Penelope (my computer) is dead. She should be undead in a few days, but the power cord finally became 100% useless and HP didn't have me in their computer as having paid for the 3 year I can hit it with a hammer and it's still covered warranty, so I had to fax my warranty proof of purchase and a bunch of other crap that I fortunately still had and in theory they'll come pick up, fix, and return Penelope good as new.

I'm at my parents house for the next three days but without my parents. My brother is 17 years old but because he is not 18 my mother thinks I have to be around as a legal adult. I think that's stupid. I'd be happy to be here to keep him company, but this is all just further proof that my mother needs to think of her children as incapable of functioning on their own. And she's all friggin' worried about us, too, like that my brother won't wake up in the morning or do his homework. Fortunately, he's all for proving to her that he's better off without her nagging and reminding him to do things every five minutes, so he plans to get all his work done and even get ahead and then leave it in a nice neat pile with a smiley face post-itted on top while he's out with his friends when they get home. I think it's brilliant.

In the less-than-brilliant category, I left my flash drive at my apartment and I'd made a pact with one of my improv class friends that we'd turn in our Triumphant College Return applications by Saturday and my essay crap is all on there. Grrr.

It is absolutely freezing here. Red, my dog and I went to my brother's soccer game this afternoon and it started snowing. I had my dog layered in a sweater and his fleece-lined coat and he was still all shivery. I'm a terrible doggie mama.

bewildered

My dad is dense on the outside; my mom is dense on the inside. I love her, but I find her infinitely frustrating. She is a waffle.

And speaking of waffles and things that perplex me, Boys. That is all I have to say.

dog paw

Happy birthday to my dad. Not that he reads this, but still.

I'd left tonight clear of plans so I could go out for my dad's birthday, but my brother has a date and his girlfriend can't do anything tomorrow night so the birthday festivities are being postponed. I was annoyed, since I did have plans for tomorrow, but now they'll just have to end early. I was on the phone kvetching about such things when I saw my dog's paw. Big icky cyst/boil thing between his front two toes. It's huge and gross. I freaked out and called the vet and we were there and being seen in less than an hour. The vet looked at it and x-rayed it and poked it with a needle for the biopsy. After poking it it started oozing and I now have dog blood on my jeans. They had to throw me out because my dog was spazzing (understandable, I must say) and they thought it might be easier if I wasn't in the room. They also did all his regular annual vet things while we were there since he's due in about two months anyway. Now, he's got one of those collar things on so he can't lick his paw and twice a day antibiotics for the next two weeks and I've got a $371 bill. Ack. I just keep telling myself it includes all his vaccinations and heartworm tests and whatnot, but holy shit. I need to do the dog insurance thing. I know my particular vet is very expensive, too, but they're really good with him, and he's my baby.

I watched Heathers last night. Crazy, crazy movie, but I enjoyed it immensely.

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?

Weekend

Saturday was the last day of the second session of my improv class. BB and the girl who annoys me so much do not plan to enroll in the next level. I am exceptionally pleased. BB had moved from my annoyance list to my pity list weeks ago as his inability to comprehend started frustrating him more than anyone else, but it was getting painful to watch. More than once he looked like he was going to cry. He'd hit a wall and wasn't about to make it through. The scenes between him and the Slayer-obsessed Nazi enthusiast (the real characters are the ones I could never make up) were the worst. Like autistics trying to make love. But never again.

After class the usual improv crew went to SUC's restaurant and ate sushi and drank and say around for hours. It was delightful. As the conversation ventured into the realm of sex, I found myself having a lot of trouble participating in the discussion. Phone Sex Girl couldn't talk about sex. But it's a topic about which I've gotten so used to making up random shit that I've become completely uncomfortable with the truth. It's much more fun to play the sexual dynamo without regard to reality or consequence. My relatively inexperienced self doesn't know what to say among friends. Bah.

We eventually dispersed and I met up with NBF. More drinking ensued, as did pizza. NBF had run the breast cancer 5K that morning and is already about 3K from being a night person, so at 11:30 PM he'd crashed and was ready to go home. I was not. I was wide awake and hadn't been out in days, so I called around and SUC said he had to close his restaurant but that I should come and hang out at the bar there. So I did. More alcohol and social interaction, and then I loomed around the restaurant office while he did all the official closing stuff. I'm sure the booze helped, but the company was good and I had a strangely fabulous time just talking. I got home around 3:45 AM. By the end of the night, I'd spent approximately 10 hours drinking. Not that I'd had so much, but it was like a slow IV drip of alcohol and I have the tolerance of an 8-year-old.

Woke up at like 8:30 AM extremely thirsty. I drank water and wrote that thing about "the grave burden that comes with having too much in our heads for our tender hearts to bear" and went back to sleep. Around 1 I answered the phone rather startled. Apparently Him had called four times. Even without alcohol I am a sound sleeper, so you can imagine how out of it I was. According to Him we were supposed to meet for brunch around 12 or 1. I recall no such setting of the time, but who knows. And what does he want for his birthday lunch? Mexican food. I was completely out of it and unable to make decisions beyond "I want coffee." I'm sure I was a fabulous conversationalist. And nothing is quite so fabulous after a night of boozing as raw onions and salsa. Really stupid. I didn't throw up, but that was a small miracle.

I got home with just enough time to change, throw things in my backpack, grab the dog, and head to my parents' for pre-Yom Kippur dinner. Thankfully, it was all extremely easy to digest. Kol Nidre services were long but good. I like this rabbi. He talked about love and the importance of community and human relationships. He's not a great speaker, but everything he says is completely heartfelt. I like that.

Monday we got to Yom Kippur services really early (like pre-Torah service with all the daily minioners and uber-frummies) and my stomach decided it was going to be cranky, so I left early and went home and crashed.

We went to my aunt's for break-fast, as we do every year, along with my aunt's two best friends and their families. We were supposed to get there at 6. We walked in the door at 6:04 and everybody was already eating. Conversations included the "right" way to put on a tie, how $750 is such a good price for getting your hair straightened by people you trust that it's worth getting a cheap plane ticket to New York City, my cousin's lopsided backhair, and single-cup coffee makers. My brother weaseled his way out of coming this year, so I was the youngest person there, but we're finally at a point in our lives that the 4-9 years isn't such a big deal. But these people (my cousins as well as their friends) live these lives of obscene wealth and privilege. That's where I feel the most different, even though I'm currently being supported by Mommy and Daddy, too. Some are still fabulous people. Some are not. But while my mother tends to have no tolerance for the people in her generation, I'm getting much better at accepting the Shiny Happy thing for the few requisite hours.

The weather was terrible and when I tried to drive home I discovered even the bigger roads were flooded, so I gave up and spent another night at my parents'. My dad came downstairs around midnight, unable to sleep. We ended up doing the Chicago Tribune Sudoku until 1:30 AM. Stupid, but exceptionally cute. Yay for daddy bonding time.

Today, I forgot to take my pills and didn't realize it until around 7 PM when the withdrawal symptoms started kicking my ass. Now I'm awake from having taken them too late in the day but I'm still feeling the weird-headedness of the withdrawal. Stupid Effexor.

At some point when we were at my parents' my dog actually got onto my parents' bed and licked my dad's face. For any of you who know my dog, this is huge.

An unfortunate ark

Thunder storm. Streets are flooded. I'm stuck at my parents' for the night. Blech. I don't sleep well here.

That is all.

Reflection*

I get so excited when I find people "like me:" my fellow analytic creative brooding types. We're the hyper-self-critical misfits who think things to death and live inside our heads but then feel everything too strongly. We're loners out of ego and self-preservation. Except every single one of my real friends has some degree of this quality. The Boys I've liked since I was 5 were all more extreme cases. That's my "type." I used to just call it "a hint of melancholy," but it's more than that. It's the grave burden that comes with having too much in our heads for our tender hearts to bear. Ay me!

So why do I seek out people "like me?" Is it the need to be understood and the satisfaction of understanding someone else? Or something more egotistic, lining these people up like a hall of mirrors?

On an unrelated note, Happy 25th Birthday, Him! I distinctly remember his 14th birthday and thinking 14 sounded so old. Now 25 doesn't sound or feel old, but it's that whole quarter-century mark that seems substantial.

Mmm...granola bar...

*corniest post title ever

Friends

Bleh. I really wanted to go out and DO something tonight, but oh well. Tomorrow is my last day of this session of my improv class and NBF wants to do something after, so my social tendencies will just have to wait.

I've been knitting a lot today. It's a very pretty scarf that has no intended recipient as of yet. Any of my female friends in need of a scarf? Or male friends who want a really girly scarf? Trouble is most of the people I'd consider giving it to require me to mail it, and that's a pain. I gave E a scarf for Chranukah last year and I'm not sure I'm at the gift-giving level of friendship yet with my improv class female friends. I was actually thinking about this the other day: most of my local friends are boys again. Not that it's a problem, and I like these friends very much, but it is a pattern. I just tend to be more comfortable around new boys than new girls. With new people in general I'm always paranoid they find me terribly annoying and it's best I just leave them alone. And guys tend to be much more obvious and upfront about it if they don't like you, whereas girls are much quicker to be friendly to your face and then bitches behind your back.

What was that, Dr. Freud? Leftover issues from the evil elementary school kids? Why, whatever do you mean? So at least the boys would make fun of me overtly and push me down stairs and stuff (and not in the crush-on-you way, but in the "holy shit I hate your guts and this is as much harm as I can do to you without getting locked up" way) while the girls would say subversive things and banish me to my leper colony and tell my friends they shouldn't hang out with me. I don't see how any of this could stem from that. No, not at all.

And I thought this entry was going to be about me being restless and bored. Interesting. This is why for me writing is better therapy than therapy.

help wanted

So I'm in a rut. Rut rut rut. And while I can and will pull myself out of it, I would very much like to be pulled out of it by someone else for a change. I want Prince Charming to show up and say, "Oh, Annabell! I see you for who and what you truly are! Let us help one another on our way to great things and we will ooze wonderfulness together!" Anyone know Prince Charming? Or just some excellent male person with a hero complex? I need more people in my life with hero complexes.

I'm thinking about my trombonist friends because I saw a thing on PBS about the big trombone concerto the CSO is premiering tonight. How are you, trombonist friends? For as much as I'm enjoying new friends, I miss my old friends. How are you, old friends?

P.S.- Fuck feminism.

Very bad dreams. Terrorists blowing up cities. Not cool. Trying to think of something else before going back to bed for more peaceful sleep.

Drowning in the tears of my sorrowfully corny water analogies

Why is it so difficult for me to escape from under my parents' (particularly my mother's) thumb(s)? It's like I can't live certain large pieces of my life for fear that I'm just living them to shut her up and make her happy. There are phone calls I need to make and I will make without it being a big deal, but then she asks if I have made them, and I feel this overwhelming shame that I haven't already done them and she thinks that I should have. Never mind the fact that it's not a big deal that it's not already done, and that while I do like to procrastinate I also make sure things happen by the time they truly need to happen. But holy shit does her disapproval weigh heavily on me. And she's convinced that the real reason it bothers me is because I'm the one actually disapproving of myself, but the things she has no access to in my life or doesn't know or ask about tend not to bother me, even though I initially treat them the same as the things she does ask about. And those things are much easier for me to do. I do them without the sick feeling of guilt weighing me down. I hate that feeling. It paralyzes me more than anything. It's the clear source of my recent feelings of depression creeping in. But I can't ask her to stop asking and worrying about me and what I'm doing with my life. Even if they weren't monetarily supporting me. She's my mother; she worries. That's her job. Something needs to come from inside me where I can not care so much what I'm doing to her and worry more about what I'm doing to and for myself.

The going back to school thing has been a huge example of all this. It was an idea I had on my own, without her suggestion. But it clearly made her happy and she'd ask about every fucking bit and piece of my application and if this or that was done and advise me that it was more important to get it in sooner than to make it perfect and have I been contacting my reference enough to make sure he's sent in his part and have I called the office there to make sure they got all my transfer stuff? The answer was no. But it was a big enough step that I was thinking of going back and to have gone back last semester was just too fast for me to get used to the idea and be truly ready to attempt academia again. For this next semester, I actually have quite a bit of time before things are due. So I'm not making the calls so fast and sending the emails right away because each piece is like stepping a little deeper into the water. I was never one to jump in, I had to go slowly, step by step, until I was ready and happy to be in and under there. "I just worry if you wait it won't happen," my mother keeps saying. But I'm realizing more and more that if it doesn't happen in a way I'm comfortable with, I'll be right back where I was three years ago, miserable and incapable of moving forward in any direction.
My parents both see these things as excuses. And while I feel these things too deep down for them to just be excuses, as soon as they call them excuses I feel guilty for having the feelings at all. And it's not my parents' fault that they think these things are BS, but it's extremely invalidating and causes me to not give myself credit or let myself do what I need to get to where I want to go. It's like standing by the side of the water with them yelling "Jump! Jump!" so instead of going in my way and not going at all. But I can't ask them not to yell "Jump!" I've tried that, but they see it as unfair to them when they really think I should just fucking jump, and there's not much I can do to shut them up or stop them from thinking it. So I have to learn to ignore them. Learn that, no matter how much they say or how much they yell or how many people do learn to swim better by jumping in, I know how I need to approach things and at the end of the day, I'm the one who is going to have to actually live my life every second and that's not being selfish (doesn't help that my mother tends to believe any time I don't do what she thinks is right I am being selfish, but again, I need to learn to ignore her). It's what's necessary.

In the meantime, I actually have gotten much more comfortable with the fact that I'm the one who wants to go back to school to learn how to write better and figure out what it is I want to write and how and where I want it published. It's not just what's convenient or makes sense or makes them happy (things that were integral to my first failed attempt at college). And as I've gotten more comfortable with the idea, I've also discovered how much easier it is to lie to my mother and tell her I'm not sure that's what I want right now and I have to figure it out so leave me alone. I don't know if the two are related or healthy or what, but it's sure as hell making it easier to send the emails I need to send and make the calls I need to make.

And with that, it's gotten late. Fudge. I need to get to the DMV to renew my license plate sticker and yell at them for never sending me any sort of renewal notice or forms and then giving me a bazillion tickets during what's supposed to be the grace period. Oh well, I can go tomorrow when they open. This little emotional purge was extremely necessary. I've been floundering and useless lately, but identifying what's been gumming up the works tends to help de-gum them. And for as much as I liked therapy, it's far less helpful for me when someone else is steering my process, since I can feel the difference between what does and doesn't effect me and it's not worth the trouble of finding a therapist good enough to not hold me back more than (s)he pushes me forward. There just aren't enough of them.

Mmm...bitter, tearful, cynical, cleansing ramblings...gotta love 'em.

$$$

Today I spent too much money on food. Brunch at Ann Sathers, "tea" at Bittersweet, and dinner ordering in pizza. Then I made $104 tonight (including an 83 minute call) and stopped feeling so guilty about my spending.

Weathered

I hate this friggin' weather. It goes into my head and makes me ouchy and uncomfortable. I'm missing karaoke with my improv class buddies because my head is just not up to it. I slept most of today. Like probably 15 of the last 17 hours. Not cool. At least when I get like this it's clear I wasn't just feeling mopey, I was pre-migraine. As my dog would say, "Mrrff."

Happy Jew Year

Much of this past week was lost to certain parts of my body being extremely cranky and me in a general funk of having gone from crazy-busy to doing nothing all day again. I need to snap out of this. SNAP SNAP SNAP.

Last weekend my Born Again Jewy friend from college who lives in in Seattle came to visit. Uber-Jewyness can be highly inconvenient. Sunday we went to the Aquarium and then I was supposed to pick up E at 3:30 to go to my parents' house so she could interview my mom for class and join us for Thai food with my cousin and my uncle who was in town. I got to see the baby beluga at the aquarium, which was pretty friggin' cool (it's like this strange grey lump that goes to the surface to breathe every few minutes), but the whole day felt like a puddle of lateness and me trying to accomodate everybody else's needs. I hate that, especially since I fall into it so easily and then get mad at myself and resentful towards everyone with needs to be met.

Last night was Jew Year's Eve. Happy Jew Year. It's introspection time!

Now I really need to get my ass in gear and go to my improv class, but I'm tired and achy and I just want to crawl into a warm little hole for another half hour or so. Hmm...

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.

Say NO to drugs

A man got on the El with me at my stop. Mid-40s, disheveled, rubber band around his wrist, strange wet stain on the sleeve of his t-shirt, wild, wiry, unkempt hair. He was clearly stoned out of his mind, barely able to walk onto the train and sit down. He spent the first few minutes of the ride studying the folds of a crumpled napkin in his hands, then fell asleep, head dropped forward, mouth open. He started to snore. The other guy on the train and I looked at eachother and shrugged. Still completely passed out, the stoned man put his hand down his pants and started unconsciously playing with himself. He didn't wake up but got more vigorous. I turned away. Hand still down his pants but now barely moving, he started drooling sickly yellow drool onto his chest. It hung there in a perfect beaded string. I wanted to take a picture. I couldn't have made this guy up if I tried.

I've been in prickly/cranky mode for the last few days. I'm not sure why. Probably the full moon or a disgruntled butterfly in South America.

I knew Josh Groban was at Interlochen the same time I was, but I just finally placed him in my memory. Oh, he was that Josh. His first year he was generic chorus for Sweeney Todd, then his second year I think he was Motel or something in Fiddler. I think he was the one people got all upset about when he got the part because he didn't really have the range for it. He was kind of geeky and Jewy-looking but cute and one of the few people in the cast of Fiddler with my friend who she didn't want to strangle. We hung out a few times peripherally and we knew eachother's names and faces. He might or might not remember me as I barely remember him and he's all famous now. Strange.

a little hate my dog right now

Dog decides he has to wake me up to go out at 7:15 AM. We went out after midnight last night, but he refused to stay out more than five minutes. The second we get outside he goes apeshit at another dog, barking his passive-aggressive little head off. Three feet later, he spots another dog. We were out for less than 10 minutes and he spent ever second of it either barking and growling or relieving himself. I just love being woken up for that.

All mine

On my way back from the improv show I had an entire brown line El car to myself.

Napster is a stupid butt

I'm trying to cancel my stupid Napster subscription but after 18 minutes on hold I got disconnected. This is how they get you: they don't let you unsubscribe. Ever. They steal your soul until you die.

I'm going back to the improv show thing tonight. Apparently we will be a party of 12. That is a big party. Some of them are going to a sports bar first, but with the Cubs game going on right next door and my lack of funds, I'm not meeting them until right before the show.

Still enjoying NBF's existence. We hung out and ran errands for a long time yesterday. It's fun learning new things about a new person, especially an interesting person.

I crossed a handful of things off my To Do list today. Good for me. Still more To Do (haha), but good that I'm working on it.

I signed onto the phone sex thing last night and got two calls but they lasted a total of about 11 minutes so after taking out the featured listing fees I only made $10. Still, I made $10. That's better than nothing, and today my "financial domination" listing was approved, so we'll see if anything comes of that. Yes, financial domination. I don't quite understand it, but there's apparently a market for "I'll make you pay 'til it hurts," and this whole experience is about doing something completely bizarre for writing purposes (ok, and now to make money in my time of unemployment). So I'll give it a shot. It's the only category in which girls get away with charging $50 a minute. Yes, $50 a minute. Not many, but more than one and they've got high ratings, meaning people really call. Crazy.

Stop laughing.

YES! I got the "Fashion Police" promo! Sounds like fun, plus it makes $17 an hour for 33 scheduled hours. Sweet!

Crikey!

Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin was killed by a stingray today. I guess it was bound to happen, considering he poked extremely dangerous animals for a living, but it's still a sad loss for humanity. I'm not sure if it's a loss or a blessing for the animals.

Last night I successfully digested steak, but today's alfredo pasta dish lunch didn't do so well. I'm much better, but it'd be nice to actually be healthy again.

For all the pressure I already put on myself to get a job, I feel the pressure from my parents (particularly the female one) a bazillion-fold more. It's excruciatingly frustrating. She makes it as much her problem as my own, but I can't tell her to fuck off because they're supporting me. I'm not actually a heavy financial burden, but it's only natural to want a hand in anything you're helping to finance, and once you add in the whole maternal thing it's clear: I'd better get used to it. Or, even better, get a job, but I'm already doing what I can on that end.

I got one extremely cute and one reasonably cute shirt at Loemann's with my mom. And then I went to DSW by myself and paid 16 cents for really cute Van Eli black backless slip-on "dress sandals." How were they 16 cents, you ask? Well they started at $85 retail, then DSW had them for $59.89, then they went on clearance at 40% off (bringing them to $35.94), and then you add in the Labor Day extra 30% off and they're $25.16. I had a $25 gift certificate, leaving $0.16 all I had to pay. They weren't quite the shoes I needed, but they fit wonderfully and are comfortable and completely fabulous and they aren't redundant of any shoes I already own.

Most of my sentences this entry have been in the form of "Blah blah blah, but bleh bleh bleh." I seem to be in a qualifying/negating sort of mood.

insomnia and shopping

Explain to me this: it is 1:15 AM and I am wide awake. I never went to sleep last night and only took about a two hour nap today around noon. Over the course of the day I spent a total of about four hours going through crap in my old room. The end is finally in sight, though it will take at least one more day of sorting and tossing crap. Then I made pie. I don't know why I like making pie so much, but I do, and berries and grahm cracker crusts were both on sale at the Jewel. I'm spending the night at the 'rents so that my mom and I can go shopping at Loemanns tomorrow morning. They have a Labor Day extra 10% off everything sale going on. I love that place. Then I'm heading home to get me $25 DSW gift certificate because they're having an extra 30% off all clearance items sale. I mean holy crap. There's just no way to resist such a thing. And I could use flip flops that go with black and can be worn with skirts. That and brown knee-high boots are the only holes I see in my shoe wardrobe. I love shoes. It's probably my most stereotypical girl trait. I can't help it.
So why am I still awake?

Maybe this means I'm healthy again...

Never fell asleep last night. Now it's almost 7 AM and I quit so I'm going to my parents' to get an early start on cleaning out more of the ol' room. While I'm there I can shower, too. I hate their shower and usually wait to get clean until I come home when I spend the night there, but with no hot water, my shower is worse. Come, dog, we are off!

I'm vulnerable. My emotional immune system is down. I can feel it. I'm going, "Oh, look, Boys!" ::twitter twitter:: and my usual defenses are not jumping to my rescue. Yeesh. What's a girl to do?

I'm clearly on the mend. My throat is less sore and my tongue is less white and I'm eating cereal but not pizza.

I wasted today. Tomorrow I have to go to my parents' and get back to cleaning my old room out. The amount of time and energy involved in that process is obscene.

There seems to be no hot water in my apartment right now. I wanted to shower. Now I am all stinky.

warning: this entry contains barf

Cubs won. Fun was had. NBF and I ended up walking his dog around his neighborhood, including to Chipotle for dinner. My stomach was still clearly not ready for burrito (though I did manage to digest a hot dog at the game, my body made it clear that it wasn't happy about it) so I just had iced tea, which I promptly threw up in the Chipotle bathroom. NBF's dog was being friendly while NBF was in ordering his burrito and this guy at one of the other tables (outside eating area) introduced himself. When I went to go find something digestable at the place next door, the random guy gave NBF his phone number to give to me and tell me he "thought I was cute." This strikes me as particularly absurd as I'm all pale and sickly looking right now and my hair was a mess from being outside in the wind all day and I'm dressed fairly shleppy. Then again, this guy was no amazing catch and mostly talked about the quality of weed in different parts of the country, so perhaps he was stoned and/or mistook my illness for highness.
Ooh, funny thought: King of the Stoners would be His Royal Highness. Hahaha.

I need to get healthy. Though post-Chipotle-puke I bought a box of saltines and we walked around the lakefront for awhile, and that seemed to help a lot. But I forgot the crackers at NBF's, so now I'm back to the plain soup thang. Getting sick of soup, but I'm not trying anything more adventurous this soon after barfing.