LA IV

Something is different! Something is so different! I have my daily pecan salad with the stand-ins and laugh and laugh. I have a corner, I know the routine, Grief is my friend, my real friend. JS has gourmet vegan pop-tarts delivered to set on the very day it is so hot I have to wear shorts. PP tells me my tatt is cute. It’s too good to be true. “You have nothing to worry about--you’re in,” this person says. In exchange I tell him how to date a girl. I thought our meeting was a dinner. It wasn’t. I drive-thru a quesarito and crunchwrap on the way home. Pair it with Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. It’s so hard to know if everything is small or everything is huge. Right now, everything is perfect.

I hadn’t gotten to try a couple vegan donuts at the shop I went my first weekend, and JR has several dozen catered. I eat four. A stand-in casually mentions, “Is it good? Because I saw you eating a chocolate one this morning.” I’m doing things right. Sometimes I laugh so sincerely. I have to write a fake Ted Talk about microdosing. I remember watching the Writer’s Room episode about Breaking Bad when the writer’s assistant explained how she had to research poisons. I remember thinking that that was the coolest job in the world—to research and write. Now I am deep into science journals about acid trips for the sake of a bit.

Late call. I FaceTime in for the rehearsal of my new musical. Chills. This thing I was told was impossible x3 is in front of me. I am walking through the middle of set and roll my ankle. It shocks me in an unfamiliar way. I immediately feel like barfing. I turn kind of white, and the makeup ladies ask if I need the doctor. I walk slowly to a stool and think, “I just need to take a few deep breaths.” Then everyone is around me and I’m on the ground. Once my vitals have been taken and it’s decided I pinched a nerve and I am half-forced to eat a sandwich, it’s almost nice. The producer and 1^st AD both assure me. AP lowers her voice and asks, “Wanna sue? I can tell you who has money.” There are new pages, and Cowsk says I can pitch alts. I write five, she picks two, and AP chooses one. My joke will be filmed. I have never acted so casual in my entire life. On the way home I think about how lucky I am and cry out of gratitude.

Thursday my theatre dream is on set getting the lay of the land. CJ is magnetic. She sits in a room alone with me. She speaks magically and openly and grabs my leg. I cannot help but tell her I wrote part of my graduate thesis on one of her plays. I watch my joke get shot over and over from different angles. RD says it is her favorite alt. AG laughs heartily. The night is long. What am I inside? I miss my boyfriend. I eat potato chips driving home to stay awake. I’m mad. Scene revisions come out at midnight, so in bed, in pjs I reformat and distribute.

Zumba morning. I am the only white person and I feel a kind of “Am I imposing?” but I stay because my body misses long workouts. I boost to a hip café for hemp milk espresso and rewrites of my musical. Late night and candy candy candy. Close to midnight JR insists we share a cookie sandwich. I have already eaten two, but what can you do? The pool is glowing under a balloon. The moon and palm trees.

Sat: I eat cashew yogurt while FaceTiming into my musical. Tear up at the finale. A friend texts me during one scene, and I respond, and then I wonder, “What am I doing?” and I feel guilty. Trashy donut shop with high-class treats. MB and I split eight. She has to go, and I want to write, but I can’t seem to. I tell myself I’ll leave once this guy buy $20 of lotto tickets at a time does. He doesn’t for hours. I find a stupid salad, go home and take a walk while all the dressed up people crowd sidewalks. I used to do this on the drunk strip in Pheonix too.

Morning is for the market, a misplaced run-in, church. A planning meeting with Elrey, a real life sunshine chat with a Chicago comedy early-move star, a podcast with a hidden treasure, email from AP, so I have to awkwardly sit in the living room and revise a scene while everyone else munches biscuits in the kitchen. It’s always like turning in a term paper, so I text Smirn to say we will not be having vegan dinner and instead going to an ice cream parlor for dinner. 

Dream, March 16 2017

I was on the cruise ship again. We were at port. I was on a beach with MB. She was, characteristically, being very social and bouncing about people partying. Someone I know treated me strangely and I asked for advice from a woman walking by. It helped. I went inside a sunken ship. I could not remember who our third female castmate was. I asked MB. She couldn't remember either. We tried everything (rereading emails, asking dancers), but everyone had forgotten.

MB and I went to the bathroom, and when we came out of the stalls we saw a man's face peeking in the door. I froze in fear. MB's instinct was to run after him. In a large, dark room of junk we saw a cabinet door creaking. She walked to it. I wanted to leave. Right as she was about to swing it open the man, middle age and Chinese, walked out. He didn't speak English and pretended he was looking for cleaning supplies.

We discussed him. Maybe he was just waiting to clean the bathroom. Or maybe he was a creep. We would never know. I remembered something in real life that connected to the fake world and woke up suddenly at 5:40. It came to me--there was no third woman on my cast.

Alice in Ship Land: Last Dance, Last Chance for Love

A perfect port day. Aunt P was in Boston and met me at a coffee shop with a sweet outdoor patio for sun-sittin’! We meandered to the contemporary art museum to enjoy shadow plays and photographs. Got some green smoothie, some internet, some phone time. No pangs of urgency getting back aboard. I ate dinner alone at the diner, ordering a hack mish mash of sides to construct lime fish tacos. I wonder what people around me think. “This person dressed in almost pajamas came on a cruise alone and is working very hard to make okay food.” I holed up in the cabin, writing, writing, writing.

Ideally this would be a “FINAL CRUISE! LIVE LIKE WE’RE DYING!” week, but it just wasn’t. I was pretty happy! But, no bucket list items dramatically checked, no wild risks to take, no things I loved so much that the goodbyes would be difficult. In fact, the only thing I could think of even remotely in the “I want to say farewell” category was the flourless chocolate cake served Saturdays at lunch. This week it just wasn’t there. I shrugged my shoulders and chomped a Pop-tart while watching UnReal. I felt like I SHOULD go to Hamilton one more time, and the places I wanted to visit were closed. I ended up eating overpriced avocado rolls and scamming some internet. The highlight was actually the ferry trip itself. Sun, wind, and Final Fantasy on my Spotify. I watched my favorite part of the magician’s act at night, was invited to a cabin party, went for ten minutes, realized I actually had nothing new to say to these people I see every day, and curled up with The Night Of instead. I did make it to Zum Zum class (Zumba rip off) after promising my friend who teaches it for the past month I would. I showed up and danced in the front row since no one else would. I shimmied and chirped when told to. The class was really short. My friend hugged me after and said, “I’m still drunk from last night you have no idea.” #Cruisin

I was productive—writing every day, finishing my solo show, starting new projects, jumping in deep to my next screenplay, reading Sick in the Head, listening to podcasts. I have gotten SO much writing done since February. I got four essays published, finished multiple drafts of my screenplay, made a big fat revision of my musical, started a new play, lesson planned, and wrote a solo show. Most days I wish I had done more, but looking back on what I’ve accomplished while in the middle of the ocean, I think I did alright.

Monday Folds, MB, and I made a trip to St. George with some dancers. A great day beginning with a pleasant ride over, crumpets, and beaching. I got lobstered, but I also swam to a cool rock, and read a lot of Ta-Nehisi Coates (keepin’ it light on vacation! LOL).

I’m very into Dan Harmon right now. I finished Rick and Morty and kind of became obsessed with hearing how this self-proclaimed alcoholic functions. The final days feel strange. I am getting curious about the outside world again because it will be within my grasp soon. I start to have a bit of an irrational fear. I wonder if I will die before my contract ends. Like a “this cop got shot one day before retirement” situation. I think if I voice this silly thought it will melt away. I tell Folds and MB. They tell me it’s likely. “No!” I say over and over. At farewell steakhouse dinner we discuss what we’re excited to get home to. MB adds under her breath, “if you make it.” I explain the bit to the table and Tail, stone face asked, “What do you want done with your cadaver?”

We had a very special gift—our last show ever was our best show ever. Every seat taken. People piling down the staircases. Standing far far away. At least 1,100 very happy people/fire hazards. I got one minuscule catch in my throat as we sang the finale. It was a dream afterall.

MB and I do a bit where she’s my annoyed teenager Penelope, and I’m her divorced mother. She does Soduku and hangs it on the bathroom door pouting, “I just want you to be proud of me!” I respond, “Doing a puzzle doesn’t make you special.” She says, “This is why Dad left.” After the show we were gabbing and changing when she sat down on the bed with wet eyes. “I’m gonna miss you,” she said. We hugged. She sniffed and added in a sullen voice, “I don’t think it was your fault Dad left.”

The last two days expand into infinity.  I start actually counting the hours, but they still don’t pass any quicker. I have exactly one friend from the ship I have made on my own. He's a bar server from St. Lucia--the one who started "Smart Alice." Without much to do, I hang around his post for a solid hour one night. I learn tons about St. Lucia, his life, his plans. It's hard to crack into a real relationship with people you see in passing, with a major cultural divide, sometimes language divide, but I am leaving with one real pal and an open invite to his island anytime.

I see the dancers do their toughest show for the last time, have a Bachelorette viewing party with some of them, visit the crew pool again, pack it all up, sign the paperwork, do the last improv show all together. It's a good one. Everybody has a shining moment. The cast wasn't the cuddliest I have ever worked with, but it was one of the most talented. Tops and professional at that. The debark process is terrible--waiting and waiting and lines and tired and we don't even say goodbye is the truth of it. We all go through immigration at different times and in a puff of engine smoke it's over.

My bus to Maine is twice delayed. 7 hours. Arriving at 11 PM. A meth head sits behind me and the driver is an angry, jerky driver. I throw up in the bathroom. Of a Greyhound. I can't believe I'm not going back. I arrive at my next gig so late, so hungry, on a rabid hunt for food. Everything is closed so gas station burritos will have to do. I don't mind. There's something wonderful about it all. The harsh bright lights, the aisles. I am free. I am different and free.

Alice in Ship Land: Back at It (Week 13)

Folds has gotten a haircut. MB has a new pink hoodie. These are the first things I notice when I spot them at baggage claim. Familiar. Yet refreshed. We split a cab. First, Mike’s Pastry for cannoli. I realize I forgot to pack my special color-care shampoo after my 3 AM shower. Our driver idles outside a CVS while I run through, grabbing a bottle and some sour patch kids, then putting the sour patch kids back, then paying…all with the half-eaten cannoli still in my hand. I devour the rest before we reach port. We are happy. Six weeks is not long. ZPill is hungover and late, so he comes bearing iced coffees for everyone. Our squad smiles. We can do this.

Getting back on is a cluster, but we know it, and everyone keeps blood pressure low. The boat looks prettier. The workers happy to see other humans again. MB and I nest into our tiny room, we have a cast dinner, the crepe guy welcomes me back. And we’re off.

We do one line-through of the mainstage show, and we make no mistakes. It is in our skin. Even after I haven’t thought about the scenes for four weeks, I can do them with my eyes closed. The new lights are set. We warm-up. Our 7 PM is gravy, and our 9 PM is ridiculous. New Orleans gave us slow, jolly folks. Boston is basically like performing at someone’s kegger. The audience roars, whoops, gives applause breaks where they have never existed. It is explosive. Not too bad, we all feel. Not bad at all. ZPill and I scarf some cookies and I run down to crew bar where Game Seven of the NBA finals is on. I get to watch the last half. The room is screaming, including me. When the Cavs are thirty seconds from a title I jump up and down. Most of the cast is uninterested, but a few of us are hyped out of our minds. This is a post LeBron world, we joke. I overuse my crown emoji. We are in port, so what the heck. We go to a club in Bermuda. I dance on the empty floor, it smells like the ocean, Justin Beiber is blaring, RJBerns giggles at how happy I am. I yell, “I’m gonna live forever!” ZPill tries to analyze the phrase, so I walk out to the shore. At 1:40 I walk the drunkos home, stay out past curfew, and slink into my ice cold bed. I will never forget June 19^th, 2016.

Bermuda is a much different experience than the Caribbean tour.  It’s fancy, safe, and expensive. Monday we had dinner and a cute lil game night of three-round charades. MB mimed Foghorn Leghorn by hopping side to side. Tail sizzled, “Oh, so you know Damn Daniel but not Marvin Hamlisch.” At the end of it all we morphed into a few rounds of mindmeld. Tail and I melded on Zac Efron and actually jumped out of chairs to embrace, and then I fell down from losing my balance. It was warm out, maybe time for an evening dip? We donned suits and walked off the ship. Being in port at night feels magical after three months of 4 PM all-aboard. We went over to a typical crew hang out—a campy pirate ship, complete with a plank that I spent an hour or so jumping off into the sea. Okay, job, not bad.

The production cast we grew to know signed off for good at dry dock, so a whole new flock of dancers and singers are in their places. I went to my favorite show—the jank American Idol rip-off that culminates in “Witness.” I cannot tell you how weird it is to see the exact same piece of art down to the exact toe-taps and color combos in costumes with a completely new cast. A reminder of this corporate performance can I’m floating on.

Post a meandering “spirit quest”, RJBerns, ZPill, and I sat and chatted listening to a guitarist play through every island song that has been written. The boys drank dark and stormys and I sipped on a lemonade. We ended up talking about the vastness of existence. How there is no beginning. How there may have been cruise ships a billion years ago. Improv rehearsal feels funny. The more you perform with an audience, the harder it is to do so without. Ten years ago I felt the opposite. I remember my sweet LZ gang in college. How we rehearsed for seven whole weeks before any people showed up. That felt right. OMG I have been doing improv for so long. I actually just spent about twenty minutes calculating, and the cumulative total of time I have spent in my life so far in improv rehearsals, classes, shows, and auditions is 1,500 hours. A far cry from a Master, but it ain’t bad.

Late night after our family show. At the martini bar I mentioned how Tail had told me the first day of the ship most people take these jobs to secretly run from something. We wondered what that was for each of us. And then we snagged a jungle from a popular improv warm-up to sing after each person shared. We’d clap, “What are you running from, I said, what are you running from!” SNAP SNAP. I ordered two spinach artichoke dips at 1 AM, told RJBerns to help himself, then got fussy when he did, and ordered a third like a tortilla chip gremlin. Usher’s “Yeah” is still holding up, ZPill tried to forcefeed me cookies from his pocket. MB and I talked about sad things we both forgot about until it hit us hours after we had woken up Thursday.

Thursday was one of the laziest days of my life. We snuggled up into one comforter and recapped the night, talked for hours, decided we wanted the tiny circular hashbrowns only the 24-hour diner has. I threw on a hoodie and ordered three entrees, ate all of it, we get up and leave without paying (as one does on a cruise ship), and I feel just so careless in a grimy way. We watch the Bachelorette and make each other laugh for hours. By the time we have any motivation to actually be in society it’s 2 PM. I read on the elliptical at the gym, eat some French fries, try to read, fail, spend too long at dinner, curl my hair, spend longer than necessary on makeup. Our director calls the adult show “smash city” and he’s not wrong. Folds and I dance like lobsters, we hit a run of raunchy dentist jokes, this is my job. We stand together on the deck, absorbing the perfection of a week well-done. It’s my third time in the 24-hour diner in one 24-hour period, and I can’t bring myself to eat any of it. I grow cranky. ZPill is acting like a drunk little brother. I don’t want our director to leave. There are so few of us and someone is escaping this awesome cage with live in. He is a bro and refuses to give me a hug goodbye.

Lavender picks me up for brunch. We happen to overlap in Boston, oh, miracles of miracles. She cries a lot about her breakup. From where I sit, across from her vegan pancakes, I know what she has to do. Stop talking to him, focus her energy, be happy. But it’s never so easy. We don’t have any pictures together. We take several, marveling at our stereotypical post-MFA colored hair.

Alice in Ship Land: Cruise Five/Adventures

-I’m learning to look nice more than one night a month. I have to look nice. There is a dress code after 5 PM. And I have time. Every commute is a five-minute walk. I never cook. I guess I have a moment for lip gloss.

-Last week was a dessert explosion. I chose to cut back this week by trying not eat after 10 PM and cutting out all desserts. I feel so accomplished. You do not know the siren song of the soft serve bar.

-Who’s got two thumbs and won the Rummy match Monday night?

-An ocean swim hole in the back of a bar in Cozumel. I had the quesadillas. The side of guac divine. I kept trying to journal but watching snorkelers.

-It feels good to have a to-do list for the internet. There’s no slack for goofin’.

-It’s easy in a small pod to feel like harmony is so key it may mean you bend in the wind. But as I was reflecting on one day I realized I ate up garbage someone else fed me. Ensemble is king, but you are always yourself. I have to leave this ship as myself.

-Bran muffins are my food of the week. Two bran muffins every day keep the cheese constipation away. #ShipDiet

-Is there anything better than getting home early, snuggling into your roommate’s bed, chugging a Pelegrino, and watching the illegally downloaded American Crime Story episode your boyfriend sent to you?

-One of the dancers ran into me while I waiting by the Personnel Office. She asked what I was up to, and I said I would be spending the day writing. “What are you writing?” she asked. “Oh, a lot of things,” I said. “So that’s why they call you Smart Alice,” she replied. My second week a bartender told he he always saw me working in the library and nicknamed me Smart Alice. Apparently it has spread. I hang out by the evening lounge singer on Wednesday, and when I get up to leave my boss says “Goodnight, Smart Alice.”

-One morning I am writing and see two girls come out of their cabins, turn the corner and see the ocean. They throw their hands up and scream in glee. Oh yeah. I forgot how majestic our house is.

-Wednesday afternoon I’m on the promenade deck and see a family waiting for a dinner they wish they were eating. And then snip snap, suddenly the parents are full-on cursing each other out in public. Mom stomps off. Dad waits. Follows. The two preteens sit silently next to each other for twenty minutes. No one returns, so they finally leave. #SpringBreak

-And then we tried to go to the waterpark in Costa Maya for MB’s birthday. We asked the tram driver three times if we were going to the waterpark. He said “yes, yes, yes.” Twenty minutes later we’re dropped off in the middle of town. We ask around, “Waterpark?” “No,” everyone says. And the tram doesn’t go back to port either. Huh. Okay. Okay. We could go to the beach, but I am ill-prepared. I specifically brought nothing but a towel and sunglasses. We go on a hunt for iced coffee and somehow get beach chairs right on literally the most beautiful beach I have ever seen. We swim. I put seaweed in my hair like a ribbon. We try cartwheels. We couldn’t have planned this day if we had tried. For her birthday, MB wants a massage. Little ladies come up to us in an endless stream asking to give them. We find three little beds far down the stretch, away from music, surrounded by ocean. Three one hour massages for $60. We get a lunch rec, and I eat way too many nachos. Number of coconuts I’ve drunk from rises to four. We have to take a cab back, but whatever whatever whatever.

-Early calltime on Belize day, but I have an important errand. Last week I saw a necklace I liked at a local woman’s stand. I told her I would buy it if it were longer. She says she would have done it while I had walked to the water if I had told her. I say I am crew and I’ll be back. This week I rushed past all the self-made tour guides and hair braiders to the card table. She was there. I didn’t have to say anything. She picked out a necklace from a box stashed away. It’s perfect. And then it’s back onboard. I read the book Dizz has recommended me from my iPad, so the tender trip isn’t even that bad.

-The family friendly show is a nightmare. I love most of the sweet children watching with wonder, but three boys sit in the very front and scream at us the whole time. We run offstage and I ask, “Where are their parents?” Tail snaps, “WHERE ARE THEIR MANNERS.”

-The adult show is a dream! The audience gives me and MB “Romeo and Juliet” as a suggestion of relationship. She plays him like a bro, and I am a vocal fry’d nightmare. She says, “If I live to be fifteen, we’re gonna get married.” I ask, “What could possibly happen to us before we’re fifteen?”

Alice in Ship Land: Ahoy Family

This was a special week because my mom and aunt were on board! They booked a cruise for a relaxing vacation and, of course, to witness me firsthand entertaining the masses.

A Sr. lives her best self 

These updates will be getting less exciting seeing as I will have significantly fewer new experiences each time I repeat the exact same itinerary. I am in Middle America Vacation Groundhog Day.

Some highlights of my fourth cruise in the Western Caribbean:

-walking around Belize with my family while we all drank out of coconuts a dude hacked up right in front of us, shavings flying wildly

-my cast taking advantage of Mom and Aunt’s dining package, getting to dine at the “fancy”* Italian restaurant with unlimited apps and ‘zerts!

-my aunt winning the spa lottery on Sunday and booking an hour massage for me! I live on a cruise and somehow the masseuse told me, “You are incredibly tense. Especially your calves.”

-Over two scones, ZPill and I contemplated how greatness happens. His metaphor is there is a huge dogpile of humans, and one finally stands on top, making the best thing. But, that person couldn’t be there without stepping on a million other people. My idea is societal needs show up as big holes, and we all create rubber band balls of our experiences. Sometimes because of who we are and what we have, our ball is too big or too small and either slides through the gap or rambles over it. But someone out there creates something just right that gets lodged in place. That’s greatness.

-drinking a peanut butter latte on a porch in Cozumel

-I’ve been wearing my pearls and my pearl shimmer lip-gloss a lot. At the pool is Costa Maya my cast tells me I look like a Kennedy.

-ZPill and I walk down a hall on Deck 6. A girl whispers as we pass, “That girl is so funny!” ZPill turns and smiles at me, says, “I just love getting compliments.”

-I’ve finally started wearing my jean shorts. I’ve been avoiding them because sweatshorts are also a thing. Everyone comments as they see me, “New shorts?” We all know every outfit.

-serving as a “celebrity judge” of the dance off competition for the first time. An old man won mainly because he successfully executed the lift in the Dirty Dancing number.

-wearing my new chocolate perfume on show night. MB asked me if I was eating a brownie every time I went offstage because when we passed each other in the dark I reeked of cocoa.

-the night the cast passed one slice of pie around the single we all crammed into, the night ZPill was sad and wrapped an éclair into a pizza slice and ate all of it

-the time I locked myself out of my room and couldn't get to my laundry for hours--when I arrived in the facility, it was all out of the dryer and folded

Another note: Very consistently I am finding when men come and talk to me after shows they talk about their own experiences. Ex: how much they like SNL, their favorite sketch, the work training they did once with improv, their college theatre group. Women ask a lot of questions. They rarely think to mention anything about themselves besides the initial "I enjoyed the show." Then they launch in to learning. So far, there are no exceptions to this rule.

*still on a cruise ship