Nice Morning

Slept in because I was up late at my new friend Mur's apartment. It was our first hang out, and I showed up in bike shorts. He answered the door in a tye-dye tee and slippers. "I ordered food," he said. One giant order of chili cheese fries and a cucumber salad it turned out. We met two years ago on tour in Scotland. We perhaps said two words to each other, but I followed him on Instagram anyway. Maybe because I wanted to tag him in a photo? He lived in New York, but I thought we might meet again. And then what do you know two months ago on a walk in my neighborhood, we crossed paths. He lives down the street in LA now. We exchanged numbers. "We should do something!" But how often does the something come to be? Then a couple weeks ago I was trotting to a meeting and saw him outside one of my favorite cafes. The something was brought up again. When we had an interaction online last week it was like Beetlejuice rules, someone mentioned doing something for a third time? That's when calendars come out. He suggested I come over to watch Urban Legend, which is a hilarious first hang out and also the most perfect invite someone could extend to me. We had a great time. At midnight he walked me the five minutes home, I went upstairs, played with my hamster, said goodnight to Puhg, and made a huge plate of nachos.

So I got going around 8:30 AM. I had strange dreams. They transcended my usual personal or career dramas. I wasn't sure if I was a real person, and so when I woke up, I had to ask. I decided to cosplay normal as write my daily gratitudes and read two chapters of Casey Wilson's book. I breathed in the sun and did a Peleton HIIT workout. It was 11 or so when I decided to run out for a coffee, do my weekly reflecting and to-do lists. But as I caught a glimpse at myself in the hall mirror I decided I looked kind of funny LA chic with my oversized windbreaker and little purple Adidas. Maybe it was a good day to sit on the Starbucks patio. I grabbed my notebooks and hustled to the shop. There was a huge backup of customers hovering around the pick-up. Since I was fifteen minutes late picking up my mobile order I saw the one grande cup, zipped past everyone, and snatched it. The barista even double checked, "Alice?" Like, "Ma'am you're too confidently taking that cup for someone we know is never coming." But I nodded as Ariana Grande wailed in my ears.

My favorite chair was open. A thatched little egg number with a table. I got my feelings out in one notebook, organized my action items, my goals, in the other. I sent cringe necessary emails. I texted a couple friends. I sipped the creamy pumpkin coffee. This city is often beautiful and pleasant--today especially so. There were fresh flowers somewhere nearby, I swear. How lucky and full.

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

Six Weeks in LA in No Order at All

Glitter: I saw Maria Bamford at 3 PM for free in a tiny theatre with 6 other people. Oat milk lattes. Pink brick walls. Walk to the grocery store. Never need a coat, never get too hot. The pool, even if I have yet to dunk in, seeing it when I walk in and out of the creamsicle complex makes me feel like I’m in 1950s showbiz. Happy new used Prius. Scream in a cemetery—it shaped me and shows me, over and over, the power of women. Shant is here, and we can talk about the city we came from. The Poltergeist haunted house. An email from an idol. The library with the patio, the church with the incredible soloist. Long long honest Frank talks. The sushi house that is our own. The cream colored IKEA reading chair. Yosh and his date and my date. Walk-in closet and scale. A narrow way to kick off our shoes. The club I am in. The very good bosses and excellent co-workers. The shows I do. The ghost of a skinny kid who remembers he was stupid. Puhg bought me the tiniest pumpkin. It lives on my nightstand. How many times have I already laughed?

Gutter: How many times have I already cried? The cutest street is anything but at noon on a Saturday. Too many people. Too small of spaces. I have to sit down on a bench and breathe. Once you are living the dream there are fewer off-roads to run on. The highway can be boring. I made up a whole relationship with my brand-new bubblegum scooter and it died Day Two. I did set up a tiny CSI investigation and get a full refund. They said it couldn’t and wouldn’t be done. It was done. Brett Kavanaugh. I haven’t not thought of him a single day since moving. I want it to go away and I don’t want it to go away. That “did I share too much” feeling. That “do I even know who I am” feeling. THE NEVER ENDING PRESSURE TO BE A SMART WOMAN. The canopy of 2040 used as a punchline but so real, so real. I write this at my desk. Work is over, but I'm waiting for traffic to die down before I make my way to U_B to sing my guts out. We let people escape, I know, which I know is part of healing and getting better, but at the same time at what point should people not be able to escape? When they no longer can? I miss getting on stage and futzing around however I want. I never knew I could until I left, and now I know that's exactly what I could do and did (sometimes).

The Last Warm Day

Wake up late (8:15) cursing the headache from last night. I read S & H on the couch and hit the gym. I'm slogging through Ghost Story on the elliptical. I wear shorts. My sidewalk is covered in little yellow leaves. Puhg wants brunch. I wear a purple lip and my bat necklace. We think we miss the bus, start walking, and then grab it on the next block. It starts to rain as we arrive. A warm rain. It's summer but all the storefronts on Clark have fake cobwebs in the windows. The specials are all maple-y. I eat two veggie sausages. I forget what we talked about. We walk the mile home, in shorts, enjoying our neighborhood. I feel a special kind of Lakeview pride on Sundays. I can sense the visitors, but this is my home. We stop twice--once for the Target bathroom and again so I can buy artisanal popcorn. It's perfect out. Women walk to church in maroon dresses. I put Arcade Fire on and fold sweaters. The windows are open, maybe for the last week of the year. In the rain, we snuggle under blankets and watch the end of Something Wicked This Way Comes. I work on a screenplay, I grade two papers, I make a lesson plan, we watch the 6th Paranormal Activity. It's my mom's birthday. I think about next August. I do not think about December. I am not ready. I will drink a pumpkin coffee tomorrow. I will administer a mid-term. There is something unlike anything else I know in me. I try to name it and can't. Last night in my dream I was teaching a class and someone else started lecturing. I complained to the department chair. I threw a fit, really. I do not wince at the week ahead. I love the week ahead. I can't believe it's been fifteen years since fall meant putting on a little Express suit and delivering speeches in high school classrooms. I felt the same something stirring then. I try to sluff the guilt off. I know how good I have it and how Puerto Rico doesn't have power. I donated $20 and called Congress. I vow to call and write five times this week. We go to CVS. I get a bag of Reese's shaped like ghosts, filled with orange stuff.

Favorite Arizona Fall Memories

Yesterday was no September 22nd. It was muggy. I wore scalloped green shorts to work and a t-shirt to The Goodman at night. The play we saw (Continuity by Bess Wohl) was about climate change, and I couldn't help but feel extra sticky on the walk home.

This is Arizona fall. I had improv rehearsal on Sundays at noon. I often took the holy day as an opportunity to buy myself a Starbucks treat--an iced pumpkin mocha latte. I would hold the cold drink in one hand and steady my handlebars with the other. The little circular tower atop the Fine Arts building. I would look out that window and worry about Act One, Scene Three. Puhg and I wore pajamas to get half price froyo at our favorite place on campus. Or he picked me up for my lunch break during full-day rehearsal for my thesis play. The girls on my comedy team went to that old ranch for a haunted house. Bug couldn't stop talking about her new boyfriend she didn't know if she liked or not. Shell and I had to keep doing the knowing glance game. When the streets were suddenly nutso and I remembered about football. I went to a weird speech tournament alone. I remember being full of Costco muffins and walking up a hill into the parking lot. I rarely asked, "What am I doing here?" I wasn't often sure what to prioritize. I went from the soft white carpet of a condo to orange concrete in a House of V. The sun seemed so powerful I never believed it would go down. The first Tuesday night dramaturgy class that ended in the dark confused me. I didn't have a bike light yet.

Decade of Fall Memories

Walking home from The Goodman with my cowboy boots on. A blast of chilled wind ruffles my braid. I see corners I've seen for two years and wonder how they will look in ten.

The sun shined for Stripes' visit. We walked Maggie Daley holding hot eggnog lattes begging the universe for anything beyond the squat we got. "I would let out a cheer to even be formally rejected," she yelped at the green lions.

Pulled up my Halloween socks and wore fuzzy leggings to Dusty's musical improv show. I couldn't afford the non-student price, but I forgot my ID. My face got hot, and the ticket girl let me go in anyway. On the way home I picked up a pint of trick-oreo-treat flavor of the month from Baskin. Puhg and I ate it in bed while watching Erin Brockovich until 2 in the morning.

I had this grand plan to do a specifically creepy thing every day of October. The 1st, although it was probably 80 degrees, meant a box of Entemann's pumpkin donuts. I ate them in my yellow room before I had to hop on my scooter and work at the testing center.

The year of partymania was old hat. Now it was time for me to spend Friday with a green face mask on reading.

The car radio told me it was a wild weekend ahead--what with the holiday on Sunday. Bars and dress up for three nights straight. I was driving because I had to do my monthly stock pile of Target groceries. The traffic was terrible because of a football game. The carton of napoleon I had in the bag next to me was melting even with the AC on.

Before smartphones we were very lost. East St. Louis actually. It was meant to be a fun girl's night, but we couldn't get home. The light was sucked from corners. So dark, so dark. We were on our way to a haunted house, but we missed it. A cleanup crew met us at the door. It was okay.

My bio lab partner shuffled his little boots a bit after class. There was a nip in the air. He never had much to say but a lot of sass about saying the simple things (HI!!! WE HAVE A TEST!!!) "I have some chocolate in my room?" I tried. "OH I WOULD LOVE CHOCOLATE." We walked back to my dorm and I showed him the Fannie Mays. "HMM," he pondered loudly. He took one small piece and was on the edge of telling me something. But it was too quiet and too chilly.

It happened finally--my polka dot skirt was splayed around my chunky legs as I walked down the street in Kyoto for the final time. The maple leaf cookies were on sale, so I bought some to eat on the train. I think I whispered to what I'm not sure.

Two guys were in the hallway. I thought they were my friends, but they stopped inviting me places. Everything was dying, but I knew it would all become green again soon.

Stick to Your Deal: Part I

"Stick to your deal" is a loaded phrase in improv. Practically it means if you come out on stage with a Southern accent, you better still have that accent when lights are pulled. Philosophically it means be interesting in and of yourself. Your scene partner might explode with some huge initiation, and, yes, you should cling on and support, but the scene will be flat if you're just a mussel on the boat. People use this metaphor for everything, but when the plane's going down, you put on your air mask first and then the passenger's next to you.

The darkest cove. Something was off with my ex-boyfriend. It was a lousy week. I asked, "What? You want to take a break?" And he shocked me. He didn't disagree. I shoved my face into my pillow. He got up and I started to cry. He paused in the doorway. And I know he felt bad for me. But he didn't come back. He didn't even turn around. He stuck to his deal, and it was probably one of the kindest things he ever did for me.

Fall had just begun. This is not what senior year of college is supposed to feel like. I was carved of my insides, but even then I knew how it could have gone. Who knows how many more weeks, months (years?!) of that "off"ness. I'd cry, he'd stay. He'd stay, I'd cry, and so on forever.

Twenty Thirteen

Obvi, I want to improve tremendously in 2013, but, a lot of those changes require vague goals like "get sleep."

Touchable Goals 2013:

-attempt doing the splits every single day until I can (or it's like August and I've gotten nowhere...then I can give up)
-write in my gratitude journal every night
-eat more vegan--to help start 2013 right, I may do my annual vegan month in January

Christmas has felt like last chance non-vegan hurrahs. Observe my mom's pumpkin cheesecake with Oreo crust.

For self assigned penance.
For problems with easy solutions.

The For Sures

Just want to take a moment to defend making choices based on the little things.

People ask me why I ended up at the school I did. Truthfully, I have a different answer for every level of depth into my life the asker is willing to go (knee-deep? waist-deep?). But, the surfacey-est answer is that it's dang warm here!

I wore gym shorts to school today (as I do probably 60 percent of days). It's almost December, and that inspires no fear into my cold toesies. Two years ago I remember the first brisk day--in September, dear sweet Lord--and feeling like my time was running out. Soon all will be a cold frozen wasteland.

Anyway, some people might say you shouldn't choose your grad school based on how many months a year your pool is useful, but those people are WRONG. Because the little things are little, but at least they are FOR SURE. If you try to make decisions based on big things, guess WHAT. YOUR EXPECTATIONS ARE LIKE NEVER MET AND THEN WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF? But, if you're like, "Yo. I'm taking this job because it seems alright AND it's easy to bike to" even if the work turns out to be ridiculous, you'll always have a nice commute. It's FOR SURE.

Transition from fall to winter breakfast Sunday.

And what's "important" anyway? What's "insignificant" and what's not? I'd like to know who is making these rules. Because I think I've probably found the most consistent joy in stuff that doesn't seem like it should matter.

Thee Pop-Tarts by Anton Chekhov

In the past month I've eaten three new kinds of pop-tarts!

1. Pumpkin Pie Pop-Tart. A! It tasted like pumpkin pie! But crunchier! I wrote about it in my annual pumpkin review. Google my full name and "pumpkin." Ye shall find!

LOLOLOL PART OF THIS BALANCED BREAKFAST (Strawberries who am I kidding?)

2. Is the I-Scream Cone Pop-Tart. D-. Sprinkles on a nasty lil choco tart with sugary vanillia(ish) interior. Not sweet enough to be dessert, but definitely not breakfast.

3. I've seen "Confetti Cake" Pop-Tarts on shelves for a long time now, and I'm always not into it (ditto the Sugar Cookie Pop-Tarts...you'd think I'd try anything once, but. No.) But then, Kelloggs changed the little picture on the box from a block of white cake to a cupcake, and voila, it's in my grocery cart.

I TA until 7:15 on Thursdays. And the movie we were watching went a million years late. And I had to talk to students. And I biked home. At 8:30 PM I was famished and so excited for my date with these puppies.

Major A. Tasted like a cupcake! For real! Not too sweet! So enjoyable! Confetti sprinkles!

Sleepy Writers

Thought I had been doing pretty well keeping on top of my work and grading, but dutifully grading forty papers throughout the week still left me forty to finish when I got home yesterday. I drank a buttload of pumpkin latte and buzzed away into the night. At midnight I got the tumble grumbles and ordered takeout chips and queso. I didn't want the delivery guys to ring and wake up my roomsters, so I sat on our front porch typing manically "You need a clear topic sentence" and "Avoid the use of vague summary" onto my laptop.

It was a silent night, holy night. The dark reflection of palm trees on the pool, breeze. I stayed on my stoop until 3 AM snacking and reading and feedbacking. I took a photo because it occurred to me "Man, I'm young. It's the middle of the night and I'm eating nachos outside on a weekday."

It's been a pleasure and a treat to have the playwright of Drones with us in this first week of rehearsal. He's a great dude, and I'm learning so much about the production process from a writer's perspective. Tonight he wandered out of the theatre, and when I was released I opened the door to this very accomplished and talented guy slumped across the maroon-splashed mini sofa in the foyer of the building--legs wide open and propped on a footrest. 

"Are you sick of your play already?" I asked.

"I came out here to make a phone call," he said with half-closed eyes, "and then I couldn't get up."

Consequently, excuse me as I crash into my pillow.

(Edit: I fell asleep on this entry as I was posting it last night.)

Let's Hear It For Science!

When I walk down the garage staircase of the Museum of Science and Industry, I think of all the times I've peered out with the tiniest spark of excitement onto the bright white cavern of a ticketing center and gift shop. Field trips, on a half day with my middle school besties, with Wiz when she visited, with KHo on Spring Break of 2007, with immediate family, with distant family.

I intended to go to S&I last Monday morning for bite of nostalgia--see the Swiss pinball machine, the chicks, maybe buy a postcard and head out. Right before leaving the apartment, I wondered if maybe I should just get some work on my new play done. But, I figured, I could be brief. I stayed for three hours.

Because! Because! Once I was there I was suddenly hit with all the things I love there. The circus exhibit! Omg the model train! Historic Main Street USA for goodness sake! I had forgotten my old friends, and this was the first time I was ever alone with them. I soaked in every signpost about Barnum and Bailey, every turn in the miniature tracks, every brick in the faux road.

And, then, I was captivated by new things! Like you're supposed to be at a museum! I wanted to know about the greatest inventions of today--like a printer that prints edible paper that tastes like what it looks like! Like seeing "What if you could send a hug in the mail?" on a wall next to an ugly sciencey sweatshirt. Because I had gotten in free for being an IL resident, I splurged and bought tour tickets to the Smart Home. Wow eco-homes! The future! The future!

I felt overwhelmed with love for mankind, hope for the future, and a heightened sense of passion for education. I prolonged leaving and stopped in to finish basking in the feel of one of my favorite Chicago spots at the tiny cafe. They had just started serving pumpkin lattes.

It was the best way to spend my morning. I can't believe I almost missed my own life.

Stir-essed

Lots to do:

-Prep for Encyclopedia Show
-Finish and turn in my Teaching Philosophy & CV for an award nomination I got(!)
-Write a 20 minute set for my first headliner stand-up show(!)
-Finish grading 10 improv journals
-Grade 22 screenplays that star Angelina Jolie
-Revise my 10-minute play
-Finish a full-lenth
-And another
-Read peer plays for discussion
-Put the new plates on my scooter
-Write an article about pumpkins
-Get fitted for a costume
-Absentee vote
-Plus work, plus TAing, plus class, plus improv rehearsal, plus play rehearsal

Chicago Skyline. Blurred. 2012.

I try not to discredit my feelings, but once I write it out like that, it sure sounds like I'm stressed about gumdrops and jelly beans.

Children wake up,
hold your mistake up,
before they turn the summer into dust.

Charlotte's Muffins!

MUFFINS!

Throughout last September and October I decided to embark on an experimental taste testing challenge in which I consumed as many pumpkin products as possible and ranked them. The study was highly effective and delicious. My findings were published on The Bygone Bureau: A Journal of Modern Thought.

The story is here:
http://bygonebureau.com/2011/11/09/it’s-the-great-pumpkin

A baker named Charlotte found said article and wrote me explaining she makes delicious muffins, and would I please review them? Uh, will I eat and talk about muffins? You bet I will.

Charlotte sent me two frozen berry banana muffins. All I had to do was pop them in the oven (or toaster oven) for a couple minutes, and presto, they were warm, soft, and speckled with gooey fruit pieces. The muffins we delicious--sweet, but not too sweet. Definitely breakfast material. They were compact, chewy, and not crumbly at all! Taste: fab--real blueberries, cranberries, and banana. Yum.

And here is THE BEST PART, well, now, the best part is they were so tasty, but the OTHER best part is that they were fat and sugar free. Wow--you really couldn't tell because thy were so naturally wonderful. But, truth, the ingredients were just the three fruits, Splenda, whole wheat flour, and egg whites. Boom goes the dynamite, y'all.

So, Charlotte's Muffins! Want a new breakfast item? Want to surprise your Val's Day sweetie with a treat? Like healthy chomps?You can order them by e-mailing Charlotte herself at charlottetomic2@gmail.com!



Bon appétit!

Perfection: Part III

A couple years ago I had to attend a motivational sports talk. It was mainly supes lame, but the speaker said one thing I really liked. He said the stereotypical, "Perfect practice makes perfect! GO ALL OUT IN PRACTICE, DUDES." But, he unpacked that explaining we often hold back just a smidgen in practice because we're worried we will somehow preemptively burn out for game day. But, he explained, that defeats the whole purpose of practicing! The point is to slowly get better with every practice. How can we ever get better than our best if we never even get to our best to excel past it?

This is how I feel about writing. For a while I would get ideas and hold on to them, stockpiling. "That's a good idea," I'd think. "I'd better save it away for when I really need it." But, then, I gave myself the goal of updating this blog every day, so I use up my ideas as they come, and guess what? I don't run out. Writing begets writing. When I started writing sketch again after a couple years hiatus, I had the same worry. I made a small list of sketch ideas in my notebook, and I thought I'd better parcel them out throughout the semester. But, then I just wrote whatever I could think of, and, guess what again? I get more ideas every week. So many I don't have time to write the things I think of.

I have a suspicion this is how all things work, but my experience kind of ends with writing. And perhaps loving. Because I think loving begets loving too.


I stayed up all night writing my final midterm paper. When I arrived at today's sketch meeting, Chelle had this pumpkin latte for me! She used my name because hers is hard for people to hear sometimes.

Leaves in the River (A Sunday Tribute to Fall)

Kyoto. September 2008.

Some Sunday things: Brown's Chicken, looking out the back window of Chevy Nova, Mentos, improv rehearsals, hymns
Some fall things: pumpkin pastries and hot drinks, Japan, Halloween, candy bars, nighttime, leaves, Speech season

I met a girl on Halloween
when she was lost, and I was drunk.
And it was dark and cold out when we left.

And as we walked the rain started.
The leaves softened with every step,
and all around us people slept alone with their dreams

The wind came down from up the planes,
and blew the leaves all through the streets.
I wondered how far leaves could really fly.

Would they rest in suburb yards
or make it to the city?
Or would they end up in the river just to float away?

She pointed to a small brick house
and said it was where she grew up.
The lights were out-- she asked if we could stop for awhile.

Her hair was still just getting wet.
The water running down her neck
collecting in the handprint in cement beneath her feet.

Apparently there'd been a death,
someone close and nothing left
because she hadn't left him in the end.

I saw her blush when I asked
if she always talked like that.
She said it only happened when she drank.

And later on I felt her hand
slipping into my cold fist.
She promised me a kiss as soon as we got home.

Her costume had begun to tear.
She ran ahead and turned to me.
Her laughter echoed through the empty streets.

Stranger Pumpkin

Last Halloween

Target is so dangerous to me right now. Also bakeries. I absolutely love pumpkins in every possible sense. Pumpkin candles, scones, coffee, chocolates, stuffed animals dressed as pumpkins, pumpkin piggy banks, real pumpkins, pumpkin sweaters, a pumpkin card I bought.

Today my dad was were visiting. We saw Devil together. We have a tradition with M. Night movies. It was okay--not as good as the ol stuff, but not as horrid as the past couple movies.

The thing was, it's been out a while, and we went in the middle of the day. So, there were a total of four people in the theatre. And...then this random girl came and sat right next to my dad and I...and she insisted on not sitting on the side by the stairwell. She actually came a couple minutes late to the movie and wanted to sit right next to me, and she wanted to scootch past both of us to get there. Remember, there are four people in the theatre. What?

I'm sure this type of thing would have made more sense fifty years ago. You go to a movie alone, so you sit with some strangers and make a friend. I know I'm a horribly anti-social person and the internet has eaten my soul. Funny though right?

Since I moved in high school I'm never afraid to make new friends. I figured moving into adulthood etc. I would be meeting peeps and making friends all the time, but I'm actually pretty darn busy. New friends? Who has time?

Turn the lights off. Carry me home.