the past/ sitting/ and the future.

You can light the fire that's in your head

Put it off, tomorrow will come instead

We don't watch the tower that tells us when

Pull the wicked flower out from its bed.

The Dodos, "Walking"

This time last year I was passing through Arizona, crossing the border into California, and eventually rolling up into Los Angeles onto Russell Avenue. A new apartment in my continued life, a new part.

One of the most generous, caring and scattered people I've ever met and loved forever, Carly Mandell, was in tow. And sweet, thoughtful, generous and gentle, Alli Arnold, was waiting with fresh homemade cookies and beers. Everything I saved from my old life was with me, ready to be part of what my parents called my "new adventure." (I originally thought that was a rather condescending sentiment, but then again, when my sister Colleen moved out here in 2008, my parents referred to Los Angeles as "Camp Hollywood" for two years.)

Three-hundred-sixty-five days isn't that many days (even if spelling it out makes it seem the opposite), and the longer I am here, the more I realize that truth. It's so funny. The first question new people ask of you tends to be, "How long have you been here?" or some derivative, and after about three months, I literally became old news; that felt so good. It feels good to be considered part of this insanely transient city where people are like migrating birds, telling themselves: "I'll give it a month," "I'll give it a year," "I'm just testing out the waters," "I'm going to see what I'm made of," etc.

But then you meet the people that are here for decades, that grew up here, that have no intention of leaving — and you're a baby to them, this one-year-old baby with chubby cheeks, a can-do attitude, and more blind faith in their talent than maybe even armed with talent. But as Steve Martin says in his book Born Standing Up, "Persistence is a great substitute for talent."

In some ways I thought moving here would change everything, but it didn't. It didn't change my drive — it encouraged it. It didn't change my energy — it grew it. It didn't change my goals — it clarified them. Making this move has made my life more pointed. I know where I want to go, and all of my choices (I hope) are evidence of that, down to the variety of jobs I've held since landing in La-La-Land.

Even now, after months of go-go-go, for the last four weeks I have spent an unusual amount of time sitting down — first in my car — then in a chair — that's in my office. So much sitting at this new job, a short term gig that will take up my days until the end of the year. It's too much sitting for me. I don't know how so many people do jobs like this for their whole lives. The only logical reason that one could do this much sitting is because it's what you have to do in order to keep living in Los Angeles because living is expensive and when you're not at this job you're trying to be a paid actor. (Run on sentence to illustrate my psychotic ability to do a million things, however frantically/poorly.)

I am so thankful that I know this won't be how I spend my life in the long run. I am so thankful that I am not content to bounce around from day-job to day-job without the hope that my persistence, talent, comedic sensibility, look, and all these things a million people have, but that I somehow illogically think will make me different — will actually make me different.

And it's fine. It's fine that this is what you have to do. People don't talk about the grind they had before they did what they want to be doing. It's the first chapter to the rest of your life. So right now, yes, it seems that most of my life is going from one sitting job to the next job I sit at, but fortunately for me, there's a smattering of film projects, sketch shows, improv performances and auditions in between. I am so thankful.

But seriously — I cannot believe how much sitting I do. (My next post will be a break down of the amount of sitting I do, if you're curious.)

So here's to being here for another year, and all the years after that.

Fake Barking

"Can you believe we've known each other for more than a decade?"

Caitlin looks up from her book, muffles, "Yeah, weird," brushing off Liv, and goes back to A Moveable Feast.

"I mean, like, it's crazy that I remember that far back. Like, sometimes I can't even remember something that happened last week, but then at the same time I can remember when we used to have swim practice at Lake Bluff pool and your mom would pick me up, and I'd always forget my towel, and—"

"Yeah, it's nuts, Liv."

Liv gets up from the kitchen bar stool she'd been sitting on. "Anyway, I just thought it was weird," she says defensively.

She closes the IKEA catalog she'd absently been flipping through, then she adjusts her sweatshirt, which had gotten bunchy from sitting.

Caitlin's eyes follow her. Liv's doing that thing where she wants to talk, and Caitlin's doing that thing where she doesn't want to talk. It has nothing to do with the other, just on different wavelengths this morning. It's Saturday.

"Sorry, Liv," Caitlin says. "I'm—"

But before she's done, Liv cuts in, "It's fine. I'm just being dumb."

"You're not. I'm just tired." She thinks to herself, it's 10am, and says, "Well, that's not an excuse—"

"Except that it is."

"Right."

"Right," says Liv.

"I don't want to fight with you, Liv."

Caitlin gets up from the couch. It's a New England red, the kind that mens J. Crew shorts are colored to look like, almost like they're covered in dust.

"Do you remember that guy in the car yesterday?" Caitlin asks.

Stopping in the space between her bedroom and the hallway, "When we were walking?" Liv asks.

"Yeah."

"I remember." She was neither smiling nor frowning, but her face was mute because she didn't know where this was going.

"And he was yelling so much, so loudly and we could hear it all."

"Yeah."

There was a guy who was driving a silver Lexus SUV down Windsor. There was a passenger in the seat next to him. The girls couldn't tell if the passenger was a man or a woman, and frankly it didn't matter. Not because the person looked like either, the SUV driver was going too fast, and it was an odd angle, even when he had to stop at the red light. The driver was yelling so loudly. He was yelling about how much he loved the person sitting in the passenger seat. He was yelling, and he was exasperated, and it was hard to understand because Caitlin and Liv hadn't ever felt that kind of 'frustrating, over the top, I can't deal with you because I love you too much kind of love.' The couple was fighting because they couldn't spend as much time together as they wanted to, the very best kind of terrible fight, because it means they care, and they want to continue to care, and it's hard. It's the hardest kind of fight.

"No one should fight like that," Caitlin says. "That was the kind of fight, if you're going to have it, that you shouldn't have while operating heavy machinery." She was laughing now.

"It was funny," Liv agreed. They thought it was funny because they couldn't identify with it, not really. Their reaction was inappropriate for the situation, like laughing at a funeral, or something less trite.

"God, that uninhibited rage," Caitlin giggled. "Maybe rage isn't even it."

"Yeah, maybe it's more like unwarranted frustration."

Mock holding an invisible badge, Caitlin uses her policeman voice, "I have a Warrant For My Frustration."

"Officer, please, come on, you know me," Liv plays along.

"Like that time my mom was so mad at us for both forgetting towels at swim practice, and we just were so soaking wet and sat in the backseat and we looked like wet puppies."

"And she was like, 'Girls, I just got this.'"

"And, we were like, just, like barking?!"

"Arf! Arf!"

"Arf!"

And the two spiraled into a bark session.

Bird.

There's a bird outside the one window in this Brooklyn apartment. Specifically, it's a pigeon. And specifically, it's Prospect Heights, on the very Northwest tip of the park — Prospect Park, if you can believe it.

Anyway, there's this bird that sits outside her window ruining the only thing that's beautiful about her converted two-bedroom — which was essentially a one-bedroom split in half by a partition. It's the kind of partition that separates large classrooms into smaller classrooms. That taupe plastic...thing.

"Her" is Kat Muller. She's thirty. She has a roommate. She has brown hair. It's wavy, but she wants it to be curly. She curls her hair with a large barrel curler from ConAir. She hates that movie. She wishes she didn't waste energy on hate, but she does. She says ones thing, and then normally attaches a qualifying "but." Everyone knows what she's thinking because her face doesn't hide like Mona Lisa's. If she knew I wrote that just then, she'd make a "You're retarded face." She wishes I would say "stupid," but, I didn't and I don't because, frankly, I don't give a shit.

"I" am her roommate, Emily. What a simple name? I put a question mark at the end of that, then I deleted it, put a period and then went back to a question mark. I used the word "what," which should denote that I asked a question. "Should." I love the conditional. I have brown hair too and a soft chin. Boo! Soft chins suck no matter how old you are, but they just keep getting softer with age and fat.

We have lived together since 2007. It's 2014. That's a lot of years. If we were different genders we could apply for Common-law marriage...or be considered for it. I don't really know how that works. I don't even know if marriage equality exists in New York. I like to think that I would know if I lived in, like, Chelsea.

Anyway, that bird. Ugh. That stupid bird. That retarded bird. It comes by every day, and I have never seen it fly. It must though. It walks over from the neighbors every day. It doesn't start the day at our place, or end it there. It's as if it is going to our house for "work." It's there 9am-5pm, and then the F train steams by, and it's out of here. Gone...to be seen from again. Tomorrow at 9am. It's never been late, which to me, is hilarious. If it were, I would expect a verbal apology with words and apologetic hand gestures.

I've named him Bird. Sometimes less is more. My mother says things like that to me. I imagine her needle-pointing onto shitty pillows when we talk on the phone. I'm from Michigan: the birthplace of crappy pillows and the best trees. Whenever I'm home in Michigan I feel naked. I'm convinced it's the crispness of the air. It cuts straight through clothing, no matter the amount of hipster layering I attempt.

It's not really fair that the only window we have goes straight into Kat's section of the apartment, which is just barely a step-up from a cardboard box. It's better in the winter, but not in the summer. "It's" meaning the apartment. In the summer it's a boiling cesspool of my and Kat's sweat. I mean, no it's not an underground garden unit, which basically is just asking for a rat to be your unofficial nonpaying roommate — but it's not a far cry. The first time we had an issue with the apartment, I cried. I never thought of myself as a crier, or an emotional person, but when it happened, it was so disproportional that I came to the conclusion that I am an emotional person, I just don't know when's an appropriate time to let it out, so I hit this tipping point, and then I was toast. Burnt toast that's no good.

I'm looking at Bird right now, and I'm wondering where he calls home. I'm wondering who's waiting for him to get back at 5:30pm. I'm not wondering how long his commute is. Everywhere in New York is a half hour. Or should be. Whatever comes first.

Maybe I'll move back to Michigan. There's birds in Michigan.

Un-unique

Elaine Terre, Ellie to her friends, leaned gracefully over her egg white porcelain sink. Her eye make-up smudged all over her upper and lower lids. Trapped in the corners of her hazel eyes were the remnants of tears she was attempting to wipe away.

"I'm just done." She thought it out loud. "I'm just," a pregnant pause, an exasperated sigh, "done."

She'd been fired. It felt like a glorified dumping. Broken up with by the career that didn't want her anymore. Left alone on the skirts of Unemploymentville Co. Population: her. She felt like a cliché, and all of her thoughts backed that feeling up.

It happens to everyone. The phrase echoed in her head from a conversation she'd finished earlier that evening with her sister. Her sister, Carolyn, was an attractive young woman, aged 29, single, with a semi-high-powered career on the way to an actual high-powered career in fashion merchandising. She had little empathy for anyone when it came to relationships, jobs or general livelihood, likely due to her lack there of.

Carolyn and Elaine had a tumultuous relationship growing up, not unlike most sisterly relationships. Elaine, being the younger, found talking to Carolyn exacerbating, and would dodge opportunities to do so regularly —that is she until Carolyn would figure out a way to corner Elaine into conversation, often by trapping her in actual corners.

During the summers the pair would play a game in their country club swimming pool called, Spider. Essentially, one of the girls would hold onto the sides of the pool, often in a corner, with their legs spread while the other would have to attempt passage through the triangulated legs and arms of her sister without touching. If one indeed touched, even a hair, a strike would be marked. Three strikes and you would have to run around the perimeter of the pool. It doesn't sound as bad in retrospect, but summers in the midwest still brought about a cool air that made the pool a warm sanctuary once you were in, as the outside world remained an icy fortress.

Ellie thought about all those memories as she starred past her own reflection, wiping away her history and whatever Revlon still clung to her cheeks. Still, more tears clouded her vision.

Was I wrong? She questioned for the nth time. But she knew the answer. No, she wasn't wrong. And, she shouldn't have been as upset as she was.

It happens to everyone, El. 

HANG UPS. (At the Jewel)

HANG UPS

BY BRIGID MARSHALL

DRAFT 2

CAST

AMY – mid-twenties, disillusioned

EMMA – mid-twenties, silly

KRIS – mid-twenties, sensible

Jewel-Osco. Three girls are in the fruit aisle.

AMY I mean, exclusive hook ups are a far cry from a real relationship.

EMMA Right?

AMY Yeah. I mean. I think so. Apples?

KRIS Well, it’s not really.

EMMA Yeah, apples — What do you mean, Kris?

KRIS It’s not really that far of a cry from a real relationship. Oh, Asian pears!

AMY (Picking up Asian pears) How so, sensei?

EMMA (Buddhist-y, picking up carrots and petting them) What is real anyway?

KRIS Well, it’s exclusive, darling grasshoppers.

AMY Yeah, and?

KRIS Well, isn’t that the biggest part of what “being in a relationship” is?

EMMA No.

AMY No, I don’t think so. See, you need to like, talk about it and stuff.

KRIS Fine, then what is?

AMY Love. Or something.

KRIS So you’re not in a relationship until you’re in love?

AMY No, that’s not what I’m saying.

KRIS Then what are you saying, Confucius?

EMMA More like confusing-cius.

[EMMA high fives herself.]

KRIS You win, Emma.

AMY I’m saying, stay with me here. But. Ok. So, if you’re exclusive with someone sexually that doesn’t mean you like them as like in a boyfriend kind of way. Necessarily. You might just like them for their hot toosh.

KRIS God.

EMMA (All existential, but jokey) God?

AMY Yeah. Well, that’s what I’m saying.

KRIS You’ve seen too many movies like that fuckin’ No Strings Attached and whatev.

AMY What of it?

KRIS It’s kind of gross, Amy.

AMY Banging for pleasure?

KRIS Jesus. Yes.

EMMA I mean, I don’t think it’s a big deal, or whatever. I’m not going to judge you.

KRIS I’m not judging. I have no room to. Ugh.

EMMA So wise. But yeah, I get your point, K. But, I guess I just…don’t necessarily…agree?

KRIS That wasn’t a question. Stop upturning your statements.

EMMA (Upturning on purpose) OK?

AMY Well that’s because of Jim.

KRIS Oh, la la! Jiiiim.

EMMA Shut up. (Completely changing subject) I wish I had those tiny Asian lady shoes.

KRIS The ones made of wood and stuff?

AMY Like the ones they wore on the Chipmunks? – Stop changing the subject.

AMY/KRIS Jiiiiim!

EMMA Shut up.

KRIS/AMY SH’UP!

AMY I don’t think so. Jiiiiim!

EMMA Seriously. We are not in a relationship, unless relationship means never sleeping over and getting texts at 12am and answering them like an idiot.

AMY Or maybe that just makes you someone who just understands the thing of it, and wants some booty, too?

KRIS But don’t you want more than just booty, Em?

EMMA Yeah.

KRIS Well, then, change the relationship.

EMMA Easier said than done.

AMY Yeah, what a greeeeat suggestion, Kris.

KRIS I’m only saying you can’t expect the relationship to change if you don’t change.

AMY WISE SENSEI!

KRIS (Does something dumb physically, like bowing too emphatically) The wisest!

AMY Fortune cookie, Sensei.

EMMA/KRIS/AMY (All bow to each other repeatedly repeating over and over) WISE SENSEI, SO WISE, kanichiwa, etc.

KRIS Wait. Stop. You’re just a booty call if you’re not in a relationship, even if it’s exclusive. OK?

EMMA/AMY WISE SENSEI, SO WISE, Kanichiwa, etc.

KRIS This turned real quick.

(Black out.)

Notes on Today:

-Every morning (or at least most mornings) I ride my bicycle to work. It's not particularly cool. Actually, it's probably the antithesis of cool. It's an early 90s Trek colored a particularly unflattering shade of maroon scattered with rust from years left outside my childhood home in the rain. It's a mountain bike that's never seen a mountain. I bummed it off my sister after the bike I had previously bummed off my old roommate conked out on me. Anyway, as I ride through Lincoln Park, Old Town and River North I'm wary of an impending moment. A possible doom. The pavement glides out from beneath these decade old tires as I pass under green lights coming up to the inevitable bridge, which serves as a right of passage from the North side to the Loop. From the Merchandise Mart to Upper Wacker Drive a heavy steel grater connects North with South filling me with fear. Flash thoughts well up inside my brain as I imagine my front tire getting caught on something, anything, pulling my small frame to the ground, then beneath a car. And my body is compressed, pushed through the small steel holes, like cheddar cheese ready for a quesadilla.

-Recently it's been rather crisp in the mornings. In the afternoon, though, it's that fake cool. It's that kind of cool where once you begin to get to where you're going, not five minutes go by and you're sweating. I think of pumpkin ice cream in those moments. It's the perfect food to describe the beginning of fall.

-I took the train on Thursday last week. It must have been Thursday. I'm not positive. Maybe it was the week before. Really, it's not important. At some point I took it home from the Loop and people watched. Today I picked up my two complimentary tickets to see a preview showing of Candide at the Goodman, and my box office ticketer was someone I remember from people watching. Small world.

-Last night I picked up my kitchen table. Currently it's dismantled in my bedroom. I was nervous that this cat which is still living in my apartment would scratch it up with it's monstrous claws. Then it occurred to me that I could have a kitchen table in my room for a while. That's bothersome. In other news: it's super, and I love it. Plus, it was a bargain. Hooray for Craig's List haggling.

-Tissues are one of those things that you wish you had when you don't, but don't think about when you do. I feel that way about some of my relationships, and that's not so good. Things to work on: appreciating the people in my life.

-The scar developing on the top of my right foot is icky. I wish I was more agile and had not dropped my bike on my foot this past July. That said, since I did, I wish I went to the hospital and got the stitches I needed.

Favorite Things Alli's Said . . .

1. "Why does he think you want to do him when you just want to friend his face?"
2. "I'm dyslexic."
3. "How much? — So Much? No! Traffic Light!"
4. "I think we just like to buy beer. But, we don't really drink it. We just look like we drink a lot because we have a lot all the time. That happened a lot at my old apartment. We had a ton of hard alcohol in the freezer when we moved out, too."
5. "We were totally neighborhood today. People asked us for directions."
6. "Tweaking."
7. "Umm, Brigid, this floor is really slippery."
8. "I left you glitter, so you can throw it around in case the apartment loses its sparkle while I'm gone."
9. "I dedicate my next two hours of dancing to you."
10. "Why do you never watch Gilmore Girls with me?"
11. "Cookie time? Party Time?"
12. "I have a thing for really neurotic animals."
13. "I don't understand cat people...They're bad omens...Like, I just don't get it...Maybe I don't get it because I'm allergic to them, but...they're really cute when they're new, but then as they get older they get just terrible...Occasionally a cat if raised by the proper human can be ok...but, like fat cats, what's up with them?"
14. "I'm at the combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell."
15. "We need to find the girl with the cutest outfit here, then beat her up and steal her clothes."

Every day with Alli is a day to remember.

Apartments.

When the morning is just beginning there's the all too familiar Four-Second Hesitancy. Should you get up? Probably. Will you? Probably. But do you want to? Probably not.

Apartment hunting. It's a weekend activity akin to boating or taking your children to a park. It requires preparation and, depending on how long you'll be out and how far away everything is from the other, sunscreen. I must have forgotten how miserable apartment hunting is though, because I jumped readily at the chance to relocate. And now, here I am two weeks to go until I must go, and the road to free street parking and a coffee shop within walking distance is not yellow brick paved. I probably should have taken a Four-Second Hesitancy before giving up my darling Old Town two bedroom.

Oh, well.

Five Things I Love About 1950 N. Burling St., Apt. 2R
1. Knowing what the R stands for.
2. The purple blue wall.
3. Tricking your eyes.
4. Claws on the tub.
5. Open spaces. High Ceilings. Nice Porch.

San Francisco: Roommates in Costume

I suppose I haven't much talked about my living arrangements here in San Francisco. It's sort of hilarious. To give you a glimpse of my day to day, and a little bit of Halloween's special occasion glimmer:

Last week I got a call while working from Nancy, my 40 something housemate. She's a high school teacher, has a 6-year-old daughter, and is a pleasure to be around. Often she will call me while I am working. It's no big deal, I just turn off my ringer and forward her to voicemail with the intent of checking her detailed messages later. They're actually not detailed at all. She's the sort of person that leaves messages that sound like: "Hey, I've got something I need to ask you...Call me back, bye!"*

*Note: These messages are 100 percent unhelpful, and you should stop leaving them. That's "you" plural. I hate that the English language has that you/you business.

Anyway, this particular day Nancy called me twice in a row. Naturally I assumed there was a problem, like she was ill or Drina got caught shop lifting while drunk. What have you. However, that was not the case. Nancy wanted to tell me she had bought me an Ugly Betty costume to wear on Halloween, complete with glasses, fake teeth with braces and an ugly wig. This was clearly very important, and while on the phone sitting at my desk in the office, I did in fact repeat all parts of the costume aloud so my coworkers could hear. I feel like living with Nancy and Drina is like a television show sometimes. They're so comical. I'm the random girl that lives with them, becomes like the family, only to move out and on to other things. Like Cody from Step-by-Step.

But back to Nancy and Halloween. Nancy got herself a child-sized "fairy" costume for $10 from what she calls the "party store," because apparently it has no real name. She is my size, i.e. 5 feet-ish and petite. Tonight she was trying on her outfit, trying to make it school appropriate. She put on another skirt underneath the sheer fairy one, and tried on no less than six shirts to go beneath the belly-styled fairy top. The costume comes with these wings that look like camouflage fairy wings. No, seriously. They're the exact fabric and pattern found on Army gear everywhere—and probably the reason the costume was only a tenner. Anyway, they flop too much. That's the problem with wings. I should know, I was a butterfly, ladybug and a fairy throughout college and had intentions of being Tinkerbelle last year, but ended up alone in London in a hostel (another story for another time). So, I pinned her wings together in two spots. Nancy was practically ready to wear the thing to bed, but I told her she couldn't. Sometimes I feel like I might function as her mother as she mothers Drina.

Anyway, usually our days end with me helping Nancy pick out what to where to school the next day, in order to of course, impress her high school classes. Sometimes she's fine by herself, but often I'm glad she asked. She's like my mom in that way. But Halloween will be a nice time to check out how the San Franciscans do it. If forced, I had some options for Halloween costumes myself. 1. Madeleine 2. Pippy Longstocking 3. Strawberry Shortcake and obviously, the old classic 4. Roman/Greek woman. Simple and Cheap: white sheet and lots of eyeliner. Maybe a wreath of some sort of leaf. We'll see.