Booty Call, the book

[mamacita]

I have been meaning to start a journal for a long time. I have had writers block for my whole life though, so that makes it hard. I see so many things that make me want to start a journal.

I saw someone reading Booty Call the book on the train the other day.

I heard someone tell the security guard at my workplace that he did not want to put his underwear through the xray machine. He wanted him to hand check it.

My boss said numb-nuts and fucking in the same sentence. I had never heard him swear before. I later realized that he laughs exactly like Krusty the Clown.

And then a friend of mine died on Monday night of a heart attack at age 46. He was a brilliant fiddle player and will be missed by many. I went to his wake yesterday and then to a pub until 3 in the morning with a bunch of people who loved him. There was a circle of 8 fiddlers fiddling away in his honor most of the night. Although I did not know him that well, now that he is dead I refer to him as my friend. I didn't realize what a brilliant person he was until he was gone. And he was just himself, to the hilt. In his honor, I am getting over my writers block.

Oh, and I am an improvisor.

 

[mamacita]

Running around like retards

That improv teacher of mine says the darndest things.

Teacher: What is your favorite show

Student: [insert name of show here]

Teacher: I have never seen that show. Do the people run around like retards?

Student: No.

Teacher: No, of course not. You wouldn't want to watch a show where the people run around like retards, and it doesn't make for good improv either, so don't do it.

This really struck a cord with me. It is true, the main problem with so many improv scenes is that we are content to run around like retards and call it a scene. It is also a basic way to describe what happens on Saturday Night Live at its suckiest. Now on some level I do protest, there are some good shows where the people just run around like retards, take the Simpsons, for example. But this was not always the case, I think they put in many long years "playing it real" before Homer earned the right to get more and more retarded every season. (Also it is animation, so its a different ball game in a way, but I can't think of any other examples at the moment.)

I don't usually use the word retard. My sister scared it out of me at an early age by putting this hex on me: "I hope you have retarded children." I digress...

"Running around like retards" I think is just another way of saying "playing way below your intelligence." Because a scene between two retarded people playing at the top of their albeit low intelligences would probably be the best improv scene ever even if it involved alot of running around.

For the rest of us who weren't born with the improv brilliance also known as retardation, I think the trick might be: play at the top of your intelligence, you WILL accidentally do something retarded. And when you do...see it...and heighten....i.e. if I am retarded enough to do that, what else am I retarded enough to do?

 

[mamacita]

Where's the Game?

Lately when I finish and improv scene, I get this empty, lonely feeling. Even if the scene was fun to do, and people laughed, I am left with nothing.

There was no game.

Just a Big Gaping Hole where game should be. And little me smiling my prettiest smile, with nothing to show for it. Game is the only tenuous element in improv -other than who and where, of course. But who and where are easy......Mom, you are always barging into my secret club house........I thought I would find you alone in the library, Fred ........ Frankly, my cubicle is oppressive Mr. Scafati....Who and where can be done, however artlessly, in one line. Game on the other hand....you can't just blurt it out, or you kill it. You have to find it. Drat! Now when I finish scenes, all I can think of the that old lady from the Burger King commercials with her big magnifying glass.... Where's the Game?

Also, I have big buns, which isn't helping.

Why is this so difficult for me to learn? Why do I let go of what I should hold on to and hold on to what I should let go of? When is conflict destructive, and when does it spawn game?

I am taking a wee break from improv classes to finish a theatre piece I have been working on for some time. And while I am taking a break from taking classes I think I am going to have to watch more improv to learn more about game. Where it is, where it isn't, where it hides, how to seek.

Maybe I am afraid of patterns.

 

[mamacita]

What does it all mean?

I have had less time to veg out on the IRC. But I want to keep up with my improv journal even though I have not been doing much improv.

At least not in my waking life....

A couple nights ago I dreamt that Evel Knievel's son was a loan shark and his name was Enevel Knievel. I was in his office with sumone that I used to do improv with and she was really desperate for some cash. Enevel was being a little tough on her but she promised that she would do right by him. I don't think I even needed to borrow any money. But it seemed pretty cool to be borrowing from Enevel. I asked him a little bit about his interest rates. They were outrageous! I borrowed $500. Although it was fun having his money in my pocket, all I could think about was how quickly I could pay back Enevel. A cash advance on any of my credit cards would be cheaper than the deal I had gotten myself into. Later, I pick up the phone and guess who? Enevel. I felt a little uncomfortable, because I knew this guy meant business. But he wasn't concerned about me, he wanted to know about the person I had been in his office with. I said I didn't have her numbers (a lie) and that I didn't know where she lived (well, not her exact address). He kept pressing me though, until finally I told him that she often could be found at the UCB theatre. Still he wanted her number. Finally after questioning me about what shows at the UCB she was likely to be in or attend, he relented.

All I kept thinking was: How soon can I pay this son of stuntman back?

I was terrified to go see him, but I had to pay him back as soon as possible.
Anxious, I awoke.

 

[mamacita]

Juxtaposition of nature and sexual repression

I was walking in a large national park with my sister, her husband Phil and my parents when we came upon a hut. The pornography hut to be exact. The five of us went in and made ourselves at home, and purused some magazines... it was pretty chill, as you might expect a hut in the middle of a national forest to be. Then Phil came up to me and asked "Did you see that?"

"No, what happened?"

"That woman just screamed like a banchee and then ran over to that guy and blew him."

"Weird."

We left the pornography hut and went for a walk in the open air among cliffs, clouds and evergreen trees. It was a lovely day.

 

[mamacita]

Has the moon lost her memory? She is smiling alone.

I have tendency to hold onto the past - what I remember of it - and that tends to be moments where I have fucked up, been stupid or embarassed myself. I know it is not healthy... beating up on myself for things that happen to everybody. It makes me feel crappy, and I know realize it may be hurting my comedy.

The other night at practice, our coach said something to the effect that comedy was being able to laugh at moments in your past which were really important/emotionally charged for you at the time but now... well, now you see the humor in getting so worked up about something in retrospect, is not important. For someone who has been holding on to the pain for dear life,- this is rather hard -but I am going to do it... and start from the beginning.

"Memory - all alone in the moonlight.
I can smile at the old days, ...."

When I was 5 or 6 I was at a summer picnic at a park with my mother's entire family (like 80 people or so). I was playing on the slide with some other kids and we were walking up the slide (I have always been a thrill seeker). A bunch of us were doing it. Then I heard a voice "Could you please get off of the slide, we are coming down." I didn't get off. I saw at the top of the slide and idyllic family scene.. a couple and their 2 year old who were all coming down in a sickening pile of love. He might have asked me to move a couple of times because he finally said "Do you speak English?" and I said "NO", obviously a lie because I understood the question (stupid, stupid!) I looked up and realized that all of my frinds were gone and I was alone there looking stupid, stupid. I was embarrassed again later because I saw the same happy family at the picnic. They were related to me! They would probably never forget how stupid, stupid I had been!

How could I have done such a thing? How can I laugh about it now?

Here's how:

HAHAAHAA HAA HAA HAA HAA HAA HAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA!

I was a little girl who was having a really fun time playing on the slide, even if it wasn't in the regular way (anyone can go down a slide) And I was FRESH - I was a FRESH kid and I could be mean - I could be a mean kid - especially when someone was getting in the way of my fun! HA!

"Memory - all alone in the moonlight.
I can smile at the old days,
I was beautiful then.
I remember the time I knew what happiness was.
Let the memory live again. "

 

[mamacita]

Lets have a laugh! Another sob story...

My first grade class had a field trip to Boston. I loved going into the city when I was kid. I think actually I was in 2nd or 3rd grade, because I had discovered acting by this point (my first role was as Pinnochio in second grade). One of the places we visited was the Parkerhouse Hotel - an old timey and swanky place. I know it made a real impression on me because I wrote a poem about it in class. I still think the poem was pretty clever. It described the finer points of the hotel, what made it unique. Then, in the last stanza it described people laughing and cheering - the last line was something like "seeing my act."

Isn't that cute!? This little girls saw what was to her was a grand hotel and imagined herelf right in the middle of it! Well, my big mean sister didn't think so! She thought I was stupid, stupid! She thought I was and idiot for thinking that I would be performing one day in a big hotel. She squashed my litttle hope, my little dream - I was so embarrassed for being so stupid, stupid that I destroyed every copy of the poem that was in the house. It had been published in my school's annual book of student's writings, I ripped out the page in both of our copies. I wish I had a copy of that poem today! But no, instead of realizing that my sister was jealous of my creativity, I decided that I was in fact stupid, stupid and never should have imagined such a fun life in my future, or such success at making people happy. Now that was stupid, stupid - letting big mean sister take my dreams away! Not only that, I haven't written much at all since that poem for fear of being discovered and shamed.

What is there to laugh about here? I could laugh at big mean sister and how threatened she was by a teency weency poem.

HAAAA HAAAA HAAA HAAAA HAAAAAA HA.

And I could laugh at how much I thought big mean sister knew.

HAAAA HAAAAA HA HA AHA HA
She didn't know much!

But can I laugh at the years I have not written anything for fear of being shamed?
um, heh, heh heh, he HA HA HA HAAAAA HAAAAAAA
Scaredy Cat!

HA HA HA HA HAHA HAAAA HAAA HAA HAA HA!

Memories, all alone in the moonlight
I can laugh at the old days,
I was a scaredy cat then.....

 

[mamacita]

I don't think he really means it.

I hope you are finding this journal as cathartic as I am!

I have grown an inch!

I have lost five pounds!

I bought a sassy lipstick!

My husband wants a divorce.

 

[mamacita]

A coupla figs

FIRST FIG

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light.

SECOND FIG

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

[mamacita]

I haven't had much time to write.... but I don't like it when my journal falls to page 3. Here is a little something a little someone sent to me today.

Good for a chuckle, me thinks.

http://www.kersbergen.com/temp/worstalbumcovers.html

P.S. I am wearing YELLOW today.

 

[mamacita]

Lazy F**K

Hi Honies, I am home!

Guess who's back, back again, 'Cita's back, tell a friend.

I feel like I fell off of the face of the improv earth while I was working my oeuvre. And I have a few things to say.

While I was having trouble staying focused on my oeuvre, I kept thinking about how lazy I am. My mother said that as a child I always preferred Filet-O-Fish because I was too lazy to chew a hamburger. I think it is one of the reasons I like improv too. No rehearsal. Instant gratification. I mean, I'm not too lazy to take classes and to practice...there is always something new to grab my attention. That what makes it a lot easier for me than non-improv acting. To me the hard part in acting is doing the exact same thing over and over and over again and making it look like the very first time.

I was really into acting until I got to college and started not getting cast in plays I auditioned for. Then I became a director... the reason I gave for this switch at the time was that as a director, you get to sit down. I think the actual reason was that auditioning was too hard. Too much chewing and chewing on a monolgue before you get to audition... and audition isn't even swallowing... the monologue just gets stuck in your throat until you find out whether or not you actually get the part and get to swallow that damn bite you have been chewing so long. And if you DONT get the part you simply choke it back up, eating disorder style. What's the point of chewing something that isn't going in your own tum? I don't see one. Well, mother birds, I guess.

On a side note... I got my first good idea for a sketch ever... it is an Ash Wednesday sketch... and it is really good... Too lazy to write it, you ask? Possibly.

Another story relating to Filet-O-Fish and my mother coming soon!

 

[mamacita]

He is taking over my life.

My thirteen year old half-brother-in-law moved in about 6 weeks ago, and it looks like he is going to be staying for a while. Both of his parents are too self absorbed to care for him.... so we have got him.... until he can go to boarding school. We just found out yesterday that he got into a boarding school in Michigan... and got a good chunk of financial aid... so at least he has somewhere decent to live in September...

At first it was pretty fun. It was nice to have a different energy around the apartment (barely a one bedroom). We played lots of backgammon, did his homework with him. Tried to introduce him to new foods (if he had his way he would eat McDonalds, steak, white bread and white rice). But now we are exhausted... getting up at 6:00 to make sure he finishes the homework he didn't do the night before... constantly aware of how much his parents have fucked him over.... and trying to teach him to be less like them, more in the world.

I am turning into one of those crazy adults that has no control over their own lives.... A million things to do, no time to do them, all that. It will be interesting to see how I come out the other end of all this...

Oh, and I signed up for another improv class.... hooray for me!

 

[mamacita]

Momma! You had me, but I never had you....

OK. In the grand scheme of things... my mother is not horrible. But still... I have a bone to pick with her.

She came up to visit last week. She came to see a show that I put together... not exactly improv or comedy.... but like a one woman show. It was a work in progress. I didn't invite her. She and my sister just decided to come. My mother retired last year so now she has all the time in the world and suddenly takes an interest in my life.

So they show up on Thursday and come to the show. I have to go to the work the next morning... after work I meet them for dinner and then we finally get home. I am exhausted. I had just made a one woman show and performed it. That equals exausting (Thank you math). So I change into some comfy pants and a tank top and my mom lets out a difficult to descibe sound:

"UUUrrrghhh."

"Yeah, finally I can relax" I said. I thought it was a sound of relaxation but no.

"Your belly."

"Is that what that sound was? You saying I am fat?"

"Yeah" she said.

I tried not to take her bull shit. I said "This isn't fair mom, you have been way fatter than me my whole life... and this is your reaction" It wasn't exactly what I wanted to say. I recently motivated my mother to lose 40 lbs... and it was not through criticizing.... god knows she has had enough of that constantly from her mother all her life... and now, now.... After I actually felt like I accomplished something really hard... and am working a stable job at the same time...not to mention I just got married and am still recovering from the wedding, which I had partly for the sake of my family, including her and her 88 year old mother, who sites the wedding as a reason to have lived this long.... She gasps at my fatness.

As she was leaving she "appologized"

"I am sorry I made that sound. I was just so surprised."

I don't think she realizes that I should have kicked her out. Who takes that shit in their own home? The stupidestness of it is that I have probably gained all of 4 pounds since I last saw her. And she gasps.

She is so clueless.

 

[mamacita]

"Boy, that termite was important to our family."

My 13 year old brother in law is making a documentary for school. The subject is, in his own words “It is about my father, all the women he has impregnated, and the effect it has had on everyone.” I am glad someone is finally making this movie… it asks all the questions that have been on all of our minds… but no one was asking.

“Mother number 1, how did you feel when my father impregnated mother number 2?”

“Mother number 4 how did you come to be impregnated by him when you were working in the same very small theatre as him and as mother number 3 who had just been impregnated?”

It is quite brilliant. At one point the father in question forgets his own son’s last name and later refers to himself as an “untrustworthy father, a good father, but not a trustworthy one.” It is like watching a reality TV show that is all about people in your family. :nervous:

 

[mamacita]

A Booty Callback

This weekend I went out to my sister’s (she is a film professor at Penn State) to reshoot parts of the movie she is making. We originally shot it in January, but parts came out fuzzy. It is a 12 minute short in which I play the lead character. This weekend she showed me a “rough-cut” of the film.

ME: UUUrrrghhh

SIS: What, you don’t like it?

ME: No, it’s my belly… I look so FAT!

This was a horrifying experience. I can’t say much about how the movie is coming along or my performance in it because as I watched it I was entirely preoccupied with my stomach. I was so surprised. I am used to having a sizable can, but a bulging stomach is new to me. It was kind of ok when I was wearing black… but that print skirt. Forget it! I’m tubby.

Does this mean my bitch mother was right? If I lose weight now will her inappropriate behavior be reinforced? Can I feel good if she gives me a compliment once I do lose weight? I think not. I think I will have to slap her. For consistency’s sake.

 

[mamacita]

A rousing ode to dieting

I have started to write a rousing ode to dieting. I wish I could sing it to you. But here goes...

I'm ready to lose all my fat!
Is it as simple as that?
Can I just make up my mind?
It is time to leave my behind behind!

I use my fat as a buffer
Space between me and the world
In truth, the fat-life is tougher.
Time to give thin-life a whirl!

I'm ready to give up on fat!
I'm going on Weight Watchers chat!
Fat's the most personal clutter.
How many "points" in a teaspoon of butter?

(this part is a spoken interlude)
Fat, we have been through a lot together. We have feasted on bacon, cheese and sausages. We have lolled about, disdaining exercise. It is not that I don't have fond memories, Fat. It's just, it's just, aw hell, Fat. It's not you, it's me. I just don't love you anymore. Call me fickle if you want, but this relationship is stifling for both of us. I am always trying to control you. And frankly, you are slowing me down.

I will never forget our second dinners...

I am not sure what happens next, maybe I'll dance a heated tango with a cheeseburger, or an amorphous fat mass...

 

[mamacita]

Mamacita's house of pain

Getting back to trying to laugh at shit I have taken too seriously... We went through my first “this is a cruel world” wake up calls... I'd say the next most crippling memories are.... lovers I have fucked over!!! Hooray for the lovers I have fucked over!!!

I spent the weekend pawing through old letters from college and high school and I was shocked by the intensity of the life I led... just a kid and so much drama going on. When I was fourteen I was really determined to get the losing my virginity thing over with as soon as possible. I hadn't even had a boyfriend yet, but for some reason it was #1 on my To Do list.

I tried with a guy a friend of mine had slept with, but... it didn't work out. Some months later, I was 15 by this time, I did it with the same friend's foregn exchange student. Ohhlala. We dated for a bit... called and wrote once he went home... but I lost interest.... Communication was an issue, though his English was pretty darn good. But letters filled with phrases like "I am loving you, girl" just got confusing. He hardly knew me and he was in the process of loving me? I think we just stopped writing and calling. I found a bunch of his letters over the weekend... just wanting to know how I felt about him. I don't think I said much to set his mind and heart at ease, just kind of dropped him. He didn't really want to know that I was mostly using him for sex and I felt, well, bored.

The best conversation I had was with my own foriegn exchange student. He was telling me that French women were "difficult". I told him that I thought all women were difficult. He disagreed, "You are American and you are not difficult." I think he was trying to say I was easy.

Bien mon doux, je suis désolée. Que peux-je dire? J'étais jeune.. Je n'ai pas compris... le coeur se casse aussi facilement. Je suis désolée.

 

[mamacita]

Addendum

I just remembered a conversation that I had with, lets call him "Pierre". He was throwing the love word around and I was trying to convince him that he didn't mean that. You see, "aimer" in French can be used for like or love. I thought this was at the root of our misunderstanding. That was before I realized how FAST and HARD people can fall in love. And when they say love they MEAN love, apparently.

Which brings us to the tragedy of "Mason" and "Jean"... those are code names and Jean is pronounced like Shaun, not Gene.

But those dear boys will have to wait...

I must dive in to the white sea of bureaucracy that has over taken my desk, the white sea of bureaucracy that is ( alack ) my day job.

:loopy:

 

[mamacita]

Thank the lord. I am back in improv class.

I like the way Delaney can speak to almost anything that has happened in a scene that has gone awry and make an improv "rule" or "guideline" out of it. In summing up his commentary on one scene last night he said:

Just avoid suggestions (meaning offers that you come up with yourself within a scene) that involve you getting really involved in your partner's pubic region.

I think that is pretty fair... not a steadfast rule, but a helpful guideline. Another thing he said was about sharing focus on stage and knowing when something else going on definitely has the focus. The main point was that you have to get the focus before you do anything else because you are not curretly being noticed.

It is like eating a piece of pizza with one pea on it. If you have a mouth full of pizza, you are not going to taste the pea. And by pea I mean a green pea, not pee. But I can assure you that if you drink a beer with a few cc's of pee in it, you aren't going to taste that either.

He makes it all sound so simple. The main thing that hit home for me during that class is relaxing into the sittuation... being there... not rushing. Oh and yes, yes and yes, yes and. Always with the yes and. I like to imagine yes and tatooed onto the inside of my skull.

 

[mamacita]

Must.... make.... journal....ent...ry.

Feeling a little blocked... but I am going to work on through that.

I want to mention the amazing effect that this journal has had on me. Some thing about posting my dirty laundry in this semi-anonymous yet public forum has just lightened the load. Like for instance, I haven’t even told you the story of “Mason” and “Jean” but I already feel less guilty about fucking them both over. Who knew?

Last weekend I was shopping in Chinatown/Soho on Sunday afternoon. The place was completely mobbed. The only place more crowded than Chinatown is Soho on the weekend and the only place more crowded than Soho on the weekend, is Chinatown on the weekend. My friend “Boubker” (best code name yet) were popping into stores in that whole area trying to pick up appropriate items for another friend’s mermaid theme wedding shower. On the weekends this area is so crowded that little impromptu marketplaces pop up. There are all these people hawking boots, electric fans, religious icons, etc. The stuff is just on the ground lining the sides of the sidewalk. And all the hawkers are standing behind their stuff creating a sort of canopy of hustlers. It is like walking through another country or another time. Have you seen the Thomas Edison films of the fish market at the Brooklyn Museum of Art? It is like that. Or walking out of a church in St. Petersburg (not Florida) and being surrounded by 4 year old beggars down on one knee, imploringly holding their hats on their hearts.

While I was passing through, I heard this woman asking one of the vendors for a bag for pocketbook she had purchased. No bag available. I heard her say “People are going to think I stole it”, then she slung it over her shoulder and headed north, towards Soho. No one is going to think she stole that grubby thing! Is that a human leg for sale? I am not a snob, but frankly, the marketplaces freaks me out a little. I am always glad to get to the other side without having my ass or boob grabbed. My general strategy for making it through is no eye contact… “just keep looking at the disturbing stuff for sale.” This works well unless a man with an enormous cart gets in front of you and you can’t figure out how to get past him because you are looking down, not ahead. Lucky for me, Boubker faked to the left, passed me on the right and led me through the hoard and out into the street.

There was no real point to that story, but it sets the scene a little for something else I have wanted to put in this journal... in the "first unusual thing" category of things I like to notice while I march around the city.

I saw one of those salt of the earth Chinese guys get on the Q train at the Canal st. station a while back. You know the ones... wrinkled and tired from so much work, yet peaceful. Nothing superfulous about their attire, everything is useful navy pants, a worn jacket, etc.... they ususally stand out in stark contrast from most everyone else who are wearing ridiculous things like Ugs.

Everything about these guys seem like another time to me... the way they tie up their plastic bags, the way their rough hands peel an unidentifyable piece of fruit. Well anyway, to make a short story way too long, I saw one of these guys on the train and he was wearing the usual attire, plus a baseball cap that said "Born to Shop" on the front and it was in rhinestones.

I guess we really are all here in the same time and place together.