I was all set to rant about last night's infuriating moments, the rash from the Chanel lady's attempt to "even out my skintone" by applying too much gunk (and THEN telling me I had BEYOOOOtiful skin and SUCH LOOOOOONG lashes), the terrifying perfume-gun women, and various other oddities at the "beauty show" that Kitty and I attended before the opera.
I was all set to mention the new colours we picked out for my eyes and cheeks and even a little sparkle-rosy for the mouth -- all far too expensive and with that irritating double-inverted-designer "C", but strangely soft and comfortable against the skin and utterly lacking in a lot of the discomfort that some of the brands I've sported before.
I can't believe I can talk intelligently about Chanel versus Clinique versus Revlon, and I am somewhat ashamed of this fact. Especially that I am getting a lot better at matching colours...
And then we were seated at the Elgin theatre, surrounded by lush crimson velvet and gold, chattering about the revues we'd read of this production...
...and it began, and Kitty only had to poke me ONCE to keep me from singing along to an opera that I've memorized from start to finish, and she didn't have to poke me at all to keep me from singing Cherubinho's parts that I've been practicing so hard.
You see, because I practiced them in Italian.
The Opera Atelier, apparently decided to do a dubbed american version in english.
Which infuriated me, despite the momentary thought that maybe Dave would have enjoyed it since he'd have been able to understand the words.
But he doesn't like opera.
I do. I love the intellectual challenge of it, the overwhelming assault of the senses that Mozart's over-the-top maniacal sensibilities can afford me with.
So when they dubbed it (without warning!) and took away the magical lilt that Italian added to so many of the arias (and boy were there ever many, the whole thing was an excuse for spotlights and arias), I was furious.
Furious enough to use a whole bunch of nasty "people who can only speak english are stupid" words, but I've run out of steam, and I don't really mean it. Aside from the "all people are stupid" general sense.
I've run out of steam because I walked into a meeting today honestly expecting to have the brunt of my busywork here reassigned to someone else, and honestly expecting to be obsoleted out soon after.
Instead, with much grinning and sucking up (to me!!!) and usage of the words "hypercompetent", "saved our asses" and other such political mumbo jumbo...
Welcome new promotion. Welcome new SHITLOAD of liability. Not necessarily responsibilities since I've been handling them comfortably for a while now, but publishing my name and new title (Security officer!), giving me decision-making power, this or that access, and all of a sudden the CAO is thrilled with my competence because it means one less mess on her desk.
Whouppee.
Behind all of this I'm sitting here wondering:
"I majored in complex mathematics to boss security guards around?!?"
But the CAO made it very clear that this is long-term, with hiring potential, government benefits, the whole deal.
And I admit, it's a comfy job. Lots of work, keeps me busy, and I somehow manage to do it really well.
But...
...I miss the glamour of when I was brilliant.
And I'm only twenty six. I'm not sure I'm ready to become indentured. Not without the brilliant star status.