Clockin' 10,000 Hours, 5 Minutes at a Time (A WOMANifesto?)

I've done four mics in the last three days, which might be laughable to Louis CK, but has me really proud of myself. Even though I love sleep like a fat kid loves not being made fun of, I know that I won't get off the plantation if I don't start squirreling away food and necessities to prepare for my escape--metaphorically speaking.

But man, open mics and networking sucks. At the end of a boring day writing about pictures of fruit in bowls, the last thing I want to do is to spend up to 2 hours in a lame bar surrounded by poorly dressed, mildly autistic, self-loathing men who are all friends with each other just so I can spend 5 minutes holding a microphone in front of the aforementioned boys club. They're not exactly my target audience.

Any comic who's made it--and developed a sustainable career--has put in the time and continues to do so. But I find it so hard to "replenish the creative well," so to speak, when I'm just running from one thing to the next, grocery bags under the eyes like I'm shoppin' at Whole Foods, and not really engaging in the world. I'm half tempted to start drinking and hooking up with randos just for the material!

I jest. I think.

Gladwell says it's all about clockin' the hours. But if I've gotta wait to hit 10,000 one set at a time, I may not be an outlier until I'm 84 years old. And by then, we'll all be hairless pod people providing the life force for Apple's cyborgs, so no one will really care. (Do you think they'll have comedy clubs in the dystopian future? I feel like they'd all be 20-person bringers with a 12-drink minimum.)

I'm finding myself most fueled by collaboration with strong black women of every color. I'm not above open mics and all, but nowadays I think of my best stuff when sitting and talking one-on-one with a quick-witted gal pal. Since that's the opposite of soul-crushing, I think I'll continue to go that route and not judge myself if I don't hit an open mic.

Why am I discussing this? Well, I just got a link to an article from--you guessed it!--a Caucasian strong black woman that really reinforced some of these thoughts. In it, the author cites Molly Lambert's article "Can't Be Tamed: A Manifesto," where she says:

“Befriend The Other Woman… She is not the enemy. She is never your enemy. The enemy is always any guys who are creating situations that limit the number of females allowed. Get them in the crosshairs and take them down.”

I did a show at 11pm last night because the woman hosting it had a last-minute cancellation and thought of me. She thought of me because, despite my insecurity, when she sent an email blast saying she was running this show, I told her to keep me in mind for future slots that might open up (it's booked really far in advance).

And she did. And so, even though I wanted to go home and write, I showed up because I don't believe in turning down a gig. And I know that none of this is owed to me. And this gal who I'm convinced thinks I'm pathetic will never get a chance to prove me wrong if I don't let it go. She is not my enemy. Most of the time, I'm my own damn enemy and I've decided I'm done hatin' on me!

My Soulmate?

Hey gang,

So, I was in war-torn Borders last night, picking up some cheap going-out-of-business books, and as I'm checking the humor section, this guy walks behind me and all I hear is the word 'gorgeous.'
I assume he's talking about the sale, cause it really is exciting.
I look up but he's already walked past me. I go back to my book, and he doubles back. "Excuse me,” he says in his indoor voice. “I'm looking for a nice soulmate. My name is Rob, I've been divorced a few years—“
“I'm in a relationship,” I cut him off.

He wasn’t hideous or visibly homeless—black guy, a couple inches shorter than me, bald but working it—but he definitely had crazy eyes (almost Bradley Cooper-esque) that tipped me off to mental illness. Add to that the fact that he called me gorgeous, when I looked about as busted as a sister wife. In fact, I was looking like a divorced sister wife—you know, what I mean. She's got her 6 kids and no “sisters” to help her, so she's really let herself go. Plus, the last time she was on a date, head-to-toe denim was a good look, so even on her best day she's still looking awkward.

I digress.

“Oh, you’re in a relationship right now?” CrazyEyes says, pointing to the floor. He then looks around, as though my partner--if he exists--would be in Borders at that very moment.
“Yes.”
“Oh, okay, I’m sorry.” He walks away, probably to troll the going-out-of-business sale for more “nice soulmates” at 50% off.


I tell this story not just because I love to share interactions with randoms but also because it was the first time I didn’t have to lie to a crazy to make him go away. My fake boyfriend, Michael, is no longer necessary—and he might be gone for good! (I think I’ll kill him in a freak ATV accident—you know, cause he’s such an adrenaline junkie.)


Jewboo and I did very well on our first road trip. By “very well,” I mean we didn’t fight with each other, explained our wants and needs (such as “food. Right. Now.”) clearly and succinctly, and my friends liked him. He drove the entire way there and back (which I found very attractive for some reason) and we both discovered that we prefer to hold our bladders than stop repeatedly.


****[oh my god, we just had an earthquake in New York City. My office swayed, and massa was conveniently out getting cupcakes and “didn’t feel a thing.” I started a twitter tree, and judging by the pithy replies, everyone’s fine. Guys, what if this blog becomes a record of humanity in the 21st century????? I owe it to the world. I owe it to the Mayans. I owe it to us.]********

The wedding was loverly and it was so great to see friends. However, I seemed to have forgotten about my inherent distaste for small-town living--i.e. life in Vermont. For a place I’ve visited more than a handful of times, it really is the polar opposite of everything I stand for.

Take, for instance, the fact that we arrived in the state at 9pm on Friday night, and there were hardly any restaurants open. We get to the hotel at 9:45, only to discover that restaurant-kitchens across the state are closing, including the hotel dining room. I’m sorry, but WTF, VT?! I know you guys are "quaint" and sparsely populated, but a blacktress and a ‘boo can’t get a good meal after sunset on a weekend?! The state needs to change it’s damn motto:



As we're driving up I look over the info from the bride and remember that a VT wedding also doubles as a camping trip. Regarding the pre-wedding BBQ at a gorgeous state park, she writes:

“Limited parking is available at the top of the mountain, so you can park at the bottom and carpool up, or it’s a nice one-hour hike to the top.”

A what? Nice one hour hike? Is that Swedish for "refreshing hot bath"? I texted some friends immediately:
You better save me a parking space on the mountain top or get me a ski lift, cause a hike ain't happening!

I would have had Jewboo playing sherpa after about 10 feet.

You guys know how I don’t like to sweat in public or be in nature, right?

Well, just imagine me at an outdoor wedding at the height of the summer sun. Just walking from the car has me starting to sweat like Whitney, and after sitting down for about 5 minutes, I have to pull my dress out from under my butt because I’m getting serious swamp ass and I’ll kill myself if I stand up and discover a giant sweat stain in my crotchal region. When the B&G proceed to share their written vows, I start crying, and Jewboo leans over and wipes my tears…or sweat…it was really at the point where it all mingled and I was generally salty.

But the sun went down after a couple of hours and in the meantime, I got really excited about the mushroom-and-truffle brick oven pizza being passed around, and it definitely took the edge off. I will say this about Vermonters--they sure know how to throw a wedding. I think it's because they're such a handy people. I was seated next to a fella by the name of Bruce, who had a weird look in his eye and a wet spot on his pants, and I asked him what he did.

"Do you live off of the land?" I asked.

"Well, yes, I do. I build furniture from the trees right from our forests."

Guys, if the apocalypse goes down, I think Vermont's going to be the only US city that makes it.

The highlight of the wedding was definitely the couple's first dance, which was unlike anything I've ever seen. It was, in essence, a flash mob. Kool & The Gang's hit "Celebration" came on and half the guests started doing a choreographed dance!

I had no idea what was going on as folks danced around me. I felt like Julia Stiles did the first time she went into that black club in Save the Last Dance.

Turns out the b&g had set this up via secret YouTube video. Although I wasn't in on it ("It was a hard choice to make," she said, "but I decided that I wanted you to be surprised."), I was able to get my hands on the instructional video made by the bride. I also got her permission to post this on the blog. Her exact words were:

"No, it's okay. I've never been more proud of anything in my life."

And I'd have to agree.

See for yourself, friends. From the seriousness and dramatic pauses in her delivery to the names for the various dance moves--not to mention the cameo by their dog--this might actually be the most amazing YouTube clip I've ever seen. Yes, even better than the Pumpkin Dance.

I love this woman almost as much as I love my Jewboo. I would gladly drive another 7 hours just to see her dance.

Show of Shows

Hey internet friends!

As you know, I spent the weekend celebrating my new lease on life, and already had two stand-up shows booked for the weekend. I’m gonna skip the first and go right into the Saturday night show because I only did it so that I could share it with you via blod.

Remember that awesomely random burlesque show I did a couple months back? Well, the blacktress was so well received that I was asked to do the next one. As you know, that show was out of control on many levels. Knowing what I was in for this time around, I replied with a resounding YES—simply for the blog fodder it would provide. As you also know, child (WH)actor Haley Joel Osment is a huge influence on me, and like him, my primary goal is always to pay it forward.

Saturday’s show wasn’t exactly like the first one. First of all, instead of taking place in Lydia's apartment, it took place in a yoga studio (step up #1?). The rope-bondage guy was working the sangria table, and there were 10 folding chairs, a futon (covered in green satin fabric, no less), and faux-ethnic Pier 1 Imports pillows for sitting.

Nope, no need to adjust your specs; you read it right—15-25 people paid $12 in advance, $15 at the door to watch a 'burlesque' show in a yoga studio. I showed up just 10 minutes before the advertised start time, knowing what awkward sitting around I’d have to do, and I was still 40 minutes early.

That’s right, folks—show started damn near 35 minutes late.

I feel like I can't do the insanity of the evening any justice. This time, knowing I'd need someone to corroborate my story, I invited my friend Dana to come with me (don't worry, I'm not the worst friend--I got her in for free). I told her it would be cray, but I don't think she was prepared, and unfortunately I had to "stay backstage" (ie: in the smaller studio adjacent to the "show area") for much of it, leaving her to watch and fend for herself. Below is her retelling of the summer-themed burlesque show--it captures every moment with the innocence, honesty, and freshness of a child.

[To give you a bit of background (and because I wish you could hear her tentative, sweet voice as she tries to stay positive): Dana is soft-spoken, new to New York City, and a musician--dance and comedy isn't exactly her wheelhouse.]

"I was actually really excited, because I'd never really seen burlesque. But then, it was really odd.....wait, what was the first act?

Oh, yeah, that girl singing 'Summertime' in her piercing soprano voice. That was so strange, because I thought she was going to do a dance at first ... because nothing was happening and she was just standing there waiting for the iTunes instrumental track.

[I interject, reminding her of the summer theme, and suggesting it as the reason behind the musical number.]

"Oh, it was supposed to be all about summer? I guess it makes more sense now. .... I don't even know how to describe it.

"You missed the hula part, which was really, really weird. It was the girl whose show it was, right? She was wearing a long ankle-length dress with a really busy pattern, which was weird for hula. she kept doing all of these weird crouching moves and it was ... long ... that song was just so long. I don't know, I can't describe it....

"There were so many issues. Like, how could you not lip sync properly? Granted, I've never tried to take my clothes off at the same time as lip syncing, but you invited all your friends over and made them pay to watch you lip sync and you can't get that part right? That's not right.


"And that one that got completely naked--the girl at the end--she got out of the geisha robe, then put on a vinyl dress, but she got herself so oily in between that she couldn't zip the second one up, so it was just even more awkward.

[I interject yet again--I thought the zipper broke?]
"No, I think she was oily.

"Then that girl who did the burlesque to that song from The Little Mermaid--it was funny cause she was trying to make it kinda raunchy. Like...i don't know. It was actually one of the better ones, though.

"The whole thing was incredibly uncomfortable, when the emcee--Starshine? Is that her real name?--when she came out. That was pretty bad. And I do this thing that I get from my mom--like, when I'm watching a live performance that makes me uncomfortable, I make an encouraging face, which isn't really encouraging as much as weird. And I just did that the whole time she was on.


"The guy next to me was talking to me--he was shy and awkward and weird, but nice--I think because he was by himself. He kept asking me who I knew, and I said I was friends with the comedian, and he thought that I meant Starshine and looked so offended. Then I corrected him and after your set, he was like, 'Oh, your friend's funny.'


"I don't know. It was kinda like a talent show you'd do with your friends in your parents' basement, but adult."


Nothing in the above synopsis is made up--doesn't Dana just seem shaken by the whole thing, still reeling when prompted to discuss two days later? All of the aforementioned performance pieces took place. The only consolation was that this time, show producer Lydia only did two numbers--the hula and a cowboy-themed burlesque--leaving "the workers" to fend for themselves this month.

However, seeing a buck naked hairless woman's vagina was not what I signed up for, and it took the insanity into a different stratosphere. As this unnamed woman bent over coyly, exposing her birth canal, all I could do to keep calm was remind myself that after my set, this woman had told me I was "hilarious." She couldn't be totally mentally ill, as she clearly has good taste in comedy. But I just don't think I was supposed to see her cervix.