Stop with the blogging fails.
Seriously.
I mean come on. I know that your wedding is in six days and that you needed to get your hands looking like adult hands again, and yes, you did need to re-dye your hair so that the hot pink tone it was is not so evident.
But really, did you need to watch three episodes of Bob's Burgers?
(...)
(...)
(...yes.)
Monday, May 14, 2012
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Mother's Day, and Banana Nut Muffins.
I had a crazy night last night, and I will go into further detail about it tomorrow.
Tonight I want to talk about Mother's Day.
My mom and I are really two peas in a pod. The same things make us angry, and we push people's buttons in the same way. This means that though we love each other to pieces, we drive each other up a wall on a fairly frequent basis. (It also means that we feel horrible in the same way about making each other insane, and have long periods of butting heads to fix said instances of turning each other nutso.)
However, tonight I want to talk about a really interesting thing that happened to me recently.
As you know if you've been reading, I have committed to writing on this blog every day. What I have not said before is that I have a separate (and also difficult) writing challenge for myself of keeping a daybook/journal/braindumpster/whathaveyou in paper form as well, with the commitment to write in it every day. The original intent was to use it for something like a planning book for this blog, to develop ideas and make them stronger for self publishing on this public forum. However, as is usually the case with me, I was having a hard time getting started.
So I wrote about my pen.
I have a strong love of office supplies that borders on obsessive-compulsive. (I am pretty sure that I also acquired this from my mother as well.) I required the paper surface for my notebook to be smooth and creamy in texture, thick but not too thick, and pens that glide, with ink that looks amazingly black and rich before it dries.
For this notebook I had treated myself to new pens, medium point black gel, that I had recognized in the store as a tool I had used before and enjoyed. I don't think I remembered where I had originally used it, but I knew it would serve in the meantime.
It was not until I wrote in the date that I remembered that this was not just a good pen. This was an AWESOME pen. Ink flowed out beautifully, with no globs in sight, giving me just the right blacker-than-black sheen before drying enough not to smudge. It made my horrible chicken scratch handwriting look nice (or if not nice, charmingly artistic.)
It came back like a punch in the stomach where I had used this pen first.
In 2008, my family went to visit my older brother in Morocco, where he was living and working at the time. I was a miserable little snot on this trip for a variety of reasons, mainly that I was not willing to admit to myself that I was already dealing with major depression. I was determined to be unhappy on this voyage, and so far was living up to my goal rather well.
On the particular day in question, we were making a jaunt to Berber territory, where there was a waterfall. We learned upon arriving that the trip to the waterfall required a significant hike up a very steep mountain. I am pretty sure that hiking is one of my private circles of hell, especially when it is 90 degrees outside. Living up to my goals once again re:miserable snottyness, I baulked and told my family that I would be staying at the bottom, thankyouverymuch. I did not desire more blisters than I had already gotten on our few days in Morocco.
My mother, bless her, decided that she would stay at the bottom of the mountain with me, where we found shade in a tiny Berber cafe. I had planned on knitting on a shawl that I was working on, but quickly got bored. My mother is an avid travel journaler, and had bought a pack of assorted gel pens for the trip. She handed me a burgundy pen, and suggested that if I was bored, I could write in my journal, or maybe get a head start on postcards.
I wrote more in that journal than I had on any trip up to that point. It was an amazing afternoon that I would not trade for anything. For several hours, I was able to forget my horrible attitude, and have a genuinely amazing time with the woman who is almost too much like me to handle.
I hope she remembers that day as fondly as I do, and I hope she knows how amazing I think she is every day, even when one of us is driving the other crazy.
I love you Mom. Happy Mother's Day.
The following clip (just to lighten the mood) is from Adaptation. I saw this clip tonight in the excellent screenwriting documentary Tales From the Script, and it illustrates the primary issue I have when writing. Take it away, Nick Cage:
Tonight I want to talk about Mother's Day.
My mom and I are really two peas in a pod. The same things make us angry, and we push people's buttons in the same way. This means that though we love each other to pieces, we drive each other up a wall on a fairly frequent basis. (It also means that we feel horrible in the same way about making each other insane, and have long periods of butting heads to fix said instances of turning each other nutso.)
However, tonight I want to talk about a really interesting thing that happened to me recently.
As you know if you've been reading, I have committed to writing on this blog every day. What I have not said before is that I have a separate (and also difficult) writing challenge for myself of keeping a daybook/journal/braindumpster/whathaveyou in paper form as well, with the commitment to write in it every day. The original intent was to use it for something like a planning book for this blog, to develop ideas and make them stronger for self publishing on this public forum. However, as is usually the case with me, I was having a hard time getting started.
So I wrote about my pen.
I have a strong love of office supplies that borders on obsessive-compulsive. (I am pretty sure that I also acquired this from my mother as well.) I required the paper surface for my notebook to be smooth and creamy in texture, thick but not too thick, and pens that glide, with ink that looks amazingly black and rich before it dries.
For this notebook I had treated myself to new pens, medium point black gel, that I had recognized in the store as a tool I had used before and enjoyed. I don't think I remembered where I had originally used it, but I knew it would serve in the meantime.
It was not until I wrote in the date that I remembered that this was not just a good pen. This was an AWESOME pen. Ink flowed out beautifully, with no globs in sight, giving me just the right blacker-than-black sheen before drying enough not to smudge. It made my horrible chicken scratch handwriting look nice (or if not nice, charmingly artistic.)
It came back like a punch in the stomach where I had used this pen first.
In 2008, my family went to visit my older brother in Morocco, where he was living and working at the time. I was a miserable little snot on this trip for a variety of reasons, mainly that I was not willing to admit to myself that I was already dealing with major depression. I was determined to be unhappy on this voyage, and so far was living up to my goal rather well.
On the particular day in question, we were making a jaunt to Berber territory, where there was a waterfall. We learned upon arriving that the trip to the waterfall required a significant hike up a very steep mountain. I am pretty sure that hiking is one of my private circles of hell, especially when it is 90 degrees outside. Living up to my goals once again re:miserable snottyness, I baulked and told my family that I would be staying at the bottom, thankyouverymuch. I did not desire more blisters than I had already gotten on our few days in Morocco.
My mother, bless her, decided that she would stay at the bottom of the mountain with me, where we found shade in a tiny Berber cafe. I had planned on knitting on a shawl that I was working on, but quickly got bored. My mother is an avid travel journaler, and had bought a pack of assorted gel pens for the trip. She handed me a burgundy pen, and suggested that if I was bored, I could write in my journal, or maybe get a head start on postcards.
I wrote more in that journal than I had on any trip up to that point. It was an amazing afternoon that I would not trade for anything. For several hours, I was able to forget my horrible attitude, and have a genuinely amazing time with the woman who is almost too much like me to handle.
I hope she remembers that day as fondly as I do, and I hope she knows how amazing I think she is every day, even when one of us is driving the other crazy.
I love you Mom. Happy Mother's Day.
The following clip (just to lighten the mood) is from Adaptation. I saw this clip tonight in the excellent screenwriting documentary Tales From the Script, and it illustrates the primary issue I have when writing. Take it away, Nick Cage:
Saturday, May 12, 2012
More storytime...
And written at a time when I am not about to keel over with exhaustion. Yay Saturdays!
In the aftermath of the crazy, I decided to let go of a major part of what was stressing me out, namely the job that was literally giving me hives. After floundering around in the unemployment pool (including working for a scam artist for a terrible week), I found a job at a costume construction shop in Manhattan, shopping for Broadway costumes. I learned a ton about fabric, being nice to doormen, the garment district, and also about not putting up with verbal abuse. (This shop was MESSED UP. The owners would routinely WAIL at the top of their lungs or scream at employees, while everyone around them would be expected to act as if nothing abnormal was happening.)
On the day that my direct supervisor decided to call me stupid to my face, I decided enough was enough. I marched down to one of the fabric shops where I had been a frequent patron with my resume, and was fortunate enough to have walked in right as they were hiring for Halloween (the busiest time in fabric-shoppingdom), so I was asked if I could come in the next Monday. I've been working there ever since (starting on the sales floor, then having them figure out that I'm bad at sales but good at talking to people, so being moved to giving tours and chatting with out of towners, and finally to my current position of being receptionist/Director of Student Activities.)
Just found out that we have to be in CA by August 20th. Dates are exciting and scary.
In the aftermath of the crazy, I decided to let go of a major part of what was stressing me out, namely the job that was literally giving me hives. After floundering around in the unemployment pool (including working for a scam artist for a terrible week), I found a job at a costume construction shop in Manhattan, shopping for Broadway costumes. I learned a ton about fabric, being nice to doormen, the garment district, and also about not putting up with verbal abuse. (This shop was MESSED UP. The owners would routinely WAIL at the top of their lungs or scream at employees, while everyone around them would be expected to act as if nothing abnormal was happening.)
On the day that my direct supervisor decided to call me stupid to my face, I decided enough was enough. I marched down to one of the fabric shops where I had been a frequent patron with my resume, and was fortunate enough to have walked in right as they were hiring for Halloween (the busiest time in fabric-shoppingdom), so I was asked if I could come in the next Monday. I've been working there ever since (starting on the sales floor, then having them figure out that I'm bad at sales but good at talking to people, so being moved to giving tours and chatting with out of towners, and finally to my current position of being receptionist/Director of Student Activities.)
Just found out that we have to be in CA by August 20th. Dates are exciting and scary.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Today was busy...
So I didn't get to write as much as I had hoped.
This seems to be a theme.
On the bright side, my boss very generously gave me the fabric that I was about to buy for free, as a wedding gift.
The fabric is indigo-colored silk crepe de chine. This means:
It's going to make a kick-ass dress. Now I just have to get over the sewing machine fears D:
I also got my nails done in anticipation of the wedding in 9 DAYS! I keep staring at my hands. They have never looked this grown-up before. It's honestly a little baffling. My brain feels like I'm 13, and my hands give me away as a woman in her mid-20s.
When did that happen?!!?
More of the saga of getting to where I am today tomorrow. Tonight, sleep.
This seems to be a theme.
On the bright side, my boss very generously gave me the fabric that I was about to buy for free, as a wedding gift.
The fabric is indigo-colored silk crepe de chine. This means:
- It's an amazing color, like navy with more personality. (As my roommate Alex says, navy is for quitters, and Ben and I have adopted the family motto of "No excuses, play like a champion." Therefore I need some navy with punch, yo!)
- It's crepe de chine, so it's got a matte-er look to it, it drapes like a chocolate fountain, and it's hand washable, which is especially great because--
- It's silk, so it breathes and feels AMAZING. And because of the crepe de chine thing, it bypasses the ordinary problems of silk (i.e. it needs to be drycleaned most of the time or it spots.)
It's going to make a kick-ass dress. Now I just have to get over the sewing machine fears D:
I also got my nails done in anticipation of the wedding in 9 DAYS! I keep staring at my hands. They have never looked this grown-up before. It's honestly a little baffling. My brain feels like I'm 13, and my hands give me away as a woman in her mid-20s.
When did that happen?!!?
More of the saga of getting to where I am today tomorrow. Tonight, sleep.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Let's start at the very beginning...
I think it will be helpful to explain how I got to the need to start this blog.
Confession: I am an over-researcher, and and under-doer. I can research until the cows come home about how to do almost anything creative, whether tactile or intellectual, but freeze up when the time comes to execute the thing that I have been researching. This is an attempt to put a stop to a frankly stupid habit. If I want to be a better writer, I have to get out there and just do it!
A short synopsis of how I got to the greater NY area:
My soon-to-be husband and I met at college in Baltimore, where we were very active in our theatre department. Through one of our professors, I got an opportunity to assistant direct for him in a NYC Off-off Broadway premier. As we had very close friends in the NY/NJ area, we decided to move in with our excellent sarcastic friend from college in Jersey City.
The day after graduation, we drove up to New Jersey. (I remember looking at the Statue of Liberty and thinking "What a cute Statue of Liberty model!", forgetting that it was the real deal.)
After spending two crazy (unpaid) months working on my first professional credit, I ended up floundering about in the unemployment pool for a few weeks, generally feeling worthless without work that would be intellectually stimulating. This was not alleviated by my employment at a grocery store with an overly perky attitude. At the same time, I was slated by my non-profit theatre company to direct one of the two short plays for our premier production.
While working at the store provided me a way to make money (though not enough to pay bills), I was hit with a wave of crippling depression, only made worse by the anxiety of losing actors and wrestling with members of my own company. While I managed (by the skin of my teeth) to get through the production process, I also learned that I need to cut myself a little slack and be willing to ask for help when I need it.
I am going to continue tomorrow. With the note, please remind me that when I help, I should ask for it. Like a normal person.
Confession: I am an over-researcher, and and under-doer. I can research until the cows come home about how to do almost anything creative, whether tactile or intellectual, but freeze up when the time comes to execute the thing that I have been researching. This is an attempt to put a stop to a frankly stupid habit. If I want to be a better writer, I have to get out there and just do it!
A short synopsis of how I got to the greater NY area:
My soon-to-be husband and I met at college in Baltimore, where we were very active in our theatre department. Through one of our professors, I got an opportunity to assistant direct for him in a NYC Off-off Broadway premier. As we had very close friends in the NY/NJ area, we decided to move in with our excellent sarcastic friend from college in Jersey City.
The day after graduation, we drove up to New Jersey. (I remember looking at the Statue of Liberty and thinking "What a cute Statue of Liberty model!", forgetting that it was the real deal.)
After spending two crazy (unpaid) months working on my first professional credit, I ended up floundering about in the unemployment pool for a few weeks, generally feeling worthless without work that would be intellectually stimulating. This was not alleviated by my employment at a grocery store with an overly perky attitude. At the same time, I was slated by my non-profit theatre company to direct one of the two short plays for our premier production.
While working at the store provided me a way to make money (though not enough to pay bills), I was hit with a wave of crippling depression, only made worse by the anxiety of losing actors and wrestling with members of my own company. While I managed (by the skin of my teeth) to get through the production process, I also learned that I need to cut myself a little slack and be willing to ask for help when I need it.
I am going to continue tomorrow. With the note, please remind me that when I help, I should ask for it. Like a normal person.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
So...
I stink and didn't write a proper post today.
I spent my time making an awesome dance mix for my wedding reception.
You're welcome.
I spent my time making an awesome dance mix for my wedding reception.
You're welcome.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
First post, explaining future adventures
Getting married in 12 days to the love of my life.
In our first year of marriage, we will be moving not just from the NY metropolitan area to Long Beach, California, but also spending some months in Russia, studying theatre in St. Petersburg.
It would make sense to chronicle this journey, and so I am starting this blog.
My hope is to write a little (or a lot!) here every day, not only to record our crazy adventures, but to make myself more comfortable with writing with an audience.
Please leave comments, questions, and feedback! I want to start conversations, keep up with friends all over, and make new ones. I have been a lookie-loo in the blogosphere for far too long, and would love to connect with some of the amazing people that write here on the web every day.
In our first year of marriage, we will be moving not just from the NY metropolitan area to Long Beach, California, but also spending some months in Russia, studying theatre in St. Petersburg.
It would make sense to chronicle this journey, and so I am starting this blog.
My hope is to write a little (or a lot!) here every day, not only to record our crazy adventures, but to make myself more comfortable with writing with an audience.
Please leave comments, questions, and feedback! I want to start conversations, keep up with friends all over, and make new ones. I have been a lookie-loo in the blogosphere for far too long, and would love to connect with some of the amazing people that write here on the web every day.
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