Solo Show Hell Dream
Everyday in my brain. December 21st on stage.
We walk into, what appears to be, a carpeted dojo with risers and event-style rounds that seat 10. This isn’t what I was expecting. There are placemats and goblets under fluorescent lighting and likely, asbestos. Why haven’t I been here before if this is where we’re doing the show? A strange brunette asks if I can grab the waiter so she can order a big salad and when I tell her, “Wait, no, I have to be on stage soon,” she scoffs and rolls her eyes about me to her boyfriend. Wait, I recognize him from a parking lot a few weeks earlier! He took the class with us, but did it as independent study. How does that work and why is he so classically handsome? Shouldn’t he just be a statue or a professional soccer player? He should definitely get a kinder girlfriend but he won’t because he’s classically handsome and can reach the ceiling tiles without trying too hard. I hope he doesn’t because of the asbestos.
Someone hands me their baby while we watch a puppet show in the dark and it keeps trying to latch onto my breast through my t-shirt, but I do not know this baby and I do not make milk. I tell the baby this but despite her merely being the size of a Chipotle Burrito, she rolls her new eyes and asserts, “I’m hungry!”
“Shhh, they’re still doing the puppet show.”
I’m back at my apartment and I can will my TV to change sizes with my mind — wait, that’s too big, the picture is pixellated! Now it’s back to the right size but it has an expensive wooden frame around it. I think I like it like this? My dog who died nearly five years ago is at my front door and she needs to go potty. We’re back at the show venue and I spot my friend Magda, I frantically rush to ask her to take care of Sophie for me while I get ready for the show! Wait, I haven’t brought any of my props or costumes. I thought this was the dress rehearsal night? Why is everyone here if it’s a rehearsal? They’re all crammed into the sunroom from the house I lived in when I was 3.
Someone taps my shoulder and it’s an acquaintance from back east I haven’t seen in years. There are two of her?? The one hugging me tells me that my ex will be there and I can’t figure out why he’d be in this Los Angles strip mall but she says she hopes I read him to filth and squeezes me harder. I always wondered how much she liked me so this is oddly comforting. While I’m pondering, I begin climbing up into an old dilapidated house to find a huge group of strangers on the 3rd floor. They’re all different ages and passing a clear glass bong around. An older woman is clearly annoyed by my presence but politely asks if I want to do an improv scene with them. Now? Isn’t this the apocalypse? Should we really be getting high and doing improv while the world is ending? Or is that all any of us are doing anyways?
I’m back at the venue and it’s almost time to go on! I AGAIN remember I didn’t bring any of my props or costumes. I’m in a 90s Jeep Cherokee with my old clown teacher and the backseat is full of people I’m supposed to know. We’re taking a turn too quickly and we go up on two wheels but come back down. We drive by the plaza with the Brusters Ice Cream in the town I lived in when I was 13. I remember that my dead dog is still at the show venue and oh my god, where did I set that baby??? I’m back now and a little person in a tuxedo asks me to move. I tell him I’m IN the show and he tells me he doesn’t care, so I push him but he’s much stronger than me and I feel my body going down fast. I beat my alarm awake. It’s 6:50.
Now that you know what the inside of my brain is like, I’m doing a 30-minute solo WIP show in six days. It’s actually incredibly low-key and people say it is supposed to be fun??? Despite my brain’s best efforts, I am really so excited to play with a real live audience, to get comfortable with the uncomfortable, to see what works and what does not.
As it takes shape, this amorphous work in process is exploring self-love and dating, neuroses (no, really?), and more. It will entail sharing texts from exes (what!), dating a member of the audience, and maaaaybe a wig or two. There will be songs. You will laugh and you will maybe put your hand on your heart once or twice. My father will be there so if you think it’d be a funny bit to make me go on a date with him, please know we’re already spending 10 days together this month and I will kill you (or write my next show about you, pick your poison).
I will be packing my props and costumes in advance.
So excited for you, wish I could see it!