Disappointment

The weekend began with such promise. Though worn out from a work week of moving the business from one location to another, working feverishly to keep to "business as usual" all the while, I kept my meet-up reservation promise and went to the Pride Festival on Friday night.

I was a bit subdued as a companion who had promised to join me backed out at the last minute, but I solidered on and wound up having a fantabulous time. It was great to be out among all the revelers, seeing all the performers, drinking a damn tasty mojito, and blowing bubbles with a light up bubble blowing gun.

By the end of the evening my moodiness had eeked from my body and I found myself even looking forward to Saturday's lunch with Mom, a cousin, and her seven year old grandson. Please know, of course, I love my mom it is just that she isn't the most companionable dining partner. And when others are in the mix, she is even less so.

Lunch was lovely.

And then there was Sunday. The event of this day I looked forward to most of all.  I passed on attending the parade, which has become a tradition, to attend the event. I bought an outfit and accessories, which if you know anything at all about me, you know that is monumental.

But, it was not to be. My companion who was also my ride drank herself into oblivion last night and was not in any position to drive two blocks let alone the extensive ride to the event location. I've been angry all afternoon. I'd hope to pound out said anger by pounding some tennis balls. All that served was a reminder that I hadn't hit a tennis ball in over 50 weeks.

The soak, the nap, and dinner has diminished some of the anger but none of the disappointment. I wish I could say I'm happy for the good times of Friday and the pleasantness of Saturday and that those supercede the disappointment of today. But I can't.

Not yet, anyway.   

P.S.  To my friend, congratulations to your girls and have a safe trip.

Nakedness

As of this writing Miss Brin is still one wheel less. I haven't ventured out to secure a wheel, tube, and tire for Miss Brin because my mom has an acquaintance. Mom told me her acquaintance had bike parts; lots and lots of bike parts. She further told me that said acquaintance would be happy to check his bike parts stash and if he located the parts I (and Brin) needed he'd give them to me (us). 

I asked mom if acquaintance only had parts; did he have whole bikes? For I'm considering a new (used) bike as well. "No," she said, "only parts." 

Well, after week one acquaintance relayed to my mom that he didn't have time to look for the parts but he would get someone to help him. 

Now, two weeks later, acquaintance relayed to my mom that he doesn't have the wheel but we does have a ladies 10 speed to give away. I ask my mom if it is a racer, mountain, or what? She doesn't know and wondered what's the diff? 

I won't get into the intricacies of that conversation with my mom but know that it ended with me accepting with graciousness whatever the brand, model, condition this entire bike (that he didn't have two weeks ago) he now has to offer. Best case: with some modifications I can ride it. Second best case: daughter can ride it. Third best case: I can raid it for parts, or sell it, or give it away to someone else.

The downside to Brin being one wheel less these past weeks is that she missed the most recent installment of the Naked Bike Ride. She was most disappointed. 

Maybe next year. 

Wait, What Happened To Wednesday?

The evening leaked away from me. The plan? Come home, shower, get into softer clothes, fix a plate of whatever delectable delight my lovely daughter prepared, eat, drink a beer (or two) watch So You Think You Can Dance? brush my teeth, read, write a letter (or in my journal) click on something to watch until my eyelids could no longer defy gravity.

Well, the eyelids no longer defying gravity happened much earlier in the evening than planned and as a result a few things got missed. It is probable that sudden sleep after eat and a bit (12 oz) of drink i but one consequence of many thousand steps.

From my pedometer's memory bank:
Day 1 10,566
Day 2 13,807
Day 3 18,398
Day 4  0 (I'd forgotten to wear it, but based on my own memory of what happened this day, at least 10,000)
Day 5 10,342

The work days these days are filled with frantic, frustrating, mind numbing tasks, negative cash flow bullet dodging, primal screams in my head, calm, diplomatic voice, compromising, deal making, take me away, Gill's reply to my email: "Oh Deb, you crack me up!"  and Isabel apologizing for the confussion (meaning: confusion)  in her previous email (which, in my state of chocolate milk induced delirium cracked me up) and the wish for a partridge in a pear tree.

And just think in a few more hours I get to do it all over again. Thursday's fun house games? Compliance and possibly Tech Support.  Oh. Happy. Day.

But that is tomorrow and I must file that away and get down to enjoying what is left of this night. I must allow the warm water shower to massage the webs from my mind and creakiness from my body and trust that will be enough to force another sudden (dreamless) sleeping spell that will last throughout the night.

Six AM arrives quickly and I must, simply must get UP by six if I have any hope at all at getting to work by eight. I told them I would. They will be waiting. I do so hate to keep anyone waiting.

Do You Know the Story of the Hottentot Venus?

The play in which my son currently appears is quite a story. A story, I must admit, I hadn't heard until he was doing his preparation research. And while I always enjoy seeing my son on stage, this time no exception. And while this production is very superbly directed and deftly acted by all cast members, it was a difficult play to watch.

That being said, I was happy the director staged the play the way she did. According to the actor, this production is much different than others in that it deconstructed the side-show aspect, humanizing all the characters, which made the audience (me, at least) care about them, which contributed to making this a difficult play to watch.

Still, it is a fascinating story which the play only scratches the surface of based on the stacks of research material scattered about the living room at one time. The play has a very short run. That, plus it being a difficult play to watch, will keep me from seeing more than the one performance witnessed yesterday.

Maybe.

But even if I don't see him again in "Venus" I'll have ample opportunity to see him perform in the coming months as he has been offered roles (though contracts are still being negotiated) in not one, but two major productions.

The actor has worked very hard and has much hard work ahead. He is more than ready for the challenges and the opportunities.

And as a playwright wrote long, long ago, " . . . the play's the thing."

End Scene.

*actor in rehearsal. photo credit Joel Moorman. 

Why O Why Wednesday

My hands, especially the one on the right side, look like they've been dipped in rubber cement for a game of "let's play who can make the best rub-off pattern." That is to say they are peeling and not healing.

I know, enough with the skin already. But ladies and gents, it IS an issue.

Stands to reason because I was running late this morning that I'd miss not one but two buses.

On our beer run this evening daughter and I encountered a line jumper. We were in a good mood didn't fuss, just made mention in our own unique way. Well, the guy immediately ahead of us wasn't taking it lying down. He confronted "silver fox line jumper" -so coined by daughter. Line jumper basically told him to go (expletive) himself. The entire episode nearly made the quarter mile hike in the heat worth the trip. The ice coffee on the way back and icier beer for later sealed the deal.

And speaking of heat we'd had ourselves some ninety degree plus days making some folks (newest recruit ::snicker::) a tad grumpy as the (current) work place is not air conditioned. Hi-ever, rumor has it we're in for a cool down but of course that likely means rain, just in time for the Blues Festival. Here's hoping Saturday evening (when son is planning to attend) is relatively dry with moderate temperatures.

The Immunology/Allergy clinic the foxy MD referred me to is not calling me back. I'm trying not to take it personally.

The owners/caretakers of the shuttered laundry mat around the corner from my residence were painting the exterior--at 9 p.m.That is to say they (or rather she, he was just watching) didn't start until 9 P.M. I did wonder why but moreover I wondered if they'd be cutting the v-e-r-y tall grass (if they are still the owner / caretakers ) of the property that abuts ours tonight--or ever (again).

I promised a co-worker I'd be opening the doors at 8 A.M. sharp so I better get my icy coffee slugging, beer chugging self in the shower and down for the count.

Peace Out.  

Ok to eat, but otherwise, ICK

I can't begin to tell you what seeing a clump of mushrooms popping up out of the earth does to my skin. Even now, I can't even look at this picture without feeling the creepy crawlies all over my body. It doesn't take much, especially these days, to send me into a cat scratch fever meltdown and clumps of mushrooms are just the ticket to send me over the edge. 

And wouldn't you know it 'shrooms had popped up all over the neighborhood and seemed to be everywhere I turned this weekend. Even in my own yard slash wannabe garden, which had to be eradicated immediately in spite of the squeamishness. 

As a young girl I remember . . . 

sorry, this post cut short by the ick factor.    

**image located here**