Friday, December 30, 2005

My 2006 Resolutions

It seems that the NYC comedian community can not get enough of my blog. It's crazy how these young men look up to me both comedically and spirtually. It's alot of pressure for a young woman, like myself to have squeezed upon her, but I think I handle it like I handle everything else with grace, poise and class.

So here it is boys, one last post for 2005.

1) I resolve to grow 5 inches in height.

2) I resolve to inherit my grandparents' house even if it means enslaving my little I mean raising her.

3) I resolve to attain superpowers by being exposed to radiation or some other crazy scientific mishap and then fight crime in fetching outfit. I'll have a secret identity. By the end of the movie, I mean my first month of fighting crime the truth about my double life will become apparent to all my friends and family. My crime fighting persona will morph into a sexy roll play game. I'll have super orgasms.

4) I resolve to break my mother until she accepts me for the tom boy that I am. This is on the list every year, I think 2006 is my year people.

5) I resolve to resolve my inner conflicts.

6) I resolve to speak Spanish fluently so when I start the revolution I can say, "Viva La Revolution!" and mean it.

7) I resolve to end writing this list.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

Energy Plan

Financial news reports stated that oil and gas futures were down this week due to the relatively warm temperatures in the Northeast in Midwest. Investors believed that heating oil and gas consumption would be down. After hearing this a solar powered light bulb appeared over my head.

My genius idea:
I figure if we want to save money on energy in the long term we need to burn all the fossil fuel we can now, thereby expediating global warming which will inturn deminish our need to heat our homes. Also, if we use up all the oil and gas there won't be any left to sell which means none to buy. That's savings that you'll be able really see.

OK Will, I'm Posting

Will McKinley gave me a hard time for only posting one sentence yesterday. He's all, "One sentence was all you could come up with in 48 hours!" First off, it was two sentences, three if you count the title. Secondly, I'm an artist, Will. I have to wait for inspiration to visit. With all the holiday travel and the rain inspiration has been stuck in gridlock. So get off of inspiration's back. Not to mention "smallhands_ick" readership is down this week. My Aunt isn't even reading and she usually reads everyday. I'm sure she's pissed at me for something I did at Christmas Eve dinner. I was really at my obnoxious apex Saturday evening and that was before I started drinking. Let's put it this way WITHOUT demystifying the myth of Santa I almost made my seven year old, orphaned cousin cry. She didn't actually shed a tear and I really think she was faking the whole being upset thing for attention. Which is bullshit. If she wants attention she can write bad jokes and get up onstage and tell them. I tried cheering her up by informing her that when our grandparents die she's first in line for the house.

Anyway, Will wants a post, so here we go. But if you find it sucks blame Will.

The lesson I learned in 2005 is if you want to loose weight and save money, cut out food from your daily routine. An empty stomach requires less alcohol to get that drunk effect so many of us enjoy. Thereby saving money and cutting back calories.

Further, this week marks the one year anniversary of the Tsunami, which of course reminds me of my own misfortune. At the start of 2005 I helped out a comedy Tsunami relief benefit by timing the performing comedians' sets, when they reached their time limit I'd shine a light in their eyes so they would know to wrap up thier set and get the fuck off stage. I landed this volunteer position because I had been sleeping with the benefit's producer. You'd think sleeping with the producer would have gotten me a set on the show, instead I was relegated comedian blinder. Wow! How bad at sex am I? Or perhaps I'm just not that funny in bed.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Evil Capitalist Pigs

Someone dropped a bag of diabetes on my desk this afternoon. It came in the form of carmel covered popcorn.

Monday, December 26, 2005

My New Nickname

Can you believe this 89 year old woman--my grandmother

Called this 28 year old girl-- me-- a "Shit Ass?"
Well, she did. And I'm not going to pretend it was completely undeserved. I did challenge her to a push-up competition. But now, the whole family has taken to calling me a "shit ass."

But it was in the back of my parents' car when she told me, "I don't know nothing about nothing" that I realized I had found my new comedy partner. Look for us this Spring, after she gets back from Florida, hosting a comedy show near you.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Very Merry, Rachael.

You guys hear about the War on Christmas? Apparently, the troops Rumsfield will be removing from Iraq are going to be redeployed at the front lines of the North Pole. Until Santa denounces all gods but the one true lord, The US Dollar, America wil not yeild.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Why Jews Don't Make Good Santas

My mother asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I told her headphones. She said, "No, I don't want to buy that."
"OK. How about a bottle of vodka?'"
"Box of Wine."
"OK, Mom. Why don't you tell me what you want to get me and then I'll ask for that."
"Blazers. You should ask for blazers, you're going to be thirty in a year and half and you'll need a blazer."
During this transit strike New Yorkers should ask themselves what would Jesus do. Well, maybe not Jesus but what might Jesus' biggest fans, the Italians do. They'd stay home and stay warm.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Not Much

It's late and I have to bike to work tomorrow, so that I than can take a cab to Port Authority, in order to go to the doctor's in NJ, where I'll meet my father, who will lend me the car, so that I can drive back to lower Manhattan, where I'll pick up my bike, and drive it back to Brooklyn so that I can ride my bike to work the day after tomorrow hopefully typhoid free, so this post will be brief.

Soon to come "The Parenta Code" and "My Mother as Santa."

Enjoy the strike.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

I'm no Slyvia Plath

Poverty sucks. My gas got turned off, so now I have to learn how to tie a noose.

Monday, December 19, 2005

More On Smallhands

Disproportionately small hands are sickening. However, tinie tiny amputated hands are fine. There's no context to make them disproportionate and therefore horrifying. Though, a person with just stumps where their hands should be is a grotestque freak.

Yeah I'll go out on that limb. I'll risk offending handless people along with the diproportionately small handed ones. I'll write that possible hurtful, judgemental statement. I'm an artist and I stand-by my opinions and convictions.


Horoscope Addicts Anonymous (Or not so anonymous in this case)

My horoscope reading started casual. Once a week I'd log onto to read the synopsis of the upcoming episode of "The Nanny." Then I'd click over to the horoscope section. Harmless really. I didn't see anything wrong with reading a horoscope here and there. I mean, my father used to read me my horoscope from the Star Ledger on Sundays when I was kid. Don't get all freaked out. It wasn't every Sunday just every now and again, and at that time I didn't even pay it much thought.

At some point in my life a friend turned me onto where they'd email you your horoscope everday. Even then, though I was still in full control. I didn't rush to my inbox to see what the day had in store for me. But then I started having major boy trouble. I tried seeking advice from friends and family but no one knew what he was thinking, no one knew what I should do. I began reading seven, eight, sometimes nine horoscopes a day trying to find the prediction I like the best. Desperate for information and control over the uncontrollable I began reading his astrological forecasts as well.

I hit rock bottom when a librarian found me passed out under the "Birthday" book. The heavy hardcover book had fallen on my head knocked me out. I was taken to the ER where I received 2 stitches. I was a mess. That's how the universe works though. After the conk on the head my eyes couldn't focus on text. My friends, the blessings they are, refused to read to me.

I got sober. I realized there's no santa there's no god, and there are no planets other than Earth.

Friday, December 16, 2005

What I Worry About

I don't know that I'm actually high strung as previously posted. Certain things get to me while others things roll off my back as if my back were made of the material that coats windshields, so the rain beads up and rolls away, which may explain why my back has been feeling stiff lately. Example, I may or may not have handed the lease to my apartment in on time. Which means I might have to find a place to live in two weeks or have a court battle on my hand. Oopsy. And oopsy is the extent of my concern. This is only the second time I've thought about my possible plight. This past week at work I've taken lunches that have exceeded an hour and half. It never crossed my mind that I could get caught and fired. Further, there wasn't much concern if I did get fired.

Meanwhile, Jack's voice and tone was weird when we spoke on the phone today. I kind of lost it and called 7 friends. Yes, seven different people to try to decode the meaning of his unusual vocal quality. If Jack doesn't love me I'll still have food, shelter and clothing. All I won't have is Jack, and that won't kill me. And yet, that is what I waste my energy on. He could just be coming down with a cold for god's sake.


I'm such a fool, sans the clowning skills.

May this holiday season, find you alone, friendless and suicidal.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

A cousin of mine dropped out of College. The family was very supportive saying, "Hey college isn't for everyone." So I quit my job because "Hey, work isn't for everyone."

Wednesday, December 14, 2005


Funniest part of the piece I read last night:

...Next thing you know it’s friggin’ Christmas Eve. Me and my Portland pals are on our way to my aunt’s house in NJ for Christmas Eve. My grandfather arrives sporting his new, “pity me” eye-patch, "Those son's a bitches blinded me". Instead of pity my family makes pirate noises behind his back all night. My father’s youngest sister comes dressed in hospital scrubs. No, she’s not a nurse, or a doctor. In fact she doesn’t work in a hospital at all. She’s in school for medical billing. And when I say in school, I mean taking courses over the internet. My grandmother’s telling my friends dirty jokes. And we’re all getting drunk. Welcome Oregonians, to a typical Italian/American NJ Christmas. Have another 12 pounds of pasta.

Quote it

The eatery around the corner from me had a sandwhich board that read, "The best damn food in the neighborhood period." I thought that's redundant. You shouldn't write out the word period and then punctuate the sentence with a period. That's double sentence stoppage. Instead, I think you should put quotes around the punctuation so that the reader knows to say the punctuation. "The best damn food in the neigborhood '.' " Unless of course they mean period as in a segment of a hockey game. But that doesn't make much sense. Or a women's period, but that's just unappetizing. Or perhaps they meant in a period of time. Though, that's the kind of negative thinking that runs a business into the ground.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Holiday Brainstorming

People who don’t actually write have suggested that writers should write what they know. I found this advice pretty lame. This past weekend I tried writing what I know for a very special Holiday Chicks and Giggles I'm performing at this Tuesday. These were some of my ideas for a story.

The Christmas Ninja. Which really isn’t about a Ninja. I don’t know anything about Ninjas. But I thought that title sounded better than the Christmas 3rd Degree Black Belt in the Style of Issin-ryu Karate. The story was of a young female black belt who rescues Santa from a bunch of rabid elves who had been bitten by an infected Reign Deer. In the end the Elves receive rabies shots and all the toys get delivered, but the children reject the materialistic gifts. Instead they embrace the gift of Zen Meditation in honor of The Christmas Ninja.

A Jersey Wonderland. In this tale a Jewish/Italian family accidentally set their house on fire when they absent mindedly place the Menorah too close to the Christmas tree. Oopsy. Hanukah is so late this year that it partially happens next year. In the end the family learns that interfaith marrirages are dangerous. They come to understand that neither Jesus nor the Macabees ever really wanted tolerance. They wanted fame and glory and to get on Dr. Phil. So the parents get a Get and a Catholic annulment, just to make sure. The children, emotionally and physically scarred, give up monotheism all together and take up Zen Buddhism. Ironically, several years later they accidentally set their apartment on fire when they reach a state of Zen and leave the incense burning.

The Release. It seems that a woman has lost her ability to fully orgasm even when masturbating. Yes, truly a tragic tale. And just when our protagonist is about to give up and join a nunnery she finds that Santa has left her marijuana in her stocking. From then on she’s able to fully relax and experience the true meaning of Christmas, and abandon her accidental Tantric Zen sex technique.

Corporate America Chokes on a Fruitcake. The Temps stop blogging and cease making long distant phone calls and lead a workers' revolt. Eventually, all governments topple. Each and every god in the universe smile down on the human race because finally the humans get it.

Exactly. Writing what you know is stupid. Instead, I’m going to write about a girl who writes a short story in the hope that if she completes the story said story will come true in real life. Kind of like the movie Delirious with John Candy. Stealing material is how to write successfully.

Friday, December 09, 2005

More Advice for the Ladies

Listen, women--I mean, read, women. Do not go and sleep with a guy unless he wines and dines you; unless he begs and cajoles you; unless he puts superhuman effort into bedding you. If he does those things then you may partake in the sex.

No, I have not just stepped out of a time machine from 1870. The fact is all men hate themselves. And so if you sleep with one merely because you like him or find him attractive they will think something is very wrong with you and probably won't bother putting much effort into the sex. Why should he? You're the freak that likes him. Weirdo. However, if you make him work for it, buy you things, take you places, compliment you, pretend to listen to what you are saying, then he'll say to himself "I've tricked her into liking my sorry ass. She's sleeping with me because I've worked."

OK not all men are self-haters, perhaps it's just the men I know. I'm sure if you find a guy who isn't an actor, or muscian, or comdian or a writer, or a painter, you probably could just sleep with that fellow solely on the basis of attraction or affinity. For example, if you met an accountant. Accountants probably like themselves. They save people money. I'm sure they say to themselves at the end of day, "I just got the government to give people their money back. Gee, I'm a swell guy. A girl would do alright to date me. Or even have a one night stand."

So I guess I'm saying (pardon--typing) that you shouldn't sleep with men that I know.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

AFL-CIO...not quite

I just wanted to mention how I love a good strike, especially when it doesn't involve atheletics. I'm very excited about the possibility of a strike in NYC by the MTA workers. Go get 'em guys! And yes I'm serious on this one.

Phone Tap

Do you ever think a wrong number is not actually a wrong number? But instead some nefarious person or persons trying to record your voice saying certain phrases and words which they will then edit together to frame you for some crime they'll be committing.


I don't have any jokes for the holiday season. So I've refashioned some jokes I've already written for this time of year. Here it goes: I hate when Santa breaks up with me. Bastard. Fuck Santa, man. So emotionally unavailable.

Yeah, I guess it's not the same.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Behold this

Oh my god, my hair is so big right now. Ah screw it. I'm a comic it doesn't matter. If I were beautiful I'd be a secretary.


Yesterday I got a little huffy about my stormy past with Gabe. Apparently, he reads my blog and he called me last night to talk things out. He apologized for any insensitivity he may have shown in the past and was hoping that we could begin to heal the wounds we've both suffered. He's hoping we can begin with professional civility which could blossom into an acquantanceship which could mature into buddydom which could maybe one day expand into friendship. I told him, the future is unknown and life is long which means anythings possible. I continued, "Hey, maybe one day we might even work together." He said, "I'd like that very much."

And right before we hung up he said, "Your Jack is very lovely, "
"Yes, I know."
"You're right, though, the future is unknown and life is long as the Dire Straits sang, 'It's just that the time was wrong.'"

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Superman Flying Circles Around Venus

I think for Jesus' birthday this year I'm going to throw him a roast.

So I fell hardcore off the horoscope wagon at the beginning of this month. I hadn't read a horoscope for about 2 months and then... I don't know-- Dec 1st rolled around and splat! Hurled off the wagon. I visited Susan Miller's for my December horoscope. Below is an excerpt:

There is also the possibility this month that an old flame may call to ask you out, possibly for New Year's Eve. If you suffered a painful breakup with this person, think twice about accepting. With Venus retrograde...

If Gabriel Byrne thinks he's gonna just walk back into my life after giving me that bogus number years ago he best think again. There is no way I'm leaving Jack for his over the hill, Irish, actor ass. I thought maybe we could share our respective arts, that's why I went to see him in that play. I don't need him playing his vacillating games. With his I'm busy excuses, "I have to be on set all day. My kids need me. I need to visit family in Ireland." Bla Bla Bla. Where's the us time, Gabe? So Susan Miller don't you worry your pretty astrological head, I don't care if it is Venus going retrograde, bring whatcha got planet of love !

Monday, December 05, 2005

Death is Easy Folk Music is Hard

My best friend Anna, who's a folk singer, goes a little crazy about the NYC folk scene. The scene is kind of cliquey and there is this whole hierarchy of folk singers. Like there are the people who've been playing around town for years and have been on the all folk cable channel, 12 string Center. Which is a silly title because most NYC folkys can barely play a 6 string never mind a twelve string. The station doesn't play alot of music videos, I guess no one can say, "Remember when 12 String Center used to play music videos? Now it's just news clips of guys with dreds marching on Washington, and reports about the new Birkenstock that Dar Williams bought." Most folkys won't lower themselves to make a video, next thing you know their playing gigs at Wa-mart. There's one show on the station called, "Moving pictures of enhancing music" that plays videos. Mostly, it's clips from independent art films that a folk musician contributed songs to. And the films don't have plots or characters. Some videos are just blackness because the filmmaker didn't believe in using lights. What most young folksy aspire to get on is "Supreme Fusion" where they each get to play their protest or heartbroken songs in a round for a live theatre, studio audience. Once you land this spot you can play all the rooms the "cool kids" play in NYC, but still might not to play the uptown clubs that actually pay you for your sets, like club MochaSingo on 56ths and 9th avenue.

Yeah, it's highly confusing, and overwhelming. Anna has no idea what's she's doing. She's thinking of submitting a tape for the "Suprene Fusion" show. She thinks they might really like her songs, "You Can Say No Thanks to the Ham I sent, but Say Thanks," "Vote Anarchist" and her classic "I'll Where a Condom on My Tongue I'm that thirsty."

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Men Say the Darndest Things

Yesterday, a gentleman caller of sorts, who goes by the name Stripper, stopped by my apartment. He used to live in the apartment above mine with his drug dealing girlfriend. Maybe she wasn't his girlfriend, but as they say on friendster they had a "domestic partnership" for awhile. They're relationship kind of reminded me of my grandparents' as it was full of yelling and screaming. But unlike my grandparents they didn't stay together until death do them part.

Anyway, they don't live in my building anymore. I guess Stripper was in the neighborhood because he stopped by my place. He rang my apartment bell. "Shit!" I thought. I knew it was him because he's the only one who stops by without being buzzed in. I couldn't not open the door. My music was playing, he could see the light from the my room under the door. That's the stuff they don't teach you in school how to blow off the crackhead without pissing him off. So I spoke to him for several minutes in the doorway. He was looking for roommate good's girlfriend, now ex-girlfriend, Michelle. Not only did she give drunken psychic readings at 4am when visiting Roommate Good from Colorado she also liked to befriend the neighborhood crack heads. I explained to Stripper that Michelle was in Colorado. He then gave me a magazine (yeah, I don't know either), and asked if I was OK? "Yes, I'm fine thanks."
"Really, you don't look so good."

And that's when it hit me. When a dude who is missing half his teeth says you don't look so good, you probably don't look so good.

Marry Me!

This past weekend I went with a bunch of friends where we proceeded to get considerably drunk on $2.50 well drinks. My best friend Anna was completely Annihilated and began to bemoan how she could never have a wedding because she only knew songs about heartache and depression. "What am I going to dance with my new groom to 'I am Trying to Break Your Heart?' by Wilco. Or Jonathan Richman's 'True Love is not Nice?'" She slurred.

We suggested that perhaps she find a groom first. "A groom. Who needs a friggin groom? I just want a wedding. Hell, I can hire a groom. I want the party. I have great plans for the whole event. At the ceremony I'm going to have fire jugglers and a duel. And in the middle of the ceremony I'm going to have an actor who looks like a young Dustin Hoffman run into the mock Bascillica I'm having built for the occassion and scream, 'Elaine! Elaine!' and then I, and my husband to be, will retort, 'wrong wedding.' It's going to be awesome. And I'll have a big party with a dj playing phat beats. I'll sit all my relatives who have mis-seated me at their weddings at tables where they know no one. What's a wedding without some emotional revenge? Now, all I need is to find a happy song about love. Are there any?"

Then we hid Anna's wallet so she couldn't drink anymore.