French cafes

Although I’ve been stalking around the city with rage in my shoes, I still love my life. I can be angry and happy to be making art that resists fascism. Just like I can be sad and happy while thinking about my late aunt or afraid and happy at the top of Goliath at Magic Mountain. I am writing at the yellow coffee shop, with my gingersnap latte and plain bagel. I sit in the window, so I can people watch. I often spy friends from this seat. They’ll be trotting by, and depending on which one of us isn’t looking at a screen, the other one of us knocks at the window.

I always thought it was so funny and/or cute, when I’d learn about art history, how so many individual “names” actually rolled around in packs. French painters in their salons and beat poets in their dives and improvisers on the busy street in the most adorable nook of Los Angeles.

Much of my career here has been incredibly controlled. My days packed with meetings and a rapid clip of draft turnarounds and never saying "no" rudely and never making enemies. I’m moving with more intuition lately. I “get” a meeting with this high-powered IP-grabber at “the” top agency. She deigns me the right person to develop a hot new video game, all the rage. I ask if she knows anyone who has sold a feature based on a video game in the past five years. Her mouth forms an O then gets smaller and smaller then she shuffles papers and says, “I think I’ve heard of it happening…” After we end the zoom she forwards me a short story that Timothee Chalamet likes. I consider writing back, “This is really helpful, to know what kind of short stories Timothee Chalamet might like. My MFA is nothing. But this? This PDF you were paid 200K to find? Everything.”

Last Saturday I was supposed to have a morning meeting with a director, but had to push a week so I texted SW from bed, we should meet to write. Jam covered my fingers while she explained, it's not that people don't like me, it's that my existence makes them feel ashamed in ways I cannot control or understand. And most people would rather avoid their shame than preserve our relationship. It's not that deep, though it cuts deep. I am writing through it, but at least I don't worry about losing. I've been through this before. My voice will follow you down. And against all odds, I will probably forget about you before you can ever forget about me.

I decided, seriously, I needed to see Song Sung Blue in theatres. Made it to the mall just in time, sat in the back row and let Hugh take me away. Money talks--but it don't sing and it don't walk. It was a perfect Los Angeles evening, so I walked over to that ramen spot, sat on the patio. Made notes about a short story and dined on my cheap heaven dinner—an Impossible bao with a Diet Coke ($10).

Then this most recent Saturday--three days ago--I did get to meet with the director. I could tell he didn't really like my play, but he still sat with me for a couple hours brainstorming. Artists are so generous that way. I'm not too concerned. In general, women loved loved loved the piece and men were lukewarm. Sometimes a story is like that. Not everything is for everyone.

The afternoon was for as many emails as I could possibly respond to. I am under a lot of pressure. So many exciting opportunities, so many roads diverging, and then another American citizen was executed by ICE in broad daylight.

And then! I went for a girls' night with AB! She greeted me in pjs, holding a glass of wine, pop music playing. I told her she got an A plus. She'd texted at 9 AM asking what my favorite movie candy was, a beautiful bowl of M & Ms greeted me. We watched a perfect double feature, cheering during Revenge then stopping to laugh uncontrollably on the balcony before Drop Dead Gorgeous, the movie that made me love comedy. I love comedy so much. I believe it is medicine. I believe it is a weapon.

who can turn the world on with her smile?

who can take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all feel worthwhile?

clay

I really loved my grad school. I loved it so much. Maybe the best decision of my life was going to that crummy little huge place. Man, I milked it too. I wore tank tops all year and read by the pool and zoomed around on my scooter to seize buttermilk bars from Donut Hut in the dead of winter in the dead of night.

I loved campus. It smelled like clay. There was the term I would habitually go the gym after Dramaturgy and take the long route through Palm Walk. There was the term I'd bike to the gym at 6, hit the machines, shower, and walk into 8 AM theatre history so fresh and sparkling. My first year on Fridays I'd do laps before my sketch comedy show. My second year I'd work the disability testing center Fridays, very slow and quiet. Struggling to remember my third year. That shocks me. That I could forget my class schedule. But time has passed, it seems. It's an interesting anthropological study of one's self, to reflect on what memories make it through all the purges. How did they cling on? Held in your arms like a fawn or like leeches on the back of your calves?

I loved all my friends. I had my comedy girls, first and foremost. Then there were the comedy girls' girls to varying degrees. Then there was the comedy girl's girl's Christian girls. Then! There was grad cohort. And undergrads. And then there was work. (I hung out with work people once my entire three years at the office.) And then then comedy in general, which was just so many people. And then all their little clumpettes. And then then then was Puhg and his whole world. Which was...well a whole world! The show we did, his college friends. Some were lifelong. Some I lived with. Some I went to Vegas with. More I went to Santa Monica with. And I loved just about all of them. Even my sibling roommates, why not.

I met Puhg in the desert. We went to so many adorable brunches and basketball games. We pirated Mad Men every week and some nights he would cook us a pot of beans with tomatoes. We drove that long highway stretch over and over.

I did the military play and wrote the religion play. I wrote many sketches and loads of stand-up and a bunch of plays and/or play-like things. I taught so much screenwriting and a little improv and a little playwriting and a bit of film ethics. I laughed so much. I got pretty angry. There was some sadness, but not much, and not for long. It was a different world. I made 13K or something, and that was great! My rent was $450 for a very nice room and bathroom in a lovely condo. All the best things were free anyway. I ate an incredible amount of Taco Bell and gas station nachos, also a record high amount of Ethiopian.

I learned so so much. Some of the classes were bad. But because I later became an educator, they were useful case studies for me. And other classes were very good! I really lucked out with my theatre history professor and my thesis director, specifically. I absorbed so much about the scope of theatre, got to be inside all the moving parts, keyed into the hot stuff. I squeezed every drop.

I remember so many students. I think I see them all the time. I might. Two of them got married and live out here. They work in post.

2025 was the worst year of my life

Maybe I've been dragging my feet on this recap because of the title of this recap. There are certainly ways I could spin what happened last year. I could ignore a ton to rebrand 2025 as a love story or a buddy comedy or even some coming of age thing. But the truth is, last year blew. It was a drama. And not an uplifting one. There were some very lovely scenes, but there was not a happy ending.

January actually started brightly. There was a sense of newness in the air. Everyone bracing for inauguration, but in the mystery there was still hope. Then, six days in, the fires crushed the entire city's spirit. Despite Hollywood Hollywooding on, we haven't recovered. Not by a long shot. I haven't recovered. At BM's birthday last Saturday the four of us sat at the kitchen table, confessing we all shudder, still, in the middle of the night. We wake with starts remembering: obsessively checking the disaster app, repeatedly forgetting where important papers were because we stayed packed so long, feeling the complete hysterical lack of control that only staying in an Embassy Suites with a tubbed hamster can provide.

And yet all our neighbors walked to the outdoor mall and saw movies with our A-List passes. Flow and Baby Girl if you can believe. There were free animal crackers at 5 PM and I sat in the lobby for two hours eating them while reading Women Who Run with the Wolves. (I turned the last page on my birthday.) I finished the final draft of my new Toy Conglomerate musical at the hotel desk and Puhg and I talked a lot about environmental crises. We were home for our anniversary, picked up a cheese pizza and Caesar salad.

Early winter was, as you may recall, a political hellscape. Sitting under my tree, finishing the movie with AB, revising my play. I sent the script around, one timid reading at a time. I wrote three commercials for a big brand--a job I was very proud to get. It paid $4,500 with no benefits. I ran my women's talk group, every month, all year. I really enjoyed those nights and got a lot out of the yaps. All the gals told me they did too. We did karaoke at the end, ER sang "Lucky" to start.

Puhg's aunt suddenly went into hospice. We booked urgent flights and made it to her bedside, for maybe the last conscious minutes of her life. She looked up at Puhg with such delight in her fading eyes. "I love you!" she said over and over. We wrote her obituary in the room with vending machines.

A month later our darling Sweet P was gone too. I wrote about that day and never published it. I guess I will eventually. Started at critter care, ended at Cowboy Carter.

I saw a lot of concerts this year! In this bizarre time, one of the only things I seem to know for sure is concerts are worth it for me. A good concert can fuel me for a month if not two. I'm still riding high from Sabrina's rendition of "Nobody's Son" in November. From Gaga's "Applause" in August. Breezy nights of Japanese Breakfast, Dashboard, Goo Goo Dolls, Coldplay. I went to another universe when Chris Martin sang "The Scientist" and then we got little banana froths at the underground ferngully while the bassist strummed table to table.

April was restructuring and the big 70th birthday. We got sunburnt at Bernie and AOC's rally. I kept chugging along in therapy. I have to say May was really nice. Happy little birthday fete. The beach, the mountains, the clear pools, the creatures, the soft doughy treats, the hiking up a creek that Puhg dipped into. And then it all turned.

I was professionally chucked in the trash and Puhg was laid off and we had three weeks to get new health insurance. I fought tooth and nail to maintain any kind of stable insurance this year. I lost. I lost in my current deal, I lost when the billion dollar girls' brand told me I'd have to take three months off as a contractor or else (they winced) they'd have to give me benefits. I lost when I went downtown and waited in line at the social services office, behind all the meth heads and poor single moms. It took three months but I finally got on Covered California--and for what? All my rates were supposed to rocket in 2026, so I rushed to get my bloodwork done December 30th. I was billed $40. I spent an hour on the helpline to finally say, "I thought if my doctor prescribed necessary bloodwork it was free?" No, the agent told me. I asked what was covered under my insurance that costs $300/month with a 15K deductible. He told me I get one check-up per year. I said, "I guess I'm grateful I'm not being charged right now for you to tell me this." He did not laugh.

In terms of themes, 2025 was a big year for Disappointment. A lot of people disappointed me. Each betrayal more surprising than the last. Maybe next year I'll have wisdom about it. Today my takeaway is, "Alice you stupid naive idiot. When will you learn? You cannot trust people--even people you love, even people you thought loved you."

On the flip side was Openness. Someone bailed on me but then, randomly, my old professor sent the most affirming email. A department chair struck down a production of my play, but then the piece I dramaturged won an international award. I got yelled at on the phone but that night I recounted it all to Lav in our Portillos booth and we managed to chuckle.

Summer felt very long and sad. ICE terrorized LA, then the guard was deployed. I protested. I showed up for climate law at City Hall. I went out of my mind watching a genocide from my phone. I went to the pool every afternoon. A purple swimsuit this time. I read one book with a red cover very slowly. I clocked in for watchdog shifts. I listened to Man's Best Friend a lot, especially "House Tour." I got involved with multiple progressive groups but they all fell apart because rich people don't think fascism applies to them. Puhg's mom suffered her hellish accident and nothing will ever be the same. I wrote about that day too. I'll probably share, eventually. Did get to see my old friends, did get a mini trampoline, have observed my partner step into agonies. I have said it before, but I will always say it: I am so proud of him. He gets braver each minute.

Some college actors did a reading of my play. Then a young cohort of artists bootstrapped a production in July. They did such a good job. My mom came out for it and our trio celebrated the run at the taco shop with virgin margaritas. My sister graciously hosted us every quarter. We have our Things. I like her orange cat and the big coffee shop with cheddar biscuits and sinking into the sofa for a doc about Abercrombie or that short-lived series Players or that Netflix competition show about pop stars. She buys us seltzer and veggie bacon in advance. There are rainy Chicago adventures--facials and art and The Drake and Alice Sr did a fantastic karaoke performance, a classic from the musical A Chorus Line. There's a cold dark night and a bright snowy morning, there's a hot lake walk and a chilly bop to Brown's Chicken for fritters.

My workshop went very very well, and I am so pleased. The compliments haven't stopped rolling in, even now. My friends and former collaborators and even some newbies attended and gushed their heads off in the street. I shuffled out all haggard but was met with thunderous applause on Santa Monica Boulevard. Two friends told me it was all so moving they cried the whole way home. J sent such a perfect note--she loved it and hoped I was feasting on a well-deserved cheddar log. A high-powered showrunner sat in the second row, then left without a peep--but January 5th she pinged, "You are so incredibly talented and I am very happy to come see anything you do." This past Friday L said it was the most fun she'd ever had at a play. The chickie I invited when she was smoking a joint in a swimsuit sent me no fewer than 30 excited texts. It was so much work but work that is Mine. I worried the whole thing was a narcissistic voyage, but every rehearsal someone in the cast paused, looked up, said, "Wow, this is...too real." I feel bonded forever with the actors. My mom and sister were the ones who ultimately convinced me to do it and I thanked them from the bottom of my heart as we sat in the heart-shaped booth, before the Black Forest cake arrived.

What else? My book keeps selling. I keep stickering. My first ever world premiere will be set! Within the next month! I am gripping but I don't think I am afraid. I am impressed by how well I've been managing all the moving parts. I've learned so much. I sobbed firing my manager, snapped up a fancy new agent,  dropped the big time lawyer with an email, hired a new one in a parking lot. I wrote an incredibly exciting new animated series which may or may not ever exist. I was in the brainstorm room for a new musical show which may or may not ever exist. I am currently developing a movie with two dream collaborators which may or may not ever exist. A graphic novel adaptation came and went. Did six improv shows, I think. Spent a month finagling a group gift for SW--the expensive necklace she's always wanted. She opened the blue box and blurted out to everyone, "But this is against all of Alice's values!" Puhg took me for a beautiful romantic getaway down the coast with credit card points. There was a mini fire pit on our balcony and I wore the big fuzzy robe and toasted marshmallows.

I saw the ghost play and the hilarious vaccine show, which were cool. I watched a bunch of Survivor, which was medicinal friend time. Went to so many movies, adored Heated Rivalry like everyone else. Hamnet, Together, Nuremberg (!), Sorry Baby, Lurker, The Life of a Showgirl Movie (twice). The Life of a Showgirl album: well, I freakin' love it. Blondie's doc: well, I freakin' loved it.

I developed shingles right after Thanksgiving. It was terrifying and painful. The urgent care doctor told me I may have lost my sight and hearing if I hadn't moved as quickly as I did. Puhg served me applesauce and toast. My camp friends sent me a bouquet to commemorate my first prescription ever. I'm sure I'm missing a lot and this hasn't been a particularly well-organized post, but 2025 was not a particularly well-organized year.

Christmas was a peppermint swirl of hard and fun. My sister gifted me a little ocarina and my mother gave me notebooks. Puhg treated me to my favorite burrito. I told you about New Years Eve. There are five incredibly exciting and/or life-changing things that could happen with my art this year, but another Midwestern writer my age was recently shot in the face for no reason and then the president lied about it. So who can say?

I could take you to the first, second, third floor

minutes

Spent today with Tira. Unexpectedly even. Out of character for me, especially on a high pressure day like today. I had to set my goals and dream my dreams and all that. Was up early compiling a little batch of photos for the internet. I don’t usually like posting recaps, but for some reason I felt compelled this year. I bopped to the cafe to yap with Puhg. I sold him on the party for tonight by promising him we could leave by 12:30. The wild girl from our building cycloned in with her redheaded friend. Puhg tried to get their take, and I said, no no they’re nuts. They cackled and jumped around, told us they aren’t nuts at all! Redhead went on, they spent last new years shoveling ice cream into their mouths at 11:47, before the diet started.

So I sat on the balcony a bit, enjoying the rain, then gathered my little chipmunk bag and trotted to the crystal shop for a sound bath. Tira met me and we let the bowls wash us away. I wrote down three words I want to bring into 2026 and three words I don’t. I got an idea that is either insane or wonderful.

We went to use the bathroom at my alcove nearby, then why not have a little treat, you know? Tira said, “You can’t believe that stuff 100% or you go psycho, but you do have to believe…something.” We each got bowls of cocoa, a strawberry cheesecake for Tira and a snickerdoodle slice for me. She and her girlfriend broke up at Christmas and she just got a job as a line cook even though she’s been nominated for Emmys. We talk about how sad it is to grieve our industry but how we don’t feel it’s right to leave just yet. It’s hard to describe, but we both feel it in our bones.

Tira mentions picking up dinner for later. Money is weird. A big theme of the year. I haven't scrimped this hard since 2017 but it doesn't ever make a difference. I'll cut a subscription or a hobby or plans and that's when rent goes up. It makes me sick that Puhg and I throw 30K to a giant conglomerate every year. One thing I still haven't sorted out is how to think about things and not think about things at the same time. I recommend the local pizza shop instead of the high-end corner joint and once we get there it smells so good we decide to each get the lunch special. I buy, and it feels really warm because Tira bought me my first lunch in our old TV writers’ room. Things come back around. The owner hustles out with our little sauces and Cokes. She's in good spirits with a blonde ponytail. I get home at 2:30 and write for a long time. I don’t feel satisfied with any of the drafts, give up around 6 and take a shower.

I have to get ready for the aforementioned party, so I’ll have to reflect more on my year tomorrow or the next day. I try not to bring anything negative into fresh Januarys—even reflection maybe. I spent yesterday doing tedious tax calculations and getting bloodwork and writing my insurance and paying my bills. Still, I wish I could leave some of the chewing behind me too. But maybe this is good for me. Not much exists in perfect lines, from 11:59 to midnight what is the difference? But there is a difference. One can't let too many minutes slip.

thankful 4 the owl

Was on the balcony, ruminating. The marathon was over, so I finally let it happen. I'd been repressing, hm, everything since I don't know when. In some ways September 9th, the closed reading. I felt accomplished already once we'd finished, I walked around the block alone, and I started gathering the binders. But then MS had to walk across the circle and grab my wrist. She had to say, "I think you'd make a great ____." She said it winkingly--but also a little brave.

But so many other things happened from then until now. A wedding bus with the bride's parents and little else. Visiting the marshmallow, taking her to The Cheesecake Factory and Walgreens. The Deal. The Rep. The Last Breakfast. Lady Gaga. Karaoke with the gals.

Certainly, certainly, though, I've repressed It All since rehearsals began in The Space. November 10th. That was after weeks of rewrites and wandering around Michaels for props and buying the chime block from Guitar Center and commissioning the wands. Anyway, the point being, I'm aware I simply banished any bodily need for a week straight. And then what happened is I slowly slogged through the adrenaline from performing and eventually, suddenly, my entire body collapsed. This happened to be at Hearst Castle.

Luckily after an emergency Diet Pepsi and bag of salt and vinegar chips, I was able to continue on the mini vacation with gusto! And I was able to take in days of inn poolshine and fresh avocado toast and Sunset Boulevard ballads as the ocean blasted past. And then there was Sabrina Carpenter! Which required me to be a little lavender jumping bean. And then there was a brunch with my high school friend and Paranormal Activity downtown. Monday there were zooms and emails and a commercial deadline and a director meeting (feedback about the show). And THEN, at long last, there was the final thing on my calendar: a 6 AM zoom with the UK PR company Tuesday.

The meeting was very important and hinged pretty much entirely on me landing the pitch, which I did, despite having lost five pounds to stress. And what happened next! What happened next is I closed my computer and slept nearly all day! Shuffled out 4-5:15 and then had to lay down again.

But at around 10 I was on the balcony, ruminating. And then I heard someone else ruminating. An owl! With a very specific hoot. Hoo hoo h-h-hoo hoo hoo. The owl squawked it, so I mirrored back. A little later we repeated the song. I texted Puhg, "There's an owl hooting out here." So he came outside too.

For a long time there was silence. And then I saw the beauty take flight! It was kind of funny. Nothing swooping or majestic at all. Big white belly and thick feathers flopping branch to branch. Puhg missed it, so he stood looking into the dark a long while. Then he went inside, returning with the big black flashlight. "Let me see..." he said.

Puhg carefully aimed a beam at a branch and--! The owl! Was sitting right there! Big round eyes gazing directing into the light! We gasped. Very beautiful, very cute. "Hello!" we said! The owl blinked. We were waving and laughing. I got the sense the owl thought we were goofs. "Hello! You look very nice!" We called out. Owl could have flown away and didn't, which is why I think we may be friends. Puhg and I laughed and embraced and all the trees saw.

it's one o'clock in the morning

Struggling to sleep these days. Lots on my mind. Got all the bios from the actors didn't I yes yes I did but did I write my bio no no I didn't okay I'll get to that and the formatting and also I need to email the cast notes, I've ruminated on them all in my notepad. Then suddenly I'll go get my script and rehearse for a while. It reminds me of high school. In college I had enough friends who did theatre we were always running lines with each other. But in high school I spent many many happy days and nights in my room rehearsing alone. I really am terrified to be acting again, and I really just do not enjoy it...but it's been a nice trot down memory lane. I had to hire a front of house producer because...I usually do all that, but I'll have to be backstage. We had our first rehearsal Monday. I went to the green room to grab some chairs. Then I go to realize, hey, I'll be in the green room again. I love being in the green room. It's the best part of any show I've ever been in.

Trying to let my subconscious lead as I power through the next 6 days. A week from today the play will be over, and I will be on vacation! Very exciting. Very reassuring.

So anyway I just ate two string cheeses. Didn't even bother to unstring. Just slammed them CHOMP CHOMP. I've been so incredibly busy. And at times I'm a little grump as well. But I feel very justified in grumping at the bottom of a demonic system. How does a corrupt system fall without the grumps?

That said, I'm also trying to set my gratitude ahead more. That's still important, even if class consciousness is also important. I had a really cool day. Up early and chattering with Puhg, trampolined my heart out, out to South Pas to meet with a prospective director for my play's world premiere. I think, I really think...I mean knock on wood but I think it's happening! For real this time. (I've thought that exact sentence at least five previous times re: this project, so obvi I am naive...but I just have a feeling.) Producer and I like the director. WE think move forward. Producer and I walk through our chat with our third silent producer AM. She suggests very specific turns of phrases and slight changes to email drafts. I say, "This is why you pay you the big bucks." She laughs heartily, and I like that.

Blasted some Showgirl music in the traffic-stuffed drive home. I remember how B told me his favorite thing about LA is driving around singing all day. What a reframe! At home I greeted Puhg and we sat at the table for quite some time talking about our Plans. Plans for today, then the week, then the month, then the years, the life--ultimately. And then that was enough of that.

Hustled into my desk corner. Laid out my very long to-do list and went bananas. Email after email after email, responding to audience accommodations, scheduling the PR call for the world premiere of my other play, my agent pings me she has another call with the production company on my movie tomorrow morning. She's new, and I like her, but I don't fully trust her yet. So I'm keeping a close watch.

WOW, Puhg just scared the life out of me. He got up to go to the bathroom, peeked his head around the corner to see me--a little rat in the night, speech and debate hoodie up, eating a strawberry Trader Joe's pop-tart at the computer. He just shook his head and walked away.

So I hustled at my desk as long as I possibly could. I got a ton done but still have four items left on my to-do list. I'm going to wake up early to get ahead of the day. There's rehearsal at 11. Meanwhile my corporate producer loves the commercial. I get in touch with this other writer for advice on how she structured her last deal with a partner. She told me some useful things. She validated but then also played devil's advocate but then could be vulnerable. I really like her. She tells me totally coincidentally she is coming to the play! She RSVP'd ages ago, the plus one of the HBO exec. Oh my it's been so nice to feel so supported by my community with people expressing how excited they are. I am quick to say, "LOWER your EXPECTATIONS." I am very proud of this cast and their work, but I simply cannot guess how this thing will play. I have no idea.

At 7:38 I think Puhg simply walks into the bedroom, and I close my laptop and say, "We have to go watch Survivor." It's so needed, a night with our island crew. We've got all these little jokes and communal shorthand after years of these Survivor nights. We find out B was named Best Villain as an award for a fan version of the game. Our host made sugar cookies. The bits were flying and so was the genuine support.

Halloween at 37

The morning could be a little slow since my first meeting was set for 10:30. I did the Midnights Taylor Swift workout and sent a long email to my play cast and crew. The show opens in two weeks, and my producer hat is quite heavy. For the previous two weeks my writer hat has been heaviest, but I got cherished feedback from Roff on Tuesday and then more cherished feedback from Gos on Wednesday. Their interpretations of the piece have calmed many of my worries. I am very close to saying what I mean, I think. I have just one thing to sort out still, and I have three good options, or so I think. We will get to "find it" in rehearsals, which would be a scary thing to believe, if it didn't usually work out so very well.

The aforementioned meeting was as a brightly lit diner, with two theatre producers. I really believe in them. Twelfth (or so) time is the charm. They're the most promising partners who have approached me by far. The secret, I think, is one has the business brains and speaks the business language. The other is simplyScrappy. I believe she could make a paper box a hit. She has done it so many times. She says, in no uncertain terms, "Once you tell me we can do this, I will make it happen." I dunk my sweet potato biscuit in strawberry jelly and nod enthusiastically.

I become incredibly overwhelmed on the drive home. This has been happening since January because I live in a country descending into fascism. The political upheaval we are living through is terrifying and confusing on a daily, if not hourly, basis. I will not stop thinking or speaking about this, although it all makes me uncomfortable. Of course I am uncomfortable--we are in grave danger.

Eventually Puhg walks down to the carport where I've been sitting for a while, answering emails. We switch keys. He takes the car for errands and I sing "Better Than Revenge" in the kitchen with a wooden spoon. I write Congress. I write emails to my new theatre agents and the other production's producer, filling them all in. I start on my new commercial for a company I am currently boycotting. I think about how my boss told me, "Our goal is for girls to feel like they need every single product." I wonder how I can subvert that message, with the teeny tiny power I have. I met an older activist several months ago, at a protest. The back of his jacket said, "words are spells." I think about that phrase a lot these days.

I eat a bagged salad. At four I've got to get to my knoll. I bring individual bags of cookies to the guys I see there. I sit under the shade of a sharp tree listening to Lily Allen. I outline two essays I have outlined several times before. One I have been trying to get right for at least eight months.

I listen to a YouTube lecture about shame while having a little mouse snack of cashews and apples before getting dressed up. My pink sparkle two piece is so cute and magically comfortable. Puhg sweetly drives me to the theater for my friend's weird music show. I have no idea who will be there and I am boldly showing up as Gay Taylor Swift. I get a seltzer and wobble in, quickly running into one of my favorite people dressed as Britney Spears. She's talking to a comedian I worked with this summer, but it was on Zoom, so this is a first meeting. He's dressed like Cruella and later sings "Drops of Jupiter."

I have one of the best nights I've had in a very long time. The acts were truly talented and funny and most importantly I danced and sang a LOT. I have learned, when it comes to live music, I go harder than most, and unfortunately I cannot help that. I know I am either a concert hero or villain, depending on if you are sitting right behind or next to me. There was Alanis, Sum 41, Beyonce, Powerline, Carrie Underwood, Fountains of Wayne and I was nestled in with so many old friends--the guy I watch Survivor with and the gal I see at coffee shops and my old director from Chicago and the animator who made my deck and the short story writer dressed as a nun and the actor from that play I dramaturged. My friend the bassist says she is excited to introduce me to her new boyfriend. We shake hands and I realize he played a main character in my old favorite TV show. He is dressed as Nic Cage.

I head to the sidewalk for air and stand in a circle of whoever is there. The shy comedian who lives on my block and her boyfriend, dressed as Colin Mocherie and Ryan Stiles--what a choice. It's so soothing, to be in a circle of improviser types. We ask each other how fast the billionaires plan to kill us. A girl walks to her Uber and shouts behind to me, "I love your dancing!" But she also laughs like, you nutjob! I call a car and invite my neighbors back with me. We chatter on the ride, the Dodgers may win the World Series.

I get excited tromping up the stairs to our apartment. Puhg, for the sixth year in a row, outdoes himself on his homemade haunted house. (Mind you, we went to Six Flags Thursday also!) Candles, rituals, notes, dummies, ghosts. The whole thing culminated in me running into the closet to hide. I stood there nervously for several minutes before Puhg began breathing loudly, revealing he'd been in there the entire time. And then he was wearing a horrid mask. I am very lucky, this I know.

I ordered Taco Bell nachos and a bean burrito, sat on the balcony waiting for it until 1 AM. I went down in my sandals and a puffer coat to grab it from the driver, so he didn't have to navigate parking and getting buzzed in and the elevator. I could tell he was pleased to see me. I ate my feast on the sofa, while watching Love on the Spectrum. The girl who loves dolls gets her first kiss.

And tell me, did Venus blow your mind?