A Hooker’s work is never done

How come the humidity is so much greater here in Raleigh than it is in Winston Salem, just two short hours away?  Driving down I-40 this afternoon, I rolled the windows up in order to talk on my phone (yeah, I’m a talk-and-drive kinda gal), and then for the next twenty minutes, I was mesmerized by watching the sweat seep out of my forearms.  I didn’t even know forearms had sweat glands, yo. 

I’m feeling a bit melancholy about this Leaving For The Summer.  This is not to say that I’m not disgustingly excited to get to Cape Cod and slave away all summer long in My Own Sweatshop, but still…  I guess I kinda like Winston Salem these days.  I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true.  Most of my fabulous friends are leaving for the summer, too, so it’s not like I’m gonna be missing out on a Wet Hot Summer or anything, but I like my life there, and I’m anxious to get back to it. 

How sick am I, school hasn’t been out a full week yet, and I’m already chomping at the bit to get back to it.  Again I ask, what have they done to me? 

Also, I’m sorely disappointed at the timing of my life, what with finally getting to spend time with the Lady In Red (I’m still vaguely surprised at my good fortune this past three days), and then, oh!, I have to leave twelve hours later.  Something to look forward to in the fall, I suppose.  Three whole months…ugh. 

My mom left me a present at my dad and stepmom’s house today.  She decided I had to have a cell phone that doesn’t roam anywhere in the country, for current and future jobs, and so she bought one and dropped it off.  So nice!  It was a big ole pain in the ass to manually input all the contacts from my old phone, but this new one is Sweet…color monitor, camera, the whole nine.  I love my mom.  She even made sure that I got to keep my old number.  I love new gadgets! 

I’m gonna go take pictures with my phone now.  It’s still such a novelty…

Tonight, in leiu of packing or leaving Winston Salem, I hung out with DRo, Karla and Steve. DRo cooked dinner–so good, so necessary, as I had to lay on her bare wood floors and cool off due to Hangover Hot Flashes. After dinner, we lounged on her lovely patio for a bit, and then decided to go see a movie. DaVinci Code may have stuck to the book better than most movies adapted from literature. While I can’t say that I liked the movie better than the book, I came away not hating the movie for bastardizing the book. Ya know, that awful condensation for Public Consumption…it’s so dull.

Tom Hanks was Tom Hanks, as usual. Meaning–he was good in the role, if not a touch overly dramatic at times. Crying as he kneeled down in reverence at the end of the film was a bit much for me.

Audrey Tatou of Amelie fame, however, was absolutely precious throughout. Could be I’m just partial to those doe-eyes of hers, and the soft and dark way she has about her. But also, she’s a damn fine actress. I liked seeing her in a role more action than whimsy. She stole my heart and broke it into a million pieces, over and over, every time she opened her mouth or looked sincere.

That large gap above was a moment of silence for the scene playing out in my head involving Mary Louise Parker, Audrey Tatou, and myself.

The Lady In Red came over to bid me farewell this evening. I can leave this town with a smile on my face now.

Now that the hangover is slowly evaporating, and I have just returned home from hanging out with DRo, for what may prove to be the last time, I’m kinda sad. It’s hard watching my friends leave…I’m happy they’ve made it, that they’re graduating and going out into the world, but, for completely selfish reasons, I don’t like it a bit. Even the people that I don’t like, at least they’re always around, being assholes, to remind me how great my friends are. I mean, there’s never a shortage of assholes to make my friends look like golden saints, but still. I know I should just get used to it, there’s never an end to moving away and moving on, but it’s hard To Know that there are some people that were more than aquaintances and not quite Friends of mine that I will never see again, so long as we both shall live. Of course, I wish them the best in all they do, but I will miss their faces, I won’t lie.

The theater world is a small, small place, and most likely, the people that I really care for, or the ubertalented ones, will resurface again and agian so long as I’m in the industry; I’m banking on the fact that we’ll get each other jobs forever, but I’m still here, and I’m tired of going to Moving Sales and Farewell parties, hugging people goodbye, knowing the law of stats so far as keeping in touch with college buddies goes…meaning, for every ten people I bid adieu, one of them will remain a friend.

I mean, whatever. Life is change. Everything shifts, subtly or pronounced, each and every day, but I’m in Change Oversaturation, and I’m a bit overwhelmed.

Plus, I’m pissed that I am too broke to be out at the club in Charlotte, with The Lady In Red, as we were both hoping might happen.

Sigh.

So, last night ranks as Top Five Best Times I’ve Ever Had.

Granted, I was so drunk off of liquor soaked fruit, that by three a.m., I couldn’t stand up straight, and I’m pretty sure I ought to be embarrassed by some of my behavior…but that hasn’t set in yet. I’m still too rough around the edges to care much. Plus, I’m leaving today. OK, tomorrow. I don’t think I should drive today. I would probably fail a breathalizer, still. Sometimes I wonder if it’s shameful, me being 27 and still partying with The Kids like I can do such things. Apparently, I can, but I don’t know if I should. But goddamn! it’s so much fun.

Also, I am a gigantic idiot. This superfuckinghot girl that I’ve been hanging out with a little bit lately had told some of my friends that she’s into me (which I didn’t find out til last night), and I ended up going home with her (I was SO sober when I left my house that my keys and cell phone stayed home from the party and I was locked out all night long), and then we stayed up til nine a.m., not making out. I don’t know what I was thinking. She’s really smart and really talented and really funny and she’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen in a red dress… and if I had to guess, I’d say she’s probably even hotter Not in a red dress, but I may never know. Bah! Silly fool, I am.

I mean, there’s always next year. We’re going to be working together next year, for sure, which is an added element of Maybe We Shouldn’t, but still…I’m dumb. If only I hadn’t been so drunk.

Beaux Arts highlights:

Kathryn Veillette got thrown out of the ball for having a flask. That shit was FUNNY.

The sound stage that had been transformed into a club was a hot lil setup, and very conducive to getting a groove on. Which we did for three solid hours, until we were all too sweaty to dance anymore.

I managed to kiss someone from every possible sexual preference category. This is a new record for an evening for me.

Apparently, the word on the street is that my place Is Where It’s At tonight, for Beaux Arts festivites. I invited my closer friends, and told them to bring a friend…and now I fear that this party is about to blow the fuck up, and everyone is drunk already and it’s only 5 pm. I can’t wait. I keep hearing from Randoms that they’ll see me later at my place. Word travels fast. That’s what I get for having a fierce house, I suppose.

So, party at my place tonight, to anyone that might be inclined to drive to Winston Salem to party with me One Last Time before September. It promises to be a fabulous, scandalous night.

Holla!

Today was the final day of portfolio review. As I had already stood under scrutiny for four hours on Wednesday, I got to leisurely stroll around on the other side of the tables and look at everyone’s work. When I say look, I guess I mean judge. That’s more like what they train us to do here. And I have to say, I’m impressed. I mean, sure–there were some absolute standouts, both good and bad, but overall, it’s quite a thing to look upon the work of 100 prolificly producing artisans, from painters to carpenters to draftsmen to stage managers to all the different types of designers. It made me fall in love with this school a little bit more. How lucky am I, to be surrounded by all this raging passion, constantly? Yeah, some of the passions range more towards vices, but hey–at least they indulge with vigor and joy.

After portfolio review, there was a party for graduating students, and any D&P student over 21. Howard, Vicki and Franco footed the bill for a killer wine tasting (4 different varieties of Good Stuff to choose from, all free!) and tasty tasty appetizers from Marshall Street Smokehouse, which is kind of the Friday Afternoon Spot to drink beer after crew. It was great fun…a handful of faculty turned out, and maybe 40 students; mostly scenics but there was a good smattering of costumers and the occasional sound guy. I really enjoy most of the people I go to school with; they are such an interesting and driven bunch.

I can’t believe I’m a junior. Time goes by fast here, sometimes too fast. Life moves so damned fast…the more days that happen, the quicker they come. I don’t think that makes much sense, but there it is.

Tomorrow, the large carnival celebration, Beaux Arts, is happening. I’ve never been before; last year, my job started before school was out, and so I missed all of the We’re Done With The Year, Bitches kinda celebrating. Beaux Arts used to be this complete bacchanalian fest of drugs, alcohol (provided by the school), dancing and sex, it sounds almost like a Beltane party from the stories I’ve heard. No more, though. There’s no alcohol allowed anywhere on campus, so all this means is that everyone gets really fucking wasted, really quickly, and drives to the club they set up in the sound stage. Poor planning on the administrations part. Teachers will shake their heads fondly, remembeing Beaux Arts of the past, recalling them as Some Of The Wildest Times they’ve ever seen in their varied and sordid lives in the entertainment business. Now that’s a party I’d like to see. It seems a shame…many a parent has commented on the trend of partying as hard as we work, and I say Amen! The pressure They exert us leaves everyone needing a release when the tasks have been accomplished, as They set forth for us, for the prior eight months. I’m just glad I survived it…I didn’t know if I would come this far in a school reputed to drive a few students a year insane with expectations and demands. I’m happy and proud that I’ve apparently made the cut…the completion of the second year is the turning point, where there really isn’t much turning back, only Working With What You’ve Got. I suppose what I mean to say is that it’s nice to finally feel confident in the fact that I have It, whatever is required to thrive and excel here. Maybe that sounds egocentric, maybe it is. But it’s true, nonetheless, and that is a joyous realization on my part. I have a hard time having confidence in my work, for whatever reason…all I can ever see in my finished product are the mistakes I made, the things I should have done differently…but that’s what drives me to become better at all that I do. However, it was nice and necessary to get positive feedback from the staff on Wednesday; I feel very much more secure in my place here. Whatever that place may be, for however long, I feel comfortable that I’m filling it just fine.

And, lastly, because it is the day before I am leaving the state for the summer, I have a date tomorrow with someone I’ve been really interested in, for the entire year. She is, quite literally, the most interesting student in D&P, in my opinion, and while it came late, I am happy for the chance to finally spend some time and get to know her a bit better. She graduates this year, dammit all. So, with my luck, we will hit it off famously and I will realize she’s the Perfect Woman, and then I will honk and wave as I drive away. Part of me wonders, Why Even Bother, and then the other, more optimistic side of me says, Why The Hell Not? We’ll see which voice in my head is correct on Sunday, as me and my cat and my car full o’ stuff hits the road. I think the date will be fun, regardless, and I’m excited and nervous in that Really Fabulous Way, where my stomach rolls around, singing it’s song about what a lucky lady I am.

Yep, that was a drunk ramble. Oh well.

I hung out with DRo last night for a while, when I did indeed get D-runk, off of one measly drink, so I shooed her away, put on Waterworld (what the fuck, right? hate kevin costner, loooove jeanne triplehorn and her lips) and promptly fell asleep on my couch. For fourteen hours. You know you’re tired when: you can sleep on a rapidly flattening futon mattress, undisturbed by cat or roommate, for more than half a day. My back is talking to me about that decision as I type this, but my brain feels better and more clear than it has in weeks. A very intense sense of relief has set in, which feels something like I remember E feeling like…lots of rushes that make the hair on my arms stand up when I realize, again and again, that I got through the sophmore slaughter without significant blood loss. Now I have to find something else to write about, since school is done for three and a half months.

I am vaguely freaked out about the fact that I leave NC in three days. Here’s the truth: I’ve never lived outside of NC for longer than two months in one shot, and I was on vacation in Greece and the UK, then. There was no work, there was no temporary but constant living quarters, there was no mailing address. I’m glad for this oppurtunity, and I think it’ll be good for me, but I’m still kinda nervous. For one, I’m fairly certain that there is not going to be internet access in my housing. People have been describing the living quarters as ‘kinda like cabins’, which is exciting, and horrifying, all at once. Apparently, I really am going to summer camp for adults that work in theater.

Also, the Monomoy compound is a tiny little peninsula, right on the bend in Cape Cod…meaning we’re surrounded by water on three sides. 100 yards to the left, right, and in front and there’s the Atlantic Ocean. So keep your fingers crossed that the Nor’easters stay away this summer…I could get swept out to sea, otherwise. Maybe some hot, rich, older lesbian will ask that I accompany her out to sea, to save her yacht from the storm. I understand that is a fairly common practice during hurricanes…to ride out into the storm and hope to survive it with boat (and life) intact. Apparently, there’s a greater chance of losing a boat when it’s docked during a hurricane. Of course, lots of people die this way. But it could be exciting.

Now begins the task of packing my life for this summer. I don’t own bedding for a twin bed…that’s something I’ll have to remedy, I suppose. My cat is evidently aware of what’s going on….she won’t leave my side for longer than it takes her to eat or pee. I’ve decided to take my bicycle with me, which should make for a very interesting 15 hour drive; I’m always convinced, while driving with my bike strapped onto my car, that I’m seconds away from a highway disaster involving the bike flying off my car and smashing into another speeding car, causing a 19 car pile up, for which I am then held responsible. But that hasn’t happened yet (knock on wood).

One professor summed up summer life in Chatham, MA for me, yesterday:

“It’s like a quaint, old New England town, built for Disney World, in 7/8 scale, completely populated by very rich people with no taste, whatsoever.”

I have a feeling I’m going to love it. I’m very anxious about it right now, because stitching 8 shows in 10 weeks is going to be a helluva challenge, but I’m also so thrilled, knowing that in my Off Time, I will be able to walk to downtown, go exploring in the marshes and tidal pools and huge bays in the area, ride my bike on lots and lots of wicked beach trails, and spend some time with the Ice Queen. Hopefully, her attitude will change, and thus, she’ll earn a new nickname. Ice Queen doesn’t really fit her anymore, which is good. If only I can convince her of the truth in one of my Life Rules: If it happens on a beach, in a tent, or in a foreign country, It Didn’t Officially Happen…

Portfolio review went off without a hitch. I got so many compliments on my work that I think the confidence deficiency Howard Jones had been breeding in me for the last two weeks finally went away. It’s over, officially. My obligations at North Carolina School of the Arts are suspended until September…and that is a great feeling.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get drunk and sleep for a whole day.

I completed my last project, attended my last class, for my sophmore year of college today. I cannot even convey how happy I am that that is a true statement. These last few days have been really, really long, but it’s done now, for better or for worse. Portfolio review is tomorrow afternoon and I’m not even nervous. I’m just so very relieved it’s over. This has been a really hard year, definetly the busiest of my life, with more work than I imagined possible. Looking at my stuff for portfolio review brings a deep sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, and that tempers the bone-weary kind of tired I am feeling right now…we really do produce a huge amount of work each year, which is lovely for the post-graduation portfoliio. But damn if it’s not terrible for a normal sleeping and eating schedule. I’ve lost eight pounds since Sunday. Surely that’s not healthy.

I can’t really make sense right now. I don’t have anything interesting, eloquent or intellectual to say. I’m just really happy that I get to sleep in on Thursday.

And I still have no clues about the Mysterious Handbag. It’s making me a little crazy. It’s a hot bag, though. I got oodles of compliments on it today.

This morning, at 2 am, I checked my school mailbox. It was empty. This morning, at 10 am, I checked my school mailbox (I wasn’t expecting anything…it’s just a good excuse to stretch my legs and get off the paint deck). When I arrived at my mailbox in the 10 o’clock hour, it was stuffed full of This Thing….which turned out to be a rhinestoned purse with a wooden base (real wood!) circa 1972, approximately. It is so fucking fierce, I don’t even have words. It’s leather, wood and rhinestones. And there was no note indicating who left this beautiful bag for me, or why.

When I first pulled it out of my mailbox, I thought I was hallucinating. Then I thought that I’d mistaken someone else’s mailbox for my own. I had not. I stood in front of the mailboxes for a good three minutes, just holding the bag in my hands and staring at it–I suppose it’s pertinent to the story that I’d been up for about thirty hours straight at this point, and thus my gigantic confusion, and extreme wonder at my good fortune. I mean, how often does That Shit happen? Magically, the purse of my wildest dreams shows up in my tiny mailbox (it was a perfect fit…slid in without an inch on any side) without any clue as to who I should thank. It’s bizarre. I wouldn’t really believe that it had happened if I wasn’t looking at the bag this very second.

I have questioned at lenght all of my friends that are good enough friends to actually buy me presents, and they all swear ignorance. I believe them, is the thing. Oh that it would be a secret admirer…that always sounded so exciting in the Young Adult novels that I read back in middle school. Or perhaps the faeries decided I’d been working hard enough to deserve a bejeweled gift.