after all that, last weekend

Friday morning I worked on an essay then covered my new producers' butts. Last week I had to do double the work because of their mistakes. I fretted over whether to--this once--help them out, to build trust and show I'm part of the team, or to send a cold overage fee email. Turned in my revisions just before I had to rush out for my activist meeting.

I'm heading a new environmental initiative. It's proving unpleasant as the group is all flakey 20somethings. I feel conflicted about how to elder them. Do I use tough love and teach them how to Do Things or do I get out now, to preserve my sanity? Is it more important I pull them along or let them realize failure will be the result of bailing? What did 30somethings do for me when I was 25? Of course, when I was 25 I would have never had the audacity to cancel twenty minutes before a session and text, "Can you set up a Zoom hybrid option?" Oh, this just occurred to me: is Gen Z so weirdly demanding/entitled because they've learned to be ruthless with corporations? Fair enough if so. I wish I'd been much more demanding with corporations and bosses when I was younger. ...Only Gen Z has trouble distinguishing what's a corporation and what isn't. Like, sure, if you get paid minimum wage, be late and disorganized for work. But maybe don't treat a fellow volunteer that way? Riffing.

I decided to wear a black leotard and "artists for ceasefire" pin to the comedy theatre. I felt so disappointed by my performance. Mainly because the show was actually perfect for me--I should have blown it out of the water. And I did just okay. To be fair, it was so hot in there. My brain can't rhyme as quickly in the heat. The audience suggestion was about nepo babies! I played Jeff Bezos's daughter! Who snuck off to do her first play! And only wanted her dad to be proud of her! Plenty of hijinks about my character taking a helicopter to rehearsal, bringing the cast Rolexes, eating filet mignon on snack breaks. It all culminated in a huge finale! The faux opening night! Z (as Jeff Bezos) sat in the front row! The lights dimmed! Hart--playing the director--pushed me to center stage! The piano vamped...! And I fumbled. I struggled with the lyrics and I barely danced and I really wanted my character to find herself instead of approval from her dad.... Next thing I knew, I was bowing and giving the "get home safe speech." The show must go on. Or the show must end. One of the two.

In the green room we all slumped onto the couches. The guys tossed out their favorite parts. I was feeling like a loser when the door creaked open...and the special guest for the next show walked in. A rising movie star. Everyone whipped their heads over to spy her. She looked at me and said, "Alice! AB just sent me your script today!" Wow. Had to be a top circumstances-are-making-me-look-cool moment of life. We hugged and gabbed and R snuck in to say "good show."

I walked out of the side exit where Z was standing against the brick wall. We small talked a little. We've been performing together every few months for six years, but we'd never talked more than ten minutes. We chatted for quite a while, lingering in that space of wondering if the other person is bored or not. About forty minutes later I asked, "what are you doing right now?" I pointed to the Mexican restaurant. We went in and sat at the bar. I asked if he was ambitious and he said he'd never been asked so directly, but yes!

I tromped home around 10, listening to TS of course. Saw a coyote by the park, a teen holding a big bag a few blocks later. I sidestepped him, a bit on edge with no one around. I skipped the song that was playing, looked up from my phone...and saw a man running AT me! I yelped and froze and then realized...it was Puhg. He's been upping his scares. This was a good one. "I really thought I might die!" I laughed as we trotted home.

On Saturday I slept in, made vicious to-do lists for the week ahead at the cafe, zipped home to transfer all my files onto my new computer. I hate such tasks, have been putting it off for months. But I did it, then rewarded myself with the first pool day of 2025! Sunscreen on, new Beach Bunny album in, taking notes for a new short story. The dip was excellent. Puhg suggested a date night around 7:30. I walked down to the gas station and bought a bag of jalapeño chips, got fresh mango from the cart out front, made my way to the knoll and my tree.

There's a tree with red bumps I've been spending a lot of time with. I like to lay under the shade and wave at her leaves. The traffic was atrocious so Puhg suggested the taco shop 1.5 miles away. A hefty walk, but a walk nonetheless. I had two vegan corn ones and we saw L____, who was picking up a to-go order. I saw JB's boyfriend at the next table over but couldn't remember his name even though we went to a haunted house together once. At the crosswalk, a car blasted its horn, screeching to a stop an inch in front of me. Puhg indignantly pointed at the flashing lights, at us, standing there. The car squealed around, honking more, making a big scene. A few people on the sidewalk witnessed all of it. One of them shouted out, "You're even wearing bright colors!" Indeed, Puhg was in orange shorts, me a neon pink shirt.

Sunday morning I woke up early to dance then gather some donuts. Puhg stepped out for a walk and cartons of iced coffee. We bopped over the movies, for the 9:35 AM showing of Friendship. We laughed a lot. "Not even noon!" Puhg said pulling into our parking spot. Called my mom for her holiday. After lunch I read on the balcony. Saw a huge spider on the wall, talked for a little bit. I took a selfie of us, texted it to Puhg, he came out to join. The spider got shy and hid under a corner of astroturf. I sent a ton of emails.

At least once an hour I felt the slime of shame slither through my body. Still thinking about that show. How I biffed it. I started to become superstitious even. Like what if my entire life was leading up to that moment, to inspire the children I saw in the audience to despise oligarchs and follow their hearts? I try to do a meditation but fall asleep on the floor.

Monday afternoon I am so upset with myself I decide to buy the livestream of the show for $10. I know it will be a painful watch, but I need to know exactly what happened. Come to find...I wasn't that bad at all. I wasn't off-key. And in the finale?! The context made everything work! My little dance moves were small and reliable enough that two guys were mirroring them behind me. A battle happened stage right! Perfectly timed with my chorus! I hadn't remembered a verse I sang about believing in myself more than my dad Jeff Bezos?! Everything rhymed?! The performance was...good?! Could I have written it slightly better? Maybe? But maybe not! Objectively, a 10/10! After all that!

Same Hundred Dollars

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.

Alice in Shipland: Just Around the Riverbend

 Only one more cruise separates me from a stint on land, and oh, do we all feel it.

As I alluded to last post, at the end of last week I was riddled with anxiety about my future. Sunday morning the forecast was rain so I couldn’t even do my weekly early morning walk around the deck. I felt like a pony the stable boy had forgotten to let out. At 9 AM I practically exploded off the ship, rain jacket and baseball cap packed in my knapsack. Since I didn’t have much internet to do it was time to get some bucket list items taken care of. I sat by myself in Café Du Monde and felt immediately better listening to street corner jazz and inhaling puffs of powdered sugar. After finishing my café au lait I trotted down to the French Open Market where I spied all the knick knacks and bought myself a void-filling souvenir t-shirt. Peace filled by body toes up. Grey clouds camped above The Big Easy, but I was smiling. I bought the essentials at Walgreens. I smacked on a free sample of candied praline. And then, I went to a mystic shop that’s been in business since 1912 to get my tea leaves read.

My medium said some things—at times eerie and other times improbable, but the experience of sloshing the tea, sitting in the curtained creepy room, and holy cow, hearing thunder boom while a woman with frizzy hair and purple eyeliner said certainly what lay ahead? A priceless NOLA experience. I bustled along singing like Don Lockwood through voodoo doll gift shops and cobblestone. Right before embark I got a kale smoothie and some buttermilk drops to consume in my little dungeon. This would be a good week I decided. ZPill asked me later if he thought the physic could actually tell my fortune, and I said I don’t think so. I think she can just read pieces of what’s already inside me. How exciting that there is a universe in there. And I am not at the will of much besides what I choose.

Instead of my typical Cozumel day I took a ferry to Playa del Carmen—a ritzier Mexican tourist town. It was very clean and pretty and crystalline. I avoided everyone and listened to the playlist I made for the improv tournament my team traveled to in 2012. ZPill and I found a fancy as heck breakfast spot in a plaza. Donuts on pretty plates and tiny colanders of yogurt. Dudes at stands usually call out to those of us who are obvious tourists (white people) and usually I ignore them, but this particular guy was pointing at pictures of caves. And Adventure Alice was awakened. Next thing I know I’m alone in a cab headed to underwater caves.

They were incredible and all of my castmates who didn’t go because they thought $50 was much too much are idiots. When my little pod of eight people came to the first entrance I didn’t even see that we were about to step into water. Because the water was so glasslike it looked like it didn’t even exist. Oh but we did step in. In lifejackets we floated around the cavern. I spent most of my time shining my flashlight up to see the hoards of bats all snuggling with each other then periodically getting annoyed with my beam and fluttering about.

It was such a once in a lifetime experience to swim down a cool ancient pool and peer into an abyss of stalagmites. Sometimes we had to swim in very narrow little passages and our guide once asked us to sit perfectly still and turn off all our lights. It was the darkest dark. My favorite part was when our guide called us into a creepy crevice one at a time, had us put on our masks, and then he pushed our shoulders underwater so we could see the endless trail of underground cave. What was air and what was I swimming in and what was forming above? It was so hard to tell. The very last thing I did was take off my life jacket and swan dive into the deepest hole of the murky pool. Just another day at work!

I crossed West End off my Honduras bucket list. I got lost on my way to the beach and had to settle not to snorkel with friends but instead to journal alone with a frozen lemonade. I drank it out of pure desperation from wandering around in a near-hallucinatory heat state. Not all was lost. I found a sour cream chocolate donut. The chocolate was made in-house. I’m not mad. Things I am kind of over: laying too long in the sun, people having drunken conversations with me, not having the ability to text. Also, MB got 110 bug bites on the beach I was supposed to, so sometimes it ain’t bad to never arrive.

One thing I noticed this week is Twitter is too overwhelming for me. I barely look at it because I use precious online minutes to email pretty exclusively. Occasionally in a café with endless Internet powers I Instagram. But Twitter is so much so quickly. After twenty seconds of scrolling my brain is on fire. My attention span has increased significantly. I stand on the deck, facing forward with lips locked for forty minutes of crew drill. I get writer’s block on a deck chair, close my notebook, and have no other option but to watch waves. No commercials in pirated TV, no advertisements in my “commute.”

Three comedians is a treacherous number. Three creates an audience or a team, and it’s becoming something I actively avoid. In real life I can hack most anything because eventually I go home. But this is home. Person A jokes, Person B is annoyed, but Person C laughs. A and C never drop it. I have played all three parts and none are fun.

Instead of going to Belize I parked in the atrium next to the bar that also serves, like, four espresso drinks. This is the closest thing to having a café workday on the boat. I poked at my screenplays. I watched Thelma and Louise and was inspired to break some rules. So, my new thing is getting a plate of cheese cubes at lunch, shoving them in a mug, stuffing the mug in my backpack, and smuggling the cheese back to my mini fridge. Real outlaw.

During the 9 PM sketch show my brain exploded. I started a whisper as the show started and realized my mic was live and very hot. The top of our act began with a weird hiss. “Oh man, don’t screw up again,” I thought and twenty minutes later I missed a chair set. I just forget where we were in the running order and froze. “Okay, for real no more screw ups!” I lectured my own brain. And then at the top of a scene I said the flat wrong line. Everyone went off auto-pilot and navigated back to the meaning of the scene like tiny robots. It’s a bummer to finish a show for hundreds of clapping people, rip off your mic, and say, “I’m sorry everyone.” I went to the gym to run. I started thinking about my mistakes and realized they weren’t that bad. They only seemed bad because we’re all usually so polished. I do think I have entered a new phase of comedy since being here: the crisp professional, which does mean I will be harder on myself sometimes, but it also means I am doing better work.

Saturday night I like to have a lasagna roll at one of the sit-down restaurants before the “adult” improv show. It’s become a tradition. Entertainers are allowed to be seated between 8:30 and 9 PM. ZPill, MB, Folds, and I got flossy and arrived at 8:35. We were turned away. We walked to the opposite side of the ship and were told we should try the other place. Dejectedly, we went up to the buffet. A meat bonanza night. Ribs and pork chops and potatoes with bacon. I ate a lot of wilted lettuce smothered with balsamic and felt sorry for myself. EVEN THOUGH I still didn’t have to prepare or pay for my meal, I would have gladly done either to avoid the World’s Saddest Salad. But the four of us ate our grody little dinners in full performance attire while making jokes and truly enjoying each other’s company. Although it’s not possible to completely avoid annoyance with one another sometimes, we are a family.

My favorite part of the week is standing on the deck post-final show. The cool air refreshes me and the land in the distance tells me we’re close to port. Cell service. Freedom. Louisiana culture. We were in early this week, so my texts were sending around 11 PM. I was excited and promptly answered the bevy of SMS that flooded my phone. A dude with a mullet complimented me on the show and lingered a bit too long. I nicely ended the conversation and returned to The Internet. Ten minutes later he was back getting my drink order. No thanks, I said, and he sheepishly left. I hoped he didn’t feel too bad. But then he came back in ten minutes to ask if I wanted water. Nope. Ten minutes later he said I was stalking him. At this point I wanted to leave the public areas, but my phone would only work on the deck. Ten minutes later he said I shouldn’t be wearing my performance clothes if I don’t want people to notice me. Did I want to change in his room? I moved locations. He found me. He said we should do private improv for half an hour. I said no. He said he would bring Viagra. I told him firmly to leave me alone. He did.

But now I realized I was nearby a very interesting gang. The word “ghost” kept creeping in the air, so I asked, “Is this some kind of ghost conference?” Yeah, it actually was. 200 paranormal experts were onboard this week. I wish I had learned sooner! I asked a few questions. The clearly most famousy-like guy told a story about eating at a haunted diner that could never be found again and I was immediately grossed out by his ego. I honed in on a kind gal with blue hair who was happy to answer my questions and talk about her time as a spiritual investigator. MULLET GUY HAD THE NERVE TO CUT THROUGH A FLOCK OF PEOPLE TO TELL THEM WE WERE CLOSE AND WE’D BE LEAVING NOW. I publically told him I was uninterested in talking at all and the ladies gave him some Ew looks, so he slunk away. Blue hair and I exchanged info, but not before Mullet came back with his business card. I wanted to tear it up and throw it in the ocean, but I put it in my pocket because 1. Can’t litter in the ocean. 2. He’s still a passenger and I’m still an employee, and I can’t be rude to him despite his outright harassment. I’m just tired of being a woman for the moment.

Alice in Ship Land: Week Three

-Sunday was frightening. Suddenly, the ship went from average age of cruiser 65 to 22. Spring Break is here and the swarms of college kids have descended upon us. There were so many bikini-bods holding pink frosty cups running around the pool deck. This is a new era. MB and I holed up in our cabin putting on face masks and eating the wasabi peas from crew mart.

-A few of us went to a sit-down restaurant one night, and I realized just how blasé I feel about ship life suddenly. A photographer asked if I would get up from my seat to pose for a photo and I just honked, “No.”

-This go ‘round in Cozumel I had the major urge to find a donut. I hadn’t had a donut in almost a month. Tuesday morning I got a major bee in my bonnet and was determined to find one. I Yelped around on pirated Wi-Fi until I found a bakery a mile up the coast. My gang wanted to visit the cemetery, so I conceded to that stop. It was colorful and kind of cute with wild lizards roaming about.

-Finally we got to this hot room full of pastries. I bought a cheese pocket and a sugar donut. I ate them with spiced ice coffee. We meandered and I felt the fuss creeping up in all of us. Only three weeks in and irritability rises. MB and ZPill want stuffed peppers. I wonder if I should go on my own for a bit. I am right on the edge of saying “I’ll leave you here,” but I don’t. I sit down in the restaurant and the clouds open. It pours.

-Tuesday night I was in the library trying not be distracted by the pack of middle schoolers who were lounging on the couches when Bril came rushing in and told me we had a show in half an hour. The seas were rocky, so it wasn’t safe for the aerialists to perform. I zipped up my stuff, ate four bites of a calzone, and rushed to get into costume. My hair was in knotty braided pigtails, but no time for curling iron. I slapped on lipstick and sped through the finale song. There were a lot of drunk frat boys, but it’s good to have a challenge. Every audience shouldn’t be good. Then I’m not getting all I should be out of this job.

-My eating has taken a bit of a tumble this week. I’ve had late night pizza three nights of the week. ZPill explained it well, “At home there’s the difficulty of getting junk food at night and a financial drawback. Here it’s like ‘Oh, do you have sixty seconds?’”

-Beach day in Roatan. Frazzled ship exit. Security telling me I couldn’t get off the ship, my roommate already off and calling from the gangway, finding a cab, paying for the beach, but finally we were there. The sand was soft as silk under my toes. The ocean warm and welcoming. The sun drying my hair in minutes. I drank out of a coconut and answered emails about an essay I am publishing in spring.

-Once a month the spa is open for crew. The hot tub is splashy in the rough waters. I take off my suit and wear a towel in the relaxation room. Ah.

-I finally set foot in Belize. It’s the hardest port for crew to get to because passengers clog the exits for hours. We take a tour with a woman who has never known another home. She tells us about the culture and her life from inside her car. The south side is broken, the north side corrupt. I drink lime juice and eat a grilled conch from lunch. Plus plantains. Oh plantains! I ask about feminism. She tells me men used to say “Jump” and they’d ask “how high?” Now, men say jump and the women climb.

-We rehearse, he have long lingering dinner, we do our show, late night cheesecake, the first upset, the patching it up, the sleep. The glorious sleep of being in the belly of the sea.

-Our “family friendly” show. Woof. It was my first time hosting and thirty seconds in a spring breaker screamed “gynecologist” at me. I did make two horrible puns and got literally boo’d by hundreds of people, but my third joke was pretty good, and I was cheered like Rudy.

-It took me two weeks to do a total revision of my musical. Cheers to the ship library. When MB wants to find me she walks in, says deadpan, “You’re so hard to find.”

-During the Murder Mystery the audience participates in questioning the perp (me). A big ol’ southern boy asked for my number in the middle of the show.
-The adult show was BONKERS. There were hundreds of people packed into the bar. Our perfect demographic. Afterwards the high fives were endless. A girl came up to me on the dance floor and said she loved us and when she turned around and thought I couldn’t hear: “Y’all, my heart is beating so fast!” The truth is, we’re good, but we don’t warrant this kind of affection. But, still, it’s a fun experience for a week at a time.