One of the many wonders of Northeast Ohio is bargain shopping (another is snow in October). There is Half-Price Books ($1, $2, $3 Clearance section reaches out for rows!) and Marc's with its fabulous buy-outs from which much of our kitchen is stocked (who can argue with an 88 cent travel mug?). There are also the thrift stoes, trusy Salvo, but also Unique Thrift with half-off Mondays. On those Mondays, lines stretch across the block from the entry until the store opens at 7am.
But today was an exceptional day for bargain shopping. At a local school district (a very rich suburb to the south east of Cleveland), the PTA gathers clothing all year to have a week long sale. First day is "as marked", a few days after "half-off", and today was Bag Day. $5 for a bag, carry as much as you can. I can carry quite a lot in a paper bag, mostly due to my impressively honed packing skills from years of travelling.
I just tabbed up the original "as marked" prices of my 25 items: $102.25. And it was acquired, tiger huntress style, for $5.
My most prized acquisitions are two: a) a long, fitted denim jacket (not cut at the hip as most denim jackets are unfortunately placed) with lining and b) a print of a duck in shades sitting in a lounge chair, drinking a Coke with two ice cubes, lcasually looking to the wall on its right at two bullet holes. It is entitled "Sitting Duck," and has been gifted to Brendan who immediately got the awesome joke. (Maybe in the interest of full disclosure, the reader should know there is a picture hanging in my bathroom of a pig joyfully launching himself off of a dock into pond.)
Sigh. I love a bargain.

I've entered Facebook, mostly due to utter boredom. Come be my friend.

Still no job - it turns out a lot of my references (or former friends as I call them now) - are not returning phone calls, and if I see them any time soon, I will kick their collective rear ends.

And I have met this woman: http://www.sunnews.com/news/2006/part2/1019/EBASHA.htm

I clarify: I am not depressed right now. I'm quite buoyant, actually. I have little money, my job prospects are still low, but darn it, if God hasn't sat me right here, and
this
is
where
I'm
supposed
to
be.

I have hope: two applications for grad school, a very good GRE score (I think everybody knows it by now - it rhymes with schmourteen ten), an application pending with the school board for substitution. I even (now this does make me feel like a base person) put in two applications for retail positions, but I chose carefully - to JoAnn Fabrics (or Mecca) and Pier 1 (a homage to my grad school cousin who works there on her days off for extra cash). I have a lot of hope. It doesn't hurt that my boyfriend is a wonderful and compassionate listener (I have to realize, of course, that if I don't talk about my problems, he won't know they exist). He also pays for a lot of meals that feed me very well. And he shows me hilarious sleepy kitten videos:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IAV25tbVNto and equally funny Steve Carrell cat impersonating http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZdEKJATpJcM.

I read a lot of blogs that somehow deal with depression, mostly from young intelligent independent women. I am split in my opinions of this - I'm ridulously sad, because it's a terrible, awful feeling and existence, but I'm also gladdened, because at least I have company.

I'm depressed a lot. Most people just see the tip of my problem called "moodiness." It was acceptable, the brooding, long naps, restlessness, weight loss and gain, as a teenager - it's almost expected. In adulthood, it's debilitating. Along with the constant search for reason and purpose, I have to cope with daily moodswings. I have always been horrendously bad at handling my emotions - I either wear them on my sleeve or tightly repress them. I know no mood moderacy. And I don't understand why it's in my head.

I'm trying to slog through a book called Depression, by Ed Welch, a Christian counsellor. It's an excellent book - it doesn't make me feel guilty and pathetic like most Christian literature. He calls depression a form of suffering, which if you have felt it and sat in it for a while, it most certainly is.

I come from a family of rapacious eaters - bottomless pits, clean plate clubbers, buffet lines are child's play.

My mom made my brothers and I whatever we wanted (because she loved us) - so we got burgers, and pizza, and french fries, and fried everything! Occassionally, we'd be forced to eat vegetables (I hate hate hated broccoli). But, mom would relent, and she'd stock the fridge and freezer with foods she knew we would eat (her freezer is still full, though she is an empty nester - waiting for the spontaneous output of visiting grandchildren).

But we all ate a lot, and we ate well. From my childhood I gained an appreciation of volume in eating.

We travelled a lot, and lived in foreign countries, and my parents were experimental in the foods they ate, so our palates broadened even when we were teenagers (a time usually dedicated to convenience foods bought with "independence" money). From this, I gained an appreciation for variety in eating.

And then college. College taught me a lot about really bad food, and how you can take bad food and doctor it into something edible (hence, mushrooms can be microwaved with onions to make a sort of sautee and there is no fried potato shape that cannot benefit from cheese). College also made me lose a lot of weight (stress, sleeping through dinner hours, lots of Coke). So my stomach shrunk, but I still wanted to eat everything on my plate. What self-defeatism!

I moved back in with my parents after college and taught school. Sheepishly I admit my mother at first packed my lunches for me (love my mom). But then I kept packets of oatmeal under my desk, and only ate oatmeal during the school day, because it was fast and filling.

Needless to say, the weight loss brought on low blood sugar problems that I had even when I was bigger. So, only oatmeal for hours (occasional spikes in sugar coming from the almight beverage Coke) nearly ate my tummy away inside. I'd have blackouts, shaking fits, and fevers.

Last year, two very concerned and awesome friends, Kevin and Michelle (and a little Lauren), took it upon themselves to keep me continuously fed. I also moved into a space on the school campus with a fully functioning kitchen. Huzzah! I ate and ate. And I bought cookbooks.

Cookbooks have since become my primary literary concern. At Half Price Books (www.halfpricebooks.com), you can troll throught the clearance sections and get excellent cookbooks for $1. Actually, the fascination came earlier than I indicated - I was running a Hispanic Dinner as fundraiser for one of my Guatemala trips, and I needed to use a slowcooker to cook meat, because the school didn't have a stove or range. So I dragged out some of my mom's infiniti plus two cookbooks on Crockpottery, and I became enthralled! I loved cookbooks, and still do (and I bought a crock pot).

For food in general, I'm trying to keep my palate broad, and I love all foods because of it. Going to restaurants causes me to make some of the most difficult life decisions I've ever made. Usually frugality wins out, but taste never is compromised!

My newest exploit, brought on by a dwindling bank account, is eating well with no money. By eating well, I mean all my fruits and veggies AND meat. I just made a chili with cinnamon that is ridiculously good (from a mix - but tons of fiber and taste). I'm tempted to buy hotdogs ... but I'm not going that far quite yet. When I get to the boxed macaroni and cheese/bitesize hot dog pieces, I'll let the world know ... and demand money for better food.

Tonight: My Fair Lady at Cleveland Playhouse.
12th: Mom's birthday;
Substitute orientation at Cleveland Heights School Board.
13th: GREeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek;
Seussical the Musical at Geauga Lyric Theatre Guild in Chardon.
14th: Grove City Homecoming;
Seussical.
15th: Pride and Prejudice at Lakeland Community College.

And supposedly in the midst of week end mishmash, I'll find out (finally) if I'm going to be a grant-funded educational aide for an afterschool activity program sponsored by the School Board for Free and Reduced Middle Schoolers.

I'm at my parents' house in Maryland. I made the five hour drive down the Pennsylvania Evilpike, because I love my family. My youngest brother is turning 21 tomorrow, my granddad 84 on Saturday, and my mom 52 on the 12th. AND Brendan's brother turned 16 on Tuesday. It's a birthday season of festival proportions!

I got Clayton, Brendan's brother, a shirt from Unique Thrift Store (everything half price on Mondays) that said "I have decided to put myself in charge." Since this is my life philosophy, I thought he might like to adopt it as well through wearing a discount t-shirt. I bought my brother three "vintage" ties, of excellent quality and provenance (the tags proclaim Yves Sant Laurent), also from Unique.

I made cards for all four people, and I'm reasonably happy with my creative efforts. I used paper cut-outs made from blank-inside cards I've been hoarding and themed Bible verses (it ended up much, much nicer than the regular themed Bible verse cards with sheep and ... actually, sheep would be easy to make with cotton balls ...).

I took a nap right after I got here (technically, I ate right after I got here, but I eat as a necessity; sleep has become more of a luxury so I highlight that). I've been dead with the ridiculous hours I've been going to sleep after working on Brendan's set. In fact, Brendan said last night, "You look awful." It was meant in kindness, to drive me home to bed, but it just got a meekly knowing reply of, "I know." "You can go home." "I'm GOING to get this DONE." So I stayed, and then I napped after driving five hours today.

I got a little scared last night when I realized I'd be away from Brendan for the first time in two months. He'll be ridiculously busy with the play this weekend and should be sleeping right after to make up for the even longer hours he put into his set which compromised his sleeping schedule. But I'll probably spend most of my weekend thinking about him. I hate my wussiness. I am a wuss. I'm going to go sleep in disgust of myself.

I'm sitting in on a tech rehearsal for Brendan's newest endeavor, Seussical. I've been staying nights to help him with the set, which he is building himself. He has a wonderful concept - moving towers of books acting as doorways and arches, and one giant book depicting different Seussian scenes. It's taking a lot (!) of time to do those few things though. Many a time I have wished for Matt Holman's great foam working skills (the book towers are made from sheets of pink insulating foam).

As I've been hanging around, I've heard theatre politicking the likes of which I haven't experienced in years. I had forgotten that the struggle upwards in community theatre is very dependent on rumor and the opinion of one woman, man, or committee. I used to run the rumor mill, and, at times, I was in the position to be the one woman (or on the one committee).

But, just in observation, theatre politicking is vicious stuff. It seems to be run here primarily by bitter middle aged women, the most vicious and conniving of the humans. Lots of rumors, resentment, and revenge!

And, even in observing this, I can't help but believe I could be in control of it all again. I could teach the old vengeful biddies a thing or two. HA! I will never learn.