Bullship

Blogging is going to be a challenge on the ship. I realize I used to take the internet for granted, Here, it's a treat! You're in luck if you can find a decent signal, and when you do, it's expensive! Wait, a second. Am I complaining??? Forgive me. I'll take a slow expensive internet connection over snow ANY DAY.

This experience is full of contradictions. Like, I live in sheer paradise, but I can't help finding things to bitch about. There are some creature comforts I miss.. like food. Especially:

Grilled cheese sandwiches
Chipotle
Microwave popcorn
Box macaroni and cheese

However, I can have steak and lobster, fresh fruit, decadent desserts, sushi, and all kinds of unique meals, for free. What's my problem? Come on, Sarah. Get it together. Chipotle is just tacos. You can actually get real ones in Mexico.

How sweet is this? A married couple approached me last week and handed me a bag. Inside was this adorable little painted bobble head snail (they're all the rage in Guatemala). They saw me laughing at it when we were in port, so they bought it for me. It's my first random gift from "fans." It made me realize that every week, almost 2000 people see our shows on Tuesday night, and the rest of the week, I'm recognizable... and trapped aboard a vessel in the middle of the sea with them. Weird.

I know, I know...

Yes, it's been awhile since my last post. I've been doing stuff.

The thing that stands out the most is that I'm writing this from a cruise ship. I'll be living on this thing for the next 4 months. The gods of Second City have made it possible to have a job at which I get to do some pretty darn funny shows a couple of hours a week with some truly great folks, and spend the rest of my time snorkeling and drinking out of pineapples. I'm feeling pretty grateful right about now.

Except for the fact that every time the door to the internet room opens, I'm hit with the sounds of a slightly off rendition of the best of Whitney Houston. All at once, I'm drifting on a lonely sea... me too, Whitney. Me too.

Naw, man. This is awesome. Hurray!!!

Fall-se Hopes

Fall is my favorite season hands down. The crisp smells of leaves and fireplaces make me giddy. In fact, when I was walking outside today I caught myself grinning like an idiot. I even let a little verbal "Oh!" escape my throat, after getting a particularly perfect whiff, before I could stop myself. Thank God I was the only one within earshot.

The sense of smell is so powerful. It's pretty well known that smells have a way of transporting us back to certain memories. I had a rather vivid moment the other day while sitting in Starbucks. I was killing time reading and enjoying a yummy Pumpkin Spice latte, while Rufus Wainwright sang over the speakers. Suddenly, a strange feeling washed over me. I felt exactly as I did 3 years ago when I moved here, when I would go down the street to my then neighborhood Starbucks to get a Pumpkin Spice latte while listening to Rufus Wainwright. At that time I was feeling lonely because I had just moved here, but also excited for what the future held. It really made me realize how much time has passed and how I've grown. It was really cool! I wanted the feeling to last, so I kept staring at a certain spot on the chair in front of me, until it faded about a minute later - the feeling, not the chair.

It made me wonder if we could use our senses to travel through time. I really thought I was on to something until I remembered a little movie called "Somewhere in Time." For those of you who don't know it, please do us all a favor and Netflix* it. SIT is a 1980 time travel romance, and it's just ridiculous in the best way. It was filmed on location at and around the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island, MI. This made me feel extra cool as a kid because my family would go there in the summers, so I pretty much felt like I owned the movie.

The plot is basically this: in 1972, Christopher Reeve's character, Richard, is approached by an elderly woman who places a pocket watch in his hand while pleading with him to "come back" to her. Cut to eight years later, Reeve visits the Grand Hotel and is captivated by a photograph of a mysterious, beautiful young woman. Reeve discovers that she is Jane Seymour's character, Elise, a famous early 20th-century stage actress. As the mystery unfolds, he learns that she was the elderly woman who gave him the pocket watch.

Reeve is obsessed! He must go back in time to find her! So, of course, he learns about auto-suggestive time travel from an old college professor of his. To accomplish this feat of self-hypnosis, he must remove all things from sight that are related to the current time. After a few tries, his absolute faith allows him to journey back through time. He drifts off to sleep and awakens in the year 1912. The next 80 minutes are pure love story,

Spoiler alert!! Don't read the italics if you haven't seen the movie and are planning to!

The whole thing is ruined when he pulls a 1979 penny out of his pocket. The reminder thrusts him back into present time! What an idiot! He had one job to do: "remove all things from sight that are related to the current time," the professor couldn't have been more clear. Luckily he dies from a broken heart (or starvation, I never really figured it out) shortly after his return. Now he and Jane Seymour can be together forever, in a place beyond time itself. Gag... and sigh.

So, the real question here is: can I use the scent of my pumpkin spice latte to travel through time? Will I find my own Elise? Or Edwin, since I'm not into chicks? I'll keep trying, and will post my progress here. Can someone please start a fund to help me pay for all those lattes I'm gonna need? Those bitches are expensive!

Of course, let's not forget this is also the season of my birthday. October 10th for anyone who's keeping track. That also probably has something to do with my love for this time of year. Who doesn't love their birthday? A Dummy, that's who.

*with all the product placement in this entry, I better be getting a hefty check from - one more time - Starbucks and Netflix

By the way...

This is a real store in Ellsworth, ME.



It made me laugh so hard!!! Sigh. So good. I refuse to grow up.

Ketchup... Catsup... Catch Up

First and foremost, if I haven't fully expressed my love and devotion to the show Law and Order, I apologize. I really dropped the ball there. Look, I realize it's not the most brilliant thing out there, but I feel safe with it. It's formulaic and never lets me down. Also, it allows me to drift into a peaceful nap right around the 40 minute mark. That's my routine, and I love it. So get off my back. Ha! Nobody's on my back, guys. Wouldn't that just be silly? Everything's cool.

I have a point. It's this: Dick Wolf (the creator of Law and Order) apparently lives in Bar Harbor, or thereabouts. I was THIS CLOSE to becoming the next ADA, if only he'd come to see ImprovAcadia! Why doesn't he support the arts? I was right there, and he blew it.

I feel like I was in Maine 5 years ago... but it's actually been only 10 days. Not that I've been doing anything interesting to pass the time, it just seems to go faster here. My life is slipping away!!

I think it's important to keep shaking up your life. I get bored very easily with my surroundings and repetitive activities; my grandmother calls it "itchy feet." Luckily, I have some adventures coming up. More on that later.

Going to a new location to live and perform for a month was perfect. I don't necessarily feel settled in Chicago. I actually haven't found a place that feels like home yet. So, the search goes on. And in the meantime, I'm open to experiencing things like this:



This is the top of Champlain Mountain. I climbed up there, and loved every step. We also went whale watching. "Majestic" is a funny word to me, but here I mean it without irony. These creatures were, well, majestic. I go through my days so sure that everything I do is the most important thing happening in the world. Not even close. Here's a picture of a whale's tail. It doesn't do it justice, but try to imagine 300 people on a boat collectively gasping.



Here's some more choice pics:















This is how I spent August. Climbing mountains, eating lobster, swimming in pristine lakes, and doing super fun shows. I was really fortunate to be playing with truly talented people. It was a real ball buster, doing two shows a night, six days a week. An improv boot camp, if you will. Bring it on!

On a completely different note, I've decided to become more girl-y. Being independent and well-adjusted is getting me nowhere. It's pretty boring, if you want to know the truth. And I think you do. So, from here on out I'm going to be more emotional and needy. This should be a fun social experiment. I can't wait to see how everybody deals with this... and, go! Why haven't you called yet?!

I'm back!

Hello beautiful Chicago! I'm so happy to see you!

I had a fantastic time in Maine. Check back soon for the full story.

This takes precedence:



You guys. This is not a bit. I completely missed the ball. I'm an athlete!!!

Bye Bye!

OK, everybody. I'm outta here for awhile. I'm off to perform at ImprovAcadia until the end of August. It's in Bar Harbor, Maine, which is next to Acadia National Park. People who like the outdoors tell me it's supposed to be some beautiful paradise. It looks like this:



I'm taking my bike. I'm pretty stoked. See you in a month.

The auto-complete function on my Blackberry wants to spell "diet" as "dirt."

It's right. My Blackberry is brilliant.

Past Times

Last week I went to minor league baseball game in Lansing, MI. The famed Lansing Lugnuts were playing the Grand Rapids Whitecaps. I won't get too into the game details, I'm sure you read all about it on ESPN.com.

Truth be told, it was a fun game, but the real entertainment had nothing to do with baseball. Imagine if you will, special crowd members catching rubber chickens in a trash can launched from a giant slingshot as old ladies in the stands take their final swigs from Fosters Oil Cans, babies dressed to the nines in Lugnuts jerseys, a kickass fireworks display, at which said babies did not cry. They come from strong stock in Lansing!

Equally entertaining? The woman I passed in Belmont Harbor yesterday, kicking herself in the head repeatedly. I'm pretty sure she thought she was stretching, but she was just kicking herself over and over again. In the head. Awesome.

On the romance front, according to my grandmother, if I wait much longer to get married it's likely I'll marry someone that already has kids. I told her we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Hermit the Freak

The guy that lives in the apartment below me is SO WEIRD!

Every time I walk by his door I hear the oddest sounds: a cat mewing at the top of its little cat lungs, big band music, and what has to be a Dot Matrix printer.

I've lived here for over a year, and I've seen him once... when he was out front walking his cat on a leash. That experience must have been particularly scary, because I haven't seen him since.

Other proof he lives here include the multitude of packages he receives daily and the landlord relaying a complaint of noise when we had THREE people over. That, a party does not make. And they were gone by 9:30pm. What a tool.

I'm not quite sure why he's not living with his mother. I'd slip a note under his door to suggest it, but I don't want him to go into a seizure over the threat of communicating with a human.

Overstock.com

The following was posted on the Chicago Improv Network today:

Comedic Caucasian Male Actor Needed

Wherever are they going to find one of those in Chicago??? And don't take him away from our community when you find him, poster. We'll be hard pressed to find another one!

Me Weekly

I visited L.A. last week for the first time in 13 years. After only one week, I'm pretty sure it's all about me. I love a place that feeds that monster. Get ready...

I won't bore you with all the fun stuff I did... suffice it to say, I was devastated to come back to Chicago. I also won't bore you with all the celebrity sightings I had... because there weren't any! Not a one! I'm SO disappointed. Then my friend Paul pointed out that as long as I'm looking for a celebrity, I won't recognize the one that's already in the room, AKA me. That's sweet, but total bullshit. I really want to see for myself how the stars are just like us! And to top it off my friend Erica saw Sarah Jessica Parker on a trip to NYC last week and Jude Law here in Chicago at the Peninsula today.

Why not me??? Grrrr....

Laureate in Rags

I think I may be the jerk sometimes. The evidence is piling up.

Recently in Bucktown I was scared and grossed out by a homeless man that approached me... until he offered me a sheet of his poetry for one dollar. So I bought it... then I read it... and it was beautiful. Shame on me.

Eau de vie

Here's a game I like to play on the bus: it's called "Who Smells Like *BLANK*." The answers are wide open. I have found that pee is the most popular smell.

How are so many people wetting themselves? Or, what do I know, maybe its the hot new scent at Bath & Body Works. Piss Body Spray. Congrats B&B! It's a top seller!!

Also, my Women's Health magazine is giving me the creeps about bacteria and bugs. Did you know "we unintentionally eat up to two pounds of bugs annually???" That's way high. I estimated maybe two individual ones per year, not two POUNDS!!! Also, "we transfer 10,000 bacteria from a mouth to a bowl of dip when someone double dips three to six times????" You're not the only one at the party! Make the most of your one dip per chip!

I like to be informed, but I think for info like that, ignorance is bliss!!

So, the question on everyone's mind is: am I a germ freak, or simply one of the good guys, AKA clean and piss-free? Only time will tell...

Some days I feel like a real bad ass. Today is one of them.

I can't put my finger on why I feel this way, but I'm gonna enjoy the ride.

Tragic

There's not much on TV this Sunday afternoon...

So I decided to watch "Saving Private Ryan" starting somewhere in the middle. When it got to the scene where Giovanni Ribisi dies, I had to change the channel. It's a heart-wrenching scene and why put myself through that again?

The only other semi-palatable movie on was "The First Wives Club." It was the final scene where the women sing "You Don't Own Me." It's just awful. So, I switched back to "Saving Private Ryan." But that was too much, so I switched back to FWC. Then that was too much, so I switched back to SPR. Guess I'd rather watch a painful death scene than the painful, weak out of "First Wives Club." Ouch.

How's that for timely burns? Ha! Take it, shitty movie from 1996!

I wish....

I've had some thoughts over the last month that I don't think require long explanations; so I thought I'd list them here. Keep in mind, a lot of these are the things I force myself not to say in the moment. So while they may seem jerky, remember that I nearly exploded keeping them inside. And that, my friends, is what makes a lady. Sigh.

I spend too much time hating people I don't know.

I'd love to pull a gun on someone that's being a jerk without suffering the consequences. I think if that person pooped their pants out of fear, they'd probably get humble and turn into a nicer person.

I'd love to say "I don't care" to the person telling me about their upcoming surgery

I'm so grossed out by the animated bacteria on commercials for cleaning supplies and medicine! It's disgusting! I hate those products for making me feel like that, and so I refuse to buy what they're selling!

What will my celebrity cause be? Darfur is taken, and Noah Wylie has already claimed the polar bears. What's left? I think I'm going to fund research on how to keep puppies as puppies forever.

We get it, pop culture photographers! Enough with the "aw shucks" shot of the quirky actor with his hand behind his head. This image is supposed to say, "I don't know, I'm just me I guess." How can that be when everyone else that's your type is doing it?

I wish I could say "that sucks" to a terrible idea. Especially when the person with said idea insists that it's not when I delicately pooh pooh it.

Any song that has the lyrics, "Life is..." automatically sucks

Stop trying so hard.

When I'm a serial killer in a movie, I'm going to leave the list of names of the people I'm killing tacked to a corkboard above my desk. That way the detectives that discover that list upon forcefully entering my vacated apartment will be sure to apprehend me in the nick of time. They'll know where to go because I've crossed out the names of the people I've already killed sequentially. Let me acknowledge that normally, commenting on this over-used technique in movies would seem hacky to me; we all know that's stupid... if I hadn't just seen it on a CSI rerun. Yikes.

I have more, but they're mostly along the lines of just wishing people would just act the way I want them to. I can't be the only one who feels this way.

I'm officially uncool

Apparently there's a musical group called "Danity Kane." Danity Kane is an American pop and R&B girl group signed to Bad Boy Records, first established in 2005. They were formed on the second installment of MTV's Making the Band reality television series. All of this happened without my knowledge. What the hell?

When they were mentioned on the radio today I heard "Danny Kaye." For all you heathens, Danny Kaye is one of the world's best known comedians. His most high-profile projects were as the guy that wasn't Bing Crosby in White Christmas, host of the Academy Awards, and finally guest-starring in one single episode as Dr. Burns on The Cosby Show.

At first I cringed when I realized my mistake. It didn't take long to figure out... Danny Kay is long-deceased, so he'd have a hard time giving a shout out to Chicago on The Mix at 4pm. It was at this moment I officially crossed into Grandma-land. I mean, who mistakes a hot girl-band with a dead comedian?

How did this happen? I have subscriptions to Entertainment Weekly and US Weekly! That's two sources of super important information!! Weekly! I just can't keep up. I'm gonna go buy myself some Werther's Originals and start giving my family members a hard time about how they never visit me.

Renovation

I'm jealous of the woman I saw meeting with her interior designer over coffee on a Monday afternoon. Swatches splayed out all over the table, words like "fabulous," "pearlized accents," and "Mountbatten pink" being tossed around, my pashmina draped delicately over my shoulders... How do I get that life?

Help Them

I just saw a commercial on Bravo that really touched me.

It was a montage of different shots of wildlife in danger of extinction. This montage was set to Richard Marx's "Right Here Waiting."

I don't think that's what he had in mind when he wrote that song. And I don't think the commercial is supposed to make me laugh.

You Can Do It!

A word of advice to the ladies:

Be nice to the pretty girl in the room. I know it's hard, and goes against our natural tendencies, but nobody said life was gonna be easy.

When you're mean to her, you expose that soft little jealous underbelly of yours, and it makes YOU even LESS attractive. Now, I know you're assuming she's going to be mean because she's pretty, but did it ever occur that you get what you project? If you're a bitch, she's probably gonna be one right back. She's protecting herself! Get tough, ladies. Chances are she's pretty cool, and hoping you're not going to be mean.

I'm glad we had this talk.

Smoke 'Em Out

Since Illinois went smoke free in January, I've gotten less used to cigarette smoke. I love it. It's like I'm a kid again, and my parents are protecting me from harmful things. I'm never around it, so when grandpa smokes, it stands out as an odd thing.

I got into a cab today that reeked of smoke. The driver said, "it's OK if you want to smoke in here." "Clearly," I replied, "No thanks. I'll just chew on this lingering secondhand."

Cabbies are becoming more lenient as drunk people pour out of bars, desperate for a cig. Well, Cabbie, I guarantee I'll tip you more for providing a clean environment for me than Drunkie will for letting him bend the rules. In my experience, drunk folks feel entitled to special treatment. I just want to not sneeze from smoke allergies and stink like your stale cigarette after I get out of the cab. In fact, I can refer to my Passenger Bill of Rights and Responsibilities right here on the back of the seat. As a passenger I have the right and responsibility to not smoke while riding in the cab. As a cab driver, you have the responsibility to have some balls and tell your customers no.

That's Cold

Break-ups are rarely easy. But in this case, it's the best decision.

I'm sorry, Winter. It's over.

I can't take any more of this abusive relationship. Every time I walk outside you slap me in the face; I cringe when you touch me. I have to wear long sleeves, lest the neighbors talk; I hate to leave the house. How am I supposed to live my life with you in my way?

And I'm not gonna get all sentimental come next December like I do every year, when you come crawling back all clean and new and beautiful, bearing Christmas gifts. No present could ever make up for the way you've treated me over the past few months.

You're a real jerk, Winter. Hit the skids.

Famous by Association

Mercy Date was on TV! Twice! It was on Image Union: First Dates on Valentine's Day and the subsequent Sunday.

The following was on the station's website:

"Love is in the air, as Image Union celebrates Valentine s Day with a look at first dates. Michael Cera finds out that meeting a date's parents can be down right scary, in Darling, Darling. And in Mercy Date, the tables are turned as one woman finds out the truth behind her blind date set-up.
Now celebrating its 30th anniversary, Image Union keeps evolving – and expanding – to present new, innovative work from filmmakers in Chicago and around the globe. This season is shaping up to be one of our best ever, with everything from dark comedy to Oscar-winning animation, and first-time efforts from promising new filmmakers to award-winning shorts with plenty of star power. And Image Union is still the place for documentaries, experimental work, international films and the best local stuff we can find."

"Some of the most vibrant work in the field of independent video and filmmaking."
— Chicago Tribune

... not too shabby!

Also, I'm finally comfortable enough to announce that I've been cast in the Second City Music Improv House Ensemble. It's all singprov all the time. I'm Wayne Brady!

I had my fourth show on Sunday, and it's going great. I'm so impressed with every member of the cast! They're all talented and I haven't caught a whiff of ego. Whew. I think I may be OK at this stuff. Come see it.

Not again!

When you use the wipers, why does the entire windshield get clean except the spot right in front of your face?

It never fails. Doesn't matter what car you're in, what month it is, if it's raining, snowing, or the tires on the semi in front of you keep splashing up road moisture.

I especially love it when that spot freezes.

Cut to me scrunched over, peering around that stupid spot. It mocks me while I try not to die on the highway because I CAN'T SEE!!

I'll pay 10 million dollars for the car that doesn't have this problem. It'll be a miracle.

The Creepy Edition

I went to CostCo last week to buy a 98-pack of toilet paper and snack on samples of mashed potatoes in Dixie Cups. On my journey around the Warehouse of Excess, I was horrified to see this:



Caskets creep me out; not because of horror movies, it just seems like a ridiculous thing to put a dead body in. What do you need silk lining and a little pillow for after you're dead? Waste of money. So, I'm officially giving the OK to instead go to the next aisle, buy that jumbo plastic tub of pretzels and deposit my remains into it. Then take the money you were spending on a casket (because Lord knows I'm not paying for it) and throw a kickass party.

This way, everyone can snack on pretzels while they're all reminiscing over how amazing I was. I should be an event planner.

Progress?

I took a bartending certification test online today; in particular, it was the RESPONSIBLE SERVING COURSE. This is when I remind and/or inform all of you that I have a Masters degree in Theater History and Acting Theory. But that's neither here nor there. Mama gots to supplement her income before Paul Thomas Anderson calls and/or she falls back on teaching.

Before one takes the test, you have the option of flipping through electronic flashcards pertaining to the information contained on the exam. I came across some real gems, but the following had me on the floor:

"Guidelines for checking ID:
In addition to examining height, hairline and chin shape, look for the following:
Lack of beard in young males..."

OK, that all makes sense...

"...Lack of pelvic or breast development..."

Oh. Um, I'll take their word on it. I don't need some dude telling me to get my face out of his pelvis... again.

"... Large barrettes or bows worn in the hair..."

Really? Who wears those except preteen British girls in sailor dresses?

"...Extreme trends favored by younger generation, for example, "punk" look or bizarre haircut..."

Well, that doesn't seem fair. I know plenty of punks with terrible haircuts in their 20s that can and NEED to drink. They're called actors. They're poor and depressed because they're doing free shows that no one sees in Donny's Skybox.

"...Acid washed jeans, denim mini skirts, non matching earrings, earrings only worn in one ear, high top sneakers with colorful or no shoe laces, and wearing multiple layers of clothing."

So, I guess tacky dressers trapped in 1985 aren't allowed to drink. How are people that live in rural communities supposed to tie one on? What else do they have?

I'm now armed with the pertinent information I need to save the youth of Illinois from the perils of underage drinking. Look out, punk kids! That boombox on your shoulder is a dead giveaway! Now pick up that cardboard you're breakdancing on and moonwalk on home!

Oh boy...

Few things make me happier than watching the 20-something paralegals and CPAs of our fair city attempt to do the cardio hip hop class at my gym. It's priceless. Sexy faces and awkward bodies. Hilarious.

Just to clarify: I'm not in the hip hop class. I'm on the outside of the glass waiting for my cardio kickboxing class to start, so some other cynical chick can judge me. And believe me, there's plenty to judge. You should really see me pretending to kick ass. I believe my own hype!

Resolution

An illustration of why I can't seem to lose that last 5 pounds:



I glanced over to my nightstand last night, and this is what I saw. Allow me to be your docent:

See the jar of peanut butter? It's sitting next to the spoon I had just been using to scoop the delicious goodness directly into my mouth. That shiny tinfoil is the only evidence of the Christmas chocolate Santa I had dipped into the peanut butter because, apparently pure peanut butter isn't decadent enough.

Please note that this arrangement is resting on a book titled, "The Workout," by Gunnar Peterson, fitness guru to the stars.

I'm using it as a placemat.