DSL Hell
My path of electrical destruction widens: A halogen lamp- whose bulb I just replaced last week- burned out. I have to be stopped before people get hurt- but how? I presume I’m suffering from a severe case of Lost withdrawal and my body thinks it’s absorbed the electromagnetic energy of the island, which is causing my bionic circuitry to go haywire.
Or maybe I’m just having a crappy summer. I dunno.
Over the last couple days I’ve spent about an hour and a half navigating the worst phone tree known to man over at AT&T and speaking with incompetent technicians who spend half an hour walking me through various steps that don’t work until I say, “I told you right off the bat that I already tried that.” They can’t seem to figure out my DSL problem so they’ve arranged for somebody to come by on Monday and, if the problem is deemed to be on my end, they’ll charge me $60 for half an hour. Why don’t I just leave this company I hate with a passion, you may ask? I have- TWICE. Every time I do they buy out the company I switch to. Can you get a restraining order against a corporation? (And should I divulge my bionic situation before the technician arrives to possibly save a few bucks)?
Trying to see the situation from a positive side, I was able to use the time spent on the phone to load a few web pages while I’m on dial up. Correction: I was able to load one or two pages while the other attempts returned “page timed out.” How did I ever tolerate the days of AOL?
Actually, on a really positive note, tonight I was able to turn off my fan for the first time in two weeks. Adios heat wave!
I (Haven’t) Got The Power
Recently, the power source on my laptop conked out leaving it inoperable and forcing me to use my desktop computer with a lousy monitor. Then Tuesday night the power went out just on my block. Wednesday morning it was still out so I decided to pay a visit to my parents and score a nice extra monitor Mom happened to have. On the drive over, I tried to charge my cell phone with my car’s cigarette lighter. Suddenly, the lighter no longer works. I charged my phone at my parents’ house and after I did, my phone kept cycling on and off for no apparent reason.
I returned home late afternoon to find the power still off so I took a nap (and lucky me, the only sassy fat black woman in this town who doesn’t have her own sitcom was directing traffic at the intersection 50 feet from my window, “Uh uh, you can’t park there. You can’t park there…You see that? The palm means stop…Come on baby- move it through…Let’s keep it going people, this ain’t no parade” and on and on).
The power finally came back on later that night (and don’t worry about the contents of my fridge- beer and Jack’s Hard Lemonade don’t spoil too easily) but for some reason, my DSL wasn’t working. Thirty six hours later, AT&T’s used up most of my cell minutes and still hasn’t resolved the problem.
I attached the new monitor and was pretty stoked at how much better it is than my old one. A few hours later- and at a crucial point in a poker tournament- the screen went black. This monitor that’s barely been used suddenly no longer works.
Now, I’d chalk all this up to strange coincidence except for the fact this isn’t the first time this has happened. I have had several instances when a bunch of my electrical items all stopped working properly at the same time. Not only that, I usually set off metal detectors even when I’m wearing nothing more than a tank top, sarong and rubber thongs (on my feet- don’t know why I felt the need to clarify that).
I think the answer to all this is pretty obvious: I’m bionic. And I can’t believe I never realized it before. First of all, I run at about the same speed Jamie Sommers did in the tv show. And what I’d always been told was tendonitis in my knees makes the same “er er er er” sound when I jump as it did when the Bionic Woman jumped. I hear everything, or at least I seem to be the only person in my building who ever hears the garage’s emergency exit alarm as it blares for hours into the night until I finally wake up the building manager to have him turn it off. And I recently had a scary encounter with Sasquatch (though, it might have just been an Italian guy).
So now that I’ve realized my tremendous powers, the big question is how can I use them to do good in the world? Ha ha- yeah right. I just want to know how I can use them to make a lot of money. Suggestions are welcome.
I Shall Name The Fetus Veto Cordleonlygoinginthetrash
As a big “fuck you, you stupid ignorant fool” to Bush for his stem cell bill veto, I’ve decided to get pregnant and have an abortion. If anybody knows how I can contact George Clooney for assistance in this important political endeavor, please let me know.
Also, if you haven’t already seen video of Bush at the G8 summit dinner, it’s below. I have absolutely no problem with our president cursing in front of other world leaders- in fact I like it. But you have to wonder about the sort of people Bush has surrounded himself by that apparently nobody has ever had the guts to say to him, “Dude, close your mouth when you eat. You look like a damn horse chewing peanut butter.”
(Better quality available at CNN)
Availability is Relative
My friend sent me this article and said it’s from Australia. I don’t know if it actually happened, but it would be awesome if it did:
Round Like a Shot
Going to bed the other night I noticed people in my shed stealing things.
I phoned the police but was told no one was in the area to help. They said they would send someone over as soon as possible.
I hung up. A minute later I rang again. “Hello,” I said. “I called you a minute ago because there were people in my shed. You don’t have to hurry now because I’ve shot them.”
Within minutes there were half a dozen police cars in the area plus helicopters and an armed response unit. They caught the burglars red-handed.
One of the officers said, “I thought you said you’d shot them.”
To which I replied: “I thought you said there was no one available.”
Take My Damn Picture
Last night I went to a friend’s birthday party. A few close friends were there but most of the comics were three minute jobs: they ask me how it’s going, I say “all right” and ask them the same, they then spend 2:50 telling me everything going on in their career and personal life and I point to an imaginary friend and say, “Nice talking with you but I have to go talk to that spot on the wall immediately.” Not quite- I give the spot a name so as not to give away my desire to escape.
After about an hour of greeting people I haven’t seen in a long time, I realized I wasn’t being groped in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed. See, when you’re a female comic you quickly get used to male comics fondling various body parts. It reaches the point where having one grab your ass doesn’t seem much different from having him shake your hand. In fact, it’s very much like having a little kid cop a feel here and there in the pool: you don’t see anything sexual about it. While I don’t particularly enjoy the man-handling from comics, the thought of becoming unworthy of it is somewhat depressing.
A couple people pulled out cameras and asked me to take their pictures. When did I become the photographer? These are friends of mine and they didn’t even pull the “Take our picture and then I’ll take one of you two” tactic. It’s a goddamn digital photo. You can delete it later but at least pretend you want to take my picture. It occurred to me that the last time anybody took my picture was at my brother’s wedding last fall. I mean intentionally. There has been the occasional “Hey- that’s me in the corner scratching my head!” But I don’t think there’s been any posing.
Finally, the birthday boy A. asked me to be in a shot with two of my friends who were looking particularly fabulous (I’d already told T. she looked like a trophy wife and S. looked like the mistress- those are big compliments in this town). A. took the picture and said, “Wow- that’s a hot picture with T. and S. in it.” I think I let out a yelp and he added, “Oh, and Jenée.” The little fucker tried to play it off as a joke, but I’m not entirely certain it was one.
I was engaged in a heated debate on the importance of nail polish on a woman when across the room I spotted R., who’s spent the last seven years trying to get me in bed. I said to the guy next to me, “If R. doesn’t make a pass at me, I’m going to cry.” He asked why and I explained I was feeling very unattractive because of the pictures and the lack of groping and then I told him the history with R. He said, “If you’d like, I could anal rape you in my rental car.” I hugged him for the sweet attempt to make me feel desirable.
Five minutes later, R. came over and I was a little worried I might not make the grade. But the first words out of his mouth were, “Oooh, your hair’s down. Too bad your top isn’t.” So I fucked him. Ok, I didn’t. But I’m beginning to think five years from now that just might be enough to make it happen. At least I know I’ve still got it for now. Maybe not much of it, but a little.
From The Blog To The Stage
Last week for the first time, I tried converting bits from my blog into my standup act and some are actually keepers. So thanks to all you readers for keeping me writing regularly. I taped some sets and put a few bits online. Here’s one you may recall from a recent post about 7-11. I guess you could call it “live-action blogging”:
If you care to see any others, you can view them on MySpace.com. I’ll probably be adding more soon.
In Dependents Hell
This week I got a taste of my personal hell: A Fourth of July pool party with no less than 30 kids, most of them under age six. If ever an occasion required alcohol, this was it but unfortunately I had to drive later and suffered through the party sober. I didn’t even go in the pool, mostly because I have a toilet at home I could splash around in if that’s what I desired. I also came to the realization that the only bikini I had with me shows a bit more boobage than is appropriate for family gatherings. I learned this lesson the day before at another pool party (only six kids) where one kid kept copping feels. The first 8 or 9 times he groped my stomach or chest, I chalked it up to him learning how to swim. Then his mom informed me he’s basically a little perv. I felt so violated.
I knew six adults at the Fourth of July party and didn’t utter one word to any others. It wasn’t because I’m anti-social, it’s because the parents of small children have the attention span of small children. The only thing more annoying than trying to have a conversation with them is trying to have one with an asshole who can never let his cell phone go unanswered.
As I glanced around the pool, I spotted a few kids who were kind of cute but most just looked dorky. I couldn’t help but wonder if their parents actually thought they were cute. Then I wondered if anybody thought the same about my two nephews, even though they’re the two most adorable creatures on the planet. I don’t know what it is about a bloodline that makes a child seem so cute but the cosmetic industry really needs to look into bottling it.
Since the temperature was about the same as the devil’s anus, I soon made my way up to a small loft upstairs where there were only about seven kids to contend with. I’m only slightly ashamed to admit I commandeered the video game and made some kids wait until I completed the entire game, which might have been responsible for at least one kid’s tears. Luckily they all had limited verbal skills for telling on me and even if they did, I knew I could counter with a solid “Nuh uuuuh.” I’m more embarrassed to admit I needed a five-year-old’s pointers on a game designed for pre-schoolers.
But the party wasn’t a total bust. It helped me come up with the perfect marketing campaign to sell to the abstinence groups. At the very least, a party like that is a great reminder to get condoms, the pill, an IUD AND the Depo shot.
