Tag Archives: vacation

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. 

ūüėÄ

~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) 

ūüėā

~D

Cecil & Gwen Do The UK

22 Feb

image

There might be cooler things than a former Cecily and Gwendolen having High Tea at Harrods, London…but prob’ly not.

…Unless it’s them also certing up in RADA classes, while there.

…And getting rush tickets to two weeks of shows…

…And being in Stratford during the 400th Shakespeare anniversary…

…Doing reads with past Cecil abroad-year friends…

…And meeting her former Profs…

…And taking a day trip to Edinburgh to hike my Fitbit on a serious legit Highland tour, obliterating even the neatest of fake digital badges…

…And visiting Lady Croom in her new digs…

…And having a day in Bath…

…And doing writerly things…

…And swapping, “this was my favorite thing /place/event when I came last time, so lets do it again” stories…

…And surviving on food budgets of bread, cheese, and wine, like French peasants…(which is way cooler than Raumen, black beans, and eggs, our now current budget, stateside.)

…And a layover in Iceland, so we can say, “Hey, remember that time when we (ate/drank/pooped/spent a krona/took up whaling) in Iceland??”

So, thanks for the early, giant birthday surprise, Cecil n’ Ma…

…And for all the memories which haven’t even been made yet, but will…

…Which I’m not at all excited about in the least.

Obviously.

~D

A Park Play

12 Oct

image

I am on vacation… sitting onna park bench, with a quad latt√©, watching a crow and two seagulls fight over a trash can.

…We’ll call ’em Ed, Vincent, and Jane…

…When I first arrived, Ed, (the snow white seagull) was lording over the lip of the can, not so much interested in exploring it’s contents, as being seen as owning them. He just stood there constantly looking around him to make sure the others were watching. “The others,” including a group of Mallards who were too busy picking at bugs in the grass, and what are apparently his arch nemeses: a Crow (Vincent), and brown speckled Seagull (Jane), who were watching closely from about five feet away.

…At first I thought it was an exercise in manliness on behalf of Ed for the benefit of Jane…as if owning the goods Vincent couldn’t, made him the better man. Especially as Vincent circled the can behind, and Jane began a yordle-yell, holding Ed’s rapt attention.

“Yeah, I got this, babe,” Ed seemed to wink, as Jane’s scream lowered to a sultry growl, “You got more than that, hot stuff,” she purred…until suddenly—!

–Vincent attacked from behind! It was immediate and vicious, as he shoved Ed from the top of the can with a body slam, leaving him dazed on the ground, flicking his head, with Jane immediately erupting into shrill laughter.

…”It was a whole Bonnie and Clyde set-up!,” I thought to myself in wonder, as Vincent nodded Jane’s way and began picking at the contents of the can. Ed, meanwhile, humiliated and bruised, yelled “Fuck you, Vincent!,” as he wobbled off on his own…away from the Mallards and past my table…where I wasn’t totally sure but I thought I heard him mumble, “…I hope you choke onna used rubber…”

…Naturally I had to laugh at this, spewing Cosmonaut coffee out my nose, and pulling Vincent’s attention for a half a second…

…Which was all Jane needed, to clear the distance ‘tween her and the can, jump up on its lip, and facing Vincent, let out a giant scream…biggest yet…which startled him so much he backed off the can into mid air and sorta hung there…like in a cartoon. When he came-to and tried to re-land, he got another yell from Jane…and then another.

“…But baby, I —”

“–PISS OFF!”

“…But honey you said–”

“–I SAID: OUT!”

…And then, I swear to you…she started reaching into the can and flicking trash at him…

“–AND TAKE ALL YOUR SHIT WITH YOU!”

“…What? What? I don’t understand…??”

“–YOUR CRAPPY CHIP BAG…THAT EMPTY CUP…THIS OLD TOILET PAPER ROLL. HOW MANY GD TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO GET RID OF THIS GD TOILET PAPER ROLL…!?”

“…But you said you liked the toilet paper roll. You said it would look nice in the front nest…”

“FIFTEEN YEARS AGO, I SAID THAT, VINCENT. A LIFETIME AGO. AND NOTHING HAS CHANGED! I CAN’T TAKE THE MONOTONY ANY MORE! ALWAYS THE SAME GRIFT, THE SAME END…THE SAME EVERYTHING. I NEED TO START THINKING ABOUT ME AND MY FUTURE AND WHAT I REALLY WANT OUT OF LIFE. AND IT’S NOT YOU VINCENT. WE’RE THROUGH.”

…After this final shriek of Jane’s refuse-flinging outburst, Vincent ceased his attempts at regaining his ground. He looked around assessing the damage of his rejected personal items strewn across the lawn, while the Mallard neighbors watching slyly from afar tried not to make eye contact, as they gossiped amongst themselves.

“…Janes finally doing it…I knew she would, I knew she would–”

“–Poor bastard, isn’t that just the way of it? She just had to do it on a busy Monday lunch break too…no privacy at all…”

“I always said it would never work: those two…”

“–Don’t be racist, Delphine…”

“– I’m not! It’s a matter of religion and temperament!”

…And so on…as Vincent, all alone, took flight, leaving all his mess of things and broken heart, behind.

I’m not entirely sure what the moral of the story is, as Jane continues to work on her trade-goods alone. Maybe it’s about how being a woman of independent means is infinitely more satisfying than settling into a life of “making due.” Maybe it’s a commentary on middle age crises and the need to reinvent oneself to reinvigorate life-purpose.

…And maybe it was just: Jane is a giant bitch.

…We may never know.

~D

Hello, From Away

18 Jul

image

I’ve been kidnapped by friends to a two-story cabin on the Sound somewhere on the peninsula.

…In the last 21 hours I’ve cried (from laughing), sped through country mountain roads (in an orange, 1960’s convertible Mustang), walked the tide-flats, let the ocean lap and salt-water sooth away my Joan Crawford bloating, back pain and pressure, ate a homecooked carne asada with fresh everything marrying so many flavor bonus surprises, the tongue was on multiple orgasm delight.

…We siesta’d on the back porch with frothy fresh margaritas, watched the waves at magic hour, read a play so late into twilight, we finished with candles whipping their light every-which-way…too stubborn to stop or go inside. Later: attacking a cheesecake on a plate between us, each with fork in-hand…laughing and chatting late into the night.

…Awoke in the loft bedroom, by the sun poking in through the giant windows. Downstairs, side-steped a morning breathing and yoga regime by Lady M, to fresh coffee, and out with bedhead and no makeup to the already toasty deck.

“Think I’m gonna take a morning dip, in a bit…the water is just too delish,” The Prof says, in greeting.

“Mmm. Coffeeeee…….,” is all I can yet manage, gripping my cup while looking out…at a view that is cinematically ridiculous.

…Lady M joins us, Yoga-refreshed, cup in hand. And for the prob’ly three-dozenth time in these hours away, we are: three women…as the world so very rarely gets the chance to unabashedly see us. Real. Makeup-naked. No phones. No watches. Hairstyles: irrelevant. We don’t care how we sit in our chairs, various sizes of little round tummies, not sucked in as an outreach to vanity. Toenail Polish on the feet thrust out before us, chipped in places…because, who cares? We are three generations of womanity…so different in our ways and manner of walking through life, but so at ease and peace with one another and (most importantly) ourselves.

…It has been silent for a while, and we are fine with this. I look at our coffee cups a moment and grin. It’s too good. I have to share it.

“…Even the cups we choose give us away: The Prof, with her delicate demi half-sized pour, Lady M with her funky handmade look and shape, and me: the largest monster-mug in the cabinet.”

…We all laugh. At what it says about us. To ourselves, and each other.

This. This is the kind of life-medicine that heals better than any pill or salve. This is where I have been taken by one of my closest of close friends….who just gets me and all my failings and frustrations. This is where I’ve been shown, by example and expert women-strength, that it is hard enough being a strong woman, being an artist, being in “business”…being a “grown-up.”

….Sometimes you need someone to take the phone and the watch and the pretenses away and say, “Go. For 24 hours: let it go, and just ‘be.'”

….And so I have.

…Save for one little blog, while two women of a certain age, laugh and sing in the ocean just below me…being amazing inspiration. Without even trying.

Because, just “being, ” is enough.

~D

Texting: A Holiday Prep Guide

23 Nov

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Am leaving on a jetplane soon to visit The BFF in NOLA.

…I am by turn, excited and nervous about it. Cuz I never go anywhere certainly not alone across the U.S.. Certainly not ’round the holidays. Certainly not with almost no bucks after travel costs are all said n’ done. And I’ve no idea what to really expect…so I just make it up in a myriad of scenarios. Cuz I’m me and can’t just let a thing “be.”

…Which is how texting mini conversations like this happen:

Me: …We can do stuff suuuuuper on the cheap, right?

The BFF: Oh yes. Im basically broke but we can still manage to drink fine wines and eat fancy cheese.

Me: Your version of “broke” and mine are very different.

The BFF: We will go grocery shopping for the week and just cook all the time.

Me: …I love the cooking idea. Just NO jambalaya-gumbo fish food!!

The BFF: …Jambalaya is just rice, chicken and sausage. And gumbo doesnt have fish in it either.

Me: I think you’re lying and will cut em up all sneaky like and slip them in when I’m not looking. But I will know. I always know.

The BFF: You will get a fine sampling of cajun and creole food w/o having to eat any fish.

Me: Well fine. I guess. But I know you…

The BFF: …And there will be begniets. Just think about that!

Me: I don’t even know what begniets are…but as long as it’s hidden with no antenna or crustacean skeleton sticking out…I’ll try it. But I won’t promise to swallow.

The BFF: Subject: Beignet – Wikipedia the free encyclopedia
http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beignet

Me: Kay…now I want like twelve.

***
Email exchange #4 of prob’ly 400:

The BFF: Here is a completely preliminary and not at all definitive guide to some of the many New Orleans activities we may take part in on your visit. Just to whet your whistle, so to speak. ūüėČ

Go to this Tiki bar: 
https://www.facebook.com/TikiTolteca 

Eat Beignets 
(You already know about those) 

Get a Po Boy at Verti Marte or Parkway Bakery 
http://www.yelp.com/biz/verti-marte-new-orleans-2 

Drink at Tonique 
http://bartonique.com 

Drink at Bacchanal (weather permitting)  
http://www.bacchanalwine.com  

Day Drink/Window Shop in the French Quarter 
 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Quarter   

Get Pho on the Westbank
http://dpbanhmi.com/DP_Bakery/Welcome.html 

Go to City Park and just hang out/go to Celebration in the Oaks 
http://neworleanscitypark.com/celebration-in-the-oaks 

Go see some graveyards! 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Louis_Cemetery 

Go see a Christmas Carol (we have comps obviously)
http://www.southernrep.com

Eat some croissants at the Maple St. Patisserie 
http://cargocollective.com/maplestreetpatisserie 

Ride Bikes! 

Walk in Crescent Park! 
http://www.reinventingthecrescent.org 

Take a walking tour? 

 
Go see this amazing cellist play in the St. louis Cathedral for free! 
https://holiday.neworleansonline.com/events/cathedral-christmas-concerts-4-3/

Go to the Frenchmen Night Market  
http://frenchmenartmarket.com 

More to come! 

Me: I LOVE Cathedral-playing cellists, numerous drinking establishments, plays, food, and doing stuff when normal people are sleeping!!! This is gonna be too FREAKING COOL.  And also like, super secret-back-door-non-normal-touristy.  I get my own guides who LIVE THERE! And also: Graveyards are like my favorite thing outside of book stores and THOSE ones have got to be amazeballs.

I CANNOT WAIT!!!!

***
The BFF: …So, on your last night in nola, we will be hosting a holiday cocktail party to introduce you to all of our friends. Cocktail attire is manditory.

Me: Shut up I’ll be so socially awkward…we better drink alot! Remind me in like a week. CUZ ILL BE PACKING IN LIKE ONE FUCKING WEEK!

The BFF: You’ll be fine!! And yes, yes I will.

Me: I’m sick excited. And scared. Cuz I’m me.

The BFF: Dont be scared. Its us. We will take care of you.

Me: I know. I’m a nerd. Did you forget? I’ll remind you often in that week…

The BFF: You are a nerd. But dont stress. Its going to be great!

Me: I know that too ūüôā Am having pre shocks of awesome. Like was at World Market yesterday and thought of you (as always) and I was all: “OH! HEY! We gotta stock a bunch of wine for late at night….oh wait they just drink in the streets there! Oh hey, we should bake this thing! Oh hey, what about that?! Xmas cookies!!!! Oh hey, do I need gloves and stuff just in case or will it really be like 60 degrees there….?”

…Things like that. Then I get all excited and happy!

The BFF: ūüėÄ also, yes bring your pea coat. It gets a bit chilly.

***

Me: Um. Do I need bug repellent for monster blood-eating plague passers?

The BFF: Naw they’ll all be dead by then.

Me: …So all I have to worry about is stepping on their decaying carcasses. So: boots.

…also, what’s the swamp death probability ratio in winter, tween alligators and sink-pits?

…luckily I’m on my period now, so won’t have to worry about that part…like when my bff in high school went to the Congo and was warned all the animals off the trail would smell it and go psycho so she’d have to “watch out.” Whatever the hell THAT means in darkest Africa…

(P.S. I’m only partially joking.)

The BFF: No swamp death! Thats not a thing.

Me: I think it maybe is. They just Dont tell the tourists. Also: voodoo. So you’re not supposed to piss off the natives or accidentally desecrate something by say peeing or puking on it.

The BFF: Exactly.

Me: …Which is prob’ly a lot harder than you’d think, what with all that wandering around and drinking freely thing they all do. But I’ll try my best. Gosh. So many things to remember…

***

…Which is why I rarely actually go anywhere. Frankly, even the anticipation prep is exhausting.

But it’ll be so freakin worth it once I’m there, with two of the best humans on the planet to be m’guide ūüėÄ

~D

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