A Holiday Evening and Middle Eastern news coverage.

I can't tell you how nice it is to be sitting here. The Christmas tree is covered in vintage bubble lights, glinting away. My sooper seekrit creamy spaghetti sauce is simmering in the 1970's era electric skillet (I still don't really have a working kitchen, but I'm dealing) and Peter Gabriel is playing on the radio.

I'm completely alone, and like it that way. As much as I adore the BF, I need these little moments. I've spent much of the evening reading Al Jazeera, in lieu of there being an English language newspaper out of Cairo or Amman. And I have to say, I am a total fan of Al Jazeera. I know that that particular news agency got a bad rap during the dreadful Daniel Pearl days, but they seem to truly be a non-agenda news reporting agency. And just damn! Talk about some stories that aren't even touched on here. I learned a long time ago that western news agencies (ala the AP, Reuters) don't tell you shit about things that don't directly affect the western world. I am now adding Al Jazeera to my daily reads, along with CNN, VOA, The Christian Science Monitor, Fox News, and the AJC (and don't rile me about Fox. The occasionally cover stories that others don't).

By the way, if you haven't downloaded the newest updates for Google Earth, do it now. I spent a few hours earlier just peeping at the places I'm going this summer. Super Cool!

Peace out, bitches!

Hesitant

I am a little hesitant to blog tonight because I'm in the mood to let my panties hang out on the internet and I know how that can be a bad thing. So I will just keep it to a brief update.

Google Chrome rocks my world. What more can I say? A totally low calorie browser that gets it done. I do heart Google. Chrome, combined with Wave, Blogger, and Gmail is certainly a formidable force.

I have been incredibly fiscally irresponsible in the past few months, and it's really not like me. I'm not sure where the disconnect happened, but it seems to have been somewhere around the second week of November. Now I am paying for it. Literally. And it's really not a good time to be broke. This kind of thing hasn't happened in my life for probably close to 15 years, and I am not happy about it. But I am taking steps to stop leaking money. A quick call to Verizon cut my Blackberry bill in half, thus proving that the problem is that I am just lazy. And I hate myself for it. Get it together, grrl, is all I can keep saying to myself. In every aspect of my life, not just financial. Lately, I've been of the mindset "if I don't see it, it's not happening". Well, as Eudora Welty so eloquently put it, "An inability to deal with the truth does not negate it's existence". Yeah, I need to process that a little more.

So the truth is, I need to hit the rack. It's much later than I had intended to stay up, but I needed to not neglect poor Donutorama. Just because I feel neglected and have neglected myself, the poor little home of round food should not suffer.

Love, good moods, and round foods to you all.

Election run off, drunk patrons, World AIDS day, furnace repair, and holiday decorating.

It's election run off night here in the Dirty Dirty. It appears to be a tight race between Mary Norwood (my candidate, I'll represent here) and Kasim Reed, with Reed checking in at 51% and Norwood clocking a none too shabby 49%. But we probably won't know until the morning. To be perfectly honest, while I've been a hardcore Norwood supporter (she was the at-large council member who actually got Westview speed humps and and cross walks) either would be a competent mayor. Both has extensive experience in the political theater, with roots that sit deep in the city. I would be proud to have either represent our us.

On the job front, we had an interesting evening at the Big A with Second City. It seems that a cadre of drunken jackasses sat themselves right down at a down front cocktail table and proceeded to chat (read: loudly) amongst themselves. Not cute. Distracting. So much so, that our company called them out, embarrassingly so. When a cast member walks up to you and tells you to "Shut the fuck up or go the fuck home", you are probably only embarrassing yourself and being disruptive to the rest of the audience. You are also being disrespectful and distracting to the cast. The three of them left, tails between their legs, causing yet another disruption as they made their getaway during the "Sugar Plumb Fairy" scene. Thankfully before the 40ish wanna be cougar in their group puked or passed out. Yeah y'all. Y'all are real cool. You had already been warned by house management, then by stage management, so don't get pissed off when an improv group calls you out for being a bunch of assholes.

World AIDS day, what a misnomer. It sounds like we should celebrate AIDS. How about we call it "Let's Find a Cure for this Wretched Disease that has Taken So Many of My Loved Ones". While it is an issue that is ALWAYS at the forefront of my mind, I have to say I spent much time today remembering so many friends and some family that have been lost to this dreadful disease, not the least of which is my sweet, sweet Daddy. In fact, in the past few weeks, my mind has wandered about him. What would he be like today? Would he be proud of me? Would he like my house, my job, my cats? How I regret that he can't sit and visit with me around my kitchen table with a cup of coffee and his always present Kool Milds. Personally, I think that brand of cigarettes stink, but what I wouldn't give to have him here with me, stinking up my kitchen with his ghetto-ass cigarettes. He'd be no help whatsoever in any repairs I needed (he wasn't that kind of guy), but he'd damn sure help me decorate my Christmas tree, and chide me all the way for having a silk tree and not a real one. He could make a kick ass cafe au lait, killer meatloaf, and show you how to clean your shotgun all in one day. And then shame you for not knowing enough about Middle Eastern politics, Southern literature, and obscure playwrights. In the summers, he often sported a seersucker suit with a bow tie (that he tied himself, not one of those pre-fab thingies) and in the winter it was Levi's, cowboy boots and a lambskin jacket that he'd owned for twenty years. I still have that jacket, and sometimes wear it. It's quite warm. He loved to travel, so I think he would be happy that I've bounced all over Europe, spent three weeks in the Turkish Republic, and am headed to Egypt and Jordan next summer. I always have thought about him when I traveled, and am sure that I will this summer. A true Renaissance man, he is sorely missed.

But he would have been no help whatsoever yesterday. Since I am still existing upon the kindness of space heaters, I decided to spend yesterday morning with the BF in my basement, checking out my furnace. I really want to make sure that my furnace itself is in good working order before I call Atlanta Gas Light to hook my gas, so that I don't have a massive explosion when I attempt to light my furnace for the first time. Lesson number one: It's freaking cold in my basement. With a lot of weird shit that's been discarded down there. I did, however, find a lovely milk glass vase that I will keep. Not so much with the discarded cookware. Who the hell throws pots and pans away in a basement? Lesson number two: Furnaces aren't really that complicated once you figure out how they work. We got the central fan working again and discovered that the intake duct for the unit had become detached. I reattached it (fairly easy) and then we explored the rest of the duct work. Fortunately, I'm blessed with crawlspaces that are tall enough that grown men can stand up in them, so this was not an uncomfortable task. The only discrepancy we found was a rather large piece of ductwork that had become detached from the floor vent in the back bedroom, probably when the copper theives stole my service lines from the AC. Not too hard to repair. Some duct tape and a hose clamp next Monday and I'll be on my way to living in a fully heated home.

I am a sucker for the holidays. While I didn't do too much for Thanksgiving (the BF and I grilled some steaks), I do love holiday decorations. My name is Holly and I was supposed to be born on December 24, so I guess it only follows. I also own 2.4 million dollars worth of Christmas decorations that I've never been able to use all at once, due to the fact that I've always inhabited small apartments. Not so anymore! I have a huge mantle that is now draped with garland, the Christmas tree is up (undecorated yet) in the dining room, and various and sundry wreaths and appointments are distributed proudly. I have to say, this is a home that lends itself to the Holidays. I'm hoping to have a holiday cocktails get together a week from Monday, provided that I can whip this place into habitable shape.

Hope to see you at the cocktail party.

The first step is to admit that you have a problem.

Is there a 12 step program or even a methadone solution for social networking sites? I can't seem to tear myself away from them. I get Facebook alerts on my Blackberry, there are numerous pop ups on my laptop, not to mention the obligatory email notifications. I can't step away. Thank you Facebook, for letting me know that about one third of my friends are fanatical Twilight fans, several folks are bored at work, a handful are for healthcare reform, and two of them chose to jump out of an airplane.

Why do I feel that I need this information? My life is not complete unless I status update about how I feel about vampires, tweet about what I had for lunch (I didn't today, but have been guilty of it), and blog about how I can't tear myself away from all of it. And don't say "Oh! The irony". There is no irony in it all. It's actually predictable.

There is something anachronistic about the fact that my laptop has become a permanent fixture on a 100 year old farmhouse kitchen table. It just doesn't look right to me. But it feels right, feels current.

It is fairly amazing how the interweaves (thank you once again, T-baby, for that one) have come to rule my life. I pay all my bills online. I check my bank account balance online. My friends and I have the equivalent of party line discussions (remember those?) via Facebook comments and twitter directives. I met my current squeeze online dating. Hell, my boss even sends me work related notes via Facebook. And if I lost all my email, an international incident would ensue. Netflix cue updates? I got it. Hell, I got my entire divorce via email, attachments, and faxes. I never laid eyes upon my attorney.

There seems to be certain level of privacy that we have given up with the World Wide Web. I have seen so many examples of "big internet, small world" that I can't even comment on it.

I am hoping that in the future I will be more private, more mysterious upon the planet of the Innertubes.

I feel so post-modern.

Vampires and other irritating things.

Okay, okay, I get it. The new Twilight movie opens tonight. So what? It's a vampire movie, not really a novel, new idea. Granted, there's a love story in there (I think) and some young, hunky, emo-looking actors that make the hearts of preteen girls go pitter pat, but it's still a vampire movie. And not even Lon Cheney or Bela Lugosi there (Bela Lugosi's dead, in case you didn't know). Hell, not even Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt.

While I guess I can understand why the tween and teen set might be enamored by the series, I really don't understand grown-ass women who are obsessed with it. In fact, there was an article in the AJC recently about how "real life vampires are looking for acceptance". Huh? WTF? Real life vampires? You have got to be kidding me. Vampires are not real. Just because your life is boring and mundane, filled with things like laundry, dirty dishes, and slow moving traffic on 285, you do not get a free pass to be a weirdo. I realize you believe that you are entitled to a more glamorous life, but perhaps you could give the rest of us a break. The banality of your life is probably related to poor choices you've made in your past, such as dropping out of community college, choosing to eat an entire bag of hostess donuts once a week for 10 years, or getting married at the ripe old age of 17. That's not blood lust you feel. That's diabetes. Or high blood pressure. You choose. You are not immortal. In fact, you are probably going to die very soon, either from heart disease or me murdering you for being a grown-ass freak.

So parents, take your kids to the midnight showing of New Moon. Allow your 13 year old daughters to read the entire series. I suppose it's kind of like porn for pre-pubescent girls. But if you are over the age of 15, just stop it. You are obsessed with vampires in love. Teenage vampires at that, and that should be illegal. Kind of like that movie Dirty Dancing. (Thanks to T-baby for bringing that to my attention). In fact, if you keep up with your freaky obsession, I will openly mock you, as I am now. Just next time, it will be to your face.

How we find friends.

Let me just start out with stating the obvious. It is fucking cold here tonight at Grey Gardens. There's not a whole lot I can do about it. I have a radiator style heater next to me here in the farmhouse kitchen and a ceramic one warming up the boudoir. Uber important, since I will be occupying it alone. But I've closed off all the doors to unnecessary rooms, reducing my 2200 sq. ft. bungalow to a kitchen, hallway, bathroom, and bedroom. Such are the travails with a 90 year old home (that I still LOVE, despite my tribulations).

On to my subject title...I've been thinking a lot about a certain friend of mine. Specifically, how our friendship started, how unconventional it was, and ultimately impossible before the days of teh intarwebs and teh emailz. She is such a lovely woman whom I have never met, but I adore her cyber support and communications. I won't disclose her information here, because I have too much respect for her and know how she values her privacy. Suffice it to say, she is awesome.

A little over a year ago, I received a random email from an address I didn't recognize. My gmail address is pretty private and has great filters, so I was fairly certain that it wasn't spam and it just might be something I needed to view. Did I ever. Apparently, another woman named Holly Blakely had gotten tangled up with my emailer. But instead of the typical vitriol, I found an eloquent grrl who was simply letting the other gal onto his tricks.

Most people would discard such an email. It wasn't intended for me, I had no interest in the matter.

I couldn't do it. I had been in such a similar emotional state so recently, I felt like I was reading something I had written. It brought back so many feelings of insecurity, doubt, frustration, anger, betrayal, you name it. This grrl was in pain. Doubling over at the gut pain. I got it. In fact, parts of me were still there. So I responded to her, letting her know that I wasn't the "Holly Blakely" she was looking for (insert R2D2 reference), but I knew how she was feeling, she was better off without this scumbag (and trust me...never was a greater scumbag...my ex doesn't even come close) and she didn't need that crap. Signed, someone you've never met, but has your best interest at heart.

Thus began a year long series of emails. Some involved our romantic trevails, some involved our mundane life. We are Facebook friends, and she is prettier than I ever imagined, a Texas gal, through and through. We have each had encouraging words for each other that one may or may not get from a "real life" friend. Who knows. She knows that she has a resting place here in the ATL, and has let me know that I have a haven in San Antonio (do love that city, by the way).

There seems to be a "weirdness" about relationships that are born online. However, I am so amazed at how a grrl/grrl friendship can flourish online. No pretention. No agenda.

Melissa, I'm glad I've gotten to know you. You have helped me more than you know.

Epic yard work fail

It always seems that no matter what I try to accomplish around my house (or in my life in general), the project turns out to be larger than me and never ends the way I'd like. On Monday, my day off, I decided to take advantage of the perfect autumn weather and attempt to FINALLY finish up the perennial beds I laid out in my front yard this past summer. The goal is that I diminish the amount of grass that needs constant attention during the warmer months and give my little cottage an updated look in the landscaping department. So I made the trek over to Lowe's to purchase landscaping fabric and more mulch. (On a side note: Why does it seem like everyone I know is able to obtain mulch for free except me?) I purchased a large roll of landscaping fabric and three bags of Preen mulch. Yeah, that stuff never goes as far as you think it will. I wasn't even able to finish one section of the bed. Now I realize that I've laid out rather large beds, but damn. It looks like the weather might clear up a bit tomorrow, so perhaps I will carry myself back over there and purchase enough mulch to at least finish a section. I need some closure on this, people.

I did, however, have a bit more success on new winter plants for either side of my entry way and lovely planters for them. I found very pretty chocolate brown planters on sale for $14 a piece (!) and Pacific Spruces on sale for $10. Now my porch is sporting a pair of lovely evergreens that I can decorate with lights for the holidays, still be appropriate after New Year's, and then get put away in a shady place during the warmer months while they await their re-appearance next holiday season. That part was epic win.

On other fronts, I think I'm going to need to take a break from Facebook for a minute. It's getting a little creepy for me, the way it "connects" people. This evening, I came across pictures of my ex-husband on a "romantic weekend" with his current squeeze. Now normally this wouldn't be a problem, except that this current "girlfriend" is the one I caught him in bed with and who he denied any further relationship with. I really don't need to run across and album titled "Best 48 hours ever!" Trust me honey. I'm sure it wasn't. I've slept with him. It ain't that great. But because I find these little tidbits insinuated into my feeds, I think that I might need to back away, slowly. And perhaps "un-friend" some people. And be a little more selective about my online life.

Change of subject. Everyone. And yes, I mean YOU, the one sitting there that never leaves their apartment, needs to come see "Second City: Peach Drop, Stop, and Roll" on the Hertz stage at the Alliance. I know some of you saw it last year and were underwhelmed. The writing this year is greatly improved, knowing their audience much better. Be warned, on Tuesdays through Fridays, there is a "secret third act" of improv that lasts about an extra 20 minutes. So if you're not down with sitting through and additional 20 minutes, book your seats for a weekend show. But come see it. You won't be disappointed. It's a great alternative to the usual holiday shows. But certainly not appropriate for kids under 16 and in no way suitable for work.

Now that my unabashed plug is out of the way, I'm going to retire to the boudoir for some "Law and Order" re-runs and maybe a little one on one with Anderson Cooper and Larry King. I'm going to steal an idea from Jeff Kay at The West Virginia Surf Report and leave you with a question.

What has been the most "distressing" thing you have ever come across on a social networking site?

So to all a good night, and don't let the STD's bite.

I'm back.

Poor Donutorama. How I have neglected you. It seems I haven't done any care and feeding of this blog since March. But I'm back! So much has changed since then. You all have read about my trials and tribulations of trying to purchase my home. I moved in at at the end of May, and trust me, the trials and tribulations certainly didn't end there. While I am still completely in love with my 1920 Craftsman bungalow with the huge front porch, wainscotted dining room, and marbled fireplace, I feel like I am living in Grey Gardens. Nothing here works. It started with the HVAC this summer. As in, the AC didn't work. Turns out, someone had stolen the copper supply line between the unit and the evaporator coil. Fuckers. I hate them. A lot. Then, I got broken into. But the police did catch the burglars. That story is an entire other post, because it's hilarious. I'm still awaiting the restitution payments. But just imagine 3 guys under the age of 22 standing around my house muttering "Damn. This white bitch ain't got nuttin'". Then they got trapped in my house and had to exit via the front door where Atlanta's finest were patiently waiting for them. Except there was a high speed chase. With helicopters. Perhaps you saw it on WSB. Good times.

So now, due to the HVAC issues, I'm currently living without central heat. Don't worry. I have plenty of space heaters. It's not all that cold here, but I do need to caulk up the windows on Monday. If I can see daylight, it needs caulk.

On other fronts, I still have my eye towards travel. On June 24, I will be leaving for 12 days in Egypt and Jordan. I know that Egypt sounds enticing, but I'm actually more excited about Jordan. In fact, if Jordan wasn't a destination on this trip, I would have never had Egypt on my radar. It's not nearly as long as the trip we took to Turkey 2 years ago, but seems even more intriguing and more boundary pushing. My travel partner and I have both developed a slight obsession with the Middle East and I, for one, can't wait to delve further into it. I realize that Turkey isn't considered part of the Middle East, but trust me, outside of Istanbul, it should be.

Tomorrow night I will be going to see Chris Knight at Smith's. I've been a fan of Chris's since sometime around 1996 and one of the bands I used to tour with always did a cover of "It Ain't Easy Being Me". When I saw him last year at the same venue, it was quite a treat. Tight band. Brilliant and earnest delivery. Attentive, yet non-douchebag crowd who liked to drink. All the makings of a good outlaw country show. You all should go. He was released on Decca records, but then they folded, so now he's been independently released.

Catch up with me tomorrow night, either at Smith's or at the Alliance, where I will be presiding sonic duties over the Second City show. Either is a good time. Perhaps I'll buy you a PBR and tell you about how my robbers were foiled.

Love, Peace, and hair grease.

International Women's Day...

Here we are on International Women's Day and a 74 year old Baba in Saudi Arabia has been sentenced to 40 lashes for fraternizing with unrelated males. During my visit to the Republic of Turkey last summer, much debate was held over the still instituted honor killings and the imminent stoning of a gang rape victim in Iran.

You've come a long way, baby.

Seriously. Even here in the United States, we have "slut bashing" and often blame the rape victim. Is she a good girl or a bad girl?

Don't know about you, but I've had enough.

A new attitude..

yep..that's what I've got..I went over to the new Westside crib this morning, under the assumption that I was meeting the electricians. However, due to yesterday's storm, they had to shuffle me over to tomorrow. I'm not going to bitch. There are too many poor souls without power to complain. Still waiting to hear back from the plumbing company about converting/repairing my hot water heater to electric. Call me crazy, but I'm not all that cool with having a natural gas open flame in the crawl space of a 90 year old cottage.

I just re-colored my hair tonight. I went from an ash brunette to an espresso/cinnamon redhead. I spent some time and blew it out. I feel incredibly hot with my new hair. We'll see...I am currently reliving my college years by listening to Dreams So Real and Aztec Camera...I'm so post-modern..

Waiting on a delivery of Jamaican jerk wings. I'm hungry and they will be delicious.

Madlove,
H

West side, here I come!

Well, I finally closed on Friday, after all the stalling and renegotiating. It's mine, all mine. Crappy roof, faulty wiring, absent hot water heater and all. I have no idea what I'm doing. Just trying to get the electricity switched over to my name is a current hassle. I'm meeting the electrician tomorrow morning so I can find out how much MORE broke I'm going to be. But I keep fantasizing about how when it snows next year, I'll be sitting in my own terra cotta tiled kitchen watching the flakes fall from the window over the nice, new double sink.

I'm trying really hard to not get overwhelmed with the entire house and look at it as one project at a time. I keep telling myself that there are only 3 major projects that need to be accomplished to make the house livable. I can do this.

On the dating front, I've pretty much decided that I just don't have time. Between opening yet another new show and the house, I'll be lucky if I have time just for a drink with my grrlfriends. Besides, I'm raising the bar. I'm sure that when things are right with me, I'll attract the right people. No more losers. No more cads. No more "I just don't know what I'm doing with my life right now" guys.

Speaking of self-esteem issues, I was watching Rock of Love, the bus tour tonight. OMG! These poor ladies think NOTHING of themselves. Why would you allow an aging, poseur rocker-type (note the non-use of the term rock star) to tell you that you "have to be completely there for me" and in the next breath tell you "you have to understand my life. I'm always surrounded by beautiful women." What a douche canoe. And "challenges" that involve pole dancing? I have nothing against pole dancing, per se, but Mr. Micheals seems to want his women to be able to execute the perfect pole slide, but when it comes to light that a grrl is actually a stripper, he flips out, saying that she wasn't "honest" with him. Once again, ladies and gents, douche canoe. I would love to see the episode where all of gals turn on him. Unfortunately for them (and me, sadly) this will probably never happen. I could go from here to a rant about the modern media and ideas of beauty and female sexuality, but I will spare you the pain of my hairball.

That being said, it is now time for me to finish up my cocktail and climb between the covers.

I am a bad blog parent

Yep, once again I need the DEFACS of blogs called on me. I am a bad blog parent. I have not been tending to the care and feeding of Donutorama. However, I have been busy. Nothing I can do about it. So there! I really need to make a commitment to myself that I will conscientiously maintain said blog, if only as a good writing exercise. It's good to stretch your language muscles, boys and girls!

So, Jesus Christ Superstar Gospel is now out of my life. Does it make me a bad person to say that my life is a little better without Jesus? Yeah, I just RSVPed for my own personal room in hell. Gone! As in the good gone! As in, the millions of dollars worth of sound gear loads onto a 53 foot tractor trailer tomorrow at 10am. Yes, it was a good show, however, the unfortunate experiences outweighed the credibility of the show. I'm still wondering how much we spent on that production. I'm sure we didn't break even. It's a bad sign when your General Manager is selling artwork out of the lobby, so I'm just guessing that the numbers didn't add up. Now, I'm not expressing a correlation between the expenditures of the show and the selling of the artwork. I'm just saying that times are hard, and I'm gonna be really pissed if I get laid off because no one could keep Jesus under budget.

In better news, I'm FINALLY closing on my house on Friday! Yay, happy day! Those of you who know me know that I've been round and round with this house since October, and was really supposed to close in November. Such is the purchasing of foreclosed property. But it's all good. My lease isn't running out any time soon, so I don't have a hardcore deadline on when I have to vacate the basement squat. I do love it here, but it will be so satisfying to have a place of my own.

Okay, I know that was an incredibly uncreative blog post, but I have now fulfilled my duties as a blog owner. I'll try not to wait so long next time.

Until then, keep it between the ditches, y'all.

Holly

Update: I just broke up with my incredibly sweet landlady. I'm terminating my lease early, so I was afraid she'd be unhappy with me, but instead, she was thrilled for me. Maryann has been so good to me since the day I came here 3 years ago to look at the basement squat. I will really miss her. If anyone is looking for an adorable little apartment in the Highlands, give me a shout. I will certainly miss it. It was a great place to recover after all the trauma of getting unmarried 3 years ago. I'm sure these walls hold a lot of caring and warmth. Plus, you can walk to the Clermont.

Okay..

..I figured it out. I probably should have tweeted that.

Any ideas..or maybe I'm just stupid..

..because occasionally I AM just stupid. I'm venturing into the world of twitter, and can't figure out how to post a link here. You can follow me on twitter under the user name sndgrrl. If anyone know how to find the link code, please let me know. I'm probably just drunk.

I know I should be grateful to have a job, but...

..I bet you didn't get puked on tonight at work...by an adult who knew better. Actually. it wasn't me who was the brunt of the gastric contents, but two actors who wear ALL WHITE costumes. They are not the ones I feel sorry for. It is the folks in the wardrobe department who have my condolences. They are currently in search of a 24 hour dry cleaner so that said costumes can be dry cleaned by tomorrow's 2.30pm performance. Also, just a note. It's never good to vomit on stage soft goods, either. Take your ass to the bathroom if you gotta puke. Please don't let your stomach contents ruin my day.

On another note, Simon the Apostle continues to grab my ass. I know that I'm not an expert on the acts of the apostles, but I'm fairly sure that smacking someone on the ass every time you see them is not a very Christian thing to do. Thank God (and Jesus!) this show closes next week. I've had enough.

Call me the awkward ostrich

If you understand the title of this blog entry, then you are probably a member of my close circle of friends. If you don't understand it, just know that the awkward ostrich is the weird animal looking you in the face right after you have done something to which no one knows how to respond.

The bottom line is this: I don't know how to date. Let's face it kids, I was involved or married for most of my adult (read: after college) life. That's a long time. So this whole being single thing completely confounds me. As soon as I figure out that I may be interested in someone, I immediately become 16 again. As in "do you think he's into me? He said this, what do you think it means?" and so forth and so on. I know I vowed a few months ago to not play games, but it's hard to do that when the single world lives and dies by the rules of the games.

I am in a quandary. There are two people I know whom I am interested in, but I don't know how to move forward. And when I say "know", I mean that I don't know them that well. Nor do I work with them, or have many mutual friends with either. This, my friends, presents quite a challenge. I mean, a grrl can only "run into" a guy so many times before it gets weird.

I conveniently "ran into" someone the other night, and it seemed like we enjoyed each other's company. We both smiled and laughed a lot, even casually touched each other occasionally. But I kind of get the feeling that this is a guy who doesn't really date. As in, he has a life other than work that is fulfilling (something I know nothing about, since all I'm allowed to do is work..) So there is my difficulty. How does one get to know someone who seems interested without being forward. Oh, I know, I could go for the slutty approach, It worked with my ex-husband...But for some strange reason, that doesn't seem like a viable option. Call me self-defeating, I know.

So what I'm asking for here, boys and grrls, is not relationship advice, but a survival guide. I'm mean, I'm pretty savvy when it comes to stuff like changing a tire, fixing plumbing, trouble shooting a sound system, and the occasional brain surgery, but I know nothing about being single, other than being a hermit.

C'mon, y'all...help a sista out...

My show is broken

Ever have one of those nights where everything that can go wrong, does? Yeah, me too. Often. Fortunately for me, it's usually not related to the sound department. Tonight was a different story. The automation control unit to the front of house consoles decided it needed a nap, so the entire show had to be mixed entirely by hand. Now before I start getting flamed from all you guys out there, remember that our show has 200+ inputs, 50 of them being RF mics. This is no small feat, even with a working automation platform. So I lost my other deck sound to head downstairs and run the show on the Hertz stage, while Lane came upstairs to help our mixer manually mix the show. Thankfully, I didn't have many of my usual RF problems, but did have massive sweat outs, due to the fact that we went up 30 minutes late and everyone was stressed out.

Then, scenic motor control went all crappy, but got repaired fairly quickly. Electrics were having their own special hell, and I'm not going to EVEN discuss here what happened to Courtney in props. Suffice it to say, it was not pretty.

I'm sure if you've read this far, you're waiting for my rant. Well, here it goes....

If your stage manager informs you that sound is having issues, so it's very important to keep unnecessary backstage talking to a non-existent level, then DO that! In a situation like that, there is a good chance that your mic could still be open after your exit. Also, DO NOT ask your A-2 if your mic is live. She doesn't know, and is probably too busy unpatching open inputs to address it. She can not see what is happening out at FOH, only what is going on with RF. Same goes for your dresser. He has NO IDEA. So don't even ask. Just assume, just for one show, that you need to be on good behavior and do what we tell you.

Well, I'm home now, with a nice cocktail and a somewhat clean house. So I'm going to go enjoy the rest of my night.

Cheers!

A production rant

This is just a production rant. Nothing more, boys and grrls, and really only applies to those in the audio field, however, some points may apply to all members of production.

Headsets and headphones are personal items. Do not, under any circumstances, pick up a colleague's headset or, worse yet, an engineer's PERSONAL pair of headphones and put them on your head without permission, FOR ANY REASON. You wouldn't rub your hair and face against someone you just casually know, would you? You wouldn't put on someone's article of clothing without permission, would you? It's the same damn thing. As a professional A-2, my headphones are my lifeline, an essential tool, and, to some extent, an article of clothing. Don't walk over and place them on your head without my express permission. The reason disease can spread so fast within our particular work environment is often due to the sharing of Clear Com headsets. I've paid good money to own my own personal one, and no, you can't use it. You can't wear my panties, either, but you probably wouldn't ask to do that.

Item number two I would like to address is personal hygiene. Every one should bathe before work, however, this becomes more crucial if you work in close quarters with other people. Even more so if are required to touch other people. If I can walk into a room and tell that you've been there previously by the smell, there's a problem. Oh, and by the way, if you can't bother to wash your hair, DO NOT EVER put on my headphones. Tonight it took me an hour with hand sanitizer and Lysol to get your hairgrease off my headphone band, rendering my essential tool useless for that period. Not to mention the fact that that shit doesn't come off leather easily. And I just can't have that. It makes me nervous. It also makes me feel repulsed.

Perhaps I'm a germ-a-phobe, but seriously. That's just consideration for your fellow man.

On that note, I'm off to the showers, kids!

Bad music for bad people

I just learned that Lux Interior passed yesterday. I will miss him creeping across the stage in those leather pants.

Rock on, my brother, rock on.

Stress management, or how to buy a 90 year old home in a million easy steps.

I don't think I have ever been so stressed out in my life. I know that I'm going to get the house, the question now is, for what price. After the inspection on Monday, I realized that after I buy this place, I'm going to be in bed for at least $20,000 before it's even livable. The roof needs to be re-surfaced, the electrical needs to be re-wired, and the hot water heater (that is currently gas) needs to be upgraded to electric. Call me a picky snob, but I would like to be able to dry my hair with the lights on without causing a black out, and I'm not sure that I'm comfortable with a pilot light (read: open flame) in the crawl space of a 90 year old frame bungalow.

Considering that I have such a fear of commitment, including financial, I am losing my mind right now. But I know that this is what I truly want to do. Not only will I finally have a home of my own, I have made a commitment to myself that over the next 10 years, I will renovate this home with the love and care that it truly deserves. Having grown up in a home that was 150 years old, I have no illusions about the commitment this involves.

That being said, I needed a bit of a break after tonight. The show this evening was a bit stressful in that Tim Rice was in the audience. You've never seen a cast so on point. However, the pressure to make sure that things I have no control over were correct was pretty high.

So...I can home, fixed a nice little cocktail, and gave myself a lovely pedicure. Nothing is more therapeutic than scraping callouses off feet that have been abused for the past two months.

I'm going to watch the latest episode of "Damages" and fantasize about how great my new house will be in 3 years, and then how AWESOME it will be in ten years, and how I finally have a home.

A man's home is his castle..

Well, I know I've been neglectful of my little home on the internet,but I've been otherwise engaged. Since homeownership seems to be working so well for Paulie over at Inside the Perimeter, I thought I might try it for myself.

I've found a (not so) little craftsman bungalow over in Westview that I think needs my attention. And by attention, I mean a new roof and new wiring. Which are both a little more expensive than just simple attention. But damn. I'm getting the house for less than it costs me to feed my cats for a year. My cats eat a lot.

Anyway..

So it looks like grrlfriend will be leaving Poncey Highlands after 7 years here. I'll certainly miss the 24 hour food delivery. I don't think that exists in the West End. There is, however, a nice, new Kroger on Ralph David Abernathy. And neighbors that I know on Mathewson. I will be leaving the little hobbit hole basement apartment for a home of my own that is painted Florida State colors and is 90 years old.

I haven't had a home of my own since I left home 20 years ago. This is a big deal to me. I am 36. It's time.

Wish me luck, and if you like, send me money!

Peace,
H

Ghetto technology

In an episode of The Boondocks, Huey once described ghetto technology as "any device you can't hook up to a printer", therefore meaning that it was fairly useless. I tend to concur with him.

There are appropriate means of communication, depending upon what one has to say. I believe that it is okay to text message a note along the lines of "the movie is at 7.15, not 7.30" or "Will be 5 minutes late". It is not, however, appropriate to text someone with a message saying "I know I was supposed to be looking after your dog while you are on vacation, but he died". That one warrants a phone call.

Another lesson for the day is the difference between myspace/facebook inboxes and real email. The message center to your myspace or facebook account is NOT the same as your email account. Understand the difference. This is important. Especially if you are currently in the market for a new job. You should probably not tell a prospective employer to contact you by "hitting me up on facebook". Get an email account. Most are free. And DO NOT use the account that has the address sweetgeorgiapeach@hotmail or behindthe8ball@yahoo.com. If you do, you are going to eventually fall into the category of "the unemployable".

Where all this ghetto communication gets complicated is in the realm of relationships. While it is okay to send a little note via text, it's really not alright to break up with someone by writing on their facebook wall. Unless you are 14, and in that case, are probably too young to have unlimited internet access anyway. It is also unacceptable to try to work out serious issues via text. Or over the phone, for that matter. Things of that nature are due a face to face conversation. Remember, nothing of any importance has ever been typed with thumbs, you can't text message break up, and myspace is not real email.

So, boys and girls, stop abusing technology. Get it right and use the right vehicle for your message.

Arrgh..it just gets worse..

Damn. I thought I was about to be in a position where my life settles out a bit since my new show opens tomorrow night, but the shit just keeps flying. I just got dumped. Unceremoniously. No explanation. After eight months, it just wasn't working out. My feelings are hurt and I feel insulted, rejected, and frankly, pissed off. There were no warning signs (that I saw, perhaps I'm just an idiot). In the midst of getting my ass handed to me on a daily basis, now someone's gonna lay this crap on me? All I was told was that this person couldn't handle the "progression of an adult relationship". Got news for ya bud. I'm an adult. I have adult relationships. End of story.

Ahh..I'll still be alive in the morning with a stack of dirty dishes to do and a new, huge wonderful show to open. So Y'all come see it.

Peace out, bitches,
H

Oh my..

Sorry no new blog lately. I'm in the tech from hell that was preceded by Christmas Carol. Ouch. It's 1am and I'm still sitting here in my show blacks with a nice bourbon (or 12) after wrangling 48 radio mics for the past 3 weeks. I must say that the unpleasantness has risen to new levels as of the past few days. Talk about a reality show....(enter deep announcer voice) "Imagine what happens when 56 actors, 14 crew members, and an innumerable design team all get together and start being real and stop being nice"...MTV, here we come! But you couldn't air it for all the bleeps you would hear.

Okay, gonna get back to the Travel Channel and fantasizing about being someplace warm (that does NOT include Atlanta sleet) with a fantasy partner who would spend all day on the beach with me giving me endless back massages and bringing me big, fruity drinks with umbrellas in them.

Love,
Holly (who makes her living facilitating the ability for adults to play dress up)