Adventures In Man Land

The symbol for love is an arrow through the heart. You know a teenage girl in the 17th century came up with that design. And as she aged she probably thought about changing it and then realized, "No, that's about right."

I've had trouble with men from the moment I started dating. My first real boyfriend got hit by a truck. My second boyfriend had a heart attack at 32. My third boyfriend called me up one day and said, “You know, I think you’re a jinx”. And I said, “How do you figure?” But then the phone went dead because you’re only allowed those ten minute calls from prison.

The first thing I look for in a man is a man who cooks, because I don’t cook. I’ll eat out, I’ll take out, I’ll put out but I ain't cooking. When I get my dream house, I’m not even going to build a kitchen. I’m going to have them put a KFC in on the ground floor.

Did you ever notice how when you ask a man a question, they're afraid to answer? That's because they're convinced there's a right and a wrong answer and they want to be right. They always want to be right. But what they don't understand is no matter what they say, it's always going to be wrong because they're the guy.

Did you ever go out with a really horrible guy, a real asshole, and pray he would never call you? And then when he never calls you’re like, I cannot believe that jerk never called me again. Then when he finally does call we say we have to wash our hair. Recently I ran into my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. He shared with me that they had just returned from rehab and I was so upset. This guy had never taken me anywhere.

I once dated identical twins. Well, not EXACTLY identical. Twins is such a weird concept. One is born and then the other one shoots out right behind him. Basically one comes faster, which is how I could always tell them apart.

End of chat.

Update on Blogger's Choice

I voted for all the people on Vodka's list today. Someone sent me a friend request and I accepted and sent one back. It's not for Facebook and I can't remember who I did it for! PLEASE CONTACT ME! Someone else did too but I have no idea who it was because I can't get the screen back.

Seriously, how moronic am I? We HAVE to get Vodka Mom to the top. So go vote for her! If you're nominated and want me to vote for you, write me with your blog and REAL name and I will.

ALSO, people are closing in on me on the votes. I feel like the Wicked Witch and the house just fell on me. Heeeellllllllllppmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

End of chat.

Jesus Voted For Me

OK, here's the deal, we can see who votes for us in the Blogger's Choice Awards. All the icons and user names show up.

So the next time you want me to do you a favor, REMEMBER THAT. And that means you MOM.

But thank you to the 26 geniuses who've voted for me so far and thus are not getting hangups in the middle of the night and I hope your phones are not by your beds BECAUSE YOU'LL NEVER SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT AGAIN.

Oh yeah, and Happy Easter. AND I'M NOT KIDDING.

End of chat.

It's Everyone Can Bite Me Friday!

I don't do holidays. Especially this one, which apparently involves no gifts.

Mothers across America are lying to their children, telling them the Easter Bunny is coming and using Easter as an excuse to eat 3 pounds of chocolate which they've stolen from their happily naive kids who they've sent off into the wild to search for their favorite candy, the hard boiled egg.

One of my exes, The Impotentate (Go ahead, figure it out. I'll wait.) was married to a very pretty woman. In the 7 years we were together, we spent a lot of holidays with her, their son and her new husband, Hopefully Not Impotent. She decorated for every holiday and Easter was a week of plastic and glass bunnies, fake green grass and baskets with a handle which cannot be used as a designer bag, NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRIED.

To quote the late, great comedian Sam Kinison. "If Jesus is coming back, don't you think he's gonna be pissed when he sees that people are wearing the place he died around their necks?"

You've heard this question, "If you could eat dinner with anyone from the past, who would it be?" And people always say Jesus. Frankly, if I'd been at The Last Supper I'd have been bored to distraction with him.

ME: So let me get this straight, you have no job?
JC: Correct.
ME: So you have no money?
JC: Correct.
ME: And you live with your Mother?
JC: Correct.
ME: Yo Judas, wait up.

End of chat.

I Don't Feel Funny Today

How is that different from every other day? It's not.

Yesterday morning I apparently forgot my hands are still numb so I made fried eggs and ham and was swinging the pan like Rachael Ray and it all ended up on the floor. Thank GOD for the 5 second rule.

I spilled a gallon of liquid on my computer last night because I'm JUST THAT COORDINATED and now the keyboard is all sticky. So I'm taking a sick day. How is that different from every other day? It's not.

Pirates? Really? It's like we're starting the world over. I'm going to wait for Vasco de Gama to show up. I don't even know what he did or if he even came to the US. I also don't know if I spelled it right but I just like the sound of it.

I'm too lazy to Google. Again.

End of chat.

What Mommy Bloggers Taught Me

All I ever read on some Mommy Bloggers' sites was about poop. Stinky poop, Winnie the Poop, animal poop, poop origami, Poop; it's what's for dinner, The 2009 Midwestern Conference on Poop, the Museum of Fine Poop, Poop Can Has Cheezburger and The Annual Running of the New York Poopathon.

I felt so left out because I couldn't blog about that.

I made myself a Metamusicle 2 days ago for breakfast. I bought some vanilla ice cream, let it melt and then stirred it in with the Orange Metamusil.

At midnight I woke up and was starving. I had nothing to eat because I shop every day. Because I eat everything that day. If I go out on a Sunday to shop for the whole week, it will all be gone by that evening. In another life I may have starved to death and my DNA won't LET ME FORGET IT.

All I found were pitted prunes. As if I'd never had a meal in my life, I ate a third of the bag.

5:00 a.m. I woke up with a stomach ache and felt some leakage and ran to the bathroom, looking over my shoulder at the disaster area I was leaving behind me and wondering if I should call 911.
"I'm leaking poop."
"You're doing what?"
"You heard me."
"We'll get a bucket over there right away, stay on the line."
"PLEASE don't send cute guys."

The worst part was that I was so confused I kept stopping and thinking "What if it gets worse and my intestines start to crown? THAT WON'T BE GOOD" So I created the Rocky Mountain Range of Poop starting from my bed, over a Romanian rug, into the hallway with regular blue carpeting, linoleum and when I had the bright idea of taking a shower, I left a trail to and from the bathtub and never once did it occur to me to sit on the toilet.

Orange you glad I didn't stop to take pictures?

End of chat.

A Real Friend Tells You The Truth And Then You Secretly Hate Them

I have a friend in the neighborhood who I've known for all the years I've lived in L.A. He's a busker outside of the Hollywood Bowl each Bowl season. Ken knows everyone and they all know him. They say hi to him on the street but when he's blowing his sax outside the Bowl, people pretend they don't see him and never give him any money. Look at his face and if you don't see a kind soul then I can't help you.
Ken's the one who, after I had gained all that weight before my surgery, said to me wistfully, "I remember you when you had a flat stomach." That's him below with his rescue dog Sandy Blue.
Now he just says, "Girrrrrrl, lookin' good, lookin' good." He might only be saying it when I'm walking next to Gisele Bundchen. Which I never am. But he is forgiven. Plus, he's gained weight!

You know how I feel about artists, throw them a buck and you make their day.

Don't be cheap; it's ugly.

End of chat.

It's A Race For The Lead

Over at the Blogger's Choice Awards, in the Best Humor Category, Cakewalk has 204 votes and I have 2. Neck and neck.

You can vote for as many humor blogs as you want. One vote for Cake (she tricked her readers with subliminal words like CAKE) does not mean you can't vote for me or Vodka Mom, my really annoying wife who doesn't understand that just because she has a husband and kids I need my laundry done.

Go vote for Braja at Lost and Found in India. She's in Best Entertainment Blog, Best Travel Blog, and Best Survivor of a head-on collision.

And don't forget to vote for Hottest Mommy Blogger, who is also in the Humor category, Baby on Bored's Stephanie Wilder Taylor WHO IS GOING TO BE ON OPRAH TODAY.

Pretend I'm Obama and vote.

End of chat.

No Sweat

Someone sent me an email asking me why I hadn't put the Blogger's Choice badge on my blog. I didn't know I'd been nominated so thanks singlejane for nominating me for Best Whining Patient Blog. I'm going to sweep in that category. Please vote for me so I can go to Thailand and have my ear rocks removed. And now on to more important things.

I never sweat.

I never had B.O.

I never used deodorant.

The first time I played Vegas, after 9 years of doing standup, I got flop sweat, which is a panic reaction to bombing. But I only got it on my right side. My ENTIRE right side. My ankles were leaking. The hair on my right side was drenched in water. I looked like a Before and After shot from an infomercial on How Not To Wash Your Hair. I bought deodorant and then never used it because it never happened again. I was a One Time Only Sweat Machine.

But Vegas made sense. My left side was dry, controlled by the right brain, the artistic part of the brain; I always thought I was funny, especially when I was drunk. But the left, logical side of my brain was sober. My agent said since he was trying to get me on The Tonight Show that I couldn't do my normal act, I had to try new, more clever latenighttelevision jokes. It was my first year in L.A. and I didn't know that agents are assholes. But my left brain knew. It knew his advice would be suicide for my first time in Vegas. And it was. After 3 shows out of 7, I went back to my regular act but I'd already buried my ass at Wounded Knee by then.

Then I gave up drinking almost 6 years ago. And I'd walk around everywhere thinking, MAN, who the bloody fuck is on the B.O. Express to Showerland?

It was me. Had I been too drunk to SMELL? The only problem was the bottle of deodorant I bought in Vegas and never used now, after 10 years sitting in one of my old makeup bags, smelled like antiseptic skunk. And not in a good way.

I started wearing men's deodorant. Armani's Acqua di Gio. I often wear his men's cologne with the same name. Now I wear deodorant and I want a medal.

End of chat.

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

I was supposed to go to The Viper Room tonight to see KisTone. Maybe I can get on stage and then fall off. I say WAS because I got up in the middle of the night and checked my email and had 2 identical ones from Bangkok. I've had this weird thing with my right ear where I'm sleeping and then the ear will POP and my head will jump off the pillow. When I flew to Canada for that show back in October, it went away and I assumed I left it in baggage claim.

Now it's kinda back and instead of my head leaping off the pillow, I'm dizzy whenever I get up. You know that expression When the student is ready the teacher will appear? Well apparently my teacher sends identical emails from Thailand. It starts like this:

Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo is a very common, but very distressing condition. Have you ever been so drunk that when you lie down on the bed the spinning rotation is so bad you grip the edges of the bed to stop falling off?

If this was a pop quiz, I think I'd ace it.

To understand BPPV, you have to understand the workings of your inner ear.

Dude, I don't understand ShamWow.

The natural movement inside the semi-circular canals of the ear is disrupted, so the fine hairs send the wrong signals to the brain, and being unable to work out which way is really “up” the sufferer falls over, totally unable to save themselves from hitting the floor. Debilitating and embarrassing!

Obviously they don't read my blog.

The commonest cause of interruption to the normal ebb and flow in the semi-circular canals is produced by “ear rocks”. These are made up of crystals of calcium carbonate, called “otoconia”. These “ear rocks” swish around every time you move your head.

So every time my father told me I had rocks in my head HE WAS RIGHT.

Is there any treatment? Yes there is, usually a series of maneuvers you are put through which are designed to move the ‘ear rocks’ around till they no longer cause problems. These are demonstrated by the balance specialists and usually result in around a 90 percent cure rate.

Who bets that I'm in the 10 percentile?

So even though I'd love to stay and chat, apparently I'm off to Bangkok to meet these people:

That blood type diet I talked about has been around forever. Type O's shouldn't have dairy. Fuckers. Sugar, booze and caffeine are out for me too. I'm afraid to read the other blood types because if one of them REQUIRES carbs, I'm going to Switzerland and having Keith Richards' doctor change all my blood. I don't think you can do that but I'm very persuasive when I'm naked AND carrying a weapon.

Lindy is a Type O Neg too and her body is amazing and she HATES carbs! But she'll eat some sugar sometimes and have wine. You'd kill yourself if you saw her body in a bikini. Oh wait, that's what I want to do.

End of chat.

My New Mantra

"I'm going to take some Xanax and do it this afternoon." That's my current answer to everything.

DID YOU EAT BREAKFAST?
DID YOU TAKE A SHOWER?
DID YOU GET DRESSED?
DID YOU CLEAN YOUR HOUSE?
DID YOUR TELL YOUR SISTER SHE'S ADOPTED?

Lindy's Place

Guess who has more money, me or my sister Lindy, who lives here on the Pacific Ocean? Here's a hint, it's not me. It was so windy I couldn't a good view of her entire outfit. When I said "Get rid of the dog" she understood "Pick up the dog." If I hadn't been available she would have taken that dog as her Plus One. The skirt was black and wide white side stripes with a handkerchief hem she bought in Paris and the top was an asymmetrical black strapless top. The evening wrap I bought her and should have kept for myself. But since she always dresses so "California" she has no idea how to dress for an evening event unless cargo pants and flip flops are involved. Then I made her put on a black leather biker cuff and she nearly stroked out. Color, pattern, texture, accessories. Always accessorize, that's what my French mother taught me. Obviously Lindy is adopted.

I've put this polka dot top on this blog before. But this time I wore it with a black padded strapless Victoria's Secret bra that made me a triple EEE and because of that the diamond buttons made the blouse keep popping open. I collect pearls so I'm usually wearing some variation of them. At a gas station I had to ask an Asian woman to REACH into my car and button up my blouse and rearrange some black and white pearls for me. Gee, SHE wasn't terrified. It's a good thing I'm not shy.

I had to borrow one of my sister's black strapless bras which I've decided to keep because I'm the oldest. I'm so glad I didn't have brothers. How do you convert a jock stap into a bra? EXACTLY.

This a a view of the Ocean and the Pacific Coast Highway, also known as PCH, from the deck of Lindy's pool.

Two views from the park in front of her building.

A view of the condos from inside the pool area.

These people thought they had a great deal going on. Condos that faced the heated pool AND the Pacific Ocean. Then they couldn't get out fast enough on the lower floors because they forgot that children in a pool and parents yelling at them does not make a relaxing atmosphere at $2000+ a month.

The people on the upper levels were persuaded to jump to their deaths from a tenant's sister.

Tyra Banks used to live here with her boyfriend. After I talked to her I saw her head for the roof.

End of chat.