Sugar Spice and Everything Irritating

My life has become like the movie Groundhog Day with Bill Murray except I don’t set an alarm with Sonny and Cher, I don't do anything period, and my face doesn’t look like a melted candle. I wake up every morning at 9:11am (never forget) and pee (a towering inferno) then get back into bed and sleep till like 11ish try to make myself go to the gym, if I do or I don’t I always end up back in bed watching TV till like two then falling back asleep and then crawling out of bed to do a comedy show then crawling back in bed more TV more sleep. Then wake up again at 9:11am (never forget) and pee (a towering inferno) and so on and so on and so on YEESH! The daily grind! I’m exhausted! I don't know how you employed people do it! I will admit as much as my delusions of celebrity don’t permit me to say, I really do need to get a real job and I’m sure it'll help my depression. Like getting out of bed for a reason other than urination and delivery boys (don't get any ideas...the only Mexican in my bed is the take out container I keep under my pillow so I don't have to get up when I’m sleep eating rice and beans by the angry fist full) might be nice. I need to figure out what it is I am capable of doing other than snorting pills, having unprotected sex with losers, and doing physical comedy with extreme facial expression! Maybe dentistry? What I like to do is isolate myself and then wonder why I feel so isolated! In my pursuit of trying to make more friends I've realized that other girls are just not like me. Like for one thing I’m well groomed and ummm that’s what I spend my money on…that’s...normal! I’m very expensive and I’m very high maintenance. It would be dishonest to the thread of my being to have pimples and no nailpolish on. I get my nails done every week, my hair done twice a month (once for color and once for extensions. I enjoy a full bouncy blonde mane...see a lot of women don’t think about proportions. I am gigantic with gigantic boobs so I need a lot of hair to balance it out. Duh! It’s like physics…or something) go tanning couple times a month (not as much as I’d like, I’m trying to cut back...not because of skin cancer but because tanning is a little frivolous...I like to be golden and rosy everywhere and feel disgusting when I’m pasty and pale but a package is like 200 bucks and it's November and I’m always teetering on the edge of suicide so might as well be a ghost and see what that feels like...sometimes I jingle chains and howl just to practice and piss off the neighbors or the stranger in my bed!) then there's skin care, perfume, makeup which is a huge expense...I shat out Tammy Faye’s corpse this morning! Then there's clothes which lets face it, because of my fluctuating weight I wear the same thing every day, leggings and a low cut t shirt that is either dressed up with some diamond jewelry and big pageant hair and makeup or dressed down with a head band and chicken grease. The point is that I have a beauty regimen that I have had since I was very young and girls in New York, I’m discovering are pretty but crunchy. Most of my friends are either girls in high school that feared me so much they did and wore whatever I told them, or gay guys. Now I’m like making "girlfriends" and they roll out of bed put on chapstick and some secret (strong enough for a man, but ph balanced for a mannish woman) and keep it pushin! I'm not hating it's just different! And they look at me like I’m crazy! I've just always been super girly. Things like sports, news, voting, driving a car, paying for dinner have just never been subjects that interest me. My mom was the same way...she'd wake up at around 9:12 (she forgets) after my brother and I were off to school, have coffee and read vogue in her california king sized bed, usually wearing nothing but sheets (daddy was always hungry), then she’d start her morning toilette, do a little shopping or have lunch or whatever the fuck she did with her time, but by the time she was done it was time to pick us up from school looking REDICULOUS! My mom was always the hottest mom...she'd be wearing some skin tight skirt and jacket and always in heels and would wiggle and click around the school hallways in a cloud of Tresor perfume to pick us up. The other mothers hated her and I fucking loved it! In a lot of ways she's to blame for my “loosy goosey-ness” (that's what they call “loose girls” in the animal kingdom) it could also have something to do with my lifelong obsession with playboy magazine and the golden age of Hollywood which influenced my aspirations of not only being an actress but being glamorous, gorgeous and delicious at all times, which sounds like a lot of pressure but I know no different. Sounds sick but my mother taught me that to be feminine and to be "pretty" came along with responsibility. A woman’s power is in her sexuality not her head...well that’s not true, she taught me that giving head is very important. That is terrible parenting! How could that not fuck me over? In my family, the focus was on the male and the girls were there to take care of them and look good doing it. There is a huge part of me that wants to do that just from conditioning but forgetting all the superficiality, from my instinctual desire to be a mother. Yes that's right! Just cuz I’m the honkey tonk whisky swilling (my mother taught me how to be feminine) life of the party who is not necessarily the most responsible or stable member of society I do very badly want to have babies and confession time! That’s always been my number one dream before being an entertainer that touches the hearts and penises of millions! Being a mommy and a wifey is what I really want to accomplish in this life (I think i just felt all the male readers collective boners go down.) People who know me know I’ll take care of them, I’m very nurturing and supportive, I’ll feed them delicious home cooked food, they can trust me, that's why I have such a big warm bosom, for nuzzling and feeling safe so stop wasting all those perfectly good sperms all over it...DAD! (Too edgy? I won't open with it.) But I want to accomplish other things too and even though, despite my sort of vintage values that I grew up with (like always have something baking and never share needles with the poor) I do disagree that women are less than. I always was under the assumption we were all the same and just humans. The battle of the sexes to me is the same as the battle of races and religions it all comes down to: we're the same so chill. For instance I hate female comics who say they’re "female comics" we're all comedians don't try to put yourself in a category because you're not as good as the guys so you need to feel comfortable segregated in a category that is "taking over the comedy scene" the thing is women can be funnier than males they just aren't most of the time and women are out numbered, as far as headliners and television personalities, but women just need to go out on stage and make people cry laughing! Why does it have to be so "game changing" to be funny? This is the job description: make people laugh. If bodily fluids are evacuated in the process, gold star sugar tits! Anyway, relax ladies and would it KILL you to put on a little makeup!?

Just Call Me Jiggles Von Giggles

Oh Jesus. Well, I can't stop fucking eating. What else is new? Food is my boyfriend. I left him for a while but he just crêpe’d back into my life (see what I did there? You see, the word I was going to use is crept but I’m referring to food so I made a pun using the word for the popular French thin pancake crêpe! See, this is why I’m getting paid 20 dollars a week people! Stardom!) He be lookin’ all cute and hot and smellin' all good! But he's triflin! Makes me pay for him and sometimes I get the whole thing down my throat and he just leaves the next day! Another relationship down the fucking toilet! I went to the gym 5 days last week and only one this week. I get sad and bored and just eat. Why did I think that this hunger for food would just go away? One of my blog readers sent me a letter awhile back concerned about my food addiction and that I should go to OA. To that I respond, I’m not fat enough, dear. And if I wanted to talk about myself in groups I’d become a comedian! I don't know. Hopefully I won't blow the fuck up...right now I’m at that stage where I got skinny enough initially so now it’s just going to all the right places. In the words of Young Leek (who is a rapper, not a soup green) "Come on Shorty shake that thing, just show me how you work that frame. Body of a diva shaped like a bottle up in the club looking like a model maybe America’s next? Shining like the diamonds up in my Rolex, WOAH!" I am just jiggling again which I can deal with. My trainer yesterday made me jump on a box 20 times in a row and I got really pissed and belligerent because every time I landed on the box I had jiggles running through my entire body like a bag of Jell-O sitting on top of a speaker with the bass turned all the way up! It wasn't comfortable, although the trainer and the old man on the elliptical seemed to be enjoying the earthquake. It hurt and I was uncomfortable and cursed him and the old man the fuck out. I might not be allowed back. My regular trainer, Frankie "Bag-a-Snack Wells," the hot gabagool, tore his Achilles tendon playing football (big rough and tumble tackle football playing daddy, FUCK ME!). So now I switched to a different trainer until he get's better. His name is Heyward and he’s a super-sweet nice black guy with adult braces and tattoos...like if Steve Urkel and 50-Cent had a baby. But he's tough! It hurts! He doesn’t sit around and laugh about all the broads he nailed that week or where to get the best fresh muzzarelle like Frankie "Bag-a-Snack Wells" does - where my strength training consists of a couple squats, a couple lunges, and hugs and cuddles. I get more of a work out on a Tuesday night during a 30 minute set on a milk crate in front of 8 people at Jake's HAHA Hacienda off Route 9 in Secaucus!  Anyway who cares? I'll be fat and alone. All my girlfriends are getting boyfriends, one by one. It’s kind of alarming how some girls will manipulate a man into becoming their boyfriend. I’ve been watching this process recently with my friends. It’s like this intricate game playing these men like a marionette to get them into a committed relationship. I’ve never seen anything like it! Like step one don’t fuck them, step two don’t fuck them and most importantly step 3 don’t fuck them. What is this labyrinth of deception and manipulation!? Are you MAD, woman!? What is this unholy witchcraft!? You’re born of the jackal! I saw Goody Proctor walk with the devil (and she didn’t fuck him.) I guess I’m missing that part of the brain that plays the game to get a boyfriend in 10 days or less and have 2 year stepford relationships that are not based on real emotion or deep love and just “for the sake of it.” I’m not scared being alone I’ve lived my entire life alone, it’s comfortable. I don’t want to have someone walking around in their underwear farting and demanding blowjobs (i'll suck yo dick when i'm good and ready!) in my house touching my stuff sleeping in my bed just so I cannot be alone. Love should be uncomfortable and boat rocking (don’t bother knocking.)  Anyway, all these ho’s have boyfriends now cause I guess it’s “a la mode” this season and the only reason to not be fat is to get consistently fucked in my book, and that’s not happening! The guy who I went out with whose card got declined and I paid for the dinner he was two hours late for then boned anyway asked me out on a date today. Yeah, high point for my self-esteem. Well he's been really persistent lately and I keep telling him no, no, no, no, no, giving him excuses like "I'm depressed" or "I'm actually dying…so yeah about that you should get yourself checked," but I guess depressed girls with phantom AIDS are his thing cuz he asked me to go see Louis C.K. with him tonight. UGH! The LAST thing I want to do is see that overrated bloated ginger dick...oh and I’m not in the mood to see Louis C.K. either. People think because I’m a comedian I actually enjoy comedy. No. In fact there's nothing I hate more. I find it painful and irritating. Like all I do is come up with jokes and entertain people, why would I want to see someone who is comparable or funnier than I am who is actually succeeding in making more than 300 dollars a year doing what I do? I'm sure an architect doesn’t spend his free time at construction sights...unless he's a homo with a hardhat fetish or something to which I say you do you, motha fucka! I fucking hate comedy. Whatever! I know I should be more positive and loving what I do. I was watching Food Network and some god-awful chef on there was like "I live to cook, I don't cook to live" Do I share that passion? I do LOVE communicating with an audience live...I hate making tapes and submitting myself in a package that is not organic to my brand of humor. I do not like being conformed to "material" I feel like I have braces on my legs when I can't improvise and riff bits (like Tiny Tim if he was played by a hybrid of Zsa Zsa Gabor and Chris Farley.) I do not like sitting down and writing, I like to make it up as I go along. It's not the performing that I hate, it's the business and the competition! Like comedians! Stop telling me backstage that you just did this or that or made this break in your career. Don't brag because I’m jealous! There I said it! Hearing about your success gives me HPV. And it's not a competition because what I do is like nothing no one else does and what they do is like nothing no one else does (if they're any good) so why don't I just do my shit, get the love and validation I need to get through the day from the audience, and leave and watch bad reality shows and eat chicken alone in my underwear? LEAVE ME ALONE (come back, where are you going!?)

THE HALLOWAY HALLOWEEN BLUES (AND BBQ JOINT)

Depression has a way of making you fuck up your diet. Needed to take a week and cry and eat my brains out. I ended a friendship that meant a lot to me and feeling super sad and conflicted about it. It's amazing how a girl with so few real relationships can press delete so quickly. But sometimes you have to in order to move forward and be happy in the end. You can't walk right into danger where you'll probably get your heart hurt when you feel it coming you got to cut your losses and run the other way. Maybe if Nathalie Holloway followed that advice she wouldn't have had such a lame ass date on that boat. So yeah, watching 90's chick flicks and sitcoms, listening to 90's alt rock, (dressing and smelling like Kurt Kobain, eating like Ann Wilson) and writing 2000's alt comedian tweets. Went for like 4 days without showering only getting out of bed to do 10 minute sets at little bar shows and then crawled back into my bed full of take out containers and ketchup packets and watching Boys On The Side or a Frasier marathon. (Is there any problem that the hijinks of the pretentious Seattle highbrow therapist brothers and their kooky menagerie of sidekicks can't fix?) Oh, to be a tormented genius like I! I'm not at the stage where killing myself would make me more famous yet so I got to hold off on the trip to the roof and keep it pushin! I refuse to weigh myself but I think I gained something close to 10 pounds. Totally eating my feelings and ruining all my hard work but you know what sometimes you just need the comfort that only Hunan Palace can give. It's ok i'm back to the gym now and I got it under control [top panty hose.] 

BOO FUCKING HOO people! Halloween, or as I like to call it Gay Pride with a different kind of candy, passed me by completely. I had big plans of dressing up cause of my new sexy body I was going to be "slutty something" but I dress up as "slutty something" and boo people everyday! Big whoop! I hate Halloween it's like amateur night. If I wanted to see a bunch of bros and skanks dressed like idiots getting shit faced and thinking they're ironic and hilarious I’d just go to the green room of any comedy club! (Making friends!!!!) If I was going to dress up I was going to be Beyonce with a miscarriage, like in a gold sequined leotard with a fan on me at all times with blood and slime dripping down my fishnets (booooo) but that idea came to me before the video of her fake baby bump leaked so then I was just thinking of stuffing a folded lawn chair in a dress and calling it a costume but eh...too much energy and no where to go. Past Halloween’s I’ve done good but I was always working. There was the year when I was a go-go dancer and I was Marilyn Monroe's partially decomposed corpse! I was completely buck naked (umm…cause she died in the nude clutching a telephone. I'm nothing if i'm not authentic!) and painted grayish blue with pills and pill bottles and maggots stuck to me, roaches and worms and crawling through my wig and decomposing flesh at the hip and the neck with an old fashioned telephone...it was pretty awesome. (If I had waited for last week, lying in bed for 5 days sobbing I wouldn't have needed the costume at all and i wouldn't have had to spend 2 days scrubbing blue paint off my snatch.) Then there was the year that I was a playboy bunny with her throat slit (because don't you just want to slit their fucking throats?) and then one year I was Peg Bundy which was pretty good and Josephine Baker where I was completely in black face naked again my entire body dipped in coco brown makeup with a banana skirt and tribal beads (ummm...josephine baker was always naked and she happened to be black. Authentic!) no one recognized me that year! I looked like lil Kim on horse vitamins! No black people were offended in the making of that costume, all I got were high fives and ignored by cab drivers. Don't be a pussy and be a slutty fireman or slutty bumble bee ladies, ditch the costume and just throw on suspenders and be a naked fireman or shove a stinger up your ass and be a naked bumble bee it's WAY more fun! What's the point of the extra fabric, you're leaving nothing to the imagination anyway! But I’m a respectable out of work actress and comedian now! I must stay in bbq stained sweats and feel sorry for myself on the holidays! SCRUPLES!  

But like always, after my little temper tantrum and melt down I shifted. I decided to stop focusing on the lack of things in my life and began to focus on what I do have. A decent apartment for nyc standards, a couple of nutcase parents, 25 dollars in my checking account, LOADS of talent (It’s the loads in my face that I miss,) and an energy and presence that is like no one else’s. God put me here to do something and it's remarkable as soon as I made that click in my brain I booked a shit ton of shows and got two really big legitimate auditions this week! And instead of saying "I’m not going to get the part" or "I HAVE to get this part" like I usually do I’m going to say "I got the audition and it's going to be fun!" and just enjoy performing and spreading joy in my little way. You know as much as I hate human kind, I gotta admit we are all pretty awesome and the struggle, in my case has made for some very funny material. OPRAH FOR PRESIDENT! 

Can Sluts Find Love?

Rough week. I went out on Monday night and got hammered with some friends and bumped into this guy I boned when I was 18 outside the bar when I was smoking. (As one does on a Monday night…out of work comedian) He's absolutely beautiful, amazing bod, pillow lips, a dick that just won't quit but the dude is psychotic of course. Of course something so beautiful has to be so crazy and poor. Like Charles Manson…or Africa. I don't ever go for rich guys, usually I just go for ones who pay me the slightest bit of attention and that I feel deep connections with (in my cervix.) There’s something to be said for poor guys. If rich guys could fuck as good as poor one’s…I’d have a nickel. They make me feel like a big-breasted Italian peasant girl making love in a vat of grapes or something (careful, that batch of Chianti might have hepatitis.) I would love a rich husband and hope I can find one one day. I've already kind of resigned myself to living a loveless existence based on my track record, so I might as well live in a 18 bedroom mansion and ride private jets to my manicure appointments and enjoy a pill habit and plastic surgeons. Anyway, This dude used to stalk me. Used to make presents out of garbage and leave them at my door. He used to wait for me outside my work. He used to call me baby Monroe because I reminded him of a young modern version of Marilyn which was actually a nice compliment even though she was a bi polar mess, but I’ll take it. He made me a lamp out of paper mache once which was a pink triangle with the words baby Monroe written on it. I thought it was ridiculous, baby Monroe written on the Nazi symbol for homo? What ever happened to jewelry! Anyway somehow, I don't remember how, I got rid of him and moved on. Then 2 years ago I saw him again in a bar waiting in line for the bathroom. He grabbed me put his arms around my waist and pulled me into his throbbing manhood, planted a big wet kiss on me and said I’m never letting you go EVER! I was with my girlfriend and while he was in the bathroom we grabbed our coats and high tailed it out of there and ditched him. So cut to this past Monday I’m outside smoking and I see him, he looked GOOD. Tall, tanned, lazy and full of cum. Once again he wrapped his arms around me picked me up swung me around kissed me and told me he was "never letting me go again, I can't believe I'm seeing you! Do you understand bro" never trust a man who calls you bro, "we were meant to be together! The planets and stars are aligning! You don't bump into a person like this you are MINE and I am NEVER LETTING YOU GO!" I mean this is Manhattan, I see Pauly Shore twice a year on line for the bathroom! Not a big island! But I gotta be honest, I have been feeling exceedingly lonely lately and here is this man who is spinning me around and snuggling his head in my chest and holding me tight and professing his undying love for me just when I need it the most! I'd be lying if I told you the thought of accepting this man's proposal for an instant relationship didn't cross my mind. Then the night progresses, my gut is telling me this guy is psycho, remembering how he used to stalk and scare me and my friends left me to go do drugs and yank penises at another bar after I told them not to leave me alone with him. These are my friends. I really don't have any real ones. I guess I don't really know much about real relationships of any sort because I’ve had very few that haven't been completely superficial or drug induced, so the good news is that I don't ever really have expectations of people to take care of me, even though I always take care of them. I still almost always get hurt but heal fast. Anyway, long story short (too late) this lunatic drags me out of the bar drags me 3 blocks away tries to get me to take him home with me (oh he's homeless now by the way, "couch surfing" ...yeah) I told him there is no way I am letting him know where I live. He basically is attacking me on the street and not releasing me from his grip, right now I’m covered in bruises and scrapes, he broke TWO OF MY NAILS! (You can attack me but break my nails and it is ON!) no one helped me on the street I was screaming and crying and finally got myself into a cab and sped off. Yes! Welcome to Harriet's NYC! I'm sure you are all thinking, "but Harriet...you're so freakishly gigantic! How could it ever get physical?" Listen i may be big but i'm as weak as a cup of chamomile tea! Don't let the height fool you! I'm a kitten in a rottweiler costume! Anyway, this was a very intense start to a very intense week. 

I'm not sure if I am able to get what it is I’m looking for or yearning for even if it seems to be dangling right in front of my face. Nothing is real! Obviously I’m too honest, I have been through enough shit that it scares "normal good men" away from me. I have slept with a lot of men. I have sex like a man, I am Samantha Jones. It sounds retarded but it's true. And what makes a slut? Religious oppression (no) Liquor (sure) Lack of boundaries (ok) Rape, molestation (ummm....like mama used to say, it’s not rape if he yells “surprise!” …oh calm down!). Whatever is the recipe, I really don't think of myself as a slut. In my circle of friends I’m a prude! Listen I have an appetite for men like most men have an appetite for women. I can't help it. They stir me! They're fucking beautiful! Why wouldn't someone want to devour them like pastries! YUM! If that makes me a slut then so be it, I think it's just a genuine and healthy way of living (if you use rubbers…oh you thought I meant condoms? No galoshes silly! condoms feel like shit!) You do what you want and act on instinct and fuck what people say. The thing is you are left alone. How can you do what you want, act on instinct, follow your heart and get all the love you pour into someone else, even if it's for that one night, back? Not from stalkers or fans or people who are light stealers? And ay, there’s the rub. Still navigating but with all my baggage and past and the fact that I am vocal about most of it, it seems that no one really can deal. It's always the mousy boring bitches that have the man, the protector. Well not always, there is Snooki. Snooki found love. If that midori sour soaked cum dumpster can find steady snake then I certainly can. So there you have it, I’m comparing myself to an orange turd. This is what my life’s come too! See why I HAVE to be famous? It's not like a choice really, it just has to happen! What other road is there? I’m gonna be happy. I make what most people would consider to be stupid decisions but they are my decisions and if I have to go through them by myself then that is just what I’m gonna do! I’m fine with that and know that I’m smart and wonderful enough and fuck everybody else (well I already did that!) You only get one life and I gotta live it the way I know how. Trick is I got to not let the past steal my present or navigate my demise! Shit that’s happened has NOTHING to do with what is going to happen! Don’t let the shaky hands and mascara dripping down my face fool you, I am NOT a mess! WHO WANTS A MIDORI SOUR!

Befores and Afters: The Life and Times

Again a huge thank you to everyone who came out to support my show on Monday and a GIANT FUCK YOU TO ALL OF YOU WHO SAID YOU WERE COMING AND DIDN'T. GOD I HATE PROMOTING! JESUS FUCK! Just so I can guarantee myself an extra goddamned spot every month I have to whore myself to my friends and family exhaust my little fan base! I know it's tough to come out and support but don't say you will when you won't! Because that makes you a no good liar and you deserve to be blindfolded and shot like a colombian cocaine farmer who talks to much in Medellin ! Ok I feel better now that I’ve gotten that off my chest. Promoting is so lame and so anxiety producing and I’m sick! Not sure if it's psychosomatic but I feel like shit because I do things that make me feel like shit and doing things period makes me feel like shit because I’m a lazy shit so all I want to do is sit alone in my dark shitty hole (i should've said bedroom) and feel like shit by myself! Shit! So I drank some cough syrup and watched First Wives Club for probably the four thousandth time and feeling a little less like shit. 

But things are picking up, kids! Calendar is filling up nicely (more unpaid work! awesome! I LOVE comedy!) and auditions auditions auditions (more close but no cigars.) One of these is going to hit I swear and with my positive winning attitude I’m sure it will (sorry it's hard to type and slit my wrists at the same time!) 

Weight is kind of in a precarious place right now. I've been spending a lot of time alone again and being sick and feeling like shit (which we've established) physically so I haven't really been working out which lead to binging for the past two weeks. Well not bingeing....but eating gigantic portions of food that I shouldn't be eating...that sounds better. What's the goddamned difference, I think to myself, as my leg hair gets longer and courser and I wake up next to chicken carcasses. I have nothing and no one! But then I looked at a picture of me from a while back and remembered how fucking disgusting I was and felt and am happy to be smaller. You see when your born gigantic like I, the lighter you weigh the more "petite" is achievable or whatever is close to it. My shoulders are smaller and more delicate, my waist is tinier, I look like I can actually be lifted by a normal sized man instead of being mistaken for one. So that kind of scared me into putting down the fork (and by fork I mean fist full of mashed potatoes like a down syndrome toddler.) I'm doing well and on the right path so why do I always fall back into my bullshit patterns? Because I’m impatient and bored and a spoiled glutton. Like Louie VI but with bigger tits and less money. My shrink and I are working on "clearing out anger" so that the positive can manifest. She said I’ve already summoned what I want to the universe (fame and an 8 inch dick with a job...that's really it for me in the fulfillment department!) I just need to clear out my inner crap in order to receive it. Like a psychological colonic! I'm going to try by spitting hateful blogs, yelling at hecklers, working out and paying attention to my anger triggers...such as rejection, criticism, beautiful Asian women, other people’s successes... And then I’ll be famous and regularly fucked with a diamond on my finger in no time! THE SECRET! 

This was the fatty pic i was talking about. Not my heaviest but shit! Look at bob Greenberg in the Maroon is hungry for it!
But now slimmer at gotham.

Or the famous bathing suit pics! Remember these?? Before and after fuckers! I gotta keep this shit up! BAM! Go ahead click on them to make them larger. I ain't shy! And yes, i have monogramed towels :)

 

Till next week little ones! XOXO

Wendy Williams Must Die

Well it's been a helluva couple weeks. Humbling, annoying, and embarrassing. First of all, months ago, I was asked to present at the Paper Magazine Nightlife Awards! Yes where the "who’s who of who cares" gather annually to celebrate bacchanalia and what’s left of NYC’s dwindling “nightlife.” I have been featured in the past in paper magazine a few times as “A star on the rise” (nothing rising that quickly) and shit like that and they have been very kind fans of mine and I was totally excited to pretend I was presenting at the Oscars for one night. I had a dress made, I got a spray tan, I had homo come over to my home to do my hair, I had the shoes the jewels the bag the fur the whole 9. While I was in my Julia Roberts tizzy I got a phone call hours before the event started by the people at paper saying "sorry total oversight but there was a problem and we forgot to put you on the list of presenters but feel free to come and walk the red carpet and enjoy the event and we'll find somewhere for you to sit and enjoy the awards." There I am, covered in teriyaki tanning sauce, dipped in makeup like a chicken in flour and getting sewn into my skin tight dress now ready to rip it off pull down the blinds and eat chicken teriyaki in my sweatpants. So I threw a stink, said I had a dress made, I was all excited yada yada yada so they said basically, if a "somebody" doesn't show up, we'll have room for you "a nobody" to present. Wendy Williams was hosting and I met her and she said “GIRL THAT IS A DRESS AFTER MY OWN HEART!” and I said “HOW YER DERN WENDY! Will you take a picture with me?” and she said, I kid you not “mmmmm yeah, no thanks I’m good!” Which was pretty awesome getting rejected by the black version of me (check that off the list) Anyway, I ended up presenting with Paul Iacono, the actor from that show “The Hard Times of RJ Berger” and I did it and I knocked it out of the fucking park and was hilarious, obviously because I’m amazing which is what no body seems to realize (TOOOOT TOOOT!) Regardless of the initial humiliation and rejection of the evening, it was really nice to throw on a pretty dress (throw on! look at me, aren't I cute? get pulled and pinned into like chestnut stuffing in a Christmas goose...yeah I’m going with goose! I'm feeling Dickens-y today!) and get my picture taken and feel glamorous again. I used to be the party girl about town, trotting around in baby doe heels and wiggle dresses every night of the week, soaking up moonlight, snorting pretty things out of pretty things with pretty people, I had cocktails named after me (The Harriet Star: 1 part Vanilla Vodka, 3 parts champagne and 1 part bartender urine) I'd get pinched by rascally French men and raped in coat check closets (it's not rape if he yells "SUPRISE!") Now I’m typically in sweatpants eating 100-calorie snack packets or my "stand up comedy uniform" (head to toe exhilaration by target) and doing my thing. A quieter life, like a Quaker...if the Quaker was a huge slut who loves tequila and talks about camel toe on stage for free.

In other news! I went out with this guy (read last entry WHAT A DIFFERENCE A TAINT MAKES) if you didn't read it (I ain't mad) the short of it is that I picked him up at a bar and had a very fun weekend. Let's just say the Christmas goose wasn’t the only thing stuffed in this blog! The dude had such a wonderful time (not to toot my own cunt but I’m REALLY FUN in the sack, TOOOOOT…#notaqueef) he wanted to see me again but this time take me on a "proper date." So I said, ok. I had an 8pm show at Gotham, I’d be done around 9/9:30 ish and I’m gonna be hungry (All that audience murder really works up an appetite...TOOOT TOOOT) so let's get food and hang out. So he was supposed to pick me up, he was 2 hours late, it was pouring rain I told him to go fuck himself and I went home defeated after a perfectly good high from a good set at Gotham. Of course, I’m thinking to myself, why would anything go right for me with any man. I mean look at my track record...which is just a bunch a bukake. So I get a text while I’m slumped over heating up a bullshit 200-calorie lean cuisine. Then he's downstairs and wants to make it up to me. I agree, he takes me to a bistro across the street from my apartment and we wine and dine and I forgive him because I have low self esteem and I love wine and then the check comes and his face DROPS! The waiter comes back, his card got fucking declined so I had to pay for the whole thing! And then, get this! I FUCKED HIM ANYWAY! I figured, what's the difference I did it before and the least I can get out of this disaster of a night is some head! And I just can't resist a man...it's a sickness. They're just so beautiful with their shoulders and their arms and their smell and their mouths and their skin and their hair...GRRRRR. I know I’m vile! I cannot be stopped! I'm not sure if I am going to get into a relationship any time soon but I can tell you one thing, I am aware that this is not the way to go about it. I need to retrain myself to not jump on the first thing with pants that gives me attention! That's how I ended up waking up that time with KD Lang's toe in my mouth! I do want a relationship. I want to give my love to somebody really bad, I also want my big break so I can do my thing and get paid and get more attention from people wearing pants! It will all come. Right now everything is just out of arms reach. The things I want are dangling in front of me but I can't quite have them yet but I will soon. I hope. I think so. I have so much goddamned love to share and when I’m in that place of sharing love I’m at my happiest and beam light and that's where I want to stay. :)

So we continue little kiddies! 

Please come to my show on Monday! I really need you there to SHARE MY LOVE WITH! 

What a Difference A Taint Makes

Finally my body is where I want it to be again. I've got issues still. Nothing ever is perfect but that's life. I feel like I’m TV ready which is nice. I've had some really awesome shows lately, which have gotten the old confidence back! Nothing like getting steady comedy club laughs after a string of bombing at bar shows with 4 audience members who half pay attention. But no show is perfect! Recently I had a show at Gotham comedy club, which I was taping because I need more tapes to send out to networks and late night shows to facilitate my pursuit of being some sort of comedy legend one day and something always goes wrong when I try to film a tape. Either someone’s phone rings, a waitress stands right in front of the camera, the sound is off, my heads chopped off…SOMETHING!  So this show was pretty crazy because every other comic had a good set with the respect of the audience but of course as soon as I got up there, hoping for a good tape, a table starts talking during my set very loudly. Just having full on conversation! I don't know what it was about me that night that made them think they could fuck with me, maybe I was looking particularly petite and meek and white (which in normal circumstances would be a fantasy come true.) So I asked them in the middle of my set: "Alright, hold up excuse me but are you guys paying the bill or something or are you just being rude?" to which they replied "no we're just being rude!" That's when I blew like an adolescent on a penthouse magazine! I just started going off, seeing green like the incredible hulk! I didn’t even remember what I said because I was so overcome by the rage and blood coursing through me but it was HILARIOUS to everybody including said disrespectful table. I do remember one of the girls volunteered that she was Asian (I couldn’t see beyond the blinding stage lights) which, for anybody who has seen my act or knows me added fuel to the fire (I have a deep hatred of tiny Asian girls with tiny pussies who have hot white boyfriends, call me racist I really don't give a fuck it just pushes my buttons) anyway I lost it on her but she and her twenty something douche bag friends were eating it up and she and pretty much the rest of the audience and the comedians in the wings came up to me and said that I was "unbelievable!" and "Like nothing they’ve ever seen!” so that felt good at least. Must be the rush a Nazi feels when he's tossing Jews in the oven like Pillsbury crescent rolls. But this rant helped me! I've been doing well…on another bi-polar up swing perhaps because of it. Now I am reminded that I’m good at this! And I can continue preparing myself for shows and hyping myself up (a little process I like to call "Preparation H.")

More excitingly, since this shift I had marathon sex Friday Saturday and Sunday (with the SAME PERSON! I know this is a big step!!!) This dude I met with my personal trainer Frankie "bag a snack wells." Frankie and I have fun together in the gym and have become friends (my first actual platonic friendship with a man that I haven’t ended up drunk and blowing who isn't a 5'2" Jewish comic,) basically all we do is terrorize the other people working out there and the other people who work there, Frankie has a great comedic rhythm and keeps up with me while I’m doing squats and crunches, it's good stuff. Anyway Frankie "bag a snack wells" took me out to the bar, after the Gotham "table of douche bags and one Asian" show for a much needed drink (I was still full of adrenaline and covered in audience blood) and his friend was there, another trainer and what can I tell ya, one drink led to another, an exchange of glances, I may or may not have sat on his lap and gave him a dental check up with my tongue (I’m shy.) I went home with him and showed him why they call me "The Recliner" (soft, squishy and always someone in me) well now that I’m skinny I guess I should be called "The Bar Stool" either way I got some good much needed lovin and the sonovabitch wants to see me again so who the hell knows...we shall see. I feel happy, go figure! It's remarkable that when you shift the depression the phone starts ringing. Already I found out today I’m gonna be on TV (nothing major, you won't be seeing me at the 2012 Emmy’s but it'll be cute and I’ll tell you about it once I sign on the dotted line) and booking more shows everyday and feeling a little more hopeful about my auditions and writing more material. God I’m such a basket case! I'm up I’m down! I have an ego that is more fragile than Laura’s glass menagerie but as long as things get accomplished in the "up" times enough to hold me over for the next time I’m rotting here in a self indulgent catatonic depression then that's good enough for me :) Guess, at the end of the day I’m like an Irish potato farm, I’m depressing and full of weeds but all I need is a plowing and I’m good for business!