Thursday, June 30, 2005

Ode to my Sandals

This is a poem I wrote in 1999 while living in LA with a newly aquired pair of sandals.


Pinky toes hidden by flesh-color, adhesive bandages
Walking to a funky off-beat rhythym which I can't even hear.
These hides that separate me from the earth Epitomize the Germany from which they came
-- tough unforgiving bastards
When oh when will these leather monsters concede and conform to my foot
The war is raging. My feet bruised and battered
But still I press on.
Walking miles on concrete, dirt and stones
My little soldiers will never yield, never surrender.
One day. Oh one day these sandals will be conquered--WILL BE COMFORTABLE!

Wednesday, June 29, 2005


Pictures from the show last night

Acting 101

Despite holding a B.F.A. in the subject of acting I'm hardly an actor. Even though I've acted in a number of plays and a few films I can not call myself an actor. Why? Because I am not touchy feely. I have no problem dancing all night long and (looking foolish or looking hot -- depending on your perspective) but don't grind with me. I don't know what you mean by your grinding. Just dance over there with your boyfriend. Like most actors I can drink like a Barrymore but no matter how drunk I get I'll never sit on anyone's lap. Next thing you know you'll think I like you, which let's face it is probably true and then what? Sure, I'll sing at the top of my lungs "Don't stop Believing" when the song isn't even playing, but I won't hug and kiss my friends just because they're there. No, I'm not an actor. I am a comedian. I am guarded and reticent. Hell, I get scared to make a move on people I'm actually dating.

Praise be to the actor! His humongous ego notwithstanding he shall show us the way!

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Candy Graham

Yesterday afternoon someone rang my apartment buzzer. I asked who it was. They responded that they were delivering a package and asked if I could come down and get it. I immediately went into my loathsome roommate's room and asked if he was expecting a package. "No," he said, "but maybe my mother sent me a care package."
"Well, you best go down and get it." I said.
There was no way I was going to go down and retrieve a "package." For all I know someone was just looking to murder a random person. I've seen Law and Order I know that shit happens-- their stories are ripped from the headlines. I thought of my roommate receiving a hatchet through the skull and felt relieved that I wasn't foolish enough to be lured downstairs for a delivery. I imagined the future. I realizedI would feel absolutely no guilt when people told me what happened to my roommate. The sentiment "it should have been me" would never cross my mind. It shouldn't have been me, I don't leave my dirty dishes in the sink. I clean the bathroom, and I don't have a canadian girlfriend constantly here in our apartment, and I pay the bills ontime. In fact, if I had to choose between him or myself being hacked up into pieces inorder to fit into a cardboard box to be shipped to another apartment building, I would choose him everytime. And it's not that I really like life, It's just I'm more worthy of living.

Show Tonight!!!!!

JUNE 28!

Downstairs at Raga ( E. 6th Street btwn A and B)
8pm Free

This is your red hot lineup for the next Chicks on June 28!

Carolyn Castiglia (Caroline's, Galapagos), hosts:
Leanna Conley (Stand-Up to Spoken Word, Combaret)
Shannon Ennis (The Improv, Manhattan Comedy Collective)
Eliza Faria-Santos (Laugh Factory, Brooklyn Comedy Company)
Michelle Maclay (co-produces The Social, Mintyfresh)
Rachael Parenta (Get Wood, $1 Room)
Goddess Perlman (Nice Jewish Girls Gone Bad, Sweet)
Tasha Space (co-produces The Social, Gotham)
Lianne Stokes (Brutal Honesty, Everyone Wins)
Fiona Walsh (Sundays at Seven, Great White American Teeth)

Them's some good pickins, son! Come on out and laugh-it-up!
posted by Carolyn @ 6/15/2005 04:03:00 P

Monday, June 27, 2005

Real Life Dialogue

I once could be overheard saying to another human being, "I don't have the emotional fortitude to be your friend." Another time I told someone I saw them "surreptitiously holding hands" with another person. (And it just took me twenty minutes to figure out how to spell surreptious.)
Which of course isn't surprising because I'm the person who had this phone conversation a couple of years ago. ME: You're actions were discordant
HIM: I don't even know what that word means.
ME: What?
HIM: I didn't go to an ivy league school like you.
ME: What? Ivy League? I didn't go to an ivy league college.
HIM: Well, it was in new england.
I then defined "discordant;" he hung up on me; I wrote a funny sketch inspired by said call; and, he claimed his phone died and he did not hang up on me.

Sometimes I say to myself why did I ever bother with a boy like that. I'm cute, and funny and I have wealth of nickel knowledge. And, then I look down and I rip out some random hair from my chest and thank god I don't have more cleavage or that hair would have been really hard to yank.

Friday, June 24, 2005


Jack returned on Tuesday and he was exhausted. He came home took a shower and passed right out on the straw matt I had weaved for him. Honestly, I don't think my matt would hold up outside like a traditional Tartrian Matt is supposed. I left him to sleep Tuesday into most of Wednesday. That's when things went crazy. Jack awoke and noticed a number of gentlemen callers hanging out in my living room making smores with pens and lighters. I told him that they'll eventually leave once they see us in our bliss. But he wasn't having it. First, he got mad at me.
"How could you let these dudes stay here you're a black belt, plus you have two roommates!"
"Well, they clean more than my roommate Brian. And I don't want to get arrested. They're just making smores and I'm never home anyway. And you know they think I'm funny."
"I think you're funny."
"But you were off saving the world."
"I'm home now! Maybe you should have removed your fan club here before I got back."
"I was busy making you a straw matt. You know I'm not good at arts and crafts. I couldn't get to everything. You're the one who refused to sleep in my bed. Did you want a place to sleep or more space to sit in the living room?"
Jack's temper really swelled. He let out a tremedous roar. I jumped ten feet, but I'm high strung and am prone to react like that. The gentlemen callers were unphased, they kept chomping away at the smores they were making. I must say those smores looked really good. I had such a desire to ask for one, but I think that would have sent Jack over the edge, so I just pined. Over the years, I've developed a great ability to pine.
Jack told them, "Get out! She is my girlfriend and you will stop making advances toward her. You will also leave this living room, now!"
They asked if they could still go to my shows. Jack said, "Yeah, sure that's ok. But you have to leave now."
They begrudgingly got up and left. Paul, the tall gentelman caller, gave me a smore on his way out. I smiled a big grin as I ate it. Jack looked a little peeved, but it's a smore, man--and my pining days are over.

And let me just end the story with this. That straw matt is not looking so good these days and my downstairs neighbors a little irritated.

(I don't have time to proof read Jack and I have to go to a family thing in Jersey today)

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Even the brave have pain

Someone said to me the other day, "Your breath smells like bananas." I said, "Really? Does it? Huh?" Then I remembered. "Oh yeah, that's because I swallowed the herion I am transporting in banana flavored condoms."

Anyone who knows me knows the above joke is totally not true--I never use condoms. Actually, it couldn't be true because I can't even swallow advil. A couple of years ago I had broken my ankle when saving an infant from the tree top. I grabbed the kid right at the moment the bough broke and down came baby, cradle and me on my ankle. But, my heroism is not the important part of the story, anyone would have made the same decision in that situation.

My ankle had many accessories while it convalesced--First, a frankstein foot looking splint; then, a black cast. I chose black because black is slimming plus I had broken my ankle right before labor day and I'm not goash; and, then of course the gustapo looking walking boot. I was a little in conflict wearing the boot and being Jewish. I kept feeling the impulse to write my social security number on my arm. Anyway, I went to the othepedic surgeons office to have a new cast put on my leg. The nurse supposedly needed to put my foot at a right angle to my leg before putting the cast on. I wept. I asked if they had any advil or anything. She said, "Yes." She was just about to get some when I qualified my request. "I need children's advil. I can't swallow pills."
"We dont' have liquid advil."
"But don't children break bones?" I asked through the tears.
"Yes." she said and continued, "They swallow pills."
Miraculously, I couldn't feel the pain in my ankle anymore because my ego was so bruised I felt nothing else.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Food, Folks and Driving

This is not a such a funny post, but it's about being funny sort of.

In general I'm a funny person, my skill level as a comedian not with standing. It would be unfair for me to take all the credit for my sense of humor. I have to say that many members of my extended family are funny dare my ego let me type funnier than me. And I don't just mean the things they do that I make fun of in my act, (i.e putting a picture of a fetus on edible cake.) My grandmother for most of her life has been the queen of the dirty joke. She has been forced into retirment in recent years. I don't know by whom but last christmas she told a friend, who joined us for Christmas Eve dinner, that she was not allowed to tell him dirty jokes. It's a shame because they're funny especially coming out of the mouth of a 4ft 7inch old lady.

For most of my childhood I always looked forward to Christmas Eve and not just because of the presents and not because the food was awesome but because my dad and his siblings were so funny. I'm not trying to romantize the past, some of Christmas Eve's were lame lame lame. I believe those were the ones my parents hosted. Oh wait, they only hosted one, because no one wanted to come back. Christmas at the Parentas' is filled with fish and antics. Many of the antics have become tradition. Maybe they are traditions because we are so easily amused. The same jokes each year continue to crack us up. But how can you resist laughing at my aunt Annette when she struts around my grandparents' living room in her new bras that she would wear over her new flannel shirt my grandparents have given her again that year?

No one in my family is perfect and we all have made self destructive choices at some point to some degree and those choices aren't made in a vaccuum they affect the rest of us. However, we're not just our bad choices. At minimum we are funny. And it's late I should go to bed. Tonight I'll be laughing about a driving lesson my Aunt Annette had given me when I was sixteen. I was cruising down 287 south with my learners permit in my pocket. I had to get over to my right lane so I could exit off the highway into Morristown. I told my aunt, "I don't like looking at my blind spot, moving my head makes me nervous." She said, "Oh don't worry about it I have a friend who's been driving for years, she never looks. She figures people will get out of her way." When I was 21 years old I hit a city bus in Jersey City while making a right turn into a parking garage. Apparently, he didn't get my aunt's memo about getting out of my way.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

The day has arrived

In five hours and fifteen minutes I'll be at JFK airport hugging and kissing my amore!!!! I can't believe we are finally going to be together. I have so much to do. I have to clean my apartment, shave, and make a straw mat for us to sleep on. He said he doesn't think he'll be able to sleep on a real bed right away, after years of sleeping on the ground in huts and in random sand bunkers. I think basically he'll be sleeping on my floor while I sleep in my bed. I don't think I'll be able to make it through the night on the floor. We'll see. He's not even here yet and already we're needing to compromise and adjust. Oh god I'm scared. I love him so much I ache sometimes. I thought this love shit was supposed to make you happy. It does of coarse. I'm just teeming with emotion.

You know what I'm so friggin distractedI can't even post a real entry today. You can thank Jack next time you see him for sparing you.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Israel and Palestine aint nothing

Interesting turn of events regarding the remaining items of my summer wardrobe. (for back story please see the "Viva La Resistance" and "Pair of Pants" postings) Yesterday, I was supposed to meet with my parents in a Father's Day summit. Supposedly, the few items that my parents still posessed of mine were to be returned and if those things couldn't be returned there was talk of the items being replaced. I called the Parenta Embassy-- temporarily located in Boonton, NJ while construction continues on the new Embassy in Boonton Township. They received my call with civility. However, when I mentioned that I'd be coming over for Father's Day later that day with a ceremonial card to present to my father and discuss this clothing conflict, talks broke down. The Parents all of sudden became unavailable. They had a great deal of "running around" to do. Is my father really in that much denial that he is actually a father that he can't even take a card from his only child.

They continued to mention a possible peace treaty, the terms of which included my ceasing and desisting of posting crude, blog entries regarding my sex life with derelicts (see thursdays post) in exchange they would take me shopping to replace clothing items they lost. First off, why should they be embarassed about my postings. They aren't the ones who had a crush on a blackened tooth unemployed, forty year old "actor." That was me. That's my shame. They can't steal that from me as well. Secondly, they lost my clothes. I put my clothes in their charge and now some have gone missing. They should simply return or replace said items without me having to compromise my art. And that's right dick jokes are art an form. Thirdly, they know I'll never go shopping in order to replace items. Not only because I loathe shopping, but because who has time to go shopping with my mother? She's insane. The woman can not get our of Marshalls in under three hours and that's just one store. As I have mentioned before I have my life to screw up and can't be held up with marathon shopping sessions in order to replace four items of clothing.

So tonight, I plan on calling an emergency summit meeting at their house. This way I can return the car, do some laundry and maybe pick up some groceries. God they really are so ungiving.

Friday, June 17, 2005

In my defense

I realized the other day that I have a public forum (this blog) to finally set the record straight regarding an incident-- the ramifications of which I still deal with today. Approximately, 18 years ago I was accused of heinous crime. I crime which I did NOT commit! I would just like to declare right now that I did not ever write, "Stacey is a Jerk" on the back of the handmade light switch ornament that hung in Stacey D.'s room during her childhood.

I remember toward the end of my fifth grade year our teacher had allowed us to put our desk in a cluster formation with our friends which sorted of formed a makeshift table. This way we could cheat without straining our necks. I sat with three of my "friends," Stacey D., Lisa, and Sara. (yeah, I grew up in a town with a sizeable Jewish population) On the Monday after I had slept over Stacey D.'s, after recess, before dismissal, while we were supposed to be working on our Math I was confronted. Stacey whipped out the pink and white, needle point, lightswitch ornament. She flipped it over. And in bic pen it read, "Stacey is a Jerk." Stacey D. said to me, "My mom, is so mad at you."
"You ruined this. I've had it since I'm a child."
If I was a quicker 10 year old I would have retorted, "You still are a child." Hindsight. Instead I said, "I didn't write that."
Evil Evil Evil Lisa said, "It's your handwriting."
"But I didn't write it."
So the girls made me write the alaphabet down on piece of paper so they could analyze my handwriting. Now, again I was ten years old. I didn't know that most handwriting analysis is done on script handwriting and not print. Oh yeah, and it's also usually done by ADULTS! Not just any adults either but usually experts in handwriting! My fate was sealed. The tribunal that was my desk cluster convicted me. I didn't even get a chance to bring in my own experts or cross examine Stacey D. or have a lawyer for that matter.

My innocence was right infront of our faces. The words written read, "Stacey is a jerk." The did not read, "Stacey D. is a jerk." It had to be written by someone not in our 5th grade class. I always thought the vandal was her older sister Laura. It was her or of course the Dingos. But I guess we'll never know. All I know is that I didn't write it and now the world knows... or at least the 14 of you who read this thing.


What should I do Saturday Night?

What should you do this weekend? Have sex, of course. But before that take in some comedy that benefits Nicole Dufresne Memorial Scholarship Fund (details below.) And if you don't have someone with whom to copulate, perhaps you'll find someone at the show. Hell, I'll probably be in a charitable mood and looking for one last hurrah before my boyfriend comes back to the states. Like my mother always says "You don't ask you don't get."

Benefit details.-- My credit on this thing is that I graduated Emerson College. I hate to break it to the college but it's not that hard of a thing to do.

Join us Saturday, June 18th at 7 p.m.
MCC (finally) Has His Way (with Women)
an evening of alternative comedy, which will benefit the Nicole duFresne Memorial Fund at Emerson College.

Doors Open at 6:30

At Galapagos Art Space (North 6th street--Williamsburg, Brooklyn)

$10 all proceeds go to the Memorial Fund

MCC (finally) Has His Way (with Women)

An Evening of Comedy
to benefit The Nicole duFresne Memorial
Scholarship Fund

MCC will be joined by some of his
favorite funny femmes: Becky &
Noelle (Inspecting the Bucket, Fringe NYC),
Desiree Burch (SMUT), Pat Candaras
(Grandmotherf***er), Michelle Collins
(, HEEB), Nancy Giles (CBS
News Sunday Morning, China Beach), Rachael
Parenta (Emerson Class of 99),
Jennie Smith (Emerson Class of 01), and Becky
Yamamoto as "Rosie Mc Davis".

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Old jokes from Portland

These are couple of jokes that I dont' perform anymore but the inspiration for them was in town this past weekend and as I stayed clear from the chelsea area I was reminded of them.

I went out with this guy and on the first date of the relationship he gives me the "It's not you it's me" speech. Who starts a relationship off with the it's not you it's me speech? That's like putting a condom before taking off your pants. I guess he knew what he was doing because I fucked him. But then the comdom broke. Luckily he was still wearing his pants--wide whale corduroy: ribbed for my pleasure.

I went on date with this dude and he was like, "I'm not looking to commit right now. I'm just letting you know because at any moment during dinner I might have to get up and have sex with the waitress in the bathroom. I figured I'd tell you so i wouldn't be the asshole who hurt you."

version 2
I went on date with this dude and he was like, "I'm not looking to commit right now." I responded, " you want a copy of the list of phone numbers of the other boys I'm seeing,
'cause i have a copy here in my back pocket, Roger."
"My name is, Kevin."

(I say he really was a comedic actor and not a comedian but...)
I don't sleep with comedians, so if I slept with you you're obviously not funny.

version 2
I don't sleep with comedian because when my career goes nowhere everyone will know how bad I am at sex.

you should see the sketches

"Brief" Anecdote

Once while visiting Walden Pond in MA I found myself sans bathing suit. It was a hot May day and everyone seemed to be enjoying their frolicing in the water. I wanted to frolic. A friend suggested I swim in my underwear. She said, "If you believe it's a bathing suit, then it is."

I swam that day my friends. I swam and did not receive a summons. I have not looked back.

For what is a bathing suit? What is success? What is real?

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

the negative side

I'm having difficulty posting genius today. I think perhaps I am preoccupied with my friend Anna's love life. See, even when I'm in a brilliant relationship with an exceptional man-- which is just going to get more brilliant and exceptional in less than a week--I still let love get me down, even if it's only vicariously.

Perhaps, I am just avoiding my own anxieties because Jack moves to Brooklyn, in six days! We've been living apart for so long it's like it's not even real. I guess I am a bit nervous how this is all going to playout. He'll be staying with me for a bit until he finds a place. He wasn't able to secure a residence abroad. It's hard to look for apartments while helping the Grasstein tribe of Inkantile make a giant clock out of sand. As if Inkantile gets the Village Voice. I'm not concerned about the first couple of weeks. They'll be blissful. Those two weeks will be just like his bi-annul visits, where happiness envelops us just because we're in each other's presence. But, at week three the realization that this is our life, we are an actual couple who share a physical life together. And I don't mean sex. I mean we will be, physically in each other's space having to deal with one another-- our quirks, our insecurities and our immature way of dealing with those insecurities, and his ridiculous need to be a Steeler's fan. I know he worked for them and all, but you don't see me still carrying a torch for the Blue Man show.

I guess I see the difficulty many of friends, like Anna, are having and I wonder if Jack and I will be any different once in the same space. Do I have a control over my feelings? I do have control over my actions though sometimes it feels like my emotions are leading that chaos. Maybe I have a great deal of power on how this relationship pans out.

If I think it I can make it true.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005


Sometimes I forget I'm white which can be a problem in the summer. I get all cocky and go to the beach, and don't bring suntan lotion. " I don't need suntan lotion," I say, "I'm Italian." Well, it turns out Italians are actually white people. Who knew? Despite what 1920s Alabama resident might say. And now this white person is red from the sternum up. Because not only did I not put on sunblock, I also wore a skimpy tanktop as I walked the Coney Island boardwalk for three hours mid-day. My brilliance sometimes even surprises myself.

Monday, June 13, 2005

Bunkbed in Tokyo Hostel

Death even happens in Japan

I'm sure you've heard a cliche that goes something like this: "It doesn't matter what other people think of you." But it does. How people perceive you and your actions does indeed matter. It determines the way they treat you. If your friends think you shot their baby they probably will stop inviting you over for dinner. Which is a shame because you really liked dinner at their house. Even more a shame is that you didn't shoot their baby. You keep telling them it must have been dingos, I don't even own a gun. But the fact they THINK it's you because you are native to these parts and dingos aren't is the important part. I didn't shoot anyone's baby god damn it!


The picture above displays my lodging situation while I visited Tokyo, Japan this past April. As the photo reveals it's stacked three bunks high, instead of the traditional, American two bunks. The Japanese style bunk did not leave room for my 5'1" frame to sit straight-up once awake. I never knew there could be an entire country where I was tall. Though uncomfortable, it was kind of cool. Like going to a elementary school playground and not fitting in the swings. That's right, first graders don't mess with me.

When arrived at the hostel in the Azu Juban section of Tokyo I didn't know the bunk situation. I chose a bottom bunk thinking it more convienent. Little did I know that I'd be sitting like an NBA player in VW beetle each morning. I entered the room and found my bunk it rose a whole 3 inches from the floor. I literarly had to roll into bed.

Now, I'd like you to come back in time with me to the day before while I flew to Tokyo. On the flight I read a bit of Lonely Planet guide book to Tokyo. I learned that Tokyo sits on a fault line and is subject to frequent earthquakes. My mind began to race. I thought, on this vacation I could be traveling outside the city for the day only to return to devestation. The catastrophe of course would make the news all over the world--even in the US. My parents would have no way to contact to me. Oh the drama! I have to say these thoughts were comforting compared to the thoughts previously occupying my mind---of dieing in a firey crash. At least this Tokyo fantasy I am unscathed.

Back to the bunk bed. I looked at my bed and all I could see was earthquake and the two wooded beds above me crushing me in my sleep. It took all my will each night to sleep. I thought of asking to change my bunk assignment to a top one. But then I thought during an earthquake I'd just get tossed out of bed supine, fall the 10 feet, break my neck, and die or wind up paralyzed.

The first four nights my sleep was fitful. Evening five I finally convinced myself I was being ridiculous, there's not going to be an earthquake. Then on day six at 7am Tokyo time I was awoken by the rolling and shaking of the earth. I flung my body from my bed landing me belly down in the center of the room. I turned my head back to see if the bunks had collapsed. Then this girl, perhaps swedish, says to me, "Relax, it's just an earthquake." Excuse me? Just and earthquake. No, it just drizzles. You just have too much cake! It's not just an earthquake. As it turns out that the just earthquake was measured a 6.1. Just an earthquake.

I'm ok thanks for asking, actually so was the rest of Tokyo. Amazing!

Friday, June 10, 2005

Viva La Resistance

First off, I'd like to thank the readership of this blog for their letter writing campaign with which you all besieged my parents. All of sudden they seemed to have found at least some of my summer clothing and my small pink fan. Still missing, however, are my pair of light weight black pants I got on sale, off season at the bananna republic two years ago, a pair of blue pants, my high cut shorts -- which I need because Jack will be back in 11 days--- and other miscellaneous items.

I am confident if we keep the pressure on these clothing renegades, a.k.a. my parents, eventually we will shame them into returning my full summer wardrobe unharmed. I have also taken steps in relocating my winter clothes to a secure and undisclosed location. I would disclose it to you, but my parents may read my blog. On occassion they have been supportive. Though according to my mother these reason my relationships have failed is always my fault. When I bring up Jack and our 7 year relationship she scoffs and says, "I don't think he even exists." We'll see who is scoffing in 11 days, mom!
And so I won't be telling them the location of my clothing. Who knows what these scoundrels might do with the sensetive information. They're madmen. Well, a madman and madwoman living in blissful matrimony for 33 years. Do you see what I mean, who stays married these days? They can not be trusted.
So keep writing, protesting, and carrying out civil disobeidence. THE CLOTHING WILL BE RETURNED!!!!!

Uh now I have to go pack up the bag of frozen shrimp my dad gave me to take back to my place, along with the canned tuna and walnuts.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Am I 300 pounds or is it hot in here?

OK, I didn't write anything yesterday and this post is kind of late and the post on Tuesday was kind of uninspired. What do you want from me, people? I'm not a machine, nor, apparently am I much of a professional. But it's hot and humid, I can't be as productive as you all in your air-conditioned offices. And I know as you read this in your cubicle you are getting great amounts of work done for the company. I am not you. I have time to waste and money to hemorage. Especially, now that I am not working. I have open mics to skip, so that I can go to parties and buy people drinks I can't afford at psuedo-hip bars in Union square. I have a life to squander and let me tell you to squander life correctly takes time--- lots and lots of time. I could be pursuing my career goals and personal goals. I've been planning a trip to Praque and Budhapest. And by planning I mean, I said to my portland buddy, you have friends in Prague let's go in September. Now, have I gone to the library to get travel books? Of course not! This wasting of my life just gets in the way of all the other stuff. For instance I'm supposed to pretend to be Princess Leigha (sp--you know Luke's sister) as an open mic comic on Sunday. I've known about this since Tuesday, have I done any preparation yet? No! I need to write menstruation jokes from another galaxie-- a galaxie far far away. How am I to know how darth vader's daughter deals with her monthly? Should I do jokes about being a single princess? "It's so tough out there the only boys to date I'm related to." Yeah, exactly. I'm under pressure and my sweat has formed waves that are crashing onto my keyboard.

Unrelated. I'd also like to ask how is that any babies are born South of Connecticut in the months of March, April, and May. How could couples want to touch each other in this kind of summer weather? My best friend Anna was telling me how she nearly passed out last night while she was with one of her men and not the good kind of passing out.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005


On the afternoon news today I witnessed a woman, who had just finished voting in the Republican primary for governor, say "We need to bring honesty back to NJ. Politics is so corrupt these days." Perhaps this lady was remembering Jersey, England politics. Though she did not posess a British dialect. I don't recall in my lifetime when the United State of New Jersey was ever known for its honest politics. I don't recall in 4th grade, while learning New Jersey history, Mrs. Shapter (my 4th grade teacher) telling us of the earnst and honest NJ politicians. In fact, I distinctly remember tales of the early 1900s when dead people voted multiple times in NJ, and stories of insane gerrymandering. It's weird but because that happened over 100 years ago, I'm kind of nostalgic for brazen corruption.
quick joke.

Their are some crazy drinks out there these days. I went to a bar last night and this girl next to me ordere a big black dildo. I was like, "What the hell is that?"
"5 Shots of Jaegermister."
"Damn that's a lot to put in your mouth....ohhhhhh."
I told her I couldn't handle that right now so I ordered something smaller---the Irish Dildo. It's two fingers of Jameson. Because sometimes all a girl needs is two fingers.
(rim shot. hello!)

Monday, June 06, 2005

One Pair of Pants

In the world of aging immaturity and nyc living I have found myself in a bind. My parents have lost my summer clothing. No, I do not live with them. However, I have arranged joint custody of my wardrobe with my parents. In the summer months my winter clothing lives with my parents. In the winter months my winter clothes come back to live with me and my summer clothes go to Jersey to visit with my parents.

The weather hit 80 degrees this weekend. I called my parents and said, can you guys stop by your storage facility and pick up my summer stuff. "Yeah, sure no problem," they responded. Two hours later they called me back, "We can't find them, are you sure you gave them to us."
"Well, I've searched each inch of my 8x11 bedroom and can't seem to find them."
"Hmm? well, maybe their in our house."
Today I received a phone call from my father.
"Yeah, funny, we don't seem to have you clothes here either."
Hysterical. I can't believe these people want to be grandparents. They can't even keep track of non-animated, breathable fabrics. Granted, if I had children I don't think I would leave them at my parents' for months at a time, but then again if I still lived in this apartment in Brooklyn I'd have to. I can't store my kids under my bed like I do my rollerblades and computer paraphernilia. I mean, I could. My bed is about three feet off the floor and kids especially babies are small. But i'm sure they'd cry under there and I'd never get any sleep.

My parents' excuse for loosing my clothes is that they are in the midst of moving. They have sold my childhood home and moved into a small rental house where they live and wait for their new house to be built. (Estimated time of completion October.) This is some retirement investment plan. They say if they had any hope of me achieving economic success they never would have had to move; and therefore, they never would have lost my clothes. And I'd just like to mention I never chose to be born. They did choose to have a child. They only have the one kid and sure i'm nearing 28 and I should be able to live in a place that has enough room for four seasons of clothing, but I don't.

I'd love to be sympathetic to their retirement and old age concerns, but i'm about to find myself in the midst of a NYC summer. 97 degree weather with 90% humidity and all i have to wear is wool!

I'm not heartless. I would never turn my back on them in their old age. They are more than welcome to live under my bed in their golden years.

If you see me this summer wondering around Brooklyn insane and naked have compassion--hose me down and throw me a t-shirt. Please, don't call the cops.

Saturday, June 04, 2005


My father was just over replacing my broken monitor. To make sure this monitor worked we visited my blog and I read to him some of my posts. How do you 8 people read this thing? Not that it's not funny, but the errors on it or egregious. (like not being able to spell the last word of the last sentence there.) I've gone back and done some minor rewriting. From this day forth I'm going to try to do a better job writing coherently.


Friday, June 03, 2005

OK Guys , I Get it

Have you ever dated yourself? No, I don't mean have you given your age away in the midst of conversing with a bunch of youths. Nor do I mean it in a new agey kind of way. Like have you spent time with you---"Well, what the hell do you mean, Rachael? Maybe you should write more clearly and concisely this way we know what you mean without you writing what you don't mean."

Fair enough.
Have you ever dated someone just like you? "Why are you asking this question, Rachael? You don't care what we have experienced. You will write your opinion or experience regardless of our response."

True, I'---

"It's not like we can respond immediately anyway, It's a blog! It's not even instant messenger, never mind actual human interaction."

OK I get it.

"Do you though?"

Yes! Let me write the post already.

"Fine, what were your going to type?"

Just that, man...Basically, I dated a guy who was very similar to me and now I know why the boys I have liked have broken up with me. I'm really hard to date. I tried giving the boy the who was similar to me the benefit of the doubt because it was like giving myself the benefit of the doubt. In the end I had to break up with me. I tried my darndest giving me a chance but I'm really infuriating sometimes. So, I sat down and gave the speech I had only the opportunity to hear. I must say it really is a very true speech. I am a great person, interesting and cool. That is until you date me. Then I over think the whole thing and become completely untrusting, gaurded and protective of my ego. And that's exactly what he did.

"That was the post?"
Well, you got all in my head.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Dating Advice

Well, the intestines are feeling better today, thanks for asking. I guess I either miscarried the spirit baby or fully recovered from my cancer, or my appendix mended itself. Doctors be damned!
Hippies are great to date because they don't care how their partners look. They're awful to date because they don't care how they smell.
When it comes to dating the quality "nice" isn't enough. Some friends didn't understand why I didn't want a second date with a certain nice guy. Yes he was nice but he didn't know how to read. I once dated this other nice guy but I had to end it, he smelled and liked dick. I saw a nice guy in the bowling alley the other day. He was really cute, seemed to be a family guy too. But I couldn't ask him out...because he was Five. Unfortunately for me, we probably had alot in common: bowling, icepops, our parents paying for things, etc. Too bad jail has never agreed with me.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

Death comes to us all...

I've been in complete agony for over 24 hours. Something lay in my lower abdomen and that something is not happy. It jabs and stabs at me from my inside. Logically, the pain must be an indication that my apendix has burst. I Expressed this theory to my father. He thought an apendix rupture was unlikely because my body was not drenched in sweat nor did I have fever What does he know about medicine? He works in the welding industry. However, I realize now, several hours after speaking to dad, that since I am not dead, my apendix probably remains intact.
What could be wrong? If my years of studying theatre at Emerson taught me anything it's that I have intestinal cancer. What else could it be? I mean, maybe I could be pregnant. Not that I have had sex recently, as my boyfriend is in a far off land. However, who the hell knows what polythesitic religion he's been practicing with remote peoples. He could have participated in an elaborate ceremony where he was able to release his spirit, that then traveled to Brooklyn to be wtih me. While I slept his spirit came to me and we shared an exquisite love. The expression of our love left me pregnant. I doubt remote peoples who still practice spirit releasing have developed spirit prophylactics. As a result I'm now carrying Jack's spirit baby. Which I should celebrate because it means i'm not dying, however, I am not polythesistic but secularly Jewish, so I shan't celebrate anything but fear the worst. Frankly, I don't know if my body can handle birthing a spirit baby. I'll probably die during childbirth. It's got to be something. If it's not a appendix ruptured than it must be cancer and if it's not cancer than it has to be spirit pregnancy complications.

It's dangerous business this pregnancy stuff. They never teach about spirit sex in health class, I think that's pretty western centrist. And with the world continuing to shrink I think the kids today need to learn about non-body sex. Let me be the example not to follow. Yes, readers of this blog let us start a campaign to lobby congress to make sure every child gets a complete story of the dangers of sex in their public schools. Who's with me?!