Great weekend, albeit a blur. The shows just keep getting more and more fun for us to do, and I am so proud of all the great people we've gotten to work with and who we will get to work with-there's a backlog of awesome performers we're excited to put up on our humble postage stamp sized stage. I have always liked collaborating much more than I liked being alone.
Anyway, speaking of being alone (and humming that signature tune from HEART as I type this mind you) I woke up at 11 am Sunday, still drunk. Roommate and BFF Porter Mason was staggering about the apartment, also still drunk and groggy, on his way out to rehearsal. I went out and sat on the couch and began devouring leftover chicken fingers from the trip to the Carrol Gardens diner we'd taken the night before (I use the term "night" loosely as it was daylight by the time we departed). This journey was made about the same time that a cab dropped us off and we realized we were lost in our own neighborhood (well I was) and, that we had tandem hiccups. Yikes.
As I chomped on deep fried relics of late night debauchery and watched Porter lurch out the door, I realzied I was alone for the first time in months. I am not exaggerating, I really have not been by myself for longer than an hour in months. What with working during the day (or putting on a hell of a ruse pretending to), show stuff, boys and various pals in residence at my pad for Brooklyn Friendships (TM), plus living with one of my best friends, I honestly have not had a day (or night) go by without companionship. Since...November? December? Something like that.
So here I was, feeling like I ate a tire, sore and notably bloated and nauseous. And I was struck with the challenge...what do I do with myself now? How do I get used to this again? Am I ok being alone? It was odd to not have a choice in the matter.
So I did what every lady such as myself would do in such circumstances. I put on Food Network, watched a bit of my favorite lady Nigella Lawson's Chefography, drank some flat 7 UP and went to sleep. Life was but a dream.
I woke up at 4 PM and decided to roust myself to the out of doors for the first time that day. I had a strong craving for sweets, so I strolled over to the local coffee place for a nibbling type of snack cake and some frou frou coffee drink full or dairy and sugar. Then I sat outside on a bench, smoking and people watching and synthesizing my sugar buzz.
A cute Dad and his toddler daugher walked out from the coffee place, and the little girl ran up to my leg. She thought I was her Mom- she was at that age where, all adults are friends- and she had her hand on my leg saying "Mama" before her Dad even knew what for. I smiled at her and felt guilty to be smoking.
The Cute Dad bounded over and picked her up. "Sorry."
I smiled at him and said, "Oh, no worries. What's her name?"
"Calliope. Callie, for short."
I said, "That's Greek? For some reason I feel like it is, right?"
And he said, "Yeah, I think so."
Meanwhile Callie was eyeing my chocolate chip Blondie and the glowing end of my Parliament with unmasked interest.
He said, "Well come on, Callie. Let's go see Mommy now."
And he asked if she could wave good bye to me, and she concurred over his shoulder as they walked away. I smoked, and smiled, and watched them until they turned the corner. For some dumb reason, I really wanted to cry, just right that moment.
Instead I went home and read the shoot scripts from Season One of Freaks & Geeks because I am so, so cool. Didn't know if you knew I was, but now, you clearly do.