Frothy ocean, reading poolside, lime juice in the hot tub, chatting with a window, pastry pile every morning, Christmas Eve nachos and then Christmas nachos, humid salt air, smoke in the palm forest, beach massage, Diet Cokes on the patio, dumb little holiday tree, sunglasses gone, tips counted, bright stars, sandcastle lump, iguanas and hawks, biking around the bend, red lipstick, time moving on.
I've been running for over fifteen years. I generally like it. Good for my heart. A time to push, to think.
When I decide on a distance, I don't like to stop until I finish. It's more than a preference. I feel starting up after I'm stalled at a light is much harder than jogging in place. But it's more than that too. It's my compulsion to complete my goals.
Come cramps, come fatigue, come anything short of blood, I feel unsettled if I break. And I don't like running less than two miles either. It's a nice even number.
But this month I've been pausing to walk. I know I could power through, but it doesn't seem so important. I can't muster as much. I'm just going slower.
And going slower is hard for me. I like getting everything done. I like being reliable. Things are falling through the cracks. I don't answer emails as quickly and sloth around plans.Things I typically look forward to are shrouded in quicksand.
I've always loved the fullness of the summer solstice, but maybe it's time to appreciate the winter solstice. A day to do the most vs. a day to do the least. What a stupid loser holiday. But here it is anyway. The sun setting so early, me mixing drinking chocolate, watching light fade from the patio, the pink palm tree skyline in the distance.
Those last days at home are so crystalized. A week before she left, Puhg was at a concert, so we had a girls' night in. I made popcorn and watched _______ with her snuggled on my chest. I thought the movie was terrible and this bothers me, that the last film we ever watched together was so stupid. Even though she wouldn't know that. When it ended I played our song in the living room.
I don't remember how it became our song. I think I happened to be holding her while some 90s Spotify playlist looped. I danced with her fuzzy self and sang along "I'll never let you go, I'll never let you go." I found myself humming it all the time to her. A calming lullaby before she was comfortable with us. Hard to believe she came so frightened and jumpy, eventually a puddle in our hands. It was past midnight when Puhg's keys jangled in the door. Her ears perked as they always did.
5 AM Sunday I shuffled out to the living room as I often do when I can't sleep. She curled up into my lap as I read for two hours. I cried--unsure if I was imagining something was off or not. Puhg and I went on a long walk. We finally got a vet appointment, days away. At night she was eating apples again. In the morning we woke up our favorite way--hearing the water bottle click. But just a few hours later everything changed.
She was Sick. I called all over LA for help. She was manic then tired, climbing upside down then unable to hold her head up. Chewing then tossing her pellets around. We found a hamster ER, and flew there, her in a shoebox despising every bump and turn. A team whisked her away for urgent care.
We sat for hours watching dogs, cats, and one wheezing hedgehog come in. A guinea pig didn't make it. I didn't notice the time pass even though I had nothing to do but wonder if I'd ever see my dear one again. We were relieved she made it. The doctor recommended an overnight stay for pneumonia, antibiotics, oxygen. We were led to the back, tapped on her glass, told her it would be okay. Would it?
Days of waiting for "the call" gave me a permanent stomachache. I typically have healthy boundaries with my phone. I often leave it for short errands or keep it face down with friends. But not last week. I had it on full volume next to me 24/7. The doctor would call in the morning, then in the evening. They were kind, bright professionals who referred to my beloved with a chuckle: she is quite round or the little lady. We feared for a buzz off-schedule, meaning the worst. I made my ringtone "Bette Davis Eyes" last year. I thought it was funny. It was no longer funny.
When we visited two days later she was different. Exhausted and white. We held her and hoped. We gave her her ham house and a blueberry, which she ate slowly. I willed her to be better. We agreed to a bill for more everything. We took photos. I look horrible or maybe just like the saddest I've ever been. We cancelled Thanksgiving travel and spent the day quietly, vaguely tossing around the idea of a movie we wouldn't see. At 6 the call came: she improved! She ate some, seemed a little more energized, dialed down the oxygen! Her team would continue this plan. Oh, the hope. The puffing rising hope. She'll be home tomorrow.
But tomorrow her situation worsened. And would we like to come by, sooner than expected. I sobbed and put together a respectable outfit. Black pants, the sweater she chewed through the day she came home, my hamster headband. Filled my purse with seeds and fruit and cheese.
I hate life going on. I've become small. I hate how the days build on themselves. I held her yesterday two days ago three days ago four days ago a week ago. She was carried away in a daze, going to the big wheel in the sky. And I also hate the big wheel in the sky.
She bit me one time, a year ago. It was so unexpected I yelped and plopped her back in her cage. After I washed the blood down the drain I realized she was limping. Poor thing had sprained her foot, lashed out in fear. We took away her toys to heal, I bandaged my finger. After a week she was scampering again. All that remained was a mark on my nail. A crack from her sharp teeth. I watched that crack move up and up over the months. A kind of calendar. Until one day I didn't notice it had left me at all.
It was a bright afternoon. Should we do anything? Puhg asked. I had put on extra sunscreen that morning. I didn't know why. He suggested the beach and I said, yeah, sure, why not? We never go to the beach, but we were 20 minutes away. We walked to the sparkling ocean. I drew her name in the sand. It would be washed away but not that I'd see. When it was time to go, we got back in the car and the wind knocked out of me. Blaring over the radio--that obscure 90s hit. I'll never let you go. I'll never let you go.
I have 300 videos of her because how could I not? They help. She was a true individual--so chonky and bossy but ultimately sweet. Unlike every other hamster I've had (angels to be sure), she loved to be pet and held and snooze on us. She communicated with nips and sounds. She brusked when happy and purred when alert and had trained us to give her a treat when she squeaked. She and I would have long long talks at night. Some of the videos are short--a few seconds of her running or cleaning. Others are long, a whole grooming session, minutes of her cozying into my shoulder, but they always end before I want them to.
I dreamt I laid on the floor and fell through five stories into a basement's basement, surrounded by ghosts. I woke up with a start right at 2 AM, grappled for my phone and somehow accidentally FaceTimed a guy I saw at a birthday party last night.
I'm running out of steam. I've never been so close with nothing to show for it. It's a long game, they say. A marathon and not a sprint, they say, but I don't know how much time there is left. For all of it. Inside an imploding industry inside a cracking town in a teetering democracy inside a world on fire. The worst kind of Wonderball.
I have no more, "But at least!"s in me. I fend off bitterness with a staff, but the wolves have gotten too close and gnawed both ends. I'm holding a stupid stick. The pink shiny bubbles of potential keep popping. So many so fast they no longer bring me joy as they float my direction. Feeling like a dunce for believing in circles of air. I don't want to work so hard to get by.
It could be worse. What a mean belief we have to cling to. Because it could just be better for everyone down here instead. I hate how many people never worry/haven't had to worry. Maim reminds me on such a gorgeous patio, it's not personal. It's being a millennial. It's the year. Maybe it's the lack of free will. In that moment, her face in the sun, a fresh seltzer with lime in my hand, it was all just a joke.
I was surprised to learn he smoked--this man who set up the event. It was bizarre. An Easter egg hunt for a small plastic doll. I've always been good at egg hunts, so I felt confident. We could work in groups. I aligned myself with two other players. We'd each take a section of the room. There was a fourth person who showed interest in working with us. We said we'd see how round one (of three) went. The game began, and I was surprised by how difficult it was. I couldn't find the little doll anywhere. I asked the ref if it was visible. I assumed it would be. But no, I was informed. The doll might even be inside a sofa cushion. I felt my anxiety intensify. I asked if I was allowed to rip open sofa cushions. The ref shrugged, unsure. How could he be unsure? Where was the real head honcho? What were the boundaries of the "game"? Was this a test? Who will win at what cost? Then I saw him. Honcho. He was off chatting with someone else who signed up to participate, but immediately thew up their hands and quit trying. The two of them were laughing in a cozy living room with hot cocoas. I was jealous. Why hadn't I thought of that?
When I was woke up I thought about the anecdote David Mamet (problematic!) ended his MasterClass with. People traveled from miles around to take a telepath test. Everyone stood in long lines, waiting to sign up for the test, all anxious, wondering if they were special. One person at the end of the line began fretting they wouldn't even make it to the front before the tests were to be administered. But then they heard. A little whisper. It said, "If you can hear this, step out of line and walk to the door at the back of the room."
Thursday night I produced a reading of my beloved screenplay I'm trying to sell. I've been waffling about it since July. July 11 I emailed my first casting choice to ask if she'd do a performance. She wrote back right away yes, and then the ball rolled. I gathered the group, found the space, imagined how I wanted it to go. Came up against a bunch of roadblocks in August. I hate to back out of things, but I doubted I could pull it off. I asked who was around--my mom and Puhg if I was pushing too hard. They both had such similar answers, "It seems fun!" And that was enough for me to power through.
SO many contract emails, rehearsal Venmos, actor shuffles, schedule headaches, poster edits, Insta stories later, the day came. And all day, annoyances cropped up. Late tech director, actors in traffic, comp drops. I got angry, I got sad, I got into my frilly pink dress. I showed up arms full and head buzzing. Rushed through two scenes we NEEDED to slam, frantically got the lights situation set, drafted a curtain speech, greeted folks hoping they wouldn't all hate me soon.
And honestly it went SO GREAT! Not perfect, but great! I juggled cleaning up the green room with greeting friends on the patio, tried to absorb the compliments but also keep my brain from falling out. Made ONE promising connection. And that's really what it's about. Unreal, but true. Finally walked down the street, with stragglers, where we could just laugh and enjoy the autumn night air.
The next day Puhg gave me such a good compliment. Something I didn't know about myself. He said, "You really put yourself in uncomfortable situations." It almost sounds like a diss. But he went on, "You do things you know will be really hard on you because you want whatever is on the other side." And it's true! I've got grit. Professional, personally--I toss myself into so many experiences where I KNOW I am going to cry, rage, and panic. That's the nature of the beast. But I've done it over and over and over and over for, now, literal decades.
Even now, I'm very aware of which people followed up after the show to gush and which have been silent (I think) purposely. But what can I do? It's not for everyone! My work or my ethic! Good luck burning someone who sits in fire.
Someone's only your competition as long as they live in your mind as your competition. If you stop thinking about them, you're no longer competing with them, by definition.
If you stop thinking about everyone, you're no longer competing at all.
Last night I asked Puhg, "Am I special? Am I like a human cotton candy?"
A seasoned dodger of my traps, he responded, "You are if that's what you want to be." Then he added, "You can not care because you're cotton candy, or you can be cotton candy and not care." Seemed very deep in the moment. But what do I know? I'm just a girl with severe insomnia, sitting in her living room at 3 AM, finishing a Barbie script, willing her hamster to come out and join her in this lounge chair.
Had a meeting today, trying to get a company interested in my climate change show (yet again). I couldn't even remotely keep their interest. About other things, sure, but not the climate emergency. I simply can't understand how it's not on everyone's mind since it's on mine about 60% of my waking minutes. They liked me and I made a professional connection and blah blah blah but I replayed the entire conversation once I'd left the Zoom. Where could I have cornered them? Maybe I wasn't charming enough in those few moments? Personal enough? Why did I let someone else steer the conversation to squirrels when I desperately needed to talk about oil? Shriek about oil all day and there I was fake laughing at someone's stupid story about a squirrel. I take it so hard when I don't make something happen, even though I know logically I can't make most things happen.
Puhg asks if I'm going to gymnastics tonight, which I'd considered. Except I'm pretty afraid of getting monkeypox. We all cartwheel and hop on one long mat for the whole hour. Sometimes I dive directly into someone else's sweat stain. It makes sense of course even if the odds are relatively low. A friend of mine got it two months ago, and she still has welts on her face. I didn't have anxiety about random diseases for most of my life and now I'm made to feel I've overdone it. "You can't go 99% in on anything," Puhg says. "You're a hundred or bust." I revise, "Oh no, I go 98% on everything. Which is why I get so frustrated with myself. For that 2%."
Woke-up earlier than expected, so early the ham hadn't gone to bed yet. Scooped her from her cage for a nuzzle and a cucumber slice. Read an essay from Hola Papi on the balcony. Journaled, diligently, ten things I am grateful for and three compliments. Cardio dance workout in the living room, shower with lavender soap and rose shampoo. My manager emailed to say my 11 AM had to reschedule. Also I'd already turned in my Barbie episode early. So, suddenly I had a morning for my newest side project.
Been avoiding people and places because of BA5. Did an improv show the night before because I decided I could be N95'd save for the 25 minutes of stage time with my two gals. Now on the sidewalk at my favorite bakery got a text from the show's producer. A screenshot of her team/fellow producers: "I am a HUGE Alice fan" "hard agree." I'm on the very edge of the aforementioned sidewalk, at a lone table. The fresh air a friend, morning bun and caramel salt brew too. I turn off my wifi and set my phone's timer for twenty-five minutes before chucking it in my purse. I write my new play. I like my new play. I do this sprint three times. It's 11 AM, and I've written the first fifteen minutes of this little darling.
Eat sprouts and vegan turkey, do my Japanese DuoLingo lessons. Learning how to say things like, "I talked with my friend on Sunday" and "I am busy on Friday." I attend a useful Zoom panel on legal advice for writers. I keep my camera off and paint my nails from light to pop pink.
I lay down to rest at about 5 and end up texting with my friend for an hour. Commiserating, then plotting, then scheming about how to get friends jobs. I really like getting friends jobs. I also like plotting. My producer at Big Corporation emails the entire team she loved my episode. Puhg tells me I am flying too high. I think I probably am I decide to do a night run, right as the sky goes pink in sunset. I get home hot and sweaty and immediately dunk in the pool. I rarely swim at night, so this is a special sparkling indulgence. I sink to the bottom and whale around. Have a nighttime diet ginger ale, listen to a meditation podcast, have a rainbow sprinkle cookie over an episode of Frasier--the one where the dog goes missing--write in my planner my Friday to-dos, let the ham roam around before my bedtime, this time.
People look to you to justify their actions, good or bad. We want to believe we matter when it's convenient and that we don't when it's not. But eyes are always on us just as our eyes are always on what's in front of us too. We all make up the whole. Our actions, reality as we know it.
Yeah, you're working,
building a mystery,
and choosing so carefully.
Officially in the chapter of life where I consider what's best for me. How obnoxious.
Take Friday. I was tired by 10, but couldn't sleep because of night cramps. Tried to gather some enthusiasm about ancient behavior. It was common in Chicago for me to come home long after Puhg went to sleep. I had my little rituals. Stopping by the Philly Cheesesteak storefront for a large order of seasoned fries or maybe Walgreens for Ben & Jerry's. I'd climb the four flights up, change into sweats, and have my little snack at 1 AM while watching Catfish. Sometimes I'd have work at 8 downtown the next day. Sometimes I'd get up at 6 to grade a few papers before running to the train.
So Friday I was already doomed to be awake. Luckily I had a pint of Netflix & Chilled in the freezer for such an emergency. Then I just had to be logical, didn't I? "Eh, that much sugar this late isn't going to feel so good in the morning, best wrap up in this blanket and drink more water." How dare I?
I was still up at 5 AM. Slightly out of my gourd from lack of sleep and dull pain and too many TikToks when I had the deepest truest craving for McDonald's breakfast. I haven't had McDonald's breakfast since 2015. When they introduced all day McMuffins and I got one for lunch after teaching English 101. I was violently ill later. A hashbrown? Maybe ate one in 2005?
But yesterday, dawn about to creep in, memories of childhood flitting around, I wanted nothing more than a pile of McDonalds. I filled my Postmates cart full. A McGriddle, oj, a macchiato, pancakes, McMuffin, biscuits. Did the butter still have a little print of corn on it, I wondered? Like it did when I was in pre-school and I'd rip the sausage out of the sandwich before mixing the pad with jelly. "I'll try to sleep first," I told myself. Next thing I knew it was 10:30 AM. Puhg already up, worked out, showered, coffeed, ready for his day. I urgently remembered the McDonalds. I googled when breakfast ended. I had half an hour to make it to the drive-thru.
Ah, but would that be wise? A greasy little feast while I still had greasy hair, had yet to move my body? No, no. Time to be responsible again. I sighed and put on my light pink exercise shorts. Cardio for half an hour, brushed teeth, shampooed, shaved, soaped, skin regime. I baked a tin of Trader Joe's biscuits, thinly sliced organic cheddar, fried two eggs in oil, added vegan bacon. Ate the next best thing on the patio.
You say you do not like work and would never prioritize it over a life, but you coupled yourself with a person obsessed with your work, and I do not believe you anymore. To be fair, you may not realize what has happened, but at this point, I am unwilling to accept that as an excuse because also--
You do not ask me about myself. When I tell, sometimes, you text excitedly. But rarely like my social media posts. And never follow up. I ask you about yourself and feel like I'm in the club, only to worry later, perhaps I'm not.
It is possible I thought we were friends beyond what we are. But what you said and did showed otherwise! There was a pandemic though. That's always to be remembered.
Also that person you're with talks over you all the time! They're very angry, and I see you are also now very angry. But you used to be one of the happiest people I knew. I have so many special memories of you laughing and running. Now you snarl over your riches. I understand you're worth more. We all are. But we live here and now.
By the way! It is convenient to be the arbiter of what political and social actions are "worth it" and which aren't! They all are, actually! Just to different degrees. I well-know some incite only the tiniest speck of progress. But just because you don't want to do any of it--don't act like those of us trying are fools.
It's petty but you told me you'd be there for me, and you weren't. You didn't apologize. And you also changed the subject so quickly, like I wouldn't notice. I noticed.
You have hurt my feelings.
You have hurt my feelings but you have also been there for me before. And what does one do with that? I do not trust you, but I hope you stick around. I wonder if you will. If you would if I didn't still care that--
You have hurt my feelings.
Opening this little blog with no plans about what to write. What was special this week? I've been making a list every day in my journal for the past, oh ten years of ten things I'm grateful for. I'm sure the exercise does what it's supposed to, but how many times can one write, "my hamster" before the words lose meaning? Hence this new, "what were special from today?" Like how on our way to Palm Desert on a joykill of a drive Puhg and I saw, just for three seconds, a skinny boy pushing a lawnmower, his dad watching, hands on hips, with a judgmental look. We immediately both burst into laughter. We couldn't even fully explain why.
On Monday I emailed Cowsk to ask if I could bounce some ideas off her. She always gets back to me quickly. No exception, Tuesday we had a morning spitball over mocha & seltzer. It hung over me for days. What's the best way to take this project? It's up to me but also not. Had a completely unsatisfactory dinner with someone and felt angry once I got home. But also free. There's no need to "keep up" all the time. Some folks are fine out there on their own.
Saw such a good play Wednesday with my mysterious friend. Sat right by the fountain outside the theatre chatting before showtime. We were both shocked when the usher announced, "five minutes, five minutes." I've been doing two back-bends and twenty push-ups a day since mid-April. I hate it but gosh if it isn't working. My shoulders are so much stronger and limber. I did a gymnastics move I've never done before. It didn't look as impressive as I know it was. What about recognizing some relationships get worse but can get better?
Last night was walking to the ballot box and sitting on the balcony in the afterglow of sunset and chips for dinner and two episodes of Fraiser and Beach Bunny on the Google home. The blessed ham curled right up onto my chest again, daring me to fall asleep. So smol and secure. Puhg thinks she likes to leech up the warmth. Good deal on my end.
There's a woman hunched across from me on this Starbucks patio with a humungo java chip frap loudly rolling calls. "Let's get that actor from Star Wars, the emperor" she just barked. Some guy joined her moments ago. She gave him a "one sec" finger, then exhaled "work never ends" with faux-exhaustion. There are people in this city who love not having a life. I'm not one of them.
Free to Be Me -- Francesca Battistelli
an ironic TikTok song I started to take literally
Vineyard -- Jackopierce
nostalgic walks around the neighborhood
Spirits -- The Strumbellas
oozing into summer like
Freedom Was A Highway -- Jimmie Allen, Brad Paisley
pretending to be normal fall
Peach -- Future Islands
caving to abnormal fall
breadwinner -- Kasey Musgraves
midwestern melodies
See You at the Finish Line -- Barbie
a real cheerful banger from one of my episodes
Most Girls -- Hailee Steinfeld
Saturdays at the community gym trying to land that handspring
High Hopes -- Panic! At The Disco
anthem for learning to believe it could all happen
abcdefu -- GAYLE
screaming in the car, in the shower, in the closet organizing t-shirts
Hooked On A Feeling -- Blue Swede, Bjorn Skifs
lunges and runs, dancing and stretches
All Too Well (10 Minute Version) -- Taylor Swift
THE cultural touchstone of 2021, inescapable
I'll Never Let You Go -- Third Eye Blind
my song with Cap
30/90 -- Tick Tick BOOM
crying in the back row of the movies alone
Help Myself -- Dave Matthews Band
blasted over and over writing my Scream spec
just like magic -- Ariana Grande
bopping on the Starbucks patio with a Venti iced coffee and my goal notebook
Hammer -- Point North
the song that most got me, any day any time
Things Happen -- Dawes
reflective something as I try to get better
Just the Girl -- The Click Five
unearthed for a writing project
American Girl -- Bonnie McKee
what I envision as closing credits on the most outlandish thing I've ever worked on
Come Clean -- Hilary Duff
willing to rewrite history
That's What Girls Do -- No Secrets
fifteen drafts of my feature later
Dollhouse -- Priscilla Renea
sending aforementioned feature out
Man! I Feel Like A Woman! -- Shania Twain
prepping for and soaking in my birthday
it's about time that they go and take me serious
if you're not feelin' this, you're probably delirious
At Disneyland a few weeks ago I saw a display of Mickeys and felt a nostalgic breeze. Something I'd known before I knew most things. Stacked stuffed Mickeys. I've known the stacked stuffed Mickeys three decades, can you/I believe? I had a VHS of a singalong video, Disney songs over short almost music videos of the park. Genius idea. Basically a thirty-minute commercial I rewatched again and again.
Two nights ago I couldn't sleep. I found the "tape" on YouTube. Just as I remembered and yet I didn't remember most. I think I fast forwarded big chunks, in hindsight. Yes, I think I did. I liked the Mainstreet song and Goofy sweeping and then there's a bunch of Adventureland bits that bothered me. "Follow the Leader" and Tom Sawyer's island. I scrubbed through the video just as I did on the brown beanbag in the Midwestern summer and then ah ah yes. Finally, the best part, the "Giddy Giddy Ghosts" segment. Captain Hook and a terrifying fox creeping around the Haunted Mansion. Yes, yes, yes. I felt my pupils dilate all the same. Mm the horror, mm the spooks.
I did something I assuredly never did as a child: watched all the credits. Who made this funny little project? The names came up so 1990 colorful and tilted. I wondered if there had been a discussion about if randomly shoving in a horror piece was really appropriate for the rest of the mood. Or did no one care what was going on in those stupid little side projects when The Lion King was in pre-production? "This will scare kids," I imagine someone saying, having no idea it would be my favorite part for ever and ever.
Yesterday a man outside my window shouted for an hour at the cars whooshing by. I've seen him before. He walks around the neighborhood with a tattered poster that reads, "DON'T BUY HONDA." I've never heard his voice before. Yesterday he repeated two sentences over and over, "DON'T BUY HONDA. MY KID DIED IN A HONDA." Sometimes his voice was full of pain and other times it was rote.
Another day in paradise Thursday. I buzz into the bungalows and AP greets me with a hug by her pool. We spend the first half hour of the session chatting and laughing. Her assistant brings us fancy organic salads with farro and sweet potatoes, I'm in love. For two hours we brainstorm. I always feel like I get away with what "work" is, but then I remember it took me fifteen years to be able to hang like I can hang. I drive away full, instructing Spotify to play LFO.
But that night I text a friend who defends someone I thought we didn't like, and I feel so betrayed I can't keep my mind off the interaction for two days. I beg to go to breakfast with Puhg on Friday morning, just to have something else fill the clouds. My scone is perfect, but it's not enough.
What is is gymnastics. My main issue (with all my moves) is I just go too slow. Our coach is really laid back. He doesn't offer much feedback, which I personally like. But when he does, for me, it's a simple, "faster." I feel like I'm sprinting and whipping but when I watch the videos, gosh if he isn't right. It's like a turtle doing a roundoff. How can I feel so sure in my skin but the evidence simply proves otherwise? I walk out into the sun with a new friend. We stand by our cars talking for twenty minutes. At home I get on my swimsuit and hit the pool. It's hot enough, but cool enough I question myself before jumping in. Once I do, it's heaven. I do 15 laps, huffing and puffing.
I remember going to Outback Steakhouse after a round of mini golf when I was 19. I ordered the cheese fries as dinner. I remember the painting of cowboys and knowing it was the end, but the ranch was so good. The last time I went to an Outback was, I think, in 2014 when my sister, Dad, and I were at Mount Rushmore. I got the side salad then--the fries a distant fantasy. But then this Friday. Went to a wrestling show, and my friend, being a friend, told me I could leave after her match. It was 10 PM in Burbank, nothing was open but lo and behold, an Outback Steakhouse. And this time, I did get those fries, and they were not as good as I remembered. Not even a little bit. So now I am free.
not thinkin' bout forever just six minutes of her time
My most successful actor acquaintance in Chicago has always believed in me. I'm not totally sure why, but there are some people you barely know who just like ya. Sad was my first friend I saw on a TV show. She was in at all the big theatres--not constantly, but all of them--and she of all people was always championing me. I tried to become friends with her, and she wasn't interested. One fall I knew she was at a theatre near my office every day, but she never accepted a lunch no matter how many times I asked. But when we'd cross paths you'd never know she ignored those texts--always gushing. She set me up with an audition from her agent. She gave me a play by play of every moment of the future fifteen minute appointment. She described the agent's hair and how she tossed it, what she'd say to me, when she'd follow up with an offer. Sad met me for coffee (with ease when it came to furthering my career) and went over my monologue line by line. I've never seen someone so confident, the glimmer rubbed off on me.
I lost some weight before the audition, got a sub for my classes, printed a dozen headshots, and I went to a weird part of Lincoln Park mid-morning. I was nervous about getting there on time, so I showed up too early and sat in a Nordstrom Rack for a long time.
It's obvious from the way I'm telling this story, I did not sign with Sad's agent. I never even met Sad's agent. I showed up and nothing was the way Sad described. She couldn't have known of course. But it still shook me. The agent wasn't there and not explained for. The two young assistants (?) called me in (late), took one headshot (and looked with distain at the rest of the stack), and lead to to a small room where I wasn't sure if I was supposed to sit or stand. They were wearing jeans and t-shirts and I was wearing dress pants and a blouse. One of them said, "Okay so...who are you?" I said, "Yeah! I moved here two and a half years ago. I do comedy--just got back from touring with S___ C___ and doing a musical show. I do improv at i_ too." Girl said, "Okay. Go ahead." I did my monologue, fairly well I think, but she only gave a pinched smile. Then she said, "Okay...um...read this." The other girl, who hadn't spoken, handed me a slip of paper with ad copy on it about macaroni and cheese. The first girl said, "Read that then deliver it to camera." There was a little camcorder nearby. As looked over through the lines, she talked to her associate. "S___ C__, you know who they just cast in their new show? [Name of an improviser who was TWICE very rude to me]! She's so funny. We need to get her in here." I read the copy into the camcorder poorly. The first girl didn't acknowledge I did it. She simply responded, "Okay sing 16 bars." I felt a wave of panic rise in me but nodded, "Sure." She said, "You said you did a musical show, right?" My brain had nothing prepared, so I started singing the first song I thought of--a song that I myself wrote. I didn't know if I sang more or less than 16 bars. The girl looked over at her pal with "woof" eyes, said, "You'll hear from us," and did not look up as I left.
I walked back out into the cold day. It had been ten minutes that felt like a million. I'd already had a little plan of where I'd go to get a celebration treat. But I felt to punched in the face I just sat down, right on the curb, and ate the diet protein bar in my purse. Four days later the company emailed to say they unfortunately could not represent me.
I never told Sad but she found out herself, which also made me feel weird. What was said? By who? She texted me we could do another round of monologue work next season and try again. We never did. And yet, I really didn't miss anything.
Puhg looked out over the balcony. "Sometimes I feel guilty I'll never get to all of it." He meant all the books he'd never read and all the places he'd never go and all the movies he'd never see.
I've never felt this way. Every time I like something I think, "Well there it went, the last place I ever liked going, the last book I ever enjoyed, the last movie ever made for me." My taste is so specific. I know what I'll like and what I don't, I really don't. And yet last week I read a fifteen book comic series in one night and reveled in it all day. I started Yellowjackets in November and this morning I voted it best drama at the WGA Awards. I'm afraid to go on a new vacation, but when I went to the redwoods in December, I adored every mushroom on the trail.
Back got hot, itchy looking for that envelope. The envelope with $100 in it. It was a gift from last year. Been on my bookshelf since for a special (undetermined) purpose. Suddenly doing my frantic New Years' Eve scrub of the apartment, I couldn't find it. I wanted to cry. I'd shoved so many papers in the trash. Old statements and receipts--did the envelope and its cargo end go with them? I made the peace when, an hour later, I saw it. Sitting next to a book. In plain sight. I carefully hid it inside my cigar box of things not to lose--
--next to a gift card for $100 to a swanky Hollywood spot. A piece of plastic with real value. I look forward to using it but couldn't tell you when that might be. I haven't eaten inside a restaurant in months. But when it's safe enough, and when I find the right date, I'll be ready.
Because of omicron, no parties to midnight. Instead we ordered a pizza. For pick-up even--to save the delivery fees. When I arrived the girl behind the counter was stressed. Our order was under the wrong name and a line was forming and I peered into the kitchen to see a couple masked, hair-netted, workers rushing around the ovens. "How many people are working tonight?" I asked. She told me a couple drivers, her int he front, a few in the back...but they were super understaffed. I'd gotten some 20s for a drive, pulled five out, and put them in the tip jar. I walked out feeling generous, but by the time I reached Puhg idling on the street, I felt dumb. I go on work hiatus February 1st.
Two months ago some young 20something guy in a Tesla scratched my bumper in traffic. We exchanged info. It was such a small scratch (on an already scratched up car), the $1200 fix and calls on calls to insurance companies seemed excessive. I texted him I wasn't moving forward with action. He gratefully Venmoed me $100 as a gesture. It was nice. But now, when I'm in a bad mood, I see that scratch and get so upset. I saved that rich guy a thousand dollars and he made me late for gymnastics. Not the right way to think about it.
Wake up to an email from this designer I follow on Instagram. She makes one-of-a-kind coats repurposed from old quilts. I raced to her website to see five new coats for sale. I had to act fast. Only one remained. $300. I put it in my cart...but then wondered if it was indeed the perfect color for me. Maybe too pale. I knew if I didn't buy it now it would disappear forever. What's money if it's once in a lifetime? I didn't buy it and the next day revisited the photo. It was fine.
I pay my thousand dollar rent and don't question it. I look up rentals for a vacation. Some hundreds of dollars more than others. But that's negligible. I remember my friend in high school who had me spot him $5 to buy tickets to another school's play. He never paid me back. I spend $40 on fancy donuts, get fussy my license replacement was $38.
I wish it was easier to kiss you on the mouth,
like it is to work hard, and earn an honest wage.
You're not always fair to me, like I wish you would be.
He's the one who left home, and I'm the one who stayed.
Traveled to a snowy A-frame in Big Bear, old friends in Arizona, new friends in Idyllwild, the present in Santa Barbara, the past in Chicago, the future in Mexico, the midwest for family, Catalina for family, Encinitas for fun, Big Sur for love, Palm Springs for Christmas.
Wrote a full revamp of an old pilot, heavily revised two others, sold a movie on a pitch, wrote said movie, wrote a Scream feature spec, wrote a new thriller feature on spec, revised a horror thriller feature about six times (only for it to be shelved), started development on three TV shows, co-wrote two Barbie series, independently wrote four more Barbie series, negotiated for better pay, signed with a new manager, published an essay, wrote a new play, dramaturged another, two film festivals, consulted here and there. Weathered about 100 rejections--some that left me for dead and others I've forgotten. Expanded my network and ran a successful writers' event.
Graduated from an online attachment style program and made progress in monthly therapy. Read, I don't know, a dozen books? Did, I don't know, 300 work-outs and 52 meditations? Enjoyed so many afternoons at the Burbank movie theatre. Played board games with and without friends. Beat Mario Odyssey on the Switch. Kept my spaces tidy. Mourned a sweet little bb and came to love another. Never got Covid, managed my health insurance. Needles in my skin. Finally freed myself from a three-month long bank fraud nightmare. Started gymnastics,
Went to Six Flags and Horror Nights. Andrew McMahon and Future Islands. Mentored a teen in writing every week. Helped mobilize for green legislature in LA. Began communications with an inmate writers' program. Maintained my status in the NAACP and White People for Black Lives. Showed myself. Liked being at home, liked taking meetings at the bakery patio down the street. Said no out of a need for rest, said yes to weekly Survivor with the neighbors. Made it.
