First Class

I take the Acela so often now I have whatever they call frequent traveler status, which I just call the Unfortunate Victim Club. Getting upgraded on Amtrak is like getting moved up from regular public housing to scattered site public housing. It still sucks.

They gave me some upgrades to first class and today I used one for the first time on a sold out train. Charlie Rangel is sitting two rows in front of me reading the Washington Post. He’s my Congressman and I like him. Because I live in Harlem. And can walk down Frederick Douglass without anyone doing shit to me other than saying, “Go home tourist!” and spitting. It’s all very trippy. Everyone’s ignoring him.

I was sitting across from a pretty professional chic who is normal. Then these two old white guys came by and wanted to sit with us. Both have full white heads of hair and even more heinous, full white beards. Honestly, what is the point? A white beard?  One of the has a quasi fu manchu going on and I want to heave up my salty snack mix they gave me for being in first class. The other one is more of a dick, who pronounced upon squeezing into the inside seat (the other chic and I made it clear that they had to sit on the inside…we were a united front, even though we are strangers), “I will try to deal with this ‘cord situation’ but I can’t make any promises.”

Listen Douche, I was sitting here first and am working on a Mac. You, Old Man with a Fucking White Beard and Gingivitis Breath, are reading a NEWSPAPER. Can I say Old as Fuck? I am scanning Salon.com, Daily Beast, Google Reader….and you are still getting your info from dead tree technology. Blow me.

 

 

 

Defibrilate me

I’ve been informed by a doctor that my so called panic attacks, where I get heart palpitations, aren’t anxiety attacks but my heart skipping beats. I just attributed all of this to comedy, which what I thought caused my endless panic attacks and would sip on Patron. Apparently, my heart may be jacked up and I have been treating it with tequila.

But that’s what comedians too. We self medicate because there isn’t a single one of us who doesn’t develop an anxiety disorder of some sort. It sneaks up and suddenly you are up all night with insomnia, restless leg syndrome and chronic dry eye from never hitting REM sleep and watching Billy the Exterminator marathons. We”ll still get in our car and drive all night to get to our gig so we can avoid the civilians, truckers and old fuckers driving to Florida with their clothes hanging across their back seat on a bar.

There’s a point in this business where you have to figure out how not to lose your health and your soul. And when it comes to that horrible 15 worst comedians article that was all over everything today - http://www.complex.com/pop-culture/2011/12/the-15-worst-stand-up-comedians – I think it’s mean as shit. You’d never see an article about the 15 Worst Violinists, would you? What other industry eats its young like this one? Which other industry enjoys bashing successful members more?

Maybe they sold out. I don’t give a shit.

As for those 15 worst comedians, I’d like to have just a smudge of their money, success and the fun they probably are having. Instead of having a heart that isn’t beating right that I treat with tequila.

 

 

No So Homeless Woman

I went drinking with my doctor friend last night. Surgeons have scary stories and it isn’t at all like Gray’s Anatomy.  Last night he was telling me about a scrub nurse at a hospital he worked at years ago that had a pylonidal cyst and was like Typhoid Mary in the OR. They had to shut down the OR and test all of the staff. They found out that this guy’s recurring cyst was causing all of the people who went into the OR to get staph infections. He told me, “Hospitals are like prisons. All of the good people are on the outside and all of the bad, or sick, people are inside. So hospitals are a breeding ground for the worst microbes.” Boy I can’t wait to go to the hospital to get elective surgery now.

Before he met me, a homeless woman asked him for some money for food on Frederick Douglass. He told her he that he wasn’t going to give her money but would be happy to buy her food. So they walked down a block and a half to a bodega and go in. He asks her what she’d like. She says, ” A Diet Coke and some potato chips. Because I’m diabetic.”

After he paid, she put the stuff in her bag. Lon was like, “That’s all you want?” She responds, “I’ve already had dinner. I’m not that hungry.”

Lon then says, “I thought you said you hadn’t eaten and had nowhere to live.”

No So Homeless Woman tells him, “Oh no, I’m staying with my sister right over there.”

Hell Gig lesson. Hospitals are where you get sicker, not better. And homeless people aren’t always homeless and hungry.

 

 

 

 

Psychos Commenting on my Facebook Wall

Every once in a while, someone I don’t know or barely know posts a bizarrely harsh comment on my Facebook wall that is political. Invariably they are Teabagger inspired and very oddly mean. Last night some guy I think I may  have worked with at a room in central NJ posted a response to a video about a very hot young guy who was raised by lesbians. I shared the clip from my niece’s girlfriend’s page (they just had a baby and he’s adorable) and said this kid is a hottie AND I’d vote for this guy to be President. He was so impressive.

So Teabag douche literally posts a comment saying that it would only be years before this kid would be doing other guys and exposing himself and porn and a multitude of what he regarded as sexually deviant activities. All because this kids moms were gay. I was floored. How do you go from this kids is amazing to he will be soliciting men for sex just because his moms are gay?

But even more importantly, it was MY Facebook page. I didn’t post this video on his page. I posted it on MY page. I also am a comedian so of course I added a one liner. Someone needs to explain to me why someone I don’t know would put something that is highly inappropriate on someone else’s Facebook page that’s just soooo ……mean and creepy.

The funny part is that I’m attracting these same douches on Match. You can just tell these are the guys that spend every holiday ranting about Obama’s birth certificate over pigs in a blanket from Costco while their relatives slink away to some corner to hide. Do I need to put a disclaimer on both my Match.com and Facebook profiles saying “Mean creepy Teabaggers need not read or reply.”?

I’m not even a Democrat because I can do math. And I’d never be a current day Republican either. Because I can do math.

I’m a comedian. And I”m not a mean comedian except for talking about bloated men with gingivitis breath who actually think I want money so badly that I’d date that hot mess instead of pleasuring myself and watching Homeland on Showtime on Demand by myself and calling it day.

Bitter Skank Store

I’ve gone over to the dark side. I’m talking merchandise. Merch. Swag. Selling my soul for a tshirt sale.

The only think I like about it is the name of my online retail establishment- The Bitter Skank Store. It says, “She’s selling out, but only half way.”

If I can’t make decent money as a comedian, I might as well try to sell a WWJD thong and Master Titty Sucker trucker cap.

 

 

Comedy Gold

Match.com has made me doubt the existence of God but on the other hand, it has been comedy gold.  In the old days, your creepy Uncle Bob with the untrimmed nasal hair used to be cockblocked by life. He was out of the game. Now he’s on match.com flexing shirtless in his bathroom mirror with the profile name ducttape666. And the fool is emailing my ass. Helping me write rants.

Stage Names

Every comedian should start their career by creating a stage name and getting a UPS Store mail box. That way you can have a comedy alter ego your day job coworkers cannot connect to the uptight corporate clone you act like when chained in your cubicle working for the Man. And the UPS Store box so that when someone decides to become your comedy stalker, and buy your address online, they’ll get the UPS Store address not the place where you really live the good life on your air mattress.

The funny thing about having 2 names is that at first it seemed impossible and now it’s effortless. I totally understand how easy it is to steal someone’s identity.  The other hilarious part is that I hate both of my names. I go by my middle name at work and my legal first name on stage. Basically both names scream early 60s lower middle class raised ranch.

My friends are always giving me abuse about the two names, “Like who are you today?” Screw them:) I’m the one who has to keep the job, which funds the company dream, and there’s no one else to help me so I split into two personas. I became my own long suffering wife at the crap job paying for medical school for her husband. I wonder if when I’ve made it and am in the money if I’ll divorce myself like the doctors always do to their first wives.

 

 

 

2 hour crush

Met a really hot country boy and had a crush for 2 hrs until I found out he is 34 with 3 kids, never been married and is underendowed and used to be a swinger.

Venues

So we are trying to find our audience, the broken and bitter 99 percenters who haven’t drunk the Kool Aid and of course the functional alcoholics. So we’re thinking a great venue would be strip clubs but the higher end ones. Clearly their patrons aren’t churchy.  Young chics are comfortable going there for a little lap dance and some photos. We really want our crowd to be the people who want to hurl when they read some pious douche’s email autosignature at work. “I’m so blessed.” No one gives a shit.

Crazy Bitches of Comedy

Kathy Arnold and I have teamed up in our comedic failure to create our own show, The Crazy Bitches of Comedy. The way we figure it, just like death and taxes, chunky women will always be getting married and we might as well join the skankitude. We’re hoping we hit the big time and get some male strippers who will flesh out our show for the bloated bachelorettes.