I just finished writing an orange script. Tomorrow begins the harder part; directing an orange script and making it amazingness.
Let's hope the script goes over well. Please, please, please, PLEASE let them be fast learners, enthusiastic participants, and creative geniuses!
We're bringing orange back!
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Rollercoasters and Orangesauce
Rollercoasters like you wouldn't believe! Soaring highs, crushing lows, butterflies in the tummy, nausea, terror, begging, pleading, screaming, exhilaration, all of it.
Thank you to everyone who loves me through it all; I, of course, feel as though I deserve it, feel unworthy. But I am unendingly grateful for your love and support, your patience and your willingness to take the considerable bad with the comparatively slim good these days.
Thank you. Thank you for being there, being present, being an ear or a shoulder, or a hand to hold, or sound advice that I may or may not have heeded...
I have decided to do one visual post a week! yay for you! Any preferences for which day of the week should be the pictorial blog? Lemme know.
This weekend I must write a play about the color orange! woot!
The children will be singing popular songs with the words re-vamped and re-imagined! They are singing Forget You, The fresh prince of BelAir theme song, and Sexyback, or, rather, Orangeback...lol.
Lol. Story is about the color Orange, who feels like he is not getting enough of the spotlight in the rainbow, and, feeling under appreciated decides to quit the rainbow. Eventually, in his own colony of all orange, the next generation feels bored by the monocromatic existence and yearn to strike out on their own, explore, and search for other colors.
Should be fun, right? lols.
Yeah. The kids especially liked the Forget You Song. I think I might add The Lazy Song in too..
They will be awesomesauce. or, maybe Orangesauce?!?!?
Lol. The hardest part to rewright was this one:
Heeheeehee.
Orange Sauce!
Thank you to everyone who loves me through it all; I, of course, feel as though I deserve it, feel unworthy. But I am unendingly grateful for your love and support, your patience and your willingness to take the considerable bad with the comparatively slim good these days.
Thank you. Thank you for being there, being present, being an ear or a shoulder, or a hand to hold, or sound advice that I may or may not have heeded...
I have decided to do one visual post a week! yay for you! Any preferences for which day of the week should be the pictorial blog? Lemme know.
This weekend I must write a play about the color orange! woot!
The children will be singing popular songs with the words re-vamped and re-imagined! They are singing Forget You, The fresh prince of BelAir theme song, and Sexyback, or, rather, Orangeback...lol.
I'm bringing orange back
You other colors don't know how to act
I think I'm special I'm the hue you lack,
Let's get together and get back on track...
Go 'head get orange with it...
Lol. Story is about the color Orange, who feels like he is not getting enough of the spotlight in the rainbow, and, feeling under appreciated decides to quit the rainbow. Eventually, in his own colony of all orange, the next generation feels bored by the monocromatic existence and yearn to strike out on their own, explore, and search for other colors.
Should be fun, right? lols.
On the West side of the rainbow, born and raised, in the autumn is where I spend most of my days;
Chillin' out, maxin, relaxin all cool, looking like a b-ball outside of the school
But all the other colors said I was no good, started makin trouble in my neighborhood;
It came down to one night, it just wasn't fair-
I said: I'm leavin color town and I just don't care!
Yeah. The kids especially liked the Forget You Song. I think I might add The Lazy Song in too..
Today I don't feel like doin orange things.....
They will be awesomesauce. or, maybe Orangesauce?!?!?
I seen you ridin' 'round town with your reds and blues and I'm like, Forget you!
Well I'm not green, I'm not yellow, guess I'm not good enough.
I'm like, Forget You, and forget your hues!
I said I I was lilac, you wouldn't be like that-- Ain't that some Shhhhhh!
Lol. The hardest part to rewright was this one:
Yeah I'm sorry! I'm Not Primary, But I'm still on the color wheel...
Heeheeehee.
Orange Sauce!
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Wally World
I was so looking forward to this summer.
Things fell through.
I'm lucky to even have summer employment. But. Honestly? It fucking sucks goat ass.
It's hot and smelly and unrewarding.
I realize I will have to make an attitude adjustment to make it work, I get it, I know. Jesus fucking Christ, do I know. It's all in my perspective, it's all my point of view, change your attitude, change your life. Be aware of what you put out iun the universe. blah blah fucking blah.
It's christing hot, ok? And boring. And I wish I had some kind of summer job where I could just sit in an air conditioned cubicle or some shit.
Aaron and I are so tired and sapped when we come home that nothing, not a fucking thing, is getting done with this goddamn unholy mess of an apartment.
And I'm uber irritable (No! You don't say! You? Irritable? Nah....), and I'm unsatisfied, and I'm frustrated, and I think I really needed a fucking vacation.
C'est la vie. I am looking at the next thirty years, THIRTY FUCKING YEARS of my life and reconciling myself to working in a career that is not my passion, spending myself and my energy, wasting years and years worth of precious days and hours, paying bills, holding back, withering away.
Christ.
I either need a stiff drink, or a long vacation, or a long, stiff cock.
All three, please.
I need help.
boy, do I.
In other news, True Blood was adorably delicious this week, don't you think?
........
Off to fucking work.
Things fell through.
I'm lucky to even have summer employment. But. Honestly? It fucking sucks goat ass.
It's hot and smelly and unrewarding.
I realize I will have to make an attitude adjustment to make it work, I get it, I know. Jesus fucking Christ, do I know. It's all in my perspective, it's all my point of view, change your attitude, change your life. Be aware of what you put out iun the universe. blah blah fucking blah.
It's christing hot, ok? And boring. And I wish I had some kind of summer job where I could just sit in an air conditioned cubicle or some shit.
Aaron and I are so tired and sapped when we come home that nothing, not a fucking thing, is getting done with this goddamn unholy mess of an apartment.
And I'm uber irritable (No! You don't say! You? Irritable? Nah....), and I'm unsatisfied, and I'm frustrated, and I think I really needed a fucking vacation.
C'est la vie. I am looking at the next thirty years, THIRTY FUCKING YEARS of my life and reconciling myself to working in a career that is not my passion, spending myself and my energy, wasting years and years worth of precious days and hours, paying bills, holding back, withering away.
Christ.
I either need a stiff drink, or a long vacation, or a long, stiff cock.
All three, please.
I need help.
boy, do I.
In other news, True Blood was adorably delicious this week, don't you think?
........
Off to fucking work.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Renovations!
This will read as monday, but it is really still sunday night for me.
I woke up this morning, discouraged by all the cleaning still left to do, and a funny thing happened.
I picked up my netty and wrote.
I haven't written in months.
The characters are in my head, swirling constantly, evolving, having scenes, making choices... but I haven't been capturing any of it. Haven't been able to, for whatever reason.
This morning, out of the blue, I was able to type away, telling part of Nolan's story.
It isn't great, but it isn't utter shit either. I'd say it's right on par with the main body of the Cedar Falls stuff.
Amen, right?
Best part is that I'm thinking this will lead t more... crossing my fingers.
Meanwhile, I stuill have oodles of CF yet to share with you, so get ready for your monthly installment. Did you read all the June ones?
July promises to be tons of fun. I'll let you know when I update.
Didn't actually do any cleaning today, btw. The house is still a fucking disaster. But we have big plans. HUGE. You won't even believe the transformation when all is said and done... IF all gets said and done.
Don't get too excited; our plans for apartment re-design do NOT include a nursery. The jury's still out on that one, but it isn't looking too favorable, I gotta say.
Aaron says NO DECISIONS are to be made on the subject, and that any decisions I do make or have made are invalid, inconsequential, and ridiculous.
I just wish my decision to not have children didn't make me feel so nihilistic. I thought it would be freeing and inspire me to live my life more fully, but really it fills me with a sort of malaise, a wash of 'meh' about everything--which I can't decide if it is better than the extreme depression I was feeling about not already having children and still having no hope of being ready enough to have children any time soon...
Jury's still out.
I'll be sure to keep you clued in when I know anything.
AND I'll keep you posted on the apartment improvements!
On the to do list:
Bookshelf that is really a secret door with a secret closet!
Amazing kitchen Island that contains a secret desk for all my teacher-y needs and wants!
Incredibly awesome Tetris inspired wall shelves for the enormous focus wall!
Paint, paint, paint, paint! Color, color, color, color!
A craft room with craft platform space!
A newly upholstered couch & amazing tetris inspired accent pillows!
Big old re-arrange and re-purposing!
Holy god, can someone make the summer a few months longer, please?
I woke up this morning, discouraged by all the cleaning still left to do, and a funny thing happened.
I picked up my netty and wrote.
I haven't written in months.
The characters are in my head, swirling constantly, evolving, having scenes, making choices... but I haven't been capturing any of it. Haven't been able to, for whatever reason.
This morning, out of the blue, I was able to type away, telling part of Nolan's story.
It isn't great, but it isn't utter shit either. I'd say it's right on par with the main body of the Cedar Falls stuff.
Amen, right?
Best part is that I'm thinking this will lead t more... crossing my fingers.
Meanwhile, I stuill have oodles of CF yet to share with you, so get ready for your monthly installment. Did you read all the June ones?
July promises to be tons of fun. I'll let you know when I update.
Didn't actually do any cleaning today, btw. The house is still a fucking disaster. But we have big plans. HUGE. You won't even believe the transformation when all is said and done... IF all gets said and done.
Don't get too excited; our plans for apartment re-design do NOT include a nursery. The jury's still out on that one, but it isn't looking too favorable, I gotta say.
Aaron says NO DECISIONS are to be made on the subject, and that any decisions I do make or have made are invalid, inconsequential, and ridiculous.
I just wish my decision to not have children didn't make me feel so nihilistic. I thought it would be freeing and inspire me to live my life more fully, but really it fills me with a sort of malaise, a wash of 'meh' about everything--which I can't decide if it is better than the extreme depression I was feeling about not already having children and still having no hope of being ready enough to have children any time soon...
Jury's still out.
I'll be sure to keep you clued in when I know anything.
AND I'll keep you posted on the apartment improvements!
On the to do list:
Bookshelf that is really a secret door with a secret closet!
Amazing kitchen Island that contains a secret desk for all my teacher-y needs and wants!
Incredibly awesome Tetris inspired wall shelves for the enormous focus wall!
Paint, paint, paint, paint! Color, color, color, color!
A craft room with craft platform space!
A newly upholstered couch & amazing tetris inspired accent pillows!
Big old re-arrange and re-purposing!
Holy god, can someone make the summer a few months longer, please?
Friday, July 08, 2011
Today
Today I bought a carton of farm fresh blueberries at a farmer's market.
Cheered some kids on in kickball
Worshiped my husband orally
And, oh yeah, signed a contract.
:)
Now I'm chillin, naked on the couch, eating cereal, and getting ready to watch deadwood.
Happy weekend. I'mma be very, very busy.
Ciao!
Cheered some kids on in kickball
Worshiped my husband orally
And, oh yeah, signed a contract.
:)
Now I'm chillin, naked on the couch, eating cereal, and getting ready to watch deadwood.
Happy weekend. I'mma be very, very busy.
Ciao!
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
Bloggy Onanism
I spend a considerable amount of time worrying.
I spend a great deal of energy on feeling jealous, envious, and dissatisfied.
I spend hours upon hours doubting, disbelieving, denegrating, and devaluing myself.
That's alot of spending. Is it any wonder I'm in the red, spiritually?
It looks like I'll seriously need to start investing somehow, in my soul, in my self worth, in my emotional well-being.
But how? Habits are so damned hard to break, aren't they?
Even as I write this there are a dozen niggling little negative thoughts creeping, and sneaking, and clamboring to break down my will and my wishes.
And I try to shrug the negativity off, I try to dismiss it, make it vanish. Who cares what other people are doing? Who cares how seemingly happy and contented they are? Who cares what other people will say when they look at my life and my choices? Other people are not the rubric against which I should be measuring my life. Other people's successes and failures are neither affirmation nor condemnation of my life choices.
If I don't want children, that is fine; so long as I've made the decision in a healthy, open-minded, positive state of being. (As opposed to my glum, sour, suicidal state of being yesterday, wherein I watched a young mother bent over picking up toys from the yard and I decided: "Fuck that. I don't want to spend the rest of my life picking up after some useless, needy, selfish, oblivious, ungrateful little fucking parasites. I'm NEVER HAVING KIDS!" That, wouldn't you agree, seems like perhaps an extreme reaction, and a severely jaded view of the circle of life. HOWEVER, it is fair to weigh my very real distatste for cleaning up after other people, my passionate dislike for cleaning AT ALL, and my intolerance for ingrates, against the reality of child rearing. It just may be that I really am not that's going to do well in the thankless job of parenting.)
If those whom I have loved move on and flourish, I should either A) be happy for them, and wish them all success and happiness (doesn't that sound magnanimous?)
or B) stop giving a flying fuck what they're up to, who they're fucking, who they're lavishing their love and affection on now, or why they do the things they do, say the things they say, or choose to interact with me they way they do. Guess what? It is NOT MY LIFE. I cannot control the actions or words of others, I can only control my reaction\response to it. I must work on taking any news in, processing it privately (without torturing myself, without attaching blame or judgment, without oscillating between calling myself a stupid cunt or them all manner of awful spithets, and without regretting I ever knew them!!), and then move the fuck forward, because nothing I say or do will matter in the least. They are living their life, and I must live mine.
(Incidentally, this is another good reason not to have children. I believe it is a child's function to break your heart, frustrate you to tears, ignore sound advice, and then eventually leave you and move on with their life. Ok, that was rather pessimistic in some respects, but honestly? Are all the cute icecream parties worth it in the end if Litte Reardon decides to become a meth addict, or a republican, or just an all-out bitch? No thanks.)
If I choose to do the off-beat thing, I must have the courage of my convictions, the fortitude, the balls, and the sticktoitiveness to make my own success---or die trying. Ok, the end bit was fairly dramatic, but you get what I mean. People will pass judgment. They will say things. They will make assumptions, they may pity me (a peeve of mine), they may predict my failure and my doom. Who knows, and who cares. I must STOP caring about their opinions and their views. My choices are not theirs, and I am the only one who will have to live with the end result.
Whatever. If I want a salad from the stop n shop salad bar for lunch, I have to leave early for work; and I DO want a salad from the stop n shop salad bar, so I'mma need to end my blog post here.
Bloggus Interruptus. Was it good for you? Probably not, right? but I got something out of it! lolz.
I spend a great deal of energy on feeling jealous, envious, and dissatisfied.
I spend hours upon hours doubting, disbelieving, denegrating, and devaluing myself.
That's alot of spending. Is it any wonder I'm in the red, spiritually?
It looks like I'll seriously need to start investing somehow, in my soul, in my self worth, in my emotional well-being.
But how? Habits are so damned hard to break, aren't they?
Even as I write this there are a dozen niggling little negative thoughts creeping, and sneaking, and clamboring to break down my will and my wishes.
And I try to shrug the negativity off, I try to dismiss it, make it vanish. Who cares what other people are doing? Who cares how seemingly happy and contented they are? Who cares what other people will say when they look at my life and my choices? Other people are not the rubric against which I should be measuring my life. Other people's successes and failures are neither affirmation nor condemnation of my life choices.
If I don't want children, that is fine; so long as I've made the decision in a healthy, open-minded, positive state of being. (As opposed to my glum, sour, suicidal state of being yesterday, wherein I watched a young mother bent over picking up toys from the yard and I decided: "Fuck that. I don't want to spend the rest of my life picking up after some useless, needy, selfish, oblivious, ungrateful little fucking parasites. I'm NEVER HAVING KIDS!" That, wouldn't you agree, seems like perhaps an extreme reaction, and a severely jaded view of the circle of life. HOWEVER, it is fair to weigh my very real distatste for cleaning up after other people, my passionate dislike for cleaning AT ALL, and my intolerance for ingrates, against the reality of child rearing. It just may be that I really am not that's going to do well in the thankless job of parenting.)
If those whom I have loved move on and flourish, I should either A) be happy for them, and wish them all success and happiness (doesn't that sound magnanimous?)
or B) stop giving a flying fuck what they're up to, who they're fucking, who they're lavishing their love and affection on now, or why they do the things they do, say the things they say, or choose to interact with me they way they do. Guess what? It is NOT MY LIFE. I cannot control the actions or words of others, I can only control my reaction\response to it. I must work on taking any news in, processing it privately (without torturing myself, without attaching blame or judgment, without oscillating between calling myself a stupid cunt or them all manner of awful spithets, and without regretting I ever knew them!!), and then move the fuck forward, because nothing I say or do will matter in the least. They are living their life, and I must live mine.
(Incidentally, this is another good reason not to have children. I believe it is a child's function to break your heart, frustrate you to tears, ignore sound advice, and then eventually leave you and move on with their life. Ok, that was rather pessimistic in some respects, but honestly? Are all the cute icecream parties worth it in the end if Litte Reardon decides to become a meth addict, or a republican, or just an all-out bitch? No thanks.)
If I choose to do the off-beat thing, I must have the courage of my convictions, the fortitude, the balls, and the sticktoitiveness to make my own success---or die trying. Ok, the end bit was fairly dramatic, but you get what I mean. People will pass judgment. They will say things. They will make assumptions, they may pity me (a peeve of mine), they may predict my failure and my doom. Who knows, and who cares. I must STOP caring about their opinions and their views. My choices are not theirs, and I am the only one who will have to live with the end result.
Whatever. If I want a salad from the stop n shop salad bar for lunch, I have to leave early for work; and I DO want a salad from the stop n shop salad bar, so I'mma need to end my blog post here.
Bloggus Interruptus. Was it good for you? Probably not, right? but I got something out of it! lolz.
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
Alex Kittner, They're beginning to prune!
Did everyone have a nice weekend?
I did.
Friends, family, dinosaurs, sexcapades, videogames, and the like.
And the summer for me is now in full swing as both my jobs are now up and running, leaving me exhaustedpants by 4pm!
My husband is going to take me to dinner in a little bit. Even though he ate out last night ;) heeeheeeeheeee.
I'm a lucky girl. Very, very lucky.
Happy July!
Saturday, July 02, 2011
Independence
Throw your hands up at me....
This Independence day weekend I am struggling with how utterly un-independent I seem to be. I've been struggling with it for several months, actually, as some of my big projects coincided with some of Aaron's big projects and I came to understand how disgustingly codependent I had become over the last few years, what a needy, helpless creature I'd devolved into!
I had\have become this almost infantile little hanger-on waiting around for mister genius jack-of-all-trades to take care of all my problems and issues for me wherever and whenever humanly possible. Seriously.
And so, as my productions were going up and I had a list of props and things a mile long, on which I had noted 'Aaron can do this' beside nearly every single item, I had to frown, shake my head and take a hard look at what the fuck I was doing to myself and to Aaron.
Is it true that the man can do almost anything? Yes. Is it true that almost everything he does turns out awesomesauce and stunning and has an amazing wow-factor? Yes and yes. Is it true that people are constantly impressed, amazed, awe-inspired and staggered by how handy\creative\dependable\visionary\ingenious\inventive\clever\crafty\problem-solve-y\knowledgeable\skilled\efficient\relaibly amazing the guy is? Fuck yes, that is gospel.
However, this is not the law of exclusivity. Just because he IS amazing, doesn't necessarily mean that I am NOT amazing. But I had begun to believe this with every fibre of my being. It was as if: "Why bother? I can't do it as well as Aaron, so..." *shrug*
This happened with our failed start-up company too. Suddenly, because of his wide-ranging skill set and expertise, Aaron was the go-to guy for fucking everything and I think it made the rest of us sort of lazy, or at least less motivated, less spectacularly motivated than we should have been for a band of scrappy start-ups. He busted his ass and dis amazing work, and .... well... he's good, but he isn't a miracle worker, and he can't carry everything on those broad shoulders of his. And our dream? It looked real great on the website he designed and built, it looked fabulous on the posters he designed and found a printer for, it looked so professional and promising in the brochures he developed and found a printer for! But in the end it was a miscarriage and all we have left is Aaron's incredible work.
So it came time to do my shows and Aaron is illustrating a book, and Aaron is building a goddamned life-size velociraptor (I promise I'll get pictures up at some point- the thing is fucking fabulous), and Aaron is still doing things for STAGE, and aaron is real fucking busy, and while he says he'll help, it is easily apparent to me that the man is stretched too thin (if he were a normal human like the rest of us, he would have been well past the snapping point, but for my super-hero husband? nah, just stretched a lil too thin...), ans there literally aren't enough hours in the day for him to accomplish everything he needs to get done AND eat, sleep, breathe and survive, and so I say: Forget it, I'll do it myself (but not in a bitchy way; I said it in a falsely brave, go-get-em voice...)
I was daunted. I was depressed. I was dreading the tasks, and I took a moment to examine this state of mind\being. And I said to myself:
Yeah, I fucking thought not. Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself and wishing you could be someone else, and get your goddamned cunting act together and make some children's theatre props.
And while you're at it? take a long, hard look at your life and ask yourself what kind of person you want to be.
So. Yeah. I made some fabulous props for three separate shows, and while I am sure Aaron could have made them better or more functional or whatever, I must say that the props I conjured up were really goddamn great. And he was so fucking busy that he wasn't even able to come to two of my shows-- he never even got to see some of my props in action. And I went to the shows alone, no one there for me, and guess what? I survived. I did well. I didn't crumple into a mess of insecurities. Shockingly.
Recently I have been panicked about the notion that I might have the very real high-stakes responsibility of teaching students a real subject like english (as opposed to the periphery subject of theatre\drama\acting, where no one really knows what you're doing and so no one really looks to hear or holds you to any measurable standards-- they just smile vaguely and attend the shows once in a while and say 'break a leg' but walk away mystified and proud of themselves for supporting arts education.), and Aaron keeps saying:
"I'll help you! Whatever you need, I will help you, we can do this!"
Which is incredibly supportive.
And feels fundamentally wrong to me.
"You can't help me, not with everything!" I tell him. "I somehow have to be able to do this myself!"
He assures me I will, he insists that he can and will help, and when I complain about my relative uselessness he argues that I help him all the time. But honestly? the examples he provides make me feel like a little kid who 'helped' her dad fis the diswasher or something. Like, I made sure the nuts and bolts didn't get lost, o r I handed him the right screwdriver, or I held the flashlight at the right angle while he actually did the real work that requires brains and know-how and skill and all that jazz.
I love him. More than life, more than anything, more (much, much more) than myself.
But if I want him to continue to love me for the long haul? I gotta get my act together. I have to build up my once strongly independent muscles. This was the girl who lived in NYC without him. WHo traveled the country without him. Who was perfectly capable of using all kinds of powertools without him. Who could build things, assemble things, research things, and create things without him. With his love and support, but ultimately on my own.
I like having a partner. I don't want to make him my dad-- you know?
I need to dust off my old tools, my old attitude, my old self-reliance. Balance the scales a little bit. Be an active contributor. An equal partner, with assets and value.
I mean, how long's he gunna keep me around just for the sex? It may have gotten me this far, but you never know quite when the sand'll run outta that hourglass, right ladies? ;)
He puts up with a hell of a lot. I just wanna take some of the burden off the poor fella.
And I want to be able to stand alone, when all is said and done, and have some accomplishments that are my own, incomparable achievements. I want to thank him in the credits, instead of have him srite the thing for me.
I want to be the woman he fell in love with.
I want to be the woman that you couldn't resist, not for anything!
Cuz I depend on me!
Girl I didn't know you could get down like that....
This Independence day weekend I am struggling with how utterly un-independent I seem to be. I've been struggling with it for several months, actually, as some of my big projects coincided with some of Aaron's big projects and I came to understand how disgustingly codependent I had become over the last few years, what a needy, helpless creature I'd devolved into!
I had\have become this almost infantile little hanger-on waiting around for mister genius jack-of-all-trades to take care of all my problems and issues for me wherever and whenever humanly possible. Seriously.
And so, as my productions were going up and I had a list of props and things a mile long, on which I had noted 'Aaron can do this' beside nearly every single item, I had to frown, shake my head and take a hard look at what the fuck I was doing to myself and to Aaron.
Is it true that the man can do almost anything? Yes. Is it true that almost everything he does turns out awesomesauce and stunning and has an amazing wow-factor? Yes and yes. Is it true that people are constantly impressed, amazed, awe-inspired and staggered by how handy\creative\dependable\visionary\ingenious\inventive\clever\crafty\problem-solve-y\knowledgeable\skilled\efficient\relaibly amazing the guy is? Fuck yes, that is gospel.
However, this is not the law of exclusivity. Just because he IS amazing, doesn't necessarily mean that I am NOT amazing. But I had begun to believe this with every fibre of my being. It was as if: "Why bother? I can't do it as well as Aaron, so..." *shrug*
This happened with our failed start-up company too. Suddenly, because of his wide-ranging skill set and expertise, Aaron was the go-to guy for fucking everything and I think it made the rest of us sort of lazy, or at least less motivated, less spectacularly motivated than we should have been for a band of scrappy start-ups. He busted his ass and dis amazing work, and .... well... he's good, but he isn't a miracle worker, and he can't carry everything on those broad shoulders of his. And our dream? It looked real great on the website he designed and built, it looked fabulous on the posters he designed and found a printer for, it looked so professional and promising in the brochures he developed and found a printer for! But in the end it was a miscarriage and all we have left is Aaron's incredible work.
So it came time to do my shows and Aaron is illustrating a book, and Aaron is building a goddamned life-size velociraptor (I promise I'll get pictures up at some point- the thing is fucking fabulous), and Aaron is still doing things for STAGE, and aaron is real fucking busy, and while he says he'll help, it is easily apparent to me that the man is stretched too thin (if he were a normal human like the rest of us, he would have been well past the snapping point, but for my super-hero husband? nah, just stretched a lil too thin...), ans there literally aren't enough hours in the day for him to accomplish everything he needs to get done AND eat, sleep, breathe and survive, and so I say: Forget it, I'll do it myself (but not in a bitchy way; I said it in a falsely brave, go-get-em voice...)
I was daunted. I was depressed. I was dreading the tasks, and I took a moment to examine this state of mind\being. And I said to myself:
Um, what the fuck is your fucking problem?
Uh, pardon? Excuse me, I don't know what--
Shut the fuck up, you pathetic bitch and take a good look at your sad-sack self, will you?
Wh-wh-wh-whaaaat?!?!?
You heard me!
Well, gimme a breakm this is hard work! I don't think I can do it!
Oh give me a fucking break!
I'm serious!
You're a serious fuckface.
Fuckface? *snicker*
You think it's fucking funny that you've devolved into a goddamned parasite?
Ouch.
Yeah.
That's a bit harsh--
It is the goddamned truth. Look; You are a grown woman, you are a very SMART woman, you are exceedingly CLEVER, you are, believe it or not, quite a CAPABLE individual--
But...
You hold a goddamned ADVANCED DEGREE is this bullshit!!!! Are you seriously telling me that you can't suck it up, grab yourself a fucking hot-glue-gun, and make some goddamn children's theatre props?
. . . . . .
Yeah, I fucking thought not. Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself and wishing you could be someone else, and get your goddamned cunting act together and make some children's theatre props.
Oh-kayyy....
And while you're at it? take a long, hard look at your life and ask yourself what kind of person you want to be.
I--
How many times do you ask favors of him?
But--
How many tasks do you insist he perform when you are equally capable of accomplishing the task?
But he does it better!
Oh-the-fuck-well! So he does it better, oh well. It doesn't mean he has to do EVERYTHING and you don't do ANYTHING. That's one sure way to fuck up your marage permanently, don't you see that?
I...
He fell in love with you once upon a time because you were so fucking awesome it knocked his socks off! You were fierce, you were fearless, you were all-or-nothing and you just fucking DID things! remember that girl?
Not really.
Exactly. Wake the fuck up, get off your fucking ass, stop standing in someone's goddamned shadow (you should damn well know better than to let anyone block your light, bitch!), and make yourself an equal goddamned partner in this thing! And get those fucking props done, there are kids counting on you! They aren't counting on Aaron, they're counting on YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So. Yeah. I made some fabulous props for three separate shows, and while I am sure Aaron could have made them better or more functional or whatever, I must say that the props I conjured up were really goddamn great. And he was so fucking busy that he wasn't even able to come to two of my shows-- he never even got to see some of my props in action. And I went to the shows alone, no one there for me, and guess what? I survived. I did well. I didn't crumple into a mess of insecurities. Shockingly.
Recently I have been panicked about the notion that I might have the very real high-stakes responsibility of teaching students a real subject like english (as opposed to the periphery subject of theatre\drama\acting, where no one really knows what you're doing and so no one really looks to hear or holds you to any measurable standards-- they just smile vaguely and attend the shows once in a while and say 'break a leg' but walk away mystified and proud of themselves for supporting arts education.), and Aaron keeps saying:
"I'll help you! Whatever you need, I will help you, we can do this!"
Which is incredibly supportive.
And feels fundamentally wrong to me.
"You can't help me, not with everything!" I tell him. "I somehow have to be able to do this myself!"
He assures me I will, he insists that he can and will help, and when I complain about my relative uselessness he argues that I help him all the time. But honestly? the examples he provides make me feel like a little kid who 'helped' her dad fis the diswasher or something. Like, I made sure the nuts and bolts didn't get lost, o r I handed him the right screwdriver, or I held the flashlight at the right angle while he actually did the real work that requires brains and know-how and skill and all that jazz.
I love him. More than life, more than anything, more (much, much more) than myself.
But if I want him to continue to love me for the long haul? I gotta get my act together. I have to build up my once strongly independent muscles. This was the girl who lived in NYC without him. WHo traveled the country without him. Who was perfectly capable of using all kinds of powertools without him. Who could build things, assemble things, research things, and create things without him. With his love and support, but ultimately on my own.
I like having a partner. I don't want to make him my dad-- you know?
I need to dust off my old tools, my old attitude, my old self-reliance. Balance the scales a little bit. Be an active contributor. An equal partner, with assets and value.
I mean, how long's he gunna keep me around just for the sex? It may have gotten me this far, but you never know quite when the sand'll run outta that hourglass, right ladies? ;)
He puts up with a hell of a lot. I just wanna take some of the burden off the poor fella.
And I want to be able to stand alone, when all is said and done, and have some accomplishments that are my own, incomparable achievements. I want to thank him in the credits, instead of have him srite the thing for me.
I want to be the woman he fell in love with.
I want to be the woman that you couldn't resist, not for anything!
Cuz I depend on me!
Girl I didn't know you could get down like that....
Friday, July 01, 2011
Knock on wood
Had a really good interview today. Thanks for all the love and support. Fingers are crossed in all sorts of directions, and I wonder if I'll have to make some tough decisions in the coming weeks. I hope so, even though I am a libra and notoriously awful at either\or scenarios, this is one problem I'd be grateful to have to face. After more than a year of unemployment\underemployment, please, please, please let me have to make some tough choices!!
My mother took me shopping on the government's dime yesterday and now my cup runneth over. Every time I'd choose an item and put it in the carriage she would insist "Get Two!" Or sometimes four or more. I almost had a heart attack just looking at how full the carriage was. She is a saint, and thanks to some earlier miscalculations on Uncle Sam's part, she now has this wonderful surplus of money to spend. And she chose to make sure Aaron and I were taken care of for the summer, which is a blessing and a half. Thank you mum!
The playdate yesterday was fun times too. It is a bit strange being at a playdate with no offspring of one's own, but I love the ladies, and I love all my nieces, and it was fun!
Gotta run, having a gmaenight tonight and my sister-in-law's always fabulous vegetarian cooking. Bless that woman, she never just throws a salad on the table and says: that's vegetarian! She tries new recipes, she experiments, she re-makes the classics without meat. I wonder what we'll have today?!?!?
Love!
My mother took me shopping on the government's dime yesterday and now my cup runneth over. Every time I'd choose an item and put it in the carriage she would insist "Get Two!" Or sometimes four or more. I almost had a heart attack just looking at how full the carriage was. She is a saint, and thanks to some earlier miscalculations on Uncle Sam's part, she now has this wonderful surplus of money to spend. And she chose to make sure Aaron and I were taken care of for the summer, which is a blessing and a half. Thank you mum!
The playdate yesterday was fun times too. It is a bit strange being at a playdate with no offspring of one's own, but I love the ladies, and I love all my nieces, and it was fun!
Gotta run, having a gmaenight tonight and my sister-in-law's always fabulous vegetarian cooking. Bless that woman, she never just throws a salad on the table and says: that's vegetarian! She tries new recipes, she experiments, she re-makes the classics without meat. I wonder what we'll have today?!?!?
Love!
Thursday, June 30, 2011
One's detached assessment.
Moving forward, because, well, what other choice does one have?
One gets grumpy when one is promised oral sex and then one's partner suddenly feels too tired or too busy with edits or too wrapped up in cleaning one's disaster of an apartment. One tries not to act like a guy about it (heeheehee), but one is kind of a guy about not getting one's due diligence down the delta. So one is surly.
AND. One actively opts not to remind one's husband that as an extra special reward for tribute paid downtown, that he was going to get to frolic in all three locales, even the exotic and forbidden.
If he's too tired for oral, well then, he must be too tired for anal. One pities a man who is so, so, very tired :( Although one is not ignorant and one knows that had the back door been mentioned that suddenly the man would have marshalled his well of reserves and marched to the mountain, one does not always feel like bribing one's lover to eat out.
So dinner, desert and all of that was summarily skipped. And one is on the irritable side, but one will get over it. One wasn't precisely starved for love or anything, having been fingered and fucked into a stupefying oblivion the morning before at around 4am or so (apologies to the neighbors...wait, nope.lolz.).
One wonders why it seems like the more sex one gets the more one wants it? One has noted that it isn't like quecnhing one's thirst with water, but more like scratching at poison ivy...it feels so good, but it is never enough, and it is a maddening sensation that must, must, must be satisfied again and again and again. And only if you smother it and leave it the fuck alone does it finally abate and recede and eventually cease its incessant call.
One woke up this morning in the middle of a lurid sex fantasy and literally growled in frustration because one's partner was slumbering like a bear and not actually fucking her forty ways from sunday, as he had been in said dream. One resented her husband, in that moment, for being human and not a fantasy and one feels slightly guilty about that. But note that one didn't bother taking matters into her own hands, or mouth, to change her circumstances, but rather decided to pout, to get up and pee (a pressing imperative, I assure you), and then put clothes on and prattle on about frustration into this adorable little netbook.
One is aware that if one had really wanted teh secks, one could have simply taken advantage of one's husband by manually stimulating his half-slumbering form until his equipment was primed, and then taken what one wanted\needed\desired\craved. One does this often, and one has this done to her on the regular. The advantages of marriage\long term relationships is that this practice is not considered dubious or reprehensible, but welcome and permitted! One wonders who wouldn't enjoy waking to some earnest oral stimulation or to some loving caresses...of the genitals... One posits that such a one is probably too uptight to enjoy a proper bout of fucking anyhow, and all the sex in the world is wasted on them. Or maybe, one supposes, they have some ailment that would preclude them from enjoying half-awake funtimez that would otherwise be most welcomed and passively allowed.
In conclusion! One awoke, already in a mood because one had been forced to fall asleep all wound-up and un-licked, and un-plundered in any and all regions, so upon waking and realizing that a vigorous fuck was also not in the cards, summarily pouted and grumbled and got the fuck out of bed in a state of dudgeon. Not high dudgeon, more like passive-agressively low dudgeon, if that is possible.
One is working through it, as we speak, and is getting ready to focus on the day ahead.
On the agenda:
~Playdate with Sister-in-law, and sister-in-spirit, and all their fabulous offspring!
This promises to be most fun!
~Work.
Today is a cook-out day! Which actually means the food is cooked outside but we must stay in the cafeteria and wait with grumpy, impatient elementary school campers whilst inept and surly middle schoolers screw up our table's order and do so with an attitude that suggests that they are better than camp cookouts and don't give a flying fuck if you get delivered a non-kosher hot dog or a non-vegetarian burger, and oops they forgot about the orange soada, will dr. pepper do instead because now they are all out of orange soda. And then the scavengers will beg and plead and needle for seconds, but we aren't allowed to give them seconds, until we are allowed and then they become ravenous, greedy little monsters fighting like jackals over half-burgers and dogs, and are there more chips too? please? pleeeeeeease?
~After dinner, a trip to Market Basket for vittles and supplies!
My hope is that after the cookout I will be MORE tolerant of the bucket, instead of what is more likely: that I will be on my last nerve, irritated beyond measure, and likely to snap over the most trivial inconvenience or percieved slight and haul off an punch a geriatric right in the powder blue curls for looking at me crosseyed or pulling her carriage out in front without an 'excuse me'.
~Home. To put away groceries, unwind, and prepare for my middle school interview. And, probably, for my husband to declare that now he is willing and able, but find me exhausted and unavailable.
Ta-Dah!
One gets grumpy when one is promised oral sex and then one's partner suddenly feels too tired or too busy with edits or too wrapped up in cleaning one's disaster of an apartment. One tries not to act like a guy about it (heeheehee), but one is kind of a guy about not getting one's due diligence down the delta. So one is surly.
AND. One actively opts not to remind one's husband that as an extra special reward for tribute paid downtown, that he was going to get to frolic in all three locales, even the exotic and forbidden.
If he's too tired for oral, well then, he must be too tired for anal. One pities a man who is so, so, very tired :( Although one is not ignorant and one knows that had the back door been mentioned that suddenly the man would have marshalled his well of reserves and marched to the mountain, one does not always feel like bribing one's lover to eat out.
So dinner, desert and all of that was summarily skipped. And one is on the irritable side, but one will get over it. One wasn't precisely starved for love or anything, having been fingered and fucked into a stupefying oblivion the morning before at around 4am or so (apologies to the neighbors...wait, nope.lolz.).
One wonders why it seems like the more sex one gets the more one wants it? One has noted that it isn't like quecnhing one's thirst with water, but more like scratching at poison ivy...it feels so good, but it is never enough, and it is a maddening sensation that must, must, must be satisfied again and again and again. And only if you smother it and leave it the fuck alone does it finally abate and recede and eventually cease its incessant call.
One woke up this morning in the middle of a lurid sex fantasy and literally growled in frustration because one's partner was slumbering like a bear and not actually fucking her forty ways from sunday, as he had been in said dream. One resented her husband, in that moment, for being human and not a fantasy and one feels slightly guilty about that. But note that one didn't bother taking matters into her own hands, or mouth, to change her circumstances, but rather decided to pout, to get up and pee (a pressing imperative, I assure you), and then put clothes on and prattle on about frustration into this adorable little netbook.
One is aware that if one had really wanted teh secks, one could have simply taken advantage of one's husband by manually stimulating his half-slumbering form until his equipment was primed, and then taken what one wanted\needed\desired\craved. One does this often, and one has this done to her on the regular. The advantages of marriage\long term relationships is that this practice is not considered dubious or reprehensible, but welcome and permitted! One wonders who wouldn't enjoy waking to some earnest oral stimulation or to some loving caresses...of the genitals... One posits that such a one is probably too uptight to enjoy a proper bout of fucking anyhow, and all the sex in the world is wasted on them. Or maybe, one supposes, they have some ailment that would preclude them from enjoying half-awake funtimez that would otherwise be most welcomed and passively allowed.
In conclusion! One awoke, already in a mood because one had been forced to fall asleep all wound-up and un-licked, and un-plundered in any and all regions, so upon waking and realizing that a vigorous fuck was also not in the cards, summarily pouted and grumbled and got the fuck out of bed in a state of dudgeon. Not high dudgeon, more like passive-agressively low dudgeon, if that is possible.
One is working through it, as we speak, and is getting ready to focus on the day ahead.
On the agenda:
~Playdate with Sister-in-law, and sister-in-spirit, and all their fabulous offspring!
This promises to be most fun!
~Work.
Today is a cook-out day! Which actually means the food is cooked outside but we must stay in the cafeteria and wait with grumpy, impatient elementary school campers whilst inept and surly middle schoolers screw up our table's order and do so with an attitude that suggests that they are better than camp cookouts and don't give a flying fuck if you get delivered a non-kosher hot dog or a non-vegetarian burger, and oops they forgot about the orange soada, will dr. pepper do instead because now they are all out of orange soda. And then the scavengers will beg and plead and needle for seconds, but we aren't allowed to give them seconds, until we are allowed and then they become ravenous, greedy little monsters fighting like jackals over half-burgers and dogs, and are there more chips too? please? pleeeeeeease?
~After dinner, a trip to Market Basket for vittles and supplies!
My hope is that after the cookout I will be MORE tolerant of the bucket, instead of what is more likely: that I will be on my last nerve, irritated beyond measure, and likely to snap over the most trivial inconvenience or percieved slight and haul off an punch a geriatric right in the powder blue curls for looking at me crosseyed or pulling her carriage out in front without an 'excuse me'.
~Home. To put away groceries, unwind, and prepare for my middle school interview. And, probably, for my husband to declare that now he is willing and able, but find me exhausted and unavailable.
Ta-Dah!
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Captain Obvious
I'm unhappy.
I'm sure you hadn't noticed. lol.
But it is starting to really worry me, which is, of course, not a quick way to get happier.
I'm deeply unhappy. Unsettled. unfulfilled.
And I feel this malaise. This awful laziness about my own existence. This sort of 'oh well' attitude that is really completely not the Beth Reardon we all know and love (or hate). Who is this person? This utterly 'meh' persona?
I used to want things, plan for things, dream ab out things, imahgine things. Now? Meh.
I used to feel passionately, feel strongly, feel deeply, feel honestly, FEEL. Now? Meh.
I used to have opinions, now I couldn't be bothered. I used to get all fired up, now it's too much effort. I used to crave and hunger and salivate and yearn and bleed for things. Now.
You get the picture.
As the teenagers say these days: I'm over it.
That's how I feel. I'm over it. And the bad news is that I'm only 26, only at the beginning of whatever career I settle into, and I have like, 30-40 more years of working hard, working all the time, working for paychecks that go right to the creditors and bill collectors, working myself into nothingness at a job I'll most likely loathe, and when I'm old and bitter and have nothing to show for it? I shudder to think. I'm repulsed. I revile tht person I see in the mirror 25-40 years down the line. Honestly.
Aaron keeps advocating I live in the now. That I enjoy the present and stop worrying about the future. But when the future looks so grim and bleak, how am I even supposed to enjoy the now? I swear, it's like living under a leaden storm cloud.
So I should probably see someone about this, right? Yeah, I figured you'd say that. I have a doctor's appointment later in the month. We'll see what they say.
A friend just revamped her blog, and has decided to focus on her many swirling passions. I applaud this and commend it. And I envy her her many passions. I can't feel so much as a spark lately. I'm shutting down, slowly but surely.
One thing I'm doing is packing away the theatre part of me. I'm done with it now, and have to put it away, tuck it up in the attic in a chest somewhere. And I'm folding up and packing away the writer too. And I'm gunna go ahead and yardsale the rest. The mother, the award winner, the difference-maker. The entrepreneuer, the homemaker, the cinephile, the political enthusiast. The wife, probably. Because I'm not sure how long anyone can be expected to live with the glum side of an alavert commercial.
And if the stuff doesn't sell at yard sale? I'mma just burn it in a big ole bonfire, cuz I wouldn'te even give this stuff to charity, lol.
I'm sure you hadn't noticed. lol.
But it is starting to really worry me, which is, of course, not a quick way to get happier.
I'm deeply unhappy. Unsettled. unfulfilled.
And I feel this malaise. This awful laziness about my own existence. This sort of 'oh well' attitude that is really completely not the Beth Reardon we all know and love (or hate). Who is this person? This utterly 'meh' persona?
I used to want things, plan for things, dream ab out things, imahgine things. Now? Meh.
I used to feel passionately, feel strongly, feel deeply, feel honestly, FEEL. Now? Meh.
I used to have opinions, now I couldn't be bothered. I used to get all fired up, now it's too much effort. I used to crave and hunger and salivate and yearn and bleed for things. Now.
You get the picture.
As the teenagers say these days: I'm over it.
That's how I feel. I'm over it. And the bad news is that I'm only 26, only at the beginning of whatever career I settle into, and I have like, 30-40 more years of working hard, working all the time, working for paychecks that go right to the creditors and bill collectors, working myself into nothingness at a job I'll most likely loathe, and when I'm old and bitter and have nothing to show for it? I shudder to think. I'm repulsed. I revile tht person I see in the mirror 25-40 years down the line. Honestly.
Aaron keeps advocating I live in the now. That I enjoy the present and stop worrying about the future. But when the future looks so grim and bleak, how am I even supposed to enjoy the now? I swear, it's like living under a leaden storm cloud.
So I should probably see someone about this, right? Yeah, I figured you'd say that. I have a doctor's appointment later in the month. We'll see what they say.
A friend just revamped her blog, and has decided to focus on her many swirling passions. I applaud this and commend it. And I envy her her many passions. I can't feel so much as a spark lately. I'm shutting down, slowly but surely.
One thing I'm doing is packing away the theatre part of me. I'm done with it now, and have to put it away, tuck it up in the attic in a chest somewhere. And I'm folding up and packing away the writer too. And I'm gunna go ahead and yardsale the rest. The mother, the award winner, the difference-maker. The entrepreneuer, the homemaker, the cinephile, the political enthusiast. The wife, probably. Because I'm not sure how long anyone can be expected to live with the glum side of an alavert commercial.
And if the stuff doesn't sell at yard sale? I'mma just burn it in a big ole bonfire, cuz I wouldn'te even give this stuff to charity, lol.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
fuck
fuck blogging.
did it for more than a year and what did it get me?
I can't write anymore. I don't know how it happened, or if there's a remedy, but I'm alllllll sorts of writer's blocked.
So....
Fuck blogging, and fuck writing, and fuck dreams that don't come true. wah. fuck it all. I'm so many varieties of fucked from so many angles right now that I really wouldn't mind if I suddenly ceased to be.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
And, oh yeah, fuck.
Andrea? There's no such thing as too much swearing. swearing is awesome. It is fucking bananas awesome.
Just, well, you know, a time and place for everything, right?
I have to interview for a middle school english teacher job on friday. grateful for the interview? um. I guess? But can you really imagine me teaching urban middleschoolers anything? They're so goddamned distracted by sex and bodies that I really believe they should be given two years off to sort through their shit, because there is NO fucking book learning happening during those 2-3 years. Maybe have them in a labor camp or something, make them useful, keep em safe and off the streets, but don't try to teach them anything, for heaven's sake!
Think I should lead with that on the interview?
yeah. Me too.
I'm so fucking over trying to be something that I'm not; but it doesn't matter, because I haven't got another fucking choice.
did it for more than a year and what did it get me?
I can't write anymore. I don't know how it happened, or if there's a remedy, but I'm alllllll sorts of writer's blocked.
So....
Fuck blogging, and fuck writing, and fuck dreams that don't come true. wah. fuck it all. I'm so many varieties of fucked from so many angles right now that I really wouldn't mind if I suddenly ceased to be.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
And, oh yeah, fuck.
Andrea? There's no such thing as too much swearing. swearing is awesome. It is fucking bananas awesome.
Just, well, you know, a time and place for everything, right?
I have to interview for a middle school english teacher job on friday. grateful for the interview? um. I guess? But can you really imagine me teaching urban middleschoolers anything? They're so goddamned distracted by sex and bodies that I really believe they should be given two years off to sort through their shit, because there is NO fucking book learning happening during those 2-3 years. Maybe have them in a labor camp or something, make them useful, keep em safe and off the streets, but don't try to teach them anything, for heaven's sake!
Think I should lead with that on the interview?
yeah. Me too.
I'm so fucking over trying to be something that I'm not; but it doesn't matter, because I haven't got another fucking choice.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Z is one year old. A fucking year!
I was around so many babies and toddlers yesterday that my biological clock went fucking haywire. I feel like pulling a captain hook from speilberg's Hook, gathering up all the clocks in the world and breaking thoses sons of bitches! Smashing them to pieces. Obliterating them!
We're sitting around a patio table at Matt's graduation party--my first nephew ever graduated from high school this year, true story-- and my mother tells me that yet ANOTHER of my cousins is expecting, and then goes: so this means that each on of my siblings will be a grandparent again this year!
Except her, was, um, the implication. Unless someone knows something I don't.
I was confused for a sec, because I couldn't remember one of the people having another baby and my Aunt was all: "What's that face? Are YOU pregnant?!"
"No" I say with haste and a touch of rage. No, I'm not pregnant. I'm not. I am not having a baby. And I don't think I will.
But I thought making that decision would have made existing easier. It has not. It has made me feel pretty glum and useless. I love hanging out with my neices and nephews. My brother goes: "I don't know Beth, you look like a natural!" I quickly deny this and hand the baby to someone else. But the thing is, I am not half bad with the neices and nephews. But that makes me an Aunt, you see, and not a mom...
Aaron was great with all the kids yesterday, both at Zoe's party and at Matt's. He did magic tricks and played washerboard, and fed Zoe watermelon! We drove home and I asked him: "So, Mr. Waite, you were around alot of babies today. How's that make you feel?"
"Like an uncle." He responded immediately. Then: "I think I'd be a really great, less-creepy version of Uncle Joey." He did not follow this up with a woodchuck impersonation or a 'cit-it-out!', but I am inclined to agree; he's a pretty great uncle, and despite the beard he is, yes, less creepy than Dave Coolier.
I ask him if he wants to be a dad. He is pretty 'meh' about it in that moment. I am feeling meh about it too, so we drop that discussion and talk about houses. How maybe someday soon we'll get to start looking at houses. Soon is, of course, in reality more like 5 years away, though, right?
Sigh.
Whatever.
When Zoes is six years old, perhaps she can come to our HOUSE and play with our pets. Maybe Aaron will build a treehouse to rival Punky Brewster's for our myriad neices and nephews...
BTWs, Zoe is the cutest fucking baby ever. And so sweet and smiley and playful and awesome. My othe neices are greta too, but jeez louise. Zoe was a rockstar yesterday and she is most definately Awesomesauce!
Off to breakfast with mum. Just see if I don't order chocolate chip pancakes. Afterall, I'm not worrying about getting baby ready.
I was around so many babies and toddlers yesterday that my biological clock went fucking haywire. I feel like pulling a captain hook from speilberg's Hook, gathering up all the clocks in the world and breaking thoses sons of bitches! Smashing them to pieces. Obliterating them!
We're sitting around a patio table at Matt's graduation party--my first nephew ever graduated from high school this year, true story-- and my mother tells me that yet ANOTHER of my cousins is expecting, and then goes: so this means that each on of my siblings will be a grandparent again this year!
Except her, was, um, the implication. Unless someone knows something I don't.
I was confused for a sec, because I couldn't remember one of the people having another baby and my Aunt was all: "What's that face? Are YOU pregnant?!"
"No" I say with haste and a touch of rage. No, I'm not pregnant. I'm not. I am not having a baby. And I don't think I will.
But I thought making that decision would have made existing easier. It has not. It has made me feel pretty glum and useless. I love hanging out with my neices and nephews. My brother goes: "I don't know Beth, you look like a natural!" I quickly deny this and hand the baby to someone else. But the thing is, I am not half bad with the neices and nephews. But that makes me an Aunt, you see, and not a mom...
Aaron was great with all the kids yesterday, both at Zoe's party and at Matt's. He did magic tricks and played washerboard, and fed Zoe watermelon! We drove home and I asked him: "So, Mr. Waite, you were around alot of babies today. How's that make you feel?"
"Like an uncle." He responded immediately. Then: "I think I'd be a really great, less-creepy version of Uncle Joey." He did not follow this up with a woodchuck impersonation or a 'cit-it-out!', but I am inclined to agree; he's a pretty great uncle, and despite the beard he is, yes, less creepy than Dave Coolier.
I ask him if he wants to be a dad. He is pretty 'meh' about it in that moment. I am feeling meh about it too, so we drop that discussion and talk about houses. How maybe someday soon we'll get to start looking at houses. Soon is, of course, in reality more like 5 years away, though, right?
Sigh.
Whatever.
When Zoes is six years old, perhaps she can come to our HOUSE and play with our pets. Maybe Aaron will build a treehouse to rival Punky Brewster's for our myriad neices and nephews...
BTWs, Zoe is the cutest fucking baby ever. And so sweet and smiley and playful and awesome. My othe neices are greta too, but jeez louise. Zoe was a rockstar yesterday and she is most definately Awesomesauce!
Off to breakfast with mum. Just see if I don't order chocolate chip pancakes. Afterall, I'm not worrying about getting baby ready.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Mz. Reardon's Opus?
Not quite back into the swing of blogging.
And not feeling very much like a writer.
Feeling like an applicant 24/7.
If I get this English teaching job it'll be like Mr. Holland's Opus.
Only at the end of my movie will be a bunch of alums reading trashy fiction aloud to the horror of all assembled. Shocked faces and disgusted murmuring, and me, all misty and bittersweet smiled behind old lady glasses, nodding fondly and oblivious to the the swirling whispers of scandal!
I'm no English teacher.
Who the fuck knows what I am.
Not pregnant, I know that much today. Fun Fun, as always.
On monday I sub for a gym teacher. I plan on doing theatre games.
Can I quit my life and go on unemployment while I train for a new life? I told my sister today that I wish I could call it a day with this whole path I've taken, hit the 'reset' button on the console of life and go back to my last checkpoint.
I would never, never, never, never choose to go into theatre.
Wow.
There.
You win, universe.
In the course of, like, a year an a half you have managed to turn a woman whose philosophy had been firmly in the 'every step on my journey has led me to the person I am today, and I don't believe in mistakes; only off-beat paths', into a deeply regretful individual.
I no longer feel that my choices were 'off beat' or 'valuable'. I see now that they were ignorant, uninformed, ill-considered, and impractical.
They say 'do what you love'. Well folks, I swear I really did love theatre. I loved it enough to drop everything, move to new york, stuff myself into a fucking leotard every day and humiliate myself on the regular because I believed in it. Loved it. Wanted it. I loved it enough to damn all the odds, throw caution to the wind and all manner of other cliched go-get-em phrases!
And then I sort of only half-committed because I knew I also loved Aaron. And wanted a family. And didn't want to live in jersey. So I came home. And I looked at my options. And I decided I really enjoyed teaching. Maybe not LOVED teaching, but how many true loves can you expect to have in one lifetime? I loved aaron, I loved theatre (but couldn't be with theatre-- its complicated), and so I decided that if I LIKE-liked teaching, that would be enough for a mature, mutually beneficial relationship.
Like communism, this sort of logic is inherently flawed. Because two people who respect eachother, and get along, and have ok sex, and share the bills, well sure they can cohabit, sure they can make it work, but sooner or later they start looking at eachother and if the passion isn't there? Well, then. It just ain't gunna work. Because without the undying love, all the mutual respect in the world just isn't going to get you through the really shitty, awful, gruelling, trying times. And then you start to resent that person, even though it is your own damned fault for settling, for convincing yourself such an arrangement could ever work.
So now you've passed on the risky yet romantic opportunity to be with the love of your life, and you've exhausted your tolerance of living with second-best, you've probably had a steamy, torrid, impractical affair with someone (like writing-- jesus, what a flight of absolute fancy), and after all this you are probably emotionally drained, financially wrecked, creatively bankrupt, and shit outta luck.
Time is running out for the old biological clock, patience is running out for your creditors, it looks as though you'll never be a homeowner, and options? Thin on the ground.
So tonight I say this: I love Aaron. He is my life. My everything. My rock. My soulmate.
If I gain nothing else in this life I will still count myself as most fortunate for having met him, having spent my life with him, and having him by my side through everything, always.
But even the best relationships, even the deepest and most passionate loves will feel the sapping, battering, miserable strain of failure pressing in from al sides.
So I'm openly praying now, to whatever, whomever, however, that I figure myself out ASAP. Figure me out, figure out my purpose, and take that first fucking step toward the me I'm supposed to be.
I always imagined I'd be a mom. Who knows?
I alays imagined I'd dies at thirty. Could be.
I always imagined a modicum of success. Survey says? ehhhhhhhn.
I always imagined great friends. Yes, that heaven every day, yes.
I always imagined I'd be Aaron's wife. Amen and haleluia, best thing I've ever done.
Thou, I must say I am not a great house wiffe!
I always imagined I'd do what I love. Other than doing Aaron on the regular? Nope.
I always imagined I'd be happy. The potential is there, but I lost the instructions somehow.
I always imagined I would travel.
I always imagined I would have soirees.
I always imagined I'd be mutli-talented.
I always imagined I'd be generous.
I always imagined I'd be graceful and smiling.
I always imagined I'd take care of my folks.
I always imagined it would all work out well.
I always imagined I'd be confident and kick-ass.
I always imagined I would be sassy and stunning.
I always imagined I would have leisure time!
I always imagined that I'd feel grown up.
I always imagined that I had something special.
I always imagined that I was on the brink of greatness.
I always imagined my success was inevitable.
I always imagined that this was all just a transitional step.
I always imagined I'd have two kids by now.
I always imagined that I could mutlitask skillfully.
I always imagined myself smiling alot more.
I always imagined I'd somehow be a size 10 (and stay that way! without dieting or excessive excersize!)
I always imagined warmth.
I always imagined a garden.
I always imagined respect.
I always imagined peace.
I always imagined alot fewer setbacks.
I always imagined alot more agreement.
I always imagined I'd look back and laugh.
I always imagined I'd live without regrets.
I always imagined I'd suddenly be amazing at keeping the house clean!
I always imagined I'd sing them to sleep.
I always imagined watching him teach them to read, or tie their shoes, or about dinosaurs.
I always imagined halloweens. And christmases. And birthdays. And snowdays. And picnics.
I always imagined I'd be there by now.
I always imagined I'd really like Beth Reardon.
I always imagined I'd learn how to cook and that George Lucas would ask me to write and direct the next trilogy.
I always imagind I'd have the best answers when I finally sat down with James Lipton.
What sound or noise do you love?
Goodnight, folks.
Tomorrow is the last day of the regular school year. And the day after that is the first day of my summer jobs.
I always imagined I wouldn't work too much or too strenuously, and that this would be absolutely no problem at all because I would be independently wealthy or something.
C'est la vie.
And not feeling very much like a writer.
Feeling like an applicant 24/7.
If I get this English teaching job it'll be like Mr. Holland's Opus.
Only at the end of my movie will be a bunch of alums reading trashy fiction aloud to the horror of all assembled. Shocked faces and disgusted murmuring, and me, all misty and bittersweet smiled behind old lady glasses, nodding fondly and oblivious to the the swirling whispers of scandal!
I'm no English teacher.
Who the fuck knows what I am.
Not pregnant, I know that much today. Fun Fun, as always.
On monday I sub for a gym teacher. I plan on doing theatre games.
Can I quit my life and go on unemployment while I train for a new life? I told my sister today that I wish I could call it a day with this whole path I've taken, hit the 'reset' button on the console of life and go back to my last checkpoint.
I would never, never, never, never choose to go into theatre.
Wow.
There.
You win, universe.
In the course of, like, a year an a half you have managed to turn a woman whose philosophy had been firmly in the 'every step on my journey has led me to the person I am today, and I don't believe in mistakes; only off-beat paths', into a deeply regretful individual.
I no longer feel that my choices were 'off beat' or 'valuable'. I see now that they were ignorant, uninformed, ill-considered, and impractical.
They say 'do what you love'. Well folks, I swear I really did love theatre. I loved it enough to drop everything, move to new york, stuff myself into a fucking leotard every day and humiliate myself on the regular because I believed in it. Loved it. Wanted it. I loved it enough to damn all the odds, throw caution to the wind and all manner of other cliched go-get-em phrases!
And then I sort of only half-committed because I knew I also loved Aaron. And wanted a family. And didn't want to live in jersey. So I came home. And I looked at my options. And I decided I really enjoyed teaching. Maybe not LOVED teaching, but how many true loves can you expect to have in one lifetime? I loved aaron, I loved theatre (but couldn't be with theatre-- its complicated), and so I decided that if I LIKE-liked teaching, that would be enough for a mature, mutually beneficial relationship.
Like communism, this sort of logic is inherently flawed. Because two people who respect eachother, and get along, and have ok sex, and share the bills, well sure they can cohabit, sure they can make it work, but sooner or later they start looking at eachother and if the passion isn't there? Well, then. It just ain't gunna work. Because without the undying love, all the mutual respect in the world just isn't going to get you through the really shitty, awful, gruelling, trying times. And then you start to resent that person, even though it is your own damned fault for settling, for convincing yourself such an arrangement could ever work.
So now you've passed on the risky yet romantic opportunity to be with the love of your life, and you've exhausted your tolerance of living with second-best, you've probably had a steamy, torrid, impractical affair with someone (like writing-- jesus, what a flight of absolute fancy), and after all this you are probably emotionally drained, financially wrecked, creatively bankrupt, and shit outta luck.
Time is running out for the old biological clock, patience is running out for your creditors, it looks as though you'll never be a homeowner, and options? Thin on the ground.
So tonight I say this: I love Aaron. He is my life. My everything. My rock. My soulmate.
If I gain nothing else in this life I will still count myself as most fortunate for having met him, having spent my life with him, and having him by my side through everything, always.
But even the best relationships, even the deepest and most passionate loves will feel the sapping, battering, miserable strain of failure pressing in from al sides.
So I'm openly praying now, to whatever, whomever, however, that I figure myself out ASAP. Figure me out, figure out my purpose, and take that first fucking step toward the me I'm supposed to be.
I always imagined I'd be a mom. Who knows?
I alays imagined I'd dies at thirty. Could be.
I always imagined a modicum of success. Survey says? ehhhhhhhn.
I always imagined great friends. Yes, that heaven every day, yes.
I always imagined I'd be Aaron's wife. Amen and haleluia, best thing I've ever done.
Thou, I must say I am not a great house wiffe!
I always imagined I'd do what I love. Other than doing Aaron on the regular? Nope.
I always imagined I'd be happy. The potential is there, but I lost the instructions somehow.
I always imagined I would travel.
I always imagined I would have soirees.
I always imagined I'd be mutli-talented.
I always imagined I'd be generous.
I always imagined I'd be graceful and smiling.
I always imagined I'd take care of my folks.
I always imagined it would all work out well.
I always imagined I'd be confident and kick-ass.
I always imagined I would be sassy and stunning.
I always imagined I would have leisure time!
I always imagined that I'd feel grown up.
I always imagined that I had something special.
I always imagined that I was on the brink of greatness.
I always imagined my success was inevitable.
I always imagined that this was all just a transitional step.
I always imagined I'd have two kids by now.
I always imagined that I could mutlitask skillfully.
I always imagined myself smiling alot more.
I always imagined I'd somehow be a size 10 (and stay that way! without dieting or excessive excersize!)
I always imagined warmth.
I always imagined a garden.
I always imagined respect.
I always imagined peace.
I always imagined alot fewer setbacks.
I always imagined alot more agreement.
I always imagined I'd look back and laugh.
I always imagined I'd live without regrets.
I always imagined I'd suddenly be amazing at keeping the house clean!
I always imagined I'd sing them to sleep.
I always imagined watching him teach them to read, or tie their shoes, or about dinosaurs.
I always imagined halloweens. And christmases. And birthdays. And snowdays. And picnics.
I always imagined I'd be there by now.
I always imagined I'd really like Beth Reardon.
I always imagined I'd learn how to cook and that George Lucas would ask me to write and direct the next trilogy.
I always imagind I'd have the best answers when I finally sat down with James Lipton.
What sound or noise do you love?
Goodnight, folks.
Tomorrow is the last day of the regular school year. And the day after that is the first day of my summer jobs.
I always imagined I wouldn't work too much or too strenuously, and that this would be absolutely no problem at all because I would be independently wealthy or something.
C'est la vie.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Interview
Ok.
So I had my first official interview for a job today.
It went... OK.
I am not super duper confident, but neither am I totally pessimistic.
It was a courtesy interview. I just hope I made them CONSIDER me.
I want that second round interview, but won't get to hear till next week at the earliest.
Last night I woke up at least every hour in a dead panic, sitting bolt-upright in bed with a ghasp, sure that I'd missed my alarm and that I wouln't get the chance to interview.
Now I have to live with these nerves for a week or more?!? I am gunna be a wreck!
So I had my first official interview for a job today.
It went... OK.
I am not super duper confident, but neither am I totally pessimistic.
It was a courtesy interview. I just hope I made them CONSIDER me.
I want that second round interview, but won't get to hear till next week at the earliest.
Last night I woke up at least every hour in a dead panic, sitting bolt-upright in bed with a ghasp, sure that I'd missed my alarm and that I wouln't get the chance to interview.
Now I have to live with these nerves for a week or more?!? I am gunna be a wreck!
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Summer Reading; CF UPDATES!!!!!!!!!
Had such a pleasantly wonderful day today! It was the last day of the most insufferable portion of my job; I had the afternoon off from work; I visited my dear, dear friends and had a fucking blast; got to indulge in my favorite coffee; recieved a generous, kind gift from a new friend and colleague; and made a healthy and tasty dinner (with some help from the Roche Bros. ready-to-go food...).
The gift I recieved was a mystery novel intended for summer reading, because SUMMER IS COMING (unlike in one of my new favorite shows where WINTER IS COMING)!!!!!
So, in the spirit of gifting reading materials for summer pleasure, I have plenty of new (or, rather, new-to-the-blog) Cedar Falls!!
For your reading pleasure:
Fucking Early -- takes place early in the morning after where we left off with The Dinner Epilogue. A G&M
Mr. & Mrs. Nolan Delaney-- we take a break from the Jonah Delaney clan for a bit and delve a little further into Nolan's life with these next vignettes. This one is a sexy little throwaway, but I simply love it, it makes me feel giddy and sexy and makes me love these characters to pieces!
Love at First Sight-- Now go BACK IN TIME and see Nolan when he's first met the woman of his dreams. See Also a younger Jonah and a toddler Viola. It's like, you want it to be creepy, don't you? Like, you're just waiting for something inappropriate to happen. lol.
Love at First Sight; Nolan-- See how Nolan Met Zahra! Hearts hearts hearts.
Love at First Sight; Zahra-- Girl likes Boy. Super fun! I adore Zahra. She is so sassy!
After the Eight Am-- Back to the present with a Maggie and Grey Scene. The adjustment to married life ain't gunna be so easy for these two!
After the Eight AM; Vamanos-- Grey is trying, he really is, but...
Wedding Planning-- Some more Avalon... and some over-sharing! lol.
Happy Summer! Lots more forthcoming, so get yourselves up-to-fucking-date!!
The gift I recieved was a mystery novel intended for summer reading, because SUMMER IS COMING (unlike in one of my new favorite shows where WINTER IS COMING)!!!!!
So, in the spirit of gifting reading materials for summer pleasure, I have plenty of new (or, rather, new-to-the-blog) Cedar Falls!!
For your reading pleasure:
Fucking Early -- takes place early in the morning after where we left off with The Dinner Epilogue. A G&M
Mr. & Mrs. Nolan Delaney-- we take a break from the Jonah Delaney clan for a bit and delve a little further into Nolan's life with these next vignettes. This one is a sexy little throwaway, but I simply love it, it makes me feel giddy and sexy and makes me love these characters to pieces!
Love at First Sight-- Now go BACK IN TIME and see Nolan when he's first met the woman of his dreams. See Also a younger Jonah and a toddler Viola. It's like, you want it to be creepy, don't you? Like, you're just waiting for something inappropriate to happen. lol.
Love at First Sight; Nolan-- See how Nolan Met Zahra! Hearts hearts hearts.
Love at First Sight; Zahra-- Girl likes Boy. Super fun! I adore Zahra. She is so sassy!
After the Eight Am-- Back to the present with a Maggie and Grey Scene. The adjustment to married life ain't gunna be so easy for these two!
After the Eight AM; Vamanos-- Grey is trying, he really is, but...
Wedding Planning-- Some more Avalon... and some over-sharing! lol.
Happy Summer! Lots more forthcoming, so get yourselves up-to-fucking-date!!
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
shhhh
Not going to make a come-back in any extraordinary way. Just saying hello.
Hi.
Had some blogger laryngitis there.
So gimme some time to ease back in?
I think I'll make a nice hefty June edition posting of Cedar Falls. Stay tuned for that!
Hi.
Had some blogger laryngitis there.
So gimme some time to ease back in?
I think I'll make a nice hefty June edition posting of Cedar Falls. Stay tuned for that!
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