A Hooker’s work is never done

I think I have ranted and raved to everyone I know about my hatred for Wal-Mart, and at long last, I actually have something new to complain about in those regards: It would appear that I am actually allergic to Wal-Mart. Used to be, when I’d enter a Wally World, my hands would turn red, swell and itch feverishly. I had always assumed They used something in their packaging that was flying around the recycled air, making my hands itch. Now, I merely drove by a Wal-Mart today, and I had the same reaction. Apparently, my hatred for the small-business-and-local-flavor-killing-machine has manifested itself in a most annoying physiological fashion. I mean, I know I hate the Big W, but I never imagined my brain could turn those feelings of hostility and rage into an ugly itch.

Confession of the day: I really enjoy the movie Connie and Carla. Nia Vardalos and Toni Collette are quality comedic actresses, and they make fabulous drag queens, if I do say so myself…

I’m over Mondays.  I think they should be incorporated into a three-day weekend, wherein the world would replace Monday with Tuesday, effectively making The Day People Dread Tuesday instead.  I just really want a three day weekend, is all.  I think it’s a bunch of bloody bollocks that I had to do eleven hours of homework on a Sunday.  That’s asking too much of a good southern girl on the day of the Lord.   Good thing, then, that I am not a good southern girl.  But if I was, yesterday would have been unholy.  More unholy, I mean. 

I had a conversation with my friend Amy today that left no room for gray area on my sexuality.  And, of course, she was fine with it all, and I was just being paranoid.  I am relieved, though.  The thought of spending three years with someone that might judge me all the time, or be busy warding off invisible advances from me was driving me a bit batty.  All that worry for naught. 

I ate filet mignon wrapped in bacon and covered in a gorgonzola cream sauce, tonight.  It was easily the best meal I’ve had in ages.  My favorite part is that I didn’t have to pay for it…I forget how nice it is to go out to dinner with People That Have Money, that don’t bat an eye at paying for a round of filets for four.  Honestly, I would’ve been content to eat a burger that I paid for myself, so long as I got to enjoy the particular company I was surrounded with.  I can’t articulate how much it means to me that the one person, the one teacher, that has touched me and inspired me more profoundly than any other, felt the same joy at our connection as I did, and cares enough to keep up with me after I’m no longer his student.  Being in his company makes me feel almost serene with joy.  I think that I’ve never come so close to hero-worship as I have with this amazing man.  He awes me every time we meet.  And I love that. 

Also, tomorrow, for the first time ever, I get to turn in a scene painting project that I am really proud of, that absolutely fulfilled the requirements of the assignment (at long last!).  We’ve been working on this wood graining for three weeks now, and last night, I finally set the flat up, stepped fifteen feet back and the shit looks exactly like wood.  My head was trippin’ a little bit, knowing full well that I was staring at paint that I had brushed onto a soft-covered flat, but my eyes all the while were saying, That there’s some wood.  That there is also a skill that can command somewhere in the ballpark of $120 an hour, if I were working with an interior designer.  It’s nice to feel as though I am finally becoming marketable, in the lucrative sense of the word.  Lucrative is good.  I like lucrative. 

ALSO, this Thursday, I’m going to go to a public lecture and screening of a biography for this Japanese woman whose name I never can remember, that designed the costumes for Bram Stoker’s Dracula and The Cell and Cirque De Soleil’s Varekai, among other things.  I’m pretty f’in excited.  She’s supposedly this amazing writer as well as being an amazing designer, and the biography intertwines the two in a fashion that is purported to be pretty spectacular.  Can I say again, I love my school!  I. Love. NCSA. Yes please, cancel crew so we can go talk to the famous clothing designer, that’d be swell.  I’ll buy that for a dollar (or $7,000 a year in tuition and fees, as it were).  Please, sir, can I have some more? 

Anybody remember that video game?

I am convinced my house is haunted. I swear I heard something up in the attic, which you get to through a tiny hole in the linen closet. Lights do kind of funny things sometimes. And I swear I’ve heard singing before, which may or may not have been the neighbors. It’s odd…I’ve lived in haunted houses before and every one of them scared me. This house doesn’t. I keep getting images in my head of an elderly couple that lived here together for a long long time; it feels clear to me that this house was loved and enjoyed and saw plenty of good times. Maybe so many good times that someone didn’t want to leave even after expiration. That’s what I like to think, at least. I can’t help get creeped out from time to time, though…when Cleecloe sits and watches something dancing across the wall, I have to admit I get goosebumps.

Thinking back, there’s a much higher ratio of haunted to non-haunted homes, ever since I was eight years old. Looking back, I wonder if eight was the year I became aware of These Other Things or the year I moved into my first haunted abode.

See, here’s the thing that’s really put me to thinking about all this: Lately, on a very regular basis, I’ve been hearing people’s thoughts right before they say them. It makes me feel kind of crazy, this hearing voices in my head bit, and I would probably be in therapy right now if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m truly hearing the thoughts in other people’s heads, as they form for speech (if I had to guess…) It shakes me up every time it happens. I don’t want to be privy to what’s in other people’s heads…that is a dangerous realm. I’ve always had a little bit of The Shine, but it happens more and more as the years pass, and I suppose I’ve been wondering what I could do if I actually actively worked on harnessing whatever that is, if that can even be done.

Mostly, I feel like I don’t want more supernatural awareness…with the ghosts I’ve seen, and the Ouija Boards that worked, and the dreams that have come to pass, and the strange other-wordly happenings that would make me sound like a crazy woman to retell…I think I have quite enough supernatural awareness. Probably, if all of this amounts to anything more than the stress-induced delusions of a Mad Woman, I wouldn’t get to choose how much awareness I get to have, anyway.

It sure does help with card games. I swear up and down that sometimes I really can put the ju-ju on a deck of cards. Statistical anomalies left and right, I tell you what!

If any of that sounded crazy, well…cat’s outta the bag.

Mary Louise Parker was on campus on Friday.  The people that knew she was coming kept it a good secret, because no one knew she’d be here until she appeared as guest lecturer in the third year acting class.  My friend’s boyfriend was sitting in class, minding his own business, when here comes one of the most talented, delicious, intelligent contemporary actresses.  I don’t know that I could’ve kept my cool during a surprise like that. 

The thing that chaps my ass is that Mary MuthaFuckin Louise Parker went to a drama party on Friday night, and those drama students are so greedy, they wouldn’t let anyone that wasn’t a drama student in the door.  No one but drama students knew MLP was at the party, so it’s not as though people were lining up to get in and get an autograph, but still, they turned everyone away.  I didn’t know about the party until the next morning at Breakfast Club, when the one drama student in attendance informed us all of Her appearance. 

A little part of me wilted, knowing that Mary Louise Parker, beloved that she is, was no more than 500 feet away from me, with a lot of walls in the way, and I didn’t get to lay my own two eyes on her, or meet her myself.  I mean, she’s only my favorite actress.  And she was here.  At my school.  Her old school.  And I didn’t get to meet her.  Damn.  I’m over this widespread, absolutely intentional seperation from one school the next.  D&P doesn’t fraternize with film, who don’t hang out with drama, who don’t party with musicians, that don’t get down with the dancers.  And in the end, we all lose out, a little bit, on what the others could offer, be it knowledge, skill, friendship, or a little bit of star fuckery. 

DRo was eating a taco and driving tonight…the taco spilled lettuce and tomato, as tacos are prone to doing to drivers, and she said, "I’ve got taco in my Lady Taco".  I have in my head this image of a satin jacket with the words Lady Taco emblazoned across the back in sequins.  I am going to make that happen.  Perhaps I will bedazzle Lady Taco on the back of a jacket I would actually wear, however, satin not being my first choice in jacket material. 

My drop point draft is mostly done…which means I get to tag along with two of my fellow Painters on an errand to Asheville…a quick turn-around, but I think I will feel better just seeing the mountains and eating at the Lucky Otter on a nice Sunday (assuming it will indeed be a nice Sunday).  Katy has to go return a dog (?) to her old neighbor from last summer, since she and her bf called it quits, he’s moving to Chicago, and she doesn’t want the dog that he can’t take with him.  I hear that Karla drives like a maniac, so it should be an adventure.  It will be interesting, I’m sure, being in My Town (I mean, kinda…) with people from My Other Life.  I’ve never really mixed the two, and frankly, I prefer to keep the two quite seperate, but Katy and Karla are two of my closer friends here, so I have high hopes that we will spend an enjoyable six hours together, mostly in the car, but also drinking good beer and eating the burritos that Karla and I pine for when we are stuck on the Paint Deck, hungry. 

Speaking of the Paint Deck (and when am I not these days, I know.), I am having a dilemma of a variety that I haven’t run into in a while.  So I’m getting to be pretty good friends with the two first year grad Scene Painters…they will be the two that I paint with for the duration of my education, and they will be the two that I graduate with.  This is awesome, as they are both slightly older than me, and I don’t feel like a dithering old grandma in this sea of nineteen year olds anymore.  Again I say, I got nothin’ against people that are younger than me, I just connect differently, and I had greatly missed having people closer to my age to interact with.  So I’m loving the fact that they are my peers.  Except for the fact that one (and possibly both of them) don’t know that I’m gay.  As this is common knowledge on the paint deck, I was first mildly shocked, and then felt awkward when one of them mentioned something about me chasing cute guys.  I didn’t immediately say, "…you mean women…" when I should have, and now I feel like we’ve gone past the point in our friendships/working relationships where this bit of information should already be out in the open.  The rest of the ladies on the paint deck are all the time cracking jokes about women’s pants falling off around me or other sordid things of this nature, and somehow, neither of them picked up on all of that.  I don’t want to come right out and say, Hey I’m gay, but I also don’t want to allow misconceptions to continue that may cause awkwardness in the future.  I mean, if this is going to be an issue for either of them (they both come from fairly religious backgrounds), I would rather that it was an issue now, instead of them finding out down the road when we’ve known each longer, and then have it seem like I never mentioned it because of shame, or worse, because of the assumption that I wouldn’t want them to know because I am interested in either of them.  Which I am not…  I know it’s silly…I go to an Art School for cryin’ out loud; this place is a breeding ground for homosexual behavior, but still…I guess I am nervous that their perception of me will change, and they will become guarded or cold, when I am enjoying getting to know them so much. 

I think I have a little bit of the fear that some people automatically assume that because I’m a lesbian, I’m attracted to every woman I see.  Obviously, an untruth, but I just can’t gauge how they will react, and I don’t want to change the dynamics of our relationships.  We have a good time together…a bawdy, raucous, happy time, slopping paint all over the place and dancing to 80’s music while we work. 

This type of situation is really the last arena of life where I still hold onto insecurites in regards to my homosexuality, and while I don’t like it, I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I don’t have to worry about my parents disowning me or something more catastrophic than what two classmates might think of me. 

I didn’t think it would happen…the ladies on the paint deck made plans to cook a big breakfast on Saturday morning, and it actually occured. Grace and Karla arrived at my house at 10 am, finding me still asleep and having slept through my alarm. So of course I went into hyperdrive and was a crazylady, flying around the house, chopping veggies, cracking eggs, whipping batter, making mimosas…and then the next thing I know, there are ten people in my house, it isn’t even eleven, and we are getting buzzed on champagne and orange juice. Oh, that every Saturday would begin so happily. We ate omelettes and sausage and pancakes…it was delish. And so fun! I really like all the ladies of the Paint Shop…it’s nice that we get along well enough that we still enjoy seeing each other after our 30 hours of mandatory face time every week. It’s good to feel like I have more Real Friends now…as opposed to having two Real Friends and loads of School Friends.

Then we went downtown (it’s a GORGEOUS day!) and checked out the freshly erected set of Idomeneo, the winter opera…it looks better than I anticipated, but there are definite problems with sight lines…not my problem, though. What IS my problem is that I have a drop point perspective draft due Monday and I haven’t really so much started on it.

And, procrastination ends…Now.

I watched the Daily Show and the Colbert Report tonight at Steve’s house…I need to start doing that more often.  This self-imposed media black-out has to come to an end… Maybe it’s my parents words that stuck with me from long ago, "If you’re not a part of the solution, you’re part of the problem."  I don’t exactly feel like I’ll be doing my part if I sit back and put the blinders on and cruise around with my fingers crossed that the shitbomb doesn’t drop while my back is turned.  And, Apathetic Oblivion now concludes.  Today.  Right now. 

I think that Jon Stewart triggered this decision; he made a ‘joke’ about how we’ll be invading Iran any day now as they’ve released the information that they’ve got the biggest nuke.  I know it’s not exactly a surprise that America would be gunning for Iran before too very long…that was plain to see…but I suppose I was holding out hope that it wouldn’t happen.  I give it two months, tops, before Iran is the next Terrorist Regime we need to be concerned with, and Iraq will be swept under the carpet, out of sight out of mind.  I can’t help recalling the propaganda campaign from George Orwell’s ‘1984′, yet again…"We are at war with Eurasia.  We have always been at war with Eurasia.  Eastasia is our ally.  Eastasia has always been our ally."  Insert Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan…they will all suit for this exercise.  It’s depressing, and I don’t even know if I believe that Iran has this new, big nuke…I don’t know if I believe it at all.  I still remian unconvinced that the Sept. 11th attacks weren’t indeed orchestrated to set this Political Machine in motion, I don’t understand why we went to Iraq or why we’re still there, I don’t understand why Bush hasn’t been impeached, I don’t understand why anyone (everyone?) is taking this sitting down.  I don’t understand why American’s are surprised that The Rest Of The World thinks we’re domineering shitheads that should probably be stopped at all costs.  What I do understand is that by shutting out the news, and saving myself the anguish and the heartbreak, I am becoming more like Them, the ones that swallow the propaganda, digest it, and regurgitate it on command, because They don’t know any better.  I can’t have that.  That just won’t do. 

So I’ve decided I’m going to start taking advantage of the fact that the bus stops at the bottom of my stairs approximately twenty five times a day.  Granted, it’ll be a big ole pain in the ass to lug my paint box, drafting supplies, portfolio and tool kit on the City Bus, but it will be an adventure, and I will have stories to tell about the strange and wonderful people I meet on the bus.  Plus, I won’t be buying a quarter of the gas I currently use, and this will, at the very least, make me feel like I’m supporting the war less. 

There are so many pro-military movies coming out these days…DRo marveled at the fact that the movie ‘Annapolis’ was allowed to shoot on Annapolis Air Force Base.  I, myself, do not find this surprising in the least.  Of course the Air Force wants people to see this movie.  Of course they want it to seem authentic, harsh, adrenaline-packed, and noble.  This is how they recruit nowadays.  They make war look fun and adventurous, a place to become a man, maybe even a hero, a place to discover bestest friends that will save your life, in a pinch.  And they give out fun toys to execute all these fun missions, but what they don’t share is that if you survive the laugh parade of doing a tour, you don’t get to come home to the Blonde Starlet, and live foot loose and fancy free, ever after, knowing you’ve done your duty.  From what I hear, it’s much more gruesome than that.  All the nightmares and post-traumatic stress and negative side effects from the vaccines kinda counteract those feelings of glory and valor.  I mean, for some.  What do I know, anyway?  I’ve never been there.  I’ve just seen the movies. 

Insert random memory here:  I’m young, very young, three or four tops, and I’m riding on my mom’s shoulders through the streets of downtown Raleigh, and we are marching to the capitol in a protest.  The throngs of people around me and my mom are chanting, "What do we want?  E. R. A. When do we want it?  NOW!"  I appreciate the early exposure to protesting for what’s right…I think it planted an indelible spark in me…it wavers from time to time, but it will never fully go out. 

Stephen Colbert introduced me to a new meterological term that’s being bandied about by weather professionals these days: Thundersnow. This is his proof, for the day, that God is mad at America. 

I have to say that I’m a bit surprised that Zelema got cut tonight from Project Runway. I always knew she’d never go all the way to Fashion Week, because her style is highly recycled at this point…I never saw a truly unique spark or inspiration in her work. But Kara made the dullest, most cliche’ dress I’ve ever seen tonight…a black tube dress with a piece of caution tape sewn around it…borrrring…just like her last six outfits. She’ll never win. It’s a miracle she’s hung on so long.

Sweet ole Daniel V. managed to create a darling little number based on an orchid plant he saw in Michael Kors studio…which won him the challenge, and rightly so…I have my money on that one. One of the judges said they were a Dan Man, and immediately, the room full of six girls and one gay guy exploded in chatter about when we would make the t-shirts. I need one. I need it to be a dark red shirt with lavender sequins. But enough about that.

Santino appears to be humbled. This is shocking. He realized he doesn’t have the contest in the bag, and that he is, in fact, wavering on elimination every day. And also, he used the exact same material that Austin Scarlett used last season for his Grammy dress…and Jay was a judge tonight so that didn’t fly well…

Andre made a gorgeous dress, inspired by a dirty puddle of water in the gutter outside Parsons. It really did look much more expensive than the $100 buget they were given, and it moved as if it was fluid, with really lovely, subtle changes in color. I think he’s got a good shot at progressing to Fashion Week.

So there’s only four or five more episodes left until PR is over…and then I will be stuck in the No Mans Land between Project Runway and Weeds (which was greenlit for twelve more episodes after the Emmy win! Yay! More interesting, honest, aware, subversive TV on the way!).

Today, I learned the process of how to recreate brick with paint. We are only on step two, so far, meaning no painting has happened yet, but it was an interesting exercise in putting a puzzle together. A really, really REEALLLY big puzzle. Also, I got practice at drawing symmetrical ovals on a large scale…You never really think about how you’d make an oval eighteen feet wide until the task is presented.

DRo made a bit of fun at me this evening, over my being excited to learn this brick bit…And people can make fun all they like, but I enjoy the fact that I woke up this morning not having the foggiest clue about how I might begin to make a realistic painting of a brick wall, and tonight, I go to bed with a new, bizarre skill and knowledge. That’s really neat to me…that every single day I attend school here, I learn something random or practical that goes one step further in allowing me to realize my dreams and become the person I was born to be. I am not one hundred percent sure who that person is, but she must need to know alot about building materials, because that is certainly what my educational theme for the month has been.

Maybe I’ll end up building my boat, myself, instead of spending a cool $400,000 on a cozy, well-equipped yacht for two (and perhaps a kitty cat or a lizard or a bird)? Who knows. Although, there are some really fucking lovely yachts for less than the price of a 3 bedroom chateau on Town Mountain Rd. My friends and family aren’t responding very well to my intention of buying a boat in which to live on, instead of a house…the looks all say, “Right…because that makes any sense.” I say, they’ll whistle a different tune when I finally procure my glorious sailing vessel, and throw the most fabulous dinner party they’ve ever attended. Yes, I’ll show them…I’ll show them all!!! Mwa ah ah ah!!!

I have to say, I f’ing hate Tuesdays. They are so unbelievably long and tedious for me. I have a fourteen hour stretch with only one break, and I still hold true in my belief that 11 pm is too late to ask people to be at school, and still get up and come back the next day. Jay-sus. I’m just mad because I spent an entire evening snapping lines for a wooden floor, only to kick over a big ass cup of ink on the floor when we were about five minutes from done. Ink comes through paint, incidentally, so it’s a glaring mistake right there on the floor of the theater. Brown ink, cream base, Big Mistake. I feel bad…Tuesday nights I’m just not on my game, I can’t help it. I feel like it’s almost too much to ask of me to be alert and focused after twelve hours. The silver lining is that everyone goes to the bar after Tuesday crew. Although, maybe that’s not such a silver lining when I think about it…take one long day, mix it with some alcohol and bar time and it doesn’t necessarily make for the prettiest Wednesday morning I’ve ever known. I’m still unsure of why D&P folk think Tuesday is the night to throw down, but why mess with tradition. No one knows anymore Why Tuesdays, it’s just something that has always happen and apparently, will always happen. Ce la vie… And, truth be told, I AM drinking a beer right now because it DID seem like just what the doctor ordered…an ice cold Miller High Life after an evening of bad inking.

Something I really love witnessing while sitting in traffic: people rocking the fuck out in their cars. It makes me smile every time.

My friend Amanda is having a birthday party this weekend…I’m torn. I’d really like to go but I was just in Asheville two weeks ago (not even) and I feel like it’s too soon…as if I should save Asheville as some oasis from stress and work, when I really need a reprieve or am really missing my friends from home. It’s so tempting, though…so easy, too…two hours is awfully close. And I miss Asheville so very much, still; two years later, I still have moments where I think I was a colossal idiot to ever leave. I have days where it is hard to be here, hard to be away from the mountains and the only place I’ve ever really felt at home. I’m having one of those days today, although I’m sure it’s due as much to PMS as it is the fact that my car’s battery died again today (and I had to spend my one break doing car shit AGAIN!) and I’m tired and I can’t see the end of all the work in front of me and sometimes it gets me down. If I really examine the situation, I know that I love what I do and I love what I learn and I love the people I’m doing all of this stuff with, but it’s hard to know that I had a life I loved in Asheville, too, and that life was definetly more free than this one…meaning I actually had time to pursue hobbies and cook elaborate meals every night–these are things that help maintain sanity in times of stress, so what the hell am I supposed to do when I’m stressed out and don’t have time to do the things that bring me down from the stress? Drink? Smoke pot? Have meaningless sex? Eat Twinkies and french fries? No, yes, no and no.

First, though, I’m gonna take the hottest shower I can stand and go have some whiskey. Yeesssss, that will help, indeed.

Steve bought a pony to the paint shop last week. He is living there now, and has become the Shop Mascot. The pony’s name is Rodney; he has a cushioned back and steel supports inside so he can bear substantial weight. A fellow painter was a genius and put Rodney on a small dolley, so now we can ride the halls of school on Rodney. It’s funny the attention that a stuffed pony on wheels attracts…Everyone wants to come ride Rodney, even a couple of professors. You can buy a Rodney of your own for $17.99 at your local Harris Teeter. I’m tellin’ ya, the fun hasn’t stopped since that horse arrived! In celebration of getting out of crew early and finishing my wood graining in record time, I rode Rodney for a victory lap around the shop…So…Much…Fun. I haven’t laughed that hard in aaaages. Rodney has become so popular that one of the fourth year stage managers has gotten Steve to agree that Rodney can come to tech week with him…I’d really love it if the pony-on-wheels could usurp the Fucking Dill Pickle that is currently our school’s mascot. Granted, we don’t have any sports teams, but surely someone could have come up with something better than a pickle. Cute, at first…

I was looking over one of my syllabi this evening, and found a quote included from our dean. “Cutting class is academic suicide.” I was transported back in time to my college orientation session, August 2004, where I had to sit through a meet and greet with teachers and listen to the dean talk about how lucky we are, how hard we have to work, how this school demands the best yadda yadda. Right before me and the 200 other freshman were released, the dean made us repeat after him that “…cutting class is academic suicide.” Once was bad enough–he made us say it three times. Thinking about that tonight, I realized that the brainwashing started right then…because people Do Not Skip Class Here, and isn’t that slightly bizarre in a college setting? It’s almost freaking me out right now that I am going to a school that has a system of conditioning, tried and true, that creates some hard workin’ machines with abnormally heightened senses of responsibility and duty. I mean, we’re doing THEATRE here, people…and what is really gonna bug me is the uncertainity of knowing what else they’ve slipped past me, undetected by my propaganda radar, subtly and silently influencing me every day until I am the person They want me to be. Mind you, I have a lot of confidence in my strenght to think for myself as an individual, but I’m susceptible like the next gal. Plus, I’m pretty sure that some of their faculty meetings must include someone deciding, “Alright, this week ride them until they cry. Yell at them for no reason and don’t compliment them on anything.” Admitted by the administration, these are tactics that have been used previously. Scary.

And yet, I still love this school. Maybe it’s really a cult. Maybe that’s what this is.