Whether bright or melancholy...rough and ready, finely spun...

Ye gods I am tired. Who thought it would be a good idea to go on a Ghosts, Myths and Mysteries tour on a Monday night? Stupid free CW pass... Okay, the vampire story was really creepy, and the loving daughter coming back from the dead was sweet and sad, and the wronged lover assuming the identity of another was pretty cool, even if poorly told, but I have a feeling that come tomorrow, when I'm falling asleep into my pin grabbit, I may have a few regrets. snooooore...

It was ironic that my friend Erin suggested we go on a walking tour tonight, because this afternoon I was offered a position as a storyteller with the evening programs. So come September I'll be the one scaring the children and causing a tear to dangle on the fringe of an eyelash. The director said I had a "very good" audition, hee, and the thought of actually performing after all these years is only a little frightening. Just like riding a bicycle, right? Right.

so much for Less TV

Spent all afternoon watching telly and nursing a headache which turned out to be from wearing my hair up in a ponytail--it's getting heavy again because I'm growing it out in the eighteenth century fashion. But, I did write a follow-up email to the person who has my portfolio...which is a writerly thing, and therefore totally counts.

"Dear Sir. Polite noises masking a desperate query: namely: DIDJA READ IT YET? More polite noises, some flattery, gentle enthusiasm, a dignified Sincerely, Me."

Doesn't exactly cancel out two hours of Animal Cops, but...at least it's something.

The ox is slow, but the earth is patient

So now for the unfun part: waiting to hear back from all the exciting things I applied/auditioned/porfolio'd for. Patience is not one of my virtues, but I am learning it here at CW, where everything happens when they are ready. Good and.

I have to keep reminding myself that even if nothing comes through--even if I don't get that position of "writer in residence" that I was fantasising about the other day--I am still Fully Employed at a job I look forward to, and I occasionally get paid to swallow black powder and shout huzzah in a lusty manner.

(That reminds me--I want a t-shirt that says "I'd Rather Be Eating Black Powder." hee.)

And I love Virginia. I can see how George Washington could never shut up about it in his letters back home. It's constantly hot and humid and languid and I've never appreciated shade so much in my life, but the smell here is incredible: nine parts dead pine needles and one part growing green things. I took myself off for a bike ride this afternoon because I was feeling frustrated, and by the time I came back, I was singing "Hearts of Oak" at the top of my lungs.

(That also reminds me--I need to learn some American military songs...somehow singing British naval songs while marching onto the field just seems...odd.)

Virginia has a lot of insects though, including the famed Wolf Spider (ask dear brother about that one) and two kinds of roaches, and crickets that will keep you up at night with their string quartets. I'm covered in bites after rolling around in the grass on Saturday while babysitting, and when I was out bike riding tonight I must have swallowed half a cloud of gnats. (You're still a vegetarian if you accidentally get your protein from biking through an insect cloud.) I'm not used to living in an area that's so vibrantly, unashamedly alive. While returning home tonight I was startled to see an animal cross the road--at first I thought it was a greyhound (what can I say, they're on my mind lately)--but then I realised it was a deer. In the middle of the day, in a middle of a suburb. Granted, heavily wooded suburb, but still.

So I'm focused on counting my blessings and being content with what I have. It's not so long, after all, since I was miserable and had nothing good. Steady job, good. Mad sewing skillz, good. Black powder, good. Five more pages of a new play, good. Men in breeches...very good.

That was easy...a little too easy.

I stopped working at the Toymakers: now that I've passed on musketry, the additional hours will pay about the same that I made there. And I'm hoping to have other opportunities to work for CW, so I feel pretty good about leaving.

Just to give myself a reality check though, I went to my banks' websites (banks=plural) and took a look at my account balances. I was surprised to see a $6 monthly fee for my Chase account...the account I created when I was making $500 a week that required steady direct deposits, or else it would start charging me money to, I don't know, be there. There are no Chase banks in the area, so I haven't been using that money--I'd rather have it sit there in case of emergency, but $6 every month is a little too much. All my funds would have disappeared by the time there was a true emergency. So I decided to call Chase and see if there was anyway I could close the account down over the phone. I hunkered down with a margarita and a looong book (I've dealt with financial institutions via phone before) and prepared to do battle. To my surprise, not only was I able to close the account over the phone, but the entire conversation only took thirteen minutes. And the people were very helpful, just like the people in their brick and mortar stores. So that's a relief. The checks are in the mail, as they say...I'll probably buy a CD with the money and try not to think about it.

But a small part of me can't help but think that closing a bank account shouldn't be this easy. There are some things you want to be able to do in person. Granted, since the nearest Chase bank is about an hour away, this is a good option for me, but I'm glad that it was actually me closing the account and not some me-imposter.

Tonight I am very tired. I had a long day at work--lots of different things going on. CW is a major contributor to United Way, which is an organisation that gives money to lots of different charities. Today was a kickoff lunch, where you could come meet the organisations, get free t-shirts, sign up for door prizes and also free lunch. I won a "Country Cookbook" with lots of helpful receipies (like corndogs!) but I also had beef tacos so now my tummy is angry. It was nice to get out of the CDC though, and I got to meet some new people. I pledged $2 out of every paycheck for United Way, figuring I can afford that. It's only $52 a year, painless really. And the organisations that were there were all so cool and interesting. Although the ones about fostering kids and adoption poked me right in the biological clock...huh, must be nearing that time of the month. Or maybe I'm just getting anxious for some baby pictures...

Mothering on Mother's Day

Trust me, the irony was not lost on me that yesterday, Mother's Day, I was needed all day while the girls' mom went to work. Instead of being stuck at the house all day, however, we spent the morning wandering around the historic area. For a few hours, I became one of those super-moms with the SUV-sized stroller, chasing after a pair of toddlers, getting cooed at when the girls were waving and babbling prettily, getting dirty stares when they were screaming because heaven forfend I actually make them sit in the giant SUV-sized stroller. It was weird. Normally I lope through the historic area, occasionally being recognised by one of the interpreters, but for the most part, invisible, free to people watch and Washington-gawk to my heart's content. Now, suddenly, I had perfect strangers coming up to me gushing "I just wanted to say HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY. You're doing such a super job!" No joke. I actually felt slightly bad when I had to explain the two blonde-haired blue eyed babies were not my (red-haired, green-eyed, bare left-hand) offspring.

The girls were good for most of the day. I'm learning things that every parent knows, things like: Kids have no empathy. They have no idea how their tearing up at the slightest thing drives adults wild. And they have no vocabulary, no ability to say things, so they cry. Frequently, but not for long periods of time. And the more time I spend with them, the better I get at heading off the thunderstorms. And my God are they smart. The older girl was humming a song and a few minutes later I realised she was singing the alphabet song, with approximately 40% of the letters right...the rest might have been Russian or something. And she's TWO. Bravo.

Nicki, on the other hand, was not feeling very good yesterday. So after picking up half their lunch off the floor (S1 wanted an apple, bawled when I cut up some pieces for her, insisting on "eating the big apple!", threw the pieces on the floor, nibbled on the remaining half and then threw it on the floor, indicating the meal was OVER), changing not one, not two, but three poopy diapers, I decided it was naptime. Tears all around. But I got them into their cribs. S2 was out immediately, having run around the Governor's palace several times, but S1 cried and cried. And cried and cried. I took her shoes off, said "night night!" and went downstairs, swearing to the heavens above if she was still wailing like that in fifteen minutes I'd go get her but only if God promised to remove my uterus in the meantime. Ten minutes later she was babbling quietly, before the fifteen minutes had passed she was asleep and didn't get up for another two hours.

See? I wanted to say when I shook her awake. I told you you needed a nap.

And so I learned another valuable parenting lesson, although I'm not sure what that is. Probably somewhere along the lines of "when you've have enough, it is okay to put the child in a safe place and take some time for yourself." Possibly it might be something like "Nyquil! Proof that God loves parents and wants them to be happy!" I also learned the cure for fingernail chewing is...poopy diapers.

While the girls were asleep I cleaned up the kitchen--swept up the rest of lunch, emptied/filled the dishwater, washed up some pots, ran a sponge around the counter... I couldn't let Mom come home on Mother's Day to two fully-recharched toddlers and a sinkful of dishes. And besides, if I was going to co-opt Mother's Day, the least I could do was share in some of the drudge as well. When the girls got up there were decidedly less tears and more sharing. They were waiting by the window when Mom pulled up, cheering when she got out of the car. I think I begin to understand now why people have babies. They are loud, annoying, demanding and incredibly time consuming, but they're also trusting, beautiful and, let's face it, kinda fun.

Still nothing interesting

I had a weird dream last night--I dreamt I was acting in a site-specific version of "Sweeney Todd" that they were also filming, playing both Sweeney and Pirelli. But then I started asking "wait a minute, if they've already built the costume for Sasha Baron Cohen, then it's not going to fit me..." and waking up. Good dream though, lots of singing and brooding.

I got to Lane Bryant late last night, owing to the fact I was carrying about five pounds of leftovers from a luncheon meeting. Then I managed to tear off a bit of skin on the pad of my first finger on my left hand, leaving a fresh patch of raw nerves exposed right where the whorl used to be. It bled for about two hours, and it hurts to type. In other news, Curex 24-Hour fabric bandages are my new favourite brand. They stay put AND are waterproof.

On the way home I listened to 1776, just to make sure "The Lees of Old Virginia" is good and stuck in my head. It was bloody freezing, so I had my hood up, head tucked down, arms wrapped around my body. As I was crossing the street, I slowed to make sure a car would stop for me--and he didn't, causing me to shake my fist at the inconsiderate driver, speeding past a poor freezing temp in his lovely warm car--to my surprise he waved back and even blew me a kiss. I was even madder at the presumption of this (again, nice and warm) driver, when I thought I recognised an actor from the show. I couldn't be sure, since the windshield was dirty (also, no lovely red wig or breeches) but wouldn't that just be funny:

"What happened?!"

"I got hit by Thomas Jefferson!"

"What?"

"While listening to 'He Plays the Violin!'"

Being Employed

Laura was having problems uploading pictures to her blog, so I thought I'd help her out on here. Laura has been sworn in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer, and is going to be starting her new assignment this month. She's aaaamazing.

Today I had two very exciting phone calls. One was from my temp agency, telling me they had a permanent, part-time administrative assistant position that they were wondering I wanted to go out for. A part time position that pays as much as my full time job, plus health and dental insurance and time off to write that opus? Heck yeah send my resume over. Fingers crossed I'll get an interview.

Then I had a phone interview with a company that provides theatre people to the cruise ship industry. I made it through that first screening, and now my name is in their pool of potential applicants if a position should become available. So I'm not ready to start packing yet, but maybe come this fall I'll be imitating Nelson down in the Bahamas. (Most people imitate Titanic. This is lame.) One of the questions the gentleman asked me was if I was afraid of long hours. I just laughed and said "Hey, I'm already working fourteen-hour days. It would be nice to focus on one show instead of temping all day and stage managing all night."


So, the employment hunt goes, if slowly at times. The problem is I'm interested in such diverse things, that it's impossible for me to say "right, am going to be an XYZ right now," it's more like "ooh! Job opportunity! Shiny!"

Working!!!

I am feeling VERY apprehensive today!!! because I've been reading about the theatrical successes that my friends are having and feeling inadequate. I know that I'm stage managing a show in addition to working nine hours a day--but I am really anxious for a full time job. Or at least a gig that is full time so I can stop switching my focus back and forth from temping to theatre. Something where I can use all my skills, either as a stage manager, or production manager or a literary manager or a dramaturg. I chose to go and get my master's degree, so I shouldn't feel like I'm doing less than people I graduated with, just because my theatrical resume doesn't have as many lines on it--but I do!!!! I sent out a couple more resumes today for some jobs, but I'm really struggling with finding time to do proper job searches. Take today, for example: I have the night off, but then I read in the Red Eye (like the Metro, but with more sports) that Suzan Lori-Parks is doing a reading from one of her plays tonight. Parks is a hero of mine so, obviously, I must go. I can do laundry some other time.

The weather was gorgeous this weekend. I walked to rehearsal on Sunday, after partying 'til four in the morning the night before. It felt good to be outside with no coat on. I'm still missing London. When the weather got nice in that city the whole place came alive with open restaurants, people sunning themselves in front of the National Gallery and, of course, writing in the nearest park. Everything seems to be conspiring against me: Virgin airlines is flying a new route from Chicago to London, and my joy at seeing the new HP trailer was tampered when I saw Harry flying past Canary Wharf. I'm really trying. Really. But I feel like Admiral Nelson after he had his arm shot off at Tenerife: I have to learn how to do everything all over again with my left hand.

I am determined, however, to find some new hobby. I think I might take sailing lessons, if I can find a club that fits in with our play schedule. Or else I've been looking into historical re-enacting. (not lame Civil War reenacting, Revolutionary War reenacting, which is not lame) I think this would fufil several needs: to geek out about history, meet new people, men in breeches, etc. The sooner I can find a "real" job the sooner I can fill up the rest of my time with fun stuff instead of rushing around from here to there.

three cats is three cats too many

So there's another cat in the house now. Her name is Maisie, although I've nicknamed her "Gollum" since she has a hairball problem. And she's not so much a cat as a cat puddle. My roommate thinks she was abandonded because she is extremely overweight. When she lays down, her front legs completely disappear. Cat puddle. She actually got into my room this morning, causing me to throw her out in a panic because I was on my way to a job interview and wearing black trousers. I accidentally threw her right in front of one of the other cats, so then they had a hissing match--only Maisie wasn't all the way out of my room, so I had to prod her out with my boot, prompting her to take a swipe at me. I felt bad, so when I came home I apologised by scratching her butt. So now we're friends, except I have a weird rash on my hand.

Oh, God. I'm becoming one of those people who tell CAT STORIES. Somebody, please, buy me a dog.

The whole reason I was up and running around in a panic this morning is because I had an appointment at a temp agency downtown. I think I really, REALLY impressed the agent, because she asked if I'd like to work a couple days next week--without having to take any of their computer aptitude tests or a typing assessment--90 words per minute and climbing! woot! Next week I'll be working for a company that organises events for non-profits. MUCH better than selling it all for a multinational corporation. And I got a response to one of my emails yesterday about stage managing a musical this summer--luckily it's a remounting of a show they've already done, so most of the hard part's done. Right? Right.

Then, on my way back home, I stopped at the Cultural Center to get some brochures about things to do in Chicago. Thought briefly about staying for the lecture "What is Plato's Relationship to the Divine?" Figured that was already covered in "Hedwig." Grabbed some leaflets about boat trips on the river and a magazine about the Lincoln Library. There is a free tour of Chicago tomorrow at 1:15, so I think I might go back and have a walking tour. Although I think I might have to break down and buy some gloves. Stupid cold weather.

So life is good. Not bad for only being here five days.

Never have so many been so interested in my continuing employment

I'm feeling very cheered, despite some bus issues yesterday. Both the director and the TD were asking me for resumes last night to pass along to their friends ("it's an Equity theatre! you'll get paid!") for future jobs, and when I got home, my roommate thrust a card into my hand for a production manager at another company, which is also Equity. So I feel like I've made the right choice by moving to Chicago. I cannot believe how much theatre there is here. Not only that--PAID work. What a concept. I'm a little leery jumping into an Equity company straight off because I don't know anything about the union, but I would probably have to ASM for awhile anyway so I could get my card. My only worry now is how to feed myself while I'm looking for paid work. Also, at some point I need to finish my new play. I wish that I'd paid more attention to East London, but, eh, that's what books are for.

So I took my first bus ride in the city yesterday, by myself. I put my shiny new CTA Gold pass into my Oyster card holder for good luck and jumped on the Clark Street bus. I've ridden on buses in several major cities, and Chicago is easier than most since it's on a grid, but I managed to get lost twice. Firstly because I got off too soon, and then secondly because I got off too late and turned down the wrong street. I finally managed to find the rehearsal space, but only after the director and sound guy had given up on me and gone to Dunkin' Doughnuts for coffee. (I came too and got tea. It was nasty.) It was extremely frustrating and kind of embarassing, especially when I asked a woman where the wesbound Addison Street bus picked up: "Um, on the other side of the street? Right there? See the sign?" In my defence, the bus stop signs are confusing: they show the whole route, not just the stops in the direction you're going. Also, the same thing happened the first time I tried to ride a bus in London: I ended up going twenty minutes AWAY from Lewisham before I realised my mistake. Of course, that time I didn't have people waiting for me out the in freezing cold. (welcome back to the Midwest! Sucker! haha!)

I also have this cat thing figured out: they're like furry goldfish, right? They're fun to look at, they eat a lot of food and they don't come when they're called. Like goldfish.

PS: Does anyone else have the musical "1776" stuck in their head? Like, proper stuck? No? Just me then.