I am embarking on a three day Juice Cleanse because why not, because clearing out the pipes before my body battles the attitude in Peru. I can’t decide what’s most upsetting about this juice cleanse: that I’m now a person who thinks to do this, that I’m a person who applies the word ‘embark’ to ‘juice cleanse,’ how much I paid for it, or the fact that I’m only going to drink juice and juice only for three god-given days. I’m guessing it’s a combination of all three upsetting things combined into one brownish elixir of health and self satisfaction. MAYBE I’LL DRINK THAT, TOO.
Me: Look at my eyelid. It’s wrinkly and weird.
Me: NO REALLY, LOOK AT MY EYELID.
(I shove my eyelid in his face, marriage style.)
Morrison: Huh. Yeah!
Me: I have an old eyelid!
Morrison: Hey, you look great, though.
Me: I DO?!
Me: You’re just saying that.
Morrison:…Yep! Can I please resume my life, now that I’ve told you what you need to hear?
Me: FINE OKAY BUT MAKE IT QUICK
Happy birthday 61st birthday to the most selfless, giving, loving lady I know. As a writer, you sometimes end up feeling this weird sense of shame of the love that you were raised with, if you were lucky to be raised with that love, as you’re always searching for trauma truffles for inspiration. The worse the childhood, the better the writing. Or at least, this is what the Lucky and Loved tell themselves to create torment that they can then turn to poetry that no one should ever see. But today, and all of the days, I’m grateful that she’s around, that she is one year older, that she cares, that she does not give up on trying to understand me though I do not understand myself, that she loves me more than I love myself, but mostly for the fact that I will clearly look I’m 38 TOPS well into my 90s. LOVE YOU MOM!
Julien and I have always wanted to hike Machu Picchu in Peru, and so we are DOING IT IN APRIL, while I have a minute off work, while we both can. It may be unconventional for a married lady to travel without her husband, But as Morrison and I discussed Last year, adventures should continue after marriage both together and apart, so much so that in our vows, he promised me that I could ‘always go kayaking,’ and I love him for that. But being that I am my parents’ kid and a good 50% conventional housewife, I WILL feel a deep guilt up until the point that I am standing on the top of the citadel, looking out, at which point I will release it, and return perhaps a stronger person, and perhaps even, a better wife.
Me as little as two years ago: “I put my email address on my blog because I really like to be able to share plays upon request, and answer questions, and in general just be very accessible as opposed to mysterious and hard to reach.” Bekah as little as two years ago, let me be the first to say, aw, that is so sweet, and you are so cute. Me today: “AHHHH MORRISON PLEASE HELP ME TAKE MY EMAIL ADDRESS OFF MY BLOG, AS MUCH AS I WOULD LOVE TO HELP EVERY THEATER STUDENT, no but really I would love that, IF I GET ONE MORE POLITE REQUEST FOR A PIECE OF MY BRAIN I AM GOING TO DIG A HOLE IN THE GROUND FOR ME TO CRAWL INTO WHILE SOBBING
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SEE WHAT I DID THERE?! Sure hope you did because I’m going to be doing it pretty much non stop, cause the short I wrote for Morrison that our friends Alexis and Rick directed and DP (also a married couple, feel free to vom into your hand) is headed to the 2017 TRIBECA FILM FESTIVAL!!! THREE CHEERS FOR PROJECTS BORN FROM LOVE! HERE’S A BUNCH OF PICTURES THAT LEGITIMIZE OUR CREATIVE ENDEAVORS!
This is Us had its Season 1 wrap party last night. It was a beautiful celebration for the best cast and crew there EVER WAS. A wrap party is basically a chance for everyone to come together and celebrate months of crazy hours and hard work, and to, nine times out of ten, eat dessert with the show’s names written all over it, and / or inside food jokes thematically related to episodes. My head is currently full of vodka soda and frosting and fondness and tears, so I will just leave all of these here.
At some point, I decided to stick these words at the end of the The Cake script:
END OF PLAY.
NOTE: This is the end of the play part of the play. Ideally, upon exiting the theater, the audience is surprised with an actual CAKE, waiting for them. The wonderfully terrible grocery store cake that you never let yourself eat. Ideally, everyone then stands around together, eating cake.
And I will NEVER. REGRET IT.
When you are born to your parents, you are helpless and small and cute. Then, tragically, you grow up into just another jerk with a blog, and suddenly, THEY are the cute ones. Namely mine. They’re becoming grandparents for the first time next month, so they went on one last hurrah (though surely there will be plenty more hurrahs) up to Vermont to snow-shoe and snow-mobile and other snow verbs that are NOT SKIING AS THEY ARE SOON TO BE GRANDPARENTS. And basically the pictures reveal that it has been the cutest thing. As they are not huge picture posters, it is up to me, the jerk with the blog, to share with the world. PRESENTING, CUTE!
If you had told child-me who spent each Sunday in these pews, stuffed into a dress, trying to pay attention, that one day my church would have Facebook and instagram accounts and also free WI-FI, I woulda said WHAT IS WIFI AND WHAT IS INSTAGRAM AND WHAT IS FACEBOOK AND I DO NOT KNOW YOU WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO ME BUT WHILE WE’RE HERE DO YOU HAPPEN TO HAVE ANY SEASONAL LITTLE DEBBIE SNACK CAKES ON YOU? NO? OKAY MOVE ALONG THEN.