I got to see Dustin today. He's happy. Kind of filled my heart up.
Other than that, last night, the Boy From Three Blogs Ago and I were at the theater working on this hilarious project. The Full Monty calls for a scene with a car, and being as I can't just ever take 'good enough' as an answer, I have a golf cart packed into the backstage mayhem. (Which thus far includes a giant wagon with three sides of scenery, two sofas, a bed, a big chair, a coffee table, a park bench, a 10x8 foot lit sign, a big window frame, a ladder, two full size trees, a piano, three drops, full lighting equipment, three props tables, four clothing racks, a gravestone with a bench, another bench, two end tables, a giant television, and about 10 folding chairs.) It's a full old-style cart with a fabric top and two roomy seats and a big steering wheel. Being as The Boy has more experience modifying vehicles than anyone I know, I asked for his help. Now, this is not my golf cart, and I could not permanently modify it in any fashion for the play. So, using six big sheets of cardboard, a big tube full of zip ties, two giant flashlight heads and three rolls of duct tape, we have fashioned the funniest looking car I have ever seen out of that cart. I'd post a picture, but it's not painted yet and I don't want to ruin the surprise if you come see it. Basically, it looks like a Scion crossed with a short bus on a golf cart frame. It's appropriately silly and I just adore it.
It was just the two of us, and I kept thinking of Red's advice to wait for the moment to profess, and after about six of those perfect moments came and went, and while we were standing next to each other, laughing and taping and being the way we are, which is a way I am not with anyone else in the world, I realized that losing that would destroy me, and maybe if I knew him the other way, this would disappear. I'm not sure enough to risk it at the moment. Eventually, I will. Eventually I will spill and send him the email that is already Red-Approved and tell him I think we should give it a whirl, but right now is not the time. His current gf, with whom he is not now nor will ever be in love, is debating moving in with him. He is still caught up on someone else. It's right before Valentine's Day. I am desperate at the moment, and far too busy to devote the time to nurturing.
I am SOLID in the belief that if I DON'T say it, I will always wonder if I should have. So I will. Really. It's just that even when the moment is right, it doesn't feel RIGHT. I hope I'm not making excuses for myself. I probably am, but I just can't stress enough how it felt; I would open my mouth, put my hand on his arm, and then tell him a joke. So, that's put aside, and there will be no more talk of it until I am ready to do it.
Otherwise, the Hot Metal Six were doing the last scene last night, when all of a sudden they took off their pants, turned around, and showed it off. It was the first I've seen of the actual nudity, and it was just fucking beautiful. I love this play, because it's normal people that you end up cheering for like they were Brad Pitt. I love it. Love it. Love it. Love it. This cast is just the most amazing thing. I truly am blessed.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Rambling on and on..
It's Tuesday, and here's what's happened so far:
I bought Adele's '19' album. It's just gorgeous. I will probably listen to in until the cheap burned CD wears right out.
My purse is full. That's the first time ever, since a. I usually don't carry a purse and b. there is usually a grand total of three things in it when I do.
All of my hatreds have turned into apathy and disinterest for some reason.
No music is as good as what I listened to in college. I knew that would happen, but I sorta thought I could avoid being someone who says, "The only good music I ever heard was when I was in college."
You can knock yourself out for someone, and it does not obligate them whatsoever to say thank you. You can get mad at them for it, but really, it's your own fault.
The Full Monty is the only musical I will ever direct. I still hate them, which makes me less good at directing them than I want to be, and I don't do things I know I'm not good at, unless I am drunk. Then I sing like no one's listening.
Barack Obama has very nice teeth.
Even if I've ignored her for three weeks on purpose, it bothers me when my mom doesn't want to talk to me.
I am exclusively attracted to depressive men. If they spend time with me, I eventually get pissed at them for being so depressive, but if they are cheerful and well-adjusted and have a positive outlook in general, I think they're retarded. Thanks, Dad.
Ford trucks are stupid.
People will never cease to amaze me.
I'd like to run an elephant sanctuary.
Incredulity reads the same as the beginning of telling a joke on my face, if that makes sense.
I have two girlfriends that I would consider 'thoughtful', and I consider everyone else thought'less'.
I want a trombonist to follow me around and play the Debbie Downer effect all the time. That would rule.
I bought Adele's '19' album. It's just gorgeous. I will probably listen to in until the cheap burned CD wears right out.
My purse is full. That's the first time ever, since a. I usually don't carry a purse and b. there is usually a grand total of three things in it when I do.
All of my hatreds have turned into apathy and disinterest for some reason.
No music is as good as what I listened to in college. I knew that would happen, but I sorta thought I could avoid being someone who says, "The only good music I ever heard was when I was in college."
You can knock yourself out for someone, and it does not obligate them whatsoever to say thank you. You can get mad at them for it, but really, it's your own fault.
The Full Monty is the only musical I will ever direct. I still hate them, which makes me less good at directing them than I want to be, and I don't do things I know I'm not good at, unless I am drunk. Then I sing like no one's listening.
Barack Obama has very nice teeth.
Even if I've ignored her for three weeks on purpose, it bothers me when my mom doesn't want to talk to me.
I am exclusively attracted to depressive men. If they spend time with me, I eventually get pissed at them for being so depressive, but if they are cheerful and well-adjusted and have a positive outlook in general, I think they're retarded. Thanks, Dad.
Ford trucks are stupid.
People will never cease to amaze me.
I'd like to run an elephant sanctuary.
Incredulity reads the same as the beginning of telling a joke on my face, if that makes sense.
I have two girlfriends that I would consider 'thoughtful', and I consider everyone else thought'less'.
I want a trombonist to follow me around and play the Debbie Downer effect all the time. That would rule.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
A new bird story to rival the first...
Ladies and the one gentleman who reads my blog, prepare thyselves for a story so funny, I was laughing the whole time it was happening at just how great it would be to tell it. And it is.
So, let's start out with a few prerequisites: first of all, birds find their way into my home every February, a trend which started two years ago. I had come home from a weekend in the woods to find this bird, this needle-nosed pitch blue starling, sitting on my couch. He was the first of eight that year, followed by five last year, and now this fella from yesterday. They have been on ceiling fans, under the sink, in my bedroom, dead in the toilet, upstairs on a light, hiding on top of the fridge, in a cat's mouth, in a dog's mouth, or sitting on chairs like that is perfectly normal and acceptable bird habitat. Also, if you are unfamiliar, you need to know some of the anatomy of my house in order to understand the story. The front door is in a little entryway (unheated), which meets up with the dining room, which is kind of open to the kitchen. Hidden in the back corner of the kitchen is the bathroom. The whole thing is in a terrible state of disrepair, and for some reason, most of my door handles don't work properly. For example, if you close the bathroom door firmly from the inside, you can't get out without assistance from the other side or a good hearty kick. Also, in the bathroom, there is a small bit of space behind the shower that I plan on turning into a linen closet one of these days, but for now it's a big hole that runs under the tub.
Alright, so yesterday, I got back from work and picking up my bucket of a truck, and went into the bathroom for the usual business, when I hear this sort of shuffling scratch under the tub. Both dogs, who insist on accompanying me into the bathroom every time they can, put their faces into the opening behind the tub and started to whine and scratch and freak out. "Well," I thought, " I saw all four cats in the house when I came in, so this must be a bird or something." Like I said, I EXPECT birds in the house in February, plus the sound it made was bird-like. As I was finishing up and getting ready to calm the dogs and capture the bird, he flew out like a Phoenix and was loose in the house, with four cats and two dogs in competition for his blood. I had to leave my pants behind in the attempt to save him.
I ran all over the house after the little guy, up on windowsills and back down, up the stairs and back down, into the windows and onto the floor, dogs ahead, dogs behind, cats underfoot and jumping from ledges, and eventually he flew back into the bathroom and under the tub. I had to take a shower anyway, and I was already sans pants, so I got into my birthday suit, closed the door as much as I dared to and took my shower. Sometime during, the bird came out and sat on the curtain rod and shortly thereafter, the dogs got the door open and came right in.
Hm. Fun.
So, I got done in the shower right quick, and as I pulled back the curtain, the bird took to flight in a 10'x 6' room with two crazed dogs. I was screaming at them all, when the bird flew into the mirror on the door and hit the floor, causing the cats jump at the door from the other side, SHUTTING IT FIRMLY. Me, wet and naked, two crazed dogs, bird flying around, locked in the 10' x 6' bathroom. Incidentally, this is when I started to laugh. Loudly. I put on the only clothes I had in there with me, which were slippers, and had to use my towel to catch the bird, right? Well, the bird flew in behind the sink, and I tossed the towel on him with a dog on my nude back. I scooped up the bird and towel, cradling it in my arms. I couldn't put him down anywhere because of the dogs, and I couldn't put him in the bathtub because the drain is slower than old people, so I had to hang on to the whole bundle whilst kicking the door open.
The first four kicks were fruitless. The fifth shattered the mirror on the back of the door. There we are, two crazed dogs, freaked out bird in a towel, me, wet and with nothing on but slippers, and five square feet of glass shattered onto the floor and still locked in the goddamn bathroom. I actually panicked for a second, checked my feet for shards of mirror, backed the dogs up against the bathtub, re-adjusted the bird's position in my football hold, and kicked the living shit out of the fucking door. Mercifully, it flew open, and in came the cats.
There was no time for anything, since all six of those carnivores knew I had the bird on my nude, wet person, so I ran to the front door, through the kitchen and dining room and unheated entryway, got the front door open, and let the bird go out of the towel. Then, like a raving nude, wet idiot I waited to see where it went. And so did the neighbors across the street.
What else could I do? I waved at them.
Swear to god.
Only me.
So, let's start out with a few prerequisites: first of all, birds find their way into my home every February, a trend which started two years ago. I had come home from a weekend in the woods to find this bird, this needle-nosed pitch blue starling, sitting on my couch. He was the first of eight that year, followed by five last year, and now this fella from yesterday. They have been on ceiling fans, under the sink, in my bedroom, dead in the toilet, upstairs on a light, hiding on top of the fridge, in a cat's mouth, in a dog's mouth, or sitting on chairs like that is perfectly normal and acceptable bird habitat. Also, if you are unfamiliar, you need to know some of the anatomy of my house in order to understand the story. The front door is in a little entryway (unheated), which meets up with the dining room, which is kind of open to the kitchen. Hidden in the back corner of the kitchen is the bathroom. The whole thing is in a terrible state of disrepair, and for some reason, most of my door handles don't work properly. For example, if you close the bathroom door firmly from the inside, you can't get out without assistance from the other side or a good hearty kick. Also, in the bathroom, there is a small bit of space behind the shower that I plan on turning into a linen closet one of these days, but for now it's a big hole that runs under the tub.
Alright, so yesterday, I got back from work and picking up my bucket of a truck, and went into the bathroom for the usual business, when I hear this sort of shuffling scratch under the tub. Both dogs, who insist on accompanying me into the bathroom every time they can, put their faces into the opening behind the tub and started to whine and scratch and freak out. "Well," I thought, " I saw all four cats in the house when I came in, so this must be a bird or something." Like I said, I EXPECT birds in the house in February, plus the sound it made was bird-like. As I was finishing up and getting ready to calm the dogs and capture the bird, he flew out like a Phoenix and was loose in the house, with four cats and two dogs in competition for his blood. I had to leave my pants behind in the attempt to save him.
I ran all over the house after the little guy, up on windowsills and back down, up the stairs and back down, into the windows and onto the floor, dogs ahead, dogs behind, cats underfoot and jumping from ledges, and eventually he flew back into the bathroom and under the tub. I had to take a shower anyway, and I was already sans pants, so I got into my birthday suit, closed the door as much as I dared to and took my shower. Sometime during, the bird came out and sat on the curtain rod and shortly thereafter, the dogs got the door open and came right in.
Hm. Fun.
So, I got done in the shower right quick, and as I pulled back the curtain, the bird took to flight in a 10'x 6' room with two crazed dogs. I was screaming at them all, when the bird flew into the mirror on the door and hit the floor, causing the cats jump at the door from the other side, SHUTTING IT FIRMLY. Me, wet and naked, two crazed dogs, bird flying around, locked in the 10' x 6' bathroom. Incidentally, this is when I started to laugh. Loudly. I put on the only clothes I had in there with me, which were slippers, and had to use my towel to catch the bird, right? Well, the bird flew in behind the sink, and I tossed the towel on him with a dog on my nude back. I scooped up the bird and towel, cradling it in my arms. I couldn't put him down anywhere because of the dogs, and I couldn't put him in the bathtub because the drain is slower than old people, so I had to hang on to the whole bundle whilst kicking the door open.
The first four kicks were fruitless. The fifth shattered the mirror on the back of the door. There we are, two crazed dogs, freaked out bird in a towel, me, wet and with nothing on but slippers, and five square feet of glass shattered onto the floor and still locked in the goddamn bathroom. I actually panicked for a second, checked my feet for shards of mirror, backed the dogs up against the bathtub, re-adjusted the bird's position in my football hold, and kicked the living shit out of the fucking door. Mercifully, it flew open, and in came the cats.
There was no time for anything, since all six of those carnivores knew I had the bird on my nude, wet person, so I ran to the front door, through the kitchen and dining room and unheated entryway, got the front door open, and let the bird go out of the towel. Then, like a raving nude, wet idiot I waited to see where it went. And so did the neighbors across the street.
What else could I do? I waved at them.
Swear to god.
Only me.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Feel like makin' words...
I feel like writing today, but I don't really have anything about which to write. I'm kind of hungry and debating what to have for lunch, I'm thinking on cutting out of work early today to go take a nap and make a meatcake*, and I'm also in complete neutral today. At the end of my life, I will not remember that today even existed. That's a cheery thought.
Which is not to say that I am depressed; I am actually in a rather good mood, but I often forget that when things are like this and calm and easy and not particularly interesting, that's a good thing. There is no frustration, anger, rage, etc. Everything is just....fine.
Judy Nerat, the one Democrat for whom I did NOT vote in this past election, appears with a quote in today's Daily Press that makes her look like the biggest idiot in the whole world. This news is out, so I'm sure I'm not really breaking it to anyone, but the Michigan State government is pulling out of funding the U.P. State Fair. I guess it's assumed that everyone knows the Fair is paid for, in part, by the state, and since the Governor Herself said so, the quote is just ridiculous: "I don't know where this rumor started. However, up to this point, the state has not provided any state (tax) funding to support the fair." Really. That's her first big statement to the Press, too, since taking office. Way to start off with a bang, Representative Nerat. Super proud of you. Good job on being on top of things. I think I'm gonna run for office. Seriously.
* Let me explain the meatcake, too. The fella about whom I wrote two blogs ago has just had his 32nd birthday, and I, being that kind of friend, took it upon myself to make his cake. But not just any cake will do for him, I wanted to make it unique and funny and manly, I guess. So, after much wrestling with my vegetarian nature over whether or not I can justify it, I thought, "Screw it, meatcake is FUNNY." I set about to making up a recipe. To make it cake-like, I could use stuffing to give it a spongy texture, but I think that would make it straight gross, really, and definitely too salty. So, I looked for a really great meatloaf recipe, instead. I found a few and took the basic ideas common to all of them and made my own with lots more seasoned bread crumbs than suggested, a little cumin for body, and then the rest of the standard meatloaf ingredients. I patted it down into two scallop-edged cake pans, cooked it through, and then put them on a rack to cool. In the meantime, I put a cooling rack over a pan and laid out a package of bacon on it, because that is the BEST way to make bacon cook flat. Put it in the oven at 350o until it's crispy and you have perfect, straight bacon. After that cooled, too, I made a whole box of instant potatoes. Now, I go both ways on the instant potatoes. First of all, they're not foodie food. I know that. They're dried flakes of potato starch and there's really nothing good about them. On the other hand, they are fucking delicious and my very favorite guilty pleasure in the whole world. In fact, I don't EVER keep them in the house, because I will eat them until I am sick from it. I LOVE me some instant potatoes....thankfully a whole box makes one giant extra bowl after the meatcake is all finished, so I put a full quarter of a stick of butter on that shit and it was the most satisfying experience of 2009 to date.
Whew. Got off track. Okay, so meatloaf/cake is cooled. I dropped it on my fancy cake plate, spread on some instant potatoes, then layered bacon and cheese until it was gone. Then, I put the other meatloaf/cake on top and smoothed the rest of the potatoes onto it . It looked like cake, really, and for some reason it shocked me at just how real it looked. Only when I picked it up to put it in the fridge did I really realize how NOT cake-like it was. It weighs at LEAST six pounds. I took this trial run of the meatcake to a Superbowl party, where it was well-received after initial suspicious glances. I suggested various improvements, like honey mustard (little sweetness might help with the cake-ness), dijon mustard and brown sugar (most liked) and barbeque sauce. So, I'm gonna leave a smidge early today to make it, and I think I'm going with the honey mustard. It's my cake and I'll make it how I think it should be made. Anyway, that's a picture of the loafy layers up there at the top. I still have no idea how to put pictures in the middle of the blog. Yay.
Also, he wants a Jello cake. Ick.
That's really about it. Meatcake, politics, beige, Tuesday.
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