My mother just passed away and I had to go to GA for her funeral. It was very hard, but very strange, as well. I felt like I was the star of some coming-of-age indy film about the freak who goes back home to deal with the death of her cold and distant mother and her estranged redneck family. It was very surreal and I will share with you some of the highlights.
First, Delta Airlines does not have a bereavement discount. I did not know this until I paid for the one-day notice airplane tickets for two from California to Georgia. Actually, they do have a bereavement discount, but only for Alaska and Hawaii. Don’t they know that people die in all 50 states? What is so special about Hawaii? At least if someone dies, you get to go to Hawaii! I had to go to Georgia!
So, I got into a fight with the funeral home. That’s right. You heard me. At my mother’s funeral, they gave my daddy a package to take home. When he gets it home, he opens it up and it’s the bill.
So, when I got back to California, I emailed the funeral home and told them I didn’t think they should give the bill to the family at the funeral. I suggested they mail the bill to the family. Every other business in America can mail a bill, why not them?
Then, the woman from the funeral home writes me back a mean email! She said it’s not a bill it’s a “statement” and they are required to give it to the person responsible and WHY DON’T I CALL THE FUNERAL HOMES IN LA AND FIND OUT HOW THEY DO IT. WTF? Oh no you didn’t bitch! This is who they send to deal with the grieving people?
I wrote back, “First of all, you can call it whatever you like but a bill is a bill; second, I understand that you have to give it to someone but not at their wife’s funeral; and third, I watch Six Feet Under and you ain’t fooling anybody bitch!”
The funeral itself was very religious, which was so not my mama. She was a very controlling woman. She was never a WWJD kind of gal. Unless it was What Would Jean Evans Do? That’s her name.
My favorite part is that everyone I talk to keeps saying, “Oh, your father will probably die now.” What? My daddy is only 60! “Yeah, but that’s what happens. The wife dies then the husband can’t bear to be without her and he dies, too.” Please, stop helping!
At the funeral, my brother Eddie kept saying to every person who walked up to me, “Be careful. Everything you say to Bobbie can and will be used against you on stage.” It was cute the first 100 times. Then I started thinking maybe he was pissed about something. Then I realized none of my brothers were really talking to me. Hmm. Do you think they are mad about all the jokes calling them fucking idiots? I didn’t think this through.
My niece says to me, “Hey tell us that joke.” “What joke?” “The one on your website about me being pregnant on Chrystal Meth.” Fuck. I gotta go. It’s not my fault. She shouldn’t have been pregnant on Chrystal Meth. She knew her aunt was a comedian.
My brother Eddie got fat. My rail thin brother who used to terrorize me as a child with fat jokes that were completely unprovoked and vicious is now fat. I really wanted to just spew every criticism on him that he ever tortured me with. I wanted to say, “Hey Eddie, hope the house doesn’t catch on fire and we all have to haul ass ‘cause you’d have to make two trips!” I wanted to do that but that behavior is not as becoming a 40 year old as it is a child. I don’t think I could get away with it now. Damn life’s cruel jokes!
So, as mentioned before in this blog, my oldest brother and his wife are insane religious fanatics. My husband and I are atheist liberal commie pinkos who believe in crazy things like evolution, gravity, and photosynthesis. My brother said, “How can you believe in evolution?” I said, “You believe Jonah was in the belly of a whale!!” He said, “Oh, I can show you proof of that!”
His wife said, “You believe that if you put a watch in the ground for a hundred years you can dig it up and it would be life?” WTF? Is that what they teach you evolution is in home school? No wonder they don’t believe in it.
I said “You believe that Noah gathered up two of every animal on Earth
and put them on a boat.”
She said, “No we don’t! Noah didn’t gather up the animals. God called
them up.”
I said, “How do you know that?”
“Because the Bible says so.”
I said, “Well Catcher in the Rye says a lot of stuff to, but I don’t live
my life by it.”
“Catcher in the Rye wasn’t written by God.”
“Neither was the Bible…for Christ’s sakes!” Oops. Sorry. I got carried away.
I had a long discussion with my brother about religion, politics, abortion, racism (get this: the white man can’t catch a break in Mississippi. Really? Mississippi?), everything we disagreed on basically. Then, about a week after I get home, he calls me up and says, “I’ve decided you’re not evil.” I was thinking “Well, I’ll call you back when I decide you’re not an idiot.”
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
New Potluck
New potluck jokes...
I’m getting old. I know I’m old because now I use my roach clip to pull whiskers out of my chin.
The LA City Council just banned the N word. Seriously. It is against the law to use the N word. But, only within 5 feet of a building.
I used to be obsessed with this website of a prison in Texas that listed death-row prisoners’ crimes and their last meal requests. I was fascinated by the horrible things these men had done and what they liked to eat. I thought maybe I could find a pattern. But, alas, there was never a fried chicken/child murder correlation.
I just went to the Helen, GA, and it is just like Big Bear and every other quaint little mountain tourist trap. Who decided that mountains + candle shops + fudge + Swiss chalet shaped hotels = fun? Just add tubing and you’ve got yourself a vacation!
I bet when we were Cavemen, there was a dude with a sign that read “The end is near.”
One night my husband and I were watching the Hip Hop awards and he looked at me and said, “Bitch you better watch yo ass.” I said, “What the fuck did you just say to me?” He goes, “Oh, sorry, I’ve been watching too much BET.”
I just read the new Steve Martin book “Born Standing Up”. He took his father to see “The Jerk” and afterward someone asked his father what he thought of it and he said, “Well, he’s no Charlie Chaplin.” Damn. Who the fuck do you have to be before your parents recognize that you are someone? I bet Charlie Chaplin’s dad said, “Well, he’s no Fattie Arbuckle.” My mama said to me, “You’re no Steve Martin.” Where does that leave me? Oh to be Fattie Arbuckle!
Everytime I buy pot, I buy $240 worth. Now when I go to the ATM, it says “do you want your usual $240?” Fuck. They are keeping track of my pot purchases. The ATM machine is a narc!
Last night I was watching that show “Intervention” where they follow around addicts and videotape their family’s intervention. And they had an intervention for a fat guy! Seriously. Can you imagine you come home one day and your friends and family are gathered around to tell you that you are a fatass…and they taped it…and showed it on TV! “John, we are really concerned about your pizza consumption.” You’d be like, “Billy is on crack! You said this was an intervention for him. And you said there’d be pizza!” That’s why whenever I walk into a room and see more than 3 people I know gathered, I turn around and walk the fuck out.
I was talking to the guy at the coffee house trying to figure out the difference between a medium and a large. He said, “8 oz.” I don’t know 8 oz. I can’t visualize 8 oz. I know how many 1/8s in a quarter and how many ¼ s are in an ounce. I don’t know kilos though. I could never do a drug that made you learn the metric system.
I used to know this guy named Gary. I would say, “How was your day Gary?” He’d say, “You’ll never believe what stupid thing Homer said today.” I was intrigued until I realized he was talking about The Simpsons. He would talk about TV characters like they were people. He said, “Oh my God, Darhma was at the store with Greg’s mom, and you know how she’s so snotty and bitchy…” We were gossiping about sitcoms. And not very good ones. Don’t you know any real people we can talk shit about?
I’m getting old. I know I’m old because now I use my roach clip to pull whiskers out of my chin.
The LA City Council just banned the N word. Seriously. It is against the law to use the N word. But, only within 5 feet of a building.
I used to be obsessed with this website of a prison in Texas that listed death-row prisoners’ crimes and their last meal requests. I was fascinated by the horrible things these men had done and what they liked to eat. I thought maybe I could find a pattern. But, alas, there was never a fried chicken/child murder correlation.
I just went to the Helen, GA, and it is just like Big Bear and every other quaint little mountain tourist trap. Who decided that mountains + candle shops + fudge + Swiss chalet shaped hotels = fun? Just add tubing and you’ve got yourself a vacation!
I bet when we were Cavemen, there was a dude with a sign that read “The end is near.”
One night my husband and I were watching the Hip Hop awards and he looked at me and said, “Bitch you better watch yo ass.” I said, “What the fuck did you just say to me?” He goes, “Oh, sorry, I’ve been watching too much BET.”
I just read the new Steve Martin book “Born Standing Up”. He took his father to see “The Jerk” and afterward someone asked his father what he thought of it and he said, “Well, he’s no Charlie Chaplin.” Damn. Who the fuck do you have to be before your parents recognize that you are someone? I bet Charlie Chaplin’s dad said, “Well, he’s no Fattie Arbuckle.” My mama said to me, “You’re no Steve Martin.” Where does that leave me? Oh to be Fattie Arbuckle!
Everytime I buy pot, I buy $240 worth. Now when I go to the ATM, it says “do you want your usual $240?” Fuck. They are keeping track of my pot purchases. The ATM machine is a narc!
Last night I was watching that show “Intervention” where they follow around addicts and videotape their family’s intervention. And they had an intervention for a fat guy! Seriously. Can you imagine you come home one day and your friends and family are gathered around to tell you that you are a fatass…and they taped it…and showed it on TV! “John, we are really concerned about your pizza consumption.” You’d be like, “Billy is on crack! You said this was an intervention for him. And you said there’d be pizza!” That’s why whenever I walk into a room and see more than 3 people I know gathered, I turn around and walk the fuck out.
I was talking to the guy at the coffee house trying to figure out the difference between a medium and a large. He said, “8 oz.” I don’t know 8 oz. I can’t visualize 8 oz. I know how many 1/8s in a quarter and how many ¼ s are in an ounce. I don’t know kilos though. I could never do a drug that made you learn the metric system.
I used to know this guy named Gary. I would say, “How was your day Gary?” He’d say, “You’ll never believe what stupid thing Homer said today.” I was intrigued until I realized he was talking about The Simpsons. He would talk about TV characters like they were people. He said, “Oh my God, Darhma was at the store with Greg’s mom, and you know how she’s so snotty and bitchy…” We were gossiping about sitcoms. And not very good ones. Don’t you know any real people we can talk shit about?
Old Boyfriends
So in this day and age of the Internet and myspace, we have all by now experienced the horror of being contacted out of the blue by ex-boyfriends. This experience catches you completely off guard. I have now had this experience several times, lucky me (as well as the continuing offer from strange men to pay me $250 to pee on them. I know! How do they know that I always have to pee and I could use the money?)
My old boyfriend from high school contacted me last year (2007) and said, “I have thought about you every single day since high school (I graduated in 1986) especially the 8 years I was in prison.” Great! I gotta go.
This happened to me again recently, and it made me walk down memory lane of boyfriends past.
I once dated a guy who said, “I would never marry a woman that made more money than me.” Really? Then you better cruise the homeless shelters ‘cause you are one broke son-of-a-bitch! I notice you don’t mind whenever I pick up lunch. Never marry a woman that made more money than me Mr. Always- in- the- bathroom- when- the- check- comes motherfucker!
I once dated my dealer. Take it from me, don’t ever break up with your dealer! Now I don’t know what I’m jonsing for- pot or abuse.
One boyfriend, I didn’t actually break up with. I just stopped calling. But, this is a passive aggressive society and if he can’t learn to read between the lines, then fuck him!
The strangest boyfriend I ever had put in a good deal of time and energy into wooing me for about 6 months, then when I gave in, he wouldn’t have sex with me. What the fuck? Believe me, I can get that someone would not want to have sex with me. But, this guy really put in the leg work, you know? Why would he go to so much trouble if he didn’t want to sleep with me?
I keep trying to figure out what he got out of the relationship. It’s not like I was the Sugar Mama. So I paid for Senior Fish a couple of times, big deal. Dating me is not exactly good for your career. I can get you into the Ice House, so what? The thing is, I know he used me...I just can’t figure out for what! He never wanted me, he just wanted me to want him. It was like a bad Cheap Trick song.
I just can’t figure out why he didn’t sleep with me. At first I thought he was gay. But, then I realized, even the gay guys will fuck you (I should know). Then I thought he was religious, but the priests will fuck you, too (again, I know). If he were gay, I would have been fine with that. I don’t mind playing the fag hag; I just want to know the terms up front!
When he contacted me recently it was weird. It was kinda like a booty call, but it was more like a no-booty-for-you call. You know, I could have handled any fetish he threw at me except the not fucking. That’s just weird. Are you sure you don’t just want me to dress up like a Raccoon (or pee on me)? I told myself, “He’s just scared.” And my best friend Sally said, “Well he wasn’t scared of Amy when he was fucking her last week.” She’s a good friend.
There is a limit to the amount of bullshit I will put up with, and evidently it’s about 6 months. Hey, I can find plenty of guys out there to not fuck me! Especially when I whip out the Senior Fish. I just hope that when I die, God will tell me why I was rejected. He will say “Your keys were in the sofa and by the way, Jim was impotent.”
Do you think I am being too harsh? Let this be a lesson to you. Don’t ever fuck over a comedian.
My old boyfriend from high school contacted me last year (2007) and said, “I have thought about you every single day since high school (I graduated in 1986) especially the 8 years I was in prison.” Great! I gotta go.
This happened to me again recently, and it made me walk down memory lane of boyfriends past.
I once dated a guy who said, “I would never marry a woman that made more money than me.” Really? Then you better cruise the homeless shelters ‘cause you are one broke son-of-a-bitch! I notice you don’t mind whenever I pick up lunch. Never marry a woman that made more money than me Mr. Always- in- the- bathroom- when- the- check- comes motherfucker!
I once dated my dealer. Take it from me, don’t ever break up with your dealer! Now I don’t know what I’m jonsing for- pot or abuse.
One boyfriend, I didn’t actually break up with. I just stopped calling. But, this is a passive aggressive society and if he can’t learn to read between the lines, then fuck him!
The strangest boyfriend I ever had put in a good deal of time and energy into wooing me for about 6 months, then when I gave in, he wouldn’t have sex with me. What the fuck? Believe me, I can get that someone would not want to have sex with me. But, this guy really put in the leg work, you know? Why would he go to so much trouble if he didn’t want to sleep with me?
I keep trying to figure out what he got out of the relationship. It’s not like I was the Sugar Mama. So I paid for Senior Fish a couple of times, big deal. Dating me is not exactly good for your career. I can get you into the Ice House, so what? The thing is, I know he used me...I just can’t figure out for what! He never wanted me, he just wanted me to want him. It was like a bad Cheap Trick song.
I just can’t figure out why he didn’t sleep with me. At first I thought he was gay. But, then I realized, even the gay guys will fuck you (I should know). Then I thought he was religious, but the priests will fuck you, too (again, I know). If he were gay, I would have been fine with that. I don’t mind playing the fag hag; I just want to know the terms up front!
When he contacted me recently it was weird. It was kinda like a booty call, but it was more like a no-booty-for-you call. You know, I could have handled any fetish he threw at me except the not fucking. That’s just weird. Are you sure you don’t just want me to dress up like a Raccoon (or pee on me)? I told myself, “He’s just scared.” And my best friend Sally said, “Well he wasn’t scared of Amy when he was fucking her last week.” She’s a good friend.
There is a limit to the amount of bullshit I will put up with, and evidently it’s about 6 months. Hey, I can find plenty of guys out there to not fuck me! Especially when I whip out the Senior Fish. I just hope that when I die, God will tell me why I was rejected. He will say “Your keys were in the sofa and by the way, Jim was impotent.”
Do you think I am being too harsh? Let this be a lesson to you. Don’t ever fuck over a comedian.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
My Mother
On December 13, 2007, my mama died of liver failure at the age of 67. I feel so many emotions, so conflicted. Like a lot of mother-daughter relationships, and like all comedians, my relationship with my mother was strained at best and aggressive at worst. When someone dies who you have such a tumultuous relationship with, it's harder than if you were really close. All my life I have thought, "my mother doesn't love me". Now, I can add, "and she never will."
I am remembering all the good things about her now. I never heard her say anything racist or homophobic. She was my first feminist role model. She loved that Helen Reddy song, "I am woman." I know every word to that song because she used to play and sing it all the time. She hasn't spoken to me in 10 years. Not because she was mad; it just never occured to her. She didn't like talking on the phone, and since I live in LA and she lived in GA, that meant we never talked. I guess she didn't like email or letters either.
I flew to GA for her funeral. I went for my daddy, or so I thought. They had been together for 41 years. His whole life was her. I am really worried about him. I feel so far away. When I was little, I used to dream my daddy would divorce my mama and we could run away from her. Now I realize how selfish that was. My mama's funeral was sterile and religious. We never went to church when we were growing up. She recently started going, but I think it was for the company. Her service was in a church and they mentioned Lazarus more than my mama, Jeanne Evans. I'm glad I made them let me speak. They didn't want me to, but I did. I talked about her, not about Jesus.
My mama was complicated. She was strong and yet very sensitive. She was very intelligent and had a good sense of humor. She was generous but didn't take any crap. She was a stickler for grammar, and very concerned about how we presented ourselves. She always taught me to follow my dreams and let my concience be my guide. On more than one occassion, she stood up for me, bragged about me, lied for me, and protected me.
My mama loved to read, and went to the library every week. Her favorite kind of movies were horror movies (me, too), and she preferred to do laundry at 3am. She made my wedding dress and all the bridesmaids dresses. She was psychic, and I would often get phone calls when I was in college with messages saying only things like "stay away from windows." I would laugh it off, and then stay away from windows.
This is an exerpt from what I said at the funeral:
People tell me that I look like my mama, and I say don't look at my face.
If when you look at me, you see any strength, intelligence, confidence, generocity; if I speak well or present myself well. Then, I say, that's my mother in me.
I am remembering all the good things about her now. I never heard her say anything racist or homophobic. She was my first feminist role model. She loved that Helen Reddy song, "I am woman." I know every word to that song because she used to play and sing it all the time. She hasn't spoken to me in 10 years. Not because she was mad; it just never occured to her. She didn't like talking on the phone, and since I live in LA and she lived in GA, that meant we never talked. I guess she didn't like email or letters either.
I flew to GA for her funeral. I went for my daddy, or so I thought. They had been together for 41 years. His whole life was her. I am really worried about him. I feel so far away. When I was little, I used to dream my daddy would divorce my mama and we could run away from her. Now I realize how selfish that was. My mama's funeral was sterile and religious. We never went to church when we were growing up. She recently started going, but I think it was for the company. Her service was in a church and they mentioned Lazarus more than my mama, Jeanne Evans. I'm glad I made them let me speak. They didn't want me to, but I did. I talked about her, not about Jesus.
My mama was complicated. She was strong and yet very sensitive. She was very intelligent and had a good sense of humor. She was generous but didn't take any crap. She was a stickler for grammar, and very concerned about how we presented ourselves. She always taught me to follow my dreams and let my concience be my guide. On more than one occassion, she stood up for me, bragged about me, lied for me, and protected me.
My mama loved to read, and went to the library every week. Her favorite kind of movies were horror movies (me, too), and she preferred to do laundry at 3am. She made my wedding dress and all the bridesmaids dresses. She was psychic, and I would often get phone calls when I was in college with messages saying only things like "stay away from windows." I would laugh it off, and then stay away from windows.
This is an exerpt from what I said at the funeral:
People tell me that I look like my mama, and I say don't look at my face.
If when you look at me, you see any strength, intelligence, confidence, generocity; if I speak well or present myself well. Then, I say, that's my mother in me.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
I Got An A!
I just found out that I got an A on my research project. Yay! I am so happy. I can't believe it. Now, I only have two classes left to finish my Masters. Hooray!!
I've been tagged!
Ok, I didn't even know what this is until I was reading my husband Chris Oliver's blog and realized he "tagged" me (which means he broke one of the rules below by not telling me):
The rules:
1. Mention the person who tagged you and create a link back to them.
2. Copy-paste the traits for all the twelve months (I'm not gonna do that, but you can see them here).
3. Pick your month of birth.
4. Highlight the traits that apply to you.
5. Tag 12 people and let them know by visiting their blogs and leaving a comment for them. (I'm not doing that, either)
6. Let the person who tagged you know when you've done it! (poo poo Chris)
Ok, I will bold was does NOT apply to me:
JUNE:
Thinks far with vision. Easily influenced by kindness. Polite and soft-spoken. Having ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating, tends to delay. Choosy and always wants the best. Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Talkative. Daydreamer. Friendly. Knows how to make friends. Able to show character. Easily hurt. Prone to getting colds. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Brand conscious. Executive. Stubborn.
I would say this is pretty damn close. I don't know who to tag, but if I figure it out, I'll come back and edit this.
The rules:
1. Mention the person who tagged you and create a link back to them.
2. Copy-paste the traits for all the twelve months (I'm not gonna do that, but you can see them here).
3. Pick your month of birth.
4. Highlight the traits that apply to you.
5. Tag 12 people and let them know by visiting their blogs and leaving a comment for them. (I'm not doing that, either)
6. Let the person who tagged you know when you've done it! (poo poo Chris)
Ok, I will bold was does NOT apply to me:
JUNE:
Thinks far with vision. Easily influenced by kindness. Polite and soft-spoken. Having ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating, tends to delay. Choosy and always wants the best. Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Talkative. Daydreamer. Friendly. Knows how to make friends. Able to show character. Easily hurt. Prone to getting colds. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Brand conscious. Executive. Stubborn.
I would say this is pretty damn close. I don't know who to tag, but if I figure it out, I'll come back and edit this.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
I Did It!
I finished my research project! I presented it last night at CSULA, and it went very well. Yay! I feel like I just got out of prison! I am so happy and proud of myself. I honestly didn't think I could pull it off, and I did. That is an amazing feeling. Every time you face a fear, you find out it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. Now I can catch up on all the work I've been putting off!
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Friday, October 5, 2007
Research
Well, it's been two weeks since I started the graduate research part of my Masters. I have calmed down considerably since the last post, but I have a long way to go. I am developing my questionnaire for my data, and it's so hard! Every time I think I am finally getting clear on what my research question is and what I want to find out-I lose it all! I had all these lofty goals about cracking the subject of Organizational Change and the case at Pasadena City College wide open, but I am finding out that I can not be comprehensive-those words from my professor, comforting, but also frustrating. I want to be comprehensive, but I am one person with limited time and limited resources. I do not have a research team; I am not a pro at this. I have to conduct the best research I can and find out what I can. Narrow it down. Here's hoping I can narrow it down enough to get focused.
Meanwhile, back in my screwed up brain, I have all this anxiety about seeing my PCC coworkers again because I have gained weight since I quit. How screwed up is that? Seriously! I quit 1 year ago because, a decade after giving up living on the road and moving to LA, I am finally able to support myself completely again from comedy. I have two successful businesses (comedy school and production). Why am I so stressed out?
I was thin for one year of my life. But that year has caused me all this shame about returning to my former self (not quite-I'm still over 40 lbs lighter than when I went on the diet). But, it's amazing how many people think they can comment on your weight. I think it comes from the year of commenting on how small I was getting. It's all I talked about with some people. I wish I had a clever line prepared for people who give me shit when I visit PCC. Like, yeah, I know I gained weight, but you still work here!
Meanwhile, back in my screwed up brain, I have all this anxiety about seeing my PCC coworkers again because I have gained weight since I quit. How screwed up is that? Seriously! I quit 1 year ago because, a decade after giving up living on the road and moving to LA, I am finally able to support myself completely again from comedy. I have two successful businesses (comedy school and production). Why am I so stressed out?
I was thin for one year of my life. But that year has caused me all this shame about returning to my former self (not quite-I'm still over 40 lbs lighter than when I went on the diet). But, it's amazing how many people think they can comment on your weight. I think it comes from the year of commenting on how small I was getting. It's all I talked about with some people. I wish I had a clever line prepared for people who give me shit when I visit PCC. Like, yeah, I know I gained weight, but you still work here!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Grad School
I registered again for school today at CSULA after a 6 month hiatus. I have three classes left on a Political Science Masters degree. The class I’m taking now is essentially the Graduate Research portion of the program. This is the fourth class of a series of four ass-kicking classes (including graduate statistics) regarding the research project each person must undertake in order to get the MS degree. I am basically terrified. The other two classes I have left will be a cake walk after this year-long research series. I’m not even that afraid of the culminating comp exam that awaits me at the finish of the program. I figure I can handle it; I took all the classes, right? I made no less than an A- throughout the research series, hell throughout grad school as a whole, including statistics! I have a cumulative 3.9 GPA.
So why am I terrified of the research project? My plan was to have done more of the research, ok any of the research in the 6 months I was off before taking this class. But, of course, I did not. I chose that time to focus on my ever-growing comedy school and production company. And, I think I might have a comedy career in there somewhere, although buried deep these days.
I have gone back and forth about whether or not to finish the degree. I don’t really need it. I mean, I’m a comedian for God sakes (although, it gave me a great political chunk in my act that I’m very proud of). But, I’m only three classes away! How can I quit now? I’ve been working on this degree for four years. Besides, I’m the only one in my family with a college degree at all; having a Masters would be an awesome feather in my cap, and give my nieces and nephews something to strive for and believe possible. It is an especially good example for Brandie and Stephen, my niece and nephew I am raising. They have seen everything I have gone through working for this degree.
Problem is that I will have little time to work on my business and the comedy book I am writing. I will have A LOT to do and little time to do it in. So, if I can’t go to lunch with you until December, don’t get pissed. I have my head in a book. Oh, and I’m freaking out!
So why am I terrified of the research project? My plan was to have done more of the research, ok any of the research in the 6 months I was off before taking this class. But, of course, I did not. I chose that time to focus on my ever-growing comedy school and production company. And, I think I might have a comedy career in there somewhere, although buried deep these days.
I have gone back and forth about whether or not to finish the degree. I don’t really need it. I mean, I’m a comedian for God sakes (although, it gave me a great political chunk in my act that I’m very proud of). But, I’m only three classes away! How can I quit now? I’ve been working on this degree for four years. Besides, I’m the only one in my family with a college degree at all; having a Masters would be an awesome feather in my cap, and give my nieces and nephews something to strive for and believe possible. It is an especially good example for Brandie and Stephen, my niece and nephew I am raising. They have seen everything I have gone through working for this degree.
Problem is that I will have little time to work on my business and the comedy book I am writing. I will have A LOT to do and little time to do it in. So, if I can’t go to lunch with you until December, don’t get pissed. I have my head in a book. Oh, and I’m freaking out!
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Bombing
I just had the worst set of my life! Holy shit! I took a comedy ass whooping tonight. It was a big crowd-full of people who fucking hated me! Good thing I already have a really low self-esteem or that would have made me feel bad about myself! I think that was the Universe's way of saying "Don't get cocky." Note taken!
Isn't is funny that no matter how long you've been doing comedy, you are still so wrapped up in the approval of the crowd in front of you? And by funny, I mean painful as shit. How many audiences have to validate me? How many toothless drunk bikers in the front row have to love me and think I'm funny for me to feel OK? After 20 years, how long is it going to take? As long as our mothers don't love us (comics), there will never be enough drunk bikers. There will never be enough validation.
Here's hoping I never have to appear in front of that group of people again!
Alas, tomorrow is another show!
Isn't is funny that no matter how long you've been doing comedy, you are still so wrapped up in the approval of the crowd in front of you? And by funny, I mean painful as shit. How many audiences have to validate me? How many toothless drunk bikers in the front row have to love me and think I'm funny for me to feel OK? After 20 years, how long is it going to take? As long as our mothers don't love us (comics), there will never be enough drunk bikers. There will never be enough validation.
Here's hoping I never have to appear in front of that group of people again!
Alas, tomorrow is another show!
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Racism
My whole family is racist, but me. (Although, they will deny it. They need to look up racism in the dictionary.) Not long ago my father called me and very unhappily announced that my brother Ron was marrying a black girl! And now everyone’s mad at me. Like it’s my fault, for being a liberal.
My daddy said, “I bet you’re just loving this!”
I said, “I’ve never even met the girl! What’s she like?”
“What’s she like? What’s she like? She’s black!!”
She’s black? That’s what she’s like? What is that supposed to mean? Does he think she has a giant afro and she’s walking around town with a big boom box on her shoulder like Radio Rakeem? WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE LIKE?
I don’t have a lot of contact with my brother Eddie (the minister) because we are very different regarding politics, religion, well everything. But, he lives in Gulfport, Mississippi, and his house was damaged by Hurricane Katrina. So I wanted to reach out to him, and offer to help. I mean, why send money to the Red Cross when you actually know someone you could send it to?
I sent him an email and he gladly accepted and appreciated the offer of help. So, I mailed him a check. Then, a few days later, I get an email from him attaching this article from some conservative guy talking about what went wrong in New Orleans after the hurricane. It turns out that it wasn’t a lack of timely and appropriate government response to a crisis situation. Turns out, it was “the blacks”. That’s right. Let’s see if I can get it straight. It’s ‘all those lazy people who want something for nothing, always looking for a helping hand, and can’t pull themselves up by their own bootstraps’. Hmm. I wrote back, “So I guess you’ll be tearing up that check then?” Ok, I didn’t. I thought, “What would Jesus do?” So, I stopped payment on it!
I went home recently, and I had forgotten how bad the language is in Georgia. If you can get past the N-word, the double negatives will kill you! My cousin told me, “We don’t got no niggers on our street.” I said, “Oh my God. I can’t believe you said that! You are so ignorant! It’s ‘you don’t have any niggers on your street’.”
When I was home, my sister kept going on and on about the “Orientals”. It was the Orientals. The Orientals. I thought she was being attacked by a rug.
Finally, I said, “Do you mean Asians?
She said, “Well, I say Oriental.”
“Yeah, well, I say it’s 2007.”
“My Oriental friends don’t mind.”
“Clearly you don’t have any. ‘Cause it’s Asian.”
“I don’t consider my Japanese friends Asian.”
“Well, I don’t consider geography a matter of opinion. I know this is Georgia, but get a map!”
That’s why I don’t buy the “That’s how I was raised” crap. I was raised to be a racist homophobic xenophobic misogynistic Christian conservative asshole, and I turned out ok!
I watched this awesome show on PBS last night about black leaders during slavery. There was one woman named “Ma Bette” who hired a lawyer and sued her owner for freedom and won! That’s awesome! We never hear stories like that. Not even in February. The only black history figure we ever learn about is George Washington Carver, the peanut guy. You know why? Because he is non-threatening! The only dream he ever had was to make a better jelly sandwich.
I used to be the only white employee in a black comedy club in Atlanta called Uptown Comedy Corner. One night after the show, we’re all hanging out and the DJ puts on CD.
I said, “Cool. Is this A Tribe Called Quest?” My friends start tripping, “You know A Tribe Called Quest? How could a white girl know A Tribe Called Quest?” WTF? There aren’t black radio waves I can’t get. We are all one big global media now, people. Right now somewhere in Cambodia, there is a guy on a rice paddy going, “Can I kick it? Yes, you can!”
My daddy said, “I bet you’re just loving this!”
I said, “I’ve never even met the girl! What’s she like?”
“What’s she like? What’s she like? She’s black!!”
She’s black? That’s what she’s like? What is that supposed to mean? Does he think she has a giant afro and she’s walking around town with a big boom box on her shoulder like Radio Rakeem? WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE LIKE?
I don’t have a lot of contact with my brother Eddie (the minister) because we are very different regarding politics, religion, well everything. But, he lives in Gulfport, Mississippi, and his house was damaged by Hurricane Katrina. So I wanted to reach out to him, and offer to help. I mean, why send money to the Red Cross when you actually know someone you could send it to?
I sent him an email and he gladly accepted and appreciated the offer of help. So, I mailed him a check. Then, a few days later, I get an email from him attaching this article from some conservative guy talking about what went wrong in New Orleans after the hurricane. It turns out that it wasn’t a lack of timely and appropriate government response to a crisis situation. Turns out, it was “the blacks”. That’s right. Let’s see if I can get it straight. It’s ‘all those lazy people who want something for nothing, always looking for a helping hand, and can’t pull themselves up by their own bootstraps’. Hmm. I wrote back, “So I guess you’ll be tearing up that check then?” Ok, I didn’t. I thought, “What would Jesus do?” So, I stopped payment on it!
I went home recently, and I had forgotten how bad the language is in Georgia. If you can get past the N-word, the double negatives will kill you! My cousin told me, “We don’t got no niggers on our street.” I said, “Oh my God. I can’t believe you said that! You are so ignorant! It’s ‘you don’t have any niggers on your street’.”
When I was home, my sister kept going on and on about the “Orientals”. It was the Orientals. The Orientals. I thought she was being attacked by a rug.
Finally, I said, “Do you mean Asians?
She said, “Well, I say Oriental.”
“Yeah, well, I say it’s 2007.”
“My Oriental friends don’t mind.”
“Clearly you don’t have any. ‘Cause it’s Asian.”
“I don’t consider my Japanese friends Asian.”
“Well, I don’t consider geography a matter of opinion. I know this is Georgia, but get a map!”
That’s why I don’t buy the “That’s how I was raised” crap. I was raised to be a racist homophobic xenophobic misogynistic Christian conservative asshole, and I turned out ok!
I watched this awesome show on PBS last night about black leaders during slavery. There was one woman named “Ma Bette” who hired a lawyer and sued her owner for freedom and won! That’s awesome! We never hear stories like that. Not even in February. The only black history figure we ever learn about is George Washington Carver, the peanut guy. You know why? Because he is non-threatening! The only dream he ever had was to make a better jelly sandwich.
I used to be the only white employee in a black comedy club in Atlanta called Uptown Comedy Corner. One night after the show, we’re all hanging out and the DJ puts on CD.
I said, “Cool. Is this A Tribe Called Quest?” My friends start tripping, “You know A Tribe Called Quest? How could a white girl know A Tribe Called Quest?” WTF? There aren’t black radio waves I can’t get. We are all one big global media now, people. Right now somewhere in Cambodia, there is a guy on a rice paddy going, “Can I kick it? Yes, you can!”
Religion
Inflammatory Religious Ramblings...
I have a cure for all the problems in the Middle East: Ban all religion. Karl Marx said that religion is the opium of the masses. No, religion is the Jose Cuervo of the masses! Religion is the “Hey let’s go kick the shit out of that guy” of the masses.
Except Buddhism. You never hear people say, “I went to a Buddhist high school. Thank God I got the fuck out of there! All that peace and meditation fucked me up!”
Actually, I used to think that banning religion would cure all the problems in the Middle East until we had a real bad heat wave here in California. And, I thought “No wonder they are so mad. It’s like ‘Do the Right Thing’ every day there!” After a week, I wanted to pull a Jihad on somebody’s ass. 72 virgins? Who cares? Does heaven have air conditioning? I’m hot, Allah!
There is a lot of sectarian violence going on in Iraq over who is practicing Islam the right way. It was the same way with Catholics and Protestants-who are both Christians! I can’t imagine that kind of civil war with people who are just like you. “The South Dakotans are lower than dogs! Kill them all.’ I can’t imagine being that way toward dogs much less the good people of South Dakota.
I was talking politics on stage in a club one night and this guy came up to me after and he said “I don’t believe in Global Warming.” I replied, “That’s OK. I don’t believe in Jesus.”
I don’t know why there even is a word for “Atheist”. There’s not a word for people who don’t believe in dragons or faeries.
I always forget that some Christians are prejudice against Jews. They are all alike to me. I forget because I’m an Atheist. Jews didn’t kill my God. I say, “C’mon over to Atheism. You can do whatever you want!”
People think that atheists can’t be good people. I give money to several LA food banks every Christmas (cause, you know, homeless people only need to eat during the holidays). Every year I get a card back from the missions: “Thanks for feeding the hungry through Jesus Christ.” Um, I didn’t. I did it through Bank of America.
My brother is a fundamentalist Christian minister, or as I like to call him, “Asshole,” for short. He likes to trick me into having religious arguments with him. He will send me an email:
“Dear Bobbie.
How are you? How is Chris? How are the kids? Abortion is Murder.
Love, Eddie.”
I told him one day that I was having financial problems. He said, “Don’t you worry. I’m gonna pray for you. In fact, I’m going to tell my congregation all about you on Sunday and get my entire church to pray for you.” Oh goody! C’mon. Is that really gonna help? I mean, is God up there going, “Well, I was going to make Bobbie homeless, but I had no idea she was so popular!” If there’s one thing I hate more than unsolicited advice about my act, it is unsolicited prayer. Don’t pray for me; it just pisses me off.
The Bush administration loves to play on emotion. That’s how they get the right-wing Christian fundamentalist base like my brother. Those people don’t know anything about the gross domestic product or the federal trade deficit, but they know they don’t want queers to get married!
I recently read that religious doctors are refusing certain treatments for women because of their religious beliefs. You know what? I don’t want my doctor or my anything picking and choosing which part of the job Jesus will let him do (Who Would Jesus Treat?). I’m happy for you and God, Doc, but give me my fucking RU-487 ‘cause I can assure you this ain’t the second coming!
I’ve decided I need to get a passport. You know, in case I have to jump off this sinking ship in a hurry. Or in case the Evangelical Christians start going door to door collecting our vibrators and bongs.
I was walking to my car really late one night after a show in LA. I feel this guy walking behind me, so I start walking faster. And he starts walking faster! I’m like “Oh shit. Sex pervert. Serial killer.” I’m imaging all the things he’s going to try to get me to do to him on the side of the road. So I take off running (which I don’t do very often), and he takes off running after me! He runs up to me, gets right up in my face, and says, “Excuse me. Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?” I’m like, “What the…you’re not supposed to…I thought you were going to… (sigh) are you sure you don’t just want a blow job? Or to kill me? Please don’t talk to me about Jesus!”
I have a cure for all the problems in the Middle East: Ban all religion. Karl Marx said that religion is the opium of the masses. No, religion is the Jose Cuervo of the masses! Religion is the “Hey let’s go kick the shit out of that guy” of the masses.
Except Buddhism. You never hear people say, “I went to a Buddhist high school. Thank God I got the fuck out of there! All that peace and meditation fucked me up!”
Actually, I used to think that banning religion would cure all the problems in the Middle East until we had a real bad heat wave here in California. And, I thought “No wonder they are so mad. It’s like ‘Do the Right Thing’ every day there!” After a week, I wanted to pull a Jihad on somebody’s ass. 72 virgins? Who cares? Does heaven have air conditioning? I’m hot, Allah!
There is a lot of sectarian violence going on in Iraq over who is practicing Islam the right way. It was the same way with Catholics and Protestants-who are both Christians! I can’t imagine that kind of civil war with people who are just like you. “The South Dakotans are lower than dogs! Kill them all.’ I can’t imagine being that way toward dogs much less the good people of South Dakota.
I was talking politics on stage in a club one night and this guy came up to me after and he said “I don’t believe in Global Warming.” I replied, “That’s OK. I don’t believe in Jesus.”
I don’t know why there even is a word for “Atheist”. There’s not a word for people who don’t believe in dragons or faeries.
I always forget that some Christians are prejudice against Jews. They are all alike to me. I forget because I’m an Atheist. Jews didn’t kill my God. I say, “C’mon over to Atheism. You can do whatever you want!”
People think that atheists can’t be good people. I give money to several LA food banks every Christmas (cause, you know, homeless people only need to eat during the holidays). Every year I get a card back from the missions: “Thanks for feeding the hungry through Jesus Christ.” Um, I didn’t. I did it through Bank of America.
My brother is a fundamentalist Christian minister, or as I like to call him, “Asshole,” for short. He likes to trick me into having religious arguments with him. He will send me an email:
“Dear Bobbie.
How are you? How is Chris? How are the kids? Abortion is Murder.
Love, Eddie.”
I told him one day that I was having financial problems. He said, “Don’t you worry. I’m gonna pray for you. In fact, I’m going to tell my congregation all about you on Sunday and get my entire church to pray for you.” Oh goody! C’mon. Is that really gonna help? I mean, is God up there going, “Well, I was going to make Bobbie homeless, but I had no idea she was so popular!” If there’s one thing I hate more than unsolicited advice about my act, it is unsolicited prayer. Don’t pray for me; it just pisses me off.
The Bush administration loves to play on emotion. That’s how they get the right-wing Christian fundamentalist base like my brother. Those people don’t know anything about the gross domestic product or the federal trade deficit, but they know they don’t want queers to get married!
I recently read that religious doctors are refusing certain treatments for women because of their religious beliefs. You know what? I don’t want my doctor or my anything picking and choosing which part of the job Jesus will let him do (Who Would Jesus Treat?). I’m happy for you and God, Doc, but give me my fucking RU-487 ‘cause I can assure you this ain’t the second coming!
I’ve decided I need to get a passport. You know, in case I have to jump off this sinking ship in a hurry. Or in case the Evangelical Christians start going door to door collecting our vibrators and bongs.
I was walking to my car really late one night after a show in LA. I feel this guy walking behind me, so I start walking faster. And he starts walking faster! I’m like “Oh shit. Sex pervert. Serial killer.” I’m imaging all the things he’s going to try to get me to do to him on the side of the road. So I take off running (which I don’t do very often), and he takes off running after me! He runs up to me, gets right up in my face, and says, “Excuse me. Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?” I’m like, “What the…you’re not supposed to…I thought you were going to… (sigh) are you sure you don’t just want a blow job? Or to kill me? Please don’t talk to me about Jesus!”
Friday, August 17, 2007
Potluck III
Whenever I was late coming home, my parents would always yell, “Oh my God! We thought someone had beat you in the head and raped you!” Really? It’s only been 20 minutes. What happened in your childhood that you go straight from zero to beat you in the head and rape you in 20 minutes?
I’m addicted to Home and Garden TV. It’s hard to be an HGTV addict when you rent. “Oh what a great paint treatment…that I can never do because I rent!” HGTV was the first major national network to truly embrace the homosexual couple. It makes sense that the first one would be the design channel. But, hey, conservatives should be happy. The free market has spoken!
I heard someone from the Bush Administration saying “We must protect the Homeland.” Is it me, or do words like ‘homeland’, ‘terror alert’, ‘Terror Czar’, all sound like something from a science fiction horror novel? Or at least the scary part of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”.
When I was on the road doing comedy, I could have gotten laid every night. And not just by men. One night after a show, a stripper stuck her tongue in my ear. She asked me to go home with her and her husband. You had me until the word ‘husband’. I’ll go home with a strange woman, but my days of going home with strange men are over. Been there-done that-been treated for that!
I heard on NPR they are convening a Torture Convention. Damn, and you thought your work retreats sucked! I will never complain about doing trust exercises in the Ramada ballroom again!
Last time I had sex with someone other than my husband was 1989. Gas was $1.00. Prince was on the charts. In fact, I think “When Doves Cry” was playing in the background.
I’ve done crystal meth before. When I did it, it was called ‘crank’. That’s how you know how old you are. If you say ‘crank’, you’re old like me. If you say ‘crystal’ you’re young, and if you say ‘Ice’ you’re on it RIGHT NOW!
When I was moving to California, I was busted in Arizona for pot. It was an Indian reservation and the cop was an Indian. I’m like, “Why are you enforcing the white man’s laws on me?” His K-9 didn’t even find any of the pot except what I volunteered to give up. I don’t even think that dog was a cop. I think it was his pet dog and he decided to use him to get a quarter bag for the weekend off the first freaks that rode by in tie-dyed t-shirts. Fucking Indian faux dog cops!
I’m addicted to Home and Garden TV. It’s hard to be an HGTV addict when you rent. “Oh what a great paint treatment…that I can never do because I rent!” HGTV was the first major national network to truly embrace the homosexual couple. It makes sense that the first one would be the design channel. But, hey, conservatives should be happy. The free market has spoken!
I heard someone from the Bush Administration saying “We must protect the Homeland.” Is it me, or do words like ‘homeland’, ‘terror alert’, ‘Terror Czar’, all sound like something from a science fiction horror novel? Or at least the scary part of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”.
When I was on the road doing comedy, I could have gotten laid every night. And not just by men. One night after a show, a stripper stuck her tongue in my ear. She asked me to go home with her and her husband. You had me until the word ‘husband’. I’ll go home with a strange woman, but my days of going home with strange men are over. Been there-done that-been treated for that!
I heard on NPR they are convening a Torture Convention. Damn, and you thought your work retreats sucked! I will never complain about doing trust exercises in the Ramada ballroom again!
Last time I had sex with someone other than my husband was 1989. Gas was $1.00. Prince was on the charts. In fact, I think “When Doves Cry” was playing in the background.
I’ve done crystal meth before. When I did it, it was called ‘crank’. That’s how you know how old you are. If you say ‘crank’, you’re old like me. If you say ‘crystal’ you’re young, and if you say ‘Ice’ you’re on it RIGHT NOW!
When I was moving to California, I was busted in Arizona for pot. It was an Indian reservation and the cop was an Indian. I’m like, “Why are you enforcing the white man’s laws on me?” His K-9 didn’t even find any of the pot except what I volunteered to give up. I don’t even think that dog was a cop. I think it was his pet dog and he decided to use him to get a quarter bag for the weekend off the first freaks that rode by in tie-dyed t-shirts. Fucking Indian faux dog cops!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Potluck II
I had so much fun posting those other jokes, I thought I'd add some more.
I read an article in LA Times a few years ago about a man who had ‘acrotomophilia’, which is a sexual desire to have one of his limbs removed. The man found a doctor in Mexico (of course) who would remove a limb for his sexual satisfaction. What was that surgery like? Was he getting one arm cut off while he whacked off with the other? And let’s say it was the single greatest experience of his entire life. Now what? He can only do it up to 3 more times. Really only 2 ‘cause he has to have the free hand!
I read about these people who do body modification. Instead of getting a tattoo or a piercing, some of them are having a toe removed just to be cool. And now they are all judgmental toward the rest of us. “You with your corporate jobs, your monkey suits, your 10 toes! Capitalist pigs!”
I have lived in LA for 10 years, and I have never bought fruit from a guy on the side of the road. Why not? I give money to street people. I need fruit. Really, it’s a win- win.
Metrosexuals are fucking up my gaydar! My best friend Sally and I were out one night and these two guys kept looking at us. They were really really clean and well-kept. So, we couldn’t tell if they were gay. Fuck metrosexuality! If one of them needed a shave or to lose 20 lbs we would have known they were hitting on us!
My friend Rudy works at NASA and he asked if I wanted a tour. I said, “Sure, can I bring Kate?” He goes, “She’s British, right? I have to get more information on her first.” What is going on at NASA that I can see but Kate can’t see? Are they afraid she’s gonna stumble into the room where they faked the moonwalk? “We can fool the stupid Americans but a Brit could find us out.”
My friend’s boyfriend hired a private eye to follow her around and take pictures of her with other men. I told my husband, “I love you, but if you did that, I would divorce you.” He said, “Honey, I would never hire someone to spy on you! I would just do it myself.”
The healthcare in the California Prison system is so bad that the federal government just took it over. The man in charge of California prisons said, “Any healthcare a prisoner gets is good enough.” You hear that, Paris Hilton? You better keep your nose clean.
I’ve decided I need to get a passport. You know, in case I have to jump off this sinking ship in a hurry. Or in case the Evangelical Christians start going door to door collecting our vibrators and bongs.
My friend is dating a guy who says he’s a plushy. Then she found an animal mascot costume in his closet. That’s not a plushy; that’s a furry! I know my fetishes, and he's lying. You know your fantasy is fucked up when you pretend that it’s just jacking off into stuffed animals.
I heard on the radio that a study just came out that determined that people with kids are not as happy as people without kids. It was also found that the more kids you have, the less happy you are. This was also known as the “Duh!” report. They also determined that sex is nice.
Five minutes ago, the newscaster announced that an alligator escaped from the LA zoo, but they have not yet determined his motivation. What? Only in LA would an alligator ask, “What’s my motivation?” Turns out it was a publicity stunt on the part of the animal’s publicist because the alligator wants to be in Evan Almighty II.
I’m a loud- mouthed broad. I am a lot of bad words, a lot of labels they like to put on you to try to put you down and shut you up. I’m also a feminazi, a bleeding heart liberal, a heathen, a pinko commie, a druggie, a tree hugger, a bitch, a socialist, pro-baby killing, pro-prisoner, a dirty hippy, a slut, a troublemaker, a nigger lover, a fag hag, anti-American, anti-troops, French-loving, Al Queada sympathizer, a flag burner, a queer, a freak, a hedonist, a white trash hick, a pants-wearing, overbearing loud mouth broad. And, no, I will not keep my voice down!
I had jury duty last year. I didn’t try to get out of it because of the jokes I thought I’d get. Didn’t get a lot of jokes, but I did get a jury duty boyfriend. Hell, I was there 2 days! What else was I supposed to do? Don’t ever tell a judge you are a comedian! He became oddly fixated on that fact during the gang murder trail. He kept asking me all of these questions about my career—under oath! I had been bullshitting my new boyfriend out in the hall about how wildly successful I am. And now I couldn’t lie!
“What TV shows have you done, Juror # 9?”
“Um, just The Nashville Network, your honor.”
“Not Comedy Central? Why not?”
“I guess industry doesn’t like me, your honor.”
“You should be more animated like Dane Cook. Or get a puppet.”
“Dane Cook is whack, your honor.”
“We’d like to thank and dismiss Juror #9.”
I will not be in the case of the People vs. Homeboy, which really sucks because the defendant had a giant 46 tattooed on his face, so you know it would have been awesome!
My husband just got a vasectomy. He got special permission for me to be in the room. Lucky me! First, the doctor ripped back the sheet and said, “This will be easy. You have a nice big vas!” Did he just say my husband has a big dick? Then, the doctor kept chatting me up about comedy while he was sewing up my husband’s testicles.
“Wow! You’re a comedian. What’s that like?” Could this be less appropriate? The only thing that would be more inappropriate would be during a rape kit. “Ok, we’re going to get a vaginal swab…so, you do comedy, that’s fun! If we catch this guy, can you get me free tickets?” The urologist kept going on and on about free tickets. You’re a freaking doctor! You don’t have $10?
They finally caught the Westside rapist. Well, they are pretty sure they have the right guy because when they brought him in for questioning, he raped them.
I had to stop telling the Westside Rapist joke because it was a current event and it left the news. Then, one night I’m watching the news with my husband and the anchor man said, “We have a new rapist on the Westside.” And, I’m like, “Yes!! I can tell my joke again!” What the hell is wrong with me? I’m rooting for rapists at this point? I’m like “Keep raping on the Westside! Go rapist; go rapist!”
One of my friends is an editor at Hustler magazine. He gave me a copy because his name was in it. I thought, “I’m liberal, I can look at Hustler. I’ve seen Playboy.” Oh my God!! It is nothing like Playboy! The ads for Chicks with Dicks alone are enough to freak you out. Then my girl friend who is in the porn industry said, “I’m gonna be in the dirty Hustler this month.” There’s a dirty Hustler? What is going on in the dirty Hustler? Is it a pop up book? Is it like the Harry Potter pictures that move and we actually see the penetration?
I went on the road with this vegan comic. He didn’t eat meat or dairy or eggs or fish or sugar or white flour or food. But, he popped vitamins like crazy and ran 10 miles a day. I asked him once, “So how do you feel?” He said, “I feel pretty good.” Pretty good? Pretty good? I just had a quarter- pounder with cheese and a pack of Ho Hos; I feel pretty good, too. If I do all of that shit, I want to feel fucking GREAT!!
My vegan friend Lucy came over to my house and she brought her own food (which those people are prone to do). She had tofu shrimp. Well, not actual shrimp. She was very happy that they got the shape and texture of a shrimp down perfectly. I don’t get it. Why not just eat fruits and vegetables? Why eat veggie burgers and tofu shrimp? If vegans and vegetarians are so against eating meat, why are they pretending to eat meat? That would be like me pretending to pray.
I walked into Kaiser one day and overhead a female security guard telling a male security guard, “Oh yeah? Well, my motto is Fuck You!” Wow! That’s your motto? What the hell happened in your life? My motto is “Liquor before beer, have no fear.”
Fame is overrated. I mean think about Tori Spelling. When she was a teenager, she had a giant horse head. She should have been able to go through that shit in private. It’s one thing for the mean girl at school to call you Mr. Ed; it’s another thing for it to be on the cover of the Entertainment Weekly!
My husband and I both got copies of the new Harry Potter book, and I was about 100 pages ahead of him. I would get to a really sad part and start crying. He’d say, “What? What?” Me, crying, “I can’t tell you!” Then 100 pages later, he would yell “Not Dobby!”
One day I was looking at a box of Q-Tips and I saw that they had suggestions of how to use the Q-Tip, but not once do they mention to put them in your ears. Also, if you ask a doctor, they will tell you to never put a Q-Tip in your ear. But, have you EVER done anything else with a Q-Tip? You know that they know what you are doing with their product. There is an unwritten understanding between Johnson and Johnson and the consumer. Kind of a don’t ask don’t tell for cotton swabs.
I read an article in LA Times a few years ago about a man who had ‘acrotomophilia’, which is a sexual desire to have one of his limbs removed. The man found a doctor in Mexico (of course) who would remove a limb for his sexual satisfaction. What was that surgery like? Was he getting one arm cut off while he whacked off with the other? And let’s say it was the single greatest experience of his entire life. Now what? He can only do it up to 3 more times. Really only 2 ‘cause he has to have the free hand!
I read about these people who do body modification. Instead of getting a tattoo or a piercing, some of them are having a toe removed just to be cool. And now they are all judgmental toward the rest of us. “You with your corporate jobs, your monkey suits, your 10 toes! Capitalist pigs!”
I have lived in LA for 10 years, and I have never bought fruit from a guy on the side of the road. Why not? I give money to street people. I need fruit. Really, it’s a win- win.
Metrosexuals are fucking up my gaydar! My best friend Sally and I were out one night and these two guys kept looking at us. They were really really clean and well-kept. So, we couldn’t tell if they were gay. Fuck metrosexuality! If one of them needed a shave or to lose 20 lbs we would have known they were hitting on us!
My friend Rudy works at NASA and he asked if I wanted a tour. I said, “Sure, can I bring Kate?” He goes, “She’s British, right? I have to get more information on her first.” What is going on at NASA that I can see but Kate can’t see? Are they afraid she’s gonna stumble into the room where they faked the moonwalk? “We can fool the stupid Americans but a Brit could find us out.”
My friend’s boyfriend hired a private eye to follow her around and take pictures of her with other men. I told my husband, “I love you, but if you did that, I would divorce you.” He said, “Honey, I would never hire someone to spy on you! I would just do it myself.”
The healthcare in the California Prison system is so bad that the federal government just took it over. The man in charge of California prisons said, “Any healthcare a prisoner gets is good enough.” You hear that, Paris Hilton? You better keep your nose clean.
I’ve decided I need to get a passport. You know, in case I have to jump off this sinking ship in a hurry. Or in case the Evangelical Christians start going door to door collecting our vibrators and bongs.
My friend is dating a guy who says he’s a plushy. Then she found an animal mascot costume in his closet. That’s not a plushy; that’s a furry! I know my fetishes, and he's lying. You know your fantasy is fucked up when you pretend that it’s just jacking off into stuffed animals.
I heard on the radio that a study just came out that determined that people with kids are not as happy as people without kids. It was also found that the more kids you have, the less happy you are. This was also known as the “Duh!” report. They also determined that sex is nice.
Five minutes ago, the newscaster announced that an alligator escaped from the LA zoo, but they have not yet determined his motivation. What? Only in LA would an alligator ask, “What’s my motivation?” Turns out it was a publicity stunt on the part of the animal’s publicist because the alligator wants to be in Evan Almighty II.
I’m a loud- mouthed broad. I am a lot of bad words, a lot of labels they like to put on you to try to put you down and shut you up. I’m also a feminazi, a bleeding heart liberal, a heathen, a pinko commie, a druggie, a tree hugger, a bitch, a socialist, pro-baby killing, pro-prisoner, a dirty hippy, a slut, a troublemaker, a nigger lover, a fag hag, anti-American, anti-troops, French-loving, Al Queada sympathizer, a flag burner, a queer, a freak, a hedonist, a white trash hick, a pants-wearing, overbearing loud mouth broad. And, no, I will not keep my voice down!
I had jury duty last year. I didn’t try to get out of it because of the jokes I thought I’d get. Didn’t get a lot of jokes, but I did get a jury duty boyfriend. Hell, I was there 2 days! What else was I supposed to do? Don’t ever tell a judge you are a comedian! He became oddly fixated on that fact during the gang murder trail. He kept asking me all of these questions about my career—under oath! I had been bullshitting my new boyfriend out in the hall about how wildly successful I am. And now I couldn’t lie!
“What TV shows have you done, Juror # 9?”
“Um, just The Nashville Network, your honor.”
“Not Comedy Central? Why not?”
“I guess industry doesn’t like me, your honor.”
“You should be more animated like Dane Cook. Or get a puppet.”
“Dane Cook is whack, your honor.”
“We’d like to thank and dismiss Juror #9.”
I will not be in the case of the People vs. Homeboy, which really sucks because the defendant had a giant 46 tattooed on his face, so you know it would have been awesome!
My husband just got a vasectomy. He got special permission for me to be in the room. Lucky me! First, the doctor ripped back the sheet and said, “This will be easy. You have a nice big vas!” Did he just say my husband has a big dick? Then, the doctor kept chatting me up about comedy while he was sewing up my husband’s testicles.
“Wow! You’re a comedian. What’s that like?” Could this be less appropriate? The only thing that would be more inappropriate would be during a rape kit. “Ok, we’re going to get a vaginal swab…so, you do comedy, that’s fun! If we catch this guy, can you get me free tickets?” The urologist kept going on and on about free tickets. You’re a freaking doctor! You don’t have $10?
They finally caught the Westside rapist. Well, they are pretty sure they have the right guy because when they brought him in for questioning, he raped them.
I had to stop telling the Westside Rapist joke because it was a current event and it left the news. Then, one night I’m watching the news with my husband and the anchor man said, “We have a new rapist on the Westside.” And, I’m like, “Yes!! I can tell my joke again!” What the hell is wrong with me? I’m rooting for rapists at this point? I’m like “Keep raping on the Westside! Go rapist; go rapist!”
One of my friends is an editor at Hustler magazine. He gave me a copy because his name was in it. I thought, “I’m liberal, I can look at Hustler. I’ve seen Playboy.” Oh my God!! It is nothing like Playboy! The ads for Chicks with Dicks alone are enough to freak you out. Then my girl friend who is in the porn industry said, “I’m gonna be in the dirty Hustler this month.” There’s a dirty Hustler? What is going on in the dirty Hustler? Is it a pop up book? Is it like the Harry Potter pictures that move and we actually see the penetration?
I went on the road with this vegan comic. He didn’t eat meat or dairy or eggs or fish or sugar or white flour or food. But, he popped vitamins like crazy and ran 10 miles a day. I asked him once, “So how do you feel?” He said, “I feel pretty good.” Pretty good? Pretty good? I just had a quarter- pounder with cheese and a pack of Ho Hos; I feel pretty good, too. If I do all of that shit, I want to feel fucking GREAT!!
My vegan friend Lucy came over to my house and she brought her own food (which those people are prone to do). She had tofu shrimp. Well, not actual shrimp. She was very happy that they got the shape and texture of a shrimp down perfectly. I don’t get it. Why not just eat fruits and vegetables? Why eat veggie burgers and tofu shrimp? If vegans and vegetarians are so against eating meat, why are they pretending to eat meat? That would be like me pretending to pray.
I walked into Kaiser one day and overhead a female security guard telling a male security guard, “Oh yeah? Well, my motto is Fuck You!” Wow! That’s your motto? What the hell happened in your life? My motto is “Liquor before beer, have no fear.”
Fame is overrated. I mean think about Tori Spelling. When she was a teenager, she had a giant horse head. She should have been able to go through that shit in private. It’s one thing for the mean girl at school to call you Mr. Ed; it’s another thing for it to be on the cover of the Entertainment Weekly!
My husband and I both got copies of the new Harry Potter book, and I was about 100 pages ahead of him. I would get to a really sad part and start crying. He’d say, “What? What?” Me, crying, “I can’t tell you!” Then 100 pages later, he would yell “Not Dobby!”
One day I was looking at a box of Q-Tips and I saw that they had suggestions of how to use the Q-Tip, but not once do they mention to put them in your ears. Also, if you ask a doctor, they will tell you to never put a Q-Tip in your ear. But, have you EVER done anything else with a Q-Tip? You know that they know what you are doing with their product. There is an unwritten understanding between Johnson and Johnson and the consumer. Kind of a don’t ask don’t tell for cotton swabs.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Potluck
I have so many jokes that never see the stage because they don’t make the cut when I have a limited amount of time or because they don’t really logically fit into my act. I call them “pot luck” jokes. So, I am going to use this blog to release some of these jokes from the closet. Hope you enjoy them!
I heard on Oprah that this woman’s husband had an affair for 10 years and she didn’t know it. There is no way my husband could orchestrate an affair for 10 years unless I helped him. I’d have to leave him little yellow sticky notes on the fridge that read, “Fuck your secretary at 2:00. Don’t forget, it’s her birthday!” My husband can’t take out the trash by himself; he ain’t having a 10 year affair!
I love A&E Biography. But, I have to warn you: if you hate a famous person, and you are pretty comfortable with the idea of hating them, don’t ever watch an A&E Biography about them. Because when it’s over, you will love them! I now love Prince Charles and Donna Summer. Do you think I’m happy about that?? They have one on Hitler; I’m not watching it! I do not want to come out of this thing pro-Hitler. I don’t want to be like, “He was abused as a child. He only had one testicle. But, still he managed to grow up and fulfill his dream of killing 9 million people. You have to give him that!”
I was watching “Jailhouse Rock” one day and I realized that he sings, “Number 47 said to number 3, you’re the cutest jailbird I ever did see…c’mon and do the jailhouse rock with me.” You’ve got to hand it to Elvis! Before that came out, you never heard a Top 40 song about anal rape.
I was stopped at a red light one day. I looked over at the Hooters restaurant beside me and they had a sign in the window that read, “We now have a children’s menu.” And I thought, “Thank God! I’m pretty sure little Billy is ready to start objectifying women, but he can’t quite finish a full plate of chicken fingers yet.”
Have you ever listened to “Love Line?” These kids call up with these problems, but they never seem to realize what their real problems are. “Hi, like, last night, I was having sex on the couch, you know, with my dad, and like we got a stain on the couch, so like, I was wondering, what can I use to get that out?” Uh, I don’t know. Therapy? Or club soda.
I heard Adam Corolla from “Love Line” once ask, “If women are so smart, how come men invented everything?” Uh, Adam, it’s called birth control. Before Margaret Sanger started smuggling diaphragms into the country in wine bottles, women were having babies until we literally dropped dead. It’s a little hard hanging out in the basement for 18 hours a day perfecting the phonograph when you have 12 kids hanging off your tits.
Last year the Center for Disease control came out and said that they have changed their position and decided that being overweight is good for you. WTF? After all these years, why? I think the CDC got paid a visit by the Fat Lobby. Some mobster in an alley going, “Listen up Mister, nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee!”
Before I moved to LA, I didn’t know that movie studios screen movies to focus groups, and then change the movie based on what the idiots in the focus group said. I don’t get it. Movies are art. Make your art and put it out there! Can you imagine if other artists did this? What if Picasso ran his stuff past the villagers before he put it out? “I don’t know Picasso, shouldn’t the lady in the painting have two eyes? Shouldn’t her nose be in the middle of her face?” And everyone thinks that Monet is just too blurry.
I saw this thing on TV about animal testing. This guy named “Bob” with Parkinson’s disease was saying, “Screw the animal rights activists. If it weren’t for testing on chimpanzees, I would be sitting in a chair shaking for the rest of my life.” You know what? Maybe you are supposed to be sitting in a chair shaking for the rest of your life! Who gets to decide whose life is more valuable? I want to see an interview with the chimp’s wife. “If it wasn’t for that asshole Bob, my husband would be alive today.”
When I first moved to LA, I had to look for a job till I could get on my feet again doing comedy. They make you fill out all these questionnaires when you apply now. Some of them, you get. Like you know to check “no” to the question “are you a serial killer?” But, some of them you don’t know what they want. I actually had this question: “True or False-I own a monkey.” WTF? Where are they going with that? I mean, are they looking for someone who already has their own monkey or would owning a monkey somehow inhibit my ability to sell shoes?
There are no good magazines for women. Am I the only woman in America that doesn’t give a crap about hair and makeup tips? I’ve been wearing the same blush since high school; why do we have to talk about it every freaking month?
I was watching HBO one day and as this movie was coming on, it had symbols for language, violence, and Rape. I was so freaked out! Every scene I was like, “There’s a rape coming; there’s a rape coming. Is he gonna rape her? Is she gonna rape him? Rape rape rape rape rape!" This guy I know said, “I’m a red-blooded American man. I get turned on by rape scenes.” I said, “Me, too! Let’s watch Deliverence…or Pulp Fiction.”
I’ve been married to my husband for 16 years and I’ve never cheated. Not because I’m a good person, but because I have the kind of body that it really helps if you love me. This is not a one-night-stand ass!
I accidentally went to a swingers party. You know, the kind of party you are sure is going on in Hollywood when you are in Georgia or whatever small town you are from. I didn’t know what kind of party it was because someone told me about it. I’m pretty sure the printed invitation said something like “wife swapping”. At one point, the hostess looks at me and says, “Bobbie, get in the hot tub. No swim suits allowed!” Look, lady, I haven’t been naked in front of more than 10 people at a time since college. These days, I ain’t getting naked in front of anybody I ain’t fucking! And even then, only in 1/3s, like I’ll move the sheet off the part you’re working on.
My husband has a thing for the girl at the vet. I’m so excited about it! I haven’t had to take the animals in for months because he volunteers. I’m hoping he gets a crush on someone at all my errands. I’m working on getting the children hot female doctors and dentists. He got a postcard that instructed him to bring in a fecal sample from the cat at his next appointment. I teased him so badly, “You are never going to get any play with the vet girl after you bring in that poop!” He conveniently forgot it.
I was flipping through the channels one day and accidentally landed on that TLC show “The Operation”. They were doing a jaw operation. It was sooooo freaking gross!! They had the jaw unhinged and they were moving it all over the place. Ahhh!! I grabbed the remote and starting frantically trying to change the channel. But, it was too late. I was damaged. I couldn’t get the image of the jaw operation out of mind for weeks. When I tried to eat, when I tried to sleep, I would see it. Oh God! I just want my life back! I just want the pre-jaw ME back!!
My pet peeve is littering. I freaking HATE littering. One day this man threw down a plastic cup on the ground right in front of me and my child. I yelled, “Litterbug!” He wasn’t affected. We need a stronger social stigma for littering. I think we should start an ad campaign linking littering to Pedophilia. That would have an affect! Think about it. Instead of saying, “You threw that trash on the ground. You’re a litterbug!” You could say, “You threw that trash on the ground. You are a baby-raper!”
My husband was in the Kiss Army. In fact, he’s still a member. I tried to tell him, “Honey, the war is over!”
Only in LA is “I flaked” an excuse. Basically, that’s like saying, “Oh sorry, I didn’t give a shit.”
I like my dentist, but I hate his staff, especially the suction girl. She keeps shoving that damn vacuum cleaner down my throat. I’m not your prom date, bitch!
I keep getting myspace screwed. Whenever I produce a show, there are always people who comment everyone but me on how great it was. That’s why I can’t have 3-ways anymore. I can’t take it if the next day, the guy myspace comments the other girl, “Great 3 way last night!” And she writes back, “Yeah, you were awesome!” Hello! What about me? Wasn’t I awesome?
I think Starbucks is turning us all into a country of Prima Donnas. “Yeah, give me a non-fat, sugar free, half-caff Mexican Mayan Mocha frappaccino with an extra shot no whip and extra foam. Oh, and I’m in a hurry.” Who the fuck are you, Joan Crawford?
Now that we have kids, we are always trying to get time alone. We find ourselves sneaking around and lying to the kids. We will go out to eat and try to hide the evidence. The waiter will ask, “Do you want a take-out box?” And we scream, “No! We were never here!” Now I know why my parents used to have so many ‘errands’.
My friend loaned us her time share, and my husband and I got to go away for the weekend alone. We were so excited to be without the kids, we were having porno sex all over the condo. We lived together for over 10 years before we got the kids, we never had sex on the kitchen island. But we did it that weekend because we could! And we did it loudly!!
I heard on Oprah that this woman’s husband had an affair for 10 years and she didn’t know it. There is no way my husband could orchestrate an affair for 10 years unless I helped him. I’d have to leave him little yellow sticky notes on the fridge that read, “Fuck your secretary at 2:00. Don’t forget, it’s her birthday!” My husband can’t take out the trash by himself; he ain’t having a 10 year affair!
I love A&E Biography. But, I have to warn you: if you hate a famous person, and you are pretty comfortable with the idea of hating them, don’t ever watch an A&E Biography about them. Because when it’s over, you will love them! I now love Prince Charles and Donna Summer. Do you think I’m happy about that?? They have one on Hitler; I’m not watching it! I do not want to come out of this thing pro-Hitler. I don’t want to be like, “He was abused as a child. He only had one testicle. But, still he managed to grow up and fulfill his dream of killing 9 million people. You have to give him that!”
I was watching “Jailhouse Rock” one day and I realized that he sings, “Number 47 said to number 3, you’re the cutest jailbird I ever did see…c’mon and do the jailhouse rock with me.” You’ve got to hand it to Elvis! Before that came out, you never heard a Top 40 song about anal rape.
I was stopped at a red light one day. I looked over at the Hooters restaurant beside me and they had a sign in the window that read, “We now have a children’s menu.” And I thought, “Thank God! I’m pretty sure little Billy is ready to start objectifying women, but he can’t quite finish a full plate of chicken fingers yet.”
Have you ever listened to “Love Line?” These kids call up with these problems, but they never seem to realize what their real problems are. “Hi, like, last night, I was having sex on the couch, you know, with my dad, and like we got a stain on the couch, so like, I was wondering, what can I use to get that out?” Uh, I don’t know. Therapy? Or club soda.
I heard Adam Corolla from “Love Line” once ask, “If women are so smart, how come men invented everything?” Uh, Adam, it’s called birth control. Before Margaret Sanger started smuggling diaphragms into the country in wine bottles, women were having babies until we literally dropped dead. It’s a little hard hanging out in the basement for 18 hours a day perfecting the phonograph when you have 12 kids hanging off your tits.
Last year the Center for Disease control came out and said that they have changed their position and decided that being overweight is good for you. WTF? After all these years, why? I think the CDC got paid a visit by the Fat Lobby. Some mobster in an alley going, “Listen up Mister, nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee!”
Before I moved to LA, I didn’t know that movie studios screen movies to focus groups, and then change the movie based on what the idiots in the focus group said. I don’t get it. Movies are art. Make your art and put it out there! Can you imagine if other artists did this? What if Picasso ran his stuff past the villagers before he put it out? “I don’t know Picasso, shouldn’t the lady in the painting have two eyes? Shouldn’t her nose be in the middle of her face?” And everyone thinks that Monet is just too blurry.
I saw this thing on TV about animal testing. This guy named “Bob” with Parkinson’s disease was saying, “Screw the animal rights activists. If it weren’t for testing on chimpanzees, I would be sitting in a chair shaking for the rest of my life.” You know what? Maybe you are supposed to be sitting in a chair shaking for the rest of your life! Who gets to decide whose life is more valuable? I want to see an interview with the chimp’s wife. “If it wasn’t for that asshole Bob, my husband would be alive today.”
When I first moved to LA, I had to look for a job till I could get on my feet again doing comedy. They make you fill out all these questionnaires when you apply now. Some of them, you get. Like you know to check “no” to the question “are you a serial killer?” But, some of them you don’t know what they want. I actually had this question: “True or False-I own a monkey.” WTF? Where are they going with that? I mean, are they looking for someone who already has their own monkey or would owning a monkey somehow inhibit my ability to sell shoes?
There are no good magazines for women. Am I the only woman in America that doesn’t give a crap about hair and makeup tips? I’ve been wearing the same blush since high school; why do we have to talk about it every freaking month?
I was watching HBO one day and as this movie was coming on, it had symbols for language, violence, and Rape. I was so freaked out! Every scene I was like, “There’s a rape coming; there’s a rape coming. Is he gonna rape her? Is she gonna rape him? Rape rape rape rape rape!" This guy I know said, “I’m a red-blooded American man. I get turned on by rape scenes.” I said, “Me, too! Let’s watch Deliverence…or Pulp Fiction.”
I’ve been married to my husband for 16 years and I’ve never cheated. Not because I’m a good person, but because I have the kind of body that it really helps if you love me. This is not a one-night-stand ass!
I accidentally went to a swingers party. You know, the kind of party you are sure is going on in Hollywood when you are in Georgia or whatever small town you are from. I didn’t know what kind of party it was because someone told me about it. I’m pretty sure the printed invitation said something like “wife swapping”. At one point, the hostess looks at me and says, “Bobbie, get in the hot tub. No swim suits allowed!” Look, lady, I haven’t been naked in front of more than 10 people at a time since college. These days, I ain’t getting naked in front of anybody I ain’t fucking! And even then, only in 1/3s, like I’ll move the sheet off the part you’re working on.
My husband has a thing for the girl at the vet. I’m so excited about it! I haven’t had to take the animals in for months because he volunteers. I’m hoping he gets a crush on someone at all my errands. I’m working on getting the children hot female doctors and dentists. He got a postcard that instructed him to bring in a fecal sample from the cat at his next appointment. I teased him so badly, “You are never going to get any play with the vet girl after you bring in that poop!” He conveniently forgot it.
I was flipping through the channels one day and accidentally landed on that TLC show “The Operation”. They were doing a jaw operation. It was sooooo freaking gross!! They had the jaw unhinged and they were moving it all over the place. Ahhh!! I grabbed the remote and starting frantically trying to change the channel. But, it was too late. I was damaged. I couldn’t get the image of the jaw operation out of mind for weeks. When I tried to eat, when I tried to sleep, I would see it. Oh God! I just want my life back! I just want the pre-jaw ME back!!
My pet peeve is littering. I freaking HATE littering. One day this man threw down a plastic cup on the ground right in front of me and my child. I yelled, “Litterbug!” He wasn’t affected. We need a stronger social stigma for littering. I think we should start an ad campaign linking littering to Pedophilia. That would have an affect! Think about it. Instead of saying, “You threw that trash on the ground. You’re a litterbug!” You could say, “You threw that trash on the ground. You are a baby-raper!”
My husband was in the Kiss Army. In fact, he’s still a member. I tried to tell him, “Honey, the war is over!”
Only in LA is “I flaked” an excuse. Basically, that’s like saying, “Oh sorry, I didn’t give a shit.”
I like my dentist, but I hate his staff, especially the suction girl. She keeps shoving that damn vacuum cleaner down my throat. I’m not your prom date, bitch!
I keep getting myspace screwed. Whenever I produce a show, there are always people who comment everyone but me on how great it was. That’s why I can’t have 3-ways anymore. I can’t take it if the next day, the guy myspace comments the other girl, “Great 3 way last night!” And she writes back, “Yeah, you were awesome!” Hello! What about me? Wasn’t I awesome?
I think Starbucks is turning us all into a country of Prima Donnas. “Yeah, give me a non-fat, sugar free, half-caff Mexican Mayan Mocha frappaccino with an extra shot no whip and extra foam. Oh, and I’m in a hurry.” Who the fuck are you, Joan Crawford?
Now that we have kids, we are always trying to get time alone. We find ourselves sneaking around and lying to the kids. We will go out to eat and try to hide the evidence. The waiter will ask, “Do you want a take-out box?” And we scream, “No! We were never here!” Now I know why my parents used to have so many ‘errands’.
My friend loaned us her time share, and my husband and I got to go away for the weekend alone. We were so excited to be without the kids, we were having porno sex all over the condo. We lived together for over 10 years before we got the kids, we never had sex on the kitchen island. But we did it that weekend because we could! And we did it loudly!!
Monday, August 13, 2007
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Thursday, August 9, 2007
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