Ercassesanwi
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Below are the 4 most recent journal entries recorded in the "Holly" journal:
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09:05 pm
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I simply can't leave well enough alone
I have noticed two trends in my day-to-day life over the last month or two. They're good trends. I'm glad they're happening. But I can't seem to enjoy them as I should, because I don't understand why they're happening.
One trend is that of attorneys calling the office and requesting me specifically to report depositions for them. As I've said, this is a good thing. When an attorney requests me, I look good. My boss hears about it. She can assume that the quality of my work and my professionalism are of a high standard. She might consider (okay, probably not) giving me a raise or, if not that, at least cutting me some slack if anyone complains about me (as is bound to happen in such a deadline-oriented job). I should be very happy. Instead, I'm confused.
I don't understand why these attorneys are requesting me, and my lack of understanding keeps me from enjoying it. Just today I was with an attorney who had requested me. His paralegal had called the office, scheduled us for the deposition, and asked for me because, in her words, "He likes Holly." That's great, I suppose. The problem is that I can hardly remember who this attorney is. When I racked my brain, I remembered one time reporting a deposition that had involved him. However, he was not the one who had hired my firm for that job; he was an attorney representing another party in the case. That means it was pure chance that he and I ended up in the same room together. I don't remember having had any interaction with him in that proceeding other than to ask him, "Would you like to order a copy of the transcript?" How did I manage to make such an impression on him? How does he even remember my name? I don't know that I managed even to give him my card on that previous occasion. Yes, my name would have been on the transcript he ordered, but I find ridiculous the idea that my transcription skills are that impressive. Transcription is an art that, when done well, is unnoticeable, rather like court reporting in general. And I doubt even the best transcription would make an attorney "like" me. I'm at a loss to understand why he requested me.
Last week, I reported a deposition for an attorney whom I understand to be particularly important to my firm, though he doesn't give us frequent business. I'd first met him when I was still in training, observing a much more seasoned court reporter report depositions for him. At that time, he'd complimented me on my ability to "disappear," to be inconspicuous during a deposition. It has now been almost two years since I finished training, and I hadn't yet reported anything for this attorney. I had once or twice seen him when he was representing another party at a deposition where I was hired by someone else, but that was all.
For this recent job, I met him when we both arrived at the deposition location together. He was friendly and greeted me by name. In the conference room, while waiting for the witness, he chatted with me and jokingly introduced me to some long-time colleagues who came in to say hi to him. The deposition lasted three hours or so, and we didn't get to depose one of the witnesses. He asked me if I would be available Friday to report the deposition of the witness we'd missed, and I said I'd call the office and see what I could do. Then he asked me where I'd parked and insisted on walking me to my car in the parking deck and watching me get in before he would leave. He's a man well over fifty, and I thought he was simply being old-fashioned and chivalrous.
When I related this story at the office, it was greeted with much surprise. It seems this attorney has been giving us little business for a while because he prefers another court reporter to us. A coworker who has been with our firm much longer than I told me that he treated me with particular friendliness, more than he gives to others from our firm on the few occasions he hires us. Again I seem to have struck an attorney's fancy, and once again I'm unsure why. I am the least experienced reporter in our firm but one, and I know my court-reporting talent cannot be that stupendous. Nor am I more friendly or personable or confident than any of my coworkers; probably I am less so. My inability to make sense of these attorneys' liking for me is driving me a bit batty.
Then there's Trend No. 2. Again, I say up front that I know this trend is a good thing, and I am not complaining that it is happening. I fully expect every female reading this entry to hurl something at the screen, so I warn them now to make sure they have pillows or something equally nonharmful at hand.
I am inexplicably losing weight. I'm not sure how much I've lost nor for how long I've been losing. Part of the reason I'm weirded out by the phenomenon is that I have no way to quantify it. I haven't stepped on a scale in over four years. I don't know how much I weigh now nor how much I weighed whenever this trend began. I have made no recent lifestyle or diet changes. When I got the occasional "Have you been losing weight?" comment, I'd shrug it off and think my outfit must have a slimming effect. But now I can't argue. I've begun wearing belts with my jeans because otherwise they sag. I'm fitting into shirts I haven't worn since college. Yet again, I'm glad but confused.
I think I'm looking good, and I'd like to maintain this weight. But since I don't know what has occasioned the weight loss, I can't continue to do it. Could I begin tomorrow to gain weight inexplicably? It would make just as much sense as this trend.
And now, too, I have one of those "problems" everyone else would like to have. My clothes aren't fitting, especially my work clothes, which are, of course, the more expensive ones. I'm glad for the opportunity to buy new clothes relatively guilt-free, but I'm not looking forward to spending the money. Buying another work wardrobe won't be cheap or quick. It took me two years to assemble what I have now. And there are still variables to consider, like whether I will continue to lose weight, or whether I'll return to my previous weight. The not knowing, and especially the not knowing why, is killing me.
So as we can see, Holly is incapable of shutting up and enjoying her good fortune.
Current Mood: OCD
Tags: appearance, work
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01:55 pm
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I Lindale The Opera
So ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) firebreatherjen and I went to the opera Friday night. We decided to go, I'm not kidding, as an excuse for me to wear my new (and only) evening gown. (See previous entries for fuller detail.) So I came home from work, fed my friend Mel's cats (as I was cat-sitting), did up my hair -- quite a feat, as I at last managed an upside-down French braid -- and put on my new gown. firebreatherjen let me borrow her new black and crystal jewelry to go with my black gown. She looked fabulous in her gold dress. We went downtown to the auditorium and saw the opera. Afterwards, as we hadn't eaten dinner, we tried to find somewhere that would still be open and in which it wouldn't be too strange to be dressed so formally. We found a nice, ritzy Asian-food place where a four-dumpling platter costs nearly ten dollars.
It was kind of fun, though I felt almost the entire time that everyone could tell I didn't belong in that dress or setting, that I wasn't really able to pass off myself as a well-to-do, sophisticated woman. firebreatherjen seemed more used to such doings. She took it in stride when male strangers would pass our table and say, "You ladies look nice this evening." I would simply try not to choke too violently.
The opera itself was wonderful. I liked the title character, Floria Tosca, as soon as she appeared. She and her lover, Mario Cavaradossi, made a great pair, she with her jealous passion (as she accuses him, unjustly, of trysting with blond-haired, blue-eyes beauty he saw and painted as the Madonna) and he with his sincere, honeyed words of love (such as "what eyes can compare with your burning, dark eyes?").
The story is very dark, especially the second act, in which the villain tortures Cavaradossi in order to get Tosca to confess where Cavaradossi has hidden an escaped prisoner, then forces Tosca to agree to submit to his sexual overtures in exchange for Cavaradossi's life, then is killed by the knife-wielding Tosca. In the end, Tosca is tricked into letting her lover be killed and finally kills herself by leaping from the tower wall.
What I found perhaps most interesting about the opera was the contrast between the way that Cavaradossi sees and treats his beloved Tosca and the way the audience sees her. Before she even appears, Cavaradossi is singing about how her dark-haired, dark-eyes beauty contrasts with that of the fair woman he has painted as the Madonna. When Tosca appears, we see immediately that she is a firebrand, a passionate, strong personality given to voicing her opinions loudly, even when they are unfounded jealous suspicions. She is no meek, mild, maidenly girl, such as we might imagine the girl Cavaradossi has painted to be. We know at once that this is a woman capable of killing to save herself or her lover. Yet, Cavaradossi speaks to her with sweet words, praising her gentle hands that have killed, saying they were meant for gathering roses and not for murder.
What surprised me most was my reaction to this treatment of Tosca. I was not at all upset. Nor was Tosca. I did not feel at all that Cavaradossi was belittling or patronizing her. I began to think that maybe Tosca loves him because he makes her feel sweet and feminine. He is not intimidated by her passionate outbursts or her strong personality. He will still hold her and call her cara mia (as well as more titillating names, like "my siren").
(Incidentally, this idea that the man can treat the woman as if she were more sweet and docile and make her feel thus isn't purely my idea. I heard it from my Shakespeare professor Dr. Walton, who was applying it to Petruchio in The Taming of the Shrew. I think the idea more appropriate here, as Cavaradossi isn't "helping" the strategy by starving Tosca or keeping her from sleep in order to break her will. He's no jerky Petruchio.)
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Yes, it's been too long since I've updated. Every time I thought to do it, I would think, "But I haven't written what I'd said n my last entry that I would post next." It seems I can't wait until I write my planned essays, or I'll never post. Perhaps they're still to come.
Current Mood:  mellow
Tags: appearance, opera, review, tosca
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09:28 pm
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Grown-up clothes
One of the wierder adjustments I have had to make in the transition from youth to adult is that of clothing. An adult wardrobe is an entirely different thing from that of a young college student. If one is a woman, as I am, the fashion question is even more pressing and difficult.
Probably the most painful difference is price. Gone are the days when nice shirts were $20, when a fruitful clothes-shopping trip might set one back $60. And think how pricey it would be to start from scratch. Suddenly, the outfits that have always counted as dressy do so no longer. Button-up shirts aren't enough. Now I have to wear blazers, and they have to have slacks or skirts bought specifically to match them. The pair of black shoes I have worn to church for six years, and which might have lasted another six, don't cut it anymore. They looked great with with the college wardrobe but shabby in a business suit.
And what can one say about dresses? The junior-sized dresses I used to wear won't work at grown-up events like banquets, theater, opera. And adult dresses always show more skin than I'm used to showing, more than I ever had to show to be dressy as a college student. Showing shoulders is the bare minimum requirement for flesh exposure. Just try finding one that isn't cut too low for modest Holly.
This entire discussion comes up because Saturday I went out shopping with firebreatherjen at Ross Stores, in an attempt to get inexpensive adult clothes, and bought my first evening gown. Needless to say, it was significantly marked down, or I would not have bought it. I was leary anyway looking at myself in the mirror. There are only two microscopic strips of fabric crossing my bare shoulders. The dress is entirely too modern for Holly's taste -- minimal design, black, and clingy. But when I stepped out to show it to firebreatherjen, everyone else in the dressing room demanded that I purchase it. And since it got such wide approval, and since the price was incredible, I did. Now firebreatherjen and I have decided to go to the opera to give me an excuse to wear it. Of course, such an event would require getting accessories for the outfit, like some decent jewelry. Dressing like an adult is a pain.
Current Mood:  drained
Tags: appearance, clothes
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01:59 am
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You know it's late when I don't give it a Quenya title
It's so very superficial, and I hate that it happens to me, that I can't analyze my way out of it, but I am having an appearance confidence crisis.
OK, maybe "crisis" is too strong a word. But still...
There has always been some tension in the differing levels of importance I and my mother assign to appearance. My mother was scandalized when she heard that I go to class regularly without wearing makeup. She was horrified when I told her that I have gone to class in pajama bottoms. (I haven't done that for about two years, but I used to do it.) I go to a women's college, and I don't particularly care to dress up for my classmates or my professors. I don't walk around in pajamas (anymore) or without combed hair and brushed teeth, but I don't do makeup and hair and pick out cute clothes every morning. Still, I felt pretty confident that I can look nice when I so choose.
One of the things I like about my appearance is that I have a unique style. I don't look like everybody else. I prefer more traditionally feminine colors and styles, particularly anything with a medieval or Renaissance feel to it. Someone once identified my style of dress as "romantic classic," a phrase that pleases me. My most distinguishing physical characteristic is my long hair. The color may be up for debate (for reasons passing understanding, some people think I'm brunette instead of blond), but my hair is light, thick, straight and long, all the way down to my mid-thigh. Obviously, it is too long to wear down regularly, but I often wear a long braid or a bun low at the nape of my neck.
I liked my appearance. I felt cute and distinct. But little comments have been starting to nag at me.
I have very well-intentioned friends who want to help me. For a long time they pressured me to pluck my eyebrows. (I didn't have a unibrow or anything, but they were very thick.) Sometimes they would do it for me, but I didn't learn how to keep up with it myself for a long time. Now I try to keep them neat and with a gentle arch. Still, even now I've gotten comments that suggest I'm not doing it well or enough.
What I can't understand at all is the wide variation in opinions on my hair. I love my hair. It isn't just long; it's thick and healthy all the way down to the ends. It's my primary way of getting noticed in new groups (and a valuable asset since I'm quite shy around strangers). And it's relatively low maintenance, believe it or not. I wash it twice a week. I keep it braided or bunned for everyday styles. It's easily kept neat.
Some people will tell me that my hair is "beautiful," "glorious," "like a fairy tale princess." Strangers will beg me never to cut it. Friends will admire the many elaborate ways I can put it up. Then, some people will say it's "gross," "a mess," or "unfashionable." Strangers will ask me if I have a hairdresser and say they'd like to cut my hair. Friends will look at pictures of me with shoulder length hair at nine years of age and say meaningfully, "That length looks so good on you." I have a friend Fima who once told me "No one could say your hair isn't beautiful." Well, they do.
But why would I want to look like everyone else? And why do they want to make me look just like them? I don't question their decisions to have short hair, though I often think they'd look better with long hair. I don't say so unless asked because I know I wouldn't want someone to comment that way on my hair unless I were soliciting opinions. Then there's the idea that long hair is gross and unhygienic. It's true that I don't wash my hair every day or even every other day. I guess some people think that's disgusting. I guess that makes me disgusting.
How do I reconcile the part of my self-esteem that comes from my being uniquely myself and that part that comes from having the approval of friends? Of course I have told myself that others' opinions don't matter, but that's not really true. They do. I live with and love these people. I care about their opinions because I respect and admire them.
But I do not have time to be a beauty queen or even a stylish professional type. I have tons of homework. I have work tutoring. I have to write my thesis. I have to research and apply to graduate schools. I have to find a job for the summer and the next semester. I have to help plan my best friend's wedding shower. Darn it, I don't have time to sleep! I'm living on an average of 5 hours a night. How do I have time to wash my hair daily and pluck my eyebrows and do my nails and dress as a model and put on makeup and jewelry?
I don't know the answer.
Current Mood: unacceptable
Current Music: the sound of silence
Tags: appearance, clothes, hair
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