19:39 - 2004-02-03
Break A Leg
*walks past with glass of White Cranberry Peach Juice*
.....Are you people still here?!
Good gosh! Well, I won't tell you what I'd rather be doing. Seems like you've been a pretty loyal audience and I gotta give you that much, so I'll be nice.
Though I will also toss a pleading, despondant glance back into the horrid stillness of my bedroom and the even more unbearable peace in the air surrounding my telephone.
And! I will make a big scene biting my lip and clenching my fists and growling because no ringing is happening and the clock is just running so slowly....
It's what? Ten?
No, it's seven. Ugh. I'm spending every waking moment trying to scare up something to help me ignore myself.
Do I want to go into why I am trying to keep my mind off of certain things? Obviously not if I am trying to expell them from my mind.
I hate to say it folks, but I've ignored you for weeks now. Do you really think I want to alleviate my matters with you? The generic readers are my audience and that alone, thank you for your concern if any exists. But you are summed up mostly as a "diary" and I do not write these things to plead for sympathy or assistance, though it is truly decent of you to consider offering it. I really just want to try and entertain you guys. That's all. This is fun, right? We came here to have fun! So let's make it happ'n, Cap'n.
Also, you as an audience will not only have to smile, applaud and enjoy my little works herein, but you'll also have to forgive my overdose of cynicism, heaven forbid this entry should contain too much. See? There ya go. I really am sorry, though I'm obvious not THAT sorry or I'd so something about it.
But point is: Forgive-o my nasty attitude. I ate garlic, that makes a nice excuse.
In return for the fact that you forgive me (which you better, you dastards!) I will gladly give you a few cool new links, in the same way a grandfather gives his grandkids small amounts of cash disguised as riches unimaginable.
They will be good links, mind you, but I simply can't make the promise that it will make up for my bleeding sarcasm.
Because sarcasm will cover this entry like butter and gravy at roadside diners. If you don't puke, I'm guessing you stopped reading in time.
I guess instead of plaguing you all with my lousy analogies I could be practicing my solo and ensamble piece for choir. Because my Voice Teacher will be expecting my having done so tomorrow. That woman...It's like a doctor's appointment. I sit in a big room full of chairs, I am uncomfortable. In a doctor's office you don't sing though, I do sing in choir. Unlike most people. Then a pudgey, pregnant woman peaks into the room, and motions for me to follow her back. And I gulp, and say to myself, "Here goes."
Because I know when I reach that little room in the back, I will immediately be exposed as a major disappointment. To my teacher, to my choir, to my father, to my school: I already sort of know I suck.
You don't need to lack talent to suck. I prove this infallably. I have a lot of talent, I know because people won't quit telling me that. Some of them say it nicely, and the others follow the statement up with a suggestion to try harder, buckle down, or get serious.
Then I realize what a frustration and a bother I must be.
Also considering this woman seems to be much more comitted to all the things she has, er, comitted to. Her children, which I avidly avoid, her job, which I could never mantain.
Mope mope, sigh sigh, rant rant, but I'm doing my best to shape up at this point. Instead of enjoying a session of cage-rattling in certain classes, I compose serious documents and resist the urge to expose the ignorance of the faculty. I listen to my choir tape and glance over my music, when I'm not on the phone. I listen to Night on Bald Mountain which is, er....Cool.
I even spent some time helping the theatre people out today. A while ago, I made the production class. Then they signed me up for make-up crew. I can't fathom why. I wear about as much make-up as, um....Geesh, I don't think there's a way to compare it. I wear less make-up than just about every other creature on the planet: None.
And I laugh pitiously as I realize there are people now unbelievably glad that they do not have to behold me in person, because they assume "no make-up" = reeeeally scary.
"Reeeeally scary" is actually more like what the other people on make-up became when they realized I was not suffering with them after school. Because somehow I did not KNOW I was on make-up crew. I guess I need to start presuming that entirely random and unlikely things will happen to me and I will be stuck doing things I have no business or experience in. Maybe tomorrow I will be elected president or brought as a guest star on Mister Rogers, or maybe I will miss it because I had no earthly way of guessing I'd be doing either of those things. I'd have never guessed make-up crew though, so I was forced to deal with day after day of girls who DID know how to apply make-up coming and fussing at me for missing some make-up crew thing I was supposed to be involved with after school.
It was a surprise enough finding out I was on make-up crew, but then having all this female grouchiness displayed toward me (yeah, none of us ever really get used to it, do we? Kudos to you miricle workers who have, I envy you to the moon)-- In the end, let's just say I wandered in after school, sort of hoping I would get to paint sets again. Instead the teacher thanked me politely for coming, said she was very appreciateive of me because I would be an inexpendable help.
That statement was just begging to be flushed down the toilet into the sewers of irony. For the next thirty minutes I stood in a very cramped room watching people apply make-up and style hair. Occasionally I helped by scooting out of their way, or passing someone something. And I felt even more important as people began to make small talk about things I usually mock. It becomes painfully obvious how under-foot you are when people point blank say, "Give her something to do, here, go get the keys from Mrs Sessions."
And with that I was shoved out of the room, and sent to go ask incooperative, busy people, where I might find my teacher (Mrs Sessions). I finally found her, and her kindness was a breathe of fresh air as she handed me both sets of keys and set me blundering ridiculously through prop arrangements back to the little cramped dressing room of unspeakable horrors.
I reached the door and knocked on it, knowing that as I entered I would cease to be a human being until I again left the room, which I was hoping I would get to anyway. They answered with a boisterous, "What?" and I produced the keys. "Which keys did you need?" I ask humbly, hoping to avoid anyone else being short with me. "Did you get the office keys?" the red head asks me impatiently. I nod, and she shoves me out the door again telling me to go to the office and get a make-up kit.
Sigh. At least I know the office is upstairs. By now I know exactly what I'd rather be doing: Painting. Making a mess, making a set, making a difference, anything but this nonsense....Though it is quite nice getting to wander the halls all by myself. That part I am relishing to the fullest. So, exaggerating to myself in mumbles and trying not to think about how good it feels to be put down by my exasperated crew heads, I fumble with keys and ask the wall of the building which office I am supposed to be looking in. I step into the first office, a place I'm sure few students ever tread, and while I feel pretty special, I also feel pretty lost because I know nothing about what a make-up kit is supposed to look like and I'm not exactly sure my superiors want me snooping around in their secret office trying to find it. If this IS the right office. There's more than one.
Just as I'm circling the room for the forth time, and thinking of taking a break to get some water and come back to this little brain teazer, who should appear but Mrs Menger! The Valkyrie!
The Valkyrie really is an excellent, friendly, intelligent woman, despite being large and slightly intimidating in all regards. And I ask her, timidly but fervently, which office I might find the make-up kit in. (She IS wearing make-up, I can only hope she knows what this fabled make-up kit is supposed to look like.) she understands my hesitance to rifle through the teacher's offices, and so we split up, and I begin to look in another office.
There was a sort of interesting moment when I opened up a door and behind it found a small dark room occupied by two small dark occupants--of the opposite gender. They bid me a friendly, surpised "hi" and I appologized for near to no reason and closed the door.
As Mrs Menger came in behind me to help me search the room, and as we found no make-up, and as she gave up and I kept digging around a little, I began to wonder if maybe our school was haunted or if I had just been lucky/stupid enough to walk in on two people who had managed to avoid doing the pointless work I had been put to.
I don't think anything was going on in there, though it could've been, but it didn't have that appearence to me.
I kind of wished I could have been messing around in a closet while everyone else worked, even though I don't know if I would've been as willing if I'd known the whole story on what they were up to--which I still don't and....
So I got the other pair of keys and continued my tedious little journey out to Mrs Sessions' car, where I popeed the trunk, dug around in it, exposing my rear end to everyone else who might have been in the parking lot. Then I literally had to crawl into the trunk like a dog into a badger hole, and I eventually found something that could have passed for make-up.
I brought that back to her, and she said for me to find something different in a bigger bag.
Back to the car, which might I add was parked next to the most aromatic dumpster on the campus.
That made me giggle at the time and probably also succeeded in making me look insane to the people who I'd exposed my butt to earlier when I was digging in the trunk.
My trip back inside had giiven them time to go buy snacks for the rest of the show.
I found this other, different thing she had wanted me to, which recquired more digging in the back of the car, more bending over, and more content for my "fans" in the parking lot. Then when I fished out the bag of make-up, the bottom tore or something and I got to pick it all up off the ground.
Like a war veteran, I staggered back into the cramped room where I couldn't even hear the grating voices of surly women, because I was too busy lining my bounty up in front of the teach. She was finally appeased and I was sent on a few more petty errands to find certain people and ask them certain questions, and be under-foot somemore.
I was IN more hair than I was fixing or helping with....
I said that at one point and a girl thought it was entertaining, so you better follow suit, you ingrates.
I eventually parked myslf in the auditorium and watched the people try to change the sets faster onstage between scenes. I realized that I had been harrassed into coming here to do one thing, then harrassed by the people who had wanted me to anyway, then I had been sent all over the place to do or retrieve things like in Pokemon games in days of old. I was a go-fer.
I pondered these things as flamboiant people made friendly conversation with me.
Then they sent me to get them things.
