Saturday, February 28, 2004

by Jessica Delfino

I was on the L train headed into Manhattan from Williamsburg after the Floating Vaudeville show at Galapagos with my two dear friends, the O'Debra Twins (Tonya and Diane, who'd just performed on the show) when a slim, 20-something hipster type approached the three of us and complimented the O'Debbies on a job well-done.

He was in company with three slim, attractive yupplettes and the hour was closing in on near 2 am.
The O'Debs accepted his compliment as graciously as possible as the three of us not so glamorously smashed pizza into our faces. At his stop, he said good night, we said good bye, and the train continued on. Moments later, we were accosted by the three ladies who had been in his company. They asked the O'Debra's some questions about their performance with a 'tone' in their voice bordering on irritation, jealousy, and perhaps the remnants of a whiff of several snorts of crank.

"So, you girls do that kind of show a lot?" They asked. The O'Debra's entertained their questions and
sarcastic attitudes with grace and politeness, answering their pointless and insulting inquiries with charm and calm responses. Finally, two of the ladies retreated to a pair of empty seats while the third lady began to bombard them, slowly at first, then more intensely, with criticism.

"So, what inspires you to get up on stage and shake your fat asses? Because I didn't think you were funny." Diane (what a slick, smart lady!) nodded and accepted the insult respectfully. "Well, we don't expect everyone to love what we do. But we do it because we think it's funny."

"What is so funny about that? You really think that is funny? You get on stage almost naked and act like sluts?" Tonya attempted to reason with the high bitch. "We think it's funny, yes. It's not funny to everyone, but it's funny to us."

"Didn't you make up stupid dances to songs when you were in 6th grade?" Diane inquired.

"Yes, but why don't you just stand up to what you're doing? It is a sexual thing you're doing, acting slutty and shaking your fat asses on stage."

"I think they are very funny," I offered.

"You do?" asked the woman.

"Yes, I do."

"What do you think is funny about that?" she asked in a foreign accent.

"The jokes are intelligent, their performance is a parody. It's sarcastic and not supposed to be taken seriously."

"But you think it is funny to be like all sexual on stage?"

"It's funny because we are on stage acting ridiculous, dressed up like clowns," said Diane. "We are obviously not trying to be sexy. We're out of shape and purposefully unattractive. We're not going out of our way to be sexy."

"You are lying, you're pretending you're not doing something that you're doing."

I began to get really irritated at this bitch, because she was a slim, fit, sexy little thing herself, wearing tight jeans and make-up, and had probably used her sexuality to get everything that she had ever gotten in her entire life. In addition, she was probably rich or from an upper middle class family at the least, and didn't have to be inspired or artistic. She was most certainly awarded the finest things in life just by chance, luck of the draw. Here were two women (Tonya and Diane) who were trying to inspire people to delve into topics that others fear - sex, periods, sarcastic opinions of love and twisted grammar school memories among other things, and they were being verbally attacked and accosted with pure ignorance.

As we reached our stop, we got off the train and Diane loudly announced, "Gee, you know what I could really go for right now? A big fat rail of crank," and I laughed because she'd echoed my own thoughts exactly. That's the thing I love so much about the O'Debra's. Their sense of humor mirrors my own in many ways. It is hard to find a dark, sarcastic funny girl who takes all the shittiness of life as lightly and finds as much humor in the bleakness of life as I do. If you don't see the bleakness in life, you are walking around blindfolded. Life is dark. Life is funny. Therefore, dark must be funny.

I voiced my opinions of anger towards the ignorance of the subway bitch, but both Tonya AND Diane stuck up for her. "Everyone is entitled to their opinions," they said. "We set ourselves up to get assaulted by people by doing what we do. Not everyone is going to like our act." I agreed with them, and I understand their point of view, being a dark, instigative comic myself. "I agree with you," I said, "But I don't like it when people's opinions stem from ignorance and stupidity, and shallow-mindedness, and fear, and jealousy."

Unfortunately, fear motivates the world, especially in the entertainment business. Fear instigates jealousy and inspires hatred and makes people worry about the future and act callous and rude and stupid. Why do some women fear other women? Why do people fear the naked form? Why is that lady suing because she saw Janet Jackson's breast? What is wrong with the people in this country? Why are so many so closed-minded? Instead of choosing to be inspired by art, they choose to be inspired by fear and their own self-loathing.

The next time you hear a rape joke, the next time you see something you don't quite understand, the next time you see a naked breast, the next time you hear someone fart on stage or do something you deem as 'gross' or 'not art,' take a minute to think about what you are seeing. This is New York, this is America. This country was FOUNDED on FREEDOM of SPEECH and THOUGHT. So, maybe you don't like boobs, maybe you don't like butts, maybe you don't like jokes that make you feel dirty. Or maybe you're lying to yourself. Maybe you are scared of art. Are you scared of art? Cause art ain't scary. Life is much scarier than art.

Wednesday, February 25, 2004


This is an e-mail I sent out to the masses re: my fabulous show, "Believe Chicken" which is now dead and (almost) buried. But, the fantastic e-mails live on in our hearts and in e-mail inboxes. And now, on my blog! Read away!

(Here's a fun Holiday-Related article by me, reprinted with my permission
from a make pretend magazine we'll call, "BAD AT LIFE")

****Don't you hate someone at work? How to have fun while satisfying
your inner evil in three simple steps.****

1) Ask a question about Christmas, even if they're jewish. Then,
interrupt whatever they say unexpectedly and inappropriately.

YOU: So, what did you get for Christmas?
THEM: The best thing! I got a DVD player, and American Pie on DVD,
and a super dumb book by someone you've never heard of that I will love so
much more than it deserves and try to make you read at some point...
YOU: (INTERRUPT-YELL) I don't care!

2) Pretend you are sorry, and laugh and apologize. Then, smack them on
the ass hard. They'll be perterbed but immediately forgive you as soon as
you give them another opportunity to talk about themselves. Use this
opportunity to repeat step 1.

YOU: No, I'm just kidding, I'm sorry. (SMACK ASS HERE, HARD, LIKE A
FOOTBALL SMACK) So, what did you do on Christmas?
THEM: I had a nice time. I went to the best place ever and I had the
best time, bla bla bla....
YOU: (Interrupt them again, YELLING) Why are you so boring?

3) Beg for their forgiveness. Tell them you are trying out a character
that you are going to be auditioning for on "Saturday Night Live". They'll
ask you about SNL, just ignore them. Then ask them another question.
YOU: So, what are you doing for New Years?
THEM: I am doing the best thing for New Years! They invented a new
thing this year that I'm doing that no one has ever done before and I'm going
to be doing it. It's going to be really great, bla bla bla
YOU: (Interrupt them with a punch in the face, YELLING) Everyone in
the office hates you!

That's it! Simple! Fun! Evil! Merry Christmas! Ho Ho Ho!

13th and 2nd Ave
Cheap Drink Time start at 6 PM, the happiest hour ever
This week - Hostesses Jessica Delfino and Liz Laufer take a sleigh ride
together - in the shower!

Andrew Donnelly (Getting real tired of being told to geddy up)
Dennis Quinn (insists there's actually 44 days of christmas)
Clara Bijl (an authentic french hen)
Mike Silverman (gets sentimental when people say "Let's be jolly")
Roger Hailes (fell out of an open sleigh at age six, hates horses now)
Chelsea Peretti (doesn't believe in jesus, but loves the song "Spirit
In The

And OTHER SPECIAL GUESTS who may or may not do christmas jokes.
Come on down and cheer us on. We'll /probably/ appreciate it.

You can send friendly or evil comments about this e-mail to or Please don't email us any
jokes. Send them snail mail. Make up the address. Don't forget to
include a sase.




Would you punch a woman? How about a woman with a glass eye?
Would you eat a sandwich in front of a homeless person? How about a
homeless person with a glass eye?
Would you pretend you had bad reception if you were on a
cellphone and you didn't like what they were saying? What if the
person you were talking to had a glass eye?

If you answered yes OR no to any of the above questions, you are
officially a bad person.

This isn't so awful - there are lots of bad people in the world. You
are one of them. It's a team, a group, like MENSA, or the NBA. Welcome to
the crew. I am not a bad person, but I won't judge you. Well, I will, but
not out loud. Well, I will out loud, but not in front of you. Well, maybe
in front of you. It depends. Is your name John Hughes, the jerk who
hekled a funny fabulous comic at Believe Chicken last week? Then, yes, I will
judge you, out loud, in front of you, and your and my friends. Bad people
aren't so bad, so long as they are bad because they are insecure or poor.
Once people start being bad because they are in a band and the rest of the
band members are bad, or they want to make their parents happy or something,
well, that's okay too. What do I know? I think we all agree, the answer is

Please come to Believe Chicken this week! Prepare to judge and be
judged. And laugh, maybe even out loud.


Joe Rocha - Knows the WHOLE alphabet, by heart!
Eric Braunstein - Passed him on the way to Tom's party!
Ron McEvoy - People say he looks like Moby!
Andrew Donnely - Plays the dad in a soap commerical!
Ben Morrison - Lives in Brooklyn!
Val Kappa - Lives in Brooklyn, too!
Larry Getlin - A wholesome, upstanding man!
Todd Montessi - Melted the white gangsta chic at Sugar's heart!



If you want to read a sketch that I wrote, it is below. Enjoy, see
you at the show. Chicken to you. Questions or comments about this email?
Wanna be removed? Wanna give me an enemy's email? Get in touch with me at





Keep going, Aunt Bea! We're

almost there!


Yeah, Aunt Bea. Don't stop

now! You can do it! Just up

this hill! We're almost



Who are you two? Get off

my feet!



Now what are we gonna do?


Quick, here comes a couple of

old ladies. Let's jump on

their backs!



It sure is hot out today,

isn't it Susan?


You bet, Janice! Why, on a

day like today, I could sure

use a tall glass of whiskey

and a cigarette!


Make that seven!


I hear you! Well, I didn't

actually hear you, could you

repeat that?


I said, make that seven!



Yes. Yes.



Well, Susan, thanks for

walking with me to the DMV.

I got my license for four

more years - provided I live

that long!


Too bad I crashed my car into

that young married couple

last week. Shame. They

might've been very happy

together. (Pause) Not!



Oh! My knee.


My knee, too! Well, I'm gonna

get home, now. I've got

company coming over. I still

have to make the chicken




Patrick, get ready to

Ditch the old bitch.




When she opens her door to go

inside, just use her left hip

and her knee as steps, and

climb down off of her. It's

just like getting off an old,

irritable horse.


I've never ridden a horse,

irritable or otherwise.


Of course you haven't. No

one rides horses anymore.

With the invention of the old

lady, horses became a thing

of the past. Nowadays, only

Indians and poor people ride



Yeah, totally!


So, on the count of three, ready?




One? Two?



Three! Up ya go, Elvira.

Don't forget your books.



Mom, I don't want you to

think I'm not grateful for

this really,

it's just that all the other

kids are driving cars to

school and stuff.


Elvira - Spookytown -

Johnson. Now you listen

here, Missy. You will get

down off your high horse

about driving a car. Cars

make trouble. Boys like to

have sex in cars. I'd like

to see you have sex on your

horse! It ain't gonna

happen! Cars go off cliffs

and into married couples

trying to cross the street!

Cars windows get smashed out

by fat jay walkers! I'd like

to see a fat jay walker punch

a horse! No cars, no sirree,

missy! Not for my daughter!

You're unique. No one else

will be riding a horse to

school today! But I bet a

trend is gonna start.

Imagine! My daughter! A

trend setter! Now get off to

school before I beat the shit

out of you with an extension


Monday, February 23, 2004

by Jessica Delfino

I need to find a place to live. $600 per month. Utilities included. I'd love to live in a small, empty room of a warehouse with one lone window and brick walls surrounding. I think that's called squatting. Whatever. At least squatters are living somewhere. That's more than I can say for me. Right now I'm staying at my friend David's apartment and it is a nice place, but I want to set up my room and all that stuff. I want to hang up my kitty poster and burn incense. I want to play my Led Zeppelin albums backwards and interpret them to mean something satanic.

You know?
by Jessica Delfino

I've been meaning to do this for awhile. I have journals dating back to freshmen year in high school. I used to have journals as far back as when I was in 6th grade, but a boyfriend and I got into a fight one time because of my evil young-hearted debauchery (I didn't know how to be a good girlfriend at age 15 and often got into trouble with the local town losers which also lead to things like me getting drunk and making out with boys who were not my boyfriend.) I was afraid he was going to read my journal and find out details about my wrong doings, so I burned all my diaries in the fireplace one night. STUPID. I still miss them all - the little puffy-covered heart- patterned book that kept all my 12 year old secrets in tact, the blue and black actual flannel plaid book that detailed my first make-out session with a boy, the blue book with the kitty on the front where I discussed in depth my first period and parents divorce, a little bullshit lock on the front to keep trespassers out.

Rich jewish kids have psychiatrists. Poor black kids have massive extended families. Middle-class white kids have journals.

In addition to having a bunch of diaries detailing private thoughts and occurences, I have dozens of comedy journals filled with jokes, sketches, bits, comics I hate and stuff like that.
I am going to start occasionally putting up random pages from my private journals. Sometimes they will be from my diaries, sometimes from my comedy journals. Some entries are insightful, some entries are funny, some entries are stupid. They will not be edited to make me look cooler or better or read in advance to see if they are too boring or x-rated. They will be straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak. And then, I will analyze them, tear them apart, or what have you. OK, here goes with episode #1.

AUG. 30th, 2002 Friday

I haven't kept a journal for a while. I've been performing stand up comedy so I write all my thoughts lately in joke form and usually in a notebook or napkins or backs of pamphlets or receipts. In the past 8 months (since 2002 began) a lot has happened.

- I broke up with Kurt and have been dating a new guy named Roger.
- My grandfather Resch died, age 82 or 86, around August 18th in Ohio and was buried in NJ.
- I moved out of my Astoria apt.
- I got a job as a nanny which I also got fired from. June 15th to the beginning of August. I lived there in my own mini apartment, 96th and Park. (1220 Park.) The family was very rich.
- I saw Sarah Silverman's one woman show. I was an usher and had my photo taken with her.
- I got attacked in my car on 46th and 8th Ave. Not my car, Walid's Montero.
- I became good friends with Liz Laufer.
- I got a job writing @ MTV on the TV show, "I Bet You Will." I got it from being @ 205 for Comedy Kabob while the producer, Morgan was there.
- I was an extra in Dave Chappelle's TV pilot for Comedy Central which I got through Neil Brennan.
- I bought and sold an old Volvo station wagon.
- That's all the major stuff I can think of.

Lately, I've been smoking and drinking a bunch, also smoking weed. I've been going to the Hamptons every weekend almost to Amagansett with Roger or other friends. I got a great tan this past summer and have lost 15 lbs. which is slowly creeping back up on me. I've been jogging in Central Park but am starting to get bored and/or lazy.

Messages received today:
* Chris Siemasko - he lives in Manhattan now with Mary. He said "duh" in his message. George Lowry is having a birthday party.
* Jeri Metzger - calls me all the time, tries to get me and Kurt back together.
* Kurt Metzger - he calls me a lot, too.
* Kurt again.
* Liz Laufer - My new best friend.
* Kurt Metzger
* Kurt Metzger
* Kurt Metzger
* Kurt Metzger

RECAP: Well, you may have noticed from the previous entry that I am a list keeper. It is a neurotic habit I've had all my life and it only gets worse as I get older. I can't even go to the bathroom without listing what I'm going to be doing in there. My bathroom to do lists look like this:

1. Number 2.
2. Number 1.

Just kidding, ha ha ha. But not about being a neurotic list keeper.

Also, it's nice to see that I keep track of somewhat important details, such as how old my grandfather was when he died and the actual day he died. NOT!

I also think that it's funny that seeing Sarah S's show made it to my list of important things that happened to me that year. I used to be star struck. Now, I feel old and I hate everyone.
Also, it's funny that being an extra on Dave C's pilot made it to the best things to have happened to me. I can only imagine what Dave C's list of important year events looks like. But I bet he hasn't written one. Not in a while, anyway. Also, the fact that buying and selling a Volvo station wagon made it to my list of important events is really sad. Really sad.

Then, I listed all the messages I'd received on my cell that day and wrote a little blurb about each person who called me. That's really weird. I'm weird. I think it's extra sad when you are so even-keeled that you can calmly look back over the pages of your diary and note your faults with both accuracy and separation. It's like one part of my personality is judging the other half that is doing all the writing. People have told me all my life that it seems like I have two different personalities. Maybe there is some truth to the zodiac, as I am a gemini and supposed to have a split personality, according to the star god or whatever. But I do notice sometimes that I am different than other times. Oooh, that was brilliant. It is simply no wonder that my writing gets such praise.

Sunday, February 22, 2004

by Jessica Delfino

I busked yesterday at the Astor Place station - that's the six line near the Starbucks near the other Starbucks around Cooper Union and Joe's Pub.

I've busked before, I used to always go to 42nd street, at the 7 train end of that long ass tunnel, and also on W. 4th street in the middle of the tunnel coming from the downtown ACE.

For those of you who don't know, a busker is someone who performs in the subway for change. I think there's a more technical definition, but for now, let's go with street performer who works for passing change (or in some cases, for free.)

So, now I don't go to 42nd street anymore. It got too creepy. Maybe it's better now what with Giuliani and his anti-porno crusade, and Disney and Toys R Us, but I don't think so. I got hit on way too much by the type of guys that girls don't like to get hit on. I met a few interesting characters also, but interesting characters don't pay my bills. When you're playing in the subway, people will come up to you and chat your fucking ear off, ask you your life story, where you're from, how long you've been playing the guitar, and stuff like that. It's nice to chat with weirdos underground. Being somewhat of a weirdo myself, I should either take solace in the fact that weirdos aren't out weirdo-ed by me, or I should be concerned that weirdos can sniff out my weirdness and therefore, have no trouble weirding around with me. However, the more you chat, the less you play, the less you play, the less dough you make.

Yesterday, I played for two hours and I made $25. Not a bad gig, really. The way I see it, I'm getting paid to practice guitar. I'm so much better now than I was when I started. When I first busked a few years ago, I was so bad. My voice was not confident and neither was my playing. Also, the people in Times Square were a bit meaner, kids and black women in their 20s would laugh at me and say rude shit, like, "Damn, she busted!" Whatever that means.

Still, I made alright money even having no skill and just the basic budding bloom of talent. Not to say I'm any kind of guitar wiz now or prodigal singer/songwriter, but simply having confidence makes up for a lot of lack elsewheres.

I don't play my dirty folk rock songs in the subway. There are too many kids. All I need is one parent to come over and yell at me or call the cops who would then ticket me or make me leave. Any way you slice it, it'd be shitty.

I played over at Rockefeller Center Plaza one day down in the concourse. That was the worst stop ever. I had this vision in my head of someone coming out of William Morris or one of the record companies or acting agencies over there and spotting me over the brim of their Au Bon Pain coffee cup and next thing you know, I'm signed (whatever that means) and I'm riding down to my storage facility in a limo to clear that shit out. (All my shit is in storage right now.) (I don't know why I'd take a limo to clear my stuff out of storage - it seemed extravagant to me, regardless of completely lacking any logic.)

But that didn't happen. I ended up playing for an hour and making 0 dollars and 0 cents, as well as getting a LOT of really weird looks from overdressed conservatives.

But look at Kaki King. Look at Patty Rothberg. They were just lowly buskers once. Now they are stars. Patty Rothberg, haven't heard from her in awhile, but Kaki is an up and comer who just signed a deal with a little record company called Epic. It's hard for me, though, since I can't play my real music on the platform, I have to do covers, and singing covers isn't really going to get me noticed. But, it will put some money in my pocket for lunch or beers.

So, next time you're over near Astor Place, say taking the 6 train uptown or shopping at K-Mart, listen for acoustic Joni Mitchell or Rush being voiced by flowery-toned maiden. That'd be me.

by Jessica Delfino

I need a job.

Friday, February 20, 2004

40 Degrees & Slightly Windy

The weather is pretty nice in NYC today. I heard on the radio it was 40 degrees out, and it feels pretty comfortable for walking. Today would be a nice day to take a bike ride in Central Park or roam around Times Square. Depending if you have a job or not. If you have a job, I guess today would be a good day to go to work.

I always hated talking about the weather. It really is a stand-by for "I have nothing at all to say. My brain is completely empty."

"How's the weather where you are?"
"Good, and how about where you are?"
"Oh, it's nice today. A little overcast, but not too cold."
"Oh, good. That sounds okay."

When it is cold, I always wish it would get hot, and when it is hot, I always wish it would get cold. I think my favorite season is probably Fall, but not dead into fall, more the taint between Summer and Fall, where it's still warm, but who knows? Maybe tomorrow it won't be. I don't really care about the leaves too much. Everyone talks about the leaves and going to see the leaves, and the foliage in New England, and wouldn't it be nice to take a trip up north and see the foliage? I never gave much of a shit about leaves, though I like trees just fine, they are a nice invention and whoever made them should get credit, though I am not exactly sure who to give the credit to. Maybe God? Or the Devil?
The Devil supposedly made hell, right? Well, what else did he make? Or was he a one hit wonder type of dark angel?

A comic pointed out the other night that everyone says, well, maybe god is a woman? Did you ever think of that? But no one ever says that about the devil. Well, maybe the devil is a woman? But I disagree. I always thought that the devil was either a gay man or a woman.

I noticed in New York, all the trees are caged up, and some of them appear to be shedding their outer layer of skin like they are metamorphosing into some new, different tree. I wonder if that is a special tree disease or if they are following some kind of trend in mother nature? I wonder if functions of mother nature happen because she is following trends in other aspects of her own creation?

This piece is very internal, organic, a bit sad in tone, perhaps. Maybe because I can feel a change coming on of the seasons, Winter to Spring.

When I met Christopher in the Fall, I wrote a song about him, jokingly, and called it "Fall to Winter Fling" and one of the lines went, "Maybe Spring will bring something new and interesting, but until then...." and here it is, going into Spring and we are still dating. I don't know for how much longer, it's never been that sound of a relationship. Some might even argue that it is a, what do they call those..., a bounce back or something, a rebound. That's it. Because I started dating him just after I broke up with my fiance of six years. I don't know much about rebounds or what they mean or what is supposed to happen with them, but nothing lasts forever, anyway.

That kind of sucks. I'd like to be able to get into a relationship with someone where I feel so secure, where we can do no wrong to eachother, where I don't want to rip their guts out or murder them while they are sleeping. Where he buys me presents on Valentine's Day, or takes me out to dinner just because he wants to, and I learn things from being around him, because he's smart and he's been to foreign countries or where ever you go to learn great things. I'm not trying to complain about my current relationship, it's got it's strengths and weaknesses, but there's always that impending feeling of, okay, when is this going to be over? How is this going to end? Are we going to just stop calling eachother one day? Will I be hit by a bus? Will he decide he doesn't like me anymore? Will I find someone I like better?

My grandparents were married for sixty something years. He died last year of emphysema. Everyone's grandparents were married for sixty something years. They had to be. Divorce wasn't cool in the 50s, (did it even exist?) but integrity was. If two people swore they'd love eachother forever, they stood by that. They meant it. For better or worse and all that shit. Now, people get married because they're bored or because there's a house in it somewhere for one of them. I know that there is someone out there who has integrity and they don't know it yet, but they are going to love me so much. And one of us will bury the other one.

So, it looks a bit overcast outside. I don't know where the sun is, maybe it went to go take a piss or something. I don't think it's going to rain or snow. The other day they said it would snow and then it never did. Telling the weather is like telling the future. Sometimes the teller is right, and sometimes they're not, and there's a little bit of skill to it, and a little bit of guess work. But no matter the prediction, either the weather or the future, both are uncertain.

Wednesday, February 18, 2004

as well as
by Jessica Delfino

I saw Tuesday Night of Amazing Inventions and Also There Is A Game last night at St. Mark's Theater. It was hosted by Andres Du Bouchet who played a character. The show had a house band and a bunch of stand-up comics with some fun comedy bits in between such as a half-time show report (which I've also seen on The Shark Show but was funny none-the-less and a bit different than the way they do it at The Shark Show) and a weather report, as well as a funny invention (it was called the soundalator or something, but it was a calculator held onto a styrofoam tube by a rubber elastic...). The show was really, really great, every bit worth 5 bucks. The comics on the show were Andy Vastola, Matt Goldich (I think that's his name) also Christian Finnegan and maybe one or two more who are escaping me, but especially Julie Klausner who was really the belle of the ball. She was so funny with great comic bits of genius and keen, adorable observations. My boyfriend noted her bountiful cleavage as well, which I noticed too, but was so taken by her hilarious jokes the boobs didn't even factor in.


In other news, who the hell is Franz Ferdinand? Also, if you are just coming to my website now for the first time because JANE sent you, please listen to my song SUDDEN CHANGE under "LISTEN TO MY SONGS" or whatever the link is called, and give me your feedback in the comments section. If you weren't sent here by JANE magazine and have never heard SUDDEN CHANGE, please include yourself in that request. For those of you who don't know, SUDDEN CHANGE is a lovely, delicately fashioned folk song, handcrafted painstakingly and decorated with truth and bitter sentiments. The basic gist of it is this: Men call women bitches all the time and what have you, but for the love of christ, you fuckers, cut us some slack. Once a month for a WEEK, we BLEED from our VAGINAS. If you bled from the tip of your weiners, you might understand. Dear God, please let men bleed from their weiners some day.


Monday, February 16, 2004


I got my first review/write-up in a national magazine in the March issue of JANE magazine. I was so excited about it I started chatting politely with the Indian who runs the candy bar/magazine shack at 56th and Broadway and showed him the column. I'm such a dork, and I can't even help it. I have started to realize that there's no getting around it and I might as well try to embrace it and love my dorky ass self, because I'm not cool and when I try to act cool I come off as the exact opposite of cool.

ANYWAY: This is very exciting. I mean, it's exciting as far as these things go. Normally, JANE writes four reviews of CD's and each one gets a paragraph, but they smushed me and Franz Ferdinand together in the same column/review so we only each get half a paragraph. But here's what it says:

Franz Ferdinand sound like a cross between the Strokes and the Rapture, but they're not just ripping those bands off. Listen for them at your local $2 Rolling Rock watering hole.

Another non-ripper-offer is Jessica Delfino, a folk version of Peaches. Her songs start off like, "War is bad," but then she launches into hilarious rants about her vagina and how her boyfriend can't get her off. (Joshua Lyon)

They gave me three and a half cookies. Three cookies is good and four cookies is excellent, so I guess I'm somewhere in between good and excellent, according to JANE. Not bad for a dork.

by Jessica Delfino

On Friday night, there was a "stoned" spelling bee in Brooklyn hosted by Noah Tarnow. I won! Kind of. I actually tied for first place with another girl. It was weird, they didn't do it like a regular spelling bee, (obviously not, if you can't guess by the key word "stoned" in the title.)

There were 14 people in the contest, and there were four rounds - 'pain' related words (excruciating and etc.,) law words (habeas corpus and the like) medical words (anesthetic and what have you) and finally, super freakishly hard words (I can't even repeat any cause I can't remember any cause I'd never heard them or seen the words they mentioned before and I was also very, very stoned.) I didn't miss any words until the freakishly hard round, where I immediately missed whatever my freakishly hard word was. But, I might have missed one medical word and then one really hard word. I can't remember. I was super stoned. But the way it worked was like this: each person spelled a word and if they missed it, they had to leave the stage. But then, at the beginning of each round, everyone came back up and started anew.

So, at the end of four rounds, I think I'd missed either one or two words.

Anyway, at the end of each round, we'd take a little break and hang out and relax our brains.
So, after two rounds of spelling and a break, the announcer, Noah, who by the way was very funny playing the part of a grammar school principal or maybe the English teacher or something, gathered us all up together on the stage and started passing a joint and a bowl around of some primo weed. I showed up stoned because I thought that was what we were supposed to do. I also smoked pot between each break, because I figured, hey, what the hell. After all, this IS a stoned spelling bee, dammit. I'm all about rules, especially if the rule is you must be stoned. We all got super fried and then, the medical words round began, then the super freakishly hard words round.

At the end of the bee, they tallied up the points and myself and another lady were in the lead. I won a free tee shirt.

I have to give credit to some of the spellers in the bee. Some of these people were spelling monsters. One girl, Alita, I think her name was, was awesome. Then, there was a chubby guy whose name I forget and he nailed all these killer law terms, then this one guy Rupe was a spelling ringer, I think he'd gone to the nationals or something when he was in grammar school. He hit so many hard words that I definitely for sure would have failed on. Also, surprisingly, the girl who tied for first with me, she missed several words that I thought were kind of easy, but then during the super freakishly hard round, she hit two really super freakishly hard words right in a row. Impressive at the very least.

Now, to those of you who have spell checkers on your computers and don't use it anyway because you don't care about correct spellings of words, I can't blame you. Spelling words correctly is kind of lame, if you're into things that are cooler than spelling. I happen to like books, though, and writing and reading, so I've picked up the ability to spell somewhere along the way, but not only the ability, the obsession, really, to make it a point to spell words correctly. So much so that it bothers me when people misspell words. When I get an e-mail and it is littered with punctuation and spelling errors, I automatically assume that whoever sent me the letter is either stupid or not very well-read and either way I immediately label them in my head as 'probably an idiot' and I am usually right. (Sometimes people write things quickly and are tired or stoned and though not a perfect excuse for being a sloppy writer, an excuse none-the-less and one that I refer to often because I make spelling and punctuation mistakes all the time in my blog and in stories I write and etc., but it is here where I like to use my creative license and say if I didn't insert weird parenthesis or brackets where they didn't belong or spell something out frenetically, it just wouldn't be Jessica Delfino's writing. Whether or not I'm correct in saying that is up to objection, but then again, I don't care. That's the beauty of the art of being a writer.)

I saw an independent documentary about spelling bees a few months ago called, "Spellbound" and it was pretty good, pretty funny and really cute. It took me back. I haven't won a spelling bee since I championed the 8th grade Great Salt Bay Grammar School bee in '90 and had gone on to place 13th in the county bee.

As I rode away that evening on my bicycle, I was so elated, I almost got hit by a car. It was because I was thinking about how the best part of all of it was that everyone was so fucking nice and cool to me about placing first (tying, whatever). I was like the nerd king that night. Everyone was coming up to me and congratulating me, calling me a spelling animal and things like that. Funny nerdy guys were complimenting my ability to bead letters together and several observers said that they had me pegged as the winner from my first word. It's so funny how everyone loves a winner, even if you're only winning a spelling bee.

I hope I win the regionals.

Monday, February 9, 2004

by Jessica Delfino

"So, when can you come over?" she yelled into the receiver. He answered, "I'll be there in half an hour." She hung up and started frantically running around her apartment. "This place is a mess!" she yelled out to no one in particular. Her cat nodded in agreement. She grabbed arm loads of socks, towels and shirts off the couch. They'd been there for days since she pulled them out of the dryer. She passed a mirror hanging on the wall as if it was the first time she ever knew it was there and exclaimed as if she had never seen her own reflection before, "Oh, my god," she yelled. "My hair is a mess, too!"

She slid along the wood floor in her soft white socklettes, the ones she wore around her apartment to keep it sanitary. "I don't want to drag the dirt and germs in off the floor," she said to a friend on the phone one time. "There is TB all over the ground in this city!" she yelled ferociously into the speaking hole. Her friend agreed, unsure.

"Come on, kitty," she yelled. "Up you go!" She waved her hands around the cat frantically. The cat squinted it's eyes and nose and made a face at her, twisting it's neck left and right, trying to decide whether to run or fight. "Go on, get outta here!" she yelled again. The cat soared off the couch and disappeared into a corner to sulk.

A knock on the door later, she started really freaking out. "You're not supposed to be here yet! You're not supposed to be here yet!" she howled. "You're not supposed to be here yet!" she whined loudly through the door. She pulled the door open and the chain caught the wall. "Hi," he said awkwardly. "I'm a bit early, I know." He held up a bouquet of flowers and kind of wagged them at her. "These are for you," he said. She took the flowers through the space between the door and the wall. "Thank you," she said. "You'll have to come back in fifteen minutes," she said. "I'm not ready to see you yet." He shifted and looked down at the ground. "Well, you look beautiful to me," he said. He sniffled a little bit and shifted his weight again, back to where it had been. "I appreciate your kind comment," she said. "And thank you for the flowers," she added, in the softest voice she could muster, which was still two octaves above a normal speaking voice. "Yeah, no problem," he said. "But, you will have to come back in fifteen minutes," she insisted. "I'm sorry. We made an agreement on the phone of what time you would be over. You are twenty minutes early. I'm letting you come back in fifteen minutes, so I'm allowing you five early minutes, which is something I don't normally do. An agreement is an agreement," she said. "OK," he answered. "I guess I'll just be back in a few minutes, then." She closed the door. "Thank you for understanding," she yelled through the door. "See you in a few."

Saturday, February 7, 2004


Thank you everyone who came out to see my show. I hope that you enjoyed it. Thank you everyone who acted in my show, also and to Geo for videography, Touching You for directing it, UCB Theater, Owen, Alex, Chuck and everyone at the theater for letting me do it and being so accomodating to my hundreds of questions, Lisa Ackerman for tech and lighting, special thanks to Mark Mistretta, Todd Montessi, Touching You, Johanna Buccola, Joe D. and Gina Alietti for being so damn awesome.


In other news, I am moving on Tuesday out of my apartment. If you aren't busy and can help me move for about two hours on Tuesday (from about 1 - 3 pm) I will appreciate it kindly and will provide beer and pizza after the move. I will be moving from my apartment at 342 E. 76th Street at 2nd Avenue and don't have that much stuff, and don't have anything heavy. If you can help, even for an hour or half an hour, please e-mail me at or call me if you know my number.

That's all for now.

Thursday, February 5, 2004

by Jessica Delfino

I got evicted today, I mean for real where the guy comes and says get out and changes the locks and stuff. It was one part traumatizing, one part humiliating and one part stupid.

I went to court on Tuesday to try to get a stay of eviction (where they put it off for a bit until I can try to fix everything) and the judge said no, because I'd messed up my payment schedule. I paid $1200 per month for my apt. and my landlady wanted me to pay $1700. I gave her $2000 in court but it wasn't enough to ease her mind.

The judge told me to call the Marshall's office and ask when my eviction was scheduled for. I called after court and they said to call back on Thursday and they'd tell me if it was going to be on Friday or Monday. So, I called back today and they said the eviction schedule wouldn't be ready until 3:30 this afternoon. So, I went home and started to pack my stuff up into boxes. Around noon, I called my landlady to see if I could move out on Monday since it's supposed to snow and freezing rain tomorrow. She called me a bitch and told me I deserved to be out on the street. She also said there was something wrong with me which might or might not be true, but how did she know? How embarrassing, when people you don't even know can look inside your mind and accurately pin point your short comings.

She told me I was getting evicted today, then, she hung up on me. I got worried because I thought I was getting evicted tomorrow, Friday. I called the Marshall's office and again, they said I had to call back at 3:30. I told her what my landlady said. She asked me for my name and address and said yes, actually, I was scheduled to get evicted today at 12:45. I looked at the clock. It said 12:30. I locked all three locks on my door. Then, I grabbed a duffel bag and started putting things into it that I kind of care about and a few clean pairs of socks and underwear. If I'm enough of a loser to be getting evicted, I thought, at least my feet should not smell.(?)

I tried to call some friends and Legal Aid to find out what to do. It seemed wrong to me, they TOLD me to call back on Thursday to see about Friday. I was very confused. But whoops, no time for confusion, there was a knock on my door. I asked who it was but I had a pretty good idea. "City Marshall," he barked at me. "Open the door!" I unlocked two locks and pulled the door open the length of the chain.
"Um, no one's here right now, but if you would please leave a message at the beep..." I said in my head. "Open the door or I'll bust it down," he said. The Marshall looked like a troll - he had long white hair like Gildor or whatever that guy from Lord Of The Rings name is, but he was short. His face looked familiarly like one of my old regulars from the go-go bar. He was old. I wondered how long he'd been kicking people out of their homes for? I didn't ask. I just opened the door, because I didn't want to get beat up by an old city employee.

"You are scheduled for eviction," he said. "When?" I asked, as if I didn't know. "Now," he said. "Get a bag, put some things in it and get out. We're changing the locks and taking over possession of this apartment." He had a short, shout Indian looking guy with him. "Change the locks," he told him. I grabbed a few more things and put them in the bag as I tried to explain that this was all a big mistake.
He said he didn't care, he had the paperwork to prove otherwise. I told him my landlady called me a bitch. He said, "She can be mean."

I didn't really know what to do. I just grabbed my purse and the two small bags full of clean socks and cds and sort of looked around, bewildered. What do you grab when you're getting evicted? What's important? I always wondered if there was a fire and I only had a few minutes to get the things that were most important to me, what would they be? This was kind of like that, I guess. I grabbed a blank book my sister gave me for Christmas, a pretty antique crystal bottle my mom gave me several years ago, extra mittens, two pairs of jeans, my straightening iron, some cds, my toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, a bottle of expensive French perfume an ex-boyfriend bought me a few years ago, and some other random items, clinging to the situation, clinging to my possessions, hoping they could settle the chaos in my head, knowing it was all sentimental and pretty much useless.

The Marshall explained to me that the landlady would keep my possessions until I could make an arrangement to go and get them out. I took my few bags of crap and slithered out of my old apartment door. The Marshall, the lock changing guy and the superintendent stood there awkwardly, I could tell they felt sorry for me. What had happened? They must have been thinking. She's a pretty girl, she's white. She doesn't look like a drug addict. What could have possibly happened to her to lead to this? Maybe they were thinking something else, like, maybe one was thinking he was hungry and wondering what he would eat for lunch, and maybe the super was thinking that he'd seen this happen so many times before and maybe the other guy was singing a song in his head or something. But, I was pretty sure by the looks on their faces that they felt as sorry for me as I felt for myself.

I stumbled sadly down the stairs, not looking back or saying good bye. I was really embarrassed and just wanted to get the hell out of there. I descended the four flights of stairs and cursed Kurt Metzger in my head in a voice just above a whisper, over and over again. When I got outside, I sat on the stoop. "What the hell am I going to do now?" I thought. I tried to call some more friends and no one was home. "I can't even go home if I wanted to," I thought. "I'm technically homeless," I thought. I've made lots of homeless jokes and I always said to myself, "One day, I am going to be homeless, I know it." Then, I thought about all the countless number of rape jokes I've made over the years. It made me shudder. If this was any kind of indication that what goes around comes around, I'm fucked - against my will.

I got in touch with my lawyer friend, finally and he said I should go back in and put him on the phone with the Marshall. I went back into the foyer and immediately lost reception on my cellphone. I stood outside of the superintendent's apartment and the Marshall and the lock changer guy were all in there talking about me. The Marshall said, "The landlady thought this girl was going to give me a hard time. She said that she told her she'd call the police if she tried to evict her," THAT'S NOT TRUE! I screamed in my head. My face turned pink and my ears perked up. There's nothing like getting kicked while you're down. It hurts extra good. They all chuckled over the idea of me calling the police and the Marshall imitated my voice in a whiny sing song and they all laughed some more. Oooh, that smarts, I thought to myself, and listened in more closely. Then, they came out of the apartment to find me standing there. I got busted eavesdropping and they got busted being insensitive. I guess we were even.

I asked them again about how and when to pick up my stuff and they explained it again and then we all walked out together. The Marshall offered me good luck and wandered off to ruin someone else's home situation. The lock changer guy stayed behind for a minute. "I'll make it easy for you when you want to get your stuff," he said. "Just give me a day's notice and I'll come over and let you in, no problem." I thanked him and he sort of stood there, looking up at the sky. "Well, good luck," he said. "Can you give me a ride somewhere?" I asked him. "I'm taking the bus," he said. "I've got another one to do." I guessed 'one' was a simpler way to say all the stuff I said just now. I thought to myself, if I ever hit it big, I'm going to give him a better job - one where he didn't have to lock people out of their lives.

I watched him walk away and tried to call a few more people. I finally got through to a friend and he said I could come over. I got into a taxi thinking, fuck, I'm taking it easy on myself. There's no way I'm walking to the train carrying two heavy duffel bags and a purse and then taking the train somewhere. When you get evicted and then you have to take the subway to where ever you're going next, I imagine that's the most earthly thing you can find that most closely resembles going to hell.

I got into the cab and cried for a minute. It was a cleansing cry, one that doesn't really represent sadness or self-pity, more like an intermezzo, you know, where they give you sorbet at a fancy restaurant to cleanse your palate for the next dish, or traumatizing experience, or whatever.

I used to work at a place where they did that. I brought a table of ten their intermezzos and they ate them, and then the grandmother dropped dead, right there at the table. So at least her palate was cleansed for when death came to get her. I wonder if death cares about bad breath? Probably not.

As the taxi drove down second avenue, then turned onto 72nd street and made it's way towards the park, I wiped my little crocodile tears away and thought about how all this came to be. Sure, I could blame it on Kurt, but I really had to blame it on me. Me, me, me. That's what this was all about. I imagined what I could have done, at what point might I have been able to fix my life to keep this from happening, or where in the timeline I could have broken up with Kurt to have saved myself. I wondered if it would have all panned out the same either way. I thought about how I was going to look back at all this and laugh someday, maybe even tomorrow. I imagined sitting in a dressing room, getting ready for a big show, my plane parked out back. My thoughts would return to the day I got evicted, memories spread out like a hand of cards. The guy who changed the locks on my door at my apartment all those years ago would come in and he would say, "Ms. Delfino? They're waiting for you." And I would smile, take a sip of wine and say, "Let them wait. I'm doing something.... kind of like reveling."

Tuesday, February 3, 2004

by Nancy Miller

Hi, everyone. I'm Nancy Miller. I'm a mother of three. When I graduated from highschool in 94, I really had no idea what I was going to do with my life. I grew up in a small New England town and my father supported the family by working on a lobster boat. My mother worked as a clerk at the local grocery store. Even if I had wanted to go to college, it would have been hard, because my parents had a limited income and seven children to care for, myself being right in the middle.

After graduation, my boyfriend at the time (now my husband!) Todd Miller was about to go into the Marine Core and we decided that maybe we should get married before he left. We got married and he left me with a very special little wedding gift - one who I would eventually name Mandy Miller. Two years later, Sarah and Noah Miller came one right after the other, like floats in an Easter parade.

Nowadays, my husband makes a decent living as a custom carpenter. He told me that I could do whatever I wanted to do - he said I could work full time if I like, and we could get a babysitter, or I could take up a hobby, perhaps knitting or bowling, or I could stay home and be a full time mom. After giving it some thought, I decided that I would stay home with the kids and care for them.

I had no idea it was going to be such an ordeal. My day begins at 7 a.m. At least if I was working at a normal job, I wouldn't be required to come in until 9 am! I have to get the kids up and bathed and dressed for school. Mandy is 9 years old, Sarah is 7 and Noah is 6, so they are all at an age where they like to make things more difficult than they need to be! Then, I bring them over to my mother's house (she lives across the street) and we all have breakfast together at 7:30 am. Mandy won't eat eggs because she is afraid of chickens for some reason, and Sarah is allergic to milk. Noah pretends to be allergic to milk (he pronounces it la-lergic!) because he wants to be just like his big sister.

After breakfast, we usually go out into my mother's back yard - she has a large plot of land and some horses, so we'll go take a walk or if the horses are up to it, a trot down the nature trail. Mandy likes to canter, which makes me nervous because she is asthmatic. Sarah is afraid of horses and so she usually will just walk. I don't try to force her to like horses! If she doesn't like them, I just accept that and say to myself, "Nancy, it's not your fault. Not all little girls love horses." Noah pretends that he doesn't like horses because Sarah doesn't like them, but he usually gives up the guise after a bit because he really does enjoy them very much.

On the other end of the trail is their school - Great Slow River Elementary School. I know all the children's teachers very well and am very involved with the school. I feel that it is my responsibility as those children's mother to make sure I know who is teaching them what! I tie up the horse (if we have one) and take them to their classrooms. The horses don't mind waiting. They love to eat the green grass!

During the time they are away, I wish it were fun vacation time for me, but it's not! I usually go back over to my mother's house and help her clean up from breakfast, then it's back home to wash laundry, clean their rooms, make important phone calls to doctors and dentists and other parents and arrange field trips or parent teacher luncheons, send faxes sometimes and disinfect the kitchen and bathroom, where germs will cultivate if you let them!

Around 3:45 or 4 pm, they get home from school. They usually walk themselves home and that's okay with me. I used to be too worried to let them, but I'm getting better about letting them be young adventurous children. I tell them, "Don't talk to strangers!" and I ask them, "What do you do if you see a stranger?" They yell back at me, "Run!" in unison, and then we all fall around the room laughing. They are all their own individual little pint-sized blessings!

From about 4 to 5, we do homework together. Oh, they bicker, the way all kids do, but they love eachother. Around 5:30 pm, Noah likes to watch cartoons and Mandy usually calls her girlfriends to talk about boys or tell eachother poems they've written. (I listen in on her phone calls sometimes! I don't feel bad about that. As a good mother, I should know who my children are talking to and about what!) Sarah likes to help mommy (me) prepare dinner. She likes to pretend that she is a cook in a restaurant and that daddy is an important person who is coming to eat at our restaurant! She is so creative and I think she probably will be an artist or a lawyer someday. She gets her creative streak from me, I think. (I knit with a knitting circle once a week.)

At 6 pm, Todd comes home. The kids attack him because they are so happy to see him! He goes and showers and gets changed up for dinner, and then we all eat together at the lovely mahogany dinner table that Todd made by hand and gave to me for my birthday last year. Over dinner, we talk about the days events, Todd tells me about work, the kids tell us about what happened at school. Sometimes they yell at eachother, but it's only because they are fighting for their parent's attention. They don't have to do that, but Sarah thinks that I am going to leave for some reason! She always has dreams about that. I have spoken to Todd about whether or not we should get a psychiatrist for Sarah but he says that kids have nightmares sometimes and it's no big deal.

Around 7 pm, we finish up and Sarah usually helps me with the dishes. Todd likes to have a cigar in the basement and Noah likes to read. Mandy goes into her room and puts on make-up and talks on the phone. She wants to be a model, she says! I think she could be one. She is very skinny and pretty and looks great in hot pants! I tell her how I used to be skinny like her and that one day it will catch up to her. She doesn't understand that yet, though.

8 pm, and it's time for bed. The kids usually put themselves to bed. I just say, "Bedtime!" and they go to bed. I feel very lucky that way. Every once in a while Todd has to say, "What did mommy say?" and the kids don't put up any more hassle. I don't like to think that they are afraid of their father, but more that they respect his size.

After the kids are in bed, Todd and I talk about the kids. We talk about what we can do to be better parents and we share quality time together. I think that when Todd and I spend time together, it makes us better parents. I feel that all couples should spend the last few hours of the evening together talking about how to be better parents. And don't ever go to sleep angry, ladies! It doesn't make for a happy family.

Well, that's a little bit about what it's like to be a parent. If you're thinking about having children, I hope that this has given you some insight about what it's like to care for three kids. It's hectic, but it's worth it, every second of it.

Please visit these following links:

Johanna Buccola's blog

Ned Vizzini's Website:

My comic writer pal Joe's Website:

Johanna is a good friend of mine who helped me a lot with my show at UCB. She is a very talented and funny performance artist who does really great characters. When we get together, we laugh a lot and talk about how stupid boys are. Having Johanna for a friend is kind of like being in 7th grade all over again. I like that about her. She and I will be together in the O'Debra's naked slumber party show in March at Collective Unconscious. She is also always at Bowery Poetry Club every Monday night at 10.

Ned Vizzini is a friend of Touching You. I think it's really funny that he hates Touching You's music so much, because it is actually good music in my opinion, but I like that he trashes him about it. Ned writes novels and he is young so I think it is cool that he is an author at such a young age. He is cute, too. I think he and my sister would be a nice couple.

Joe D'Allegro is a long time supporter of everything Delfino so I love him for that. He helped me a lot with my one person show also, and we used to be in a writing group together that didn't really get too far off the ground, but that's the way things go sometimes. We met at Believe Chicken and have been friends ever since. He writes funny, dark cartoons and short essays and I am a fan of his work. He's also creepy in a really sweet way, and I always like people like that. Like Todd Montessi.

Well, well, well. I have two cyber stalkers it seems that are acting out on my comment boards.
I will tell you all, Kurt is my ex-fiance. He is pissed at me because he says that I am cold to him. I am going to tell you all the story right now and put this to bed.

THE STORY OF KURT AND JESSICA from Jessica's Perspective

Kurt and I met in college. It was the closest thing I've ever come to love at first sight. When we met, I was dancing at Billy's Beef and Gogo. I was making over a grand a week, I was in college, I had my own little apartment and car, and I had about ten grand in the bank. I was doing pretty well. He moved in about six months after we met. His mom was paying his rent for a bit until he told her that he didn't want to be a Jehovah's Witness anymore. She pretty much stopped paying his rent and he got various jobs, working as a manager at FuncoLand and pursuing comedy while trying to finish up his associate degree in Computer Animation. He got really used to me making all kinds of money and I was very generous. I took us out to eat a lot and paid for everything. I bought groceries, paid rent, paid for bills, drinks when we went out, etc., etc. But we were very much in love and I didn't mind footing the bill for everything - I was making enough money for both of us.

So, before he told his mom that he didn't want to be a witness anymore, she said he shouldn't date me because I was worldly (a polite way of saying a slut, I guess) I got very upset. I couldn't imagine not being without Kurt, I was really in love with him. So, I told him that I would quit dancing and go with him to Jehovah's Witness church so that his mom would be happy and we could stay together. I was much younger and more naive at this point in my life, and I didn't know that I could have just broken up with him and everything would have been okay.

I quit dancing and started going to Jehovah's Witness church. It was not fun and Kurt didn't want to be a witness anymore, anyway, so we both quit going. I was totally super broke from not dancing anymore, and I got a shittyjob as a telemarketer or something where I making not even a third of what I'd been making dancing. I tried to get my old job dancing back, but at that point I was really sick of dancing, and I'd made up my mind I didn't want to do it anymore, and Billy and I were on the outs anyway from him firing me and me quitting and back and forth.

Kurt and I were still getting along okay, even with added stress in our relationship, but he really wasn't making any money, so the two of us were trying to squeak by on my pithy salary. He started to get really into comedy and then refused to work at all because he couldn't go to do shows late at night and then wake up early to go to work. Most of the days, he'd spend in front of the tv or playing video games, chain smoking. Finally, he even dropped out of college because he didn't see any point in finishing because he had made up his mind that he wanted to do comedy.

I graduated from college in September 2000 and got a pretty good job right out of school. I worked there for a bit and made decent money, meanwhile, Kurt was keeping the couch warm. I didn't mind too much that I was the only one making any money, because I was in love and thought that Kurt loved me, too, so money shouldn't matter if you're in love and all that shit.

About six months of the good job in, I got fired because I wasn't getting along with this one guy at my job and we were having full on shouting match fights. It was really weird and I hated being there and he hated having me around too, and it came down to who was more important at the company, and it was him. Things started getting really difficult for us financially, because Kurt wouldn't work. My landlady threatened to kick us out. I decided maybe I should start looking for a job in NYC because I wanted to be closer to the city so I could concentrate on being famous or whatever, and I soon got hired at a dot com making a pretty decent salary. I arranged to couch surf while I worked at my new job and I figured I could save up some money to get an apartment and Kurt could stay in NJ in my old apartment until I got everything set up in NYC for him. So, I paid the rent at my NJ apartment meanwhile working full time and sleeping on couches and one night, I even had to sleep at Penn Station. A few times, I slept at people's houses I barely knew, too. I carried everything in a backpack, then I'd go home on the weekends. I was usually kind of dirty because that kind of lifestyle is sort of dirty. It was not very pretty.

I moved in with the creator of the Comic Bible after a month or so of couch surfing, in exchange for working on her magazine. So, during the day I worked at my dot com job, then, I'd do comedy and write for the magazine at night. I set it up for Kurt to come and live with me at her apartment, too, and he did.

After about a month of both of us living there, she lost her mind and kicked us both out because she said that he was a total slob. She would leave us long lists of things to do or not do and he didn't ever do anything on the list. He said that we got kicked out because we two ladies didn't get along, but we got along fine until he moved in. She told me later that Kurt was a slob and that he took advantage of me. Then, she said she put a restraining order against me that I never received. I don't know what that whole thing was really all about. I don't know if that weirdness was all Kurt's fault, she might have just been crazy.

I had saved up some money from my job, so I set up an apartment share in Brooklyn. We moved there and lived there for about a year. The whole time, I worked and paid almost the whole rent, per usual. I bought all the groceries, I paid for us to do laundry, I bought Kurt metrocards and cigarettes, I paid for taxis, dinner out, everything. He refused to work because he said that he wasn't going to compromise his comedy career. So, I got stuck working while he watched tv and played video games. I was still in love with him very much and I think he was in love with me, too, but our relationship was being strained due to his laziness. He'd do comedy most every night and get piece work writing on this or that, but he'd usually spend a significant amount of any money he ever made on pot and cigarettes and video games and alcohol and painkillers, if he could find them.

Our roommates eventually had it with us struggling to make the rent (it was $1100 for the two of us for an 8x10 bedroom and I had to pay it all myself usually) and with Kurt being so lazy and such a slob, so we mutually agreed to not live together anymore and we got an apartment with our friend Jay and his new girlfriend, Carla. We lived there for awhile, same deal. Kurt didn't work too much. He did get a job writing for a tv show while we were there, but the money never went to what it needed to go to. He was a slob, he never washed his dishes and he and Jay would argue about him being a slob. He even stole money from Jay and Carla on a few occasions. It put stress on their friendship and on our relationship and eventually, our landlord asked Kurt to leave, which Kurt insists is not true, but he's just living in denial.

I am not trying to say that I was always perfect and never missed any rent payments but I always had my money and most of Kurt's share, and money to cover utilities, food, etc. I didn't bust my ass working 80 hours a week, either. I worked 30ish hours a week. I don't love working, but I realize it has to be done.

I had it with that whole set up and was feeling pretty defeated by Kurt's laziness and constant inconsideration for me and our roommates, so I got a live in nanny job on the upper east side and broke up with him. I lived there for the summer and started to date a new guy, and tried to get my life together. Things were going pretty well. I saved up a lot of money and got hired to write at MTV so I was nannying and working at MTV, I also got to live there for free so I had very few expenses. My new boyfriend was really nice, too. He was smart and stable and organized and sweet and handsome and he seemed to like me a lot, too. I kind of screwed him over, though, because I really was still in love with Kurt and I hadn't wanted to break up with Kurt, I was just kind of hoping he'd get his shit together and I thought if I broke up with him, maybe he would see that I was serious. I wasn't trying to use the other guy, I really did like him a lot, but it was hard because I was still in love with Kurt. Me and the other guy broke up, eventually, because it was too stressful for him and unfair and he knew I still loved Kurt. I got an apartment on the upper east side and Kurt moved in with me pretty soon thereafter. I thought it would be different. I thought we'd been through all the tough times and things were going to get better because Kurt knew I was serious now.

Kurt proposed to me and I accepted because I was happy to have him propose to me after six years of feeling like I was being used. I said to myself, "Well, he must really love me or he wouldn't want to marry me." I wore his ring for awhile (which he borrowed money from his mother to purchase for me) but then I realized that he wasn't changing. He spent his days sleeping until 1, 2, 3 pm, waking up, smoking pot and a pack of cigarettes (which I at this point refused to buy for him anymore). He'd play video games and watch tv all day long, then do stand up at night. I'd ask him to do me favors while I was at work all day like, could you call the electric company or do the dishes and he never did anything I'd ask him to do. He was making regular money doing stand up and contributing slightly with groceries and a few bucks here and there, but he wasn't making very much money. Things were a little better than they had been with him trying to pay his share, but not better enough to fix years of shittiness. I finally reached a point where I couldn't really stand to be around him anymore. I couldn't have sex with him because I was physically disgusted by him being so lazy and slobby. I had sex with him anyway, but not nearly as much as I had in the past. I'd stay out late at open mics and comedy gigs, way after they'd ended because I didn't want to have to go home to the apartment which was a complete and total mess.

Finally, one night I came home drunk around 3 am. Kurt was very upset with me, naturally. He said I had to buy him a cellphone because our phone had gotten shut off because I refused to pay the bill since he used the phone more than I did. (I had a cellphone I usually used and argued that he should have to pay at least half the phone bill, probably the whole thing.) He said he needed a phone in order to get comedy gigs and I better buy him a cellphone. I said no. Normally, he'd make a demand and I'd get soft. But this time, I said no. He said, "Good, fuck you, bitch, we're through." The next day, he didn't help me clean up my apartment at all and I had to clean it myself from top to bottom before I went to work because there was a couple who were renting it from me for the weekend. He called me a bitch and told me to get away from him when I tried to talk to him. I decided I'd finally had enough and just let it stick. He tried to call me and apologize and get back together with me, but I decided to try to learn from my mistake and not take him back.

You have to understand, I still do miss things about him. He is funny, he made me laugh all the time. We cracked eachother up. He was lots of fun to have sex with. He is a very compassionate lover and very cuddly and affectionate. He knew exactly what to say when I was feeling neurotic to calm me down and he could always talk me out of being upset. He is smart and very observant. There are many great things about him. He could probably be the president if he weren't so lazy. The bottom line is, we aren't right for eachother, for a series of reasons.

Here are some of the things he did that made me really stop liking him:

1. He stole my ATM card out of my wallet and stole money out of my bank account. (I'd given him my ATM to use before with my pin number - I think I should be able to trust my fiance not to abuse that information.)

2. He stole money out of my dresser to "buy me a pre-engagement ring" he said, but I never received the ring and I never saw the money again. Like, two years later he gave me a "pre-engagement ring."

3. He grabbed me a few times and pushed me, shoved me, bent my arm back, etc. I have to say, I smacked him and stuff too, sometimes, but I'm not as strong as he is.

4. We went to visit my family in Florida and he stole a bottle of painkillers from my sister's bathroom closet. She was using them becuase she had her wisdom teeth out that week.

5. He stole a bottle of painkillers from my boss and money from my boss when my boss kindly let us stay at his apartment (which is bigger and nicer than mine was) while he was out of town.

6. He yelled at his mom all the time and was thankless to her even though she did a lot of nice things for him.

7. He yelled at me a lot and was moody. He refused to work.

8. He stole pot and money from me and when I'd confront him about it, he'd lie and swear he never did.

9. He had sex with my close friend Gina Savage while we had broken up and then told me he had sex with some girl, never mentioning it was my friend Gina. I at least had the decency not to shit where I ate, so to speak. I'd like to fuck a lot of his friends, but I never would.

10. He stole money from his best friend, Jay, which I thought was bad manners.

11. He lied constantly about things he didn't even have to lie about. He said it was because I freaked out on him all the time which might be true, but only because I felt like I was being taken advantage of by him.

There's more, but I think you all get the picture. So, now he's going onto my website that I use to try to get writing work, post stories and entertain the masses. I guess if nothing else, maybe it's kind of entertaining to read about our back history, but I doubt it's even that. We made a lover's tape together awhile ago when I had short hair, it's pretty graphic and I wish we'd never made it because now he's saying he'll sell it to everyone. I told him not to tape it to VHS but he did it anyway, against my wishes.
He's very sneaky and manipulative that way.

My point is, I don't want to waste any more time than I already have on Kurt. He used me for a long time and got me kicked out of four apartments, including the one I'm in now. I got an eviction notice a few days ago. Kurt paid rent ONCE in the year that we lived there. It was only $650 a month for him to live there, cheaper than most people pay in rent and he couldn't even pay that.

I don't care anymore if people read this and think I'm a bitch for writing it. I don't care if it hurts Kurt's feelings. He refuses to even acknowledge that he ever did anything wrong. He is a gifted asshole. I am sure he will do fine in this business of backstabbery and thievery and trickery. He might even consider giving up comedy to become a professional con man. I can see a future in it for him.

He calls me every so often to scream at me for being so cold. It's not that I'm cold, I'm just tired. I wish I had a psychiatrist so I could complain to them and say, "Well? Am I right?" or whatever people say to their psychiatrists. I wish I could wave a wand and get the six years of my life back. Or, maybe I don't. I learned some really great stuff from this experience. Maybe I'll share what I've learned sometime when I have more energy.

I called Kurt today and told him that he had to come and help me pack up my apartment since it's 50% his fault I got evicted, it's 50% his responsibility to help me move. I think that's fair. You know, I'm not even mad at Kurt. I swear, I'm not. I'm mad at myself for being so needy that I'd stick with him for so long. I'm not mad at Kurt at all. I don't hold him responsible. I just want him to quit posting obnoxious comments, because he is in the wrong. Everything he writes is emotionally based and I am writing from a straight on perspective. Maybe it's a one sided perspective, but at least there is truth to it. I'm not going to say bad things about Kurt that aren't true. He flip flops every day about whether or not I'm funny, whether or not I'm nice or pretty or a good lover and everything else, depending on whether we are getting along or not. I think that is called bi-polar disorder or something, but I'm not sure.

So, I hope if you have been reading the comment boards and see the horse shit that he and Kyle have been writing back and forth to eachother, you understand that this is the kind of guy I attract - I am a magnet for shit heads. Give me your starving artists, your manic depressed, your narcissists...

Thank you for your patience, and God Bless you all for being so understanding to people with special needs.