Friday, November 22, 2002

"Misfortunes, as is well known, seldom come singly." -Milan Kundera, "Immortality"

I've been having a lot of bad luck this week.

SUNDAY: I lost my favorite green hat, which was the perfect size for my head. It was an army green 'gay biker style' cap. Worst, I think I left it on a subway seat, so some homeless guy is wearing it or collecting change in it right now, as we speak.

MONDAY: Then, I lost my cellphone. Luckily, though, I found it. But for two days I felt like I'd forgotten my name. I left it in my friend's car, which indicates to me that I have trouble remembering to take things with me when I get out of things that are taking me places.

TUESDAY: While I was trying to straighten my hair, I picked up the straightening iron by the iron and not the handle. That was my own stupidity showing it's teeth. I didn't scald my hand, but it did scare me, it hurt a little bit, and I dropped my straigtening iron on the ground which couldn't have been good for it. You may think that doesn't sound like a big deal, but my hair looks terrible not straight. What kind of life would I have with out a straightening iron? 'Iron' ically, I learned about straightening irons from a female friend of mine who is jewish.

WEDNESDAY: I tank at the Boston Comedy Club in front of my friends. I drink a shot of tequila and get sick on the cab ride home.

After that, my friend broke her toe. Now you may be thinking that has nothing to do with me, but it does. I care about her, and that includes her toes, her shoulder, her knees, what have you. Plus, her foot's all casted up so she couldn't come out to co-host the show with me. I wanted her to do a set over my cellphone placed near the microphone, the same cellphone which I found that I'd left in my friend's car, but she nay sayed. She said she didn't want to bomb from far away. I can understand, and relate.

I'm not jewish, I'm italian. That means if you date me, you get all the benefits of dating a nice jewish girl (the religious under layer that leads to intense sex and neurotic behavior) but for half the price.

WEDNESDAY STILL: My mom INSISTS I fly down to Florida to visit for Thanksgiving which I don't want to do for a cavalcade of reasons (afraid of flying, don't get along with family too well, hate Florida, lots of old people there, fear old people, old people smell, hate the idea of being sandwiched in between two strangers breathing that wierd canned air in a flying ticking time bomb for two and a half hours, hate going places, hate the idea of smelling old people, just moved into a new apartment, want to decorate it, like to stay put, afraid of flying, planned to lose weight over the holidays which is not going to happen if I'm participating in Italian family holiday celebrations, so I might as well forget the whole losing weight thing because once the eating frenzy has begun, there's no stopping bathing suit season comes back around and I feel ashamed at what I've done to my body all the cold while, and did I mention I'm afraid to fly?) But I'm a good daughter who will never achieve the level of approval I'd like to have from my family, so I log on to and look up cheap flights to appease her, thinking there'd be NO WAY I could find a cheap flight just 6 days before I planned to leave, and lo and behold, there was a very cheap flight within the Thanksgiving timeframe, but I know my mom and there's no way she has any money on her credit card. "Honey, I don't know if I have enough money on my credit card," she says. "YES!" I whisper to myself. "Let's try it, but I don't think it's gonna work." "Come on....not gonna work!" I say out loud. "What?" I remember my mom's on the other line. "Fuck, I'm sorry, mom," I say. "I'm watching the races on tv. I'm betting on a horse named, Not Gonna Work." So she reads out the numbers to me one by one, but not before asking me if I'm sure the server is secure, and but am I sure seven more times before then moving onto the quiz part of the process, a) how do I know it's secure, and b) when I say "I just know", how do I know? I get the information from her which is the opposite of pulling teeth, it's like putting teeth in the spaces between where teeth all ready are. Isn't that neat? I have to beg my mom to give me the credit card number to a credit card with no money on it so I can travel in a way I don't want to to a place I don't want to be. I get them, and type them in slowly, then read, please wait while we process your card. Hey, take your sweet time. Take forever. And it does. Things are looking good, it's taking too long, I can almost taste the "Sorry, you have insufficient funds at this time" page. But FUCK ME, it comes up instead with CONGRATULATIONS! Your flight has been booked. Then, I die a million deaths. My mother is so happy. "Oh, that's so great! I'll see you soon! I can't wait!" I love my mom. I'm looking forward to seeing her for Thanksgiving. I'm getting on a plane for her. That's the most sincere form of love I can offer.

THURSDAY: At the Believe Chicken show which I co-host, it's just me running the wagon. Liz is sitting at home, eating chips, probably with her 'broken toe.' She's got her casted foot up on the table, watching tv and thinking about how glad she is she didn't have to drudge down town in the rain. I'm running what actually, for once, happens to be a pretty decent show. A Comedy Central rep stops in as well as some people from a casting company and a booking agency. The line up is really great - Leo Allen, Demetri Martin, Lenny Marcus, Danny Cohen, Marianne Sierk, Abby Scott, Phil Ledo, The Haskell Twins, Rusty Ward, Nancy Lombardo, Chris Jurek, and a new guy I've never seen before who wants to do three minutes. Sure, I'm drunk, and why the hell not? I tried something new tonight where I play little songs in between the comedians on my purple electric guitar, to polite laughs. The biggest laugh I got all night was when Lenny called to me while he was on stage, and asked me what my goal, my dream as a comedian is. "A sit com?" He asks. I say "I would just like to be funny, eventually." The audience laughed, but what I want to know, is - Is that a case of laughing at or laughing with? Anyway, I got bored of guitaring in between songs and sort of just told jokes for the last few acts, thinking I'll pull off a grand guitar finale at the end. The last comedian, who's name I mispronounced as Michael Swallowy, does his three minutes and gets off the stage. I get on the stage holding my guitar, and he trips over the wire that is plugged from my guitar into the amp which I bought with my hard earned money, $220 of my hard earned money to be exact, which I didn't even have to spend when I spent it, and the amp lands face first on the ground. Having just experienced an auditory explosion of screeching and feedback, the audience is appauled except a few who are laughing. It's like the scene from Better Off Dead where Lane Myers scratches the chalk across the chalkboard and everyone's hair stands up straight. The time of the night has come for me to approach the realization that my amp is broken, and since I don't want to cry in front of my friends, I laugh, too.

When I go outside, it is raining, and I don't even have an umbrella. It's as if God or ghosts or the rain itself is telling me, "You know the drill. When it rains, it pours."

FRIDAY: I plan to just stay home all day today. Unfortunately, I have a feeling bad luck knows where I live.

Interesting end note: Que mal lastima is the only piece of spanish I remember from three years in highschool. That and abre la ventana.
Which I plan to do, just seconds before I get pushed out of it.

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