Author Archives: admin

Crazy in a Patsy Cline sort of way

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I have to figure out how to update this style sheet, since I can stand these blues everywhere. That’s almost like poetry.

Meanwhile, I realized something stupid about myself, which is embarrassing. So, for years I have dated a variety of different types of men, who mostly could be subcategorized under one universal heading. Of course, that heading would be asshole. Unfortunately, what I realized tonight is that the succession of a’holes has meant a version of post-traumatic disorder. I sometimes wince like the abused (although, thank fucking God, I’ve never been hit). I flinch waiting for the blow, or in my case the more subtle rebuff or fight or insult or something. The proverbial shoe drop, as in the shoe I’m always waiting to drop.

But, like seven months or so in with M., no shoe drop. Not even a hint of leather hitting the floor. He still smiles. He does nice things. He doesn’t mind that comedy and writing are both incredibly consuming and way too largely self-involved. And, he has the best ass of anyone I have ever dated. Almost so nice that I feel unworthy. (If you are reading this, and you are M., I said almost.)

It is going to be weird when he’s gone. But rather than miss him, I plan to value what we do have. Yeah, that’s my fucking experiment in optimism. The exertion will probably kill me.

Can't decide

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I can’t decide if I like this new format for the blog. It is much easier to use, now that I had to resort to text editing HTML.

I have done a bare minimum to survive at work this morning. Now, I better go pick up paychecks and a grant, since failure could get me fired.

I got my first comment on my blog from someone I don’t know (or at least I can’t tell who it is). Greetings to “chasmyn,” and O vow to use more paper towels.

That reminds me, I’m on a string of fun search hits to my blog. “Black don’t crack,” being my favorite. I also liked “set up and punch,” because the result had nothing to do with joke writing. The Google result showed my matching text as

… of them are funny, and children do not belong in places like bars (I recently wanted
to punch a mother … I wonder how hard it would be to set up my own server. …

I like that I was writing about punching a mother. Today brought “female belly punch.” I wonder what the fuck that is all about.

Alright, better go earn my keep.

Naked

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2003-09-14 – 12:51 a.m.
I started this blog as to mock blogs, but today I feel like being myself and writing about something real.

The Naked Show 2003

Wow, that was surreal and real and so many things. Driving home with the wind in my face and songs in my ears was the closest thing to how I remember feeling when I first got high. I felt alert and so much was going on that it was like nothing was going on. Just life, minute by minute. All explanations seem awkward and fake, but I feel like trying anyway.

So, my day was spent in anticipation and worry and nervousness. When I first tried stand up comedy, and then the second time I tried two years later, I tried to control all things that I could to quell the unbelievable anxiety. I ate early knowing my appetite would be gone; I planned my outfits down to the underwear.

Today was the same, even though I have now performed comedy every week for over two years. But, the “outfit” was my naked body, since the plan was to be onstage with absolutely only my words out there. FUCK! How do you prepare for that? I showered twice, once in the morning and later just before the show. I loofahed. I exfoliate scrubbed. I trimmed. I tweezed. I had the long hair on my head highlighted and trimmed two weeks before, so it would be comfortably coiffed. I looked in the mirror and thought about backing out. Ultimately, I put concealer and foundation on my bikini line to hide redmarks and bumps still lingering from a stupid shaving blunder a month ago.

Then, I went to the show. A private party and a benefit for an organization for which my friend works, this show was his idea and his to host.

I guess one of the oddest things about the show for me was that the combination of nerves was askew from what I’m usually nervous about. By planning my outfits, etc., before most shows, I’m pretty confident that I look OK and my nervousness is focused on whether my jokes are good enough (and mostly my self doubt says they’re not even when my mind thinks they are). Naked, I pretty much had to believe that the reverse was true — I looked stupid, but my jokes would carry me through.

Since I truly stiffen up in fear a lot on stage, which has been my biggest struggle, the whole thing had failure written all over for me in so many ways.

Being naked and performing is essentially a classic nightmare. For me, performing already is too often a nightmare of nervousness and anxiety for me. Anxiety I can’t explain or control or monitor in any helpful way just happens. When that happens, I get on stage and everything isn’t necessarily bad, but it’s off and not as funny as it should be.

So, I really should have crashed and burned tonight, self emoliated in epic proportions.

But, I didn’t. I came out and told my jokes and felt fine.

Or, I didn’t feel anything, really. I was in the moment to a weird nth level. At no time during my set did I consciously (read self-consciously) consider my nudity or the worth of my words or all of the landmarks that usually throw me into over analysis and frozen flat unfunniness.

I swang for the fences and played like a pro.

It was organic and cool and just was.

The entire ride home, I just felt the wind and that weird disconnected view of the world that was the bliss of smoking pot when I was a kid. And just like being high, I didn’t really want to hang at the party making small talk. Tonight I wanted only the warmth of the hot tub, followed by the coolness of the night air, followed by the satisfaction of a cold drink. It was all about sensation.

And, I was so contented to be back in my car alone. Riding in a convertible, too fast. Listening to a CD mixed and given to me by a guy I like being with (how could you not like a guy who gives you CDs labeled Girl Power Volumes 1, 2 and 3.

The lights the moon the night Route 9 at over 60 mph the city. Maybe that’s what happy is supposed to feel like.

And now as I write this and all the way driving home, I feel physically tired. The good kind of body dragging physical exhaustion you feel when you are fuck drunk. That weird, calm, smiling tired when your head hits the pillow because there can be no more orgasms. You and someone you like have used them all up and used all of the energy you could muster and now just collapse into sleep.

I feel that good, warm tired.

So, that’s the Naked Comedy Show.

Now, let’s hope I can bring this feeling back.

D