Sunday, March 24, 2013

And That Would Be Alright

These yahoo dbags have been a wonderful part of my life. Sometimes they call me "Mom" and I get annoyed (because I don't think it's only moms who want answers to questions like "What time is rehearsal exactly?" and "Should we warm up now?"). They grab at me until I fall off the bed during notes. We make fun of all the best and worst parts of each other so bitingly, it is unrecognizable as love.

At the continental motel breakfast yesterday, Steck stared me down while I stirred my oatmeal. As soon as I opened my mouth to speak he snapped, "SHUT UP, ALICE." And the only other patron in the lobby dropped his donut.

In the greenroom before our round started we all hugged each other. Big, hearty, meaningful embraces. These stupid jerks who are the reason all my clothes currently smell like smoke and who met me with my bags at White Castle, happy about the fact I couldn't eat anything. We played "Semi-Charmed Life" ironically, but we sang to the ceiling with sincere happiness.

When we lost, we were not sad for pride. We were sad for being better than what we did. Waiting in the wings for the announcement of our loss, we held each other's backs. We strained to stifle giggles--cracking inapprope jokes until the last moments.

After a couple hours of being split up, I spied a few guys from the backseat of my sister's car. I rolled down the window, the 30 degree wind whipped at me, and I barked in my beefy character voice, "Y'ALL LOOK SO GOOD! LOOK AT YOOOOOOU!" Lowsta flicked me off.

The night ended at the huge tournament after-party. I left first (mommin') and started goodbyes. Marg took me in tight and reminded me of the first scene we ever did about stage parents obsessed with Rice Krispies. "It's been a pleasure," we both said. Leggo yelped, "NO! NO I WON'T LET IT HAPPEN! GIRL, NO!" And that's the thing about your improv teammates: they can not mean it and mean it. And we all don't mean it, but mostly mean it.

I have been the most lucky human in that I've always loved my fellow improvisers, but this is a very special team to me. I'm still super close with old Lazy Zips because we would be friends with or without improv. Which is good! But. But not this team. These five other souls and I meet at only one point in time and space. And now, that point--it has faded.

I believe in the sand beneath my toes.
The beach gives a feeling--
an earthy feeling.
I believe in a faith that grows,
and the four right chords
could make me cry.
When I'm with you I feel like I could die,
and that would be alright. Alright.

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