Last night I had dinner with my friend Erin. Erin is a member of Buntport Theater Company, which I happen to think is pretty much the best theatre company around. We have known each other for a while, but had never really hung out until recently, when we were both working as actors for Curious Theatre Company’s Curious New Voices Festival (also a great company and a great program). It was Erin’s first year working with the Festival, and my sixth. (1+6=7)

I drove to Denver everyday for seven days straight for rehearsal and performances for the Festival. Erin and I hung out quite a bit during that time and it turns out: we get along really well. No huge surprise there. Anyway, Erin made the trek up to Boulder and we had pizza. The weather was nice, but we chose to sit inside because as Erin noted: “there are more kids outside than inside.” Indeed. Now let me be clear: I don’t have a problem with kids, in general. I really don’t. But I do think that sometimes (maybe even often) they shouldn’t be allowed in public. The host seated us at the seventh table from the entrance. Right next to the only kids in the entire restaurant.

Seven days ago I got up the courage to knock on a door. Things did not go as I had hoped, but I suppose they did go as I expected. I had been hoping for “yes (yes) ((yes)) (((yes))) ((((yes)))) (((((yes))))) ((((((yes)))))).” That’s not what I got. I’m still not entirely sure what I got, actually, I just know: it wasn’t what I hoped for. I drove home. I went to bed. I got up the next morning. Just like every morning.

That night, I played an angel in the Festival. My director brought me wings, large, white ones. I think I looked pretty awesome, and the play was a good one. It was about a distraught man who chooses to leave everything and everyone he knows behind in order to make a fresh start. Erin and I were in the cast of the second read-through of the play the week before, but she didn’t end up being cast in it because she wasn’t available the night of the performance; she had to go to a wedding. Over pizza she said the wedding was fun. There was lots of dancing.

I recently made a trip to Portland, Oregon. I had never been before and wanted to check it out. I love living in Colorado, but I don’t know that I’ll be able to stay here much longer. I moved to Boulder almost seven years ago to make a fresh start. In some ways it worked; in others it failed miserably. But I learned a lot from the failures. I am still learning from the failures. Portland is definitely a place I think I could live. If I leave Colorado, wherever I go will be the seventh city I’ve called home: Kilgore -> Boston –> Brooklyn —> Savannah —-> Chicago —–> Boulder ——> ?. Maybe there won’t be a seven. Maybe someone will give me a reason to stay.

While I was in Portland, I bought this card I found at a shop I stumbled into with my friend Ted:

I was drawn to it. I don’t know why. Ted bought a similar card with a red zero on it. Each card was a dollar. When I got home, I found a frame for my aqua 7 and hung it in my living room. The frame didn’t have a hanger, so I had to use these sticky things to affix it to the wall. Turns out, the sticky things are super lame. I walked into the living room seven days after I hung it, and it had fallen off the wall. Seven days later, I superglued a hanger to the frame and re-hung it. So far, so good.

Here’s some information I’m sure you’ve been dying to know: my birth card is the 7 of clubs. There’s also a lot of 7 in my numerology, primarily Soul, Personality, and Maturity. Supposedly, “The number 7 is the seeker, the thinker, the searcher of Truth. The 7 doesn’t take anything at face value — it is always trying to understand the underlying, hidden truths. The 7 knows that nothing is exactly as it seems and that reality is often hidden behind illusions.” Also worth noting: “There is a dry, usually misunderstood sense of humor to the 7.” Oh man, is that ever my plight.  I am not, in fact, an asshole, jerks. I’m just hilarious in a way most people couldn’t possibly understand. Oh…wait: “the 7 can be cynical, verbally abusive, arrogant and oblivious of the pain and suffering of others. They can be cold-hearted and cruel, showing a lack of empathy. Other people’s problems simply don’t interest them. They are exasperating know-it-alls and just plain inconsiderate. They can be selfish and anti-social.” Okay. So I’ll work on that. I can totally overcome that part of my numerology. Probably. Maybe.

Erin and I escaped the din of the pizza place, which eventually seemed to fill with unruly children, and had drinks downtown. She told me a very, very funny story that would be inappropriate for me to post on a blog. How’s that for cruel, suckers? Suffice it to say, I have not laughed that much in a while, and I really needed to. It still has me cracking up. Maybe someday, Erin will tell you the story, too. Perhaps on a Sunday, in July.