Mental Health Break Begins!

I'm in Fredericksburg, Virginia. I can see the sun setting from my view on the porch, and my phone is in my bra because the puppy already ate my Otter Box and I don't trust him anymore.

(I'm actually more impressed than upset about that. I couldn't even get the Otter Box off half the time, and I have thumbs!)

This is the first leg of my epic journey across the east coast to visit people before my equally epic move. I'll be here until early November, then off to North Carolina!

I'm here because I want to live in the Smithsonians (someone should probably come stop me from setting up a pup tent in the Natural History Museum) (Or don't. That works, too.) and because puppy.

Jameson was supposed to be a holdover name until Peter thought of something better. You can imagine how well that turned out.

Peter's here sometimes, too, I guess.

Since arriving four days ago, not a lot of adventuring has been done. I've mostly been content to hide in my brain and come out on occasion for food. There's been some going out and about and touring the town, however.

Today, since I was feeling more up to being outside, Jameson (which is I guess is his permanent name now) and I explored a bit of the nature park behind the apartments! There's a stream and mysterious forest trails and a historical site! We navigated a treacherous mountain path up a course hewn from a stony outcrop. It was three feet wide with an immediate thirty foot drop. Jameson kept stopping to look over the edge. Probably just to fuck with me.

 The lighting was much more magical than my non-archane camera phone can handle.

He is a buttface.

Rocky Horror Picture Show

One of the parts of Atlanta I'll miss most is Lips Down on Dixie, the local shadowcast for RHPS. I've been a member on and off for three years at this point.

There's been quite a bit of drama since I started getting on that stage, and my frequent breaks are often because of it. But hey. You throw a bunch of theater kids, some in school for it, some even professionals, what do you expect?

All the same, there has never been a more welcoming, loving, or inclusive group I've ever been a part of.

I'll miss you, guys. <3 Thank you for giving me the self-confidence needed to dance onstage in my undies, the happiness of finding a passion, and the support I've needed through these past few hellish years. Thank you for throwing me in the way of opportunities outside of Rocky, like modeling and events and meeting amazing people.

And thank you, especially, for being there for me this past month. I don't know what I would have done without you backing me, making sure I got out of my apartment, and just talking to me and making sure I'm okay.

Much love to everyone, newbies (to me!) and oldies. I will cheer you on from afar!

I'm the one in the white hat! :D

Forever Far Away

I'm procrastinating on getting food with a blog post.

Two days from now, on Saturday, I am flying to Virginia to stay with a friend for a month. After that, I make many, many smaller trips around the east coast to see friends and family, before moving permanently to California.

Let us recap what has happened in the past two months-

-I got divorced.
-A former friend turned into a stalker who was sexually harassing me. He threatened to kill my ex-husband, two of my closest friends, and himself if I stopped talking to him. I took out a restraining order and now fear for my life.
-An entire group of friends suddenly stopped talking to me, or responding to any attempts at contact. Ironically, just when I need friends the most.
-Zombie Fishfish, for who this blog is named, died on Sunday.

I think Atlanta is trying to kill me. It's doing a pretty damn good job of it.

I'm so tired, and I'm so sick of feeling angry and bitter and lonely. I'm sick of being so depressed I fall into bed and can't get out for hours, missing things I really did want to do in the meantime. I'm sick of watching my phone for someone, anyone, to ask if I'm okay.

I'm not.

So goodbye, Georgia. I'd say it's been swell, but these fifteen years have been hell.

Amanda Fucking Palmer

A little bit ago (I think a week and a half ago?), I went to see Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra in concert. I went with a good friend (who was supposed to make a vlog that I promised to include here, but her camera derped. Oh, well. Her blog can be found here.) and ran into someone I haven't seen in a while, so that was all great. There was pre- and post-coffee, because I have a problem.

Amanda Palmer has been with me through the last two depressive spells of my life. Admittedly, this particular one is more hatred and anger and misery than sadness, but she has songs for that, too!

I got into her when the Dresden Dolls were still a thing the first time around (apparently they got back together two years ago? Why wasn't I aware of this?) when I crashed at my friend Mike's place for a couple of weeks while I escaped the grossness of Savannah. He was convinced I'd like them, so in between trips to Flying Biscuit and being anti-social at MonsterBash, I was exposed. I was in a studio. I had no where to escape to. I had no choice but to like them.

"Mike, give me back my goddamn hat. Oh, whatever. I have a book."

Mike and I have since swapped hairstyles.

 

(People keep telling me Savannah is a major tourist destination. I have no idea why. Is it that you people just LIKE parking lots, abandoned buildings, and a higher murder rate than NYC two years in a row within the past decade? What? Well, yes, I am bitter about having had to live there. Why do you ask?)

Anyway, Amanda Palmer is awesome. The show was just lovely, even though I kept bursting into tears- when she read the #inmyroom tweets and during "The Bed Song" and I was generally a mess.

She didn't play "In My Mind", even though I was really hoping she would, but I can forgive her for that. It has been the anthem of my quarter-life-crisis.

On Ghetto Horses

I am in the process of changing my name back to my maiden surname. This is apparently way more fucking complicated than I thought it would be.

I went to the social security office, but apparently they don't consider temporary (paper) ID's valid. Even though there is no mention of this on the website. But whatever.

So I attempt to go to the DMV, to yell at them (for the fourth time) for never getting my hard copy to me. Fortunately, throughout this ordeal, I have two friends (Chris and Andrew) to keep me company via texting.

Well, the bus was five minutes early, so I was just in time to see it drive past my stop from across the street. I was forced to wait another forty minutes for the next one. That should have been my first clue to just go home.

Then, the bus, which was different and separate from the first bus, that was supposed to take me to the DMV didn't. Google maps is a LIAR. Instead, I was taken on a very exciting tour of the Atlanta super ghetto! I spent an hour and a half attempting to find a window or door that wasn't barred, smashed, boarded up, or some combination thereof. I was disappointed.

There was also a terrifying stint where the driver stopped, opened the doors, and left the bus for about five minutes. We were parked across the street from an abandoned soul food restaurant with a hand-painted plywood sign. I suppose this is better than the cardboard and Sharpie combination outside a... "cafe"(?) that seemed to be run out of someone's house about twenty minutes behind us.

Chris- "Don't you dare leave that bus."
Me- "SO NOT EVEN AN ISSUE. TRUST ME."

Most wonderful, though, was the real, live horse in someone's yard! It looked healthy and average. It was just chilling. In someone's yard. In the middle of the Atlanta ghetto. I seriously considered stealing it and riding it home.

Andrew- "Just remember to return it when you're done. It probably has more power than the bus you're on."
Me- "You take all the fun out of everything."

To add insult to injury (well, theoretical injury, since I was fairly certain I was going to be shanked at any given moment), about ten minutes before we finally got to a train station, we passed the DMV.

There were no survivors.

P.S. I finally made it to the DMV the day after this happened.

DRAGON CON

Well, firstly and most importantly, I was only actually costumed on Friday. I made a half-hearted effort on Monday, but mostly I just wore street clothes.

I AM PRETTYFUL

Notice the wire elf ears! Notice them now, for you will never see them again! I managed to keep track of them all day, until about fifteen minutes before I went home. Then they were lost, never to be seen again. I had assumed they were in my bag, but I was mistaken. Infinite sadness. At least I have a picture of them?

Also, I ran into Garrett Wang a grand total of three separate times in three separate locations. I have no idea how Life managed this, except that Life has an absurdist sense of humor.

I took some photos of panels, but they are mostly all spectacularly crappy. Maybe I should invest in an actual camera, rather than just using my phone... Anyway, I went to some awesome (and a couple of not-so-awesome) panels. Richard Dean Anderson, some people from True Blood (my mother is obsessed with that show. I blame Twilight.), Jonathan Frakes and Michael Dorn, Patricia Quinn (who was delightfully smashed for her panel), Juliet Landau, James Marsters, and several discussion-based panels.

 

MIchael Dorn showed up on time for his panel. He made some disparaging comments about Frakes and his ability to tell time, when lo and behold! Someone jumped up from the back and started asking personal, embarrassing, and inappropriate questions! He would not be silenced! He demanded detailed answers! He was Jonathan Frakes!

And then they ignored all legitimate questions and just started singing through their favorite musicals together. It was fairly wonderful.

The last night, kilt blowing happened! Don't know what that is? Well, you take a kilt. Specifically, a man wearing a kilt. And then you get a leaf blower...

Pretty much the most SFW photo I took

There was also a surprise, actual, wedding at the end. Yay, Dragon Con, where that is completely normal.

Every Con, I allow myself one splurge. Two years it has been corsets, last year it was a dress, and this year was a KILT.

At some point, I will enlist a photographer friend to do a mini-shoot of the kilt, because it is AWESOME.

And then I went home and slept for two days straight.

Dragon Con Eve

Wow.

So, I was hysterically unprepared for this DCon.

I realized "oh, shit that's next week?" when I looked at the calendar. With all the crappiness and misery of my life, I kinda forgot.

Anyway.

So I've been frantically airing out previous costumes (even though I wanted to do a Yumi cosplay. Sadface.), buying two weekend passes (happy birthday, Mom!), making a schedule and a packing list (I will only be there during the day, but a girl has to be prepared), and running around in panicky circles.

But I made it. Tomorrow is Friday. I should have gone to sleep an hour and a half ago, but I'm too excited.

The day started with me trekking down to the airport to greet the lovely Weishan, with her manservant Chris. Chris, as some of you know, has been my best friend for innumerable years (really it's more like four, but that seems to cheapen it). I was forced to watch them be googly at each other for about an hour. I regretted not bringing a spray bottle. Hey, it works on cats...

Also we were not labelled terrorists or interrogated by security. Shocking, when you consider I was lost and wandering for the first half hour of my being there and that we caused no less than four public scenes. However, Chris did deserve to be punched for that Holocaust joke, and the bystanders were merely jealous of my impromptu sign-making abilities.

After receiving food (I expected nothing less from the woman who made me gain ten pounds in one week), I headed back up to Atlanta to await my mother's arrival from Savannah.

Within the first five minutes of waiting, I ran into Garrett Wang. When I say ran into, I mean that pretty literally. I took ballet for ten years, that doesn't mean I was good at it. Anyway, we chatted and he was super nice and easy-going and fun to talk to (as usual, since this is the fifth DCon we have both been at and I have made an effort to talk to him every time).

He also told me to apply for a job at Trek Track.

I think I died a little.

Well, that would CERTAINLY keep me in Atlanta for a little while longer...

I'm Terrible at This

And I even swore to myself I'd write entries regularly. More than once a week, even!

Well, I promise I didn't die. I have been theatering, amongst other catastrophes.

I have been Assistant Costume Designer/kinda-sorta-not-really part-time Costume Mistress for Aristophanes' "The Frogs". It has been extraordinarily stressful and time consuming and absolutely amazing.

Also, I am in the process of ending my marriage. I would prefer to not answer questions about this, but I do want my friends to know. If you absolutely must ask, private posts or email is what I will answer.

Much love, kids.

I am the Phone Killer

Thus far, my craptastical phone continues to hang on to the last vestiges of life- probably due to some sort of Droidian voodoo or the Dark Arts.

This all started about a week ago, a couple of days before I was to journey forth across the continent. Lo and behold, my phone stopped charging! Even when I turned it off and left it attached to the charger, the battery would drain halfway! I took it to the Verizon store, which went something like this-

"How can I help you today?"

"Well, my phone won't charge. I keep it on using prayers and crossed fingers. Can you find out what exactly is wrong with it?"

(After some poking at the phone by the store person, including a few tense minutes when we realized neither of us really knew how to free it from it's Otter Box prison) "The charger port seemed broken."

"Okay. That sounds benign enough. Can you fix that?"

"No."

"Oh. Well then. Can I get my phone replaced?"

"Yes."

"Excellent! Can I get my phone tomorrow? The day after I'm leaving to go across the continent."

"No."

"I see."

"Also, you aren't listed on this account, so I have no proof that you didn't steal this phone."

"Great. Thanks for the help."

After fleeing with my phone (which, for the record, I did not steal, but in fact bought with my own dollars after my previous phone also stopped charging.

I'm beginning to see a pattern here.), I decided to take it along for the journey and see what happened.

Thus far, said prayers and crossed fingers have worked miracles. Not only does it occasionally charge, it only turned itself off twice! That means only two times this week that I've had to yell and curse and fiddle with charger cord and resist throwing the phone against the wall.

Raging success, I'd say.

Oh My Lord Berkeley

So I've been in Berkeley, California, for four days. Biffle and I flew in to bother mercilessly visit with Biffle-in-Law and for me to play with kids I've known since before I was a twinkle in my father's eye.

One aspect I wasn't prepared for was the botany. Sure, the squirrels the are the same, and a sparrow continues to be a sparrow on either side of the continent, but the plant life is radically different. In Georgia, mere hours from Appalachia, there is Spanish moss and gnarled oak trees and this weird ground vine that seems to pass for grass. I don't actually know what it is, but it's isn't a "lawn" in the traditional sense of the word.

Here, there are flowers everywhere. Every color, every shape, there are flowers hanging from branches and twisting on vines up stairs, on every privacy bush, sprouting from cracks in sidewalks. Wild jasmine is everywhere you look. No matter where you go, you can smell it.

Another were the sheer number of dirt-cheap bookstores. I've been really, really good. Shockingly good. Disgustingly good. I've only bought two fucking books after visiting four fucking discount bookstores. If that doesn't gain me entry into some sort of heaven, I don't know what will.

There's also a plethora of hole-in-the-wall, family-owned, cheap ethnic food. There's a Mexican restaurant where I have yet to actually pay for food, since the two owners are friends with Biffle-in-Law. They've invited me to come in any time and eat all their food and refuse to take my money, even when I throw it at them and flee the building.

They follow me and give it back.

I am seriously considering having Zombie Fishfish, Warrior Princess, and Husband shipped to me and just never leaving. Because I have entered what is the closest scenario to Paradise.