Marry Your Baby's Daddy - The Musical I could hardly sleep last night, what with all the excitement buzzing around Marry Your Baby's Daddy Day! In the middle of the night, I'm pretty sure I heard Roger sneak in and take cookies. I'm gonna putter downstairs and unwrap the forced commitment now.
Failure Pt. 1 There are lots of reasons behind my general failure in life. I don't want to simplify things or point fingers, but ALL of them have to do with being raised as a Jehovah's Witness. Frankly, being raised in a cult that told me Armageddon was coming any day now, probably next Tuesday, was more of a mindfuck on par with a bus full of electric Kool Aid and Phish fans. The imminent destruction of the society you live in doesn't inspire a lot of preparation for the SAT or warm boots for next winter. I still don't have dental insurance. Being shielded from every member of society except the 84 people who attend your Sunday meetings doesn't do much to broaden your horizons either. Although I can't imagine we would have had much in common with people who didn't get our jokes about how the wicked are soon to be destroyed in a maelstrom of heavenly fire. I mean, if you have to explain it... Yes, I'm overly sensitive and socially awkward, but have you ever met any Jehovah's Witnesses? Imagine how your firm handshake and winning smile would have fared if those were the only people you were allowed to talk to during your formative years. Imagine if instead of telling you to do well in school and eat a balanced diet, the advice your parents gave you was: "Birthday parties are a sin." and "Any jewelry bought secondhand will be posessed by demons." One day, I came downstairs to find my mother smashing a paper bag on the kitchen floor with a hammer. The bag contained a copy of "Night on Bald Mountain" which she had just discovered was about a, as she put it, "powerful demon". She carefully collected every last bit of record into a plastic drug store bag and threw it in the trash cans, under the side porch outside the house. We were never allowed to watch Fantasia again. This is the way I stepped to the microphone on Sunday night - the strong women in my life on their hands and knees on a kitchen floor, breaking demons into black vinyl shards and neatly fitting them into plastic bags from CVS. I read straight from my notes, not daring to impress or be anything I am not. I wanted only to be myself, to be the sum total of all my experience.
On a completely unrelated note... I am utterly enthralled with my new import copy of Buck 65's 'Secret House Against the World'.
Three weeks and two antibiotics later... If I'm going to be sleepy and hazy for three weeks, there must be better drug to do it with than "Z-Pack". Never trust an antibiotic with a nickname.
Ain't Ain't been writin' none lately, mostly I'd rather just
keep one arm twisted up backwards
hand bobbing up and down
from your shoulder to your cheek
at such an awkward angle mostly I like rolling over,
nose to nose with all the blankets rumpled up
between us, Mister Gorbachev, tear down this wall Haven't been writing or thinking about much
only lying on our stomachs, feet up,
ankles crossed Patty Duke on the phone style We speak our secret language, like all lovers do,
like all good lovers ought to do
I returned from the bathroom to find Erik, head down, intently arranging rice on the now-cleared tablecloth. "What are you doing?" "I'm making a bird." "You're drunk." "No, I'm just... warm." "No one looks up from a tablecloth full of rice and says, 'I'm making a bird' and isn't drunk." "Good point."
Once again, Saturday Last night, we each had a glass of Merlot and shared a mushroom saag. We were so tipsy from the wine that the conversation turned to... How I would reform the UN. Before you think it was just I who was retard-tipsy, I would like to preface this with: Erik asked me. (Spoken far too loudly in Raj Gate on Queens Boulevard: How can you have a charter and have no consequences for members who disobey it? WE CANNOT HAVE ANOTHER RWANDA! Oh, um, yes, it was delicious thank you. No, we're still snacking on that. Check, please?) To think, I used to drink straight vodka till 3 AM after Christian Finnegan's Gershwin Hotel show. Now my liver is like a shiny, pink baby.
Blah blah Why do I need an ATM card to get into the bank lobby on the weekend? Can we all agree that pretty much everyone in the world has the capability to get into a bank and leave the doors open for easy customer access (read: I am holding a slippery ice coffee)? Is there a thief somewhere who is foiled by not having an ATM card? - "Damn! I would totally mug that bitch if only she wasn't encased in glass! It's like a crazy Superman prison!... If only there were some way to get inside where the magic-money-machines are." Someone told me it's because they don't want homeless people sleeping in the lobby. I thought every bank had a security guard... A ruddy-faced copper with a gigantic flashlight and a flask in his pocket, yelling in Cockney accent: "What's all this fussin' here now? Aye, there bettar not be any hooligans afoot here or I'll rap ya one, an' I've got tha Lard Baby Jesus on me side!" My blog is all about tackling the tough questions and transcribing Brits.
Splenda all mah money I don't understand when someone is eating dessert and they say, "Here I am I'm putting Splenda in my coffee while I'm eating cake! Cake for gawdsake! Splenda and cake!" As if that is the most illogical thing in the world. Yes, you are already eating cake so you don't want to add more calories on top of the cake. And? That makes perfect sense to me. I have never seen someone putting sugar in their coffee complaining that they're not eating cake. "Sugar in my coffee, but no cake! Today is super fatass day and I forgot to stuff my fat ass with cake! Poo!"
Linktomyboyfriendheiscute Erik Seims, y'all! http://erikseims.blogspot.com/ Linktomyboyfriendheiscute, okay?
I'm sorry, 2004 Bush takes responsibility for US failures surrounding Katrina. Tells nation, "I'm sorry baby, I swear! I aint never gonna hit you again, girl! I'm just a man, I'm just made of fleshes and bones, and sometimes girl, you get me so dang MAD! No! See, there I go again! I said I'ma stop... Girl, next time we have a hurricane, I swear, I'ma make sweet, sweet love to you alllll night. Yeah. Like that."
Who wants pie? There's a bakery on 2nd Avenue with a sign that says, "Life is Short, Eat Dessert First." Thanks, dessert. I don't need a cupcake to remind me of my own mortality. That's why I eat dessert. To calm the constant conversation with death. How is this a good ad campaign? And while enjoying one of our sweet, homemade confections, be sure to remember that your city is a major terrorist target. Go fuck yourself, delicious cupcake.
almost did standup Erik and I went to an open mike last night and put our names in the hat which looked suspiciously like a coffee can. After I rubbed Purell on my hands*, Erik was drawn 22nd and I was drawn 33rd. 90 minutes sauntered by and the first nine performers had said hello. Two people read excellent pieces on 9/11 in the same night, which I imagine is a historical precedent of some sort. Then it was 10:30 on a Sunday night. I didn't sleep more than three hours because sometimes you find that your eyes keep writing the scripts to horror movies even though your fingers are on the braille of romantic comedy. Your eyes twitch. Clench your cheeks tight up and you can recreate REM, or get lockjaw. I may as well have stayed at a bar and read my stupid jokes off a stupid piece of paper. I may as well have shot my load at the moon. I've decided I want to do standup where most people don't do standup, where the audience will just as soon listen to poetry about auras and knickerbockers and metaphors for the sky. Something anonymous. That seems nicer, more like rolling downhill in a soft barrel for no reason other than the barrel looks soft. *Public pens. A den of virii.
This history All this history that we happen to be living through. All this Pompeii. I know 30 years from now it will all be part of a timeline in a high school history book. Someday a parable. Someday a story to tell your grandchildren, see, we lived through this time when people were comfortable and had TiVo, and suddenly someone took advantage of that and we watched it on our TiVos. FEMA turned back truckloads of water? Cut emergency communication lines? Buses sent back? A levy breach is only getting fixed for a photo op? Walmart brings supplies before Bush does. Why is the government seemingly systematically and purposely letting people die? What the fucking fuck fuck is going on? So much blood on those hands, out damn spot is just a whisper in a pretty dream.
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