Hours 60 - 84 were not among my finest of this lovely break. First off, I didn't really get much done in the way of creativity. Really, the only way I really contributed to something artistic was by helping Ro practice his lines for the play he's in next month. And I guess I also ordered the bluetooth adapter for my wireless graphics tablet, which will enable me to participate in something creative but unless skilled Amazon orders has officially been upgraded to an artform, I've got nothing in that department.
What I do have plenty of, however, is ways I've lost money. First off, I recieved a letter from the IRS saying that my taxes reported was incorrect (thanks Turbotax) and I owe $331 to the IRS. Secondly, our landlord from our last place decided to communicate with us very badly about how our old apartment was being rented and we ended up losing a total of $1100, $550 of which was mine. Then, I left our bedroom and Ro discovered on his way back in that the door had somehow locked itself, forcing us to break in. If it turns out we lose our security deposit for this place after busting through the door or if we end up having to buy a new custom cut door (it's an attic bedroom with a slanted ceiling), then today cost me anywhere between $881 or about $1200 depending on where we land on the door issue.
Not a very good start to a summer that was hopefully going to include a trip somewhere and possibly some money saved. So now it looks like there's a good chance that I'll be calling up my old temp agency to see if they can throw some work my way. Not exactly productive in terms of pursuing some deeper meaning in life but let's face it, in the end money is often involved in many important life experiences. So I might as well have some.
Things started picking up a little bit last night. I tagged along with Ro to a recording session for the play he's in and got to hang out in what looked like a minister's library (creepiest book title? Tender Miscarriage: An Epiphany). After we were there for a few minutes our friend Sydney showed up slightly drunk and very hungry. After recording her lines, we ended up hitting one of our favorite local restuarants where I had spicy Cajun fries, clam chowder and a dirty martini. At least I've added clam chowder to my standard summer dinner.
Things had started looking up until our waiter completely sucked. Very forgetful and generally weird, he was earning the smallest tip ever until he offered Sydney half off on her meal because she only ate half of it. A decent attempt, but we still weren't buying it. Or, well, we bought it, but we still weren't tipping well.
I finally made it to bed at a decent hour. I seem to be about 24 hours behind in reporting on this blog, but maybe that's for the best. In any case, tomorrow night will find me typing up a summary of hours 84 - 108.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Hours 36 - 60. New plans and a rich lady.
Today I actually succeeded at not setting my alarm and waking up at a relatively decent hour (9:30 to be exact). I think it's very important for the success of this summer if I limit my ridiculous night owl tendencies so that I don't go completely nocturnal like last summer. Last year it wasn't uncommon for me to go to bed at 4 a.m. and wake up at 11am or noon the next day. A pattern like that would be fine if I was actually being productive, but par for the course, I was just wasting most of that time online.
Which brings me to one of my goals: Limit my time watching TV (the rule will be that I can only watch things that are brand-new to me...no mindless reruns of things I've seen before) and aside from the time that I plan to spend on this blog, I want to only use the computer for learning graphic design and maybe brush up on some web design with a very small amount of time (maybe 10 minutes 4 times a day) devoted to checking email/social networking sites/general time wasters.
For the most part my day was pretty low-key. I woke up, futzed around online, the usual. It was as I was responding to the latest email from the lady I was getting my Wacom Graphire tablet from that I remembered an idea I'd come up with the previous night while watching Work of Art. The first thing I felt when watching the show was jealousy - clearly the level of skill on the show was varied and clearly certain people were chosen by producers to be entertaining, but they did manage to throw together a fairly representative group of artists, such as one you might find in a higher college level art course. The jealousy came because these were people who got to work closely with other artists, all day, every day for what would probably amount to a month. They were given every material in the world at their fingertips and pretty much a blank check when it came to how much of each material they could use. They were given the opportunity to hobnob with several famous artists but the best part of all is that they were automatically motivated by being forced to produce something every day.
Now forcing yourself to work on something in the creative arts on a daily basis isn't exactly a new idea. I've had friends set up journals where they forced themselves to write a short story every day or forced themselves to try something new every day or even create a new piece of art every day. But it was a concept that was new to me. The problem is that as much as I love art, I'm too much of a spazz to say "I'm going to create a new piece of art every day." Because the truth is, as I've gotten older, and as much as I love art, I've kind of found myself connecting to new creative outlets that don't always include the fine arts. So I've decided that part of how I'm going to motivate myself and hold myself accountable is that every single day I want to force myself to do something creative or something that aides creativity. Just a simple contribution, whether I'm working on a new song on my harp or writing a grant for the theatre company I'm involved with or, yes, painting a picture or rendering a drawing. I'm not going to make a huge list because lists overwhelm me and when I'm overwhelmed I become static. Creating something every day is a lofty goal, but by keeping it intentionally loose, I don't think it's insurmountable.
This is the plan that I hashed out while riding the trolley over to the part of town I used to live in. This is the section of the suburbs that my boyfriend grew up in and where we used to live before moving to a more artsy and somewhat younger suburb of the city. I was making the 45 minute trip to my old town to meet a woman off of craigslist who, when I tried to google her, all I could come up with was some really famous soap opera star that I'd never heard of. I was so confused by this that I was worried at first that this would some sketchy craigslist killer wannabe using the name as an alias but I later found out that she used this name to avoid sketchy people on craigslist (I guess the kind of people who would google her name, ahem).
I had my big psuedo-celebrity sunglasses on and was texting a friend when she came up to me in front of her apartment building. The level of relief on her face when she said my name and I said hello was surprising. For someone who was guarded enough to use a fake name on craigslist, she was definitely pretty open after she determined from my outfit that I was middle class (yes, she did the look up, look down). She was comfortable enough to immediately invite me upstairs to pick up the tablet, rather than making me wait downstairs for her to get it (and I got an explanation on how she'd never let a man inside her apartment alone). We chatted on the way up and the more I talked, the more at ease she became, in a way that actually made me more uncomfortable (was it that I was white? That I used to live in the nice suburb? That I was clearly educated?) Maybe I was overthinking it, but she was definitely worried about offending me while we talked "business" and even took the $125 cash I gave her without insulting me by counting it. When I felt awkward and reverted to my general rule of "When nervous making small talk, compliment the other person's taste level in some way" I commented on how beautiful the decor of her condo was (this place, in this town, probably would have been $700K or more on the market with another 100K in home furnishings). The only downside of that was that I ended up getting a tour which extended my stay. Since I felt like an invitation to tea or tennis doubles was dangerously near, I suddenly noticed the time and had to head out. She wished me a good day and then told me that if there was a single thing wrong with the tablet, to bring it back and she'd refund me. That was definitely cool of her, since you don't get that often on craigslist. In the end, she a lady with good intentions even if the interaction was slightly strange.
Realizing once again that I had forgotten to eat, I quickly grabbed a chocolate croissant and a bland mocha latte at a local coffee shop. After spending $8.50 to sit in the modern but sterile decore with a bunch of immaculately dressed 30-somethings, I searched for a bathroom and realized that this cafe had none. Really? No bathroom? In a coffee shop? The only way there could have been a bathroom is if it was behind the counter and through the kitchen, straight into the den of pursed lipped baristas, one of whom had stared me down when I spent 3 minutes trying to choose my first meal of the day. No thanks, silly coffee shop.
After giving up the bathroom search, I headed to the good local coffee shop and without doing actual business, I did my business. After adventuring into the suburbs, all I could think about was coming home and actually starting this blog. All of the entries, aside from this one, were posted on June 30th which was technically yesterday at this point. It took me the better part of the day to get started breaking only to welcome home my lovely boyfriend and make a pasta dinner for us. I've only covered 2 days so far, so here's hoping that the rest of my summer is as invigorating as the first two and a half days. 59 Days left, 1440 and 15 minutes to go.
Which brings me to one of my goals: Limit my time watching TV (the rule will be that I can only watch things that are brand-new to me...no mindless reruns of things I've seen before) and aside from the time that I plan to spend on this blog, I want to only use the computer for learning graphic design and maybe brush up on some web design with a very small amount of time (maybe 10 minutes 4 times a day) devoted to checking email/social networking sites/general time wasters.
For the most part my day was pretty low-key. I woke up, futzed around online, the usual. It was as I was responding to the latest email from the lady I was getting my Wacom Graphire tablet from that I remembered an idea I'd come up with the previous night while watching Work of Art. The first thing I felt when watching the show was jealousy - clearly the level of skill on the show was varied and clearly certain people were chosen by producers to be entertaining, but they did manage to throw together a fairly representative group of artists, such as one you might find in a higher college level art course. The jealousy came because these were people who got to work closely with other artists, all day, every day for what would probably amount to a month. They were given every material in the world at their fingertips and pretty much a blank check when it came to how much of each material they could use. They were given the opportunity to hobnob with several famous artists but the best part of all is that they were automatically motivated by being forced to produce something every day.
Now forcing yourself to work on something in the creative arts on a daily basis isn't exactly a new idea. I've had friends set up journals where they forced themselves to write a short story every day or forced themselves to try something new every day or even create a new piece of art every day. But it was a concept that was new to me. The problem is that as much as I love art, I'm too much of a spazz to say "I'm going to create a new piece of art every day." Because the truth is, as I've gotten older, and as much as I love art, I've kind of found myself connecting to new creative outlets that don't always include the fine arts. So I've decided that part of how I'm going to motivate myself and hold myself accountable is that every single day I want to force myself to do something creative or something that aides creativity. Just a simple contribution, whether I'm working on a new song on my harp or writing a grant for the theatre company I'm involved with or, yes, painting a picture or rendering a drawing. I'm not going to make a huge list because lists overwhelm me and when I'm overwhelmed I become static. Creating something every day is a lofty goal, but by keeping it intentionally loose, I don't think it's insurmountable.
This is the plan that I hashed out while riding the trolley over to the part of town I used to live in. This is the section of the suburbs that my boyfriend grew up in and where we used to live before moving to a more artsy and somewhat younger suburb of the city. I was making the 45 minute trip to my old town to meet a woman off of craigslist who, when I tried to google her, all I could come up with was some really famous soap opera star that I'd never heard of. I was so confused by this that I was worried at first that this would some sketchy craigslist killer wannabe using the name as an alias but I later found out that she used this name to avoid sketchy people on craigslist (I guess the kind of people who would google her name, ahem).
I had my big psuedo-celebrity sunglasses on and was texting a friend when she came up to me in front of her apartment building. The level of relief on her face when she said my name and I said hello was surprising. For someone who was guarded enough to use a fake name on craigslist, she was definitely pretty open after she determined from my outfit that I was middle class (yes, she did the look up, look down). She was comfortable enough to immediately invite me upstairs to pick up the tablet, rather than making me wait downstairs for her to get it (and I got an explanation on how she'd never let a man inside her apartment alone). We chatted on the way up and the more I talked, the more at ease she became, in a way that actually made me more uncomfortable (was it that I was white? That I used to live in the nice suburb? That I was clearly educated?) Maybe I was overthinking it, but she was definitely worried about offending me while we talked "business" and even took the $125 cash I gave her without insulting me by counting it. When I felt awkward and reverted to my general rule of "When nervous making small talk, compliment the other person's taste level in some way" I commented on how beautiful the decor of her condo was (this place, in this town, probably would have been $700K or more on the market with another 100K in home furnishings). The only downside of that was that I ended up getting a tour which extended my stay. Since I felt like an invitation to tea or tennis doubles was dangerously near, I suddenly noticed the time and had to head out. She wished me a good day and then told me that if there was a single thing wrong with the tablet, to bring it back and she'd refund me. That was definitely cool of her, since you don't get that often on craigslist. In the end, she a lady with good intentions even if the interaction was slightly strange.
Realizing once again that I had forgotten to eat, I quickly grabbed a chocolate croissant and a bland mocha latte at a local coffee shop. After spending $8.50 to sit in the modern but sterile decore with a bunch of immaculately dressed 30-somethings, I searched for a bathroom and realized that this cafe had none. Really? No bathroom? In a coffee shop? The only way there could have been a bathroom is if it was behind the counter and through the kitchen, straight into the den of pursed lipped baristas, one of whom had stared me down when I spent 3 minutes trying to choose my first meal of the day. No thanks, silly coffee shop.
After giving up the bathroom search, I headed to the good local coffee shop and without doing actual business, I did my business. After adventuring into the suburbs, all I could think about was coming home and actually starting this blog. All of the entries, aside from this one, were posted on June 30th which was technically yesterday at this point. It took me the better part of the day to get started breaking only to welcome home my lovely boyfriend and make a pasta dinner for us. I've only covered 2 days so far, so here's hoping that the rest of my summer is as invigorating as the first two and a half days. 59 Days left, 1440 and 15 minutes to go.
Hours 12-36. Sunning, shopping, and conversations with strangers.
I woke up on Tuesday afternoon having somehow dodged a hangover. It seemed more likely that I had probably slept right through it, because even though I'd fallen asleep at a reasonable time for someone who had spent the evening out (a very respectable 1 a.m.) sleeping without setting my alarm meant that I awoke at a latest time that I had since last summer. I had clocked a decent 11 hours of sleep, putting me 3 hours closer to closing the gap between sleep debt and a girl without bags under her eyes.
Having already slept half the day away, it seemed prudent to make the day's goal one of complete and utter indulgence. So after spending a solid hour on the internet catching up on web comics and emails I'd been too exhausted to deal with during the final weeks of school, I decided to grab some lighthearted reading material and head out to the backyard to catch a little sun. I threw on my skanksuit, grabbed a tall glass of water, my sunglasses, my sunscreen (because the goal was to tan, not to burn) and The Devil Wears Prada and set up shop in the one sunny section of my semi-private grassy knoll.
Of course, every plan has it's snags, and mine came in the form of yellow and black striped evil. I have an incredibly strong fear of bees and every time I attempted to lay still, I'd find myself pulled into a comic dance of shimmying away from whatever bee had dared enter my personal bubble. After about 20 minutes of this, and maybe one shade of tanning completed, I decided to quit while I was unstung and mentally planned a trip to one of the many metro-accessible beaches at some point in the near future. Because after all, I had plenty of free days a head of me.
Thinking about the many days ahead of me reminded me that while the summer was young, I was rapidly running out of time for the two weddings I would be attending on July 17th and July 24th which, of course, meant I needed a dress, shoes and any other additional things that girls add to outfits when they go to events such as these. In fact, it suddenly occurs to me now while writing this that I don't have a purse that even comes close to being appropriate for a formal event.
Anyway, a quick shower and a change into an easy to remove dress (for trying on clothes, and not for anything else, pervert) and I was ready to head off to the downtown area to hit all the typical department stores. Luckily, dress shopping is one of my favorite things do (if you're keeping score, shoe shopping is my least favorite), so aside from being entirely necessary, I could also consider this shopping trip a worthwhile pursuit of my summer hours. The actual shopping part of the trip was not that eventful, aside from the fact that every dress I tried on was either a 6 or an 8 (I was secretly a 14 when I started my first day of teaching two years ago) and I was happy to see that the choice of dress would actually come down to what looked best rather than a desperate search for something that would at least fit. In the spirit of attempting confidence and trying to act outside the box, I bought a dress that was very unlike me.
Here's one version of it on a model:
and a crappy cell phone photo of my actual dress, because apparently the color I bought it in doesn't exist on the Internet:
One thing I've noticed about this summer thus far is numerous strange encounters with strangers who want to talk to me. I can't tell if I was sending off angry girl stress vibes while I was teaching or if everyone is just friendlier during the summer in general, but when I attempted to try on shoes, I found a woman about the age of my mother casting me some sidelong glances. I flashed a smile because I am going to be an inviting and courageous person this summer and the nice lady showered me with praise for having selected such a pretty dress. Then, because the resemblance with my mother didn't end with her age, she gave me so unsolicited (though welcome) advice that although the shoes I was trying on matched wonderfully, perhaps 4 inch stillettos were not the way to go for a dress I was planning to dance in. We had a nice chat for about 5 or 6 minutes and she asked my for my youthful opinion on her shoe selection (although I fear that this was just to be polite). Apparently my newfound girly chatty persona continued and when I arrived at the checkout for my dress, I received accolades on my choice of dress from the salesgirl ringing me up. She said it looked like "runway" which I assume just means that it looks like it belongs on a runway, unless there's something I've missed.
Shopping trip complete, I continued my efficient getting things done attitude and headed over to Pearle Vision to pick up the contacts I'd ordered the day before. To treat myself for a job well done, I picked up my favorite food for dinner: sushi. Sushi is the main reason for why I'm rocking the pescetarian lifestyle instead of attempting to go completely veggie. Until they make raw tuna and salmon a fruit and vegetable respectably, a pescetarian is what I'll remain. I was also pretty happy to eat because I'd forgotten to do so earlier. Sadly, I have a pretty bad habit of eating when I'm bored and, conversely, not eating when I'm actually engaged in interesting activities. Like many things I'm planning on improving this summer, I'm going to work on my eating habits.
The rest of the night was as relaxing as most of the day. I played around on the computer and finally secured a Wacom Graphics Tablet from a nice lady on craigslist that I would pick up the next day (the tablet, not the lady. That's a different section on craigslist). When Ro came home later that night we had quick brainstorm for dinner and settled on a delicious Tex-Mex place up the street. The grilled vegetable quesadillas are a vegetarian's best friend and the margaritas that are served in a pint glass are so secretly alcoholic that they should be served with a warning label.
Eventually, it was time to head back to the apartment where me and Ro, secret fans of reality television, enjoyed Bravo's newest show about artists called Work of Art. It was the perfect blend of bitchy contestants and art world honesty and has thus earned it's right to take up about 1.2% of my waking summer hours (assuming that there's 12 hour long episodes and 1000 waking hours this summer). This show has actually managed to inspire me in a way that not many television shows manage to, but I'll go into that more in my next post. In the end, not a bad 36 hours thus far.
Having already slept half the day away, it seemed prudent to make the day's goal one of complete and utter indulgence. So after spending a solid hour on the internet catching up on web comics and emails I'd been too exhausted to deal with during the final weeks of school, I decided to grab some lighthearted reading material and head out to the backyard to catch a little sun. I threw on my skanksuit, grabbed a tall glass of water, my sunglasses, my sunscreen (because the goal was to tan, not to burn) and The Devil Wears Prada and set up shop in the one sunny section of my semi-private grassy knoll.
Of course, every plan has it's snags, and mine came in the form of yellow and black striped evil. I have an incredibly strong fear of bees and every time I attempted to lay still, I'd find myself pulled into a comic dance of shimmying away from whatever bee had dared enter my personal bubble. After about 20 minutes of this, and maybe one shade of tanning completed, I decided to quit while I was unstung and mentally planned a trip to one of the many metro-accessible beaches at some point in the near future. Because after all, I had plenty of free days a head of me.
Thinking about the many days ahead of me reminded me that while the summer was young, I was rapidly running out of time for the two weddings I would be attending on July 17th and July 24th which, of course, meant I needed a dress, shoes and any other additional things that girls add to outfits when they go to events such as these. In fact, it suddenly occurs to me now while writing this that I don't have a purse that even comes close to being appropriate for a formal event.
Anyway, a quick shower and a change into an easy to remove dress (for trying on clothes, and not for anything else, pervert) and I was ready to head off to the downtown area to hit all the typical department stores. Luckily, dress shopping is one of my favorite things do (if you're keeping score, shoe shopping is my least favorite), so aside from being entirely necessary, I could also consider this shopping trip a worthwhile pursuit of my summer hours. The actual shopping part of the trip was not that eventful, aside from the fact that every dress I tried on was either a 6 or an 8 (I was secretly a 14 when I started my first day of teaching two years ago) and I was happy to see that the choice of dress would actually come down to what looked best rather than a desperate search for something that would at least fit. In the spirit of attempting confidence and trying to act outside the box, I bought a dress that was very unlike me.
Here's one version of it on a model:
and a crappy cell phone photo of my actual dress, because apparently the color I bought it in doesn't exist on the Internet:
One thing I've noticed about this summer thus far is numerous strange encounters with strangers who want to talk to me. I can't tell if I was sending off angry girl stress vibes while I was teaching or if everyone is just friendlier during the summer in general, but when I attempted to try on shoes, I found a woman about the age of my mother casting me some sidelong glances. I flashed a smile because I am going to be an inviting and courageous person this summer and the nice lady showered me with praise for having selected such a pretty dress. Then, because the resemblance with my mother didn't end with her age, she gave me so unsolicited (though welcome) advice that although the shoes I was trying on matched wonderfully, perhaps 4 inch stillettos were not the way to go for a dress I was planning to dance in. We had a nice chat for about 5 or 6 minutes and she asked my for my youthful opinion on her shoe selection (although I fear that this was just to be polite). Apparently my newfound girly chatty persona continued and when I arrived at the checkout for my dress, I received accolades on my choice of dress from the salesgirl ringing me up. She said it looked like "runway" which I assume just means that it looks like it belongs on a runway, unless there's something I've missed.
Shopping trip complete, I continued my efficient getting things done attitude and headed over to Pearle Vision to pick up the contacts I'd ordered the day before. To treat myself for a job well done, I picked up my favorite food for dinner: sushi. Sushi is the main reason for why I'm rocking the pescetarian lifestyle instead of attempting to go completely veggie. Until they make raw tuna and salmon a fruit and vegetable respectably, a pescetarian is what I'll remain. I was also pretty happy to eat because I'd forgotten to do so earlier. Sadly, I have a pretty bad habit of eating when I'm bored and, conversely, not eating when I'm actually engaged in interesting activities. Like many things I'm planning on improving this summer, I'm going to work on my eating habits.
The rest of the night was as relaxing as most of the day. I played around on the computer and finally secured a Wacom Graphics Tablet from a nice lady on craigslist that I would pick up the next day (the tablet, not the lady. That's a different section on craigslist). When Ro came home later that night we had quick brainstorm for dinner and settled on a delicious Tex-Mex place up the street. The grilled vegetable quesadillas are a vegetarian's best friend and the margaritas that are served in a pint glass are so secretly alcoholic that they should be served with a warning label.
Eventually, it was time to head back to the apartment where me and Ro, secret fans of reality television, enjoyed Bravo's newest show about artists called Work of Art. It was the perfect blend of bitchy contestants and art world honesty and has thus earned it's right to take up about 1.2% of my waking summer hours (assuming that there's 12 hour long episodes and 1000 waking hours this summer). This show has actually managed to inspire me in a way that not many television shows manage to, but I'll go into that more in my next post. In the end, not a bad 36 hours thus far.
Hours 6-12. Drinking, ranting, drinking, bitching, drinking.
After heading home, I only had a few brief minutes to throw together some kind of look (a look which included a few new accessories I grabbed on a mini shopping spree post boatride), check my email, and drink a glass of water. Dressed in what I hoped was age appropriate considering how out of touch I felt, I was in a pair of pin-stripe capri's, a pretty tank from H&M, strappy sandals and my brand-new sunglasses, a necklaces and hair band completed the look. The necklace I knew was cute, but the hairband I had second thoughts about despite it's necessity after a 40 knot boat ride and no shower (hello 80's hair). But that's what happens when the store you've just shopped at looks like it was stocked by Lady Gaga's personal stylist and you've managed to find the one headband that was free of peacock feathers.
Remembering that every moment needed to count and that includes hours spent commuting, I managed to grab a comic I'd been meaning to read for ages as I was heading out the door. For all you geeks and sci-lovers out there, it was Serenity: Those Left Behind. If you want to talk some Whedon, feel free to contact me at my1500hours@gmail.com. Armed with my reading material and a surprising amount of energy despite having woken up at 6:30, I was ready to start my night.
The first stop was the coffee shop that Mr. Drinkwater worked at in the up and coming part of our fair city. A happy surprise awaited me when I realized that Mr. Drinkwater's boyfriend, P, would be joining us. Always happy to hang with a fellow former art major and willing to have as many witnesses as possible to my impending spiral into pure public drunkedness, P and I chilled in the front of the closed cafe, careful to avoid security cameras and talked Wacom graphics tablets as Mr. Drinkwater closed out for the night.
Tonight was a night for celebration with the last day of school for me and the fact that Mr. Drinkwater and P had found a beautiful new apartment with a fantastic skyline of the city and had the digital pictures to prove its aesthetic superiority. The requisite oohing and ahhing commenced, and short walk and brief story from Mr. Drinkwater about a patron who ended up doing some pretty serious shirtless dancing outside the cafe, we arrived at our drinking establishment ready to go.
Lucky for us, one of the waitresses on call was one of Mr. Drinkwater's regulars at the coffee shop. Service industry cross-pollination ensued and speedy service and increased provisions augmented an already enjoyable evening. Realizing that I had only eaten half a tuna sandwich and half a cinnamon bun with all the day's excitement lead me to realize I was in the need of nourishment. Unfortunately, my decision to become a pesceterian several months ago meant that finding a meal on a pub menu was not an easy task, I settled on the very healthy choice of eating a basket of parmesan truffle fries for dinner. Mr. Drinkwater and P, being the lovely gents they are, then proceeded to place a small side salad in front of me with a side of light scolding.
This night was the perfect first night of summer. My drink of this summer and last (and come to think of it, all the months in between) a dirty vodka martini was mixed with a perfect balance and deadly precision. And the fact that I had already downed one by the time the food arrived, meant that that I was at least one sheet to the wind before the second drink was increased by an extra 50% by our kind waitress. Here I lose track of most of the conversation although I remember it was fun, I ranted a bit, we gossiped, bitched and reminisced and acted our age. Which was exactly what I needed.
The rest of the night was still fun, despite the fact that most of it involved train rides, searching for a bathroom (the one we found had a bit of a saloon theme if I remember correctly), and chatting in a bar where one drunken customer begged the boys to dance and we spent the rest of our night out sitting at a table, waiting to be served, which never actually happened. Regardless, I had a fantastic night and thank these guys wholeheartedly for kickstarting my summer. 1488 hours to go.
Edit: I also forgot to mention that on the way home, a fellow geek caught me reading the Serenity comic and we ended up excitedly discussing Whedon and all of his glory. Well, in my case it was more drunkenly than excited, but you get the drift. Anyway, said geek left the train after telling me that I'd made his day since he was unaware of the comic writer side of Joss Whedon. This made me happy because this project is about helping others. Actually, no, it's about being entirely selfish for the most part, but still sometimes helping others makes me happy so it was a win.
Remembering that every moment needed to count and that includes hours spent commuting, I managed to grab a comic I'd been meaning to read for ages as I was heading out the door. For all you geeks and sci-lovers out there, it was Serenity: Those Left Behind. If you want to talk some Whedon, feel free to contact me at my1500hours@gmail.com. Armed with my reading material and a surprising amount of energy despite having woken up at 6:30, I was ready to start my night.
The first stop was the coffee shop that Mr. Drinkwater worked at in the up and coming part of our fair city. A happy surprise awaited me when I realized that Mr. Drinkwater's boyfriend, P, would be joining us. Always happy to hang with a fellow former art major and willing to have as many witnesses as possible to my impending spiral into pure public drunkedness, P and I chilled in the front of the closed cafe, careful to avoid security cameras and talked Wacom graphics tablets as Mr. Drinkwater closed out for the night.
Tonight was a night for celebration with the last day of school for me and the fact that Mr. Drinkwater and P had found a beautiful new apartment with a fantastic skyline of the city and had the digital pictures to prove its aesthetic superiority. The requisite oohing and ahhing commenced, and short walk and brief story from Mr. Drinkwater about a patron who ended up doing some pretty serious shirtless dancing outside the cafe, we arrived at our drinking establishment ready to go.
Lucky for us, one of the waitresses on call was one of Mr. Drinkwater's regulars at the coffee shop. Service industry cross-pollination ensued and speedy service and increased provisions augmented an already enjoyable evening. Realizing that I had only eaten half a tuna sandwich and half a cinnamon bun with all the day's excitement lead me to realize I was in the need of nourishment. Unfortunately, my decision to become a pesceterian several months ago meant that finding a meal on a pub menu was not an easy task, I settled on the very healthy choice of eating a basket of parmesan truffle fries for dinner. Mr. Drinkwater and P, being the lovely gents they are, then proceeded to place a small side salad in front of me with a side of light scolding.
This night was the perfect first night of summer. My drink of this summer and last (and come to think of it, all the months in between) a dirty vodka martini was mixed with a perfect balance and deadly precision. And the fact that I had already downed one by the time the food arrived, meant that that I was at least one sheet to the wind before the second drink was increased by an extra 50% by our kind waitress. Here I lose track of most of the conversation although I remember it was fun, I ranted a bit, we gossiped, bitched and reminisced and acted our age. Which was exactly what I needed.
The rest of the night was still fun, despite the fact that most of it involved train rides, searching for a bathroom (the one we found had a bit of a saloon theme if I remember correctly), and chatting in a bar where one drunken customer begged the boys to dance and we spent the rest of our night out sitting at a table, waiting to be served, which never actually happened. Regardless, I had a fantastic night and thank these guys wholeheartedly for kickstarting my summer. 1488 hours to go.
Edit: I also forgot to mention that on the way home, a fellow geek caught me reading the Serenity comic and we ended up excitedly discussing Whedon and all of his glory. Well, in my case it was more drunkenly than excited, but you get the drift. Anyway, said geek left the train after telling me that I'd made his day since he was unaware of the comic writer side of Joss Whedon. This made me happy because this project is about helping others. Actually, no, it's about being entirely selfish for the most part, but still sometimes helping others makes me happy so it was a win.
Hours 1-5. Exciting boat rides (without pulling a Jack-and-Rose).
Having originally planned to head home before I experienced my carpe diem epiphany. I immediately changed gears and instead of taking the train to my apartment, I decided to visit my boyfriend, Ro, at work on the harbor. I had some built in faculties for starting my summer vacation with some excitement, so jumping aboard the "high speed thrill boat" that Ro acted on seemed like a no-brainer.
The first step of shirking responsibility and acting my age would require a small costume change. I was currently sporting a black flippy skirt, a gray sleeveless turtlekneck, a black sweater, a pair of heels, and my glasses. My giant curly hair was being kept captive by a large hairclip and about 4 bobby pins. While nothing could really be done about most of the outfit, I realized the key to letting loose a little would be the accessories. Now that I was free, I could finally get to my mile long to-do list that I'm never energized enough to tackle during the schoolyear. It was finally time for the first thrilling task of filling my contact lense prescription so I could buy a pair of sunglasses.
One stop at Pearle Vision and a little wheel greasing later and I walked out sporting a free pair of "trial" contact lenses in addition to ordering a few boxes that would arrive the next day. Glasses were slipped into my purse and a quick dash into Urban Outfitters had me in a huge pair of psuedo-celebrity sunglasses. It might not have been the perfect look, but it was at least a start. Off came the sweater and out came the hair clips and bobby pins and my reflection in the mirror gave me back about 4 years of my youth.
Of course, these pit stops meant that I was now running late for the boat's departure time and waiting a full hour would really put a hamper on my new found free spirit. Clearly it was time to make like a female officer on a crime show and sprint in my heels across the city. I made it to the dock mere seconds before the boat was leaving and C, my former college friend and Ro's fellow crew member told me to hop on. Some dirty looks from tourists who paid $25 for the privilege of the thrill ride and a quick skip up the aisle of the boat and I was secured in the second row, the most foremost passenger on the vessle.
My boyfriend and C started their speil and off we went, leaving the city skyline behind us. As the head of the ship, the feeling of freedom I'd been feeling in theory gave way to some serious calm as the whole of the Atlantic ocean stretched a head of me. As the boat added knot after knot onto its speed, I felt myself literally and figuretively moving further and further away from the school I had spent the last 189 days tied to. I could barely pay attention to Ro and C going through their act as I become mezmerized by the openness of the ocean and the pattern of the waves. I gave myself a little smirk when I realized it was OK if I'd missed some of it - I still had about about 300 boat rides that Ro would be acting on that summer, and I'd be welcome on any of them as long as the boat wasn't packed. So once again, I forced relaxation and just enjoyed the cool salt air blasting against my face, the beautiful sun in the sky and 1496 hours I had in front of me to enjoy.
With that peace of mind still intact, I jumped off the boat, yelled some goodbyes and practically ran home to prepare for an evening out in the trendy part of the city with my good friend and class act, Mr. Drinkwater.
The first step of shirking responsibility and acting my age would require a small costume change. I was currently sporting a black flippy skirt, a gray sleeveless turtlekneck, a black sweater, a pair of heels, and my glasses. My giant curly hair was being kept captive by a large hairclip and about 4 bobby pins. While nothing could really be done about most of the outfit, I realized the key to letting loose a little would be the accessories. Now that I was free, I could finally get to my mile long to-do list that I'm never energized enough to tackle during the schoolyear. It was finally time for the first thrilling task of filling my contact lense prescription so I could buy a pair of sunglasses.
One stop at Pearle Vision and a little wheel greasing later and I walked out sporting a free pair of "trial" contact lenses in addition to ordering a few boxes that would arrive the next day. Glasses were slipped into my purse and a quick dash into Urban Outfitters had me in a huge pair of psuedo-celebrity sunglasses. It might not have been the perfect look, but it was at least a start. Off came the sweater and out came the hair clips and bobby pins and my reflection in the mirror gave me back about 4 years of my youth.
Of course, these pit stops meant that I was now running late for the boat's departure time and waiting a full hour would really put a hamper on my new found free spirit. Clearly it was time to make like a female officer on a crime show and sprint in my heels across the city. I made it to the dock mere seconds before the boat was leaving and C, my former college friend and Ro's fellow crew member told me to hop on. Some dirty looks from tourists who paid $25 for the privilege of the thrill ride and a quick skip up the aisle of the boat and I was secured in the second row, the most foremost passenger on the vessle.
My boyfriend and C started their speil and off we went, leaving the city skyline behind us. As the head of the ship, the feeling of freedom I'd been feeling in theory gave way to some serious calm as the whole of the Atlantic ocean stretched a head of me. As the boat added knot after knot onto its speed, I felt myself literally and figuretively moving further and further away from the school I had spent the last 189 days tied to. I could barely pay attention to Ro and C going through their act as I become mezmerized by the openness of the ocean and the pattern of the waves. I gave myself a little smirk when I realized it was OK if I'd missed some of it - I still had about about 300 boat rides that Ro would be acting on that summer, and I'd be welcome on any of them as long as the boat wasn't packed. So once again, I forced relaxation and just enjoyed the cool salt air blasting against my face, the beautiful sun in the sky and 1496 hours I had in front of me to enjoy.
With that peace of mind still intact, I jumped off the boat, yelled some goodbyes and practically ran home to prepare for an evening out in the trendy part of the city with my good friend and class act, Mr. Drinkwater.
How I plan to spend my summer vacation.
1:30pm on Monday, June 28th, 2010 marked the moment I was able to forget about the daily crisis of seven hundred and forty souls, forget about dressing school appropriate, and forget about checking my watch at weekday social functions for the magic hour of 10pm when my clothes would turn into pajamas, my train would become a pumpkin and I would have to rush home if I had any hope of allowing my tattered body a mere 6 hours of sleep. At 1:30pm on June 28th, 2010, I finally completed my second year of teaching and was ready to rejoin the human race and remind myself what it was like to be a 20-something in a big city.
Having already packed up my supplies and cleaned my desk the Friday before, and feeling dedicated to the cause of exchanging my costume as a responsible adult for that of a shit-faced hipster, I texted one of my old college friends, Mr. Drinkwater, and immediately had plans that night for getting tanked. Having successfully secured my means of debauchery, I joined the rest of the faculty in the one air conditioned room in the school: the library. While some of us caught up with coworkers we were unable to connect with during the school year and some of us played card games or Scattegories, all of us participated in the group effort of watching the clock tick down to the end of the schoolyear. Now, I absolutely love my job and my students as do my coworkers but, like everyone else, I was DONE.
1:30 came and so did the final goodbyes, have a nice summers, let's do lunch, and hoots and hollers. One of my fellow teachers, a kind soul who had given me a lift to public transit on numerous occasions, offered my one last ride home and we waxed poetic about the sudden rush of freedom and weight being lifted off our shoulders. It didn't matter at all in this moment that we were untenured and worked at a school that only had 2 months off. It had been a hard year and we were beyond worries of job security or a larger class sizes in the fall. We'd made it through the year and in this moment that was all that mattered.
As I was about to hop aboard the train that would bring back to my house, a sudden thought occured to me. Unlike other teachers, I'd opted to stay employment free this summer (because after all, employment implies responsibility, something I just wasn't in the mood for this summer) and unlike other professions I had the gift of some pretty serious time off. The previous summer, I was so exhausted from my first year of teaching that I had squandered most of my time watching the entirety of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and had spent most of my funds on a last minute scramble to Europe. I let the last of my summer days slip by working on a theatre production and suddenly found myself facing the fall, no less destressed and not so prepared to teach again.
I made a vow to myself at this moment that this summer would be different. I told myself that every hour would be spent doing something worthwhile, whether it's drinking my favorite coffee, practicing my harp, writing, learning graphic design or learning how to relax (although I'm still not sure when I become a person who had to schedule relaxation). Between 1:30pm on June 28th, 2010 and 8:00am August 30th there approximately 1500 hours and 1000 waking hours in which to fill with friends, dancing, drinking, and all the things teachers don't always get to do during the 7200 hours of the school year.
This blog will be a record of these carefree (and productive) hours and also a means of holding myself accountable. And hopefully, when it's late February 2011 and I'm fried from waking up in the dark with four months of school looming in front of me, I can look back over the short archives of this blog and remember that summer vacation exists and that it will happen again, as long as I'm patient. It's a time when I can start being myself again, instead of a role model. It's a time when I can meet new people and start reconnecting with old friends. And in 2010 on June 28th at 1:30pm is when it starts.
Having already packed up my supplies and cleaned my desk the Friday before, and feeling dedicated to the cause of exchanging my costume as a responsible adult for that of a shit-faced hipster, I texted one of my old college friends, Mr. Drinkwater, and immediately had plans that night for getting tanked. Having successfully secured my means of debauchery, I joined the rest of the faculty in the one air conditioned room in the school: the library. While some of us caught up with coworkers we were unable to connect with during the school year and some of us played card games or Scattegories, all of us participated in the group effort of watching the clock tick down to the end of the schoolyear. Now, I absolutely love my job and my students as do my coworkers but, like everyone else, I was DONE.
1:30 came and so did the final goodbyes, have a nice summers, let's do lunch, and hoots and hollers. One of my fellow teachers, a kind soul who had given me a lift to public transit on numerous occasions, offered my one last ride home and we waxed poetic about the sudden rush of freedom and weight being lifted off our shoulders. It didn't matter at all in this moment that we were untenured and worked at a school that only had 2 months off. It had been a hard year and we were beyond worries of job security or a larger class sizes in the fall. We'd made it through the year and in this moment that was all that mattered.
As I was about to hop aboard the train that would bring back to my house, a sudden thought occured to me. Unlike other teachers, I'd opted to stay employment free this summer (because after all, employment implies responsibility, something I just wasn't in the mood for this summer) and unlike other professions I had the gift of some pretty serious time off. The previous summer, I was so exhausted from my first year of teaching that I had squandered most of my time watching the entirety of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and had spent most of my funds on a last minute scramble to Europe. I let the last of my summer days slip by working on a theatre production and suddenly found myself facing the fall, no less destressed and not so prepared to teach again.
I made a vow to myself at this moment that this summer would be different. I told myself that every hour would be spent doing something worthwhile, whether it's drinking my favorite coffee, practicing my harp, writing, learning graphic design or learning how to relax (although I'm still not sure when I become a person who had to schedule relaxation). Between 1:30pm on June 28th, 2010 and 8:00am August 30th there approximately 1500 hours and 1000 waking hours in which to fill with friends, dancing, drinking, and all the things teachers don't always get to do during the 7200 hours of the school year.
This blog will be a record of these carefree (and productive) hours and also a means of holding myself accountable. And hopefully, when it's late February 2011 and I'm fried from waking up in the dark with four months of school looming in front of me, I can look back over the short archives of this blog and remember that summer vacation exists and that it will happen again, as long as I'm patient. It's a time when I can start being myself again, instead of a role model. It's a time when I can meet new people and start reconnecting with old friends. And in 2010 on June 28th at 1:30pm is when it starts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)