Clutch is Not So Clutch, Becomes Clutch Again

So my clutch was getting pretty messy, I think I might have mentioned it (near the bottom). This does not actually depict the excruciating anxiety it was causing me. I just knew it was going to cost me and arm and a leg, they were probably going to have to do something stupidly expensive and time consuming like replace my whole clutch.
On Jacques' reccomendation I took the old girl to Barnecut's. They were single handedly the easiest, quickest, most honest, least expensive auto repair shop I've ever dealt with. IN. MY. LIFE.

If you live in Seattle- If you live in King County- If you live in the Puget Sound Region- If you live in the State of Washington, take your vehicle there. I can almost guaruntee you won't regret it.

Ruining My Life- One Minuscule Incremental Step After Another.

So I sent my headshot and resume to another audition today and for the first time I felt bad about it. Why, you ask? Why feel bad about attempting your passion? Your field of study for 5 long years at University? Your very hopes and dreams?

I have 2 words for you. Unfortunately someone combined them into 1:

"Retailtainment."

I'm already ashamed and I don't even know if I'll get the part. They even put it in quotes in the audition posting. Some company in Seattle, is hiring 5 people. I have some questions like how much travel does it entail? Is the posted stipend accurate (in which case schweeeeet)? And just how flexible is my schedule? But it could be a good spot for me if the answers to all those questions are what I hope they are.

Retailtainment.
I think I might throw up.

Ain't Nobody Going to Hold Me Down. Oh no. I Have to Keep on Moving.

So Mercedes and I moved a good deal of our things into the new house today. Mercedes did everything except the big stuff; couches, tv's, bed, etc. I moved... well, whatever was still pretty much boxed up from when I moved into this place. I plan on going through all my things. There will be 3 piles: things to take home, things to keep, things to get rid of. That third pile will either be sold, donated, thrown away, or otherwise disposed of.
Jacques and I had it out for who will get the primo upstairs room. He won when he offered an additional $50 for rent. Lowering my rent ever so slightly. My room has two closets of unnatural size and I'm almost certain one of them will fit my bed. It happens to have a window so I'm going to sleep in there and then do something with the rest of the room. A desk first and foremost. Than a spot for my bookshelf and tv. I may even put a futon or something. Short a kitchen and a bathroom, I nearly have my own studio.
I was thinking of offering Jacques another proposal. He keeps us stocked with the bathroom necessaries (toilet paper, kleenex, soap), I keep the bathroom clean. I haven't decided if I'll actually propose that or not.

On the not so upside, we knocked on the door to walk the house one more time and the current tenants let us in. As we walked the house with them, they told us about all the horrible things about the house and, more importantly, how compeltely awful our landlords apparently are. Needless to say, Mercedes and I were a bit taken aback. Supposedly the tenants before them, took our landlords to small claims court. And the current tenants are really worried about their deposit. I feel a little secure knowing that Mercedes' brother is a lwayer and her good friend Nico's uncle works to make sure landlords obey rental laws. But still. Why is my life always complicated?
On the upside, they were tossing some IKEA end tables, some hangers, a lamp and some other useful stuff that now they're just giving to us. Also I'm finally going to live out my dream of having a bookshelf in the bathroom. I've always wanted (preferably directly across from the toilet) a little shelf (I always imagine it built into the wall, but this is just a small little shelf, so it will serve due) with good bathroom reading material, toilet paper, and matches etc. I just really like the idea. Scott made a make-shift one in our dorm bathroom out of some old file folders. It was fantastic, until we took too many showers and it fell apart.

Notes to self:
[ ] do very thorough walk-through with documentation
[ ] actually go through all your junk (aka the "sum of your life")
[ ] take car in for diagnostic
[ ] email people for 2nd job

3 Conclusions from a Night of Theatre

So I went to see a play tonight. While I was sitting in my seat, pouring over the program materials for lack of something better to do, an old buddy of mine from undergrad spotted me. He waved hello and we both made to step over the seats to greet each other for a moment, that is until we realized this was not the sort of theater where that might be appropriate. So we resolved ourselves til the one-act was over. Two peppers in a sea of salt that is professional theatre audiences. We got to talking after the show and I realized 3 things.

1) He is still in school and overloaded, typical for him, I had this flush of reassurance. "He hasn't changed a bit," I thought to myself. But as I began to tell him what I was doing, I realized neither had I. Not a bit since college. I used to always have 3 or 4 projects going. Too many balls in the air, just barely keeping them all up. And I'm still doing the same thing. one job, starting another, plus rehearsals. And auditions of course. Not to mention the side projects I latch onto; be they moving out of my apartment, starting an herb garden, or making liquer.
Not one bit.

2) I am constantly reminded that I feel like Death is knocking on Theatre's door. Seeing all the various shades of white hair made me wonder what's going to happen when there's no more of that generation. There were some young people in the crowd tonight, but the startling gap of baby-boomer-aged folks is alarming. It makes me fear for the livelihood of the art.
We are a dying breed. Please go see some live theatre this next week.

3) Our discussion hiccupped only momentarily when he told me of the death of our dear friend's dad. I was in absolute shock. I had not even known that man well; met him just once I think, briefly after a show. And now he was dead.
As I was leaving the theater and driving home, I was struck with something about that death. Something about death's sheer chance. Or death's sheer certainty. The combination of randomness, inevitablity, and finality are all too much.

It brings me to a loss of words.

Gut Feelings

Edna told me as we were moving to Seattle she was terrified about running into an old boyfriend of hers. This guys was, once upon a time, a pretty big deal. She moved to Washington for him. She refers to their break up as "The Divorce." I don't know how long they dated, but needless to say it was a big deal. Finally one day when we were talking I asked her:

"What's the big deal? Are you afraid you'll still like him?"
"No! It's not that."
"What is it then?"
"I just don't want to have to deal with him. I don't want to have to meet him, or see him, or make the awkward small talk. Ug. My stomach is sick just thinking about it."

We went back to whatever it was we were doing, but I won't lie, I still did not feel totally enlightened. Until one day walking to work...

I was walking to Starbucks, I had to open that day so it was probably around 4am or so, when suddenly out of the corner of my eye I saw someone. This certain someone I had not dated particularly long but each time I drove by, through, around, or near her neighborhood I got tense. Very tense. The last thing I wanted was to see her. It's not even that we parted on particualrly bad terms (although to be fair, I wouldn't call them great terms). But I got naueated just thinking about the situation. And shit, now she was right there. Blatantly going home drunk with some guy, and I was looking right at them as they went into his apartment building.

After a few seconds of staring (good thing I didn't have my glasses on, right?) I figure out it wan't her. And probably weirded both of them out. A lot.

It was at that moment I knew. I understood, exactly what she was talking about. Every damn word of it. Oh and it was awful. It made me want to puke.

...

Very recently my nervousness and anxiety built up again. I was confronted with the very real notion that I might not have to see her just once, but repeatedly. And potentially frequently. My roommate Mercedes was good friends with her when we started seeing each other, a fact I had compeltely forgot about until after we signed out lease. I realized if we were to have parties in our new abode it was only inevitable she might grace our doorstep. Then our front room. Then our kitchen. Then every room in the house. Anxious, nauseated, terrified, none of these words even begin to express, my thoughts on this idea. I tried to play it cool arond Mercedes after the thought popped into my head. Finally one day when we were chatting online I couldn't take it any more:

mercedes: you and your acronyms
tcfs
too cool for school
me: actually if you want to be 337 it's 2c4s
hey I actually have a real question for you
mercedes: shoot
me: just so I'm prepared...what are the odds if we have a party or something [REDACTED] will show up.
mercedes: nada
me: WHEW
mercedes: she doesn't talk to anyone anymore
we've tried--we give up.
it's over!
me: I thought about that the otehr day and my stomach turned over
mercedes: hahah
me: Thank God
mercedes: no, i haven't seen her in at least a year
me: Oh my sweet Jesus, you have no idea teh weight that lifted off my shoulders
mercedes: hahahaha
me: Edna hates her
mercedes: i could see why
we're not really fans of her anymore
me: yeah.
what happened? 2c4s?
mercedes: i only really hang out with the girls in my class and younger
i'm calling you... about it
it's a funny story

I can't tell you the sense of relief I felt after reading the word "nada." Literally I breathed a huge sigh of relief and all my muscles relaxed. I don't know who will be happier, me or Edna.

Items Perishable

So I've always had a problem with bread. That is to say I can never make it through a whole loaf. Well I can, but not before it starts to go moldy. This was a particular problem in Hull where Marcel would pop out to LIDL and I would buy the cheapest bread possible. Unfortunately in England the cheapest bread seems to have the fewest preservatives (going bad in 3 - 10 days), a maxim, while logical, opposite that of America. So I bought a few loaves only to get about halfway through each one before throwing it away, when I asked Marcel if he wanted to split them with me. This was fine, until I realized I was usually only getting upwards of 5-6 slices (if I was lucky) before the bread was gone. All of which puts me in a bind: do I buy unnecessary amounts of food and let some of it go bad or do I gamble with getting little to none of what I pay for? It's a lose-lose situation for me.

Moreover, this seems to be a trend with all the perishables I buy; fruit, vegetables, dairy. It's led me to a trend where I tend to purchase items which don't go bad, e.g. items that come boxed, canned, or frozen.

Not so long ago, I bought a loaf of bread, determined to get through it. I was very good about it in the beginning, making sandwiches and toast. Then as the slices dwindled, so did my interest and I went about masticating habits in other avenues. Yesterday I looked up, to find only two more slices. I was going to do it. I was going to make a sandwich, finish off the loaf, and eat with unabashed pride. But... much to my dismay, I pulled last two soldiers from thier once full barracks to find... you guessed it, mold. Not a lot. Just a thing coating along the bottom but thus, making the slices inedible.

Other times I would have cut around it.

This time I was too upset.


...

The job is getting... better? God, I hope it is. The hardest thing in the world is nto being sure if you're going to get paid for the work you're doing. But my paycheck is inching ever upwards to a living wage. Soon I can start paying off those debts.

It's rough. Real rough. I don't know how long I'll keep at it.

...

In other news, we found a house. Mercedes, Jacques, and I are moving into a killer pad wedged neatly between Capitol Hill and Eastlake. It's got a spectacular view. I can't wait for the Fourth and New Years. Parties will ensue*. Drunken outings will commence. Moving begins Sunday. Soon after, comes the housewarming party.
I've discovered I need a little more space than I have. I like to think of myself as more minimalist than I actaully am. I archive stuff, I have folders I know I'll never use but can't bear to throw away. I have all these master plans for basically souvenioring my entire life into a room. And later The Museum. Geez. I need to get a life.

* To be addressed in the next blog.

I'm so damn picky about karaoke.

First rehearsal followed by birthday (not mine) drinks.

Being in improv in Seattle feels like Tuesdays in Bellingham again. I feel fine in rehearsal, it's afterwards that's hard. Even worse I know everyone's name. Long story.

I sang a song because hte birthday girl egged me on and everyone else [in the whole bar] sang one (regardless of talent).

It was Alphaville - Forever_Young.

I thought it was the most appropriate. I was worried about the verses. I was right on both accounts.

Side note: I might be moving to a place with a view. It's pretty snazzy. You should visit.

Side note: I think my clutch is going out. Please God let me be wrong. I can't afford it.

It's really hard for me to karaoke. Everything has to be right. The song. The mood. The drinks. Everything. I envy you people who just do it. Willy nilly. Amazing.

You Fucks, You

So the emails were sent. And have been replied to. But all I got was a lot of hooey. I was told how great I was and that everyone was concerned. Ok. That's nice to hear but that doesn't pay my rent. Then I was suggested to generate my own leads. Wait a sec- isn't that your job? And besides how the HELL am I supposed to do that? I am told to visit construction sites and hand out business cards and brochures. First of all the brochures are shit. I could design a better brochure. I could make a better brochure while making chicken catchatori blindfolded and with one hand tied behind my back. Hell, let's throw in internal bleeding, cause that's what this feels like anyway. Oh wait, maybe my back is a better place to stab. Secondly, we haven't even received personalized business cards. It's been over a month. What the hell are you waiting for? Is it supposed to be a Christmas present? Thirdly, go tot construction sites and hand these out to whom? Construction workers? Maybe they can let us take measurements WHILE THEY'RE SETTING UP THE FRAMING!! You fuck. I'm done with you.

Let the job hunt begin.

Again.

A Delicate Hanging

Emails have been sent.
Phone calls have been made.

The future of my life tenderly hangs in the balance.


I'll let you know how it goes.

The Rain, The Park & The Proletariat Revolution

So I've been royally fucked without my consent.

As you may or may not know I switched jobs of recent. While I was once toiling away between the hours of 8 to 5 in the vast expanses of a major gaming company who's products I not only enjoy but also belive in, I have since given that up for a free form job with a closet company. Basically they make closets. Or closet organizing systems. I get an appointment sent to me through email, I go to someone's house, I talk to them about what they want, I measure and deisgn them a closet. It's a s simple as that. A few weeks later an installation team arrives, puts in the new closet. I get paid, they get a new closet. Everybody wins.

Or so I thought.

So when I began my training the office was a bit in flux. They had moved (a whole two doors down, mind you) and the place was in shambles. As places typically are when you move. But everything seemed to be clicking away. Until 3 weeks ago. Then suddenly my appointments dropped off. I went from having at least 5-6 appointments per week to having 2. Then 1. Unbeknowest to me, in the midst of the move advertising had been cut off, in an effort not to overload the shop. Fine enough. Except one thing. THE SHOP GETS PAID PER HOUR, YOU FUCK. The designers, i.e. the people who are benefitted by the advertising because they work on commission, are now royally fucked. No appointments are coming in and if that wasn't bad enough, they just hired another set of designers. Great. So now the scrap of moldy bread I'm being thrown every 2 weeks must be split between a third again as many people. Fuck.

I am terrified, absolutely terrified about my next paycheck. I thought the last two were small because I had no installations and "they wanted to start new designers off slow." Bullshit. There was no powder in the canon. And now shit's blowing up.

I don't know what to do. Do I get a part-time job and try and stick it out? See if business picks back up? Do I cut my losses and start temping again? I already had to put my loans on Economic Hardship Deferment. My sister says while I'm at it I should get food stamps as long as I'm poor and it doesn't sound like a bad idea. I guess she is and so is most of her fellow grad students.

Fuck the people at the top. How could they be so careless with those of us down below?

I'm ready for the Proletarian Revolution.

The Heroism of Trying

So not to long ago I had an audition for a film. It went (I assume, of course) fine but no where. (Except for the offer I couldn't accept, cf. second paragraph/comments). The name of the project was kept underwraps, but on my way out though she mentioned to the secretary that my headshot and resume should be placed with the Justice_League project.

Now I ask you (and please, answer carefully) which Justice League member do I resemble most?

Ready?

(left to right: Atom, Hawkman, Aquaman, The Falsh, Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman, Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Some Other Lady*)

The answer?

(drumroll please)

...

None of them. I mean cmon.

Dammit.

*So, upon some further research Some Other Lady might be Black Canary. Still, Somethign tells me I don't think I would be cast as her.

testing, testing. 1, 2, 3.

This is a test. This is only a test. If this had blog posting, you would have been informed so and may also have included pictures such as this:

This:

Or maybe something relevant, funny but because of political opinons, boobies and/or swearing is nsfw.



Thank you, for your patience during this trial period.