Memories. Of the Way We Were.

It's been a while since I've posted, but when the computer's perpetually in the shop (I like how it sounds like a garage-shop), it makes it impossible. 

By the way, it's still getting fixed, but I've managed to pry Kate away from her computer for an hour this morning and sneak in a post. We'll see how long this lasts. 

Alas!! The weather is cooling to a comfortable temperature. It's mid-October and we've finally turned our air off and opened those windows in our condo. The noise of the fountain outside our window floats back in, having been muffled an entire season (being now in the second season of two that Phoenix boasts) and I feel like we're closer to nature than we actually are. It's as if our towering condo complex baking in the middle of a desert lot is now our little stream-side cabin, shaded, personal and quaint. Sure, the week did sneak in one day of 90s (it just doesn't want to let go of that summer), but in general, the mornings feel crisp, and the evenings pleasant and calm. Lingering at a comfortable 75 or 80, I can only imagine this "winter" is going to be quite nice. 

Today will be full of errands and productivity (I'm starting out ambitious), because the previous two days have been anything but. Friday night was spent dining with an old friend and then out in Scottsdale with some pals for a fake bachelorette party. The imposter bachelorette? Me. Free shots and an evening of loud screaming "bridesmaids" ensued. 

Saturday was a loungy day with Kate followed by a night-o-cooking of artichoke stuffed portabella mushrooms and bread salad, good wine and "The Way We Were." Clearly, we were feeling the old romance-type movie (of which is my belief, simply doesn't exist any longer. nor does meaningful love for any significant amount of time, but hey I could be in a biased stage). The movie was talked about in Sex and the City, so clearly it was a need-see. Final opinion: Barbra Streisand was surprisingly beautiful, and ultimately, we were satisfied with our movie selection. We didn't get to the other movie we rented, Abre Los Ojos (Open Your Eyes)- supposed to be what Vanilla Sky was based off of. Maybe we'll make time for it this evening.  

After the movie, two little bed bugs wandered in (Meri and Caroline) followed shortly by two crazy wedding girls dressed to the nines (Whit and Glo) offering stories of a white-trash evening, at which they didn't fit in.  Nearing midnight, everyone started calling it a night and I was ready to sleep too. For the first time in a while, I was able to just pass out. Hit the sheets and that was it.   

Words I'm currently bringing back: ralph (as in vomit)

Insults I'm currently loving: fascist and imposter

Now for those Sunday errands...

"Ok, go ahead"

According to Imraan Ismail, Phoenix is known for its comedy scene. He sees the likes of Jerry Seinfeld, Jimmy Fallon and Chris Rock "broadcasting live" from the Valley of the Sun frequently on Comedy Central. So, we decided to see what all the fuss is all about this past Saturday, put on our comedy friendly get-up and headed to "The Comedy Spot," (my very first comedy show and unequivocally not my last). 

I don't know that I've been on many double dates in my life. The whole idea seems quite lame. As I think of it, last night may have been the first double-date-ish evening. But, it certainly didn't let me down - not the company, (Imraan, Kate and Bub) nor the evening's activities. Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. There was one disappointment (ahem, "testicles nickname" comedian), but that was it.

When I think of comedy clubs, I think of an obnoxious but charmingly vulgar comedian who picks out several audience deviants or those audience members radiating innocence. Or racially ambiguous members. Really, anyone who might be an easy target to ridicule (fat women, lady with an obnoxious laugh (counterintuitive?), old people in general, etc.) . And essentially, feeds them to the crowd, pointing out any obvious flaw or screaming insecurity that might entice an uproar. 

I know some people dislike comedy clubs for this very reason. But for me, it was exactly the opposite. That was the entire reason I was going. So, to my immense delight, last night was no exception to this preconceived notion of spontaneous ridicule. The loud-mouthed tables got spotlighted (literally - spotlighted. New discovery about comedy clubs: everything is pitch black except the stage. I mean black.), and the three tables in the very front, (the only ones the comedian could see from the stage) got it the worst. Primarily, the older married couple seated front and center. The gentleman was ethnic--and, he was deemed racially ambiguous. His khakis were snug, and, his "camel toe" was spotlighted. If there's one thing I learned, it's to attend more comedy shows, and to sit in the second row.

The night consisted of five acts, two being average, one pretty good, one outlandishly offensive (cue "testicles nickname" comedian), and one - phenominal. The phenominal one belonged to the headliner comedian, Mark Pitta, a seasoned comedian from San Francisco, whose comfort level of being on stage was uncanny, and whose Celebrity GPS impersonations were better than the actors themselves. By the end of the evening, I was truly, spitting out my whiskey, and fighting back the tears. Awesome simply doesn't do him justice, that Mark Pitta.

Later on, upon safely arriving home, (thanks to my personal designated driver) we all hopped onto YouTube to see other acts Mark Pitta had done (after all, the guy's a legend, having appeared on The Today Show, Jay Leno, SNL - you name it). Here's where the madness ensued. There he was, our Mark Pitta, performing in San Diego, in Boston, in LA, delivering the same punchlines, in the same tone, with the same pause between jokes. Wait a minute. WAIT A DAMN MINUTE HERE. What is this? Is he a phony, a fraud... gay? Is this how all comedians trick us? How can they get away with doing the same act over and over--in exactly the same way?

I was livid. And felt taken advantage of. How could this be? But - as usual, I was quickly grounded by my counterpart. He explained to me that that's how the good comedians get to be funny, and that they perfect and refine the delivery this way. And then I thought, it's not too different than a musician, singing the same songs on tour, is it?

Maybe I'm just so new to this comedy world that this came as such a harsh shock to me. Maybe it's wrong to assume comedians will come up with a completely fresh and brand new act each show. So now I'm here--from an intense high upon leaving the show last night to a sickening low when I learned the acts are the same, to a pleasant hue and perception of Mr. Mark Pitta, impressionist galore, experienced maverick and on-the-market cutie. Well done my friend. Awesome evening and GREAT first time.

Those Sneaky Saturdays...

Yesterday was a whirlwind of a Saturday, of which I am still coming down from. It's one of those days that no fancy granola can give me the "lift" I need to function adequately with society the day after. Quick recap:  

By 8:45 a.m., my roommate and I were out the door and retirement-community bound. If it wasn't for the desert detours, our normally 30 minute drive wouldn't have taken over an hour. But, as it would be, it did. 

So, in we walked to our old home in Sun City at 10:00 a.m. to find the familiar faces of Grandma Marian, Meri and Linda (mom) - all members of the Orseth/Pirkl clan. It was only six months ago that we spent each night for the better part of six months in this place, and yet it felt like a very strange and unfamiliar place. 

New appliances replaced the familiar vintage ones. The sun room that once served as Kate and I's room, was completely different. The air that had once filled that home - of hope, sadness and dire exhaustion, was completely gone. And of course, there were three important additions that were now absent, only one of which, can ever be brought back. What was left of that place, I didn't really recognize. 

Nonetheless, we managed to enjoy a home-cooked lunch, nearly finish Friday's crossword and trim (with oversized trimmers. Think Edward Scissorhands) the overgrown red flower bush in Grandma Marian's back yard. Mexican worker-esque and all, the job got done. 

Shortly after eating turtle ice-cream (which I only observed and did not partake in) and seeing the time tick past 3:00 p.m., the whole crew sans G-Ma departed our beloved retirement community, and headed back to town to get ready for a Diamondbacks game.    

The Diamondbacks played the Colorado Rockies. Things I forget I love about major league baseball games: huge beers, singing in unison for your team, doing the wave, and in general - acting like an idiot and cheering for players you just discovered via the free postcards given to us upon entering the stadium. The only thing that proved negative at the game was getting called a Sarah Palin look-alike, at which point, I promptly removed my glasses and watched the remainder of the game in a blur. 

The Diamondbacks ended up beating those Rockies--and we celebrated all the way to Oreganos for dinner. At which point, we talked about moving in with boyfriends, post-graduate test scores and I enjoyed two whole beers. 

By the time we got home, it was nearly 11:00 p.m. and we all piled in Kate's freakishly-comfortable bed, and talked for a bit.  In true Rebekah form, I snuck off without telling anyone and jumped into bed. I was quite drunk at that point, and luckily, falling asleep was not an issue. Within nearly 15 seconds of curling up in bed, I was out. Saturday - gone. 

And so, before I can say "onomatopoeia," the weekend seems to have slipped past me like the sneaky bastard that it is. Here it is, Sunday afternoon. And I don't know of almost anything that goes quicker than a Sunday afternoon.  

But - I refuse to waste it. Still to come : Desperate Housewives season premiere, therapy cleaning of the apartment, a shower, some sort of beverage (or two) and insightful conversation with whomever will listen. 

Playing in my head - Cat Power "Living Proof" 

Finding My Niche

Each crevice my feet finds in my newly washed sheets feels like boiling water. The breeze from my fan feels cool on my arms and chest, but it's too cool. I can't take it. I'm freezing and my feet, ankles, legs - they're all sweltering.

I can't sleep. Extremely odd, because the number of times in my life that I've had trouble getting to sleep could be easily counted on my left hand. 

My feet feel around for new, at the moment cooler crevices. Within nearly two seconds, the new digs are too hot. 

Which keeps me searching. And will keep me searching until - well, until I'm asleep. Here's to hopelessly tending to two opposite feelings in search of one solution. Here's hoping I can find it.

Changing Seasons and Bloody Marys

As the weather starts to cool to 95, and the sun sets over the desert horizon a little earlier each day, I become more and more anxious...

About being able to walk outside and not disintegrate into a pool of sweat

About being able to hike again with my roomate

About the light rail opening in a few months

About drinking peppery bloody marys and hitting up sweet estate sales in Sun City

About what the crazy future holds for me

The weeks lately have started to fly by. And the weekends - they flash before my eyes for only an instant, and then they're gone. It's when you live your life in a state of waiting - for your boy to come into town, for a chance to fly and see far away friends, to get a raise, to know my next step - well, it's no surprise that it's all passing me by like a blur.

Note to Self: Live in the moment, not on the side-lines of your own life.