My Perspective

[Gator Girl]

First and foremost, my show on friday went great! I am so proud of myself. I don't think there was a single bad scene. Not to say every scene was great or anything, just none where I felt uncomfortable in. I wish there could have been a larger audience. But friends felt compelled to have parties across town that encompassed the half hour of stage time I had. Well, their loss. That's what I am telling Letterman, anywho. I really like the space at Frankie J's. It's small and intimate, but how great is that! People can see the boogers in your nose. That's awesome. It's definately a different feeling. Like inviting people into your living room. Neato. Anywho, I am so beyond happy about the show.

Another issue that is on my mind. And that is loyalty. I feel like I have a lot in common with a dog on this issue. I am probably as loyal as they come. To the point of compromising my time that I need for myself. But that is who I am. But it also makes it a bazillion times worse when others aren't as loyal to me. That's their perogative. I mean, it's not their fault that I support people who don't support me. But it doesn't make it hurt any less. And usually I understand that I can take loyalty to the extreme. I stand up for people constantly who would sell me up the river for a bag of jelly donuts. I go out of my way to be there for people who don't even remember my face a few days later. Eh. So in those cases I try and not let it get to me. But when it comes to people whose loyalty I feel I have earned and they don't come through, well it makes me want to crawl into a dark hole. And then develop some plan with machinery that will show them exactly how they made me feel. Something that involves a lot of tugging and pulling and poking and sharp hot things. But then I have to come to my senses. And realize that everyone doesn't have the same priorities as I have. But damned if I don't want them to suffer. Argh. Karma will get them back. I have to believe that to stay sane.

 

[Gator Girl]

There is a redhead that rides the bus with me every morning to work. Well, not with me. I have never met her. But we are on exactly the same schedule. She gets on the bus one block south of me and exits the same stop as I do downtown. Without fail, whether I am 10 minutes early or 30 minutes late to work, she is on the same bus as me. And there are several different buses that take the same route. But I am sure we have completely different reasons for being late. I imagine it takes a while for her to perfect her makeup on her pointy features, or to make her bun perfect in her hair. Her ironed clothing, her neatly manicured nails and toes. She probably makes breakfast. Something healthy, no doubt. Impeded by her love of coffee. I am usually late because I am wrapped up in an episode of the Cosby show. I am usually ready to head out the door a half hour earlier than I leave. Well, as ready as I get. If a shirt is terribly wrinkled, well I suppose I will find something else to wear or quickly iron it. And if my hair is too frizzy or awkwardly curly, I will take the time to pull it back. But the actual getting ready process for me is probably about 10 minutes. Yet I get up a good hour before I have to leave. And still am late. I blame Bill Cosby. Or the good morning show. I often wonder if I should say hello to this girl who has the same schedule as me. By now she must recognize my rounder features and blue jeans. My sleepy eyes and poser glasses. She never smiles though. It's strange to me that I should be in constant contact with another human for a year now and I don't think we have ever made eye contact. Not that I think we would have a lasting friendship, or shoot the poop every morning. 'Cause I am not a fan of nonmeaningful conversations. I want to hide when someone asks about my weekend or the current weather. It just makes me think of all the humans I take for granted on a daily basis. People. I wanted to plow through a few hundred last night after the cubs game. And as obnoxious they are or as obnoxious as I percieve them, I take them for granted. Part of the scenery. Not as a thousand different individuals with thousands of stories. The redhead looks like a Molly. I will call her Molly.

 

[Gator Girl]

I HATE BEING SHY!!!!!!!!!

Seriously, folks. I am getting a therapist. This reign of terror that shyness holds over me has gone on too long.

It's not normal to feel my knees buckle when someone asks me how I am doing.

"What's up?"
"Um....GAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" pounding footsteps fading into the distance.

CURSE YOU SHY!!! DIE SHY!!!

 

[Gator Girl]

Huh. There is a post on this board praising girls. Referring to people of the female persuasian as girls. And people of the male persuasian as men. I definately don't want to start a fight with anyone who is praising WOMEN. But the feminist in me does a little eye twitch reading that. I mean, I refer to myself as a girl. Pretty often. Though a lot of women my age are married and making babies. So I suppose by now I should be a woman and no longer a girl. It's just when I see broad statements about all women and all men, and the pronouns chosen put the women in the inferior. And without notice. It's just automatic. And at first glance doesn't seem weird. But it would seem weird to write about how great all women are. From the perspective of boys. It seems to take on a different connotation. Eh, I'm just being picky today. Stuff like that just gets to this girl. Achem, I mean woman. Young woman. Oh, whatever I am.

 

[Gator Girl]

I've been getting a lot of compliments on my appearance the past few weeks.

I am emaciated people! It's called not eating. Having a little roundness and natural rosyness in my cheeks is healthy. Having to put rosyness on my sunken pale face is not healthy. It's so weird what people find attractive.

I prefer people slightly overweight. (Men and women) I personally am a big fan of bellys. I like 'em round. Makes a person huggable. I suppose I think flat trim stomachs are attractive. Same way I think a glass scuplture is pretty and shiny. But it ain't getting into my apartment. And I ain't huggin' it.

I have a show tonight. Miss Hawaiian Tropic. I am looking forward to it. My personal challenge is to just have fun. There aren't high stakes in it, so why fret so much about it. It's about fun dernit.

I am running tech for an all female sketch show on friday, Trix. I am excited to be a part of it. From what I gather, it was a group of women who all wanted to work together, a lot of whom didn't really know each other. And in a few weeks they collaborated and have put together what I think is a really neat show. From the limited exposure I have with the group thus far, I take from it a group with drive and the ability to carry through with something they really wanted to accomplish. I should take note of that for myself and get cracking on my sketch writing collaboration.

 

[Gator Girl]

I had to supress a giggle today as a well groomed gentleman with his flawless tailored suit, shiny black oxfords and long umbrella with the pointy metal thing at the end struggled to get change out of his pocket. He was trying so hard not to drop his large umbrella and his wallstreet journal, and not get his paper wet by having it touch the umbrella. Meanwhile he almost fell over...merely trying to fetch a quarter from his pants pocket. It was fun.

After beating myself up this week, I have decided to get a new job. I don't need to be here any longer. They have put me on 30 days probation to perk up. Otherwise, the AXE. And I was frustrated because...well...I am not exactly an unperky personality. I can be shy, but besides that I pretty much smile at anyone and anything. Even if they are peeing on my shoe. (I realize that has nothing to do with anything, but I am typing train of thought here.) While thinking on the bus this morning I related this situation to previous ones I have had with old friends. Like when I start feeling that good friends dont like me anymore. Happened around the end of highschool/college. And realizing that I am probably giving off some negative vibe unbeknownst to myself. Because it's time to move on. People change. And it is frustrating to face. That you have grown out of a friendship. Or in this case, grown out of a job. It was precisely what I needed when I first moved here. But I haven't been happy here for a while. I stayed because it was safe to stay. But I am miserable and didn't listen to my own guts. So my guts must have been talkin' around the office, because now I have a fire under my butt to get out of here. They don't want me here. I don't want to be here. I guess this could also be like passive aggressively breaking up with a significant other. Pissing them off so they end it. I've seen it done. I've had it done to me. Maybe I should take it as symbolic that a few days ago, the mail guy handed me a Dear John letter. I couldn't understand how he could mess up the name John Deere. A client this company has had for ever. And its the same mail he delivers daily to me. But earlier this week, it was a Dear John letter. The universe is telling me something.

 

[Gator Girl]

I am in such a good mood today. I am sitting at my desk bored. To be bored is so great sometimes. I keep going to the IO roster page and seeing my name. Pretty neat. Another stage for my feet to conquer in this city! (I do not count my game of Dadoo run run with the Jam) I am so excited I am splitting my seams. I get to stay with most of my 5B classmates. We have a blast together. And we don't need to go through the awkward getting to know you stage. Uh! So cool!

It fills me with joy to be looking for another job, even though there seems to be very little out there. It's like a feral elephant has been lifted from my abdomen. I am in such a good mood. I look out the window I drew on my cubicle and smile at the motionless birds flying by. Soaring over the highrises and palm trees, as the sun winks a friendly hello. It feels good to be a quitter. Of course I am not free until option 2 comes along. But looking for option 2 occupies my mind and makes me happy. I could give option 2 a big hug. The air seems cleaner today.

P.S. Journal readers. Check out Trix this Friday at Midnight! It is a lot of fun!

 

[Gator Girl]

Today is a good day. Well, part of a good week. Enhanced by the bendy straw in my soda. It's a good day when they have bendy straws in the cafeteria. Rehearsals for my new team, No Balls, One Strike(temporary name of course) have been going great! I love my team and my coach is great. This has been nothing but a 100% positive experience for me so far. It's new, right? It's like falling in love. When even nose picking is still endearing. Our first show is thursday and I am psyched. Work has been killer. I have been given so many more responsibilities and I am about to explode. But it is great! Because the fire under my butt is burning strong and I have an interview thursday for a position that sounds ideal for me. It only took blanketing the city with my resume to get that one phone call. Keep your toes crossed, people! I'm not going to publicly bitch about my other team, but I will share the fact that I am feeling frustrated. Probably because it is important to me. I wouldn't be as frustrated if I were apathetic about it. It's a great group of performers...we just have some scheduling issues to work out. I feel I have already said too much. I've been asked about my health a lot recently since I was a bit gloomy in previous entries. I am doing well. My 70 year old lady body is doing alright. I have been given old lady medicine and so far engines are still running. So in that vein, things are well...as well. All over well. Besides the stress of hunting for a new job. But that is an exciting stress. Moving on to better things, hopefully. Oh yes, also this week, I have an audition for some live radio showthing. It's 1940s style radio shorts to be performed in front of an audience, recorded and then hopefully distributed to stations. I think I may have convinced one of the writers/producers to let me audition a song as well. How dreamy would it be to perform 1940s music with a live orchestra!! Wowwie wow. We will see. I have no idea what they are looking for. I just know I love to sing, and 40s music makes me croon. there may be another oppotunity for that elsewhere as well. Seems 40s is "in" now.

 

[Gator Girl]

Mmmmm theatre lighting. An often overlooked artform. Yes, it is it's own artform. And I suppose in improv venues with one fixed setting of your basic ParCans and Fresnels, well...ha! You know! Lighting tends to be lights on at beginning of the show, lights out at end, with the occasional flickering or blackout for a bit. But so much more can be done. And maybe I am a big nerd, well usually techies are their own brand of nerd. Like roadies. But I was lucky enough to be a part of a show at a big performing arts center where I had full run of an awesome lighting design, complete with back and side lighting and every color of the rainbow right at my finger tips. For scripted theatre, lighting is like it's own character. It sets the mood. Whether the audience is conscious of it or not. The difference between night, day, dawn, mid afternoon can be shown. Seasons can be hinted at, as well as different types of locations. A beach would appear different than a cottage in the woods. And the idea that those choices can be made on a split second decision by an improvisational lighting artist...well I am drooling. I guess my favorite improv lighting moment was creating a thunderstorm. With flashes of bright white light over a dark blue (with a hint of greenish yellow) for the setting. Meanwhile the LIVE improv orchestra was supplying the scene with thunder. Friggin' amazing. No one had to say "gee, it's raining and thundering" So cool. I guess it's kinda like having the live piano player at Harold shows. Maybe it will become more important to have a lighting artist at shows as well. I mean, they don't put coaches and interns at the piano, but anyone can run lights.

I have a concern as of late though, that because I love doing lighting, that I will be passed over to perform in a show because they need someone in the lightbooth. Ugh. As much as I love lighting(and I do) I love performing a bazillion times more. Though I guess it is pretty cool that I get to be a part of a show, and get paid. Especially in instances where the performers aren't. I don't believe this has happened yet. By golly, I haven't been around long enough to be passed over yet! But I have a growing concern this might be the case in the future.

 

[Gator Girl]

So I am about ready to spontaneously combust out of frustration. The stress in my body is causing all of my cells to vibrate so quickly that the friction between them will soon result in fire.

I wish so much that I could live off of theatre. That this day job that is sucking my will to live was not necessary. If I get that new job I am applying for...I will be getting up at 6am. Which means going to bed at a reasonable time, say 11pm after performing in your average slot of an 8pm show will result in 6 1/2 hours of sleep maximum. Wait a minute, what if I also want to watch shows? Oooh, and rehearsals. I am going to explode. How do people do this? I will be physically ill by merely trying to do what I want to do. How unbelievably frustrating! I would love to have a job doing retail. In a comfy store with couches and soothing jazz playing in the background. A store that doesn't open til noon would be nice. And closes at 6pm. The store would carry toys and candy...and housewares. Pretty shiny things too. And I would have one of those fancy "breathable support" chairs. And me and the other staff members could have races when the clientel is slow. My coworkers would be intelligent and witty, with big hearts. They would greet me with a hug when I arrive in the morning and give me a goodbye hug as I leave. And they would cover for me whenever I had an audition or just wanted to enjoy a day on the town. There would be puppies too. And kittens. And there would be a great cheap chinese restaurant on one side of the store and a great cheap Italian place on the other side. And across the street would be a fantastic jewish deli. Yes, that would be nice. I am in such a better mood now. Oh and we would have arts and crafts days. When we would make stuff together, like paperweights shaped like dolphins and finger painting and friendship bracelets. And then we could give them to friends or sell them and make extra money on the side. Did I mention there would be a giant trampoline in the back? It's amazing how my imagination can make me feel better. *happy sigh*

 

[Gator Girl]

The air smells like winter today. And even though I am not looking forward to the crazy levels of cold my body will soon have to endure or the decapitating winds, I cannot wait to see everything covered in a blanket of white. I haven't lived in Chicago very long, but it seems like everything slows down during the winter. Loud obnoxious lawnmowers and garbage trucks are muffled by the snow. Ok, not many people mow their lawns in the winter, but if they did I am sure the sound would be muffled. And the snow tends to put the vagrants and pollution into hiding. The air just seems so fresh today. If the West Nile Virus wasn't going around I might have even gone to the zoo and visited the monkeys and penguins. The first day dawning a sweater and jacket is like the world is giving me an all day hug. And for some reason, in the back of my minds eye, I picture my dad playing Santa Catalina on his Ukelele. I don't know what the significance to that is, but in this instance it works. Maybe it's my insanity trying to keep me sane.

Someone told me I was funny last night. Not in context of anything. But that's cool. I don't think of myself as "being" funny. More along the lines of a funny conisieur. I like "the funny", I appreciate "the funny" and sometimes I know how to create "the funny" based on recognizing patterns. But to BE funny? Hey! great! I will take that! And put it in my compliment drawer. Some of the old ones have started to disintegrate and the drawer was looking empty.

It smells like a great day.

 

[Gator Girl]

When I was in elementary school, my best friend lived across the street from me. Well, I called her my best friend because she was the only female child within walking distance from my house. So really she was one of my only friends. She was a popular child, blonde hair, blue eyes, a gymnist. She had every toy that was on the top 10 christmas list of children all over the country. Including a giant trampline in her back yard. But even with all that, my favorite thing to do was play pretend. To sit on the floor, or outside in the back yard, or up in a tree, and make up fanciful stories together. Seems like an ideal reality. Well, except that if anyone else should visit el rancho magico, I would have to leave. My "best friend" would ask the other guest if it were okay if I stayed and played with them. And if the other person said no, I would waddle home with my tail between my legs. I recall one conversation where her guest of the day said she didn't like people with glasses. And without hesitation, I was asked to leave. This time I refused. So I stood by her door for a good half hour, while she and the other little girl played with barbies and Jem. Then her brother came along and escorted me out. It's rough as a child to deal with that. To know that I am not good enough. Or be the second choice. Well occassionally I relive those moments as an adult. And today was one of them. I invited several friends to lunch. No response. When following up, I found out they had been invited out to lunch by someone within the same party I had invited. But since they weren't sure if I had permission to attend from said inviter, I am not allowed. Um, what? I have to have permission to join my friends for lunch? When there is no other reason for the meeting--like to discuss "business" or "relations". Merely a lunch. A gathering of friends. Of my friends. But I wasn't invited. I feel like that crosseyed awkward child all over again. But is it worse to be me, having a conversation with my cheese sandwhich, or the person who is so afraid to allow me to join without the permission of others. Regardless if they enjoy my company. *sigh*

 

[Gator Girl]

Well it is official. I have been "recognized". I don't know why I put that in quotes.

In the past week I have had several people shyly approach me and ask about shows I was in. "Hey, you were in that show at improv olymic, weren't you?" "Yup" "Cool." And then they kick at a pebble that isn't there and try and find a reason to walk away because they have nothing else to say. Unless they choose to prod further to find out if I know a friend of theirs that does the "improv".

What the heck?! Why would someone be shy around me? That's just crazy. It's fun to be "recognized" though. (there are the quotes again, I don't know why" " " ") In college I lived with my fellow improvisers. And we would hang out together all the time. And my roommates frequently got asked/complimented about shows that I was also in. And when I said I was in the show too, they wouldn't remember me. Well except one show where I played an affectionate monkey in a harold for an audience of 300. I even climbed into the lap of audience members. I love monkeys. But all over campus people were exclaiming, "It's the monkey girl!" That's why I rarely play monkeys anymore. Not to mention that a lot of people seem to play monkeys. Maybe it's because it gives them permission to have the guts to do stranger things than if they were a human. But that is a tangent. I was involved in several productions with the theatre dept as well as indepedent student shows, and I will always be the monkey girl. Not the girl from the holocaust play. Not the girl from those musicals. But the monkey girl. You are only as good as your last show. This whole paragraph was a tangent. Point being I never got recognized, and now I am. And it is fun and weird. Just wait til I am doing good work on top of that!

 

[Gator Girl]

I go through periods when I am seriously depressed about my health. And the past few days falls into that category. I like to pretend that nothing is wrong. And the denial is probably hurtful because it causes me to ignore any symptoms my body may have. I just don't like the idea that I have to rely on foreign chemicals to maintain normalcy. I know, a lot of people take medication daily. But it just seems unnatural and weird. Like, if I don't take these four pills this morning...I will be uncomfortable for the rest of the day. Or, if I don't take these pills ever again because pills suck! Well then, the outcome could be quite heinous. I hate that it affects my improv the most. I could deal with being an ill individual, going through the movements of daily life. Work, home, tv, occasionally hanging out with friends. But getting in front of an audience can be harsh. Especially if I am halfway into a show and feel like my insides are rupturing. But the show must go on. Or if the group game is physically impossible for me to commit to. That sucks too. That happened during rehearsal the other day and frustrated the hell out of me. I wish I could go into some magical chamber and all disease and pain could be zapped out. I am overdramatising I am sure because I am depressed today. I am lucky, my problems aren't fatal. And I still have all my parts. I might give up a toe to be normal, though.

 

[Gator Girl]

Hip Hip Hooray! Job interview in two hours. I was terrified yesterday, but now I am looking forward to it. I stayed up too late last night at IO hanging out after the Armando show. And even though I probably should have allowed myself to be better rested before this journey, I think I greatly benefited from my conversations. I forget sometimes that my peers, my improv loving peers, are going through the same struggle I am. Juggling a heinous day job with nights full of passion and romance! But to sit and talk with them makes me feel like I have a support group. That is what is important. The job isn't important. Worrying about how I am percieved in the business world isn't important. Having peers who see me as brilliant in our tiny universe is important. Someone to struggle with. Someone to help me fight the big fight. This job thing is inconsequential. Well, other than to pay the bills. And I know I am completely qualified, if not over qualified. So if I don't get it, it's not where I want to be or need to be. And I can live with that. My current employer is reveling in keeping me on the edge of my seat about the state of my employment. I am not sitting still while they decide if I am a keeper. I am getting paid for this interview. Hehe! Yay paid sick time! This brisk weather makes me feel like I can accomplish anything.

 

[Gator Girl]

First thing I saw when I walked into my interview yesterday: A large woman wearing glasses, a WIG and a very prominent female mustache. My first reaction was, "I wanna work here! So I can have cool wig lady stories to tell!" Then the interview. The woman interviewing me practically rolled her eyes with every nervous question I asked, she answered and they had a huge fake grin. As the interview was ending she let me know that out of everyone applying for the position, I am the least qualified and have the least experience. My response was to punch her in the face. Ok, I didn't. But that was enough for me to realize that I did not want this woman as my superior 5 days a week. And I was frustrated, because it looks like I will have to stay in this job for a while. Much longer than I would like. Primarily because the unemployed force right now is highly skilled and talented due to all the layoffs at ad agencies. So my competition for entry level-no experience necessary-no brainer positions is very high. So I will suck it up for as long as I can. Not to mention that this sucky job has the perk of me being able to leave at 5pm every day. So why am I looking elsewhere? This fire in my belly to be successful doing what I want to do is burning a hole in my intestinal lining! Why spend so much of my life being miserable so I can do what I want to do? When I face people like the woman interviewing me, the thing that keeps me going is cheesy. And I will probably be ridiculed for admitting this. But the lyrics to a song that make me feel so much better are from FAME.
"Baby look at me and tell me what you see. You ain't seen the best of me yet, give me time I'll make you forget the rest. I've got gold in me. And you can set it free. I can catch the moon in my hands. Don't you know who I am? Remember my name!"

 

[Gator Girl]

My mind is an idea factory today. Was it something I ate? Was it one too many rejections in a world I would be happy rejecting myself? Weeeeeeee Keep em coming! I will make improv viable to live off of! Yes indeed. Keep an eye out on this one people. She is going to make things happen!

 

[Gator Girl]

Now that I am on a team at IO---Arrrrr! "Pirate McMonkey" be thy name. I have been thinking about show attire. Being the broke improviser I am, I was thinking of purchasing a few nice shirts for show purposes. And it got me thinking. It seems to me that a lot of performers, ok I will pick on the women, do not dress to the benefit of the art. And I know the guys like it when the women folk wear the midriffs, the lowcut blouses that inevitably show EVERYTHING when the performer leans towards the audience to pick up that imaginary piece of wood for the fireplace. And those tight booty pants, and of course, bras that obviously need more padding. And I understand ladies, that appearing desirable is part of the game of being a performer. I too would like to be considered on the top ten sexiest list. But as far as my art is concerned, I don't want to be playing a grandma who continuously is checking to make sure their shirt has not risen too far. Nor do I want to be a turtle who has to occupy one turtle paw to cover up cleavage I may be having second thoughts about showing. And of course, I do not want to be crucified in some scene commenting on religion and video games and worrying the whole time about the incredible wedgie I have.

Seriously, ladies. Your nipples are distracting to ME. And I am a female of the attracted to men pursuasion. It is merely distracting. And it sucks that I would be paying attention to your body or your wardrobe when I should be paying attention to all of your brilliant initiations. I suppose all of these fashion faux pas are acceptable. The one thing that really gets my goat is when a woman decides to wear a skirt and heels. Come on. Talk about being restricted. Improv is not like being in a play or a pageant. You got to be ready for anything. And if that means forfeiting on the sparkly chest enhancing ensemble you just got at Express, well I would recommend that. It's not about what you look like. Oooh, I am too preachy today. I guess it bothers me more than I realize. I want my women peers to be taken just as seriously as their male counterparts. I just think clothing can be inhibiting, and that wardrobe should be thought about more before a show than it currently is. Perhaps do what I do. An interpretive dance around my livingroom. And whatever rides up or disappears into a crevice somewhere gets exchanged for something else.

Oh, and men should wear bear suits more often. So cute!

 

[Gator Girl]

So I was reading a journal I wrote nearly a year ago and was so excited to see a change in myself! I was worried about censoring myself. Not being able to say certain things or be certain characters if people I knew were in the audience. Like my parents for example. I no longer have that worry. Arrr! I be a pirate. I know my parents read this journal. Fuck shit bitch poop. Haha! no censorship for me! hehehehe

 

[Gator Girl]

Well I finally had my meeting with HR. The one where they were to discuss whether or not I was fired. And get this. The VP on the John Deere account is enamored with me and is adopting me to be sole support for the whole account. So instead of being split on four accounts, I will work just for John Deere. AND get this. They are moving me to the top floor. The executive suites. There aren't even cubicles on that floor. Am I excited? Well, yeah. It's not a raise or a promotion, but a better environment. Yellow and green were my school colors in both elementary school and in highschool. I can't get away from the yellow and green.

So how did this come about? Well apparently I was reported by two over the hill trixies. But the followup reviews on my performance were from everyone. All 17. And apparently I do a glowing job. I just went out of my way to appease the trixies during the past month. But fate will be removing me from their service soon enough. They aren't bad people, just not...my people. Wait a minute! Today is friday! Oh, it's a good day. Weekend here I come!