Humans are often entertained by the bubble I reside in. Regardless if I am rolling in the faraway land of Australia or squatting in central New York City, between the glow of Times Square and breeze of Central Park, I make a point to not know too much about what’s going on.
I watched a date of mine awkwardly squirm over his escargot last week trying to explain to me what the ice bucket challenge is. If you don’t know, congratulations. Apparently I had a really good run at not having any clue about it. The benefits of not having Facebook we decided.
While I stay knee deep in reading things relevant to what I do at work, outside of my job, I’m all set with the news, thanks. I also don’t read a lot of creative work written by other people – especially not when I’m heavy into a project. Continue reading
I watched a hilarious comedy show with one of my besties last night in Harlem, before we went for a sultry August stroll up the Hudson River. It’s funny, because this particular mate of mine has never seen me go up – but we’ve read my joke books and cackled on my carpet once or twice.
There’s nothing better than making someone laugh. I’m putting serious consideration into an open mic tonight at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre. I’ve written some new jokes, I’ve got some from old sets. Continue reading
The listening tag in our blog collective’s world of words is the most popular.
I love that.
I heard two new songs today that I haven’t stopped playing. So I of course had to immediately bring that to listen and tell. Continue reading
The way she follows you is laughable.
She is a painter who is seven years younger, five pounds lighter and many lifetimes of practicality unborn – than me.
I have this odd way of stating things. Like how on the day we met I told you to move in with me. She doesn’t know me. But she follows me. She reads my blog. She masturbated to one of my photos. Continue reading
It’s just after noon in a small Thai joint somewhere in the east 30’s on the corner of Madison.
I enter the establishment wearing a t-shirt with a typewriter on it appropriately labeled “writer” in courier print; a tipped Kangol hat; and a pair of men’s carpenter pants, cut to fall halfway down my muscular calves. It’s hot outside.
The “shorts” once belonged to my second husband, and someone before that because they were second-hand like everything else about him. The t-shirt was a birthday present from the first. Divorce is impossible, I’ve learned. It never goes away.
The restaurant is empty and both of the gorgeous Thai serves, one male, one female – both 20 something – are over the moon to see me.
“You’re open right?” I ask knowing that they obviously are but grabbing the chance to flirt with the pair of them.
“Yes, yes!” they say smiling and speaking at the same time.
“Which table? Any table you like.”
I take off my hat and grab a bench seat toward the front where natural light is still flooding in, prior to when the sun tips too far west and afternoon shadows cast. But before I actually land in the seat I say, “Thai beer?”
“Yes, please.” Continue reading