3 months since my last post?$#! WTF!

I guess I have been busy or happy. Blogging inactivity comes from happiness, just one more reason to avoid the latter. Well, lots of things have happened in the intervening months, not a new job though, and that is really the main thing.  Month over month I go deeper into debt and look for creative ways to make ends meet until the next close call. I have got to get a job that pays a living wage!!!

My bad boyfriend

I have a kind of boyfriend. I don't know if he is incapable of being faithful or if he is just uninterested in me. Not completely uninterested; he does still have sex with me. He took my compost with him this morning, and that was nice. I just saw that he had reposted his personal ad: Vocabulary Lesson. Please. Yes sir. Thank you.

I am going to tease him with it. I will tell him that I want please, thank you, and sir to constitute a bigger part of my conversations with him. I have to be careful with my little game, though, because I do not want to get too drawn in emotionally that I can't detach when I need to. This is a Kieran kind of deal. I am being unhealthy, almost reveling in it by smoking cigarettes, avoiding exercise, drinking, not eating well.

More later.

L'ospitalita` all'italiana all'Opera.

This is a pleasant aspect of PDX Opera culture. Our GD is of Italian descent and really embraces the hospitable nature that is often attributed to central and southern Italians. As a result, we have a lot of functions that involve food and drink; or maybe it's just that we incorporate food and drink into so many functions.

I have mixed feelings about the commestibles at company events. I enjoy consuming them, but I dislike preparing and serving them. Guess who frequently prepares and serves at  opera  events?

How to remedy the role I play in an upwardly direction . . . I know the job I want, but I am not doing anything in a way that would recommend me for the position.

Back to the opera's hospitality. I really do attribute this to Cristo. He can be curt and dismissive, but he is also warm, generous, and welcoming. He likes to mingle with his employees at company parties. He espresses himself easily and humorously. When I first met him, he reminded me of Jon Stewart: the nose, the accent, the mannerisms. I really wanted to laugh, but I had the common sense not to.

He questioned my interest in the position I sought. I don't think I understood that "coordinator" basically meant secretary or assistant. Add to that my desperation to get a job with health insurance and a living wage, and the Artist Coordinator job looked like an oasis in the poverty desert.

Now that it is almost 2 years, I have got to change my position. I have to move up or move out. I just am not sure exactly how to go about it with the most chance of success. If I wait too long, the fact that I have a Ph.D. will mean very little. I could put together a plan for Peter. Propose to bring in 10 new camerata members in the first month. Speak to a bunch of organizations, write a bunch of grant applications,

Murder at the opera

I don't know much in real life about crime, criminal procedure, or slang. I read detective novels and watch police shows on TV, so I can get along in expressing the ideas of a crime scene. How about a series of opera novels: Murder at the Opera, Romance at the Opera, BDSM at the Opera, Larceny at the Opera, Flagrant Disregard for Recycling at the Opera, The Bicycle Brigade at the Opera, Pimpin' My PR Coverage at the Opera; Animals at the Opera, The Hierarchy of Homo- and Heterosexuals at the Opera, L'ospitalita` all'italiana all'Opera.

I have written ten possible works. I shall choose a title and construct a work based upon it.

A bit of real life

Right around my 13th birthday, my parents decided to separate. My grandmother came for her summer visit, bringing with her my cousin Marilyn who was the wild child of her generation for my mother's large, extended family. This was the era of free love, drugs, and rock n roll for middle-class, intellectual Montanans, and that is who my parents were.

What a memorable, indelible summer for me, so many firsts: smoked pot, snuck out through my bedroom window, shaved my legs, wore a bra, and got felt up by my dad. That last item in the list is why I am writing this. At 45 I am unmarried, with no children, and no partner. What the hell is the matter with me? It freaks me out and it kind of saddens me. I wonder if my feelings of betrayal from my dad play a part in how I feel about men. If he had been a nice dad before he cupped my breasts, I might not have felt so afraid, but I had always been afraid of him. Now I was afraid he might hit me, but also afraid he might want to touch me again.

Don't We All Have to Pitch In and Do A Little Bit Extra?

I am sorry, Jill. I misunderstood. I thought I was just supposed to clean the kitchen; I did not understand that I was supposed to come in and clean up after you all. I guess we all end up doing more than we thought we were supposed to ;]

Do you suppose that Jimmy and Michael understand that? Maybe we should tell them?