"So, how's your husband?"

That was one of the many things shouted at me when I was working on my set a couple weeks ago, like those poor ice skaters who get motivational shit shouted at them on the rink I'm sure at 5 AM to go for the gold.

For some reason this morning I had that going thru my head when I was at the ATM on my way to work. Tonight I have a club audition, that I was all getting dressed for this morning, going over stuff in my head. All week I've been wavering in attitude, from "Whatever, no one gets it" to "It's good practice" to "Blow it out, think positive for a change, you never know."

Why the fuck, then, am I doing this if not to succeed?

And the bigger-picture issue is (before this becomes something that belongs in the comedy blog), why the fuck am I ending a marriage if my life is not going to become better because of it?

If comedy was part of the reason, then goddamnit, become an awesomely excellent comedian. If you write better jokes than so fucking many comics out there, than deliver the shit out of them. Get them heard, dammit. Fuck it. Why would you work your ass off, make sacrifices, for nothing? That's not smart, and you are a smart person.

If you are becoming single, then you have the opportunity to find a man, or let a man find you, who loves you for who you are, completely. Who can support you in all kinds of ways. Did you lose one schmuck so you could find another? No, you did not. That's not smart and you are a smart person. The heart is tricky, but ultimately you will prevail. The heart is much trickier....this analogy was much better written in my head.

But the point remains.

Ummm....maybe I'm a little too smart sometimes.

When I was thinking about all this,I actually got quite emotional.

THAT'S what I need.

Not the clever analogies.

Fuck off in print is one thing.

Fuck off from the heart is another.

Got it? Good. I hope I do.

Things I have found in my room

- A handheld "organizer" G got as a "good service" gift from the company that i was gonna sell on eBay
- At least four packages of envelopes.
- Very old business cards
- A half-bent Bloomingdales credit card
- One rollerblade
- G's old work uniform I am tempted to keep as a costume
- Forgotten to be returned clothes - bras, rain coat
- Docking cradle for way old Palm device I don't have
- Unmarked CDs and some game CDs
- Can of "office cleaner"
- Millions of wire hangers
- My fattest fat jeans (don't even ask, it's tragic)
- Picture from same era
- A baby gift I never sent (oops)
- Friend's molecular biology publication
- Books I tried and failed to sell on half.com
- 16 Playboys that are up on eBay
- George Foreman grill (again, failed to sell on eBay which is fine because it would have been a pain to pack and ship.)
- Pounds of dust. I am choking. Will the crap-sifting never end?

Quentin Tarantino, Uma Thurman and me in a room

And I wouldn't answer the phone for a week.

Just finished watching "Kill Bill Part 2."

Awesome. The man doesn't waste a word, image, action, not a damn thing.

Just awesome.

You walked in to the party

You know when I've resorted to song lyrics then I've either gone lazy or gone crazy or gone hazy.

Or all of the above.

ear catching as well, but a little different....

"I am the girl you know, can't look you in the eye
I am the girl you know, so sick I cannot try
And I am the one you want, can't look you in the eye
I am the girl, you know I lie, I lie and lie
I'm Miss World, somebody kill me
Kill me pills
No one cares, my friends
My friend
I'm Miss World, watch me break and watch me burn
No one is listening, my friend
Now I've made my bed, I'll lie in it
I've made my bed, I'll die in it
I've made my bed, I'll lie in it
I've made my bed, I'll die in it
Cute girls watch when I eat ether
Suck me under
Maybe forever, my friend
Now I've made my bed, I'll lie in it
I've made my bed, I'll die in it
I've made my bed, I'll cry in it
I've made my bed, I'll lie in it
I am the girl you know, can't look you in the eye"

- "Miss World," Hole

just caught my ear

"There's so many dreams, I've yet to find."
- Carole King, "So Far Away"

More later, in context or out.

Drunk Snacks!

1. Microwave popcorn tossed with fat free herbed feta cheese
2. Fat free (drained, extra thick) Greek yoghurt with toasted walnuts, shredded coconut and raspberry jam.

Delicious!

I am awesome in my capabilities.

por que bother?

So he mentions that he was by the UCB theater at the Gristedes looking for me on line, outside. So he wants to know when my class show is. So he automatically has to make asshole remarks about what it is that I am doing. So he wants to know when I"m getting paid for all this. So I explain again and again. So I get more asshole remarks. So he acknowledges his assholism, but denies that it's reared its ugly head during the course of the conversation. And so on...

All I ever wanted is a snark-free "I'm proud of you."

That's it.

Thank you,
The management.

On an aside, the packing is traversing as a sine wave, peaked at the maximum by Gloria Gaynor singing "I Will Survive" and an attractive women dancing in panties and a t-shirt slamming the lid on a box labeled "Books," and minimized by a sobbing woman hurling dusty paperbacks and scrap envelopes and greeting cards into a Fresh Direct box, cross-legged on the floor to Joni Mitchell's "Both sides now," crossing the x-axis at the placement of you-as-a-couple's photos at other people's weddings face down in a drawer and sighing to "In my Life."

Redux, shmedux

I sent the poem to Gary, nary a word.
Huh.
I've been packing his shit Packing, boxes, tape, newspaper. What fun!
Ho!
I've been thinking a lot about way-old boyfriends and way-lost loves lately.
Hee!
I reserve the right to be nonsensical on any chosen occasion.
Hoo!
That is one of the five words I cannot spell.
Oops!
I've gotten some fine new material lately, or the stirrings of some.
Har!
Remind me to send L- that MP3.
Ha!
Good times, yo. I found my stash of IRC print outs. The ones that Gary dismissed as being poorly spelled. The ones that inspire me.
Boo.
Today I bought (on sale) a pile of fun notebooks, a candle, a patch, and a watch. Some for gifts, some for me.
Whee!

Phantom kitty.

He doesn't run out the door when I open it. He doesn't kick up litter or push around his food bowl. He doesn't jump on my face at five thirty in the morning, or even seven. He doesn't tear up the sofa. He doesn't run to the door, alert and on call, when the door bell rings. He doesn't scratch at bags of Chinese or Japanese food expectantly. He doesn't tear at baked chicken or deli turkey breast.

Fuck.

My poor stuffed puppy (semi-nameless at this point, let's call him Junior, really I'm far too old to be naming stuffed animals) is no substitute, although he doesn't scratch, he does tend to get lost under the blankets.

Fuck.

I'm a bit bummed.

Who knew?

Hmmm redux.

Or was it "Fuck off. Love you?" Perhaps so.

When you google "love hate" you get over 14 million results.

One of my favorites breaks it down in a form anyone can comprehend:

Do the Math!

This gem is from Cartoon Stock:



And since things are compulsively better/funnier/somethinger (you see?) in threes....

Love Hate Tattoos - if you ever need serious ink in the Rochester NY area. (I think Deuce is my fave!)

xx

Oh dear, I wonder why the last one quit?

From The Guardian classified section:

"Psycho-legal assistant
Campbell Law Solicitors
Buckinghamshire
Campbell Law Solicitors require psycho-legal assistant."

Hmmm.

Did you ever have someone describe a relationship that you were in with them as "love-hate?"

Hmmm. Should one be insulted or pleased?

Of course, they are probably right. And it does imply a certain lack of being-asleep-at-the-wheel. Hate's a fairly loud and/or painful condition. Not for the faint of heart. Fortunately, it doesn't last terribly long.

Hmmm indeed.

Love you too. Fuck off.

No, YOU rock!

I am so proud of my friend J- (am I using names? Probably not, I don't know the rules. So I will use initials, or thinly disguised names, or adorable nicknames. Right now I'm not in the mood to come up with the latters, so I use the letters. ha!)

Anyway, she did this - run up the stairs of the Hancock Tower in Chicago.

Whoo, hooray for her! Go girl, go!

http://www.active.com/results/viewresults_multiple.cfm?filename=1196265_20050228075004.txt

This was not a random download.

Selfindulgent, yes. Completely unrandom, yes. This is one of the most completely compelling songs ever. Bet you've never heard it.

This is a journal about love, nominally.

When I first heard this song, I lost it, just lost it.

Now that I look at it, it reminds me a little of something my ex-B says, too.

Callback city.

This is some beautiful song I bet you've never heard.

Voice in the wilderness - Ben Weaver

I'm not gonna give you what you want to hear
I’m not gonna be with you in the end
It’s cold as the stars way down inside of me
You’re the voice that stands on the edge of the wilderness
Crying my god what should I do with this mess
My heart is the legs running inside my mind
Like a mad man I have lost any sense of time
I have slept under the overpass of Blue Avenue
In the people passing by I let go of you
Crying my god love is a bird dying in the sky so blue 
Sometimes people are like god and they really don’t exist
Unless you aim for my heart you will always miss
You can hold a match to my love and it will always burn
In your arms I can make any 2 words rhyme
Crying my god this is a place these are strange times 
When you wake up one morning I will be down the road
You won’t see me or hear or understand this song
When I wake up some mornings lying next to her
Say time is an arrow they say it heals the stitch
Crying my god this is a song for a love I can’t resist 
The snow falls tonight on the horses back
And the light comes through the window like a stolen car
I wish you the best in everything you do
I love you with everything I have
Crying my god cant you see there’s no going back

Why do you drink? I'm so lonesome I could cry

Silly! They're song titles!

I've just downloaded (legally, silly) an inordinate amount of Hank Williams, Jr and Sr.

Silly me.

Overtired, most unfortunately so. It's 454 AM. This is not funny.

xx, world.

Pastiche of blind items, stolen items, and miscellaney

1. Blind items are not effective, sod it.

2. I sent this poem on to the person who perhaps needed to see it. Another of life's bitter ironies, if I had font capabilities, I could have sent it in the original:

"I loved you..."
by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

I loved you, and I probably still do,
And for a while the feeling may remain...
But let my love no longer trouble you,
I do not wish to cause you any pain.
I loved you; and the hopelessness I knew,
The jealousy, the shyness - though in vain -
Made up a love so tender and so true
As may God grant you to be loved again.

As I described it, "Overwrought, with a touch of 'Fuck you'" So very Russian.

3. Without permission, I have dipped into same certain person's email account and have reprinted this without permission. But expectation of privacy being what it should (zero) and someone knowing that they should really separate their electronic lives, my help or not, tough shit to you. However, it sums things up in a most poignant and kind of interesting manner, and shows how fucking wrongheaded and selfish and sad he can be.

Did I break his heart? Did he break mine?

How did we make eachother out so wrong for so many years? how???

(a reply to a friend of his, another former friend-with-benefit of his)

"I'm very sad for Michelle, for myself, for her family, her friends, for Homeboy. But I think her expectations for solipsistic *me* to give her a happy, giving marriage were unrealistic. I've asked her enough times (albeit in anger or exasperation), "What... do...you...want...from...me?!

How could I ever have competed with her X-er improv and comedy friends, her lawyer friends, or her gay friend M*, who she spends hours and hours with, talking and laughing about tv shows, plays, musicals, books and songs that I don't know anything about?

I was fascinated by her smarts and her manic craziness, and felt tender affection and sentimental romance, but it ultimately wasn't enough for her. She wanted to be friends, too. But I guess I knew better on some level: how can you be friends with someone who can break your heart?"

4. I have many friends named Ken, and I spoke to some of them tonight, and that made me quite happy. One of them and I were wondering if we'd ever just have one relationship, just have one job, one love, one career. If nothing else, our brilliant university education (Where we met) taught us how to multitask! Sigh.....

5. I had a tentatively nice conversation with a perfectly nice, attractive, funny, employed, age-appropriate, smiley, friendly guy last night. Who appeared to kind of like doing that with me. Then I ran ran ran away. Fast.

6. The "Vagina Monologues" is over. It went well. I'm tired. Can't help but think about that one about the thirtysomething lawyer who became a dominatrix....

7. A diet of whole foods and booze can constitute a balanced lifestyle, no?

Things aren't supposed to happen.

(pushes glasses up on nose, begins in a slight nasal drawl)

My entry today was inspired by dialogue from the Steven Soderburgh masterpiece "sex lies and videotape:

Graham: You're right, I've got a lot of problems... But they belong to me.
Ann: You think they're yours, but they're not. Everybody that walks in that door becomes part of your problem. Anybody that comes in contact with you. I didn't want to be part of your problem, but I am. I'm leaving my husband, and maybe I would have anyway, but the fact is, is, I'm doing it now, and part of it's because of you. You've had an effect on my life.
Graham: This isn't supposed to happen. I've spent nine years structuring my life so this didn't happen.

(End Gilda Radner/Molly Shannon teen angst parody. Too draining)

What was i going to say? I really should be working. But instead I was cruising imdb, ruminating over movie quotes.

This isn't supposed to happen.
You aren't supposed to love me.
You aren't supposed to miss me.
You aren't supposed to take me so seriously.
You're taking me the wrong way.
Why can't you just not let my obsessions not get to you?
This wasn't supposed to happen.
I won't fall in love with you.
I can't have feelings for you.
You weren't supposed to find out.
This wasn't supposed to happen.

Guess what world, shit does happen.

Happen it does, and happen it will.

No one is an island. A ball bounces in Peoria, a waveform perpetuates in Algeria.

Euphonious, no?

Touch and be touched at your own risk.

Take that as you will.

Now, I'm off to my seaside cure for at least a month. Send me back in time where my calling plan has no meaning. Of course, that would mean certain waves of chaos perpetuating into the future.....

And things that aren't supposed to happen, most certainly would.

hee he hee!

Oh dear, am I horrible? This is (almost) a bit-free entry. Almost, of course. Come on, this is me.

So I mentioned to the ex that I'd called my ex-boyfriend (who'd given me the kitty in the first place), and he was pretty unhappy I'd given up the kitty.

I didn't expect this. G'd been bugging me for years, Why dont' you call your exes, stay in touch, blah blah. Keep in mind, he was friends, etc (?) with almost all his ex-girlfriends and fuck buddies, except for the ones who couldn't handle him (and he'd tried to insinuate himself into their lives anyway). But I'm not really like that, I'd think about people, move on, I'd have folks on my mind, but whatever. I never called B. Until the other night (see below) and yes, it was nice. And honestly, I don't have that many exes.

The ex(husband) was pissed. Mad, jealous, pissed.
And I couldn't stop laughing. He admitted, he didn't expect it. The jealousy. He's figuring out, that I'm not "his."
Mad jealous. Laughing. Oh dear.
Now what would the poor man do if he found out, say, I was hittin' dudes theoretically young enough to be his kid? (I mean, not that I am, but I could be!)
Oh dear. Too funny!
To quote a future sketch work in progress...."Are we awful?"

(clarification: To you kids out there, my future ex is 44 years old. Old! Precambrian, preMTV, precomputer My ex-boyfriend is 46 Damn, I'd forgotten about that. Guy I was hittin' around the same time I was dating the ex-B is probably, by now, over 50. I actually need to look him up, for a slew of other purposes....but oh, another entry for another time. Yeah, I had my older-man phase. Never slept with a guy in his 20s when I was in my 20s. Well, a couple of odd times, but not with any regularity. Why am I telling you people this? Sheesh. Ancient history. Get it? Maybe I need to resurrect "sexual peak...." Oh no, even worse.)

More important facts about me

1. I am an erratic, lazy perfectionist. (Note that I carefully edited my stupid last blog post for content and clarity. Yet my office is a mess and I am behind on billing and have a paycheck in my pocket crushed up to be deposited.)
2. I fear rejection (well who doesn't?) but I tend to go "shields up" and develop an attitude of apparent rudeness and snarkiness, while inside I'm like a fourteen year old girl sobbing into her pink fluffy throw pillows and drawing giant violet hearts onto her notebook with x's through them.
3. I may agree with my lamented husband that I may, perhaps, expect way too much from people. Unconditional love, great empathy, and the ability to read minds, for starters.

Did you care? I thought not!