thrashing about trying desperately to get out

today i feel: pretty shitty
today i'm hearing: elliott smith -- new moon
today i'm thinking: fuck you, adulthood. fuck you with something hard and sand-papery.

It's been a very, very long day. It was a long day at 9.30 this morning. It has continued to be a long day ever since. And I am very tired, but I'm pretty sure going to bed will only increase this issue instead of relieving me of it.

I woke up this morning to call the Illinois State Revenue. Mum decided that it was a super-great idea for me to do my own taxes, despite the fact that a.) I've never done anything tax-related and thus have no idea what I'm doing, 2.) I suck at math, and iii.) I have none of the information, as it is all in her possession. So that's how I spent my last morning at home, resulting in a very pissed of blonde girl and a completely unpacked suitcase when my ride arrived. Not cool. But we got my federal taxes done and were well on our way to having the state taxes filed when, lo and behold, we arrived at a blockade: I needed a pin number. For some reason, the online system would not allow me to file for a pin without calling them up (their office hours being 8 to 5, Monday through Friday), so that was my intention this morning. After a substantial time on the phone answering TaxBot's benign inquiries, it was revealed that my quandary was too complicated for the automated system, and I was referred to Next Available Teller (a cheery woman with a penchant for answering questions by restating said question). She decided I needed a pin number. I decided she was an idiot. And after referring me to the same website that told me I needed to call her and receiving a good deal of teenage snark from my end, she very cordially hung up the phone to leave me with the same problem I called her for in the first place.

And that was just the start.

I called my da to bitch about the bureaucrats who run our tax system, only to discover that the schmucks that 'fixed' my car's squeaking brakes this summer ('fixed' being a very, very liberal term) decided to cut their costs by using non-GM parts. Which is great for them, but shitty for us, as said parts are not covered by our insurance. Thanks, guys. That's really great. Since you stopped my brakes from squeaking, this is totally forgivable. Oh wait. That's right. You didn't. I HATE YOU TOO, CAR SCHMUCKS.

Thankfully, this didn't end as tragically as he and I were assuming it would. The brakes are just kind of rusted, so they need to be driven on more. I...have no idea why the theoretically brand-new brakes have rust on them, but whatever. Obviously since I am female, I should not be asking such silly questions. Fuck you too, Koenig Chevrolet. Fuck you in the ear.

Next on the docket: my ten o'clock production meeting was pushed back to 10.30, due to the fact that we have a New York Director Currently In Residence, so everything must change for him RIGHT NOW. This wouldn't piss me off if I thought it was actually his idea, but he's really a pretty cool, laid back guy and probably would've come up with a plan that didn't completely inconvenience the rest of the goddamn department. But he doesn't really get to make decisions, he just gets his cock sucked. Whatever. Needless to say, I was half-an-hour late to my eleven o'clock class. I'm all-ready super-behind in that class, thanks to life doing its 'life' thing. My teacher was pretty chill about it, which was nice. Which is much more than I can say about the person responsible for this inconvenience, who is being far too dramatic for anyone's good and was pulling an 'Oh Pity Me' card because she's stressed. Not that anyone else is. Because that would never happen. Of course not. Put your big girl panties on and suck it up. For rlz.

I skipped my tour this afternoon to go deal with some publicity nonsense (thankfully, this was not met with any resistance. I took back several of the bad things I've said about our Marketing Chair. But none of them concerning his lack of grammatical prowess). I got a hug from Randy and chatted with Anti-Paige (Soooo hot. Want to touch the hiney). Then I went home, sorted out some more tax nonsense, called my mum to inform her of this, and promptly refused to talk to ANYONE. I curled up in bed with a book and took a nap. Best decision of the day.

Then it was time for show stuff: calling the boys to inform them of their proper strip-attire; trying to find the sound or props head (one of which was successful, and not the one I was expecting would be); collecting rehearsal clothes, half of which did not work out; setting up rehearsal stuff. We had our first real rehearsal with our child actor, which was kind of cool. He's a sweet kid. Tonight was primarily a stripping rehearsal, which wasn't nearly as out of hand as I expected. Bless you, boys. G-d bless you. Yet there was another crack in my day.

While I was at rehearsal (in the space! Working with actors! DURING THE DESIGNATED REHEARSAL TIME!), I got a phone call from one of the actresses, who cheerfully informed me that, despite her scheduled rehearsals, she was going to miss most of the week because she was going to the annual techie conference.

Now, if she had told me this a month ago, even two WEEKS ago, this would not be an issue. But she told me today. And she would be leaving... Tuesday? Wednesday morning, at the latest. That's really not cool. So I told her that she needed to take it up with the director; this was not something that was just cool. And I got a bit of a snarky reply, whatever, I don't care. I had a rehearsal to get back to. Thanks.

She drops me a line later (a TEXT MESSAGE no less! Which I have to PAY FOR) to inform me that, regardless of what our director says, she's going to the conference. And I tried to discuss this, when SHE pulled the 'I'm not discussing this anymore because text messages are expensive' card. Which pissed me off, but we don't need to get into that. So I called her, because I'm just that gracious. And I informed her that she needed to discuss this with Tom. And I got pissy with her, I will admit that. It's been a long day. It wasn't professional of me, but I tried to be respectful and she wasn't taking the bait. So I got pissy. I'm human. And I told her that she could call me a bitch, I really didn't care, but she needed to consult Tom about this and if her sudden lust for techie-dom was so overpowering, she could just spend her time elsewhere; I don't want to deal with her shit. And she got snarky and informed me ever-so-cattily that she was getting a little 'pissed' by my behaviour and I really didn't understand this, to which I replied, 'Then you need to quit the fucking show,' and promptly hung up.

And slammed my phone onto my desk.

And kicked Chelsea's drawer.

And broke the knob.

...And apologised for doing so.

And I dropped my ASM a line to inform her of what had happened and, after calming down a little, called this actress back to apologise for my behaviour (to her voicemail. Wouldn't even pick up the phone), despite the fact that I really didn't see myself as in the wrong AT ALL. But I have to be the grown-up. Because no one else is going to be. Not actors, not my mother, not half of the bloody world. I really don't see why I, being one of the youngest people I know, am so often the adult in a situation, but whatever. I'll begrudgingly accept the fact that the world is full of immature assholes that go crying to Mommy or Daddy whenever big bad Kiri calls them out on their jackassery. Again: I don't really care if you call me a bitch. I don't give a shit about you.

As a note: this doesn't really apply to anyone reading this right now. Except for maybe JPalm. If he's reading it. You nerd.

I know that this isn't a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but, seriously. This person is a schmuck. She creates all kinds of drama (it usually involves her fucking other actors, often when she has a boyfriend or when said person is underage), she's doing drugs (not weed drugs, much worse and more addictive drugs), she comes late and unprepared to rehearsals, and, honestly, SHE'S NOT THAT GREAT! It's not even one of those she-sings-well-but-she-can't-act-or-vise-versa kind of situations. She just generally...sucks. Sorry. But it's true. She's lazy, bitchy, and relatively untalented. I don't have the time or tolerance for that kind of actor. Get the hell out of the show I'm working on, or face my stage manager wrath. That simple. Go play with your crescent wrench and leave me the hell alone.

Needless to say, I don't think I really want to go to New York now. I don't want to get roped in with bitches like this, simply because I happen to act. I've got more self-respect than that.

Welcome back to Car-bohn-duh-lay, Kirius. Here's a good fucking. No cigarettes, please.