Mumbling Madly

This will be my last entry until the move is over. The computer is being packed away this afternoon. I’m really bleery this morning, no coffee so I’m going to have to be bad and buy it at Dejavu Coffee House next to my work. Last night Josh painted over this terrific bright green wall in our living room. The wall was painted green by Josh while I was visiting my parents…I came home and it was green. This was at the time I was doing all this research on home decorating, interior design, color analysis, etc. According to my knowledge the green wall was an extremely bold choice. This was concurrent with Josh painting one wall in the kitchen dark, ketchup, red. I managed to talk him into painting over it because the dark color figuratively shrunk the kitchen to the size of a closet.
I asked permission from our landlord to paint over the heinous wood paneling covering an entire wall in our new living room. We’ve done the wood paneling once before and I’m DONE with it…never again, it’s really such an awful former trend, and I’m sure painting over it will be a nightmare, but I don’t care.
Last night we took a break and went to the drive-in. We watched Bourne Supremacy but it was seriously ruined for me because: 1. Josh’s truck has to sit in the back row, causing serious vision strain. 2. Dark screen does not do well with dark sky behind the screen. It was difficult to see what was going on during a lot of the great chase scenes because they were at night or in dark rooms. 3. High School Party Car parked next to us. I could hear the movie’s potential (well, and the 16 yr old party going on next door), I just couldn’t see the movie all that well.

I feel like this move will be different. After all, most of our wall hangings are down and the little (or sometimes not so little) pinholes have been filled up. I cancelled our milk service (Yes, we have milk delievered to our house, which I’m sure Jeff will claim is very colonial of me). The funny thing is we still don’t know what our new address is. We know what the street is and whether we’re north or south and we know we’re literally attached to the Colorado Artists Co-Op building but that’s it. We have a sinking suspicion we’re something and 1/2. I’ve always thought that whole half thing was so ghetto sounding: Yeah I live on 604 1/2 West. It invokes images of a shack behind someone’s mansion or literally half of a house propped up against a telephone pole. Fort Collins is big on their 1/2 addresses because they like to squeeze students in old carriage houses and guest cottages. (Yes, we live in a turn of the century neighborhood). Now Josh and I will join the ranks of halves and having to repeat our address multiple times: “No, it’s not just 604 it’s 604 and a HALF.”

I am attempting to prepare the visual media for my show, “The ‘L’ Project.” Below are samples of ‘L’ words in visual form that will be used for the show. When I return to Portland I’m going to have to fumble around with slide film and take pics of Gina’s art at her little studio in her basement. This way she doesn’t have to transport the art and I can just get the slides plain and simple. I HOPE it’ll be simple, I’ve only used slide film once before and all I remember is you have to use a tripod.

Pencil and Ink by Gina

Acrylics by Gina

I’m going through a Poor Phase. It’s kind of like money dieting, every now and than I’ll cut way back on spending in order to catch up on everything. The move (this Sunday is already the first of August, Dear God) has provoked this phase as well as my upcoming trip to Portland in several weeks. Basically I go back to my frugal, penny-pitching, cut-a-burrito-in-half-and-eat-one-half-for-lunch-one-half-for-dinner days back when I was a Drama student at the University of Washington. Those were sad, lonely, hungry days but man, I came out of college NOT OWING A CENT. I have zero debt (but don’t get excited, I inherited Josh’s debt mysteriously by way of marriage).
In fact, I wasn’t issued a credit card until last year because up until my Dad co-signed on a car loan I had NO credit which almost equals Bad Credit. No one would give me a credit card! They would offer me stupid traning wheel credit cards, the kind where you put 300 away and use THAT as a credit card to prove that you can charge money. What the hell? Isn’t that like me using a debit card all these years? The tragedy is that I would visit Josh on campus and there would be swarms of tables set up with various credit card companies soliciting the students with frisbees and plastic footballs and other incentives to sign up. This trap actually led to some of Josh’s debt (WHY give starving college students a HUGE opening balance, do they WANT them to fail?)
When we moved to Fort Collins, McLeod wouldn’t let me open up a phone line with them because I had no credit. I screamed: “I had a phone line in my name for four years in Seattle with Qwest, what’s wrong with you people?!” Unfortunantly a lot of stuff is in Josh’s name just because he has the credit to establish it. (But not the Honda, waahaahaa!)
Anyway, cutting back basically means any lunches I may buy during work hours have to be under four dollars (yes, this IS possible it just means limiting myself to soup and/or cream cheese bagels), coffee needs to be made at home and brought to work, soggy sandwiches are stuffed into ancient tupperware and dragged around with me in my dance bag (God, I’m just like my MOM), and no new clothes and no new shoes. Of course bills will be paid and groceries are acceptable, the occasional (and this is hard) restaurant is ok (but we have to use coupons), and the occasional movie rental and/or cinema experience is all right. Another way to do this is to take 20 dollars out in cash as an allowance for the week and another 20 dollars for the weekend and that’s it.
This is how I’ve lived for years, and I’ll be frank: The ONLY thing Josh and I fight about is money. This is why, after five years we are completely financially separate. Our radically different styles of spending has caused greater clashes than say, the typical scuffles over who’s going to do the dishes. Now I’ve heard that money is the number one reason why people divorce in this country. And I’m firm about the fact that we’ll get passed it and unify ourselves eventually. Because, let’s face it: At this time in our young lives there will never be enough money. As long as there’s a roof and food and solid transportation I can forget the new sandals.
So I’m on a money diet until my Portland trip…and than I’m going to take advantage of their no tax and buy clothes…and food at Trader Joe’s.

I learned something yesterday: Don’t jump to conclusions, otherwise you’ll look and sound like an ass. Here’s the story: I’ve been rehearsing for the “L Project” for a month now. The bulk of our rehearsing is done on Sundays, where I usually put in about 6 or 7 hours at a stretch. Each piece (Loss, Lonely, Link, etc) is given an hour’s worth of rehearsal time. One day we’ll do full runs of the show (one day) but until than I’ve resorted to the world’s longest rehearsals on Sunday. Ideally we’d meet every night for an hour, but these dancers are, ah, how to put it: “Not doing it for the money.” So I must accomodate them as graciously as possible. Plus, in this small community dancers are coveted by other companies so I am competing for rehearsal time fairly regularly. Anyway, we get to a certain point yesterday and I receive a message that two of the dancers are striking for a recent production. I get all huffy because, what the hell, they don’t have to strike…can’t they say they have rehearsal and get over here? I’m all mad because now I can’t rehearse with the two of them missing. I go on a tangent about how F.C. theater sucks, why make your performers strike, and the disadvantages of using them as free labor. I’m super bitter but we stumble through anyway without them.
An hour later they arrive, and I meet them at the door all ready to confront their tardiness. Allison starts off saying, “We’re so sorry, it’s been a really bad week.” I look over, and there’s Theresa crying. So, I immediately soften, because CRYING, well, there’s no need to cry over missing rehearsal. Allison continues: “You know that bi-plane that crashed yesterday in Fort Collins? Well it crashed in front of our house.”
Ok. So, I’m the biggest asshole in the world. For one, I was lying around the house on Saturday, I had no idea that there was a major plane crash two miles away…appearantly it shut down that whole part of town, sent a message across the emergency broadcast system, and resulted in three fatalities (the poor chaps in the plane). Fort Collins is nearby a very small airport that hoasts many 2 engine bi-planes belonging to local wealthy people. It seems every year some poor guy goes out in subpar weather and falls out of the sky. But in someone’s front yard, well that’s a new one. And in front of Theresa and Allison’s house, I’ve never heard of anything so wild. Allison was at work, but Theresa saw the aftermath complete with explosions. The oil from the plane ignited a parked car and than seaped into the sewage system causing the manhole covers to blow into the air from underground explosions. And she saw the three men inside the plane.
And here I was fussing over them missing rehearsal. For cying out loud! ASSHOLE. I should have lowered my guard. As it was, I was extremely sympathetic and all over myself apologizing. I can’t imagine how I would feel if I witnissed something so outrageous. At this point I’m really worried about Theresa…and not thinking at all about my stupid rehearsals.

I’m certain we are breaking a record here in Ft. Collins. It’s late July and we’ve had 24 hours of rain and temperatures below 59.
Josh has fallen ill because of it. He’s been banished to the futon in the spare room. Hobbes attempted to visit him during the night but was chased away after much snorting and wheezing.
We are slowly trying to pack…any packing tips?
I am teaching a Movement and Action Workshop in three hours. Whee. It was a tough call: Either follow through and teach a workshop with only four students or ditch and accept the position of Ice Skating Judge at the Epic Center. I did the honerable thing and kept my first commitment. But man, I really wanted to be an Ice Skating Judge!

So, I’m a teacher. A dance and theater teacher. This summer, I’ve actually taught less…in fact, in the three years I’ve officially been teaching I think this has been my most laid back summer. And it’s fantastic. I’ve always dreamed of being one of those ‘real’ teachers who get’s to take summer off.
But now Fall schedules are starting to roll around. Unlike li’l Vancouver, WA, schools in Fort Collins start as early as the third week of August…yes! It’s literally still 100 degrees out and school is in session. True, the pay off is summer begins early May, but August is still summer…May is SPRING. So, it’s a little wierd. And it means my July is interuppted with Fall schedule chitchat and bs and I have to make decisions on how much I want to teach vs how much I really want to make. Here’s the thing: It would be impossible to be a full time dance teacher. I know, I know, there are plenty of people who do it, but let me tell you: They are borderline crazy. Imagine yourself gallavanting with a bunch of 3 and 4 yr olds and suddenly one of them eats shit and starts a crying jag with the entire class. Or imagine that they ALL want to take their ballet slippers off, and they don’t understand when you tell them ‘no, that would be a bad idea.’ Let’s forget the nightmare of the group dynamic (ie 3-4 yr olds outnumber you 8 to 1). Instead, let me give you specific cases: The wiry, skittish, girl with the coke-bottle glasses who starts scratching her butt and whining: “I have itchy bumps on my bottom!!” Or when you look at a chubby kid complaining of being “tired” after 2 minutes of skips around the room and you know she’s going to battle a weight problem all her life. Or the cute, blond, angel of a girl who now and forever will get by on her looks and her looks only (until she hits 50 and has to start developing a personality). I’m telling you, I’ve gotten that good at reading these kids. And the parents…the parents are a whole other bag of apples. I’ve had parents wanting me to “slow it down” for their kid…SLOW IT DOWN? We spend 15 minutes playing Sleeping Fairy Princess, for crying out loud. It’s not like I’m asking them to decipher their left from their right (something a child is not capable of until they’re at least 7). I’ve had parents dress their children in the most ridiculous, heinous, costumes and than get pissed when I refuse to let their kid wear a 2 ton tutu and a gargantuan tiara on their head. Hell no! Not in my class!
Anyway, before the madness begins, Josh and I are heading to the NW. My brother, Sam, is graduating from Portland State University and I need to be there to witness it. So, August 13-20 we are P-Town Bound! Start making your reservations now, since Josh and I BOTH have family there. It was fine when we were just shacking up, but now that we’re married we’re required to make all sorts of guest appearances–Although we are freed up in the evenings