I have been thinking of all the twists and turns my life has taken since I have been nineteen. For one I am still alive. I have no clue how I pulled that one off. I mean, I was pretty stupid. I should have died nine times, but I guess I am a cat and instead have that amount of lives. Maybe I am immortal. I dunno. Still, it’s sort of weird that I didn’t get my ass killed being my stupid self. Or should I spell the word stoopid?
I am doing some final prep on my book to make sure it is perfect and it is more work than I ever imagined. I am at the home stretch. When I am done I swear to God I will eat more ice cream than ever and become a big fat woman. I will get six cats and move to the middle of no where. Each night I will waddle out and kill my dinner. Okay, lets finish everything first. Still, why does it feel like this undertaking will kill me?
I used to think my life and career would look one way by this point. Part of me hoped to be rich and famous. I have been on TV God knows how many times, and am sort of famous sometimes. I do get recognized, but I am not on the VIP list. As for rich, oh that is definitely not the case. People tell me they see me on TV. Then I ask if they can buy my broke ass one so I can watch myself.
About six years ago I was ending a relationship where I thought it would cumulate in me becoming a statistic. Before that I thought I was going to marry the guy. One thing I got out of that time in my life was I really got my shit together. Part of me misses having a man though. Someday I do want someone again. Someone to perhaps take me away on a romantic weekend and buy me presents. Someone just to be there. But in the back of my mind I will always wonder when the mask will come off, when he will turn evil and violent, and when he will start lying. I am damaged I know.
When I was nineteen I thought I would just act and ventriloquism would be something I would just do. I was all about acting. When I was twenty I made my way into the comedy clubs and starting pounding the stage and added some standup to the mix. At twenty one I concentrated more on standup because my abusive ex who used to beat me forbade me to work with my beloved puppets. At twenty two I became what’s known as a “cunt comic” amongst certain male bookers whom I hope to never work with, but for the most part I think I really got funny and stopped behaving like a fool for the most part. At twenty three it looked like I was going to be famous, even after a TV appearance that was a daring and beautiful disaster that makes me a legend to some as well as other breaks, but it didn’t happen. At twenty four I was down on my luck and working as a street performer really got good at ventriloquism. Sometimes I would perform so much I would get blisters on my hands and they would bleed, but I got to perform my own one woman show and work with Foxworthy and tour a bit. At twenty five after hitting a wall I began to make videos and create my own work as well as drifting away from standup. Twenty six I was on TV a bunch and even made Gawker with my puppet children. Oh and I started to get fans around the world.
Twenty seven? Did I really make it this long? I had a pilot that didn’t get picked up. I had a song that was number one on the internet this year too. I was a poster gurl for a campaign. I am about to publish a book. My problems are luxury problems. I am still pretty stupid. A few months ago I fell in love with a man who is currently on the run from the law. Part of me will always love Holden Caulfield and I miss him.
I used to think I was going to be this standup superstar. At least that was the dream and the goal. My book is my baby, and like all children it is fixing to kill it’s mother. Seriously, I might die as a result of this project. My puppet children havent killed me yet but it could happen in the dead of the night. I have gotten some offers for club dates, but when everything went down a while back I sort of burned out. I have started to get back into it, beating myself with a feather rather than a hammer.
Still, in the old days I was dukes. I was all about it. Now, if the club dates come my way I take them. I have been writing more material though with my book almost behind me. Why not? Plus I miss it. It’s always in my blood whether I like it or not.
I have been looking up old friends lately online. One was an old boyfriend type who was a brilliant comedian, should be a star. Unfortunately he drank his career away and is no longer doing comedy. He is sort of floating and doing normal people things and says he doesn’t drink anymore. Still, it sort of makes me sad. He was funny.
Another is an old friend of mine who also drank away his dreams. He sort of disappeared from the internet. Maybe he went to rehab. It’s sad because he was brilliant as well.
All my friends who ever lost the battle to addiction were all brilliant, good people though. It’s like the world was too shallow and harsh for them. It didn’t welcome their brand of honesty, one that is refreshing in my eyes. For as much as clubs say they want innovative comics that’s a lie. They want a cookie cutter male. Same with the world it seems. I miss my friends who have passed, but I also understand why they didn’t stick around and did what they did. I know they are proud of me, wherever they are.
As I walk to the next destination in my life, I wonder which path should I take? Will I go on to just write more books? Will I go back to acting and do the whole commercial, movie, and theatre thing and perhaps be a Hollywood or Broadway icon? Will music continue to open it’s doors as a surprising reward? Will I go back to the clubs like I did in the old days and crack audiences up, this time rising to new heights?
I dunno. I never thought I would live this long being stupid as I am.