I haven’t updated in forever. I could use the excuse of work, because there have been an inordinate number of stupid people calling lately, and we’ve got a reduced staff because half of us are in training (why oh why do these trainers think we need to have the entire product matrix READ TO US? This is not training. This is mass torture.)

Or I could be honest and just say I’ve meant to write, but there’s this really compelling HP slash-fic (Snarry, actually) that I had to finish, and then, my own het OFC fic that has been speaking to me, and I’m working on a serious short story for Glimmer Train‘s July contest, and then there’s ALSO work.

Here’s the week in review:
Friday:
Boss announced at 6:50 that we may as well leave early. Gee, a whole ten minutes. We hadn’t had a call into the queue since five, and the doc drawers were already gone. Fuzzy really wanted to see X-Men: The Last Stand, so we went to Cedar Hill directly from work. I was tired, and popcorn does not a nutritious dinner make, but the movie was enjoyable. If you’re one of the five people who has not seen this movie yet, and has not already been told, It is essential that you sit through the credits.

Saturday, was my first day working the door at ComedySportz, and mainly it involved polishing metal stanchions and holding hands with entering audience members (so I could stamp them with fuschia lips), before they were seated. (Hence the title).

Sunday, we slept through the time allotted for choir rehearsal. I went to the phone to call, realized I hadn’t checked vm in a couple days (people who know us know to email if a response is required, or call our cells), and found that we hadn’t missed rehearsal, there wasn’t one. Attendance is generally light on holiday weekends, anyway. Went back to bed intending to get up and go in time for mass, but there was an incident with the alarm clocks that wasn’t happy, so, we lingered at home, watching eps of Dr. Who and John Doe from the tivo.

Sunday evening was my first workshop with the ComedySportz crew. I was terrified, and not very energetic, but I had fun, and learned a lot. Also, any workshop that does not involve doing BUNNY is a good workshop for me. As a result of this workshop, at which I demonstrated my complete and total lack of Gibberish-speaking skills, I begged my friend Clay for help/advice/a miracle cure. He made some valid suggestions, most of which come down to turning off the inner editor. Note to self: Ask for help on this tomorrow (tonight).

Sunday night, after the workshop, we went to see The DaVinci Code, which didn’t suck, but wasn’t great either. Then again, the book was mediocre mind-candy and not great, so I guess it was true to the book in that respect. (I maintain that if you want to read a similar story, Umberto Eco’s novel Foucault’s Pendulum is a better choice, although the frequent use of Latin and French may make you feel undereducated.)

Monday:
A lazy day of reading, laundry, writing, general puttering around the house, and watching more Dr. Who and John Doe. (We’re such geeks). There was rain, and I read the novel Lighthouse Keeping which fit the weather. I’d finished Charles De Lint’s Widdershins the night before.

Tuesday – Thursday:
Work, and work, and oh, look, more work. By the end of Thursday, I could have taken Friday off and still had enough hours to get five hours of OT. I wish we had a 9-80 program. Thursday was taken up by half a day of new product training (we finally have a suprime I/O product), during which I struck up a conversation with the trainer, and basically told him I wanted his job. He asked me to write a quick and dirty CV and email it to him (I did it on our break) because there’s a chance at a position teaching salespeople to teach brokers how to use automated underwriting engines, and I know a TON about automated underwriting.

Friday:
It is impossible for Fridays to ever be entirely bad. Mine wasn’t, really, but it did seem ENDLESS. There are only two of us who work past five on Fridays, and we end up stretching files just so we don’t sit around bored. I sat around and surfed the ComedySportz playerz fora, in between workstuff, but by the time I got done with work, and they released us, it was after the show start time, so I couldn’t even go watch.

Today:
I woke around nine, realized it was Saturday, let the dogs out, drank some mint tea, read bad fanfic for a while (in bed) and napped a bit. We finally BOTH rolled out of bed around two, had sandwiches, and took long self-indulgent showers, before heading to Dallas, where I worked the concession stand with one of my fellow newbies (after vacuuming). After the show, a bunch of us went to Fridays, where one of the troupe members analyzed all our handwriting, and we all got to know each other a little bit. It was pleasant, but we left at midnight, because the dogs needed to be fed, and we think we have choir in the morning.

Last night, even though I was exhausted and frustrated by work, and really wanted a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, I ventured into Dallas’s West End to attend the audtions at the local branch of ComedySportz.

I blame (or credit?) my friend Clay for the suggestion that I go. In truth, I had contacted them, at his friendly urging, to inquire about their public workshops, searching for something interactive to jump-start my muse, shatter my shyness, and allow me to hang out with creative non-mortgage-industry people. Instead of giving me class info, they said, “Consider coming to the auditions.”

And so I did.

Consider it, I mean. I also bugged my closest friends about it, knowing they wouldn’t let me chicken out, that by telling them, I was giving myself external accountability. Again, Clay offered the best advice telling me to go with the expectation of having fun for a couple of hours. “Worst case scenario,” he said, “You get to play for a while and laugh a lot.” (I have the wisest friends).

Anyway, I was near to skipping it from sheer tiredness. Thursday is “month end” at work, and our volume is such that, this month, it’s crazy. We’re all working long hours and everything is time sensitive. But I knew I’d have to explain myself if I didn’t go, and I really wanted to play in that sandbox. So I went.

As auditions go, it was about as non-threatening as possible. We filled out minimal paperwork, and then we played games.

Specifically, we opened with Zip Zap Zop, and then played the Name Game and Pass Clap. We were blessed to have, among the auditioners, a bald guy named Curly, who became the focus of the name game, an exercise that helped us learn each other’s names. As folks wandered in late, people would wave them over and say, “That’s Curly. Start there.” It seemed to work.

We moved on to more interesting exercises, doing brief (two-five lines) justification scenes, in which we essentially just had to establish who and where we were (this was in pairs), and then we did some small-group exercises – HitchHiker, What Are You Doing, and Four-Headed Expert.

After having some of the current cast demonstrate, we warbled our way through “Do Ron Ron” (my favorite) and then wrapped up with 185, which is quite possibly the most exquisite torture available in a family-friendly format.

At the end of the evening, we collapsed into chairs, and were told that email would be the primary form of communication, and that if we couldn’t commit to the required time, to leave now (essentially). I walked down the block to meet Fuzzy for a late dinner at Fridays, and then went home to bed, pausing only to babble all of this to Clay, via IM.

(He was so patient about listening)

This morning at work, I checked my personal email via the web, and found that the invitation to join the troupe (attend workshops, and work door/concession while learning) had been extended about ten minutes after I turned out the light – I’d been expecting not to be asked – and emailed the select circle of friends and family who’d been told about this in the first place.

So…the first players workshop is on Sunday. I can’t wait to go play!

A quiet afternoon spent curled on the couch with Fuzzy, a dvd that we both enjoyed, and two small dogs with their heads on our knees…sometimes the quiet days are best.

There’s something really wrong with five pairs of panties (admittedly in cute colors), two bras, and two t-shirts costing almost $80.

I spent Mother’s Day weekend with my mother, though her arrival on this specific weekend was coincidental. She’s working for a company that does loans in Mexico, and their primary market are gringos who want vacation property, or ex-pats who want to put down deeper roots. She’s been travelling all over Mexico corralling the brokers and whipping them into shape, and last week she had to pay a visit to the home office in Houston.

We flew her up here on Southwest, expecting her to arrive at 7 AM Friday. Instead, she arrived at 9 PM Thursday, and we were late picking her up because we both were delayed at work, we’d never been to Love Field (we’ve passed it, but not gone in), and we were stuck waiting for the world’s slowest moving freight train (which, okay, was going down the streets of Dallas, so had a reason to be slow, I guess) to pass. Still, we found her, fed her, and put her to bed.

So why is this entry called “Learning Curve” and not “Weekend with Mama?” Because bits of it were very educational. Here’s what I learned:

1) Do not attempt to drive from Irving/Las Colinas to Love Field in under an hour, even at 8:30 PM. The traffic isn’t so bad, but the trains will completely mess up your schedule.

2) Always bring a sweater for your mother, who will complain she is cold in 75-degree evening weather because, “I live in Baja, where it’s warm” and then turn around 24 hours later and complain that “Mexico never gets this hot” (90 degrees in summer).

3) Sit next to your mother, not across from her, so that when she puts her feet on the seat opposite her, you do not get kicked.

4) There is such a thing as too much shopping. Spending an entire weekend re-building a wardrobe for someone is less than fun, though there were moments, and Dress Barn does not have chairs for bored shopping companions.

5) Never, ever, under any circumstances, enter a bath store on the night before Mother’s Day, as you will get trampled to (near) death by shoppers who are apparently just finding out they need to buy a gift for mom.

6) Do not expect actual service in stores like Kohls.

7) Take a day off after the visit, to recuperate. I didn’t,. and was dog-tired all day yesterday.

The first one arrived on Sunday.
I’d been reading on the patio while eating lunch (liverwurst and cream cheese on rye, if you must know), and I needed to take a restroom break. I’d already crossed that space of floor several times over the preceeding two hours, and there had been nothing strange or dangerous about it, then. No obstacles were there to block my path, save the two dogs who are my near-constant escorts when I am home (they like to dance canine circles around my feet as I walk).
I looked down, and froze.
“Fuzzy,” I yelled. “Miss Cleo did something bad.”

I don’t know why I assumed the culprit was Cleo. Perhaps because the thing on the floor was larger than Zorro’s head? Perhaps because he’s never shown interest in any animal that wasn’t a member of the family rodentia? In any case, her usual game of “chase the birds and try not to fall in the pool” made Cleo the obvious scapegoat.

“What is it?” he asked. “Did she pee on the floor?”
“No.” Could he not hear the tremulous note in my voice?
“Did she leave presents?” (Our euphamism for more solid doggie deposits)
“Not the way you mean,” I said. “Come here. Bring the dust pan.”
“Why?”

And so I told him, “Miss Cleo murdered a bird.”

Except we’re not so sure she did, because the corpse formerly inhabited by the soul of a robin had no marks that pointed to being a canine chewtoy. It was, simply, dead. As if it had dropped there for no apparent reason. Neither dog showed any interest in the ex-creature.

Then last night – or early this morning – another arrival. The dessicated husk of a gecko that had been lying on the edge of the patio was deposited in the same spot. This is odd, as it was not there when Fuzzy escorted the dogs to bed after their evening consitutional, and they were not let out again til morning, at which time the object was spied. (He carried it outside to the garden).

I told Fuzzy we must have a feline poltergeist, as I know Cleo isn’t fast enough to catch a gecko.

Personality type: High Maintenance

You pride yourself on being assertive and direct; everyone else thinks you’re bossy and arrogant. You’re constantly running your mouth about topics that only you would find interesting. Your capacity for wasting other people’s time is limitless. Your friends find you intolerable, that’s why they’re plotting to kill you.

Also drinks: Water. Bottled, chilled, with four ice cubes, a twist of lemon, in a crystal glass.
Can also be found at: Trendy martini bars

Drink entered: Triple venti no vanilla extra caramel caramel macchiato.

Dallandra @ Open Diary made me do this. YOU can try it here.

(And the scary thing is, this is true…sometimes.)

I hated dusting that dresser. It was an intricate task of moving the trays onto the rolltop desk in the corner, dusting the back part of the dresser, moving the trays back, dusting the front, and then dusting the scrollwork of the mirror frame.

That mirror held many mysteries. So old that the corners had blackened, it seemed to reflect what people should look like, more than what they did. In that mirror, my grandmother’s olive skin was that of a girl, not an elderly woman, and her wrinkles softened to smile lines. Her eyes seemed to sparkle more, when we stood side by side in front of it, and she’d pick up various items, and tell me their stories.

About once a summer, we dove into the bottom drawer, where she kept the jewelry that was out of season (out of favor, we joked behind her back) or too fragile to wear – a cameo pin from Italy, worn by her grandmother, a necklace made of polished nuggets of lava and shells from Hawaii, a circle pin, leftover from when circle pins were trendy, a silver box full of old foreign coins, emptied from my grandfather’s pockets when he’d come home from his last tour of duty, and love letters he’d written over the years – including a series which included detailed instructions (never followed) on how to draw plants.

My favorite trinket from the bottom of the drawer, though, was a slighly pink crystal necklace and matching earrings. Allowed to try it on, I would prance around my grandmother’s bedroom acting the part of a princess, and practicing my regal wave (touch the crystals, lift my hand and gesture as if screwing in a lightbulb), and my best curtsey. My grandmother would watch me, smiling fondly, and commenting on how the stones sparkled in the light coming in the window.

“How it shines,” she said.

Sometimes I wonder if she meant something other than the crystal.

Comment on this entry and I will give you a letter. Write five words beginning with that letter in your journal, including an explanation of what the word means to you and why, and then pass out letters to those who want to play along.

Stolen from Sara-Halfelven at LiveJournal, who gave me the letter N.

Notebooks: Spiral bound, preferably at the top, college ruled, with green lines preferred over blue – those are my favorite notebooks. For as long as I’ve known how to form letters on paper, I’ve liked to have several sheets stacked beneath the point of my pen (I’m so not a pencil person) and I don’t like using both sides, unless forced. I know, I know, bad for the environment, but there you have it. In various boxes and shelves around my house I have notebooks dating back years, decades, filled with bad doodles (because I cannot draw) and half written stories, as well as any number of other notes. Sometimes, my choice of notebook is more sophisticated than the spiral bound sort – I bought a Moleskine a few months ago – but the problem with such things is that I feel like the writing in it has to be good, and first impressions, first drafts, rarely are. At other times, I use the technological solution, like now – sitting in bed typing all this on a notebook computer.

Normal: The word normal always feels very bland to me – it’s like those model homes where all the walls are off-white and all the carpets are cream, and they have them furnished with generic stuff from the Cort catalogue. While I understand that one must make some concessions to society’s norms in order to function in the real world, this sense of beigeness has made “normal” something I’ve never aspired to be. Give me my eccentricities, my quirks, my accent that is a total blend of every place I’ve ever lived for extensive amounts of time (New Jersey, Colorado, California, SoDak, Texas) and every person I’ve ever spoken to (especially if I liked their speech patterns). Let me revel in the fact that I’m just as happy child-free as I would be if I wasn’t, and don’t bug me about the way I pick and choose elements of various religions and make them work for me, about the stacks of books in the bathroom, the bedroom, my office, all in different genres, or the fact that I’m just not comfortable in large groups of people, and wil probably never be able to go to bed before one AM more than two nights in a row. Normal=average=boring.

Night: I’ve been fairly nocturnal since dirt, really. As a child, I would read under the covers long into the night, sometimes falling asleep, only to awake hours later with the lights on and my book open across my chest. The darkness wakes my mind, and sets it racing with stories, words, music, ideas. It is cool, soothing, and mysterious. It allows the watching of stars, the comfort of moonlight, and the chorus of critters I know I’d rather not see, but quite enjoy hearing. Oh, I like sunshine (no, really), and I go through phases of being a morning person, but I was born at three in the afternoon on a hot August day, and I think that caused an affinity for night time.

Nookie: Fuzzy was in the car with me, on the way to Cedar Hill the other day, when I said I’d committed to writing about five things that began with N and what they mean to me. He immediately mentioned nuzzling and necking, and I added nooners, and then said I might as well just write about nookie. Now, while nookie can mean the whole sex act, for me it means playful enounters, the kind that happen in stolen moments when you should be doing something else – like right after a shower, when you KNOW you need to leave for work in fifteen minutes, or when your parents are visiting and they’re watching television in the next room. That sort of thing. It’s a combination of frolic and a little bit of the illicit. And yes, there can still be nookie when you’ve been married for eleven years.

Neighborhood: While I don’t generally interact much with my actual neighbors, I like that our neighborhood is one in which people are generally aware of who belongs and who doesn’t, when it comes to the odd car parked on the street, or people approaching other people’s houses. More than the immediate though, neighborhoods for me are like small towns. My favorite neighborhoods, ever, are Willow Glen and the Rosegarden, both in San Jose, CA, but I like the Richmond district in San Francisco, too, and truly, I like my suburban neighborhood of Westchester, in Grand Prairie, TX, as much for the mature trees as for the fact that we have a couple of grocery stores, a cafe, Home Depot, Target, and a few neat restaurants, as well as a matching pair of movie theatres, all within a mile. As I told my mother on the phone yesterday, if you have to drive more than fifteen minutes to buy milk and toilet paper, you live too far from civilization. Also, I like that I live in a very dog-friendly neighborhood – almost every morning and evening you’ll see people taking their pets out for a stroll, and when the weather’s good, the kids and dogs play in the park, or there will be a congregation of kids and dogs on one of the corners, some on bikes, some with skateboards, others just walking. I like that our streets are safe enough, traffic-wise, for such things. I like that I feel at home here – we looked at other areas and they felt sterile, because there was no sense of neighborhood.

Friday Five memes have been around almost since dirt. Or at least since blogging began. I’m not feeling meme-ish tonight, as much as list-y, so I offer what I hope will be a new tradition here: Happy Friday – Five Things That Made Me Smile Today. (As always, participation is welcome but not obligatory).

1. The Dawn Chorus: Around 5:30 this morning, as I left the car to run into the local convenience store to use the ATM, I was greeted by a chorus of birds so loud and so beautiful that for a moment I was transfixed. Most of them were grackles, of course, but there were other voices in there as well – finches, jays, and even an owl – it was an amazing way to start the morning.
2. The Overpass on Loop 12: There’s a stretch of road on loop 12 (or spur 408 – I’m never awake to pay attention) that is built on a very tall overpass that always reminds me of a Harry Potter-esque train trestle, except that it’s made of concrete, not brick or stone, and it’s part of a multilever interchange…still on foggy or misty mornings, driving across it feels like driving on a road through the clouds. It’s good to have a tiny bit of magic every day.
3. Synchronicity: We heard the same song in the same place on the road going TO work this morning, as we did coming home.
4. Kava: I added some to cranberry juice last night, and managed not only to fall asleep before eleven (a crucial thing when one plans to be at work by six) but to have restful sleep. Tonight, I added a half dose to more juice, because I’m loopy from lack of sleep and an intense day, but wired, and since I don’t want to be bouncing off the walls…well you get the idea. No, I’m not using it every night. Yes, I’m aware that there can be side effects.
5. Piles of Pillows: I’m surrounded by dogs and pillows just now, and it’s exactly where I need to be. Not the most exciting Friday night, perhaps, but I’ve always preferred cozy comfort to chaos or the club scene, anyway.