I need to vent.  If you hate to hear me vent, and some of you do, look away.  Go here and keep yourself occupied with happy things.  Otherwise, be prepared.

I’m a HUGE believer of the “DO YOUR JOB” philosophy.  Meaning, when you tell me that I am to do complete X, Y, and Z, that’s my job.  I will do that.  And, honestly, if I finish Z a little early, I’ll probably help in picking up the slack elsewhere.  I just that kind of gal.

Because.. look at how perfect that philosophy is.  If you DO YOUR JOB, I don’t have to do YOUR job.. I can just do mine.  And we can live in perfect little happy work-ethic harmony.  It sounds nice, doesn’t it?  If not slightly utopian?

I understand life doesn’t work that way.  I know that things happen.. people get sick, plans fall through, we can’t expect the unexpected, etc.. but generally, I expect you to do your job.  I’ll do mine if you do yours.

Volunteering, I feel, is the same way.  By definition, when you volunteer, you are offering a service that is normally compensated, but you’re offering to do it for free.  So in my mind, you should be held to the same standard as someone who will be paid for the service.  Maybe a little wiggle-room should be provided, but not a whole helluva lot.

So when I volunteer, I go for it with the same gusto that I put towards a paying gig.  Mainly because I want my end product to show the same results.  And, so I’ve heard, you typically volunteer for things you love to do.  So it’s supposed to pay for itself, right?

I am in a predicament right now that I was never asked to be in.. I was told.  So I’m trying masterfully hard to make things happen.  But the truth is, I can’t juggle everything being thrown at me.  I can’t direct when I’m on-stage the entire run of the show.  I can’t fix jokes that aren’t working if I don’t know what they look like.  I’m too close to direct, and I have the foresight to see that.

And it’s embarrassing.  I’m just.. I’m embarrassed.  I don’t know any other way to put it.  And the most frustrating thing in life for me is to not know where to turn next.  I can’t see how to fix it, so I’m at a loss.  Slamming my head into a brick wall.  And all that is running through my head is.. “THIS IS NOT MY JOB.”

I can do anything for two weeks.  Ra says so.

So, obviously, this is not the exact ring.. because the exact ring is on my finger.

But it’s pretty damn close.

Feel free to drool. (I did.)

I get it now.

I mean, I really didn’t need him to get down on one knee.  I didn’t need something on my finger.

But, admittedly, it does feel a bit more .. real now.  There are times when the bling will catch the light, and we’ll both smile.  It’s something that he’s worked hard for, something he did for me.. and I needed that.  I get it.

And I’m not the Bridezilla that’s running around, showing everyone my ring.  But when they DO notice (and they always do), I can’t help but grin like a cheshire cat. 

Enough about that.  I just want to say that I’m officially old.  Oh, I’m sure you’ll argue with me and say I’m just now hitting the prime of my youth and all of that C-R-A-P, but guys.. I’m old.  How do I know?  Because I went to an audition on Friday and had to do a hip-hop combination.  It kicked my ass.  I thought I was going to pass out. (It did my heart good, though, to watch the teenagers around me also struggle.  One boy actually threw up during the process.) But I left feeling DEPLETED.  I was drained.  And I left thinking, “I sure as hell didn’t earn a callback.”

But no, they called me back for more.  Actually, I lied.  They DIDN’T call me back for more.  Delle called to ask me about the proposal and the ring, and then said, “Well you can show it to me at callbacks.”

I said, “Hell no, I won’t.  I wasn’t called back.”

She said, “Oh, yeah, you were.  Maybe I was supposed to call you.  But there’s no dancing.”

Whew, I thought.  NO DANCING.

So I wore my lace cami with a shrug over it (Steph has soo missed my summer wardrobe), heels, and tight jeans.  And I’ll be damned if, not three minutes after we sing the Mayzie line, she sends us in the other room FOR ANOTHER COMBINATION.  I’m too old for this.  I was competing against a 17 year old (who, admittedly, I ADORE and thought I stood not a chance against), and we had to sing during this marathon latin routine.

I don’t know how I did it.  I’m positive I didn’t do it well.  And I left, again, tomato-faced and sweaty.

As Bill said, “I noticed you didn’t state your age when you sang, but it’s okay.. you sure did show it when you danced.”

BUT, on the upshot.. I worked my ass off.  And sweated a lot.  And got my heart rate up.  And really had fun (in a torture yourself masochistic kind of way).  So, who knows.. maybe I’ll take a few classes.  Who teaches adult stuff around here?