Patrons

Dear Mousy Brown Haired Girl Eating With Your Mother Or Aunt,
   Thank you for recognizing me, thank you for saying nice things. Sorry I was kind of bitchy. Sorry I possibly walked away while you were still talking. Its just that I was slammed on the patio. And that obviously was not my section you were sitting in, I was just dropping off your food, and checking to see if you needed salt/pepper/hot sauce/ketchup. I just didn't have time to chat. And sometimes when I'm busy like that, I sort of forget that I'm a Neo--Futurist. I mean, its stored on a completely different shelf, sealed up tight with the chili peppers and the lemons. And, furthermore, I'd be lying if I said my Neo--Futurist feelings haven't gotten royally complicated, and a bit sad. Nothing permanent, not really, I mean, I wont look back with utter disdain or anything. No, that's not it at all. The opposite. It saved my life. I figured out how to write. I realized I have opinions, and that they can be released from my mouth, and not my pores. I got a class, an eight week class, in which I am the teacher. That's huge. And that's only the beginning. Not to mention the people. The people paralyse me with love. Just love. Pure love. The real thing. The kind that constricts your air passage. Jesus love. Foot washing love. No! Not you! Not the audience. Fuck them! The ensemble. The people doing this with me every week, the blood. The terror. The cheesy love circle before every show. The tours across the country. The bulk containers of potato chips. The dropped lines. The homemade props. I want to kiss their eye lids. My favorites are T--Rex, and Sticky, and Angela. They've also moved on. Angela had a baby and is looking for jobs in Ohio, Sticky went to Montana with her boyfriend, and T--Rex went to Los Angeles to follow the heart of clown. I miss them like a dumb lyric in a pop song. I want to tare my shirt off, and stand in the rain. I think about them all the time, and its so weird that they're so scattered. Its like the end of summer camp. And the newest generation of Neo--Futurists are killing ass nails out of the park, and I had so much love casting them, and now I feel like I'm abandoning them. You know, I have issues. And now I'm about to sit through a whole other casting session, and these people I wont get to work with a lick. So, that's weird. And furthermore, there are things I regret that I couldn't, for one reason or another, accomplish, or even try. Like, I never produced a full length show, and I never took on a leadership role. That seems to be a pattern in my life. I'll work on that. I'm young. I'm 30. I got cast when I was 24. Now I'm 30. I'm young, but I do feel just a little older than I once was. And 11:30pm is so flipping late, such a weird time to call places, and also so unbelievably hard core. Its a lot to let go of, but its also time. As hard as it is, I'm still doing it, confidently, I want to do this. Roosevelt, look out bitch, I'm from the south side!

(Egg head, you suck. If I had the time, I would slander your name. You're lucky I'm a busy person.)

See Mousy Brown Haired Girl Eating With Your Mother Or Aunt, I just didn't have the energy to get into it. But, yes, I am a Neo--Futurist. Yes, you did see me in Too Much Light......Thank you so much, it really makes my day. And thank you so much for supporting live theatre. We couldn't do it without you.

Yours Truly,
Skin & Toast & Dumps Above Funeral Homes & What I Did In My Twenties

PS: You pay at the counter, bring your number up to the register.