I Don’t Say. . .

Boy, there was a lot of swearing the last time I was here. I thought about editing it out, but then I thought ah, screw it.

Well, that’s not exactly what I thought. . .

Besides, everything I said then was true (except my erroneous belief that my show at that time would run out the year).

So.

How’s your quarantine?

I’m nonessential. My entire household is unemployed. As a matter of fact, everything I’ve ever done to earn money is currently banned (which sounds a lot more badass if you take it out of context, so please do). Stagehands are well acquainted with the lack of job security in our chosen field, but even so, I always said that all the way at the end of the world they would still need a sound guy. Remember Mars Attacks? Silly me. That was an alien invasion, not a pandemic. Pandemics require only broadcast sound guys.

I’m taking unemployment for the first time in my life. Well, I think I am, anyway. Navigating the New York State Unemployment website is one of the circles of hell (it’s in the middle somewhere, like maybe Four and a Half- between Greed and Anger) and I’m never really sure if what I did took and I haven’t seen the money yet, although it’s possible it’s loaded onto that debit card* that they sent me even though I asked them not to and to just put it in my bank account, please. They do send me a lot of things in the mail, but none of them are money.

I’m not going crazy, not really. I was going crazy before. Before, with the commute and the not enough sleep and the countless doctor’s appointments to figure out why my foot is still screwed up after surgery; with the one day off a week and trying to do all of the life things and failing; being totally drained and not having anything left to give to the people I love. Before, with the not having the energy to workout, or the emotional fortitude to carry on a conversation. That was crazy making. That was rage making.

So I welcome the respite. As an introvert, I’m pretty content (although, there are a large number of people in my home and THEY NEVER GO ANYWHERE!) Before all of this, I would drift away in daydreams and fantasize about being bored. Now I’m neither productive, nor bored. I go back and forth between feeling like I’m living in a bubble, and then being pretty sure that we’re all gonna die and we can’t actually protect ourselves.

I’m cool with it right now.

CC and #5 have been building our patio.

They bust their asses all day, spreading gravel, hauling rocks, sweating.

*That’s #5 there on the right. I am not making this up.*

My project has been the attic. I’m shredding documents that never needed to be kept in the first place that are 20 years old. I’m currently working on a laundry basket full of random shit that was clearly removed from The Pile en masse in 2006; I’m opening still-sealed mail that’s 14 years old.

In our defense, 2006 was a pretty intense year.

The shredder self-destructed a week ago.

And not to be all sappy and shit, but it’s been a real treat to pretend to be like normal people and have family dinners and take walks and see daylight. The Puggles are so happy to have so many laps home, all the time.

So tell me, how’s your quarantine? What sucks about it? What’s good about it? What’s something that surprises you about it?

*Don’t freak out; it’s where we walk the Puggles*

Making no promises here about the frequency of posts that may or may not be coming up. I haven’t even decided if I’m going to fix things like the fact that my WordAds appears to be advertising to me to sign back up. But I just wanted to put something out there, and see what comes back.

*Update: The state DID, in fact load it onto that debit card that I didn’t ask for. Unclear yet if it’s real money that I can spend.

One and Done Sunday: Apocalypse Edition

Hey. It’s One & Done Sunday. One picture, and five links that are worth your time.

Friday night, only #4 and I were home for dinner. I still cooked for an army, because everyone shows up eventually– plus#4 is our only kid who eats, and she ate about half of what I made anyway (not coincidentally, she’s the only one who is strong and tall). After dinner, I took the puggles for a walk and when I came back, something was wrong. I couldn’t immediately put my finger on it, but I knew something was off, and it wasn’t just that the house was nearly empty and nobody was screaming.

My sense of unease had me on guard, checking around corners and under the furniture until I came to the kitchen.

Then I saw it. The source of my feelings of not-rightness.

#4 had cleaned up the whole kitchen while we were out, without being asked.

While it seems likely that she has either done something or wants something, it’s been over 48 hours and I have no evidence to support this. I can only assume that this, then, is the first sign of the apocalypse.

******

One Picture.

If Jack had a school picture, this would be it:

******

Five Links:

This most definitely does not get a PG rating, and I laughed my ass off for pretty much this whole video. Don’t Shoot the Mermaid is a British female sketch comedy trio, and this is their video Does This Mean We’re Gonna Have Sex?

My show performed in Bryant Park this week with a few others as part of the summer lunch series there. There was only one act with a live band, and some of the most interesting sounds were rolling off the back of the stage. When I asked our publicity manager who they were, she sent me this link for what has to be the strangest idea ever for a musical. I’m totally on fire to see it now: Revolution in the Elbow of Ragnar Agnarsson Furniture Painter.

Another act got my attention shortly thereafter when two of their shirtless performers were waiting for their entrances in the wings. Theater isn’t like a normal workplace environment; being shirtless happens. Frequently. However, when all of the other actors are standing around saying “Holy crap! Did you see these guys?” they truly are a marvel. Forget 6-pack abs; think 8-pack. They were from the 50 Shades parody, which made me think immediately (after I was capable of cognizant thought again) of your next link: Dave Barry Learns Everything You Need to Know About Being a Husband From Reading 50 Shades of Grey.

Slug Solos on Tumblr. Because some guitarists’ solo faces look like they’ve just realized they’re holding giant slug creatures.

The last link is another video: Motherhood by Annie Baria on Funny Or Die. I missed the whole baby phase of things and it was never on my to-do list, namely because I imagined it being exactly like this video. Except not that funny. It’s a good thing I also knew nothing about teenagers back then.

Happy Sunday.

Passenger Side

As much as it pains me to quote Wilco, I don’t like riding on the passenger side– particularly when a newly-permitted teen is in the driver’s seat.

When my sister was learning to drive, my mom always made me accompany them. It was awful. I curled up as small as possible in the back seat of the Escort and cranked up my Walkman, but it didn’t drown out them yelling at each other. Nor did it do anything to mask how bad my sister was at working a clutch. I didn’t get my own license until I was 19, in no small part due to those driving lessons. Oh, and a botched lesson of my own wherein I was taking my mom to the doctor for a post-surgery follow up and she wasn’t supposed to drive and I stalled us out at a four-way stop and couldn’t get started again. That, too, was awful.

(I did eventually master the stick shift on a drive from Indiana to Key West; I had 24 hours to work it out).

I have to be honest, teen-permit-drive-time is the only time I wish we were dealing with visitations from the other parent on a regular basis. I would totally say, “You know, as merely your step parent, I feel unqualified to do this.”

As it is, I shove as much Driver’s Ed responsibility onto CC as possible. Inevitably though, there comes a time when the teen bounds up to me, permit in hand, batting her eyes and asking hopefully, “Can I drive?” I can only say no so many times before I feel like the complete a-hole that I am acting.

At a recent graduation dinner, #3 loudly asked CC to tell her grandparents what a good driver she was.

CC: Meh…you’re okay.

#3: Hey! I’m really good!

CC: How many times have I had to yell at you for rolling through stop signs?

#3: {waving away his comment} Please. There are no stop signs on the way to the mall.

Here’s my latest post on Family Circle’s Momster blog with the tips I’ve learned to make teaching teens to drive more bearable: Driver’s Ed 101:The Parent Edition.