Showmance.

Oh. My. God. Hands down, I thought he was the hottest guy on set. He was tall, had blue eyes that seemed to change shades like the summer sky, and when he smiled, like really smiled, he had the cutest dimples ever. I would smile when those dimples came out. They were so deep I could see them from across the room.

I'd study him from afar, watching him when I didn't think anyone would notice. Not only was he super cute, but he was super nice to everyone, too. He was friendly with people from every department and hung out with everybody, from the PAs to the security guards.

And we must've been on the same snacking schedule because I'd often find myself perusing the crafty table with him. It sounds silly to say, but I cherished those moments. They were the favorite part of my day.

Sometimes, while waiting between lighting set ups, I'd "casually" maneuver myself to where he'd be hanging out. I'd strike up a conversation and we'd joke around a little bit. I'd mess around with the little knick-knacks he kept on his carts and he'd draw silly pictures on the tools from my belt.

I obviously wasn't the only one who was interested in him. One day, a pretty blonde showed up in his department. The new day-player seemed to sit up a little straighter whenever he was around and she'd try to strike up a conversation. He didn't seem to mind talking to her and together, they looked like they'd make a good looking couple. The kind you might find posing with a puppy inside the new picture frame you just bought. They looked that good together.

I passed by them on my way to the craft service table one day when I heard him quickly end the conversation and in seconds he was walking next to me. He put his arms around my shoulders as we walked and asked what we were eating that day. I brushed it off as him just being hungry and playful, but I was secretly elated that not only did he have his arm around me, but he ditched a conversation with a pretty girl for me.

Soon after that, my favorite part of the day was when we'd see each other in the morning when we got to work. His whole face would light up like he was excited to see me and he always pulled me in for a hug. And if no one was around, he'd keep the hug extra long, until it was almost like the hug had already ended and now he was just holding me. Sometimes, I'd bury my fact in his chest and just enjoy the feeling of his arms around me. It was nice. Really nice. And the best way to start the day.

Eventually, we started spending our lunch times together. Normally, everyone hates hour long lunches, but he and I loved them on this show. We'd spend the extra time just talking over cups of coffee, or we'd just walk around the neighborhood we were shooting in.

On really long days when we both were feeling kind of tired, like all exhausted crew members, we'd search for a place to take a nap. When we'd find a quiet, secluded place to lie down, we'd cuddle as we slept. Him with his arms around me and me with my face in the crook of his neck, it seemed like we just fit. It felt like we were the only two people in the world during moments like this. I felt safe with him. I felt like I belonged there.

Lunch times were now my new favorite part of the day.

It was here in one of our napping nests that he first kissed me. It was soft, barely a whisper on my lips but that was enough to make me want more. I absolutely kissed him back.

By this time, our show was starting to wind down. With only a couple weeks of shooting left, everyone was starting to talk about which project they'd hope to move on to next. Meanwhile, in our lunch time hideouts, we'd kiss, nap, and talk about our own plans for when the show ended.

I'd tell him how sad I'll be to not see him every day and he'd tell me that we'd find a way to keep what we have going, especially since neither of us had another job lined up.

"Once this show is over, I'm going to take you out on a date," he'd tell me, "So we're absolutely still going to see each other after wrap. We'll figure it out."

I'd nod in agreement, but sometimes, he'd say that almost pleadingly, and I never knew if he was trying to convince me or if he was trying to convince himself of our plan.

Time passed way too quickly and before I knew it, our last day of shooting was here. We spent our last lunch curled up in each others arms, talking about our soon to be first real date.

"So, when are you free?"
"I'm scheduled for a few days of wrap, so I'll be free as a bird by next Wednesday."
"Great," he said, "I'll be done before that, so I'll call you early next week and we'll get a plan going."

I nodded and kissed him. I could feel his smile on my lips.

A few hours later, our show ended. And a few days after that, my department was done wrapping out. And a few days after that, I still hadn't heard from him.

What we had ended up being a "Showmance." A flirtation and romance that has an expiration date that coincides with the show's. A relationship that only exists in the confines of a bubble where you're around each other 12+ hours a day, 5 days a week.

I guess he and I weren't meant to exist in the real world.

I was absolutely serious about continuing our relationship after we wrapped and for a while, I'd wondered if it was me. If I had done something wrong or off putting. Or did I just miss the signs that pointed to him being non-committal? Did he just tell me what I wanted to hear? Or did he really mean those things he'd whisper in my ear, but just not enough to last through the convenience of the show?

Whatever it was, it was obvious that I was way more in to our "relationship" than the other way around and I stopped checking my phone for messages from him. I stopped trying to figure out what went wrong. I stopped making imaginary excuses for him, like maybe he's just really busy or maybe he lost my number or maybe his text got lost in the digital ether. But the truth is, if he really wanted to get a hold of me, he could. I'm not that hard to find.

I could have been his so easily. If only he felt the same way.

And with that, I let him go. I let the show go. I let go of our hideouts, our walks, our lunch times. I let go of the stolen glances from across the room. The winks he'd send my way when no one was watching. The sweet nothings he'd whisper to me. The inside jokes. The hope that he'd finally mutherfuckin' call me. Like a dandelion in the wind, I stopped holding on to the promises that I shouldn't have believed. I let them go.

Months later, I'm digging through my tool bag and pause when I find one that he had doodled on. The Sharpie marks had faded to almost nothing, but it was enough to remind me of him, the show, and the moments we shared in what feels like a million jobs ago. I wonder if he ever thinks of us. I wonder if he still keeps those knick-knacks on his carts and do they remind him of me? Does he smile if they do? I haven't seen him since, but it's a small industry and I'm sure it's only a matter of time before our paths cross again.

Until then, I hope he's doing well and that he's somewhere smiling that megawatt smile of his. The one that makes his dimples so deep I want to poke my finger in them. The one that I realized later on, he never did around me, even when it was just the two of us.

Harassment, Pt. 3.

I was chit-chatting with a day playing grip* when he suddenly leaned in, ran his fingers through my hair, and whispered in my ear, "You're so sexy." Then, after a moments pause, he continued on with our conversation like nothing had happened. Like he didn't just creep me out. Like he hadn't just turned my place of work in to a place where I didn't feel safe.

I felt disgusted and violated, but I didn't want to make a scene. It took another couple minutes before I could extract myself from the conversation and walk away from him.

After the next lighting set up, I found myself at crafty with our On Set Dresser. I don't remember how it came up, but I mentioned to her that a virtual stranger had just ran their fingers through my hair and relayed what he had said. She was shocked.

"On this show??"
"Yup. About ten minutes ago."
"Who was it?"
"One of the grips."
She shuddered and walked away.

Sometime later, I'm sitting by myself on set when my friend the Dolly Grip comes up to me.

"Is it true?" he asked.
"Excuse me?"
"I heard from On Set Dresser that one of the guys ran their hands through your hair and said some inappropriate things to you."
"Oh, yeah. That's true."
"Who was it?"

I wouldn't tell him.

"Listen," he said, "I'm not going to make you tell me. But I wish you would. I can make sure he doesn't come back. I won't even report it if you don't want me to. He just won't get hired back. He won't even know why. He just won't get a call again."

I looked at him for a moment. It sure sounded like a good offer. But with just one catch: "How can you guarantee that? You don't do the hiring for your department."

"I'll talk to Key Grip," he replied, so sure of himself. He had apparently thought about this. "I'll just tell him not to hire this guy again and it'll be done."

Again, I refused to tell him who it was.

He started to plead with me. "Look, I can understand why you don't want to say anything. I really do. But it won't be made a big deal. No one will know why he's not around anymore. HE won't know why he's not around anymore. No one will know but you, me, and Key Grip. Again, it's your decision. I'm not going to make you tell me. But I think you should say who it is."

Again, I shook my head.

And then he pulled out his Ace. The card that made me almost tell him.

"It's not just yourself you need to think about. If he did this to you, he'll do it others. Who else will he do this to? Who else will he touch? We can send him away and he won't do that to anyone else here. If he gets away this time, he'll think he can get away with it again."

I paused hard at that one. I thought about it. I really did. I almost caved. But again, I just looked at him and said nothing.

He was frustrated. He wanted to protect me, and others, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. "Well," he said, "Like I said, I'm not going to make you tell me. But if you change your mind, just say the word. Just let me know. No one else will know if you don't want. He'll just go away and won't have the chance to harass you again, or anyone else here."

I nodded and thanked him and he walked away, back to work.

I would have loved to have called this gross, motherfucking Grip out, who couldn't keep his hands to himself. I would have loved to embarrass him and have everyone know just how inappropriate he is and how he treats women. I would have loved to have reported him to Production and watch his ass tossed to the curb, his name smeared around town as someone you couldn't hire.

That would've been great.

But that wouldn't have happened.

My friend the Dolly Grip may not have agreed with me, but I was thinking about protecting other women in my shoes. Just not in the same was he was.

Key Grip may have been his friend, but he's very "old fashioned" in many ways. He curates a "Boys Club" type of vibe in his own department, and has made a racial slur or two in my direction before, all in the name of joking around. The world may be becoming too "PC" for his taste, but that doesn't stop him from making sexist "jokes" or hiring only white males.

If Dolly Grip had asked Key Grip to stop hiring one of his guys, he'd ask why. And Dolly Grip would have to tell him that he harassed one of the crew members. And even if Dolly Grip didn't tell him who, Key Grip would still figure out that it was me.

Out of the few women on set, I was essentially the only one who had spoken to the Grip. Key Grip knows this. He was the one who got our conversation going, telling him how I've been giving the other guys hell before laughing and walking away when he was called back to set. It wouldn't be that hard to figure out it was me. Other than make-up/hair/wardrobe and the On Set Dresser, I was the only woman on set, and there's no reason for him to be around them, unlike me since he and I happened to be covering the same light.

And he'd end up sticking up for the Grip. He's think that I'm blowing it all out of proportion. That I must've misunderstood something. That his guys joke around all the time. "Are you sure she's not overreacting? You know how women can get. So he touched her hair and gave her a compliment? How is that so bad??

Plus, have you seen her? She's hanging around us grips all the time. And she hangs around the camera guys. She's always chilling with transpo, too. She just loves the attention. She obviously likes it when the guys drool all over her. So you can't blame a guy for looking. You can't blame the guy for getting the signals wrong when she's flirting with everyone.

See, this is why women don't belong here. This is a man's world. Women just don't get it. They're too sensitive. They can't hang with the boys and now I can't hire someone I've known for YEARS just because some girl is blowing this all out of proportion."

If I had given Dolly Grip the Grip's name, it would've taken care of my immediate problem, but it would've likely hurt in the long run. I'm a woman in a male dominated industry who has not seen much change towards gender parity compared to when she first started in this business over a decade ago. And while the Key Grip doesn't get a say in who hires me, he does get a say in who he hires and you can guarantee that women will get knocked further down his list. Which creates a virtual vortex for his already all male crew. If they spend all their time working with no women, what are the chances of them hiring one in the future when they move on to different shows?

Even if the Grip gets kicked to the curb, he'll still be a card holding member of The Boys Club. And while he'll still find work somewhere, other Club members who hear about this (because let's face it, guys do love to gossip) will question what the benefits of hiring women are if they're just going to come in like a wet blanket and take the fun out of work.

I'm a believer that you can't make change unless you have a seat at the table. And I'm not even going to get an invite to the party, let alone a seat, unless I play nice for at least a little bit. No one's going to hire me if all I do is rock their boat and take away their toys, no matter how good at my job I may be.

So I try not to rock their boat (too much) and in turn, I get hired. Again. And again. And again. Until I have a seat at that table and can be in a position to make some change. To hire more women. To hire less assholes. To show everyone that it doesn't have to be a Boys Club and that it is, in fact, better when it's not. To one day, have it so that there's enough women around that we're believed when we say someone is harassing us. To not be thought of as promiscuous or "asking for it" just because we're having a conversation with a guy.

I would have loved for the Grip to be punished for his inappropriate behavior and not face consequences myself (because I did nothing wrong) but that's not the world I live in (yet). But I hope it's the world that will exist someday. But until then, I need to pick my battles. Calling out one guy isn't the hill I want to go out on. I'm fighting a mountain here.







* It could've been any department.

Confessional.

I take my seat in the cramped, dark space and face forward, sliding the door shut behind me. I know he's there, but I can't see him clearly. But that's okay. I kind of like that I can't see his face. I can't see the judgement or amusement that might cross his features. I can speak freely here; unreserved. He's just mostly here to listen. In this space, words seem to pour out of me, lifting some of my burdens and cleansing a part of my soul.

This pass van was my own personal confessional booth and it was an intricate part of my existence.

I'm not sure how it happened. How it started. But I got to know one of the drivers on my show. I'd somehow always end up in his van on the drive from crew parking to set, or from one location to the next, and sometimes, I'd be the only passenger. Just me in the back. On these trips, when it was just the two of us, we'd start talking. Small talk at first. About where we're from, what part of town we live in now, if we have any siblings, etc.

Soon enough, we'd start talking about our day, and soon after that, we'd talk about the... "idiosyncrasies" of our respective departments.

On this particular show, I wasn't getting along with a few people in my department and it upset me because these were people who I got along with so well before. They were like family at some point, but now, for whatever reason, they were ganging up on me so much that even other departments would ask me why they hated me so much. I'd smile and give a polite shrug, staying politically neutral. I still have to work with these people, after all, and feeding the gossip mill is feeding the fire. So I took the high road and kept my opinions to myself.

Unless I was in the van. With just the two of us, I felt safe. I'd seen him before around other crew members, and he was always quiet, even with the boys in his own department. He was one of the few who didn't partake in gossip. He never egged anyone on to spill any and he definitely didn't spread it. I knew he wouldn't tell my secrets. He was more of a listener than a talker, and so, when I slid in to the empty backseat of his pass van, I would talk.

I'd tell him everything. Why my co-workers were turning on me. Which one started it and why the others followed. What they'd do to make my day miserable. I'd tell them about how I was blamed for equipment not being ordered when it even wasn't my responsibility to order equipment. How I'd cover for my co-workers when they made a mistake on set, yet they'd still talk shit about me to anyone who would listen. I told him the only reason why I was staying was because this job came with a promise of better things down the line. And hell, I wasn't going to leave. I busted my ass to be here. I had earned my spot and I wasn't going to leave it because of some assholes.

I told him everything, and he'd sit there in the driver's seat and just listen, not really saying much. But that was fine with me. I didn't need advice. I wasn't looking for sympathy.

I just needed to unload. And I needed someone to listen. And I needed to feel heard, even if it was just for a few moments to an audience of one.

And sometimes, he'd talk to me. Never turning around to look at me, he'd stay in his seat, still facing forward, and just talk. He'd tell me about the bad decisions he made in his life. Why he almost got fired from his last job. How he planned on making ends meet. And I would sit there and listen to him like he would for me. I wouldn't tell anyone his secrets either. They were safe with me.

Looking back, I guess it seemed a little odd, us having one-way conversations and not even look at each other. But in some ways, I feel like that's what made things easier. In some ways, it's easier to spill your guts to someone you can't see. Kind of like talking into the darkness. You can't see their reaction. You can't be judged. Not that I'd judge him. The van had became a safe space.

I was never raised with any particular religion, so I never went to confession. But for a few minutes each day, I understood why they say that confession is good for the soul. I didn't have any sins to confess, but just telling someone my problems, even it if was met with mostly silence, was enough to get me through the show. I almost went crazy from dealing with all the drama my colleagues were causing me. And I may have almost quit. But this small act was enough to keep me going.

The show, as all shows do, eventually ended and the driver disappeared to wherever co-workers go until the next time I see them.

But now, whenever I slide into the back seat of a van, and it's just me and the driver, I smile a little as I remember my own private confessional booth, and how it made all the difference in the world.

Scraping Off The Rust.

The first day back at work after some time (whether it was a self-imposed absence or not) is always a weird one for me.

Our job uses so much knowledge, skill and movements that don't really translate to every day life that I always have the fear that I won't know how to do anything anymore. What if I've forgotten how to tell the difference between a Baby and a Baby Jr.? Can I even lift an M40 on a stand on my own anymore or am I just going to embarrass myself? How early do I have to set my alarm clock again? And, the one that always always trips me up in the morning my first day back at work, what the hell goes on my tool belt??

I always get a little nervous when I go back to work because as weird as this sounds, I don't remember the feeling of work. And if I don't remember something, how am I supposed to do it?? I remember that cable is heavy, but I don't remember, in my mind, how to maneuver it so it sits on my shoulder just right. I know that stingers must be wrapped clock-wise, but I don't remember the feeling of it sliding through my fingers, or how many degrees I need to subtly twist it so it lands in a perfect loop. I remember all the steps to rig a light (safety cable, cotter/hitch pin, power it up, focus it), but will it come to me as effortlessly as it did before I left?

These are the kinds of irrational (or rational?) thoughts and feelings that run through my head before my first day back, sending the proverbial butterflies to my stomach. I understand that they're all things that are difficult to explain to anyone how to do. That a lot of it relies on muscle memory, instinct and just plain experience. Stuff that can't really be taught. And sometimes, you just have to be somewhere looking at something to understand how to do it. I mean, you can't explain to someone how to globe up an 18K unless you're looking at one, just like you can't really explain to someone how to drive a car unless you're both sitting in one. But just like driving a car, how rusty will you be if you haven't been behind the wheel in a while? And that goes double for a car you've never driven before!

But then I get to set (after setting my alarm clock ridiculously early) and I see friendly faces and familiar set ups and things seem like home again. The job starts flowing, my joints loosen up, the cobwebs clear from my head and my body is on auto-pilot once more. Instinct starts to kick in, and it's like I never took any time off. I have never once failed to get back in to the groove of things.

But lo and behold, after the next hiatus (self-imposed of not) come and goes and it's time to get back to work, those butterflies return once again...

2018.

Oh man... What to say about this year.

I've had my ups and downs this year. I've had a couple of health issues and scares. I've had family members with their own health issues and scares.

I've had days where I'm just overwhelmed with everything. Some days, things would just pile on one after another with nothing getting resolved.

I miss friends who aren't here anymore. I miss the friends I've sadly lost touch with. I miss the friends I'm too busy to see and who are too busy to see me.

I turned down jobs on shows I love and I turned down jobs with people I love even more.

I fell behind on posts for this blog.

I've been rejected, poked at, bad mouthed, lied to, mocked and disregarded.

But some good things happened this year, too.

I met some really cool people on my shows. I learned that not all actors segregate themselves from the crew. Some co-workers became friends. Some became more than friends. Some became... I dunno what.

I learned that I can survive things. That if I just focus on the task at hand and not on what the outcome may be, things seem a little more manageable and a little less scary. I've learned to take things one step at a time.

I've learned that some friendships can transcend distance. Things may not be the same between you and them anymore, but true friendships can hold strong. And it'll make those times when you do see them so much better. And it'll make you miss them that much more when they leave again.

But missing them is a good thing. As is heartache. And frustration. And pain. It's what makes you part of the living, instead of mindlessly going through the motions. It's what makes you understand art and music and poetry and writing. It's what makes you understand why Ariana Grande is more than just a pop star* with a short-lived engagement.

I've taken jobs I didn't want to take, and have grown so much from them. I stepped down from a high position to take a lower one, and in turn, I was given the opportunity to step up to an even higher one. And damn it, I rocked it. I learned that I'm good at what I do. Like, really good. (And if I'm not, I at least can put up a pretty convincing illusion!)

I also discovered I can hold my own. When it comes down to things that matter, I'm slowly learning how to stand up for myself. As I get older, I find myself less willing to put up with bullshit. So fuck off, Alphas. I'm not going to be pushed around anymore.

I feel like I'm usually pretty open to trying new things, but this year might've been more about self discovery. I've climbed mountains on my own. I went to shows on my own. I've had some pretty fantastic meals on my own. I learned that I can be on my own and be just fine. I like myself. I mean, I'm a pretty fucking fantastic person.

I also learned that just because I like being on my own doesn't mean I'm rejecting the idea of finding someone. It means that I haven't found the right person. And that's okay.

2018 has felt both long and short at the same time. I can't wait to see what 2019 has in store for me, but part of me doesn't want to let 2018 go just yet either. Or maybe that's another lesson here: I need to learn when to let something go.


Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and here's to a Fucking Fantastic 2019!



*Seriously. Watch it.

Seen At A Rental House Restroom.

Yeah, something tells me they don't get a whole lot of women in here.*




*Nor, apparently, do they expect any anytime soon.

Just. Fucking. Help.

I'm struggling to get a cart on the gate. Meanwhile, my colleague is just standing there, watching.
"Hey, can you give me a hand with this?" I ask, unable to get this behemoth of an HMi cart up on to the gate of our truck (which is parked on the wrong side of the hill, by the way).

"No. I've worked with a lot of proud women and they always refuse help."
"What?"
"They always want to do it on their own. They get offended if I help them."
"Okaaaay... but I'm asking for your help on this one."

He rolls his eyes and helps me push the cart on to the truck.

Flash forward to another show.

I'm having trouble pushing a cart up a hill. A guy stands on the sidewalk, watching me with a cup of coffee in his hand.
"I'd help you out," he shouts at me, "but I believe in equal opportunity!"

Um... WHAT?

Can someone please explain to me how watching me struggle when you'd gladly help a male colleague in my situation is considered "equal opportunity,"?? It's like slamming the door in a woman's face after you go through it because they might get insulted if you hold the door open for them.

I hold the door open for whoever is behind me. I help whoever needs help. It's called being a human being. It doesn't matter if the're male or female. It doesn't matter if they can inch that entire cart up the hill. It's easier with help. It's better with help. Fuck you if you consciously choose not to help someone who is struggling and is ASKING for help.

Every day I see guys asking other guys for help lifting, carrying and pushing things. Not once have I heard them be refused. But somehow, helping me is sexist. "Equal opportunity" my ass.