Alright, I’m late to update. I was going to do my birthday update two weeks ago – you know, when it was my birthday. Apparently I recognized that to be far too crazy an idea, and instead planned to update last week for the Country’s two-year anniversary. But then I got too sick/too wrapped up playing video games to be bothered, so at last I’m ripping my hands from my shiny new 3DS to finally type this up – and rest assured my hands will be flying back to it once it’s finished (basically, Fire Emblem is really good).

Ah, my 24th birthday. That was an odd sounding number, because I knew from anecdotal evidence that people begin to feel “old” at twenty-four in ways that make actual old people laugh at them derisively. Do I feel old? I don’t know about that. But twenty-three sounds weirdly young in ways that it did not before. I definitely feel a slight sense of urgency at achieving my lifetime goals, but enough perspective to try to calm down and take things as they come. And did I enjoy my birthday? To establish a pattern that will repeat itself throughout this blog post, yes and no. I was showered with gifts from my faraway and loving family, and had a nice, relaxing day, as well as a delightful dinner out.

And then there was the “no” part previously mentioned.

Without much warning, my parents put my soul surviving cat to sleep. Apparently she had lymphoma for months and it was absolutely necessary, and so all that part is alright and understandable. I also understand why they didn’t tell me on my birthday, and I’m glad I at least got to see her on the camera one last time. But it’s hard to go from four pets two years ago to only one…and it’s hard to not be there for her, hard to know I won’t come home and be drooled on by her. She was a good cat, albeit a little satanic (like most cats are), and she really loved me. Sabrina was twelve, so she’d certainly lived a good long life and already cheated death twice. But still, it was….sad.

My last picture with Sabrina, Christmas 2012.

But there is more than just birthday news; mere days BEFORE my birthday, I finally got a full-time job! If you’re looking for the “bad news” part, you could say that it’s me still working with kids, but I consider this portion to be “Good vs. bittersweet” as opposed to objectively “bad.” I’m back to teaching preschool, but I am actually glad about it. Working with older children has definitely been fun, but it’s preschoolers I have the most experience and skill with, and the ones I’ll be working with are already all over me like white on rice. The good news here is that the owners are TERRIFIC. At last, something I couldn’t get from either Portland OR CS, support and understanding! I’m part of a team, and we are all on the same wavelength with the same goals! This is going to be AWESOME!

In the “less good” category is the fact that my co-teacher is….I’m not going to get into it all right now, but let’s just say the situation is not GOOD, the owners know that, and kind of want her out, thus a major motivation for hiring me. It’s not quite the money I’d hoped for either, but to put it back in the solidly good category, it’s less than half my current commute and I get a substantial break (albeit unpaid). The owners are really understanding, human people, and have already agreed to give me time off within two weeks of officially starting. I could get used to this.

Again on the “less good” category is leaving the studio. Obviously I’ll be glad to be rid of K, who managed to be a passive-aggressive bitch right up to my final day, but it’s hard to leave the kids behind. I got a LOT of hugs and being told I was a great teacher and “don’t tell Miss Hanna, but you’re my favorite” and cards. God blessed I am going to miss those kids a lot. It is hard to form emotional bonds with children and support them when they depend upon you only to chop that all off when you have to move on. It was hard in Portland, it was hard at CS and it’s hard here. But as I lay awake last night (due, to a really nasty spring cold which goes solidly in the “bad” column), I came to an understanding of how teaching works: your affection for children must always be on loan. Don’t love them too much, don’t hold them too close. Be their teacher, not their surrogate parent, however much you may want to or they may need the latter. Do what you can and let go. Send them on their way, it’s the only way life can work. Save that love for children of your own and the rest of your life, otherwise you’ll always end up brokenhearted. And in teaching, there are always more children. I may look back on certain children I have been with fondly, but I’d be hard pressed to remember their names once they are gone. There are always others that need your care and attention in the present, and that is where you must focus.

Well, with that new job nonsense, suffice to say my grad school applications have been put on hold. I worry this means I’m getting side-tracked from my dreams, but again, I am determined to stop worrying about life and just live it, even if I live it somewhat tamely. I also came close to getting a pet, only to have that hope dashed (bad), and may have a future roommate (good). My mother and aunt are coming to visit in less than two weeks, but even better than that is this:

After working my flabby, exercise-phobic form for five months, I tested for my yellow belt last weekend. I knew all my terminology and moves, and still managed to mess up with nerves, but I messed up confidently. I was too sick to possibly get my belt Wednesday, but as yesterday was my last day of work, I absolutely HAD to go to class and hopefully get my belt, no matter how I felt. Wearing my standard white belt, I went through kicks and moves blandly and without energy; too sick and too tired to try too hard. Then Tashi entered the floor with my yellow belt tucked into one sleeve, and I got to stand before my friends and peers of five month’s creation with the knowledge that I had moved up. I had surmounted something, something that I would never have thought I could ever do just one anniversary ago!

So even though it will be costing me precious dollars, I have decided to keep up the Tae Kwon Do; it’s good exercise that my 3DS addicted self could obviously use, and I find it’s motivating me in ways that did not happen before; a class of people I know and respect pushes me to try harder and learn more, and it makes me want to stick to things outside of the class environment as well. I’ll be taking a week off to adjust to the new job – and then it’s back on the course.

So obviously it’s a weird anniversary. I’ve updated the background image to one of the property here in Virginia from two weeks ago, when greenery was just barely starting to struggle to life. Virginia is strange my life here is certainly different from the life I’ve lived before, and not necessarily in ways that are always better. Yet…I can feel within myself the ways that I have grown: I feel less like I need to rely upon others, I feel more determined to not become anxious or upset, especially about the future, as hard as that is. So whatever I am supposed to learn here…I’m trying.

And that’s working.

People are as confused at 24 as at 22, but in new ways. And that alone is exciting.

A disheveled me getting my yellow belt. Disheveled, but still victorious.

Hanna and I were on our way to work yesterday, going a good clip down the highway, when smart as you please, a wild turkey decided it was the perfect time to cross the road. If the joke is “Why did the turkey cross the road?” then the punchline must be “To make me brake suddenly at 60 mph.” Not very funny, I know.

Did you know turkeys can fly? Boy is that a good thing. Because as we approached this mass of bird, still trying to brake, it opened its wings and flew a good three feet into the air, crossing the divider line, and presumably clearing the road, I was too busy keeping my eyes on the road to check. Fly may also be a bit strong of a word. In bird terms, it was more like an assisted hop. But it had its grace, in its own way.

Not knowing what else to say from the adrenaline from the moment, I, in my wisdom, turned to Hanna and said “Did you see that turkey?!”

Considering it was impossible to miss, he dropped his hands into his face and groaned at my level of genius.

Not a Virginia turkey, but this is one of my favorite pictures of the turkeys I saw with my dad when camping, back in Oregon. Our bird was less impressive, more brown. And, you know, more life threatening.

Beaker is my favorite….

A quiet, cool walk down the gravel road, where the neighbor’s three horses stared unusually at us as we passed by. I do not know if it was the dog or my bright blue umbrella, but it caused the youngest – a sprightly bay named Gambler – to come charging curiously up to the fence and watch as I raised and lowered my umbrella, trying to gauge a reaction. He didn’t seem to care about that, but something sent him racing back toward the other two, giving little kicks and jumps as he went. Standing there in the rain, I could watch the Paint, Ranger, go galloping past as well, while stately white Andalusian Galahad simply watched.

The pleasures of living in the country.

A picture of Hanna and Sunny from the end of last year, with Sunny believing herself to be a lap dog.

I was flipping through the playbill from last week’s production of Les Mis when one of the actresses listed that she’d been a student at the Tisch School, the performing arts school of NYU for those not in the know. I had a moment of sighing as I remembered my dreams of wanting to go there and becoming the musical theater writer I’d dreamed of being. “I’m not good enough for that,” I thought to myself in a forlorn, self-pitying way.

And then it hit.

“Yes. I. Am.“

Finally. FINALLY. Weeks and months and YEARS of being afraid of never finding the next step – gone! At last I remembered what I wanted, without fear and without doubt. For so long, all I wanted was to get a job that would give me some financial comfort, and to skate along hoping something great and wonderful may happen.

Well, it’s going to happen. And not from waiting. I’d discussed going back to school many times with many people, but always said no, not knowing what I wanted, not knowing what to do.

Well, I know. I know in the way we can only know when fate whispers in our hearts to be strong. I’m going to reapply to NYU – but not for anthropology this time, oh no.

The Tisch School has a graduate program for Musical Theater Writing. Do I have a composer? No. Have I gotten produced? No. Do I even have a strong GRE score? No. But damn it, that’s not going to stop me anymore. I decided against applying for the lyricist focus, as that would really require a CD of songs I just don’t have, and am going to focus on the librettist track. Ideally, I would have a musical script, a CD of songs, and reviews. I don’t have that. But I do have one of the alternates – a full length script, that for once in my life doesn’t need to be edited – and I have a musical I’ve been putting off with years worth of excuses.

I’ve got until February 1st to put this together. Nearly a whole year. So this weekend I’ll be braving the mouse poop attic and getting back my musical notes, and saying “Screw the composer, I can do this myself,” and putting together my script. Over and over and over again if necessary. And I’ll redo my GREs if I have to, and I’ll kill myself doing it if I have to.

People wait their whole lives for something beautiful, and at last it’s going to happen for me. I don’t care if I don’t get accepted the first time. I don’t care if I’m broke or back in debt. I don’t care if I feel stuck, because this time fate is on my side! This time I won’t let myself be afraid!

And I thank God for giving me this strength at last.

My dad’s started his new job, and unfortunately he’s not happy. Probably a large part of that is being used to his new “retirement.” I’m sure that’s how I’ll feel when I finally get full-time work again and can’t sleep in until 9:30. To be honest, I am a little wistful as well. I had gotten very used to chatting with my dad on Skype when I got up, or whenever I had a thought (Mom’s not on the computer as much as he is, though we do talk that way sometimes). It’s very weird now to hardly hear from him – normal, certainly, but you get used to things after half a year.

Yeah, I’ve been in Virginia nearly half a year now. It will be my birthday just one week from Saturday, and that’s kind of weird. I certainly had not thought, those six months ago, that this is where I’d be when I celebrated my 24th birthday. Am I disappointed? Um….I think I’m more confused than anything else. I also have no idea what I’m going to do for it, except bring cupcakes to work and maybe get a small cake for home. But that’s pretty small. Maybe I’ve reached the age where you no longer celebrate birthdays? But I think birthdays can always be fun, so I’m not sure that’s necessarily true. Certainly this year will be far, far quieter than my big party last year. Man, that was fun…I should find the pictures to that, but then I worry I might get homesick.

Unfortunately, I’m not quite happy at my job anymore. Part of it is being tired of K’s BS, though loyal readers will certainly remember I’ve dealt with coworker drama before. I guess maybe it’s because it’s never to this extent and I’ve never had someone seriously HATE me before. So that’s weird. But mainly I’m just stagnating at the studio. The spring break hours I was supposed to get were cut, and I was just told I won’t be working full-time this summer, either. It certainly helps me feel less bad if I DO leave, and I think I might soon. If the stars align, I MIGHT be going back to early childcare.

Yeah, I know. I’ve been wanting to get out of childcare, but if that’s what I can get hired to do full-time, then so be it. Not that I’m hired yet. It’s a complicated story, but I’m essentially playing cat and mouse with a local daycare. Working with older kids at CS was my favorite part of the job, and there’s certainly many, MANY kids I’ve enjoyed at the studio. Yet even so, I feel kind of right about possibly going back to younger child care. It’s what I’ve done the most of, after all. It’s what most of my experience has geared me towards, and I understand little kids and know how to handle them in ways that don’t work at all on crazy older kids.

Actually, I kind of would like to start working with infants. I know it sounds crazy, but that would at least be interesting to me, because I know pretty much nothing about how to work with them, so it would be a new challenge. Ever so briefly, I worked with one year olds at CS, filling in for a coworker. It was certainly different, but it was also kind of mind-blowing; you never really expect one year olds to have much going on in their heads, and yet they were so obviously aware and understanding of what I said and did. It was amazing. I could comment on an object in their hand – just comment, not move or anything – and they’d offer it to me, and take it back when I said “no, thank you.” The downside would be diaper changes, and the inability to reason with a baby. And that you don’t really DO much with them, in my experience. But I’m ready to try it! I’ve been cooing more at babies I see or meet in the world, so maybe it’s time to give it a try? We’ll see if fate takes me in that direction.

Well, there was more random stuff to talk about, but I think that’s enough for now…just wish me luck with this job stuff, guys, or at least wish me a happy birthday.

I mean, I felt BAD, but in that distant way that doesn’t really effect you; as in hearing about a terrible car crash, or victims of devastation on the other side of the world. You recognize it to be tragic, you may even feel a little sad. But it’s not a personal loss. So it was with my aunt. I actually felt worse to know she was dying than hearing she was dead. I don’t know if she got the card, I never heard back. I don’t know that I expected to. It was just sort of…empty. And it also makes me think of “Nothing,” from “Chorus Line,” but that song involves much more personal feeling than this event does…

For those who are curious, K is still treating me as badly as ever. Apparently because I’m friends with her super work crush (no, it isn’t Hanna); my boss said there’s nothing I can do at this point, so I just try to ignore her and get by with my life….

Life is otherwise just going along…sometimes well and sometimes not. I’ve been playing the new Fire Emblem nonstop for a little over a week now, since I finally have an up-to-date game tech of SOME kind, in this case a really sweet Fire Emblem limited edition 3DS. Oh Lord is it sexy. To make me a bigger nerd, I’m trying another meetup group today, this one on video games, so I’ll be playing Super Smash Brothers Melee for the first time. I’ll be sure to update you if anything exciting happens there.

Otherwise, the days just pass one after another, punctuated by some strange events – which generally get listed here.

Happy early Easter, is all I can say.

Luckily, the current touring production is great. This is a paired down Les Mis whose watchword seems to be “economy.” It’s so tight that if it were a body builder, quarters could bounce off its shapely pecs. I’ll let that image sit for a little while…

This is the face of French poverty.

What does this mean? Well, gone is the turntable stage that the show was so famous for – replaced instead by fairly limited scenery (mostly a couple of wing buildings that can be changed with small additions to suit most locations), and the real kicker – a very fluid, projected digital image on the backdrop that changed color and image to suit the setting. Billowing smokestacks for the hectic factory, the distant dome of the Sacred Heart in Paris….it also would be shown “pulling back” so that the marching students actually looked like they were going somewhere, as well as the winding sewers Valjean must pick through near the show’s climax.

Also, an INCREDIBLY small ensemble. They were punchy, though, I certainly didn’t feel like anything was missing. Everyone had a LOT of stage time. In fact, the cast was really solid – wiiiiith some exceptions.

I’m going to start with my highlight: Fantine. Not always my favorite character, but holy cheese and crackers, this girl had PUNCH. She was a strong Fantine, ready to do what must be done to survive, yet also pure and hauntingly beautiful. Her vocal range was lovely, and her emotions were very believable. That was the nice thing about this cast, most everything was really believable, which is saying a lot for a very complicated story that goes by very quickly; what’s that, Marius, you and Cosette have just met and you’re in love? Well, okay! Hanna didn’t buy it because he’s a heartless jerk, but I thought it was a very touching romance I was able to get behind.

Yes, this was a Les Mis full of very dynamic characters. Valjean had both the compassion and strength so vital to the character; I was a little concerned at first, since that is such an easy role to screw up, but he aged very well and he performed wonderfully. The compassiony bits are my favorite part about Valjean, and he shone in those. Eponine wasn’t JUST some boy crazy psycho, she was the strong character the play always tries to convince us she is. She did stuff and she didn’t really mope. I didn’t believe she was “in love” with Marius, but Hanna did believe that, so I think there’s no pleasing some people. I don’t know, it’s easy to get on Marius for being a weird stalker (and believe me, I won’t stop you), but I don’t know why Eponine thinks she’s going to bag the hot school boy. I can be as nice and pretty and perfect as I obviously am, but it’s still not likely I’m going to get Bradley Cooper. We just don’t live the same lives, so he’s more likely to get together with some starlet I disapprove of, the starlet in this case being a lovely bourgeoise.

I’ve actually never seen a Bradley Cooper movie, but just look at those eyes….

Okay, let’s get to the things I didn’t like. There was only one thing I HATED: child Cosette. It’s a brief role, but a sweet one, calling for a little cherub girl with good pipes, and I know that sounds demanding, but it’s really not. The world is FULL of talent. Unfortunately, this production apparently ran out of time looking for genuinely sweet and talented little girls, so they went with one that could maybe fake. Which is what it was. It was fake and saccharine, and I HATED IT. A lot of people (Hanna included), dislike Cosette in general, but I’ve never felt that. As a character, I always felt she was sweet, albeit harmless, but I’ve come to the realization that I like her for her symbolic value. It doesn’t really matter that she doesn’t change as a character during the course of the show, because she changes others around her. There’s something a feminist could take offense to in that, but I have to get up early for work tomorrow, so let’s just move ahead.

And then there was….Javert. Eh….Javert has always historically been my favorite character. Heck, Terrence Mann is still my landmark for what a great Broadway baritone/antagonist could and SHOULD be. This guy could sing, he could act, but he was so non-threatening. This was another point where Hanna and I disagreed: he thought this portrayal was fine, and I just thought it was so tootheless. “Do not forget my name,” Javert instructs Valjean, and consequently the audience. He should be a figure of foreboding, driving the tension of Valjean’s life and therefore the plot with the threat of discovery. He should be a dark, obsessive figure with the power to bring everything to a halt. He….just wasn’t in this production. He just looked more annoyed and exasperated through out. In the scene where he catches Valjean dragging Marius out of the sewers, Hanna saw a man coming undone. Me, I saw a man with a facial expression of “God damn it, I do not have time for this today.” Consequently, his suicide was weird (also because they hooked him to a dolly and hoisted him upwards after jumping off the bridge, but we agreed that was probably due to spacial and technical limitations than gimmickry). I actually rolled my eyes during “Stars” because it felt so melodramatic. THIS WAS THE SONG THAT LOST ME FRIENDS IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. That’s not supposed to happen. I will say it makes me interested to see if Russel Crowe can pull off this complex role any better, but he’s just a bit too gritty and handsome for the obsessive, dark Javert, at least in my opinion. Besides, the best Javert has already happened, and it wasn’t Philip Quast and I’ll cut you if you say otherwise.

I have his autograph on a napkin on my wall. Oh yes I do.

The show, however, made a lot of bold, different choices, and I think they really paid off. The chain gain was set on a prison galley instead of “wherever,” Grantaire was off the wall with drunken antics and intense emotions with the students, and “Master of the House” including a couple boning during the song. I wish I could make this up. There was a really neat moment during “Turning” where the mourning women brought out candles during the number, only to be picked up by the dead of the barricade while Marius laments in “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables.” Of course, for all francophiles, the real question is whether they looked as good in their tricolors as Chauvelin in “The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

Natch.

But let’s get to the title at last: this was a show that was willing to fight at the drop of a hat. Previous to this, I’ve only seen Valjean and Javert exchange the most cursory of blows. Even that is an over-generous way of putting “The law got knocked out cold by a middle-aged con.” Grantaire is scared to die? How dare you express natural fear, let’s fight about it. Fantine doesn’t want sex with that guy? Time to beat up hookers and chew bubble gum. And this is 19th century France, so gum is in short supply. Not to make it sound critical – it was a gritty, visceral portrayal. Again, it was another strong choice, and I think it worked, as indeed most of the production’s choices did. The barricade fights were also tense and believable, which can be a really hard thing to pull off on stage.

As always, these things always boil down to, “See it or don’t?” See it. Spend the forty bucks for the nosebleed seats we had, and have a really great three hours out – a three hours that go by very quickly, and believe me, I’ve sat through much shorter plays that felt much longer (on that note, a couple of lines were deleted, but mostly from the kids, and it just added to the tightness of the show, so we’ll let it slide). Preferably, don’t go with someone who will noisily eat popcorn during “Bring Him Home,” and oh my God I hate you Hanna!.

This was a solidly good show, and I really hope it continues a great tour. It continues playing at the Landmark until the 31, so get while the getting is good: And remember, the truth that once was spoken…to love another person is the see the face of God.

(Interestingly, googling for Terrence Mann as Javert pulled up a lot of images of him as Chauvelin instead, which if nothing else shows that the world still doesn’t realize Les Mis is NOT about the French Revolution, and also that I must continue to hate a good portion of humanity).

…

The first stop was not the restaurant, oh no. Hanna and I followed Sir’s SUV just down the road to a development that quickly made my eyes pop. There was no question on the wealth of this area, its brick facades shinning softly from carefully arranged street lamps. Perfectly sculpted gardens braved the cold, clear night as we pulled up the massive driveway and scrambled slowly out of the car.

No, the first stop was Sir’s home, and we were given a tour of this palatial estate while his wife (another black belt) prepared to join us and complained about how dirty the immaculate house was. There was a kitchen my mother would kill for, granite counter tops and industrial strength stove; an entire large closet with glass doors devoted to racks and racks of wine bottles; and how could the entertainment area be complete without an air hockey table…The party was just getting started.

And when we finally left, it picked up two more guests: Lebanese neighbors, happy to drive with us all the way to Chesterfield, despite the fact that we were in three separate cars, with only one person with any clue of the location we were supposed to be meeting at. At this point, however, I was fairly sober, and not in the mood to scurry hither and yon. In fact, I was actually becoming quite angry. K had assumed I’d done something I had it, got into a snit, and now I had to miss class and get dragged around to be her best buddy. In fact, with the liquor fog cleared, I thought even less of her than I had before – because I suspected she was just shallow enough to think a night of intense drinking would make us buddies, and she’d no longer pick on me. Of all the stupid reasons….

Even in the dead of night, I knew exactly where we were, having traveled this road in a flurry of haste to get to my awful job at CS many times. Which meant I knew what kind of world we were stepping into – a wealthy. Sure enough, the Wild Ginger was not something Hanna and I could afford in our wildest dreams. Posh professionals were stuffed into every booth and table, or at the bar that glowed neon orange from the light panel beneath it. Wealthy, successful people, with a surprising mix of ethnicities were packed into every nook and cranny available. So while Sir hobnobbed with everyone, and seemed to know everyone there, the rest of the Studio staff stood against a wall with a distinctly foreign, nervous air.

“Hey, can I get four drinks for this ladies over here?”

“Sir, I’m not drinking anymore-”

“They’re all over twenty-one, right?”

“Please just get me water…”

Hanna was just as stalwart: “Sir, I don’t drink.”

“Hanna doule, you had shots with me at Christmas!”

“Sir, you keep saying that, and I really didn’t.”

Well, it didn’t matter. He’d disappeared into the crowd – or perhaps into the conspicuous glass room near the center of the restaurant, again lined with bottles of wine – and we stood there chatting while his wife found yet more people she knew. Er, rather, we chatted in our little cliques. K with the coworker she’d become bosom buddies with (but originally hated the way she hated me, and believe me, I’d kind of rather she stay that way than suddenly become my best friend), and I with a very uncomfortable Hanna. He hates sudden loud, crowded social situations, and I was out of my element as well. Even so, I nudged his elbow.

“Hanna! Hanna, look! Look at that guy, he is so cute.” He was not having any of it. He had turned his head briefly, lest I be pointing out some sort of danger, but was back to intensely focusing on the wall in order to have some control of his surroundings. “Hanna!“

“Oh my God, shut up.”

“Oh, he’s kissing another girl…nevermind…” Stupid restaurant….

At great length, all ten of us were seated, with yet more faces familiar to Sir and his wife popping up everywhere. Hanna quite literally buried his face in his menu, holding it tight against him like his shield against the noise of the restaurant. Me, I made small talk, spoke French with the Lebanese neighbor, and watched the drinks come in…K and the coworker were happy to drink. Oh Lord were they happy. Blueberry belinis, glasses of expensive red wine. Sir kept ordering, and they kept taking.

“Emily, what are you drinking?”

“Water, Sir.”

“What else.”

“Water, Sir.”

“What else!”

“Water, Sir!”

“[Wife], go hook Emily up with a little somethin’ somethin’.”

“A what? What do you want?” She went to the bar anyway – but as she wasn’t drinking either, she had no problems with me passing it right back down to K and our coworker – and there were no protests about drinking it, either. Hanna and I have different views on drinking. I like it, in moderation, and he hates it, but I had new appreciation for his feelings as I watched them descend into giggling, alcoholic madness. Hanna hates being around people who act stupid – and oh God, were they acting stupid. I watched, a little amazed, and felt all my respect drain down into the floor…it could be it’s no fun to be around drinkers when you aren’t drinking – but they were being hyena-like morons. Thank God I’d stopped drinking….And on Monday morning, what was going to happen? Was K going to give me some sort of giant hug and talk about how wasted we got? Were we supposed to be “friends” now? Based on booze?

“Hanna…it’s almost ten o’clock, let’s get out of here…” He agreed, stood, regretfully told Sir we needed to go home….And I watched him walk back and sit right back down with no attempt and leaving. “Aren’t we going?”

He had a look of sheer defeat. “No…”

“Don’t go!” Sir was insisting. “We haven’t even had dinner yet!”

Luckily for us, dinner was on its way…plates after expensive plate Sir had ordered for the whole table. Pad Thai, sea bass, scallops and lobster wantons. Oysters, sashimi shrimp, salmon, tuna…plate after plate was passed round – and poor Hanna hates fish.

In fact, I was quite impressed with what a trooper he was through the whole thing: in the kind of situation he hated most, and actually eating fish, though he would buck when K or our coworker would try to pressure him too much. And myself? A large, round scallop, larger than a fifty scent coin sat atop a piece of pita in front of me. I couldn’t recall ever having scallops before, and maneuvered it awkwardly with my chopsticks into my mouth.

It was…squishy. I had expected the firm texture of a nice piece of white fish. This was more like…fish jello. I forced down half of it before giving up. “Have mine, Hanna…” At least there was one thing he liked and could eat at the table, his favorite, scallops…

Actually, the whole thing was making me unhappy. I’d been talking about my family back in Sir’s office, and the plethora of seafood was triggering my sense that I would somehow kill my dad eating this. He was all the way across the country in Seattle, and yet I still had a brief panic, and had to pray with my hands folded under the table that he was well and safe.

The dinner wore on…nearly eleven, I wanted to go home. “Hanna, let’s go.”

“We can’t, bro. Go ask him.”

Well, fine. I wasn’t scared of Sir, I could do that. I got up, wormed my way politely over, and insisted that there were dogs waiting for us at home and that we had to go.

“Emily, you’re being so rude! Here. If you drink this glass of wine, you can go.”

I raised an eyebrow. What, he thought I couldn’t do it? I may be a cheap date, but a Nelson girl knows how to drink wine. I put my hand out and began to sip it; I couldn’t really down it…I guess a Nelson girl also knows you don’t pound expensive wines.

I was standing behind K and my coworker, trying to finish the glass to hand back to sir. “Emily!” my coworker insisted, red-faced and completely out of control. “Drink your wine and sit your ass down!”

“I am drinking my wine!”

“But you forgot to sit your ass down!”

K was giggling. “You’re mean when you’re drinking!”

“Heeeeheheee! Yeah, I get pretty crazy.”

Ugh. I didn’t want all this. I would be happier at home with tea and a video game, not surrounded by this. But I drank the wine, nothing was stopping me…but Hanna is savvier about these things – no, better to score points with the boss and still not leave. The girls kept drinking, the guests insisting we stay till the bitter end. The sushi bar closed without my even noticing, its hardworking chefs gone home. They did not know how lucky they were. I watched tired waitresses closing up various parts of the restaurant, still serving the not-yet-empty bar, and this table of gluttony.

Eleven o’clock. At last, we were released – with an hour to get home. “We’re not going to be home before midnight…” I sighed, forlorn and exhausted.

“You wanna bet?” Hanna replied, and we were off.

Very briefly, we talked about the evening, and the office, and the drinks. About K crying, about the idiocy of the whole thing. And I just became more and more angry. I was angry I had been treated to dinner at an expensive restaurant? Haha, I suppose…No, I was angry that K could pitch a fit and decide that I was the cause of all her problems…and there was nothing I could do to stop her.

“Ma’am and Sir know K causes problems,” Hanna briefly assured me, more occupied consoling his stressed mind with imagining his car was a space ship. “Nothing you can do about that.” Talking about reality for the evening was over, as he went back to making soft vroom sounds and at least getting some pleasure out of the evening. And well…I’d rather be the ship’s ensign than continue thinking about K and her truly hysterical, mad behavior.

The GPS advised we turn left, we passed a county cop and were lucky to be going the speed limit for once in that harried drive. “Hey…” I replied, starting to smile again. “Maybe the cop’s can be an enemy race, like the Borg.”

“No way, the Borg are way too scary.”

“So what are we doing, reporting back to the home planet?”

“Yeah, base has to know about this!”

It wasn’t a total wash.

…

Let’s be clear that I really like my job. I need more hours, and working with kids is hard, but it’s a really positive space that pushes me and is fairly fulfilling. I certainly prefer it to CS and would rather be there as not. What’s also great is I get along really well with all my coworkers – except K. I knew Hanna didn’t get along well with K, which was warning number one, but I had no clue when I arrived. I actually thought she was surprisingly helpful on my first day.

K hates young women, despite being one herself – or perhaps because, I don’t really know. All I know is that while I was smiling and happy and thinking how great it was to be getting along so well with everyone, K was a seething pot of rage, interpreting every movement I made as part of my secret plot to destroy her life.

I wasn’t entirely oblivious to this. I knew she was cold, and she’d certainly been rude to me in the past. “I’m not sure K likes me,” I admitted to another coworker one day, but he just rolled his eyes.

“She’s moody. That’s just how she is.”

K is moody, but she’s more than that. Despite my best efforts to believe otherwise, it was becoming clear K saw me as a threat, as some outsider come to usurp her throne at the studio. It culminated in her freaking out that I let the kids who were done with their homework color in the kitchen – and I mean it exactly as I say it. I am fairly sure now it wasn’t intentional, but everything about how she behaved communicated that I had violated the Eleventh Commandment (which is Though Shalt Only Color Between 5:00 PM and 5:15 PM, Eastern Standard Time, for the uneducated), and that I must suffer her wrath. Unfortunately for her – or, really, unfortunately for me, depending on your point of view – I’ve actually grown something of a spine since moving out. So I didn’t want her to bitch at me in front of the kids – yes, she was having this freak-out in front of children and two coworkers, one of whom looked like a deer caught in the headlights at the surprise of it. The other was blase, used to this by now. I’ve grown a spine, so I didn’t just simper like she wanted, I responded.

“Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

I said this calmly, albeit with some surprise and force.

In K’s mind, I had just screamed at her in front of the children and two adult men.

Go ahead and take a moment to scratch your head, I’ll wait.

Apparently my “screaming” caused her to have a crying fit, running to Sir, who advised that I….give her a hug. K’s attitude was that I was the only one she had a problem with, despite the fact I’d seen her freaking out on someone else in the supply closet that very afternoon. But he was a man, so when he didn’t take her nonsense….that was okay. I guess I feel bad for the woman. It must be lonely to be so incredibly nasty, or that volatile. But mostly I felt very angry that I was somehow becoming the “problem child,” when I got along great with everyone else. And she demonstrably didn’t.

Apparently, me and my lack of kowtowing meant I’d thrown down the gauntlet with K. A gauntlet that involved children asking me why she was crying, which I had no clue, and her being cold and nasty to me at every opportunity; gauntlet that required Ma’am tell us at staff meetings to at least PRETEND to get along; and finally, a gauntlet where I had to sit on a yoga ball in the weight room while she cried about how I made her not want to be at the studio and how even the way I said hello was condescending, while Ma’am mediated this totally insane drama.

No, I didn’t exaggerate…she said my greetings were condescending…yeah, I’ll wait….

I was getting angrier by the day, but Hanna’s advice was still the best: “She’s just a bitch.” What can you do about that? I redoubled my efforts at smiling and greeting her, and stayed out of her way whenever possible, because I never knew what would set her off. Which is REALLY annoying. I’m sure you have at least one person in your life like that, the ticking time bomb that is completely unpredictable. It’s stressful, right? Because you have no control over the situation, because they will explode over the most mundane things – because they are crazy.

K’s bitchiness certainly irked me, but I was able to move past it. Ma’am said that it really wasn’t me, that she was not viewing reality; one coworker was quite blunt about actively avoiding her; I even got a card and constant whispers from another “applauding me for my efforts” and letting me know that I was loved and she noticed when K was at her cold, nasty ways. Ma’am even thanked me profusely for not snapping back and sinking to her level in front of Sir.

Yes, things were on the up and up for me! Heck, I even thought K and I were getting along! I got to hear a “punny” joke from her; how does Moses brew his tea? I’ll let you work that one out. Oh yes, things were going swimmingly – which is why tonight I rushed to finish mopping the floor and to change into my dobok. I had a belt test to practice for! Classmates to hang out with! Fun to be had! It was going to be a great nigh-

“Emily. Sir wants to see you.”

Crap.

Oh God, what did I do, what did I do? Am I going to be fired? What did I do?

I walked into his office, and there was K. Crying. Again.

Oh for fucks sake….

Because I hadn’t heard her say something on a particularly harried night, I had apparently disrespected K again. Which is why she was sobbing on Sir’s red leather sofa about how stressed she was and how she couldn’t afford to replace her car muffler. Me, I was stuck there, glancing furtively at the clock. Fifty minutes left in class, forty…thirty…

“I really have no idea where this is coming from, I’m sorry…”

“K, what do you want done?”

In coughs and sobs, she spat out, “I don’t know!”

And so Sir brought out the Puerto Rican rum, Wild Grape Smirnoff Ice (feel free to gag here), and three little plastic drams.

And I thought, “Oh, fuck it. I don’t get to drink at home, and if it makes this meeting go faster, I’ll drink freaking fire water.” Pound, down went the first little dram, which was not dissimilar to fire water on its damage to my throat. More crying from K…in my frustration, in my ANGER at being stuck in here like the trouble maker, I began to cry to. Because there was NOTHING I could do about this situation! This was not ME! This was the ravings of a damn mentally unwell woman, and I happened to be her target! She was a bully, but I was the one getting punished and told to drink Smirnoff Ice!

“I want you two to stay in here and talk,” Sir said as he handed me a second dram of the rum. This time it went down smoother. Talk, yeah…this was supposed to be one of those teary, happy, huggy endings. Listen, I go for all of those things, but not together, and not with the woman who claims I glare at her by looking in her general direction.

But whatever. I talked. Were you born in Virginia? What kind of dog do you have? Your undergrad was in Religious Studies? Wow, that’s different! K didn’t answer beyond short sentences. She certainly didn’t respond with any questions of her own for me, which I think is how “get along” conversations are supposed to go. But it didn’t matter, because there was a moment of sobby, red-faced truth from her: “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a bitch.”

EUREKA!

Now, I have to be honest: fully sober, very tired, and slightly shivery from the cold of my bedroom in the middle of the night, I have no doubt K is going to continue to be a bitch. But after three shots of liquor, I was drunk, so I was willing to be convinced at the time. In fact, Sir came back, cracked twenty more minutes of sexual jokes, asked if Hanna and I were having sex (answer: no, we’re not, thanks), and gave me another shot.

Well, I was having fun then! Sleepy, hungry, outrageous fun, but K was laughing, so mission accomplished! So much fun was I having, that when Sir said, “Come on, let’s go to this restaurant all the way across the James River back by where you used to work in Hell,” (my language, not his), I thought, “Hell yes! that’s the best idea I’ve heard all night!”

But mainly for this reason: “I’m buying.”

I’d like to defend myself here. Sir actually tried to get me to drink much more than I did. At one point, he jokingly had my hair and was going to pour the contents of his flask down my throat. But the Nelsons are nothing if not stubborn about their limits, and this Nelson was not having any. I may have been drunk, but I was no moron. So class was long since finished – frustratingly – when I was finally sent out to collect Hanna and inform him we were to be joining Sir and K and many others for dinner.

Hanna did not want to go out to dinner. As I sobered up (around some leftover kids, which was freaking uncomfortable for me), I didn’t really want to either. I was tired, I had friends and video games waiting at home, let’s just decline and leave.

Buuuuut, when you work for a Tae Kwon Do studio, you cannot tell the Shihan no. You cannot say no. Well, er, obviously I had with the alcohol. But in this setting, Sir was getting his way, and nothing we said was going to stop him. So K and another coworker piled into his car, and Hanna and I into our own, and off we went.

Let the surreal portion of the evening begin, if this wasn’t enough for you….