Friday I did a show at Fat Tuesday’s in Fairfax. My friend Nate has a band (whose name I’m omitting in case he decides to Google it) and I was more than happy to come and host their gig with a couple of other bands. Fat Tuesday’s is a bar that is supposed to capture the feel of New Orleans (they took the name from a popular place in New Orleans) and since it’s right next to GMU college kids should be there. Well, there were some college students sprinkled in the mix but mostly older people just anxious to get their wife or girlfriend on the side drunk and horny. Music can be a good environment for whispering subtle things like “I couldn’t help but hear the chair squish, another strong island iced tea honey?” My comedy was f*cking that up… eventually. I say that because the first time I took the stage I managed to get about 80% of this large bar’s attention by yelling and not giving a f*ck that there was conversation going on. I was yelling so loud that my voice kept going out on me, I’m very soft spoken by nature. But as I said, the first 15 minutes went well. Normally, when comics host they aren’t expected to perform in between the following acts. My friend Nate requested that I do that, so I obliged. That was a mistake. The second time the conversation was louder because they’d just been rocking to Sex and Missiles (name dropper) and then here I come again. I find bombing hilarious, probably because awkward situations make me laugh, and had a ball. A woman who had earlier told me it was her 40th birthday to get applause was now using it against me. “Hey, HEY! (Yes Ma’am) You’re terrible. It’s my 40th birthday and you are terrible, I don’t want to hear you anymore. (The band isn’t ready ma’am) I don’t care, it’s my birthday!” I couldn’t stop laughing, which is probably not the best way to handle not doing well. Her drunk friend standing directly in front of me was also 40. Why mention her? Because the entire second go round she was demanding the microphone from me. Before the stink of my comedy had truly set in, I let her announce that it was her friend’s birthday. Now I had appointed her the ambassador of the crowd. No matter how many times I said no, getting more pissed that she kept holding her hand out like a child and saying “Excuse me, let me just say something” she didn’t let up. I’m not lying when I say that this woman, slightly younger than my mother began grabbing and massaging her boobs to get me to hand her the mic. She must have been some type of fine back in her time but sadly that trick wasn’t working on me. In the end, some people went out of their way to let me know that all of the younger people (in the back of the packed bar) thought I was funny but there were a lot of older people that didn’t want to listen. An audience is an audience though, whether they were Martians, pirates or a bar full of other comedians. Everyone is capable of laughing if something is funny. So, I’ll take away the ever so hilarious memory of bombing and doing alright in the same night and try to improve upon whatever made the second so bad… perhaps stage presence has something to do with it. I’m not wearing tight enough jeans, I need to silence people with the outline of my “Henry” (I’m going to have to run that little nickname for my penis past the girlfriend, I hope she okays it because that is hilarious to me). On to other things, I just wanted to share.
G.I. Joe was good, not a 10 but damned if I didn’t get all the action you could pack into a pair of Ugg boots. By the way, Ugg boots are the ugliest footwear in existence. Second place: Crocs and rounding out Third Place: Flip Flips on a man
Since putting all of my old Adam Sandler CD’s on my phone I keep reminiscing about when his CD releases were a big deal. I almost wish he’d release another one because his last was still hilarious and I need new ways to pass the time at work. No one blogs anymore…
Next week, Baltimore… break dancing. And comedy, but mostly break dancing.
If you have the opportunity to watch the HBO documentary The Nine Lives of Marion Barry, do so. That’s pretty funny stuff. “Mr. Barry, would you agree to take a series of long term drug tests to prove you’re clean of drugs?” His response: “I don’t think that would help anything.”
Am I the only person that looks at Eli’s head shot and wants to pet his head? He’s adorable, no homo.
The more they postpone the cause of MJ’s death, the more I think he’s not dead. What they found was his outer shell and somewhere a gigantic butterfly is moon walking into a gigantic spider’s web. Ah, to dream…
When exactly did people decide it was gay to skip? I was teasing this little kid that I saw skipping with his sister last week and he felt no shame about his skipping. Good for him, I guess. When people start hurling some seriously hurtful gay rederick once he’s grown, I hope he still has that shield around his feelings. One more for the good guys.
I put every song that has Lil Wayne on a playlist last night. The playlist is 10 hours long and the majority of them are just him. My God…
Fact of the day: Mustard is not packaged by rummaging through the forest and bottling Sasquatch semen. It comes from a seed. You’re welcome.
My friend Jessica calls Nelson Jiggly Puff. That makes me laugh no matter how often I hear it.
Speaking of Nelson, this morning I was ironing and he walked past me to go to the bathroom. I was pretty tired since I’d just rolled out of bed my eyes weren’t open all the way. The only thing I thought I saw was Nelson getting ready to poop on a doggy pee pad. He didn’t, but that’s how I started my Tuesday. What about you?
Peaces
G.I. Joe was good, not a 10 but damned if I didn’t get all the action you could pack into a pair of Ugg boots. By the way, Ugg boots are the ugliest footwear in existence. Second place: Crocs and rounding out Third Place: Flip Flips on a man
Since putting all of my old Adam Sandler CD’s on my phone I keep reminiscing about when his CD releases were a big deal. I almost wish he’d release another one because his last was still hilarious and I need new ways to pass the time at work. No one blogs anymore…
Next week, Baltimore… break dancing. And comedy, but mostly break dancing.
If you have the opportunity to watch the HBO documentary The Nine Lives of Marion Barry, do so. That’s pretty funny stuff. “Mr. Barry, would you agree to take a series of long term drug tests to prove you’re clean of drugs?” His response: “I don’t think that would help anything.”
Am I the only person that looks at Eli’s head shot and wants to pet his head? He’s adorable, no homo.
The more they postpone the cause of MJ’s death, the more I think he’s not dead. What they found was his outer shell and somewhere a gigantic butterfly is moon walking into a gigantic spider’s web. Ah, to dream…
When exactly did people decide it was gay to skip? I was teasing this little kid that I saw skipping with his sister last week and he felt no shame about his skipping. Good for him, I guess. When people start hurling some seriously hurtful gay rederick once he’s grown, I hope he still has that shield around his feelings. One more for the good guys.
I put every song that has Lil Wayne on a playlist last night. The playlist is 10 hours long and the majority of them are just him. My God…
Fact of the day: Mustard is not packaged by rummaging through the forest and bottling Sasquatch semen. It comes from a seed. You’re welcome.
My friend Jessica calls Nelson Jiggly Puff. That makes me laugh no matter how often I hear it.
Speaking of Nelson, this morning I was ironing and he walked past me to go to the bathroom. I was pretty tired since I’d just rolled out of bed my eyes weren’t open all the way. The only thing I thought I saw was Nelson getting ready to poop on a doggy pee pad. He didn’t, but that’s how I started my Tuesday. What about you?
Peaces
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