Happy Valentines to Puhg

 I woke up deathly ill. Puhg got going right away. He turned on the humidifier and brought we a glass of water, he set up my little nose steamer gadget. I laid in bed, drowning in mucus.  He made me a hot tea. He said he was going for a walk, so I said I'd join. Some fresh air, some sun. We had to walk very slow, but I made it. He went for his usual little coffee at the neighborhood spot. I went to the fancy natural food store to look for anything I'd be able to eat. I got a bachelor loaf of brioche and some organic ginger ale. I remembered it was Valentines. Puhg brought me a bouquet yesterday, and a second for my galpal, whose birthday we missed. It was a pink assortment, and I gave it to her at the Mexican restaurant last night, after Puhg dropped me off for Galentines. I look for a little snack for my guy. I decide on fancy apple fig newtons, but when I get to the register I realize I don't have my wallet. I go outside and get Puhg and have him come in and pay for me. At home I take a scalding hot shower. I make toast and watch an episode of Love on the Spectrum. In the living room. It's so strange to be in the living room during the day. Our house rules, as established in Covid, is that Puhg gets main room until about 8 PM every night, and I get bedroom and/or trot around town. I fall asleep, probably around 9:30 AM. I don't get up until 3. I'm caked in snot and my body is sore. I shower again and ask if Puhg will drive me to Burger King. He had plans to game with his friend in Arizona, but he pushes it so he can take me for fries and an Impossible Whopper I don't finish. Happy Valentines to Puhg.

Walking into the Eras movie, October 14, 2023

Revisions

New play going up this week. I find myself exhausted after rehearsals. They're only three hours long, but I am dead and spent. I'm also sick, so that's not helping. Waking up with a neck ache and face full of mucus. Avoiding coffee. But it's amazing how I sit in a chair listening and jotting notes for truly minimal time and feel maximum drainage. Then I wake up and have to submit all the new pages by 3:30. It's like how when I started working at the Writing Center I'd get ungodly hungry after my shifts. I mean, wow, I'd meet with three students and then call in an emergency pad see ewe order, wolf it on break. Urgently text Puhg when I was getting on the train, "Start dinner now!" He'd reply, "It's four pm!" Staying at Kale's house while I'm here. I had all these fantasies of enjoying my days, bustling about the places I used to go, but instead I'm hunched over this laptop frantically chopping lines and rewriting scenes to make more metaphorical sense. The stakes are low, but I've never been good at not trying my best.

Alice in Shipland: Sick Slug 1.0

When we last left our heroine she was lonely and sad about to start yet another Caribbean tour—the ultimate impossible conundrum. Would she make it?! Guess what? She did.

-Sunday night involved waking up for dinner, eating a baked potato at molasses pace on the pool deck (fresh air) while everyone around me did the hustle, buying a ton of water and Gatorade, and curling up to watch the Katy Perry documentary, which I cried several times during.

-I have been supremely productive onboard. I write every day and have revised my musical, written the first draft of a solo show, published a theatre ed essay, and am still chugging. I hadn’t yet watched a movie. Oh, did that change. This week was about rest and survival. I pounded through episode after episode of Better Call Saul and watched both Magic Mikes.* For most of the week, a huge majority of all food looked scary and/or gross. For some reason French fries looked okay. I hadn’t eaten literally one fry since coming aboard, and suddenly, with no other options, I was plowing through multiple plates a day. Yolo.

-Major moment of hatred in Cozumel. There is a long walk from gangway to port, so middle-aged men pedal bike taxis up and down for interested cruisers. They work for tips only. As I walked slowly down the strip I heard a voice screaming behind me, “Out of the way, out of the way! He gets a bigger tip if he wins!” A woman riding a bike taxi was yelling at her driver to “giddyup” and beat the three taxis far far ahead of them. She hollered at everyone passing about how she wanted to win. She laughed joyfully. What was worse: the driver totally bought in and pedaled his brains out. He was huffing and puffing, leaning full into his handlebars, sweating madly. I was horrified and legitimately wanted to smack the woman in the face. I watched as the driver miraculously beat two of the three other taxis. A woman in the third-fastest taxi patted her biker’s shoulder in a demeaning sweetness, “You tried.” The Devil Tourist meanwhile jumped out with glee and put four crumpled dollars in her driver’s hand. In any other situation I would certainly accost her. These. Are. Humans. Not. Horses. But, I work for a cruise ship, and I can never be even remotely confrontational to a passenger. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh.

-In Honduras in lieu of a beach day I went to an animal sanctuary. It was only a few minutes away and cost ten dollars to get in. I walked through the butterfly garden and learned the park mashes up papaya and beer to get the insects drunk so they will mate more. I saw a huge-winged blue morpho butterfly! I learned about those in 4^th grade through my avid playing of Amazon Trail the computer game! I saw agouti, held a kinkajou, and monkeys jumped on my head. And then I went back to the crew lounge to send a few business emails. MY LIFE.

Kinkajou!

-An hour before curtain it was decided it was my turn to host the big show. I rehearsed a couple times and halfway through standing in a spotlight giving a spiel to 1,000 people I don’t know I realized how incredible it is that that feels like nothing. I still love my job, but the magic “omg I am performing for SC!” has worn. Like how I now spend ZPill and MB’s scene backstage trying to balance a tennis ball on my hand instead of, like, soaking in how amazing the history of this theatre is/how lucky I am etc. etc. whatever and ever amen. I don’t mourn this. It’s necessary. If people were always in childlike awe, we’d just be slack-jawed tubs of blood.

-So, there were eleven Elvis impersonators on this cruise. There’s an annual “celebration” of Elvis impersonators? And this year the 300 Elvis fans gathered on a cruise ship going to the Caribbean? And I snuck into a balcony seat for the private showcase on Friday where EACH ELVIS PERFORMED TWO NUMBERS. Literal hundreds of old ladies recording a buncha fat dudes shake their hips around. Several Elvii repeated the phrase, “The more noise you make, the more I shake” and bitties would shriek. Saturday morning an Elvis stood next to me at the omlette bar. My heart quickened. He was wearing typical schlub clothes and sneakers but his hair was quaffed and he really did look like Elvis. I was actually star struck. I couldn’t look him in the eye.

-Walking forward to aft of the ship I often take the outside promenade—an opportunity for fresh air. Strangely, one can go several hours in the middle of the ocean without fresh air. I was doing a quick trot to my call on Friday and was stopped dead. The moon was brilliant. It was perfectly circle and shining like a pearl in the sky. A hundred clouds—decades deep—surrounded it. The beauty stunned me. I soaked in the light as if it were a shower.

-During the family friendly show MB and I played awkward teenagers whose parents had just married. It was New Choice, so she said she admired me for my fashion DING the amount of smores I could eat DING the fact that I could do two cartwheels in a row. I practiced cartwheels religiously during the Georgia Olympics. I was sad to learn I would never be a gymnast because I was too old when I became interested. But, guess what, years and years later I cartwheeled in front of a clapping audience, so dreams, when given enough time and sleep, do come true.

-Blue Eyes moved to Mobile after grad school—less than two hours away from New Orleans. “Sure, we’ll come out to visit,” he emailed me a couple weeks ago. What a sight for cruise life eyes! These friends from another planet! We ate chubby hipster donuts (flavors: cereal and milk and seven-layer). We walked down Magazine Street’s dozens of boutiques. I closed my eyes to suck in the honeysuckle perfuming every corner. I felt the hugeness of the world beyond not only the ship but comedy in general for the first time in a long time, and I sat in that feeling like a real cozy lawn chair.

Blue Eyes and wifey! And donuts.

*The original was excellent. The sequel unentertaining, poorly-written, and marginally offensive. Channing Tatum tho.

Alice & Boyfriend in Shipland

 -I saw Puhg in the sunshine of the French Quarter with a duffel by his feet. I chose our brunch spot based on the name alone—Stanley—an honor to both me and Tennessee Williams. We hugged forever as street saxophonists tootled around us. The trip began with fried oysters and a long walk to the ship port.

-We went to the free Venetian restaurant and were seated at the very back, next to the windows! We watched the propellers spit up water and the sky go pink. I looked at my sweetie’s face in magic hour—golden.

-The sea day was rough for one of us who hadn’t yet grown accustom to the rocking. We read together on the deck—both books by Jon Krakauer. At night we dolled up for red bean wontons and snuck into the passenger-only hot tubs.

-I was woken by Puhg squealing “I’m up!” Finally we were in port! After a stroll around Cozumel, a stop for detergent, and an authentic Mexican feast, we bopped to the crew hangout. I bought Puhg a hipster tanktop and snorkel set for the occasion. We jumped off a cliff into the ocean and swam out to a plane crash site.

-We took a party catamaran out to sea and hopped off one at a time right over the second biggest coral reef in the world. The group looked like floating ants with their faces in the water and butts in the air. I saw so many fish! Pink and blue in schools and solo. The highlight was when we spotted a sea turtle zooming along the sand. We followed it together, holding hands.

-On the Olde Belize River we were guided to see manatees, dolphins, monkeys, cashews, pelicans, and my favorite, a collection of tiny bats! In the heat, we were passed bags of water that everyone rolled on their faces before stabbing and drinking. We ate rice and beans cooked in coconut water under a straw hut and our guide talked us through the bus ride to the Altun Ha ruins. I fell asleep like any good student in the front row.

-The ruins were incredible. “The world is so big,” Puhg had said the day before. Roatan on the map seems like a tiny island, and yet we could have explored it for a month—especially considering what’s below sea level. At the Mayan ruins I felt, “History is so big.” I walked where people made sacrifices. I did a cartwheel where a hundreds of men died. Puhg said he was going to steal a rock and immediately tripped. We both looked at the sky. Perhaps not smart to anger the Sun God. As we left, people manned card tables of plantain chips and fresh papaya. I bought a ton of snacks but only liked the coconut milkshake. Divine! The woman who worked at the stand had worked at the shop for a year and had been to see the ruins once. They are a ten-minute walk away.

-We played Marco Polo on a quiet empty Costa Maya beach and ate chillaquiles.

-The final sea day was needed. Sleep-ins, and gym, and watching OJ. We came upon MB and played a few rounds of Rummy. But I felt weird. I kept feeling weird. And then at 6 I threw up. And then I kept throwing up. The night was supposed to be where Puhg wore the one fancy outfit he brought, we took cheesy pictures on the staircases, we dined, we danced. But looks like I don’t have time to curl my hair—puke. There goes photos—out the other end. And finally, I knew I could not eat maybe ever again. My world was bile and shivering. I was really looking forward to having Puhg see me to the final improv show. It’s always such a fun night, and I was slated to play my favorite game. I waffled on calling Tail several times. Maybe it’s over? I slowly put on my pink dress and carefully crawled backstage. I did two warm-ups and said I wasn’t feeling up to it. I was green, everyone said. I missed the show. I was on, over, crying near the toilet for the next two hours instead. We ran out of water and the store was closed. I had a headache. At two AM I shuffled to the crew mess across the ship to drink two huge glasses of ice water and by the time I got back home I was chucking them up, bright yellow.

-I woke up weak but alive. I was determined to still squeeze some romance out of our last day together. NOLA City Park: Beautiful oak, historic diner, ponds of swans and ducklings. I was still not tip-top so we went slow and sat on a lot of benches. The best things: the outdoor sculpture garden—fascinating, finding a pond turtle scootin’ along that Puhg followed like a body guard until it plopped into water and swam away, and buying too-expensive but totally-worth-it tickets for the old carousel. It was almost 2 PM. I had a new cruise and he had a plane to catch. We took the kiddy train that circumnavigates all the green. My heart tore into little pieces.

-I felt choked walking to crew entrance, through security, past acquaintances in the halls with shopping bags and smiles. A cheap one was plastered on my face. I was hungry but disgusted by all food, and I opened the door to my single looking so empty. I lay down and cried, and when I couldn’t cry anymore I slept, not answering my ringing telephone or checking what messages were behind the blinking lights.

February, You Can Eat A Rock

Good riddance to a despicable month. March is traditionally my least favorite part of the year, but I have faith it can be better than the trash pile that was February 1-28 in 2015. I hate you, February 2015. I hate all the stressful emails, I hate the whipping winds, I hate the uncomfortable notes, I have hated being sick for four weeks straight. I hate the greasy white board hands, the freshmen who never stop snapchatting, the sharp word, losing the will to keep my phone close, the interrupted dinner stories, and my hair wiley uggo hair.

Of course, there was a lot of good this month. Let's not forget that. Let's just commemorate those times.

Benny the Bull blimpin'.

Karaoke night with cohort. This was "It's All Coming Back to Me."

Galentines Party Apps.

My Valentine.

My music improv team in a finale pose.

These Cold Twilights

The last time I was this cold at twilight was when I was 15. So now I feel all these newold feelings each night I'm outside. Everything gets dimmer and you can almost feel the city starting to settle down. Let's go home to the burrow, put on the TV, wait for these branches to bare.

Ten years ago I had long bangless hair and braces. I wore tight American Eagle tees, and I spent the winter doing a lot of math problems and figuring out what was funny about me. Winter twilights were spent on Speech buses. So many cafeterias and auditoriums. I had a pea coat from Old Navy. It was usually covered in cat fur. I go back there when it's night and the planning meeting had ended. I take the 36 home and watch the older crowd navigate the way to Blue Man Group.

I wrote this to get a handle on what it is that I'm feeling. I feel so connected to those times--the winter has snapped me back there. Is there something important back there? Am I supposed to know something? Am I a time traveler with a message? What would it be?

Blizzard Flu

Fat lymph nodes call for tea,
sucking on Werthers slowly.
Brown washcloth across foreheard,
wake up in sweat-soaked bed.
Pale face, no makeup on.
Will to move completely gone.
Eyes droop, curl in ball.
Make yourself tiny, make it all small.
Baked potato on snowy night.
Soak in the bath. It will be alright.

Fall Semester 2014 in 26 Snapshots

Graduated in May, but the semester life is far from over. This was probably the hardest semester of my life. Long train trips to the south side to bring a playwriting program to an underserved school, the neverending stream of late work from community college students, the lower paychecks, the higher rent, the days of inherent 4 mile walks, the beginning of the blistering cold nights. But I MADE IT. And, even, I am emerging from the swamp I felt I was drowning in back in August somewhat...victorious. Good student evals, a promotion, two new works on stage, opportunities to perform. There's gold in these hills, folks, and I am leaving the apartment everyday with my pickax and my bus pass, grammar books, and my hot pink mace.

HS boy with a high top explains how it hurts to hear men are jerks.

Screaming about soup with a vocal fry in the cabaret space.

Eating two baked potatoes across from my mom, janky steak house.

A billion cheese cubes in the VFW hall.

Droopy eyes at Bisque, Spiff dances wildly, Ogie the monster.

Bisque in the snow holding cocoa under the A. McMahon moniker.

"It could be so much better." I feel a mirror behind me.

Fall trot with Pookie to the shopletts on Broadway.

Sittin' at the southern kitchen table talkin' educational loans.

My dad takes photos of me getting the high score on Pac-Man.

The barefoot audition.

The Daily Burn, parfait, Friday Night Lights tradition.

Sneezing my face off in class. Gel making me use it.

Sitch and I are the annoying people on that Wednesday night bus.

Oopa! All the saganaki with aunt 'n' uncle.

Crying at what was to come in the New Mexico desert.

Kicking my feet in bed after opening the congrats email.

Using poofs as chairs for living room improv sets with Meat Gang.

Eatin' a ghost cookie on the hottest October (makeshift birthday) day.

The wannabe gym coach putting up his hood to read a poem in 100.

The quiet gamer pretending to flip a table in the 101 debates.

Ripping on the sweetie pies of Tuesday/Thursday.

The pros and cons of living in Saudi Arabia with my tutee at the library.

Wooden post painting where we are members.

The longest and most literal Labor Day ever.

The lightening machine at Science and Industry.

This list was so much harder to make than usual. I barely scratched the surface of things that are monumental because things are packed! Packed, I say.

The Unwanted

1. I saw an ant on my windowsill. I crushed it with the corner of tissue that was sitting nearby. Suddenly, five ants. I banished them all from this world. Later I left a handkerchief on the sill. Not more than ten minutes later: antpalooza. Bisque brought the Windex, I shook the hankie over the sink and drowned the survivors. I Googled it. Apparently some ants are more concerned with protein than sugar. Snot is yummy organic food to them.

2. If you were designing a perfect human, you would probably leave out earwax. Because who likes earwax? But actually earwax is your lil ear protection. A lil drum saver, if you will.

You Should Be Happy

On paper I am living the dream. Like, literally. I dreamed of performing at the _______ theatre since I was twelve years old. And yesterday, I did.

You should be happy. This is what it is all about. But I couldn't have known when I was coming back from that summer mainstage on a school bus fulla kids who got most of the jokes but not all of the jokes that when it happened, when it really happened, it would be at the end of the longest week ever. The week I was sick to the bone. All my parts heaving and mucus, a clogged ear and too much lost lunch. I don't get paid enough to lose that much lunch, I thought while I was yakking in the bathroom on the floor above my classroom. I didn't want one of my students to see me wipe the slop off my face. It has been a shut-down week. Too tired to even respond to text messages week, certainly too tired to write, half-functioning just enough to sludge to the bus stop and cradle the stacks of copy-machine minted syllabi up the escalator.

You should be happy to have this job even though you need another if you want to do anything besides pay your rent this semester. You have to buy your own dry erase markers. Adjuncts are only administered two per semester, and yours haven't arrived yet anyway. Meanwhile there are all these new papers with all these moldy sentences and all these fresh faces who deserve a good education.

The show was okay. Just okay. We've all done so much better. But it was late and actually stunningly non-magic considering dreams and such were coming true. I walk out the doors of the best comedy theatre in the world, get in the car, snatch a chunk of toilet paper, blow my nose. This is the way it ends.

This is what dreams are for? To arrive at. To see the next mile post down the highway. "Maybe once I am there," you think.