How'd it get to be November?

And when did I stop writing?

Well, it's certainly been an very eventful year, and looks as though it's going to go on being eventful. I wonder what 2011 will bring. It's always promising to look forward and wonder.

Endless possibilities.

I got a job as a graphic designer at a very nice place to work. (Then Pap passed. I flew to Florida for a bittersweet reunion with my mom's side of the family.) I graduated with honors. My graduation speech was by none other than Harry Benson (legendary photographer whose impressive portfolio includes images of every icon and historical figure of the last 50 years or so-including The Beatles; you know dang well I shook his hand when walked for the diploma).

http://www.harrybenson.com/

I was then whisked away to The Magic Kingdom where Jeremy asked me to marry him. It could not have been a more perfect celebration. His birthday and my graduation, topped off by a lovely family dinner with my aunt, uncle, grandmother, my cousins, and Jeremy's mom and children.

Intermittently, I played shows with SuNDay Morning: No Doubt Tribute. Hard Rock, Altar, Summer shows outdoors. Looked to play bigger venues, more festivals, private events, parties, and corporate shows.

Enjoyed my first laid-back summer. Went to a baseball game. Went to the zoo. Had Sunday cookouts at my dad's. Grilled meals on the back porch. The summer went by very quickly. At the end of August, my job required more projects of me, and tighter deadlines. And Jeremy's schedule has also been incredibly demanding, although rewarding. He's full-time at Point Park this year. He had a part in the World Premier of Umbrella Man, choreographed the COPA production of Thoroughly Modern Millie, and this week stars in Groucho: A Life in Revue.

That's a lot of late nights for a Jerebear and a lot of hanging with the kiddies on my part.

The kiddies are great. Really, the best kids I know. So sweet. So funny. So smart. It can be exhausting to cater to little people, but the make it as easy as it could ever be. They are a delight. I am tired at the end of our day, but I am happy.

No Clout, a Florida-based No Doubt Tribute picked me up as their singer in October, and we played a breast cancer benefit at a nudist resort! It was a great experience. The band is solid, and they're good people. Fun to be around. And of course I like to travel. Hopefully the ink dries soon on our next endeavor. And hopefully the Jerebear can join us.

Looking forward to this season. Things at work remain busy as usual, but I continue to learn a lot and improve as a designer. Some weeks are hard and some are easy. Jerebear and I strive to meet up for lunch and dinner as we see so little of each other during the week. I've been taking the liberty to go to the PNC YMCA-which I love! And it's keeping me in shape for sure.

This weekend begins the Christmas season. Jeremy's folks are coming in to see him in Groucho. The kids are going to go to Light Up Night. We're having a pre-Thanksgiving dinner while they're here. And then Thanksgiving at my dad's next week. After Groucho, the Jerebear will be home again. No more late nights! Weekends with him will be so wonderful.

And of course, we have a wedding to plan. :)

A Visit from Pap

I awoke this morning to Jeremy snuggling me and telling me that I had been laughing in my sleep. I immediately got teary-eyed, because I'd been dreaming about my Pap. I had actually dreamed many crazy things last night, but the very last dream I had, (after having woken up and fallen back to sleep around about a quarter to seven), was that I was in Florida with my Gram, and my Pap was back. Just for one day. And it was silently understood that it was just for one day.

Gram got out the back of a black car to meet me, coming out behind her was my Pap! It was kind of like a silent movie, for the most part, as all the talking was more of a telepathic communication combined with visual facial expression, but there was complete understanding. He got out of the back seat of the car, looking much like he used to when I last saw him well, but so refreshed, clean, rejuvenated, and. . .happy. He was calm and happy, and aware of life in a whole sense. Like he'd been away somewhere where he'd learned all he'd ever wanted to know, and was now fulfilled and content with himself and everyone around him.

I looked at Gram, as if to say, "Can you believe this? Pap is standing here with us looking GREAT!", and Gram gave me a knowing look as if to say, "well, of course he is", and "this is temporary". I was thrilled to see Pap look so relaxed and at ease, and serene. He was smiling, a closed-mouth, peaceful smile. His eyes were smiling, more than anything else. He was wearing a light blue ball cap and a collared plaid short-sleeved shirt, a light cotton dress shirt. I'm not sure about his pants, but they were light blue, too, I think.

The middle part us a blur, but just to see Pap get around so easily, (he was so strong and healthy) brought me so much joy. He moved like he did when he was still playing Senior Softball. Agile, quick, able to help Grandma get around. He was there for her, too, I could tell. That's why he'd come. And I was simply the lucky sidekick. I was allowed to be there for this, and I was grateful for it. Because I knew his time was limited.

The last thing I remember is Gram and Pap and I were in a small room, and I was having to say goodbye. I stood up, (Pap is a tall man) and I got to HUG him. And I wasn't sad at all. And he was being funny, and I was laughing. And I can't remember exactly what I said to him, but I told him I would miss him, and that I was happy to have visited with him again. And then he was gone. And it was just me and Gram in the small room. And Gram wasn't sad at all, either. She was going about her daily chores, talking about Pap, rolling her eyes at his quirks, and his silly self, and just going about her day as usual. And this made me laugh, too. And then, I woke up.

So thanks, Pap. It's good to know you're all better now. Thanks for visiting with me. I'll see you on the flipside. Until then, please feel free to visit me anytime. . .as long as I am sleeping. (Otherwise you might just scare the crap out of me.) Love you.

Corny

Pap and Me, Christmas 2007

As late as it is, and as much as I have to do, I should be getting ready for bed, but I cannot rest until I've paid my respects to my Pap Dasch who passed away this morning around 8AM in sunny Florida.

He had moved down to Florida almost a year ago with my Gram (who I love dearly), to escape the cold, be nearer to my aunt and her children, and get some much-needed care for his ailing self.

He'd gotten quite frail over the last two years. I never quite got used to it, for he'd always been active, even into his seventies. He'd won a silver medal for table tennis in a senior olympics, had made occasional trips up to Pittsburgh from Maryland to visit friends and family, and had played on a seniors only softball league.

He was a character. He'd struggled with his mood his whole life, and it ultimately got the best of him. In spite of his faults, he'd always treated me well, making me laugh, even at his infamous stubbornness.

In his youth he'd played piano (or so I'd been told), and once I actually got to see it. I'd spent many summer visits (during my grade school years) banging on Gram and Pap's out of tune Yamaha upright piano. I loved it. Gram never minded my creative banging, (or so she led me to believe), and I thought for sure she was an honest and true fan of my "song-writing". Pap would ultimately come in from someplace during one of my piano sessions, and snarl, "banging", and shaking his head at my efforts. This became a regular event for anytime I chose to play the piano.

One day, (and only one day), while I'd been "banging" he actually had motioned for me to step aside, at which time he chose to cut loose on the piano with a Boogie-Woogie that would have made Jerry Lee Lewis proud. Then he got up and left. And I never saw him play that piano again. But he continued to tolerate my banging. I guess the music lover in him decided he could tolerate such creative experiments, even from a child.

Pap was also very funny, mostly not because he said funny things, (well, ok, he did say funny things),but because he dared to say many things that were only funny to him, thus cracking himself up in the process. The man was, as my father would refer to him, "a howl".

No one is perfect. I wonder how his childhood shaped him. I wonder how long he struggled with certain things. I wonder why he chose not to amend certain things before his passing. I wonder where he is now. I know he liked Julie Andrews, Karen Carpenter, and Nat King Cole.

There were high school years where he and my Gram came to many of my school concerts and shows. On one occasion they came to hear my high school choir sing at the courthouse in downtown Bel Air (Maryland). On the walk back to school, I could see my Pap waving at me from across the street where he and Gram had parked, yelling to me, "CORNY! CORRRRRRNY!", (which is what he always called me), and the girls with whom I was walking, having misheard him, answered back to him, "Good morning, good morrrrrrning!".

They came to see my shows on the riverboats, at Kennywood, Busch Gardens, too. They came to Glen Burnie to La Fontainebleu. Pap enjoyed good, old-fashioned entertainment. I loved that he and Gram could come to so many things. It made me happy.

His name was William, "Bill" Dasch (very German). He was married to my Gram, Mary Dasch (Davis) of Verona, PA. They had four children: My aunt Marilyn, my aunt Kathy, my mom, Lucy, and my aunt Patti. Marilyn has a son, John (who still lives in Verona, PA), my mom has myself and my half-brother, Will. Aunt Kathy has a son, Daniel and a daughter, Anne Claire. Patti has triplets (two boys and a girl), Tristan, Nathan, and Olivia.

For a very long time, my grandma and pap were MY grandma and pap. I didn't have to share them with anyone, (because I was the only grandchild around for quite some time) and I spent many enjoyable, and memorable summer days and nights on their back porch in Verona, (really Penn Hills) PA. Daniel and Anne Claire have gotten to know Gram and Pap very well, as they all lived in the Baltimore area within driving distance from each other for quite some time. Now Tristan, Nathan, and Olivia (who live in Orlando) will get to know Grandma like I do. They will never know the Pap I knew, a much younger Pap. But they will remember him in their own special way.

Love on Grandma for me, kids. Love her LOTS.

Pap, you'll be missed.

Life According to Mel

My best friend of the past 13 years is Mel. She has been my confidant, my rock, my support group, my therapist, my barrel of laughs, and also my cast mate on many tours and road trips.

I am an honorary member of her family.

And today I offer a few glimpses into The World: According to Mel.

Me: (Someone we know) is going to the doctor's to be checked out by Dr. House. (Meaning our friend was going to be seen by a super-duper awesome diagnoser. I also know there is no such word as Diagnoser. )

Mel: That is great. She deserves a great doctor like House. And while we're on the subject, House is foxy. Almost as Foxy as Will Ferrell.

Me: Yeah, okay, I see the attraction of genius, I guess. And I see the attraction to funny-men. I, personally, had a thing for Conan O'Brien in the year 2000. (And by that I actually mean the year, not the comedic bit known by the same name.) You LOVE Will Ferrell. You LOVE him.

Mel: Will Ferrell is foxy, but he's still no David Letterman. (I laugh because she means this. She absolutely means every word of this.) People say they're aghast that David Letterman had an affair, but c'mon. Look at him! He's DAVID LETTERMAN! (At this point, I cannot breathe. I am laughing too hard.)

Me: "Look at him, he's DAVID LETTERMAN"! Ahahahahahahahahaha!!! Bret Michaels I could imagine. . .but you say DAVID LETTERMAN like he's Tom Cruise or Jude Law or Justin Timberlake or something. Or someone who's even mildly attractive. . .

Mel: And speaking of Will Ferrell, by the way, I was thinking that if Ben Roethlisberger had a movie made about him, Will Ferrell should play him.

Me: I WAS THINKING THAT, TOO! I am always thinking that!!!

Mel: (My husband) laughed when I mentioned it to him. Ben's in his twenties and Will Ferrell's in his forties. . .

Me: I don't care! It would be too funny!!!

Mel: I KNOW!

Let me also mention that Mel has three kids.

Mel: (Changing the subject) I like to shop at Giant Eagle. Because 1. They have an Eagle's Nest, and 2. They have a Starbucks. The older kids can play and the baby can just ride in the cart, and I get a Starbucks and it's great.

Me: The World According to Mel: Number One. David Letterman is a Sexy Beast, (only second to Will Ferrell). Number Two. Shop at Giant Eagle. They have an Eagles Nest and a Starbucks. Did you happen to notice you didn't mention that Giant Eagle is an excellent store for groceries?

Mel: Well, I hate shopping for groceries. You know that!

Me: I just find it funny that your two main reason to go to Giant Eagle have nothing to do with buying groceries.

Mel: Well. . .

And there we have it ladies and gents. The World, (so far), According to Mel.

The End

Sunday Morning

Many of you know that I moonlight as the Gwen in a No Doubt tribute called Sunday Morning. It's mainly for our sheer enjoyment, you know. We take our performance seriously, but not ourselves, if that makes sense. I certainly don't want to be one of those performers who thinks she's the second coming of Mrs. Rossdale live and in the flesh. No, no. That would be weird and strange.

We do it for a laugh. It's great fun to sing those songs and jump about and have crowds of people singing along, knowing it's nothing more than a feel-good show. I don't take to people asking, "how's your band?". I wince at the thought of calling a tribute show a "band", because a band makes their own music. A show, however, entertains.

Not to slight the musicianship of its members. The people that make up the cast of Sunday Morning are talented musicians in their own right, and make wonderful strides independently in jazz, punk, pop, and rock. And they're good people. We have a lot of fun onstage with one another, and people can see it, which is why, I think, our shows go over well with audiences.

I am looking forward to some summer shows for the group. We love playing outside. Last year we did a show with Blake Lewis of American Idol at Station Square and drew a diverse family crowd of about 1500. We recently did a show with a Sublime Tribute from California (40 Oz to Freedom) at the Hard Rock Cafe which delivered unto us a Hella Good audience.

We get a kick out of it, and people get a kick out of us. Mission accomplished.

www.myspace.com/sundaymorningnodoubttribute

Last Day in Phone Land

As of this moment, I have 30 minutes left to my current job. It's been good to me. When jobs were scarce, it came along and helped me financially squeak by while I got through school. I am still finishing school. In fact, I have about 10 weeks of school left, to be precise. 10 weeks of full-time school, while I begin 10 weeks of full-time job.

I couldn't have been more fortunate. I have been working as a customer service representative for a large arts organization in Pittsburgh for the past 2 years. What are the odds that a postion for a graphic artist would present itself through an inter-office email? So, after scrambling to put together promotional package (in lieu of my unfinished portolio which will be in production over the next 10 weeks of school), and after several interviews and a long wait, I am content and pleased as punch to say that was offered the job. And I start on Monday.

I cannot stress enough how blessed and lucky I feel to have had such good fortune. But, as Oprah Winfrey once said, "Success is preparation meeting opportunity", and I believe there's something to that. I will work as hard in my new position (learning a ton, I'm sure, along the way), as I did (and currently do, actually) in school.

The pressure is off for graduation. Making the "perfect" portfolio, having the "perfect" promotional materials, giveaways, etc. What I provide will still be my best, it will be adequate, and classy, and enough. I don't have to stress myself out in attempts to lure prospective scouts to my display, sweating how long it will take me to find a job after graduation. Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Wow. Thanks.

I can start paying student loans. (This is going to suck, but I'll deal.) I can go to the doctor, the dentist, the chiropractor. I can buy shoes when the old ones wear out.

It's a great feeling.

Junk

Buy, buy
Says the sign in the shop window
Why, why
Says the junk in the yard

-Junk, Paul McCartney

I just spent a good chunk of time straightening the garage again. I say again, because the contents seem to multiply every few weeks or so. A lot of it seems to be just "stuff". And stuff is not healthy.

Here's what happens to "stuff".

A. You actually use it, and give the stuff a purpose.

B. You don't, and it either collects dust, or gets broken because it's squeezed in with so much other stuff, or you forget what you have. And that's just silly. That's when you end up buying an item to replace the one you forgot you had, (or misplaced because your stuff is poorly labeled). And what do you have then? Latshaw's Dungeon, that's what. Or you're living like a hoarder except in a more civilized manner.

If I don't think I have a use for it, I don't buy it. My priorities are simple as I am still in school, working with a teency-weency budget. But even when I had a salary, I really only got what I needed. I like keeping it simple. I like to know where my things are, and I like cleaning house when I discover what I no longer need, it's therapeutic. Off to the Goodwill or Salvation Army or trashman. Bye-Bye!

I buy food, gas, I pay my bills as they come. My splurges are generally a mocha to keep me focused when I am running on too little sleep, and a snack when I am on-the-run. (And I know how much I am affected my a lack of sleep. It's not good. I turn into a space-cadet. I feel that the mocha, although an obviously overpriced drink, is in many circumstances, a necessity for me to perform well, without embarrassment. Trust me.)

I am looking forward to buying groceries and paying my bills without feeling guilty. That's what it's been like for me while I've been in school. (Aside from the Six Flags gig. . .that helped me out exponentially for a few months in 2008.) It'll be great to be able to work with a real budget again. I will also live frugally, though. I don't see why one wouldn't want to live frugally. I think it's a smart way of making your dollars stretch farther. I don't know. I just enjoy the simple things.

That's not to say that quality doesn't cost, of course it does. And I don't like to skimp on quality. But I would rather live in a modest, adequate, smart (meaning, structurally sound and safe) house that costs a little less, but allows me to experience life than throw my money away on the biggest house, the coolest car, or whatever the impressive thing IS at the moment in our society, and have to skimp on affording life experiences.

But I have always been an under-the-radar outside-the-box thinker. I'm not one of those people who is wayyyyyy out there. I make sense, for the most part, as long as I'm making an educated decision about something. I think logically. I'm a catagorizer and a sorter. I am always trying to live a better, healthier, more sensible life than I did yesterday. Now my new job will put me back on track with a lot of who I am, being than I've always been a very independent soul, who has always felt a calm in knowing she could provide adequately for herself.

But don't think for a minute that my modest house wouldn't be clean, hip, and stylish. (Those of you who know me well know to think such an idea would be preposterous!) To IKEA, at the speed of light: Let's make us a hipster house! Some elegance, some modernism, some romance. Clean lines, coordinates, smart storage devices. I could spend a whole day in that store. I'd love to transport just one of the rooms on their floor instantly into my dwelling place.

I also love gift-giving. I've been poorly represented in my gift-giving and ability to surprise loved ones and friends since embarking on my studies and going back to school. Christmases have been particularly dreadful for me, as I am the Drummer Boy with No Gift to Bring, Pa-Rum-Pum-Pum-Pum. It's an awful feeling not to present yourself as you ideally do in these situations, even though "everyone understands". It's such a joy to pick out a gift for someone and to give it to them. I am looking very much forward to this Christmas! I am generally very much a "get them something you know they very much want" or "can very much use".

Why, why, says the Junk in the yard?

Currently, I am a lover of experiences and you'll find me wanting to get out and do things. I love learning and I love going to new places. I like history a lot, and biographies. I like hearing stories about things that actually happened. I like music, art, literature, film, dance. I am looking forward to continuing to season my life with meaning and feeding my spirit. Once you stop doing that, you die inside. . .which is why Peter Pan never wanted to grow up, you know. When you can have adventure, why would you want anything else?

That's not to say that down time isn't important. It's essential. But balance is even more essential. So here's to a life of balance. In a balanced life, you're not buying into buying the stuff in the shop window, and there's never any junk in your yard.

Ahhhhhh. To breathe.

Officially a Designiak.

My March 18th horoscope (Gemini) basically said that I would receive good news that would positively affect my career and change my life forever.



I was officially offered the job I have been waiting to hear about since the first of the year. I am so thankful that an I would be the beneficiary of this opportunity, although, I cannot imagine anyone who would feel as well-fit for the job as I do.

Being that this is a public forum, I will keep my employer anonymous. I have been working for this employer in customer service as a means to an end while finishing my degree at the Art Institute of Pittsburgh. Prior to that, I was a theme-park/musical revue/variety show performer who lived like a gypsy. I love to perform, and I am skilled with a paintbrush. What better marriage of my two abilities than to produce graphic art for an arts-supporting non-profit organization? It's really perfect. I feel so well-suited to this job, but mostly I am beside myself with thanksfulness for how relaxed and content I feel, knowing that even in a recession where many are losing their jobs, I was given one. I am content to know that I will not have to worry "where am I going to work" after graduation. I am content knowing that while my classmates are stressing over perfecting their portfolios next quarter, I will be perfecting mine for fun.

I am so grateful and thankful and blessed to have the peace of mind, purpose, and a paycheck.

How very good that is.

End of a quarter.

Alright. I have some work to do. I have an ad campaign for which I need to create 3 sets of thumbnails that will be reviewed and either accepted or denied this evening in class. I have to create a package (like, one that would sit on a shelf in a store) for Time, and I need to figure out what's going on with this job.

I need the job. It would be a dream come true. But now I am getting anxious. If I am not offered the job. . .well. . .in a sense that takes the pressure off until July, after graduation and after Disney.

The jo posting went up right after Christmas, and I spent every last cent I had left, (and then some) to throw a portfolio together that I might be in the running. My portfolio was met with enthusiastic reviews (good!), and I got an interview (also good!). However, I had hoped that if I was offered something, it would surely be soon after that. Then the blizzard came and slowed everything down (understandable), but this also slowed the hiring process down, which now meant that I had to make my class schedule without knowing if I had a job or not.

I had another interview last week, and it seemed to go well. I met with my advisor yesterday and asked him if my schedule could be changed to allow me to attend classes either only 2 days a week, or in the evenings. As there are far too few evening classes being offered, the answer for evening classes was "no". Also, my school does not offer classes on weekends.

If I am offered this job, I am hoping sincerely that they take me on, and find some way to have me on board. I had said that should they hire me I could adjust my class schedule around my work schedule, but if there's an offer coming, it's way too late to make any adjustments now. Either they can work around my classes or they can't. Or I can ask them to let me begin working in July.

Furthermore, I have agreed to do a musical that my boyfriend is directing and choreographing. If I have the job, or not, I need to know. If I have the job, I need to find someone to fill my spot in the show. I will not have time to finish school, and start a new job, and do a show. No way. But I need to know now. I have also agreed to paint faces for the better part of a week in May. I also need to know if I need to find a sub for that, and preferably not at the last minute.

I am afraid that I am going to be offered this job, and that when I tell them that my window for altering my class schedule to accommodate the job is now closed, I will have to forfeit the position in spite of my eligibility, and that will make me crazy inside.

So, please, job. I ask that if you're going to come to me, please come quick, so I can then tell you how unavailable I am to accept you. In either case, there are a lot of loose ends I need to tie up, that depend on me knowing if I have this job or not, so please. . .do what you gotta do, so I can plan my life! Spring is a busy time of year, and I need to make some decisions if you want me. And if you don't want me, I need to know that, too, so I can go on painting faces and performing until graduation comes.

But most of all, I am hoping you will work with me, job, and let me take you.

Soap Opera Telephone

So, I have to know. What's with people not saying "goodbye" anymore when they are finished speaking with you on the telephone? Is it that we're a nation of emailers and texters who have simply forgotten the basics of one-on-one, person-to-person communication and that we've simply decided to drop the generic code for "over and out" (which is usually some form of the word or idea of goodbye, i.e.; "later, peace, buh-bye")?

People, I thought, only communicated in this manner on the soaps. Years of taking in 2nd-hand soap, (as my mom had an affinity for All My Children and General Hospital througout my childhood), showed me a world in which phone conversations always ended with a close up camera shot, and a receiver click. So abnormal and weird. I used to watch these shows and think, "people don't talk like that". But having worked on the phones for almost 2 years, now, I can assure you: They Do.

And it's abnormal and weird.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Peace.

Good Day Sunshine and the Shar-Pei

Good Afternoon, World!

Not too long ago on my lunch hour, as I was walking back to my job (having enjoyed a delicious slice of pizza), I saw it. The most adorable, fluffy, cuddly thing I have ever seen, trotting toward me, tongue out, (human in-tow), panting, with rolls of playful, floppy fluff rolling along the solid contours of his young, gray body. Joy welled up within me as we continued to approach one another, and I couldn't help but stop dead in my tracks when he was within my arm's reach. I said to his human, "He is beautiful and is the most adorable little guy I've ever seen! What's his name?" "Thunder", she said, "Because of his dark gray coloring". "How old is he?", I said, kneeling to greet the handsome young Thunder, who gave me many earnest and genuine heart-felt puppy kisses. "Three months," said his human.

I took in all I could of Thunder without overstaying my welcome into their personal space. What a pup! "Thank you, he's completely made my day", I said, not wanting to part from the warm sunshine, and from Thunder's company. Thunder must get a lot of attention. His human was kind enough to act as though I was the first person ever to ask to pet him, gracious as she was. But, goodness, me. If I'd have had more time, I'd have asked to take his picture, for words cannot describe him, or the feeling of joy he gave me when I saw him waggling down the street.

What a guy. Thanks, Thunder, for walking down the street at 12:20 on a day such as this. Now that I have returned to the Land of No Windows, I will think of you fondly and the warmth of the day. This is the first day of Spring (in my book). Woo-hoo.

It's amazing how much brighter the world becomes when the weather changes for the better. People in the streets were friendlier, people are kinder, and puppies come out to play.

I like Spring.

Ick, Sick, Double Yick

Feeling a lot better about things since last I wrote. Seems it's easier to see the dirt on the windshield when you're not feeling so well. Promptly following my last post, I began vomiting, which is a symptom of sickness I've only experienced since middle school when I had the stomach flu. In addition, (ladies, I know you'll understand), my time of the month also made its arrival simultaneously. In a nutshell, I experienced 48 hours of. . .Ew.

And I "never" ("never" being an exaggeration, of sorts, but you know what I mean), get sick. So you can imagine how very strange the majority of this week has been for me. It's also been quite unpredictable.

Loving Sir had to work 9-5 Saturday and Sunday. I was handed the role of caretaker of his munchkins until his return later in the evenings.

Little Sir is 5 and Little Miss is 7. Saturday went by without incident, but early Sunday morning, Little Miss became sick at breakfast (which was not a pretty sight), and for a millisecond, I was quite unsure where to start with the cleaning up of the mess. I called Loving Sir and let him know the situation. Later that night he came home, and by morning Little Miss was good as new, (although we kept her home from school anyway, just in case).

On my way out the door (as I was going to school), I decided I was feeling quite warm, which is unlike me. I am almost always cold. Loving Sir took my temperature with the ear-thermometer he has holstered to his side, and it read nearly 100. Mmmmkay. I had a deadline, so I went into class, had my work approved, and left class as soon as I'd finished my work. I called work and asked them to get someone to cover me Tuesday morning.

Tuesday morning came and I felt fine. Rats. (Rats that I'd called off work, I mean.) I did some work around the house and later went into the city because I had class. I worked for four hours, came home, ate a quesadilla, and got ready for bed. And then I couldn't sleep. And I blogged for a couple of hours. And then. It hit. Wednesday morning. Like a truck.

I did not sleep at all until around 5AM. From then on, I was up maybe every hour or so, until I finally received consecutive hours of sleep sometime in the early afternoon. I could not eat, drink, or take the pain reliever I so desperately needed. I slept a lot. After an afternoon of sleep, I awoke to find how refreshingly delightful popsicles can be. I had a purple. Then a red. Then an orange. I can't remember enjoying anything more. Remember the ones in the plastic sleeve? I hadn't had one of those since my sister and I were kids. So delicious.

I was thinking that Gatorade ought to make frozen pops in plastic for dehydrated sick people.

I was supposed to do a considerable amount to work for school, and since last week actually considered myself ahead of where I needed to be. I'm still not quite behind the 8-ball. I am going to get as much as I can done this weekend when I am not doing other things. I work tomorrow and Saturday, (and can sometimes get work done while I am there) and then I play Snow White at a kiddie party on Sunday (which is always nice because it only takes an hour out of my day). So, I should have some time to get some things done for school.

I have to get the details on this graduation. It would be nice to make my own invites, being that I have the skills. I don't know how many people I'm allowed to have come. I am sure I can have (I guess) as many as I want when I am displaying. All of these things are going to come to a head in the next few months. And then it'll be done and finished. Over. Crazy.

Looking forward to newer and better things!

I'm No Better an Artist than I Was Before

2:06 AM. Still awake.

Thankfully, no work in the morning, and no school, either.

The other thing that's been keeping me up:

I turn in my work on time and I am seldom satisfied with it. Does my work usually get an A? Yes. Am I consistent in my approach to getting things accomplished in a clean and professional manner? Yes. Dean's List Student? Most of the time, Yes.

So why am I so unsatisfied?

I'll tell you why. I saw some amazing illustration in my class critique today. We were to put together a 24-page publication. I used photos and type treatments. People liked my work, the instructor liked my work, and I agree: it's likeable. There's no disputing that. But I want to take that of which I am capable and push the limits! And there's never time!

So tonight I see some AMAZING, unfinished work by a few of my peers, who took the time to do the illustrations by hand (something at which I am brilliant!), but had a lot of unfinished holes in their publications. Sure, they may get a lower grade, maybe. They may have trouble getting the next project going, maybe. BUT THEY WILL HAVE THIS BRILLIANT PIECE OF WORK THEY LOVE that is THEIRS to enjoy forever. I feel very little attachment to anything I have done in my portfolio. Because all of it is rushed, and you get very little time to make anything the way you really want to.

Another truth. I cannot believe I am saying it.

But I always wanted to use my hands, to become a better ARTIST, in the sense of developing my God-given abilities in drawing and painting. And what have I done? What have I learned? I will draw and paint exactly the same as I did before I spent the umpteen thousand dollars. And that, to me, is disappointing. I can, however, use the computer to make things like logos and calendars and brochures and ads and posters and magazines and catalogs and such. How enriching. I get to become part of the media, a contributor to endless junkmail and part of "Buy, buy says the sign in the shop window/Why, why says the junk in the yard". How it fulfills my soul.

Not.

Which is why I want to say, UNIVERSE, please hear me. Please take care of me and place me where I can be of service given the talents and skills I have. I want to work for a non-profit I can believe in, a cause, perhaps. I want to support The Arts, then. Let me work for the (Company Name). Let them call me. Let me help a company that does good. Let me work hard, I want to work. I want to do something I can believe in. Otherwise, what is the point? What is the point of pretending? I choose to live authentically and I want to use my talents: organization, polish, drawing, painting, logo development.

If nothing else, at least give me a job that will allow me to afford one dance class and one painting class each week. Or maybe I could alternate weeks.

I am so very tired, and yet, still not sleepy. But we've established much. Teeth, job, dance, paint, help people. These are the things I want to do.

I want to point out that the instructors at my school are some of the most amazing, and wonderful teachers I have ever had. I cannot knock them. I, however, do wish the school would consider things like replacing required math (algebra, really?) with something I could use, like another illustration class. Although I hear those are soon to fall by the wayside to make more room for more web classes. And we needed more web. But we also needed, (some of us) to be artists in the old-fashioned sense. I still do.

And I think another thing that it eating at me is that my grandfather is not doing well. He will not live long. And I will not likely have the means to go to his funeral when he passes. And this upsets me. I know he wasn't everyone's favorite guy, and he wasn't perfect to his daughters and his wife. . .but he was always my Pap, and he was always good to me, and he always made me laugh simply because he was the way he was. And I am sad to know I will not get to say "see-ya on the flipside". I am.

2:30 AM and Jeremy is sleeping like a baby.

My Teeth

It's 1:22 in the morning on Wednesday. I am faithfully asleep no later than midnight if I make it that long most nights. Maybe it's because I had a fever yesterday. Maybe it's because of hormones. Maybe it's that I saw my teeth with fresh eyes in the computer monitor today and saw myself (not the mirror image) for the first time, the way everybody else sees me. And I didn't like what I saw. Alas, let us discuss the story of The Teeth.

It's not that I don't like My Teeth. My Teeth are not what I have. I liked My Teeth. My Teeth were almost completely knocked out when I was riding a bike that was way too big for me. I was around 7 or 8 years old. Anyway, after a traumatizing ordeal of waiting for my dentist to come back from a golf outing or something to put My Teeth back into place, I spent months not being able to bite with the front ones, since they were to be treated gingerly until my mouth healed a bit from the incident. The front two were bonded together and for awhile after, I ate my PB&J with a knife and fork. The kids were not kind to me, as they did not understand why anyone would feel the need to eat one's PB&J with a knife and fork. Eh. I forgive them. What did they know?

Okay, so I was called Bucky Beaver, Bugs Bunny, even Bucky the Wonderhorse. (True story.) All this because I had some big teeth. And until these wonderful names were bestowed upon me, I had been perfectly happy with them. Thanks, grade school wisenheimers. You are and always will be the beginnings of my neuroses. Thank you ever so much.

Moving on.

In 6th grade I got braces. I was to have them off in the 9th grade. The day I was to have them removed, Dr. Preis (not at all a gentle man, mind you), informed me that My Teeth were not yet ready. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Four molars pulled, and three and a half YEARS of elastics in my mouth later (not to mention the HEADGEAR he'd recommended I wear at home), he was telling me that My Teeth were not ready.

Argh.

Eventually they WERE ready, and the braces came off, and My Teeth looked beautiful.

This did not last long. Because of the trauma my front teeth had experienced a decade prior, (this I found out later from another orthodontist who examined me) my teeth would behave as hair that has a cowlick. No matter how many times you straighten traumatized teeth, they wanna act up. Except in the 10th grade when I noticed My Teeth shifting, and went back to Dr. Preis, he acted as though the shifting was My Fault. He'd given me one of those gross plastic retainers that looks like a tooth-whitening tray. Because the front two teeth shift vertically up and down, it made the tray not fit to the point where my now imperfect bite would cause the retainer to rock back and forth between my front and back teeth.

After graduating highschool, I had clear braces put back on. I then went to live in Pittsburgh.

And then joined the circus.

Okay, not the circus, although sometimes it felt that way. I started performing in musical revue shows (in which one's sparkling smile is meant to dazzle and wow) and found that after getting THESE braces off, that My Teeth (the front ones now graying and brittle from the trauma and a root canal), were still not perfect. And they were shifting again.

I saved up all I could to get them veneered. I went to a dentist recommended to me by a family who'd gone to him all their lives when I was doing shows in Michigan. And for about a year or so, my teeth were close to perfect. I felt beautiful, and confident.

About a year and a half later, I noticed My Teeth shifting again. (This is when I went to see the orthodontist that told me his cowlick analogy.) I could have had braces yet again, but I also would need a PERMANENT retainer (you hear that, Dr. Preis!) so that I could forever enjoy my expensive, restored, perfect smile. Except at this point, I also needed a car. So I waited on the braces.

In the meantime, I worked and lived many places. Found myself wanting to come home to acquire my graphic design degree. Doing so made me dirt poor, but rich in knowledge. I still perform. I have an amazing boyfriend.

And you know what I want more than anything? More than a vacation? More than a new car? More than ANYTHING??? A beautiful, perfect smile. Of the symmetrical variety. Especially with all the $$$$ that's been put into my mouth! Braces TWICE and veneers! I should have doubly perfect teeth, but they're awful! They're ugly, and I hate them.

There. That's my dirty little secret. I HATE MY SMILE. I hate even my serious faces more, because they do not look like me. My Teeth, the ones I was supposed to have, unflawed, untraumatized, were beautiful. I would have grown into them. And now I feel like it's the one thing I cannot have. I cannot afford to pay whatever it would cost to fix them. I would need caps, maybe, implants, maybe, and gum grafts, maybe.

To have a beautiful smile would be a dream come true. And I get frustrated and annoyed when I think of Dr. Preis and how we paid him all that cash and he didn't even think to think about my trauma when my teeth began to shift, he just blamed the teenager for being a teenager. He should've listened. He should have given me a permanent retainer, for starters. I know lots of people who have permanent retainers who had no trauma to their mouths ever! And for me: nada!

So that's about all you're going to hear out of me on that. I actually cannot even believe I brought it up. It's like, if I act like it doesn't exist, if I wear red lipstick, maybe no one will notice. But truly, I am always a bit self-concious and always a little bit feeling like the ugly duckling, and, honestly, I feel I've paid enough already to have a perfect smile. So why don't I have one? I think that's what generally upsets me.

You won't be hearing me whine about this topic anymore. Typically, I do not whine at all. But I just wanted to get this out of my system so I could perhaps stop letting it bother me to the point where it's keeping me up at night.

Sheesh.

March 1, 2010

Not a whole lot to say today, other than I am now ceasing correspondence from my former blog www.myspace.com/pmccourtney. I have a fever of 100 degress, I am sitting in Design Studio waiting to meet with my instuctor. He needs to approve my design for a big client for whom I'm doing several pieces of design work.

I spent a rather enjoyable weekend with my boyfriend's munchkins, and although they were both a bit under the weather, they were still sweethearts and highly enjoyable company. Now, however, I must suffer the fever.

Gotta go.