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Saturday, June 04, 2005
Well, usually I'm more inclined to write several postings and put them all up on one day, but this week has been rather eventful and instead of trying to segregate topics that have run together in my mind and circumstantially overlapped, I'm going to just do a recap and try to break it down by day.
Bear with me. Following you get a day by day with the titles I would have otherwise used, if I had created individual entries.
Memorial Day Weekend, or Shoot the Cat and Kill the Fish
Last weekend my landlord and landlady went out of town. What this means for me is that I am tasked with the daunting responsibility of giving their diabetic, arthritic cat hypodermic shots of insulin. Apparently, I am the only one brave enough to do this, so I do. Thankfully they pay me (or deduct it off my rent, either way, I am compensated for this task). I also feed all three cats and their (then) four fish.
The unfortunate part of all of this was that the large fish, the old fish, the one that Lynne is most attached to, was dying and had been sick for quite a while, so I found a note attached explaining, in detail, what I was to do with this fish in the event that he did die.
Well, all was fine until Sunday night, when I found the fish floating in the tank, near the bottom with its back end flopped over. I assumed the fish was dead and stuck, so I thrust the net (and my hand, that tank is big) into the water to try to snag the fish. It seized when I tried to net it and I realized that maybe, just maybe, the fish was not, in fact, dead yet. When I looked, however, the fish was still floating in the same manner and not moving at all.
Now, at this point, I had to draw on my knowledge of death and, in this situation, I called upon my favorite movie from my childhood, Stand By Me. One thing I learned from that movie is that when you find a dead body, the appropriate response is to poke it with a stick. I didn't have a stick, though, and that's kind of funky when you think about it, so I poked the fish with the net... several times. Finally (and I don't know, but maybe the poking acted as CPR), the fish started breathing visibly. I apologized to the other fish in the tank and left knowing that the big fish was not going to make it through the night.
I came back the next morning to find the fish still in the same spot, in about the same situation, so again, I poked the fish. This time when I poked it, it floated to the top of the tank so I could fish it out, wrap it in several layers of plastic and put it in the freezer.
RIP Apollo. You are, so far as I can gather, the third death to affect me in May. I am much less on edge knowing that the three has been satisfied.
Tuesday, or He's a bastard... or not
I thought that we had plans over the weekend. With the open mic looming in the very near future, I was starting to worry that my songs had only been heard by family members (and one phone concert). Though I had initially wanted help picking out which songs to play, I had worked that part out. Having thought the plans were for the weekend, having thought that, once again, I was blown off, I was ready to flip out and be the FyreGoddess in a tempered rage.
Imagine my surprise and disarmament when it was explained to me that there was miscommunication and we were, in fact, on for tonight. I offered an out, which was brushed aside and spent a fun and eventful day at work.
That evening, I cleaned the house and prepared for company.
(A side note that ties in later... I also returned the key to the now-returned landlord/lady and we had a discussion about how much I wanted the three bedroom flat two doors up the street from me that I have been pining over for YEARS. This will be explained, but I think that Fate was listening in... as she is prone to do from time to time.)
The plans were set earlier in the day for around 8pm, which came and went, but I wasn't too concerned, people run late all the time. I had offered the out which was not taken, so how could this be yet another instance of being blown off? Around 8:45 I decided to nap. Woke up at 9:15 and now was convinced that this was ridiculous. People do not treat other people this way and goddammit, this is unacceptable. Drunken Liz is excellent to vent to, but not so good for voice of reason advice. Instead of going to bed, I had some food, another glass of wine and attempted to watch a movie.
The phone rang around 11:15. It was (now termed, by Liz) "The Bastard" calling to apologize for forgetting about me (oh come on now, how is this even possible???) and to say that he was on his way. He came by near to midnight and stayed until after 1. I felt better about the upcoming open mic.
Needless to say I did not finish watching the movie which has been sitting on my DVD player for over a month now and should really go back to Netflix.
That night, I got 4 hours of sleep. Ugh. But I'm a big girl, I can party ok, this is not tragic.
Wednesday, or Why I need to fix the pickup
Mostly an uneventful day at work. I invited the people I considered most likely to come to the Open Mic, to the open mic and spent the day wishing I could play my guitar all day long. I tried, after getting home, to stay away from the strings so I didn't blister up before a performance and succeeded as well as can be expected, making sure to tune and practice before heading out the door. I got there earlyish and signed up for later than I realized.
Happy surprise to find that Mother Judge was hosting the open mic. This is someone I have known for probably 20 years, who was a second mother to my brother and has been a wonderful friend to me. I thought that she had stopped hosting the open mics at this particular bar and she had, until about two weeks ago. Brilliant! So comforting and soothing to have this level of familiarity available to me.
What few friends actually made it there (not for lack of trying, I will give that up), made it before I went onstage, which was good. They all did Courage with me, a tradition I have had for just about as long as I've been going to open mics, which is impressive since so few people in this world can stomach Jagermeister. I'll say about this crowd at least (though it doesn't apply across the board) my friends ROCK.
So the pickup in my guitar is broken and has been for as long as this guitar has been in my possession. As a result, since I didn't want to play with (*gasp*) someone else's guitar, I wound up having to mic my guitar. This was not a problem, Caroline said that we were good and the sound was as well.
I should rephrase. This was not a problem for the audience. It was, however, a problem for me. The monitors were such utter CRAP that I could not hear my guitar. At all. I could, however, hear my vocals, which would be fine if I hadn't spend the entire time I was onstage wondering if I was singing in the right key.
Convinced that I sounded horrible and rather embarrassed if that was the case, I ran offstage and back to the comfort of my little safe band of friends... who were properly supportive and enthusiastic. Caroline said "Give it up for FyreGoddess" and then... I can't even begin to describe how much this next part means to me... told the crowd that I sounded amazingly like my mother.
In my mind, in my life, when it comes to music, there is NO HIGHER COMPLIMENT than the one I was given in that moment. I was lauded by my friends for my voice, my range and my songwriting, but coming from Mother Judge, who knows and has performed with my classically trained mother... Words simply cannot convey it. I am still melting over that.
We stayed at the bar until a little after 2, just hanging out and chatting about everything. It was GREAT. My buddies decided to grab some pizza, but I had a longer walk in the opposite direction as them and so decided to head on home.
I was accosted shortly down the street by an old man asking me what I played, what instrument was on my back (you mean the instrument in my guitar case? Yeah, it's a fucking fiddle). I hate this question, it's always so contrived. So I told him it was a guitar and he asked me if I could tell he was a musician too... a drummer (yeah, I could tell by the fact that you're not carrying your drumsticks??? WTF???). He proceeds to tell me that it's his birthday and I wish him a happy one. He just turned 50.
Then...
"Can I tell you something? I'm not usually attracted to caucasian women, but there's something about you. You have a beautiful smile. There's just something about you. I just want to lick you."
At this point, I attempt to make a rapid getaway. As I'm speed walking down the street, he shout after me "Just your big toe! Let me lick your big toe!"
The worst part about this whole thing is not that it happened, but the fact that similar things happen to me all the time. And people wonder why I don't like walking home by myself.
Maybe I am brave, afterall.
That night I got three hours of sleep. Ugh. This is getting ridiculous.
Thursday day, or Folk is Folk
We went to work late. Thank the gods for that. The extra half-hour or so must have made a difference, though I was still dragging ass. The day was mostly uneventful at work until the afternoon. Jason had told me about an open mic being held there in two weeks, so I called the organizer to sign up. Of course, over the wall, they heard me signing up and after catcalling me for not having specifically invited them to the open mic the night before, they proceeded to sing Puff the Magic Dragon and If I Had A Hammer as loudly and off-key as they could. (If you actually clicked those links, I will not apologize, you still have no concept of what I, personally, was subjected to, but you're closer than you are if you didn't.)
I explained that not only was that not the type of folk music I played, if I were to play it I would ROCK IT OUT, at which point I was subjected to a hard-rock version of Puff. Good grief, I don't like being a target for this crap. They ask me "Well, what do you play then?" and I make the mistake of saying "Ask Murray."
Because ( fuck you, Murray), he decides to tell them that I did a kickass rendition of Kumbaya at the open mic that night. At this point, I decide to make my exit and go for a smoke with a couple of friends in the office... one of whom attempted to come to the performance and had come the evening prior to help me get ready.
He, being the smartass he is, asks me "Why didn't you play me the songs you actually performed? I didn't get to hear Kumbaya." And, after several further smartass comments decides it would be a GOOD IDEA to sing Kumbaya in the hallway at work, which later elicits comments to me of "Was that you singing earlier?" From numerous people.
Yeah, and these are the friends who DON'T suck. Pity me.
Thursday night, or Poke me with a sharp stick
Mike and I decided to see Crash at the Spectrum after a conversation at the open mic the night before. Now, I had decided to NOT see this movie after reading the Filthy Critic's review, passed on to me by Murray, but after Lauren's recommendation (coupled with many drinks and a shared love of all things Card), I reconsidered. Another factor in this is that Mike is an excellent movie buddy, something I have found to be rare these days.
Since we had both been up obscenely late the night before, we determined that we were going to take turns poking each other with a sharp stick to wake the other one up as we passed out in a darkened movie theater. This was not necessary, since the movie was thoroughly engrossing and rather woke us both up from our sleep-deprivation-induced comas.
That review is utter crap. It was an excellent movie. I laughed, I was horrified and my cake was damned good. Reminded me of Robert Altman, whose tedium I enjoy... only it was shorter... and less tedious. I highly recommend this movie, but I warn you, if you see it, the laughter is awkward, and almost feels guilty and inappropriate. Racial tensions is a difficult subject to tackle, but this was done with tact, humor and a grain of salt.
Sushi for dinner and another late (but not overly late) night.
I'm sleeping, but I'm starting to have a rough time of it.
Friday, or Fate works in mysterious ways
More mocking. More Kumbaya (and again, I say fuck you, Murray). Work was work and I got home WAY late. But, and I had no idea this was coming, the best was yet to come.
I think this is the best news I have gotten ALL YEAR. The three-bedroom flat with hardwood floors and a walk-in closet has FINALLY come available! And I am next in line! I move in in two weeks and I will have two weeks after that to accomplish this.
It's all very exciting.
Conclusion
So there you have it, the week in review. I'm sure you voyeurs will forgive me for not writing other entries this week since I have had no time, no sleep and ridiculous amounts of non-motivation in terms of the internet.
Don't expect this to happen often, since it took me several hours to download (so to speak) the entire drama of a week, but it's been therapeutic. Lesson learned from the post several back, hit the "Save Draft" button as often as you can.
If you made it this far, my dears, you are more patient than I am... at least you are if you did it in one sitting.
Now I'm off to find someone... anyone to celebrate with!
~FG };^>
Posted at 19:00 by FyreGoddess
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