Chicago: Take Two

The greatest lesson I have learned since my transplant to Chicago is this: We may become victims of our circumstances, but we never have to stay victims of our circumstances. If we persevere, we can overcome most anything. But first, an explanation of my four-month absence:

Shortly after my last blog post, my character was unjustly attacked by Bee. Do you remember Bee? The, up until that point, kind old lesbian who let me rent a room? Well, she turned out to be a crazy. She told me that I was "the original party girl," and that I was going to end up getting all of our stuff robbed because I had a boyfriend... Tough to follow? Yeah, I thought so, too. It all came down to her being upset because when I cleaned the bathroom, I didn't clean it well enough. Does the connection between those two things make any sense to you? No? That's exactly right.
Moving forward a couple more months. I have been doing my best to clean extra. I not only clean up after myself, but I find myself following behind my other roommate and making sure she hasn't left any messes around, because I have a building anxiety that Bee will blame me for anything. It is now the week before Christmas, and I am miserable. I miss my family and my friends. And, because of Bee's new crazy rules, I can't even see Rickey on a steady basis. WARNING: This is where my life becomes a terrible Lifetime movie subject. Bee sits us down for a roommate meeting, which I was told was going to be about her extended absence over the winter months, when she spends most of her time at her cottage in Michigan. Suddenly, she is taking out half a dozen liquor bottles and telling me I need to move out. Her liquor is watered down and clearly the only explanation is that Rickey and I are both thieving drunks. Never mind the fact that he and I don't drink liquor, and when we have wanted to have a drink, we have always brought wine or beer into the apartment ourselves. And never mind the fact that since that liquor was purchased in 2009 (she labels everything she buys with a date), she has rented to numerous other girls, many under age and unable to purchase liquor for themselves. She tells me that I have two days to get out. She also pulls out a list of my family members' names, phone numbers, and home addresses, threatening to call them all and tell them what a mess I was making of my life. She tells me that she's already talked to the landlord (later I learned that was a lie) and he will call the cops if he sees Rickey on the property at all. She tells me that she's also talked to our old roommate (I soon learned that was a lie as well) and told her what I had done, so I couldn't start bad mouthing Bee on Facebook. At this point, I am completely panicked. On the one hand, I know that neither Rickey nor I had taken anything (even if it was him, he was never alone in my apartment long enough to consume that much. And even if he did have the time. . . I'm not a moron. I would notice if my boyfriend was suddenly drunk), but on the other, I have absolutely nobody to go to, anywhere to go to, or any money to get there. I am absolutely panicked that I am going to be homeless in Chicago five days before Christmas. But wait! Oh, the Great and Gracious Bee is willing to make an agreement. If I write out a formal apology to both roommates for being such a massive fuck up, and if I agree to pay her back for every bottle of liquor (she had already looked up the prices = $125), and if I agreed to never have a visitor over (even mutual friends could never be my guests. They had to be the other roommate's guests.  And there goes Andrea visiting me next month...), and if I agree to stay at least until April, then I don't have to move out. But if I break any of these rules, I don't get two days to pack. I am out that day. But, the Great and Gracious Bee won't make me pay for her two missing earrings - which is so kind of her, considering I have never even seen the inside of her bedroom.
And so that's where I have been. Stuck as a prisoner in my own home. Not knowing who I could trust - who would believe me. And momentarily letting myself believe that maybe Chicago was right about me, and I was a horrible, wretched person who steals and lies and sleeps around. Oh wait, No I'm not! I'm me. I'm Kalah. I'm kind and my life is full of wonderful, beautiful people encouraging my dreams every day. They know who I am. They have seen me at my best and worst. Not this controlling, lying, bully. And so I began to make changes. I wouldn't be able to move out without a security deposit, and there was no telling whether she would even hand that over if I stayed through until April. I needed to make more money. So I got a nanny job. And then I needed to move so my life wouldn't be so miserable after I left work every day. I wanted to get out before I would have to give Bee rent for March. On February 28th, Rickey and I went early to look at a place. Got the keys, rented a ZipVan, packed my things in a record 1 hour, and left that pit of despair behind. If you ever wondered what freedom looked like, it is this right here:

And now we live in a neighborhood called Albany Park. I am pleased with it because it puts me closer to work and we are mere blocks from a pretty good Thai place. Our roommate is best described as Dan Armerding, if Dan were heavily medicated by every pill developed for overactive children. He's a lighting designer, which delights the theatre nerd inside me to an immense degree. The stress level in my life has decreased by about 1000% since moving, and I no longer cry every night. So all in all, things are looking up. Other factors in my life that are the opposite of soul-sucking include:


My Boy:

Two great guys

Rickey Eugene Kessinger. He has been the only thing keeping me from crawling back, drenched in tears and shame, to Seattle. He has talked me into giving Chicago a second chance, now that I no longer am suffering under the control of that C U Next Tuesday. He has encouraged my writing and turned me on to good books. He does my laundry while I'm at work and scrubs the tub so I can take a bath after a long day. And he has stopped drinking crappy beer since meeting me. So, really, I think we are a win-win for one another.







My Job:
I get to hang out with two cool guys all day. That is literally my job summery. They are both excellent, super smart, very respectful kids. And such positive attitudes! Finn just turned four and Owen is fifteen months. Man, they are cool kids. My day pretty much goes like this: I show up and we play for two hours. Then snack. Then play some more, go to a class or the library, lunch. Owen naps while Finn and I play quiet games. Then snack. Then Owen wakes up and we all play for another hour and I go home. BAM! And, here's the zinger: I get paid to do this!

Owen. So, so bundled.

Finn and the zoo, two of my favs.

So all that is to say: If your life is shit, just work to make it better. This has been Kalah Mazac, reporting from Chicago. Over and out.

Six Month Anniversary

Today marks my sixth full month as a Chicago resident. Can you believe it? The heat has fled, the leaves are on the ground and I've settled in to my first Illinois autumn. True, it's only been half a year, but I can already tell that Chicago will always have a piece of me. Literally. I'm having my gallbladder removed next week.

I'm going to take a moment here to recap on my Chicago extravaganzas thus far. Come along, will you?

THE FRIENDS:
Chicago's got 'em, and I took 'em. I have been extremely blessed with the most absurd group of friends, and continue to find some real gems. From coworkers to classmates to mere strangers, I have managed to gather quite a lovely collection. I have friends willing to drive me to the E.R. in the middle of the night, or drink some champagne in the middle of the day for no needed reason. Good people out here.

THE WRITING:
Classes are becoming more and more of a challenge, but isn't that the point? I'm finishing Writing 2 this week, with two satires and a parody (if my creative juices will allow it). And into Writing 3 the following week - which will put me almost half way through the program. Holla! But more importantly than the writing, I am meeting some absolutely outstanding people. People whose brains work in ways I cannot even fathom. I love these surroundings.

THE BOY:
Yes, Chicago has given me one of these, too. He is funny and he is a weirdo and his name is Rickey. He will probably start writing classes at Second City soon and be much better at it than me, with his English degree and his super brain. But I'll look past this, because my heart is so kind and his face is so handsome.

THE JOB:
It's the worst.

And that about sums it up, folks. Six months and living the midwestern dream. GO BEARS!

"It's all for you, Damien."

Okay, let us sum up my current situations. But first, Disclaimer: I am currently medicated, so mind the gap.

The spawn of the Devil is currently residing within my gallbladder. I think he's put up shelves and hung some pictures. That hurtful little bastard thinks he's sticking around for a while. But I've got news for you, Damien. Come October, and with it my health insurance, eviction is inevitable.

I blew my knee out Monday night. I don't want to get too detailed, but if you're dying for an explanation you can Youtube a dance move titled "the cat daddy," and combine that with me in my kitchen at midnight, listening to some very uncat daddy tunes. But this time was far worse than any other knee blow out, so despite being uninsured for twelve more days, I hobbled to the ER for the second time in a month. Good grief. My doctor, who will henceforth be referred to as The Medical Man of My Dreams, was very kind and very sympathetic about my financial binds and blah blah blah, I'm having trouble maintain a thought long enough to complete its sentence... Anyway, I've now got a pair of crutches, two bottles of ibuprofen, and some pain killers, which will henceforth be referred to as My New Best Friends. And with the help of My New Best Friends, instead of having a wobbly knee that feels like a constant throb and stab, I now have a knee that feels as though it's perpetually in that weird state of when a body part falls asleep, but right before the little needles go to work to wake it back up. Am I making any sense here?

So I've been thinking . . . You ever see that Stephen King movie, Misery? Remember when Cathy Bates breaks his ankle so all he can do is lay in bed or write? Well, since I can't even get onto my bed (it's a loft and involves climbing a painter's ladder), and my book has gone missing (I'm trying my best not to flip out about that), all I have now is my computer. Perhaps the cat daddy is my Cathy Bates, and now I have no choice but write. Get it?

And now our favorite segment: More Things Chicago Has Taught Me:

• Don't take your book to a sports bar. The bartender will confiscate it.
• The Emergency Rooms in this city are far, far less terrifying in the middle of the day on a Tuesday than they are at midnight on the weekends.
• Not every park has tables. Plan your picnics wisely.
• Words words words. I can't think anymore.

Well, shoot. I can't write with My New Best Friends! Looks like it's just going to me, them, and all of these Boy Meets World reruns.

Not Dead Yet!

Welp, this is Chicago.  I have some friends, found a few favorite restaurants and bars and am generally always aware of which direction I'm facing.  So all in all, I'm a Chicagoan now.  Holla. It's been a tad past four months, and I've, for the most part, set up shop. I have regular patterns in life here with work, friends, and classes. Ah yes, classes. Remember those? What I came here to do?

I finished Writing 1 a couple weeks ago. That's right, I am $300 poorer, but oh, what I have to show for it! Eight weeks and five scripts later, I have solidified the proper spelling of my name, learned correct script formatting, and now unwillingly possess the detailed knowledge of what would happen if a human being were to take a shit on the moon. So, Writing 1: check.

Writing 2 I just started two days ago. It's a Sunday afternoon class is a room much smaller but also with far more comfortable chairs. Already, with just the leap from Writing 1 to Writing 2, we've begun to separate the quitters from the desperately dedicated. Walking into the tiny, dim room, I got my first real taste of the minority roll I'll be playing in my ideal line of work. In a class of 14 people, I am one of three girls. It's like stepping through the SPU looking glass. Everyone seems to already know each other, coming from the same Writing 1 class. But that's cool, because I know the instructor from my Writing 1 class. That's right, Kalah's only friend is the teacher. Fifth grade all over again. Winning.

I look a bit of an outsider here...

Friends!

Friends: They're wonderful. I even live with one now! She moved in a couple months ago, and it's been most swell, indeed. They're fun people who I know care about me. I know this from the very bottom of my heart. But . . . I've seemed to have left said heart behind, leaning on one of the many sloping sidewalks of Seattle. It's been very hard for me, recognizing that life goes on without me, and realizing that I would rather be there for that. Of course I'm not going to throw in the towel so soon, but that hasn't stopped me from vividly daydreaming about moving back to Seattle. To what? Be a barista from the rest of my life while all my darling friends become more successful at being adults. That'd just be weird for everyone, wouldn't it? Anyway, to make a long story shot (I won't even try to delve into my egg white / egg yolk theory here. It'd just be an incoherent mess without the proper diagrams), I've been very sad lately. I just cried, right before writing this. I'm talking, uncontrollable sobs. And the real upsetting part of that is that I can pinpoint no real reason why. It just . . . happened. I have a leak somewhere, I suppose.




Anyway, here are some new things Chicago has taught me:

• Try to avoid riding the train when severely ill / severely intoxicated. There are no trash cans to deposit one's vomit, nor is there any emergency stop button. You're in a tube in a tunnel full of other humans. Please don't put anyone through that.
• Dim sum is not ever good. This is a personal preference, but a lesson I've learned nonetheless.
• It is legal, and even encouraged, to bring your own alcoholic beverages to about 40% of all Chicago restaurants. And it's pretty awesome.
• Wisconsin is very close, but still not as close as you'd think.
• Don't go to a standup show unless you're prepared to clap, like, 80% of the time. If you don't, you're just going to look like an asshole. And more importantly, they need that, man. They're like Tinkerbell. If we don't clap, their ambition and livelihood will shrivel up and die. Brave souls up there. Brave souls.
• Friday night in a Chicago emergency room is surely one of the innermost layers of hell. I found myself wedged between a drug addict screaming threats in Satan's voice, and a kid who CUT HIS FOOT OFF. There was no foot left. So please, lets all do our very best to stay out of those Chicagoland ERs.
• For the right price, you can have pretty much anything delivered to your doorstep.

So, Chicago. I'm sure it will start to get better as soon as it lets up being 180 degree with 190% humidity. Yeah, that'd probably lighten my mood quite a bit. And, you know, if I'd just stop complaining so much and write some more.

Second City for the First Timers

Once upon a time, in the greenroom tucked under the SPU theatre building, I heard two very important words for the first time in my life.  Trittany Bipton spoke that fateful duo, "Second City," and set my destiny-ball a'rollin'.

Saturday with be my first class, and today was my orientation.  I got to pass under those stone-faced arches and into that original stage that first premiered itself in 1959.  Holla!  There's really not much to say that would interest many - it was just your typical, run of the mill orientation.  The artistic director walked us briefly through a general outline of Second City as a theatre and then we broke up by program where the head of the writing department outlined the different stages and course information.  Also, this building is like a labyrinth, with dozens of ramps, escalators, and stunted staircases between you and wherever you're trying to go.  So, that was tons of fun for my hangover . . .

Really, I'm just writing this to express, again, how extremely thankful I am to finally be here.  Thankful for my friends and family for all of their phenomenal support, thankful for my two years worth of tax returns that eventually financed my move, and thankful to God, for giving me an ambition and talents that pair so well, as well as an undeserved degree of extreme confidence.

In conclusion, the best sentence from said orientation: "Take the work seriously, but don't take yourself too seriously."

Real Quick Base Touch

And the winner of The First To Journey To Chicago To Check Up On Visit Me, goes to . . . (drum roll here), Laura Goodwin, everybody!  That's right, acclaimed playwright, raging feminist, Xena enthusiast and my bestie for the last five years, Laura will be receiving the prize of an average lifetime.  Escorted by yours truly, she will wander the streets of the Windy City in a somewhat guided part tour, part "where are we?" thrill ride, ending every night with an exciting game of Lets See If We Can Make It To A Neighborhood We Won't Get Shot In Before Dark.  But seriously folks, it's gonna be a good time.  Bestie, make that jet fly faster!  Tomorrow can't get here soon enough.

So, just a quick update to let my Northwesterners know I am still living that Chi Town dream.  Let's see here . . . There are no Freddy's.  That's a bit weird, but certainly no loss.  Any everyone is a lot more hush hush about pot out here, which is surprising, since hard drugs still seem to be the toast of the town.  What else . . . Michelle Obama drove past me.  So that happened.  Umm . . . Oh!  A girl is transferring to my Starbucks who is virtually me, for lack of a better descriptive lead in.  She moved here from another state for Second City, where she is currently in two shows and going to graduate from the writing program in July.  I still can't figure out if this is encouraging, or distressing.  But, in any case, her name is Meg and she seems very nice and so I'm excited to work with her.  And on an unrelated note, I've recently been informed that the image of most Northwestern states as it stands in the majority of midwestern minds, is that of desolate places, populated by crazy ranchers, unstable hermits, and unibombers.  Bravo.

The season finale of SNL upset me to my core.  I am not, nor may ever be, ready to talk about it.  So please don't ask.

I'm sorry to disappoint, but that pretty much sums it up.  Well, that and the library here is awesome.  They appear to have everything, including free passes to all the museums and zoos - the benefits of which shall be reaped by the aforementioned winner, my bestie, in the next five and a half days to follow.

It has reading owl gargoyles, for cryin' out loud!

I mean, am I right??

Oz, Lincoln and Rachel

Yesterday, I had a day of such wonderful Chicago exploration that, at one point, I was so happy I almost cried.  Call me lame if you must, but this is the truth.

First, I took a bus to Oz park.  Frank Baum, The Wizard of Oz's author, was from Chicago and so, naturally, there has been an entire park erected for his literary achievement.  In the park is a play area for children with a yellow brick road, a lovely garden, and statues of all the characters, such as this:

This:

And these:

Then I walked briefly through the neighborhood of Lincoln Park.  And let me just tell ya: I thought I lived in a nice place, until I saw Lincoln Park.  I want to go to there ... and never leave.  Walking down any little street, you see such adorable things such as this:

I would have much better things to show you about Lincoln Park, but I forgot my camera and had only my phone to take pictures with.  Guess you'll all just have to come and see for yourselves.

Soon, I arrived at the Lincoln Park, which is an incredible park for many reasons.  Some of these said reasons would include Formal Garden, which is Chicago's first public garden, dating back to the 1700s and styled after the French gardens of the time.  Another amazing thing is the Lincoln Park Conservatory!! 

Oh my gosh, it's like nothing I'd ever seen before.  Walking in and around, it felt more like a weird obsession made possible by a crazy old billionaire than something that would be so openly available to the public.  If it wasn't for the heat, I guarantee that my mother would find a way to live in there.  Room after room was filled with the deep scent of wet soil and exotic ferns and flowers and fish and even a display of carnivorous plants.  How freaking cool is that, right??  There were grand pops of color like this:

And things I thought could only have been thought up by the great Dr. Suess, himself:

And, just in case you need yet another reason to be in love with Lincoln Park, they have a free zoo.  Oh yeah, you heard me right.  We're talking lions, tigers, and bears (bringing it back to Oz Park, now). Incredible buildings and animals and a carousel.  All on the house.  I'll tell you, after spending one day in Lincoln Park and getting to see so much without spending any more than my $2 bus fare, I'm not minding the higher taxes so much anymore.

You know what else is great about Lincoln Park?  It has a giant statue of Grant.  And Grant Park has a giant Statue of Lincoln, because they were delivered to the wrong parks long, long ago and just never got switched.  Fantastic.

Lost Grant!

Misplaced Abe!

                                      

Then I went to the beach, and walked around the park more, got lunch and ended up across the street from Second City.  Well, look how that all worked out.

I mentioned earlier that I was so happy that it almost made me cry, and I'd like to try explaining that a bit better.  We grow up hearing fairy tales and the closest we ever get to experiencing them in reality is maybe a trip to Disneyland, which can be great.  But yesterday, it was sort of like I had been given proof that all those tales I loved as a child really exist.  Growing up in Idaho, I would see these beautiful old buildings in films and television, but only there.  I had romanticized them without ever really getting to witness them.  I'm no Ted Mosby, but it would turn out that I am a bit of an architecture nerd.  I just cannot get enough of these beautiful buildings.  Buildings that were individually designed and hand-crafted, long before the days of suburbs and posh uniformity.  Even the simplest of apartments, mine included, hold such unique and beautiful traits and it kind of gives me chills to think about the history that these brick walls and stone-carved gargoyles have seen.  And I am just so thankful that this city had the common sense to rewire and update the plumbing and install air conditioning in order to allow these structures to remain useful.  And I'm not at all talking about the Willis Tower, because I'm still annoyed with their ridicules pricing.  Especially after I got to enjoy a beautiful conservatory and amazing zoo for free.  Rude, Willis.  Rude.

Oh, and I met Rachel Dratch the other night at The Second City.  Here's a blurry snap shot of me being all kinds of creeper all up on her.