Saturday, July 28, 2012

Keeping it Real and About the Art

Thursday night was a busy night. I delivered telegrams all day, and that night I did a telegram with Bernard and Lynn. Bernard was to be a male ballerina, and Lynn was to be the chicken. I was to be Marilyn Monroe. It was to be a three-fer and then we were to do the dance from Family Guy. On my way there, I was caught in the rain and camped out and drank some tea in the Starbucks.

I still had my leopard dress on from an earlier gig, and when it came time to perform I had my rollers in and stuff. My get up looked more apropos for a Midwestern yard sale with my third husband and a child I pimped out to kiddie pageants like JonBenet rather than singing telegram. Nonetheless, we were there. Lynn and I cheered by the bar and then Barnard came. I got into my Marilyn get up, white dress and all, and rescued the part of my curled hair that looked like it had a stroke. Afterwards, I painted a beauty mark on my face hoping it wouldn’t smudge.

Then off to work we went.

I was first out, and did a good Marilyn, one of the best I have done in a while. Barnard then entered as Tina the Ballerina. Not only was he funny, but Tina is a beautiful woman. As Bernard was performing I found myself trying not to laugh. This was too funny! Barnard was dancing with the birthday boy and was trying to sit on his lap. Does the House of Pancakes have an opening? If so Tina is your girl.

Then Lynn came out, feathers and all, in her chicken suit and began to sing “Bird is the Word.”As she sang, she incorporated the names of the people in the table  and was awesome as usual.
  When we were done we took photos etc. As we were at the bar chilling after the performance and waiting for our tip, the birthday boys girlfriend came out with the tip and informed us that I knew someone at their table.

It was none other than Charlie Kasov.

I have known Charlie for years, and we used to do many a dreaded open mic together. He is a very funny man and overall good dude. Apparently, they were all friends from Charlie’s alma mater Skidmore. I had originally met Charlie when he had graduated from the daughter school, leaving the sprawling green and ivy covered buildings for New York; where there is no greenery or natural foliage. He had worked on John Kerry’s campaign, that’s how long it had been. Still, it was wonderful to see him and even more wonderful when he told me I did well. I always like being complimented by talented, funny people.

I left there and then went on to One on One for Cary Metromone’s party. Cary is the owner and publisher of fIXE Magazine, a fetish magazine.  I am  one of two comedians ever profiled in the magazine, the other is Margaret Cho. That is pretty cool company.

I was to perform my original songs and then perform a little with May. I was late because the pervious gig had run over. Nonetheless, I came to perform. There was one problem. The guy running the sound system was a Mexican who spoke no English. Plus I didn’t have a live band so I was doing an Ashlee Simpson. The singing portion of the show was interesting. The people didn’t know what was going on and made the best of it with a WTF look. Nonetheless, they did like my music. However, May was a hit. The cameras came out and they were snapping photos. Somehow wherever she goes May Wilson always takes over the party.

I ended up taking lots of photos, and was approached by a man in a baby costume requesting us to be his Mistresses and asking us to paddle him. I know the baby fetish is big in the BDSM world in some circles, but this was lost on me. So finally I took the riding crop given to me and gave him a beating. I would have used the paddle but I was excited about beating someone with my own implement. So I gave him an ass whooping.

Then I was approached by two men identifying themselves as slaves and they offered the following services: to rub my feet, to worship me, to lick my feet, to clean my house, and the list went on. I thought about it. While I desperately need my house cleaned because there are costumes everywhere, glitter on my bathroom floor, and my pet mouse name Mordecai who is magic is probably looking to renew his lease (what lease, the bastard lives rent free) it looked appealing. However, this stranger was also wearing a leather mask. We could work up to the cleaning because it was a big job, and maybe I could see his face before I gave him my address.

We would start with something small like a foot rub.

So the first slave with the mask on gave me a foot rub. It was decent, but then I was approached by a second slave who offered to do the other foot and addressed me properly by my name, “Mistress.” Apparently he hadn’t met my ex boyfriends who all seem to forget that name and just call me Bitch. The other slave was superior in the foot rubbing department, and the first slave, feeling threatened in the department of submission, went to find another mistress. As he rubbed my feet I thought Wow! BEST FOOT RUB EVER!

I could get used to this!

Then the slave proceeded to sniff my feet which was unique. Then he went to lick my toes. I told him I wasn’t there yet, we would work up to that. I then got a much needed back rub out of the deal from a long day’s work and got my poor little hands rubbed. I also took the man’s number.

I need my house cleaned, am lazy, and a maid is not in the budget. Perhaps I will give the man a buzz.

Friday I delivered a singing cop first thing in the morning and got a nice tip. I was tired from the marathon I had run the day before between the telegrams and the VIP special appearance. My boss sprung this one on me while I was jogging, which made me run to my corner store, get my coffee, and almost trip up my stairs. I sprinted there, hoping no one would notice I had not washed my hair from last night and it most definitely had a stroke. I tried to disguise it best I could. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have run so fast or cared so much, but I love my boss and he is true blue. And for those that know me I am true blue to those I love and care about.

After doing the routine where I got a nice tip I went home to take a power nap. Then it hit me, I hadn’t done a mic in sometime. While the shows I have done as of late have been hitting, the material is tried and true. Sure, my mics might have been limited because I was doing things like getting paid appearances at private events, but there is something sacred about creating and failing. While to create and achieve is coveted, there is something about falling on your ass that is even more special. When you fall on your ass sometimes it hurts, but you also learn something that you can work on.

Or maybe you just need to remold the clay.

Don Juan made his debut yesterday at Tino’s Chocolate and Vanilla Open Mic. There was a lot of falling on my ass and a lot of failing. I tried to bail my ass out by saying, “Fuck you, I have been on TV.” It is true,my ego was tripping me. I used to hate it when comedians did that when they tanked. It was almost a cop out. Yes, you were on TV last week. This is a new day and a new week. You aren’t funny now. However, I was doing it. Yes, I am an egomaniac. I will admit it, and it comes out on facebook and in my blog more than anywhere. But that ego and those achievements come with hardwork. Still, I had a bigger responsibility not to be so pompous and arrogant and to take my tanking like a man.

Wait, I am a woman.

Nonetheless, there was something there with Don Juan. I discovered some good bits and some things I could work on with my new boyfriend in my purse. The object of getting up was to see what hit and what didn’t. So what I have gotten fan mail from around the world and have kids telling me how I inspire them? I still need the fall on my ass. Not everything I write is gold. Most of it is shit. Actually, ninety eight percent. However, open mics are like vegetables. While it gags me to eat them they are healthy and good for me. Open mics need to be a part of the diet. Sure, I don’t always like them but I need them. And I need to go to the ones where the people are good energy. They let me know where new bits stand, and I can’t cut them out of my regimen again. I can’t let my damn ego do all the talking either. Sure, I have done a lot and have worked hard. But there is always more to learn and more work to be done.

My ego is not my amigo. Actually, he’s my enemy. He always gets me in trouble. My ego is a man. He is tough talking, probably from Texas, smokes Marlboro Reds, talks when he shouldn’t and most definitely overestimates himself.

The great part about Tino’s mic is that I was able to do multiple sets. I tanked for the most part on the second set, but found some gold towards the end. For the final portion of the mic we freestyled. I hadn’t freestyled since I was a talking head online, so that was fun. People were surprised I could do it. Much like comedy, freestyling is baptism by fire. I had people talking shit in the chat on me as I spit my half ass not so dope (unless you were dope sick) whack ass rhymes. Still, it was awesome. Especially when Don Juan and I danced with Tino as he rapped in Spanish. Then when I rapped Tino got Don Juan and he danced with my puppet as I sort of rocked the mic.

There was a show afterward, I didn’t stick around because I was too tired. However, for the first time in sometime I had fun with what I had done. Yes I have been on Reality TV. Yes, I have been a talking head. Yes, I have had my music on the radio. Yes, my book is due for release in September/October. However, Eazy-E was right when he appeared in my dream, standup was the thing that made this possible and I had to stop being so selfish and to get over it. Yes, there will be people who don’t want me at the mics and are jealous that I have been on TV and might blog about my new shit. On the other hand, I have gone places they will never go and am showing everyone I am truly doing the work to get there. So fuck those haters.

Okay, my ego might not be my amigo but he makes me feel good about myself. Like any man he lies.

Advil PM is like my peyote. Maybe I need to go to the desert to get visions. Where is Jim Morrison and his Native American Guide along with Mike Meyers? Is Timothy Leary going to make a guest appearance?

Scrap that. I paddled a grown man in a baby costume with a riding crop. Real life is much more entertaining.
Tonight will be Coney Island where people swallow glass. I will take my actual reality thank you very much. Who needs drugs to trip when this is just my usual Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.



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