marvinstwin

So everyone canceled class today, which is a little weird, but I'm not exactly complaining because it gave me time to sleep off yesterday's double migraine and then do about eight hours of sketching. *headdesk*

I've decided that the dancers in Manic Music are going to be a bunch of stripedy little clowns. To quote Spencer in the Backstabber vid: "What the FUCK are we going to do about these mimes??" Hopefully Mary Jean will like my concept and my sketches and won't think I fail at life. That would be nice. *headdesk* LIIIIFE.

I bought the Vampire Weekend album off of Amazon on impulse. I couldn't help it. It wasn't on Ruckus and harpsichords do something absolutely terrible to my self control. Why do you think I want to throw myself at Sir Percy all the time? Well, aside from the fact that he is the pinnacle of lacy perfection. *flutters fan* *tries to not hyperventilate at the thought of all that taffeta and lawn* *fails*

So, yes. Vampire Weekend: ridiculous and twee and awesome. Go listen. Ryan Ross approves.

ALSO, BUTCH WALKER'S NEW SONG "PONCE DE LEON AVE" IS ABOUT HILARIOUSLY AWESOME 3AM MISTAKES! HIS MYSPACE IS ENTITLED 'INDIE/GLAM/CRUNK'! I LOVE HIM SO MUCH I HAVE BROKEN MY CAPSLOCK!

TARA, WE ARE GOING TO A BORDERS BOOKSTORE ON THE 12TH AND I AM GOING TO BUY THAT CD AND WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A BUTCHFEST! THERE WILL BE DANCING AND SINGING AND BEING PRETTY PRETTY STRUNG OUT FOR A GIRL!

LIIIIIIFE.

\o/

YES!

ETA: My 21st birthday party is going to fucking rock! Seriously, best fucking birthday present EVER. Celebratory drinks are on me, January 20. Hell, I might even have one, too!

*hugs all around*

In the immortal words of my Writing I teacher: Don't botch it up.

So, I've decided that it's universal: straight boys annoy the unholy fuck out of me. Even the ones I like get on my nerves. I'm really starting to think that if there was a bright, heterosexual center to the universe, I'd be on the planet that is farthest from. Yes, that is a Star Wars reference. Yes, I am that big of a dork. Don't judge me. Don't look at me in that tone of voice. You make those references, too.

*sighs* I think I'm just hormonal. I really need to find some way to fix that. It's getting unhealthy. Back on the pill? Yeah. Yeah, that would probably be a good idea. I was on an even emotional keel when I was on the pill. I was functional. I miss that. A lot.

One of these days I'm going to break down and let them give me anti-depressants. I don't want them to do it. I love the hilarious highs and I occasionally need the lachrymose lows. I just hate those 1.5 weeks per month where I'm an absolute mess for no reason at all. It's highly unfortunate.

And, really, I'm fine with things where they are. When the estrogen finally leaves my system, I'll go back to being OK with this. I like this whole getting-to-know-each other thing. It's nice. There's no pressure. I just wish my girly bits would remember to think at the margin. Stupid things.

I want to take Latin dance lessons next through U-College next semester, anybody want to be my partner? Anyone? Bueler.

Anyway, the show closes on Sunday and Maryse and I are celebrating the return of our social lives with baked goods and a viewing of Velvet Goldmine. Its time we both went back to our roots and contemplated the heavenly virtues, chief among them being Ewan McGregor in shiny silver pants. ♥

Are you dead, Big Brother? Please don't be dead. I need you. Who else is going to mock my Batman comic and terrorize my cats? I'm going to be annoying like Pete Wentz and spam your inbox until you respond. Just so you know.

ETA: I've realized what it is about choreographers that makes me, as a costume designer, so unhappy. Choreographers are hopelessly vague. Descriptions of their pieces involve a plethora of phrases such as "kind of" and "it's sort of like_________, but not really." The only things they're sure of are the things they don't want, and those are usually the things that you think would make the piece look its best. *cough*maryjeanandherinsistencethatthispieceisnotperiod*cough* Whatever.

I think that sums it up pretty well, really. This week has been pure, unadulterated crap. I love working on shows, I do. What I do not like is working on them ALL DAY LONG because there is just that much work to do. And, to be honest with you, I probably wouldn't mind that either, if I didn't have so much homework on top of it all.

I have, in fact, done the absolute minimum of homework this past... week and a half? Fuck. This show is so utterly ridiculous. Putting on a production of this scale is more work than is technically feasible in our tiny, understaffed shop. And, of course, because I'm managing wardrobe for the show I have to go do everyone's laundry in a few hours, which is stupid because I haven't even done my own and I barely have any clothing left.

Cynthia, I miss you. I know you're not a theatre nerd, but you've been there. You get it. You've seen me during Hell week. You've been the Best Big Brother Ever(tm) and bought me coffee and taken me out for Red Robin and a movie when I can no longer deal. I miss you. I miss you so fucking much because all I want right now is a hug and some coffee and some time spent talking about boy!touching and how much missing the Rock Band Tour blows and I'm not going to get it without you here.

I'm so disconnected. I realized that this is the first show EVER where I haven't had my support network with me to help me deal with the stress. This is going to sound terribly emo, but nobody gets it here. Nobody understands how exhausting working on a show is. Nobody understands that I take this shit pretty fucking seriously and that even when I hate the cast and the crew and the director and myself, I still feel the need to pull a Nicholas Cage, do a good job, and make it the best fucking production of whatever crap it is that you have ever seen.

The cast is good. With the exception of a particularly bitchy 13 year old, they're all good people. They're respectful. They mind me and everyone else. It's so much better than at the Academy... but it's also very much worse. I don't know any of these people other than Maryse and Kate. And I only know Rob on crew. There's nobody to snark and snerk and generally dick around with between scenes. I don't know everybody enough to give them hugs and to out to IHOP and generally kvetch about what crazy shit this show involves.

I guess... I just don't feel like this show is, in any way, mine. I mean, yes, I worked on the costumes. I made all of that ridiculously awful striped fabric. I tried to make the seriously terrible pattern someone made work for Catherine's atrocious bathing suit. I just... I miss doing everything. I liked working at the Academy because I had creative control. I got to both design and make the costumes: pluck them from the ether and make them a reality. I liked doing that. That's why I'm switching my major to costume design. I want to get better at doing that. I want to take the ideas swirling around in my head and do something with them. I want the blissful euphoria of making the show's world come together with fabric and notions and things that sparkle under the stage lights.

This show has felt like absolute drudgery.

They spelled my name wrong in the program.

The costume designer thinks I'm stupid. Bitch, please. I know more about period clothing than she does. She has no right to lecture me and patronize me like I'm some sort of fashion virgin.

And the fucktards who keep bringing food for the actors to eat while in costume (which they aren't supposed to be doing) and don't do a damn thing for the crew, who don't get to eat food ever because WE'RE THERE ALL FUCKING DAY LONG? Fuck you. Don't make my job harder. I already want to shoot someone. You're moving up the list.

Grrr.

*sighs* That was a lot of navel gazing. I'm sorry. I've just been bottling this crap up for a while and I needed to let it out before I exploded all over the place and got stains on the walls.

Right now, I want a hug. A snuggle. A snug? And, to paraphrase our favorite version of Brian, a coffee as big as my head.

Damn. Off to the shop. See you on the flipside.

I'm pretty sure that, no matter how much I bitch about it this week, I actually missed the insanity of working on a show. I missed the frustration and the pointless rehearsals where I have NOTHING to do. I missed that look we all get on our faces when we're two broken threads/lamps/microphones/deliveries/PROPS away from cracking and committing acts of depravity with the script pages. I missed the gallows humor. I missed miming 101 ways to kill yourself and your fellow actors/technicians. It's ridiculously fun doing this shit and complaining endlessly about it. No promises, guys, but I feel like I may have come home.

That being said, an abbreviated list of things I could have done today instead of slaving away needlessly at the shop:

I could have...

...celebrated Michelle's 21st with wild, parent-sponsored Bacchanalia in Chicago.

...STUDIED FOR MY EXAMS.

...become an alcoholic and moved to Morocco with some guy named Kurt.

So, things have could have been better, but they could also have been much, much worse.

Fortunately for all concerned I am now at home, eating real food (no more free pizza to gum up my insides, whee!) and basking in the incandescent glow of my new 100 Watt light bulbs. Like Blinkin, I can see! *trips over the landmine of frilly things and papers in the middle of the floor* Nope. I was wrong.

Also, unending ♥ for Ryan who is the fairest of the fair and loves me deeply for who I am... no matter how many times I mooch rides off of him in his unfortunate little car. *hugs ^ infinity*

Tonight the moon sees someone I want to see. Several someones. I wish you were all here, my lovelies. It just won't do without you.

ETA: So, it just hit me that I have rehearsal on Tuesday at the same time as my Stats exam.  Fuck.  Hopefully Spitznagel will let me take it Wednesday morning after class?  PLEASE?  *cries*

Ugh. I'm so sick of making costume terminology flashcards. THERE WILL EVENTUALLY BE OVER 200 OF THEM. This, of course, wouldn't have been so bad if Bonnie hadn't randomly decided today that the midterm was going to cover another three centuries or so? Isn't that delightful? I think so. It's not like I have anything BETTER to do for the next two days besides study for this stupid exam. Please, kill me now.

The long weekend and the trip to Chi Town for Michelle's 21st cannot come soon enough. I need to get out of here for a while.

My brain is fried, you guys. Utterly fried. It's fried and on another planet entirely. I'm still feeling utterly stupid. *sighs* I have got to sort out my priorities.

I also need to take a quick nap. If I sleep for 1/2 an hour I'll be functional again and able to work until morning. There is too much work and too little time to do it in. I did not sign up for this.

On the bright side, Fall Out Boy's new stuff sounds pretty amazing. I'm pleased that they're switching things up a bit musically... letting their (and by 'their' I mean 'Patrick's') inner geekiness shine through. Also, Butch Walker's coming out with a new record soon! Hopefully the song for the Metalheads will be on there. ♥ forever.

Economics: 1, Aidan: 0.5.

Sequined Fabric: 1, Aidan: 0.

UPS: 1, Aidan: 0.

Collective Universe: 3, Aidan: 0.5.

I lose today like you would not believe.

In other news, MasQUEERade and Of Thee I Sing lighting load-in this weekend. Both of these events should be fun and I am actually excited(!). I just hope I don't die of crazy in the meantime.

Please tell me I'm reading Cyrano tonight.

Later.

Oh, before I forget, Band Marino? Freaking awesome. They're folksy and precious and the lead singer looks a little bit like Sam West, but sounds a little bit like a girl. They sing songs about RAINBOWS. I love them lots and want their entire album for my very own. *pets the precious babies*

Thank Fuck all that is over.

So, update? Yes.

I DO NOT HAVE A HEART CONDITION! Huzzah! Of course, I had to drive all the way out to West County in order for them to tell me that. Bastards. Still, it was good to hear that there's nothing wrong with the old ticker. It was also good to DRIVE again. I LOVE driving! Love love LOVE it! And, despite my initial misgivings about borrowing the flatmate's rather flash car, it was nice to be out on the road again, singing along to the CD in the stereo and navigating the winding roads. It was also nice to know that my parallel parking skills are not entirely gone. I had worried there for a bit, seeing as I hadn't parallel parked since the week before my driving test. New Mexico, ladies and gentlemen, Land of Infinite Parking Lots.

I slept all the way through the VP debates? Oops? I don't know. No, that's a lie. The problem is that I don't care. I hope everyone enjoyed them as much as I enjoyed my twelve hour nap.

I'm being productive again!

My mother mailed me the other boot. Unfortunately, my father was too cowardly to drop the other shoe. Lizzie had to tell me about the stray cat my step-brother picked up. I was livid. I'm pretty sure you could see the veins pulsating in my temples from SPACE. Mon papa and I shall, no doubt, be having words.

I just bought a new dress from American Apparel. It's one of those convertible ones made of raspberry-coloured jersey. I think I shall wear it to the MasQUEERade. I figured I would go with a fairly plain, but still flattering, outfit so that the METRIC FUCKTONNE OF GLITTER that Maryse and I are going to wear will really stand out. IT WILL BE FABULOUS!

Which reminds me... MASK TIME! I need to buy some black poster board, a dowel, some ribbon, liquid glue, and a cheap glue brush. I'm making something glittery and fabulous! Actually, I can probably pinch the ribbon from the costume shop some morning. I just need to find a time to do it...

Guys, I actually want to see Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. And not only for the bandom recast that will most likely happen (hello, this is me). I want to see it because I have infinite sympathy for Michael Cera. His characters always have that look on their faces like they can't believe their lives just went there and aren't even going to try to process it because it would only end in tears. I know that look, because that is my life. It always goes there, and my misery loves company. I also want to see if the film actually manages to have realistic gay characters. I want to find more films with gay characters that don't make me cringe. The list is depressingly short.

And, now that I have unburdened myself upon you, I need to go do more work.

Chin chin!

For some inexplicable reason, my drawing of EROTIUM, the courtesan from The Brothers Menaechmus, bears more than a passing resemblance to Billie Piper.

*grins*

I can't wait to see how the others turn out!