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  • Writer's pictureLeah Jones

Improv is good for the soul.

Patriautism.

I wish I’d gone earlier in the run, so I could tell you all to go to this well written, hilariously performed show. Sadly, last night was the final night of the run and this great show has come to an end. The premise–the writers took the obscure facts about our country’s history and played them out in great send-ups. The crowd cheered after every sketch. Even laughing when two guys came out in black-face–white men trying to get on the underground railroad. They are tested by Harriet Tubman to see if they are “really black.” “Four big men with big heads” featured the quartet from Mount Rushmore singing in four part harmony (or something like that) about their personality quirks that don’t make the history books. Susan B Anthony, Christopher Columbus, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Martin Luther King Jr. Nobody was safe from the writer’s laptops.

Before the show I ran into Soup (from True Pilsner) and Joe (a fellow writer.) I accidentally sat in the middle of a whole crew of Ronnie’s friends and as I was reading the program I saw Dan, who was in my solo performance class a year and a half ago. After the show, I got to chat with all of these guys. My improv friends are also good for the soul. There is nothing like attractive, smart, funny men who are happy to see you. Hooray! Who keep checking to see if you are coming to the afterparty. Well, if you insist.

So I went to the after party that Ronnie hosted where I stood akwardly next to the pool table, by the refrigerator, by the tortilla chips, by the pool table again (with my fly down), and then had to take a plunger to the toilet. Mortified.

People who know my whole Argentine story know that I have a bad relationships with toilets. Ronnie showed me his master bath–Oh My God! It is so nice. I don’t normally covet bathrooms, but he has a shower and a jacuzzi and it is the size of my bedroom. I want to date him all over again just to take a bath (not that we ever dated, but I really used to want to date Ronnie, now I want to date his bathroom). Anyway, I use the toilet–but just Number 1, mind you, and without a mile of TP. I am conservative with unknown toilets. I flush and the water does not go down. Now I am rummaging in his cabinet looking for the plunger and Ronnie knocks on the door with a couple more people, to show them his bathroom. “I’m, um, still in here.” I find the plunger and give it a feeble go, people are knocking at the door.

I open the door and tell them it’s not my fault and i have to get Ronnie. They go in and ooh and aah over the floor and the bathtub and I go into the kitchen to get Ronnie. “Ronnie, the toilet’s broken. I didn’t do it.”

Ronnie, always the scientist, demonstrates the art of plunging while I blush and reaffirm that I did not have anything to do with the toilet clogging. He is ok with it and I think is pleased I told him. After all–there has already been an incident with the Mike and Ikes and a beer falling out of the fridge. At least there is no mess here, just water threatening to spill onto the granite or marble floor.

Then I went and stood akwardly by the pool table, because watching pool is actively participating in the party–it counts. I checked the rules and then checked with Brian, cause he didn’t know anyone either. I showed him some places where I had recently stood not talking to people.

In the end, I got a few phone numbers from long lost improv friends and hope to re-integrate them into my lives. The next party, my goal is to TALK to people or wear a funny hat and make people talk to me.

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