Delving Deep into Comedy

For the next few days I'm afraid that I will have to take my attention away from blogging to focus on working on some comedy that my friends and I are performing on New Year's Eve down at the club. It should be fantastic! If you're in the area, you should definitely check it out.

Be warned, during this period of full-time comedy-ing, I may be taking brief respites to rant and rave about the land of the serious.

Happy F****** Holidays.

So I knew this Jesusday-time would be a hard one for me, but I did not expect it to make me as hostile as it turns out that I am. I made the mistake of going to the mall the other day to buy some gifts for friends and family. Instead of finding the perfect holiday trinkets and baubles for my loved ones, I found myself wanting to punch my way of of the Mary Engelbreit store, kick the kiosk merchants in the face, and knock over the babies of Baby Gap. I think the only person that is as angry as I am is the pope.



Wouldn't you agree?

It Really Says a Lot About Me

I happened to glance down at my weird little shopping cart tonight while doing some grocery shopping today to see the following items:

-Two 12-packs of beer (Schlafly Pale Ale)

-One 6-pack of beer (Schlafly Coffee Stout)

-One carton of milk

-One bag of dog food

-A couple of dog toys

-One 2-foot tall gold X-mas tree

and. . .
-A copy of Us Weekly.

A perfect recipe for holiday grocery shopping. Right?

I Must Have Blocked it Out

I can't believe that I neglected to mention the part of the Q & A that horrified me the most. Bush was answering a question about what I can only guess (I missed the actual Q, but sadly caught the A) was about why we are still fighting a losing battle. He said something to the effect of, "We have to destroy these people. We can't stand by and allow secret prisons where they use torture to exist!"

I'm sorry, "What!?" You mean we can't allow those things that you are accused of having continue!?! For once, I agree with the man.

I don't honestly know what is worse: The fact that he said that to begin with or that NONE of the reporters called him out on it. Then, to top it all off, they giggled at his HILARIOUS joke, "So many questions, so little time." Man, and I thought I knew comedy.

That Familiar Sense of Dread

I came into work late today, and because of this was given the "good" fortune of being able to hear some of the press conference that darlin' Georgie gave today. I was already feeling a little sick this morning, but man! Say what you want about that guy, but he sure knows how to turn a stomach!

One of my favorite moments* was when asked about his handling of the Katrina aftermath, he said, "The one thing that I hate to be called is a Racist. Because . . . I hate to be called a Racist." Or something to that effect. What a wordsmith.

*to be read, "parts that made me eliminate any bit of faith I had in the American people when it comes to making any kind of important decision above picking out matching socks."

Six Beers and Still Nothin’?!

I drank six Schlaflys’ tonight - over the span of, what must have been a few hours - and a least a few movie/TV shows - and I still don'’t really feel anything. Well, to be honest, I am feeling a bit out of it and groggy - but my guess would be that would be the cuase of the ridiculously late hour and little sleep from the night before. I guess some would say that since I stretched the partaking of libations out over a few hours and/or movies, I should be fine - but I'm saying that if I were a real lady, I would be drunk. Once again, kind readers, that ever-present 60% man takes over, gulps down a few with no problem, and is ready to blech the national anthem (luckily, I am not that far down the road. . .yet.)
Ahhh.....loniless, I am your mistress - stuck between masculine and feminine - a friend to most. A mystery to the rest.

An Excercise in Self-Disillusion

Growing up, my dad and I spent many an afternoon in the St. Louis Art Museum. One of my dad’s favorite paintings is a rather large portrait of a man lying dead on a Cliffside with his devoted dog lying next to him – determined never to leave beloved owner’s side – even in the sad event of said owner’s demise. My father’s dogs had always been fiercely loyal to him – walking unleashed dutiful by his side at all times, coming to his defense in times of need, and never wanting to be farther than ten feet from him. This was my perception of what would fill a life with a dog – loyalty, devotion, affection. Needless to say it was a cold slap in the face when my life with Ralphie began.
Let me just say that our turbulent time together has never been marked by much of anything even mildly resembling devotion. Ralphie’s apparent attitude toward me would lean more to the, “F*** off, mom! I’m a loner beagle,” arena. If he had opposable thumbs and never-ending access to cat poop and garbage, I’m sure he would walk out of my life for good. For now, however, we are stuck together. Our differences in appearance (he is a natural red head, while I am not) and demeanor far outweigh any similarities we might have. He would love nothing better than to spend an entire day running, chasing rabbits. I, on the other hand, would prefer to sit at home watching old movies and reading Us Weekly. His favorite treat is a side-order of cat poop, mine would be French fries. I like to wear Pleasures by Estee Lauder while Ralphie’s scent of choice is Eau de Dead Deer by Nature. Whereas he prefers the pre-Rat Pack Frank, I prefer post. The one thing we do share, however, appears to be a fear of weakness. We both put up tough veneers in an attempt to hide the deeper weakness within.
The discovery of this similarity is finally allowing me to find my dependant, somewhat devoted dog. Let me explain. We recently experienced our first real snowfall of the year, leaving a couple of inches on the ground. I have to say that I was proud to see that my city was on the ball and had, by the time I got home, already covered the sidewalk outside my building with salt. As Ralphie and I went on our walk, however, I realized that this salt was not all it was cracked up to be. After taking a few steps on the sidewalk, Ralphie froze, lifting one or two paws at the same time, looking up at me with his huge, sad beagle eyes. And that was all I needed! I dutifully wiped the salt off his paws, warmed them with my hands, and scooped up my little dog – knowing that now we would be closer than ever. He had let his veneer peel back to show me the beagle beneath – the beagle whom every now and then needed to reach out and ask for help - the beagle who sometimes cried - the beagle who is sometimes hurt by words - the beagle who, some nights, needs a hug, cuddle, and someone who loves her – I mean him. Carrying him over the paw-piercing salt to set him gently in the newly fallen snow, I knew that we had reached a new place in our relationship. A place of pure honesty and trust. One where I could let my guard down and he would, in turn, do the same.
I walked back into our apartment after the walk more hopeful and excited about the proverbial journey on which he and I were about to embark where we would finally open up to each other and share our history, present and future.I turned to find Ralphie, ready to finally open up and bare my soul, only to find a trail made up of torn and chewed items he had pulled off of nearby tables leading me to find him ferociously humping my pillow. After chasing him off my bed, I knew that even though I had paid a fair amount of money to have someone remove his testicles half a year ago, his call for help and trust which lead me to open up was still only about sex.

A Blogology

I am sorry that I haven't been able to post in the last few days. The internet, tragically, at work (the only place I blog so far) has been down the past few days. I did, however, write a long blog to make up for this fact. Enjoy!

Life Lessons

Last night I was babysitting for my aunt and uncle who recently had a baby. No, wait, correction - had an awesome baby. Now, I have done my fair share of babysitting and childcare of many different sorts throughout my 24 years. I mean I've babysat children of various ages since I was 12, volunteered at a childcare facility in college, took a childcare class at a local hospital, and taught 4 separate art classes a day at an accredited daycare center for a year where it was mandatory for us to attend classes on abuse and CPR. All of which my family is well aware, and I'm sure played a large part in their decision to have me babysit. None of this, however, seemed to deter my aunt from calling me from the road to tell me, (and I quote) . . ."Don't shake the baby."

I repeat, "Don't shake the baby."

Now, if I could only remember the one about whether or not a plastic bag makes a good toy . . .

Blogiquette

Oh, and thanks to Jonathan for the article. Great minds support each other's flaws.

There's Hope for Me Yet!

Finally science has told me something I can work with! It's all about balance, folks. I may have to take up drinking coffee stout so that I can reap immediate benefits.
Man, Science, I'm sorry that I thought that you never did anything for me. You really came through on this one. You were the only one who gave me a glimmer of hope when everyone else had given up on me. You're great, Science - a true friend. Thanks, Science!

Godzilla Just Ate Jesus!

So I thought that whole "Fusion" craze was limited to food. You know, Chinese Cuisine meets Italain Fare in a seedy motel under the pseudonyms Mr. and Mrs. Jonesbrownsmith, spend the night doin' the sideways samba only to produce a lust-baby -- an eggroll filled with pasta con brocolli. That sort of thing. Apparently, however, I was wrong.