In Decision

I'm scheduled to work at the theatre Thursday and Friday at 5:30 PM and Sunday at 12:30 PM. I make $8 an hour plus mediocre tips. Before I got my November schedule, I said I was available for a promo this upcoming weekend. Saying you're available does not mean you have to confirm if they choose you, so I said I was available. Today while I was at my theatre/bartending job, the promo people called me to say they needed me as an alternate tomorrow through Sunday and could I still do it? I most likely wouldn't have to even go and could get paid for sitting at home. $17 an hour. I checked with BL, since if I ended up needed I'd be late for my shifts at the theatre, but she said it was fine (she's very accommodating) so I called back to say I could be the promo alternate. Tonight I got a voice mail from the promo people saying they needed me. I also got the information for the promotion, which says tomorrow we'd need to be there possibly as late as 10 PM. This would completely screw over my theatre job people, since we're short-staffed as it is. But now that I said I'd do the promo, they're counting on me, too, and screwing them over will seriously hurt my chances of getting work in the future. But screwing over BL etc. is bad because they provide me with the more steady work and income and it's a smaller endeavor and I'm more emotionally attached to them. But $17 an hour. That's awfully hard to turn down for $8 an hour of significantly harder work. So I spent a considerable amount of time and energy trying to figure out a way to do both. This would be possible if I made more work for my theatre job people and just prayed that I'd get everywhere I needed to be in the least amount of time. I'd be completely burned out and/or dead by the end of the weekend and my dog might explode and I'd have to postpone any acknowledgment of NBF's birthday for another week, but I'd stand to make well over $600.

I hate this sort of decision--when my psychological and monetary best interests are at odds with eachother and with more utilitarian inclinations. Greatest good for the greatest number of people. How many utils do the theatre people get versus the promo people? How many utils from earning lots of money versus sleeping and having time to socialize? I want to quantify, but it's just not that simple.

So I called BL. After a brief discussion and her trying to figure out how to make it work for me with panic* in her voice, I declared "fuck it" to the promo. It's early in the morning and I'm burning out as it is and the people that would have to take my slack work too hard as it is and I may not always be a good person but this is the "right" thing to do. Even if I am tempted to screw over BL etc. and just skip out on any interfering hours and roll around in my $17 an hour.

That's enough of that rambling. I got 3 1/2 hours of sleep last night because I got home after 1 and went to bed after 2 and then randomly woke up at 6 and couldn't fall back asleep. I was a zombie all day and now I can't sleep again. So I'm drinking a beer. Maybe not the best solution, but I'm sick of coming up with solutions to problems that don't really matter but stress me out anyway. I need better stress-management skills. I've gotten good at stress-avoidance in recent years, but I need to know what to do with issues I can't avoid or defuse. Hmm.

*panic's too strong a word...more like an undercurrent of "oh fuck, well, I'll try my hardest to help Annabell but this will make life significantly more difficult"

Cell blog (one entry now that I got to a computer)

I miss my computer very much. I'm writing this on my cell phone. I got sick of making nbf check my email for me, so i paid the $5 for phone internet. Slow typing. Lots going on in my life right now. Paul simon was fantastic and my dad was thrilled and really cute and grateful, especially since i "allowed" him to dance. He has no rhythm so the rest of my family won't let him. Amazing how happy it made him.

I have a new job as a bartender at a major chicago theatre. SUC's girlfriend is my boss. She seems fabulous, and my cousin-in-law works there too. I get to see shows while i'm on the clock, too.

In other employment news, I got $400 worth of Nike gear including Nike+ shoes and a running jacket and fleece pants and a hat and gloves. A lot of the girls were on the fashion police thing, too, but mostly brunettes this time. I got made fun of for using the word "impeccable." total flashback to grade school when my vocabulary was a frequent teasing target. I hate that.

TJ & Dave was amazing last night, though Dave was out of town. A guy from the promo training was there and is apparently involved with 826CHI and is on an improv team. Small world. He's also ridiculously gorgeous. I'm still terribly intimidated by excessively beautiful non-stupid people. It's silly but I am. Like the way people get around celebrities, but I save my stammering for unknown Perfects.

After theg show SUC's friend asked TJ some toolish question about "TJ the improvisor versus TJ the person" and I burst out laughing. Mean, yes, but I couldn't help myself. I ended up having a brief conversation with him about migraines. Pretty self-centered of me to care less about celebrity and more about finding another person with my malady, but we determined my self-obsession long ago.

This is a lot to write on a cell phone. Hopefully tomorrow I'll get to a real computer so I can email playboy. I've been thinking a lot about my thing and a weekly or monthly column/blog is probably the way to go. That way i can talk about submissive calls one week and Lyla vs. Annabell another week and tricks to keep guys on the phone another week and the different ways calls end another week and so on. There are more than enough topics.

My computer had best get its butt back here soon.

I'm going to Graceland

HP and fax machines and Penelope are a collective pain in my butt. I'm at the library right now because that's the only way I had to check my own friggin' email. I do not do well without a computer at home, as I seem to no longer be able to write with a pen and paper.

The playboy.com editor asked to see my blog so I sent him the link, not remembering I had mentioned it/him just a few days ago. I am brilliant. Not that I said anything terrible, but people tend to get on guard (touche!) when you talk about them, no matter what you say.

My dad and I are going to Paul Simon tonight for his birthday. I'm excited. I'm supposed to meet him downstairs in just a few minutes. My stomach is a bit cranky because I fed it Popeyes at around 2 PM. It tastes so delicious and then I regret it within the hour.

Yesterday I spent a long time cleaning and reorganizing my closet. It still looks horrible, but I got a new plastic drawer thing and another multi-tiered skirt hanger, so that should help.

I'm working another promo this week. 24 1/2 hours over four days at $18/hour. Work is good.

Now, I'm going to Graceland.

computer, email, aquarium

Today I only left my apartment to walk the dog. That was dumb. I did get a few things done, but I get stir-crazy. My computer is being stupid again with the power cord not staying properly so I either have to hold it or get it "just so" and then leave it to charge. It's making me a bit nuts, but I don't want to call HP until I've backed everything up and I can't back everything up until I get a flash drive, so the real solution is to get a flash drive, but that is expensive and I'm hoping to get my phone sex check first. Almost $200. Then the Fashion Police check for almost $600 should follow shortly. Then I can monetarily breathe a bit again.

Exciting email I just got: the writer/improver girl from the fashion police gig knows a playboy.com editor and offered to "hook me up." I already responded with the official "hell yes," as that would be a very good way to start publishing my phone sex schtick. Sure, it's not the New Yorker, but Playboy (even .com) is pretty damn good and perhaps more up the topical alley, and I could probably use it as a jumping-off point for turning it into a book if I so desire. I don't want to jinx anything, but this feels like things falling into place, or at least something in the right direction.

Last night E and I went to the aquarium open house and it was awesome and we got to pet a shark and see the baby beluga (which is now kind of shedding and gross looking, but it's still cool) and look at all sorts of behind-the-scenes stuff and watch them feed caiman lizards and the anaconda and I am the biggest dork ever. It's funny, I don't even like fish that much, but I love the aquarium. I really do. It makes me giddy.

My scalp is all itchy. No dandruff, but itchy. Any suggestions?

Citations: Part the Third

Wednesday night SUC and I got to the IO and my Fashion Police buddy had reserved us a table, making us feel all special as everybody said, "Oh, you're Annabell, right this way." We got towards the start of the second of the three Harold groups performing, and who was right there on stage but our Level A improv instructor who disappeared two weeks before the end of our session! And he was hilarious, particularly as he (a short, squat, balding, doofy looking middle-aged man) and this tall dancer-looking girl did a dainty ballet routine. TJ and Dave did what I thought was the best show I'd seen thus far. It was much more cohesive than their others and they introduced fewer characters, allowing them to really develop the two main ones. I tend to like Dave's more understated style while TJ is sillier, but in this show TJ captured all these brilliant subtleties, making the whole thing just beautiful. I know that sounds corny, but it was. Beautiful, I mean.

Thursday morning I went to take a shower. Hot water? What hot water? Just brown sputtering sludge. So gross. The cold was running clear, so I stuck head under the freezing faucet and just washed just what was necessary. So gross.
But there was sun! Clear skies and perfect temperatures at last! We walked through Millennium Park where the Chicago Symphony Orchestra was rehearsing. Something I miss from Interlochen is having a soundtrack playing everywhere. iPods don't count; the music isn't live and everyone isn't listening to the same thing.
A lot of the other girls only recently moved to Chicago and hadn't seen "the bean" before. We took a group photo in front of it and within moments we had tourists requesting pictures with us. I suppose 12 girls in fashion police uniforms is a bit of a spectacle. As we headed away from the park (apparently you need a permit to pass stuff out there, too) a couple from out of town stopped us to ask where they should go for a good Chicago-style hot dog. There was a clear split between those who stayed to offer suggestions and those who kept walking. Four of five of us all stood around discussing and debating where the closest and best Chicago hot dogs could be found while the rest couldn't be bothered with such things. Hold that thought, as I want to talk more about the general narcissism and entitlement later.

That night I had plans to go to Green Mill with Red and his woman and we were going to call Him and invite him, too, but I was completely exhausted. The shoes they gave us were cute flats that looked quite comfortable but they lacked any form of shock absorption or support, so my entire legs hurt like crazy. The hot water came back on and I took a long, wonderful shower and planned to spend the rest of the night watching TV in my underwear when NBF called. He was on his way to the El stop by me to meet with a friend from his law school class to "study" and thought I should come and hang out. Hell no. Too tired. But the bastard coaxed me out with the promise to buy me beer, and besides, it was much easier than Green Mill and the dog needed to go out so I'd have to give in and put on clothes anyway. I was cranky and shleppy, but had much fun anyway. His study-buddy and his study-buddy's fiance are quality, entertaining people. I ate too much and they accomplished exactly zero studying, but I was glad I went in the end. NBF's friends were driving NBF home, but first they following me to my apartment in the car with NBF yelling construction worker-esque come-ons in Spanish. Oy.

Friday morning before going in to work I bought insoles for my shoes. I wonder how much money I spent on and during this thing. Nowhere near the $600 I was making, but still significantly more than my normal spending averages.
The El was stopped due to a "maintenance problem" on one of the trains at one of the stops. Probably a jumper. Creepy. I wasn't worried about being late, though, since I knew a whole lot of my fellow promo people rode the same line and I got there early enough that it was likely to effect almost everyone. When we did make it to the stop by the hotel, a huge number of the fashion police poured out. No one cared.
The weather was nice again but we went back to the same area we'd spent most of the past three days. There was no race to get through the flyers since there weren't that many left, and we were all running low on steam. I mostly waited for people to stop and listen to whole shpeil, or I'd just smile and say "Marshall's Fashion Police" while handing them a flyer. My partner for the day was one of the good people, which was very nice as the promotion itself had lost its charm and reasons to keep smiling were getting hard to find. At my pre-break assigned corner (yes, that makes me sound like a whore) I found myself competing for passerby attention with a homeless man, a guy asking people to take a survey, and a swarm from some "Save the Children" organization. It wasn't long before I gave up and crossed the street where I didn't have to make fashion sound more important than starving babies in third-world countries.

Friday night was my current improv teacher's show. As I waited for the El at the stop by my house I hear from behind me, "Annabell?" I turned to see the guy I had barely noticed reading a book on the bench was an old friend of mine from high school I hadn't seen in like four years. Crazy. He looked exactly the same and is doing almost the same thing as the last time we saw eachother, only now he's working at a camera shop near my apartment. My life has been a bit more changed in the last few years. We exchanged numbers and talked until he had to change trains. He's one of the people I usually liked "back in the day," so I'm glad to know he's around now. I'll have to call him.

The show was reasonably funny, with highlights being the song "I'm gay and I have cancer" and the arranged marriage of North and South Korea. I like my improv class friends. Just in case you didn't notice.

Saturday was finally the last day! I got paired with a prime example of the entitled narcissism. We were supposed to be driving around with the fashion show to all the suburban Marshallses, but instead we went back on the Magnificent Mile. People sucked. There were tons of passerbys, but heaven forbid they make eye contact with us or acknowledge our existence in any way! We were going to get picked up around 2 and driven over to Wrigley Field before the Cubs game, but if we got rid of the last of the "citations" we didn't have to go. So fuck you, Sucky Mag Mile shoppers! We walked a few blocks down to Chicago and State where there were far fewer pedestrians but they were much happier to talk to us and take their "chance to win $1000." I handed out the last citation around 1:50 and headed back to the hotel with my partner to wait for our manager and the rest of our team.
The staffing agency's head of the promotion (who was very nice, though definitely One with the Peroxide) collected our things and sent us home! Yay! We were allowed to keep the shoes, which I did despite the pain and blisters, and I a little bit stole the hat. Hello, Halloween costume! I wasn't planning to go to my improv class at all, but I made it there by 2:40 when they were coming back from break. I was so glad to be there and I was "on" for once, despite/because of my being a bit crazy hyper.

So, now that it's all over, I have to say something about the other fashion police girls. Some were good, solid human beings that I liked very much. Most were not. They were used to having boys stare at them and do things for them. There was an overwhelming lack of real community or willingness to help anyone else. There was a point I was towards the back of the group going through a door, and I watched as not one girl held it for the next or even made sure it didn't slam her in the face. Everyone asked for things and no one offered things. I was the freak offering to share my bandaids, food, and assistance. The writer/improver and LA transplant also offered. I think that's what I liked about them. They didn't have "ME ME ME" tattooed to their foreheads, the expectation that other people (mostly boys) would do everything for them. And while I'll admit I kind of got off on the constant male attention and expected servitude of the other gender, I'd rather that stay a novelty and keep on doing things for myself and others.

Yes, that's me with my face swirled out in some sort of anonymity attempt. Now that I have a Halloween costume, I need to find a Halloween party. Hmm...

Citations: Part the Second

No, I am not dead. It was a very busy week and I was too exhausted to write. So there.


The Fashion Police promo 85% sucked. The 15% that didn't suck was a few of the people doing it with me and the fact that I will get almost $600 for it. People who did suck and bad organization and planning accounted for most of the 85% suckage.

Apparently, the people who organized the promo were not from Chicago, so they hired others to scout out locations for us to hit. However, those locations were almost entirely outside and/or required permits for us to advertise and distribute material. This is Chicago in September. The weather is completely unpredictable. Tuesday and Wednesday it was cold and rained on and off all day. We were supposed to be outside in the north loop (State and Lake-ish, by what used to be Marshal Fields) from around 1-7 PM. Instead we sat around the hotel conference room and killed time until around 3, when it less rainy, and wandered out with our umbrellas.
The whole idea for this promotion was that we would stop women and "engage them in conversation about Marshalls." We had a basic script to follow:

Excuse me, ma'am. (CHOOSE ONE)
Those are great shoes!/pants
That is a fabulous jacket/blouse/hat/handbag.
That is a gorgeous suit/dress/jacket.

You look good, but you may have paid too much for (ITEM FROM ABOVE)
I'm from Marshalls FASHION police, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you a citation for paying too much for (ITEM FROM ABOVE).
(GIVES CITATION)
Read the citation carefully to see how you could win one of thousands of prizes!
You have a nice day and remember Marshalls Law, It's not a crime to get great fashion for a steal.

There were other "key messages" to be "worked in during longer interactions," too. But we were supposed to hand out 400 citations in the rain around rush hour mostly by El stops. We were lucky if they heard the entire phrase "Marshalls Fashion Police!" I started yelling random key phrases like "Stop paying too much for fashion! Marshalls Fashion Police! Win up to $1000! Name brands, 40-60% off every day!" and trying to hand "citations" to every woman who walked past. Fortunately people were mostly nice about it and took them, even if just out of pity. We got back to the hotel around 6 moments before it started pouring.

Wednesday we were scheduled to work by the Union Square Commuter Rails. Not a bad idea had it been a) not raining and b) rush hour. But we were only supposed to be there from 10-3 and there was nowhere indoors we'd be allowed to go, so after three hours of sitting around and watching tv, they drove us over to Water Tower. Many of the other girls had tried doing promos inside and in front of Water Tower before, but the shopping center is extremely strict about keeping promos and beggars away. We tried a few different corners around the Magnificent Mile, but most Mag Mile shoppers are there with the intention of paying too much for things, and even they were few and far between in the middle of a rainy Wednesday. When it got too cold and wet and we got sick of standing around doing nothing, our manager had us go into one of the malls to warm up and relax. Back to sitting around doing nothing. We'd go back out for maybe 20 minutes before it got too gross and we'd go back in.

I talked more with the girl who'd just moved from LA. She's good people. There was the Uggo whose abuse father moved out in the last few years. I think she may have been "Uggo" more because she was awkward and the only female in the promotion not wearing makeup. It's odd, I'm not that devoted to makeup myself, but I feel like when the entire point of them hiring you is for you to look pretty and give people things, then you should probably do your best to look pretty, shallow as that may be. Most of the girls were nice and friendly, at least on a superficial level. Many of them still lived with their parents. One just graduated from Stanford, one from Howard. The rest were from state or community colleges. Three were named Jessica. One had been whining and complaining about everything since the first moment of the first day. I tried to be as positive and optimistic as possible just to balance her out a bit.
It turns out the writer/improver is in the show immediately before the one my improv class buddies go to every week at the IO, so I called SUC to see if he could go early with me to see her. She said she'd try to reserve us a table.

I got home and passed out.

More later.

Citations: Part the First

So tired.

Yesterday was the training for the Fashion Police promo. It was raining and the El isn't always reliable, so I planned extra time to get there. I was over 20 minutes early and miscalculated my caffeine-to-food ratio so I was hypershakyspastic with pleanty of time to judge people. First impression: I had stumbled into a sorority girl-laden peroxide pit. I was almost definitely the only natural blonde there, but maybe a third of the 40 girls were sporting lighter versions of my genetically granted hue. The girl I was sitting next to was merely highlighted, but as we waited for things to get started she talked to her agent on her cell phone and read over a script for something and scribbled things in her planner. These people were all beautiful or at least beautifully done. I had to remind myself that I'd tried to "do" myself to the best of my abilities that morning and that I'm "cute" and pretty in an odd way, and that I looked just like my photo that they'd seen before choosing me, so to at least some degree I belonged. I've always been convinced that all the beautiful people of the world have some massive club or an island somewhere with a great secret society of perfect smiles and good skin and uninterrupted grace. This was like being invited to their tea party.
By the time the presentation actually started, I realized there were a handful of more normal person pretty and naturally pretty girls in the room. I thought, "They can be my friends."
My own dorkiness never ceases to amaze me.
Then I spotted an Uggo. I wondered how she got there, wondered if she knew someone, wondered if I was more judgmental than the worst of the Peroxide Posse. I hated myself for it, but I noticed.

We sat through more than two hours of presentations from the various people in charge of the various parts of the promotion. Remnants of my econ major self got very excited by Marshalls business model, which is fairly clever. The Marshalls rep also talked about the CEO's philosophy on stopping terrorism by promoting and empowering diversity. I wanted to applaud. After the presentations, we split up into our "street teams" and sat around chatting until we were called to try on our "uniforms." I talked with one girl (I'd actually labeled her as "could be my friend" when she walked in) who it turns out is also a freelance writer who does improv. Another girl near us had just moved from LA where she worked for Conde Naste and Wired. Then there was the recent Stanford grad, a few that didn't talk (including the Uggo, which was disappointing because I sort of hoped she'd open her mouth and be a fabulous person and kill my Uggo label), and some Peroxide Posse members. The worst of the PP was actually a brunette, but she whined and complained about absolutely everything and had such the stereotypical sorority princess attitude I wanted to punch her. I didn't, though.
After a lot of waiting and squirming to get out and go home, they made their final announcements and told us to be back before 12:30 the next day. Everybody started to grab their stuff and dash for the door in a mob of "Thank God we can leave!" when one of the directors announced that there was a ton of pizza on its way that was running late. We stopped in our tracks. The promise of free pizza defeated our intense collective desire to escape, and besides, we were getting paid until 4:30 anyway...
I talked with the magazine girl while we ate. She seems like high quality human being. We exchanged emails.

I got home and completely passed out until NBF called to tell me to come over to watch Syriana. So I did and we did and it was lovely. Then he showed me his deep dark secret inner-dorkdom: World of Warcraft. Funny how he has no problem admitting he eats dog treats or other major personal details, but the shame and embarrassment he feels over World of Warcraft are incredible. As long as he doesn't start going to renaissance fairs or talking like Beowulf, I think it's forgivable.

Today was a blur of rain and uniforms and pictures and chasing down women to give them "fashion citations for paying too much for their fashions." Perhaps I will go into greater detail tomorrow, but it somehow got to be midnight already and I have another crazy-long day tomorrow that has to start in just over 7 hours if I'm going to get things I need to done and make it back to the hotel conference room (our "war room") by 9:30 AM.

Dorking around town

Yesterday I felt like I sucked through much of my improv class. We did one exercise where three people sat in a row facing the front and the two people on the outside each picked a random topic and talked about it simultaneously for several minutes straight while the middle person had to listen to as much of both as possible. I was good at that one, picking up just about every detail from both, except that I couldn't remember the names of half of the heavy metal bands one of my talkers mentioned, but that would have been the case even had it been a regular two-person conversation. Otherwise, my scenes pretty much just sucked. Very annoying.

Last night I went out with E, which was fabulous. We wandered around for awhile and then drank very cheaply ($3.75 pints of Killinas and $4 vodka lemonades) at an Irishesque pub near my apartment. I was craving salad and they had a surprisingly good one with tons of cheese and hard boiled egg and good dressing and the dark greens mix I generally favor. We mostly just yapped and yapped for hours, which is what we generally do when together, but I think we have similar natural conversation styles. Like I never feel like I'm talking too much or too little about myself and I never feel like she's talking too much or too little about herself. We just rant very naturally together. Between the walking, salad, and emotional unloading, it felt like a strangely healthy evening.

Today I hung out with Him and Red (who were friends back in junior high, too). We walked through the Lakeview East Fine Art Festival which was mostly lame but they had glass blowing, a process I find infinitely fascinating. Him had been craving "a New York style pizza place" so we went to one near his apartment. I wasn't particularly wanting pizza as I'd had it twice on Friday, but they had calzones with the ricotta cheese, and that made me happy. Growing up visiting my grandparents in New York we used to get calzones there and they're like these completely enclosed pockets of ricotta-y and mozzarella-y goodness. Outside of New York, I have generally found calzones to be much closer to a folded up regular pizza, and that's just a shame. So today's calzone wasn't quite as wonderful as the New York variety, but at least it was ricotta. More things in life should be ricotta, really.
Post pizza we went back to Him's apartment to watch the season premiers of Simpsons, American Dad, and Family Guy. Simpsons was kind of disappointing, but I thought American Dad was fabulous and Family Guy was very good. The show after Family Guy looked painfully stupid (even after watching the first few minutes of it) and I was craving Cold Stone (which is on the way back to my place), so Red and I headed out. Coffee ice cream with cookie dough mix-in is a wonderful thing.

Tomorrow I have the training and "uniform fitting" for the Fashion Police thing. Should be entertaining. Then I've had Syriana here from Netflix for a few days but NBF wanted to see it with me so assuming we aren't too beat from our days (me spending a few hours learning how to give a "fashion citation" and him going to law school all day) we're going to watch it. Mmmmovie...

I spend too much time and energy (meaning any time and energy) on my Yahoo Fish Tycoon virtual aquarium. It's slow-paced and stupid and I can't stop playing with it. Damn you, real time! Means I have to check up on my fish regularly to make sure they're alive, and I actually started writing down the fish breeding combinations in a notebook to keep track of things. Yes, I am the biggest dork ever.