We Were Dating,  Now We’re Not

2 Dec

Doing a show is like having a whirlwind romance, where you meet and get married in like a week, and said relationship lasts with total devotion, until you unceremoniously strike your home and get a Mexican divorce–however long your run is-days later.

…Because working on a character across a full rehearsal and production schedule, is absolutely consuming and requires not only devotion of time and physical and mental presence, but also through sickness and through health, as long as you both shall live (together .) 

…And it doesn’t matter if you “have a headache tonight, ” or “really need some alone time, ” or “start to feel suffocated” by their insistent presence. Doesn’t matter that it seems you –at times– have absolutely put yourself and your needs on the back burner and have from time to time gotten completely lost inside the relationship, which starts to blur (as time goes on)  in fully realizing just where you end and they pick up (or vice versa.) 

…You see each other through your finest moments,  and miserable worst, and yet you are able to commit fully to this marriage because –I guess,  really– of two things:

1. You have made this commitment with full knowledge of what is required of you, in front of all of those witnesses, who will hold your ass to it, by supportive teamwork. 

2. This passionate affaire, has a sell-by date, which you are also fully aware of on the outset, so: there’s really just no damn excuse not to give it your all,  while you can. 

At this point,  I’ve been married –MANY times. 59, in fact. I make Liz Taylor and Mickey Rooney look Catholic by comparison. And luckily for me,  I’ve enjoyed the HELL out of the bulk of them, and have bins and books full of our Honeymoon days together, which already make me misty-eyed with memory,  and I’m not even middle-aged as yet. 

…The thing is: as great as the bulk of those marriages are in my memory, there is even something singularly satisfying in the terrible ones, in that: I made the absolute best effort I could to make it work out, and even if it ended shitty,  I know that to be true. 

…Because I actually really really love to “commit.” 

…(In a show, that is.) 

…But along with these “marriages,” I’ve also had me some “flings.” 27, of note. And these,  while intriguing, only seem to mostly “hot and bother” me, and while enjoyable in the moment, leave me as unfulfilled at their ending, as a one-night-stand. 

–Which, in fact, most of them ARE.

The Staged Read, is an enigmatic animal. They are considerably lower maintenance than a real relationship in that you don’t live with the character. At most, you might workshop (or, “date”) it for a few days, but by and large, it’s just a tease. 

…Even if you really like the character. Even if the cast is a dream. Even if your Director is creative as fuck. You still are hampered from full investment to grow it into a real relatonship, because Staged Reads are the flings we have in foreign countries, while on Holiday. They aren’t allowed to become more than that, because of your surrounding circumstances, even if you really, really, really like them, and you get on with total ease, and know you could make the most magnificent children together…

…And even knowing this, a lot of the time, you still can’t help getting sucked into the “what if,” daydream which sometimes comes with the really, really special flings.

…These will be the ones you always pine over, the ones you wish you could learn all the  secret intimacies about…everything from the corny, “how they take their tea, ” to the deeply sheltered truths they hide… the ones that even though you held them for a moment,  you can’t help but think that they are one of those ones who,”got away. ”

Yesterday’s “Joe Egg, ” read is one of those for me. 

We dated heavily for several weeks, and it was disturbing but so enlightening, and…She’s gone now… 

…Out of my life… 

…The supremely gifted family: broken up. And though I am so very satisfied to have met the role at all,  never mind with this amazing group of people — I know in my gut-parts, she and I would have had one of THE best marriages that I have ever had…

…If only…

If only.

~D

Everything’s Broken

16 Nov

…No, *not* Politically. 

Although… 

(…Yeah. Very much that too.) 

…I am actually referring to the office. Where I am pacing. During my Lunch 2.0. Because our phones and servers have been down,  all day long, with no idea of when they will be back up again. But because I’m employed by idiots,  I’m still here at the office. 

…”In case. ”

“In case” of what?  I dunno. Because even the few times one or the other has worked today, it crashes thirty seconds later,  and we are back to square one. 

…And this being…you know,  *this* century and all…there is absofuckinglutely nothing for me to do but file papers, without the Internet. And I’ve done that. So now I’m being paid to take a second lunch and type a blog into my phone. 

…Which I guess is me: winning .

…Even if it is winning on a stupid technicality. 

(Which I think a lot of us are kinda “over” with,  this week.)

…Anyway. I’d say, “I digress, ” but I wasn’t really aimed anywhere to begin with…so… 

…yeeeeeeaaaaaahhhh. 

(I got nothin’) 

I am only writing this now because I’ve FB’d as much as can stand for the day, already read the new Guardian stage reviews, updated my Fitbit app, and watched a bunch of blurry episodes of “Remember WENN, ” on YouTube… 

(…then Google’d all those actors to find out what they’re doing now, and why that show hasn’t been released on DVD, so I can buy it.) 

…And now I’ve got a headache. Prob’ly from watching and reading things for hours on this tiny screen. 

…And I’m sad for the family loss, of an extended family member. 

…And I’d rather be outside, walking these thoughts out in a proper walk in you know…”air”…for free, than stuck here, pacing a damn lobby for pay. 

…And then after a while I could pop on my audio Winston Churchill book…

…And let my mind go back to places it wants to be. Back in London. Back before a lot of things got sad and shitty. 

…But Winston Churchill rallied. So, I will too. 

…And at the Dames retreat -and-meet tonight, I’m gonna flip the finger to day-3 of Mrs.Johnson’s visit, while wearing pj bottoms and my London Tube tube socks…and eating: whatever the flying fuck I want to. 

(Mostly of salt) 

(And potatoes.) 

(And prob’ly: bread.) 

So really, this is a blog about absolutely nothing. 

…And you read it anyway. 

…Cuz, we get it: you n’ I. 

Hang tuff, friend. 

Peace, 

~D

Cuz You Wanna Know

7 Nov

I love that I have so many friends who immediately want to get in touch,  post vaca, and catch up. But y’all are a little bit loving me to death. 

…I got this awesome cold from Cecil, about two days before we left London, and exacerbated by a truely fucking terrible trip home, that shit grew to totally consume me. I feel awful. Even with the left-over meds from my last cold-from-hell. And (of course)  I’m at work now, cuz I’ve spent every day off for the foreseeable future…so it is all compounded with excess of paperwork and data entry back-log,  plus with two Daylight Savings times added into the mix (UK does theirs the week before ours), I feel like I’m pulling 15-hour days right now. 

…For instance, how the fuck is it only 1pm?  I’ve been awake since like 4:30 this morning. 

…Anyway… My phone keeps beeping and buzzing with mssgs and IMs and emails and FB notifications that I cannot keep up with because: codine and remember how I’m really sick? 

…So this is me saying,  “Yes, I am ignoring you. And yes, it is on purpose,  but I have to right now. Cuz something’s gotta go. And I’m really broke again, so all the few brains I do have, need to funnel into the place that pays my bills.”

I know. I say, “fuck that! ” too. But it’s just the grown-up rules. 

…Hopefully,  by like next week, I can rejoin the human race again, remember that I have friends, and tell all the stories of our magnificent trip (including all the behind-the-scenes action, and blooper reel –in detail.) 

…But for now: please apply the applicable number to your personal situation. 

1. I love you,  too. 

2. Kick ass at that audition. 

4. Wipe the floor at callbacks. 

5. Yes I want to meet over drinks/food/coffee soon. 

6. I really hope I can see your show before it closes, but I don’t want to be the hacking/honking bastard screwing up your solo. 

7. Prob’ly, but let me check my dates first. 

8. Oh my God, that made me laugh so hard I pissed my pants just now, and am raining snot down my face in a gooey waterfall. 

9. Yes. I can’t wait for it all to be over with, too. 

10. Tater tots. 

~D

The Airplane Blog

22 Oct

I’m one bottle into two minis of red, (my dinner,  thank you Iceland Air), listening to Bjork via ear buds, because: Iceland. 

…Meanwhile, the quaintly circa 1965 pill-box-hatted-and-scarved stewardesses (Flight Staff? Attendants?) are trying to shill me duty-free jewelry. 
…And I really have to pee. But I’m a window seat in a row of three. So am waiting for the guy on the  aisle, (with two beers in him), to start the stampede.

…Goddamn,  he can hold his beer.

…Don’t you have to pee yet,  guy?!  Beer makes *me* need to pee! *Instantly!* And often! 

When I saw Aisle Guy get two beers and a water I was all, “FREAKIN SWEET! He’ll for *sure* have to pee soon…at *least* as much as I do (already before I decided to drink dinner.)”

…But, no.

…Enjoy that youthfull prostate,  young guy. It only goes down from here.

Focus on distraction. 

…Bjork. 

…What *is* it? 

…(Other than many cellos, synth, electric keyboards, and a small bird voice saying words that are English,  but don’t really make actual sentences together?) 

Meanwhile: finally got to see “Hitchcock. ” I like that it’s an Alma love -letter. That woman was the Eleanore Roosevelt of his career. It’s about damn *time* someone noticed… 

…So, so, so distracted by bladder right now. It’s starting to hurt. But nice,  silent, Nordic Knitting Woman beside me,  makes me wary of making the first move. 

….A silent letter,  sent mentally to two seats over:

Dear Aisle  Guy, 

Remember those beers? And that bottle of water? No?  Well I remember my pre-flight apple juice and dinner of Syrah. 

GET THE FUCK UP. 

With Gratitude,

~Window Seat Lush

***

(Later) 

…Peeing is magnificent. Don’t ever take it for granted again.

***

(Even Later) 

Have given up on Bjork. Maybe I’ll like their breakfast foods or foreign films…

…Am chillin now with my girl Adele, trying really hard not to belt along. It is more difficult than I thought it would be. Am thinking the words and making all the faces anyway. 

Vacation is fun.

…Even in a hollow tube streaking a zillion miles per hour, by magic and science, (but mostly magic) across the sky. 

…Speaking of that: my onboard consul tells me we are roughly half way to this place which is supposed to heavily resemble Mars (according to others who have been there…to Iceland, that is,  not Mars… Though how the fuck they know enough about Mars topography to equate it, I’ll never know.) 

…Because of flight mode,  I have no idea what time it really is,  or what time zone I’m in. I suspect (because I’m still rocking it over Canada,) I’m three hrs ahead… ish. 

…Oh,  Canada… 

(Wonders where Cecil is,  in her journey. Wonders if she drank dinner too. Wonders if anyone lost bets that I chose wine instead of the Johnny Walker Black option. *I* did. I *totally* owe me a whiskey on that loss. Later. Maybe for breakfast.)

(…I’m only a little bit kidding.) 

***

(Later) 

“When Harry Met Sally” because: (no reason besides, “it’s ‘When Harry Met Sally,'” will ever be needed in this life.)

**

(Even Later)

This scene:

**
(Later,  later) 

Whatever creation Nordic Knitting Woman is making next to me,  requires a seven page booklet of number and letter charting, which she’s added math equations to…along with occasional liner notes, all of which are a mystery. Because of her mother tongue. And: math. 

 …Every row’s end, she stops, charts, flips pages, and writes more. With the length she currently working on – and given the tiny,  tiny yarn thickness -she must have started this project about two years ago. Or maybe 20. And I can’t even tell what the hell it’s supposed to be,  yet. 

A scarf? An infant’s blanket? Dear God,  I hope not the front part of a sweater. She’s already well into her sixties. She’ll never survive both arms. 

**

(Later-ish)

WATER!! 

Remember back when I had to piss like a racehorse?  I peed so hard, I caused full Exodus of fluid from my entire body. I’ve been a living Sahara for like two hours now. But the lovely-beautiful-fantastical-retro-badass-ladies-who-take-care-of-us (like magical Stage Managers in the sky) just showed up with another cart. 

I love you, Iceland Air. 

And it’s a real love. 

Not like with Delta.

**

(Later,  still.) 

Reached Iceland. 

Close you eyes. 

That is what I saw of it. Pitch black still past 6 am… They didn’t let us leave the inner concourse if traveling to UK, I was immediately put into a line (and then an all glass holding pen) with no bathrooms or way to get water… until about 20 mins later, when they opened another glass door, and we all pushed through the rain in blackness, on the tarmac, to get to our plane. 

…And that’s what I saw of Iceland. 

The end. 

**

(Flight 2)

I smell. And a lot of people all around me do too. But not as much as the Axe Body Spray walking advertisement, somewhere within 12 rows of me.

..

My nostrils are burning, and am wondering what is truly worse: BO or American Bro.

Jury is still out. 

I need sleep. 

And a drink. 

…And to find a way to put Axe Body Spray out of business. 

***

(At Last) 

OMG. 

I am in England. 

😀

~D

Thoughts (1 Day Before London) 

20 Oct

Have got a lot of travel-time alone, to do all my normal freak-out things tomorrow…as Cecil and I are on totally different flights. She’ll be kicking it with family in Boston hours before I reach Reykjavik. She lands at Gatwick, I’m touching down in Heathrow. 
…And where, in “normal-world” anxiety terms, that’s just fun adventure…for people like me,  the fact I’m getting on a damn plane to Iceland, and have 55 minutes to get through customs and to my London flight… should be seriously freaking me the fuck out right now. 

…I dunno why,  but for the moment at least, I’m totally fine with it. 

…Where last night was my third consecutive one of shit sleep, it isn’t due to crippling fear or pacing. My nights have been 300% consumed in mapping, ticket-buying, and investingating all the stuff we could do (if we want to), will do (cuz we need to), and might do, despite all odds. 

…Between London, Brighton, Warrington, and Stratford (so far on our lists), that is a pretty consuming occupation. So much so,  that my brain doesn’t have time to flip out and require multiple distractions and interfacing from TVs, computers, bright lights, and other people…which is it’s usual demand. 

I prefer this way. 

…In the best of circumstances, it never has time to blip over to the shitty stage. This would be my brain Mecca of Zen….whilst mid world-altering happenings I cannot control,  take place all around me, and I partake, blissfully, and completely okay with it. 

And it might just happen. 

…How I know is, today when the Whs guy was all, “So. Vacation,  huh? Where yuh goin’? Hawaii? ”

…I said, “Nope. London. ”

…And he’s all, “Holy shit! ”

…And for the first time all week, I started to tear up. Not cuz of a 2 a.m. anxiety attack, period emo anger, or night-sweating hypochondriac freak-outs. 

…It was cuz:

Holy shit. 

I am going to fucking London. 

Tomorrow. 

To take theatre classes. 

The number one thing I’ve wanted to do. 

My entire life. 

My top plan. 

For me. 

…I’ve got a lot of people to thank for helping me get here, and a hell of a lot of cheerleaders backing me. 

…But I’m one of those people too. And even with the sometimes cripplingness that is me… 

I. mutherfucking. made it. 

(You’d choke up too) 

😂

~D

Thoughts (4 Days Before London) 

17 Oct

Thoughts, (10 Days Before London) 

11 Oct

Um,  I dunno if you know it (International Friends), but there’s this whole thing where Americans wishing to look less ridiculous (or wanting to more easily blend in) will often pretend to be Canadians , whilst visiting abroad. It’s not exactly like we’re ashamed of being “American,” it’s that we are embarrassed by the general casting-type. 
…Look,  I have to say that by and large,  we earn it. Having been abroad before, I was never more aware of our loud,  braying, overly-enthusiastic,  self- entitlement than quietly sitting in corners of tubes and restaurants and buses…watching us being giant low-class dicks,  en mass. We dress horribly.  We push to run every room and tourist guiding,  we chew gum in ancient cathedrals, scream at one another across silent museum lobbies, we complain about food portions, bitch about the size of the showers, and how everyone doesn’t bathe twice a day,  and strangely like to infringe on , (and advertise),  our private business to any and everyone who doesn’t (and won’t ever care)…cuz that shit is embarrassing. 

…But then Brexit happened,  and I was all,  “Woa,  for once we aren’t the biggest idiots”

…But then this election happened and now I’m all, ” Well, fuck. I gotta pretend to be British-Columbian from Vancouver,  again.”

The deal is: I don’t talk political shit on my Facebook, I’m sure as hell not gonna want to “live,”  on a tube platform with a random Italian. (Let’s be real,  the English don’t talk in tubes.) 

…Though,  to be off the International Shit-List,  they might just break precedent.And the French always have hated us (and always will), because of our hard-“R’s,” designer-knock-offs, and wearing T-shirts with vacation locations on them. 

Americans are like the class clowns of the world. Right now: we are specializing in scaring the shit out of everyone–even ourselves. And frankly,  I am not comfortable being a “representative abroad. ”

I’m not super proud of us right now. And I don’t wanna talk about it. Cuz the world I come back to, (the week of the election), scares the living shit out of me.  If I could,  I’d fucking just stay there.

…And I would always have said that. (But would have literally never meant it, more.) Than right now

…And you know what?  That kinda sucks. 

 …Because, though I unreasonably love Britain like it is in my blood (cuz it is)… I have great grandfathers who fled from those bitches,  (on the Irish and Pilgrim side.) Like:legit. I’ve an ancestor who signed the Mayflower Compact, and we’ve fought in every single American war.INCLUDING against the Brits. 

I *want* to be proud. 

…But…

…As I prepare to cross the pond for a place I adore and identify with (prob’ly because it is in my blood) …and even though I really, really, REALLY, don’t want to get political…I just don’t know how I’ll be able to prevent it. 

I don’t know what to say. 

I don’t know how to excuse us.
…Because, I know a LOT of very, very very smart people. 

…And they don’t seem to either. 

And on an International level:  on planes,  busses, trains and week-long workshops… I dunno how the hell I’m gonna duck or explain it. 

…And with ALL the weird shit on my brain right now…ten days before I leave to study abroad…why is THAT the main thing on my freak-out list?

~D

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