Friday, February 29, 2008

Rasperry Vodka is Lovely

I was wondering why Mars isn't singular. Why can't the god of war and the 4th planet from the Sun be called Mar? There is only one Mar. If Mar possessed something like an atmosphere or prisoners of war then we could say "Mar's." which sounds like Mars. Or if there were siomese twins both of who were named Mar. Then they'd be Mars combined.

A friend sent me an article in the New York Time about how everyone is now in love with Gabriel Byrne because of the so so show (in my opinion) "In Treatment." I have yet to read the article but I'd just like to say to the rest of you ladies who think you have a shot, "FAT CHANCE." Not only do I have an amazingly hysterical bit about the love he and I share, but he's stalked me. Has he stalked you? No, I don't think so.

This May Mr. Gabriel Byrne Stalked me. And we all know that stalking equals love.

I was in an improv class when I received a text message from a friend who works an upscale SoHo restaurant. Her text read, "Guess who's here?" I knew immediately that it was my love. After class I inexpediently hopped on C or E train to Spring Street. There Mr. Byrne was talking to some blond woman. He had a plaid shirt on and purple pants. I walked by his table and then left. The following day I was standing on the corner of 7th Avenue and 26th Street talking to some classmates about women in comedy. Next thing you know Gabriel Byrne is crossing 7th Avenue towards me. He was wearing the same outfit-those ridiculous purple pants and that plaid shirt that matches because of the purple in the plaid. Now, he could have been wearing the same outfit because he's Irish and you know how they are. But I think he was wearing the outfit because he wanted to make sure I knew it was him. And though he wanted me to see him he was to shy to come over and talk to me. Of course he was too shy. Love is scary. Putting your heart out there is more frightening than going to war. I forgive him because I love unconditionally. Meaning I don't see my love through rose color-ed classes. I disapprove of his purple pants but I love him anyway.

Hey people I'm doing a show Monday where you can see me do 15-20 minutes of comedy in front of college kids and you. We are kicking off Woman's History Month. Don't ask me why Carolyn puts as my credit a show that hasn't been in New York in a year and half. Oh I know why. Because I have no credits.

Chicks and Giggles at NYU: March 3

You are invited to a fun comedy show as we kick-off the month with a celebration of women in the arts. The event will feature Chicks and Giggles—a stand-up group featuring the best female comics in New York City.


Hosted by Carolyn Castiglia (VH1)
Rachael Parenta (Oh, Hello)
Mindy Raf (College Humor)
Giulia Rozzi (MTV)
Diana Saez (DC Comedy Fest)

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

What She's Saying With Her Body

There was an article on MSN last week discussing body language. Some ex-CIA interrogator wrote a book detailing how the lay person can read other people's body language. One of his examples was if a person is scratching the back of their neck they are lying. Maybe, or more likely, they are attending to a zit. And we wonder why our intelligence is faulty.

Oh, and if her head is tilted it's doubtful that she's "into you" as the CIA dude believes. I'm sure it's because she carries a heavy shoulder bag around all day everyday. I'm really who does that? Who tilts their head in flirtation?

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Man or God? Fool or Emotionally Enlightened?

Jesus was betrayed by his friends and brutalized by the Romans all culminating a painful crucifixion. Jesus forgave all persons involved. Today millions of people worship Jesus. They really love that guy.

My friend Stacey has forgiven some chump bartender, Johnny, for his emotional insensitivities toward her. Today dozens of people (quite close to her) call her a fool. Is it because she's a woman? or because she's still alive and therefore we all have to endure hearing about it for years to come. Meanwhile Jesus is dead so we don't have to listen to Jesus say, "Judas, betrayed me again. He called up the IRS and told them I wasn't paying tax on the wine I converted from water. What is with him? He wasn't always like this. Ugh. I do love all God's children."
Would we all be like, "Enough, Jesus! Just tell Judas to shove off. He's a total tool and he doesn't really care about you."
And Jesus would respond, "No, he does, he's just a human. Humans are flawed. You guys just don't understand because you're human too. I mean so I am, sort of. I know you guys don't get it and like to yell at me, but I love you guys too."

"Great Jesus."

Monday, February 25, 2008

Morning After on Smallhands #3 - I Think.

Hey all, it's time once again for my almost weekly, but not quite weekly installment of the Morning After Blog on Smallhand_Ick.

"Morning After" was a sex advice blog founded by Dan Dude and Matilda who quickly abandoned their project so that they could not follow through on other ventures somewhere else. My best friend Anna was their intern and at her bequest I have started answering the sex questions, which lay fallow in the Morning After mail bag, asked by readers like you (not you because you guys haven't asked questions. How could you? You don't have the mailing address of the P.O. Box that now is rented out by others who are not Dan Dude or Matilda.)

Dear Dan Dude and Matilda (shout out to intern Anna):

Hi guys. Here's the deal. I went out with this guy a few times. I thought he was cute. And then I got him home and he took off his clothes. It was not the same. He looked so much better in his clothes. I feel like I was tricked by good wardrobe. I was sold a false bill of goods. We had fun on our dates, but that body has to go. What should I do guys?


Visually Deceived.

Dear Deceived:

Unfortunately, you weren't specific with what was wrong with this guy's body. If it were leprosy I'd suggest a virtual relationship. If they were lesions perhaps you need to see if they are contagious. If it was just the normal not in shape, hair in places we'd rather it not be, back acne, web-feet, 3rd degree burn scars type of action well...I don't know who you've been dating prior to this snazzy dresser, but I have found we all look better with our clothes on. Sure, there are those people who are just gorgeous and physically flawless. I have a feeling you wouldn't have gone on “several” dates with such a person before you got them naked. Why? Because extremely beautiful people are boring. Why? Because beautiful people don't have to develop any skills or personality to make it through life and attract sex partners. We do things for the extremely beautiful just because they are beautiful. And rather than hear them go on about hair products and the free gym membership that the sales consultant just gave them for no reason "Though, things like that are always happening to me. Ha. I guess I'm just lucky." We sleep with them immediately.

Fortunately or unfortunately, you are out with someone who has hid his horrible bodily deformity behind his clothes. Too bad you find his nakedness shocking. I feel that you are not actually attracted to him. In my experience I feel that attraction with someone you have spent time with has much more to do with pheromones and your mind being stimulated. I’m thinking maybe the only thing you are attracted to about this guy is his wardrobe. If you feel I’m mistaken than let me suggest you guys lay down on the bed. I have found people are less unattractive once on the bed. When people are standing up you expect them to look like a Gap Ad or Sears Catalogue. But once on the bed your sex partner is just supposed to look like a flesh colored pillow. Who doesn’t love body pillows? Hmm? And in the words of my sexually promiscuous friend, Aaron, "Beauty is just a light switch away."

Remember people. We are all flawed and not great looking, but god damn it we have personality.


Smallhands Ick

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Total Eclipse of the Heart.

Who saw the lunar eclipse last night? Unfortunately, I didn't have the will power to get my skinny ass out into the cold night to witness it. I did, however, watch the lunar eclipse in October 2004.

It was a Wednesday; I know this because I had just finished an open mic at the Duplex. My friends were at a bar next door watching the Red Sox play in the World Series. The bar was too packed for me to go in and meet them. I stood on the sidewalk outside the bar on Christopher street leaving one of them a message. After that I somehow struck up a conversation with some woman getting some air. We somehow got on the topic of relationships and we stood there talking for a good while as we talked we watched the eclipse. As I saw the eclipse I knew the Red Sox would win the World Series and then the world would shortly end, and though I'm not a Red Sox fan in any sense, I found the whole thing inspiring. I knew the eclipse was responsible for this random conversation with a stranger and the impending Red Sox victory and even though I'm not a Red Sox fan in anyway it was all-inspiring. As the Earth's shadow passed over the moon I told this woman that I was going to call that boy (a man of forty something) and tell him how I felt. I was going to tell him that his break-up with me hasn't sat right with me because I just listened and never said how I felt. And how our now friendship is a charade and lie. I was ready. I was pumped up. I was going to get on the phone and see him face to face and say confess all my amorous feeling that were pent-up inside. And the stranger was cheering me on and we both knew bravery was the only way to go. Yes, the lunar event was an inspiration! I was a warrior of love and if I died in battle so much the better. Yes!

The lunar eclipse ended and the woman went back to sandwich herself into the bar and I went home charged up-ready- to begin my new, brave life and make the most important phone call ever. And I went home and I looked at my phone and I said, "Nah. Forget it."

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Due to sleep deprivation, an impending cold, and a lack of breakfast I will make no attempt at a cohesive post. This is crazy. I don't sleep, I'm always on the verge of sickness, I'm not eating enough, I'm broke. I'm living the life of a drug addict except without the benefit of the drugs. It might all be worth it if I was blitzed out of my mind half the time, having promiscuous sex with a host of unsavory men my drug addled brain won't be burdened to remember. Instead, I'm completely conscious of my state of affairs 100% of the time. And conscious of how members of our society back away uncomfortably from me when they hear I'm a comedian/temp/substitute kickbox instructor/part-time computer mover. Some people try to intervene and convince me to enter grad school or at least Law school. But I haven't hit rock bottom yet.
A middle-age man told me he was against physical torture during government run investigations but felt that psychological torture was just fine. I thought to myself of course he thought psychological torture was fine he had never been a teenaged girl.

ME (picking up a ringing telephone's reciever): Hello. Mr. Muckity Muck Lawyer Dude's office.
CEO (gruffly): Is he there?
ME: Yes, who's calling?
CEO (More douchey): It's on the phone display!
ME: Can you spell that?
CEO: What? That's not my name.
ME: Oh your name must be really long if you rather say all that instead of just telling me your name.
CEO: Just put him on the phone!
ME: Right away Mr. Display.
CEO: (fumes)
ME: Mr. Display is on the phone for you, Mr. Muckity Muck Lawyer Dude
MUCKITY: That's the CEO of the company!
ME: Do I get paid more than $18/hr to answer the phone when he calls?
ME: So his title is important to me why?
ME: Can he get me a tv spot on comedy central or an HBO special?
ME: Do you think he will?
MUCKITY: He's very busy.
ME: Well, do you think he'll put me in his will?
MUCKITY: He doen't even know you.
CEO (from the receiver): PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE MUCKITY!!!!


Monday, February 18, 2008

President's Day

Guess what? The Mormon's got it wrong. Joseph Smith isn't the American messiah, it's Abraham Lincoln. He's the American Jesus. Actually Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King Jr. Just like Jesus there birthday celebrations were moved from their actual birthday to a day more convenient for the rest of us. That and both men were assinated just like Jesus. Granted Jesus died for our sins, and Abe and Martin didn't. But, that's because Americans don't sin.

Now on the other hand Joseph Smith lived a long life that ended from natural causes and the mail gets delivered on his birthday unless his birthday falls on a Sunday. What I'm saying is I think the Church of Later Day Saints should start following the teachings of Abe Lincoln and MLK because we celebrate their birthdays on a Monday so we get a three day weekend. That's much more fun than being forbidden to drink caffenine.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Last Minute Weightloss for Valentine's Day

Are you trying to slim down for you big date tonight? Here's a sure fire way to looze weight: Pull out your teeth. Last week I had four wisdom teeth removed and I lost 3/8 of ounce. No diet necessary. The wholes leave room for you to redistribute body fat so you can fit into that slinky dress or fetching suit.

And remember if you held your friends to the relationship standards you old the drunks you pick up at the bars you wouldn't have friends.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

For Your Love I'd Climb the Highest Mountain and Then Leave You There Alone and Naked

For Valentine’s Day my gift to you is the gift of love. There have been many books written on the subject of finding love. All those books are wrong. There is only one sure fired way get what you want in this world, including love. Oprah has a secret and I know what it is. You have to have heaping mountains of money. You think Stedman or Gail would still be hanging around that lunatic if she was filthy stinking rich. She owns them.

I know you don’t believe me. It’s those god damn Beatles and their “Can’t buy my love.” Well, of course you can’t buy the Beatles’ love they have more money than most people. Those limeys don’t need your money because they already have it. They didn’t give away their hit single “Can’t Buy Me Love.” You can’t buy their love but they sure as hell can buy yours. Too bad for me none of the remaining Beatles are in love with me. Because I’ll tell you what. I don’t need to be temping anymore that’s for sure.

So here is how it works. You go out and you get yourself a great deal of capital. I don’t mean upper middle class income.You have to do more than practice corporate law. There are several ways to come by this money. Start your own miltary contracting company, hack into Merryl Lynch or some such institution and divert their funds into your account, or get into Warren Buffet’s will as sole inheriter and then kill him without getting caught. These are just some suggestions and by no means the best if you have a better idea how to earn billions or a least 100s millions of dollars go for it.

Once you get the money you find out where th e object of your desire works. You use your influence to get him fired. Then you make sure that he is unable to get another job. Next, you get him kicked out of his domicile. Now, he may have a flourishing social network ready to help him. So you must frame him for a sex crime. However, and this is important, make sure he doesn’t actually get convicted. Just a little smear campaign to kill his social ties. Later you will use your wealth and influence to clear his good name. Now you have him where you want him. Cold, alone, desperate homeless, and on the verge of suicide. Now you and your billions swoop in and come to the rescue. He’ll have no choice but to date you and probably move in to your plade right away.

I know you’re thinking, “Rachael, that isn’t love. It’s one person’s cruelty killing another’s person’s free will.” First off, cruelty and love are not mutually exclusive. Secondly, you’re right. It’s not love yet. What you have now are two people are committed to each other. And what we learn from Fiddler on the Roof as well as our neighbors from India (with their arranged marriages) is that you will grow to love each other. Or at least he’ll grow to love you as you are already in love with him. You will run a household together have some awkward sex, maybe take in a movie now and again. And of course you guys will really bond when together you struggle to fight the sex crime charges and restore his reputation. How could he not grow to love you the way you stood by him like that. You an almost stranger believed in him when no one else would. When he was at his lowest with nothing to offer buy companionship. I’m getting teary just typing this the whole thing is so beautiful, romantic, and fool proof.

So put down those books and magazines telling you how you must change to get him to love you. It’s the perfect blow job that gets a man but the destruction of his life before you are together that is what true love is made of.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

You've Reached Your Apex

**It has been brought to my attention that the following post makes it seem like I'm in love with a man from my past. That wasn't my intention. I know I know last week when I was temping I got bored and tried to find out if Bill was still married. Turns out that he is and that he and his wife are quite active in NJ land preservation. But residual feelings is not the point of the succeeding post. The point is that people tell you unsubstantiated postive things like, "your worth more," "you can do anything you set you mind to," and "you can do better." These things are rarely true. We tell each other these hollow sentiments because we don't want to hear each other bitch and moan any more. **

Hey Ladies! Guess what? Your friends are wrong. You can’t do better than the guy you are currently obsessed with or dating. That dude that you won’t stop talking about. The one none of your friends like. Well, they might have liked him but your increscent chatter on the subject of him has turned them against him. Well, that, and the fact they are your friends and he’s been a self-centered prick a bunch of times. Yeah, that guy. You can’t do better than him.

Your friends were lying to you when they told you could do better. (Whatever better means. Is a sweet, cute, rich man better if your conversations with him are stilted and awkward?) Really they were lying to themselves. They want you to find someone better. They want you to be happy and they don’t want to hear about it anymore. Unfortunately, you can’t do better. If you could do better you would do better. You’re not that lazy. If some awesome guy who you “clicked with” came along you’d snatch him up. But he hasn’t come along, so you are obsessed with the best guy you’ve managed to nab, even if he’s no longer nabbed, or if he was never actually nabbed.

Let’s take Donna Hanover. She told a story of dating some fella while she was in college years ago. He broke up with her. (I’m guessing he broke up with her because she waited for an apology for 30 years or something). In 30 some odd years Donna Hanover, star of the Vagina Monologues, TV Personality, college graduate, couldn’t find anyone better. She wound up marrying a megalomaniac NYC mayor who broke up with her via a press conference. Donna is a smart lady and so when her college flame apologized three decades later she took him back. Why? Because Donna knows that despite being a catch she can’t do any better.

I have friend who was in love with some boy for 5 years. She confessed her feelings to him and he said, “No I will not date you. I will not date you on a boat. I will not date you through a moat. I will not date you.” She tried finding someone better. She even entered into a five-year relationship with an actor. He was very inattentive boyfriend. It turns out he wasn’t better. He was worse. She broke-up with him and now she dates the dude who originally wouldn’t date her.

I’m not saying you women will ever have a healthy or loving relationship with the person you are obsessed with. Donna and my friend’s stories might be rare exceptions. But I know this you wouldn’t be obsessed with the dude you’re obsessed with if all the better ones weren’t already engaged and married, but they are. Of course they are they’re better! As long as you keep meeting people who ask you to dinner and then try to make out with your drunk friend two minutes after you left the club, or dudes with lizard tongues, or dude who are cute but the epitome of insipid the “stupid jerk you are obsessed with” will look pretty good. He might be insensitive and selfish but he never badgered you into licking his dick and that my friends is the sad sad truth.

And just to clarify you don’t like this guy because he’s the best you can do. He’s the best you can do because you like him. It doesn’t help that the rest of them are megalomaniac mayors and borderline date rapists.

I know that I was talking to the ladies, but this also applies to the men as well.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Comedic Riddle with a tiny story

What did the alcholic, closeted, cross-dresser say to the comedian?

"I'm not drunk you have father issues!"

The comedian said to herself, "Is he being ironic?"

To which a little omniscient voice replied, "He's from Kansas, so I don't think so."
"Kansas? I thought it was Nebraska."
"Is there a difference?"

And then the closeted, cross-dressing alcoholic scurried off to try and buy friends as his attempts to buy talent has failed miserably.

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Spinning my Oral Health

Hey everyone I didn't die!

In honor of the political season I would like to positively spin my handling of my wisdom teeth extraction recovery.


Rachael Parenta had all four wisdom teeth extracted Wednesday morning. Rachael is not taking any prescription meds. That"s how tough this cookie is. She's bad ass! Dedicated to her stand-up comedy craft she performed a set a mere 11 hours after surgery and a great set. That's dedication and commitment.

After having all four wisdom teeth, (all of which were only partially impacted) extracted Wednesday morning Rachael Parenta is currently taking children's liquid Ibuprofen. Her oral surgeon offered her the best in prescription pain killers, but Rachael's delicate body chemistry does not react well to that stuff. She has to take liquid Ibuprofen because at the age of thirty Rachael still hasn't learned to swallow pills whole. Her medical condition (of recently yanked teeth) doesn't allow her to chew the meds made for adults. At least she weighs as much as an 11 year old. (Though it is doubtful she is as tall.)

Rachael then traveled to the Bowery Poetry Comedy Club to perform on a show she had forgotten she was booked on. If she were all on top of her game she would have not scheduled the two events on the same day. Her lack of tolerance for what many call "kick ass drugs" enabled her to soberly tell funny jokes. She kept her commitment to do the set because she knows she has garners no respect in NYC and it would have taken her 2 years to get re booked.

If Rachael were at all industrious she would have take the script from the doctor and then sold her pills far and wide across New York City--making herself some rent money. But she is too lazy.

You might vote for the lady described in the Spin at least you'd invite her to a party. But we can't say the same for the lady described in the Truth section.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

I May or May Not Return

Today I'll be having all four wisdom teeth pulled. Anestesia kills. I forgot to hire an attorney and write a will. So I guess I'll write the will out now sans the lawyer.


I leave my wardrobe to the third world charity "Children without Jobs." I figure those kids made most of my clothes they might as well get them back. Who else would fit into them anyway.

I leave my stalking to the CIA. They could use all the help they can get. Note CIA I never have to lay a hand on anyone--that's probably because no one asks.

My music collection will be given away to people who answer trivia questions correctly. The trivia questions should be about the muscian or album to be given away. The event should be held at a bar or a VFW. This event should also be held weeks after my death as it might be really fun, and I want people to be sad for at least a day if not a week after I pass. I am not from the school of people shouldn't be sad when I die. If you cared you'd be sad. You may laugh during the morning period. However, those laughs should be brought about by memories of me.

I leave my remaining food to my roommates. I think that's just easiest. However, if you really want my half eaten jar of all natural peanut butter that I have stuck my forefinger in repeatedly just ask one of my roomies I'm sure they'd hand it over.

My writings and the videos of my performances shall be donated to the museum of television and radio. The most legible should be framed and sent to the Fryers Club where they maybe displayed for the world of old decrepit men to see while they dine. Men who are unfairly still alive well past their prime. While I'm dead at the oral surgeon's office unable to tell the hilarious story of how I died getting my wisdom teeth out.

Speaking of the hilarious story of my impending death. I leave the hilarious story to Bill Cosby. He is really good at telling funny stories and he already has dentist bit, I think my death story at the oral surgeon would fit in his set nicely. I know my father would like to inherit the story, but in his hands I feel it might get damaged with a long of set up and too many puns.

If my lost engagenment ring ever turns up I leave that to my fiance James. In the meantime he may have the picture of said ring.

I will not be donating my body to science because...well, fuck science. It was science that killed me. You'd think after years of surgery they could get the hang of anestesia. I'm not going to give them my body twice.

And with that I leave you readers with Luna's live performance of "Anestesia." I would have also left you with Carter U.S.M's "Last Will and Testament" but the sound on the youtube video was unbearable.

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Super Duper

Today is Super Tuesday. Which means a bunch of states are holding their presidential primaries today. Several states including New York and New Jersey moved their primaries to today. Prior to this year these states held their primaries in the summer, and by the time they got to vote the candidates for both parties were already decided. So now they're voting in February. But it looks like the Tri-State area has been punk'd because most of the candidates have dropped out of the race already and it's not even March. Ha Ha.

I was thinking about this country of ours and I don't understand how Iowa's caucus is the first presidential delegate to be held. The US had been voting for presidents since the 1700s but Iowa's only been a state since 1846. Did I miss the history lesson where the Iowans did battle with Delaware to be the first state? I know Delaware isn't known for it's toughness but how does it lose the battle of Presidential Deciders to a state made up of 6 farmers? Apparently, it did.

But it's still a very special election because we have a white woman and black man still looking for a nomination. Finally women and African Americans can feel like white people at the ballad box and think, "Wow, this candidate looks like me, and yet we have nothing in common because I have soul." At least women and blacks can feel secure knowing that women and African American candidates are equal to whites in that they will sell the populace's interests to the highest corporate bidder.

Monday, February 04, 2008

Faith Up Against A Will

Sometime faith has nothing to do with God. Sometimes it has to do with believing in the power of people. Sunday Night I believed in a bunch of rag tag millionaire guys in spandex pants. I believed that these men, who don the NY Giants logo, could do the impossible, beat a bunch of other spandex wearing millionaires at their own game. But it wasn't just my belief in these men who call New York (and the surrounding metropolitan area) home for 5 months of the year, it was also a belief in myself.

I had faith that if I curled my ring and middle fingers down toward the palms of my hands making my hands look like the horns of a bull (with the pinky and forefinger still raised) If I took those bull horn hands and pointed them toward the telivision whenever Tom Brady's face appeared on it. If i twisted those hands and thought to myself and out loud "Throw an interception." that Tom Brady probably wouldn't throw an interception (because when you're jinxing a team through the TV the jinx gets somewhat diluted) that he would at the very least screw up or have something unpleasant happen to him--like a three hundred pound man throwing him to the ground. I knew I had the jinxing skills. After honing them for 20+ years, then continuing to refine them for 16 games of the regular season this year, and then really figuring out the most effecient and effective way to jinx the opponent during the playoffs that I ccould lead this team to Superbowl victory.

Sure it looked a little dire after the 1st half. I thought maybe the girl who jinxed Scott Norwood into missing the game winning field goal in the 1991 Superbowl had lost her magic touch. Then I thought, maybe it is Karen (Melinda's Friend who was present as I watched the Giants loose the superbowl in 2001). I thought maybe I have to drown her in the tub during Tom Petty's half time concert. But I didn't. I took a deep breath and believed in myself. Believed that yes a simple girl (with complicated needs) from New Jersey could rise above Karen's bad karma. I could rise against the skill, determination, and know how of the Patriots. I could twist my horn shaped hands just so to ensure The Giants place in NFL history.

Yes, some say it was Eli who led the Giants to victory last night. But I know it was faith. My faith. My faith in superstition. I don't need a trophy or a ring because true champions are satisfied with a job well done.

Friday, February 01, 2008


7 years ago the Giants were in the Superbowl. I watched the game at my friend Melinda's place (which was in Queens at the time--well it's still in Queens she just doesn't live there anymore). Also at Melinda's that night was Melinda's friend Karen. The Giants lost that game, they lost it badly. I thought that maybe Melinda was a Jinx. But then I took a risk and watched the NFC championship game with Melinda. The Giants won. Which leads me to only one conclusion her friend Karen is the Jinx. Melinda is once again planning to have people over to her place for the Superbowl (her current place not the one in Queens) this coming Sunday. Guess who's planning on showing up? No not Sidney Potier, but Karen. This means I have to kill Karen before Sunday if the Giants are going to have a chance against New England.

I'm not that busy this weekend so it shouldn't be hard. It's the least I can do. I mean if these guys are playing with torn ligaments and the flu I think I can go out and kill a good friend of my good friend. Sacrifices have to be made. It's not like the Giants are in the Superbowl every day.

Where Is Nancy Reagan When You Need Her

I was passive aggressively forced to buy an alcoholic beverage by a skinny little man who runs a music open mic in Williamsburg on Wednesday night. I didn't really want to buy a drink. But I didn't know how to say "no' to this guy. They didn't cover that in my public school drug and alcohol classes. Sure they teach you how to deal with peer pressure at a party or something. (I wish they taught us how to get invited to parties that served alcohol.) School teaches you that it takes a half hour for your liver to process a half an ounce of alcohol. But they never cover how to deal with a guy causing an awkward social situation so that you purchase alcohol.

A five foot five inch fella, who stands in the back of a room at a sound board mispronouncing people's names into a remote microphone seconds before they take the stage to perform, came up to the table I was sitting at. I was joined by two other comedians one had just performed and the other dude and I had not yet. The little open mic host comes up to us and says to the dude who had performed, "Good job, man. Can I get you guys a drink?" He said it like the comedian's set was so good he was going to buy us a round. But we knew (somehow instinctively) that he wasn't buying us a drink. Rather he just wanted to us to buy drinks. I didn't want to buy a drink. I for once wasn't in the mood for a cocktail and I don't really drink soda...unless of course it has alcohol in it. Sometimes mics have a policy that the performers must buy a drink to get stage-time. But there was nothing stating that. The little man never said that into his remote microphone. How do you say no to a man can make your five minute set you've signed up for vanish like a CIA videotape? I have only come there to talk to cute men who play guitar. I can't talk to them if I don't get on stage. That's how it works. I get on stage say very funny things for five minutes and then cute boys with guitars come up to me afterwards and say, "You're funny." I say thanks, "You have a great voice." And then hopefully I feel validated as person. But none of that can happen if I don't get my five minutes.

My public school education never covered how a single gal is to navigate the precarious world of music open mics without walking out a degenerate drunk. I bought that drink night. And because of my public school math education I knew if I didn't drink my hard cider that would be a waste of money. Was it worth it? Well, when I came off stage I got many many "you're very funny." Three men struck up conversations with me. Unfortunately, I wasn't drunk off the one cider I was passive aggressively forced to buy, so I didn't have the boldness to get a number or bring anyone home. Oh the irony.

In closing: GO GIANTS!!!