Hey you! I know you! You've been reading my blog!
Okay, maybe you haven't been reading, maybe you just happened to drop by. Or maybe you've stumbled here by accident.
Regardless, if you're looking for me, I'm not here anymore. I'm upgrading to the world of the dot-com. Come visit me! (Oh, and on the off chance that you've linked me on your sidebar, I'd love you to make the change there, too!)
http://brightyellowworld.com
See you there!
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
All that glitters...
I've been at my "new job" for a month, and I love it. I feel a bit like I've scammed the universe into giving me a job that is beyond perfect for me, and I'm just waiting to get caught in the act. Sure, like any job, there are things I don't like, but they are few and far between. Overall, my job is an absurd amount of fun.
We're talking, there is a byline in my budget for glitter. Glitter, people. This is not reality.
I'm designing Outreach programs for a small non-profit music festival in San Fran. Basically, that just means that I'm coming up with new ways to show people how to relate to the arts. I like to hope that my programs will put the performing and fine arts back into the vernacular language of our culture, but that might be a bit far-fetched. Regardless, I'm starting out with a small-ish kids' program. I'm putting on ten events in conjunction with our concerts, and every one of them makes me smile. There's a day when we're having a professional muralist come in and work with the kids. We're having a "rock band petting zoo," where the kids can try out the different instruments and hear how they sound up close. We're making Mardi Gras masks, Batik flags, and maracas out of mailing tubes and pinto beans.
I can honestly say that I've never done work that makes me feel this happy. Perhaps it's a bit early in the process to make a judgment call like this, but I really feel like I could build an amazing program, one that will make me proud of what I do. I arrive to work (and leave, as well) feeling hopeful about my world. It's a new feeling for me in recent years, the feeling that life is all going to work out for the best. It's a feeling that I'm growing accustomed to, and one that I would love to snuggle into like a fluffy blanket. This might sound ridiculous, but this job makes me feel, oddly, "safe." It's refreshing to feel like my world doesn't revolve around myself every single moment. And yes, the blog is an odd forum to be making that statement, I realize, being entirely self-motivated and me-centered. What I mean, I suppose, is that this job makes me feel like my identity isn't tied so much to who likes me (or doesn't), my single-ness, my appearance, whatever. My identity also isn't tied to my playing, the amount of time I spent practicing, or what I'm capable of learning to play tomorrow.
Does that sound crazy? I guess it probably is, particularly for those of you who've been in the "real world" for longer than I have. Maybe it's just getting out of school, or maybe my job really is the reason behind it. I just finally feel at home in my life.
And the glitter doesn't hurt!
We're talking, there is a byline in my budget for glitter. Glitter, people. This is not reality.
I'm designing Outreach programs for a small non-profit music festival in San Fran. Basically, that just means that I'm coming up with new ways to show people how to relate to the arts. I like to hope that my programs will put the performing and fine arts back into the vernacular language of our culture, but that might be a bit far-fetched. Regardless, I'm starting out with a small-ish kids' program. I'm putting on ten events in conjunction with our concerts, and every one of them makes me smile. There's a day when we're having a professional muralist come in and work with the kids. We're having a "rock band petting zoo," where the kids can try out the different instruments and hear how they sound up close. We're making Mardi Gras masks, Batik flags, and maracas out of mailing tubes and pinto beans.
I can honestly say that I've never done work that makes me feel this happy. Perhaps it's a bit early in the process to make a judgment call like this, but I really feel like I could build an amazing program, one that will make me proud of what I do. I arrive to work (and leave, as well) feeling hopeful about my world. It's a new feeling for me in recent years, the feeling that life is all going to work out for the best. It's a feeling that I'm growing accustomed to, and one that I would love to snuggle into like a fluffy blanket. This might sound ridiculous, but this job makes me feel, oddly, "safe." It's refreshing to feel like my world doesn't revolve around myself every single moment. And yes, the blog is an odd forum to be making that statement, I realize, being entirely self-motivated and me-centered. What I mean, I suppose, is that this job makes me feel like my identity isn't tied so much to who likes me (or doesn't), my single-ness, my appearance, whatever. My identity also isn't tied to my playing, the amount of time I spent practicing, or what I'm capable of learning to play tomorrow.
Does that sound crazy? I guess it probably is, particularly for those of you who've been in the "real world" for longer than I have. Maybe it's just getting out of school, or maybe my job really is the reason behind it. I just finally feel at home in my life.
And the glitter doesn't hurt!
Monday, April 09, 2007
Boys drool
Two weeks ago, Mushroom Man stood me up. I should elaborate, I suppose, by saying that, on Saturday, we made plans for Thursday. When I called on Thursday to find out what time he'd like to come over for dinner, he called me back to say that "something came up." He then suggested that perhaps we get together the following Sunday or Monday, and promised he'd call back the next day (Friday) to make plans.
He has never called.
Now, normally I'd just cut my losses and move on. There are two problems, however, that leave me wondering at my next course of action.
1. He is my friend (and has been, for almost two years), and his place of work is one of my favorite places on Earth. So I can't/won't stop going by just to avoid him.
2. We dated/whatevered for over four months.
I realize that there's nothing I can do to change his behavior. And I really have no desire to pursue dating him after this debacle. Yes, there was more drama involved than I'm divulging, but really... you don't need to know all the idiot-girl moments of "Why isn't he calling me?," or "What does it all mean???" And, though many people don't believe me, I have no intention of "trying to teach him a lesson." The reality is that if he's insensitive and careless enough to do this, he won't give a rat's ass what I think of him or his behavior. And expressing my aggravation will only stress me out. I'm all about keeping myself comfortable at the moment. In light of all this, I think I've earned that little bit of selfishness.
The question remains, however: What do I do? I'm annoyed that he is proving to be such an infant. Really, just saying to me, "Abs, I'm not really feeling it, thanks but no thanks," would have been sufficient. And I've basically asked him several times if that's how he's feeling. I'm frustrated that his actions (or lack thereof) are now creating a situation that requires resolving, when plain honesty would have alleviated any need for that. And I'm embarrassed, because now I feel like a jackass for spending four months on someone who clearly didn't give a shit about me.
(Is it possible that this is the cause of the recent crankiness? Hmmmmmm... Jury says yes.)
So, blogosphere, how do you handle this? Or, more accurately, how do I handle this?
In other news, I have a date with someone new and nice tomorrow, so I'm not giving up hope. Just irritated.
He has never called.
Now, normally I'd just cut my losses and move on. There are two problems, however, that leave me wondering at my next course of action.
1. He is my friend (and has been, for almost two years), and his place of work is one of my favorite places on Earth. So I can't/won't stop going by just to avoid him.
2. We dated/whatevered for over four months.
I realize that there's nothing I can do to change his behavior. And I really have no desire to pursue dating him after this debacle. Yes, there was more drama involved than I'm divulging, but really... you don't need to know all the idiot-girl moments of "Why isn't he calling me?," or "What does it all mean???" And, though many people don't believe me, I have no intention of "trying to teach him a lesson." The reality is that if he's insensitive and careless enough to do this, he won't give a rat's ass what I think of him or his behavior. And expressing my aggravation will only stress me out. I'm all about keeping myself comfortable at the moment. In light of all this, I think I've earned that little bit of selfishness.
The question remains, however: What do I do? I'm annoyed that he is proving to be such an infant. Really, just saying to me, "Abs, I'm not really feeling it, thanks but no thanks," would have been sufficient. And I've basically asked him several times if that's how he's feeling. I'm frustrated that his actions (or lack thereof) are now creating a situation that requires resolving, when plain honesty would have alleviated any need for that. And I'm embarrassed, because now I feel like a jackass for spending four months on someone who clearly didn't give a shit about me.
(Is it possible that this is the cause of the recent crankiness? Hmmmmmm... Jury says yes.)
So, blogosphere, how do you handle this? Or, more accurately, how do I handle this?
In other news, I have a date with someone new and nice tomorrow, so I'm not giving up hope. Just irritated.
Friday, April 06, 2007
ACK!
Okay, folks. I do not like my template. And I do not like my blogger template options. And I just checked out wordpress (whose templates are waaaaay prettier), and I immediately became SERIOUSLY STRESSED OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Honestly, I can't believe that this is bothering me so much. I mean, I really didn't think that blogging and I were such close pals that the notion of switching things would cause me anxiety.
I am thinking of doing the dot-com thing, but I frankly wouldn't even know how to begin with that.
So. Here's the question: what do you all use, how do you create your templates, and SHOULD I REALLY BE FEELING LIKE SUCH A FREAK OF NATURE RIGHT NOW?????????????
I need an Easter miracle. And some advice.
Honestly, I can't believe that this is bothering me so much. I mean, I really didn't think that blogging and I were such close pals that the notion of switching things would cause me anxiety.
I am thinking of doing the dot-com thing, but I frankly wouldn't even know how to begin with that.
So. Here's the question: what do you all use, how do you create your templates, and SHOULD I REALLY BE FEELING LIKE SUCH A FREAK OF NATURE RIGHT NOW?????????????
I need an Easter miracle. And some advice.
Knock on wood
My dad used to tell me that I was born under a lucky star. Perhaps this is a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I've always felt like a remarkably lucky person. And no, I don't mean "I feel so blessed to live the life I live" and blah blah blah. I don't mean anything deep or meaningful. I mean that small, insignificant, and stupidly lucky things tend to happen. For instance, I tend to drive up to a destination just as the person parked out front is leaving. I win raffles, which I enter on a whim and completely forget about. I've never broken a bone, despite inherent clumsiness and an inability to stand upright for an entire day.
Once, when I was a kid, we were at an amusement park. I think I was maybe five or six years old. I was an awkward kid, chubby, with bad hair and worse clothes. I was thoroughly uncoordinated, and I cringe when I think of myself walking, running, or (sweet lord!) throwing things. Despite this, I entered one of those impossible carnival games. You know, the one with the zillions of glass coke bottles, and you throw a ring from far-ish away and try to get it over one of the bottles? Well, on the first try, I got the ring over the bottle. And, given my choice of prize, I selected a GIGANTIC, white stuffed buffalo. And by "gigantic," I mean six feet long, four feet tall, three feet wide. I should mention that it was the beginning of our long day at the park, meaning that my mother had to carry this thing around on her back for another eight hours.
Apparently, my mother is not an inherently lucky person. But god, is she incredibly patient!
What made me remember all of this, however, was that yesterday someone mentioned a cakewalk. I don't remember who, and my apologies for not linking to you. At any rate, I had this really funny, vague memory of my first-ever cakewalk, when I was really young.
I remember the music, I remember that I was wearing a yellow dress. I remember that my mom made Sis and I stick together, and I kept trying to separate from her and get my own spot (yeah... sorry about that...) and she started crying. Finally, the cakewalk lady just told my mom to let us each have a spot. I remember each kid got a cupcake when they were out. And I remember, vividly, the disappointment of discovering that I was the last one left, and the realization that they were out of cupcakes. And the utter delight of discovering that, instead, I alone was to receive a full-sized chocolate cake.
I never said I was a particularly bright child. Just lucky.
Once, when I was a kid, we were at an amusement park. I think I was maybe five or six years old. I was an awkward kid, chubby, with bad hair and worse clothes. I was thoroughly uncoordinated, and I cringe when I think of myself walking, running, or (sweet lord!) throwing things. Despite this, I entered one of those impossible carnival games. You know, the one with the zillions of glass coke bottles, and you throw a ring from far-ish away and try to get it over one of the bottles? Well, on the first try, I got the ring over the bottle. And, given my choice of prize, I selected a GIGANTIC, white stuffed buffalo. And by "gigantic," I mean six feet long, four feet tall, three feet wide. I should mention that it was the beginning of our long day at the park, meaning that my mother had to carry this thing around on her back for another eight hours.
Apparently, my mother is not an inherently lucky person. But god, is she incredibly patient!
What made me remember all of this, however, was that yesterday someone mentioned a cakewalk. I don't remember who, and my apologies for not linking to you. At any rate, I had this really funny, vague memory of my first-ever cakewalk, when I was really young.
I remember the music, I remember that I was wearing a yellow dress. I remember that my mom made Sis and I stick together, and I kept trying to separate from her and get my own spot (yeah... sorry about that...) and she started crying. Finally, the cakewalk lady just told my mom to let us each have a spot. I remember each kid got a cupcake when they were out. And I remember, vividly, the disappointment of discovering that I was the last one left, and the realization that they were out of cupcakes. And the utter delight of discovering that, instead, I alone was to receive a full-sized chocolate cake.
I never said I was a particularly bright child. Just lucky.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
In Birmingham they love the guv'ner...
Something that you already knew about me: in many ways, I am still a Southerner, despite calling San Fran my home. I like my tea sweet, my chicken fried, and my bread in the form of biscuits. I have a weakness for gigantic, hot-rollered hair. My liquor of choice is bourbon (seriously), and college football season inspires in me some kind of near-religious fervor. And, if I know you well enough and trust you not to judge me, I have an accent.
And when I'm in a bad mood, there is one thing that I know, without question, will soothe the savage beast:
Southern Rock music.
Which is why, last night, I found myself in my living room, rocking out to Free Bird in my underwear. There was air guitar. There was major ass-shaking and a few high-kicks. I may or may not have twisted my ankle. And I won't even tell you how many times I played the song on repeat. Nor will I tell you how many times it was followed by both Sweet Home Alabama AND Black Water, by the Doobie Brothers.
You can take the girl out of the South, but...
And when I'm in a bad mood, there is one thing that I know, without question, will soothe the savage beast:
Southern Rock music.
Which is why, last night, I found myself in my living room, rocking out to Free Bird in my underwear. There was air guitar. There was major ass-shaking and a few high-kicks. I may or may not have twisted my ankle. And I won't even tell you how many times I played the song on repeat. Nor will I tell you how many times it was followed by both Sweet Home Alabama AND Black Water, by the Doobie Brothers.
You can take the girl out of the South, but...
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Pout
My crankypants are pulled up HIGH today.
Not only did I achieve very few hours of sleep last night, but now I'm waiting for my boss to have a meeting that was scheduled for two hours ago. And I can't do anything at all until we've met.
The two main signs that I need to just start today all over again? I snapped, verbally, at three of my coworkers. Now, those of you who actually know me personally will probably understand the ramifications of this. I don't snap at people. I certainly don't say to people, "You are being really freaking rude." And why, you ask, did I feel the need to share my bad-humored state with the world? Oh, wait for it. They criticized my lunch. Yup. They told me my lunch was gross. And I got mad.
sigh. I need more important things to worry about!
And then I nearly kicked a child's ass at the restaurant, while picking up said lunch. I walked through the door, and this little girl (perhaps seven years old?) glares at me and says, "There's a line, and you better not cut in front of me!!!"
WHAT. THE. CRAP????????????????????????????
Whose mother allows them to talk that way to strangers? And yes, her mother was standing right next to her. I literally had to close my eyes and take a deep breath.
Intellectually, I know that this is lack of sleep talking. I know that I will wake up in the morning (provided the *%$#ing cats leave me alone) in a different world, a world of unicorns and rainbows and bluebirds. Right now, though, I just feel like whining as I wallow in my self-pity.
Good work, me!
Not only did I achieve very few hours of sleep last night, but now I'm waiting for my boss to have a meeting that was scheduled for two hours ago. And I can't do anything at all until we've met.
The two main signs that I need to just start today all over again? I snapped, verbally, at three of my coworkers. Now, those of you who actually know me personally will probably understand the ramifications of this. I don't snap at people. I certainly don't say to people, "You are being really freaking rude." And why, you ask, did I feel the need to share my bad-humored state with the world? Oh, wait for it. They criticized my lunch. Yup. They told me my lunch was gross. And I got mad.
sigh. I need more important things to worry about!
And then I nearly kicked a child's ass at the restaurant, while picking up said lunch. I walked through the door, and this little girl (perhaps seven years old?) glares at me and says, "There's a line, and you better not cut in front of me!!!"
WHAT. THE. CRAP????????????????????????????
Whose mother allows them to talk that way to strangers? And yes, her mother was standing right next to her. I literally had to close my eyes and take a deep breath.
Intellectually, I know that this is lack of sleep talking. I know that I will wake up in the morning (provided the *%$#ing cats leave me alone) in a different world, a world of unicorns and rainbows and bluebirds. Right now, though, I just feel like whining as I wallow in my self-pity.
Good work, me!
Hell, thy name is cats
It's 6:30 a.m. and I've been awake for an hour. At 5:20 my cats decided that it was high time I got up, and they began to be complete assholes. Seriously, every single annoying thing they could have done, they did. When I locked them out of my room, Puck ran at the door and threw his body against it, and Pierre sang opera at top volume. When I opened the door, Pierre welcomed himself inside and began to bang on the closet door for admission. When I opened the closet door? He found the one roll of paper inside and began to poke it with his paw, creating an amazing amount of noise. When I kicked Pierre out and tried to go back to sleep with Puck, he began to chase his tail on top of me. Finally, I gave up. So. Here I am. Awake and showered at 6:40 a.m., drinking tea and listening to my second Nick Drake album of the morning. And grumpy as all hell!
Yes, I know. There are worse things. But I'm already exhausted from the past several months of being crazy busy, and... blah. Whining about it will do no good, I realize. I need to figure out how to entertain my cats. Clearly they are bored, but I have very little space and few resources to solve that problem. Any suggestions?
Yes, I know. There are worse things. But I'm already exhausted from the past several months of being crazy busy, and... blah. Whining about it will do no good, I realize. I need to figure out how to entertain my cats. Clearly they are bored, but I have very little space and few resources to solve that problem. Any suggestions?
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Like a feather pillow
That's how stuffed I am. Wündergirl and I ate tonight at The Last Supper Club at 23rd and Valencia. And sweet lord, was it delicious! I had a cocktail, an awesome glass of wine, crostini with tomatoes and basil, risotto balls stuffed with mozzerella, pork tenderloin with balsamic vinegar sauce, and tiramisu. I feel like it's Thanksgiving. I feel like I could enter a coma at any moment. I feel like hell. And yet, it was soooooooooo worth it.
Mushroom Man has officially disappeared. The weirdest part about this is that I'm not terribly sad. I'm mad, and my feelings are hurt, but sad? Not exactly. I feel deflated, to a certain extent. I have a hard time with the fact that someone I've considered a friend for so long has managed to discount my feelings so completely. But this is not the end of the world. And I'm not feeling damaged. Realistically, the past four months with him have been mostly fun, mostly a great time. So I'd consider the overall situation to have been successful. This is a first for me: walking away from something that's not "bad" simply because it isn't what I want. It feels good to raise my standards, to feel okay with that decision.
According to my friend, Bittersweet Bob, I'm "soft." I'm "sappy." I'm equal parts wonderful and weak, sweet and saccharine. Now, first of all, I have a really hard time with someone criticizing a fundamental aspect of my personality. I find it infuriating when someone who can't handle criticism tells me what's on their list of "what's wrong with Abbersnail." Secondly, when is it ever acceptable to say that to someone??? There's something about me that seems to scream, "Hey, you can say anything to me! Come on! Hit me with the inappropriate comments! Say the disgusting thing to me! Tell me about your revolting medical condition, the time you cheated on your current girlfriend, or the biggest zit you've ever had. I'd LUH-HOOOVE to hear all about it." Come on, world! Give me a break!!!
Another monumentally bad post, but whatever. Goodnight, all!
Mushroom Man has officially disappeared. The weirdest part about this is that I'm not terribly sad. I'm mad, and my feelings are hurt, but sad? Not exactly. I feel deflated, to a certain extent. I have a hard time with the fact that someone I've considered a friend for so long has managed to discount my feelings so completely. But this is not the end of the world. And I'm not feeling damaged. Realistically, the past four months with him have been mostly fun, mostly a great time. So I'd consider the overall situation to have been successful. This is a first for me: walking away from something that's not "bad" simply because it isn't what I want. It feels good to raise my standards, to feel okay with that decision.
According to my friend, Bittersweet Bob, I'm "soft." I'm "sappy." I'm equal parts wonderful and weak, sweet and saccharine. Now, first of all, I have a really hard time with someone criticizing a fundamental aspect of my personality. I find it infuriating when someone who can't handle criticism tells me what's on their list of "what's wrong with Abbersnail." Secondly, when is it ever acceptable to say that to someone??? There's something about me that seems to scream, "Hey, you can say anything to me! Come on! Hit me with the inappropriate comments! Say the disgusting thing to me! Tell me about your revolting medical condition, the time you cheated on your current girlfriend, or the biggest zit you've ever had. I'd LUH-HOOOVE to hear all about it." Come on, world! Give me a break!!!
Another monumentally bad post, but whatever. Goodnight, all!
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