Slumber Party Sisters

A few week's ago I got a really cool invitation in my email. One of those Paperless Post invitations where you have to click the envelope open and the neat little paper invite flies out. I love getting these invites because they're usually from my friend Krista who throws the best soirees. And I knew this one would not disappoint. The invitation said come to a Women in Entertainment Slumber Party (but we wouldn't be spending the whole night, just like when you were too little to stay away from your own bed the whole night). It told us to wear our PJs, to be prepared to watch and talk and enjoy the night. And so off Angela and I went...

We headed to Beverly Hills Friday night in our modified PJs (yoga pants, long sleeved tees, etc.) and left our car with the very fancy (and free!) valet at the super secret screening room. We headed in and immediately I thought, "This is Hollywood."

Twenty five of the comfiest recliners stadium seating-style. Cup holders. Angela's feet didn't touch the ground. Swanky! And all donated by another awesome Woman in Entertainment. Soon the room started to fill, other ladies dressed down and excited to be on this Friday night. We chatted, met new people, exchanged stories and cards, and then quickly settled in. Of course our hostess with the mostess had thought to make goodie bags filled with candy and cozy socks and water bottles and hair ties and notebooks and pens. We giggled and laughed and unwrapped Starbursts and swapped cookies. And then the evening's entertainment began. Krista had invited all of us to submit short films, web series, standup routines, anything and everything we wanted to showcase. About half of the women in the room had something to contribute. (I didn't this time but fingers crossed for next time!) We settled in to watch and I have to say, I spent the entire night completely entertained. After each viewing Krista would ask the woman who's project it was to talk a little about it, and we asked some questions. It was all at once a very intimate portrait of the artists we all are in this circle of friends and also, a fascinating peek at what it means to produce said art.

Our three hours in the theater came and went quickly. We took the sock and group photos before leaving, realizing that although many of us were strangers before the night began, that we were leaving as friends in this crazy business and life we've chosen. It's nights like Friday that give me strength and hope, that prop me up and remind me that I'm not alone in this city, that I'm in fact, not all the different from so many. And I love that. I love that it only took a slumber party, and some shared Starbursts, to remind me that in everything I do, I need sisters. Slumber party sisters.

Through the crack

Angela came home Monday, splayed out on my bed across from me at my desk and said, "Your blog was sad."

I can't dispute that. It was sad. It was sad to write. It was sad to think about. The last few weeks have been incredibly sad. And so, my writing has been sad. (Side note: I'm writing a new half-hour pilot. A comedy. Work's been great lately, thanks for asking.)

So when my friend Krista asked if I wanted to go to a comedy show with her last night, I immediately said yes. Yes to getting out in the world. Yes to hopefully laughing. Yes to the funny.

And funny it was. We ended up at Largo at the Coronet, a theater 10 minutes from here I know well, at something called "Come to Papa Live! with Tom Papa & Friends". In the vein of an old-time radio show, it was 90 minutes of funny. Some moments funnier than others but overall, a very good 90 minutes.

The best? When Matt Damon came on stage and did his impression of Matthew McConaughey. There was a moment during the sketch, at the beginning, when I was like, um, yeah, this isn't going to work. And then? HE SOLD IT. It was hilarious. And I wish I could remember the woman's name who stood next to him and did an impression of Owen Wilson with a perfectly scrunched up face. She was gold.

We got a short set by Zach Galifianakis which was funny, and slightly uncomfortable, which really is the best that Zach Galifianakis is. There were sets by several other stand ups who I wasn't familiar with and don't really need to experience again, but hey, a laugh's a laugh. And then there was the middle set by comedian Nate Bargatze. I hadn't heard of him before last night but seriously? From second one, he had me and the entire audience rolling with laughter. Every single joke landed. Every story was perfect. At one point I was that sitcom cliche where I had to take off my glasses to wipe away the tears. I am not lying. I'll be watching for him to do something else soon.

There were little commercials and a few other famous guests (Nick Kroll was great) and then the evening was over. Perfectly perfect was the ending where they brought out a birthday cake and sang to the host, Tom Papa, with Matt Damon grabbing a mike and swearing to god that the singing gorilla they had ordered hadn't showed up. A great laugh to cap a great night.

So, all in all, a little laughter into my life turned out to be a good thing. A little light shining through the crack that has emerged despite all the sadness and disappointment of the last three months.  Here's hoping there's more of that to come.

I also smile...

This photo was taken on August 1st, 2009 at Scott Niblock's 40th birthday party. It was an amazing night filled with the best of friends laughing, dancing, telling stories, drinking, eating, there might even have been some cigars passed around. It was one of those summer nights that's perfectly warm and dark and filled with music and the sound of every person you love all around you. It was also the last night the world was okay.

This photo sits in a black frame on the bookshelf in my living room right at eye level where I can see it every day. It's one of my favorite pictures of these three. Mom #2, Dad, Mom #1. It's a picture of the best of friends. Of family. Of people enjoying the hell out of life surrounded by the people that make their worlds go round. Their childhood friends. Their children. All they needed in life was right there in that backyard.

This was just over five years ago. I can remember the night so vividly. And yet, the next day, even more so. The next day I sat on a couch in my parents' house and listened as my mom told us that Mom #2 had colon cancer. And I remember for days after that, feeling as if the world had suddenly gone blurry. As if nothing, and everything, made sense.

The diagnosis was 18 months. The reality was over five years. For that, I guess, you say you're grateful. For that you say, praise God. But in reality? No.

I sat in my living room in Los Angeles a couple of years ago and listened to my writers' group read aloud a script I'd written about a female arson investigator in Detroit. I listened as the story finished and they read the last two scenes and the lead character said the words I've written above, "That was the last day the world was okay." In that sense, I've tried to process this for years. I've tried praying and loving and caring and ignoring and screaming and crying and nothing works. Nothing prepares you for the idea that someone you love, someone who loved you, is now dead. Gone.

There are pictures all over the house of her. There are thoughts and smiles and happy memories. And then there are days like yesterday. It was All Saints Day in the Methodist Church. A day to honor those who have gone home before us in the past year. And as I woke yesterday I just knew I couldn't step foot into that sanctuary and light that candle. I couldn't say her name and be okay with it. Because it's not okay. It's just not.

It's life. I get that. Life goes on. I get that. But as I sat here at my desk this morning, thinking about that night five years ago, my heart broke all over again. And I don't know what to do with that. I don't know how to go on with the day. Except. I do. Except. I have to.

I have to get dressed and fire up the screenwriting program. Send the emails and put the mail out. Eat an egg and thumb through the paper. Open the door and let the sunshine's warmth touch the house.

I have to. I know I do. But I also know that the world is not okay. That my world is forever different. That my mom's world and my dad's world and my sister's world is forever different. And Lord, don't get me started on sister #2 and brother. My heart beats so loudly it will surely cave in on the sound of itself.

The photograph will sustain me. There is nothing in the world that can hold me up more than the thought, the remembrance, of those times we spent together. It wasn't time yet to light a candle. Not for me. It wasn't time yet for me to be able to do so without oceans and oceans of tears. Those needed to be rolled out at home yesterday, in bed, silently. And that's okay. I know that. Because frankly, it has to be.

Grief is horrible and terrible and soul sucking and lonely. It is also beautiful and uplifting and enlightening and the best and the worst reminder that we are not alone in this life. Never.

Today I grieve. But I also laugh. I cry. But I also smile. God gave me an amazing family. An amazing life. For that, and for every single moment, I am grateful. Even if the moments are cut short.