Had my first moment of

Had my first moment of total panic last night. I’ve been really good about being optimistic and excited about this whole drastic-life-change thing, and for the most part it’s worked out okay. Last night, I stood in my kitchen and had this random flashback of one night a month or so ago, when Bill picked me up from work and randomly drove me to Kent to have a surprise dinner at “our” little Vietnamese place, where we used to eat when we first moved to Washington and were living in a hotel there. I proceeded to have a panic attack - complete with flashbacks of just about every wonderful thing Bill has ever done for me - and it was WAY more than I was prepared to handle. I guess I can only pretend that I don’t have emotions for so long before the truth gets rammed back down my throat. It was a really horrible couple of minutes, and I’m pretty certain it’s going to keep happening - for god knows how long.

On a somewhat happier (but equally mentally unstable) note, I’ve agreed to stage manage again. I know, I know, I said I wouldn’t ever do it again, but - for some reason, when I have so little control over my own life, the idea of being forced to control the lives of others was really appealing. Sort of “tough love” for myself. I’m doing it for my own good, and it’s going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you. Plus, the director is Aimee Bruneau, who is not only one of my favorite people, but also shares a lot of my insecurities and goals (artistically speaking). It’ll be a good distraction - AND a good experience. When I think of strong women - mentor figures whom I not only admire but genuinely like - Aimee is one of the first people that comes to mind. Plus, she’s already seen me at my best and worst, so I figure as far as that goes, I have nothing to lose. Plus, it’s a script I loved - I auditioned but didn’t get in, so it will also be a lesson in artistic sportsmanship. Stage Managing, as a concept, flies in the face of 99% of my fears and failings - and simply because it’s so difficult, I know it’s really good for me. Yay, growing experience. Yay, distraction. Yay, emotional growth by force if necessary. Yay, excuse to hang out with Gary Zinter. Yay.

Wow, it’s been a long

Wow, it’s been a long time. Lest you all think I’m slacking, I would just like to mention that it’s awfully hard to blog at work during the day when I share an office all day - for half of the day, I share an office with someone who has a clear view of my screen, and the other half of the day I share an office with someone who knows that if I’m typing - and it’s not four/five characters at a time and then a big pause (as it is when I use the ticket database) then I’m definitely not working. Very difficult, especially when I really want to make a good impression at my new job. I don’t feel like I’m really allowed to take a break, ever. BUT, at the moment, I will.

Sarah is rambling today. Sweetie, your rambling is glorious. I love it when you babble on for pages about what you’re doing. It makes me happy, and I can live vicariously through you, so please please please don’t stop. Keep up the rambling.

People are calling and emailing me to say hello, re-connect, offer condolences, give me pep talks, etc etc. Partially, it’s wonderful, because I’m getting in touch with people I’d lost. Partially, it sucks, because I hate feeling like I need people in any way. It makes me feel weak. Of course, I know it’s necessary, but still. There’s that niggling little voice in the back of my head that’s saying “They’re only calling because they know you can’t handle it on your own. If you were tough, you wouldn’t even have let on that anything was wrong. It’s all your fault for being a total pussy. Blah blah blah.” If you’re reading this, don’t let this stop you from calling me! I (probably) love you and will be really grateful to hear from you. I’m just having a weird moment of honesty about one of my less attractive emotional features. Ignore me.

What an odd week. Here

What an odd week. Here are some highlights (no pun intended)…

I had a very Sliding Doors moment on Friday. I went shopping, bought some Jim Beam and hair bleach, came home, drank the former, chopped off six inch chunks of my hair with kitchen scissors, and covered what was left of it with the latter. The end result looked vaguely like Leeloo from The 5th Element, and I was so happy with it that I decided not to re-dye it after all.

Saturday, Nate the Great and I had a piercing party at Laughing Buddha. He got his conch pierced, because he wants to be like me, and I got my tragus pierced (finally) because I’ve been drooling over Sarah’s tragus piercing for, like, years. And, for the record, here are words you don’t want to hear: “Wow, you’ve got a tough little tragus there. I’m going to have to ask you to breathe in again.” Of course, the whole thing was very nearly painless, and Robert did an excellent job. (I lost Amber, my piercer-friend at Patrick Bear, so I need to transfer my loyalties to someone new.) Plus, Nate looks SUPER-TOUGH now.

Then, we went and saw Bill Maher at the Paramount, and I have to say that Dan Savage is the funniest man alive. My other new observation is that Tiramisu ice cream is a good thing. Mmmm.

Then, to top off my weird week, I wake up at ten forty-seven last night to the sound of my phone ringing. I’d gone to bed earlier than usual, so I wasn’t too worried about it … until the machine picked up and I started hearing this frantic … laughing? crying? There was some talking, and more gales of … laughter? At one point, I said to Bill “Oh my god, it’s Sarah Rosenzweig” because ain’t nobody laughs like Sarah. I got up to play the message, and just about laughed my butt off. I said to Bill “Yup, it’s Sarah, and she’s trashed.” I called her right away, and she and a couple of friends were VERY drunk, and she refused when I offered to play the message for her. By the way, Sarah … the offer still stands. Bill has expressly FORBIDDEN me from erasing the message, since it’s the funniest damn thing we’ve ever heard. Keep that in mind when you get rich and famous - we have blackmail material. Muahaha! In any case, I felt honored that her cell phone had spontaneously called us. I wish it would do that more often.

By the way - in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s a LINK-CRAZY DAY! Make sure to click on them all, because I put a lot of work into them, and I did it all for your personal enjoyment.

Okay, kids - say it

Okay, kids - say it with me –-

I GOT THE PERFECT HOUSE.

Did you say it with me? Let’s try one more time.

I GOT THE PERFECT HOUSE.

I just got the call tonight from the chatty-old-guy landlord, and I don’t even have to move in early. As in - no double-rent for Alicia. I can finish my lease HERE, and then move straight over. Plus, the woman who lives there now LOVES me, and she’s staying until September. So, sometime between now and September, I need to find two fun girls to live with. I say girls because, well … considering my current personal situation, I’d rather not live with a boy at the moment. Know what I mean? So, if you are a cutie girl and you live in Seattle and you would like to live in adorable house with me, please send me an email. Or, if you’re already my friend, you can send me an email at my real email address, which I am not going to post online, since I have suddenly started receiving ten spam-emails per day trying to get me to buy one of those sonic-fake-sit-up-machines that you strap to yourself so that you can quietly twitch your abdominals while you’re at work.

If I know you and I love you and you want to move, let me know!

WOO HOO!

Good things come to those

Good things come to those who wait…

HOUSING NIGHTMARE
CHAPTER THREE

I visited the perfect house yesterday. Perfect location, perfect from the outside, perfect from the inside, perfect yard and deck and view and porch and basement and potcloset. (Former residents grew weed in the downstairs closet, and cut holes in the door to promote proper circulation.) The people living there NOW would be splitting in a couple of months, so I would get to find roommates. This morning, I called the hottie aussie chica that I visited a few weeks ago, and said “Hey, I applied to live at this house, if I get it do you want to come live with me?” (I loved her and her dog but hated her house, and apparently the chick that she had move in found out she was pregnant and moved out two weeks later. D’oh! So, now she’s thinking of giving notice ‘cause her house is EXPENSIVE.) There are only two actual bedrooms in the house proper, but there’s a second living room that could easily be a HUGE bedroom (given someone put in a DOOR) and there’s a bedroom in the basement … y’know, the one with the potcloset. So, we could be great roommates, and our dogs could fuck all day while we’re at work/class. (Jasper thought Piper was super-sexy. He was totally drooling.) Plus, Kater Patater Skater Fellater, my best girlfriend from St. Olaf, is vaguely considering moving to Seattle after she finishes doing Summerstock this summer, and I think she should come live in the potcloset.

I just like the word “potcloset”. Say it with me! Potcloset.

Apparently Marvelous Molly (she of the fat lip) has a new cat. I wonder if Creepy Uncle Chester gets to live in a potcloset.

Other new words that I love to say: Asparaguspee. This is to be said as one word, and refers to the fact that when you eat Asparagus, some chemical in it INSTANTLY digests and heads straight into your pee, making it smell Asparagusy. One of my bosses taught me that one.

Favorite weather: Thundersnow. I’d never heard of it until yesterday on the radio, and last night as I was heading to Wallingford to check this house out, there were flakes the size of chestnuts coming down, and sheet lightning. It was the most beautiful weather I had ever seen in my life, and I practically keeled over and died at the sheer joy of having snow. Standing in that perfect house, watching the snow fall outside, I felt more like I was “home” than any time since I’ve been to Seattle. I woke Bill up this morning by saying “Get up! Get up! It looks like Minnesota outside!” I miss Minnesota.

Now, it’s time for my Marie Callendar instant Chicken Broccoli Fettuccini meal. Mmmm.

Screwed again. I thought I

Screwed again. I thought I had until Tuesday to call them back, so I called Monday thinking I was playing it safe, but they’d given it to someone else on Sunday. I fucking hate people. All of them. If you’re a member of the human race and you’re reading right now, I probably would throw you a baleful glance if we were in the same room. Or, I’d at least think nasty thoughts about you. I’m probably thinking nasty thoughts about you right now.

After the job-search debacle and what I’ve learned here so far, I should know better than to let myself get excited about anything, ever. I just end up being disappointed and bitter later. You’d think I’d learn, eventually. Apparently this is not the case.

I just may have hit

I just may have hit the HOUSING BIGTIME. Big, funky old house at the top of Capitol Hill. HUGE. Enormous kitchen, laundry room, two living rooms, nice yard, parking lot in back of house, cool people - and I would get the entire top floor of the house to myself. Quirky little attic suite, including walk-in closet, two rooms which are sort of partitioned off by bookshelf-wall-things, and half kitchen. For LESS than I’m paying now for half a little apartment. I’m thinking that maybe I can handle not having a fenced-in yard to live in a place like this. I might call them back and accept tomorrow. Granted, it’s a big drafty not-so-much heated attic, but still. I think that’s a price I’d be willing to pay to have MY OWN FLOOR.

Kinda feeling super-excited about finally having everything figured out. Pondering ways to paint ceiling, which is A-frame from floor. Thinking maybe night sky on one side, day sky on other. Pondering how much furniture to bring. Pondering buying lots of crap for Piper, such as extravagant bed. Feeling very reckless and restless and awake and alive. Wanting new tattoo. Feeling like life has begun in brand-new way. Wanting to start running at Greenlake with Laurie Jerger. Wanting to sweat at YMCA with Tricia Sexton. Feeling rather ready to conquer the world.