another Anastacia fun fact: I used to practice vocal support by attempting to hold out the ending note of "Journey to the Past" longer than the onscreen singer

I think I like bruises because it reminds me I do more than a desk job. I liked bruises (not the receiving them, but the artistic after-effects) even before it was a job thing. There's something that feels very hearty Midwesterner about bruising. There's also something very "ow ow ow...can't cross my legs" about my present bruising (one left knee, one right thigh), but only because I didn't have the good sense to fall on something that wouldn't matter. Or, not fall at all.

Frankly, I wanted to expand this more, but I'm totally about to fall asleep and get carried away by the Texas mosquitos. As much fun as that might be (would it?), I should probably call it a night. The laptop does make a nice heating pad on my still sore leg, though.

I tried for hours to find this quote last night

It's really okay for people to get old and die because in heaven you get to play with all the balloons you ever lost.
-Amy Krouse Rosenthal

How frequently have I typed the word "ominously" that the spellcheck automatically takes out the extra m when I type it wrong?

You know what eats up a bunch of your workday? Not having to come in until eleven because you worked the sound board the night before. (Also, choosing the bus that would pause three stops later to wait for the Metro Police to remove the guy up front who was too drugged-out to pay attention to the driver.)

Sorry, I took a brief break to see if there were leftover pumpkin muffins in the dressing room across the hall. There were not. Now I need to convince myself to go forage for leftover development event food in the fridge, because taking a lunch break is another way to speed along the end of the day.

sitting by the pool, letting the humidity dry my hair

I keep thinking I've written a new post, only to be reminded that I've only drafted half-thought ideas in the last few days (and haven't posted any of them yet - thank you, brain).

It's weird to not have the immediate demands of a show in performance everyday...which is likely why I volunteered to ASM the second company performance. I no longer handle "work in your own time" projects quite so well now that I don't eventually need to turn them in for a grade. (Things to do this summer: work on the company SM handbook, eventually enter in next season's calendar, retype scripts or else conquer the new copy machine)

At this rate, I'm never going to get that second batch of brownies done. Sorry, world.

it must be approaching payday...all I do is think about food

If my peanut butter (that I KNOW I purchased) isn't in my pantry, and isn't in my desk at work, where did it go? Is it taking a field trip with an unopened jar of queso and a seldom used tin of pepper to see the big city? I hate to tell you, various condiments and foodstuffs, but you're already in the big city.

Clearly someone was attempting to save my bank account, as the whole world neglected to tell me that HEB sells Jaffa cakes, the chocoately-orangey-Britishy-cakes that will now bankrupt me five dollars at a time.

Note to self: even if it's the one on sale, avoid the devil's food cake mix with pudding in the batter because brownies generally mean brownies, not molten piles of hot chocolately half-heartedly held together with caramel. It still tastes delicious, but it's much harder to play cards with one hand covered in chocolate.

....also

Will: the book I was talking about was "Watching the English."

I wished Good Morning America had some sort of listener call in line this morning, because I wanted to yell at them that their interrpetation of the LOST finale was so completely opposite of what [I believe] had really gone down.

Thank you, sun, for going behind that cloud.

life, lately

The previous post became oddly predictive, as I officially became one of those stage managers as of about yesterday evening. I don't know where that video file will go, but I need a copy. (No ponies in my version, though.)

We closed the children's show, and season, as of this afternoon. I'm sorta out of a job until the fall, as we all know me sitting at a desk all summer is going to be more about multi-hour games of Spider Solitaire or worse, box office coverage. While I'm plotting all sorts of projects at the moment, I don't know how many will actually come to fruition.

"Come to fruition" is a funny sounding phrase.

Some other quick takes:
* I enjoyed Zombieland way more than I thought I would, despite the (obviously) large number of zombies involved. I did have to follow it with happy fluff before I could go to bed, and naturally avoid the bathroom. (Do we all remember when I used to be sure I would someday find a zombie in my shower? Oh, college days.)

* Somebody needs to get me a copy of Tim Minchin's Matilda soundtrack, because I cannot just live on Rock and Roll Nerd forever. Also, if someone would like to ship me across ponds and get me a job with the original company staging of Tim Minchin's Matilda, that would be an even bigger thanks.

* I cannot keep track of the number of nights I've fallen asleep to the same "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me" podcast, and don't feel inclined to check the play count. I'll finish you someday, April 20th!

* Between all the gift cards currently in my possession (and that lovely $5 off anything coupon from Borders sitting in my inbox), how do I not have a package coming my way from an internet site? Why am I missing out on package tracking?

* I'm out of items.

Oh Dear.

So what's truly terrifying about the about the video of large, live action My Little Ponies lip-syncing to Dreamgirls and Wicked aren't so much the large, live action ponies as the internal light cues, quality sound system, and use of set piece as ramp mean there was a (somewhat demented) stage manager involved with this process, and we all know I'd be the sort of SM to approve my actors making a gift video like this.

I have nothing to say, but will treat you to saved pictures from my phone instead.

And how fun, no commentary either! (Why? Mostly because I've forgotten what posted in what order, and don't feel inclined to check.)

the nothing much to post post

It's starting to spit rain (of course it is, I already watered my plants), so I should maybe not bother with posting when I don't have anything special to say.

Our kitchen is no longer covered in water, and our sink has stopped producing soil, so that's two pluses. I'm not sure how soil gushing up from our drain has been the most panic-inducing part of my week (which included a missing Cheshire Cat costume found fifteen minutes before curtain and a possible impending director-going-on-as-understudy in the morning), but there you have it. Maybe because it made me wonder if I'd been drowning plants in the sink while sleeping?

You know what constantly makes me happy? This clip.

I can tell they've freshly chlorined the pool becuase sitting here is making me slightly ill. Perhaps the rain will fix that.

At first I was thrilled with the approximately 12.5 seconds it takes to brush my newly-shortened hair in the morning...until I realized that all the extra attention it's receiving makes me want to (*gasp*) style and fluff and generally girl-ify my hair. I give it two weeks before I stop caring again.

drip drip drip

THANKS

I know we all know that face I make when I get fussed over (see, for example, this morning when my cast wished me a happy birthday), but I really do appreciate the well-wishes, cards left for me to find, free ice cream (lit on fire!), whistle solos, drum sets assembled while the pianist tried to play Wipe-out, time to repot plants, free parking after 6 p.m., a particularly good Neil Diamond impersonation, the classic movie Clue, musical text messages, crunchy quesadillas, birthday mad libs, British miniseries in the mail, borrowed cars for the evening, the homemade dancing celery music video, and the watermelon Blow-Pop from the House of Blues restroom (because like I'm going to choose from their selection of perfumes when there's candy to be had).

I said it elsewhere, but I'll repeat it: if the rest of the year matches the one day trend, twenty-six is going to be awesome.

but tomorrow/there'll be sun

I forgot about this at the time, but it keeps popping back into my brain (probably because it's such a thing that I would do myself). When the Russian adoption thing first broke a couple weeks ago, one of the commentators actually used the phrase "bet you bottom dollar" (featured prominently in the musical "Annie"), and I could hear her mentally say "check! bet won!" over the rest of the segment.

At this point, I might as well stay outside, since my keyboard hasn't shorted out already from the amount of rain on the keys.

I'm a bit glad that I hadn't watered my plants yet tonight, seeing as they'll probably all be flooded by morning with or without my efforts. (Have I mentioned that most of my wee tiny seeds have sprouted into somewhat less tiny green leaf things? I'm alternatingly really happy that all but one pot has actually managed to grown and filled with dread of all the repotting I need to do since more seeds forced their way to the surface than I thought would survive. Most days I sit at work and dream of all the garden work I would rather be doing....and then watch Netflix once I get home. I'm a bad plant mommy.)

There seems to be some sort of sing-a-long taking place around the corner from where I'm sitting. Perhaps what I thought wasn't grilling actually is grilling somewhere. What? Go to bed, Hannah.

There's a woman out here having some sort of soda machine emergency. Involves running, lots and lots of running. (Also loud profanity and a possible dog.)

And to think I didn't want to go to the mall because I didn't want to be around crazy people.

I'm actually outside tonight not for fake farming (though I'll do that as well) or email checking, but to watch fanvids of a British TV show that will likely end in a not-to-be-continued cliffhanger with the season finale next week. I've kinda earned it, as I finally potted the rest of my plants (after engineering pots out of plastic party candy dishes and queso lids) and ate a meal a real grown-up would cook.

BTW, why is it that I can eat a microwave pizza and feel just dandy, but after cooking a pan full of fried chicken and a baked potato, need to refuel after an hour? Does the time put into the cooking somehow lessen the fulfilment of the meal? Because I'd think it was the opposite.

They're working on our parking lot right now (suddenly, all the people who've driven myself or DD home lately shouted a hallelujah), which has the great perk of the fire-entrance fence ten feet from our door is open for the construction trucks to get around. What's that, five minutes I can save tomorrow by not having to go out and around the front half of our building? Why, yes, I will use you to sleep later.

This slightly stream of consciousness post brought to you by the best plate of fried chicken I've made yet. Also, the letter U.

I can't wait for it to be warm enough to swim in the evenings.

Right now, it's pretty BRR GO INSIDE by the pool, but it's the closest wi-fi this side of Westheimer, and I'm certainly not going to the mall at this hour.

I bought party decoration cups to use as planters, seeing as I ended up with more seeds than pots. Of course, then I ate dinner and watched TV and organized some computer files and did all manner of inside things that prevented me from actually putting Operation: Fancy Pots into action.

(What is with me and the organizing of computer files? Can I get that as a job? Because it sometimes feels like I don't do anything on my computer but rearrange the way I'd access the files I'm not accessing.)

I like that the first full afternoon I have in my office after tech week and opening consisted of my computer making a RRRRing sound of death and a higher-up wondering why I hadn't had the time to get next year's schedule to the box office yet. Boo. Shifts Sudoku for the Mainstage did get accomplished, so hurrah.

Finally, I just read the error message on my farmville (yes, sorry) page as "...investigating reports of loading issues, neighbors missing, and pestilence."

Did you know I was still alive?

Because if all you knew about me came from my internet activity, you'd be looking for a pulse by now.

It's been a long tech week (though surely not as long for me as it has been for others), but really all I wanted to do was pot some plants. I finally managed that this afternoon, after both a dress/tech rehearsal in the morning and a birthday party booking in the afternoon. We played croquet with inflatable flamingos. It didn't work well, but was highly entertaining to watch.

[excuse me for a moment, as I'm slightly hit on by someone at the complex for a barbeque up front]

Anyway. The show is finally in a spot where it looks like a show, which is always a good point. There's a part of me always fairly amazed that a show comes together...while the other half never doubted that it would. I'm not going to think any more about it (well, maybe I'll edit a bit more on the ETC guide) until Monday morning, so I guess that means it's time for faux-farming.

TWEET TWEET TWEET TWEET TWEET TWEET

What's extra sad about waking up this early is that my brain is about 85% likely not to think about falling asleep tonight until 11:30ish. (please, please, please brain, prove me wrong)

Dear Ants, I would be much less likely to squish you to deathville if you wouldn't bite me between my toes. Love, Hannah

Why between the toes? It boggles the brain.

I'm so glad that I picked up on the urge to weed/sweep/generally spruce our backyard (such as it is) when I did, because this week has been the perfect "sitting outside enjoying life" weather. Of course, it's also made me want to put out some bird feeders, buy some plants that have already made it past the seed stage and would therefore already be blooming, and possibly buy a tree. Did you know that I've spent quite a bit of time lately wondering how affective it would be to spread out a bunch of potting soil and scatter some wildflowers, just to fill in the otherwise weedy parts of the yard? Clearly, I'm great at thinking in moderation and practicality lately.

Only somewhat related (per usual): what I miss most about having a real backyard (as in, more than my 20'x5' along the back of the apartment) is a hose hooked up to an outdoor faucet for that crisp, metallicy taste of summer.

(that I tend to finish past midnight doesn't help, either)

When I wake up the day after with the ceiling fan on, circulating the smell of fresh laundry from all the pieces that weren't quite dry upon coming out of the dryer (and thus are hanging, draped across many ledges in my room), I feel like I'm back at the dorms.

Actually, I *am* partial to rooftops.

I was at first utterly perplexed, and then blissfully happy when I realized that one of the songs on near-constant repeat in my home life right now (Freelance Whales - Hannah) had magically ended up in my iTunes library as part of a free playlist download before I even knew it existed.