Apocalypse Meow

Anybody want to take in two orphan cats?

I was going to write about something else today, but that’s before I was the very unwilling host of the Cat Olympics wrestling event last night. You may have missed it. It happened in the hours between 2 and 5am and took place on my torso.

Usually, about a half hour before the alarm goes off at 6:05, the cats start to get restless. They both sleep on the bed, but one decides that THIS! IS! SPARTA! And gets all aggressive and attacks the other and they tumble off the bed and onto the floor. Then one of them sprints downstairs while the other plays with anything in the bedroom that will make noise (usually some item that the Man left on the floor that should have been put elsewhere).

Last night however, these parasitic little fucks went too far.

The Man has been in Colorado since Saturday and so we’ve had the bed to ourselves. You’d think we’d all take this opportunity to stretch out and lie diagonal on the bed, but NO. I am cuddled into oblivion by these guys, one on each side, as they try to burrow through my body for warmth or something. This has meant that so far I wake up sore at about 5:30 to 6am. And that’s what I thought was happening last night, until I looked at the clock and saw that it said 2:19. That’s TWO NINETEEN. In the morning. That is absurd. Tonight everyone gets sleeping drugs.

I think I might have been able to handle it if they’d just been restless – moving around, getting on an off the bed. But no, this was like the US versus the Viet Cong for crying out loud. There were sneak attacks and fighting dirty. Twice they rolled over and continued to wrestle on my face. It’s not a ring, cats! It’s a face! And I’d prefer it not be scratched to ribbons.

And then they have the nerve to run over when I’m getting ready to go in the morning and snuggle against my legs and request pettings and scratchings. Did I give them these things? Well, yes, I’m not a monster, but I did give them dirty looks the whole time.

So, the result is now that I’ve gotten very little sleep. I have two meetings this morning so I had better fill up on coffee in the meantime.  Bleargh…

I'm not saying I'm a psychopath

Last night I watched Seven Psychopaths. It was fantastic. I laughed a lot. It was silly and weird and dark. Christopher Walken and Sam Rockwell were both terrific. I won’t spoil anything, but it hit upon something I’ve been thinking about for a little while now and pushed me to put it out there. Well, here.

I’ve long believed that a person can change himself, that I can change myself. That I can precisely excise certain parts of my personality that I do not like or that are socially unacceptable and replace them with charming perfection. It’s actually funny that I ever believed this because despite constant repetition of behaviors I was hoping to model, I’m more the same than ever (to quote Bart Simpson when talking about Sideshow Bob). I have tried to remind myself not to worry about thing X, or not to comment on thing Y, or not to, whatever I do, act like Z. And yet. I do. Over and over and over I do. Probably at least 30% of my thoughts are some version of “just leave it alone!”. But I won’t. I can’t.

This is not to say that I don’t think that a person can change behaviors, or get better at controlling himself; I do. But I think it’s extremely different to change a fundamental part of who you are. I think that it takes more than acting, more than faking it, even if that’s the solution I’ve been holding onto for a long time.

And probably, I should acknowledge that there should also be some amount of acceptance of yourself (ok, myself). I’m pretty good at accepting the parts about myself that are relatively normal quirks: Oh! I really like it when people are on time! And I like it when things are clean! And I would prefer it if you’d let me clean the house because only I can do it right! But. There are other parts that are darker and harder to control and they are unruly. It’s hard for me to admit that my inner-self has a problem with organization or follow-through or logic or authority. It’s hard to admit my actual feelings instead of the ones I’ve crafted and reviewed and approved for scrutiny.

But that’s got to be everybody to some extent, I think.

Life's Inherent Discomfort

Last night the Man and I went to early (5:45) yoga. The instructor was a guy I’d never seen before. He said some things while we were doing our practice that I’d heard before but had never stuck with me much; I love it when I get a different perspective on yoga from someone new (to me). While we were in chair position for about eight thousand breaths, he said “you’re in the pose, but you’re not a statue. You’re not a picture of chair position.” 

That was great. Because though I understand that yoga – even holding a pose in yoga can be quite dynamic, even if you don’t look like you’re moving, I have always tried to make myself look like a picture of the pose. This is especially difficult when you don’t think you can hold a pose any longer. It’s easy to get some relief from moving your hands around, or taking some kind of variation of the pose. It’s hard for me to give myself permission to not strive for the perfect looking pose, even when you come to yoga each time with a different energy level or different intention (sometimes I’m looking for a workout, sometimes I just want to forget my day). In any case, I was a little looser with my holding-the-position during yesterday’s practice, and I don’t think I suffered because of it.

After the class was over, the instructor stressed the importance of re-hydration. So the Man looked at me and said

“You know the best way to rehydrate is with sushi with lots of soy sauce.”

To which I replied:

“And prosecco.”

And that’s how we re-hydrated. And I feel great.

A weird thing popped into my head yesterday as I was removing the stubborn foil around the top of the prosecco bottle with a long Cutco knife: My family doesn’t have the best history with knives/cutting tools.

-My mom stuck a Cutco knife through the thick of her hand (between her thumb and pointer finger).

-My dad carved a gash into his hand when trying to cut the plastic top off an ice-cream container with a Cutco knife.

-My brother wounded himself while cutting the tines off a plastic fork.

-I sliced the top of my finger off while improperly using a mandolin slicer.

Sigh. Discomfort and gore.

Update

You may think that the best way to treat a sore throat is with booze, fried foods, and shouting karaoke. You’d be wrong. And yet! Those things are significantly more fun than sitting at home drinking tea with honey. Last night a bunch of us went out for A’s birthday. She turned thirty-sexy and we celebrated in the typical fashion: with drinks, fried foods at M3 in Davis Square, more drinks, karaoke, and another drink. We sang Proud Mary. We shouted/sang through several additional songs that other people chose. That is the nature of karaoke, I guess. I’ve never done it before. It was fun.

It was nice to go out because it’s been a few days now since Lysistrata closed and I’m trying to stave off the post-show blues for as long as possible. Lysistrata was extremely tiring near the end, but the positive energy of everyone involved made the exhaustion worth it. We sold out on Friday of closing weekend and nearly sold out on Saturday. We had a delightful cast party that was a bit of a love-fest. But, after a show, I get that feeling, that what-if-that’s-the-last-theatre-I-ever-get-to-do feeling. I try to think that I can live with that, but then I get all antsy, and a bit angsty and I become increasingly restless until the next show. Well, I have the next few months off and I’m going to try to direct my energy into being healthier and starting our garden and reading more and resting. Because right now I am looking at a two-to-three-cups-a-day coffee habit and I need to dial that back a little bit.

I looked up the sunrise/sunset times this morning, and I immediately felt better. By mid-April, it should basically be all light all the time with temperatures in the mid-50s and rising. Even though we’re through the fist quarter I still feel like this year is just beginning. And I’m hopeful.

First Night

Last night we opened Lysistrata. And it was wonderful! From the beginning the crowd had such a great energy and they were so willing to go wherever we wanted to take them, that we all fell into a great rhythm. The first time I got off stage I got a text from my boss (who knew it was opening night) and here's the string that followed:

Boss: I don't know what you're doing right now but I need some emergency purchasing work done.
Leslie: Of course, let me just get out of this chilly church basement and back to the warming glow of my computer IT'S NOT LIKE I'M BUSY OR ANYTHING.
B: Nice skirt
L: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
B: I support the arts!
L: But I count on you to ignore the arts!

You see I did not know my boss would be at the show because I did not invite my boss,  really.
The reason I was concerned is not because I was so nervous that my boss would see me act, but more because someone from my office would see my cleavage. And also all the fake boners we have on stage. You know, worlds colliding? But as it turns out, the world did not end, and the show was excellent. Now I will exhaustedly* await tonight's performance, after which I will sleep like the dead.

*Apparently this is not a word. Whatever.

Last scene

You know that last scene in a movie where everyone a person knows converge on one spot and it's awesome and there's dancing and you get the impression that everything is going to be okay in the end?

That's what it was like on Saturday at Brighton Music Hall. It was the Jesse Dee CD release party and over the course of the night I saw almost everyone* that I've met since moving to Boston. The crowd was in very high spirits, despite the freezing weather and complete lack of good parking. My belly was full of tacos and love and I danced and smiled with friends. Nice, right?

I almost wondered if it was my last scene and if I would be hit by a bus on my way back to the car. Luckily, I wasn't!

Sunday was significantly less awesome because it was spent doing taxes, cleaning, and then later standing around. Though I loved all the company I had during those tasks (cats/the Man**/theatre folk), it's just not the same as tacos and dancing.

Then today I came into work. I arrived at 7:55. I looked at my desk. I realized my computer was still at home. I was home and back within 45 minutes, which is kind of amazing. I may have played it fast and loose with some traffic lights.

This week will be very busy with all things Lysistrata because we open this Thursday. I am excited for the show to start. And also a little excited for it to end. I know I'll be let down when it's over; that's inevitable. But I do look forward to it getting lighter and me having time after work to do other things. Outside things. I want to get back into jogging after work. I want to start doing garden-y things. I want to go to yoga more. SPRING! And also RENEWAL!

*Well, maybe not almost all the people, but very many of the people. That's still a lot of people.
**Sometimes in my head when I'm thinking of the Man, I will mentally call him "the Man" instead of his name. Derrrrr.

I dangled 866 ft in the air

Sometimes a girl just doesn't blog for 20 days.

What was she doing? Where has she been?

None of your business. Ok, I've been doing regular things and going regular places. And wait, I just got back from LAS VEGAS, BABY!

The Man was skiing in Tahoe last week, and we met up in Las Vegas, along with my brother and his girlfriend.

OHMYGOD did you guys get married?

No insensitive jerk, we did not. BUT! We did play blackjack and roulette for hours and had a good time and the Man and I each ended up about $100 up, so that's fun. We met some nice people and good dealers who were delighted to advise when to hit, when to stay, and when to double-down.

On Saturday we went to the Stratosphere because my brother had read on the internet that they had the best odds for roulette. As it turns out, they don't. But we played anyway and then we took an elevator 866 ft up and decided to pay to have someone hurl us out over the edge of the observation deck and scare the shit out of us. Stupidity! Bravery!

Here's my artist's rendering of what the X-Scream ride is, from afar. The little red bit is our car on the track.

It's very tall. You're on a car that's on a track, and they shoot you over the edge at 30MPH, then stop you abruptly and teeter you back and forth menacingly. Then they do it a second time. And that's when you wish you'd just stayed inside and had a bloody mary and looked through the glass. Here's the view from behind the glass when we were drinking those bloody marys afterward.

While we were teetering, by brother said "We're as high as planes!" Terrifying.
Since the Man and my brother's girlfriend were waiting for us and I didn't want to seem weak I said to my brother "Tell them it was awesome, yes?". And then he told the guys who run the ride that it was awesome. And I had to be specific about who I thought we should be lying to: our significant others, not teenagers who make the ride go. They don't care...


After that, nothing was cool anymore and life was empty and bland. Kidding! Saturday night we saw the "KA" show of Cirque Du* Soleil, and it was SO damn cool. The stage was a marvel of turning, changing amazingness. The dancer-performers were extraordinary. Just: wow.

So that was Vegas. Gambling and eating and drinking and dangling and Cirque-ing.

That's all folks.

*Can this be right? "Du"? Help me out other people who took years of French but now doubt their abilities. I feel like this should be "de". Is it de + le = du? Is that how this works here? Aidez-moi.