Day 58: GrandMama Mia…

Hey there adoring fans (Mark Parsons)!

The Story.

Last Wednesday afternoon I laid down to take a little catnap to recharge for the night ahead of me. However, instead of  visions of sugarplums and a shirtless Ryan Reynolds, I drifted into a full blown panic attack.  My heart was beating out of my chest, I broke into a cold sweat, and my mind started to run a mile a minute.  In case you’ve never seen what a panic attack looks like, I’ve reenacted exactly what one’s body goes through in this video…it’s pretty graphic so you may want to sit down before watching.

 

The source of this panic attack: an improv show.

The reason for panic: I would be performing with our brand new improv troupe, Tainted Minds for the very first time in the show that night.  Side Note: We chose the name Tainted Minds mainly because we hadn’t thought of anything better, and we could then transform it into such phrases as Tainted Minds think alike, or Tainted Minds of over matter, or Tainted Minds: Special Victims Unit.

The justification for panic: 1. We were slated to perform smack dab in the middle of  two amazingly funny troupes that had been doing improv together for years. 2. Dozens of new improv students were sitting in the audience, improv students that were eager to see what great improv looked like, and to see how amazing our company was.

The Result of panic: My brain went into irrational snowball mode. I was going to be horrible in the show…which was going to ruin everything that I had been working on with my improv company that I loved so much… which left me with nothing to to do with the rest of my life…and reminded me that I had no monetary plans for retirement…which lead me down that long dark road of being an 80 year old hobo-waitress.

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The Solution: I needed to go for a long walk.  I’ve been reading Steve Jobs’ biography, and when he wasn’t being a dick-waffle, he used to take long walks to ponder, and I definitely could use a ponder.  I grabbed Ruby and headed to Central Park.  The sun was setting, and in between the heart numbing thoughts that being terrible in the show tonight would lead me to being poor, alone, and homeless, I glanced up into the setting sky.  It was absolutely beautiful…and absolutely heaven.

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Which brought me to The Mufasa moment….

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Side Note: While I was editing this photo, my roommate Abby walked in and asked me why I was looking at a butthole.

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To be fair, it did look like I was looking at buttholes…

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But I wasn’t looking at buttholes (and I would really appreciate it if my computer stopped auto correcting buttholes into buttonholes…how often do people use the word buttonhole anyway?  Surely butthole is a more common phrase…I digress)  Because right then and there in the middle of my panic attack, I looked up to the sky and felt the presence of my Grandma.

Back story: my Grandma Hilda was an awesome southern lady, who made great soft shell crabs and was only occasionally racsist.  She passed away last summer at the ripe old age of 85 after raising 3 awesome sons and 4 awesome grandkids).

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What I remember most about my relationship with my grandma was that it was fun.  And I don’t mean that in the lightest sense, I mean it was really FUN!  She was like the perfect partner in comedy.  She’d set you up for amazing jokes all of the time without ever knowing it.  Plus, you could poke fun at her and she would fall off her easy chair laughing, then when you weren’t looking, she’d tell a zinger about you (usually about being a baby nudist)!

The Revelation: Since, I was on the straight train to panic town, I decided to give reach out to her with one magical word…”help”.  The experience I got next was wild.  There was no “Things will get better…” or “I’ll protect you from all that is bad…” or “Take down your power hungry uncle and you can have your Kingdom back…”

I heard simply this….

“Why are you so worried?  I’m not worried about you.  You’re the person I don’t have to worry about.  You’re fine.  You’re always gonna be fine.  Now lighten up, pass me my afternoon cocktail, and let’s have some fun!”

The Resolution: The panic immediately faded and my body filled with happiness. I hopped on the train with my newfound boost of energy, and headed down to rehearse with my troupe before the show.  When I got to the theater, I ran into my troupe member Emily, who said this (and I’m not s*itting you…I hadn’t even had a chance to mention my Mufasa experience to her yet…)

“Hey Sarah!  Is it cool if we change the name of our group?  Tainted minds reminds us too much of taints…we were thinking of just calling ourselves Grandma.  What do you think?”

I don’t know why Emily chose Grandma as a new troupe name, but I air high-fived Hilda and agreed that it was indeed the perfect.  And our troupe GRANDMA thrived that night…because Hilda was right, there is no need to be worried.  I’m fine.  I’ll always be fine.  Now pass me my cocktail and let’s have some fun.

The End.

 

I’m back!

Hey there adoring fans (Allison Hammer)!

Bumps in the road.  The reason that I haven’t written a post in 3 months is due to a very bumpy road.  It involves standing up to douche-bags, quitting a terrible job, losing all of my money, gaining 10 lbs, finding a new job, sucking at said job, borrowing money from my brother, taking a trip to see my best friend’s wedding dress, going to another friend’s baby shower, wondering why it is that I’m nowhere near being a grown-up and whether or not I’m ok with it, gaining another 5 lbs, choreographing a children’s production of Tarzan (loved), death of my Grandma (not loved), given money from another friend (which I’ll totally pay back), co-producing a workshop to help women, being reminded of the good things in life, sucking less at my new job, feeling better about myself, doing some improv shows, and having an afternoon off to come back to what I love.  Writing this silly little blog about making my life better.  I’m back.

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A few days ago my friend Holly was introducing me to someone and said, “Oh Sarah’s hilarious.  And a really good writer.  You should read her blog.  Sarah, tell them about your blog.”  And what did I do?  “Oh, I haven’t written in a while, don’t read it.  I need to update it but I haven’t written in months and I feel like I need to make my comeback post amazing and I can’t think of what to write about.”  This person who I didn’t even know (or maybe it was someone I knew…I was a little foggy that night….from the 10 beers I drank…ok fine…it was 11) said, “Why does it have to be big.  It’s just a blog.  Just write about anything.”   They had a point.  There’s like 15 of you out there that read this thing (including my parents…and they go to church so they have to love me), and there’s millions of blogs out there.  And then I started thinking about the whole Men in Black sequence at the end of the movie when there’s a Universe living inside some cat’s collar, and then they zoom out to planet Earth, and then zoom out more to some galaxies and then zoom out even farther and it ends up being 2 aliens playing marbles with all of the galaxies which showed how insignificant we all are in the grand scheme of things which made me think that if I wrote a really boring and shitty post after not writing a post in months then who the Hell cares?….and then I youtubed that clip so I could post it because I don’t really have any pictures besides the one above that was taken at an improv show in the middle of winter to share and you’re supposed to have media in your blog so that the 15 of you will read it instead of clicking the x at the top of your screen and moving onto porn…except for my parents who don’t watch porn because they go to church and love me…

So, instead of writing something new for this post.  I’ve just copied and pasted my blurb from the Improvolution newsletter I wrote yesterday.  I’ve been writing the newsletter for a few months now, and I got some lovely feedback from this one and I really like it.  So here it is….

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Funeral…

Hilda Hicks lived a wonderful almost 87 years.  She was my grandmother, and she passed away last Sunday.  It was a very sad day for my family, but for my brother it was a step in a new direction.  You see, my brother has social anxiety that has crippled him since he was a teenager.  He does not speak to new people, he often paces the room in social settings out of nervousness, and for a very long time he had trouble even making phone calls to order pizza.  He’s seen a therapist, and has tried different medications that have helped a little, but still he is very uncomfortable when around more than one person.  Until last week.  After my grandma died, I met my brother in Baltimore and we drove down to Virginia together to be with my family and attend the funeral.  During the wake the day before, we all met with the Pastor to discuss what was going to be said at her funeral and was asked if a member of the family would like to speak.  Of course everyone turned to me, as the actor/dancer/improvisor, and I volunteered to say something as all of them played the “I don’t do public speaking” card.  Then the Pastor asked if there were any special prayers or poems that my Grandma had been fond of.  We all thought of the same prayer that Hilda had hanging cross-stiched in her home for 60 or so years and my mother half jokingly to lighten the mood said my brother could read it.  We thought nothing of the comment until we heard the words “OK” from the side of the room where my brother had been pacing.  We froze.  My father asked him if he was serious, and my brother replied, “Yeah, I can do it.”  This is the part where I should mention that a month before any of this happened, I signed my brother up for an Improv 101 class in Baltimore.  He had mentioned in the car ride down how much he enjoyed the class and even went out for a beer with his classmates once (which never happens) and I could tell that my plan of using improv to help his social skills was working.  The next day at the funeral, I gave my prepared speech about how lovely my grandma was, how much I was going to miss her, threw in a couple old people jokes for good measure, and then introduced my brother to the congregation for his prayer.  My whole family wiped the tears from their eyes as my brother stood at the podium and read aloud to 50 or so people, the prayer that my grandmother had loved for all of those years.  I’m not saying improv was 100% responsible for my brother’s courage that day, but I am betting that it was 99.9%  I know my grandma was proud looking down on my brother and how far he had come, and I know my brother was even more proud of himself.  I hope you all enjoy your day today, and if you still have a Grandma, give her a call.  I’m sure she’d love to hear from you 🙂

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You’re newsletter supervisor,

Sarah
                                                      

So there it is.  My first day back in the saddle.  Not too painful.  Now, off to continue to make life a little more awesome!