Piffle: Plain and Simple

Two tears, highlighted by a Dell-glow, amazing and inexplicable - I forget the depth of you sometimes. I'll keep singing for as long as you want to listen.

While listening to Camelot's "What Do The Simple Folk Do?" pandora automatically started and suddenly I heard Richard Burton being answered by Julie Andrews ... from My Fair Lady. Kinda freaky how that can work out.

I've been planning the wedding since before Christmas, no exact idea as to when I officially started planning. So this will come as no surprise to anyone:

This weekend Dave and I went to Homer, a place I have no memory of seeing before. We stayed at a lovely B+B, we had the whole thing to ourselves (even the hosts were out of town, and the house-sitter politely left for the night) and thoroughly enjoyed it. I made us dinner, and we drank my favorite champagne. We danced across a hard wood floor lit only by the fireplace and my genuinely-flickering-artificial-candles. The view was stunning, with the lights of Homer glittering on the water (or I assume they glittered as we were too far away to properly tell) and the faint outline of mountains beyond. It was perfectly romantic. And he didn't propose.
Sunday I made us breakfast, french toast which I had been craving for weeks, and we watched a new movie neither of us had seen. As the day wore on I was growing progressively more pissy, he'd told me he'd propose officially before the end of summer. As an Alaskan girl summer ends when the Fair and/or school begins, so he missed that (he defines summer as "before it snows"). Here we were in a lovely, romantic setting and ... nothing. We cleaned up, packed up, and shipped out. On the drive down to the Spit I went from angry to disappointed before finally settling on - I know he wants to marry me, I have no doubt of that so why am I giving so much weight to this?
We arrived at the Seafarer's Memorial, which is beautiful and simplistic simultaneously, it was drizzling and my hair was whipping about my face and knotting rather drastically. As I looked across the water I saw light breaking through the clouds in one of those defined shafts that make you think there might be a supreme being. Dave turned me around, looking far to serious and said, "I know I frustrate and disappoint you, but will you marry me?"
"Hang on a second," I said.
"Huh?"
He looked very confused as I pulled the point-and-shoot out of my pocket, set it to video mode and then pointed it up between us, "Ok, now say it again for Caiti."
"I know I frustrate you, but marry me?" There was a pause while I soaked in the moment and he got progressively more nervous, "Are you going to make me wait?"
"Yeah."
Dave hung his head and looked defeated before I realized he might have been confused, "That was a 'yes' you jackass."
"Oh."
We nuzzled and after a moment he said, "You're going to drain the battery you know, that thing is still recording."
"Oh, right."
We walked along, past all of the shops closed for the season and I apologized for being snippy at breakfast and explained why I had been. His response, "I wanted to propose at some place more special than a bed and breakfast. And besides, do you have any idea how hard it was be somewhere special on a day it rained?"
"You have a point, oh, where's my ring?"
"... On the desk at home."
"Oops."

As romantic as last night would have been, this story is so much more appropriately us. -J

Yay for being 21 and at faire! Yay for being a masochist! Yay for getting my ass toasted by a hoard of attractive, drunken actors and actresses of my choosing (hee, Stimy). Yay for getting a chance to toast theirs back. Yay for Cypher and Vanity's return to the state, temporarily. Yay for not paying for my own drinks, and for only a mild headache in the morning!

It is amazing to me how, after years of avoidance, old grudges can still thrive.
I’m twenty-one, happy in my life, at peace with who I am and looking forward to sharing a life with dear friends and a dearer Panda.
There is a woman, a girl really, despite her being a year older than me; we were enemies in high school (or as much as someone can have a nemesis at the naïve age of seventeen) and for the purpose of this post I shall refer to her as Madame Director.
I don’t believe Madame and I would have had such trouble if there hadn’t been two unfortunate factors when we met. The first was a struggle to be closest to mutual friend, I might not have fought so hard if she hadn’t been the first woman I fell in love with, at this point in time I had fallen out of love with her and was at that happy state of post-love where more than anything I wanted this mutual friend happy, and to help that happiness anyway I could. The other thing against us was politics, and meeting the September before a presidential election.
My parents are the best kind of Republicans, open minded. But I went to a school that was so far left it was about to come around the other side and goose the right. This gave me an interesting perspective on politics and history that has left me an independent, with political leanings in both directions.
Always one to mess with the status quo, when I joined a “gov’t field studies” and was told to volunteer for a political campaign I decided to spend my quarter stamping envelopes and making phone calls for the republican senatorial candidate. This didn’t win me any friends, and no one would listen to why I did it (namely to see “how the other half lived”).
Through a series of unfortunate arguments Madame and I realized we could never be friends, she wouldn’t calmly debate the point with me and I refused to blindly agree with her.
But as I said, I’m an adult now (though I still act like a child when it suits me) and I had decided that three years of avoiding the others’ existence, of going the other way when we saw each other at the bookstore, of letting our gaze slide past when we caught sight of each other across the quad, was more than enough time to waste on childishness. I know we will never be friends, but I had hoped that at least we could be civil to each other.
I’m one of the photographers for the local renaissance faire, and Madame is one of the actors, when I saw her on faire site I had had enough. “Hello [Madame]” I said, keeping my tone as cheerfully neutral as I could. She just kept walking and I waited expectantly, just when I thought she would pass me she looked up and said, “What? Did you say something to me? I’m kinda hard of hearing in my right ear.” I smiled and signed ‘Hi, how are you?’ to her. “No, I’m not deaf, I’m just a little hard of hearing.” I laughed and tried to make a joke of it, “No, I know you’re not deaf [Madame] I do remember that much, I mean, I’m not an idiot you know.” “Oh, no, I know, but sometimes I wonder.”
I’d like to think I’m a good person, a loyal friend, a kind listener. I’d like to think I’m approachable and helpful to everyone, there are some people whose company I prefer to avoid, but I try very hard to be everybody’s buddy. I can’t be friends with everyone and still be who I am, I know that, but it’s still troubling to find fellow human beings being unpleasant for unpleasantness’ sake.
I know the range of human ability, how truly monstrous we can be and how wonderful, but I know it in the same way I know how expansive the universe is – I grasp the concept but contemplating the reality leaves a part of me aching.
As for Madame Director . . . I hope I am a special case for her. I hope she has grown up since high school. I hope for her sake she has learned to value her friends, and to treat everyone with dignity and kindness until their actions show them undeserving of it. I hope . . . I hope she has a worthwhile life, a life shared with others.
I’m engaged, or might as well be. I see a life ahead full of tedious annoyances surrounded by loving support and children's laughter, I see Dave holding one hand and either Caiti or my family holding the other. When I look at my future I see light, warmth, and joy. If my life had a scent it would be an oddly inviting mixture of clean laundry and earth after it rains, the sort of smell associated with new beginnings. When I look at Madame, it feels cold, isolated and dark. For her sake I hope I’m wrong.

I don’t believe in God like most Christians do, but I do believe in something, something warm and strangely fluffy as though all positive emotions had a texture. And so, because I don’t have a better way to put it I’ll say, may God watch over you. I pray that everyone, no matter how despicable, has one truly happy day – just one day to hold close to them and keep them warm at the darkest of times.

For those who care to know such things:

My photos, including all those of the 2008 - 3 Baron's Faire can be found at JJPervier.SmugMug.com

It only took me a year, jeezy-creezy!

I'd like to think that I've learned quite a bit about photography (and my own style) in the past year, we'll just have to see what comes from this summer. Ren Faire is two weeks away, be still my soon-to-be-aching-knees.

PS If, after seeing my stuff (however my best portraiture work is in a private gallery), you feel like getting a few photos taken please contact me. I need the practice, plus its fun playing dress-up while I haul friends anywhere from Hatchers Pass to Seward.

PPS I'm also posting the photos from ATY's Merry Wives and UAA's Fallen should you care to view them.

Well, we've just eclipsed the year mark for crisavec and I living together, depending on if you mark it as the night I moved in suddenly and didn't leave or the day we bought our bed. I expected us to fall apart rather quickly, what with my annoyingly quirky behavior and Dave's introverted ways, but amazingly its been like breathing. I feel like I've been with him for years, in the good way, and I can no longer imagine not having him in my life. On Valentine's he asked me what I thought would come of it that first weekend when we met and flirted shamelessly - he didn't expect anything, he just thought I looked interesting and in want of company - in all honesty, and I told him as much, I was hoping for six months of fun conversations and a relatively clean break-up. I never expected when that cheerful, techno-dude came waddling over to me at the bar that I'd some day make a Prefinanced Panda out of him, or that I'd become his Prefinanced Pookie. We're a few months shy of two years and I'm still twitterpatted. Weird isn't it?

Overall life is going well, I still haven't grown up as much as I'd like. Being as close to my parents as I have been since high school I'm still accustomed to the lifestyle I was raised in, a lifestyle neither Dave nor I can possibly afford, even if we were to both work full time. I need to make that adjustment from being able to go-out whenever I feel like it, to having to pack a lunch every morning or else not have lunch that day. We want kids, and unless I suddenly get discovered and go platinum we'll have to make sacrifices and start saving NOW.

I am questioning getting married, not because I have any doubts that he's the Panda I want to be with for the rest of my life, but more so because I wonder if I'm doing him a disservice. I've never had to nickel and dime it, never had to save up for much of anything - I either got what I wanted or else I didn't want it that badly. Is someone whose financial philosophy is "you can't take it with you" or "what's the point of money if not to spend it" really ready to having a joint bank account, are they really prepared to be responsible for another person's financial well being? I'm just worried I still have a child's mentality and that I'm going to let him down someday because of that naivete.

On the plus side Dave came to photograph a rehearsal for the play I'm stage managing and is certain in his belief that I'll make a good mother. Like herding kittens, I swear. My director is driving me nuts - I think all of my SMing experience is just racking up names of people I will not be working with in the future. It's an . . . uh, interesting play, very artistic and I do like that it was a collaborative script, but its so blatantly biased it makes my brain die a little every time the curtain goes down. I'm ecstatic about my next project, auditions are Monday, it's the women of the Old Testament and their stories as told through acrobatics and ariel silk - imagine Cirque du Soeil: Genisus but on a much smaller budget.

Hello, my name is angie_di and I'm an obsessive personality - we're over a year away, and that's if we can afford it that soon, and I'm already looking at Nevada law, photographers, public land alcohol policies, making guests lists, looking at dress designs, thinking about fabrics and favors and all kinds of meaningless things. I'm at the point where I'm driving myself nuts let alone poor crisavec. It sucks that what makes me so good at my job, giving undivided attention to all of the details about one single event, should be keeping me up at night wondering what sort of deals I could make with the photographer and how to get power for lights and sound out to Eklutna.
I just felt like sharing a tidbit of the hell I'm putting crisavec through, feel free to give him your sympathies. And the instant he actually proposes I'll let you know in sickening detail (no I'm not getting ahead of myself, yes he is going to ask, the bastard has it planned but other than he's going to do it sometime this summer the twerp won't tell me a damn thing).

Much love - J

I find that due to lack of use my jazz skills are starting to slip somewhat. So I would appreciate a challenge. Should you wish feel free to use me as a radio. Keep in mind they may not be perfect but I will try to please. The following is a list of jazz songs I already know passably well.

All of Me * Misty * Whatever Lola Wants * They All Laughed * He's A Tramp * Got No Strings * LOVE * Blue Skies * This Can't Be Love * Crush * Ain't Misbehavin' * Orange Colored Sky * They Can't Take That Away * Folks Who Live On The Hill * Autumn Leaves * Ev'rytime We Say Goodbye * I Cried for You * The Very Thought of You * Paper Moon * I'll Be Seeing You * Fly Me to the Moon * It Had to Be You * Tell Me Lies * Fever * Don't Get Around Much Anymore * Frim Fram Sauce * I Wish You Love * Why Don't You Do Right * Nature Boy * I Could Write A Book * Let's Call the Whole Thing Off * It's Alright With Me * I Got Rhythm * You Make Me Feel So Young * Just One Of Those Things

I know there's a lot more but I can't seem to remember them. Anyway, thank you. ~J

*snert* "Pookie needs a pounding!" Ah, my darling Snugglebear. ^.^

For those who are not aware I have been cast as Helen in TTR's production of "FAT PIG" by Neil LaBute. Helen is an over-weight/obese woman who falls in love with an attractive but shallow man. Of the four characters she's the most genuine, the most playful, the most comfortable and the one with the highest self-esteem (at the beginning of the play).
Tom and his co-workers Carter (self-proclaimed asshole) and Jeanie (bitter ex) are all overly preoccupied with image, both their own and that of those around them. When prejudice, body image, and love collide Tom is left with a choice: to be spurned by his friends and remain with the woman he can't help but love, or to reject her for the societal approval he can't help but need.

This play worries me. Not the subject matter but rather issues I fear it will dredge up.
I am obese. I've been over-weight my whole life, I've gone through the rigmarole of being insulted, of hating myself, and have finally - after 20 years of effort - reached the other side. I'm fine with who I am, hell, I even like me most of the time. I have a loving family that looks after each other. I'm in a supportive, wonderful relationship with a man who finds me attractive even when I wake up with gorgon hair and wander around the house all day in my pjs. I'm honest, helpful, reliable, caring, somewhat talented, and have an above-average IQ. I have a lot going for me in life, enough that my appearance has taken a back burner.
Helen has gone through the same and come to the same conclusion. But I still worry, because slowly she looses that acceptance and puts all of her self worth into Tom's opinion of her.
I know it's a play, and I should be able to keep the script from effecting me personally - but even just reading it I still wish to strangle Jeanie and Carter. It hurts, just a little when people call you a disgusting sow who could eat for five, even if it isn't for real.
And I'm not certain whether I should be touched at my father's protectiveness or disappointed that he is choosing to miss this one. He's worried that he'll take the insults thrown at Helen personally "I mean, I know it's a play but they're still insulting my baby girl."
I hate it when guilt and righteous anger blend. I get pissed because they're insulting me, but at the same time I cry because a part of me still agrees with them.

ADDENDUM: This was bugging me, so I spoke with Dad asking for a clarification as to why he wouldn't come to the play. He said he wasn't partially to people being openly thrashed on stage in general but most especially when they were relatives. So that makes me feel better (or maybe it's Octopus's Garden cheerily playing in the background). I have this odd thing of not being bothered by theatre until some asks "Oh my god, I can't believe how well you're taking it, I would be so insulted" and then I kinda feel hurt . . . because they think its a personal insult to me, so I take it as a personal insult -- Yeah, that doesn't make any sense to me either.