The Haps

I haven't posted in a while. I'm not going to assume you've all been waiting with baited breath for the next post. Hell, I'm not even sure anyone's reading anymore. But, here's an update if you took the time to pop over to MRF for one last look or something.

I tried to find a part-time job that wouldn't make me crazy to leave time and energy for musical pursuits. Unfortunately, I'm such a quick trip from crazy that wasn't possible. Since Bryan and I need to support our nasty habit of eating three times a day, I took a full-time job. This is my second week working at an optometrist's office, and I have to admit it's not bad. Today's the first time I've picked up a guitar in almost two weeks, which sucks, but I'll just have to work harder on that. So, there we are.

Do me a favor, will ya? Give me the much-needed ego boost of a comment or two! Let me know what's shaking with you. Your not the only one who misses reading stuff, you know...

Brought To You By SPF 30

Night before last I spoke again with Greg Anderson of the Anderson Beck Agency. Right now he's looking for a replacement for this singer. He said she was was mostly unavailable after leaving amicably for greener pastures.

From that link the job's prerequisites seem to include: vocal ability, high energy, low cut dresses, and shaking your groove thang. Two of those are no problem. I have the vocal ability, and with the right undergarments almost anyone can rock a low-cut dress. But, it would be a new experience for me singing with no instrument between me and the crowd. Heck, there's not even a handheld mic for a security blanket when you use that groovy little headset.

And shakin' my groove thang? Man, I don't know. I'm not too chicken to try, but I may require some social lubricant before the first attempt. HELLO, wine rack.

Also- and he said this very politely- they're looking for someone a little younger. He said that while the other artist is very beautiful and talented, and they will continue working with her whenever they can, she is forty. And, they would like to have someone they can take time to groom who will stick around for a while. He also mentioned that when he works with some of the younger artists he likes to meet their parents and make sure they know he's a legit guy with a permanent adress and all.

So, how old does this dude think I am? At some point I may have to break it to him that in eight short years I, too, will dare to turn forty. I don't really think there's a need to meet my Dad. But, if there was ever an endorsement for the daily use of sunscreen, that was it.

Precious Gems In Public Places

Many years ago, my father gave my mother a very nice anniversary gift - a diamond solitaire ring. Mama left it to me when she died. As soon as I could afford it, I had the stone reset and wore it a lot. Last night, I looked down at my hand and saw a tiny little dent where the stone and setting were supposed to be.

This somehow managed to happen without my noticing. Thinking back, I don't remember having trouble opening a door or doing anything else that could generate enough force to knock off the setting. How could I not feel that?

I retraced my steps and found nothing. I called the restaurant where we ate, searched my car, purse, pockets, everywhere... still, nothing. Let's face it, not many people find precious gems in public places and turn them in. It's just gone. I don't consider myself a particularly materialistic person; I understand that things are just things.

But this wasn't just a shiny little piece of pretty. It represented some big memories- my parents' love for each other, and my mother's love for me. I know it was just a symbol, not the love itself. But when I looked at it, I thought about that love. Losing it just plain hurts.

God, I miss my Mama. I damned sure feel that.

Call Me Angsty McAngsterson

I hate change. Small changes are fine, but the big changes? Yeesh. I'm not sure why, but even big positive changes are a little hard on me. However, I've managed this much of life knowing that change is unavoidable, and as much as I dislike it, life would be terrible in its absence.

My last few months have been riddled with change. For the first time in more than a decade I no longer have a full-time job, and haven't been doing very well at finding/keeping part-time work. I'm probably too picky. I don't doubt that quitting my last job was a good decision given the circumstances, but I should have another one by now. I'm looking for part-time work during weekdays that makes a decent wage. Plus, I don't particularly want to learn to drive a forklift.

I did a temp job grading essay portions of standardized tests. That seemed like the ideal situation, but it was project-based, and I haven't been assigned a project in almost a week. Since it's June, that may be the end of projects until Fall. So, I need something else that leaves room for music and doesn't make me miserable.

Also, my Dad's getting married Saturday. This is a wonderful thing, since his fiancée and her family are very nice people. My Dad's happier than I've ever seen him. Most people say their re-marrying parent is happier than they've seen them since either: a. the other parent's death, b. the divorce, or c. that camping trip where s/he caught that big fish, etc. But, I mean, I've never seen the man so happy. I'm thrilled about that.

But I'd be lying if I said it didn't bring up emotional "stuff." Internet, I know my mother is gone and not coming back. She died; she didn't run off to Vegas. But something about this event brings up another layer of grief; a layer I didn't even know was there. It seems twisted to be secretly grieving at my father's wedding.

I suppose the best course of action is to keep putting one foot in front of the other. And maybe learn to drive a forklift.

Rockin' It Homestyle

Thank you to my best friend, Jessica and her sister, Kristie for setting this up!

I'll be in Mississippi for my Dad's wedding next Saturday, and that night I'll play at Zachary's in Columbus. This town is the site of my alma mater , my first real job, and the church where we were married. My old apartment is two blocks from there, so it literally is my old 'hood. I'm still tracking down an amp, but being related to 50 people in the tri-county area (most of whom share the last name Pepper) ought to provide enough connections to work that out.

In my old apartment, when my next-door neighbor did yardwork she could literally hear me singing and playing in my living room. Not, like, through a window or anything- through the exterior wall. (Yeah - I know. It was a really nice place.) The day she brought this embarassing phenomenon to my attention, she said, "hey - don't worry about it. It sounded great. You should consider playing in bars; my friends and I would totally come hear you." That was the first time I really considered the possibility. The moral of the story: kind words are powerful. The next chance you get to say some, go for it.

If you're in the area, I start at 9 p.m. Kristie's the bartender, so give her a fat tip for making this happen!