Last night I went to the Nuart Theater for the 21st anniversary of the Infamous Live Shadowcast, the Sins O' The Flesh, of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I was in this cast from the age of 15-20. I presided as cast leader for one year, until I gave it up for a boyfriend, with whom I then broke up and went running back to my garters and high heels. I played Magenta, the domestic...but at one point or another, played every role. It was a huge part of my informative years, and helped make me who I am, as much as anything else. I always enjoy going to our little reunion show, but last night was different. Instead of just dining before, hanging out in the parking lot, then heading home at a reasonable (relatively) hour, I stayed. It was the first time I went without posse, and maybe that is why...but in any case, I had a brilliant time.
The evening started at my parents, an evening concocted to celebrate mine and Michael's birthday, which included my brother's favorite main dish, and his girlfriend's favorite side dish, and no cake or presents. Don't get me wrong, I've celebrated plenty for me, and we have another 2 weeks before Michael's actual bday, so it is fine...just amusing at the auspisces under which the whole thing was planned, when really it was about my brother, as usual.
About 5 years ago, when my brother was 16, I gave him a certificate for his birthday, promising to take him to Rocky with me sometime. He never took me up on my offer, but a few days ago, he asked about it, and since I knew I was going to be going anyway, I suggested he and his girlfriend come. They had no idea what they were in for...which was so fun. My old cast friends knew me when my mom was pregnant with him, so it would be a shock. At dinner, he asked, "So, is it a play? I don't understand." I tried to explain the concept, but then said, just wait and see. After Michael took the kids home, I changed and fixed my makeup, which my mom then "adjusted" adding enough eyeliner to make it look like I was performing in the show. I guess if there is anywhere to wear that much makeup it was the Nuart.
I went to the restaurant where we meet before, caught up with Eain and Dave. Eain nicely agreed to be my boyfriend for the evening...so compliant. :) He's the reason I ended up going back to the party which started me and Michael so he always gets mad props. I stopped at Starbucks, and headed to the parking lot, where I broke Duckie as soon as he got there by pointing out 20 year old Tommy. I introduced them, my brother handling meeting probably his first albino, most certainly his first hardcore looking pierced albino wearing a kilt, with much aplomb. He only looked slighty shocked when Duckie said- "Man, you used to wake me up when you were a baby whenever I would sleep over!" (little. brother. registering. married-sister-as-teenager). I mean, Michael has been in his world since he was 7, so he knows no different, really. He recovered nicely, although Duckie was sufficiently freaked out to make the whole evening worth it.
Eventually we were allowed into the theater, it was a packed house, and I actually stayed in the theater for the 90 minute preshow and the movie. I yelled lines I haven't thought about in years, I messed up a lot, I kept thinking a line was coming up, when it was just a Magenta moment...I yelled, I laughed, I caught up with friends, I made my brother squirm, I pointed at Gillian's Dodds, it was so. much. fun. It almost made me feel like actually agreeing to perform again someday. Several of the cast members from when I joined cast (laura-laura, scott, sean) were there, and we discussed performing at an original alumni alumni night...wow. That would be something.
I drove home at 4:20, totally awake, and wholly confused at having been able to make it as long as I did. The kids started in at around 7:30, which sucked...but I got a little nap in later. I am still wonky, but it was totally worth it. I can't wait for next year.
About Me
- Ariella
- I blog. I also mother, wife, create, preserve, recycle, cook, act, quilt, exercise, laugh, write, lolligag, work, volunteer, sing, and sometimes sleep.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Tonight, I am someone else's bitch.
Metaphorically.
I have a nice custom order I am working on for my dear friend Jenny. 3 adult bibs, 3 adult crumb catchers, and 2 pillows. I will be busy, as it needs to be done for tomorrow. I really love the adult bibs. I do. Which, considering I may have to stop with the baby stuff in a month, is a good thing.
You know what isn't a good thing? Me in a fabric store. I fear one day Michael will come home and I will be buried in fabric, just my head sticking out, possibly suffocated. I bought a ton of stuff today...a ton. As if I needed more than the 4 yards of things for this order. No. No I did not. I spend more on fabric than I do on groceries. And my children are hungry. But I do not hear their wails over the drone of my sewing machine, nope.
I have a nice custom order I am working on for my dear friend Jenny. 3 adult bibs, 3 adult crumb catchers, and 2 pillows. I will be busy, as it needs to be done for tomorrow. I really love the adult bibs. I do. Which, considering I may have to stop with the baby stuff in a month, is a good thing.
You know what isn't a good thing? Me in a fabric store. I fear one day Michael will come home and I will be buried in fabric, just my head sticking out, possibly suffocated. I bought a ton of stuff today...a ton. As if I needed more than the 4 yards of things for this order. No. No I did not. I spend more on fabric than I do on groceries. And my children are hungry. But I do not hear their wails over the drone of my sewing machine, nope.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Looks like I picked the wrong week to...
It seems as though my need to blog comes when I am have more than my facebook status updates can handle, which is a lot, judging by how often I manage to change that darn thing.
Today I got a parking ticket. For parking in front of my own flippin' house. I hate that...and when I parked there yesterday, I momentarily considered that I would need to move the car before 10am. I figured I would. I didn't. Michael called at 9:30, and thought about reminding me...but I didn't answer, so he figured we were out. We weren't. I have saved many of my neighbors the same fate, calling or knocking to remind them they needed to move their cars, hoping the kharma would pay me back. It didn't. Can't park on my side of the street on Tuesdays from 10am until noon. I remembered at 11:50. $55 dollars I don't have and now owe. Bugger. On the upside, usually it takes me several hours to recover from that stupid ticket (yes, it has happened before)...today only took me about 30 minutes. Not bad.
The middle of the day included mundane stuff...laundry, sweeping, ridding the house of pine needles, dishes, unpacking, keeping the kids happy and at bay...mostly with the help of a friend's kid, who came to distract mine. I am not a fan of this sort of thing, but it has to get done, so do it I did...and then once the extra child went home, I went to work out. Now, I kind of worked out a little yesterday, and was more sore than I should have been, but this was a full on, full hour, Zumba workout. My favorite cardio. It's been at least a month. I turned very very very red...but I made it through and had a blast. I look forward to having the time to do it regularly again. Between rehearsals and prepping for camp and the boutique, I just didn't have the time...which sucked.
I followed up my workout with a trip to the post office, where I waited for 30 minutes for the APC behind people for whom reading the back of the cereal box must be an overwhelming experience. Once it got to my turn, I discovered the machine was no longer printing stamps in the small size I needed. Brilliant. My hungry kids, having been patient throughout the whole experience, were none too pleased that mommy was none too pleased. The crazy lady (of the night?) outside the post office, who followed us to the car with such witticisms as "well, you never can trust government run offices" who I pandered to, but rushed my kids (mommy, do you know that lady?) into their carseats with the speed of a...well, the speed of a mom trying to get her kids away from a Sepulveda hooker.
Homeward bound, where thankfully, Michael and Colleen had started the oven and prep for dinner (homemade pizza...dough left over from my bday, YUM) and we had a lovely dinner. I worked on my new hangtag for my products when I realized what I really needed was a graphic designer in residence. Sadly, the one I had I have driven away...and I could really use his help right now. Damn me and my stupid ability to make women jealous at the drop of a hat. I wish I either had some sort of graphic design skill or a GD cabana boy/girl.
For a day that had nothing going on, a lot happened.
Today I got a parking ticket. For parking in front of my own flippin' house. I hate that...and when I parked there yesterday, I momentarily considered that I would need to move the car before 10am. I figured I would. I didn't. Michael called at 9:30, and thought about reminding me...but I didn't answer, so he figured we were out. We weren't. I have saved many of my neighbors the same fate, calling or knocking to remind them they needed to move their cars, hoping the kharma would pay me back. It didn't. Can't park on my side of the street on Tuesdays from 10am until noon. I remembered at 11:50. $55 dollars I don't have and now owe. Bugger. On the upside, usually it takes me several hours to recover from that stupid ticket (yes, it has happened before)...today only took me about 30 minutes. Not bad.
The middle of the day included mundane stuff...laundry, sweeping, ridding the house of pine needles, dishes, unpacking, keeping the kids happy and at bay...mostly with the help of a friend's kid, who came to distract mine. I am not a fan of this sort of thing, but it has to get done, so do it I did...and then once the extra child went home, I went to work out. Now, I kind of worked out a little yesterday, and was more sore than I should have been, but this was a full on, full hour, Zumba workout. My favorite cardio. It's been at least a month. I turned very very very red...but I made it through and had a blast. I look forward to having the time to do it regularly again. Between rehearsals and prepping for camp and the boutique, I just didn't have the time...which sucked.
I followed up my workout with a trip to the post office, where I waited for 30 minutes for the APC behind people for whom reading the back of the cereal box must be an overwhelming experience. Once it got to my turn, I discovered the machine was no longer printing stamps in the small size I needed. Brilliant. My hungry kids, having been patient throughout the whole experience, were none too pleased that mommy was none too pleased. The crazy lady (of the night?) outside the post office, who followed us to the car with such witticisms as "well, you never can trust government run offices" who I pandered to, but rushed my kids (mommy, do you know that lady?) into their carseats with the speed of a...well, the speed of a mom trying to get her kids away from a Sepulveda hooker.
Homeward bound, where thankfully, Michael and Colleen had started the oven and prep for dinner (homemade pizza...dough left over from my bday, YUM) and we had a lovely dinner. I worked on my new hangtag for my products when I realized what I really needed was a graphic designer in residence. Sadly, the one I had I have driven away...and I could really use his help right now. Damn me and my stupid ability to make women jealous at the drop of a hat. I wish I either had some sort of graphic design skill or a GD cabana boy/girl.
For a day that had nothing going on, a lot happened.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Going Out of Business
The federal government, in all it's wisdom, has passed legislation that makes my baby items illegal after February 9th, 2009. Because of the rash of childrens' items imported with high levels of lead last year, the new law states that all items that are in any way manufactured for children under the age of 12 must be individually tested for lead content. Well, if you are a toy company and make 1,000,000 Tickle Me Elmos, the $1200/per item cost for 3rd party lead testing is annoying, but not impossible. Not so much so if I make one of a kind baby blankets which cost $25.o0. Or few of a kind bibs which cost 8.00. Get the picture?
But the fabric will be tested! Isn't that enough, you ask? Well, firstly, no. The way the law is currently written this is not enough. They are now taking suggestions towards this end- the testing of the raw goods versus the finished product, but nothing is decided. Furthermore, even if they alter the law this way, the fabric manufacturers can just say any fabric is NOT meant for children so that they don't have to pay the cost of the lead testing. In addition, many of the fabrics I use for my bibs and quilts are not the traditional nursery type prints. It's what makes them special. So what now?
Well, for now, I write to the appropriate government officials, none of whom are going to go against legislation for stricter lead testing. I look into the rumor about state's rights with regard to this issue stating that I can still sell within California. I revamp my product line, focusing online sales towards things decidedly NOT for children. I love making my blankets and bibs and burp cloths, but I can live with making them for people I know instead. The keepsake quilts I make aren't for children per se, so that should still be fine too.
The ironic thing is, the folks responsible for importing all this shoddy, poisonous stuff for kids? They won't have any new restrictions. That's right. The legislation affects manufacturing in the US, not imported goods. So technically, we're back to square one. And in this economy, with factories and businesses struggling to hold on to their livelihood, this "safety feature" will serve to annihilate more of us. All because we can't stop our addicition to cheaply made, imported crap.
But the fabric will be tested! Isn't that enough, you ask? Well, firstly, no. The way the law is currently written this is not enough. They are now taking suggestions towards this end- the testing of the raw goods versus the finished product, but nothing is decided. Furthermore, even if they alter the law this way, the fabric manufacturers can just say any fabric is NOT meant for children so that they don't have to pay the cost of the lead testing. In addition, many of the fabrics I use for my bibs and quilts are not the traditional nursery type prints. It's what makes them special. So what now?
Well, for now, I write to the appropriate government officials, none of whom are going to go against legislation for stricter lead testing. I look into the rumor about state's rights with regard to this issue stating that I can still sell within California. I revamp my product line, focusing online sales towards things decidedly NOT for children. I love making my blankets and bibs and burp cloths, but I can live with making them for people I know instead. The keepsake quilts I make aren't for children per se, so that should still be fine too.
The ironic thing is, the folks responsible for importing all this shoddy, poisonous stuff for kids? They won't have any new restrictions. That's right. The legislation affects manufacturing in the US, not imported goods. So technically, we're back to square one. And in this economy, with factories and businesses struggling to hold on to their livelihood, this "safety feature" will serve to annihilate more of us. All because we can't stop our addicition to cheaply made, imported crap.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
As it turns out.
I had a great time at my 22.5 year reunion. I gave those who deserved it just enough grief and otherwise enjoyed chatting up everyone. I was told that I was beautiful by the hippest girl in the class (who grew up gorgeous) and upon ackward silence, when I wasn't sure how to respond, was told that it was because I looked so happy now...and that I didn't seem happy in school. You think?
I agreed to produce and perform in a cabaret act with the most popular boy from the class, told the class jock I always had a crush on him, and had the boy who left in 4th grade tell everyone how amazing I was in high school (although I had kinda forgotten that he was there). It was actually fun, and actually they weren't awful people. So nice that people grow up.
Nick and Serge talked me through the car ride on the way down, Serge being incredulous that I was going at all, and Nick hoping it would end up like the episode of 30 Rock when Liz Lemon goes to her reunion and finds out that actually she was the mean one. Hats off to them for getting me there in one piece, and to Fieron for being my back up plan. I love my boys.
I agreed to produce and perform in a cabaret act with the most popular boy from the class, told the class jock I always had a crush on him, and had the boy who left in 4th grade tell everyone how amazing I was in high school (although I had kinda forgotten that he was there). It was actually fun, and actually they weren't awful people. So nice that people grow up.
Nick and Serge talked me through the car ride on the way down, Serge being incredulous that I was going at all, and Nick hoping it would end up like the episode of 30 Rock when Liz Lemon goes to her reunion and finds out that actually she was the mean one. Hats off to them for getting me there in one piece, and to Fieron for being my back up plan. I love my boys.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Just another manic Monday?
I had my very first root canal today. It was perfectly fine, and the idea of being done with the horrific pain of the past 11 days was enough to make it something to look forward to. The dentist was new to me, but was so very nice, making sure I was comfortable...the biggest problem was that I kept almost falling asleep on the table, and he needed me to keep my mouth open really wide. This is what I get for staying out after Paula and Brian's wedding last night...but oh it was so fun.
I finished the procedure, paid, and left the office with my face feeling pretty numb. It wasn't until I got into the car that I realized that when I smiled, only half of my face moved. I mean, really, not my eye, not my cheek, not my mouth. So I basically looked like a stroke victim...or like Sloth from the Goonies. Now, I am not someone who thinks that I depend on my looks. I just don't. But seeing my deformed face in the mirror, and being unable to do anything about it, affected me in a way that I didn't expect at all. I was kind of amused, but also a tiny bit worried that it wouldn't go away. I did what I always do when I am in mental turmoil, and called Michael. I told him about my face and said that before I went out to do my errands and pick up the kids, I needed to drive by the office. I said (and this is where I blush a bit at my own self induced pyschological trauma) that I needed him to see it, so that he could see what I look like when I have a stroke, and therefore decide if he was really prepared to stay with me like this, because if not, he may as well leave me now. (This is the point at which every person reading this collectively thanks their lucky stars that I am not their partner) I went to the office, showed him...he was amused, but decided to stay with me anyway, and I went on my way to run my errands. Basically 3 days left before we leave for camp with the most campers we have ever taken in winter, and a snowstorm approaching...I've got things to do, face or no face.
Which leads to my evening plans.
A while back, I joined an alumni group on facebook for my elementary school. Yes, the elementary school where I was teased, beaten, cajoled, mistreated in almost every way a child can mistreat another child, and just generally hated. Why did I join? Well, I am a different person than I was and I am trying to evolve. And, plus, I have that people pleasing thing. And also, they invited me. And it was a private group, so I thought only in joining would I see what people were saying. Turns out, it wasn't anything terribly interesting, but they did end up planning a bar night for everyone in town for the holidays, and that is tonight. I promised my one friend-since-then that I would come, plus I convinced another person I had found on myspace and become friendly with to change his holiday plans and drive up from San Diego early to attend...so I kinda have to go now. And in the wake of the root canal (my face has returned, btw) I could certainly come up with an excuse not to go. I have no shortage of things to do, tomorrow night I have to convince parents I know what I am doing enough to trust me with their kids for a week, and I haven't packed, shopped (for camp), or wrapped presents yet. Guess we aren't celebrating Hanukkah this year.
Call me a glutton for punishment, but I am going. The review as to which sucked more, the reunion or the root canal, will follow.
I finished the procedure, paid, and left the office with my face feeling pretty numb. It wasn't until I got into the car that I realized that when I smiled, only half of my face moved. I mean, really, not my eye, not my cheek, not my mouth. So I basically looked like a stroke victim...or like Sloth from the Goonies. Now, I am not someone who thinks that I depend on my looks. I just don't. But seeing my deformed face in the mirror, and being unable to do anything about it, affected me in a way that I didn't expect at all. I was kind of amused, but also a tiny bit worried that it wouldn't go away. I did what I always do when I am in mental turmoil, and called Michael. I told him about my face and said that before I went out to do my errands and pick up the kids, I needed to drive by the office. I said (and this is where I blush a bit at my own self induced pyschological trauma) that I needed him to see it, so that he could see what I look like when I have a stroke, and therefore decide if he was really prepared to stay with me like this, because if not, he may as well leave me now. (This is the point at which every person reading this collectively thanks their lucky stars that I am not their partner) I went to the office, showed him...he was amused, but decided to stay with me anyway, and I went on my way to run my errands. Basically 3 days left before we leave for camp with the most campers we have ever taken in winter, and a snowstorm approaching...I've got things to do, face or no face.
Which leads to my evening plans.
A while back, I joined an alumni group on facebook for my elementary school. Yes, the elementary school where I was teased, beaten, cajoled, mistreated in almost every way a child can mistreat another child, and just generally hated. Why did I join? Well, I am a different person than I was and I am trying to evolve. And, plus, I have that people pleasing thing. And also, they invited me. And it was a private group, so I thought only in joining would I see what people were saying. Turns out, it wasn't anything terribly interesting, but they did end up planning a bar night for everyone in town for the holidays, and that is tonight. I promised my one friend-since-then that I would come, plus I convinced another person I had found on myspace and become friendly with to change his holiday plans and drive up from San Diego early to attend...so I kinda have to go now. And in the wake of the root canal (my face has returned, btw) I could certainly come up with an excuse not to go. I have no shortage of things to do, tomorrow night I have to convince parents I know what I am doing enough to trust me with their kids for a week, and I haven't packed, shopped (for camp), or wrapped presents yet. Guess we aren't celebrating Hanukkah this year.
Call me a glutton for punishment, but I am going. The review as to which sucked more, the reunion or the root canal, will follow.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Speechless
So the problem with not talking is that I then think too much.
I have had laryngitis since Sunday. Mainly due to the rocking turnout and comraderie at the boutique (pictures to follow) when I had a slight cold. The problem is, the performance for my Musical Theater class is Thursday. So basically, I have stopped talking, and am doing all the things singers are supposed to do to fix their voice. It is Wednesday now...and I can speak again, but I still can't sing. So I remain as silent as possible until tomorrow.
The issue? I am waaaaaay to far inside my own head. I am not a friend to myself. Self doubt, paranoia, basic insanity...it all just frolicks around my headspace until it spurts out. And when it spurts out, it isn't pretty.
I helped a friend last night (online, no talking) with a problem I have to some degree suffered from and still suffer from...but have no solution to. That is super frustrating. I am a helper. I am a fixer. But this situation is unfixable. I hate that. And because I am stuck inside my head right now, without my usual arsenal of folks to bounce things off of, I am taking everything personally. Everything.
Breaking it down, I am worried about not being able to sing right tomorrow, I am coming down off a post boutique high and headed into the high pressure Winter Camp prep (never mind the holidays), I am trying to be supportive as Michael busts his cute little booty even more than usual (yes, that is possible) to finish up deadlines so we can bill people before the year ends, and with all of this, I cannot speak. Fabulous.
I have had laryngitis since Sunday. Mainly due to the rocking turnout and comraderie at the boutique (pictures to follow) when I had a slight cold. The problem is, the performance for my Musical Theater class is Thursday. So basically, I have stopped talking, and am doing all the things singers are supposed to do to fix their voice. It is Wednesday now...and I can speak again, but I still can't sing. So I remain as silent as possible until tomorrow.
The issue? I am waaaaaay to far inside my own head. I am not a friend to myself. Self doubt, paranoia, basic insanity...it all just frolicks around my headspace until it spurts out. And when it spurts out, it isn't pretty.
I helped a friend last night (online, no talking) with a problem I have to some degree suffered from and still suffer from...but have no solution to. That is super frustrating. I am a helper. I am a fixer. But this situation is unfixable. I hate that. And because I am stuck inside my head right now, without my usual arsenal of folks to bounce things off of, I am taking everything personally. Everything.
Breaking it down, I am worried about not being able to sing right tomorrow, I am coming down off a post boutique high and headed into the high pressure Winter Camp prep (never mind the holidays), I am trying to be supportive as Michael busts his cute little booty even more than usual (yes, that is possible) to finish up deadlines so we can bill people before the year ends, and with all of this, I cannot speak. Fabulous.
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