Week of Dec 2 2019

Don’t usually want breakfast but was absolutely desperate to eat at call. Put a breakfast burrito in a brown box. Arrived on set, which was a basketball court today. High school pep rally.

I interviewed for a job two weeks ago and never heard back. It was a job everyone said I would get. I would have to leave this movie if I got it. My bosses mourned my departure preemptively and then we all said nothing when my “last” day came and went. My manager left word with the main exec with no response, no response, no response. She said that meant I might get it. Did she really think that or did she not want me to be mad? But why would I be mad at her?

A person who was in the interview room was at the fake high school pep rally because everything is intertwined that way. I didn’t know what he’d say to me or what I’d say back, if we’d say anything at all.

I sat on the bleachers with our costume designer who read my horoscope. It said I was drowning under falsities. I said, “Yes, I am. I just want someone to be honest with me.” She said, yes be honest. I said I love honesty but LA doesn’t.

This person avoided me. I felt a gloom roll in. Confirmed. I wasn’t hired and I was to be pitied.  I had to stand close to the scene to pitch alts. Right in his eyeline. He never looked over. And then randomly he cut loose from his mark, marched up to me, and gave me a huge bear hug. I wasn’t expecting it, and I didn’t like it. Then he said he was sick. Then he walked away. It’s like he planned a bunch of tactics for getting around my disappointment and did them all at once. It was gross. I was mad. Costume Designer saw it all and sang in my ear, “hooonesty.”

I tried to stay busy in my seat, but he sat right in front of me. I felt heat from my whole being willing him away. I finally stood up and closed myself in a port-a-potty to cry. An extra, dressed like a cheerleader barged in. The lock didn’t work. Grief texted me, asked if I was hiding.

In ten minutes he was gone. I barely kept a lid on my anger. My manager emailed me, “They’re not moving forward at this point.” Just say I didn’t get it. She emailed me five minutes to later to set another interview for another show. To be honest, a very very similar show. I accepted the meeting.

Shooting a romance scene the next day that wasn’t quite there. AP pitched me lines, I pitched lines. She sent me a clip from a John Hughes movie. When we found what it was supposed to be we both squealed like This Is It!

It rained on and off. I saddled up to the twins in another department to talk about past failures. Left partway through to get a two tamales. I squeezed lime on them. Later I ate two hot dogs with mustard. I’d had two soy tacos for lunch. I ate more in that one day than in a typical three day span.

A fake marching band performed a Mighty Mighty Bosstones song. I brought up a discrepancy I saw in the shooting. I was impressed with myself for having the ability to defend a script to people I admire.

An extra in the hot dog line had asked how much the food was. Free of course. She was so happy. It was the best day ever for her. She gets to be a dot in a movie.

By the time I got home I had a migraine and went directly to bed. It wasn’t gone when I woke up. If I moved I puked. Things were this way for two days.  Thursday night I had the strength to walk to the grocery store for a box of Saltines and Pedialite, which I drank on the sidewalk. I made an impromptu visit to the Thai massage spot. I told them my head hurt so badly I couldn’t stand the light from my cell phone. The lady dug into my neck for an hour, I hobbled home, and fell fast asleep. With an eye mask on like some kind of Victorian lily.

In the morning I was new. I had an interview at 3. It was raining, but I couldn't stop smiling. The people were so welcoming. They’re going to be honest with me. When I find out if I do or don’t get it. I drove to work for an overnight shoot. I wore my biggest down jacket and ate a sweet waffle at 2 AM.

Ideas to Reality II

When I worked on a cruise ship one of my duties was to lead improv workshops the last day at sea. I liked this gig way better than playing a DVD of old 90s sketches on the first day at sea or being a "celebrity judge" for the dance tournament. For the last few minutes of the workshop we'd (me + whatever castmate I had that week) answer some Q & A. Standard questions about living on a boat, comedy techniques, entertainment careers. Once a woman asked who our favorite comedians were. I think my partner said, like, Gilda Radner or something. I said Lindy West and _____ ____. An essayist and an absolute dream of a writer/performer I saw at SC while I was still living in Arizona. I had written her a fan letter after that show. I don't know if she ever got it.

Two weeks ago I saw Lindy West speak. And the next day, about 16 hours later, I met _____ ____. I had a job interview with her. Isn't that just something? I met my two favorite writers in 24 hours. One meeting I orchestrated (/paid for), and I one I couldn't have if I had tried. And, sure, favorites change, and possibly they morph based on possibility of proximity, but in this case I said into a microphone, three years ago, in the middle of the Caribbean, these two people were my favorites, and it's like some weird seashell summoned them. The truth is nothing is better now.

Ideas to Reality

I learned about Lindy West's book talk in October via her Instagram. Lindy West is my favorite writer and has been for eight years. I've never laughed so hard reading essays, thought so deeply reading tweets. I set an honest-to-god alarm to go off when the tickets went on sale. I invited Lo. Then I invited Tira, who said "okay" and invited her gf as well.

I had a single ticket sent to my apartment. Monday I planned to arrive at the venue an hour before start so I could ensure four (good) seats together. Traffic was worse than anticipated, so I only arrived half an hour early. I was shocked to find only about fifteen women milling around and tons of empty seaties. I checked in to get my hardcover book. The nice lady couldn't find my name but finally announced, "Oh, you were in a section for paper tickets. You're the only one who had a physical ticket sent to you via mail." I needed the hard ticket for scrapbooking.

I sat down in the fourth row and my friends came soon after. This is what we did with our nights. We got four books, we spent an hour. Lo & I walked down the big event space hill to a French bistro and I got a cheese plate. It all happened because it was an idea, and the idea came to fruition. When I posted the pictures on Insta, several friends DM'd to say they were jealous. I wish I had invited more folks! More folks whose evenings/lives would have been altered by an idea.

The most powerful idea West shared with us (for me) was that sometimes it seems things will never change, or only get worse. But remember cigarettes in bars? When that legislation was presented even she (a non-smoker) rallied against it. "Cigarettes are part of bars! You can't tell us what to do! Even if it passes, we will revolt!" But look, after ten minutes, no one cared. Now if you were to see someone smoking in a bar you'd grow deeply concerned, maybe even scared. It would be uncanny.

Two Sides

If you believe in the ice pack healing your knee, that means you can also die of hypothermia. At least that's what my black-haired, chubby Sunday School teacher told me. In my memory she was wearing a blue green dress not unlike a peacock's body. She chewed on chocolate Ice Breakers, a candy I've only ever found in speciality stores and I've only ever seen her eat. Can't count on anything that can be taken away. Hold space for all that can't be.

Nov 10 18

It's been a long Sunday. The night begins at 4:45, so I'm left anxious like I wasted a day that was not, after all, wasted. Have a show tonight. I feel out of practice and don't want to go, but if I don't go when I can, then I'm even more out of practice, so I always go. When asked.

My anxiety has been topping out around 11 AM this week. I have to be on set by 12 or 1 or 2, and I've learned that isn't good for me. I don't want to go hard working in the mornings because I'll be on the clock until midnight, but I get frantic by the time I'm shoving my junk in a purse, trying to get out the door in the late morning. "I didn't even do anything!" I mutter.

My nails look great. I opted for a bright purple, which seems Novembery. I also put two stickers on my laptop today, which I have never done before. I thought about it for a long time. First, do I want to deface valuable object. Second, do I want to put stickers I like on an object that will eventually be valueless. I thought about a mural in a Thai restaurant by i_ in Chicago. It's downstairs by the bathroom. Something like, "Use the good China, you only get one life." I'm sure the person who painted those words in a restaurant basement didn't consider me, a decade later, putting a cartoon clam on my computer.

Friday afternoon I decided to spend some quiet time cracking this screenplay I'm outlining. But I didn't feel like my usual pastry antics, so I went to Del Taco for Beyond ground beef and Diet Coke. I set out my pens and paper and started going at it, but a very dirty man three booths from me was truly hacking so hard I thought he might die right there. He accentuated each cough with a loud, angry swear. "Can't even read the paper," he'd be yelling. I was afraid of him and afraid for him. I think I want to help people, but I can't help everyone. Perhaps I can help at least the people in front of me, but then sometimes the person in front of you is too scary or you've decided they don't deserve it for some other reason.

I've always had this belief that anyone can do anything I have done. I guess it sort of makes all my accomplishments less shiny. But I really really do believe any old person, given a couple weeks rehearsal could pop off an improvised musical, run a marathon, write a play, be in a healthy relationship, pitch jokes to their own high school comedy idol (current job). Lo tells me she is sure she could not do it. But I know she could. But also I don't know that!

I'm grateful to have been so close to shimmery possibilities this year and watch myself come to dislike half of them once they're out of my view. It's not fun, but it is telling.

Revisions

New play going up this week. I find myself exhausted after rehearsals. They're only three hours long, but I am dead and spent. I'm also sick, so that's not helping. Waking up with a neck ache and face full of mucus. Avoiding coffee. But it's amazing how I sit in a chair listening and jotting notes for truly minimal time and feel maximum drainage. Then I wake up and have to submit all the new pages by 3:30. It's like how when I started working at the Writing Center I'd get ungodly hungry after my shifts. I mean, wow, I'd meet with three students and then call in an emergency pad see ewe order, wolf it on break. Urgently text Puhg when I was getting on the train, "Start dinner now!" He'd reply, "It's four pm!" Staying at Kale's house while I'm here. I had all these fantasies of enjoying my days, bustling about the places I used to go, but instead I'm hunched over this laptop frantically chopping lines and rewriting scenes to make more metaphorical sense. The stakes are low, but I've never been good at not trying my best.

Really Feel

My first General meeting I was confused. I thought I was meeting a new friend through a different friend for coffee to talk about how weird Hollywood is. I didn't understand that I was actually trying to sell myself until I was back in my car. I had worn shorts, like we were going to walk down the boulevard and grab lattes and ask ourselves why we even try. Instead we sat in a conference room across a huge table, and she grilled me on shows I was or wasn't watching. There are right answers to these things, I learned. Or maybe right attitudes to the answers.

The next meeting I knew not to be sad. That's not what they want to hire. It took me a few more meetings to learn to pitch and then a few more to learn, oh, I'm just here to entertain. Do bits, make them laugh, essentially put on a play called I'm Positive About Everything. No one wants to know how you really feel. At least I know now, and my manager has been getting these post-meeting emails and calls "We just love her!" Meaning, "We loved the play!"

But that's work. That's not necessarily unique to this industry, I guess I guess. But everyone is work. I am my work. Cobra visited and I could sense at first she was enjoying the tragic stories. I mean, they're juicy, but then when I wasn't happy at the end of them, that was less fun. I can't get her anything, she realized. She cancelled our next plans. She read my most recent script and said, "I read it." I feel like I could lose my mind for less. I feel the need to tell a couple people about my disappointment, but it makes them uncomfortable too. I try to keep a mental tally of who would allow me to need, and it is a short list. I don't think actually you could logically call so few people a list.

Is it narrative structure that has ruined us? "But you struggled with that yesterday. Shouldn't today be better?"

Bucket

Someone told me trying to love me is like dumping a pail of water into a well. I believe this to be accurate.

I suspect I have been at the bottom of the well, digging it further down. “More room for the water, “ I’m probably thinking, which isn’t necessarily incorrect. Down there with a headlamp, sweating, shoveling. I have evaluated and think maybe instead I should work on finding a rope ladder, climbing up, and being part of the bucket brigade.

Through

What is a person underneath their use to other people? When teaching English 101 I knew half the class was learning to be clear and other half was learning to express. I’ve seen Precious. I know how to write through it, but it still surprises me when I do.

I’ve been reworking and reworking my newest pilot for a couple months. A little stuck, and finally with a clear paper, no plot points as far as the eye can see I wrote, “But then who is she if not useful?” And I don’t know yet.

Risk

The closer you get to someone you love, the more opportunity there is for you to dislike parts of them. I guess the closer you get to someone you dislike, the more opportunity there is to love parts of them.

Puhg and I had a perfect we-work-from-home-brunch at the hip taco shop. He got two potato ones, peeled off the label, stuck it to himself. I said, "this is my favorite drink" about the Summer Chiller. He said, "ever?" I said, "Yeah. I think so." It was Topo Chico with lime and a simple syrup over ice in the sun cut with vegan Mexican. I adored a scenelet during the lunch rush--this older man (bald, chubby) carrying his tray with two young, hip co-workers. I thought the unlikely friends were cute. It was easy to see from two tables away. But what do I know? Maybe he tagged along and they rolled their eyes and maybe for good reason. We don't know.

This week I felt frustrated with multiple friends. Some was warranted and some was made up. We're so close I think I know when I'm being dismissed, and they, I think, know when I'm dismissing them. And then there's unfair reasons why maybe someone is annoyed. Like when I am not upset and then someone decides I am and they are upset with me for being upset (not upset). This is unsaid.

But that is the risk of caring and knowing and getting in there. Ultimately it comes down to this thing that apparently all people are different? That "Ugh why can't this person just do what I would do?" And at the same time liking, praising, that they are not me.

Why I Love Haunted Houses

A couple years ago someone asked me. They added, "because you're so positive" which confirmed to me they were not listening when I spoke. He guessed before I responded something like, "Oh, it's empowering to think about yourself as dead? Like you're immortal?" And Trev interrupted (we were all in a greenroom), "No, no, it's the opposite. You walk out and remember you're alive. There might be death, but you, you're alive."

It's also interactive theatre. I mean, sure, caps off to Sleep No More, but haunted houses have been doing it for ages. It's art that changes with us who changes because of it.

I remember my first when I was in 5th grade. It was in a church basement on Halloween night. I went back to it a few years later. It wasn't as scary, and that was okay. I walked through alone and everyone worried about me. I was 13 or so. My mom drove me and sat outside with cocoa. I did my homework in line. I walk through alone now too because Puhg doesn't want to go in most houses. People working the event don't worry anymore, but the people in front of and behind me do, I can tell. They're there with big groups of friends or their sig o, and I'm just wearing a pumpkin sweatshirt refreshing my email.

I'm so impressed with certain mazes that sometimes I clap. I did during the Us maze, for example. When a room so perfectly matched the climactic film scene, complete with bloody footprints. And then there was that chilling animatronic PLUS a surprise real actor. I have been less enthusiastic with my cheering at a nationally-renowned theatre.

I have three more haunted attractions booked for fall, which began yesterday.

Some Things That Have Been Good

Pumpkin cake roll ice cream from Jenni's, Christmas vacation when it finally comes, Chicago fall, Arizona vacation with an artistic purpose in less than a month, Greta speaking truth to power, not going on social media for the 30 hours surrounding the Emmys, this blog--a place I can write when no one will hire me to write, I am currently being paid to write a musical, the same denim romper with holes in it I wear every day, my brown headband, the excellent gas mileage our lil Prius gets, country music radio, My Favorite Murder while I do the dishes, not wearing makeup, wearing makeup, pumpkin cold brew from Starbucks, I don't feel offended when my friends can't hang out, phone call with Lo, when I'm alone in coffee shops, neon signs, Cowsk asked me to proof her newest screenplay, reading incel message boards, I ordered myself business cards that aren't perfect but I will have them for tomorrow's mixers and Thursday's meet and greet, the cafe with the cutest name where I ate a corn muffin and worked very hard and a stranger kept looking at me funny until I was leaving and she said she has seen me do improv, before that a surfer bro had asked if that was a tattoo on my leg and I said yes and he showed me his bug eating a donut, my 2019 vision board that has served me well but makes me itch for 2020 the magazines are already stacked up, Beyond Meat Del Taco vegan tacos, Hustlers, a side eye text with an acquaintance, that the people I am around are not people who swear excessively, that I lived other lives, that I like to live other lives, new vanilla candle from Trader Joe's, I weigh two pounds less than I did when I started grad school, rose pillow spray, Puhg and I playing apartment soccer with a t-shirt, chihuahuas, tweets by George Wallace

Don't Text People Before Their Shows

This is a very specific pet peeve of mine. Don't Text People Before Their Shows Saying "I Can't Make It." UNLESS that person is depending on you for some reason post-show like they were your ride home or your solitary Friday night plans. But if not, just let the person be. They're already putting themselves out there, attempting vulnerability on this lame planet, and then you're gonna creep in with "Hey, someone you thought might support you (me) isn't going to!" banner. I found this true for my most recent birthday party as well. The couple people who texted me during the party saying they weren't coming just made me annoyed on my birthday, made it about them when I was surrounded with other people I wanted to give attention to. Meanwhile a different friend who RSVP'd an ENTHUSIASTIC YES never showed. I forgot, two days later he text apologized he double-booked, and I really didn't care.

I'm trying very very hard not to hold any grudges in this life, but I still turn to stone thinking of a nice comedy friend I met in Chicago a few years ago. We saw a play together (as is a customary first friend hang in that missable culture hub) and she went on and on that she wanted the path I had. I invited her to my homegrown sketch show, and she texted me day of she wasn't going to make it. Okay. A year later I was in a weekly show at THE most accessible theatre--the show she wanted to be in--and when I'd bump into to her she was like, "omg I MUST see it!" Never came. Texted me gd after my solo show closed (which I felt good about) "sorry I'm so busy!" Like, stop reminding me you don't care about me!?

Swimming Out

Nothing is good enough for people like you. Last night Red & I talked at a very loud bar for an acquaintance’s birthday. When we saw each other first and asked the “How are you”s we were both “fine” because both of us have been rejected a lot lately. And you don’t really want to say that because you don’t want to be the bummer, but also you don’t want to be insincere. I’m sure the resolution is be sincere and be happy. Oh, yeah, no big, getting right on it. She says at first it was like, “well even if there are miles to go I couldn’t have imagined being here a year ago” and same but isn’t it funny that no matter how far along I get it seems it didn’t happen soon enough despite it happening sooner than I thought. Tuesday was my one year LA-iversary. I cried in a Starbucks while working on a submission packet after getting an email from my manager, which is I guess fitting because it’s just about the most LA thing that can happen. Happy holidays. It was a blow because I felt I had so much good energy in my corner. One could see all the good energy, not quite realized, as a win, but I don’t. At least not right now.

Thinking heaps about Oprah’s concept of ego: identifying as anything outside of yourself. Really absorbing that, noticing it, and at the same time curious about Step Two, which is I Have an Ego Now What? Theme of the summer is I love honesty. It’s absolutely magnetic. She told me in my ears via her podcast that by identifying as a skinny person she opened up the rest of the world to identify her that way too. And, no, it wasn’t right for everyone ever for the rest of time to obsess over her lbs, but she set up the game board, she knows. I get annoyed when people ask “what’s up now?” irate when someone said to me one lousy day after landing from my international flight, “So are you sort of just hanging around now?” But I guess if the way I see myself is My Work, what do I think everyone else will see? I am Alice who vs. a Writer named. Hard to let go. The illusion that a dysfunctional pattern got us to where we are is strong. I start hurting remembering who doesn’t believe in me. I hate my own self. Mainly because she goes through extended periods where she doesn’t like anything. I mean, truly, not a single thing. I try to make a list of what I am excited for and come up with one item. Not knocking the one item.  I love the one item. (Going to Horror Nights at Universal Studios.)

A more optimistic take rattles around in the back of my head that this is my time, my blank space to decide what I am and what I need. I am worried I won’t like what comes up. And what's most boggling is I have never felt more selfish with my time. The lurching makes it hard for me to even make dinner before 9:30 PM let alone call my congressman. I guess I've been calling him for three years, so perhaps it doesn't matter. But I think that's what down people want to believe, so they don't have to push past the self-centered grip of dysphoria. And yet I just can't right now. Usually I'm good about "can" versus "don't want to."