|It's been a while without random
||[Nov. 5th, 2010|03:28 pm]
Speaking of soap, I am loving Biggs and Featherbelle, sold at a crunchy granola store near you, or online from BiggsandFeather.com. They're B-more based, so I can feel warm and cozy about supporting a local business. But more importantly, they last well enough for a handmade soap, the scents seem to stay throughout the life of the soap, and most importantly, the texture, at least of the moisturizing bars, is luxurious. Seriously, the Momma Bar I just finished up was so silky and smooth once it got going, I felt sort of dirty soaping up. Which is an awesome way to start the day. |
You know, if you've been paying attention, that I am a straight-talker, much to everyone's chagrin from time to time, including me. And I often feel badly about it, because I know it can be less than charming. Especially in a professional capacity where it is often more awkward than rewarded. I want to quit my job and go work for these people, though, because clearly we were cut from the same cloth:
I continue to maintain my Crown of Klutz: coming out of the ladies room stall yesterday, I somehow managed to hook my left sleeve on the door latch holder. And of course I was coming out of the stall at such high velocity and with such force, that I got whipped to the left and crashed facefirst into the next stall door. Thank goodness I had a witness so the pain wasn't wasted. Although I had to explain to her what happened, since her brain refused to process anything that colossally stupid. It came in handy today when my witness clipped the edge of a doorway and said "wow, that was embarrassing" and I got to say "Dude, you're talking to someone who clotheslined herself coming out of a bathroom stall."
If exhaustion were three dimensional, I'd be on the ground right now, with a concussion from having run into it, and a dent in my forehead. Because you know that exhaustion would have edges. And I would never run straight into something if there was any chance of running into an edge, which is far more painful and scarring.
And no, I DON'T have all of the Halloween stuff put away yet. Frankly it will take me until Christmas, so I will probably just put a Santa Hat on the Carnivorous Plant and a red nose on the Dragon and re-name him Rudolph. It's always hard and harder still this year, being sick, continuing to be sick and having precious little free time. Don't get me wrong, the Captain's been busting butt putting things away, but a lot of the props, the smallwares, if you will, I insist on putting away myself. Because I'm going to have to find them again. Before Halloween.
Seriously, I've got a rep. Between now and Halloween, I will field at least a half dozen requests for oddities. "Hey, we're doing a pirate-themed, aquatic-themed, do you have a bubble machine, do you have..." You may label your box "Halloween Decorations". I have a room filled with shelves, filled with boxes, labelled Eyes, Hands, Hair, Bones, Rats, Glue. And nothing makes me happier than to be able to say "Rubber chicken? Sure. You want basic, fancy, girly, large, small, screaming, squawking or on a necklace?" Because my rubber chicken box is very large. And being able to provide solutions to unsusual needs is in my DNA.
People keep asking me if I had fun. If it was fun. And I've been struggling with the answer. Because, after all, I AM Honesty's bitch. Just say yes, you dipshit, I think, but the lag time while I'm pondering shows, and then they want to probe....so after this post, I rehearse.
It WAS fun. Fun was had. I don't know how much of the fun was MY fun. And then I think, oh, fer crissakes, Eeyore, buck up. It was just harder than usual this year. Sick, tired, budget-impaired, a higher volume of whinging from neighbors than usual. And, I need to own: instead of a taking off a weekend from Faire to just be mellow and work on stuff in advance, I chose to make a trip up north. My fault.
I will congratulate myself on knowing when to quit. Literally dozens more things I could have set up in the yard, on the street, but I am getting better at saying "Enough."
Now I just need to figure out how to make less of my time be devoted to "managing others" and more time to flitzing and ditzing with props. I have a plan...this year I'm working on figuring out how to get the help I need, instead of managing the help I get. Proactive instead of reactive. We'll see how that works.
(Please note, if you're reading this, you were not one of the "Others" I needed to manage. And "Others" does not include the Captain. The whole graveyard cocktail party rests on him. If it were up to me, I'd hide a cooler of Rolling Rock behind a tombstone and bowl of chips behind a gargoyle and you could fend for yourself.)
Now, I must wrap up. Because I have to attend to a very important business matter. I must issue a warning to our clients that there is a possibility of a temporary spork shortage. Yes, you read that right. Sporks.
My job is funny without even trying.