Tag Archives: Friday

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9 Aug


I was just saying to m’carpool buddy last night…as we unlocked our seatbelts and began collecting our bags of crap to take with us into the theatre…that it’s prob’ly a really good thing that I’m doing a show right now, else I’d be pretty plowed with this cloud of “suck” I’ve got stalking me.

Work at the office it just hell-squared and multiplied, with too muchness and no rest or reprieve in sight…and finances are for total shit, with now added stress of getting license fees paid so I can rejoin the rest of the adult driving population, plus some personal stuff has really gotten me down.

I dunno ’bout you, but every so often, life likes to hit me these shitty ground balls, that keep popping up at the last second and smacking me in the face.  It’s never just the one, it’s often three or four…they are always in close succession, and at the most inconvenient times. 

This is one of those times.

…And it’s hard to find a good balance to that.

You know what I mean?

…Turning the crap parts off, at the end of the day, has become like a third job for the past several weeks.  And carpooling with Mr. Director means I have less than the average time to do that in, as his schedule requires earlier arrivals for production meetings.  Which means for the past week, I have not “been done” yet in the converting process of Part “A” into Part “B,” by the time I’m supposed to be moving on into “the next thing.”

…Plus, for the past TWO days of that, I’ve been hormonal as well.

…Which meant my needing (for sanity purposes) to unplug from the world the second I get into the car, until nearly the second we arrive at the theatre…in which time I’m over my head with blaring music coming at me through my earbuds, and trying my very best NOT to fixate on the crap that I cannot control across about thirty minutes of commute time, after which, I’m supposed to magically emerge as: “funny.”

“Funny” isn’t easy in any circumstances, and it’s even harder when you really, really, really, would rather just sit and cry…alone…in the bathtub…for a few minutes.

…Not in a total melt-down capacity.  Not because life is beyond the point of undertaking, but rather because you are frustrated, and tired, and broke and see no reason that won’t continue for a great deal of time to come. Or, like Holly Hunter in “Broadcast News” where she gives herself that 5 minute pre-cry release every morning, as a prep for all the shit that will likely be flung at her that day.

I feel like this kind of depression needs it’s own name, really.  It surpasses a “groan,” but isn’t as bad as “travesty.” 

…It’s “important” and constantly “present”…like the reverse gut-fear feeling of an adrenaline rush, but it isn’t a major disease, and you aren’t being evicted.

…It makes sleeping spotty, involuntary sighs a natural byproduct, and stupid people annoy you a little bit more than they usually do, but you haven’t burst into tears due to a malfunctioning stapler, punched a wall, or set your desk on fire. (yet.)

Actually, this emotional space I’m currently at, is what I picture a LOT of poor adult bastards live in…like 80% of the time.  So I should be glad that it’s just come to my attention as being a current “thing” and not a life-long “constant”…which is about two steps lower than my average emo state…which still puts me better off than the chick with 5 kids, working the drive thu at McDonalds right now.

…And I can appreciate that fact. 

Some of the time.

…Only mostly, this week, I have not.  Appreciated it, that is.  Not even the part where I “get to” go to rehearsal every night. 


This week, absolutely everything but breathing and sleeping has been one gigantic personal pain in my ass.  Even eating. 

…And yet, every night in it, by the end of a rehearsal that I sincerely did NOT want to go to, where I insisted to myself that there was no fucking way on god’s green earth that I would ever be able to be FUNNY at, (because why in the hell SHOULD I, given the current circumstances?!) Every night (by the end), I had somehow or another been slapped out of it.

…Which ended up helping a lot more than I originally thought it did.

It meant, going to bed every night, minus the cloud of “shit.” 

…Sure, it would come in throughout the night, like a light fog, and start to seep and settle and collect and grow by morning, back to it’s original size. But in the meantime, at least I got some sleep outta the deal.  Some laughs the night before…

…And every once in a while…for reasons surpassing understanding…for about three hours or so, I could even be “funny.”

I don’t know what I’m trying to say with all that.  But whatever it is, involves art somehow, and how it’s a good thing, I guess. 

So: now you know.


I Have To Go Be 16 Now…

30 May


Regardless of the post-rehearsal double Long Island making me want to curl up into a ball under the covers and produce a lot of “Z’s”…I am here serving my devotion to you by my nightly blog.

…Because a promise is a promise.

…But a book is also a book and I have three new ones to take in, right now, courtesy of Dame Builder, who I’m playing teenage swappies with.  I loaned her the film, she loaned me the books, and together (though separately), we are feeding one another’s teenage angst and bubble-gum yearnings in the “Beautiful Creatures” department.

I want to be completely honest and say, “I really just wanna go get buried in one right now, no offence to all the yous.”

Had a full day, rehearsal was successful in being rehearsal-like, and we post-funk as a cast, like professionals. 

No big surprise there.

…So now it’s off to face-washings and some ridiculous southern-gothic sci-fi.


(Also, it’s almost Friday. Another “Huzzah!”)

Now: onto virtual cupcakes of happy “Yay!”


And Not A #$@% Was Given That Day

22 Mar


I knew ahead of time that this was gonna be “a day.”  Only cuz at 6:00 last night, WHS Pimp (who had been working since 4 am) texted me the following:

“FYI: tomorrow, absolutely no fucks will be given. At all.”

…It’s another show-opening day on the road, plus payday, plus Boss (as usual) is MIA.

…And by 1:52 our pay packets still have not arrived. They are due by 10 am.  No one at Corporate is answering the phone, and Boss won’t respond to text, vm or email.

…That’s a looooot of pissed off contractors that’ll be screaming his way come 4:00, when I book it the hell outta here and no one responds to their phone calls.

It’s been a hardcore paperwork-hell of a week.  98 contracts in the first three days.  We are booked out through the second week of April, with 31 jobs on hold.  Which will just make it more fun in April and May as we quadruple up on these poor bastards who are already pulling double-duty.

…At least it’s decent weather today…

…And speaking of: I’m gonna be taking a long walk in that sexy atmos, directly after work.  Maybe to the water.  Grab it while it’s hot!

…Which it technically isn’t.  But “sunny” is good enough for me.  Even with a wind chill factor of “holy shitfuck!”

Two. More. Hours. To. Go.

Why are Friday afternoons always so endless?

Back to m’last two reports of the week, with “Time Gentlemen Please” streaming in the background.  It’s perfect for today. Totally inappropriate language, and content, as a prime example of when we reach the limit of just no longer giving a ripping fuck.

Which, I don’t.


When Boss Fixes Things

25 Jan


Another Road Show opened today, on the other side of the mountain. 

…Twenty minutes before the doors opened, we were notified by our client that our display product (which had arrived yesterday) was all shot to shit.  Dents, scrapes, chipped paint, missing trim…and worst of all…no sales literature to be found.

…Now, I had just paid a Contractor this morning (over $500) to ship, set up, and prep this same said product, with zero update notations on his work order.  According to him: the job was done.  And so as calls from Client Corporate and OUR Corporate started streaming in on a tsunami-wave, we were just a little-bit-lot confused.

Me: I just paid that dude half-a-grand for one day of work.  Are you flippin’ KIDDING ME?!

Boss: No. 

Me:  What exactly DID he do for four hours, if it wasn’t prep, clean and set-up?

Boss: Pick his nose and get drunk? How the hell should I know?

Me: And we don’t even have sales lit out there?

Boss: We gotta find someone to go over the mountain.  Now.  Who we got?

(WHS Pimp and I list off names. We make the calls.  No one will do it.)

Boss: Well, fuck.  I suppose now I have to do it.

(WHS Pimp and I blink at one another.  It is quiet a moment.)

WHS Pimp: But. Um. There are repairs that are needed too.  Not just brochures and order forms.

Boss: Well, I guess I’ll have to do that too.

(WHS Pimp and I blink at one another.  Again.)

WHS Pimp:  Oooookaaaaay…

Me: What he means is – How?

Boss:  I can “fix” things.  I’m not completely useless, you know…

(WHS pimp and I try not to look at one another.)

Boss: …I’ll just need some supplies. Paint and rollers and…I dunno…hammer? “Stuff.”

WHS Pimp: I’ll…I’ll go get you some. “Stuff.”

(WHS Pimp leaves. It is just Boss n’ I alone now.)

Me: You know, there will be people there. Customers, I mean. Watching.

Boss: Yep.

Me: Watching you. “Fixing” things.

Boss: Uh huh.

Me: …And as far as they know — you’re one of our Contractors…

Boss: Yeah.

Me: …Who actually, like, shows up to build their stuff. That they are buying. From us. On that floor.

Boss: Right.

Me: …So…um…have you like ever actually built or painted anything. At all. Ever. In your whole life?

Boss: I’ll figure it out.

Me: …Okay.

Boss: And listen — I need you to help put the fire out. Fax this to their sales department so they have “something” out there, and tell them I’m on my way.

(He exits. I take a second to contemplate the ruin that will surely come upon us. I go to his office to use the fax. I face a box with brochures in it as WHS Pimp re-enters.)

Me: He forgot the lit.

WHS Pimp: He almost drove off without the paint.

Me: Will you flag him down and give him these, please?

WHS Pimp: Yup.

(As he sails out the door…)

Me: We are fucking doomed.

WHS Pimp: So, that must mean its “Friday” then…


And now Boss has just called.

…He’s about to go over the pass and be lost to all communication for at least the next hour.

It is only 12:30.

The WHS Pimp has three site-visit fires to put out, and Corporate is screaming about some completion forms we’re holding paychecks ransom for, from the Contractors.

…But: I have me a dark-roast from the nearly-naked-ladies Barista stand down the road (very popular with the fellas here, so I always let them go get it for me)…and the sun just came out.

That means I’ve got at least two hours before Boss will be able to bother me again.

…With some new earth-shattering problem.

…Like, how to use a paintbrush or something.


Rocket-Shipping In The Warehouse

2 Nov

We are one less Employee in population today, here at the ol’ Brothel.

…The WHS Mgr walked in this morning on enough pot, canned CO2, and empty beer bottles to launch an Apollo mission.  The company truck was missing, the forklift: naked in the yard with the key still in it, the gates wide open, and the only clue to go on, being from his WHS lackey at 10:30 PM last night…calling in “sick” for today.

…And now we know why.

A stellar employee, he never was…this is fact.  But that is to be expected from a grown man still living with his parents, who smelled of alcohol poisoning and organ damage, perpetually…never bathed, and had a penchant for hitting on everything with an “X” chromosome.  Even the AM/PM tellers across the street were creeped out in his presence.

“How did he get the job to begin with then,” you may ask?

Because Boss has a “thing” for “second chances” in life. Because he was cheap. And because he answered the ad.

…In that order.

Sure, he had to pass a drug screen et al upon hire, and he did…though at least two of us (in retrospect), have no idea how. It was obvious to us, within a week, that this guy had “issues”…and grounding him from whipping the forklift and trucks around was about the maximum power that either the WHS Mgr (or I) had in this. 

…Which, then, leaves a fairly useless employee, wandering around, making piles of stuff in the yard, then reorganizing them into new piles, over and over and over again.  Occasionally he would paint, or repair something. Sometimes he would shelve some stuff, but by and large his specialty seemed to be off-the-clock drinking, tweaking out on any number of alternate-controlled substances, showing up two hours late, and stacking things, while bitching.

He will not be missed.

Now…every time a layoff occurs here, there is this whole “procedure” we have to undertake directly afterward. Because anyone who has ever worked here knows every weakness in the system of his place…and they know the hours we keep, that the alarm pads are purely for “show” and that if they want something it takes very little effort to get in here and take it. Not that we have much of any worth, outside of product…which weights a literal shit-ton, but with a forklift and a truck in-hand, this place is easy pickings really…and everyone knows it.

…So, instead of doing his average Friday of usual fix-its, the WHS Mgr has been flying around changing locks and bolts and combos and passwords on everything all morning long. Though we know that these things only work enough to keep an honest person honest, and that any pissed-off, drugged-up, drunken asshole who might want to get in, to say…deface every piece of property we own…could very easily do just that, with only a pair of bolt cutters and a 2 x 4.

…We KNOW this…

…And of all the layoffs, THIS is the one that verily PROMISES a return payment. We totally expect it. We just don’t know exactly what it’ll be, or when, or how.

…Which is sorta terrifying, really.

…So today, we are each of us, boxing up and relocating materials and things so that when (not “if”) the inevitable occurs, the damage might not be so bad. But it probably will. And we’ll have to deal with it. Most likely, on Monday.

…Which it totally great, cuz that’s exactly what we NEED! I often say that, in fact: “Geeze I wish we had more crap-happy calamities on Mondays! I feel there just isn’t enough of that in general, around here!”


“A Case Of The Fridays”

26 Oct


I am having, “A Case of the Fridays.”

…This is when paychecks have already shown up, everyone from Corporate has already left for the weekend, Boss is out having cocktails, and I am sitting here basically waiting for phones to ring.  “A Case of the Fridays,” is actually oddly exhausting…all this nothingness after a week of everythingness, where you sit there and look at the volume of emails and contracts and reports you’ve sent out, sitting in the sorting file, and become reminded of just how much paperwork and record keeping you do all day long, everyday, and how it is never going to change, and how “retirement” is still like 30-something years away.

…”A Case of the Fridays” can be oddly depressing, at times, for an end-of-the-week “period” to five days of collected crap.

…And that’s when I remember that I have this whole OTHER job that defines me, and of which I am proud, and eager to work in, and learn from. Then, “A Case of the Fridays,” sorta starts to melt away into a muddy little puddle, that I will accidentally step in, first thing on Monday morning.

…But that’s another problem, two whole days from now, so lets not think about it at the moment.

…At the moment, all I need to think about is what to blog today. 

Not a whole lot to throw out there for you guys.  Just sitting here at my desk, and looking around for inspiration, doesn’t help much. 

The ancient Kennedy Administration furnace just conked back on, with a couple jiggles and a bang. Every time it begins it’s new cycle, it’s like raising the dead. But at least it is consistent, and though all is gross and wetness outside my wall of windows, inside we are holding to the low 70’s (because I can.) 

The phone rings.  I answer it.  The call is complete. 

…I sigh, and look around again.

Out in the lobby, on the carpet, is a spent cigarette butt. Tracked in (no doubt) from the tooth-grip of a Contractor’s boot. It’s all shriveled up and twisted…and cuz of the filter, looks a lot like a pretzel.

…I’m hungry.

…See how almost everything can turn into something about “food” with me?

Another phone ring.  You guys, I know…the suspense and adventure I’m giving you right now is just unbelievable.  And you’re welcome for that.

…”Marty” is dinging me with IM’s every so often, as we chat about yesterday’s blog, and what she’s eating that I wish I was eating (answer: a blueberry bagel), and how we are going to see a show tonight, and about what we are gonna eat before it, and who we are gonna see once we are there, and if I can slip out early…since it IS only Friday…and beat the traffic, maybe.)

…But then, it’s already a quarter after 3 anyway…at this point, how much of a jump on the commute can I really get?

…Plus I need to go home and maybe change or something first.  Or maybe not.

I have to pee.

Listen, I know this isn’t your usual post of topical theme and stuff, but I feel like we know each other well enough by now, for me to be like, “Guys, it’s one of those days, can I just do this stream of pointless narrative instead?”

…And you’ll be like, “Dude, whatever you need.  It’s been a WEEK, and we totally get that.”

…And I’ll be like, “See, this is why we hang out.  Because you ‘get it’ and stuff.”

…And you’ll be like, “Fuck YEAH we do.  Cuz I’ve got ‘A Case of the Fridays’ too!”

…And I’ll be like, (clap of hand on your back) “I feel yuh bro.  Let’s you n’ me leave early, and get to the more important things is life.  Like what’s for dinner.”

…And you’ll be like, “…Whatever it is: it’s gonna have beef in it!”

…And that’s the first time I’ll take your hands in mine, look you in the eye, and with all my soul tell you:

“I love you.”


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