I am Intern

So, I have this internship. I have the title of "Costumes Intern," but when it comes down to it, my job is to make order out of a stock room that looks like this:

This is not actually a picture of the stockroom. Rather, it is a random picture I found when I did a google search of "messy closet." (I found it here by the way. Do not worry, I'm not trying to poach other people's pictures of messy closets. Credit where credit is due!) The photo is nevertheless quite accurate. After hours of lifting heavy coats high above my head and slouching over pants to measure their waistlines, my shoulders hurt. I am a grumpy monkey.

Grumpy monkey found here.

This is what I want to do with my life:

When I was little, this show was on PBS. My parents made the genius decision to record it, so I've been enjoying it for years. The artistry is incredible, and I this is what I'm going to do this summer (when I'm not interning it up in the costume shop of a local theater.) Yep, me and stop-motion animation in my basement for weeks on end.

End of the Semester

Tech weekend is over. I spent 24 hours in the theater last weekend as we slowly worked out the wireless microphone bugs, figured out lighting cues, and organized the horde of students that volunteered to be on crew.

I counted up the hours I spent in rehearsal last week and they totaled over forty. That means I am working a full time job (and putting in overtime) in addition to being a full time student and working a part time job in the costume shop. Nevertheless, I got through the week relatively unscathed and not very behind, and I somehow think the week of dress rehearsals and performances is going to be a lot less stressful, even with finals right around the bend.

I want a weekend.

Leaving a building on campus, I found an ice cream sandwich on the ground. It was still in it's wax paper wrapper, and though it was raining, it looked clean. I knew where it had come from. It had come from the buffet lunch going on inside. It couldn't have been there for more than 15 minutes. I wanted to eat it.

So, I picked it up. It was still cold. It hadn't melted.

However, I didn't want the people sitting against the wall to know I was going to eat an ice cream sandwich I had found on the ground. I walked purposefully across the street to the trashcan a hundred feet away, pretended to drop it in, and went around the corner. Then I ate it.

It was delicious.

Oh, take me back, my darling!

I love black tea. Earl Grey, Irish Breakfast Tea, Chai. And when I drink my tea with milk and a spoonful of sugar, this is what I sip:

But now, caffeine gives me headaches. I went without for the last month and a half, but Thursday, I made a cup. And today I made another. And damn the consequences.

So, you ever had a conversation that went terribly wrong?

Well, I'm in a play. And there is a short scene where the script calls for me to be naked. After first rehearsal, my director asked me to stay behind to talk about that scene. She asked me what I felt comfortable with, suggesting a little pair of panties seen from the back, and I told her it came down to body issues, rather than modesty, and as I am more fond of my top half, said I would rather show breasts than my thighs. This was agreed upon, and I imagine that it will of course be something tasteful like this:

rather than something like this:

So far, the conversation went just fine and dandy, but as I was getting up to leave, I said, "Yeah, people tend to assume I'm a prude, but I'm really not."

Did I really need to prove this to her?

In her calm and collected way, my director responded, "I wouldn't presume anything about you."

So, of course, I decide to dig the hole a little deeper.

"Yeah, well, there was this one guy that once said, 'Wait, you're not a virgin?'"

Oh yes. Let me dig this hole. Now, I realized I had probably said to much (and please imagine I am saying all of this in a really nervous, hyperactive, impulsive way...blame the ADHD while we're at it) and in an attempt to climb out of the hole, or at least throw away the shovel, I tried to keep telling the story (which isn't really a story) and ended with an awkward chuckle.

Oh me.

You know, I can be pretty cool around people I know, but around semi-acquaintances, I feel like this:

Only instead of saying nothing, I babble.

Yesterday, I was bouncing around my parents house singing nonsense words. Laughing, I said to my mother, "I wouldn't be surprised if I had ADHD."

"Oh, you do," she replied.

Well, that explains a lot.

Wow, Wednesday was boring...

An an effort to be a better and more interesting person, I have made this list:

1. Reading books is a wise use of my time. Looking at books on amazon.com is a poor use of my time. (But seriously, look how cheap these are!)
   
2. Doing homework is a wise use of my time. Complaining about homework is a poor use of my time.
   
3. Drawing, painting, sewing, creating anything is a wise use of my time. Staring vacantly at craft blogs is a poor use of my time.
4. Singing and playing guitar is a wise use of my time. Spending an hour trying to find the tabulature for "Make My Heart Fly" is a poor use of my time.
   
   
5. Being outside is a wise use of my time. Sitting in my room, bored as the dickens, is a poor use of my time.
   
6. Cleaning my room is a wise use of my time. Moving around piles of dirty clothes, books, papers, and receipts while attempting to find lost spoons is a poor use of my time.
   
7. Writing letters is a wise use of my time. Journaling is a wise use of my time. Blogging might be a wise use of my time. Practicing my signature is a poor use of my time.
   
8. Enjoying good TV (aka 30 Rock) is a wise use of my time. Surfing hulu in efforts to find anything watchable is a poor use of my time.
9. Going to the gym is a wise use of my time. Looking at the lint between my toes is a poor use of my time.
10. Making dinner is a wise use of my time. Sneaking into the kitchen to eat chocolate chips is a poor use of my time.
11. Watching bad movies with my friends is a wise use of my time. Watching bad movies by myself is a poor use of my time.
12. Spending time with friends is a wise use of my time. Spending time wondering what my friends are doing is a poor use of my time. Attempting to discover what my friends are doing via facebook is an extremely poor use of my time.

I suppose I should start putting this list into action, but I could also look at the lint between my toes...

I'm sick. I half been going at half speed all day, except for the last two hours. When I have been going at no speed. Since around 6:30 pm, I have been lying in bed. It feels kind of good to be lazy, and I would totally enjoy this if it weren't for the searing pain in the back of my nasal passage. That's not so nice.

Maybe I should go read a book.

In a perfect world, I would spend the day drinking obscene amounts of tea, reading Orlando, and cuddling. But this is not a perfect world.

Damn.

A New Blog

I already have a blog, so this may seem a little redundant. However, my other blog fulfilled a very specific purpose: it recorded study abroad adventures. It told sometimes funny (but usually not) anecdotes about my time in France and included as many photos as I could bother to upload. Everyone wanted to know about France, so I handed out the URL to every Tom, Dick, and Harry.

And to my grandmother.

Now that I'm back at college, I have no more need for a study abroad blog, but I am compelled to write down my rambling thoughts, record strange experiences, and introduce my favorite links to others. And sometimes these things will be funny, sometimes pathetic, and sometimes ridiculous, all in the arrogant hope that someone will find it mildly interesting.

But I don't want that someone to be my grandmother.

The last thing I want to feel is censorship. There were times in France I worried over a sentence or link because I knew my grandmother would see it. And I knew she was easily shocked. For that reason, I have created a blog with some semblance of anonymity. It's not because I'm ashamed of anything I have to say. Not at all. I don't really care if you know who I am. I don't really care if you connect me to this blog.

As long as you aren't my grandmother.