Monday, February 27, 2006

The Dr. Is In.

I gave dating advice to a friend of mine the other day. She had reservations about accepting a date with a gentleman caller. I told her she needed to trust her instinct. If she doesn't feel right about him or the date she should decline. I continued, "At best the date will be a waste of your time and at worst your head will wind up in his freezer."

Friday, February 24, 2006

Papa Can You Hear Me?

Radio Free NYC recorded the Chicks and Giggles show I performed at this past Tuesday. Here's a link to the whole show for those of you with your own office. For those is in cubes you might have to wait until you get home, unless you're completely brilliant and bring headphones to work. Go you! Way to think ahead. Hear it here.

Also on the show were funny ladies Katina Carao, Jess Wood, Becky Donahue, Michele B., and Irene Bremis

Jess Wood will be performing with me at Mo Pitkins (34 Avenue A) Sunday March 12th 7pm. It's only $5 so you should totally mark your calanders and come on down. It's going to be friggin awesome and funny.

Joke Revamped

This one originated in the Northwest, but has been revamped recently here on the East Coast.

My buddy says to me, "It'd be so much easier to get laid if I were gay." I responded, "Uhh, gay men still want men who are in shape and don't wear stained clothing."
"Yeah, but there would be less drama."
"Have you been to the theatre."

I have a female friend same thing, "It'd be so much easier if I were a lesbian."
"If you dated a woman you'd stop being a manipulative bitch."

Here's the thing: relationships are hard gay or straight-male or female. Games are played because we're so scared that someone is going to take our heart and rip it out of our chest. Where they will then tenderize it with a meat tenderizer. Get bored and accidently throw it in the wood chipper where it gets spued all over the lawn. So your neighbor's three legged dog can come along and eat up all the pieces. Which gives the dog a stomach ache becausee you're heart is rotten from years of neglect. The dog quickly digs a hole, throws up your heart into the hole so it where it fements in the Earth like Kim Chi.

That's what we're scared of people. And really, isn't a gay man more likely to have a meat tenderizer and a lesbian more likely to go to Home Depot and buy a wood chipper or four by four to wack the shit out of your heart with?

I don't think men and women are from different planets. I think we're all shopping at the Mall. and that's the problem.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Capacity to Love? Hmm?

My friend Auggie once told me, actually he tells me everytime I see him, that I'm not capable of love. I always laugh. He's a comic I figured he was kidding. But then last night I realized Auggie might be right--I'm not capable of love. I reached this ephinany while watching the movie Yentl. PBS aired the film the other night. (God, that movie could be so good, if Barbara Streisand had nothing to do with it.)

For those not familiar let me give youa brief plot summary. Yentl, a woman pretending to be a man in order to study the Torah, Talmud and other Jewy books, marries a woman. And not just any woman, but the woman Mandy Patinkin is in love with. The hijinx don't stop there. Yentl, as a man, is best friends with Mandy, and Yentl has a huge crush on him. It's all very "Mid Summer Nights Dream" meets "No Exit" meets "Tootsie." One thing leads to another and the woman, played by Amy Irving, is not allowed to marry Mandy. So Mandy convinces the male Yentl to marry Amy so Mandy can spend time with Amy. It's all very "Days of Our Lives" meets "Dynasty." And Yentl marries the chick.

I found Yentl's actions utterly selfless. I could never marry Amy Irving, or any woman for that matter, so that the man that I love could be with her. Which in turn means I don't love him, so you'd think I wouldn't care if Mandy Patinkin wanted another woman, and therefore would marry a chick--especially if I was trying to pass myself off as a man in 19th century Eastern Europe. (No offense women, I would also wouldn't marry a man for the man that I love. No offense men, I have trouble marrying.)

I don't like to think I lack the capacity for love. The thought keeps me up nights. In order to get to sleep I thought of this possiblity. Maybe I can love. Maybe I love myself. Maybe I can love myself and simultaneously love Mandy Patinkin. Like a 19th century Mormon loves all his wives simultaneously or the way a mother loves both her sons. So it's posible that I can love myself and a romantic partner. Which means I want us both to be happy, but sometimes people's pursuits for happiness can conflict. For example, I want to be with my romantic interest and he wants to be with Amy Irving. If he's with Amy he can't be with me, not the way I want him to be with me, which would make me sad. So whose side do I take? I have to take mine. I've known myself longer. Me and I have been through alot together-like middle school. Which means Amy Irving has to disappear. She must vanish preferably in the middle of the night. She'll leave a notem, in block lettering, explaining she hates being Jewish and has run away with the circus. She'll go on to demand that we never look for her or think of her again. "So it shall be written so it shall be done" She'll be sure to mention in this letter her demands go doubly for my boyfriend.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Signs Signs Everywhere Signs and Email

My dear friend Anna sent a sincere, apolgetic, peace offering email to a former romantic partner. She soberly composed the email and clicked the send button. Anna has not been the most emotionally mature person, so this was a big step for her. She woke up the next day to find this message in her email inbox: From Postmaster Dameon, "This is an automatically generated Delivery Status Notification. THIS IS A WARNING MESSAGE ONLY. YOU DO NOT NEED TO RESEND YOUR MESSAGE. Delivery to the following recipients has been delayed."


Nice try Anna.

I laughed when she told me. She said, "I can't believe this shit. I thought I'd be waiting a week to to see if he responded, instead I'm waiting a week for another message from the Postmaster telling me the email never went through at all."
"Why don't you just resend it?"
"The postmaster told me not to. Don't fuck with the postmaster, Rachael. The email could have gone through. If it did and I resend, then I'm psycho."
"Yes, Anna that's what would make you a psycho resending an email."
"I don't even think it matters at this point. I feel better just knowing I wrote it."

Another friend suggested that it was a sign from the universe. This thesis pissed off Anna, "What kind of sign? A sign that I shouldn't express remorse to another human? Or that I should stop using my hotmail account and just use the gmail? Did the Universe dump its stock in Microsoft and buy a 1000 shares of Google? A sign. Maybe it's a one way sign or a yield sign. Children at play drive slow."

Our friend then ran away. I just kept laughing.

Monday, February 20, 2006

A Tale Up In Smoke

Last week was a week of debouchery. I've never been so thankful for a Monday in my life. Granted I'm unemployed and it's a national holiday, nonetheless, my liver, my lungs and other organs are happy we can put the 7th week of 2006 behind us

One night this week I met up with a friend for some drinks. We went back to her apartment to enjoy some tabacco. We smoked it out of a small, metal pipe. It smelt different then other tobacco I've inhaled. I rarely smoke though, so what do I know. Though it could have been my friends tobacco. She's unemployed and can't afford normal tabacco. The stuff was so generic it just came in a little plastic sandwhich bag. No logo or anything. Kind of wacky, huh?

I travelled back to Brooklyn via the subway. When I got off the train I could have sworn some dude was following me. So I ducked into the a 24 our Asian market. Turns out I was really hungry for some reason. I bought three chipwiches and a frozen pizza. It's kind of amazing that an Asian market is so multicultural to sell pizza and American ice cream treats. Time passed and I figured it was safe to journey on towards my apartment. I looked down the street, I saw him. He looked just like a lurking lamp post. I hurried my tiny feet home. I looked back at regular intervals. Each time turned around I saw him, standing still like a lamp post. Though my pace continued to quicken he seemed to always be just as close as before. I made it inside my building somehow. I looked out the door. He was gone. Then I noticed the street light outside my building was out.

I'll try to do better tomorrow.

Friday, February 17, 2006


Let me tell you how bad I am at moving on. I was not alive in the 1930s or 40s and yet I still can't root for Germany during the Olympics. What's even crazier I have no problem rooting for the Italians or the Japanese. I'm one fickle bitch.

Do you think Germans hate comedy and that's why they hate Jews because so many comics are Jewish? Or do they hate jews because they hate comedy? See I'm not letting it go. And I've met some really nice German people. I don't mean German Americans but actual Germans born and raised. They're lovely.

I once witnessed a girl get onstage at an open mic and bitch about men. She said something to the effect that she needed 17 inches of dick. Granted she was taller than me--probably by a good seven inches--but still, that's an awful lot of penis to fit inside you. That's larger than my torso. Sure, you could sexually multi-task: deep throat while having intercourse, but I've never been one for efficiency (isn't the rule "i" before "e" except after "c" how is that the correct spelling?).
My admiration for Harry Burns from When Harry Met Sally grows with each passing day. He is the bravest man ever to be written. Fuck Odesseus (Ulysses). Trojan War--pshaw. Even after Sally's numerous rejections he still courageously stepped up to the home plate of love and leaned into her 100 mile an hour rejection fast ball. That's brave my friends, very brave.

Have a great weekend.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Romantic Travels

Funny how people came looking to Smallhands_ick for bitter scathing commentary on Valentine's Day. I'm not bitter because I'm not single. I've been in a relationship for seven years. Not there's anything wrong with being single. I mean some people choose to smoke crack some people choose to be single. To each there own. There are people who kill their neighbors, eat the bodies, and bury the severed heads in their backyard. Being single isn't any worse than that. Not much worse. I'm not here to judge.

I have to write that the food on Valentine's day surpasses that of Passover. Unlike Gefelta Fish roses are delicious. Valentine's Day also trumps Thanksgiving because you can eat whatever you want for dinner: Thai food, Chineese, Italian, Ice cream. Those Ice Creamers have quite the cuisine.

In fact that's where Jack took me last night. It was all such a surprise. Jack came over around noon and gave me an envelope. I thought maybe he had made me a doiley. I always wanted a doiley. But it was even better. When I opened up the envelope there sat two plane tickets to IceCreamia. Our flight left at 3pm with the time difference we arrived at 2:30pm. We spent most of the day wondering the frozen, creamed streets of IceCreamia's largest city, Bischoff. All the houses and shops are made of petrified waffle that the early settlers hollowed out with a rock polisher thingy like the one used in "Shawshank Redemption.". After the sun ran away Jack and I took a carriage ride out into the foothills of the Daz Mountains and gazed at the Milkyway. I enjoyed myself so much I entertained thoughts of retiring there.

It wasn't just the best Valentine's Day ever it was one of the best days ever. We just got back a couple of hours ago which is why this a late post.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006


You don't know how many times I get asked how I stay so youthful looking. It's simple really--acne. Nothing says teenager like a zit or two. That and a shitty attitude.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Where does Pop Culture Get Off!

It occurrs to me that Harry Burns, from the famed movie When Harry Met Sally, did not read the books He's Just not that into You or Be Honest: You're not That into Him Either. If he had he never would have made such an ass of himself over a woman who showed all signs of "not being into him." Let's recap Sally Albright's clear cut signals of non-interest. She slapped him in the face, wouldn't return his phone calls, and when she did speak to him she was cold, closed off, and downright mean. And yet, he still persisted like a god damn idiot. That's men for you, they just can't separate sex and love.

He was so in denial that he ran through the frigid New York City streets with a light leather jacket to tell a woman, who obviously hated him, that he loved her. First off, what kind of masochist loves a woman who refuses to speak to you? You should have run to therapy, Harry--and at least put ear muffs on. Instead, he goes to a formal New Years Eve party dressed in jeans and sweatshirt. Hello. Faux Pas. Plus, that attire basically says to Sally you don't care enough about her to dress in the socially prescribed garb. In her mind obviously Harry doesn't really care, if he did he'd get a suit. So of course when Harry confesses his love Sally denies his feelings. I think that's a bit presumptious of her. She tells him he just feels lonley. You'd think Harry would finally get it into his head, "She's just not that into you." Rather, he disputes her thesis. He starts to shout at her about her wrongness. Sally then, tells Harry that she hates him. HATES HIM! How much more clear does she have to be? But Harry he smiles (grins really.) Next thing you know they're hugging, kissing, and dancing.

Cut to them sitting on a couch talking about their married life. What!?

Humans can't change their minds. They can't say one thing and mean another. They can't have their feelings hurt and then act all guarded and scared. God knows you can never ever forgive someone for a trespass. God damn no!

Humans are very simple. Their actions can be easily labeled and catergorized. It's either black or white. You can't want to hit some in the face with a shovel one minute and the next want to take them hiking in the beautiful snow filled forest (and not to bury the body.) That is ludicrious. Harry and Sally are retarded. And self help books are always correct.

The Games

I think it's high time we desegregated the Olympics. Where are the Mexican speed skaters? Or the Norwegien Discs throwers? Hmm?

I think we should have the Summer Olympics in July but in the Southern Hemisphere. Maybe have track and field competitors where snow shoes while competing. Have giant water slalum.

Come to think of it why is basketball a Summer Olympic sport? It's played indoors. You could even play it in the Fall Olympics. And why don't the Autumnal Olympics get any TV coverage? Do first world nations have something against the October People? I think maybe, yes.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Stupid or Silly? You Decide

I lost all my winter hats last winter. The only thing I have left to keep my delicate and precious head warm during blizzards (sorry guys, Jack got carried away when I mentioned I love a good snow fall) is a removable hood (pictured below).

Many don't think it's a very flattering look for me. But I love the hood. Not only is warm but when I take it off I feel like Jedi.

Doesn't this remind you of when Luke Skywalker goes into see Jaba in Return of the Jedi? Totally, right? Watch out NY I'm going to make snowballs with my mind.

Friday, February 10, 2006

It's an Acquired Taste

Many years ago, when I was at my peak in the stalking business, I stalked an ex-boyfriend type. I'm calling him Ted. I discovered he had moved, found out where he had moved to, and then found the phone number to the residence. I suspected he was seeing someone else. I suspected this because when he broke up with me he told me he started seeing someone else. However, my mother didn't believe him. I don't know why I ever told my mother, but I did. And if she were anytype of decent humanbeing she would have kept her theories to herself because hope is THE WORST THING EVER! But if you think about it whether or not he was dating another lady was moot because either way he no longer wanted to date me. My mother's scenario didn't have Ted finding a woman closer to his age who he felt more comfortable with. No. Intead, my mom thought he rather be completely alone then date me. Yes, it's definitely true how our parents see us through rose color glasses.

Anyway. I needed to confirm my suspicions that he wasn't lying, so I prepared to call his house and see who answered. Knowing he had caller ID I thought I should have a friend up in Massachusettes call and pretend to be a tele-marketer. I reconsidered that plan when I realized she might not be able to decode the subtle variations in the voice of whoever answered. Instead, I choose to make the call myself. I dialed *67 to cloak my idenitity. Thanks Bell Atlantic (may you rest in peace.). The answering machine picked up. A woman's voice spewed the message, "Amanda and Ted aren't home right now, please leave a message. Happy Holidays."

I turned to my buddy Jesse and asked, "Do you think that's his girlfriend or just a roommate?" Jesse responded, "Who would date him!...Ah I mean, besides you."

The kicker is I thought Jesse made a good point. Turns out they were living together. There was at least one other woman who would date him. Hell not only date him they eventually got married. Now they have a kid. How do I know all that? Because I know.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

The Scare

The other night Desiree Burch and I were discussing irrational pregnancy fears. We supposed that every woman, not just us, have thought ourselves pregnant when there was very little reason, if any, to think motherhood had been thrust upon us. Or in us--hello. Rim shot.

I remembered this one particular scare. I had been seeing a boy for a month or so and the next thing you know I'm two days late. I was trying to be rational. I knew based on our activities together is was pretty unlikely I was preggers, so I decided to keep my fear to myself. I met up with him one evening to discuss some kind of relationship bullshit. I said, "I have to talk to you." He turned me and said, "What? Are you pregnant?" "Why? Did you have a dream that I was pregnant? Oh man."
"I wasn't going to say anything, but if you had a dream about it then I probably am. Dreams are psychic indicators of what's to come. Like this one time when I was a kid I had a dream that the couch of the beach house we'd rent one week every summer was moved to a different wall of the house. When we arrived at the beach house...IT HAD BEEN MOVED TO ANOTHER WALL!!! Now you've had this dream we're doomed. Doomed!"
"I didn't have a dream."
"Oh, well, ah let's forget everything I said."
"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Talk to you about? When? Oh now, hells if I remember."

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

From the World of Failed Relationships

The favorite matra given to the heartbroken is "Move on." Enough with this moving on bullshit. If you're brother moves out to go to college should you move on from loving your brother? You guys don't live in the same house anymore. You're continuing to hang on to this love for him is pathetic disallowing you from letting other brothers into your life.

I believe if you are able "move on" from loving someone then you must not have ever loved that person because love is forever. FOREVER! Forever and ever and ever. That's why marriage is until death do them part. Just because someone isn't in your life anymore doesn't mean your feelings dissipate for him/her. What happens to a married couple when one of the spouses has to take a business trip, do they move on?
"Yeah, but, Rachael a business trip is only a few days. No one is suggesting to move on in a few days." Fine what if one of the spouses is an Archeaologist and has to go to Olduvai Gorge for a year and half digging up hominds with a tooth brush? Should they call the whole thing quits and forget the existance of their former life partner?

I think if you break up with someone and then get over it a few days, weeks, or months then it was a good thing you broke up because that relationship wasn't going to last as your feeling were obviously evanescent. You'd have to admit you never really cared. If you did you still would.

This isn't to say that if you carry a torch to your grave for a person you can't date and have sex with other people. Hell, you can even fall in love again and again and again with a host of other people; fuck those relationships up; and, be an old person constantly in danger of burning your house down with all the torches in your hands. Best to learn to juggle fire.

Oh and non-related: Can the NYC subway stop sucking! We, the consumer, should strike. The service is awful. Run more trains you bastards.

Monday, February 06, 2006

They Love Him They love Him Not

Apparently, certain passionate Muslims do not have a crush on the Danish people, or more specifically a Danish cartoonist. If they did, right now their hearts would be all a flutter and full of hope. They would be running around to all their friends with a copy of the cartoon, "Look! Look! He drew about us. What do you think this means? He likes us, right? We know he drew us with a bomb instead of turban, but if he didn't care he wouldn't have bothered to draw anything. Do you think he'll call? Should we call? Oh, my stomach is all in knots."

Or maybe they used to date the Danish Cartoonist. No one overreacts like a scorned lover. "Mock us? You motherfu--. Fine you want to draw your little pictures. Very funny. Ha Ha. Let's see how funny you think it is when we broadcast to the world how small your penis is. Oh you don't care, well how about we blow up shit? Not so funny now is it, cartoon boy?"

All I know is that I'm so self-involved that he could have drawn me without my skin and I be elated, regardless if I had a crush on the cartoonist or not. Hell, I'd probably link the picture to this blog.

Superbowl baby

I'm in the car right now driving back from Detriot. That's right I was at the Superbowl. Some of you know and some of you don't know that my boyfriend Jack used to work as a scout for the Pittsburgh Steelers. This was before he left for foriegn lands to do good works, which was before he moved back to the states to be with me forever and ever and ever. Anyway my most delicious man still has friends at the Steelers organization who hooked us up with superbowl tickets. Jealous? Granted it would have been cooler if the Superbowl wasn't in Detroit, but I'll take it. I'm also a little drunk. The champaigne was the good stuff, not that crap you find at the dive bar on New Year's Eve. So I drank alot of it.

Don't worry everyone was even Coach Cower who got tipsy and started weeping and begging Jack to come back the organisation. I told Cower, "We can't right now. And dude get off your knees you're gonna scuff your pants."

Mrs. Coach Cower is great lady though not as much of a drinker as her husband or me. She and I partnered in a Pinacle game. We kicked Jerome Bennis and his daughter's asses. He might be able to run a football a but when it comes to cards he might as well be in the band.

I ran into Hasselback after the game. He looked glum. I told him it could be worse he could be his brother who's a back up quarterback for a team that didn't make the playoffs. Then I offered him a ride to NY to party and hang with his brother. He just sniffled as Jack profusely apologized and dragged me back to the party. I was like, "What are you apologizing for? I was trying to cheer the dude up. I was being very neighborly-- I offered him a ride to the city." Jack said something about me being obnoxious. I don't know. All I know is somehow I'm in the passenger seat of some car. I don't recall how I got in the car. Jack is driving, I'm drunk, typing a blogpost, and trying not to ravage my boyfriend so we don't die in fiery crash.

Happy Superbowl everyone.

Friday, February 03, 2006

It's A Post

I thought of a sketch idea today. I call it "Paranoid talk show host." In the sketch the talk show host finds hidden insults in all the guests' answers. Basically, it'll be me interviewing my parents and then berating them for all their little, passive-agressive insults. Like they'll say, "I thought that blog post about the puppies was funny. You should fix the grammar and try to get it published somewhere."
And then I'll retort, "What? You don't think I work hard enough? Is that what you are saying? I'm lazy? That I am not a go-getter? Shut-up! What do you know about it?"
Or they'll say, "You're too good for him."
And I'll respond, "So, I have shitty in taste in men. Is that it?"
"You are really negative and over think things."
"Yeah. I know. You think I don't know that? Do you think I'm stupid and not self aware?"
I have a joke about how being friends with an ex is stupid. I never understood why people chose to live an emotionally dishonest life. But then I talked to a couple of friends of mine who on occassion have sex with their ex-boyfriends. After hearing this a third eye appeared on my forehead. I know see there is a more enlightened path. Luckily, I don't have to worry because Jack and I will never break up and will never discontinue the sex.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Kinder Gentler Tomorrow

Apparently, drug dealers and the Cartels that employ them don't really care about their image. Yesterday, it was reported that liquid herion was being smuggled into the US in puppies. It's one thing to smuggle drugs in desperate young, women--- but puppies! This is going too far.I know drug dealers sell products that sell themselves, but so do energy companies and you don't see Exxon transporting oil in kittens because it's cheaper. And if oil companies were to be so bold they definitely would hire a high priced PR firm to spin their new transport method to the American public.

I think it's time that our drug dealers tried to at least present a kinder gentler image to the public. They should tell us they only use terminally ill puppies, and that the herion helps the canines escape their painful, doomed existance. I would then have the drug lords fund a Bob Barker Spade and Neuter event. Guys, clean up your image--- for the children.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

try again

Dick Joke

When it comes to timing sex acts I use the per-song method. Like when I give oral sex my average time on the per-song scale is about three indie-rock songs or 2.5 trip-hop songs then my jaw starts to tighten and ache and I have to move onto another act.

For actual intercourse it's great to have a partner who can last through a 1960's acid rock double album . Of course the problem with the double album is you need to stop and change records. Though the break could prevent chaffing. However, you'd still need to own a record player, otherwise you have to hire a dj. The problem with a dj is s/he can throw the whole per-song scale off kilter with the scratching and mixing in other albums. Sure, "phat" beats could increase the overall enjoyment. But then, you'd have no idea when one song ended and another began.

You could of course hire a Bar Mitzva/Wedding/ Sweet 16/50th Anniversary type dj. But, do you really want to get it on to "Celebrate (good times)" or that god awful "Shout (Medley)?"