Golden Age

It's so weird. It's like one day I went to bed when anything was possible and when I woke up the mystery of parties had dissipated. En route to New Year's Eve party with Bisque I realized I knew just what to expect. You know what I mean? In high school who will hook up? Who will buy the cigarettes? Who will smoke them? Even two years ago--will cops come? Coke? What to wear, what to wear.

Classy.

It's a relief. We finished our romantic dinner and showed up at Hill's. I knew every face. I changed into boxers. I felt sleepy. I took two pictures. We left at one.

First pic of 2014.

When I look at people who are older sometimes I get nervous. Like, when does That Life happen and will I know and can I avoid it? But what I've started to realize is when I was 16 I didn't get that I wouldn't always want to be 16. I don't always want to be in my 20s either. I don't know why, but I know I don't.

Neek & Hill & Dog

And so we're told this is the golden age,
and gold is the reason for the wars we wage.

2013 in Review

Lately I've been affectionately calling myself a "little sluglet" since Winter Break began, which is code for "lazy scumball."

Examples of being sluglet:

-my daily uniform of the same hot pink tank top that reads "I DON'T SWEAT I SPARKLE" and gym shorts SUP, BOOOYS!

-my diet, like yesterday's dinner of three Fannie Mays and second dinner at 11 PM of potato skins dipped in ranch

-how the same junk mail has been laying on my bedroom floor since November, RIP rainforest, I step on Children's International kids faces er'ryday

-any task I have to do takes me about eight times as long as when I'm in school (I learned about how gators go into "hibernation" but that doesn't mean they sleep, it just means they stop processing their food and move like molasses, only coming out to lounge in the sun and I can def relate)

But I wasn't always this way! No, I wasn't. It's very very hard to remember on days like today when I've literally just cleaned the debris of my disgusting vacation lifestyle and watched Sister Wives, so I'm providing a tidy lil list of neat thangs I did in 2013. It's a boring list, but sometimes it's nice to see what can be done in a year.

Profesh Ish

-taught/TA'd four college classes, one that I designed from scratch

-had a play workshopped at a theatre conference in Alaska

-rewrote and watched my thesis play get produced

-got a job writin' for a theatre journal reviewing new works

-another two semesters of classwork completed, one remains

-another two semesters working with disabled students

-auditioned for and accepted to The Program

-devised a new play for kiddos at summer camp

-did a lil freelance speech high school coaching/judging

-performed at National College Improv Tournament Nationals, did a spot at fall improv fest, a lil standup, a new works festival, a couple bits at Encylo Showz

-workin' on two screenplays

Personal Ish

-met and fell in love with a really great guy

-moved to a new home with new wonderful roommates

-took an Alaskan cruise with my mom and sistah

-roadtripped to the north woods with my dad to visit my aunt

-traveled to Vegas, South Carolina, and San Diego!

-hosted three of my best friends in one month!

-made some new frands (Cager, Lavender, Rora)

-experienced hella culture (MUSE concert, read Heartbreaking Work, saw Clyborne Park, many excellent films, etc.)

-and, of course, progressing as a human being through trials, gratitude, and reflection

Roomies.

It's not a ton, and it's not glamourous, but these small steps add up, you know? Tomorrow it begins again. Good food, good sleep, good organization, good person.

Please Do Not See The Wolf of Wall Street

People will tell you this movie is the best of the year, and there are merits, sure. Their names are Leo, and Jonah Hill. Also there are def some solid comedic scenes/lines, it's an overall entertaining movie, and it's well-made. The soundtrack is baller, it clips along, some of it is very pretty. BUT ALSO:

1. GD MISOGYNY.

Yeah, I get it. If you indulge in hotties and refuse to make serious emotional connections, you're unahppy. But do we need to keep seeing this played out over and over--meanwhile sexualizing women for 98% of films and then adding a little escape hatch of "but it's bad"? OVER IT.

2. IT AIN'T NEW.

What do most audiences think about Wall Street? That stoke brokers suck. That capitalism allows for some real self-indulgent dingbats. That they get away with everything. Well, thanks for a movie that affirms everything we thought when we entered the theater.

3. JORDAN BELFORT IS AN EFFING JERK.

The whole movie is about how much of a toolbox JB is, and what a swindler, and he totally does not get served as much justice as he should be. Because he's the worst. But guess what? He is now synonymous with only the most lovable and respected movie star in America. So no matter how despicable he truly was, we still kind of think he's awesome. PLUS, HE IS MAKING MORE MONEY OFF THE MOVIE. Not just indirectly is it screwed up that this terrible human continues to make millions in speaking events and book sales, which will only blow up more as a result of the film...I LITERALLY JUST GAVE HIM MY MONEY BY SEEING THIS MOVIE. Rage puke.

Spoilery: That final shot. Bisque said it redeemed the movie a little because it shows "Whoa, look at this d-bag, and how money didn't make him happy, and, yet, hundreds of people still want his get-rich-quickness." And then I was like, omg, it's a mirror image of the theater. All these people just staring at a monster, totally engrossed.

He Was Somethin'

"It is very important to generate a good attitude, a good heart, as much as possible. From this, happiness in both the short term and the long term for both yourself and others will come."--Dalai Lama

Beloved.

Dream 12.22.13

The craft studio was sort of like the one at camp. I don't know why I was there, but so was Steve Martin. There were a lot of people milling around this studio, but no one else recognized him. When he didn't seem too busy I sat next to him and tried not to gush. "I love your work, all your work," I said. I quoted my favorite poem of his from Cruel Shoes. He smiled and asked me about my life. He set to work at his table covered in cheesecloth.

James Earl Jones was kitty corner at a wheel. He had overhead our conversation and presented me with a clay figurine. It was brown and sort of looked like an offensive rendering of a black baby. James Earl Jones told me it was a talisman. Steve Martin then presented me what he had been working on. A big card designed with light blue clouds. In cursive he had written encouragement about my future, my writing, my life. At the bottom in bigger font he had scrawled, "For I am not long for this world" over a doodle of his feet in 50s loafers floating to heaven.

26 Snapshots of Fall 2013

Cutting berries at the kitchen island to Counting Crows in underwear.
Dancing to "Ain't No Mountain High" at the Beverly Hills Montage.
Feet up in the back row of the blackbox, hospital bed on stage.
Festive trainride to the Walnut Room. My mom's gloves.
Standing at the basement green lockers, red, getting screamed at.
Opening the garage after my dad had visited. New lightbulb.
Corner of my boss's office, scanning papers in the dark after close.
Lavender spilling her guts about love, sun blinding us. Chais in hand.
Legs across Bisque's lap. We whispered throughout Insidious 2.
Pumpkin cake wafting into living room ghost story night.
Rora, Ro, and me. Catfish buffering on the trunk in front of us.
The nerdiest kid high kicking in improv warm-ups.
Dizz running out of her house to hug me as Jamin vined behind her.
Power-walking past the tan houses at 6 AM Wednesdays.
Running a five down the lake with Bex in 100 degrees. College mems.
Two-man improv sets in my bedroom with Shells about ghost abortion.
Kevin Smith's book on airplanes. On couches. Late late late.
"Not my fault, the fault of the earth, and the sweet scent of your hair."
Inspecting the haunted house wall paint. A clown cackling behind me.
Leftover pilaf on the balcony. People partying below. Bikes chained.
Jillian Michaels to Orange is the New Black.
Blasting Frozen under my fur hood on Black Friday, northside.
The very real "Was Titanic good?" debate with my Screenwriting kids.
Everyone in playwright's workshop stumbling over the n-word.
Peeling myself off the sticky sheets, stumbling into doorless bathroom.
Opening the email from The Program after standing up from Jillian Michaels. I called up the stairs to my dad, "I got in." He yelled back, "To what?"

Charleston

Dad texted me, "You had anscestors who were on Folly Island during the Civil War." I texted back with a rare three exclamation point response: "We're staying at Folly Beach!!!"

DAD: History repeats itself.
ME: I'm mainly eating brunches.

Cocoa & s'more cake.

Biscuit & grits.

South Carolina is an old place that neither Bisque or I had never been to. It's funny when you travel alone with someone. You sort of are on an island--real or fake, historic or not. You make jokes at the start of the trip about the street sign "Courtenay" and repeat it over and over like a Forrest Gump "Jen-nay!" until it's funny, and it always is, every time. There's a little anthropology needed to unpack the vacation conversations. It all bleeds together. There's no one else.

Angel Oak: biggest oak in da world.

We slipped in an out of Southern accents. We saw Fort Sumter because I am my father's daughter and it didn't seem right to skip it. We looked at canons for half an hour and spent the remainder of the time waiting for the boat on a grassy patch under the confederate flag. I took out the Ziploc of snickerdoodles from Hill. A deer had smelled it in my purse the day before and followed me around the plantation petting zoo. I spent an extra minute admiring the pigs. They deserve life like people deserve life. The slave quarters were white and small. We saw from the nature tram.

Slaves lived here.

Meanwhile, we took happy caramel bites where the war began. "Six hundred thousand people died for this," Bisque said as he chomped again. It was a sunny day.

We had seen it rise. Because I had been up since three anyway. Donned those fleeces and stood with our iPhones bitter and quiet waiting for the star to peek over the water.

Our final afternoon we finally kicked off our shoes to make contact with the ocean. This is Bisque's very first time touching the Atlantic. We stood at the shoreline patiently waiting for the tide.

The mome.

Famous graveyard.

It was both charming and creepy to walk on cobblestones downtown. We started the trip with a ghost tour, so that sets a mood of sorts. We kept passing the Starbucks that was once a gallows. That type of thing. One day it ends. But it doesn't. Roots roots roots.