crispy
The performance art piece at Gala Corina went really well last night. The audience seemed into it and the conversation sound level dropped both times we pranced and writhed about the stage. My fellow kitties Summer and Careena adapted brilliantly to every curve thrown our way... from a different sized performance space, to every changing time slots, to a dirty, stuffy changing area swamped by models and fashion designers. maladr1n taped both performances and kept us dancers entertained between sets. I want to go back to actually view the art... too many people, too much noise last night. I wish I had a big pile of money to spend because some of the pieces I did see were very appealing to me.
I'm having lunch with my father today before he flies back to Colorado. I almost wanted to cancel, but he changed his flight from Orlando to Tampa to see me. He's picking me up at my house... and it is a disaster. So I tidied up the porch and the dogs... he'll have to deal with not seeing the inside of my house. Hopefully his new job selling jet planes will dominate the conversation. I'm fried and don't feel like being sociable this morning. Also I don't want to talk about work... he hates when I bitch or seem dissatisfied with the first "respectable" job I've ever had. He thinks this teaching thing is as good as it is going to get for me, so he doesn't want me to blow it. Last time he was here he was loopy on cold medicine, about 5 sheets to the wind, and had just seen me in a show, so he didn't mind hearing me babble about acting and stuff. In the bright light of a sober morning things might seem different. Even though I don't see my brothers very often, I find myself comparing my life to theirs... both married to great women, own homes, have well paying cool jobs that they like, have well behaved dogs, visit family regularly, don't live in shithole houses with crazy mutt dogs, don't smoke, don't have a house full of hand-me-down furniture, and don't come across as mildly insane.
And I have a new pimple this morning.
Woo fuckin' woo.
Well, if I can't make my house look decent, I might as well try to make myself look good. Time to get out the putty knife, spackle, duct tape and bungie cords.
I'm having lunch with my father today before he flies back to Colorado. I almost wanted to cancel, but he changed his flight from Orlando to Tampa to see me. He's picking me up at my house... and it is a disaster. So I tidied up the porch and the dogs... he'll have to deal with not seeing the inside of my house. Hopefully his new job selling jet planes will dominate the conversation. I'm fried and don't feel like being sociable this morning. Also I don't want to talk about work... he hates when I bitch or seem dissatisfied with the first "respectable" job I've ever had. He thinks this teaching thing is as good as it is going to get for me, so he doesn't want me to blow it. Last time he was here he was loopy on cold medicine, about 5 sheets to the wind, and had just seen me in a show, so he didn't mind hearing me babble about acting and stuff. In the bright light of a sober morning things might seem different. Even though I don't see my brothers very often, I find myself comparing my life to theirs... both married to great women, own homes, have well paying cool jobs that they like, have well behaved dogs, visit family regularly, don't live in shithole houses with crazy mutt dogs, don't smoke, don't have a house full of hand-me-down furniture, and don't come across as mildly insane.
And I have a new pimple this morning.
Woo fuckin' woo.
Well, if I can't make my house look decent, I might as well try to make myself look good. Time to get out the putty knife, spackle, duct tape and bungie cords.