Well I'm here in Fort Lauderdale where the streets are filled with palm trees, rich old people, badly tattooed drug addicts, and an odd new wave of ultra femmy black gay guys who seem to have taken over. You would think that a place with the right amount of sunshine, Jewish elitism and gayness with a Nordstrom’s on every corner would make me feel alive again but no no. Florida is such a weird place. I was getting a pedicure yesterday with a jap with Valentino flip flops on one side of me and a crazy mumbling crack head with flip flops made of hay and gum on the other. While I was happy that at least the crack head had some scrap of decency to take 20 dollars out of the crack fund to somewhat groom herself and have her acrylic nails sharpened which, I’m assuming are used as some sort of drug vessel. Wait; do you love how I play dumb? How I pretend like my pinky nail has never seen the inside of a nostril! Anyway I came out here because I literally have nothing going on. No gigs, because I don’t try hard enough to get any, no job, because I’m not qualified to do anything, no money, because I have no gigs and no job. I got a round trip ticket for like 100 bucks on Cheap Fuck Air (The number one choice of geriatrics with missing limbs and Hasidic Jews who refuse to wear deodorant) so I’m going to stay out here for 10 days and be with my family and not spend any money (other than on my nails, because I may be careening towards a self inflicted dismal future but I always for some reason make it top priority to have my nails done. Maybe because my hands and feet are so monstrous like the rest of me I’d at least like my fingers to look pretty as they clutch a tear soaked Kleenex!) I guess I’ve slipped in a deep dark one (depression not one of the many Ft. Lauderdale femmy black anuses...anii? anuses.) I am aware of what is happening because my depressions, I guess anyone’s depressions, are so pathological. I’m doing well, feeling good, feeling happy feeling somewhat normal and part of the human race and then BAM! I have to sabotage and fuck it all up. Take the part of me that is feeling good and slice her down a few 100 pegs! It’s fine I’m used to it. It’s taking every ounce of strength I have to even write this but I guess the fact that I feel responsible to the 25 people who actually read my blog it means that I haven’t completely given up on comedy. Even though I am SERIOUSLY considering it.
Maybe the lime light should be reserved for the people who still love it, who’s hearts and morale haven’t been rotted by rejection after rejection. I’ll be honest with you fuckers I really thought that I was pretty enough to not have to struggle this long in trying to make it! Or at least that is what I am told by my more successful friends who try to comfort me. “Listen, you’re funny as hell and you’re beautiful, it’s just a matter of time!” I go in for audition after audition and keep hearing “hmm…well aren’t you interesting!” Yeah, “interesting.” Marilyn Monroe with the voice of James Earl Jones, Bea Arthur with an LA face, I’ve heard it all, which to me sounds marketable! Who wouldn’t want a curvy blonde bombshell that could make you weep with her rendition of old man river! I’ve heard producers say “We’ll make you into a sex bomb, we want you to be the sex kitten comedian. You’re so sexy sexy sexy blah blah fucking blah.” OK then do it! Jesus Christ! I mean part of me would sell my soul to the Hollywood machine but a bigger part wanted to be known for my talent but I’m not even given that option!
I guess I just don’t care anymore. I’m angry. Not only because the career I’ve chosen is a painful journey, but because I’ve already had a painful journey and it’s not anywhere close to being over and I am so fucked up and make such bad decisions and won’t let anybody good get close to me. But I am aware that it is indeed a “journey” and I can’t snap my fingers and have the outcome I want (although that would be fabulous!) My anger has surged to new levels though, I’m screaming at hecklers…oh hecklers have new meaning by the way…I invented it. Yeah, it means person who isn’t laughing at my shitty jokes! Everything I have been coming up with for material these days is really blue and dark! I used to be somewhat clean, because I thought eventually I’ll have to do it on TV, but now that that ship has clearly sailed I don’t care! FUCK TV CLEAN SETS AND FUCK YOU GOOGLY EYED COMEDIAN UNFUNNY HIPSTER FUCKS WHO WRITE THEM! YOU MAKE ME SICK! HAVE SOME FUCKING INTEGRITY! BE AN INDIVIDUAL BE A FUCKING ENTERTAINER! STAR QUALITY MEANS DOG SHIT IN THIS INDUSTRY AND IT’S FULL OF PEOPLE WHO LOOK SMELL AND SOUND EXACTLY LIKE YOU! GO AHEAD AND MAKE SOME MONEY NOT MAKING HISTORY AND SUCK SOME COMEDY FESTIVAL COCK YOU REPREHENSIBLE PIECE OF SHIT!
Right! So like I said I’m kinda angry….My TV clean set that I painstakingly wrote and thought about is now like 8 years old and obsolete and frankly I have nothing else to say unless it’s about the most vile sex acts and rape and misery that anyone’s ever heard! And not rape jokes that some “quirky” female comedian with glasses and a plaid shirt who actually HAS NEVER BEEN RAPED BEFORE but like maybe sucked a guys dick when she really didn’t want to when she first moved to new york and was trying to make friends in the big city, but that like kinda counts as rape, and she get’s a huge laugh when she uses cutesy misdirection. No no, I mean like make you cringe and turn against me rape jokes! ROCK N ROLL! My new stuff I personally think is hilarious and worth a laugh and it get’s laughs but if one table clearly doesn’t like me then I look at them, stop what I’m doing, and ask them why they are not laughing while pointing out that it must be because they are stupid or have something to do with what they are wearing. Who have I become!?! This hardened leathery creature with a microphone. Who crawls off stage and spits on her colleagues and soaks her face in Jack Daniels and pringles! Maybe I’m just not as good at tricking myself into being happy which I think is what people who are happy are really good at! So maybe I am a terrible actress! I can cry on cue but I can’t act happy! Whatever, this will pass; I will talk to my shrink in circles trying to get to the bottom of my pain, which then actually makes me feel better for 10 minutes. Then continue another go around of trying to be something that I’m not for a living only to sink back down and fly coach to Florida on a rickety old propeller plane where I sit in a dark room and type about what a devastated narcissist I am. Don’t worry this isn’t a suicide note; I’d be a real moron to kill myself BEFORE I am famous! Hey look at that! Positivity again! Hahaha!