And That Would Be Alright

These yahoo dbags have been a wonderful part of my life. Sometimes they call me "Mom" and I get annoyed (because I don't think it's only moms who want answers to questions like "What time is rehearsal exactly?" and "Should we warm up now?"). They grab at me until I fall off the bed during notes. We make fun of all the best and worst parts of each other so bitingly, it is unrecognizable as love.

At the continental motel breakfast yesterday, Steck stared me down while I stirred my oatmeal. As soon as I opened my mouth to speak he snapped, "SHUT UP, ALICE." And the only other patron in the lobby dropped his donut.

In the greenroom before our round started we all hugged each other. Big, hearty, meaningful embraces. These stupid jerks who are the reason all my clothes currently smell like smoke and who met me with my bags at White Castle, happy about the fact I couldn't eat anything. We played "Semi-Charmed Life" ironically, but we sang to the ceiling with sincere happiness.

When we lost, we were not sad for pride. We were sad for being better than what we did. Waiting in the wings for the announcement of our loss, we held each other's backs. We strained to stifle giggles--cracking inapprope jokes until the last moments.

After a couple hours of being split up, I spied a few guys from the backseat of my sister's car. I rolled down the window, the 30 degree wind whipped at me, and I barked in my beefy character voice, "Y'ALL LOOK SO GOOD! LOOK AT YOOOOOOU!" Lowsta flicked me off.

The night ended at the huge tournament after-party. I left first (mommin') and started goodbyes. Marg took me in tight and reminded me of the first scene we ever did about stage parents obsessed with Rice Krispies. "It's been a pleasure," we both said. Leggo yelped, "NO! NO I WON'T LET IT HAPPEN! GIRL, NO!" And that's the thing about your improv teammates: they can not mean it and mean it. And we all don't mean it, but mostly mean it.

I have been the most lucky human in that I've always loved my fellow improvisers, but this is a very special team to me. I'm still super close with old Lazy Zips because we would be friends with or without improv. Which is good! But. But not this team. These five other souls and I meet at only one point in time and space. And now, that point--it has faded.

I believe in the sand beneath my toes.
The beach gives a feeling--
an earthy feeling.
I believe in a faith that grows,
and the four right chords
could make me cry.
When I'm with you I feel like I could die,
and that would be alright. Alright.

Intelligence

My high school theatre classroom was in the far corner of the basement, basically secluded except for our neighbors: the shop department. As a student I felt like I was venturing across the stupid world to get to My Place. And sometimes it seemed our cast of Crimes of the Heart had survived the zombie apocalypse down there alone. But, now, as I sit in bed at 6 AM racking my brains (braiiiiiiiiiins) making high school theatre lesson plans that are noise sensitive, I think the person who designed the drama quarantine is a darn genius.

My improv team winning Regionals Fall 2012. Like, look at Splosian. Do we really need him screaming in the halls of a high school?

Just Got Home and I Honestly Can't Even Remember What My Real Life Responsibilities Are

1. The weekend felt much longer than it was. It was a true vacation--fresh faces, friendly faces, and getting to know my teammates on a deeper level. An unfamiliar place to run--past all the Mexican markets, Korean pre-schools, a robin's egg blue Victorian-style house with chipped siding and a hole in the roof. Vegan club sandwich. Sprinkles ice cream. Buttermilk donuts. The. God. Darn. Ocean.
2. We won our regional, and I couldn't be happier/prouder. NATIONALS-BOUND!

Right after finals!

A bunch of our LA-res supporters came out--including my own personal fan club of Jamin, Dizz, their sig others, P-San, and EE. I felt super loved, and my cheerleaders were really happy for me. Everyone was really happy for us, of course! But, you know, I don't think anyone can understand what this means to us. It may only be a little regional competition, but to us it was the Nobel Prize in comedy. And that feeling might be smudged away by a stack of papers on the ethics of handling child actors or a revision deadline tomorrow, but, tonight, I will dream sweet longform improv dreams.

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts

Tomorrow my team heads to LA for a big improv tournament. We might win. We might not. I'm just happy to feel legitimately proud sharing the stage with all of them. I love my teammates very much. I am sick and tired of rewrites and grading, but I am not sick of these goobers even one tiny little bit.

Some scrappy boys at Tuesday's rehearsal.

Back on Sunday, y'all. Hopefully with a plaque.

Cheese with That Wine

Ethiopian food with Lowsta & Splosian. December 2011.

Today I have been more unproductive than a bum ovary.

I know what would make me feel better is just doing my stupid work. But I cannot. I simply cannot. I wish I had no ideas sometimes. Then, I could just open my tuft of scalp and let everything in, instead of constantly cheese grating everything out. Truth.

I'm just an insect
trying to get out of the night.