ch-ch-changes
This is going to be the week from hell - I am finally moving, and although I’m really excited about it I am also completely fucking freaked out. My list of things to do is a mile long, and fielding hundreds of Craigslist emails about the furniture I am trying to sell and/or give away is just complicating matters. In a week’s time, hopefully I will be in my beautiful newly painted room with my brand new bed (thanks to Crave the generous) with my new cat and my new roommates and everything will be fine.
Until then, I am slowly losing my mind. Thankfully, my darling Crave has been devising all sorts of distractions from my stress. Tonight we are drinking with his friends, tomorrow night we are going to cook for his sister and her husband, last night we ate at Jack in the Crack and hung out at IKEA, and a week from Sunday I am going to meet his parents for the first time. In case you couldn’t tell, he is pretty much rocking my world at the moment, and if I have been so distracted by being happy that I haven’t been a good communicator, I apologize. I’ll be back to my normal disillusioned self any day now, I’m sure. ;)
What are you doing on Sunday? Wanna help me move?
fast forward
When Bill and I broke up, I remember asking someone how long it took to be ready to date again. How much time, exactly, do you need to spend before you can let yourself open up like that again? Before you can trust that people aren’t going to forcibly remove your heart from your chest and crush it under their heel?
“Half the length of the relationship,” the friend told me.
“Fuck that!” I responded. “I’m not going to wait two years!”
Guess it turns out that they were right. Exactly two years TO THE DAY after the beginning of the end, I got this message from Crave… I’d been talking to him before, but had lost touch with him for about six months. As Nenie might tell you, I have spent those two years reclaiming the parts of myself that I somehow lost while Bill and I were together. Figuring out how to live my life in a way that was right for ME - not the version of me that I thought people could most easily accept. Re-learning to kick ass and take names.
For some reason, it was like the stars had all aligned to make everything work. I had waited, I had paid my dues, I had done the work, I had figured out how to be true to myself, and things just fell into place. I don’t know how much I can or should say, but I haven’t ever been in a situation like this. I pinch myself every single day because I still can’t really believe the way the whole thing has panned out. Karma or kismet or whatever the hell you call it? I don’t know. But this is really fucking good for me, and I couldn’t NOT tell you. I kind of want to tell everyone I know.
As I told Ida, I’ve found my own Yellow Dog. It’s such a nice feeling to be completely retarded over somebody again … it’s been a long time.
REVENGEISIMINENT
In order to assuage the undoubtedly anxious anticipation of what exactly I’m going to say aobut him, here’s the DL on yesterday and my first auspicious run-in with Crave*.
I would tell you how I met this crazy clown, but I’m sure most of you can figure it out. (I know, I know, I’m an addict.) Turns out, in typical “Small World After All” fashion, that he’s good friends with not only MOST of the non-theatre people I know, but also our pal Little Z. So, of course, I have to pump Big Z for info about him, which he supplies in FREAKING SPADES.
Right. So I ask him if he wants to come see my show, thinking that if someone can stand sitting through this show before meeting me - and still want to hang out afterwards - they pretty much pass the test. What he isn’t expecting is that toward the end of the show, a large gay cowboy will pull him out of the audience and partially undress him for everyone’s viewing pleasure. (We only had nine people in the audience, so there was a bit of artistic anarchy.)
Afterwards, we go to the Garage for some pool, where we discover that Our Favorite Waitress (tm) went to high school with him. I actually manage to beat him a couple of times, and I teach him the wonders of Pole Position, Chasing Jennifer Around the Table, Scratch Procedures, etc. The guy at the next table walks up to me and says,
“Excuse me, but I just wanted to say that I love your stockings. Not every woman has stockings like that, and even fewer can pull it off.”
To which I’m like … hunh. What the? Then a couple of minutes later he comes over and says,
“I really like your shirt, too. Who’s on it?”
I say “Frida.” The shirt, I might add, is pretty tight. (This will be useful information in a minute.)
Him: “Frida … who?”
Me: “Frida Kahlo.”
Him: “What?”
Me: “Frida … Kahlo. The artist?”
Him: “Ooooohh.”
At this point, Crave turns to the guy and says,
“Yeah, you have to REALLY STARE AT IT to figure it out.”
This is when I have to briefly turn away so that the dude won’t be able to tell that Crave and I are both laughing at him. A few minutes later, he comes back and says,
“I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean anything by that, and I hope you aren’t offended. Also, I really like your tongue ring. I haven’t ever dated anyone with their tongue pierced, but I hope to someday.”
This situation is made better by the fact that their group buys Crave and I two shots of Jaeger, each. Yay!
Then there was lots of label-making and horn-honking, but I think you kinda had to be there.
* Names, as always, have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.
mashed, fried, boiled, baked
I’m an intensely watchable couch potato! This review warms the cockles of my spuddy little heart.
P.S. There is a massive karaoke thing going on this Saturday night after all of our respective shows, up at that crazy place we like to call the Peking Palace. You down? ‘Cause I know I am.
how bizarre
I think my goal for this show is to NOT get mentioned by name in a single review. Hey, so far I’m two for two!
*pokepoke* Does it hurt yet? *pokepokepoke*
Well, today I survived the reading of the first unabashedly godawful review a show I’ve been in has ever received. Thought I’d give a shit … and thankfully, didn’t. I’d like to second what my darling Sparky said in his email forward about sCarrie, which was something to the effect of “The reviewer didn’t like our show. I just wanted you to know that the audiences disagree. Please come and make your own decision.”
The cast went out after the show last night and did Karaoke - my third Singing Saturday Night in a row! - at good old Peking Palace, which is quickly becoming my favorite drinking hole, despite being waaaaay in BFE. The Jeweler did a rockin’ version of “Cracklin’ Rosie”, the Taxidermist brought the house down with his “Streets of Memphis”, Herr Direktor did “Baby Got Back” with myself and Marcellas #1 and 2 as backup dancers, and I finally whipped out my long-awaited Eminem, with Herr Direktor in the background as my Dre, bopping his head and singing along. It was, for lack of a better word, phatty. I woke up this morning still giggling.
I have to go to a potluck dinner with my kids and their parents this afternoon, after which I am going to go lie on a cold floor and listen to some chanting. Want to join me? Give me a call. I may not believe in their god, but I sure as hell believe in the power of their voices to give me a kind of momentary peace that I don’t often find in my life. Not a bad way to finish a weekend.
the surreal life
Last night was opening. We had a loud, raucous audience who grokked the show far more than we’d expected them to. Nothing went wrong - except a light cue - and nobody went up on lines. We made the show our own, and as always it was pretty fucking glorious. I have FOUR COMPS that can only be used tonight that are going to waste … call me. I will give them to you.
At the party, I got into an in-depth conversation with a cast member about the occult (which is dealt with a great deal in the show). He was telling me about a particularly memorable ghosty encounter, and a group of us was discussing how our acceptance of that kind of phenomenon - or even that kind of conversation - has drastically increased as we’ve gotten older. Once the story is pretty much finished, he stops mid-sentence and begins examining my face intently. After a moment, he says,
“I would love to hear what you have to say… you’re different. There is so much going on in your head - you are incredibly bright, but you don’t just give it to people. It oozes out. “
He thinks for another moment, and then says,
“You’re not like other pretty young female actors. You’re not in this for the fame of it. You’re not in this to get laid. You’re in it for yourself, and eventually I am going to figure out why.”
The sudden intensity and clarity with which this all came out of his mouth startled me. It reminded me of one of those moments in a movie where the young heroine is visiting a gypsy fortune teller. The reading is progressing normally, and suddenly the gypsy’s head snaps toward the girl, and her eyes bore a hole in the girl’s face. Suddenly, she sees the future - suddenly, things become clear. A few moments later, when he stood up to go talk to someone else, I was a bit shaken. Another cast member who had been present for this conversation turned to me, and whispered
“I wouldn’t have modified that statement at all. I don’t care that you’re pretty or female or even an actor. You are more grounded and centered than anyone your age I have ever met. He may be tipsy, but you know he’s right.”
I don’t know WHAT I know. This show has brought the surreal synchronicities that always exist in my life right up to the glaring forefront, and my perception of them has altered the way I look at everthing. I was talking to another cast member last night when I realized that he reminded me of Mitch. This morning, Mitch calls … just to check in. This actor had told me that he really appreciated my “razor-sharp wit”, and that he would be interested in having me join his improv group. Mitch is the reason I started doing improv in the first place, almost eleven years ago. Maybe everything is connected … or maybe I’m just drawing lines to connect dots that aren’t even on the same plane.
In any case, I have not laughed so much with a cast in my life. This script might not be your particular cup of tea, but it’s a good damn show. Come and see if YOU can figure it out… because we certainly can’t, and we’ve been working with the script for months. It’s a weird and wild time in my life right now, and once I move in with the Karaoke Twins (tm) I’m sure it will only get stranger. Upper Queen Anne, here I come. You’re not going to know what fucking hit you.
out with the old
Again - more for my benefit than yours, my soon-to-be-retired Friendster profile.
Occupation: Guardian/Exhibitionist/Shaman in Training
Interests: Catharsis, in all its iterations. Dancing until I can barely stand and I don’t know which way is up. Losing my shit on stage and briefly forgetting who I am. Karaoke-ing to Aerosmith and bringing the house down. Getting my second wind.
Favorite Music: I listen to a lot of things. If the music comes from a place that’s real and visceral and multi-dimensional, I will probably love it. Come to think of it, I feel pretty much the same way about people.
Favorite Books: Currently: My script, ALL DAY LONG. Just Finished: most of The Complete Works of T.S. Eliot.
Favorite TV Shows: I have a love/hate relationship with my TV. At the moment, we’re not on speaking terms… okay, except for Celebrity Poker. I just can’t help myself.
Favorite Movies: To make this list, movies must be either magnificent or mockworthy. It’s even better if they’re both.
About Me: I am my own antithesis. I am a preschool teacher covered in piercings. I am an actor obsessed with tattoos. I am a runner and a smoker, a dieter and a drinker. I am spiritual but agnostic, low-maintenance but high-intensity. I can’t always find that fine line - but if you show me where it is, I can walk it with my eyes closed. I dream of skydiving but am terrified of bees. Most importantly, my life is an open book. Want to know something? Ask. Just be prepared to take a turn, because Truth or Dare is my favorite game …
Who I Want to Meet: An old soul with the eyes of a child. New friends who party hard and think harder. Someone who will understand what my tattoo means both intuitively AND intellectually. Battle-scarred warriors who refuse to be passive observers in this world. People who surprise me with not only their creativity but also their kindness.
In other news, tonight is preview. Anybody want to come? Give me a call and I’ll hook you up. Starts at 8 at OCT … although you might have to come in the back through the garage door. We’re ghetto like that.