Sometimes, you gotta work hard for it

It's been a rough couple of days, y'all, I won't lie.

This weekend consisted of:
-Dog-Sitting
-Working two double shifts at the second job
-Publishing a new review on prismcomics.org
-A healthy dose of paranoia and self-sabotage

My aunt/sista/bestie went with one of her childhood friends to visit another childhood friend in Baltimore, so my mom came and took her kid for a fun-filled sleepover while I got the dog, Nadia. Nadia and I go way back; we usually hang out when her family goes on vacation and generally speaking, she's adorable and bucketloads of fun. She's fond of stuffed toys which she promptly evicerates and prances around with. These are her Bo-Bos. She doesn't want you to actually play with them, she just wants to show you and then turn around and have you scratch her ass. You can pat her on the head; she will immediately turn around and rub her ass on you. Her single-mindedness and devotion to ass-rubbing is kind of admirable, in my opinion.

Between my staying over and partying with Nadia the dog, I worked front of house for four shows downtown at the theater, which, while time consuming, is basically a blast. The people I work with are just so incredibly fabulous and fun to hang out with that it's absolutely like getting paid to hang out with my friends. Plus, usually some patron does something idiotic and we can all laugh about it. Win-win! This weekend was even better because it was Tekkoshocon, the annual Pittsburgh Anime convention, so we got lots of fanciful wigs, glitter, leather, antennae, thigh-high boots, and assorted skanks in goth makeup with tiny outfits leaving breasts akimbo and ass cheeks a-flappin' in the breeze. And bedazzled trenchcoats. Never have I seen so many bedazzled trenchcoats.

I don't know if it's just a product of our culture or the times or whatever but it seems like when people purchase tickets for an event - and it could be anything: sports, a concert, poetry slam, whatever - they get this fucked up sense of entitlement like their entrance into the show allows them carte blanche to act like classless lunatics and behave contrary to the rules of both society and the establishment they're patronizing.

Where I work, we actually have a pretty liberal late seating and re-entrance policy. A lot of theaters around won't even let you in the door if you're late or get up to pee; we do. You might have to wait a minute and you'll likely have to sit in a different seat, but we'll get you in there. Shocking, I know, that we want you to get your money's worth and actually see the entire performance. Also, it'd probably be a little classless to shout "THIS IS WHEN YOU PEE! IF YOU THINK YOU MIGHT HAVE TO PEE IN THE NEXT HOUR OR SO YOU SHOULD DO IT NOW!" when we do that crazy thing where we flash the lights and ring bells and shit to let you know that you have 5 minutes before the show starts.

Anyway, if you exit during a performance and you're seated at stage level, you are absolutely not getting back to your seat. It's written on your ticket. It's written on signs everywhere. It's logical, people. Stage level means what it says. The stage. Where actors enter and exit. In the fucking dark. Because it's safe to let you, some random stranger, wander around in there to go get your purse and knock down the professionals you paid to see.

Inevitably, people will bitch up a storm about this and we will remind them that it's written everywhere and then they will say "WELL! I will NEVER come HERE a-GAIN, sir!" and we'll roll our eyes because Bitch This Is Not A Target. If a show is playing here that you want to see, you will come back. Or go ahead and stick to your convictions, but you'll be missing out. Take your pick. We don't care. Someone will come in your place and hopefully not be as stupid and tacky as you are.

Since we're going in order, here's the link to the review I wrote about a porn-y gay comic book: http://prismcomics.org/display.php?id=2079
It's got all the naughty images blocked out, but some of my language is a little salty (surprise, surprise). I think it's a pretty good read, so you should go read it.

Now, about the paranoia/self-sabotagey business, I shall say this:

Even when one is in a really good, healthy, happy, trusting long-distance relationship, there still comes a time when you put your crazypants on and act a fool. This past week, I donned the crazypants. It was not my finest moment, but in my defense, I am supposed to find out any minute now if I got the job that will bring me and my wonderful long-distance beau together in the same city that I've been trying to move to for the past 5 years and moving/job stress + long work-filled weekend + distance = crazypants.

Rest assured, thanks to some good friends and some time to think, the crazypants have been taken completely off and have been given to Goodwill. AND I DIDN'T EVEN WASH THEM FIRST. BWAHAHAHAHAHAH.