Keyboard player

So.  A few weeks ago, I was invited to join a band.  Not invited to audition.  To join a band.

So I agreed. 

I went to a practice, and, for the first time in ever, I played actual keyboard instead of piano.  With effects and xpositions and shit.

It was hard.  I told them I was out of my league.  They told me I really wasn't.  And then I played my first gig with them.

Mind you, 2 hours of practicing does not prepare one for a 4 hour gig.

I practiced more on my own.  I fooled with effects.  I listened and listened and listened.

At the gig, I was terrified.  I couldn't hear my keys or my vocals, and I had no idea if anything sounded good, though I absolutely knew immediately when I screwed up.

And I did screw up, but again, this was new.  And I looked really cute.

So, a few days later, we practiced again. This was harder, but I did ok.  I sang well.

And we had gigs lined up for the next weekend.  

I got booted from the paying gigs.  But was asked to play the freebie.  :/

But that was all fine, because a few weeks later, they had lined up a casino gig.  Big money, big exposure!  And two whole weeks to practice!

But I've now been booted from that, too.

That's very disappointing.  My closest friends and oldest son have agreed that I am ok with being a little butt hurt about that.  

And meanwhile, I have bought a ton of music paraphernalia I never expected to need.  I have read a bunch to find out what to do better.  I have practiced a shit ton, and for the first time in my life, feel actually musicked out.  I didn't even know that was possible.

They swear I am technically "in" the band.

I just need to decide if I really want to be.

Bikini Wearer?

It's unholy ohmygodforreal hot here, in Louisiana, in August.  The baby is back at school and people are legitimately wondering if they will be allowed to go outside for recess.  It truly is THAT hot.

But that's not what I want to talk about.  I want to ask this.  Should I wear my bikini?

Yes.  That.

Here is the picture.

I am 5'3".  I weigh 138 pounds (which is pretty goddamn fantastic, honestly).  I have a concave behind, an extraordinarily short torso, a helluva a belly, and a wide rib cage.  And a rack.  I have a hefty, though adorable, rack.

From the front, I look relatively slender.  I'm not wide on the sides.  I have tiny hips.

In profile, though, sweet Christ.  I look like Hank Hill.

If I lie on my back, all the fat slides away and I look like I have abs.

All of this said, I'm going to wear the bikini.  I wear it in Hancock Co., Mississippi, where the average person must be considered morbidly obese.

I wear it out in the back yard, where I sweat for an hour in a desire to look black (for my next show, this is an actual thing, not a racial slur) until I can no longer bear the oppressive, heavy, disgusting heat that is right now.

I do not wear it in front of my mom.  I did, once, and she said, "If you pulled it up it would hide your love handles."  I could not pull it up even a millimeter more.

Would I wear it at my gay friends' house/pool?  Probably not.  Am I skinnier than said friends?  Yes, but they are dudes and the rules are different.  Am I skinnier than their other (female) friends?  No.

Would I wear it to the water park?  Maybe.  It depends on if my mother is going.

Would I wear it on the boat on the 4th of July?  Not a chance.

Would I wear it to my friend KT's dad's house, with it's gorgeous pool?  Highly doubtful.  Even though this one time, a girl named Crystal wore a bikini there, two-fisted beers and made me pretty much entirely envious of her entire existence, and she had to weigh close to 200 lbs.

Later, that same year, Crystal died.  That's a sad ending to a girl who I found very inspirational.

Fuck it.  I want to wear the bikini.  Invite me to swim.  Invite me to a water park.  I need to get blacker and I need to show my fat little tubby belly and I need to get to a point where I can do that without worrying about it.

I want to wear the bikini.

Grownup

The kid flushed a washcloth down the toilet.

Know what that does to a toilet? 

I didn't, either, but miraculously, it flushed all the way and nothing bad happened.  I consider this a miracle.

The kid, this boy, and I are doing fine.   We just got parts in another play (he finished with Drama Camp, so this makes his 5th).  I'm playing my dream part, with beautiful solos and an amazing cast, and I don't have to be a lesbian.  I can't freaking wait!

And the other kid?  He and his wife are having twins.  TWINS.

So between being the boss at my job (and doing a damn fine job at it, too), still continuing as the youth music leader at church (and doing a damn fine job at it, too), enjoying the company of an almost-nine-year-old, and expecting twin grandbabies, my life rocks.

Oh, and I'm teaching piano lessons, too.

And doing a damn fine job at everything.

I'm such a grownup all of the sudden.

Holy shit, I have a blog that I forgot about

Sorry.

So first things first. I quit that new job.  It was awful, y'all.  Humiliating.  Degrading. So on Monday, I went to work, handed the worst boss my key and my computer, and told him I don't want to work there anymore.  And I left.  And I went to the beach.  It was magical.

In other news, I did a show.  First show since 1992.  I played a big old crazy lady and a little lesbian girl, and I had a solo, and I fell completely in love with theater all over again.  There will be more.

By the way, I start my new job on Monday.

I guess what I'm saying is this.  If you are my boss, you don't get to yell at me about your personal life, about wifi I have no control over, or tell me to pick up trash on a New Orleans street corner.  I'm the boss at new job.

Pretty sure this is the best Easter ever.

Boom.

Happy Update From the Sarie

It's been a while, and I need to update what-all is going on.

1) I've started my new job.  I like it.  It's super fun, the commute isn't as bad as I worried it might be, and it is making me smarter.  That said, I've lost a good bit of time (chalk up almost 2 hours/day to commuting, although I technically arrive at work at the same time that I used to do so), so I'm feeling tired.  That and the fact that I actually have to think during the day.  Combined, I'm tired.  But happier.  Also, it's New Orleans, and also, there is a bar IN THE OFFICE.  Win.

2)  Christmas (well, and before that, Thanksgiving) has come and gone.  It was the best Christmas I can ever remember.  I got some nice things, mostly gift cards and a (much needed, much desired) watch, but the kicker was watching the baby.  He was OVER THE MOON with his present from me.  So much so that I still get a little misty grin thinking about it.  I haven't ever seen him be so happy with one thing before, in all of my life.  I got him an iPod, which doesn't seem like that big of a deal to me, but to him, it is the world.  And he has been texting me, which is amazing, since he is both adorable and also in Georgia right now.  I enjoy staying current with the baby.

3)  My marathon is a no-go.  I have to work that weekend.  This was an enormous blow when I found out, but weeks have gone by and I am no longer that upset.  Truth is, that race was going to completely kick my ass.  Utterly.  So really, I'm better off this way.

That's pretty much my last several months in a nutshell.  Couple that with me finding my mother sharing a drink and a smoke with the Kirby salesman and the time she tried very hard to convince me that it would be okay for her to pick up a hitchhiker, you will see that she is the same as she ever was.

Hope all is well with all (both) of you.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and by the way, there is a BAR IN MY OFFICE.  Just reminding you that.

Happy days!

Quitter

I turned in my notice at my job last Friday.  On Halloween.  Haha.  Boo.  Fuck you.  Just kidding.  Sort of.

I got a new job, in New Orleans, with a little more money and a lot more responsibility and pretty much a whole lot to offer.

My problem is...  well...  these next two weeks, y'all.  How?  How do you survive the final two weeks, when the boss person is FURIOUS at you because you dared to disobey her commands showed what an ungrateful brat you are made her feel like you don't love her anymore.

That's the thing, I kind of have divorced my boss.

Mind you, it is the right thing to do, for lots and lots and lots of reasons, and I am super duper excited about the next phase in my life, but I cannot help but sit here and be miserable.  I don't want to be miserable!!!

So...  I think, in the end, that there is just one thing to do.  Practice saying, "I'm sorry, this is just too uncomfortable for me.  I would have liked to give two weeks' notice, but I'm going to go ahead and leave," and have a nice glass of wine on the regular.  Eventually one of two things will have happened.  I will either use what I practiced (trust your training!) or I will have survived two weeks.  Either way, same result.

Either way, new adventure.  Bring it on.

Reminiscer

Three years ago yesterday, my ex-husband moved out of my house.

In the past three years, I also did this:

Run a half marathon

Signed up and began to train for a full marathon

Said goodbye to my favorite cat ever

Fell in love with two new cats

Bought a house and painted that bitch

Figured out that I am so very capable

Of anything

Been on exactly 2 dates

Figured out that I don't much care for dating

Taught a little boy how to ride a bike without training wheels

Read Harry Potters 1-3 to a little boy

Watched a little boy light up a stage

Watched a taller boy get his diploma

Watched a taller boy win a really hard fight

Watched a taller boy say he does to a beautiful girl

Sat in the company of a dozen teenagers who love me

Loved a dozen teenagers

Made music

Made friends

Drank tequila

Watched jeopardy

Ate some really fantastic food

Ate some absolutely god-awful food

Cooked some absolutely god-awful food

Paid my bills on time

Got a raise

Laughed a ton

Said goodbye to a good friend (Love you, Joebie.)

Dyed my hair

Lost 30 pounds

Put ten on again.  Then lost it again.  Then gained five and called it "stasis."

Sang karaoke.  And a gig.  Or three.

Got beaten at Trivial Pursuit.

Lived.

Been a pretty damn good couple-few years.