happy to see me?04-11-00 I know I've been gone and all, but today really sucked and I'm not in the mood to talk about it. I didn't sleep enough last night, John and I have been at each other's throats, and Julia's limping around, for some reason; I'll have to take her to the vet tomorrow. I have some shit I wrote in the paper journal over the past ten days that I'm reproducing for your entertainment. By the way, my black-paged milky gel pen journal is cashed. Now I'm writing in a yellow journal with turtles all over the cover. John gave me this one for Christmas. Officially, it's The Fonky Turtle Journal. Not that it matters to you what I call my paper journal, but just in case anyone's keeping track.
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3-29-00 On the bus. We're taking a vote to determine what movie to watch on the five-hour trip. It's just funny that there's a guy in the aisle shouting: "Who wants Dick?" Just passed a billboard proclaiming: "Tifton, GA—Turfgrass Capital of the World!" Woo hoo.
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3-30-00 In front of Gulf Coast Community College in Panama City, FL is a huge flagpole flying a gigantic, tattered American flag. This thing is torn in half the wide way, missing a couple of stripes in the middle, and the ends look like they've been shredded by a large dog. Is it a statement? Memorial? Bizarre. On this trip I've seen roadkill-scarfing buzzards, more than a few palm trees, and a town called Sow Branch.
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3-30-00 The university whose band I'm touring with is quite small. How do I know?
In conclusion, any place where more than one person regularly uses the phrase "Cool beans" is a small place.
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3-30-00 I hate these trips, and I love them. I love them because it's my freelance career. I love traveling, almost as much as I love playing my euphonium for cash. (How can anything so easy earn so much money?) I love the sterile anonymity of a hotel room: testing the cable channels, pocketing the free shampoo each day, spreading my things around to claim the space. And I get paid well: a check, an envelope full of meal money—double what the students get—and a private room. I wish these gigs came along more often. On the other hand, it's lonely work. Band members have one of a variety of reactions to the ringers: indifference, acceptance, and sometimes resentment. This particular band is very friendly to me, but they think of me as faculty. They're so young. They look like fifteen-year-olds. I'm torn. I need them to think of me as faculty, because I'm trying to get a job with this school and then I will be faculty. But I don't want them to think I'm old. I'm 24, I'm closer in age to the seniors than the freshmen are. I was a student myself just last year. Now college kids look at me and my wedding ring and they watch their language.
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3-31-00 So—alone time, are we sick of it yet? Upon our return from the too-long band gig, I went to my room and tried to call John. Spent half an hour trying to get through to MCI's fucko customer service so I could use our calling card. Something's going on with the hotel phones and I can't get it to work. Gah. I made a collect call to our answering machine and then waited for John to call me back. Started to stress about my meal money. They gave me a ton, and if I don't spend it I have to give it back. The only meal options within walking distance of the hotel are Burger King, Red Lobster, a Texaco station, and a few bars that I won't enter alone. Went to Red Lobster. When I got there, I walked back to the hotel for my copy of Press magazine. Back to the restaurant. I requested something "out of the way" because I didn't want innocent band members to walk by and see me reading a magazine and drinking. Of course, they seated me by the door, right where anyone who walked in could see me. Everyone was either at the beach or back at the hotel drinking, so I was safe. (I figured out that if I put the tab on my Visa, the band won't know I spent some of the meal money on beer. I also figured out that the Texaco station rings up all items as "miscellaneous taxable," so I stocked up on tampons. I'm a shrewd criminal.) I drank a couple of Amber Bocks (Budweiser Browns, or as John puts it: "Amber Bock—neither amber, nor bock—discuss!") and ate an appetizer and cheesecake. The waitress was sweet, and the people around me stared with pity at the poor woman who has to eat at Red Lobster alone on a Saturday night. My server was a little too pitying, though, and she didn't charge me for dessert. I'm trying to spend money, here. My tab came to $13.17. I hope the university accounting department doesn't suspect anything when they see a $10 tip on a $13 bill.
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3-31-00 I think I insulted a freshman "good girl" today. She was asking for it. I was having a conversation with one of the professors on the bus. This guy was telling me all about how his marriage fell apart because his wife was in the same band that John's in. The annoying girl with a loud voice plopped herself down in the professor's seat, right in the middle of our conversation, and cuddled up to him. Then she interrupted us to talk about herself. I've noticed a lot of these kids do that—it's doubly irritating because I remember when I used to do it myself. Fucking immaturity. She said something about not drinking and the professor asked her why she didn't. She replied, "Because I'm a good girl." I snickered, earning a sidelong look from Loudvoice. The professor asked her something else and she said, all actressy-dramatic, "Because...because...alcohol is a depressant...and stuff...and...." I said, "Hey, she's read the pamphlets!" She gave me that smile that's false-embarrassed, humoring me, like she knows something I don't. College kids are so young these days.
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4-1-00 Shit. Fucking April Fools' Day. Around 4 am, shitty cramps woke me up. I took a Motrin with some Gatorade and went back to sleep. Woke again around 8, partly because I was so tired last night that I went to bed at 11. I tried so hard to stay up for the tennis match, but couldn't make it. Called John at 8 am and talked for a while. Said I was thinking about not going to the beach because of cramps and general anti-social feelings. He talked me into going and I got off the phone and packed my stuff to go out to the strip. Last night, I asked the band director specifically what time the bus to the beach was leaving in the morning. He said 9:30. I remember this clearly because the itinerary says 10. So at 9:20 this morning I was standing out by the curb asking a guy on a smoke break if he'd seen a tour bus leave a few minutes earlier. I had my suitcase, euphonium, backpack, and euph mute and I'd turned in my room key. The bus, of course, left early. So I went back in and convinced the clerk to let me back in my room. Dragged all my shit back there to wait for the 11:30 checkout time. Then I sort of snapped. I don't know why I got so upset. Must have been a combination of cramps, tension from being on the road, loneliness, and the sensation of being forgotten about. That, and I really did want to see the water. Those of you who know me know how I get about water. I completely lost it. Now, I cry fairly often (surprise?) but this time my chest got all tight and I thought I might drown. I kept looking out the window for the bus and thinking, God, it was that easy for them to forget me, what if this had been the drive home and nobody thought to wait for me? Now I'm sitting at the desk to write, looking in the huge, fluorescent-lit mirror and noticing gray hairs and wrinkles that aren't visible in my mirror at home. The only thing that could worsen my mood is having to wait around four hours, then board the bus for another noisy six-hour drive back to Macon, with Motrin that's barely keeping my cramps at bay. Fucking freelance.
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4-8-00 Mom and Dad's house. Magnetic poetry from Mom's set! I only had a couple dozen words up on her refrigerator, so a lot of them are recycled. I like the effect.
love repulsive love pound those luscious sausages
hot flood sky fluff put by sausage spring floodlights pound hot like luscious summer sausage
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4-8-00 Met my brother Matt's girlfriend. She's an activist and sophomore at Michigan. She seems to be an all-purpose activist: feminist, environmental, race, gay rights,animal, all of the above. I heard a rumor that she went to jail when protesting one of her causes in DC last year. She's very sweet, pretty in a natural way (same as me, I suppose,) and much more well-adjusted than any of Matt's other girlfriends. She, my mom, Manda, and I went to see Kiss Me Kate at one of the local colleges. Matt was playing guitar in the orchestra for the show. It's very uncomfortable sitting next to a feminist and watching a show like Kiss Me Kate. It's based upon the Shakespeare play Taming of the Shrew, in which a headstrong woman is forced to marry even though she wants to remain single, and in the end she decides she loves being married and recites how women should obey their husbands and behave themselves. Ick. Matt's girlfriend is incredibly vocal about feminism and equal rights, and our first meeting had us watching "Stand By Your Man" propaganda. We had a bonding moment, though. One of the male characters spent half the show in tights and a paneled skirt. The skirt was about half a size too small and when he leapt and danced, he awarded the audience a great view of his package. Many times.
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4-8-00 It's awful, but I'm starting to feel bitter about Tony, one of my close friends from MSU. It's been slow coming on, because I didn't think much about it until I got back to Michigan. When I was up in East Lansing this week, a few other friends were filling me in; it seems Tony's ego has grown at an astonishing rate and he's not as polite as he used to be. On my drive home, I mulled over my own Tony issues. Let's start with our little hot-and-cold flirting game. In or out, T? Seems like we flirt like crazy until your conscience kicks in. Feeling guilty? Not interested? Or are you getting even with me for not noticing you in high school? Moving on...somebody didn't return my calls last summer. Returning phone calls is a big deal to me. Especially when I'm about to leave town indefinitely, and staying in touch is serious. I'm serious about friendships. I don't make a lot of close friends, so when my closest ones flake out on me, I lose it. Tony was the very first person I told when John and I decided to get married. Tony was the first person invited to our wedding, which we later canceled in favor of elopement. Not that he knows that, because he didn't return my calls. He didn't call me, and he didn't mail an invitation to his wedding, so I couldn't go. Didn't know when or where it was, so I couldn't crash it. All I knew was the date (my birthday.) A year ago, a group of us went out for pizza and beer and Tony mentioned his bachelor party. When I said something about going, he said I could come, even though I'm a woman. It's probably obvious that I wasn't invited to that, either. I don't know if it was Tony's fiancee who didn't want me at the wedding, or if Tony felt uncomfortable having me show up. I suspect that the fucker just flaked and didn't invite any of his friends in Lansing. He hasn't contacted me since I left Michigan. That's probably a combination of "You go first" and the all-new, all-ego Tony I've heard so much about. Part of me wants to pound him. Part of me just wants to gaze balefully into his guilt-stricken eyes. Most of me wants to hug him, just to see him and get our friendship back on track. After 14 years of music life, meeting strangers and forming temporary relationships, I've learned to let zillions of friends sink into my history. Tony won't sink. Call me, you bastard.
All this shit is copyrighted (2000) by me. Don't take it, yo. |