Attention! My Dad and I are officially the Billy Ray and Miley Cyrus of Blog-stettering. Steve and I gave my Dad a blog for Christmas – he’s been wanting to write, something about his experiences as a Senator, specifically, and I figured this would be the best way for him to find his voice, make time for it, etc. After all, that’s the best thing about blogging – it’s not terribly time consuming (can be done while pretending to do something else (see: Right Now) and there’s this lack of pressure that’s just really nice. 50% of what I post pertains to what I’d like to be eating presently. Anywhoo, check out his blog! Senator Blogstetter! Now we can have blogwars and blogversations!
You Guys! YOU GUYS!!! It snowed AGAIN! THis time, not nearly as cute or fun, as I had to commute in it sans snow boots.
I completely forgot this, but then remembered today: I am REALLY good at breaking down boxes. As the empties started to clutter the office, I was all BAM and HiiYAH! and KaPOW! I think it’s from my high school days at Party City, where I did my fair share of box-breaking; ‘assisting’ the stock boys / having torrid* affairs with them.
*Not at all torrid. Not even a little bit. Not at all.
Oh, the irony. My company is about to house 30 college theater students, as they spend a semester in New York: seeing shows, taking classes, absorbing the theater community here, and et cetera. How sad and weird will I feel when they call me about their broken toilets, DVD players? Sad; weird. I will say, sure thing, I’ll send someone right over, PS I am a Playwright! And they will think, this girl is weird. Who is this girl? Playwright? PHSHAW!
But perhaps, it will be a good lesson for them? A lesson that a ‘life in the theater’ or what have you is not buttercups and fancy espresso, midtown apartments and dinners out. Instead, it’s Brooklyn and dayjob-esque – but extremely rewarding, I will tell them! (If they ask.)
(And after I fix their toilets.)
As if you didn’t know, but there’s a new (new?) reality show on TLC, The Little Couple, which follows newlyweds Jen (3’2′) and Bill (4′) through their assorted first year of marriage adventures. Basically, they go around being cute and in love and spending time with each other and talking about how much they love spending time with each other. There are also various funny moments in which things are too big for them, and little laughs ensue. And they are just really sweet to each other and it’s just really sweet.
But what gives? Because it’s a show about a little couple, what, are they supposed to be cute and sweet to each other? Where’s the brawls?? Are they edited out?
Or: do they really, truly love each other and love being sweet to each other?
Probably the latter. At least, I hope.
Oh, New Years! or: Ladies, lend me your Sequins! I currently have 2 sides of myself. One wants to don a little sequined dress and ridiculous heels and flit about to parties, dancing, laughing, memory-making, spilling champagne on myself, embracing some secret part of myself that likes to do such things (but sadly, rarely does.) And Another part of me wants sit on the couch and watch the Other Sister and eat an entire chicken pot pie. To compromise, maybe I will find sequined pajama pants?
Ya’ll I’mbout ta get real deep. Like REAL deep. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about fear, and subsequently, about Heaven. I’ve been working on my Naked Angels play, which is about a Happy woman who witnesses a random tragic death, and becomes increasingly afraid of everything (this just in: this is incredibly tricky to dramatize.)
Anywhoo, the idea for the play stems for the fact that in the last 2 years or so? I’ve suddenly become very scared of things. Plane Crashes, subway bombs and the like. The fear has not become like CRIPPLING by any means, but it just sort of haunts me like an epitaph.
And so, I ask myself, or you? or the play asks – what do we do with this fear? Fear of losing your life in some random, tragic way? I guess if you don’t believe in heaven, of life beyond life on earth, there is nothing more terrifying than losing your life. But – if you DO believe in heaven, there is this comfort that there is life and meaning after ‘death,’ and this is comforting, and thusly, fear is suspended, and we all lived happily ever after, peacefully riding mass transit. Key word being Peace. And so, I ask myself*, or You, why would you ever not believe in heaven? Regardless of how you choose to live your life, why wouldn’t you believe in something so liberating? Discuss.
*I definitely do.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am now officially of the Upper West Side. Not at all in that way that I am fancy and have fancy dogs and limousine strollers. In that way that I just now work here. And not even by the park, but by the river/ highway, where it is windy, cold and far.
BUT! We are so making the best of it! I was spoiled before, a mere 40 minute commute, close to bank and Gym. We’ve moved our office to one of our corporate apartments, and I have to say, it’s kind cute.
We are now gifted with SUNLIGHT, a kitchen for omelette bars???? (Yes) and access to the gym in the building. It also just makes so much more sense for the company. Now if you excuse me, I must find my stapler. It’s in one of 37 boxes.
First prize to Blaine for being my first friend to buy a House! A house, you guys!! LIKE A HOUSE!
I have verified that Blaine and Jason’s new house in Hillsborough NC is completely perfect and adorable, complete with big yard for the dogchildren, fire pit, and purple door (addage of Blaine.) I can now continue to live vicariously through them. Hillsborough is this cute little town just outside Chapel Hill. As If life there couldn’t be more perfect, a little gay man makes you chocolates the shape of buddha that taste of ginger and green tea.
Also Blaine lives there, and she’s just pretty (see: princess profile.)
Adam and I checked out our old high school last night and were thrilled / horrified to find a brand new building addition thing, complete with a creepy ditch thing, crooked letters, and the ghosts of our once selves. Fortunately, the picnic table where our drama teacher used to smoke 100′s and give us inappropriate talking-to’s was still there.