STORY NUMBER 2

STORY NUMBER 2

This is not a story about Number 2 (sorry if you're disappointed)- it's the second part of the previous blog.

2. THE DEATH OF MY FAVORITE JEANS

So, after applying for about 200 full-time "big girl" jobs for the past two months, I finally got two new jobs, both of which are temporary for the holidays. So currently I have three jobs (LIVING THE DREAM, people!) I'm doing random catering gigs for fancy people's house parties, and for the next couple weeks, I'm delivering cookie baskets to the entertainment industry. When people in this town wanna say "THANKS for your business," they do it with a basket of cookies. Or a box, a sleigh, a beautiful hand-blown glass bowl...but everything has a freakin' balloon on it, which makes driving without a horn VERY dangerous (SEE PREVIOUS BLOG AND QUIT ASKING QUESTIONS).

So, back to the jeans. Yesterday- no wait, we need to go back to Sunday night when I twisted my ankle at the ATM at my local "Danger-ton Mutual." I went down, heard a snap (like you do when you've torn more ligaments and broken more ankles than God). What? Anyway, it hurt like a bitch. And in the midst of the sudden violent motion of my fall, I *might* have ripped my jeans a little. Or at least that's what I'm telling myself.

On day 1 of my new cookie job, I made 6 deliveries- one place got 32 boxes of cookies, which involved several trips between my car and the mail room (limping past the security guard who noticed and generously let me park in the loading zone. Jesus I am wordy. ANYWAY, the point being I had gotten in and out of my car several times that morning. Shifting, sliding, shoving slips of paper into my back pockets, etc.

On my LAST delivery of the morning, I got out of the car in front of a group of three guys- they were hanging out in front of a U-Haul store hoping to find work for the day. They approached me, thinking I had stopped because I wanted to hire them. "No, sorry guys, I'm just going into that other building to deliver this enormous basket of Schmooze." They say okay, we exchange smiles, I walk past them. I come out a couple minutes later, and they approach me again, smiling even bigger now, almost embarassed.

I think, "uh-oh, they talked about me when I was inside, and now one of them is gonna hit on me or say something really offensive, and I'm gonna have to turn him down in front of his friends or say something mean like, "I'm not your BABY" or "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth!?"

But instead, this happens:

All three guys are smiling, and "mouthpiece" guy (or the guy who got the short stick?) comes toward me and says, "Excuse me, mam. I need to tell you something."

I'm thinking "I'm married, I'm gay, I'm busy, no thanks, you're very kind, fuck off, etc".

"I need to tell you that...your pants....your pants (grabs at his pants by the belt, shaking them up and down) it's ripped.

Guy turns red, other guys smirking and avoiding eye contact.

It took a second to register what he was talking about (his flirting is weird!) but I put my hand on my butt, and GUESS what? I felt my bare ass! Because he was right! My jeans were ripped. I was wearing the same jeans as the night before when I fell. Don't judge me- I used Febreeze.

Maybe they were a little ripped the night before and this last "in and out of the car" maneuver sealed the deal. Or maybe my ass was hanging out all morning, for every delivery and I just didn't feel the breeze! "Can you sign here? Thanks....happy holidays Bye!!" (and by the way, now you can laugh with your coworkers alllll day long because the last thing you saw was my ass!)

I can't be sure. All I know is that there was an equal amount of mortification and respect between me and that guy. He got stuck with telling me. But I was the one with the ass hanging out. Hats off to you, sir. And it's okay if you laughed about me all day long. After I went home and changed my pants, I laughed a lot too.

THIS is the kind of milk I like to serve with my cookies!

TWO THINGS ARE DEAD

TWO THINGS ARE DEAD

1. My Horn.

2. My Favorite Jeans

In the story of number one- Last Monday night, I was sound asleep and dreaming, and in my dream there was a nice soft tone playing- maybe someone was serenading me with one-note from a trumpet? Maybe it was someone singing an extended whole note of a beautiful Christmas Carol.....I wasn't sure.

Then I started to wake up a little, and I realized the sound was REAL, and coming from inside the house. I got up, stumbled into the hallway (was it the fire alarm?? Are we gonna die??) NO. Not the fire alarm. Waking up a little more by now....go toward the front door, open it and realize the sound is coming from outside...a fire truck? A Tornado drill? NO, It's coming from my driveway. And it's my CAR HORN. ONE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTE continuously HONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNKING, right outside my neighbor's bedroom window. I panic. I'm in my pajamas, outside by this point, with no keys. Ran back inside, found the keys, ran outside and opened the car door. I didn't know what to do, so I just started banging on the steering wheel, and the horn stopped. AHHHHHH. silence. So awesome.

After my roomate and I exchanged a few "What the fuck????s" I stumbled back into the house. It was 3:30am-I crawled back into bed, enjoyed a little chuckle at the sheer volume of my horn and how my neighbors must have shit their pants in their dreams, and fell back asleep.

I completely forgot that this happened. Until Tuesday night at 1:30 am. HONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNK.

I bolted up out of bed, ran outside (WITH my keys this time) and did the "hit the horn until it stops" move. This time it was NOT funny at all.

I went to a mechanic the next morning and asked them to fix it. Apparently my horn is wired alongside the airbags, so instead of dealing with that, I just took out the fuse.

So now my horn is dead, and I am sad. because I really love honking at people.

Now my horn sounds like this:

" "

********************************

The story of number 2 will have to wait until I can upload a picture, because I want you to have the full effect.

THOSE PORN STAR NEIGHBORS!

THOSE PORN STAR NEIGHBORS!

*musical vamp*

On today's episode of "THOSE PORN STAR NEIGHBORS", Michelle is woken up by the shrill voice of her porn star neighbor screaming, "CALL THE POLICE. CALL THE POLICE NOW!!!!" What's a holiday weekend without a fight between porn star's boyfriend and husband? Luckily, this time, there doesn't seem to be any danger for the porn star or her son. But boy is it loud when two grown men fight!

Once the cops show up, Michelle can't go back to sleep, because the Burbank police officers are too HOT! Yeeeow.

Will the husband get into a fight with the guy in the Volvo who comes over every day for a couple hours? Will Michelle call the police for no reason just to see them again? Tune in Next Week! Or later today. Or at 4 am tomorrow. Or in repeats after sweeps.

"THOSE PORN STAR NEIGHBORS" is always on.

*musical vamp*

WHAT I'VE LEARNED THIS WEEK

WHAT I’VE LEARNED THIS WEEK

1. The ratio of "jobs applied for" and "responses received" is 200:1

2. I wish "Donna" was related to me, because I really like her sweet potato pie.

3. I enjoy dogs and babies only if they are mine.

4. I need a bailout.

5. When shopping for a man's dress shirt (to wear to my new catering job), I have to pretend I have a huge neck so the shirt will button around my tit-shelf.

6. In addition to helping you cheat on your spouse, the internet is an excellent teaching tool- I used to to learn how to tie a full windsor!

7. I can do amazing things with a veggie burger.

8. I can collage the shit out of a box of matches.

9. PBR is cheap, no matter what city you are in.

10. Sometimes, when you delete someone, they don't notice for 6 months.

11. When taking a comedy class, try to stay away from topics like "cancer" and "death"

12. I am in year 5 of a 9 year cycle. And my life path number is a 7. If I just knew what that meant...

13. Sometimes, the universe sends you a message in the form of a missed phone call.

14. Daylight savings time is cock-blocking my exercise routine.

15. Being a "Real Housewife" on Bravo is not the same as being a "Real Person."

16. I do not care about Vampire movies OR flat screen TVs.

17. People who live in LA need to go "home" or "away" periodically to stay sane.

18. The free hotdogs at the White Horse are Chicken and Turkey, no pig.

I HAD A DREAM

I had a dream.

Not the profound, Martin Luther King, Jr. kind...just your run-of-the-mill, "DOES NOT MAKE SENSE" weird dream….I've had a couple weird ones lately.

The first one involved my porn-star neighbor singing Karaoke at some bar. People were making fun of her and I came to her defense. "HEY guys! Quit being mean! She has a right to sing just as much as you do. Even if her boobs are 'elephant-man-freakish' and you can't stop staring at them! Just let her sing!"

Then later, I was onstage singing. As a gesture of gratitude, she appeared with two jars in her hands- one jar of peanut butter, and one jar of mayonnaise. She opened the jars, stuck one finger in each jar, and wiped peanut butter in one of my ears, and mayonnaise in the other ear. THEN she licked both of my ears clean (because assumingly, she is good at that). I don't know WHERE she got the two jars- maybe she just carries them with her all the time? I was terrified, because A) we were still onstage, and B) I am pretty sure it was being filmed, and I was afraid this lesbian lick-fest would affect my ability to stay straight. I'm telling you, even though I hate the smell of mayo, it was nice. Afterwards, not sure what she was gonna do next, I said in a shaky voice, "I'm your neighbor." And she just smiled and said, "I know."

And that was it! Does that mean I'm a lesbian? Probably not. Does it mean I need to buy more Q-tips? Maybe. Does it mean I should actually talk to my neighbor instead of just staring in awe at her boobs every time she goes outside? No….because for the record, you cannot HELP it. They were volleyballs in another life, no shit.

I'm not exactly sure what it means. It's been on my mind for a few days…but then last night, I had another dream. This one was more of a nightmare- I was in Denver on a Tuesday and I forgot to go to the Squire open mic! I was devastated. How could I be so stupid!? My favorite show in Denver…the one with all the cute boys! I literally woke up sick to my stomach. It took a few minutes for the grief to settle before I came out of the morning fog, and it hit me. It was JUST A DREAM! I would never miss the Squire! Just a silly, silly dream! It doesn't mean anything! Dreams don't mean anything!!

WOO HOOO!!!

I can still date men!

NIGHTMARE AT THE POLLING PLACE

NIGHTMARE AT THE POLLING PLACE

HAPPY VOTING DAY EVERYONE!

I had to walk three whole blocks to my polling place- The Little White Church in Burbank, so it's called. In addition to a normal sized sanctuary, this "Little White Church" also has a gym, an office that looked more like a ticket window ("Step right up! Get your tickets to the God show!"), a crib room (gross), a Fellowship Hall (the room where pot lucks are neither organized or enjoyed), a rose garden, a long hallway of classrooms, a library (shouldn't there only be one book??), and a mysterious staircase leading to a second floor, or maybe it was heaven. I wasn't sure because the lightbulb didn't work.

Despite the misleading name, it was a nice place. Enough wood pannelling to choke the '70s, but still....nice enough. The line wasn't very long, and there were NO women in line. At first I thought that was odd, but then I forgot about it, because I remembered that the Biggest Loser is on tonight. YAY!

As I walked to the end of the line thinking about what I was going to eat while watching TV later, I was stoned. I mean people starting throwing stones at me! A man literally spit on me as I walked by, and when I got to the front of the line, another man ripped up my ballot in my face while all the volunteers yelled "BLEEDER!" and "WITCH!" It was incredibly scary.

Just kidding. I was surrounded by nice, intelligent people. (well, unless you count the meth-head lady who would not shut up about how she needs to get in and out in 20 minutes because she has kids counting on her to be there on time). YIKES. But for the most part, people smiled, laughed, and were generally in a good mood. They felt like they had a voice!

There were mostly women in line. I guess a lot of the men were at home watching football? Several of the women were on cell phones, bluetooths, (teeth?), and blackberrys, conducting BUSINESS, making plans, getting shit done. There was a lovely old man and woman in matching red windbreakers, holding hands. The man helped his frail wife sign her name, seal her drop-off ballot before they walked home, hand in hand. The feminist in me was screaming, "LICK YOUR OWN ENVELOPE LADY!" but it was still pretty cute.

And after I successfuly ink-blotted my way through the ballot, I got my sticker and walked out, head held high. I voted! I hope I marked the right things....

I thought about all the people that don't vote, because they don't think their vote counts. And that made me sad. Everyone should vote, because above all else, it is FUN! I got to take a morning walk, see the inside of a church, listen to people's phone conversations, see what REAL love (and matching windbreakers) looks like, get a sticker, AND I got to be late to work! It was pretty cool!

And to top it all off, on my walk back home, I saw a man walking a Chihuahua with an American flag hankerchief around its neck. I KNOW!

Even the dog is proud to be an American today. I just hope he marked the right things....

Use Your Words

Use Your Words




Here's a sketch I co-wrote for my Groundlings Writing Lab. Enjoy....

WHAT I'VE LEARNED THIS WEEK

WHAT I’VE LEARNED THIS WEEK

What I've learned this week:

1. I'm losing friends from Myspace. People keep disappearing from my Friends List. Are they disappearing from real life too? Did their husbands take them in a fishing boat and dump their bodies in a lake? Did they flee to Mexico because they were featured in a "To Catch a Predator" report? Were they appalled at the porn/cartoon promo I sent out in a mass email this week? Who knows. But it hurts.
2. I tried to change my signature yesterday. I was signing an "official letter" to a mucky muck type person, and I realized I hate the way I sign my own name. SO, I practiced a new one for about an hour. See....I've always been indecisive. When I was younger, just learning how to sign my name in cursive, I could NOT decide which way to do it. I would do it one way for a few months, with certain "A"s, and a different loop in the "L"...then I would change it to be a different angle, or a different height on the H's and the M's. But yesterday, it hit me. If I can't decide which way to sign my name, which is a pretty basic expression of myself, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!? It could mean that I am truly an artist, unable to confine my creativity to one "style," or maybe it just means I'm gay.

(sidenote: I am indecisive about other stuff too. Like no donuts or three?)

3. I know WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY too many Libras. My dad, my ex-husband, my ex-boyfriend, and about 20 friends. Weird. I love them. I probably shouldn't date them. Especially my dad. That would be gross. Mostly because he's dead.

4. I am a high-maintenance friend. Come to my show! Come to my other show! It's okay if you can't come to this one, there will be another one in two days! You'll get an email! I think it's time to get my Road Manager Jerry back, so he can do the dirty work. And people are always asking about him anyway.

5. When you burn the VERY tip of your finger....the skin gets really weird right there. I might have join the circus. LIZARD FINGER LADY!

6. I need to cash out my IRA to pay my bills. And that might be a bad idea, considering I won't get as much money as I would have 6 months ago, or as much as I would if I waited a few months. And maybe I will personally hurt the economy by pulling out my real money. BUT even though I don't really understand what the bailout is, I am not running for office. And I definitely know what newspapers I read. Palin, you can suck a (blue, newspapery) bag of dicks.

7. I passed my Groundlings Lab. Yay! And more importantly, I made a bunch of new funny friends. Double yay!

8. The girl on the cover of the October issue of Playboy looks like she has dirt on her *PANTY ZONE* Come on Playboy. Maybe if you had a better editor, you wouldn't be going under.

9. The Biggest Loser makes me cry. And I love watching it while I'm eating. It's my little "eff you!" to reality TV.

10. Chris Parnell makes me laugh even when he's sweating. I saw him walking around Silverlake the other day. I love him. Not in the psycho "go to his house and wait in the bushes" way. More like the "laugh at him after he walks past you" way. He's funny.

GIRLIE HAIKUS

Girlie Haikus

Every Month, we write Haikus at Small Gravy. They are small poems, and we cover them in Gravy.

Last Night, Amber Tozer and I performed our girl-slanted Haikus, and she also posted them in her blog, because we are twins. Look hers up. They are funny too.

Here are mine. Enjoy!

My Boobs Hurt Real Bad
Seven Eleven
You are my God and Saviour
PMS Food: YUM.

ALASKA'S SCORE
Hockey Mom done good
Raised a 1st Class Child Ho Bag.
Baby Makes a GOAL!

GREEN GIRL
Bottles, Paper, Cans
I recycle one more thing-
Ex-boyfriends; Uh-Oh.

PHAT JOKES

PHAT JOKES

So there's a lot of BIG GIRL energy going on in my life right now. First, I co-wrote a sketch for my Groundling Lab class...it's about a woman who's struggling with her weight...her husband ate her peach(one of her few healthy treats), and she blows up. It's a funny sketch.

And the other day, I almost got to do a part on a web series that is getting a lot of buzz....but the jist of the scene was that some guy got stuck with the "fat chick." Always HILARIOUS right? Luckily, I voiced my concern...and the guys actually changed the scene. They understood how it might come off, and so they re-wrote it. Of course, they also wrote me OUT of the episode completely (which I didn't find out until I drove all the way to Santa Monica. Oops!) ...so that was a bummer, BUT let's call it a victory, because now there will be one less fat joke on the internet.

But then last night, I saw that some guy posted a comment about me being fat and homely on www.bitterlawyer.com (Living the Dream episode 6 -YALE). Homely? That hurts.

And THEN I got a casting notice from some Comedy Central show... they send you specific notices based on your profile...and this was the listing:

"OBESE WOMAN NEEDED TO APPEAR IN A SKETCH COMEDY SHOW WITH SHIRT OFF, WEARING BRA."

REALLY? SERIOUSLY? Okay, Universe. I hear you! I'm going to the fucking gym! Get off me already.

Yeah, I'm gonna start going to the gym. For realz. But first, I'm probably gonna submit my headshot for that show. Because hey, it's Comedy Central. And I figure as long as the universe is shoving my phatness down my throat, maybe I should get paid for it.

Who's a hypocrite? Come on, raise your hands with me!