Month: March 2012

I just realized last weekend was the decade anniversary of living in Columbus, Ohio.  I celebrated by doing nothing.  The story of my first couple weeks here is funny, so that’s what you get today.  I had just got a job after searching for a couple months, so needless to say, I was poor.  I was talked into going to a St. Patty’s party with thousands of people present, which was a horrible idea because I had a whopping $27 to last me until Friday (it was Sunday).  I drank until I ran out of all but $5, then went to take a leak.

The lines were long, but when I got back to my spot, I didn’t see my ride.  After six calls, he answered (I could barely hear, also).  “You took too long, I left.”  I don’t have a ride.  “Get a taxi.  I’m almost home.”  You asshole, I have $5 and my credit card is maxed out!  “Hit on some chicks and get a ride.”  Click.

This was not good, as my game, especially back then, was to drink a lot and sidle up to some semi-attractive lush of girl and hoped she had no morals.  I knew I would have to use all my powers this day, or risk missing work on the sixth day of employment.  I was macking on this dame (I told you I have no game) and we started making out aggressively.  She talked her portly pal into giving me a ride late night.  Of course, the big girl wanted to stop for a steak, probably to compensate for the no men with her that night.  This was even worse, since I had no money and hadn’t eaten since before noon.  I remember just hoping she would throw a roll at me, but the rolls were hoarded like Scrooge’s gold that evening.  Coming off a buzz and staving, I finally got home around midnight and told my roommate I would piss on his grave.

I called the young lady once and she did not return my call, which was fine with me, since I got a 15 mile taxi ride out of the brief and torrid affair, which was better than most of my relationships.  I was at a bar about three months later and this chick approached me.  As she said hi, I realized it was St. Patty’s girl.  “Can we talk?”  Sure, I said.  “I think we should just be friends.”  Me – We’re not even acquaintences.  Are you nuts?  Her – “I’m glad you agree.  Cool!”  Then she walked out of my life forever…and probably into a pysch ward.  I always miss, you, drunken makeout taxi girl, whatever your name is.  You, and your surly fat friend too.  Can I at least have a saltine packet next time we dine?

I get asked that a lot.  The answer?  I have no clue.  I was doing comedy for a month and a lady told me I was funny.  “When are you going to Houston?”  As soon as someone pays me.  “Huh?”  News flash – if I could pick and choose, do you think I would be closing out the Fall Sour Apple Festival in Mayberry?  I love the downtown, it has personality!  Yuck.

I’m not bitching too much – thanks for your interest.  Where I am going next is not up to me, it’s up to a booking agent or a club.  Comedy is weird in that you can be amazing and never get the time of day because they just filled their middle act…he used to get free weed for the headliner, so he’s in and you’re out.  Thanks for trying!

Please realize when ask a comic when he’s in ???? town, you’re basically putting him/her in the awkward position of saying one of a few possibilities.  1) Your town has 140 people, where in the hell could I perform there?  2) I’m not good enough to have enough connections to play there.  3) Give me a sandwich, I’m starving and comedy doesn’t pay much.  Or my fave – 4) I could tell you next week, and you would no show.  That said, every time someone comes to one of my shows specifically for me, it means a lot.  Thanks.  (Cue Paula Cole music)

Last week I started having that fun thing where randomly my nose is stuffed, I am sneezing, my eye is watering, etc.  In other words, under the weather, but not enough to call off work, see a doctor or unload $50 at the pharmacy.  Other than being mildly sick, the only thing worse is everyone’s dumb advice.  I learned once, then had reinforced a few days ago, never tell your mom that you’re sick.  Moms are like web MD in that both go for worst case scenario – sniffles?  You have SARS cancer.  It’s going around.

What does that mean anyways?  It’s going around.  Like everyone works for the CDC every time they hear of two people getting sick.  “My nose is runny.”  Say that in a crowed room and immediately everyone has a full rundown of the history of airborne virus patterns in the tri-state, like it’s one bad day away from the Walking Dead.  I swear more people freak over a flu shot story than if there are a rash of unsolved murders in their neighborhoods.

My whole life I have hated being called white trash.  One time in college a guy from Boston called me that and I almost got into a fist fight with him.  Later that summer, I went to my family reunion in WV (you can see where this is going).  We had to leave early due to my Dad’s work schedule, but he said, “Too bad we’re leaving before the evening entertainment.”  What?  His answer – “They put a $20 bill on top of the pole, then grease it down and watch the kids spend all night trying to get it.”  Fantastic.  My family vine invented the human bug zapper.  I need to apologize to every guy that calls me a hilljack now, before the argument even starts.  Great.

This is the most interesting questions someone can ask.  I did a show last night and this young chick came up to me and said, “I know you probably hear this all the time, but you look just like Ryan Dunn (from Jackass).”  Great.  I look like a dangerous drunk driver.  (Disclosure: I wrote a joke about this next one)  I was also told I looked like a young David Hasselhoff after a show.  It was the most depressing moment of my life.

In fairness, I used to hear I looked like Joshua Jackson, aka Pacey from Dawson’s Creek.  I was such a douchebag in college, I tried to use that to my advantage once.  Drunk, I went up to a table of 18 year old ladies and said, “Hey, I just had some girls tell me I look like Pacey from Dawson’s Creek.  I don’t think so, what do you think?”  (I had a wet beer stain on my shirt, FYI)  This chick looked at me and said, “Who is that?  Wasn’t that show on like 10 years ago?”  I heel-turned and realized in the fight between drinking and getting laid, I had better stick to drinking – it only filled me with shame the next morning, not all week long.  Remind me to be nice to my lady this weekend…

My show last weekend was nice.  I showed up and the guy running the show was very accomodating, almost too much – I can’t deal with overly nice people.  I think they’re trying to steal my wallet or something.  I went up, did my time and pretty much, in my opinion, threw out a five out of ten.

I was kind of bummed watching the headliner.  I was pissed at my set, then the show ended and I sold more shirts and DVD’s than I have at any show in 13 months…  Guess it wasn’t that bad after all or this particular crowd all liked to silently laugh like they were British aristocrats from the 19th century.

After the show, the headliner offered up the advice that I should ditch my watch, since it was big and shiny (I also looked at it once to make sure I was good on time).  This made sense…except for the fact he was in full makeup as a clown.  Yes, that happened.  I honestly don’t know, but I think he was dead serious.  Oh well, on to the next show.