pulling yourself along the wall while wearing roller skates" as "skating"), and of course I fell at some point and some other kid rolled over my wrist. I cried and sat on the sidelines until somebody took me home. And that is the extent of my experience with roller skating. I think my mom tried rollerblading when I was in high school, and I may have put the blades on and walked through the (carpeted) living room wearing them, but that was it. I was never much of an ice skater, either. I could maintain balance and use the toe pick to give myself a bit of momentum, but yeah. When it comes to roller skating, I am a total beginner.
Everyone else in the cast knows how to skate.
Last night, we went out to a facility where a woman who used to be a derby girl helps train women who want to try out for the derby. In other words, this woman knows what she's talking about. When she tells you to put your helmet on first and don't take it off until you leave the floor, you put your helmet on and don't touch it until your skates are off and you're seated in the lobby. We have a couple more of these skate dates scheduled to try to get the cast into good enough skating shape that we'll look like derby girls on stage. So we went over safety equipment (helmet, mouth guards, knee and elbow pads, wrist guards) and learned how to fall before even putting on skates. I was doing great up until that point - I can fall like a pro, especially when I have knee pads and wrist guards on. Besides, falling from skater stance means you're only falling about eight inches, so it's not that big of a deal.
Then the skates went on and my dignity and self-respect went out the window. I could stand up on them, and learned fairly quickly how to maintain a stationary position (toe stop or t-stand). But then they told us to move over to the wall and I was completely lost. I don't know how to move in these things. I know the theory of it, but my body has never done this before. Somehow, my feet felt glued to the ground and I was afraid to pick my skates up more than about half of an inch. Despite our falling lessons, showing us how to fall forward without injuring ourselves, I found myself relying on my stage combat experience of learning how to fall backward without injuring myself. I landed on my bum within about a foot of where I initially stood up. The first one to fall. And it was suddenly broadcast to everyone in the room - the rest of the cast, the director, the writer, the trainers - just how far behind I am on the learning curve. There was no hiding it - I suck at roller skating.
Once up on our skates, the trainers/instructors started us on what they feel were the basic things you need to know as a derby girl - how to stop and how to fall. In conjunction with "how to fall" is "how to get back up again really fast so you're not a target on the track and don't turn into a squished speed bump." I fully agree that these are important things to know how to do and I listened attentively to the theories presented. When we had to actually do them...how can you practice a good left toe stop if you're not moving to begin with? One of the instructors came over to me for about ten seconds and I told her I had never skated before in my life. She encouraged me to just practice skating back and forth across the floor, then, instead of focusing on the stops, and told me, "It's kind of like marching," before she skated away. In each drill, I was the last girl to get moving, the last to make it across the floor. I know my cast mates/team mates don't hold that against me at this point, but after a while, I couldn't tell if my face was bright red from exertion or embarrassment. I'm not used to being not grounded in my body and I'm not used to sucking so badly in a public forum with people I've not known very long.
When it was time to take a five minute break and get water, it took me the entire five minutes to get over to the side where I finally had to suck it up and ask one of the other women (a former derby girl herself) to bring my water bottle to me. And we were right back into it, now doing training drills. Skate like normal, then when the whistle blows, take the skater stance and hold it until the second whistle. I couldn't get moving, but I could hold the stance, no problem. Now we're going to skate and on the whistles, do our various stops, then our various falls, then switch directions and do it all again and again and again. "Skating" around in circles, I was hugging the inside of the track, which I realized was probably awful floor positioning for someone as inept at skating as I am, largely from the standpoint of my team mates - I was right exactly in their way a lot of the time. And finally, my frustration and exhaustion hit its peak and I crawled into the infield and made my way off the floor. I was largely a hazard at that point, anyway, so I felt justified in crawling off of the floor. One woman helped me get across the lanes of traffic at the end, and she was concerned for my well-being. I'm sure my face was neon red by this point - it was still flushed when I got home forty-five minutes later. I felt dejected and disappointed in myself and humiliated. Perhaps even a little bit angry. I know the point of the evening was not to work with an absolute beginner and help her learn to skate, but I felt thrust into something way beyond my skill level with no safety net, so to speak.
If this was something I was doing just for fun in my normal life, I probably would not go out of my way to skate again. But I am learning to do this for a show, and I have at least nine other women out there counting on me to get my ass in gear by the time we open. I apologized to the writer and director for having to call it quits early in the evening and promised them I would do better. They both thanked me for putting myself out there and trying in the first place. Because if there is one major lesson that we all learned last night, it is that when you fall down, you get back up as quick as you can and keep going.
So I'm going to drive about an hour tonight to get to a roller rink in the suburbs (they don't have many in the city anymore) where they have lessons on Monday nights before free skating time. And I'm going to take my helmet and pads and skates and I'm going to get back out there on that floor and hopefully learn how to move. Because this is not about my humiliation. This is not about my disappointment. This is about picking myself back up as quick as I can because there are people counting on me to do this. Last night when people were saying, "By the end of this, you'll be the best skater of all of us," and when the instructor pointed me out at the end of the night saying, "I think you did a really great job tonight, too," I felt like the three-year-old playing T-ball who can't hit the ball off of the tee, but gets a Participant Trophy at the end of the season. Except as an adult, I know exactly what that Participant Trophy means.
I'm not giving up - I think we all know by now that I don't give up on things that scare me. I feel like crap about this at the moment, though, and I thought it was important for me to keep track of that, so six months from now, when I'm flying around the track just like all of the other girls, I will be able to fully appreciate exactly how sweet that is. Sometimes, you have to fail first so you know how to succeed later.
And, on the up side, I have enough booty that I walked away from last night with only a bruised ego.
Monday, April 09, 2012
So That Happened
As it turns out, all of my worry was for nothing.
We went in and shot the play last night and I actually had a lot of fun doing it. It was kind of amazing to me (and everyone else there) how fresh the show was considering we've not touched it in two and a half months. But I think we were all still finding new things in the script to play with and it was just plain fun.
The end product is not going to be posted on the interweb for all to see. It will be distributed to the five of us involved in the production on DVD to just...have. So we have it. In case we need it for something, or want to take a quick jaunt down memory lane for a few minutes. Meaning, I don't think I need to worry about the girls from high school or random dudes in LA seeing it and finding me physically repulsive. Beyond which, we got to watch it last night when we were done shooting and I didn't find myself nearly as physically repulsive as I had built myself up in my head to be. I'm not saying I have a perfect beach bod that I'm going to run around all summer flaunting it in a bikini or anything, but I also don't think I look like Jabba the Hut, either, so that's reassuring. I think it also helped that the cameraman was doing facial close-ups whenever possible so my rear end spends quite a bit of time not on screen, which is good. If I'm allowed to say it, though, I have super crazy long legs. Just sayin'.
Anyway. All that worry for nothing. It feels good to have that under my belt. And safely tucked away where I have some sort of control over who gets to see it. That makes me happy.
We went in and shot the play last night and I actually had a lot of fun doing it. It was kind of amazing to me (and everyone else there) how fresh the show was considering we've not touched it in two and a half months. But I think we were all still finding new things in the script to play with and it was just plain fun.
The end product is not going to be posted on the interweb for all to see. It will be distributed to the five of us involved in the production on DVD to just...have. So we have it. In case we need it for something, or want to take a quick jaunt down memory lane for a few minutes. Meaning, I don't think I need to worry about the girls from high school or random dudes in LA seeing it and finding me physically repulsive. Beyond which, we got to watch it last night when we were done shooting and I didn't find myself nearly as physically repulsive as I had built myself up in my head to be. I'm not saying I have a perfect beach bod that I'm going to run around all summer flaunting it in a bikini or anything, but I also don't think I look like Jabba the Hut, either, so that's reassuring. I think it also helped that the cameraman was doing facial close-ups whenever possible so my rear end spends quite a bit of time not on screen, which is good. If I'm allowed to say it, though, I have super crazy long legs. Just sayin'.
Anyway. All that worry for nothing. It feels good to have that under my belt. And safely tucked away where I have some sort of control over who gets to see it. That makes me happy.
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
Fear of Exposure
I have to admit, I'm a little bit scared and nervous.
A couple of months ago, I was in a showcase of plays at the theater where I had been taking classes. All around, it was an amazing experience and I got to work with incredible people and just plain had a great time doing the showcase.
One of the pieces I was in had me playing a hooker that nobody wants, essentially. The show was about these two guys who have a fantasy and are confronted with a reality and don't really like the reality. It's a great piece and I loved doing it, even though it involved a rather small costume (nothing that would garner an X rating, barely R, if you ask me. All of the important bits were covered). The whole point of casting someone like me in this role is that I am not a size zero and in a way, it was empowering to be on stage every night in that role, possibly making audience members uncomfortable for how exposed I was physically and emotionally.
This coming Sunday, we're filming the piece so that we have the piece filmed. I don't remember whose idea it was - if the playwright wants it for his portfolio or if it is supposed to be the start of a "film bits of theater" type project that will include other plays down the line or if we're just doing it for the sheer joy of doing it, but we're filming the piece on Sunday. And I'm nervous.
That kind of physical exposure in live theater is easy for me to wrap my brain around and get comfortable with. It is sort of like ripping a band-aid off - you just take off the coat and there you are in a halter top and short shorts and you still have a show to do. Hopefully you can affect the audience enough that they aren't picking apart every one of your physical flaws in the four minutes you are on stage.
That kind of physical exposure on film is daunting. People will be able to freeze frame on me while I'm sitting down or twisting oddly so I'll look even bigger than I actually am. People who aren't of the mindset that they are going to see art that is making a statement may have access to see it. And while I am perfectly comfortable doing it and kind of flattered that I get to represent the non-stick girl in a "sexy" role, I know that not everyone who watches the film will see it that way. I know that girls I went to high school with will watch it and think, "Oh my god, she looks terrible!" so that they can feel better about themselves. Even random strangers may post comments (depending on how the film is distributed) talking about how repulsive it is to have a woman of my shape on film wearing so little. Depending on how the film is distributed, I kind of feel like I have to brace myself for an onslaught of "Sweet jebus, she's disgusting," because I'm not what you expect to see when you expect to see a hooker.
That being said, I'm not going to not do it. Yes, I'm a little scared and nervous, but I'm not going to let that stop me (is that what people are referring to when they call me fearless?). The people who saw the show live were impressed with my bravery and emotional presence in the scene - even people who didn't know me. I made a great impression on fellow actors whose work I have long admired. So I'm not going to let a little fear stand in the way of producing art I believe in. And I'm not going to starve myself between now and Sunday to try to lose two pounds before the shoot. I like food. Food is my friend. Food is necessary for survival and I would much rather look like this than be unhappy, groggy, and grumpy all of the time because I'm not eating enough carbohydrates. I think The Brothers Green will agree with me on this and as we all know, what The Brothers Green say is law. I mean that in the best possible way - I've been a little obsessed with watching their videos in all of their various forms recently because they're just, well, charming, intelligent, and funny.
But I digresss.
I'm looking forward to having a record of this project - that part is really cool. I'm just nervous about what people will say about my physical shape, which can best be described as "round." People can be mean. Especially people you don't know on the internet. So I'm apologizing in advance if I need to lean on the people who love me a little bit and ask for reassurances that you still love me even though I'm rounder than your typical Hollywood starlet. I do sort of hope that if more people like me get to play more roles like this and gain more exposure, maybe we can shift (albeit slowly) the general perception of female beauty away from something that is unattainable, unhealthy, and detrimental to so many. Baby steps, right? Here's hoping this can be one of them.
Or maybe I'm worrying about nothing because the only people who will ever see it are people who saw the live production anyway.I do tend to worry about things needlessly from time to time.
A couple of months ago, I was in a showcase of plays at the theater where I had been taking classes. All around, it was an amazing experience and I got to work with incredible people and just plain had a great time doing the showcase.
One of the pieces I was in had me playing a hooker that nobody wants, essentially. The show was about these two guys who have a fantasy and are confronted with a reality and don't really like the reality. It's a great piece and I loved doing it, even though it involved a rather small costume (nothing that would garner an X rating, barely R, if you ask me. All of the important bits were covered). The whole point of casting someone like me in this role is that I am not a size zero and in a way, it was empowering to be on stage every night in that role, possibly making audience members uncomfortable for how exposed I was physically and emotionally.
This coming Sunday, we're filming the piece so that we have the piece filmed. I don't remember whose idea it was - if the playwright wants it for his portfolio or if it is supposed to be the start of a "film bits of theater" type project that will include other plays down the line or if we're just doing it for the sheer joy of doing it, but we're filming the piece on Sunday. And I'm nervous.
That kind of physical exposure in live theater is easy for me to wrap my brain around and get comfortable with. It is sort of like ripping a band-aid off - you just take off the coat and there you are in a halter top and short shorts and you still have a show to do. Hopefully you can affect the audience enough that they aren't picking apart every one of your physical flaws in the four minutes you are on stage.
That kind of physical exposure on film is daunting. People will be able to freeze frame on me while I'm sitting down or twisting oddly so I'll look even bigger than I actually am. People who aren't of the mindset that they are going to see art that is making a statement may have access to see it. And while I am perfectly comfortable doing it and kind of flattered that I get to represent the non-stick girl in a "sexy" role, I know that not everyone who watches the film will see it that way. I know that girls I went to high school with will watch it and think, "Oh my god, she looks terrible!" so that they can feel better about themselves. Even random strangers may post comments (depending on how the film is distributed) talking about how repulsive it is to have a woman of my shape on film wearing so little. Depending on how the film is distributed, I kind of feel like I have to brace myself for an onslaught of "Sweet jebus, she's disgusting," because I'm not what you expect to see when you expect to see a hooker.
That being said, I'm not going to not do it. Yes, I'm a little scared and nervous, but I'm not going to let that stop me (is that what people are referring to when they call me fearless?). The people who saw the show live were impressed with my bravery and emotional presence in the scene - even people who didn't know me. I made a great impression on fellow actors whose work I have long admired. So I'm not going to let a little fear stand in the way of producing art I believe in. And I'm not going to starve myself between now and Sunday to try to lose two pounds before the shoot. I like food. Food is my friend. Food is necessary for survival and I would much rather look like this than be unhappy, groggy, and grumpy all of the time because I'm not eating enough carbohydrates. I think The Brothers Green will agree with me on this and as we all know, what The Brothers Green say is law. I mean that in the best possible way - I've been a little obsessed with watching their videos in all of their various forms recently because they're just, well, charming, intelligent, and funny.
But I digresss.
I'm looking forward to having a record of this project - that part is really cool. I'm just nervous about what people will say about my physical shape, which can best be described as "round." People can be mean. Especially people you don't know on the internet. So I'm apologizing in advance if I need to lean on the people who love me a little bit and ask for reassurances that you still love me even though I'm rounder than your typical Hollywood starlet. I do sort of hope that if more people like me get to play more roles like this and gain more exposure, maybe we can shift (albeit slowly) the general perception of female beauty away from something that is unattainable, unhealthy, and detrimental to so many. Baby steps, right? Here's hoping this can be one of them.
Or maybe I'm worrying about nothing because the only people who will ever see it are people who saw the live production anyway.I do tend to worry about things needlessly from time to time.
Monday, April 02, 2012
Grumble, Grumble
I've been angry a lot lately and I don't like that. If you are one of the people I have been angry in the general direction of lately, I apologize for that. I know who and what is making me angry (for the most part), but I don't necessarily have good mechanisms in place for dealing with those specific things or people. I don't know what to do when confronted with incompetence and pettiness and apathy and dismissal. For the most part, I think I'm pretty good at keeping the focus of my anger where it belongs - toward the specific instance of incompetence or pettiness or apathy or dismissal - as opposed to just letting loose and being a bitch to every one and every thing around me. But I don't like having this much anger. It's not good for me to be angry so much of the time.
I also know that the Universe doesn't owe me anything. The only thing it could be argued that I really have a right to is oxygen, so I shouldn't get so bent out of shape when I follow the rules and am told there is a reward at the end and then find out that there is no reward. Nobody owes me a reward. I have no more right to it than anyone else. Though it sometimes feels like I have less of a chance to get it than anyone else. I know there have been instances in my life where it came down to the difficult decision of choosing me or choosing someone else and nine times out of ten, the someone else is chosen. I'm not the sort that gets picked. I'm not the sort that wins things. And I have to wonder if I don't get the benefit of the doubt (or whatever it is that ultimately makes someone else get picked over me) because people just kind of know I'll be okay without that opportunity. Which I usually am. It just gets frustrating to not get that opportunity, you know?
I think it is important to recognize anger. To be able to name it and place it where it is supposed to go. But I also think it is important to let it go once it has been identified, and I need to get better at that. Holding on to this much anger is detrimental to my well-being and makes me a person I don't want to be.
Sometimes, I just need to let it go.
I also know that the Universe doesn't owe me anything. The only thing it could be argued that I really have a right to is oxygen, so I shouldn't get so bent out of shape when I follow the rules and am told there is a reward at the end and then find out that there is no reward. Nobody owes me a reward. I have no more right to it than anyone else. Though it sometimes feels like I have less of a chance to get it than anyone else. I know there have been instances in my life where it came down to the difficult decision of choosing me or choosing someone else and nine times out of ten, the someone else is chosen. I'm not the sort that gets picked. I'm not the sort that wins things. And I have to wonder if I don't get the benefit of the doubt (or whatever it is that ultimately makes someone else get picked over me) because people just kind of know I'll be okay without that opportunity. Which I usually am. It just gets frustrating to not get that opportunity, you know?
I think it is important to recognize anger. To be able to name it and place it where it is supposed to go. But I also think it is important to let it go once it has been identified, and I need to get better at that. Holding on to this much anger is detrimental to my well-being and makes me a person I don't want to be.
Sometimes, I just need to let it go.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
I Just...I Just Don't Know
I'm feeling a little ootsy today, which, of course, has me thinking I should blog. Writing helps, right? Right?
I went to a rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy last night (I'm honestly not sure what it was as we were working on a play (kind of) in which I have yet to be cast (officially, if I ever will be cast, I don't know) but we read scenes and danced and brainstormed and whatnot) in a neighborhood I don't think I've ever visited before. I go to this particular suburb fairly often because it's right next door to the city and it has a really good movie theater, but when I'm going to the theater, I drive north until I don't need to anymore and then I turn right. To get to the rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy, I turned left. Which, for all of you Whovians out there might bring up ominous feeling and let me say, rightly so. Rightly so. I turned left. And within a block or so, I started to feel very out of place. I don't know that I can describe this feeling to people who don't live in major metropolitan areas, but after living in a city for a while, you start to get an instinctive feel for what neighborhoods you're comfortable walking around in at night by yourself and which ones you are not. I started to get the feeling that this was one I should not be walking around in at night by myself. Which was inconvenient as it was night and I was by myself. There is a high school there, which should indicate some level of safety, but I also know that hooligans like to hang out near their school and wreak havoc from time to time. Maybe because they don't like school in general, or maybe because they all know where it is and how to get there. And since there was really lovely weather last night, there were plenty of people out and about. Or, just out. There was a mob of twenty or so kids hanging out in front of the building where my rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy was taking place, just sort of hanging out. Until one of them yelled, "Now!" and they swarmed into the intersection like migratory birds or something and jumped up on the cars parked along either side of the street.
Now, I don't like to be one to believe stereotypes. I like to believe that people are generally good and if you don't bug them, they won't bug you. Like bees. But I also know that "mob mentality" is a real thing, so these kids running into the street (against the light, mind you) and jumping on parked cars made me nervous. Scratch that. It scared me. I was afraid to leave my car and walk into the building. I thought about asking them to please just not jump on MY car, but realized that would involve talking to them which may appear confrontational and it may just be an invitation for them to really vandalize my car. Like when someone asks you to stop calling them "Buddy," so you do nothing but call them "Buddy" for the next three years because you know it annoys them.
On the up side, they didn't do anything to my car. Nor did they even really notice me as I walked into the building. So that's good. But it left sort of a weird flavor in my mouth all night and sort of tainted my first impression of the really cool place where the rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy took place. I'm going back there during the day on Sunday for another rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy, and hopefully that will help cleanse the palate.
But I think the experience carried over into my dreams. I dreamed I was suddenly put in charge of a small child - a boy maybe five years old? He looked like the young version of Jimmy from Raising Hope - whose mother (the only existing parent) was going off to war. And this kid did not like that arrangement AT ALL. He was crying and whining and squirming and complaining. He wanted to call her on the aircraft carrier she was on headed over to the Middle East and I was trying to explain that this wasn't a good time to call mommy because she was doing military type stuff and time changes and do they even have phones on aircraft carriers for personal calls and then suddenly, my honorary sister was there saying it was totally possible to call this kid's mom because she was in transit and probably not all that busy at the moment anyway, which was very not helpful. The kid even made a break for it, like he was going to run away and find his mom and I felt so helpless and ineffective and alone in the whole thing. I woke up feeling miserable, and kind of annoyed with my honorary sister for not backing me up.
I'm getting tired of these dreams of helplessness and loneliness. I'm sure they have to do with things going on in my life that I don't want to talk about here, and are probably a reflection of the fact that I have no control over those things and it drives me crazy that I just have to let them play out, you know? But I'm ready for them to play out so I can stop having upsetting dreams. Upsetting dreams do not leave a person feeling rested and ready to face the new day.
But we have nice weather at the moment (record high temperatures), which means I get to walk outside on my lunch break from work. Which is nice. If I get a little nice during the day, it helps offset the not-so-nice at night.
I could still use a decent night's sleep, though.
I went to a rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy last night (I'm honestly not sure what it was as we were working on a play (kind of) in which I have yet to be cast (officially, if I ever will be cast, I don't know) but we read scenes and danced and brainstormed and whatnot) in a neighborhood I don't think I've ever visited before. I go to this particular suburb fairly often because it's right next door to the city and it has a really good movie theater, but when I'm going to the theater, I drive north until I don't need to anymore and then I turn right. To get to the rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy, I turned left. Which, for all of you Whovians out there might bring up ominous feeling and let me say, rightly so. Rightly so. I turned left. And within a block or so, I started to feel very out of place. I don't know that I can describe this feeling to people who don't live in major metropolitan areas, but after living in a city for a while, you start to get an instinctive feel for what neighborhoods you're comfortable walking around in at night by yourself and which ones you are not. I started to get the feeling that this was one I should not be walking around in at night by myself. Which was inconvenient as it was night and I was by myself. There is a high school there, which should indicate some level of safety, but I also know that hooligans like to hang out near their school and wreak havoc from time to time. Maybe because they don't like school in general, or maybe because they all know where it is and how to get there. And since there was really lovely weather last night, there were plenty of people out and about. Or, just out. There was a mob of twenty or so kids hanging out in front of the building where my rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy was taking place, just sort of hanging out. Until one of them yelled, "Now!" and they swarmed into the intersection like migratory birds or something and jumped up on the cars parked along either side of the street.
Now, I don't like to be one to believe stereotypes. I like to believe that people are generally good and if you don't bug them, they won't bug you. Like bees. But I also know that "mob mentality" is a real thing, so these kids running into the street (against the light, mind you) and jumping on parked cars made me nervous. Scratch that. It scared me. I was afraid to leave my car and walk into the building. I thought about asking them to please just not jump on MY car, but realized that would involve talking to them which may appear confrontational and it may just be an invitation for them to really vandalize my car. Like when someone asks you to stop calling them "Buddy," so you do nothing but call them "Buddy" for the next three years because you know it annoys them.
On the up side, they didn't do anything to my car. Nor did they even really notice me as I walked into the building. So that's good. But it left sort of a weird flavor in my mouth all night and sort of tainted my first impression of the really cool place where the rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy took place. I'm going back there during the day on Sunday for another rehearsal/audition/workshop thingy, and hopefully that will help cleanse the palate.
But I think the experience carried over into my dreams. I dreamed I was suddenly put in charge of a small child - a boy maybe five years old? He looked like the young version of Jimmy from Raising Hope - whose mother (the only existing parent) was going off to war. And this kid did not like that arrangement AT ALL. He was crying and whining and squirming and complaining. He wanted to call her on the aircraft carrier she was on headed over to the Middle East and I was trying to explain that this wasn't a good time to call mommy because she was doing military type stuff and time changes and do they even have phones on aircraft carriers for personal calls and then suddenly, my honorary sister was there saying it was totally possible to call this kid's mom because she was in transit and probably not all that busy at the moment anyway, which was very not helpful. The kid even made a break for it, like he was going to run away and find his mom and I felt so helpless and ineffective and alone in the whole thing. I woke up feeling miserable, and kind of annoyed with my honorary sister for not backing me up.
I'm getting tired of these dreams of helplessness and loneliness. I'm sure they have to do with things going on in my life that I don't want to talk about here, and are probably a reflection of the fact that I have no control over those things and it drives me crazy that I just have to let them play out, you know? But I'm ready for them to play out so I can stop having upsetting dreams. Upsetting dreams do not leave a person feeling rested and ready to face the new day.
But we have nice weather at the moment (record high temperatures), which means I get to walk outside on my lunch break from work. Which is nice. If I get a little nice during the day, it helps offset the not-so-nice at night.
I could still use a decent night's sleep, though.
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
Dreams
I've been tired a lot lately, and as such, I've been sleeping a lot. I'm not sure if that's helping, though, because I've been having some really odd, rather disturbing dreams of late.
Last night, I had a dream that I was going to my own engagement party. It took place at a church (which was strange enough to begin with), and when we walked in, the walls were covered with white pieces of paper that had names on them. I think they were supposed to be roses or some sort of decoration for the party, because there was a basket of them on one of the side tables and a sign that said, "Name and Relationship." My guess is that people were supposed to write their name on the rose and how they knew the bride or groom and put them on the wall, maybe so we could see how supported and loved we were? Thing is, I didn't recognize any of the names. I had arrived at the party with my mother, and watched her very determinedly fill out a rose and stick it on the wall in an act of "even if we don't know these other people, I love my daughter" and I love her for that. She's that kind of mom. But my fiance was suspiciously absent from the party, as well. Even in photographs. There were pictures of him and pictures of me, but only one of the two of us together and for the life of me, I can't place his face. In my dream, I remember saying, "I guess maybe we should start taking some pictures together." And I knew that I wasn't terribly excited about this marriage. Whoever this guy was (I remember his name was James and I think he was a friend of my brother's?), I wasn't marrying him because we were head over heels in love but because he asked and who else was I going to marry? So that dream left me feeling rather sad. My own engagement party was a) not really about me and b) not cause for much celebration.
So I woke up, scritched my cat behind the ears for a few minutes and went back to sleep.
I had another dream, this time that I was in the emergency room of a hospital giving blood. I gave two pints from my left arm and they wanted to get another one from my right, and then they had to collect some bone marrow or something from my right wrist joint. After they got the third pint of blood but before the wrist joint thing, I saw some other friends of mine in the emergency room who were there for other various procedures and I chatted with them for a bit. I felt safe when I hugged them and terrified of going back to my "bed" for the wrist joint thing. Because I knew that in order for them to get whatever it was they needed, they would have to insert a very long, very large needle through the heel of my hand to the bones in my wrist. I didn't want my friends to let me go, or I wanted one of them to go with me, but they had their own procedures to have done. So I went back to my bed when I had no more excuses not to, and they had adjusted it so that my feet would be higher than my head, presumably to facilitate getting the right angle from my palm through to my wrist, but they adjusted it too far and I slid right off, head first, onto the floor. We all laughed about that for a minute and I climbed back onto the bed (I stayed on this time) and hoped against hope that it wouldn't hurt as bad as I thought it was going to. But it did. In my dream, I could feel the pain of the needle piercing my palm and penetrating through to my wrist. I wanted someone's hand to hold and squeeze, but none of my friends were there. And the really strange part is not so much that I felt this horrid pain in my dream, but that I was aware that while I was dreaming about this pain in my hand, I consciously knew I was lying in my own bed at home with my hand resting on my stomach. I could feel that position in real life at the same time. It was odd. And painful. And when I woke up for good this time, I checked my hand first thing to see if there was a mark on it. Which, of course, there wasn't.
So the common threads in these dreams were feelings of solitude, sadness, and nonchalance. Add these to the dream I had a couple of nights ago about single-handedly fighting blue zombies with machetes (and eventually losing when a child zombie bit my thigh) and I'd say I'm about due for a really happy dream. A dream wherein I feel loved and safe and secure and happy. Or, there is something going on in my life that is making me feel very isolated that I need to examine. These sorts of dreams certainly don't make sleeping very restful.
Last night, I had a dream that I was going to my own engagement party. It took place at a church (which was strange enough to begin with), and when we walked in, the walls were covered with white pieces of paper that had names on them. I think they were supposed to be roses or some sort of decoration for the party, because there was a basket of them on one of the side tables and a sign that said, "Name and Relationship." My guess is that people were supposed to write their name on the rose and how they knew the bride or groom and put them on the wall, maybe so we could see how supported and loved we were? Thing is, I didn't recognize any of the names. I had arrived at the party with my mother, and watched her very determinedly fill out a rose and stick it on the wall in an act of "even if we don't know these other people, I love my daughter" and I love her for that. She's that kind of mom. But my fiance was suspiciously absent from the party, as well. Even in photographs. There were pictures of him and pictures of me, but only one of the two of us together and for the life of me, I can't place his face. In my dream, I remember saying, "I guess maybe we should start taking some pictures together." And I knew that I wasn't terribly excited about this marriage. Whoever this guy was (I remember his name was James and I think he was a friend of my brother's?), I wasn't marrying him because we were head over heels in love but because he asked and who else was I going to marry? So that dream left me feeling rather sad. My own engagement party was a) not really about me and b) not cause for much celebration.
So I woke up, scritched my cat behind the ears for a few minutes and went back to sleep.
I had another dream, this time that I was in the emergency room of a hospital giving blood. I gave two pints from my left arm and they wanted to get another one from my right, and then they had to collect some bone marrow or something from my right wrist joint. After they got the third pint of blood but before the wrist joint thing, I saw some other friends of mine in the emergency room who were there for other various procedures and I chatted with them for a bit. I felt safe when I hugged them and terrified of going back to my "bed" for the wrist joint thing. Because I knew that in order for them to get whatever it was they needed, they would have to insert a very long, very large needle through the heel of my hand to the bones in my wrist. I didn't want my friends to let me go, or I wanted one of them to go with me, but they had their own procedures to have done. So I went back to my bed when I had no more excuses not to, and they had adjusted it so that my feet would be higher than my head, presumably to facilitate getting the right angle from my palm through to my wrist, but they adjusted it too far and I slid right off, head first, onto the floor. We all laughed about that for a minute and I climbed back onto the bed (I stayed on this time) and hoped against hope that it wouldn't hurt as bad as I thought it was going to. But it did. In my dream, I could feel the pain of the needle piercing my palm and penetrating through to my wrist. I wanted someone's hand to hold and squeeze, but none of my friends were there. And the really strange part is not so much that I felt this horrid pain in my dream, but that I was aware that while I was dreaming about this pain in my hand, I consciously knew I was lying in my own bed at home with my hand resting on my stomach. I could feel that position in real life at the same time. It was odd. And painful. And when I woke up for good this time, I checked my hand first thing to see if there was a mark on it. Which, of course, there wasn't.
So the common threads in these dreams were feelings of solitude, sadness, and nonchalance. Add these to the dream I had a couple of nights ago about single-handedly fighting blue zombies with machetes (and eventually losing when a child zombie bit my thigh) and I'd say I'm about due for a really happy dream. A dream wherein I feel loved and safe and secure and happy. Or, there is something going on in my life that is making me feel very isolated that I need to examine. These sorts of dreams certainly don't make sleeping very restful.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Stupid and Angry
I'm angry today and feeling stupid now.
Let's say your internet company calls you up and says, "Your internet isn't working, we'll send a new router to you and you'll have it in 3-5 days." And a week and a half goes by and you don't have the new router yet, so you call them back and say, "I thought you were going to send me a new router. Has it shipped yet?" And they tell you, "Oh, we issued a new router but there was something wrong with it so your account is on hold."
"Why is my account on hold?"
"There was something wrong with the router."
"What?"
"Please hold." *muzak* "Okay, we've located a working router and taken your account off of hold and you'll have it tomorrow."
"Groovy, thanks."
So tomorrow comes and they sent the new router to your mom's house instead of your house. So you call the delivery company and ask them to change the address (since your mom was smart enough to refuse the package) and they process your change of address request so that your router will be delivered to where you are between normal delivery hours the following day.
Except, the delivery guy shows up an hour late. You've already left because you had other commitments. You're hoping he'll not actually deliver your router since you're not there to receive it and will try again the next day but no, the tracking information for the delivery says he delivered it and left it outside the front door an hour after the front door is locked for the night.
So you hurry in the next morning, hoping to find your router waiting for you outside the front door, but it's not there. It's not in the hallway. It's not blowing down the street. Your router is nowhere to be found and all the delivery company can say when you call them is that they don't know where it is, either, since the delivery guy said he left it at the front door. And at this point, you've been without interweb for two weeks and it's getting ridiculous and you're frustrated and angry. So you call your internet provider back and tell them that the delivery company lost your router and they need to run a track and trace on it and they need to disassociate the serial number of that router from your account since it was never in your possession and you don't know where it is and you don't want to be held responsible for something that the delivery company lost. Your internet provider reports that router lost and after quite a bit more hassle, agrees to overnight another router to you, shipped to where you will be the next day when you will be there, because this whole thing is just a freaking mess at this point and you're freaked out and angry and you've been a model internet customer for a really long time and I'm sure they're pissed off that one of their routers is now lost, too.
And then, ten minutes later, your neighbor knocks on the door with your router that was delivered to him last night when the delivery guy showed up an hour late.
So I'm angry. And frustrated. And feeling stupid. If the delivery company had just said they left it with my neighbor instead of at the front door, I would be in possession of my package now and all would be good. As it stands, I have to camp out at home tomorrow until the delivery guy shows up with the replacement for the replacement for the replacement because someone got frisky and messed with my account in the first place.
And I will freely admit that maybe I should have waited a bit before completely freaking out on the delivery company and "internet service provider" (this has nothing to do with my interweb - it's an adjacent metaphorical story), but wouldn't you? If sensitive information was supposedly left somewhere in the open where it then obviously wasn't?
I could use some happy today. I could really use some happy. I don't like feeling stupid and angry. I don't like yelling at people on the phone. I'm sure they are all very nice people who are just trying to do their jobs but when they can't answer my questions or provide reasonable solutions to my problems, I get frustrated and start to yell. I don't like that. I'm sorry if you are one of the people I yelled at today. You didn't deserve that. And if it helps at all, I'm mad at me, too, for not just waiting two hours to see what else would develop (even though I feel justified in my irritation at the incorrect information given to me).
So I'm sorry that I'm stupid and angry today. I'm going to go try to find some happy now.
Let's say your internet company calls you up and says, "Your internet isn't working, we'll send a new router to you and you'll have it in 3-5 days." And a week and a half goes by and you don't have the new router yet, so you call them back and say, "I thought you were going to send me a new router. Has it shipped yet?" And they tell you, "Oh, we issued a new router but there was something wrong with it so your account is on hold."
"Why is my account on hold?"
"There was something wrong with the router."
"What?"
"Please hold." *muzak* "Okay, we've located a working router and taken your account off of hold and you'll have it tomorrow."
"Groovy, thanks."
So tomorrow comes and they sent the new router to your mom's house instead of your house. So you call the delivery company and ask them to change the address (since your mom was smart enough to refuse the package) and they process your change of address request so that your router will be delivered to where you are between normal delivery hours the following day.
Except, the delivery guy shows up an hour late. You've already left because you had other commitments. You're hoping he'll not actually deliver your router since you're not there to receive it and will try again the next day but no, the tracking information for the delivery says he delivered it and left it outside the front door an hour after the front door is locked for the night.
So you hurry in the next morning, hoping to find your router waiting for you outside the front door, but it's not there. It's not in the hallway. It's not blowing down the street. Your router is nowhere to be found and all the delivery company can say when you call them is that they don't know where it is, either, since the delivery guy said he left it at the front door. And at this point, you've been without interweb for two weeks and it's getting ridiculous and you're frustrated and angry. So you call your internet provider back and tell them that the delivery company lost your router and they need to run a track and trace on it and they need to disassociate the serial number of that router from your account since it was never in your possession and you don't know where it is and you don't want to be held responsible for something that the delivery company lost. Your internet provider reports that router lost and after quite a bit more hassle, agrees to overnight another router to you, shipped to where you will be the next day when you will be there, because this whole thing is just a freaking mess at this point and you're freaked out and angry and you've been a model internet customer for a really long time and I'm sure they're pissed off that one of their routers is now lost, too.
And then, ten minutes later, your neighbor knocks on the door with your router that was delivered to him last night when the delivery guy showed up an hour late.
So I'm angry. And frustrated. And feeling stupid. If the delivery company had just said they left it with my neighbor instead of at the front door, I would be in possession of my package now and all would be good. As it stands, I have to camp out at home tomorrow until the delivery guy shows up with the replacement for the replacement for the replacement because someone got frisky and messed with my account in the first place.
And I will freely admit that maybe I should have waited a bit before completely freaking out on the delivery company and "internet service provider" (this has nothing to do with my interweb - it's an adjacent metaphorical story), but wouldn't you? If sensitive information was supposedly left somewhere in the open where it then obviously wasn't?
I could use some happy today. I could really use some happy. I don't like feeling stupid and angry. I don't like yelling at people on the phone. I'm sure they are all very nice people who are just trying to do their jobs but when they can't answer my questions or provide reasonable solutions to my problems, I get frustrated and start to yell. I don't like that. I'm sorry if you are one of the people I yelled at today. You didn't deserve that. And if it helps at all, I'm mad at me, too, for not just waiting two hours to see what else would develop (even though I feel justified in my irritation at the incorrect information given to me).
So I'm sorry that I'm stupid and angry today. I'm going to go try to find some happy now.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Yeah, You Don't Need to See That
I was cast in a couple of plays that open in January (yay!) at the theater where I took all sorts of classes about a year ago (yay!). For the most part, I am very excited about it. It is an evening of short plays, six in total, and I appear in two (which doesn't happen often - they don't like to double cast these shows because they want as many people working as possible). I really enjoy both scripts and both directors and both writers and both casts - I think it is going to make for a really fun night of theater.
In one of these shows, though, I will be wearing clothing that a woman of my age and body type really has no business wearing. That's kind of the point. And on the one hand, I know it's a sort of sight gag (not quite the right term, but I can't think of a better one), and I'm totally on board for that. Having been a costume designer, I know that the clothes do a lot to tell the story of the character and when I'm only on stage for three pages, there's a lot of story that needs to be told in not a lot of time, so whatever the costume can do to help is great. But on the other hand, I have body image issues. I think we all know this by now. I think we also all know by now that I don't have washboard abs or a cute, pert little rear end. I'm curvier and squishier than that. I take comfort in the fact that my cat likes to sleep on my curvy, squishy tummy. And I try to be an advocate for non-lollipop women in the arts to get more screen time, so to speak, so this would seem to be a great opportunity to showcase an extremely talented woman with a less than Hollywood-perfect physique.
But it's still freaking me out a little that I will be seen wearing...that. Like people will love me less if they see my exposed, fish-belly white, curvy, squishy tummy. Or like they will be so blinded by the stark whiteness of my legs that have not seen the light of day in years that they won't be able to focus on my performance.
I will do it. I will wear that costume on stage and I am sure that once I am in the scene, I won't even be thinking about it. I usually don't, once I'm in the scene. The anticipation of it is freaking me out a little. Almost motivating me to stop eating for the next two weeks and do lots of crunches, but I know that doing that would then fly in the face of the aesthetic of the piece. That wouldn't be true to the character or the director's vision or the writer's vision.
Anyway. I hope people come see these shows and enjoy them. I hope people are able to focus on my performances instead of my tummy. Though if you do come see them and stick around to talk to me after, I may need you to tell me that I'm pretty and you still like me.
Maybe.
In one of these shows, though, I will be wearing clothing that a woman of my age and body type really has no business wearing. That's kind of the point. And on the one hand, I know it's a sort of sight gag (not quite the right term, but I can't think of a better one), and I'm totally on board for that. Having been a costume designer, I know that the clothes do a lot to tell the story of the character and when I'm only on stage for three pages, there's a lot of story that needs to be told in not a lot of time, so whatever the costume can do to help is great. But on the other hand, I have body image issues. I think we all know this by now. I think we also all know by now that I don't have washboard abs or a cute, pert little rear end. I'm curvier and squishier than that. I take comfort in the fact that my cat likes to sleep on my curvy, squishy tummy. And I try to be an advocate for non-lollipop women in the arts to get more screen time, so to speak, so this would seem to be a great opportunity to showcase an extremely talented woman with a less than Hollywood-perfect physique.
But it's still freaking me out a little that I will be seen wearing...that. Like people will love me less if they see my exposed, fish-belly white, curvy, squishy tummy. Or like they will be so blinded by the stark whiteness of my legs that have not seen the light of day in years that they won't be able to focus on my performance.
I will do it. I will wear that costume on stage and I am sure that once I am in the scene, I won't even be thinking about it. I usually don't, once I'm in the scene. The anticipation of it is freaking me out a little. Almost motivating me to stop eating for the next two weeks and do lots of crunches, but I know that doing that would then fly in the face of the aesthetic of the piece. That wouldn't be true to the character or the director's vision or the writer's vision.
Anyway. I hope people come see these shows and enjoy them. I hope people are able to focus on my performances instead of my tummy. Though if you do come see them and stick around to talk to me after, I may need you to tell me that I'm pretty and you still like me.
Maybe.
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