Falling in to line

It's the "fall into autumn" time of year: a time when one looks at the leaves for golden lining, and the sun begins to grow your shadow to longer, bigger lengths, exaggerating your height so you look ten feet tall. The air is humid, but one gets the feeling that that heavy moisture is only the last vestiges of summer, whispering with her hot breath as she is chased away by autumnal thunderstorms that bring cooler, crisp temperatures that make the first hot tea of the season extra nice. I feel change in my bones, in my hair, in my organs, in my fingers, in my legs and in my health. I feel different. I can't quite put my finger on when or where this change occurred, but sometimes Change can come in very silently and only after a very long time you might notice that Change has made the room your living in different, the wardrobe your wearing more grown-up and flattering, and the thoughts you were once so used to thinking all the time: simply stop running through your head.

Last night I fell asleep with a "flash forward" thought in my brain. I imagined a facebook status update of mine saying : "I JUST GOT SIGNED BY AN AGENT!!!" What a wonderful thought to fall asleep to. And, just as my mind was wandering off into the nether regions of sleep, I realized: I'm not thinking about my ex. I'm not thinking about the lack of a boyfriend, I'm not wishing someone was sharing my bed right now... in fact, I like sleeping alone. Wha-?! When did that happen? Oh, hello Change. I didn't see you there. How nice of you to come in.

A case in point: I was on line for an improv show tonight. The Harold Night at the Upright Citizens Brigade (UCB) is a very popular venue and sells out every week. I was in the stand-by line holding a hot cup of Lemon Zinger and wishing my nose would stop leaking down the front of my face. It's fall. I get sick with the change of the season. I've just come to accept it.

I was pretending that there was something interesting on the screen of my iphone so as to avoid the sometimes painfully awkward act of waiting in line, when I looked up at the person who had just joined the line behind me. He was a tall guy, nice smile, and he looked oddly familiar. We caught each other's eyes and I blurted: "you look familiar. Have I met you before?" He smiled.

"No, I don't think so... I'm [Tall guy who dances and has taken classes at the UCB. But, he'll go by 'Tall' for short...]"

Me: (snot's running down my nose, I can't breathe well and I haven't showered in 2 days, plus, I spent the entire day watching a 2 year old pick her nose and shit her diaper, I am by no means glamorous nor do I have the energy to care about any of physical features I am currently sporting) Oh, my mistake. It's nice to meet you, Tall.

Tall: You take classes here? What level are you in?

Me: (ahh, the old: Let's see how advanced you are, and if I should alter my conversation based on your level of expertise... I suck back mucus into my nose instead.) Level 2.

Tall: Oh, ok. That's cool your here to see the Harold Teams. I've decided to retire from taking classes, I've gone up to level 3.

Me: (Well, I haven't scared him off with the snotty nose and the lack of energy, so I might as well pass the time I have to spend in line by talking with this guy) Cool! So, you an actor?

We talked for about 20 minutes. Tall seemed like a nice guy, although I couldn't tell if there was a lack of chemistry on my part or if I was just feeling sick and tired, but I gave him my number anyway once the line started to move. That's the second time I have given my number to a good looking stranger... I'm liking this trend of the "I don't care that much anymore" attitude. Plus, Tall hit on my when I was feeling and looking pretty poopy, if I meet up with him again, I won't have to spend a lot of time or energy looking better than tonight.

Thanks, Change! The place looks great! And I'm getting a lot of numbers...

Cafe Cliche

Sunday was a picture perfect day of September. If aliens were to land here in February and somehow asked me what a day in September should look like, I would tell them to look at that Sunday (in my brain) and then they would know. The sky was a crisp bright blue, the sun was warm, there was a pleasant breeze, there were big fluffy white clouds and the trees were still green and full. I was making my way over to Molly's Cupcakes on Bleecker Street in Greenwich village to meet up with a friend for her birthday party. I was starving, and when I got there I realized that filling up on cupcakes was not optimal for a lunch, so I excused myself to go have a salad and then come back.

I wandered over to Amy's Bread which was a couple of blocks away. I frequent Amy's quite often as it sits in very close proximity to my job on Cornelia Street. I had a short debate about what salad I wanted (The Tuna salad? Or the Pumpkin Seed Bean salad?) and opted for the Bean/pumpkin seed before making my way over to the window counter seat so as to look out on the street and continue to watch the picture perfect Sunday-in-September day that was going on outside.

My lazily buzzing mind was interrupted after shoving the third bite of salad ruthlessly into my mouth by a male voice: "Nice Salad! I was thinking of getting that one, is it any good?"

A guy was sitting at the window next to me. He looked like a late 20-something and had dark chestnut hair and Hazel eyes and had a bunch of papers in front of him. Ummm... Hello Seredipity!

He had a name, but I prefer to call him Mr. Hazel. I can't remember the conversation we had word for word, but I think it went something like this:

Hazel: Awesome, awesome, saying everything that's awesome. Yadda Yadda.

Me: Laughter, giggle, blush. What do you do?

Hazel: Winning, Winning, writing a one man show, started a theatre company, winning.

Me: Totally blown away, smiling a lot, shoving salad into mouth.

Hazel: Talks about job, traveling, I work in Connecticut.

Me: I work right around the corner!

(We talk about a ton of stuff...)

Me: Talk about what I do, laugh, talk about travel. Oh, by the way I have to get back to this party...

Hazel: Yeah, I have to get back to working on what I was doing, winning, winning, awesome, totally cool dude stuff.

Me: Finishing salad, look at the time: Holy Shit it's been almost an HOUR. Sorry, but I need to get going!

Hazel: I need to get back to work, too! but we should do this again sometime?

Me: YES. Here is my number.

Hazel: Here is mine.

Me: Maybe see you Wednesday night?

Hazel: I'm really busy usually but that might work!

(We share a long pause, looking at each other.)

Me: Getting up and leaving, I think you're really cool, Mr. Hazel.

(Another long look, almost as if I have met this person before, but I haven't, that's impossible, right? Wow, he's really cool.)

Hazel: It was really nice meeting you, Natalie.

Me: See you soon, Mr. Hazel. G'bye.

I walk out of the cafe and break into one of the biggest grins I've had in a while. Yep, Picture perfect September day, in every way. Even if nothing happens after this, and I never see Mr. Hazel again, I sincerely enjoyed that whole hour of getting to know a stranger far more than any of the time spent on online dating.

In 1492 Columbus Sailed the Ocean Blue...

I did a girly wiggle this afternoon.

I stumbled upon a new notion the last 24 hours. The Idea is this: What if I took improv classes in a foreign city?

Seems simple, yes. But I feel as exuberant about the idea as the first European explorers must have felt when they realized Native Americans had no fire arms and the entire Western Hemisphere was theirs for the taking.

So: What about an improv intensive in Chicago? Toronto? London? L.A.? Yep. Yep. Yep. The only thing I need to be wary of is finding a good theatre to go to, there are plenty of really crummy theatres out there. But, I'd be killing many, many birds with one massive Gibraltar-sized rock: I'd be traveling, meeting new people, experiencing different teaching forms, and getting to know a city I could potentially move to that much better, and claim the ultimate bad-assery of being an improviser who has experience in other cities. WINNING.

Ah, but the caviot: Money. The green-backs. The oolah moolah. Especially in London... Whew! OK, so I'll save the cash. I'll scrimp, and nickle and dime, and hoard. "Here hapless Natives: take these nice blankets and I'll take all your lands as you die from disease..." Alright, I won't be that barbaric, but I definitely feel like a conqueror at the moment: and the New World is beckoning.

It's amazing to think that the planet doesn't drop off after the South Ferry station on the last stop off the 1 train at the tip of Manhattan.

I'm inspired. I'll just need to keep the girly wiggles going and wriggle my toes when I start to get impatient. The World! The Entire World! I'm 24! I'm a full day's worth of years! I'll live that full day! To the masts! Man your posts! Set Sail!

It's a W-Rap.

(A Man and a Woman are sitting in a cafe.

It is an intimate moment, a moment in which something extraordinary will occur... Will it be a popping of the "Big Question"? will the "L" word work its way to the front? Is a baby announcement in order? We can't be sure, but there is an electricity between the two people sitting in the cafe, a feeling of possibility that is only felt on very rare occasions like this.

The Woman sits up in her chair in anticipation as the Man opens his mouth to speak.)

Man: I brought us here today because there was something special I wanted to share with you, (Insert completely benign and run-of-the-mill name here, maybe something like: Jane).

Woman: Oh, (Man name, something boring and really lack-luster, maybe: Ben), I've been waiting for something like this. I've been feeling so antsy lately, so thrilled about anything that could lead me to a better, more interesting life!

Man: Yes. Now. I can't think of anything really original so, I made you a poem to really tell you how I feel.

Woman: How romantic!

Men: Yes. It is romantic. Um. It's been adapted a little from one of my favorite singers, Drake. But, here goes:

Sex, love pain, baby, I'll be on that tank Shit.

Buzz is so big, I could probably sell a blank disk!

And when my album drops, bitches would buy it for the picture of me,

and homies will buy it too and claim they got it for their sister.

Magazines, papers, girls, but money is not the issue:

They'll bring dinner to my room and ask me for initials

and you'll call me a referee because I'll be so official

and you know: my shirt has no stripes, but I can make your pussy whistle

Like the Andy Griffith theme song...

And who told you to put your jeans on?!?

Double cup love, you're the one I lean on

And I'm feeling ready for a fix so you should get your fiend on!

Yeah, you know my condo is the crack spot,

and every single show I do you are out there representing me like a mascot,

get it from the back now, and I'll make your fucking bra strap pop,

all up in your slot until I, your boyfriend will hit the jackpot.

'Cause, baby, your my everything. You've all I ever wanted.

We could do it real big, bigger than you've ever done it.

You're up on everything, other hoes are never on it.

I want this forever, I swear, I could spend whatever on it!

Woman: (Pause) Was that supposed to make me smile?

Man: I'm confused. Didn't you like that?

Woman: No. I don't get it.

Man: The message! The message is that you're the friggin' best and that other hoes want this, but you're the one I want to have it!

Woman: Oh. My. God. And you needed a rap song to say that better than what you couldn't find the words to say?

Man: It was a rap song! Now it's an adapted poem from the heart!

Woman: You are so unbelievably lame that you needed to use uneducated and badly rhymed words to tell me you had feelings for me. And, since we're being honest here, this cafe sucks.

Man: Wh-What? I had imagined this going so much better!

Woman: Well, now you can imagine this with some other girl. We're over. You're lame, your poetry is lame and this cafe is lame.

(She walks out. Man sits alone at the table re-reading his poem, as if maybe he could find some inspiration from it)

Man: (reading) You don't even have to ask twice. You can have my heart and we can share it like the last slice...

(Man picks up a phone and calls a number)

Man: Hey... Friend (with a name that is just as lame, maybe: Bob) Yeah, I read the poem and she hated it. Ugh. I feel, so... so... um, hold on. I have an adapted poem that better describes how I feel, it's by one of my favorite artists called Lil Wayne:

Man it feels like these walls are closing in, the roof is caving in,

Ugh, I guess it's time to raise it then.

Your tasing them like pages in my book of rhymes,

Got them cooking, boy this crooked mind of mine got them all shook up,

and scared to look in my eyes.

I stole the fucking clock.

I took the time and I came up from behind and

pretty much snuck up

and butt-fucked this game up...

[End.]