[Originally published on Bloody Underrated]
One of the words most often used to describe me is "driven." I've always thought it was strange. Like, who's doing the driving here? It's right up there with "gifted." From whom am I receiving gifts? The implication is that it's somewhere inside of me: This drive, these gifts. Apparently I have the compulsion to go fast, passing others by, getting to places most people never reach, all in a vehicle presented to me by Fortune.
I imagine it with a huge red bow on top, like car commercials around the holidays.
In reality I do drive myself mostly, in my 2004 Toyota Matrix. Her name is Trinity. (She's a Matrix. She's very pretty. And I'm a SciFi nerd.) She's been my car for over 10 years and has taken me across the
twice, up and down the West coast twice, and even
to Forks and back once. (Because in addition to being a SciFi nerd, I also went
through a Twihard stage. USA TEAM JACOB!!)
Trinity has been my runabout for lot of missions. I've driven her to
, where I toured a winter with the Idaho
Shakespeare Festival, playing Rat in The
Wind in the Willows. After 115 shows in 85 days, lots of Super 8 Motels,
and some extremely precarious driving in the snow, Trinity and I survived the
cold. I bought her new tires as a reward. Boise
I've also driven her to
, where I performed Medea Knows Best, a mash-up of the Greek tragedy and Leave It to Beaver-esque television
shows. I stayed above a porn shop on Castro and 18th, the heart of the gay
neighborhood, where you could tell time by the multiple bars' nightly ear-splitting dump of glass beer bottles into the
recycling containers. My billets hosted a weekly Pesto Party for the
polyamorous community at large to meet new people. I was once mistaken for a
newbie and learned quickly to stay away from home until very late on Thursday
nights, sometimes taking Trinity for a drive down San Francisco streets and hoping there'd be a parking space when
I returned. I bought her a bejeweled pink crown sticker for her window to
remind us that we were queens among queens. San Francisco
My first Canadian Fringe with one of my solo shows (The Ukrainian Dentist's Daughter) was the Victoria Fringe in 2011. I live in
, so I just drove Trinity up the state of Seattle and took a ferry to Washington . I drove to my billet, introduced myself, and then
threw on hot pink lipstick, gold eye shadow, and the awesomest retro prom dress
What I didn't take into account was that my dress for the 80s prom themed party was tight. Very tight. Which looked killer standing up, but made driving... difficult. When a new friend walked me to Trinity at the end of the evening, he very pleasantly chatted with me outside my vehicle, fully expecting me to give him the cue that I was leaving by getting inside the car. About 20 minutes later I told him, "I actually can't get inside until you leave because I physically cannot sit down without hiking my skirt up around my waist." To commemorate that trip, I bought her an antenna topper of the Canadian flag.
Trinity is my Millennium Falcon. She's badass, dependable, and you wish you had one.
This tour I am Trinity-free. I first performed in Chicago, then Orlando. Now I'm off Montreal and Winnipeg: all very far away from
. I left Trinity in the care of my boyfriend Mark,
a great driver who loves that I have a Seattle sticker on my car window professing my dream alma mater to the world.
Last week Mark called me in the middle of the day saying he had bad news. He'd
been in a car accident. Starfleet Academy
All I cared about was that he was okay. It's a bit overwhelming how that was all I cared about, how I was so ready to drop it all and fly back to
if need be. And he was totally okay, thank our
lucky stars. The other driver was totally okay. Trinity, though, was not. Seattle
I know that Trinity is a car. It's a hunk of metal and burning fossil fuel and a few nerdy stickers. I completely understand that I am personifying it throughout this entire blog and that liking your car is not "cool" or "green." That said, my car's potential demise sent a lump into my throat. It has been a constant in my life for over 10 years. I care for it, I invest in it, I trust it to get me and my passengers where we are going safely.
Trinity did her duty. She protected her pilot. She sacrificed her hood, her headlights, her bumper, and her radiator. Trinity has kept me safe on my journeys for 10 years. Now she kept Mark safe in an accident. I couldn't ask for anything more from my trusty runabout. Thank you, Trinity.
You know, it was never complete when it was just her and me. With the addition of my co-pilot Mark, we are three—we are Trinity. She's in car hospital now, getting a little work done. She'll be in there for a few weeks, but she'll come out good as new and ready for our next mission. This baby's got a few surprises left in her, sweetheart.