A Hooker’s work is never done

I knew it would happen…that I would finally have a day here wherein I do not want to look at all the same faces I’ve been seeing every hour of every day for the last month. Good thing I like them a whole lot or else I’d be Really Bent Out Of Shape. It’s not an easy lifestyle…living in a gigantic haunted house with tiny rooms and nooks and crannies at every turn, with walls made of paper, and a complete lack of privacy on any level whatsoever. Even the bathroom affords no privacy; I can have conversations with the costume designer who lives upstairs from me while I’m on the can. I’m not entirely convinced that the mostly sheer curtains in our bathroom are enough to even vaguely obscure the Bathroom Nudity that we all, necessarily, engage in. There is some unnecessary bathroom nudity, as well…The Loud One likes to sing show tunes and preen naked and leave the curtains open so you can see right in when you use the driveway. It seems the Loud One may indeed be getting canned on Saturday, from the whispers going on. There’s always drama in a Theatre Camp, I suppose that’s an unspoken law.

We are two days away from the end of Oklahoma, and I must admit, as great as the show is, I am looking forward to not having to hear it twice a day. The songs are already permanently ingrained. It’s catchy, maddeningly catchy. On Saturday night, we close Oklahoma (every show sold out so far…hells yeah) and then we immediately start strike. We have until 2 a.m. to demolish the current set and lights, wash and store all costumes, and clean well enough that Load In can begin promptly at 9 a.m. on Sunday morning. The first change-over is genearlly a doozy, from what I hear. Lots of actors complaining about having to move stuff after performing and lots of techies having to tell them to suck it and do that shit. Should be a blast.

It’s been raining or overcast for the past three days…I am beginning to tire of it. It’s making me really cranky. Something else that is making me really cranky is SM. We’ve entered into this new territory where I’m unsure of what’s going on, because our interactions are beginning to distinctly take on the tone and feeling of two people that are not only about to hook up, but are about to Like Each Other, as well. Nothing physical has transpired, which, while frustrating, is not surprising to me. I mean, it took a year and a half for her to instigate a conversation. But now that we’re talking every day, a lot, come to find out, I had her pegged completely wrong This Whole Time. The fact that she surprises me so much only adds to the growing attraction (which needs little encouragment to run wild, as is). I dunno, man…that immediate feeling of Knowing that I had on the first day of drawing class two years ago, it’s humming loud and constant inside of me, singing some song about her color-changing eyes, the immense and varied talents, a deep intelligence, a sense of humor I’d never even seen traces of, previously. I knew I needed to know her the first time I looked at her, and back then, she was withdrawn inside her flannel shirts and an unhappiness that seemed to pour off of her. I remember thinking to myself, seeing her walk down the halls with her head down, that she had lost her joy. Not so anymore. She glows, these days. Not only has she lost a lot of weight, she dresses in colors outside of the tan/brown/dark blue/gray/olive green range in the spectrum, and most notably, she smiles. It makes me smile to see her smile, because it’s as radiant as I suspected two years ago. And man oh man, when I’m on the other end of one of those smiles, I melt, and for two reasons:

One—she’s smiling at me.

And two—there’s that Girlfriend that calls her on Every Single Break. Things always get really awkward when we’re eating lunch together and the phone rings, like it does every day, and she has to get up and walk away to talk to her Girlfriend, that coincidentally HATES ME. Recently, she’s been answering just to say she’ll call back, which is better than hearing her call someone else Babydoll while she’s looking at me and not looking at me, both just as pointedly. I do not look forward to The Visit; that should make for some uncomfortable times. Yay!

We went out for ice cream yesterday, me and SM. First time we’ve ever been alone anywhere that required a drive to get there. It was too f’ing cute, I tell ya.

See…I like this woman more than I should, given all the reasons that we can’t be together now. Casual summer fling is one thing, but I don’t know if I could do this casually and not end up Wrecked, if the truth is what I’m telling here. I am trying to be happy with the Being Friends things we’re cultivating, but it’s hard, really really hard, when there is this magnetic pull happening between us. I know I’m not alone in it, but that doesn’t make it any easier. She’s torn, I’m frustrated, and it’s not as though we’re talking about any of it. That will change soon, I know it will. I’ve never been good at holding my tongue in situations like these, and why should I? Life is short and shit.

And lastly, Alex Moldovaneau is one of my best friends in the whole wide world. Even if I still can’t spell her last name right. Even if I am guilty of horrid omissions on MySpace internet surveys about my best friends. Yep, she’s my OD, original dawg.

It’s so humid here, in the weirdest way…it’s not muggy like gross NC ‘could-cut-it-with-a-knife’ kinda sticky, but every time I walk out of the door from my room, I can see the air swirling around the light, little droplets of water spinning overhead. Its neat and baffling, all at once.

It’s still chilly here. I was lying in the hammock tonight when I realized all of a sudden that I was freezing, and I was wearing a sweater and jeans. It’s crazy. I’m not used to cold at the end of June; it’s fucking with my internal calendar, for sure.

Life is still good here, albeit busy. Magnificent Yankee has been slow in comparison to Oklahoma, which is nice, since I wanted to rip my eyeballs out the last three days of Oklahoma…

I feel this really bizarre sense of calm this past week… I’ve settled into the rhythm of life here, getting up early isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, I don’t have to think about paying bills, meals are provided for me, there are no alarm clocks, I don’t have to lock doors, I don’t have to drive my car, and I get to spend time doing amazing things with amazing people in an amazing place. It’s sweet. I am (mostly) very contented with working my ass off, eating meals with my buddies, and then lying in the grass for the remainder of meal breaks. I’m getting a nice, healthy looking tan from all my hammock time. There are swings galore, and a baseball field with a playground next to us (behind the liquor store) and everyone here loves and appreciates what we do. We just get to bask in praise, around the clock. It’s a nice feeling. I’m very relaxed, generally speaking, which is lovely, and rare, and I feel gooooood. Healthy eating, time in the sun (of which I got None at school), good people, good conversation, good work. I dunno..I’ve been struck with a case of Gratitude, I suppose. I still shake my head at what a far leap this is from my first theatrical experience, and how I could have never guessed that That would get me Here. I’m a lucky lady, that’s for sure.

My friend Heather from the Goodspeed is coming to visit me in a couple of weeks, for the weekend. I am THRILLED. I love her so much, and it’ll be really nice to have someone from the outside world here. A reality check, as it were. So as not to forget that this isn’t Real Life and it will all be over in the blink of an eye.

I’m spending more and more time with SM, which is great, and absolutely maddening. This is how most every night goes: we get a buzz, we sit around and talk, Heavy On The Eye Contact, everyone leaves but the two of us, our knees start bumping as we edge closer to one another, and then she suddenly springs up and goes to bed, practically at a jog. I can literally watch her morals come into play, each and every night. Maddening, I tell you. It’s confirmed that the girlfriend knows I’m here, which makes me squirm because she might make my life miserable next year, just for sport, just for knowing that I’ve had a summer to stare at her lady while she’s 1000 miles away.

I think about this too much. I am the Queen of OverAnalyzing.

And anyway, I’m in love with the Swiss percussionist that’s playing the drums in Oklahoma. That woman is all the time giving me the eye, and I keep getting this feeling like I know her, but that’s simply impossible. But oh my god, a redheaded drummer from Switzerland, age approximately 33 (my favorite!), with a wicked fashion sense and delectable forearms.

One day, I will have other things to write about aside from my Crush Of The Day. I promise.

At 3 this afternoon, on this one of two days off all season, we were directed to another mansion on the shore. It was incredible, absolutely incredible. I feel like I’ve had a taste of How The Other Half Lives, and I can’t tell if I love it or am horridly disgusted by it all. The conspicuous consumption is like nothin’ I’ve ever seen, thse opulent houses built for one, maybe one and a half months of living every year. Here is a perfect example of what I’ve seen on Cape Cod thus far:

When wandering through this Rich Folks house this afternoon (they were all in Europe, just opened their doors and let us run wild), I wandered into a small bedroom, with two stripped twin beds, two modest end tables, and one dresser, with the name Betsy painted on it, in curly script. Hanging above one of the stripped mattress was a Degas. An original muthafuckin Degas. A pencil sketch, still gridded, of a woman seated on a bench. But a Degas. In a room that no one uses except maybe two weekends out of the year. I mean, WHAT? Some young girl at some point slept underneath a pencil sketch executed by a master. I was left wondering if Betsy could even appreciate that. It was nothing fancy to look at, I will say that, but nonetheless. A Degas, y’all. Probably worth more than my entire family’s wealth combined.

The silver lining to a fancy fabulous day was that I spent the entire day with Snow Melt, from noon to eleven. We had some good laughs and snuck away together for a while, where there was absolutely no touching and insane amounts of tension, but it was really fun. It’s nice to bask in natural beauty and immense wealth in the company of someone I’ve really liked for a really really long time. There’s still lots of monogamous morals that are standing in the way of what I now recognize as something we both want, and while that knowledge is a small moral victory, it’s a victory, nonetheless. I also see what a Danger Zone I may be entering into; after imagining, craving, wanting something for so long, two long long years, the possibility of having Built It Up is strong. And that is No Good.

I feel good after this Day Off. It was much needed. Plus, they fed us good burgers in large quantities. Nothing like a beef infusion to energize ones self.

A Degas. What the fuck?!?!

Well, in a truly idiotic move, I participated in the drinking of not one, not two, not three, but four! bottles of champagne last night. Granted, there was a good number of us slurping up this expensive stuff, but still…Still. There were seven bottles of champagne sitting on my back porch in a cooler full of water, and most all the tech staff had the evening mostly off, so we did what any group of overworked, television deprived people would do…we got drunk. I ended up staying up til 3 with the Ice Queen, talking and getting hammered and attempting to stifle the wild beating of my heart, which I felt sure was visible to the general public. And then we had load in this morning at 9, the whole company, and I was unable to ever ascertain whether or not I was still drunk when I carried the scenery up the muddy hill to the rehearsal tent. It was a long day. I hope I learned a valuable lesson about champagne, but honestly, I thought I had learned that lesson already. Monomoy is big on champagne. They like to serve it up all the time. There are just cases and cases of the stuff on hand, just in case.

I took a field trip into Hyannis with the lighting department and my costume designer for Magnificent Yankee, Eric. Me and Eric are buddies, and I am looking forward to working with him in the shop. We both fell asleep on the car ride back, and then laid about in the hammocks in the sun for another hour after returning, because he was just as busted-feelin as me. I am getting a very nice tan, which is excellent.

So, tonight, after the show, we all piled into a caravan of cars and headed off to Some Other Rich Person’s Home, at 11 o’clock at night, the evening before a two-show day. We arrived at a very nice home, with a truly lavish spread of food (an entire lobster for each person!) and a great back deck where we all converged. I was horribly uncomfortable, do mostly the fact that the guys here had emphasized that we didn’t need to change clothes after work, just get in the cars and go! But we get there and there’s a fucking professional photographer from some theater magazine, and two journalists running around interviewing people. Of course, they didn’t give a shit about the tech staff, not even the designers, and that’s all fine and well, because at least the flash bulbs weren’t going off in my face. But then I ended up not eating lobster, because I know myself, and as I was wearing a wife beater under a cardigan, I Just Knew that I’d crack that lobster and a big greasy jet of Lobster Guts would squirt right onto my chest and then I’d appear in some national magazine (in the background of a picture, of course) with a gigantic stain on my tits. Oh hell no. I stood around and had a cherry stem tying contest with Eric (I won, clearly, because I’m a lesbian and he is a straight man), and then chatted with the Ice Queen (who will heretofore be known as Snow Melt) for the rest of my forty five minutes there… I was too freaked out to stay for long. Even the Don’t Go look I got from SM couldn’t keep me there in the ambient light of the flashbulbs. It never occured to me that this is a reality that I might have to get used to…I mean, sure, I can say it on paper, and it sounds nice, this Getting Used To Press and Wealthy People, but I am soooo not there in my head, yet. I’m awkward and I don’t dress like they do and my tattoos offend them and I can’t kiss ass or make idle chit chat about air travel or boats. Hopefully, this won’t really be an issue in the future, as the people throwing the parties will ideally be my friends or coworkers.

It’s thundering outside, the rain is pouring down and I have a touch of a hangover, still.

My roommate just said, My Body Is A Physical Comedy. She has no idea how aptly she’s just described herself. But not in a good way.

The first matinee of Oklahoma is beginning Right This Second, and even though some might say I should have hidden myself from the Very Rich patrons, I refuse to give up my spot outside the costume shop, in the shade beneath the hundred year old roses (pink and red). Therefore, I have spent the last fifteen minutes fielding quesitons about a town I know almost nothing about, and weathering the stares of those people that find tattoos tasteless, when really I Just Want To Be Left Alone. Show times are almost the only time it’s ‘quiet’ around here, which is funny, because that’s when the most people are packed onto The Compound. The actors and techies are all busy, and I can sit outside in the never-empty courtyard and enjoy the roses and the hydrangeas and the noise of the fountain and the privacy. I never expected to be so excited to be left to my own thoughts. This whole lack of privacy thing is tricky.

Yesterday….yesterday was exactly what I needed to be able to continue with this insanity. A ‘thank you’ from the managing director came packaged in a day off (my first in two and a half weeks, or 190 hours worth of work), wherein he took myself, the costume desinger, the lighting designer, the electrician and the props master out on his boat for the day. My wishes for the summer were fulfilled in less than three weeks…not bad. We cruised around for about an hour, touring the private beaches and ogling the 25 million dollar shorefront properties. We docked about 2 miles east from our original staring point, on a thin strip of beach accessible only by boat. He surprised us with a lunch from the deli down the road, complete with soda and desserts (which we Never Get), and then we just hung out for five hours on this beach, this beautiful, breath-taking, Rich Folk Beach. There were maybe five other people on this beach, which was maybe a mile and a half long, 60 yards wide. The sand was whiter than I’ve ever seen, the water was crystal clear azure blue, too cold to really swim. It was surreal, truly. I felt like Jodie Foster in Contact, when the alien that is also her dad puts her on that tropical paradise beach to make her feel comfortable. I wondered aloud several times how it was that I found myself lounging on a private beach in one of the most priviledged parts of the country, one of the most pristinely beautiful and utterly untouched by development. There was no trash, not a speck, not a singular beer bottle or empty condom wrapper to signify any human presence before my arrival. The coolest part was the seals. They were Everywhere. In a moment I will never forget so long as I may live, I was lying alone on a sloping sand dune, cherishing the Alone Time, sweaty from a walk collecting some smooth rocks (I found one with fossils! So Cool!!), not a soul in sight as far as I could see…I was all alone on this incredible piece of Earth, and much to my delight, I was joined by a pack of about twenty young seals, floating in the surf not fifteen feet away from me. They splashed and frolicked, clearly enjoying the clear skies as much as I was. After watching them for fifteen or twenty minutes, I decided to brave the cold water and wade in. I got about ten feet away from them, and realized I had a captive audience of twenty. I stood in the surf, rocking back and forth, trying to keep my footing in the shifting sand, and stared into the shiny black eyes of these seals. They looked like really big prairie dogs sticking their heads out of the waves instead of the sand. I don’t know why, after a few minutes, I squeaked at them, and they all disappeared like they’d never been there in the first place. It was magic.

I came back to The Compound, warm and giddy from the sun, and took the best nap of my life. These hours have been really hard. I can be a workhorse for anyone so long as they give me enough time to recharge my batteries. Oklahoma is a wild success, and I’m quite proud of the fact that I built ten period costumes in a meager week and a half, with one and a half sewing machines, and not much prior experience in stitching. It’s been a confidence booster, for sure. The reviews have been fantastic and we’ve all gotten so much praise from Really Rich and Mostly Important People that my head is swimming a little bit. Apparently, we had about ten billion dollars worth of people under our roof last night, and these are all people that really love theater, the kind of people that like to make friends with actors and designers and directors, the kind of folks that win Tonys…and they sure do love some Monomoy Staff right now, and will hopefully be more than happy to recommend all of our services, anywhere they might apply. What I mean to say is that I’m utterly exhausted and terrified that I have to do this seven more times in less than two months, but I feel so very priviledged to be here, in this company, in this place…It seems like a really good jumping off point for all of my wildest dreams. I woke up this morning and ate breakfast with a man I’ve seen on Law and Order before, and it felt perfectly normal for the first time. I applied a moustache to a man that won two Tony’s in the 70s, and then belly-laughed with a man very instrumental in producing The Producers. Maybe I shouldn’t even be talking about this…I gather that discretion is a valuable asset in this business, but I’m still in such shock that I have to spill it, I have to repeat it here because I hardly believe it myself.

Thank you, North Carolina School of the Arts for allowing me your good name and contact info. Thank you, Plaiedes Productions for introducing me to this crazy world that is everything I imagined, and more hellish than I could have believed, and more glamorous and ugly and wearisome and energizing than anything I’ve ever tasted. Thank you, champagne for making me feel this giddy and happy, and allowing me to forget that it’s so moist I can see the air. Thanks, Cape Cod, for being so purdy.

The rich people are flooding out, and the instrumental version of Surry With A Fringe On Top is playing. That’s my cue to vacate the courtyard.

Okla-muthafuckin-homa opened last night, to rave reviews and a very appreciative audience. The last three days leading up to it were pretty awful. At one point yesterday, when I went to my car to shove a handful of Cheez-Its in my mouth (I have a secret stash in my car because people like to eat/drink/smoke up everything they can find around here) and I almost got in my car and just drove away. I didn’t realize I could sew That Fast, that’s the moral of this story. And it doesn’t even look like shit! Watching the second act last night–as we were still sewing for the second act through the first act–there was a great sense of satisfaction and pride of I Did That, and did it in a week and a half, to boot. Me and the designer are feeling pretty good about the miracle we pulled off.

As a reward for all the Really Hard Work the forty of us just did in the past two weeks, we had a Raging Opening Night Party. The company provided 15 bottles of champagne, this stuff known only as Monomoy Punch, and two watermelons saturated with some kind of liquor with straws stuck in it. These are supposedly Monomoy traditions, which I am now inferring to take that these people Like To Party, and Do It Well. All these rich people that like to drink Scotch and talk investment banking, they sit around and watch the young folk party. Maybe it makes them feel young. It was slightly bizarre to stand around with a bunch of white hairs and drink punch that truly lives up to it’s name.

There is a lot of partying around here.

Of course, since I wrote the Ice Queen off, she is now Up On My Jock. We got likkered up on punch last night, and talked for about five hours. Lots of laughing, which was a surprise. I saw her smile more last night than in the two years previous. She actually has a sense of humor. And apparently, a whole lot of self control. Right when things were getting good–you know, the drunken leaning on each other, lots of giggling that had us doubled over, rocking back and forth–and then she abruptly went to bed. Damn her self control.

Today, I get to go on the boat. As a reward for The Miracle of Oklahoma, Alan is taking five of us out on his boat, for a tour of the Cape. I am so f’ing excited!!! Off to get sunburned!

Who knew? My thumbs both have new callouses from where needles from hand sewing keep stickin’ me.

Last night, me and Paula sewed until 5:30 in the morning. Fuuuuuuuck that. That’s the one and only time I’ll pull an all-nighter for summer stock.

Then, at 4 pm, I had the most intense two hours of my costume career. It was craaazy, man. I don’t understand this place. I had a 95 hours work week, no days off since I’ve been here, and I have to wait seven more days to get Half A Day Off. I tell ya, if the people weren’t awesome, and if I wasn’t learning to sew like a champ, I’d get in my car and drive away. They can’t be doin’ this shit all summer, yo. That’s slave labor.

And now, the Champagne of Beers awaits.

Today, I sewed faster than I’ve ever sewn before. There is an awesome sense of satisfaction in knowing that I single-handedly altered ALL of the mens costumes in twelve short hours. It’s amazing to me how quickly my sewing skills have improved since I’ve been here…I guess that is what the artistic director meant at the meet and greet on our first day, about how we’ll have an incredible sense of pride, looking back at the end of the summer and knowing that each and every one of us is wholly responsible for some aspect of the production. I mean, I’ve only been here eleven days, and we’re ’bout to open our first show, which is gigantic to the point of being ridiculous. Almost. I’ve never seen a production of Oklahoma…it should be enjoyable. There’s acrobatics, and fight choreography, and suprisingly good vocals. Fuckin’ Oklahoma, though…it’s never excited me. Maybe it will, when I can say, Hey I made that dress. Yep, all 145 yards of ruffle on stage came from my hands.

This place gets more and more intriguing every day. The new costume tech is already posing a problem. She had been here for two days (they were light days; we were awaiting costume shipments that had been delayed when a UPS train derailed in southern Massachusetts) and she made the poor decision of talking shit about me and the designer Paula (who I adore…we get along SO well) to my friend from school, Preston. Preston reported immediately to me, to give me the heads up about this woman talking shit about my “sub-standard work ethic”. So she and I got into it on her third day here. Big fun. She’s totally fucked up the very pleasant dynamic Paula and I had goin’ on in the shop, which is a bummer, but admittedly, the extra hands are much needed. If only I had three more arms sprouting from my trunk, all would be gravy. She’s an actress, primarily, and it shows. She is also really into computer RPG, and bad musicals. She is what I used to call a Drama Fag in high school, sexuality irrelevant. You know the ones….they walk around in trench coats smoking cloves and quoting Rocky Horror Picture Show between crying jags. Paula and I get along well enough that we can at least feel like we’re in it together…there’s that, at least. PLUS, I’m gonna know how to sew very well by the end of this crazy summer.

Time is going by very quickly here. And I’m having a really good time, thus far. I know I’m only two weeks into the twelve week job, but if things only slow down from here (the first three weeks are apparently always the worst), I have high hopes that it will be a mostly pleasant summer. The weather here is kinda crazy…when it rains, it Rains, until things flood and the sheets in my bed feel moist to the touch. The bugs are Off The Hook; ticks, ants, weird stinging flying things, termites, spiders, they’re all here and they’re everywhere. I’m starting to not care as much about the bugs…lying in the grass after lunch is too much of a pleasure to give up for the sake of avoiding bugs.

Last night, I laughed harder than I have Ever Laughed In My Life. My entire body is sore from the solid forty minutes of non-stop, hysterical, gut-busting Silent Laughter. Michelle and I were up until 2 in the morning in the courtyard, wracked with literal spasms of laughter that neither of us could explain or stop. It felt great. I almost felt like I’d gotten laid this morning, I felt so good. I mean, aside from the Champagne Hangover. We celebrated five people’s birthday’s last night, and The Boss provided 4 big-ass cakes and a case of expensive champagne for the occasion. Of course, the techies were in charge of decorating the cakes and lighting the candles, so we stood in the kitchen, waiting for Line Notes to be done, with these big cakes and all these bottles of champagne on the counter. There were six of us in there, just chatting, when one of the bottles popped itself…so we had to drink it. I should have known how the night would go from there. I had three glasses of champagne, and then I laughed for the rest of the night. It was really pretty great. The cook made up a big platter of leftovers(philly cheese steaks, spinach wraps and BLT’s) and hauled it into the Bull Pen, along with his TV, and Steve Martin’s The Jerk on VHS. it was the first TV I’ve watched since I got here, and I had forgotten how funny that movie really is.

The Boss invited me and Paula to spend a day on his boat next Wednesday, the day after O….klahoma opens. I am STOKED. It looks as though all my daydreaming about what a summer on the Cape could be was mostly correct…with the exception of the Ice Queen. Although she is more accessible, I find her less attractive every day, and instead see her for the pretentious, judgemental, stuffy person she truly is. There’s a cute electrician that I’ve got my eye on, anyway…

Oh, I did the dumbest thing and pressed two of my fingers on my right hand, directly onto the Very Hot Iron today. I’d been using it for about thirty minutes, so it was really cooking, and when my fingers made contact, they sizzled against the metal.
I can’t really feel the burn, which is generally a sign that it’s a Good Ole Burn, but I put butter on it at Paula’s suggestion, and there is not a trace of blistering to be seen. Do burn units use butter on people? I feel like it’s some secret miracle drug.

I don’t have to drive my car in order to survive here. I really, truly Love That. There is a pleasure and a joy at being so self-contained, and also living in a town that is so small, you really can walk anywhere you might need to go. It IS slightly odd, realizing I haven’t left The Compound in days…but there is a new pleasure in being so self-contained that everything I need is provided Right Here. Aside from privacy and quiet, I mean.

Today, I was on a veranda for the first time in my life. I mean, an honest to god veranda. It was adjacent to the croquet lawn, which was next to the Secret Garden with a hedge that reminded me of The Shining. The veranda overlooked the small inlet to Martha’s Vineyard, and we sat outside and ate fancy food, in our fancy clothes, marveling at the fact that we’d never been to a home so grand and opulent. There was a private beach where I found a bunch of sea glass and smooth, round stones with fossils running through them. All these smooths stones make me wonder when my rough edges will wear off.

So this place is infested with ants…I had to leave work a half hour early to shower off the ants, literally.

And then there’s my roommate that makes me crazy. She is the most intrusive person I’ve ever met in my life, and if we were all stranded on a mountain pass, I’d eat her first just so she’d stop talking.

Tomorrow, we get to have a bar-b-que at this woman’s house that was showcased on the Discovery channel show called Best Views In America. Needless to say, I’m totally excited. I mean, if it doesn’t rain.

I like this place. I’ve settled in pretty nicely, and the few pests aside, it’s an entertaining, enjoyable place to be. I might sing a different tune come tomorrow, when we have to make ten skirts in a day, but it’s fun and gorgeous, nonetheless.