My Favorite Tweets Of 2011

People always ask me how I come up with a list of my favorite tweets each year. I pick the ones I wish I'd written.

@Cheeseboy22
I feel guilty for not spending enough time with my kids. I should really get them a twitter account.

@badbanana
I sure buy a lot of alcohol. Hope I'm not a shopaholic.

@TrainedHedonist
If I ever dated a blind girl, I'd have to stop myself from touching her boob and yelling "Hey asshole, she's blind!"

@NickadooLA
I don't understand interventions. What's the point of being told I drink too much by a room full of the reasons I drink in the first place?

@BSeanRoss
Blonde Zooey Deschanel in "Elf," or brunette in "New Girl," hard to figure out which one I'd least like to bang; probably Whitney Cummings.

@itsa_talia
Wine bottles should have twist off tops because it's hard to stop crying long enough to get the cork out.

@buck4itt
Starbucks was out of those little cardboard sleeves but my barista provided great customer service by letting me use his philosophy degree.

@MarinkaNYC
Casey Anthony not guilty, changes name to Susan B.

@JoeMande
Happy birthday to Scott Caan who is 5'5'' today.

@YUCKYBOT
"WE'RE PREGNANT!" --Guy who doesn't understand anatomy

@MrFornicator
You know what would be really cool? If we charged broke people for their own money. ~Prepaid Credit Card inventor

@AlbertBrooks
I hate the treadmill. I hate the stationary bike. I hate running in the street. Can't I stay in shape just by hating?

@preawsaurus
it's a sad state of the world when you can't let your 3yo out for a beer run without fearing he'll be kidnapped.

@Josh_Britain
I spend most of my weekends sitting outside the Macy's fitting room holding a purse so strangers think I have a girlfriend.

@MinutesofMayhem
A study's found that silver's no longer America's favourite car colour. Also, black's no longer America's favourite President colour.

@HeyitsLori
Writing a check at the grocery store is an excellent way of letting people know you have a plastic rain hat in your purse.

@JimGaffigan
I have more pictures of my kids than my Dad even looked at me.

@sarkastickunt
He said I should've been able to finish the laundry since I don't do anything all day and THAT is why I killed him officer.

@DoucheMcBaggus
Men have no shame, therefore, it's just another walk.

@kellyoxford
Taking notes in a small notebook when someone asked in shock “What are you doing?” 2011: When handwriting became suspicious.

@moooooog35
You know you're an asshole when you get sexted with "your dirty" and you reply, "you're."

@debontherocks
My mom is complaining no one can send me emails because I send them to "Snoops." Yes, mom, "Snoops" and I are why we can't have nice frauds.

@JohnFugelsang
One good thing about Facebook is how it will ultimately kill the entire high school reunion industry.

@AdInsanitum
Amazing that I can fit three laptops in the same space a social life used to take up!

@jennyandteets
My husband's ex girlfriend is sitting in her living room watching tv. Don't ask me how I got this information.

@BorowitzReport
If cavemen had Twitter we would still not have fire.

More Old Stuff

I found this picture among my Dad's things after he died. I'd never seen it before and instantly fell in love with it. The glasses! The dresses! I picture them sitting on that custom made couch or in those theatre seats in my last post. The bride's name was Betty but I have no idea what the names of the bridesmaids were. Are they all still alive? Did they have happy lives?

The Couch I Wish I Owned

This is a custom made reproduction 1950's era couch. It's sitting in the lounging area of the Nordstrom's women's department at the Glendale Galleria. If I could have stuffed it into my purse I would've made off with it. Because I believe in stealing beauty. Which is why I have Angelina Jolie locked in my bathroom.

I like old stuff. It reminds me of people I've never met and a time I've never known and how interesting it all must have been.

These original theater seats, for example. I bought them at the Pasadena Flea Market in 2002 for $300. Underneath one of them is a wire rack that was made expressly for gentlemen to stow their brimmed hats when they went to the movies. So they wouldn't block the view of the people sitting in back of them. Because apparently people were more polite back then. And probably didn't annoy others by talking on their cell phones even though they didn't exist. The cell phones, not the people.

I spent years searching for a 1950's era TV. There was a thrift shop in LA that sold them but every time I went in to ask for one, the man who owned the place laughed and said they spent about 6 seconds in the shop before they were sold. He put me on a waiting list. 16 years ago. He still hasn't called me.

My dad lived in St. Petersburg, Florida and died in 2001. I spent a lot of time there trying to get his estate in order (it eventually took me 3 years) (fuck). On one trip I found this beauty for $75.00. I was shocked because the price for a 1950's era TV starts at $500. Starts.

By the time I got back to the shop with my Dad's car, the owner had returned and was FURIOUS that his sales guy, a kid about 19 years old, had let the TV go for so little. I played dumb when the owner asked me if I was aware of how much these televisions normally went for. Fortunately for me I'm very good at playing dumb. I'm not only blonde but I have a Bachelor's Degree in Theater. This might have been the only time it came in handy. Sorry Mom and Dad.

I can't tell you how many times I patted myself on the back for scoring a $500 TV for $75.

I'd get up in the morning, look in the mirror and say, "Good morning, genius." And also, "Good morning Angelina, breakfast will be right out."

To crate and ship the TV across country cost me $500.

L.A Sign Of The Times #94

Mom and our Greek waiter at our favorite Greek restaurant in Los Angeles, Ulysses Voyage.

Farmer's Market, Los Angeles November 27, 2011

And The Bound And Gagged Winner Is...

...Two Normal Moms!!



Please send me your snail mail so Nancy can sign and get the book out to you today!!

Congratulations and to everyone else, remember the book is available on Amazon.

College Bound And Gagged

My dear friend, Nancy Berk, a PhD and comedian, wrote this very funny book to help all you people who, instead of actively looking for colleges for your kids, are sitting in a corner sucking on your gin-soaked thumbs. Bravo. Your daughter is going to Mom's Couch College and your son will be accepted at Living In My Parent's Garage University.

I'm hosting a giveaway of this must-have book for parents of aging teenagers.

Sidebar: I would give away my jewelry collection to be called an aging teenager JUST ONE MORE TIME. Thanks, God.

So leave me a comment and you'll be eligible to receive this book for FREE. If you're not a winner, you can go to the link above and buy it off Amazon. But Free is better. At least that's what people tell me.

One of the best tips in the book is "Your child is going to college, not you, so don't make choices for them that are secretly your own."

Nancy also includes money saving tips and great chapter titles like You're Grounded. One of my favorite quotes from the book:

I've never understood why the cotton gin always gets tagged "best invention" and the dining room table is never nominated.

Anyone can leave a comment, tell all your friends!! and I'll pick a winner by Monday December 12th. Nancy will send out your book and it will arrive in time for Christmas!!

I Don't Know Where She Got This But You Can Contact Her And Ask Her

One of my twitter followers, a mom named Rachael, has been sending me New York Times bestsellers for the last few months. I've been incredibly lucky to have a friend like her because based on my past "issues", buying bestsellers is out of the question. And I haven't resorted to stealing yet but next year is a new year! Watch out Barnes and Noble!

The scan of this card she sent along with the latest book, The Jacqueline Kennedy interviews with Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. PLUS ALL THE AUDIO TAPES, doesn't even do it justice because the words Blog are all in bright silver and the I'm More Interesting On My is in black and the Blog is red, but a bolder red than my HP scanner could pick up. I guess HP doesn't have enough money to color correct. Poor things.

Rachael holds regular pity parties on her blog but they're not like my pity parties. Or probably yours.

If you want to know where she got this card go to Rachael's blog and ask her! And follow her on Twitter at @happyrachael.

I was a reluctant Twitter convert but have now been on it for TWO YEARS. (thanks to this person) I can't say enough about how it's changed my life. Much more than blogging.

And now I'm on Google+, Facebook, LinkedIn, Tumblr and favstar.fm.

The nightmare never ends.

25 Things You Didn't Know About Me

1. I've never been to a costume party and if you go to them it's doubtful we'll ever be friends.

2. I have a titanium bar in my back and no it's not stocked with alcohol.

3. My favorite movie is Pillow Talk with Doris Day and Rock Hudson.

4. I left home when I was 17 but would have left earlier if my parents weren't such MEAN ASSHOLES.

5. My best friend is gay and we've been estranged 3 times yet always wander back into each other's lives. It goes without saying that we're both very stubborn.

6. I speak and read French yet got D's in French in high school and my first year of college. As you can imagine this went over very well with my mother, who's French, and my father, who was Hitler.

7. I've been engaged 3 times but was only in love once and not to any of the men I was engaged to.

8. I prefer going to the movies by myself. Although I used to put my Yorkie in my purse and take him along. Mainly because he didn't talk during the movie.

9. I have one sister and have had 4 stepbrothers and 1 stepsister.

10. There are only 2 people who make me laugh. One is my friend Jane in New York and one is my sister.

11. If I can come up with 25 things for this list I'll be amazed.

12. I never had any female friends who didn't work until I met bloggers.

13. I don't like diamonds.

14. All of my dishes are black and white but in different patterns.

15. Number 14 is kind of dumb for a list of 25 things you didn't know about me. I mean seriously, who cares what kind of dishes I have?

16. I believe in reincarnation.

17. I can't believe some bloggers make a '100 Things You Didn't Know About Me' TAB.

18. I love to travel. The more exotic the place, the better.

19. I never wanted my own children but dated 4 men who had kids. And I loved them all. The kids, I mean.

20. I've been performing since I was 14 and performing professionally since I was 15.

21. My favorite activity is getting into bed and reading. This explains why I have no boyfriend.

22. Don't ask me for my opinion because I'll tell you the truth.

23. I'm a member of SAG and AFTRA.

24. I have terrible taste in men. If there's an asshole on the loose, I'll find him.

25. I'm a great cook.

BONUS 26. After bitching and moaning I'm now on Facebook.

WTF Obama?

Last night in Burbank I met Private Ochenkoski and Private Norton. Both are 24 years old.

And Pfc Winn and Pfc Rojas, both 18 years old.

Only Pfc Rojas isn't going because he's in the National Guard.

The other three are being deployed to Afghanistan.

I told Private Ochenkoski I thought all the troops were coming home and he answered in a one word sentence.

"No."

I shook their hands, thanked them for their service.

I've entertained boys like them in Germany, Holland, Bosnia, Macedonia, Johnston Atoll, Japan and South Korea.

I only broke down once, in Germany. A long line of soldiers paraded by our autograph table. I was with comedians Kivi Rogers and Carl Banks on that tour. We signed programs and spoke to each man and finally, one very young boy at the end of the line said to me, "Can you write on this that you hope we stay safe?"

I nodded and signed and after that fought hard to hold back tears but didn't entirely succeed. I turned my head to the side so no one would see but a reporter for the military newspaper Stars and Stripes did and walked over to me.

"You okay?"

"I will be. It's just that these boys...these boys break my heart."

Why Does Everyone Look Better Than Me?

I'm always happy when I get an email from someone who wants to buy a tee shirt. Especially a person I didn't force to buy one, like most of the other people who bought them under duress.

This is Tricia, also known as Sassy Pants Momma.  She has the funniest tag line of any blog I've ever read. 

The most annoying thing about this tee shirt is that it looks good on everyone but me. It even looks better on the assorted dogs, Elmo's and mannequins that people have sent in. I'd like to say it's because my enormous rack stretches it out and makes me look like I have porn star 44 GG's but having seen some of the racks under some of these Teeshirters, that's a lie. Not that I've actually seen these racks in the flesh. Purely over the shirt speculation when I drive by their homes and look inside with my binoculars.

I forgot where that sentence was going and should call out a search party on it.

Tricia's up on my sidebar where she will stay until someone else sends in a picture of them wearing it JUGGLING JENN I'M TALKING TO YOU. I hope you have a good book, Tricia, you're going to be there for a while.

If Everyone Loves Something, I'll Hate It

I don't like trendy things. When everyone lost their virginity at an early age? I didn't. When everyone started getting tattoos, I didn't. When everyone started wearing black fingernail polish, I didn't.

So I certainly can't get behind any of these things:

MODERN FAMILY:

Like Ed O'Neil could get a Sofia Vergara in any lifetime.



SOUP

If I wanted hot liquid with no porkchops in it I'd stand under the shower and open my mouth.

JOHNNY DEPP

Enough already with the Pirates movies. And stop pushing your hair out of your eyes every 20 seconds. That's from the Jennifer Aniston School of Acting. That's not a compliment.



PLATES ON A WALL

For the love of God, Grandma, go to Ikea and buy a 20 dollar print.


IKEA

Besides being unable to navigate the store in less than 3 months, if you look at their furniture under a microscope you see little Swedish people pointing and laughing at you because you can't afford expensive stuff.

THE SIMPSONS

People have suggested I came too late to the Simpsons party and that it was better in the beginning. The beginning of what? The end of time?



End of chat.

Suzy And Neal Mayhem, Sitting In A Tree

If you missed the live broadcast of Minutes of Mayhem from the U.K. on Friday October 21, then you missed my interview. So here it is, I come in at the final half hour because you always save the best for last. Or because that's all the time you have left.

http://minutes-of-mayhem.com/podcastepisodes/

Look how cute Neal is:

I met Neal on Twitter, when he made a particularly brilliant joke on the day Steve Jobs died. "More Jobs lost on Obama's watch" was the tweet and some of his fans thought it was "too soon." If you're a comedian or a joke writer on in any aspect of the comedy business, you know there's no such thing as too soon in comedy. Funny is funny.

So I tweeted him that I thought it was hilarious and we began a conversation that culminated on me being on his show, where we discussed Astroglide, the Rapture and Michael Richards being a dick. From the moment we first spoke on DM's to the show? Two weeks.

The power of Twitter.

L.A. Sign Of The Times #93

L.A. Sign Of The Times #92

The only church on my street. Unless a cross means something else in Korean.

L.A. Sign Of The Times #91

More people on my street:

L.A. Sign Of The Times #90

Los Angeles has a metric ton of these apartment buildings. I can't even guess as to what year this is from; I think the built-in airconditioners might be a clue. This one could sit on a suburban street where Mad Men stenographers live. Instead, it's up the street from me.

To see the rest of this series of Los Angeles photos, click on the link below. They're not all normal but I guess I probably didn't have to mention that.

First, Do No Harm

That's part of a doctor's oath, to First, do no harm. I only wish lawyers, teachers, mechanics, dear God especially mechanics, Congress, wedding ceremonies and all contracts began with that simple phrase.

People might think before they act.

Which brings me to where I now live:


This picture is the western sunset captured off my balcony. In my other apartment, I had no view. One side of it looked out on the building's swimming pool and the other side overlooked a big Hollywood Hills street, Gower. Gower reaches up into the hills on its way to the Hollywood sign and winds crazily around homes and yards. But when it passed the back of my old building, it carried only cars or ambulances and during the summer, many, many tour buses. Many.

The street is so noisy that many people complained they couldn't sleep. One girl never got used to the noise and slept in her living room. She now lives elsewhere.

So now I'm in an apartment with a spectacular view. This is the southern scene from my living room window. Far in the distance I can see the red blinking lights of the LAX towers and planes coming in for a landing.


On some nights I'm lucky enough to catch the full moon.


Had my old landlords been required to put First, do no harm in their lease, I would not be in this new building. A better building, with a laundry and trash chute on each floor, an elevator and security underground parking. I would not have a built-in air conditioner or all new appliances. When I stand by my refrigerator I look down on a rooftop swallowed by pink Bougainvillea and cypress trees crawling with purple Morning Glory.

And the best part of this entire story? MY OLD LANDLORDS HAVE 3 VACANCIES IN MY OLD BUILDING AND CAN'T RENT THEM. Having not noticed that every Hollywood neighborhood was littered with For Rent signs, they jacked the rents of their pitiful one bedrooms to over $1300. One has been vacant since June 1, mine has been vacant since July 1 and another since September 1.

It's called Karma.

When your intention in life is to purposefully harm another, karma will visit you.

Motherfuckers.

The Only Kind Of High I Don't Like

If one more person tries to high-five me I will raise my hand but then I'll punch them. Even though the fist bump has threatened the high-five's world domination, it stubbornly persists in distracting sporting events, interrupting conversations, and making sex longer than it needs to be. "Yeah yeah that was good for you now can we get back to me already?"

There are many things that went on too long:

The Beanie Baby - BUT IT ENDED.

Jon Gosselin's career - BUT IT ENDED.

The Presidency of George W. Bush - BUT IT ENDED.

Andy Rooney - BUT IT ENDED.

Harry Potter Books - BUT IT ENDED.

Saturday Night Live - IT SHOULD HAVE ENDED.

Ke$ha - LORD LET IT END SOON.

Rap music - HOW HAS IT NOT ENDED?

Jerry Springer - GIVE ME A SHOTGUN AND I'LL END IT FOR HIM.

Barney: FUCK.

Please Stop Hugging Me

I'm not a fan of the hug. What happened to just nodding vaguely in the direction of the other person while muttering hateful things under your breath?

I see people lurch towards me with outstretched arms, like some Frankenstein off his meds, and try to grasp me in a claw-like embrace that, were I anorexic, would kill me. Although once they've got me in their clutches, I want to be killed.

Some of the worst offenders of the hug:

The Mom Hugger:

Please take your snot filled sweater and your poop-stained hair and walk away. Keep going. No, further, I can still smell your diaper genie.



The Drunk Hugger:

Please breathe on me harder because I have a cold sore I need disintegrated.



The I've Never Met You Hugger:

I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU, PSYCHO.



The Lonely Hugger:

Yes, I can tell you have no friends because now my 34 C's are 32 A's. Let go. No seriously, LET GO.



The Uncle Hugger:

"Uncle" means Sex Offender. Look it up on the Internet. God knows you spend enough time there.



Female Celebrity Huggers Hugging Other Female Celebrities:


Not interesting unless they both have very big breasts.



My Mother Hugger:

You have me confused with your other daughter, the one you love.



When I got hired to do Seinfeld I was told it was a No Hugging Set. I thought they were geniuses.

L.A. Sign Of The Times #89

I get pedicures 3 blocks from my house. On the way there I took a picture of this building, which is on my street, because I thought only in L.A. do people name their buildings after luxury cars.

In the chair next to me were two women who were obviously friends. One was from Nova Scotia and the other lived up the street from me. The Canadian flew in one week a month to take lessons from the woman who lived on my street who teaches some kind of mind boggling body-mind-exercise-wouldprobablykillme kind of classes, for which she's known all over California.

I was glad I was wearing a baggy dress. And yes, Nova Scotia is part of Canada.

She asked if I lived in the grey building that had just been renovated. Not connecting the grey building with the picture I'd just taken, I replied that I didn't but did she? She said her Dad owned it.

In other news, Blogger spell check thinks "Scotia" is spelled wrong. Because Blogger? Has not traveled much.

After Everyone Has Talked About BlogHer, I Get Around To It

When I went to BlogHer in the beginning of August, I didn't really go to BlogHer. If you know me at all, I'm not much of a joiner or a follower. I'm kind of a loner which is, I believe, how serial killers get started.

So I made up something called BlogHer Adjacent. A send-up of what people who live heartbeats away from Beverly Hills call where they live, Beverly Hills Adjacent. They made up that name rather than admit they didn't make the cutoff to 90210.

So I tweeted that I'd be in the lobby of the Marriott Hotel from 2 pm until late that evening on the Saturday of BlogHer and asked people to DM me their cell phone numbers. And they did. Poor bastards didn't even see it coming.

I met some of my favorite people, bloggers I'm sure you know and love. Well, at least know.

Like these people and these people and her and these people (plus the back of Jenn's head which I forgot to note in the original picture. She was also my gracious host on Friday night and let me sleep in her guest room). I also met her and these people. And this duo, one of whom I picked up at LAX the Tuesday before BlogHer. Don't you hate people who link like this? People tell me not to do it this way because it drives traffic away from my site. Please, there are plenty of things that drive traffic away from my site without obnoxious linking.

This photo was taken at the table I commandeered in front of the Marriott Starbucks. I looked up to see someone crossing the lobby wearing my tee shirt and couldn't believe it. Then I recognized her from her blog.

When I asked her why she was wearing my shirt she replied that everything else was dirty. SO FLATTERED.

She bought a tee shirt a long time ago and never sent me a picture of herself wearing it. Turns out she didn't realize the upside to buying a shirt was a link on my sidebar and the opportunity to be seen by tens of people.

Since I've been so late posting this, I decided to leave her picture and link to her blog up until I sell another shirt, or get a few of the people who already have shirts to send in their pictures.

Cough cough Vodkamom.

Her blog is funny. You should read it. She free-associates like no one else.

L.A. Sign Of The Times #88

This is the view from my balcony, of Paramount Pictures. Paramount is the last major film studio located in Hollywood. It was home to Bob Hope, Mae West and the Marx Brothers as well as the studio that made The Godfather, Saturday Night Fever and Chinatown, to name a few.


I often pretend I own it.

(click on label below to see all the other pictures in this series.)

This Is How Stupid Blogger And Google Are

Because I accidentally posted something before it was SUPPOSED to be posted, Google won't list my most recent post.

So I have to post this so you can see the post that didn't get posted.

Read below to see the post that blogger and Google fucked up.

Assholes.

The Man Who Built The Truck For 9/11

As I've posted before, I was at LAX on September 11, 2001. I was getting ready to board a plane headed for St. Petersburg, Florida. My Dad had died in January of that year and I was trying to sell his two condos and dispose of all his personal items. My stepmother had died 3 years earlier but many of her things were still in one of the apartments. Plus they had a storage unit. It eventually took me until 2003 to unload it all. I told my mother to not ever die because if she thought I was going to fly to Paris and take 3 years to unload her 2 apartments plus the garage she owned, she could rethink that.

She agreed never to die. It wasn't so much a promise as a threat.

I watched on September 11 as a crowd gathered around a bar at LAX while the wounded World Trade Center still stood. A flight was called to its gate. People picked up their magazines, carry-ons and books and casually walked away from the lounge area. I thought they were all crazy. Didn't they see what was happening on TV?

There was a pregnant woman standing next to me and I told her we had to leave but she said she had nowhere to go. I suggested she get a hotel at the airport but she just stared at me. I stared back and then ran. I knew it was time to get the hell out of one of the major airports in the United States. And then Delta announced that all luggage was being returned. Their personnel flooded baggage claim. I remember a man found my bags in about 10 seconds. He threw them at my feet and said, "Now go."

Just so you know, a cab from LAX to wherever you live in LA is about a million dollars, maybe 2 if you have luggage. You either take a shuttle service or call a friend. I stood in the long line for cabs.

And I was one of the last taxis out before they shut LAX down.

I used to live in Manhattan. For 13 years. I'd had lunch at Windows On The World, the restaurant at the top of the World Trade Center, twice. Once you're a New Yorker, you're never anything else no matter where you live. It's a hard town to crack but if you manage, you wear the badge of *New Yorker* proudly. And I still did, even though I'd been gone for ten years.

On September 12 I called a high-ranking friend of mine in Washington and asked if Los Angeles had any reason to be alarmed. And if so I needed to know so I could grab my sister and our friends and get the hell out.

I received this message in return: "Beware the target an icon makes. And be careful."

Did she mean Disneyland? The Golden Gate? Or was it merely speculation from Washington? I'll never know. We've never discussed that message because it can't be discussed. Obviously.

I first heard of this truck last year. You might think I live in a cave if I'd never heard of something so large. And that tours the U.S. But I didn't. Mainly because I rarely open my cave windows.

The Rolling Memorial is painted with a mural intended to honor the victims of the 9/11 attacks. The whole story about the man who made it here.

And now, the truck:

(click on pictures to enlarge)

I read someone's blog where they dismissed people who mourned 9/11 as if it was their own personal tragedy, even though they'd not lost a friend or even lived in NY. Please.  9/11 is every American's personal tragedy. It's the world's personal tragedy because not just Americans were lost that day.

Because it changed the way we live.

Forever.

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

The most ridiculous thing I've seen online in a while:

A sink. Although in a pinch it could double for a toilet seat. Or if you want to rinse out your thimble collection, this would be a good place to do it.

Things currently on my Shit List:

1. Stop turning down the page corners of books. It hurts the book and I can hear it cry when I open it.

2. Stop bad writing like: "A grin tickled my lips" or any variation of how a smile appears on your face except for "I smiled" or "I grinned." F. Scott Fitzgerald thanks you and has stopped rolling over in his grave.

3. If I'm watching a movie with you and you talk during it? You will die.

4. Enough with the PC. Why do these bullies think that what THEY believe is what we all should believe? Yes, I called them bullies.

EXAMPLE: Bette Midler has been performing dressed as a mermaid rolling around in a wheel chair since the 1980's. Recently Lady Gaga did the same thing in Australia.

Gaga got into all kinds of PC trouble for it. "Insulting to people in wheelchairs!" Bette Midler never got in any kind of PC trouble for it because it was the 1980's, when people dressed badly, had really awful hairdos but were otherwise sane and tolerant individuals who could tell the difference between a show and reality. Not to mention parody and cruelty.

5. Stop answering your own comments in your blogs to boost numbers. Once I saw someone had 68 comments and I started to read the post. I couldn't for the life of me figure out how it got 68 comments until I started to read them and every other one was from the blog owner. We know it's a numbers booster and that you're not anymore popular than the rest of us.

6. After years and years of publicly eschewing social media like Facebook and Twitter, I readily jumped on board the Google+ train. They had 25 million new users in under a month. It took Facebook and Twitter two years to achieve those numbers. If you want an invitation, email me and I'll send you one. That's the only way you can join but since each member gets 150 invites, they've seen the future and the future is Google+.

If Google+ is not the future, I reserve the right to blame Facebook. Which always gets my Bite Me Award of the Century:

End of chat.

I've Got Klout I Didn't Even Know About

If you're on Twitter you know about Klout.com. It measures your influence on the Internet. The higher the score the more fake important you are.

Hot Comes To Die - 58
Dooce - 68
President Obama - 89
Lady Gaga - 92
Justin Bieber - 100

I thought the scores only went up to 100 but there's a level 120. I think they had to add that for Bieber.

Sidebar: Don't ever make the mistake of smelling the perfume JB put on the market. It will kill you dead.

In my case, my fake importance surprises me. I'm not saying I don't get a lot of RT's on Twitter. That's when some people decide you said something smart or funny or stupid and all of Twitter needs to hear it. And they RT it, or Re-tweet it. So your stupid tweet goes out to even more people than your own followers. And like that annoying Joe Namath commercial from the 70's "and so on and so on and so on." You're worldwide stupid!

But when I saw this I was doubtful. 1000 RT's of ONE of my tweets? Seriously?

But this one is even better. I've had 500 unique mentions on Facebook? I'm not even on Facebook. Some people think I said something clever enough to transfer over there? That would imply that I'm not clever at all because it's FACEBOOK. Where all my high school friends and comedians I wouldn't sleep with congregate. Which is why I'm not on it.

And yet I'm on it.

And more importantly? I'm now black.

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

When I first began blogging I used to get a lot of these emails: "I'm sorry I didn't leave a funny comment."

It appeared that because I was a comedian, some people felt an obligation to be funny. Of course I hadn't even noticed. I don't grade people's comments although I might start now.

Suddenly everyone wants to be funny over everything else. Not smart, not even attractive trumps this juggernaut of a personality trait. We used to want people with a sense of humor. I haven't heard that expression in years. Now everyone wants someone who's funny.

And that's just not possible.

Mainly because very few people are funny. I see a lot of blog headers and Twitter bios of people claiming they're funny. If you have to announce that? I'm not sure you are. It's like telling a woman you're going to sleep with that you have a big dick. It can be proved wrong, eventually.

A recent convert to Twitter told me months ago that she didn't want to go on Twitter because she'd be constantly trying to think up one-liners. That's a job best left to comedians because good one liners are hard to write. The going rate on The Tonight Show used to be $100 per joke. Someone waiting on a big gig just offered me $5,000 to write ten new minutes for her if she got the job. As much as I would love the money? That ten minutes, approximately 30 jokes, is not going to be written in an afternoon. I only knew one person who could do that and he now writes for Joan Rivers. And the other person who can crank them out is head writer for The Oscars. And they're both brilliant at it.

So go on Twitter and be interesting. Believe me, that's hard enough.

Why is it so important to be funny?

Funny is subjective. Look no further than sitcoms, romantic comedies and books. The Liar's Club, by Mary Karr, has this notation on the back of the book: "The choice in the book is between howling misery and howling laughter, and the reader veers towards laughter." And the back cover also proclaims "A wickedly funny account of an apocalyptic childhood."

I'm a huge fan of Ms. Karr and that book is an apocalyptic tale, but funny? No. But I'm sure there's someone reading this who will violently disagree with my assessment of the laughter quotient in that book. And like those blog and Twitter headers and bios, you set yourself up to judgement if you say something is funny. Say humorous (completely different than funny) or amusing (also different) but don't say funny unless you want people to pick you apart like a King Crab leg.

Which brings me to dying. One person I talked about a lot in the beginning of this blog has died. I heard it third hand a few weeks ago. I referred to him as The Impotentate in this blog and he once told me the reason he was first attracted to me was because I was funny. That may have been what he thought was the reason but the real reason was that he thought HE was funny. Maybe he thought I could get him on TV? In the movies? Who knows. But I do remember this story.

One night he told me one of the oldest jokes in the history of joke writing:

A father walks into his son's room and sees the son is masturbating. He tells the son that if he keeps doing that he's going to go blind and the son replies, "Over here, Dad."

I didn't laugh. And he got mad.

For starters, comedians don't laugh at jokes. Usually not when a civilian tells it. They'll leave out a word, or their timing is off or they forget the punchline. Or the joke sucks. Comics barely laugh at each other. If I say to you, "That's funny," that's as big as it's going to get.  Comedians know too much about the business of joke construction. We can pinpoint with alarming NASA like accuracy where that punchline will land. Occupational hazard.

I like to point out when something is funny. I'm not threatened by someone else's success in this area. If you wrote a funny book, told a funny speech and it made me laugh, I'll tell you. I'm not insecure about who I am in that regard. And you not telling me when I'm funny makes me think YOU might be insecure and think you're funnier than me, or that I'm not funny at all, but that's another day and our hour is almost up.

NOT FUNNY AT ALL WHUUUUUUUUUUUUUT?

So The Impotentate and I broke up many, many times and on one of our reconciliations, we were driving up north. I had a gig and we were going to spend the night at a nearby hotel. On the way up he told me the SAME masturbating joke he had told me years earlier. I realized he had no recollection of telling me the joke in the first place.

But this time I laughed. Because he was trying so hard to impress me with this lame joke. That he thought was funny.

Was it wrong that I laughed? Does it diminish the time I told you that you said something funny? Will you ever trust a compliment from me again?

Let's not forget The Impotentate was a man. Their egos don't allow them to believe they're not funny. I'm sure Albert Schweitzer thought he was a laugh riot.

So the Bite Me Award of the Week goes to everyone who thinks they're funny. But really aren't.

End of chat.

To Say I Love Clarins Is An Understatement

I also like old metal signs.

The Smart People Who Put Me In Their Book

So it's 6 months until this book comes out. My motto is IT'S NEVER TOO EARLY TO BEAT PEOPLE OVER THE HEAD WITH SELF PROMOTION.



I have an essay in this book and I'll be blogging/tweeting/tumblring/google plussing it until it's actual publishing date.  How annoying is THAT going to be?

My advice to you is just buy it because it's funny funny funny.

And not just because I'm in it. But mainly because I'm in it.

Earthquakes And Rough Sex

This is the living room in my old apartment. You can't see the 20 year old carpet that the landlords refused to change, or the cracks in the walls from all the earthquakes and or rough sex I had.


This is the living room in my new apartment:

 I'm praying for an earthquake and or rough sex to get this shit TOGETHER.

(click on pictures to enlarge)

How To Pack Your Memories So You'll See Them Again

Part of the nightmare of moving is finding things stuffed into other things which in turn leads you to finding other things that you forgot you had.  Ultimately you realize you have too many things.

And that your vocabulary needs work if you can't find a synonym for the word 'things.'

I found all these pictures hidden in an album I forgot I had. Because I have too many things.

Exhibits A through D:

A. My sister and I appeared in our hometown newspaper holding balls. Prophetic.

B. Then my sister decided to grow her cheeks in earnest:

C.  This is one of a handful of pictures from a time when my hair was not stick straight. I was in the 9th grade and can't believe I thought this looked good. I'm hoping I was drunk during this era, which would also explain my math grades:

D. Lindy and I have avoided being in weddings our entire lives. The ugly dresses, the expensive gifts to a bride and groom who you'll lose touch with in 6 years and who will ultimately divorce after one of them sleeps with the babysitter. Not to mention no one can afford lobster at their reception.

But this was the one and only nuptials we agreed to participate in. Our father's 4th wedding. And that was because he paid our airfare. And wrote us each a check. And promised me a new car if I didn't swear.

I still have the same old car.

Could my Dad look any more grim?

This Is Why My Sister Never Lends Me Money

If you have a younger sister you know your only job in life is to torture her. My sister Lindy used to be younger than me but as I age she becomes older and older as I bask in the denial of The Vain and The Botoxed.

This is Johann, one of our relatives on my Dad's side. I've been telling my sister since she was a zygote that I often get pictures of her and Johann confused when I go through our photo albums:




This is a picture of Lindy when she was 2 and a half. It's because of this photograph that I keep telling her she's adopted because we don't have any little man trolls on either side of our family:

God paid me back for all my emotional abuse by making her look like this when she was 13:

And like this when she was 38:

God is a spiteful man. Sorry feminists, but...

...MOST DEFINITELY A MAN.