23
Say You Miss Me
The big news, I suppose, is that on Friday I got a call about that Boston job I applied to. I got a voicemail, actually, but I didn't get to connect with the person who may or may not not have been calling for an interview.
So not only have I had to suffer through the weekend, wondering why she called (and I've analyized the situation from all angles and, come on, she had to be calling for an interview), and convicing myself that I need to pack and find a subletter because I already have the job -- I also just learned that said college in Boston has already decided to close tomorrow (Monday) due to the snow.
Good Grief. Don't these people realize how these things affect me?!
So Friday, the day of the call, was a good day for me, here in Vermont, in my job, aside from the Stella snub. One of the high points of the past year and a half, if you will. And so the timing was a little -- odd. I was excited about this voicemail and the promise it held, but as the night wore on, it all sunk in, and I wondered how I could leave. I have been at this school forever. This is my home.
Yesterday, I got all scared about this potential change. Moving away again... will I hate it? What bridges will I burn? What would my life be like? All that unknown, that brand new start, that had attracted me to apply to this job started to terrify me. I convinced myself that I was leaving, I was going to hate it, and nobody would miss me. (Except my grandmother, who almost cried when I told her the news, because I would be "so far away" -- a whole three hours.)
And then today, I looked through some pictures from last summer's Pub Crawl down there, and it just made me long to be back down there. With my friends. With a life. With lots of gay people. With tall buildings and the Texas Roadhouse. And I sold myself on the idea, and I've resigned myself to a happy medium of "wait and see." No counting of the chickens, no premature good-byes. I'm just opening myself up to the possibility. Let's see where this goes after I get to call them back and talk to them.
On mother-fucking Tuesday.
A lot of emotion over a voicemail and a job I'm far from having. I need to calm down.
Posted on 01/23/05 at 7:19 PM | Comments (0)Tagged: Boston , Work
22
Snagged
These guys are quite funny on stage -- even if Michael Ian Black is a bitch off stage (ya know, relative to his pseudo-celebrity I Love The 90s status).
This, of course, is based upon a two-minute "interaction" with the man. After the show, I approached him for an autograph. The three men of Stella we giving them out, along with the opening comic. No big deal, right? I came up to him after my friend had gotten his signature. MIB then promptly turned his body from me slighty, and then kept his head cocked away. He wasn't talking to anybody else, not really listening to his fellow comics chat with fans. He just sort of turned away, from me, and his body was telling me, just me, to take a hike.
It was almost as if we had slept together once, it had gone badly, and he now wished to pretend that I did not exist. Sadly, I know what it's like to be on both sides of that awkwardness, and it was a familiar feeling.
So I stood there for a good thirty seconds, maybe a minute, not sure exactly what to do. He had obviously done this to avoid me. I was within two feet of him, holding a poster, and he could see me out of the corner of his eye. And yet he was being a little bitch.
So the opener sees me and grabs my poster, signs it with a smile, and hands it off to Michael Showalter, who signs without missing a beat. David Wain takes it next, makes a joke, and is a nice guy. Then it's back to Michael Ian Black. And at this point, I say, "Fuck you, Michael Ian Black!" (in my head, of course), and I decide I need to be aggressive.
I turn around and face him. I walk right up close. I shove the poster at him and, with a smile, I ask:
"Can I snag an autograph?"
He rips the poster out of my hand.
"You can't 'snag it.' You can have it."
Throws his signature on it. Tosses the poster back at me.
I turn to leave and, from behind me, I hear him declare, to his buddies: "I'm done. We're out of here." And he forsakes the short line of autograph seekers behind me -- all students workers who made the show happen, leaving their hardwork without the reward of a simple signature.
I will never understand the lives of performers and "celebrities," and I suppose I'm happy about that.
Still, Stella is hilarious and I'm still a fan, even if I have a tiny little bit of a bad taste left in my mouth. Hm. Maybe Michael Ian Black and I did sleep together...
[Please see also: "20sum Retraction: I Love Michael Ian Black"]
Tagged: Pop Culture , Work
11
The Postal Service
I walked out of the Waterman building today, and outside, it was just beautiful. Mild -- cold, but mild. Snowy. Beautiful. The bells started ringing almost immediately -- 4:30 -- over at Ira Allen Chapel. Almost enough to make me want to stay here forever. Almost.
I had just dropped an application in the mail. To a job in Boston. A carefully crafted cover letter and my resume (along with a bag of microwave popcorn and a whole lot of hope and fear) is now on it's way to some office in Beantown that could, maybe, just maybe, become a big part of my near future.
Now it seems that everything is screaming, "You're gonna miss me!" Buildings, sidewalks, trees, bars... But in a good way, ya know? Almost telling me, it's great here -- I will miss it terribly -- but now is the time to go.
I know I'm counting my eggs. But I'm excited. Terrified -- of rejection, of acceptance -- but excited.
Fingers crossed.
(It's a recycled image, but you get the picture.)
Tagged: Boston , Work