Tuesday, December 31, 2013

New Year's Eve

Today is New Year's Eve. The holidays are almost over which is a good thing. I really didn't get to experience them this year because work was so busy. However, it was nice to see my family. Both my mother's parents-my material grandparents-died this year. This was the first Christmas without my grandparents. My mom soldiered through. People tell her that she had her dad, my Pop Pop, for almost 96 years. Yes she did but it still sucks. She had her mom for 88. It still sucks. It sucked not going to my grandparents house and seeing their squirrel named Jinx. To give you an idea, the thing looked like a ground hog. When asked how it got so big my Pop Pop said, "Leftover meals on wheels."

This year has been many shades. Careerwise with the writing it has been good. My book was rated a Must Read by Mensa. NYU and Brown were kind enough to make it a part of their collections. I did a signing event at Brown during graduation weekend. Skipper and Wendell, who wrote a comic book on genetics, shared the stage with me that weekend. It was something nice I could do with my family. I also completed my audiobook. My sound engineers are still having nightmares because I sound like a redneck chipmunk who took a puff on the meth pipe before she reads. I also really got carried away and made some new videos. I became a regular blogger for the Huffington Post. Oh and I even did a book signing event in my hometown and spoke to my old high school. And I took on the head writer, executive producer, and talent role all in one on several projects. And I am taking huge steps with the musical version of my book. Oh and I was in the reading of a cool new play, on Wendy Williams, and got recognized by fans on the street. Also began work with the Gotham Comedy Foundation. Things were good.

In other ways this year had it's challenges. Not everyone can appreciate success when it comes to hard work. There were several people who proved to be spiritual challenges in my path. One was the current girlfriend of an ex of mine who tortured me relentlessly this year. I won't go into detail because why. She is sober for about an hour a day if that. Truth: I gave her too much energy and let me make me so angry that I got sick to my stomach. No one is worth that much energy. I ran into several people like that this year.

I also got into a street fight this summer. To make a long story short a crazy man grabbed me and I hit him. Like Son of Sam, I experienced several weeks of rage. However, he had a history of this behavior towards women in my neighborhood. Suffice to say, my ninja skills scared him to another block. (More like I stepped on his toe, spit on him, and ran). Still it brought back memories of the psychotic fiance I had when I was younger. After again getting so sick I thought I was going to implode from anger, I realized again, no one was worth my peace of mind.

I also cleaned up my diet this year. Some of it was because as I get older, it's important I eat well. Some of it is my grandmother lost her battle to diabetes this year. And some of it is I like extreme sports. Instead of take out I am grocery shopping. Turns out you save money that way.

While I look forward to 2014, I am weary. I have a lot on the burner. Some of the burners could light. Some of them could burn out. All of them could light. All of them could burn out. I have been in this spot before where they all burned out. I don't know what is next for me careerwise and am kind of nervous. I have done a few nice auditions, submitted some packets, the works. I am ready for the next thing. It is stressful though. If none of it happens, I don't know what I will do. I am just scared shitless. I will not lie. I am also kind of excited. It probably won't be all fire works but won't end in disaster. Still my mind always goes to disaster. But it will be fun to see what the next adventure is. Fear and excitement are always the lanterns guiding us in the cave of the unknown.

I know living in fear isnt the answer but it is the easy thing to do. Maybe I need to shower, do some grocery shopping, and hope Baby New Year has big ears.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Monday, December 30, 2013

I Hate Hoochie Coochie Women

I really don't like hoochie coochie women. To put it mildly, they annoy me. I don't mind women who dress sexy. I don't even mind centerfolds. I don't mind strippers. That's different. These hoes are just annoying. Yes, we all know them. They masquerade as guy's girls. They don't have any women friends. When they do have women friends they hit on their friends boyfriends and husbands, and then it's their friend's fault for being jealous. Oh and when they have male friends, they never respect their significant others. They hit on them shamelessly, and then when the wife is jealous they only add fuel to the fire.

There is one in my neighborhood that I can't stand. Well she has moved, thank God. Maybe in her new location she will be hit by a mac truck. But she is always all over the guys any chance she gets. She sits with her legs open and shows us the world-literally. I hate this Skankola McPhee in particular because several years ago she was close with a male friend of mine. He was having martial troubles and instead of backing off, she proceeded to monopolize more of his time and energy. And then this Butta Face proceeded to have a show down with his wife. Needless to say it didnt end well for the dude. Yeah, he played a part in it but bitch back off. Oh and she cries that her husband might be done with her. GOOD. Someone needs to see through your bullshit. He's sick and tired of you like we all are. Oh and she was sitting with this girl in the park and acting all inappropriate. It wouldn't have been so bad except there were children around. I had an orange in my hand. The only thing stopping me from hitting them was that the cops would have pressed charges. And then she was saying she had no female friends. Bitch, you don't know how to be a friend to other women. Oh, and other women see through you like the fucking lucite you wish you could wear when your fat ass might rock the pole. Luckily that won't be happening because we would all lose our lunch.

Of course the worst Skankola's are some female singers. I spent a lot of time in recording studio's and saw a wide variety. Most are decent people trying to follow a dream. However there are some who are hoochie and just frightening. I am talking the bitches who enter the place in low cut shit. First off, it ain't that warm in there. They are destined to get sick. I know some of those guys dont see women or daylight often, so they look forward to the cheap peep show. But some of these women don't have the body for the clothing. I just don't get it. One had a CD cover where she had panties in her mouth. Luckily I am skilled in CPR because she could have choked. I was concerned. Still, at least they are staying out of trouble and aren't torturing children on a playground with their utter creepiness. Most of the time they probably need autotune. But they will produce some cheesy dance hit and make us all happy. So what they might be one hit wonders? I don't care as long as they keep their herpes to themselves.

After them come the bitches who claim to be women's activist but are banging some lawyer and living off the land. I have met several of these. They claim to care about women, but then they are all over their guy at some banquet. They claim it is wrong to sleep with someone to get ahead, but here they are with a balding weirdo much older than they are. It's not love, admit it. Oh and then they claim they stick up for women but are the first to denigrate the achievements of others. And their big thing is women shouldn't be persecuted by the way they dress, and of course they are saying this because they dress like ten cent hookers. And then these bitches pick fights with other women and go after them for the way they dress. Basically, I have more respect for the skanks who can admit they are skanks.

The lowest of the low are hoochie coochie women in comedy. I fucking hate them. They are ghastly. Usually they are putting on their makeup before they hit the stage, apologizing for their lack of skill and talent. Pretty gets away with a lot. Of course they always wear some cute outfit where we can see their tits. Finally, aside from the poorly written punchlines they are always banging the headliner. Yes, she is your opening act, Sir. As in she opens her legs and that is how this whole thing came to pass. Granted, women like this always fuck their way to the middle and that is it. Still, it makes the rest of us working hard and trying to make it the right way look bad. It also seems like from time to time they clog the way and we have to work around them like some haunt in Harry Potter. They wouldn't be so bad except they gossip about other women, and can't take a joke about their own skankiness when the only reason they are getting ahead is they are giving head and having some salami jammed in their baby hole. But then again, looks fade, bad jokes get old, and the middle is a sucky place to end your career.

I dont know. That is my early afternoon rant.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Saturday, December 28, 2013

White Santa

There are only a few more days left until New Years so I feel like I can still write this blog. I was discussing this with some people. Megyn Kelly said Santa was white. Jesus was white. Jesus was a Jew which meant he was tan and hairy. We all know that. However, lets talk about Santa. Santa was not white. St. Nicholas, the bishop who gave presents to poor children that Santa is based off of is a Turk. So no Ms. Kelly, Santa ain't white. He is an Arab.

However, it should be noted that St. Nicholas Day, the holiday that German American's brought to the states and the basis for Santa and Christmas gift giving, that figure is white. Basically St. Nicholas Day kids put their shoes out and wait for small presents. If you are good, you get some small gifts. If you are bad Black Peter, St. Nick's helper, gives you a switch. In counties like The Netherlands, the Black Petes paint their faces in black face and supposedly stuff the bad kids in sacks to transport to Spain. Same with Germany to some extent. In the past few years this tradition has come under fire. Wonder why....

Anyway, I am German American. My people brought you Santa. We were white, and therefore we created Santa in our likeness. Nevermind he was originally Turkish. We kind of forgot about that. Truth be told, Santa Claus comes from the legend of St. Nick. In a lot of German American homes, such as mine, we celebrated both figures. On December 6th my brother, sister, and myself put out our shoes for St. Nick. On December 24th we waited for Santa. When asked how they knew each other some of our relatives said they were twin brothers. Others explained St. Nick was the warm up act for Santa. Either way, it was a strategy in keeping the morale up among people during Advent. Much is to be done during Christmas. Stress and family drama affect everyone, young and old. While we didn't know Black Peter (Thank God, that stereotype does us no favors)  we knew his assistant Nicodimus who had no skin color assigned to him. But we were told Nicodimus left a switch for bad children. I am grateful this helper did not have a negative ethnic stereotype assigned to him. I believe my parents, just like many German Americans, believe racism is wrong. Also, we had been American for several generations. None of my siblings, parents, nor do I know German. Both my grandfathers represented America in World War II, and I have great uncles whom I never met that fought in WWI. But yeah, this is Santa...

As a German American, like Thomas Nast who drew the first fat Santa and made him white, I am proud of my heritage. The Santa I know is white because I am white. A white Santa was acceptable for some time because most of the children who celebrated Christmas were white. However, the face of Christmas has changed. Now many children of many nationalities celebrate in their own way, adding their own spice to what was once a one dimensional festivity. These same children also wait for a Santa Claus figure. That being said, the face of Santa should change along with the face of those who wait for him.

In the early days, Christian missionaries told people to create Jesus in their likeness. Therefore there are Jesus's of different races in churches around the world. I believe the same should go with Santa. I would like to see Coca-Cola do a campaign for the different faces of Santa. I would like to see, in addition to the white Santa, a black Santa, Latino Santa, Asian Santa, East Indian Santa, and anyone who I am forgetting. St. Nick, the man Santa is based off of, was generous and knew no class or strata. Neither should the legend as it grows. St. Nick was about including everyone. So should be the theme of the ever growing story of Santa. Christmas teaches us that we all count. Santa's changing face should show children of all colors that they count too, whatever they may be.

In closing, as a proud German American who can say her people brought Santa, it makes me proud to see that not just we believe anymore. Christmas means peace on Earth everywhere, for all people. So let Santa and the stories surrounding him include all people, too.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Pop Pop Story

When I started doing comedy in New York City, it was a big reach. I had screwed up just about everything else that year of my life. Everyone told me I should do it. I didn't know what I was doing. Somehow I was there though, behind the mic doing my thing. I was just a kid too. While it feels sometimes like I have a long way to go, I have come a long way.

My grandfather, whom I called Pop Pop, loved three things: tennis, cowboy movies, and comedy. The man always loved to laugh. He told jokes and even until the end was awesome. Pop Pop had a sweet, gentle personality and he laughed often. I think after surviving World War II and raising six kids, you would need a sense of humor. He beat cancer Lord know how many times and escaped that blood clot too. Anyone who met my grandfather enjoyed his company. Pop Pop gave all people an equal shake regardless of what they were. I was blessed to have the grandfather I did.

Around the time I began doing comedy, not everyone around me was overjoyed about this. Some tried to discourage me. Comedy can be scary, because when you fail it is personal. My Pop Pop was perhaps the first to encourage me though. As a motivation, he mailed me jokes cut out from the Reader's Digest so I would have something to work off of. Anytime there was an article somewhere about comedy, he would cut it out and mail it to me. Or if Pop Pop was unable to use scissors like he was later on, he would give my mother the heads up. Anytime there was a comedy special on, Pop Pop alerted me too.

My grandparents, Nunni and Pop Pop, were a comedy team a lot of the time it seemed. My grandmother would be dressed in loud colors and enter with her shock of white hair. A mercurial little woman, she would begin the exchange. It would go like this:
Nunni: I would have gotten here sooner but the old man took forever.

Pop Pop: Shut up, Pat.

Nunni: I am moving to Spain. That way I don't have to pay taxes.

Enter my dad

Dad: Actually, you would have to pay a set to live in Spain and a set to maintain US Citizenship.

Pop Pop: Being married to you is worse than life in prison. Because at least with life in prison I get paroled.

Nunni: Shut up old man.

When my book was published my Pop Pop insisted no one else could get a copy until he read it. My mom insisted on just giving him a copy, but he insisted on paying for it. With his eyes fixed, my Pop Pop spent two days straight finishing my book. My grandmother died around Easter and his health went downhill. I had a book signing in Pittsburgh in October. Despite his ill health my grandfather made it. Fragile and ill, he came to support me. This meant a lot because this would be his last trip out of the house alive.

I lost a hero in my life. A man who loved to laugh. It would be an understatement to say I lost a great fan, because he had been there from the beginning. So I will say I lost my greatest and first original fan.

Love you Pop Pop


Friday, December 20, 2013

Lessons From 2013

This week has been an amazing week. Yesterday I got some GREAT CAREER NEWS. I will tell you more as it transpires because I don't want to jinx it. But I am psyched. I got some great news on my writing too. I just wrapped a huge project and have to Fed Ex something. All and all, things are great. It seems like this last month has been something sitting on my chest and I finally am getting much needed relief.

This year was very much about getting out of my own way. I completed my audiobook which is being released in chunks. I talked about doing it but never dreamed it would happen. Granted, Archie is probably in the corner mumbling to himself because he is being haunted by the voice of the redneck chipmunk on crystal meth. Still it was cool to meet Deborah Harry. I also got to publish for the Huffington Post. I had such an attitude about it, feeling it was a badge of snobbery. However, not only did they print me but I enjoyed becoming a part of the fold and eventually wearing the badge as a bragging right. Huff Po is a wonderful publication and has some good writers. I learned a lot about myself and my voice.

I also learned I could be the leader. I took the healm on a huge project that is now wrapping. It has been kind of cool having the save Christmas. I picture myself and a sled as a child on a crutch begs me to drive it. Somehow I am there with Rudolph and company. I learned I was smart enough. I learned never to underestimate myself. I think that is a lesson women constantly have to relearn.

The biggest lesson I learned was not to let other people get to me. Sometimes the more successful you get, the more jealous people around you become. Some are people from your past. Others are those who pretend to be friends. And then of course there are strangers who are chasing the dream who think what you have should just be theirs. It made me ill and made me cry this year. One young woman in particular made my winter/spring quite interesting. Truth be told, their jealous antics are more about them and less about me. It's about their entitlement and what they feel is owed to them. In turn, it also lets me remember what kind of person I don't want to be, and how it is important to be happy for others. Not only does it make them feel good, but it's not nice when they aren't happy for you.

Also of course it's that Christmas isn't about the drama. It's not about presents. It's about caring and giving as cheesy as that sounds.

I see my mom in a few days. It will be my first Christmas without my Nunni and Pop Pop. Grandparents are important. Perhaps that will be my next blog.
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Sunday, December 15, 2013

Heroes in the Fall

This past weekend was the Heisman Trophy Ceremony. It is where a new champion in the realm of collegiate sports is crowned. From the time these young men can walk, they dream of this moment. Other starry-eyed lads playing Pop Warner around the nation idolize these young men, punting and passing, hoping to join them on the stage someday. The characteristics one must display when winning the Heisman are athletics, scholarship, and character comes into consideration. Yes, the Heisman is a role model.
This year’s Heisman had the foreboding shadow of Jameis Winston’s recent rape allegation. Mr. Winston says the lippy blonde Florida State University Student was a ready to go party/sex machine. She alleges that she was bruised, sick, and vomiting after the incident. A friend of mine who has worked for ESPN admitted to me that Jameis, who’s name kinda rhymes with jobless, was hard to watch and as a die hard football fan he skipped this year. The buck doesn’t stop there. Mr. Winston’s roommate said he saw the sex happening. Yes, the girl apparently was pleasing Jameis’s little Jimmy. And then they proceeded to basically have wild animal sex. The roommate didn’t make himself look any better by saying he barged in and asked if he could join. And then he left and returned asking if he could video the proceedings. I guess I have to give him credit. He was honest about the fact he was utterly creepy and spilled his guts to ESPN. Then Jameis Winston’s father gave some asinine statement about how the truth would come out and made some remark about her being a white woman. Winston, Son, and Associate did everything to perpetuate every negative black ethnic stereotype there was with their behavior. The only thing they did correctly was be party to this offense in 2013, not 1963.
What was more disgusting was Jameis’s poorly articulated speech about “the process” and “the challenges” he had been through. Note: From the way he spoke it was obvious when they described him as a scholar/athlete, they were using the term scholar loosely. Yes, you chose to have sex with someone against their consent, Sir. For the record, if he was not a football star these charges would not have magically disappeared. Nonetheless, this woman is not backing down. She and her lawyers are challenging the way the investigation was coincidentally botched. Maybe these charges won’t stick but the post man always rings twice. Ask OJ. (Ironically another poor role model and past winner). 
"Yo, da bitch said ya. Da shorty be creepin and makin stuff up."

During Heisman weekend we all look for a hero though. The hero doesn’t always have to be standing on the stage with the past winners or have to be currently in the NFL. The hero can be someone who is absent. Someone who’s picture hangs on the stage, amongst the rest of the greats. We can’t remember any and all winners because of the number of the years the award was given. However, one very special winner comes to mind. And this winner would shame Jameis Winston and his entitled and arrogant predatory behavior in his tracks. His name is Ernie Davis.
Ernie Davis aka The Elmira Express was a member of the Syracuse Orangemen. With a movie about his life story, this young man was the first black winner of the coveted Heisman Trophy. Life wasn’t easy for Mr. Davis. He was raised the first half of his life by his grandparents in Uniontown, PA in the cradle where football greats are made. The second, he was raised by his mother in Elmira, NY. Ernie Davis lost his father in an accident before he was born and never met the man. Yes, he was blessed with tremendous speed and athletic ability. In his Pop Warner Days Mr. Davis got lots of write ups in local papers thus earning the nickname The Elmira Express for his speed. Despite the attention his athletic ability got him, he never developed an arrogant attitude or used his status to justify bully behavior.
If anything, he did the opposite. There was a tale of a newbie to the team who couldn't put his pads on right. The older kids made fun of him. Ernie walked over and helped the young man. The taunting from the teammates stopped. Another time a fellow teammate was picking on a younger classman beating him up. In a rare display of anger, Ernie "whooped his ass" as the kids would say. The upperclassman never bullied anyone again. Even during his days in Pop Warner when he towered over the kids, and some of his runtier counterparts would try to tackle him, he never crushed them. Instead, those around him say he simply picked them up and dangled them in the air until the whistle was blown. Then he would put them down and the game would continue. While he was a warrior on the field, he was also a gentle giant with a good heart who wouldn't squash someone who had no chance of winning in a fight. In an era where bullying is an issue, perhaps his story should be resurrected for that reason alone.
 Moreover, Ernie Davis never complained no matter what. A multi-sport athlete in high school, he broke his wrist playing football before basketball season started. Ernie Davis didn’t complain. He played his first game with his arm in a cast. Born under the sign Saggatarius, like his other astrological brothers and sisters he didn’t let anything slow him down. Whether it was an opponent on the field, an injury off, or the color of his skin in a time where it was a dividing factor he soldiered on beating the odds.
College saw Ernie Davis as a star athlete. While sports were his ticket, according to those that knew him, he also took his studying seriously as well. Sometimes Mr. Davis was taunted by white fans from opposing teams for his skill. During the Cotton Bowl Awards Ceremony, he and his black teammates were told they could accept their awards but they had to leave because it was a white’s only club. Mr. Davis didn’t let these factors affect him as a player let alone person. A lot of people would crack and be bitter. It seems he was just the opposite, it only made him want to get even better, more undeniable.

Jameis Winston, this a true sports hero, not that you will ever be one...

In 1961, Ernie Davis did his part for Civil Rights by winning the Heisman Trophy. Impressed, President Kennedy sent him a telegram. Of course, his schedule filled with speaking engagements, busying the young man as he tried to complete his school work in order to graduate. Being the noteworthy scholar/athlete of his class, Ernie Davis led the Syracuse University Graduation Parade as martial in 1962. Of course he was also set to play for the Cleveland Browns. During this time Davis thought his schedule was wearing him out. As he began training camp the tired spells got even worse. That is when it was discovered Ernie Davis had leukemia.
During this time period it was a death sentence. Most people threw in the towel and relaxed at home to die comfortably. Not Ernie Davis. While he was unable to play, he stayed in shape playing recreational basketball to keep fit in case he beat the leukemia. He maintained a good diet and a positive outlook. When Ernie Davis was told he had months to live, he shrugged it off and kept going. In an editorial he  wrote for The Cleveland Post called I’m Not Unlucky, Ernie Davis explained he didn’t want the pity of others. Rather, he had accomplished more than many people had in their life, and that made him grateful. He also expressed gratitude for the skill he was given in athletics to begin with. While yes, he didn’t like the fact he couldn’t play football, he didn’t feel sad. Rather, he was more upset that his roommates who were on the team were gone and he was left to his own devices, bored. He knew he lived a full and exciting life. Despite the lump he was given, he continued to express gratitude and intended to soldier on. Injuries, beefy opponents, and racism had no defeated him. Ernie Davis felt he could in fact take leukemia.
Sadly this would not be the case. While he fought until the end, Ernie Davis would lose to leukemia on May 18, 1963. He was 23 years old. Was he perfect? No, but no one is. What would he have been like in the NFL? I don’t know. Would he have been involved in some scandal had he lived? That is a question we cannot answer. However, we do know that he was the true epitome of a role model. Ernie Davis worked hard, never gave up, and worked hard in both the classroom and the field. He represented both his race in a turbulent time and his school with complete class and dignity. Ernie Davis never the unfairness the world tossed at him kill his spirit either. Ernie Davis in the long run is not just a hero to black people, but anyone from any walk of life regardless of the color of their skin. He shows that a positive attitude is the core of what makes someone a champion, and with one you are hard to defeat. 
On the other hand, Jarmeis Winston was just a moron who won a trophy. He is someone who has been gifted with tremendous ability, and will unfortunately probably find a way to squander it. Truth be told, Piscasso was a great painter but a terrible human being. Judy Garland had a great voice but mother of the year she was not. We are all human. We cannot have everything. Just because someone has some gifts does not mean we should put them on a pedestal.
But there are those who are the complete package, and often times they are overlooked by their counterparts who’s egomania and poor decision making ability bring the cloud of suspicion and scandal wherever they go. Jameis Winston almost ruined Heisman Weekend but didn’t succeed. There are still heroes in the fabric of this experience. When you watch the replay of the broadcast, look at the portraits of the past winners. There is a very clean cut, young black man on the wall. He’s one of them. And if you look even more closely, I am sure there are others in that circle joining him. Those who played hard on the field, studied tirelessly, and lived well the rest of the time. Ernie Davis and those like him are the ones we should celebrate during Heisman Weekend, not Jameis Winston

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Saving Christmas

If you know anything about me, it's that I have a love/hate relationship with the holidays. I love them because Santa brings me presents. I get to see my family because we are all in one place. I also get to see my aunts and uncles. I hate the holidays because of all the stress, pressure, and family drama that always seems to occur. It's not just me, everyone has it.

Lately though things have been crazy. I have been in a series of circumstances where it seems people are counting on me for all sorts of things. Sometimes it is to give them advice. Sometimes it is to guide them. Sometimes it is to be the lynch pin on a project or two. I have a love hate relationship with this as well. I love it because it seems like people need me. But I hate it because it seems like people need me. I just see the children of the world clawing at the gates and begging me to ride Santa's sleigh. I see myself desperately searching for Rudolph and saying, "Fuck you all. Do you know how much trouble this is?!?"

Yet I see this children crying like I am their savior and I have no choice. What a self-centered, codependent dream.

Still it's how I feel right now.

As I embark on this weekend with my family, I will remember sometimes it is not about me. Whether it's my father refusing to eat at an establishment without a table cloth. Or it's my mother raw, emotional, and fresh after my Pop Pop's passing. Maybe it's my anal retentive sister Skipper making me crazy because the sound of my fingers texting interrupts her concentration. Perhaps it's the people I work with testing my last nerve. Perhaps it's some of my other business associates who do things their own way, in their own time, and make me crazy as a result.

But then I realize it isn't about me. We all need to save Christmas in our own way.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Being Okay

I have had a rough last month and a half as I have written. My family life has been stressful because of my grandfather's death. I also found out my mother had a freak accident and almost fell through the attic roof. I have other family members with other issues that I can't even go into. Work has been stressful. I am sure you are sick of hearing about it. I know my friends are.

Last night I had some writing crap to do that I have been putting off because I felt tired. I decided to swallow my pride and go to an open mic. Some of the comedians were good. Some made me want to slit my wrists. I didn't have a booked show and it was a good excuse to clear my head and get back onstage. Plus I want to tour again and need to be sharp. I actually ended up making some new friends and having fun. I felt nice, relaxed and loose onstage. It was about the comedy, not about the star power that came as a result of being the only one like myself.

I also met another ventriloquist last night. We are few and far between so it was a joy meeting another brother/sister. I also saw some friends do comedy at a show. It is wonderful to be onstage, but every once in a while you have to support your friends. For as numerous as the foes I have in this world are, there are also a lot of people who love and support me. It felt great to see live comedy, and to see so many of my friends doing well.

I know this dark patch will pass. It's the holidays. It's death. It's a whole mix of shit in the proverbial blender. After having brunch with friends and ranting my head off, I heard conga music. It made me want to be happy and dance. They say change a muscle change a thought. I did both. And a good night sleep makes a difference. Also binged on Lifetime Movies

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Friday, December 6, 2013

Rainbow in the Dark (Dio)

I have had a hellacious last month and a half. Between family shit and work, I just haven't gotten a break. My grandfather died Thanksgiving Day. Now I hate the holiday. On top of that, Thanksgiving was shiteous anyway so it was only the icing on top of the cake called Fuckery. Work has been a nonstop avalanche of well work, uncertainty, delays, bullshit, crazy running around, and always more that needs to be done that never stops. Just paid my rent so I am now officially financially insecure. I feel like there is a big, fat, smelly woman-900 pounds, sitting on my stomach. Too bad she keeps farting.

This morning I was close to just jumping into traffic. There is so much uncertainty with the career right now. I have all these irons in the fire. The scary thing is, none may materialize for as hard as I am working. This worries me. Sleep goes from impossible or something I binge on. My dreams are okay but waking up, shit, real world. Fuck the real world. One family member whom things have been uneasy with because they are who they are asked what I was going to do if none of this happened. I wanted to tell them shoot them and shoot myself. It's an easy answer. But I didn't get around to it. Instead I should have thanked them for the kick in the stomach and apologized for the vomit spewing everywhere because I am already so nauseous from nerves. Hell, I live on Ginger Ale.

I won't know about some of these things until the new year. Okay, whatever. It means I need to keep working. I feel too tired to do shit. My apartment is a fucking mess. Oh well. The other part of it is I don't know what I want right now.

There is a part of me that wants a writing job for a TV show which would mean financial security. It would be cush, I could work from home, and have to deal with no one. The other part of me wants to really do standup again, as in tour. The visit to my sister in Nashville made me realize how much I miss touring and seeing the world. Since being on TV, I have been going more that direction. If I tour this time it will be theatres, not the fucking clubs where performers, especially women, are paid peanuts and treated like indentured servants. I also want to see more of the South and the West, as opposed to the cold north. Maybe even Europe. I also want to do more TV stuff too. Maybe get on a show, be a talking head and get good money. Maybe films. I have so many things in place that I am being pulled a million different directions and no one is answering the door. I want to shake the Magic 8 Ball.

However, despite the fear and bewilderment I feel the last twenty four hours have shown promise that things are getting better. I am doing a better job controlling the things I can. I got onstage even though I had to pay for it. I killed for an open mic. I also felt like I was rusty and spoiled in a way only booked shows do. I have been making lots of videos, almost daily. Some are good, some are smart, some, I don't know. I have been writing a lot.

Despite feeling so anxious and lost this morning, I had the feeling that it was going to be okay. Once my rent was paid the weight was off my shoulders. I know things are going to be as they are. My dreams are coming true, and when people give you a career they expect you to work. This is stressful but it is called life. I have responsibilities, which is part of having a JOB. I paid my bills like an adult, and work is coming in which means I will have money shortly. This is all called life, and it is simply happening to me now.

My mother suggested going somewhere other than my apartment to write. She fractured some ribs falling from our attic. We just got off the phone. Despite her physical ordeal she has a good sense of humor. I must remember when in times of great stress, I search for both God, but also the punchline. Pandora had her shithow but she still had hope. It is raining, but the sun comes out sooner or later.

There is always a rainbow in the dark

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Princess Pan

Peter Pan was a fictional boy who never grew up. While Never Never Land was his home, he would have been very happy in NYC. Most of us are Peter and Princess Pans. We live hand to mouth. We are single, and if we are in a relationship it is more likely casual and just for physical comfort. We are broke most of the time. Despite degrees from fancy institutions like NYU, Weslyan, Vassar, Barnard, Oberlin, or a slew of others where students have Mayflower Blood and cost an arm and a leg we are broke. Yes, we are pursuing pipe dreams. Every time out parents come to town they buy us steak and feed us criticism. We see our high school classmates getting married and having kids on facebook. They have the house, the car. We don't have a house but perhaps when times get tough we could live in your Lexus, right?

I never really gave much thought to my Princess Pan status until recently. I was visiting my sister Skipper in Nashville where we were hanging out with her boyfriend Tucker. In order to have a relationship Tucker moved from Rhode Island to be closer to Skipper. It was because she was a resident, and she had to relocate. He didn't want to lose her. Not only are they in love, but they are talking about marriage. Of course my sister wants a house and kids. This isn't just talk. They have a forever plan of action. Some of it is trippy because this is my baby sister. Some of this is scary because forever is a very long time.

In contrast I have no one. My children include puppets,costumes,and projects where I have some performer, writer, and executive producer duties. Oh and not to forget my books and words, they are my spawn too. the bonus is I gained no weight producing them. Living on black coffee will do that. I don't think I would know what to do if I had a dude. Where would I have time? My future is uncertain despite the fact I work like a dog. I have a bunch of projects pitching and going here, there, and everywhere. Just did two auditions, both for network type things. Both you had to be invited for. Another project I did is being pitched again. I am excited, scared, and nervous. No significant other could ever understand being so stressed over what might not happen that there are chunks of your hair everywhere.

I was engaged when I was younger and it was a shitshow. Then after getting a PO box so my fiance would never find me, I dated several guys who would have married me in an instant. I didn't feel them or I wasn't ready. Just couldn't do it. Couldn't see myself going forever. Again, forever is a very long time.Maybe I could have with Holden Caulfield, but once he kicked the drugs and found God I just couldn't picture myself sleeping next to him without trying to murder him.

There are some people who can't imagine forever alone, I can. It's not bad. Your time is your own. Even when I get lonely I see how my coupled and married friends have to sacrifice in order to make the other one happy even if they don;t want to and they are miserable. Or people have kids which kill your dreams. They say they are happy but when you see them they look tired and miserable. Most of the time they are doing these things because they feel like they have to. It's not about what they want.

My life is about what I want. I want to tour again soon, play theatres. Ideally I want to do the spring and fall in New York to try to get on TV, and then spend the winter and summer touring when things slow down in my city. I have done the shitty bar shows and most of the clubs. Despite my TV time I don't have the respect I want. Plus a headliner friend of mine mentioned I belong in theatres and I agree. Touring requires time and energy. So does a family. I love touring more, end of story. I did a bunch when I was younger and saw the world. I stopped because I did some TV stuff, got a talking head job, and wrote a book. Plus I was earning shit money. Now I am in a position where I could do okay if I toured. My trip to Nashville made me realize how much I missed going to different states and countries, meeting different people. A husband and kids would murder that dream right quick.

My destiny is unknown. I don't know what is next. No man and his penis power could relieve my stress. There is a part of me that sometimes does want a partner. The pursuit of fame does get lonely. I love kids too. For Godssakes I do shows for them. But deep down, I love my carefree friends and selfish lifestyle. I love being able to fly where I want to whenever I need to and want to for work or play. I love being Wendy Darling to gay men who are more Lost Boys than James Barry could have ever dreamed.

I love being a kid forever.

I love never growing up.

I am Princess Pan

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Flashes of Light

This month has been rough. In a way it's appropriate I returned from Nashville because it feels like a bad country song. My grandfather died on Thanksgiving. The day proved to be hell. During the prep for my big network audition I bruised my shoulder because I locked myself out of my apartment not once but twice. I got sick prepping for the network audition. I am more broke than I have been in a while because I have been travelling, plus I was paying for open mic stage time in addition to real show time to prep. I also got sick and threw up several times. The dude I was crushing on did not return the favor. I am so lucky I did not have a dog because he would have run away or died too.

Yesterday began with a fan letter. Someone read my book and enjoyed it. It was a subtle sign from the universe that things are going to get better. Sometimes we need to go through hell in order to appreciate heaven when we have it. People are reading my book and like it. In Nashville I had a fan drive two hours to meet me. That was cool. I have fans. My fan base is growing. I might even start a fan club. I don't even know the first thing about that but it could be cool.

I also did some work on a project yesterday that caused me some stress. It seems like things are coming together. I don't want to jinx it, but it seems like things are coming together. Sometimes the secret is just to relax. I tried my best. Hope I did well. Kinda had to run out prematurely for a job but the blessing of the situation is that I am working. The teaser for the project looks good. Everyone seems happy. I am part of this thing at the end of it that has been causing me angst but it's okay.

I have friends who are wonderful. So wonderful I might give them my kidney. I think tonight I will kickbox, clean my apartment, practice my music, write a little musical, and this week I will get a Christmas tree.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Monday, December 2, 2013

Fried Chicken and Cow Boy Boots

I went to Nashville, TN this past weekend. Some of it was to escape some of the pressures I feel sometimes with my career and life in NYC, and some of it is because I haven't seen my baby sis Skipper in forever. A little background. Skipper is an ER resident at Vanderbilt Hospital. Anyway, she lives down there and I had heard about how eat it was. So off on a plane I went.

I landed in Nashville and my sister's boyfriend Tucker picked me up. Skipper met Tucker when they were in college. He went to University of Rhode Island. A reformed wild child, Tucker is dedicated to my sister. An avid gun nut and self-proclaimed Ron Paul supporter, Tucker protested on behalf of the Libertarians at the Republican National Convention. Skipper was president of the Brown University Gun Club and is a crack shot. Anyway, we went to dinner with some family friends and waited until Skipper got off work. I ended up falling asleep while watching family guy. Then Tucker's dog Cooper, his son and my sister's cockerspaniel step child, kept tugging on my purse puppet. It was pretty funny.

The next day my sister, our driver Tucker, and I scaled the town of Nashville. We had breakfast at Hattie B's where the fried chicken had so much grease it took a piece of bread to soak it up. I was on my journey to what Tennessee docs call Tennessee normal. Afterwards we did the Country Music Hall of Fame. Country music is cool in that these people record from the time they are very young until they die. You can have a career forever in country music. The whole place was really neat. All the guys had names like Buck, Tubb, and all that stuff. One dude tried to record under Bob but failed. Then when he changed his name to Fuzzy he had a hit. Wowsa.

After that we did Nashville. We did a bunch of bars where there was live music. I am from NYC so my standards are high. Let me tell you the talent in Nashville is through the roof. We went to one bar where the fiddle player had toured with some big name. The drummer was way hot. Of course my sister Skipper ruined my game by telling the man I wanted a kiss. I felt myself go red. Of course the bachelorette party was getting crunk. However, the true out of control prize went to band groupies that came in after we left. The one girl was making an attempt to throw money at the band and then tried to hike up her shirt to flash them. As a performer, I can appreciate groupies. However as a woman I have a distrust and disdain for Dirty Diana on the run. Our crew then moved to the rockabilly joint.

When we got there we saw some Asian dude hitting on a woman who had a wedding ring on her finger. As the rockabilly music blared this man said, "This is not objectification. If you were a stripper and this was a strip club, you would want the same kind of thing." Tucker, Skipper, and I heckled the man from where we were sitting. Tucker of course knew all the rockabilly tunes which was entertaining. After the rockabilly place got crowded we moved to Tootsies where Johnny Cash once played. Because of the crowd we went up the back entrance.

On the stage was a black girl singing country. Not that black people can't sing country, but you don't see it. This was pretty ballsy. Anyway, she was really good. As in great. So I got her name. Haeley Vaughn. I told her I would follow her online. I looked her up and she was on American Idol several years ago and had been one of my faves. I felt she was voted off early, but knew this wasn't the last we would see of her. I was glad she was rocking it out and I think she will do well in Nashville.

The next day Skipper, Tucker, and I embarked on more adventure. We began our day getting fuel by eating pancakes and then began our journey to the Hermitage. To give you an idea, that is the home of former US President Andrew Jackson. It's 40 minutes outside of Nashville. When you get there they give you recorders and such. Anyway, when we got to the house we had this costumed tour guide. The rooms are climate controlled to preserve all original documents. The thing with Jackson was they made no beans about the fact he owned slaves. However when the slaves were able to run free to union lines they did. They tried to claim Jackson was a kind master, but they let you know he would whoop a slave if they got out of line. They let you know Jackson really wasnt fond of women or black people, but they used his ideals later for their causes. They let you know Jackson displaced the Indians, but he adopted an Indian after seeing his mother killed in battle. Note: Jackson killed the rest of the child's family, so this made up for it. Also, he served as a companion of Jackson's nephew, aka whipping boy. One of Jackson's good moves was abolishing the national bank, the devil. So all and all, he was a president who looked out for the common man but not someone I would like if I met him for real.

I will give it to him, Jackson did have quite the cotton plantation. Apparently your hands bled from picking cotton. No wonder the slaves ran. He had one slave Alfred who stayed behind probably because he was too old to run. When the estate opened he would pose for photos with these idiot white tourists and always looked pissed as hell. One German dude told him he had a nice master. Alfred said, "Yeah, but how would you like being a slave?" And the dude shut up. Alfred is buried next to Andrew Jackson. His tombstone reads Uncle Alfred. Today that would be considered insulting. The historical society says they use it as a lesson that all people count. Note: Alfred charged for photos and tours of the place. He made his time count for money.

Then we went to church. You do that in the South.

Afterwards, we met my friend and fan boy Marzipan or Alaskan Mike. A native of the South, Alaskan Mike went to college in Alaska and studied biology originally. We had dinner at a cool Italian eatery and told funny stories. Of course there were periods where Skipper and Tucker tuned out to make out. Sigh, young love

All and all

I had a great time.

Now back to NYC. The 5 am flight said it all.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl