May 31st, 2010
While avoiding writing today's blog entry, I was perusing Facebook only to find the majority of my virtual community posting status updates that read, Happy Memorial Day. Exclamation Point.
I have mixed feelings about revealing the following. But I will. Sigh...
1) I was not 100% certain as to the exact meaning of Memorial Day. Until last night.
2) Last night, I was at a party at a friend of a friend's apartment above a funeral parlor.
3) At the funeral parlor soiree, last night, a guy explained to me the details of this Memorial Day. He was Israeli.
I shall share my learnings:
You: Jax, tell me, what exactly is Memorial Day?
Me: Well You, Memorial Day, previously designated Decoration Day, is a Federal holiday that was inaugurated in 1868 by General John A. Logan for the purpose of decorating the graves of Civil War veterans. Over time, of course, the observance incorporated the dead of both sides, renamed Memorial Day and encompassed all of this country's fallen in subsequent wars.
You: Thanks Jax. You really taught me a lot. But tell me about this General John A. Logan. Sounds familiar...but I missed a lot of my American History class in high school because I was getting high behind a shed in the teacher's parking lot.
Me: Who wasn't? John Alexander Logan had an impressive resume that would be sure to make him employable even in today's struggling economy: American soldier, political leader, served in the Mexican-American War, General in the Union Army in the American Civil War, served as the state of Illinois as a Senator, candidate for Vice President of the United States and proficient in Microsoft Office. Logan is one of only three individuals mentioned by name in the Illinois state song:
"On the record of thy years,
Abraham Lincoln's name appears,
Grant and Logan, and our tears,
Illinois, Illinois,
Grant and Logan, and our tears,
Illinois."
You: Jax, you have a lovely falsetto. So, what should I do today, Memorial Day?
Me: Good question, You. Many people observe this holiday by visiting cemeteries, memorials or flying the flag of the United States at half-staff. You can also commemorate by having a BBQ and reflect on the fallen by preparing meat with a marinade, basting sauce, or if you're feeling particularly patriotic, a spicy rub. .
You: Mmmm...I love rubs. Thanks Jax. You are so wise and awesome. I look forward to when you explain the real meaning behind Bring Your Daughter to Work Day.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Day 295 - Sleep Singer? Guilty as Charged
May 30th, 2010
I received an interesting piece of information this morning. According to my boyfriend, I was...oh you'll like this one... singing in my sleep. Joyfully.
This was actually pleasant news because I expected my thoughts (or songs) during my state of suspended sensory and motor activity would lead towards my darker subconscious memories or thought processes that I choose(by choice or involuntarily) not to promote during my waking hours. According to the guy, my melodic tones were rather jubilant, delightful and dare I say, whimsical.
I never understood the mass appeal of the show "Glee"...but maybe in my sleep...I do. Note to self.
Since I became cognizant that I was a slumber singer, I've been humming the Romantics' 1983 sensation, "Talking in Your Sleep". I'm now convinced that the range of sleep vocalization is far and wide and this billboard hit need be subject to a much deeper interpretation.
Let's dissect. Shall we?
"Talking in Your Sleep" - The Romantics
When you close your eyes and go to sleep
- Because you're drunk on well liquored Appletinis.
And it's down to the sound of a heartbeat
- A whale's heartbeat from the sleep sound machine that you bought on QVC for $59.95. $300 in shipping.
I can hear the things that you're dreaming about
- Animated kittens. And gourd vegetables. Really?
When you open up your heart and the truth comes out
- You spent your formative years being raised by orangutans. I didn't see that coming.
CHORUS:
You tell me that you want me
- And you want my douche investment banker friend, Brad
You tell me that you need me
- And you need Kareem Abdul-Jabbar? So you are down with the brown. Interesting.
You tell me that you love me
- You love my giant...W-2's.
And I know that I'm right
- Because I'm Type A and always right.
Cuz I hear it in the night
- Told by M. Night Shyamalan
I hear the secrets that you keep
- You can't fool me by talking in Dutch
When you're talking in your sleep
- I bring in a translator, Mbwana, when you break into Swahili
When I hold you in my arms at night
-Yes, I hold you in my prosthetic arms. I imagine that must be creepy for you. Freak mechanical bull accident.
Don't you know you're sleeping in a spotlight
- Literally...a spotlight. My friend is the lighting guy from "The Lion King". He hooks me up
And all your dreams that you keep inside
- He also is my go to when I need giant puppets and 7 minutes in heaven with Elton John.
You're telling me the secrets that you just can't hide
- Baby, tell me anything in your sleep. It's cool because it makes me less self conscious should I reveal that I lie about recycling.
REPEAT CHORUS
'Night night
I received an interesting piece of information this morning. According to my boyfriend, I was...oh you'll like this one... singing in my sleep. Joyfully.
This was actually pleasant news because I expected my thoughts (or songs) during my state of suspended sensory and motor activity would lead towards my darker subconscious memories or thought processes that I choose(by choice or involuntarily) not to promote during my waking hours. According to the guy, my melodic tones were rather jubilant, delightful and dare I say, whimsical.
I never understood the mass appeal of the show "Glee"...but maybe in my sleep...I do. Note to self.
Since I became cognizant that I was a slumber singer, I've been humming the Romantics' 1983 sensation, "Talking in Your Sleep". I'm now convinced that the range of sleep vocalization is far and wide and this billboard hit need be subject to a much deeper interpretation.
Let's dissect. Shall we?
"Talking in Your Sleep" - The Romantics
When you close your eyes and go to sleep
- Because you're drunk on well liquored Appletinis.
And it's down to the sound of a heartbeat
- A whale's heartbeat from the sleep sound machine that you bought on QVC for $59.95. $300 in shipping.
I can hear the things that you're dreaming about
- Animated kittens. And gourd vegetables. Really?
When you open up your heart and the truth comes out
- You spent your formative years being raised by orangutans. I didn't see that coming.
CHORUS:
You tell me that you want me
- And you want my douche investment banker friend, Brad
You tell me that you need me
- And you need Kareem Abdul-Jabbar? So you are down with the brown. Interesting.
You tell me that you love me
- You love my giant...W-2's.
And I know that I'm right
- Because I'm Type A and always right.
Cuz I hear it in the night
- Told by M. Night Shyamalan
I hear the secrets that you keep
- You can't fool me by talking in Dutch
When you're talking in your sleep
- I bring in a translator, Mbwana, when you break into Swahili
When I hold you in my arms at night
-Yes, I hold you in my prosthetic arms. I imagine that must be creepy for you. Freak mechanical bull accident.
Don't you know you're sleeping in a spotlight
- Literally...a spotlight. My friend is the lighting guy from "The Lion King". He hooks me up
And all your dreams that you keep inside
- He also is my go to when I need giant puppets and 7 minutes in heaven with Elton John.
You're telling me the secrets that you just can't hide
- Baby, tell me anything in your sleep. It's cool because it makes me less self conscious should I reveal that I lie about recycling.
REPEAT CHORUS
'Night night
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Day 294 - Stay Strong Todd Bridges
May 29th, 2010
Not only was "Diff'rent Strokes" the first of a series of sitcoms that I would watch on Saturday nights in the early 80's, it also pioneered the "I smell Emmy" premise that its evidently perfectly normal for wealthy Caucasians to adopt small statured African American boys. You know who you are Emmanuel Lewis.
Gary Coleman has crossed over to join the scores of child stars to make campy laugh-track-esque sitcoms in the sky. I expressed my take on this gone too soon child actor fad/fiasco on day 215's entry, "Minus a Corey" http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2010/03/day-215-minus-corey.html
Tragedy is so prevalent among the cast of "Diff'rent Strokes" that some have speculated that the sitcom could have been cursed. Does this mean that Phillip Drummond(Conrad Bain, now 87) and the original maid, Mrs Garrett( Charlotte Rae, now 84) should expect their demise to be the result of that pesky death by natural causes curse?
Mr. Coleman played the show's darling, Arnold Jackson, and became synonymous with the catch phrase "What'choo talkin' 'bout, Willis?"
Todd Bridges(who played this misunderstood Willis) has had his own post "Diff'rent Strokes" life challenges. Some cocaine...some altercations...maybe he murdered a guy. But...of the three children residing in Mr. Drummond's penthouse, Bridges has now raised the bar high by simply being alive. He's 45.
He's doing something right(by having a heartbeat) and the world needs to know his wisdom, secrets and skin care rituals. I spoke to Bridges on the Harlem basketball court where Mr. Drummond pulled up in his limo, picked up(kidnapped) and took Arnold and Willis to his deluxe apartment in the sky.
My interview will be published in an online pamphlet, "What Was Willis talking About?" You can find it...online.
I don't want to give too much away from my sure to be bestselling pamphlet, but if you finally want to know who shot Kennedy, the cure for the common cold and why there really had to be a disturbingly creepy "very special episode" that guest starred Gordon Jump as a pedophile bicycle-shop owner, who attempted to sexually molest Arnold and Dudley....
...then let Willis tell you what he was talking about.
Not only was "Diff'rent Strokes" the first of a series of sitcoms that I would watch on Saturday nights in the early 80's, it also pioneered the "I smell Emmy" premise that its evidently perfectly normal for wealthy Caucasians to adopt small statured African American boys. You know who you are Emmanuel Lewis.
Gary Coleman has crossed over to join the scores of child stars to make campy laugh-track-esque sitcoms in the sky. I expressed my take on this gone too soon child actor fad/fiasco on day 215's entry, "Minus a Corey" http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2010/03/day-215-minus-corey.html
Tragedy is so prevalent among the cast of "Diff'rent Strokes" that some have speculated that the sitcom could have been cursed. Does this mean that Phillip Drummond(Conrad Bain, now 87) and the original maid, Mrs Garrett( Charlotte Rae, now 84) should expect their demise to be the result of that pesky death by natural causes curse?
Mr. Coleman played the show's darling, Arnold Jackson, and became synonymous with the catch phrase "What'choo talkin' 'bout, Willis?"
Todd Bridges(who played this misunderstood Willis) has had his own post "Diff'rent Strokes" life challenges. Some cocaine...some altercations...maybe he murdered a guy. But...of the three children residing in Mr. Drummond's penthouse, Bridges has now raised the bar high by simply being alive. He's 45.
He's doing something right(by having a heartbeat) and the world needs to know his wisdom, secrets and skin care rituals. I spoke to Bridges on the Harlem basketball court where Mr. Drummond pulled up in his limo, picked up(kidnapped) and took Arnold and Willis to his deluxe apartment in the sky.
My interview will be published in an online pamphlet, "What Was Willis talking About?" You can find it...online.
I don't want to give too much away from my sure to be bestselling pamphlet, but if you finally want to know who shot Kennedy, the cure for the common cold and why there really had to be a disturbingly creepy "very special episode" that guest starred Gordon Jump as a pedophile bicycle-shop owner, who attempted to sexually molest Arnold and Dudley....
...then let Willis tell you what he was talking about.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Day 293 - Lowbrow Memoirs
May 28th, 2010
I'd like to pride myself in creating comedy that has a cerebral element. But in my effort to be truthful to my readers(and myself), it's only fair that I admit of my time when my humor skewed toward the spectrum of the lowbrow.
I was young. I needed the money. But didn't get any.
Luckily, my (real or perceived) matured wisdom has steered me away from material which conjures up the following:
- lacking in refinement
- uncultivated taste
- devoid of any intelligence
- sub-standard
- appealing to the absolute lowest common denominator
I've created my 365 day blog entry challenge as a home for ALL my work to live. Some place to call its own.
I'm a bit shamed to show these video vignettes to you...but I will step out of my comfort zone and invite you to view some footage of a time when I would have benefited from striving for material that wouldn't have threatened my sense of dignity.
Oh what a journey it's been.
On day 88, I revealed the following, " In 1999, Gia McGinley and I wrote a sketch called "Gynecology by Candlelight". The premise was based around Dr. Harold Finger, a gynecologist who uses a soothing touch and a gentle probe to give his patients the attention that they deserve. http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/2479/gynecology-by-candlelight-from-rash-behaviour
Don't judge me. To my face.
On day 69, my blog entry was my 2003 sketch, "Die Bitch Die!". This "gem" was a spin on (that "new" reality show)"American Idol". However, in my twisted version, the winner got to be put to death...on live television. The video has surfaced. Sigh... http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=12769899
I beg. Don't scold. FYI, you should be aware that the televised sketch comedy troupe, "The Whitest Kids You Know", just aired something so similar to my seven year old sketch that I should take the high road and let go of my high octane frustration. I have not.
I'd like to pride myself in creating comedy that has a cerebral element. But in my effort to be truthful to my readers(and myself), it's only fair that I admit of my time when my humor skewed toward the spectrum of the lowbrow.
I was young. I needed the money. But didn't get any.
Luckily, my (real or perceived) matured wisdom has steered me away from material which conjures up the following:
- lacking in refinement
- uncultivated taste
- devoid of any intelligence
- sub-standard
- appealing to the absolute lowest common denominator
I've created my 365 day blog entry challenge as a home for ALL my work to live. Some place to call its own.
I'm a bit shamed to show these video vignettes to you...but I will step out of my comfort zone and invite you to view some footage of a time when I would have benefited from striving for material that wouldn't have threatened my sense of dignity.
Oh what a journey it's been.
On day 88, I revealed the following, " In 1999, Gia McGinley and I wrote a sketch called "Gynecology by Candlelight". The premise was based around Dr. Harold Finger, a gynecologist who uses a soothing touch and a gentle probe to give his patients the attention that they deserve. http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/2479/gynecology-by-candlelight-from-rash-behaviour
Don't judge me. To my face.
On day 69, my blog entry was my 2003 sketch, "Die Bitch Die!". This "gem" was a spin on (that "new" reality show)"American Idol". However, in my twisted version, the winner got to be put to death...on live television. The video has surfaced. Sigh... http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=12769899
I beg. Don't scold. FYI, you should be aware that the televised sketch comedy troupe, "The Whitest Kids You Know", just aired something so similar to my seven year old sketch that I should take the high road and let go of my high octane frustration. I have not.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Day 292 - Be the Man Your Mom Is
May 27th, 2010
I was perusing Facebook status updates while procrastinating my task of generating a topic for day 292 of my " 365 Day Blog Entry Challenge of Cosmic Angst Through the Eyes of Comedic Insight".
Like a gift from a divine virtual entity, the status's started singing to me (in the form of Phil Collins, "Against All Odds"). Here's the line I heard. Repetitively. "So take a look at me now, well there's just an empty space.."
I obviously interpreted their mention of an empty space as a direct metaphor to today's blog entry. Or lack thereof. These updates needed me to serve as a conduit that would secure their riveting messages into the blogosphere. Forever.
I obliged and below have explained why the following grabbed me the most. In the heart area:
"I would prefer to be at the beach in lieu of the office..."
- Using the word lieu gives a ( otherwise simplistic update) mystique and let's readers know that you have a strong command for complex words real good.
"'Sad, so sad, why cant we talk it over, always seems to me, that sorry seems to be the hardest word'....Elton John". Then this status updater adds, "Something for us married guys who sometimes shoot our mouths off and then hide behind our pride."
- Elton John lyrics really are the best way to make a public apology. Closely followed by Chicago's "Hard to Say I'm Sorry" and an Enya instrumental.
"This weekend Friday and Saturday, Savannah Georgia at the Hyatt Regency 8 pm, you in the area?"
- If I didn't know that this guy was a comedian, I would high five him for having the bravado to invite his entire online social network to his hotel to explore his "area".
"Sex In The City...tomorrow at 7:30pm Hollywood 20!! With me, Nicole and her friends from work, Veronica....anyone else want to join us??"
- No. No I would not. That is all.
"I'm totally addicted to the iPhone app "Second Opinion".
- As a user of a Blackberry, the Betamax of mobile internet devices, I just assume your second option would be in Spanish.
"Sarcasm (n.)-the ability to insult idiots without them realizing it"
- I find that people who are always sarcastic lack integrity and will never be the man their mother is.
"Nothing like a tantrum first thing in the morning..."
- Morning sex first thing in the morning. Nothing like that either.
"I'm not happy about being sick..."
- If you're home sulking in your illness, be grateful that mid afternoon is the time of day when there are an excessive amount of commercials that will answer your ongoing question, "Will there ever be a fiber-heavy yogurt that would keep middle aged women's digestive tracks in order?"
"Fun last night, but now...........I got nothing...."
- Stay strong young soldier. You got me. Actually, I'm waiting for the cable guy(he gave me a 467 hour window) and my day book tells me I'm booked with mindless endeavors through 2012. Then..I'm all yours.
"It's almost lunch O'clock. The 5 minute meeting I am in is taking 37 hours."
- 37 hours! Whaaaat? We all know there are only 25.3(repeating) hours in a day. I can explain this to you more later... at masturbate O'clock.
I was perusing Facebook status updates while procrastinating my task of generating a topic for day 292 of my " 365 Day Blog Entry Challenge of Cosmic Angst Through the Eyes of Comedic Insight".
Like a gift from a divine virtual entity, the status's started singing to me (in the form of Phil Collins, "Against All Odds"). Here's the line I heard. Repetitively. "So take a look at me now, well there's just an empty space.."
I obviously interpreted their mention of an empty space as a direct metaphor to today's blog entry. Or lack thereof. These updates needed me to serve as a conduit that would secure their riveting messages into the blogosphere. Forever.
I obliged and below have explained why the following grabbed me the most. In the heart area:
"I would prefer to be at the beach in lieu of the office..."
- Using the word lieu gives a ( otherwise simplistic update) mystique and let's readers know that you have a strong command for complex words real good.
"'Sad, so sad, why cant we talk it over, always seems to me, that sorry seems to be the hardest word'....Elton John". Then this status updater adds, "Something for us married guys who sometimes shoot our mouths off and then hide behind our pride."
- Elton John lyrics really are the best way to make a public apology. Closely followed by Chicago's "Hard to Say I'm Sorry" and an Enya instrumental.
"This weekend Friday and Saturday, Savannah Georgia at the Hyatt Regency 8 pm, you in the area?"
- If I didn't know that this guy was a comedian, I would high five him for having the bravado to invite his entire online social network to his hotel to explore his "area".
"Sex In The City...tomorrow at 7:30pm Hollywood 20!! With me, Nicole and her friends from work, Veronica....anyone else want to join us??"
- No. No I would not. That is all.
"I'm totally addicted to the iPhone app "Second Opinion".
- As a user of a Blackberry, the Betamax of mobile internet devices, I just assume your second option would be in Spanish.
"Sarcasm (n.)-the ability to insult idiots without them realizing it"
- I find that people who are always sarcastic lack integrity and will never be the man their mother is.
"Nothing like a tantrum first thing in the morning..."
- Morning sex first thing in the morning. Nothing like that either.
"I'm not happy about being sick..."
- If you're home sulking in your illness, be grateful that mid afternoon is the time of day when there are an excessive amount of commercials that will answer your ongoing question, "Will there ever be a fiber-heavy yogurt that would keep middle aged women's digestive tracks in order?"
"Fun last night, but now...........I got nothing...."
- Stay strong young soldier. You got me. Actually, I'm waiting for the cable guy(he gave me a 467 hour window) and my day book tells me I'm booked with mindless endeavors through 2012. Then..I'm all yours.
"It's almost lunch O'clock. The 5 minute meeting I am in is taking 37 hours."
- 37 hours! Whaaaat? We all know there are only 25.3(repeating) hours in a day. I can explain this to you more later... at masturbate O'clock.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Day 291 - Waldo. You Slut
May 26th, 2010
Today I was teaching a corporate comedy improv workshop at a space called Meet at the Apartment, a highly stylized open loft in Soho that is "fully engineered for creative thought to flourish." This trendy venue is equipped with leather couches, interesting art and unique nooks in great quantity. However, it was the ornate wallpaper(stenciled in fluorescent pink) that caught my client's attention. She remarked that within the pink lines were drawings of naked women. I looked at the wall, laughed and made some remark about how risque that was.
The truth is, readers, I couldn't make out the nude images that she was referring to. Admittedly, I have many strengths but being able to decipher images out of any type of jumbled blur is not one of them. When I get pregnant and see the sonogram, I am certain that I will utilize my mediocre acting skills and have some teary over the top reaction as I squeeze my husband's hand in blissful joy and pretend to see a developing mammal in a diagnostic medical image.
Perhaps my brain just stopped trying to find the obvious after Waldo...of "Where's Waldo" fame. And annoyance. I never had any interest in employing my brain to look for someone who was so committed to hiding from me. My instincts tell me that I am not alone in having little to no interest in the challenge of finding a hidden character in a red-and-white striped shirt, bobble hat and fashion backwards glasses.
Waldo, the jig is up. I know where you've been. I hired private animated investigators (in the form of my imaginary handlers in my head) and they revealed to me very telling glossy 8 X 10 black and white pictures that will tarnish your hard to find image.
Let me just say 2 things...Waldo...
- You should be ashamed
- You are a dick
Waldo has been spotted at the following:
- He was found at a Phish concert in Coventry, Vermont....dropping acid with a moose, an antelope and a reindeer.
- To make extra cash, Waldo was discovered on a suburban Pennsylvania street corner. Miming. For blind people.
- He was captured working on his 365 day blog entry challenge, "The Benefits of Littering".
- It turns out that Waldo has become a biker dick and finding great pleasure in running over kittens. (For more info on bike dick-ery...refer to day 285's entry, "Biker Dick. And Proud" - http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2010/05/day-285-biker-dick-and-proud.html_)
- He been judging wet t-shirt contests in Myrtle Beach.
- He's locked up in a high security prison for stabbing Flat Stanley. With a spork. (Who is Flat Stanley? Refer to Day 102 - http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-102-flat-stanley.html)
- At this very moment, Waldo is in surgery getting an animated penis enlargement.
Today I was teaching a corporate comedy improv workshop at a space called Meet at the Apartment, a highly stylized open loft in Soho that is "fully engineered for creative thought to flourish." This trendy venue is equipped with leather couches, interesting art and unique nooks in great quantity. However, it was the ornate wallpaper(stenciled in fluorescent pink) that caught my client's attention. She remarked that within the pink lines were drawings of naked women. I looked at the wall, laughed and made some remark about how risque that was.
The truth is, readers, I couldn't make out the nude images that she was referring to. Admittedly, I have many strengths but being able to decipher images out of any type of jumbled blur is not one of them. When I get pregnant and see the sonogram, I am certain that I will utilize my mediocre acting skills and have some teary over the top reaction as I squeeze my husband's hand in blissful joy and pretend to see a developing mammal in a diagnostic medical image.
Perhaps my brain just stopped trying to find the obvious after Waldo...of "Where's Waldo" fame. And annoyance. I never had any interest in employing my brain to look for someone who was so committed to hiding from me. My instincts tell me that I am not alone in having little to no interest in the challenge of finding a hidden character in a red-and-white striped shirt, bobble hat and fashion backwards glasses.
Waldo, the jig is up. I know where you've been. I hired private animated investigators (in the form of my imaginary handlers in my head) and they revealed to me very telling glossy 8 X 10 black and white pictures that will tarnish your hard to find image.
Let me just say 2 things...Waldo...
- You should be ashamed
- You are a dick
Waldo has been spotted at the following:
- He was found at a Phish concert in Coventry, Vermont....dropping acid with a moose, an antelope and a reindeer.
- To make extra cash, Waldo was discovered on a suburban Pennsylvania street corner. Miming. For blind people.
- He was captured working on his 365 day blog entry challenge, "The Benefits of Littering".
- It turns out that Waldo has become a biker dick and finding great pleasure in running over kittens. (For more info on bike dick-ery...refer to day 285's entry, "Biker Dick. And Proud" - http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2010/05/day-285-biker-dick-and-proud.html_)
- He been judging wet t-shirt contests in Myrtle Beach.
- He's locked up in a high security prison for stabbing Flat Stanley. With a spork. (Who is Flat Stanley? Refer to Day 102 - http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-102-flat-stanley.html)
- At this very moment, Waldo is in surgery getting an animated penis enlargement.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Day 290 - I Am Me. Now Give Me Your Money
May 25th, 2010
Last night I was at my preferred neighborhood French bistro, drinking a Stoli cranberry and enjoying the live soulful blues music of Lipbone Redding. Between sets, he was gallivanting around the restaurant seeing if patrons would be kind enough to contribute some American currency into his bucket. His asking style was like his music...efficient, gentle and personable. Three attributes(that, if I may, blow smoke up my ass) I feel that I possess.
Can I dare to dream that my lifetime will offer multiple opportunities for me to collect money for just being me? This ambitious endeavor will not be in the spirit of being a pauper or feeling worthy of a monetary reward after one of my shows.
In what is turning out to be the cockiest entry of my 365 day blog entry challenge, I commit to be presumptuous enough to assume that you will be inspired to give me money because I am, quite simply, fun to hang out with.
I imagine my quest would become a reality in the following scenarios:
- We meet up in a pool that is particularly chilly, I pee next to you in the water. Now you are warm...and grateful. You give me money.
- There is a long line at an unairconditioned ATM vestibule. I get naked. You pay me for my goods(not my services.)
- You and I decide to go to the cineplex and I talk at an excessive decibel level. The whole time. You come to terms that you are lucky to be with someone who provided such audible (even if wildly inaccurate) commentary. Who's appreciative? You are. Ching ching.
- I'm at confessional and the priest begs me (with a certified check) to shut up. Clearly because he is overwhelmed by my awesomeness.
- We are sitting next to each other on a plane. I go on incessantly about my lifelong battle with a series of contagious rashes. You feel blessed to be sitting next to such an open, honest and rash-alicious woman. You slip me a 20. In my cleavage.
- As luck would have it, I'm expelling bodily fluid next to you at a urinal. You are deeply touched that I taught you that women can, yes indeed, pee standing up. You insist on giving me your pension.
- You so enjoyed spending time with me in this blog for the last 3 minutes ( 5 if you're a slow reader.) At this very moment you're thinking, " If I had a nickel for everytime I wanted to pay Jax...I would have 5 cents."to pay Jax...I would have 5 cents."
Last night I was at my preferred neighborhood French bistro, drinking a Stoli cranberry and enjoying the live soulful blues music of Lipbone Redding. Between sets, he was gallivanting around the restaurant seeing if patrons would be kind enough to contribute some American currency into his bucket. His asking style was like his music...efficient, gentle and personable. Three attributes(that, if I may, blow smoke up my ass) I feel that I possess.
Can I dare to dream that my lifetime will offer multiple opportunities for me to collect money for just being me? This ambitious endeavor will not be in the spirit of being a pauper or feeling worthy of a monetary reward after one of my shows.
In what is turning out to be the cockiest entry of my 365 day blog entry challenge, I commit to be presumptuous enough to assume that you will be inspired to give me money because I am, quite simply, fun to hang out with.
I imagine my quest would become a reality in the following scenarios:
- We meet up in a pool that is particularly chilly, I pee next to you in the water. Now you are warm...and grateful. You give me money.
- There is a long line at an unairconditioned ATM vestibule. I get naked. You pay me for my goods(not my services.)
- You and I decide to go to the cineplex and I talk at an excessive decibel level. The whole time. You come to terms that you are lucky to be with someone who provided such audible (even if wildly inaccurate) commentary. Who's appreciative? You are. Ching ching.
- I'm at confessional and the priest begs me (with a certified check) to shut up. Clearly because he is overwhelmed by my awesomeness.
- We are sitting next to each other on a plane. I go on incessantly about my lifelong battle with a series of contagious rashes. You feel blessed to be sitting next to such an open, honest and rash-alicious woman. You slip me a 20. In my cleavage.
- As luck would have it, I'm expelling bodily fluid next to you at a urinal. You are deeply touched that I taught you that women can, yes indeed, pee standing up. You insist on giving me your pension.
- You so enjoyed spending time with me in this blog for the last 3 minutes ( 5 if you're a slow reader.) At this very moment you're thinking, " If I had a nickel for everytime I wanted to pay Jax...I would have 5 cents."to pay Jax...I would have 5 cents."
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