smack my hand…

…and call me a bad girl!

Once again I’ve stepped away from my blogging duties for a little too long. For awhile there I didn’t know what else to post except Katrina resource links. When I tried to write entries that expressed my feelings regarding the hurricane and its horrific aftermath, I found myself unable to lay it out. Anything non-Katrina related seemed too frivolous. It still sorta does. Ray mentioned in a comment that perhaps such feelings stem from growing up in the area.

Thing is, I didn’t really grow up there. I didn’t really grow up anywhere in particular. But I lived in Norfolk, Virginia when I was 9 and Pensacola, Florida when I was 10, so I remember the hurricane warnings of my youth. I even remember living through a tropical storm, though Wikipedia doesn’t support my memories. Even though I only lived in Pensacola for about a year (by the time I turned 11 my family and I were living in El Centro, California – yes, there is a naval base in the desert of Imperial Valley), I still feel a certain connection to the Gulf Coast. And I still think, “There, but for the grace of G-d or whatever…”
*************************
It’s definite: I’m going to Washington, DC this weekend for Grassroots Action on the Hill. I’ve had my plane tickets for a few weeks now (round trip for under $250 – pretty sweet!) and I spoke with MusicianMan last night regarding housing, so it’s all set! I’ll be staying with a few other people that I know from a few of the groups, so I’ll be amongst familiar faces, which is always nice. And I’ve volunteered to help out with Monday’s activities, though I’ve yet to hear from the woman organizing that. I hope I hear from her soon, because I would really like to help out with that.

In other news: as I mentioned in my last entry, my bike was stolen. My beloved one-speed dorky blue bike with the double baskets over the back tire was stolen from the MetroRail station down the street from my house. I would say it was my fault, sort of, except that when I said so to MusicianMan he pretty much took me to task for assuming the blame that belonged to, as he said, “evil people in this world.” So, no, it wasn’t my fault. But it’s something I suspected might happen, as it was a Friday night I fell asleep on ModelGirl’s sofa while I was watching her cats, which meant I didn’t get back to my neck of the woods until 9am the next morning, only to find my adored bicycle gone. And I had just gotten the flat tire and broken spokes fixed the week before.

MusicianMan told me to hang on to his bicycle for a little while longer, but I’ve been afraid to ride it and lock it anywhere, so I’ve just used it when I’ve had time on the weekends to ride for only exercise. Between my stolen bike and Sarriah’s tale of a probably dead bicyclist, I’ve been a little leery of my usual riding in traffic.

Of course, this started off a week in which I not only lost my barely used $58 monthly bus pass, but I also endured an extremely pissy week of PMS. Every time something new happened that annoyed the crap out of me (and trust me, there were many, many things that annoyed the crap out of me – I feel sorry for my poor officemate) I just had to remind myself that at least my home hadn’t been swept away by floods and I hadn’t lost family in a disaster. It sorta helped.

On the up side, besides being very excited – and maybe a little nervous – about flying to DC this Friday (I’ll fly back home on the following Tuesday), I also attended an event at Agape in Culver City (which is a huge spiritual center in Los Angeles – Boychik used to be a member before he became disillusioned with some of the people there) which featured Cindy Sheehan, Arianna Huffington and Maxine Waters, amongst others. I had already seen both Arianna and Maxine (yeah, we’re on a first name basis now, uh huh), but this was the first time I’d seen Cindy. I was impressed. She’s a passionate individual, which is easy to see if you’ve seen any interviews on TV, but she’s also a grieving mother who is just looking for answers and is deeply unsatisfied with the bullshit she’s been told. It’s not an act, she’s not being yanked around by leftie organizations – she is exactly what she appears to be. It just so happens she’s a grieving mother who is sincere and is not afraid to get in peoples’ faces, which is one of the reasons she’s emerged as a leader and a symbol for the anti-war movement.

I went with GroovyLady, who is a new friend of mine that I’ve met via SoCal Grassroots. We connected pretty early on this year and have hung out a few times, gone to a few events and realized that we just really like each other. She’s responsible for taking care of her teenage grandson, which means she has her hands full, but she still can make time for the political stuff and friends and all, and she is, in fact, a very groovy, spiritual lady. So it’s all pretty good.

Yesterday was interesting, too. Not the whole day, as I used it for errands and shopping, mostly. But at one point I was walking by a theatre in my neighborhood and I noticed a hand written sign through the window: The Boys Next Door 2:00pm-5:00pm. I thought it might be an audition, so I peeked my head in, as it’s a play I love and one I was in back in 1992. Turns out it was a rehearsal, but the producer/director spoke with me, letting me know that he was holding additional auditions in October for understudies since he’s interested in moving it off-Broadway and after we spoke for a few minutes he took asked the stage manager to take down my information. I’ll make sure I see the play when it opens locally just as a reminder. Will something come of it? Who knows? But I still think it’s kinda cool.

Unfortunately my schedule and money situation have thus precluded me from going back to improv classes, but I am going to try to work it for the next intermediate session. I really want to get back to it.

So that’s what’s going on right now. Thought I should update y’all, since it’s been ten days. Though the real reason I wrote today is because it’s Talk Like A Pirate Day, doncha know. So feel free to walk around work, telling co-workers to shiver yer timbers and calling ’em all mateys. They’ll understand, never you fear.

Argh.


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