It feels so good it must be bad

Last night I engaged in one of my favorite activities. Because I usually do this in the car or with a complete stranger over the phone, I was thrilled to do it with someone I know.

I got in a shouting match with someone from my acting class. And it felt so good.

After work, I had exactly 45 minutes to brave out both the 405 and the 101 en route to my acting class. I don't fare well with traffic. In fact, I become quite hostile. Yes, a revelation in deed.

Thus I was already in a bitch of a mood when I came to class. And to my chagrin, I'd be working with Ryan, the creepy new guy. He and I engaged in what I consider to be one of the worst exercises of my acting career. Our improv exchange, which is supposed to remain simple and free of logic, became bogged down by Ryan's inability to grasp the basic fundamentals of our class. His statements ranged from the bizarre ("You are just a redneck that doesn't take anyone seriously") to the annoying ("I am going to mimick you"). The exercise ended with us shouting at each other, followed by Ryan declaring, "I hate you, Chase, you're an asshole!"

This, however, is not the screaming match to which I am referring. The above screaming match was in the context of the improv. The next one was not.

The teacher wisely told us to stop. He then praised my work (of course) and told Ryan to work on responding honestly, not with the intention of instigating. Good old Ryan decided he would throw in his two cents and critique my work.

"I understand what you're saying," he said with the condescending tone of a fat girl's sorority social chair. "But I can't work with people who give me nothing."

During our critiques, both actors remain on stage. The teacher addresses us as the rest of the class watches. Most critiques last two to five minutes and rarely involve responses from the critiquees. I remained calm (albeit with a look of death on my face) and did not respond to Ryan. Until he said...

"My problem with Chase is that he misses the point of the exercises. He gets intellectual and indifferent."

You could have boiled water on my face. My look of anger did not go unnoticed.

"Uhm, excuse me, but why do you keep making that face?" the diva asked.

"Oh? I'm sorry! I thought I was smiling!!" I replied. "I love it when amateurs blame their bad work on me." Spoken like a true pacifist.

The teacher tried to quell this debate. But Ryan wouldn't have it.

"Amateur? Oh...my...God. Don't even. I CAN'T STAND working with you, you're nowhere on my level."

"Yeah, thank God for that. I'm not on drugs."

"See, this is why I can't work with Chase. It's just...tick tick tick...he's always thinking of some bitchy reply."

"You say the most bizarre, inappropriate things during the exercise! How could any sane person assume those stupid replies are good?"

(Granted, I would never use the word "good," but I was shaking and the mental thesarus wasn't working)

"ENOUGH!" commanded the teacher.

"I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong," said Ryan.

"You would both benefit from not being so defensive," said teacher.

"Okay, thanks, but that doesn't answer my question," said the diva.

Not wanting to be center stage for the other impending shouting match, I returned to my seat. The next 10 minutes consisted of the teacher and the diva engaging in an argument that, clearly, the teacher won. I sat back and glared at Ryan with my other classmates.

I hope to God I don't have to work with Ryan again. I'd love it if he quit the class and, you know, died or something. However, should my evil hopes not be realized, I hope that our next encounter follows another sojourn of mine down the interstates of Los Angeles...interstates that inexplicably put me in what can only be considered the worst mood of my life.