Risk

The closer you get to someone you love, the more opportunity there is for you to dislike parts of them. I guess the closer you get to someone you dislike, the more opportunity there is to love parts of them.

Puhg and I had a perfect we-work-from-home-brunch at the hip taco shop. He got two potato ones, peeled off the label, stuck it to himself. I said, "this is my favorite drink" about the Summer Chiller. He said, "ever?" I said, "Yeah. I think so." It was Topo Chico with lime and a simple syrup over ice in the sun cut with vegan Mexican. I adored a scenelet during the lunch rush--this older man (bald, chubby) carrying his tray with two young, hip co-workers. I thought the unlikely friends were cute. It was easy to see from two tables away. But what do I know? Maybe he tagged along and they rolled their eyes and maybe for good reason. We don't know.

This week I felt frustrated with multiple friends. Some was warranted and some was made up. We're so close I think I know when I'm being dismissed, and they, I think, know when I'm dismissing them. And then there's unfair reasons why maybe someone is annoyed. Like when I am not upset and then someone decides I am and they are upset with me for being upset (not upset). This is unsaid.

But that is the risk of caring and knowing and getting in there. Ultimately it comes down to this thing that apparently all people are different? That "Ugh why can't this person just do what I would do?" And at the same time liking, praising, that they are not me.

Why I Love Haunted Houses

A couple years ago someone asked me. They added, "because you're so positive" which confirmed to me they were not listening when I spoke. He guessed before I responded something like, "Oh, it's empowering to think about yourself as dead? Like you're immortal?" And Trev interrupted (we were all in a greenroom), "No, no, it's the opposite. You walk out and remember you're alive. There might be death, but you, you're alive."

It's also interactive theatre. I mean, sure, caps off to Sleep No More, but haunted houses have been doing it for ages. It's art that changes with us who changes because of it.

I remember my first when I was in 5th grade. It was in a church basement on Halloween night. I went back to it a few years later. It wasn't as scary, and that was okay. I walked through alone and everyone worried about me. I was 13 or so. My mom drove me and sat outside with cocoa. I did my homework in line. I walk through alone now too because Puhg doesn't want to go in most houses. People working the event don't worry anymore, but the people in front of and behind me do, I can tell. They're there with big groups of friends or their sig o, and I'm just wearing a pumpkin sweatshirt refreshing my email.

I'm so impressed with certain mazes that sometimes I clap. I did during the Us maze, for example. When a room so perfectly matched the climactic film scene, complete with bloody footprints. And then there was that chilling animatronic PLUS a surprise real actor. I have been less enthusiastic with my cheering at a nationally-renowned theatre.

I have three more haunted attractions booked for fall, which began yesterday.

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

Don't Text People Before Their Shows

This is a very specific pet peeve of mine. Don't Text People Before Their Shows Saying "I Can't Make It." UNLESS that person is depending on you for some reason post-show like they were your ride home or your solitary Friday night plans. But if not, just let the person be. They're already putting themselves out there, attempting vulnerability on this lame planet, and then you're gonna creep in with "Hey, someone you thought might support you (me) isn't going to!" banner. I found this true for my most recent birthday party as well. The couple people who texted me during the party saying they weren't coming just made me annoyed on my birthday, made it about them when I was surrounded with other people I wanted to give attention to. Meanwhile a different friend who RSVP'd an ENTHUSIASTIC YES never showed. I forgot, two days later he text apologized he double-booked, and I really didn't care.

I'm trying very very hard not to hold any grudges in this life, but I still turn to stone thinking of a nice comedy friend I met in Chicago a few years ago. We saw a play together (as is a customary first friend hang in that missable culture hub) and she went on and on that she wanted the path I had. I invited her to my homegrown sketch show, and she texted me day of she wasn't going to make it. Okay. A year later I was in a weekly show at THE most accessible theatre--the show she wanted to be in--and when I'd bump into to her she was like, "omg I MUST see it!" Never came. Texted me gd after my solo show closed (which I felt good about) "sorry I'm so busy!" Like, stop reminding me you don't care about me!?

Swimming Out

Nothing is good enough for people like you. Last night Red & I talked at a very loud bar for an acquaintance’s birthday. When we saw each other first and asked the “How are you”s we were both “fine” because both of us have been rejected a lot lately. And you don’t really want to say that because you don’t want to be the bummer, but also you don’t want to be insincere. I’m sure the resolution is be sincere and be happy. Oh, yeah, no big, getting right on it. She says at first it was like, “well even if there are miles to go I couldn’t have imagined being here a year ago” and same but isn’t it funny that no matter how far along I get it seems it didn’t happen soon enough despite it happening sooner than I thought. Tuesday was my one year LA-iversary. I cried in a Starbucks while working on a submission packet after getting an email from my manager, which is I guess fitting because it’s just about the most LA thing that can happen. Happy holidays. It was a blow because I felt I had so much good energy in my corner. One could see all the good energy, not quite realized, as a win, but I don’t. At least not right now.

Thinking heaps about Oprah’s concept of ego: identifying as anything outside of yourself. Really absorbing that, noticing it, and at the same time curious about Step Two, which is I Have an Ego Now What? Theme of the summer is I love honesty. It’s absolutely magnetic. She told me in my ears via her podcast that by identifying as a skinny person she opened up the rest of the world to identify her that way too. And, no, it wasn’t right for everyone ever for the rest of time to obsess over her lbs, but she set up the game board, she knows. I get annoyed when people ask “what’s up now?” irate when someone said to me one lousy day after landing from my international flight, “So are you sort of just hanging around now?” But I guess if the way I see myself is My Work, what do I think everyone else will see? I am Alice who vs. a Writer named. Hard to let go. The illusion that a dysfunctional pattern got us to where we are is strong. I start hurting remembering who doesn’t believe in me. I hate my own self. Mainly because she goes through extended periods where she doesn’t like anything. I mean, truly, not a single thing. I try to make a list of what I am excited for and come up with one item. Not knocking the one item.  I love the one item. (Going to Horror Nights at Universal Studios.)

A more optimistic take rattles around in the back of my head that this is my time, my blank space to decide what I am and what I need. I am worried I won’t like what comes up. And what's most boggling is I have never felt more selfish with my time. The lurching makes it hard for me to even make dinner before 9:30 PM let alone call my congressman. I guess I've been calling him for three years, so perhaps it doesn't matter. But I think that's what down people want to believe, so they don't have to push past the self-centered grip of dysphoria. And yet I just can't right now. Usually I'm good about "can" versus "don't want to."

Lumina

Writing this on the plane, my heart absolutely sick for Edinburgh. There is nothing, nothing, nothing like the magic of Fringe. The incredible, daring, hilarious, innovative theatre. The millions of twinkle lights. The flocks of happy people. It’s what makes it unlike any other gathering—the happy people, the nice people. This morning in the airport I was shocked a woman cut in front of me in line and then argued with the desk worker, but, yeah, she was American.

 Yesterday morning I was miserable, clawing the walls to leave. My bed was utterly uncomfortable and loud, bees would fly in the open window, but a closed window created the stuffiest nasty box, the carpet that made me never not want to wear shoes, the drunks at 3 AM, the moldy fridge, the sharing a flat with seven other people, the feeling of something closing up around me and wanting to kiss it goodbye before it could break up with me. In the afternoon Stripes took a train from Manchester just to visit me. We roamed about having noodles and catching up and really trying to sort out this life. I remember the night we met walking to our freshman dorms together. We were so tiny and mindless. I waited for her bus with her, watched her jump to the double decker, waved goodbye. It was 22:00. I was farther from how than I thought I was, ended up making my way back through the square I spent the last month hurrying to every night. It was tons of boards and wood panels and rails and boxes. Gone: the flower garden and vegan pbj sandwich hut, the adorable circus tent, the crepe line, the old couples, the drunken bros, the buskers, the light on the cobblestones. It makes me want to cry.

There were nights when it was in its full majesty I also wanted to cry. The rest of my cast was tucked in a theatre doing their second show, and I was alone, blood pumping with the adrenaline of sticking the landing to cheering sold-out house, but now walking in the chilly wind past happy parties and a jillion fliers—wondering who I would most prefer to be—someone in a line going to what’s supposed to be the hottest show, a person on the billboard for the hottest show, or myself.

The company I toured with is certainly dysfunctional (as have been all comedy theatre I have ever worked for, so), but what an utter gift this month has been. I pushed my boundaries in every possible way imaginable. I am so serious, in every single way a person can be challenged I have been. I felt on deep deep levels from new and old relationships, theatre, and performance. I ate a billion treats. I stayed up very very late, I hiked mountains, I evaluated who I am and who I hope to be and what I hope to make and what I do make. I appreciated cafes, castles.

I haven’t felt this way since I was in the backseat of my family’s gray mini-van riding home from summer camp.

Baby Reindeer

Saw my favorite show of Fringe last night. I am blown away. Before going I told myself it would be my last one, and indeed, it was. Yesterday morning and afternoon I saw wonderful acclaimed shows as well! But they were my 30th and 31st of the festival and while I loved them, my eyes were droopy and my brain was a little low-functioning.

A month of watching theatre of every genre and size and budget has been immensely inspiring. The world feels open again and it is reassuring to see my tastes is full form. Baby Reindeer being a bullseye for my dark and dysfunctional interest. I saw a different acclaimed show about mental health. Huge venue, stunning stage design, perfectly crafted. I can't deny it was "good" and the sell-out upon sell-out was deserved, but at the same time I didn't love it. I sensed something insincere, and I stand by my gut. The story was a perfect dramatic structure. Exposition, horrifying incident bulked up over a few months, dark night of the soul, a literal mountain to be climbed on stage--yes, recovery and it is finished. But when does wild, chaotic life serve us events in this way? I guess I don't mind artistic license, but

But this writer/performer kept no secrets. I knew it because even as the victim in his story he shared any hint of his culpability, the most twisted details (when no one would ever know otherwise). "Keep pushing" has been recurring coaching for me. From my college scene study to my graduate plays to notes here.

Anyway, the perfect final act. Thrilling and well-wrought and at midnight no less, so I could walk home alone in the pure dark considering all the horrid pieces of humanity.

I wish I had written in this blog more during this magical, complicated, brilliant, different, challenge of a month. I strayed from myself in many ways. I neglected my basics--morning journal, getting right out of bed, frugality, listening. I don't know why. I miss the norm. I will miss so much about this incredible fest, but I can't get home soon enough.