I Gotta Be Me

I had a peer call me "mean" the other day because I've been acting extremely cold and confusing towards him for basically saying that he should probably stop communicating with me.

I usually respond with vague or direct answers in order to avoid conversation because, frankly, I have other things to be concerned about other than typical banter.

In the latest endeavor, he tells me the truth, calls me "beautiful" and "talented", drew me a picture, sends me messages that are about 7 paragraphs long that I don't really read all the way through because it's essentially the same thing he wrote last time, reads the posts on this crappy blog that I never mentioned about, and tries. And tries. And tries. And tries. And tries. And tries. And tries. And tries. And tries.

And I'm tired.

So I attempt to show him that I'm not interested in him like that anymore. Because the person I spoke with online didn't match up to the person I saw in real life. I don't dig that.

He asks to hang out with me, to get coffee or tea or something. I tell him I have things to work on for my costuming classes, Plus, I hate coffee, tea, or when people watch me eat. Usually, people get the hint then.
He then suggests we work on our assignments together. I told him that this usually involves me going into the city, getting whatever is necessary. If I wanted anyone to go along, I would probably ask, but I much rather prefer to shop alone. Makes things a lot faster.
He blows it by asking if he can tag along. Common sense implies that if I said, "No" the last few attempts, it's not going to happen.

I don't dig clingy people.

When I'm alone, I'm alone for a reason. This is different from being lonely.

He thinks he understands. I'm well aware that no one can truly understand another.

There are many things to describe me, but "mean" is a bit juvenile.

One friend who I greatly respect accurately described me as, "Being a bitch, but not being a cunty-bitch."

If you can't handle me like that, then you can't handle me when I'm worse. Or honest. And realistic. I don't want reasons to why you want me to be your "friend". This isn't a contest in the 8th grade. Of course everyone tries, but when I recognize how much that person is trying, then it's a turn off.

I've dealt with the clueless who have told me the same old junk since year one, that I'm "beautiful, talented, smart." Maybe I do seem heartless and cold but I can't a robot at the same time.

So maybe I do come across as "mean."
But, if you're not going to get it, I will spit acid and leave you in the cold.
And if I be brutal and say it's time to stop, then so be it.

And this goes for anyone and everyone.

To the Outspoken Woman/Loudmouth in my Class

(There is a class I'm taking this semester that allows for discussion on readings that, naturally, causes for different opinions to emerge. One particular peer, however, voices her opinion virtually any chance she gets. This is me venting)

To the outspoken woman,

I've known you for quite some time. I've caught on to the fact that you often don't read/fulfill certain assignments and, to cover for that, you ask as many questions during class. Others may find you to be inquisitive. I think it's just a strategy of wasting time. I would know because I do the exact opposite by keeping quiet when I haven't done anything. But this is just part of why I'm writing this.

The other day, when we were asking questions, you rather loudly scoffed at the question another peer had asked. "How do we 'dehumanize' men?'" This was, rather conveniently, written next to a question I had written, "What about male rape victims?" I had asked this in response to the diatribe on female rape victims you unleashed about how the way they dressed/behaved certainly did not mean they deserved to be rape. So imagine my surprise when, slightly ticked off, I asked you the same question, in a more serious tone and you just looked at me, slightly tongue tied. And imagine my frustration when, as an attempt to cover yourself, you said you were "frustrated" at the prospect of the question.

Ms. Loudmouth Time Waster, please consider this.

Yes, men can be a part of a few of same issues you frequently bring about in class. Yes, men can be raped, dehumanized, and objectified. Trust me, I have been there time and again. And I did catch you roll your eyes, during your own presentation, when you spoke about people who did not want to be restricted to the standard "male/female" gender roles. And I do not appreciate it when you run your mouth every five seconds while there are others who want to be heard as well.

There are many things I would love to call you but that means you would have won something. And with every battle, I lose more of myself, so why risk it. Not everyone thinks the same way as you do, nor would they want to. You are not the way you are strictly due to your ethnicity. Stop talking and complaining and DO something for once.

And, for the love of God, consider this:

HuMan
Huwoman

Catch my drift?

-A rambling, frustrated mind.

When I Had Enough of the Company

Because I'm an overachiever, I tend to get emails from the higher ups of a particular theatre company that I lovingly complain about constantly to friends. The same company that I refer to productions as "chicken-shit gigs", where my dad tends to shut me down over not-so-subtle jealously, and the one that I'm, to put it bluntly, sick and tired of.

So it takes great amounts of willpower to not send a profanity laced email to these higher ups like the moment I had when I got an email for the summer production. I've learned from last time that these do not pay well, the experience is not worth it really, and I'm better off finding something else.

This is my response, to keep it semi-professional:

"Sorry, but I will not be available. But thanks for asking."

What I REALLY wanted to write:

"Sorry, but I have absolutely no interest, especially after the nightmares of virtually EVERY show that I've been a part of, most of which nearly turned me off from performing ever again. Frankly, I fail to find the sincerity of the words in your email. If I truly were someone who you would "immediately think of" when it comes to dedication, you wouldn't be giving me the wikipedia version of the show. We both know good and goddamn well that you only want me because I'm the only one who won't give you lip and because of my dad.

Well, I have had enough of putting up with this company of yours. I'm tired of the backstabbing. I'm tired of my dad shooting insults at me because he's jealous and everyone knows it. I'm tired of dealing with bitchy drama queens. And I'm especially tired of doing all of this for nothing but a lame 'thank you'. Until things change, I don't want anything to do with you or the way you handle your company. And if you think a meager $100 is going to change that, I may as well have an eating disorder in order to save on what you think will 'off-set some expenses [I] may incur while participating in this production'. Yes, $100 is REALLY going to offset all the traveling, food, living expenses, etc. And I'm a natural blonde.

But thanks for asking."

Where being a Theatre Major comes in Handy

To those who live under a rock in my life (aside from me), I've been majoring in Theatre in college since 2009. I have already received my Associates in Science (don't ask) in Visual and Performing arts and, at the time of this posting, am currently going for my BA in Theatre (I could've gone for a BFA in acting but I don't think "I CAN ACT!" will help when I eventually get a job that pays). Now, through these years, most of my time is spent either on stage or behind the scenes, building and deconstructing sets, painting, sewing, learning about theatre history, the works. All very fascinating and perfect for my creative, imaginative self.

So you can imagine how much I have to stifle the urge to punch someone when I have to put up with typical household things my dad throws at me. Or his "criticisms" (aka complaints or "bitching") about certain shows. Let's look at a few of them, shall we?

Task: Paint a door.
My dad goes through a laundry list of things to do before I paint: such as laying out tarp/plastic to prevent the paint from dripping on the floor, how to stir the paint, and all that. Oh gee, I must have missed that when I painted the sets for virtually every show I did at QCC, Trinity, and Brooklyn. Also, I asked, since the door was painted with paint from before the 1990's (when people thought it was a faboo idea to use LEAD in the paint) if I should sand the door to get rid of the paint. He shrugged and said if I wanted to do the effort, but to wear a dust mask. Yep, because I'm going to subject myself to lead poisoning again. Call me devil-may-care! Though, if I were richer, I'd buy a respirator, not a 5 cent paper cup. He also didn't know my mom bought a sander when she was alive (unfortunately, she bought a cheap one so it kept falling off WHILE I was sanding.)

Task: Buy a carpet.
Any one would think to measure the room before leaving to get a carpet, right? Not my dad or my brother, who went to one of the top Catholic schools in the state and is going to go to St. John's. I'm sure those sets are built willy-nilly!

Task: Paint the porch/ceiling.
Again, the same spiel only this time with painter's tape (What? You say the tape prevents the paint from getting on other surfaces? NO WAY). My dad also thinks it's a great idea to just dump the paint all over the place and go from there.
Yeah, see when that happens, you end up with a big uneven mess that gets all over the place. Unfortunately, he also bought weather resistant paint which meant I spent thirty minutes washing it off my hands with a Mr. Clean scrubber as I went to wash the paint off the rollers (something my sister cannot grasp as well, unless she wants the brush to get stale and cemented on the rollers). It left my hands raw.

You can't see but it was oozing as well.

Only our landlady offered sympathy.

Cut to painting the ceiling, a family effort which involved my beloved Aunt Mary! (She was very inquisitive about my studies, and was impressed with was I was doing at the time, and more so now). Being an artist, she knows her way around a paint brush. So it's obvious where she and I painted (nice, smooth areas) and where my dad painted (clouds!).

Seeing a show: Camp Rock, the Musical!
I went into this production mostly because of the money and the credit on my resume and also knowing that it would be watered down to what one would think is terrible blocking. But this is the scenario: We only have 10 people (5 girls, 5 boys) so parts are going to be cut, we had to whittle down the show to an hour, nobody really leaves the stage and participate in all the numbers, even rival camp members (all three of them). The approach is very similar to epic theatre (in which the production makes it obvious it's a show, changes are done in full view of the audience, people play multiple parts, etc.) so at least I found some sense in the direction we got. My dad, however, didn't like the blocking, the casting, the fact that there was no costume changes between numbers (hello! WE HAD NO TIME FOR THAT), the fact that our transitions were done by walking in front of the space.
Which made me very glad someone else directed it, and it is someone I respect greatly. She knew what she was doing and what she was getting into. A bit of a shame since I feel totally at sea with this cast. But I have to live on anyway.

After all, someone has to paint things in this house, since I have no time in the world to knock some sense into so many people.