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Wednesday, June 22, 2005
I didn't *actually* wind up moving anything yesterday. Probably that was a smart thing, but I'm starting to feel the pressure weigh on me. I have a LOT to move and not nearly as much time as it feels like.
The apartment is almost clean and, as I start to slowly move the non-essentials over and change things around, I'm starting to realize that my planned layout may not work *quite* as well as I had hoped. That's fine, though, I am far too tired to actually stress over minor things like figuring out what goes where.
Two flights of stairs, many boxes of books, heat and bad knees. This just makes me TIRED. Oh gods, so tired. FyreSpawn and I worked ourselves sweaty and exhausted, but I don't feel like we got all that much done. There is so much more to do. I must attempt to recruit strapping young (or whatever) boys (or girls, but probably I'll have better luck with boys).
I've got my stepfather's truck on Sunday, so hopefully I can get Chaos to help me move the stuff from Mom's house... get it the hell out of her basement and regain access to boxes of books and to things I never should have taken for granted.
Right now, though, all I can think about is how comfortable my bed looks, how much I want to shower and how the bathtub is calling my name... "Fyyyyyyyyrrrreeee.... fyyyyyyyyyyyrrrrrreee...." Oh yeah, let me wash off some of the aftermath of what I already did.
Posted at 20:54 by FyreGoddess
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Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Murray says I should Blog It.
...and maybe he's right.
So I'm moving to a bigger apartment. Staying in my neighborhood, keeping my landlords, but getting the bigger (and better) place. I have 10 days to move everything I've accumulated in the past 5 years and get all my crap out of Mom's basement. I got the keys on Sunday and didn't do a DAMNED thing.
Yesterday FyreSpawn got to see the place and fell in love with it. He's so excited about the concept of having sleepovers (now that there's enough room), having a BIG bedroom and being able to have parties (again with the room). We moved several non-essentially boxes and bins to the new place, but we are quite limited in that there's still a good bit on cleaning that needs to happen. This means that the kitchen and dining room are off limits, so all I can really move at the moment are boxes of books and the bookshelves.
The cable people won't come until NEXT Thursday, so even if we move the beds, dressers and electronics, all my internet access is going to be at the old place.
Ugh. As easy a move as this is, it's a real pain in the ass.
My goal for tonight is to pack/unpack at least 2-3 bookcases to the new place and still be in reasonable enough shape to go bowling with the Unix team.
HA! I am an idiot.
More to come...
~FG };^>
Posted at 14:42 by FyreGoddess
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Monday, June 13, 2005
And Baby, Baby, Baby do you like it?
I went through three flowers today, all in my hair, one at a time. The heat still hasn't broken, so as each flower wilted, I had to replace it with another one. I was fully prepared for the mocking I assumed would ensue, but the flower was so subtle that few noticed it and even the teasing was in good fun and sport.
I apparently made a mistake in sharing the upcoming open mic at work with someone. She's probably going to send out an email in the hopes of getting people to come to support me. I'm somewhat embarrassed by the prospect, but also rather happy. This way no one can say to me "I didn't know this was happening" and maybe, just maybe there will be friendly, familiar faces for me to look at while I perform, and shelter to take when I'm finished and become a bundle of nerves.
I really need to practice.
~FG };^>
Posted at 22:18 by FyreGoddess
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Sunday, June 12, 2005
Typhoid Murray gave me the creeping death. It's that time of the month. To top everything off, it's a fucking heatwave with more humidity than I thought was possible without rain.
Ugh.
The approaching week should bring good things. I should be getting the apartment next weekend, so I can start to move in and the open mic at work will be an interesting endeavor (though I have a feeling *everyone* is blowing me off for that one :( sad... Stupid plans.)
Feeling like a slacker for not writing, but sick and hot and tired does not make for good motivation on the blogging front.
~FG };^>
Posted at 23:03 by FyreGoddess
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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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Sunday, May 29, 2005
I've been thinking about the mainstream these days and I've come to a conclusion. It is my belief that television serves to attempt to define normal to mainstream America, while movies try to spotlight that which is deemed unusual.
I was never really able to relate to much on television. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the shows that I watched, but never were they something that I could say "Yeah, I've been there". Even movies, though, spotlighting those unusual people and unusual situations were few and far between that I could directly relate to.
I went to see Off the Map this weekend. I told my mother that I like movies about kids with unique upbringings and this one certainly fit the bill. While I wasn't raised in New Mexico or on a farm, the similarities between Bo's young life and mine were rife and obvious. I found myself smiling and the early image in the movie of Bo, living with free spirit parents who had no money, reading Forbes magazine. I, personally, used to watch the stock reports. When you grow up without money, you want to know as much about it as you can.
The behaviors and situations in the movie were very close to my memories and I find myself nostalgic since seeing it. The review I read essentially panned the movie and as I read it, I found myself wondering if this woman was raised in a stable neighborhood, went to public school, had all the things kids take for granted like a television, an allowance, a brand new bicycle on Christmas morning. These experiences are the sorts of things that most people assume just happen, but I can tell you from experience that there are more of us who were raised like Bo (or something similar) than anyone actually realizes.
You have to understand, I was raised in a VW bus by travelling street musicians. At least, that's the summation that I've come to embrace. Hippies... no, free spirits who helped to foster my imagination, a father who hitchhiked to work and a mother who preferred herbal remedies and never (to my memory) *bought* a birthday cake from the store.
Do you pity the idea that much of my childhood was uninfluenced by television? That the box was thrown out on a regular basis? Don't. I met people and had experiences that others can't even conceive of happening to someone as young as I was. My imagination was cultivated and encouraged so that I didn't NEED preformed images or the stylings of someone else's amusement.
I learned things before I was 8 years old that some people don't learn until their 30's or later. I knew things that have since become cultural icons to my generation, well before it was time for them to enter the spotlight. I was shunned and outcast as a teenager until people realized that I already was what they wanted to become - my own person. As an adult, now, I am often mocked and teased, but it's done in a friendly loving manner (most of the time anyway, rarely with malicious intent), and I can see that people appreciate hearing the stories of someone whose upbringing, whose life they can't even really conceive of.
For the most part, these are not even things that they cover in movies.
So I find myself looking for... not validation, but perhaps looking for empathy, looking for those others who are off the radar, who know the difficulty of taking the amazing childhood and the unique upbringing and becoming a sane, whole, healthy person. Maybe sometimes even one who is more whole, more sane, than those who are repressed like they were trained to be and deny themselves the joy of being fully their own person, whatever that may mean.
~FG };^>
Posted at 11:52 by FyreGoddess
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Friday, May 27, 2005
Snotty as it sounds, it's totally true. I don't really do voice mail/answering machine (do people still have those?!) messages. I listen to them, I reply to them, but I rarely, if ever, leave them. Usually, if I do it's because I've already called a couple of times and in these days of Caller ID, I might as well tell you WHY I just tried to call 5 times, even if it was a stupid reason.
There are reasons for me not leaving messages, though. It's really more for the sake of others. As you may have noticed, simply from reading the blog, I have a tendency to ramble. FyreGoddess IRL isn't all that much different than internet FG. Frankly, if anything, I think I'm more subdued and tactful on the internet. Seeing what you're about to say is a lot easier than running it through your head before the words come tumbling out of your mouth.
But we are talking about messages.
This tendency of mine to ramble comes out strongly when I start talking to the dead air of the recorder. I start off simple and with a purpose, but the runaway train that is my thought process just jumps the track suddenly and without me even realizing it.
"Hey, this is Fyre, I'm just calling to let you know [whatever I was supposed to let you know]. Thinking about it, though, I'm starting to think that maybe [alternative to the set plan] and you know, when I was talking to [random person] earlier, s/he suggested that I might want to [something completely unrelated]. Did I mention how much I enjoyed [doing that thing or having that conversation]. So, um, yeah, that's why I called.
OH YEAH! I almost forgot, and I wanted to make a point to mention to you that [irreverent comment about some strange thing only I would ever come up with]. And make sure that you tell someone else that [further irreverency]..."
And on and on and on.
Last night, Allison and I were talking about this phenomenon. It seems to be some kind of a Virgo trait because I was a victim (from another Virgo I know) and Allison was explaining to me about a friend of hers (go on, guess her sun sign) victimizing others. I quietly and embarrassedly (??) admitted that I, too, am one of those people.
These days I work to curb that sort of thing. I have two pat messages stocked up for such occasions. One is specifically for those few (ok, let's admit it, that ONE) friend(s) who never answer the damned phone. That message is simply "Dammit!" The other is for the few who have not yet been subjected to either the rambling voice mail or the speech about the rambling voice mail, simply stating "Yeah, I don't do messages."
What strikes me as odd, though, is how few people who get that second message actually take the time to explain to me that telling them about how I don't *do* messages is, in and of itself, me leaving them a message, pointless though it may be.
I think that if no one had caller ID, I would never leave any messages at all, except the ones I practice beforehand... and the ones where I just say "Dammit!"... Who am I kidding, if there was no caller ID I would leave way more messages, and I'd probably be a lot better about it.
As it stands, you know someone called. You know it was me. Would you rather I tie up your voice mail for 15 minutes or just call me back to find out whatever it was that I wanted in the first place?
~FG };^>
Posted at 10:54 by FyreGoddess
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This is an incredibly interesting article about how human emotional connections have led to the evolution and cultivation of pretty flowers.
I kid you not. Fascinating read.
~FG };^>
Posted at 08:52 by FyreGoddess
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Wrote for an hour and the program stopped responding.
Good grief, it is now *officially* Ordeal Week. Dammit!
Eventually I will talk about how HOLY CRAP, dude, he was on FIRE. For now we will say nothing more than Bully Hill makes a cheap, but tasty wine; Jason R0XX0RS! for the little stupid things; and holy crap he was on FIRE!
*sigh*
Some of the things I was saying were important... and poignant. Worth attempting to write again for sure. Tonight, though, it's time to sleep off the cheap red wine and attempt to not have a clusterfuck of tomorrow.
Just a minor note, for the record...
I like it when you voyeurs come out of the woodwork. Comment, people, I like to know where those hits are coming from.
~FG };^>
Posted at 00:12 by FyreGoddess
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Thursday, May 26, 2005
It still hasn't stopped raining. I can feel it in my mood. I usually like the rain, at the very least I don't mind it, but this rain just compounds all the other crap that is going on.
This week I have been mourning and grieving, worrying, dealing with the fuck-ups of others, I've been blown off, I've been stood up and I really want to pick a fight with someone, anyone at this point.
It has come to my attention that people are actually reading my blog... and yet, I don't really feel like censoring myself in the hopes of not offending someone or not being true to my own thoughts. Voyeurs, the lot of you!
I'm pissy, I'm tired, my whole body aches. I feel like ordeal and drama is permeating every aspect of my life right now, which sucks, because until Friday when I got home from work everything was going so well!
I need a good solid distraction. I know that I'm hoping that, for tonight, Star Wars will suffice and, I'm sure, during the actual movie, it will, but with so many other things outright SUCKING ASS, I'm definitely concerned with how long it will actually last.
Even my music is becoming difficult to take comfort in for a million different reasons. I have blisters on three of the four fingers on my left hand, so playing is actually painful physically and I haven't picked up my guitar since. Probably better to let them heal instead of literally playing 'til my fingers bleed and not being able to play for a week.
I loathe promises. Almost (but not quite) as much as I loathe apologies. I can't be the only one to have noticed how often the two go hand in hand. Promises lead to apologies most of the time.
Yeah, and the Ordeal happened on a Wednesday. Fitting, isn't it?
It really needs to stop raining. Literally and figuratively.
~FG };^/
Posted at 10:13 by FyreGoddess
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