|Hey, look, here's a perfectly good clipboard, take it!
||[May. 3rd, 2011|10:31 pm]
Not really. I mean I have a love-hate relationship with a lot of things. The Faire is just one of them. Lots of people I love, and seriously, the satisfaction of looking out over it all and thinking "I helped MAKE that" is awesome. And so many people give so much -- time, money, effort, blood, sweat, tears -- that it damn near restores my faith in humanity. On the other hand, it's like carrying around a 500 pound needy toddler, if a toddler had a mouth like a lamprey, on your back, whining and needing and omigod, it's not quite ready for Pull-Ups just yet, is it? |
At least one person has written an article on "why you don't want to run a renaissance faire". And of course, allsfaire.tv is a MUST see if you're involved in this at all. And have a sense of humor. I'm just glad I don't have a webcam, because right now I'd be the YouTube version of that article.
Sucking desperately at a glass of wine, my mascara running (my eyes are bleary and I keep forgetting that I shouldn't rub them), in full throes of why the hell did I agree to do this. And I'm pretty sure my last three e-mails have contained threats of bodily harm. No. I can't change the time of...oh, c'mon, don't make me look up your act's description...seriously, I don't know where to put the goats on the schedule!
I'm waiting on some scheduling questions, which I KNOW I SHOULD HAVE RESOLVED DAYS AGO, thank you, who the hell invited YOU to my journal? No one can ride my butt harder than I can. So, stop trying. I know...but seriously, I didn't WANT to spend 12 hours getting to Green Bay this week for work. And I really didn't want our ice company going walkabout. And, and, and.
This is me breathing in a paper sack.
(No, okay, you KNOW me. I can't fool YOU, you sharp expletive! This is me taking a large gulp of a lovely Spiers Chenin Blanc)
And thank goodness I did, because my next keystrokes obliterated the post completely -- which YOU may think is a Good Thing. But I was pissed. Wine = letting autosave do its job. So, when they roll me into Betty Ford, we can say "It's all due to Autosave."
Anyway -- now's the time I remind myself that I do this because no one else will and someone HAS to. Which briefly makes me feel better: I'm NEEDED. And then, like whiplash, I'll try not to be depressed because that seems to be the reason why I exist sometimes. Honestly? It's boring. Tedious. If you've ever wondered why I made a complete ass of myself at a party...making up for lost time, mate. Nearly 50, my friends, and I'm still the hall monitor. Blergh.
But I'm a conflicted individual in general, right? Love-hate describes so much of my life:
Dear Pandora, no matter how hard you try, I am not going to like Pink Floyd, the Beatles, and Van Morrison is sort of on probation. Stop trying to slip them in. I've got my folky channel and my aging alt-rocker channel and you seem to randomly try to convince me that they fit. They do, I'm sure they do. But not for me. If I don't thumbs-down them, it was only because I was having a whiz or re-filling my wine glass. Where's the "just stop" button?
Dear Trader Joe's, some of your stuff is great, some is not. Your packaged salads, which normally I eschew, as a tree hugger who hates excess packaging and realizes that buying the lettuce and cutting it up myself is a tiny fraction of the price...still, I fall prey to your butter lettuce. So, I tried your field greens with herbs. I thought a lot about that purchase. I almost just bought field greens. But no, you had "with herbs" and I thought "ooh, once I had a mix that had baby fennel and baby arugula and other cool things -- this could be good.
For the record "with herbs" does not mean "we chopped up 12 stalks of cilantro and threw that into our regular salad mix." Cilantro: the divisive herb. I mean, if you're going to get all cheap-expletive, just use parsley. Pah. Step up, TJ's.