(Comedy) Walk of Shame…(or, Why I need a mute button)

Ok, so sometimes I screw up. I make a tremendous ass out of myself, and generally when I do this, it’s in a very public manner.

Yesterday was an epic example of this.

Last night I was asked to guest on a podcast to help promote the comedy show I’m performing in tonight. It was my first podcast, and I wanted to help out my friend that arranged the show tonight.

I didn’t know what to expect when I walked into the recording studio. The host introduced himself to us and offered us food and drink. My friend casually asked him how large the listening audience was. I was expecting a smaller number, like a few hundred. The host casually answered that the last podcast had sixteen thousand listeners.

HOLY SHIT.

I could feel my anxiety attack starting. I tried to slow my breathing…too late.

We sat at our microphones and the host began asking us questions about our lives…I opened my mouth and verbal diarrhea came out. I entered a fugue state…I was rambling…they all began staring at me…which only made me more nervous…I began rambling even more…it was awful…we cut to a music break and I discovered that there was a person standing behind me–the reason (partly) for some of the stares. SHIT.

I became even more nervous…I started talking about my family…and for some reason told the story of how my “Marital Aid” was mistaken for a possible bomb by TSA at the airport–in front of my children–and taken out of my suitcase–in front of my children–all of this for an audience of possibly SIXTEEN THOUSAND PEOPLE. My husband will be so proud.

At one point we switched to a trivia contest…names were tossed about…my mind went completely BLANK… I tried to punt… I was clearly sounding like the village idiot…AWESOME….

I’m fairly certain that I am now a comedy pariah and my friend is wishing like hell he hadn’t asked me to be on his show tonight.

SIGH.

So tonight, instead of hiding under my covers, crying into fists of tissue, continuously reliving every horrible moment of my public humiliation, I am going to pull myself up and just deliver it on stage.

Someday we will all laugh about this.

Ha.

For now, just learn from my mistakes. Be prepared. Don’t take “Marital Aids” with cords and batteries in your carry on bags. Possibly bring a public relations handler with you if you are prone to attacks of verbal diarrhea in public.  Pick yourself up and keep fighting the good fight.

Peace all.

You might be an asshole if, episode 5

I was going to write about my plans for the year. Instead, I have to write about today’s asshole encounter.

I went to the salon to have my hair colored and cut…a process that involves a lot of foil, to the point I could be used as an emergency satellite dish. It also looks like I’m trying to block the CIA from reading my thoughts. It could go either way.

Anyway, this guy sat down in the chair next to me and began talking to his stylist. She looked like she had suctioned her lips in a small glass cup to make them bigger, like the cool kids are doing. Whatever. They started talking, and I started listening to the dramatic story of his life and divorce and blah blah blah…

He went on to say how he and the newest love of his life were trying to have children but it just wasn’t happening yet. The fish lipped stylist asked why? Is there something wrong?

And then he said it.

The asshole said, yeah–she has the problem–she can’t get pregnant.

Way to go, dickhead.

He went on to blame her celiac disease…it was all I could do to keep from punching him.

I predict another divorce in his future. Call me psychic.

I have never personally had a problem with infertility, but I have friends that have… and the struggle is shared by both members of the couple. This dickhead was placing the blame on her…without support.

Wow.

On a positive note, I was able to follow through on my personal resolution to try and say kind things or keep my mouth shut if I couldn’t, and not punch dumb asshole’s in the throat.

OK,  I just added the second part.

I hope all of you have a happy, healthy year, surrounded by those you love.

Peace all.

 

Still Winning (or, The Blob,part 2)

There has been a lot of activity here… last week I had a friend use my camera to take a photo of me to use for my headshot. I needed one for my stand up comedy promotions. I really really really hate getting my picture taken. Really.

We went outside, it was freaking cold, as it is December in Michigan, and the wind was blowing. Awesome. My eyes began tearing immediately, my nose running, my hair flying all over, so I looked like Medusa with a severe sinus infection.

Out of the thirty or so photos she shot, I narrowed it down to one. As I looked at it, I became once again aware of these goddamn wrinkles under my eyes.

WTF.

I am (vaguely) aware that I am getting a bit older. But (son of a bitch) when did all of these assholes decide to move in and put up freaking condos on my face???

So I did what any other slightly hysterical, not willing to admit she was aging, woman would do.

I went to the store and bought some fairly expensive wrinkle shit and slathered it on. All over my face, my eye area and my neck.

I awoke this morning to discover that it had worked…especially well on my neck. A small miracle.

Please prepare yourselves for some heavy sarcasm.

I looked in the mirror this morning and nearly screamed. My neck now looks like a goddamn turkey’s. It is red and blotchy. Apparently they were serious when they suggested that I test that cream on a small area. I thought they were just erring on the side of caution, and I was in a wrinkle panic.

It looks like I am slowly being strangled by a red blob…which is threatening to take over my face.

Mighty damn sexy.

The good news–now you don’t even NOTICE my neck, eye, or face wrinkles. The glow from my neck completely distracts the vision from that.

So in that sense, I suppose, this expensive shit worked. Still WINNING here!

On this note, I am off to the gym…to face the stares and field the questions…I think I will say that I was visited by a demon in the night that tried to strangle me… and that only my SUPERIOR FORCES OF GOODNESS managed to keep me and my family alive.

So there.

Peace people.

 

 

The Turkey Trot

Happy post Thanksgiving everybody. I enjoy the holiday as I get to spend time with all my children. It is a lot of work, with all the cooking. We make pretty much everything from scratch, and the kids help out. It’s chaos in the kitchen.

When we finally sit down to eat, I’m exhausted. I have a couple (or three) glasses of wine–hey it’s a holiday, and I generally end up with a mad case of the giggles from fatigue and alcohol.

Afterwards, when the dishes are finally washed up, my daughters and I go shopping. For the record, I believe that businesses should be closed on Thanksgiving. However, my daughters are not home all that often, and this is one way we can spend time together.

It is also a way I get to embarrass them in public.

Anyone that is a parent knows that this is an essential parenting skill, passed down from generation to generation. It’s tradition. It doesn’t matter how old the child is-my oldest is 27, my youngest is 12-we parents must uphold this time honored tradition as a means of keeping our sense of humor, our sanity, and of keeping our children in line.

My parents embarrassed me terribly. One of their favorite things to do was to pick me up in their motor home (good bye to my college money…hello to their travel dreams…) in front of my junior high, which was embarrassment enough. But not for them. To add insult to injury, my father, in a flash of comedic brilliance, installed a musical horn. Those bastard parents of mine would begin playing it–over and over and over–to announce that they were there to pick me up. Judas Priest. I wanted to freaking die. The look of complete insane happiness on their faces when I angrily stormed to the door, yelling at them to stop, for the love of god, stop playing the horn..I swear they had horns growing out of their heads.

It was absolutely brilliant and I am considering getting such a horn now to torture my own children with.

Since I don’t have one I have to do the next best/worse thing. It is well known that I will break into dance ANYWHERE. I must admit that this (blank) Christmas music does cut into my groove. SIGH. However, there are a few holiday songs that have a beat, and hey “Santa Baby” is a bit sexy, and well, after a few drinks, I’ve been known to slink a bit to the song. There are some stores that buck the holiday music thing (Hallelujah!) allowing me to fully get into the music. To say that my children are less than amused would be an understatement. WHICH IS AWESOME.

I will put on silly hats, I will talk to strangers, telling them that yes, that sweater looks either amazing, or sister, no, take that right off and try that one over there. I give unsolicited advice. Shopping on Thanksgiving is one big party, as most of the people in the stores are also buzzed (one lady approached me as I was trying on a sweater, and started asking me questions–she thought I was an employee–she was clearly very drunk, and I was like “DUDE! I don’t work here!” We cracked up and I pointed her in the right direction…)

We were standing in line, around 1am, and I noticed all these small children. Toddlers and babies. I loudly said “Who brings small children to a store at this time of night?” My oldest daughter punched me, and pointed out that directly in front of me was a couple with an infant in a stroller… I started giggling… oops… guess I shouldn’t have said that out loud… but really, who does that???…

Finally, my oldest daughter broke and scolded me. She told me to straighten up and behave. I convulsed into laughter, collected myself, and told her that listen, it was late at night, I was overly tired, I had wine on board, and that we were having fun. I said that she needed relax and learn how to have more fun.

I think if you’re going to drag me out shopping all night long, you kind of deserve a little public embarrassment.

I also want all of my children to learn to have fun. To be silly, to be lighthearted, to laugh maybe a bit too loudly, to spontaneously dance, to sing along with the car radio at full volume.

They don’t know that as I was doing all of this during our shopping expedition, I was thinking about my sister in law, dying of breast cancer. My best friend’s son, who nearly died on Thanksgiving a few years ago. My good friend, also recently diagnosed with breast cancer. My good friend who just lost her brother. My friend who just lost her husband. My friend who’s son is very ill.

They don’t know how fragile life is. They don’t fully understand how quickly it can be taken away.

We need to laugh while we can. We need to love while we can. We need to dance while we can.

And be thankful each day for those we love and the ability to do all of those things with them.

Peace people.

 

 

 

Scary Stuff…(Happy Halloween…)

Dear gentle readers, I was going to write to you about my vacation with my children to Orlando.

Instead, I feel the need to tell the tale of this very scary Halloween…

I took my autistic son, dressed as the Joker (of course) up to the elementary school in our neighborhood for the Halloween party tonight. The weather here in Michigan is crappy–rainy, cold, windy….trick or treating is not good. The party is the one thing that makes up for it, pretty much every year.

I arrived at the party and my son began gorging on donuts and cider. My younger son strolled in with the neighbors. All was good in the hood.

Or so I thought.

The photographer approached us and my son asked him what he was dressed as. He replied that it was a winged suit. What it was, in fact, was a base jumping suit–hand-made with plastic tarp.

He proceeded to inform me that he actually sold these suits on a website for much cheaper than a “real” suit “as let’s face it–the end result is the same.”

Ummmmm

I said oh, you mean that they are jumping to their death???

He replied yes, and this was a much cheaper alternative.

Holy shit! (y’all!!)

I suggested to him that he have a link to life insurance on his website….as a potential kick back. He said didn’t think that base jumpers could be insured…perhaps mortuary services?? I said that he might be on to something….

It’s not ghosts that I’m afraid of.

It’s weirdos like this.

Weirdos that want to profit off death, and are employed around young children.

None of the other parents picked up on this creepy dude’s creepiness. AWESOME.

I wanted to scream “there is a man in a hockey mask–and he is taking your kid’s picture!!”

The potential creepazoid was cleverly disguised as an everyday photographer.

Well played, freak. Well played.

I’m totally using this in my act.

Happy Hauntings.

Oh my burning eyes…(or, No- no you may NOT share that story with me. )

I must have one of those faces.

You know, the kind that says, why yes, total stranger at the grocery store…it’s absolutely acceptable for you to tell me your entire life story. Starting at your conception. Or, yes, please, tell me about your uncle/cousin/aunt’s cancer/growth/wart that grew/was cured by god/was treated by vitamins.

My favorite stories are the kind that also have visual aids. In the form of photographs.

In this day of social media and cell phones with cameras…one would think that ADULTS would have better sense than the tweens/teens that are sexting.

Apparently not.

Last week alone I was having a conversation with a female friend…when she casually said hey, look at this…pulled out her phone…and showed me a picture of the guy she was casually dating. It was a head shot. And not from the neck up. HOLY SHIT. I did not react (because, remember, I had been an ER nurse, and it takes A LOT for me to react…) but I thought JUDAS PRIEST (not the band..) what the hell is wrong with people????

She wasn’t done with her pictures of him…I was slightly horrified…but laughed it off..and I pray I never run into him (after I finally was shown a picture of his face…)

Last night a male friend began talking with me about the dating scene.

Fuck (is what I thought..)

Apparently, he did as well…

As he began to show me all the pictures of the women he was either dating or had dated…their poses on the dating site…

Ummm…ladies…just a suggestion…

If you don’t want a guy like my friend showing your “cleverly positioned body in lingerie draped across a bed” to just anybody…maybe don’t take these pictures to send to just anybody???

Or maybe they just don’t care???

I commented on one picture of a woman in her underwear, taken with her phone in the bathroom mirror (given no points for originality by me…) My friend said that this was sent AFTER they had gone out…because that makes this oh so much better…

I suppose that fact that we are friends made these people feel free to share their soft porn with me.

Sigh.

Either that or I just have that kind of face.

People…keep your clothes on if a camera is around..unless you are a big Hollywood star. Seriously.

Now to go and try to burn these images out of my mind…

Peace all.

You Might Be An Asshole If, Episode 4…

In today’s episode of You Might Be An Asshole…we find today’s total douchebag disguised as my (newest) pool service dude. You may remember when I had a previous pool guy come out (Sexist Dude) who asked to speak with my husband…(umm…why??? Because he needed to tell him what was wrong with the pool heater…).

On Monday night I had my dining room window open. This window is directly next to our now infamous pool heater. I walked into the room and smelled gas. We ran outside, turned off the heater, shut the window, and called the gas company. They came out and found a small leak, tagged it and said to call the pool company (again…).

Today pool dude number two showed up. He checked out my heater, had me give him my Windex to use for the gas leak test, and then proceeded to tell me that what I had been smelling was…wait for it…carbon monoxide.

Wait, what??

I said, umm, carbon monoxide is odorless…thus it is called the silent killer…

He all but called me “Sweety” and explained that no, carbon monoxide does indeed have an odor.

I again attempted to say that I was fairly certain that it was in fact odorless, and that exposure to it would cause your cheeks to become cherry red…and before I could continue he cut me off and again explained that carbon monoxide does have an odor and THAT’S what I had been smelling (Sweety).

He fixed (supposedly..) the small leak in my heater…signed the tag from the gas company and left.

I won’t bore you with the call I made to the pool company….just suffice it to say that it was COLORFUL.

And I am considering having t-shirts printed up with my catch phrase “This is fucking bullshit” to wear and shoot out in one of those shirt cannons, should I ever go on tour. Just saying.

You might be an asshole if you are a dumb ass that is supposed to know how to fix a gas leak, and don’t know the first thing about gas.

Idiot.

In the meantime… the window remains closed…and I am going out tomorrow to buy some carbon monoxide detectors.

And maybe some wine. Sigh.