Every single picture I've taken of anything (just about) since I moved to Texas has finally been uploaded onto my picture account. [see link that-a-way ->] You'll know the point where I started last night as that's when captions and possibly all logic cease. (When you're up until 2 a.m. just so you can finish posting, you stop caring about the captions.)
Sadly, my camera batteries gave out last night at the company Christmas party, and thus led to lack of many pictures at the after party that somehow migrated to our apartment. I should go take a shot of the pearl necklace on the Twister spin card, as that sort of sums up the evening. (Though why some people arrived at the evening with shorts already under their dresses *before* Twister was mentioned clearly live harder than myself. Or something. I'm still sorta-but-not-quite sick, and all manner of funked/fumed out from the church paint job inside my theater an hour before curtain tonight. That calls for movie and couch sleeping and leftover cheesecake.)
It's good to note that having the reward I had promised myself for cleaning up all my music and other multimedia files has actually increased how much time I spend on cleaning up files. As this has been happening while I've felt off-and-on ill (and therefore antisocial), so much the better. (Even if I still won't succeed fully before my flight to Places Not Texas in two weeks.)
I started to make a dent in my pile of hand wash only clothes that had accumulated over the past few months, what with the mild summer-like weather gracing December today. It's times like that when I'm thankful for the back patio (somewhere to place it)...and need more chairs.
Also, did you know I was approved for vacation in June? Did you know I was planning on going *anywhere* in June? Would it suprise you to know it's New York for Tony Week with fellow ADP folk? That's the best kind of project.
I like having a visual aid, such to say "that's not how my hair currently looks."
We at the Rotunda would like to think we used up all our crazy points for the week on last nights show, somewhere between the man cleaning the carpets (and thus all the chairs in the center of the theater floor) and the Santa changing room being placed in our dressing room. The lightboard suddenly not working in the middle of preshow was just icing.
One of the fine shop ladies has offered to cut my hair, mostly because she's amused that I'll let her. (She cuts her own and her sister's hair, so don't panic.) I just don't know when it'll happen as the original designed day [today] now features auditions that hadn't been on the schedule yesterday morning.
I was just thinking about how odd it is that--in a year and a half of living in the same apartment--no lights have gone out yet. And then I looked up to see a burnt out light bulb. Whatever metaphor is in there, it's been that sort of day.
Which is why I'm now thinking about that pony no one has ever given me.
I can't tell if I haven't gotten enough sleep, or if I've just had *too* much (yes, there is such a thing). I just know something's off when I start getting this random and quotable.
In other news, I finally bought an iPod, if only because it was on sale and people were tired of me debating whether I should get one. Thank you, Black Friday, for always finding a way for me to be adventurous (besides roaming Houston streets before dawn).
because yesterday I was sleeping/stuffing myself silly/laughing 'til it hurt
I am thankful that I have people--both here and in Missouri--who can make me laugh until it hurts. I am also thankful that many of these same people can make me laugh when things hurt, if you follow that as well as my brain did.
I am thankful that not only do I have a job, but I am working somewhere that is endlessly interesting to me and thus so much more than "just a job." I don't stop often enough to appreciate that I am in the theater industry, and not as a volunteer usher.
I am thankful for Tenika's fried chicken.
I am thankful for the moments when I feel this is so very where I'm supposed to be, and I am additionally thankful that those times keep occuring with fireworks in the background.
I went from no plans to the possibility of a Mexican-themed Thanksgiving party tomorrow. With pinatas. And fried chicken. And--because I'm Charlie Brown this year--the above items.
As much as I should've seen in coming, I now can't get justifiably angry at people for calling me "Hannah Montana." Angry, yes; justifiably, no. (If I were at home instead of work, I could post a picture.)
Mom, if you read this: if you want to sorta-double up your Black Friday shopping by my grabbing things (for you) at the stores I rush to and you grabbing things (for me) at the places I head, just give me a call. I'm planning on Target and Wal-Mart, with a possible "I-did-it-last-year, why-not-this-year" 3 a.m. run to Best Buy.
Question purely to amuse myself: if someone's going to attend "Beowulf" somewhere in the near future (and please do so in 3D so you can duck limbs and such), please count how many times our hero declares his name in a threatening manner. Thank you.
In other news, today we have one more dress rehearsal before a week-long holiday break. While I'm looking forward to the time away (especially after the draining tech week), I'm all manner of concerned that we'll be working to catch back up (again) once we get back together next week. In the meantime, I will focus on this morning not being awful as that's a good first goal.
Unrelated, but I think all the people who need to know read this: my Christmas list is coming, but I'm trying to find out what will be on sale for Black Friday before I send it in. Sorry.
Why does everything seem to fall apart, just a little, for me during tech week? Isn't that the antithesis of the very week?
Lee Ann Womack, not helping; Stevie Wonder, debatable
(I wish I was finished cleaning up/out my music collection, and not just so I can finally justify the mp3 player purchase I promised myself upon complection.)
I don't know why it was so Very Suddenly Important to finish, but I just spent an hour debating the working points of something in the back of my mind since P&P. More details once I solidify further.
I really am a rational being, even if I sometimes want to move to London right in the middle of a tech rehearsal or fall asleep on the couch before 10 p.m. for several nights of the week (among other things). Really.
...I could go into detail about going to the Texas Renaissance Festival this past weekend (of course dressed in the best of the costume shop), how my daisies are blooming again in the Texas Not-Really-Fall Fall, pulling out all our Christmas decorations from last year (such as they are) after listening to all the Christmas music sound cues on the first day of sound levels, and even go into the drama surrounding the show now that the director was picked to stand in for one of the actors.
But it's tech week. I don't even have time to work out my cue book, let alone tell stories or even post the pictures. (Oh yes, there are pictures...)
RE: past subjects - Really, do you actually want to know if there's a zombie in your shower? Barring the times when you're about to take a shower yourself--say, when you're just in the room to brush your teeth--would it really make a difference? You'd probably be better off *not* checking, as you'd then be closer to the door.
RE: maturity - When you're still in your heels at almost one a.m., you know you're an adult.
RE: lies SMs tell non-SMs - Stage Managers are not allowed to be sick. Stage Managers suck out all the fun of life. Stage Managers are nothing but practical people.
RE: style - I certainly didn't dress this well before I lived down the block from a mall, and it's not all from working in box office.
RE: deep confessions - I get *way* too excited about the possibility of using spike tape, especially now that we have the equivalent of a full crayon box of colors.
RE: maturity, revisited - Thursday I turned 23 and 1/2. Yes, I told people. And then I ate cake for dinner.
Deb and I finally got out to see "Across the Universe" last night in what was our first time out and about solo. (I had been really impressed that it'd taken so long until now, when I realized it took way longer than that for Jessica and I to accomplish the same. Sigh, lack of vehicle.) Not only is this directly responsible for all the Beatles music I'll listen to today, but it's an indirect on how I spent the rest of yesterday evening speaking in a British dialect.
It's a tribute to the people I hang with that none of them called me crazy to my face.
Other things of last night: songs about epilepsy and rocking armchairs, being swing-flipped around someone's shoulders and the sudden reminder of how much I love stuff like that (let's keep it up, world!), plus the first section of "Bill and Ted."
I'm sure the little nudge of homesickness I have is so very helped by putting together music CDs for the two trips to Missouri various tour groups have at the moment. (And yet I still haven't bought my plane ticket home.)
Reasons I might be a bad-ish person: putting lots of country music on CDs for people who don't like country music, possibly encouraging things that I know can't proceed, checking out plane tickets for London at Thanksgiving time.
I can feel the Texas twang take over my speech patterns more all the time, filling me full of the vocal tics my mom worked so hard to prevent in Missouri.
I woke up this morning from a dream in which I was writing a musical. The current song was about quotations (at the time, I was on Chekov's "it's the day to day living that wears you out). I kinda wanna finish it, y'all know?
Someone needs to stage an intervention between myself and my copy of "Legally Blonde: The Musical."
I'm working on a CD mix set for the touring group headed to Missouri next week. I should be putting together things for the start of rehearsals, but instead I'm staying up late organizing music (and trying to find a spot for the above-quoted hidden track.)
Why does everyone want to set me up with someone right now? Is it extra pep leaking into my system from the over-exposure to sorority girls, even if they're just the Broadway variety?
What would you say if I went to New York for Tony week?
I wonder if becoming nostalgic for your childhood while also a single gal in her 20s is the mind's way of informing you it wants children?
*Three quick things attached to last night:*
- Thinking on it, I'm only a fan of props and/or bits going awry (as they did--twice--last night) when they are not during a show I run. Also golden--one actor to the other, as they desperately searched in the dark for a missing shoe: "...I don't know, but it's vital to the plot..."
- For the (ultimately) only one of you all who was promised an autograph from Dixie Carter, we were sadly informed by someone else coming out the stage door that she was too busy toasting the opening backstage to be out any time soon. I'll still see what I can do in the future.
- Even more cryptic: I'm about half a paragraph from sending it. We'll see what happens.
Merv is trying to send me a message right now, but I totally have a rule against sending potentially dangerous emails between the hours of 10:30 p.m. and 7:30 a.m. Just like your local hotel pool. (What? Go to sleep, Hannah.)
* If you have a Hollywood Video going out of business somewhere in your neighborhood, please take the time to benefit from their misfortune to load up on your personal movie collection.
* I've been terribly social lately, so much so that my inner homebody is about to explode (but, naturally, in a quiet fashion). It's nice to gallavant about, playing card games and eating cookie cake, but I still want to go sit in a corner chair with a book and an ignorance of what's happening around me. As much as I want to travel and live abroad, I know there's a part of me that will end up still sitting in a corner and such, but with a different language to ignore.
* I'm totally going to workshop that last bit in my head all night long, and potentially change it in the morning. Good night.
On Sunday, not only did I eat the world's most perfect burger (with amazing bacon, of course), but I also spent a large quantity of quality re-reading the "final" drafts of everything I turned in for my senior English capstone creative non-fiction class. While I naturally remembered most of the "Jesus and the kittens" saga, I had forgotten the entire final section where I spent one final patch in the Sullivan house, then emptied of nearly all but the doors I painted all weekend.
More than anything else, this had been the hardest part to write (and it shows - it's also the roughtest, in my opinion). I was trying to write about my inability to change being completely destroyed with going head-to-head with change *everywhere*...while still not wanting to accept that change. There's an incredibly selfish six year old inside me who would never allow anything to grow or de-evolve (as it may be) from its current position--friendships, hairstyles, etc.--if she had the chance. And, though the twenty-three year old I am sometimes wins these battles, almost as often lately the six year old decides to sit in the corner and pout until she gets her way.
(I don't know that I make sense anymore.)
I guess I've just been homesick lately, now that I am full-time for as long as the Players and I play chicken about me moving to London (someday! really!) and am therefore in Texas. And I don't know that I ever got enough post-P&P rest. And sometimes it is nice--in a derranged way--to sit and sulk for a bit...as long as I remember I eventually have to be an adult and look up insurance, or whatnot.
(Side note: I used final long-ago above in quotes because I'm itching to revamp some portions...just as any girl who was looking for a way to begin writing again should. That was my other big ephiphany of the weekend; I miss not writing things, even when they were technically for a grade.)
I could really go for a game of "Donkey Says, Donkey Does."
I have not been this angry for a long time, and (besides me not wanting to talk about it) I accidentally took it out on the managing director.
I've never felt so disconnected to friends back home, to those at work, and to my own brain.
I've been terrorized, in a bizarre way, by a constant scent of pancake syrup in the same section of the Rotunda all week long. Is someone above us cooking? Did they spill something on the carpet Sunday morning and it was never cleaned up? Am I hallucinating sweet sugary goodness? (This is somehow the least of my problems, I would guess.)
One of these things is an in-joke, just for the sake of the in-joke
I need to do laundry.
I need to vaccum my room.
I need to balance my checkbook and finish up a few bills.
I did manage to iron my pants, if that counts.
I also managed to rewrite cues, but probably only because I promised the ASM she could look over the book as soon as I got in today.
Things are progressing on the (completely pointless, and only mildly amusing) 50 states CD mix I'm working on for entertainment sake. Rhode Island is currently my favorite (though no one can discount Delaware, the first and most colonial state).
For once, I have a legitimate reason not to be in contact with people: I'm out of internet at the apartment until further notice. The only way to fix this would be to have the time to run to Best Buy and procure a new power adapter for our router, and that won't be tonight. In the meantime...Diner Dash, BSG, and stuff on the DVR.
I celebrated my final day as an A.D. Player intern by taking the day off. I bought a dress that may or may not work for the Gala in two weeks, but will work for anytime I want to pretend I actually know how to swing dance. I also received official confirmation that I was staying in stage management and box office, something I'd simply assumed and therefore never stopped to ask before now.
Today I'll be celebrating what is technically the first day as a full-fledged company member by possibly covering the entire rent check since Deb's direct deposit didn't go thru properly and--while she'll have all her money on Tuesday--rent is due today, no exceptions. It's a good thing I'm making the more-so-than-interns big bucks.
(No, mother, I still do not know exactly what that amount would be.)
I need to put together a grocery list (paycheck = food variety again!), send a reimbursment check home (from when I gave the Ops department the money to fix a toilet when we had a show that night and finance was already gone for the day), and--as always--clean my room.
To steal from Mr. Vinyard: "Look, Ma! No Huricane!"
Because I need more pictures of my feet... The weather was actually fabulously perfect: just warm enough, just breezy enough, and just clear enough for everyone to wind up with a whopping sunburn. (only true for some people - you know who you are)
My English major side cries for my lack of full paragraphing.
As I walked to the theater last night in the post-downpour dusk with a touch of BBQ somewhere close on the breeze, I realized that my favorite scent is summer.
I had a dream where--among other things--I told off someone I know who *really* needs to be told off. And then I woke up with an upset stomach. Clearly, I'm not the gal for the job.
The longest of evening of P&P ever led to the latest start of a High School Musical 2 premiere party ever, and eventually full-force mocking by 2 a.m. I think this is how the movie should always be watched, though I'm not baking cupcakes every single time.
I need to look into other methods of posting. 21st century, here I come!
Things Saved in My Text Message Drafts Folder Because I Don't Actually Have Time to Post (somewhat expanded now due to lack of character restrictions):
* The new TIME article on China as the next great superpower (and only real threat to that status in the U.S.) has caused me to think only of Firefly. I don't think that was the intention.
* There's little that calms me down more than rainfall; especially when I find myself standing under a tree, completely protected from the otherwise elsewhere downpouring of the sky.
* I think I'd rather deal with the "advanced" lighting systems of olden days and their ever-present possibility of, say, burning the entire theater to the ground, than the modern progress of cellphones ringing in the middle of the climactic scene.
(But while I have you hear, I'm terribly pleased to note that my paragraph got one of the bigger laughs last night at Spotlighter. I hope this doesn't turn into a constant thing, though.)
One of these days, not too long coming, I will once more win the wrestling match called My Life vs. Pride and Prejudice. One of these days, I will be able to spend more time calling people back, answering the phone on the first ring, and in general update the world more about my presence within it. (Hint: One of these days is not considered this week.)
One year ago yesterday, I stepped out of an overstuffed car after the world's most miserable car trip and said--for the first of many times--"Why is it so humid?"
One year ago today, I met practically the entire company of A.D. Players for the first time when I dropped in early during a rehearsal for the annual Spotlighter Awards and immediately stepped into my role ("new intern #2").
I've used the "one year ago" as a punch line for most of the weekend (hi, despite the backdate, this is actually Monday), seeing as the irony that follows me everywhere picked this weekend to feature a double show shift, understudy performances (and one understudy for the understudy show), the switching of my roommate, and a supreme lack of sleep.
While beginning with the under-understudy drama on Friday, though, all this extra stress has seemed to be a way to reaffirm that I am where I am supposed to be. I've had a number of compliments about my handling of things this weekend. Considering the sources, I do not take their words lightly, as they come from people who's respect I value highly and are not known to toss off praise they do not mean.
You can't get better proof than that to justfy living in this humidity-ridden state...except that I'm also blessed by knowing (and hanging and comiserating and bonding with) some of the best people Texas [by way of other locations] has to offer. I could not have gotten through this year without them, and I appreciate more than a silly blog can express the support they have provided--some times more than others--during this incredibly up-and-down year.
I don't think I should keep my 3" Harry Potter on my desk at the Christian theater company, huh?
I feel the need to post, not only because it's been quite some time since the last (I've opened P&P, hosted Caleb, and seen the new Harry Potter movie), but also because I fear I did nothing but cause my mother more worry by calling home.
I wanted to let her (and now, the world) know that I received confirmation that I was being officially offered a position with the company. This was, naturally, after I also received a breakdown for the stage management assignments for the next year which featured my name four times in a row at my beloved Rotunda. I will have the summer off next season. I like this plan.
The worrying part was when we delved into a conversation about how busy I've been, how many hours I've logged recently, and actually used the phrase "I shouldn't be telling you this, should I?" I am busy, and I probably am working harder than I need to (and I will ignore anyone who questions my use of "probably" in that sentence), but I am still mostly sane and more rested after having the morning off today.
Also, other productive things in my life besides P&P: * I have a roommate from last year. We are already planning to go to London.
* If you don't think I haven't been spending time in the booth plotting what I'm going to wear to the HP7 release party next Friday night, then you clearly saw me reading the High School Musical 2 magazine. Or, you know, saw me call some cues.
* Mexican Coke seems to taste just like regular Coke, except the bottles are taller and skinner.
* Skippy the DVD player has spun his last. I priced replacements within ten minutes of his expiration.
* This free subscription to Netflix is going to be awful hard to break from at the end of the month.
* My police report finally came back, so I'll be debt free to the library as of tomorrow. That's something Mom can be happy about!
I guess all I need is some actual sleep in my system, considering all the things I've accomplished this morning in about an hour and a half:
* discovered that I actually *can* have my incident report sent to me, as I apparently just needed to talk to the right person (and send them a check for thirty cents)
* bought bus passes for myself and for Caleb (while he's here)
* figured out a way to get Caleb (and myself, actually) to and from the airport without (1) paying for a way too expensive cab--thanks, nice neighborhood--and (2) imposing on any of my friends on one of our few days off and at 4 a.m.
* confirmed that Harry Potter tickets were still available for the midnight show, even if it wasn't IMAX
Now I'm going to do some P&P stuff, eat a quick lunch, and head out the door to do more P&P stuff at the actual theater. Eee!
God understands why I'm not in church right now...
...and it involves the fact that, as I was half-asleep in bed, waiting for the alarm to officially go off, I added up how long I was at the theater yesterday (11 hours) and then--out of interest--how long I'd been at the theater the previous (and essentially, all other days since Tuesday).
Good people of the world, I've been putting in 13+ hour days. No wonder many people have expressed interest in the amount of sleep/time off I've had recently.
After last night's first dress/tech run, though, I think it's just now hitting me all that I've managed to accomplish with this show. Everything's pulling together so well, and, even when I know that it's not all from my efforts, I can finally step back and see that I am part of the gelling. I have not royally screwed up the entire process, like I'd fear I would do when I first found out I'd been tapped as the replacement SM. It's been long. I've made plenty of mistakes (and I bet there's still some out there left). But I've gotten so much positive feedback this week that I have to start believing it.
In other news, I was just treated to a free month of Netflix, and I might be trying to plan a trip sometime to New York. Or maybe London. There's a list of shows to see, and the destination will depend on ultimately which has the majority of the requests.
From two feet away, the cap popped straight off the top of the milk bottle and fell to the floor. This relates to nothing, but was so amazingly random I had to mark the occassion.
Today I'm covering a shift at the Rotunda (my once-upon-a-time home) that I've only watched in passing while calling time remaining to actors. I'm afraid I'm going to turn into entertainment for the actors already set in the booth (much as I often treated certain other TA-DAA handlers in the past).
Though it's fortunately the part of the world that isn't actually me, even if it might directly relate to things like not having to fit all the sound design work (putting it into the book, setting levels, practicing cues prior to actors, practicing cues with actors) into the same day. Which is just like affecting me personally.
Anyway, at least I'm not on irony's hit list right now, as it chose not to strike me down for similar comments (re: actors who play sports and/or do other things that could put the show in a bind if they are injured) as the person who now may have six weeks of dragging himself up and down stairs.
I'm being a bit overly dramatic about all this, but both hit on the same day (basically - the ankle injury was last night but not checked out until today) and I'm a bit jostled from the "pouring water on fires all around"-ness of the afternoon.
In "news only for my mother," the proper answers to your questions are: * yes, much * no, really, it hasn't fallen off or or hurt lately or anything * it's certainly not boring * Mo-om! (when do I have time?)
Of all the adventures I've had lately, I never would've guessed this would be the one to gain its own three-part (and sure to continue) saga.
Popular opinion of those who've recently seen my foot seem to agree that I did *not* actually remove anything (beyond the top few skin layers) when I finally sucked things up Wednesday night and spent quality time with a sterilized pair of tweezers. Instead, I seem to have shoved the shard so far into my foot that I cannot actually feel it there anymore.
(Side note: part of me wonders if maybe it's just dried blood or something from when I performed personal surgery Wednesday, seeing as I never actually bled then, but no one will know until more poking ensues.)
Seeing as this was discovered last night/this morning at around 1 a.m., it was far from the ideal time to try Round 2, no matter if I had a willing doctor. The slaphappiness of the evening deterred me from offering a needle to someone who had recently been completely collapsed, laughing about the word "ferret" and sound effects of raptors that actually sound like screaming girls just minutes prior. It's only now that I'm so fully aware that I should've just done it last night, when my own hysterical tiredness would've been the perfect anesthesia.
After several futile efforts (trying to trick myself, thinking about how painful it would be for the foot to get infected or--worse--need to be paid for by seeing an actual doctor), I've decided that the only way to remove the piece of glass from my foot would be to have someone else do it.
This is why my parents always pulled out my splinters when I was little: you need someone that you trust enough not to stop digging into your skin no matter how much you wince.
I ended up stepping on the world's tiniest, sharpest tidbit of glass last night, and--judging from the stabbing pain I feel when I step on that area of my foot--it must be lodged inside my foot for the rest of eternity.
Part of me wants to just douse it with hydrogen peroxide, as if that'll knock the glass free with fizzing action, but I think such an idea would actually end with my missing the early morning box office meeting as I lay passed out on the floor from the stinging pain.
* Of course you never bruise the times when you know exactly what hit you, and who you could tease about the damage.
* I should force myself to spend the next half hour cleaning up my room, since that's all the time it would take, but I can imagine five things I rather do instead.
* I purchased a new pair of tennis shoes (all manner of shiny, on sale high-tech-ness) and tote bag (not nearly as conveniently designed). $23 versus an excellent story (that I haven't posted about yet) that further fuels the "don't mess with Hannah" machine? Solid bargin.
* Paul Rundle, I know I owe you a letter. I'm sorry.
* I should just accept the fate that all the Pride and Prejudice blocking will be rewritten sometime at about 2 a.m. the day before paper tech.
I thank God for small miracles: library DVDs that won't need to be paid for, journals found on the floor upon entering bedrooms, and dragonflies hovering out back around the just-started-blooming daisies.
I *am* unpacked if you count things in heaping piles as "unpacked."
Greetings, I am no longer in Missouri. For those of you who did not realize I was in Missouri, this is because I am a (mostly) amazing secret keeper...in this case to the point of some people never realizing I was there/realizing too late to actually make plans to see them. That is both my fault and the full reasoning behind planning to never sneak-up surprise people across several state lines again. (The world shall see how quickly I forget that promise.)
Anyway, it was wonderful to see the family and friends that I did stumble on, especially after the five or ten month absence (depending on who you were). There were boxes sorted, marshmellows burned, birds watched, and all manner of relaxation that I needed before hitting my summer of Jane Austen.
Likewise, though, upon my return to the south there was a bit of "High School Musical" watching (and threats of the sing-along), queso in the fridge, talk of Spamalot walk-up tickets, and daisies not yet fully bloomed and therefore not yet missed. I guess I have a bit of home here now, too, and Mom, don't cry on that.
I could play the "Amazon Recommends" game for hours. How do you play? You sign it, and tick the boxes next to things you would never, ever purchase, even if Amazon thinks it would fit your taste based on wish list items and past purchases. By the time you reach over #100, the recommendations have lost all basis in reality, but you start finding things you'd be interested in, again.
I don't really want the phone to ring, as I am lazy today and it is almost time to stand for a bus and go home and collapse on the couch for more laziness time, but I almost need the phone to ring, just for a tiny bit, to perk me back up from everything in the first bit of this sentence that no longer makes sense.
I'm possibly five minutes from purchasing an mp3 player, just so I can have it by the top of next week.
Apparently the secret to getting a spoon to stay on your nose is to eat a whole heap of cottage cheese with it first and let the residual dairy help stick it to your nose. Also, then your nose gets to smell like cottage cheese.
I also suddenly want to make a mix CD about sugar, candy, etc. Sounds like something to work on during box office shift!
Why do I always seem to go into hibernation after my birthday?
The old answer was "finals," but that's no longer acceptable in my post-college world. This year instead, it was "post-sugar coma" due to so many people knowing about my supreme sweet tooth. All I've basically wanted to do since Tuesday is sleep and sleep more and watch LOST.
Starting today, all I've wanted to do is see how cheaply and quickly I could grab some plane tickets to London. Nothing says "dedication to the company" like a sudden urge to ditch everything for a jaunt in my favorite world capital.
I am not yet successful at willing Fandango to function.
Yesterday I ate a chocolate-covered cricket (by which I mean, I bit off half, was fine until it was crunchy and insect-y and all I could see where the legs, and then bit off as much chocolate around the abdomen as I could manage).
My jaw pops on the right every time I yawn. Unfortunately, that means it pops all the time.
The thunderstorm just struck so closely, it actually bounced the stone shamrock hanging from the handle. I would love to go enjoy my new lawn chair (for actual sitting outside purposes, as compared to the desk sitting one), but for now I have to amuse myself with how delightful it looks covered in raindrops.
I've actually purchased my Spiderman ticket for the weekend, so I guess this co-birthday party will actually ensue. Also about to ensue: planning for the party beyond "everyone come to Spiderman."
I bought a pinata last night for the party since the invitations mentioned pinatas, and it will be Cinco de Mayo. I got a bull who'd already been a bit beat on by life (a few streamers loose or missing), but he seemed more deserving than the star-covered ponies and unicorns. I think I might love him too much to actually destroy him, but at least then our living room gains even more color.
It's just like every other time I've written an important paper, except I'm not actually getting a grade. I'm getting a job.
I'm trying to trick myself into writing the letter by promising myself things I was going to do anyway.
"Oooh....if you write that letter, Hannah, you can go to Borders and pick something out." "Self, I have a coupon *and* a giftcard. I was totally going to buy things for cheap anyway." "What if I refuse to take you?" (blank stare)
All I need is some cherry coke and it to be 3 a.m., and this is totally my senior spring semester all over again.
Fun fact I probably shouldn't mention in the letter: I've taken more headache medication this year that possibly all four years of college.
I've lost all my ability to focus and write a paper, or letter (in this case). I supremely want to say "Yes, I'll be staying. I would like to stay in the same departments. Thanks." and be done with it all, but I have too many hours before it's due to allow myself that sort of desperation.
I'm off to play Addiction Solitaire. I've not touched that game since whatever paper I had to write last for college, approximately this time last year.
There are days that are good, and then there are great days. The difference can be found in the number of opportunities to put a Spiderman invitation in the artistic director's mailbox. The world has no idea how happy I could be if I had a reason to put anything with superhero clipart on it in JCG's box everyday for pure amusement.
Also-also, I guess I need to invest in a llama pinata now that everyone will expect it or something.
With as often as I've been up late for both projects and goofing off, there have been few evenings ending with me collapsed in giggles over every pointless comment made by those around me. That it was brought on tonight by a combination of psychotic Judi Dench and newspaper coupons is not worth anyone's efforts at analyzing.
* In today's battle of "is it a cold, or is it allergies?," the clear winner is more uncertain than most since I spent the morning hacking on phlegm and the afternoon has transformed into sneezes.
* I'm sorry that I just mentioned phlegm.
* I love Mondays off, and am incredibly sad that I won't have another until after my next box office shift (in May, I believe). Mondays are a fabulous way to get things done (what? I can go do other things, within regular office hours?), but I've lately used them for a bunch of nothing. I need spots of nothing.
* Probably, my logical side will rear its head again once the money is in hand (or bank account, as is more likely), but if I had $200+ at the moment, I know exactly what mp3 player I'd purchase.
* I was pleased that, after everything else that happened in the movie, "Children of Men" decided to leave about two ounces of hope at the end. I was rather afraid there wouldn't be anything left to dwell on but the utter bleakness of the world.
* Who's gonna be singing along with the homicidal plant, et al, on the big screen this evening (for only $6)? While consuming who-knows-what-yet food items? God bless big city stuff.
For those of you in the know, the water did come back on for the second show, and the electricity was never a problem. For those of you not in the know, I'll fill you in on the rest of the story (which I promise doesn't lose its kick by knowing the ending) on real-person Monday. We all know that actually means later this week, but I'll throw in a knock-knock joke to make up for the inevitable delay.
Several of us got together for Easter to hang out, hunt eggs, eat enormous amounts of food, psyche each other out at cards, etc. As often happens when two or more interns are gathered, we got onto the subject of who's probably staying and who's on the fence, and--more importantly--what we wish we could change. (I won't go into the last part.)
I wonder if I've spent enough time on that decision for myself. I've been planning on staying from the moment I realized they seemed to want to keep me around. A theater company offering me a position doing exactly what I want to do right now--work in children's theater--in this crazy city that I've come to love: why wouldn't I stay? As transient as we theater people are, and as much as I still want to accomplish in places not ending in -exas (more like -ngland), I would like to take a bit of time to settle in one place, gain as much experience as possible, and continue to grow and improve.
I've been in Ecclesiastes, which--at first glance--could be summed up as "we're all going to die anyway, whether fool or wiseman, workhorse or lazy bum, so why bother?" Let me tell you, as busy as I've been lately, *anything* telling me my hard work doesn't matter just ticks me off. As you get further along, though, it turns into less "work doesn't matter" than "work not done unto the Lord doesn't matter." Ultimately, it won't matter if I think I should stay in Houston, but that I'm where God wants me to work, whatever that position might be, wherever it might be.
I'm a bit frightened to turn this over, suddenly giving myself permission to possibly not stay. Honestly, it's not like I've been beating back an impulse that I should leave, but I also haven't been earnestly searching. That such an epiphany should hit me at around 11:30 p.m. while watching a movie with friends is simply an example of God finding me once I sit still long enough. What point I'm trying to make by posting it to the whole world, I don't know. I guess prayers would be appreciated.
--- I've changed the title for this post three times, trying to find something to capture this post in a single moment. And then I realized that the song I was listening to (on repeat, no less) said it all. Make of that what you will.
Hannah! They're working you like a mule! Sit back down.
No, sit down. I want to tell you a story.
(Pulls open random book next to her, flips through pages. Proceeds to not look at book.)
"Once upon a time, there was a little mule who was always working. No matter how much the mule worked, it never got a day off. Not Passover...not, um, Yom Kippur, not any other holiday. It just worked and worked and worked and worked and worked and worked and worked. And then it died. The end."
Do you know what the moral of this is?
-Don't ask off for Passover?
NO! Don't be the mule!
-Tiffany, at the end of lunch, after I told her I needed to get back to work
I don't know if it's just that I kept telling myself that life would be much calmer/better once it hit April, but I feel like enormous piles of stress flew off my back by the time I woke up this morning.
Of course, none of this would have to do with not getting out of bed until 10:15 (ah, blessed Monday day off), or the fabulous one-liner that popped into my head that I'm going to stop and write on a post-it right now before it disappears. I'm so saving that for an opportune moment. This joyful feeling also couldn't possibly come from the technically start of today (last night), with the continued introduction to Firefly for two of my favorite people in Texas, one of whom has a monkey named Optimus Prime. Because we all know that I totally don't get a kick out of details like that.
Once you put sugar in cottage cheese, you can never go back.
I very much drowned those daisies, and basically killed the entire pot due to lack of coverage from the rain. Twice.
Upon actually taking the time to nap (what? catch up on sleep?) this afternoon, I've decided I should work that into life more often.
Robin Hood tech hasn't been nearly as heinous as I'd feared, but we sometimes almost reach that line.
It's disconcerning when people tell you to do exactly what you were thinking about doing: is that supposed to be some sort of sign? Is this confirmation from the world at large?
I'm gaining an actual desk in the box office as Mr. MAK is leaving the company after twenty-five years. After a week of tech (and lack of sleep and etc.), the enormity of spending so long with one theater hit me yesterday as I was checking props before the show. In fact, it's hitting me again.
I realize that I never call you anymore. I also recognize that I hardly email, facebook, IM, utilize smoke signals, or otherwise try to maintain contact with *anyone* not within my Texas theater circle. Please understand that I only see them because I work with them, and therefore they are in the best position to say things like "You need to lose some stress: sit and mock Grease," or "Why are you not asleep while you can be?"
I worked on three different shows (rehearsals, performances, and dress runs) this weekend. I'm angry at myself for dropping the ball on one show, but then I get reminded (by those above) that I'm stretched a bit thin, attention span-wise, and somewhat justified (except that it's not, but I appreciate the encouragement, anyway).
I'm only on here because I'm waiting for laundry to finish before I can go on errands, and I'm avoiding for five minutes longer the awkward conversation I'm about to have re: why all the things I asked production departments to do for Red Fern apparently haven't been accomplished yet.
And then I will eat leftover pancakes for lunch. With ice cream.
(EDITED LATER TO ADD:) Just got off the phone with the wonderful, amazing TD who was a wealth of answers and helpful advice, and just as ready to roll with things as I am at the moment. Now I'm just hoping the director will be kind enough to hold off on calling me back until tomorrow.
This is the fourth time in two days that Merv has played the same song from the Celtic Woman show. He either has a new favorite, or a new crush.
I fell asleep in a lawn chair on my patio for about an hour after rehearsal. It was so wonderfully sunny, and all the plants and overgrown weeds and things in plastic containers waiting to be planted made it so delightful.
I'm on a quest to discover a friend's middle name. The only ground rule is that I cannot openly ask (verbally or in written form) someone who might know...such as his parents, who are in town this weekend. From my end, I'm more interested in coming up with all the bizarre names that begin with "J" (I know the initial because it's an alliteration thing) rather than the proper one. Jasper? Jephetto? Jenkins?
I cannot do justice to exactly how the faucet in our tub sounds like now. Likewise, I cannot even attempt the slow "elephant dying" (as it was dubbed) sound that I believe is related to the pipe issue causing our faucet to spill out as much water as it does when it's "off."
Furthermore, I cannot offer any better proof that Jessica and I are seldom home than the fact that it has taken the steady growth of the originally small drip this long to increase to the point of making us fix things.
There are moments--thankfully not all the time--when I do not stop and think before I say something. Usually, this results in a snarky, smart alecky comment that may or may not be (1) true, (2) funny, or (3) what I should say at that moment.
I think I often sacrifice (1) and especially (3) for the benefit of (2).
I have entirely too much going on to be dwelling on it all at midnight.
I wish my thoughts would stop zooming around long enough for me to fall asleep. Or, in the world of other options, I wish it was warm enough outside for me to sleep out there instead, where I could chill my brain out by looking at stars (or, at least, where stars would be seen if I didn't live in the middle of a major metropolis area).
* Santa's elves as bowling workers * lobster claps * cake as means of apologizing * dropping the ball * new nicknames all around! * ridiculous, pointless arguments * hair ribbons (not actually for the birthday)
All the random celebrating for the extrodinary Natalie's birthday got me thinking: for my own day this year, can I decide to turn British instead of twenty-three? I like the idea of having a justifiable reason to speak with an accent all day, logical or not.
It occurred to me this morning (thinking back on last night's postshow hang-out on a local porch) that I'm essentially getting out all of my social time now since my March will be so crazy complicated. That's nice enough for now, seeing as I happen to like people and (though it sometimes occurs) don't always want to live like a hermit. It's kinda awful for my laundry, though, since I have box office every night this week along with TV shows I watch with other theater folk, and I might never have clean socks again.
I love it when all the amazing awesome of the world spreads around so it engulfs the weekend and--having no other options--continues flooding into the new week.
(I'm not just saying this because I'm currently eating chicken nuggets, as much as we all know I love my chicken nuggets. Actually, consumption-of-half-my-plate later, it's completely not from the nuggets as I think these might be undercooked and possibly a source of illness waiting to happen. Maybe then I'll miss all the lexicon talk in the morning....)
* two great shows on Saturday will full control of a confounded tree * free lunch in between * free lunch apparently being spiked with drugs of some form based on the cast/crew sanity level after eating * random phone call about the veracity of SHS five year reunion this summer * "Ghost Rider" with the gents (quick review: all the cheese of "Snakes on a Plane" without the gratuitous death by fangs; if they'd snagged Sammy J instead of Mr. Cage, you'd have my perfect guilty pleasure movie) * medium popcorn for $.50 - thanks, movie reward program * dinner afterward (so much for vowing to not spend money this weekend) * "But she can't kill him off. Ron still has to hook up with Hermione!" * only two people in the church sound booth = crash course in running the computer projector program * Where the Red Fern Grows, Part II * spontaneous trip to Dreamgirls * mocking Grease * entirely too much effort spent on attempting to vote for Grease * further obsessing by trying to figure out song choice rules on Grease * box office time used to scope out future productions I won't have money to see * getting mileage out of my fake theatre marriage story * secrets! about the future! * free movie passes at the last minute * truffle mess up as delicious gooey masterpiece * "we're too young to realize how impossible everything is yet" * preview audience radio interview afterward *
I want to put together a warm-up mix for the show, using all dog related songs, but I don't have the time yet. Other things I don't have time for: watching Gilmore Girls, cleaning, eating things more complicated than microwave nuked chicken nuggets.
Today we moved back to the original tree drop method and it worked like a dream, despite the large costumed mascot (unintentially) messing with the tree during preshow.
We cancelled the 9:30 a.m. show in the morning due to lack of audience, so I don't have to be in until 10:00. Normally on Fridays, call (for the SM) would be 8 a.m. I'm more than a little thrilled.
Someone utilized me as a Princess Bride expert and I happily spouted forth all the information they needed to know without the assistance of IMDb. As usual, it's the little things.
I'm adding to my "tape to watch later" list tonight by jetting to a free dress rehearsal performace of "A Streetcar Named Desire." I also have to let my (newly designated) mom know when I reach the theater for safety and continued in-joke sake.
Finally, it always concerns me when the scheduling department isn't aware of something that I've known since at least a month earlier. That is not the way to inspire confidence in your department.
Entirely too much sugar thus far today (but why not, if people are going to make it so terribly accessible?), and it shall only continue. Tenika's coming over after her class and Cassie (who needed a local valentine and thus I volunteered) will join her to watch Sunday's episode of the Grease show. There should also be some truffle making, seeing as my cream cheese is not expired like I'd feared.
Mostly for Caleb: I finally listened to the David Sedairs CD over lunch and I've never held in so much laughter in my life as I sat in the theater library and tried not to disturb people. A copy will be forthcoming.
Something caught the pin on Thursday, which resulted in "the biggest tree in the river bottoms" not falling dramatically in the middle of the show. It also resulted in The Longest Blackout in the History of the World, which itself finally resulted in a rope that refused to come free from the ceiling, and thus the top half of the tree standing perfectly balanced next to the tree trunk for the remainder of the show.
This became terribly funny to me mid-blackout, thought (again), there was plenty of time to reach that place.
Yesterday began with us testing the tree and discovering that we'd apparently shaken something loose during Thursday's attempts at felling the giant. No amount of rewiring, electrucuting the Technical Director (thanks actors trying to be techies), or sheer frustration was going to bring the tree down by power switch. Thus, we held the house until five minutes prior to stated curtain time to allow the production team to string a manual drop system through the ceiling pipes.
Meanwhile, we were redirecting traffic to avoid a large funeral that was supposed to hit somewhere between the two shows. All our attempts to stay out of their way were, naturally for the day, to naught as the full procession of mourners chose to move from the sanctuary to the fellowship hall using our hall instead of going around when they saw the actors moving an entire cabin worth of set pieces off the stage. (They were still moving through for an actor's quick change and the dogs/mountain lion fight, which is why the house manager kept coming into the booth to laugh before returning to be solemn in the hallway.)
Why, yes, of course there are quotes that came out of this (as well as the mainstage opening later that evening):
...That's what we always said at school: "I think it's a metaphor for something." -So, what is it for this? Well, I'd take it as, like, look at the amazing dedication this tree showed. We "chopped" it down, we clicked it free, and we tried to pull it from the ceiling, but it's still standing in the middle of the aisle. That's the kind of dedication I'd like to see from all my actors, too.
Stephen almost threw his jacket on some lady!
I'm going to make you a t-shirt that says, "If a tree doesn't fall onstage, and an audience is present, what sound does the stage manager make?"
It's now really ironic that I randomly decided to wear my lucky earrings today.
Um...the sound box just totally lost power.
Don't mess with Hannah, she sometimes has power to make trees fall.
And the slightly more random:
Come to Texas, even the Cheez-Its are festive.
Wow! There's food here! (we were at a supermarket)
I think I just had cheese go up my nose! -How did you do that? I don't know, but it really burned.
(supremely paraphrased) Ugh. Tomorrow I have two shows. -I'll be there for the first one in the morning. --Yeah, tomorrow morning I'll be curled up in bed...wrapped in my blanket not moving. -That's because the poisonous snake I put in there would've gotten to you by then.
When you think about it, the Crocodile Hunter had it coming... (this started a good twenty minute argument about the statement's validity)
Honestly, this is better for my abs than any of those videos we've been doing.
Right! The Mom box!
When commericals came on and a fastforward didn't happen, we figured you'd fallen asleep.
We wish to apologize for this website over the past few days. We know that Hannah was experience much anger toward the world (or, specifically, one light designer) and needed an outlet for such. While the management cannot guarantee that the worst is over, we can promise more posts focusing on the positive of life.
For instance, in the midst of the past few days, Hannah was officially placed in charge of stage managing the final mainstage of the season, "Pride and Prejudice." (We imagine that you have not only heard of it, but also that some of you just *squeed.*) This is an amazing show of confidence in her abilities, and Hannah has felt more pride than fear about this accomplishment.
Hannah is also currently wear an incredibly comfortable pair of pants, and has consumed some delectable cream soda this evening, so that has also improved life.
Again, we hope that, in the future, we can prevent such a supreme outpouring of bile, at least when so firmly directly at a single subject. Seriously, let's spread things around a little, okay?
When you know it's going to be A Day, you wear a slightly more casual wardrobe, planning on not going back to the box office to hopefully finish whatever changes need to be made to paperwork without such lasting until 1 a.m.
When you know it's going to be A Day, you pull out the lucky earrrings.
When you know it's going to be A Day, you wonder if anyone would say anything about a random tiara, and just how much snark you could throw back in their direction.
Pages I have questions: 12, 4, 16, 19, 22, 27, 26, 32, 37, 42, 43, 44, 45, (and then I stopped trying because there were all sorts of cues that couldn't possibly exist as currently planned)
I've moved beyond vindictive; I want to be petty (which is simply the more high school version of vindictive) and refuse to talk to him all day tomorrow. If nothing else, there will be A Tone.
Also, I did go for the tiara, which led to me explaining to the rest of the apartment folk about what wearing a tiara means in such a place as my world. Also, any random boa wearing means they should give me chocolate immediately, as things must be truly off.
I'm trying not to fall asleep angry, but it's a hard battle.
I decided to go with goldfish and a root beer left in the fridge from the last time the Gents visited (I would link, but that would be part of the epic post that never finished). It seemed to work wonders. I'm currently following it up with some sparkling Welch's that I believe is slightly expired, but that extra kick just makes life interesting...right?
I've been gracefully sneezing for most of today, and--though I was feeling quite toasty while everyone else was freezing this morning--my temperature's running a few degrees lower than my standard 99. I've been running around like crazy (which won't end soon), often in crummy (cold and/or wet) weather. Above all, I'm due for my biannual brush with sickness which always manages to strike when I have no time to rest, relax, and recover.
I can't decide whether I want to eat some more food (Did I mention that I keep missing lunch shifts due to putting out Red Fern fires this week? That'll help things.) or just force myself into sleep early.
As the universe continues to find ways to improve my day after the exhausing hour immediately post-rehearsal, I say, "keep 'em coming."
A Tootsie Roll just fell into my lap. This possibly occurred completely by magic, as I wasn't holding anything that should've had Tootsie Rolls attached (the carton of ice cream and a cup of milk) and it certain didn't magically appear tangled in my "just off the bed" blanket.
It's the little things (and the bubble baths) that combat the headaches.
A Brief Message (to someone who will probably never read it anyway, which is fine as then he doesn't know this site exists)
I am not, nor do I wish to be, a stage manager 24/7. Do not attempt to push off your mistakes on other people, especially when you're double busy trying to reassure those some people that "it's not a big deal."
(See, this is why I just avoid talking to you anymore. And you are not allowed to call me "darlin.")
The Powers That Be are very pleased with my work in the Rotunda, so much so that they want to train me on mainstage shows, also (for variety and the possibility of other people getting to take vacation sake).
This will involve a week span in March when I'll be working on *four* different shows at the same time. I'll also run the beginning of rehearsals when the almighty artistic director becomes simply "the director."
There are other things afoot (mostly good, though some slightly unnerving in a terrifically positive way), but you don't have the security clearance to know them....yet.
If it holds true that however you spend the top of the new year will spread into how you spend the rest of the year, then I'm about to see 365 days of late night Uno games, Firefly marathons followed by yoga and Billy Joel, graham cracker-icing sandwiches, and (as the very top of midnight showcased) starting the celebrating on time--but early by JCG's watch--while attempting not to accidentally pour apple juice on anyone's fancy attire.
Bring it, 2007. I've already spent more time on feather boas this year than the last, and that can't mean anything but awesome.