I’m Sorry, I Stink

Seriously. So bad. It started in my car.

Yesterday I took Tayla to school. When I unlocked the car and opened the door, I was about knocked on my ass. The stench of rotten eggs wafted out.

“Where is that coming from?” Tayla asked.

“I don’t know. Dad probably farted, then slammed the door shut and let it bake for us…”

We got in and I rolled the windows down and let it go.

But the stink didn’t leave.

I wondered if something was wrong with the car, or maybe I ran over a skunk and it was caught on something under the car…

So when I was done with my errands for the day, I parked next to the dumpster and started to investigate.

Immediately I found the culprit. Last Wednesday, Don’s mom sent him home with a big bowl of spaghetti. Guess who forgot about it?

I chuck it and figure that’s the end of it.

Nope.

Today, Don took Tayla to school and when he got home he said “Your car smells so bad that when Tay and I opened the doors, we both puked.”

“Seriously? You BOTH puked in my car?”

“No, just outside. It was instantaneous…”

“I threw away the spaghetti…”

Later in the day, we have to go to Mary’s to take care of the cat. I start walking toward my car (cue horror movie music) and my stomach starts to tighten. I reached out a trembling hand and pulled the door open.

“Sweet baby Jesus, wtf died in here?!”

“I told you it was bad” Don said.

“Yeah, but it was bad yesterday…”

“I got it. I found out what it was. It wasn’t the spaghetti. Remember Friday when we went to Hy-Vee and bought that frozen rotisserie chicken? It fell out of the bag and under the seat.”

“FRIDAY?! It’s Wednesday! It’s been in the 80’s!”

“Now you know why it stinks.”

I have NEVER in my LIFE smelled anything as heinous as rotting chicken. It smelled like a slaughterhouse full of diseased cattle. It smelled like Satan’s burnt asshole. It smelled like maggot riddled intestines…

I thought I was going to puke… I had to breathe through my mouth for awhile. Then, I made him stop at every gas station we passed so I could buy more air fresheners. The first place we stopped, I ran in and asked the two cashiers “what is the strongest scent you have?” They both pointed to the “Black Ice”. I told them I’d take two. As I was reaching for my wallet though, I had second thoughts.

“What if this smells worse?”

“Worse?!” Don looked at me incredulously. “It cannot possibly smell worse”.

“I mean, what if it’s scented with black licorice… I hate black licorice…” but the thought of getting back in the car, having passed up the opportunity to even TRY anything different wasn’t going to fly.

I grabbed the two Black Ice air fresheners and headed back out into the heat. I approached the car cautiously as if it were a feral animal, ready to pounce. I grabbed the door handle and notice a man walking into the gas station. He’s a big guy. Like a football player, he was wearing a Viking’s jersey too. He passed me right about the time I was opening the door and as soon as I did, it was like he walked into a glass wall. His head snapped back real fast like he’d been slapped and was turning around to see who did it. Since no one was within slapping distance, he just eyed me suspiciously and shook his head quickly, trying to shake off the vile encounter.

I got back into the mobile death trap trying to make the lemonade out of these very rotten lemons.

“Hey, we could stop the war! Save the soldiers, we can just drive this down the dirt road with the windows down and they’ll drop like flies!’

We cracked a few jokes, tried to ignore the stench that’d had only grown with the air fresheners (in case anyone is wondering, it’s not black licorice, it smells like a dude who took a bath in cologne) and my perfume that Don had sprayed vigorously before I got in… I had to hit him for that. He does it at home too… instead of changing the cat litter, he sprays my perfume… Hello? I’d like to wear that again and not think of cat shit…

My final thing of the day was to meet Ryan and my mom for coffee to celebrate Natalie’s sober date.

I was feeling good about going, I wasn’t too late and then, I was horrified. The car smell had permeated my clothes and purse! OMG. No one said anything but it wasn’t long before the odor reached from my t-shirt to my nostrils and I had to get out of there! Actually, I had to be home before Tayla went to bed because she has to get up early for school… but ugh.

Gross. So, if anyone has to see me within the next couple of days to a week- I’ll probably reek. I’m sorry!

Acme’s Funniest Person Contest

Many of you know that last night I participated in Acme’s Funniest Person in the Twin Cities Contest. This is my third year entering and I’ve got to say, I LOVE it. I love Acme. I love the stage, the people, the crowd, the atmosphere… The headlining comedian last night said that being on the Acme stage was a dream come true. Some people laughed, even though I’m not sure he was joking… maybe but I didn’t laugh. It is a dream come true. This stage has hosted some of the hottest comedians today. Lewis Black, Arj Barker, Patton Oswalt, Jim Gaffigan and Louis C.K., not to mention two of my favorites: Chad Daniels and Jenny Zigrino. So, yes, standing where they stood? It IS a dream come true. Next dream? Stand on that stage and get paid. But, that’s a ways off, I know. Something to strive for, right?

Yesterday was a difficult day. I woke up not feeling well. Physically I ached. I was tired and sore. Mentally, I felt unprepared. Unfunny. Unworthy. I texted my best friend Shar, “I don’t want to go tonight. Not feeling well.” She asked what the real reason I didn’t want to go was and I told her. She did her due diligence, assuring me I am funny. I am good enough and she loves me, despite how I may feel about myself.

I went over and over my routine. Timing it, deciding I didn’t like it. Changing it. Timing it. Changing it. On and on… before I knew it, it was time to go.

Ugh, no matter how many times I do this, I get scared sick. I wanted to vomit. I couldn’t concentrate or sit still or listen…

I met the three other contestants. One guy, Josh, it was his 4th year entering the FPC. I believe it was Brandon’s second year, it was Brian’s first year and my third. Everyone was really nice. Brandon especially. He was quirky behind the curtain, funny in front of the mic and an all around encouraging person. I was definitely ok with losing to him!

So I didn’t win my night, but I had fun … a lot of laughs and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that my score was high enough to make it to the top 25 and I’ll advance to the semi-finals in August!

Oh, I almost forgot! Natalie was there too. We parked behind a car whose license plate read HELLO. I thought “Um, hi” whoever you are… Then, in the bathroom, there was a door in the back. It looked like it had said Natural Disaster Shelter or something like that but the sticker had been ripped and now just said Nat. The final (because they come in 3’s) was when I was telling Don about the signs and I looked up and Shar and my mom were standing on either side of the parking spot 444. (A sign that angels are around)!

It’s Time

via Daily Prompt: Nervous

It’s time. Not to let go per se, or even move on… it’s just time to get back into what I was doing before Noah, before Natalie.

Specifically, it’s time for me to get back into comedy. I did my one stand up act at Acme in June and haven’t been anywhere since.

Prior to that, I’ve done open mic nights at Acme Comedy Club, Rick Bronson’s House of Comedy and The Joke Joint. I made it my new year’s resolution to get out at least once a month to do comedy. Nope, not yet.

I’ve been going back and forth, do I want to do this? I am even capable of doing this? It would be good to swing back to the lighter side but nothing even feels funny… So, maybe I have to act opposite my depression and get out there anyway. Do I wait until I feel better to call a friend or do I call a friend and then feel better?

Getting back into writing comedy has been in the back of my mind, not the way back but further than it should’ve been. Until yesterday. I got an email from House of Comedy at the Mall of America. They are running their “Funniest Person with a Day Job” contest.

I thought, ok, here’s that little nudge I need to get me going. I went to the website to sign up and found there is an application process! I’ve never had to do that before. Usually, I submit my name and they email me back with a date and time, that’s it.

This application wants me to describe my act, tell them what makes me different than other performers, let them know of any needs upfront… I don’t know. It just felt daunting. Surprising. I thought about it for a day and about half an hour ago, I submitted my application.

Now for the fun part: ready, get set, WAIT!

Daily Quote * Wednesday

“Things don’t happen. Things are made to happen.” -John F Kennedy

I read this quote two days ago when it came in an email along with the lunch menu and after school activities in the Metcalf Jr High newsletter. I’d not heard it before and it’s really got me thinking…

About the ludicrousness of coincidence or accidents- accidents are by far are more like carelessness.

What about circumstances? Have you heard about the egg and the potato? It’s not a joke. You put each one in boiling hot water and what happens? The potato softens and the egg gets hard before it cracks. Same circumstances, different outcomes and reactions.

Life is what you make it, damn it.

It’d be nice to avoid responsibility and blame everyone else for every shitty thing but it won’t make ME any happier. It won’t improve things. If I control it (take responsibility for it) I can change it…

bad-decisions

Ha! I’m not calling anyone stupid… everyone has lapses in judgement from time to time. The most important thing is to learn from it and move on.

What do you think about today’s quote? Let me know in the comments below!

Daily Prompt: Pretend

via Daily Prompt: Pretend

Today I was a nurse. Well, someone thought I was a nurse. I was at an Asian restaurant tonight, grabbing some lemon chicken. At the register, the cashier asked me how my night was. “Fine” I replied.

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the night?”

“Oh, um… I’m going to go home, eat and try to stay awake until it’s time for bed.”

He asked “Are you a nurse?”

I squinted in confusion as if the sun were in my eyes.

“No” I said, shaking my head slowly.

He nodded toward me, the left of me and I realized I was wearing my sweatshirt with the End the Epidemic logo I designed.

“Oh, because of the syringe?”

“Yeah, that and you look tired. And you mentioned trying to stay awake until it was time for bed…”

“Got it” I said. “No, I’m not a nurse. I just wear this sweatshirt because I lost my sister to the heroin epidemic in May.”

As I was speaking, I was also thinking, “wow, that was almost completely painless”.

“Oh my God” he said. “I’m so sorry. I have two sisters that were heavily into drugs in the 70’s. One has cleaned up, the other… she’s still kind of a mess.”

“I’m sorry to hear that” I said.

We talked for a few more minutes and by the time I got home, I realized the opportunity I’d wasted. Here’s how I imagined the conversation went, had I been a nurse.

“Are you a nurse?”

“Yes” I would say

“Where do you work?” He’d ask.

“Um, at a hospital?”

“What do you do there?”

“What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

spanish-inquisition

“Sorry, just trying to make polite conversation…”

“No, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to snap at you. I change bedpans, start IV’s, bring people ice chips… that kind of stuff.”

He would nod, thoughtfully.

Wow. That was WAY LESS INTERESTING than I’d imagined. And really? The first thing I think of for my job description is changing bedpans? WTF?

A Boy and His Dog, A Girl and Her Cat

As many of you know, we have two cats… two and a half if you take into consideration Bert’s enormous size. They’re great cats and Bert especially, is attached to his human -Tayla.

It was all well and good until dun-dun-dun… I volunteered to take Deano, my parents’ teeny, tiny, dachshund.

We were all excited. It’s been so many years since we’ve lived in a place that actually allowed dogs, all of Tayla’s life, that I’d forgotten how awesome they are. We had been casually discussing getting a dog of our own, a: once we were able to afford one  and b: we wouldn’t be over the allotted number of pets in the apartment. Obviously, it would have to be a small dog, so Deano was a perfect “test drive” for life with a dog.

Since we are only allowed two pets max (even if only one is visiting) one of the two kitties had to go on vacation to grandma’s house. Unanimously, it was Bert. Nemi (who lives at grandma’s) and Frankie NEVER got along. She needs more attention and stimuli during the day while Bert prefers to chill near a food dish or nap in the linen closet… whichever part of him that fits in the closet.

Yesterday was the BIG day. Don and Tay dropped off Bert, in the most undignified way imaginable… He’s too big for a carrier, so they put him in one of those mesh laundry bags. Half way to the car, his feet and half his ass fell through the bottom. Anyway, he makes it there and is fine.

I pick up the doggie, who cried the whole way back to my place- which is expected, I’m not complaining, just observing. I call Don to ask him to meet me downstairs because I have multiple bags and need help carrying everything.

He and Tay meet me in the parking lot. Deano is still crying but not as loud. His head is poking up out of his carrier and I pet him. We get upstairs, Frankie sees Deano and her tail poofs out like a puffer fish or a life preserver when the rip cord is pulled. She runs away, gone for the remainder of the evening.

I set out his food and water dishes, toss his squeaky ball and feed him a treat. It’s close to bedtime so I decide to take him outside before settling in. I opened the front door to the building and he ran with a purpose. I was surprised, since he’s never been here before, where he thought he was going… to my car. He found it right away and sat down next to it. “They’ll be back honey. You know that. Let’s go potty and then snuggle under the covers.” He basically nodded in agreement before trotting back to the apartment. He had no issues with the elevator which surprised me for some reason. He just got in with no fuss. That’s very unlike him. He’s endearingly the weeniest of the weenies, scared of most everything… except elevators, I guess.

I laid his blanket on the bed, helped him up and he licked my face a couple of times before burrowing under his blankie.

I woke up at 3:00 which is not all that unusual, but I discovered in the living room/kitchen two piles of “cigars” on the floor. One on the hardwood, the other on the carpet. At first I thought Deano (sorry buddy) had left both presents for me but realized the litter box hadn’t been used since I changed it that afternoon… Now I knew what I was looking at: dueling stools. Instead of a pissing contest, they were having a shit-off. Man, in retrospect, I really wish I knew who left which pile… someone has skewed the balance of my opinion on who should be pooping and how much. Note, neither of the piles were very lady-like, Frankie…

Today, he and the cat circled each other. In the morning there was a lot of back and forth barking and hissing that dwindled down with the hours left in the day. Towards late afternoon, they were able to both be in the same room, fairly close in proximity to one another, merely giving each other the death stare. They’ve started to circle each other, trying to sniff out what the other is, without getting too close. Like watching a boxing match, trying to figure out which one is Mike Tyson and who is Evander Holyfield… I hope they’re not BOTH Tyson’s but I guess I’ll let you know whose ear I find in the morning… maybe I should set up a camera because even if someone is missing an ear, there’s no guarantee that the animal didn’t pull a Vincent van Gogh…

Oh boy, I’m loopy. I’d better Van Gogh to bed! Shit. See? Sorry!

fullsizerender-13

Am I a Masochist?

I’m really starting to wonder…

65039169
Me

Masochist:

noun
1. Psychiatry. a person who has masochism, the condition in which sexual or other gratification depends on one’s suffering physical pain or humiliation.
2. a person who is gratified by pain, degradation, etc., that is self-imposed or imposed by others.
3. a person who finds pleasure in self-denial, submissiveness, etc.

I’m asking myself this because of a series of events that happened today.

Sometime during the morning, around 8 o’clock, I made a playlist. I copied the lineup of the Overdose Awareness Vigil and put it into my phone.

Here’s the playlist prior to the vigil starting:

Katy Perry – Unconditionally
Susan Boyle – Wild Horses
Lukas Graham – 7 Years
Ruth B. – Lost Boy
Israel Kamakawiwo’ole – Somewhere Over the Rainbow
Adele – Remedy
Katy Perry – Rise
Mariah Carey & Boyz II Men – One Sweet Day
Pink Floyd – Wish You Were Here
Wiz Kalifa – See You Again
Janet Jackson – Together Again
Dani & Lizzy – Dancing in the Sky
Everything But the Girl – We Walk the Same Line
Daughtry – Home
Puff Daddy & Faith Evans – I’ll Be Missing You
Michael Jackson – You Are Not Alone
Idina Menzel – Let It Go
Demi Lovato – Stone Cold
Tenth Avenue North – Worn
Prince & The Revolution – Purple Rain

I’m pretty sure it was Boyz II Men that got the tears going and Wiz Kalifa that kept them flowing. Puff Daddy proved instrumental (pun not really intended, but whateves…) in the transition from crying to sobbing to screaming. I grounded myself to the car until I could pull myself together.

At least I could take a small amount of solace around this thought:

fullsizerender-11

In case there is anyone out there who STILL DOESN’T KNOW, I HATE the Beatles.

I hate the news too.

That evening, I started talking to people about the Jacob Wetterling case and how awful it is that Danny James Heinrich will not face murder charges. I know the family signed off on it. I probably would’ve too, if it meant getting answers I’d waited 27 years for. I think… and I think about what I would’ve done in Patty’s position. Why? I’m grateful to not have to be in that situation, why do I keep trying to imagine what it’d be like on that side of Hell?

And I over schedule myself. A lot. Tomorrow morning I’m expected at a Recovery Breakfast at 7:30. Like a.m. As in the morning. Couldn’t we have a brunch instead? It’s not even so much the hour but having to fight traffic to top of the earliness. I need to get going on that invention idea for a horn that honks at the people behind you and also has an extendable middle finger to salute any deserving drivers…

Implement Evil Idea and watch the look on my face.

I also told someone I’d drop off needles for the exchange program. In Brooklyn Park. It’s a bit of a hike.

I have therapy on Thursdays too.

Fridays are my writing group.

Mondays are open mic night at Acme, after I work.

Tuesdays I usually work and then have group.

Wednesdays are my volunteer day

And then it’s back to Thursday.

I don’t HAVE to be this busy. Like I said, I think I may be a masochist…

therapy

Lights, Camera, Acme!

I did it. Back in late April or early May, I entered Acme Comedy Company’s annual Funniest Person in the Twin Cities contest. My original performance date was scheduled for June 5th but with Natalie passing on the 19th of May… there was no way I was going to be ready. I emailed Acme and the coordinator was kind enough to reschedule me for August 23rd. Even with all that extra time to prepare, I was still utterly unprepared. It took six weeks for me to even be able to get downtown without having a panic attack.

Sunday night I texted my boss asking if I could have Monday or Tuesday off to prepare. I got Monday off and I CRAMMED. I’d gone over it enough to attempt the Open Mic night. What an experience!

Nothing spectacular happened, not in a good or a bad way for me… It wasn’t my first time. I’d done other open mics, been on stage and under the lights, the scrutiny of judgmental drunks… but for a few others…

Really one in particular… I won’t mention her name because it is my hope that she was so shitfaced that night, that she was in a blackout and won’t remember a thing.

Her name is called. She gets on stage. Her voice is strong and loud. She starts with the self-deprecating humor that affords many comedians leniency when it comes to their act. She moves around, she’s animated, she’s wearing mismatched clothing so she certainly entertaining but her material… was shitty. It was really too bad because I knew, if she’d had anything even remotely funny to say, she would’ve been a hit!

Each performer gets three minutes. That’s it. At 2:30, a solid red light comes on. At 2:50, the light begins to flash. That’s your cue to get off the stage. It’s written in at least one place that those who go over their time, will NOT get time again.

Miss Sunshine is still onstage, seemingly unaware of the gigantic red light. The light starts to flash and she ignores it. THEY TURN OFF HER MICROPHONE AND SHE CONTINUES TO TALK! The audience, from what I can tell, is split down the middle. Half of us are frozen in horror over the blatant disregard for the rules, while the other half are sitting on the edge of their seats, smiling and waiting to see what the club will do next… They turned off the lights. A booming voice from out of nowhere stated “MA’AM YOU NEED TO GET OFF THE STAGE, NOW!” She sort of stumbles off the stage and ironically, this is when the crowd erupts with laughter while I dread my new worst nightmare.

But that was Monday night. Practice night. Tuesday was the big day. I worked for a few hours and crammed again, with new material.

More specifically, “the Natalie jokes”. The jokes I’d agonized over telling or not for weeks. I decided to tell them for three reasons. One, after the open mic, I went out to smoke. There was a man already smoking. “You did good up there” he said to me. “Thanks. I think I did alright I guess.”

“Comedy is hard” he said.

I nodded and said “I have a few jokes I’m debating on telling tomorrow, my sister died of an overdose and while I feel like if I can laugh about it -anyone should be able to, I don’t want to scare people away or alienate anyone…”

“My son was on stage tonight too. The guy joking about his crazy aunt? Sometimes tragedy is gold. It can work. His aunt he was talking about? That’s my sister, Natalie.

So, I kinda took that as a thumbs up from her that it was okay to do those jokes.

The second reason was because while talking to Shar, she told me a white dove was out in front of her house. Just sitting on the sidewalk. She looked it up and one of the meanings is to let go of inner turmoil over a subject. Ok, DONE.

And the last reason? Lots of people told me Natalie would be with me on stage, I figured she’d want to be in the spotlight.

So, I opened with my Natalie jokes. They went over well, I thought. No crickets on their end, no tears on mine…

Then I went into my main joke, which was more of a story about THE ONE TIME I had my eyebrows waxed.

I felt good about the job I did. The people who came to see me agreed that it was between me and one (of 5) other guy.

The other guy won. Sorry other guy, I don’t remember your name… I didn’t even get to hear your set but I could tell by the way you were NOT at the open mic/practice night and the way you were actually reading a book instead of pacing the floors or constantly looking at and resetting the timer on your phone that you were much more prepared, rehearsed and deserving of the win.

Saturday the top 25 scores of the summer will be posted and I may or may not advance to the semi-final rounds. Either way, I’m really glad I went up and did it. It’s important for me to keep some balance and even if I only made my friends laugh? That’s good enough for me.