2010 Fall Season

Tonight, I saw what will probably be the last thing I see in the 2010 resident troupe fall season. I've been at the theatre every day since Thursday, like a groupie freak, but it was very important to me to see everything one more time before the season is over. I cannot believe how much I have learned over the past three months just by watching this incredible group of actors.  Each show this season has touched me in a different and profound way and their work truly amazes me each and every performance. It is one of my favorite parts of being where I am.

I have always been one of those people who has a hard time letting things go. This is probably a horrible trait to have going into theatre, where things are in constant flux. I know I always feel this great lump of depresson when shows I am in come to an end and casts part ways and all of that magical unity breaks down (which is part of the reason I love to do what I do). I am feeling somewhat similarly about the end of this season. I have come to know and love these shows and despite knowing that new and equally spectacular things are to come, the thought that I can no longer have a horrible day and go see Wild Oats and leave genuinely happier is somewhat sad to me.

I could, if I so desired, go to see Fair Maid of the West for what would be the fourth time, tomorrow afternoon, but it I do so there is no way I'll get my school work done. Somehow in the process of compartmentalization and self-justification, I forgot about the second paper I have due on Tuesday as well as the rehearsals and scenework I have in the next three days. I am kind of over this semester. I've learned a lot and now I want to move on to new things - namely, not writing papers. The more I realize the type of work I enjoy - reading, discussion, performance and all things that accompany it - the more I realize that I am not cut out for a life of academia. I just want things to happen. I have no patience. I want to work on one thing, constantly, and that is becomming a better artist. A lot of the things I am doing just feel like I am doing something for the sake of doing something.

Before this gets too angsty, things are happening. Maybe they'll be big things, and maybe they won't, but they are things that I want to do right now, and having something to look forward to is the best way to keep things going along happily. In three days, I'll be on a train home. I'll get to see my whole family and my friends and, of course, my dog. Then Christmas is sooner than soon. I have many things to look forward to in the upcoming semester and beyond and, as I say whatever kind of weird goodbye I have to say to this cluster of shows, I look forward to what is yet to come.

Near Death Experience and a Really Bad Week

I almost died this weekend.

People say things like that all the time. "I laughed so hard I almost died," "I was so embarrassed I could have just died," "Seriously, I was so scared I nearly died." But no, no. I really, genuinely almost died. And once something like this happens, one thinks twice about using any hyperbolic phrases involving death. Because it is just no joking matter.

This is how I feel about it.

My car has been giving me a lot of trouble. If you ask my father, this is a problem I am creating in order to vex him from 500 miles away. But in reality, the car is old and things are just starting to go. Lately, the battery has been dying at every possible inconvenient moment. On Friday, at 3 a.m. the car refused to start. As I've been doing, I asked a friend at the party I was coming from for a jump. However, in order for the cables to reach, the car had to be moved back slightly. So, I, in my infinite car knowledge, shifted it into neutral while standing by the driver side door. And the car started to roll. Fast. Backwards.

This was one of those instants where the human brain tries to have 30 different thoughts at one time. My first thought was that I had Herculean strength and could somehow stop the car from rolling with my own body power. Not so. My second thought was to push the emergency brake under the wheel. Fail. My third thought was to run backwards with the car while continuing to somehow try to stop it. MISTAKE. The open door caught me in the chest, my feet skidded out from under me, down I went and then my brain went, "OHHHH SHIT. THIS IS REALLY GONNA HURT."

I wondered if it was going to be like an elephant stepping on my head, or like the part in 'Who Framed Roger Rabbit' where Judge Doom gets nailed by the steam roller, or if maybe it would somehow just bounce over my sturdy, little frame. I held out little hope for the final option. 

As I attempted to mentally prepare myself to be crushed by my own car, I heard my friend Elizabeth scream my name and felt myself being pulled by the collar out of the path of the careening motor vehicle. Apparently, my head was a safe distance of approximately 8-10 inches from the wheels - it was my legs that really stood (lol) in danger of being rolled over.

When all this was over, and my friend had somehow ninja jumped into the moving car and stopped it from crashing into a building, I started laughing. Really hard. This quickly devolved into me sobbing uncontrollably for about 45 minutes in, what I have been told, was the first panic attack of my life. Future reference, don't have one of those again.

My friend Steph took excellent care of my hysterical being that night and even restrained herself from laughing when I asked if the head of our graduate program would be sad if I was killed being run over by my car and when I proclaimed that I no longer wanted to study clown because I did not think I would ever stop crying. And nobody likes crying clowns. NOBODY.

I spent the following day shaky and sore in a state of, what I imagine is, shock. I am feeling marginally better three days later, but am still a little achey and distractable.

But the story ends not here. NO. Tonight, I took a small dinner break between a meeting and going to the library and my car died AGAIN in an Arby's parking lot on the side of a highway. After calling the tow truck, witnessing the tow-man put my car into neutral and roll it out of the spot (and experiencing Nam-esque flashbacks watching him do it), having the tow-man ask me if I wanted to come help him on his next job and then listening to his life story in the rain, dropping it at the dealership, and packing a bag to move into Steph's house until this is all resolved because I live far from campus (seriously folks, she's a SAINT) I am exhausted and have no desire to do the massive amount of work that I need to do right now for the week aheard.

So thanks car. Thanks universe. Thanks fates that be for conspiring against my sanity and productivity. THANKS. A LOT.

And now it is late and I just ate pizza with jalapeno peppers on it TOO QUICKLY and I feel like there is a 9 ton elephant sitting on my chest, farting out balls of fire and despair.

Work? Probably not happening for a little while.

A Day In The Life

I have an 8 a.m. rehearsal and a cold.

Regardless of these two things, I have decided to post a short account of a typical day in my life as a graduate student, since that was the original purpose of this little blog before I got derailed by chickens and cats (the animal, not the musical, though the musical has an important place in my story collection). Today was a pretty good day, and despite not having had class or having done any homework at all, I'll chronicle this one. Fasten your seatbelts.

9:00 a.m. - AWAKEN.
9:01 a.m. - fall back asleep.

10:30 a.m. - Awaken AGAIN fairly certain that if colds could cause death, death would be coming.

11:00 a.m. - Dragged myself out of bed like the most ill person on the planet and did typical morning type things crankily and with no lust for life.

12:00 p.m. - Large coffee.
12:30 p.m. - Clown workshop. Let's pause here and talk about a good time. I love clowning. It is something I desperately want to be good at and something I intend to put a lot of work into while I am here. The workshop was so fun and helpful and I am glad I went despite my sniffy sick buttfaced cold.

1:45 p.m. - Lunch. During our rather lengthy stint at the cafe, an elderly lady creepily stared me down through the window, a man face planted off his skateboard, and Afrophone was born.

3:00 p.m. - Made a very unnecessary grocery store trip. I needed pomegranates and some form of cold medicine. Otherwise, I was just there for moral support. Many items and a lot of dollars later, I now own a coffee maker, so I consider it all worthwhile.

4:30 p.m. - Began cooking dinner with a good deal of help since apparently I have no idea how to cook ground meat. Seasoning it is scary because it becomes this gigantic meatball-esque mound and who knows if it is going to STAY in giant meatball form once heat is applied? I certainly didn't. Then, how do you know when it is cooked? It's too difficult for me to handle. I had company. I didn't want to salmonella anybody. In the end, spaghetti and meat sauce was a success, though I ate mostly pomegranate, since that is all I ever eat anymore.

7:00 p.m. - Attended Fair Maid of the West. Man, that show gets funnier ever time I see it.
9:45 p.m. - DRANKS.
11:00 p.m. - Visited my favorite pug on the planet (and friends).

12:30 a.m. - Homestead. Still sick, but much happier.
1:34 a.m. - Posted a blog on my fascinating day.

Enjoy.

Weekend Adventures with Big Cat

I have always been a dog person. I will probably always be a dog person. I say this with a cat curled against my tailbone area, being adorable, knowing I don't like it as much as my dog and plotting my ultimate demise. That is the thing about cats. One second they are adorable, the next they are getting in the way of everything you try to do and the next they are trying to suffocate you by standing on your windpipe. Add to this the fact that I have, literally, the most incredible dog in the world, and you can understand why my love for dogs outstripes my love for cats.

I defy you to not love this face.

As life would have it, I currently live with two cats. This weekend my apartment-mate is out of town and has taken Little Cat with her, so Big Cat and I are just hanging out. (They have real names, I am just lazy). Anyway, last night I had an experience that reminded me why I will probably never own a cat myself.

Note: as I write this, Big Cat is using me as a jungle gym and standing directly in front of my face whenever possible. I can't stop sneezing.

To begin, I made a lasagna. This story has nothing to do with that lasagna other than I ate entirely too much of it. I originally intended to have four people for dinner but at the end of the day, one couldn't make it and one doesn't like lasagna. So it was just me and Steph, a GIGANTIC party size lasagna and an equally gigantic bottle of white wine. Two pieces of lasagna, three glasses of wine and five episodes of 30 Rock went by. Overfull and slightly intoxicated, I decided it would be cruel to shut Big Cat out of my room.

During the course of the night, I am pretty sure Big Cat tried to kill me three seperate times. First, I woke up with her standing on my neck, glaring down at me as if she was about to bite into my jugular. This inspired me to get up and put on pants. For some reason, sleepingzzzzzzzzz (Big Cat did that - I'm leaving it because I think it's hilarious) in a t-shirt and boxers felt weird with Big Cat in the bed. "What if she tries to eat my legs?" must have been my half-asleep train of thought. So I got up and changed and crawled right back into bed.

Next, I woke up rather suddenly and saw furry cat ass backing into my face. I'm not sure how related the two are, but I also needed something to drink sooner than immediately. I pushed the poised ready to smother fuzz butt out of my face, got up again, and got some water. Big Cat followed me down stairs and tried to climb into the refridgerator. At this point I was so tired I forgot how to make the Brita stop pouring for a second and almost spilled water everywhere, so getting a cat out of the fridge was an insurrmountable task. We headed back upstairs and I promptly fell back asleep.

Somewhere around 3:10, I awoke again to a sharp pain in my foot. I looked down and saw Big Cat trying to consume my left foot. I KNEW IT! I should have put on socks too! I got up for the final time, picked her up, plopped her outside the door, shut it and went back to sleep.

Now, my dog, he would never try to sit on my face or eat my feet. He is just a 70 pound bundle of unrequited love and snuggles and fear smell - he's terrified of absolutely everything and allergic to protein. He's extremely sensitive. My mom thinks it is pathetic. I think it is adorable (or at least I will until somebody breaks into the house and he does nothing but pee himself and hide under a bed). Sleeping with Charlie is like sleeping with a furry body pillow that takes up more space than you do and literally digs you out of bed at an ungodly hour. Sleeping with Big Cat is like taking your very life into your hands.

I'll take my bed hog, blankets digging, scared of plastic bags dog any day.

Habitual Patterning, or, Things I Really Have to Stop Doing

As a creature of habit, I find myself continually falling into patterns. Some end up being great. Some would be great if I didn't suck at keeping up stuff that is good for me, like exercising regularly and not drinking beer and keeping my room clean. Many times though, these patterns tend toward self detriment. Now that I am in a no-longer-brand-new-but-still-newer-than-I-care-to-admit environment, patterns are popping up all over the place. The most horrible habit that has emerged thus far, aside from an affinity for crunchy-chocolate-breakfast cereals is this putting off of work until the last second.

This is not really a new pattern. Then again, I may have always liked crunchy-chocolate-breakfast cereals and never known it because I never purchased them (in related news: not a fan of fruity pebbles). But really, I have always been a procrastinator of biblical proportions and I know that will probably never change. Currently, however, I am, at 9 p.m. on Monday night, sitting on the precipice of a 5 page paper, two play readings, and at least 4 articles. All for tomorrow. I had four days to do this. And I did NOTHING except read Hamlet for the umpillionth time.

That is not true. I did stuff. I went to some parties and had a three night sleepover marathon and I went to D.C. for the day today. All of these things were fun. Really, really fun. But all of these things also made me so tired that the prospect of doing anything right now aside from schlepping laundry from my room to the washing machine directly outside my door is literally painful.

As has become the routine, I will continue to fuck around (kinda like right now?) for a little bit. Then I will bang out an amount of work I find satisfactory and will then wake up tomorrow to finish it. This would be okay. Perhaps. However, I have class until 9 tomorrow night and I KNOW that I will be so cranky by that point I will want to punch a baby seal in the face.

The goal of this next week is to not let this happen again. FOR REAL.


On a serious note, I have been feeling a little unsettled as of late and it is very... unsettling. Minor monetary irritants (thanks supremely competent bank employee for entering both my name AND my SSN into your system incorrectly), tensions here and there, exhaustion and this sneaky twinge of frustration (over what I honestly wish I knew) are all just gnawing away. But I'm okay. I think a good night of sleep will help volumes.

Onward to the sprint.

Facing Your Fears

This post is a bit belated as I have been HELLA busy becoming a genuis and all of that. However, I think it is very important to trumpet from the interweb-rooftops that I have faced up to one of my biggest irrational fears: The Chicken.

As my loyal readers (all seven of you) know, chickens and I have a rocky past. And while I cannot say the bridge has been fully gapped, progress toward redemption has been made. That is right ladies and gentlemen. On Saturday last at a mighty Oktoberfest celebration, I, Elizabeth Anne, PET. A. CHICKEN.

Here is some photographic evidence for ye of little faith. That's right. Look at that brave face.

A woman, in lovely period attire, was HOLDING a chicken (actually she had three chickens in her arms) like is was no big deal (jobs I'll never be applying for - check that one off the list) and I mustered all of my courage and actually touched it. Look at it. I looks pretty demonic, doesn't it? I swear it was glaring at me AND went to peck my hand every time I got near its stupid chicken feathers (though, I guess if I were a chicken I wouldn't want cotton-candy-fingered people touching my downy softness either).

After being super proud of myself and demanding a handi-wipe and later a chocolate covered banana as my reward (I actually did neither of those things, but in retrospect I should have) I went on to pet a HORSE! Now, I have not yet revealed my trepidatious relationship with horses but, to recount, when I was 10 years old, my friend had a horse back riding birthday party, like ya do, and my horse, Taco, tripped over a rock and almost catapulted me into a ravine. No exaggeration. And then, to add insult to injury, the instructor yelled at me for falling off the horse, rather than clinging to the saddle so it could roll over onto my wee legs, and swung his greasy man-ponytail at me. So, horses and I don't have a good track (heh) record either. I passed on the pony rides (due partially to fear, but mostly to embarrassment) but I did pet the horse and felt even prouder of myself.

That's right. I'm laughing in the face of danger. HA-HA-HA-HAAAA!

I have faced my fears. And I am most pleased. UP NEXT, conquering my irrational childhood fears of leprosy and execution by the guillotine! I wasn't a weird kid at all.

P.S. I talk about chickens in this blog way more than I ever anticipated I would. I wonder what that says about me. Have I been supressing this my entire life? Mental note: worth looking into.

The Freedom of Flightless Birds

I am taking a moment to pause on the chronicle of my ever-fascinating life in Virginia to write about something of great importance to me. I have been doing a lot of thinking about this and I have formed a pretty solid hypothesis on a topic I believe everybody should be a little more aware of: The Freedom of Flightless Birds.

This is not something I have been entirely silent about. It was sparked by my painful recollection of the Attack of the Waterloo Chickens (see: The Art of Procrastination) and I have discussed it at considerable length with my dear friend Kenny. I am also told that on a night during which I consumed more wine than Christ, I ranted about peacocks for a pretty lengthy amount of time (I know what you're thinking. You want to drink with me. Shoot me a line, we can probably make this happen).

Before I begin I must say this: I love animals. So before anybody gets PETA all up in here (because I am that important), I am all about the respect and protection of all living things. I've seen Ferngully. I'm not an asshole.

However, in regard to flightless birds, something is terribly wrong. I think the root of the problem is that we feel bad for them, so we overcompensate for their lack of abilities by giving them free run when, really, this is an inappropriate response. Just because they can't fly and the other birds probably make fun of them does not mean they should be allowed to wander freely in public, high-human traffic places at the possible expense of one's well being.

I am going to begin with chickens. Chickens are not that intelligent, but I am pretty sure that, as a flock, they have pretty evil motives. There are very few things more terrifying than being run at by a clucking, flapping, mass of feathery, pecking chickens. I appreciated the movie "Chicken Run" as much as the next person, and if chickens really were plump and adorable with little knit hats and endearing accents, I would probably go chill with them. But this is a gross misrepresentation of the truly terrifying chicken flock mentality.

Continuing on this thread: Wild Turkeys. There is a wild turkey in my hometown and it is HUGE. It just walks around on the sidewalk, like it fucking owns Valley Road. And they are NOT nice. I worked as a summer camp counselor and we took a field trip to a lake. There were wild turkeys roaming around ALL OVER. There were also signs posted everywhere about keeping one's distance from these bird-demons. There have been few experiences in my life as stressful as keeping thirty nine-year-olds away from a group of wild turkeys that could potentially do them extreme physical harm.

This guy is NOT fucking around.

The same thing goes for peacocks.

Zoos all over the world have arrived at the conclusion that it is somehow OKAY to let peacocks just go wherever the fuck they want. Who was in charge of this decision? Who sat down and said, "Hrm. We're gonna need some sort of pen over here for the baby goats. Yeah. They might head butt somebody in the shin. We just can't afford that kind of liability. The peacocks? No! They're fine. Let them roam freely amongst the patrons!"

Aside: Did you know there is a United Peafowl Association? Seriously. http://www.peafowl.org/. How could I possible make that up?

Apparently Febreeze is harmful to your pet peacock or peahen. WHO figured this out? First of all, who keeps a peacock in their home? I can totally understand why Febreeze came into the equation here, because that place must be all kinds of stank. But really?



Really.
(P.S. If anybody was wondering what to get me for Christmas,this is now, officially number one of my wishlist. HINT HINT.)

At least now if anybody asks me, "Wow, what the fuck are you going to do with a degree in Shakespeare and Performance?" (as people often do - rude) I will be able to say, "I don't know. BUT at least I am not researching the effects of Febreeze on peafowl!"
Odds are they won't be able to come back with anything before I run away.

I Think My Headphones Have Caused Me Premature Hearing Loss

This post has absolutely nothing to do with its title. Just stating that before we begin. In fact, this is going to be a relatively serious post.

I need to pause for a moment (though how one pauses on a blog I do not know) and take a deep breath and center myself and all of that lovely stuff and just reflect upon the grandness of being where I am right now. Being so busy and so overwhelmed by newness has almost caused me to lose sight of the real blessing that my life currently is. Sure, I'm reading so much that my brain feels kinda like a canteloupe that has been in the fridge for just a little bit too long (you know what I'm talking about). And sure, I am exhausted all the time. And yes, it is true that there are moments when I want to stamp my feet, sit on the floor, cross my arms and mope. Puffy bottom lip and all.

Then I sit and think and say to mySelf, "Alright Self. First of all, you asked for this, so enough with the 'woe is me' thing. It's annoying. Secondly, this is pretty awesome. Look at how much you've already grown!" And mySelf is pretty darn smart, not to mention totally right.

Before I get too embedded in self-reflection imagery here, let me get to the point. The point is to talk a bit about all of the things I am grateful for at this exact moment. That way, next time a 5-year-old-I-don't-WANNA-juice-box-throwing tantrum threatens to spill out, or a bout of homesickness sneaks up, I can read back and remember that, in the great words of Peter Griffin, "this is why we're heeeeeere."

1. Friends: I cannot, for a moment, imagine anything more important than my friendships. Since my arrival in Virginia-land, I have met some pretty incredible people and I cannot even think about what I would do without the joy of having them in my life. In addition, my friends from home have remained constant, supportive, and as wonderful as ever. I live in constant awe of the love that surrounds me.


2. Family: The texts and calls from my parents and especially my amazing brother are more important to me than they can imagine (especially the "White Chicks" references, JP. Keep them COMING). I wish Charlie had people-communication capabilities because I miss my dog like crazy. And he is afraid of the phone.


3. Music: I am a super musical person. As it has always been, it is a haven, knowing and providing exactly what I need, exactly when I need it.


4. Comedy: This continues to be my favorite medium, my base, and my heart. If I can make a life out of this, it will all be worthwhile.


5. Waking up, immersed in what I love: Some days I really do not want to get out of bed, and sometimes what I am reading is dense and horrible. However, in general, I love what I am learning and especially what I am working toward. I am so blessed to have the opportunity to be doing this.


6. Pudding: It is just really delicious.

This is a very short list of things I am thankful for right now, but writing even this abridged list of gratitude has bolstered my somewhat weary and overwhelmed spirits.

As has this. Oh, pudding.

The Art of Procrastination

Masses of homework stretch before me, like an endless sea of black and white verbosity filled with paper cuts and despair.

Alright. It really isn't that serious. What is serious, however, is the procrastination storm that has taken over my life. I enjoy learning. I really do. Acquiring knowledge is one of my favorite things, especially when it is knowledge that enhances something I am interested in or passionate about.

I think the problem I am having right now is due to the fact that once I get a certain amount accomplished, I start congratulating myself and, as a result of celebrating too soon, I mentally shut down and getting anything else done becomes an epic battle between my brain and every other force of nature up to and including the major importance of cleaning the liter box over and over again.

So, as a little break and treat to myself (and EVERYBODY else. I know. You're welcome.) here is a brief list entitled:

"Things I'd Rather Do Than Read Metrical Art"

1. Watch Spongebob Squarepants. All day.

This may seem obvious. And it really is. I'd rather watch Spongebob Squarepants all day than do most things. It made it on to the list because we really just did spend 45 minutes watching season two. Don't judge. It is a fantastic show.

2. Make onion dip and drink copious Rockstar energy drinks.

These are also activities I've done today in lieu of my reading. I enjoy both for different reasons. The onion dip means that a) I have company, because who makes onion dip for themselves? and b)I am satisfying others, because really, I make pretty damn delicious onion dip. I like making people happy. The Rockstar part is more "for me". Functioning at high levels of caffenation tricks my brain into thinking I am more productive because I am not falling asleep in my book. However, most of the time, I just get so wound up I end up having a dance party... by myself... at 2 a.m.

3. Clean Party Cake ice cream off the counters.

It gets EVERYWHERE and never comes off ANYTHING.

4. Shop.

I usually don't like shopping at all. But suddenly Wal Mart is like Willy Wonka's fucking factory and I've won the golden ticket!

5. Light myself on fire.

I realize this list just took a turn for the drastic. And I probably would immediately regret lighting myself on fire. On the other hand, the long term repercussions might mean NEVER having to read this book at all. So that would be cool. Painful and absolutely beyond horrible. But totally the silver lining.

6. Clean the liter box WITH MY BARE HANDS.

I am cat sitting the roomie's cats this weekend and MAN, do they poop a great deal. I have cleaned the liter box A LOT and it is just the most unpleasant task I could imagine. Remove the handy dandy liter shovel and it would be a million times worse. But I would do it for the reward of a Mertical Art-less night.

7. Have explosive diarreah. For days. (contributed by Elizabeth R. Thanks lady!)

I don't feel that this one needs explanation.

8. Have a violent encounter with a flock of angry chickens.

This has actually happened to me. When I was in third grade, I was on a school field trip to Waterloo Village, a delightful recreation of early Colonial American settlements. I was eating my lunch at the outdoor picnic area when I heard rustling and muted clucks in the distance. Suddenly, in a cloud of smoke and fire, a flock of angry chickens came cresting over the mountain and formed an angry chicken cluster under my picnic bench, forcing me to stand on the table in my awesome saddle shoes, holding my PBJ as high as possible, screaming for mercy.

And I would do it again.

9. Have the cat sneeze in my ear repeatedly.

This already happened today. It was disgusting and did not in any way negate the amount of work I have to do. On a related note, what is WRONG with this animal? I have never met a cat that sneezes as much as this one. It is just constant. I am concerned. And I wish it would turn its face or something before it sneezed right in my ear canal.

10. Write blog posts about things I'd rather do than read Metrical Art.

Damn skippy!

Really wish that had worked out.

It's a Gas!

So... graduate school is HARD.

BUT, it is also really awesome! I am not used to being legitimately excited about everything I have to do during the day. And now I am!... excepting the homework bit. I am not too excited about the one metric ass ton of reading I have to do (as I clearly don't do it) but even that is not so bad, because at least it is (mostly) stuff I am really interested in knowing.

In regard to not doing homework, I really did NOT do much with myself today. And I have decided that it is okay. Sometimes, a day of tooling around, watching "School of Rock" and eating mass amounts of Cocoa Crunchies is a completely necessary thing. In more productive news I did see some friends AND 2 Henry IV which was a touch of the brilliant and made my Falstaff crush about 8 times worse than it already was.

But perhaps the most AMAZING thing I have learned thus far is (drumroll in your mind)...

HOW TO PUMP MY OWN GAS!

People here are genuinely amazed at the fact that this is something I have never done before in my life so, just to catch everybody up, DEAR WORLD, IT IS ILLEGAL TO PUMP YOUR OWN GAS IN NEW JERSEY. LOVE, LIZ. Before moving, I thought this was a nifty, convenient thing about my home state but I was dead wrong. It takes markedly less time and general frustration to pump one's own gas. No waiting, no rude gas attendants. It's a good time. And, thanks to the wonderful and caring people I have come to know here, I did not Zoolander-explode my car, which was a big fear.

So here's to the best gas I have ever gotten in my life!

In closing, school is good, pumping gas is quickly becomming a new favorite past time, and I leave you all with this hi-LARIOUS doodle I did the other day, on accident:

"What's that you say? A pheasant? In the larder??"

That is what he is saying in my head. In a poncy, British accent. Do it. Dooooo it.

Hope it gave you as much of a chuckle as it continues to give me.

Attack of the Cancerian Nature!

I had every intention of making my next posts a two part series of top ten lists: one of things I miss about New Jersey, another of things I love about Virginia. However, somewhere between arriving at the playhouse for tonight's performance, and unlocking my apartment door, I was pounced upon by an acute case of homesickness that went something like this:
(1) Liz is super jazzed about being here and learning stuff and awesome people and LIFE
(2) Liz is slowly overwhelmed with information and a day of forgetting stuff and being tired
(3) Liz is sad and kind of homesick and it is probably all due to sleepiness and trepidation about the work load that lies ahead but damnit, it is unpleasant and needs to go away!

And thus, it spirals and now I am sitting here eating potato chips, needing a shower, wanting to read every possible thing at once and trying really hard not to cry, which is something I am kind of proud of myself for not having done once yet.

My strange and wide variety of interests has lead me to the area of astrology and I know my sun, sparkling up there in the heavens of Cancer, has a tendancy to cause me to be a home and hearth kind of person. I hate not being comfortable. I hate not having my family (biological and otherwise) around. I hate anything unfamilliar and unknown. I don't really consider myself an adventurous person, though I tend to do ridiculous things that I am almost always thankful I did in the long run. Hopefully this experience falls into the majority.

I am trying to reassure myself that this sick-in-a-daze-close-to-tears grossness will pass by as quickly as it came, and once the work starts and I get my bearings, everything will be peachy keen.

The really good thing is the awesome folks I've met. That helps a lot.
So, if you're reading, and you're awesome, thanks for being so awesome.

The Goldfinch Has Landed

I AM FINALLY HERE!

I never thought this day would arrive, but here I am, sitting in my bedroom in the great state of Virginia blogging about being in Virginia. The trip down was mildly excruciating. Onslo's air conditioner broke down about 25 minutes into the journey. 14 hours, three mechanics and a diagnosis of a shot electrical board later, we arrived - sweaty, exhausted and disgruntled with a still busted AC. So, Onslo will have to go to the doctor tomorrow which will leave me car-less for the upcoming week. Not cool.

Poor sickly Onslo...

Now that I am here, I am getting used to the various establishments that seem to frequent Virginia. I mean, where is Shop Rite? And what do you mean the nearest Chase Bank is in WEST Virginia??? WHERE AM I????????? It is a different world down here. For starters, everybody is super polite and friendly and helpful. After four years in Jersey City I have grown accustomed to getting yelled at, honked at and potentially spit/vomited on at any given moment. Things of that nature do not seem to happen here. Also, there is NO traffic. Really. NONE. It is mind blowing.

My apartment is pretty sweet. My room is so wee, but in a way that makes it endearing. This is only because all of my furniture fit, which was touch and go for a very scary your-bed-is-NOT-going-to-fit-in-this-tiny-space moment. But it does and thus, I am pleased. Getting it all set the way I want it with all my knick knackery has helped make this place feel like home.

And finally...

The view from my bedroom window.

Another extremely important thing to note, if you ever decide to move to Virginia, is the cottage cheese. It is different. Very different. I mean, I love cottage cheese more than most people can probably understand, but any tasteless cottage cheese jokes you've ever heard are based on Virginia cottage cheese... one of the most disgusting things I have seen in a food container to date. That will take some adjusting.

So, I am settling in nicely, feeling things out. Tonight I am going to see Shakespeare-at-Winedale's performance of I Henry IV which is pretty exciting since I have a minor fictional character crush on Falstaff going on. Nothing to speak of, really. By this time next week I will have seen five shows and that makes my heart smile, all gappy toothed and dorktastic.

But now, it is time to shop for party(!) supplies for tomorrow night's housewarming fiesta hosted by yours truly + roomie aaaaaaand get ready for some sweet, sweet Falstaff lovin'.

The Count Down: ONE DAY

I cling to New Jersey. I cling like plastic wrap clings to itself when you're trying to cover a bowl of fruit salad. One day left in Jersey and I feel like the cliched headless chicken, frantically running in circles as my feathers fly everywhere and my time quickly runs out (okay, morbid).

That is all I really have to say about that. There are no fun pictures in this post mostly because I am energy and scanner-less at the moment (but also because I have no desire to draw decapitated poultry). In somewhat terrific news, though, I have purchased a printer/copier/scanner for the low, low price of $30. Muchos gracias Best Buy. So doodle spam to come in the near (gulp!) future.


In completely unrelated conclusion, I throw my hands up in the air sometimes saying, "FUCK YOU TAIO CRUZ". You've sneakily hooked me again with your catchy, dance-in-the-car jams so that I am forced to scan the radio for your latest (p.s. underplayed) song while hating myself for loving you so much. Why, Taio Cruz. WHY?

Listen. Love. Then hate yourself for loving. AUGH.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUjdiDeJ0xg&feature=av2e

Being A-Scared

Everybody is afraid of things. The dark, insects, clowns, System of a Down music videos; we're all afraid of something. Me, I am afraid of a few things. Namely stickbugs, stuff that can kill me, helicopters, and failing at things.

As the expanse of my higher-higher education adventure stretches before me, I can't help but feel a little trepidatious about this undertaking. I have visions of myself buried under massive piles of books, becoming so overwhelemed with information that the only step remaining is to steam clean my ravaged brain with cheap, fermented ethanol.This, in turn, causes me to forget all of said information and from there a vicious cycle forms and I become the Ernest Hemingway of Virginia...

And I really hate Ernest Hemingway.

The point is, this impending level of academia is scary and I am not really sure why. But it is definitely scarier than stickbugs.

Side Note: The Going Away Party: It was a good time. And though I will probably see many of the attendees at least once more before I leave, there is never a bad reason to drink good beer out of mugs so large that, when filled with alcohol, they should probably be considered illegal.

My history with parties is a somewhat sordid ordeal generally best left undiscussed. Suffice it to say that I have tended to be the type of person who goes big or doesn't go at all. However, I've gotten markedly more responsible in my post-college years, to the point that when I claim "Hey. I'm taking it easy tonight," 78% of the time I am telling the truth. Last night fell into that 78% bracket and I am pretty darn pleased with myself.

So thank you my dear friends for a lovely night out and thank you self control for allowing me to remember it.

Post, The First

Hello there! Welcome to my blog! I am going to assume you know what you are doing here, so I will skip this blog's fairly obvious reason for existing and cut right to a little bit about ME!

Another thing to note is that I wish I had the super sexy bod of my Stick Figure 2.0 avatar.

In nine days I will be moving from my snuggly home in New Jersey to the scary land of Virginia to begin working on a three year master's program in Shakespeare and Renaissance Literature in Performance (concentration in directing)**. Never before have the emotions "thrill" and "terror" comingled so violently within my being, but alas time ticks away and it is almost time to put on my big girl panties and deal with it (as a very wise friend often advises me).

As this space progresses, I am hoping to fill it with little illustrations to help document my journey through higher, higher education and all the hilarity that I am sure will ensue (those Elizabethans were such a gas).

However, tonight I am off to a party; a GOING AWAY PARTY. Obviously for myself. I can't think of a much sadder reason for having a party (aside from those parties they throw after funerals that are more like awkward lunches) but a good time is certainly anticipated.

Until next time...

**I have no idea what I will do with this degree so don't ask. No, I do not plan on eating properly, owning property, or feeling like a financial Rock of Gibralter any time soon.