Just stuff while I eat my dinner
I have basically taken the interesting bits of my life, that portion I'm willing to throw to the public, and put them on facebook. It is easier to do so in a few quick lines, from computer or phone, as things happen.
LJ requires me to sit here typing away. And offers me this giant window to fill.
Life on December 14, 2009:
Sitting at home in an apartment I share with my husband. A husband who really is my best friend. I don't say that lightly. Though I've always loved him, the best friend part has developed over time - he's the person I most want to be with, the person I have to sacrifice time with to spend any time with other people. I miss him when we're not together and look forward to seeing him again. He's my family and I love him.
We share this really nice tiny little apartment in the sky. It's just fancy enough we can be proud of it, and just dinky enough to not break our bank on rent. I love this crazy neighborhood we live in - I really was meant for city life. When I was a kid (and a country girl) I thought that meant late nights, parties, swank friends, visits to museums and theaters.. and actually it does mean all that. But it also means small communities of neighborhoods just a few blocks by a few blocks and knowing where to get whichever ethnic food you're craving next, and seeing the parents of kids at the school where I work on the sidewalk or at the farmer's market or in the park. It means knowing which fire department the trucks are coming from by the direction of the sirens, and knowing which streets to avoid after dark because a friend was mugged there. It means hearing news of a shooting on a corner you pass every other day. It means the homeless people are not faceless, but people you see every day and know what they will ask you for and where they sleep. It means caring about where you shop so you can support local stores instead of chains. It means knowing when the neighborhood schools let out and which streets to take when traffic is bad. It's also a lot like living on Sesame Street, which stirs deep childhood satisfaction in my soul.
I am pretty good at my job, not great but I do ok, and I work with some amazing people. Today I watched a live video conference call between a class of 7th and 8th graders and an 80 year old Japanese man who survived the atomic bomb attack on Hiroshima. Tell me that teacher is not an amazing man: 32 years old, African American who spent 3 years teaching English to Japanese middle schoolers, now teaching Humanities to 50 kids in Washington DC and introducing them to 80 year old bomb survivors. Damn. I also struggle with a really annoying boss who means well but is killing all my enthusiasm for my work. I know at some point I have to address these issues like an adult and professional. For now though I do sometimes pretend I didn't hear her say something to me.
What else? I'm doing improv with microCOSM - the troupe the DC Stagemonkeys play under. We just held auditions to augment our 4 into 8. Excited about taking on new people and getting some new energy into our work. Also I was accepted into another troupe called Moxie, a Washington Improv Theater troupe being formed by iMusical improviser extraordinaire Karen Lange. In honor of this exciting development, I have dropped some other things from my evenings schedule and am focusing for the winter on my two troupes. And keeping the rest of my evenings free to be with my husband or do some spontaneous things rather than being locked into the usual schedule.
We've been watching Mad Men, and it's starting to affect me. I had a Champagne Cocktails Christmas party, invited everyone to dress up and come over. Fixed honest to god cocktails, which we drank in candlelight. I felt like Joan Holloway all evening in my polkadot dress, red cardigan tied at my waist, and red peep-toe heels. A good way to feel. Also Mad Men makes me feel incredibly sexy. I always want to jump Zach's bones when I watch Mad Men.
I'm about to wrap some Christmas presents. I'm happy and merry, and I think it's because I have a capacity to find the happiness in life. I have my problems, but they interest me so little that I don't spend a lot of time thinking about them. I like being this way.
LJ requires me to sit here typing away. And offers me this giant window to fill.
Life on December 14, 2009:
Sitting at home in an apartment I share with my husband. A husband who really is my best friend. I don't say that lightly. Though I've always loved him, the best friend part has developed over time - he's the person I most want to be with, the person I have to sacrifice time with to spend any time with other people. I miss him when we're not together and look forward to seeing him again. He's my family and I love him.
We share this really nice tiny little apartment in the sky. It's just fancy enough we can be proud of it, and just dinky enough to not break our bank on rent. I love this crazy neighborhood we live in - I really was meant for city life. When I was a kid (and a country girl) I thought that meant late nights, parties, swank friends, visits to museums and theaters.. and actually it does mean all that. But it also means small communities of neighborhoods just a few blocks by a few blocks and knowing where to get whichever ethnic food you're craving next, and seeing the parents of kids at the school where I work on the sidewalk or at the farmer's market or in the park. It means knowing which fire department the trucks are coming from by the direction of the sirens, and knowing which streets to avoid after dark because a friend was mugged there. It means hearing news of a shooting on a corner you pass every other day. It means the homeless people are not faceless, but people you see every day and know what they will ask you for and where they sleep. It means caring about where you shop so you can support local stores instead of chains. It means knowing when the neighborhood schools let out and which streets to take when traffic is bad. It's also a lot like living on Sesame Street, which stirs deep childhood satisfaction in my soul.
I am pretty good at my job, not great but I do ok, and I work with some amazing people. Today I watched a live video conference call between a class of 7th and 8th graders and an 80 year old Japanese man who survived the atomic bomb attack on Hiroshima. Tell me that teacher is not an amazing man: 32 years old, African American who spent 3 years teaching English to Japanese middle schoolers, now teaching Humanities to 50 kids in Washington DC and introducing them to 80 year old bomb survivors. Damn. I also struggle with a really annoying boss who means well but is killing all my enthusiasm for my work. I know at some point I have to address these issues like an adult and professional. For now though I do sometimes pretend I didn't hear her say something to me.
What else? I'm doing improv with microCOSM - the troupe the DC Stagemonkeys play under. We just held auditions to augment our 4 into 8. Excited about taking on new people and getting some new energy into our work. Also I was accepted into another troupe called Moxie, a Washington Improv Theater troupe being formed by iMusical improviser extraordinaire Karen Lange. In honor of this exciting development, I have dropped some other things from my evenings schedule and am focusing for the winter on my two troupes. And keeping the rest of my evenings free to be with my husband or do some spontaneous things rather than being locked into the usual schedule.
We've been watching Mad Men, and it's starting to affect me. I had a Champagne Cocktails Christmas party, invited everyone to dress up and come over. Fixed honest to god cocktails, which we drank in candlelight. I felt like Joan Holloway all evening in my polkadot dress, red cardigan tied at my waist, and red peep-toe heels. A good way to feel. Also Mad Men makes me feel incredibly sexy. I always want to jump Zach's bones when I watch Mad Men.
I'm about to wrap some Christmas presents. I'm happy and merry, and I think it's because I have a capacity to find the happiness in life. I have my problems, but they interest me so little that I don't spend a lot of time thinking about them. I like being this way.