If I had to choose between smarty or party, the day was mostly smarty with a little bit of party. Work is so busy, I'm dizzy by the time the day comes to an end - I'd rather be busy than not enough work; I like to tell myself that's good for job security (and with so many people I care for having gone through layoffs in recent months and years, that is a reality I'd rather not have be my own).
Physical therapy for my ankle, although is making hella strides in my progress and ability, largely sucks. Thank heaven these guys are not only good but are funny and lively; it makes the pain not such a pain. And they let me think I'm sneakily sneaking treats to the resident labs, Cali and Sailor. Like Pavlov, these pups expect those treats, now, when I arrive. But, this fantastic team of physical therapists are not only are helping me heal my ankle, I laugh and chat through the intense massages and mobility gains.
I've wanted to see La Boheme ever since I fell in love with Rent 16 or 17 years ago.... Arizona Opera Company has produced a few times over the years, but I never had quite the right date to go with me. Something about the shit-show that has been the last few relationships (and even more depressing than my actual love life is the options available for to try new relationships) and epically bad dates, I made a choice last year to stop. Dating. Pretty much entirely (I'm not counting last Saturday's dinner with the 25-year old cub a serious contender of a date). And I'm in that personal space where that's what I need. As I explained to someone who was trying to understand my rationale, I continuously make bad relationship investments, and am on the verge of romantic bankruptcy.
So, I'm staring at my AZ Opera mailer with The Flying Dutchman, La Boheme, Traviatta all of them teasing me! What could I do? Between double ballet tickets, double symphony season tickets (not that I have "dates" for any of these), I couldn't budget a season of two opera tickets. Face it; it's not the most fun feeling to get dressed up, drive yourself downtown, skip dinner, and go to Symphony Hall by yourself to swim in a sea of couples in their finer wear. But Mimi and Rodolpho, and their love affair in the snow filled night of Paris's Latin Quarter beckoned me. The image of Mimi's candle. Burned out, relit, and blown out again..... Sigh. So I did it. I bought my own damn ticket (again) and was going to be damned if I let myself miss another experience because I don't have someone who is going to sit in the seat next to me.