After 3 weeks of working every day (either at comedy OR bar OR both), I am officially strapped for time. So, I decided to take this week to try a food I’ve never eaten, because I was going to eat anyway….


I was a picky kid. Like real picky. Chicken tenders and cheeseburgers plain and dry please. And if it’s any other cheese but cheddar, Houston, we’ve got a problem.


Once I hit the age where hormones went berserk, I controlled everything that went into my mouth (because that was the only thing I could control). 

Once I regained my childlike joy and fearlessness, I’ve been itching to explore new heights of flavor. To boldly go where no man has gone before (but actually lots of men and women have gone because they’ve perfected the seasoning of it). 

This week, I ATE FROG LEGS. If 14 year old me had any idea that I would do this, she would have sacrificed her tongue to not taste it in the future.


I was definitely anxious. I sat at the bar and pretended to look at the menu, but I knew why I was there. 

what I expected to receive:


what I got:


They were so amazing. FOR REAL. And filling. A $15 adventure. Pretty not bad. There was nothing weird about them, or scary. There was no “monster under the bed” in my bowl. Or, if there was a monster in my bowl, it ended up being my friend.


So, in conclusion, I’m not afraid anymore!

Choose My Own Adventure, Week 5

Being in NYC means there’s a ton of art. But just because it costs $15 on an off night, doesn’t mean enough people go to it for a show to actually happen. This avant garde music venue is supposed to be 7 nights a week. It wasn’t. It was so avant garde, it was the absence of music.


But it was nice to realize that every art in NY every once in a while has to cancel a show. Here I assumed it was just alternative comedy venues that were under attended… it’s music too!! We’re not alone, guys!


I stood myself up last week. I was very disappointed at myself. I made plans! Saturday night. Self-Date night. But I dressed up for nothing, because I never showed. 


I took a couple of last minute gigs. That’s what I get for self-dating a workaholic. I promise I’ll make it up to me. Some flowers, touching myself inappropriately, I’ll figure out how to forgive me.

(*side note, this image is from CNN in an article about the stages of being stood up. BECAUSE THAT IS NEWS)

Last week was a busy week for comedy. And something new happened, but I was having a hard time deciding whether or not it could count as “new,” since it was comedy related. Listing anything in comedy as new at this point is like listing “breathing” as new. I’ve been doing comedy nearly as long.

Every once in a while, though, there’s something that will happen that reminds me of how far I’ve come. And Thursday night was one of those. I was booked to perform on the SMUT show at the stand. Over the course of the night, I was bumped from performing third to closing the show. Why? Because other comics on the show had sets elsewhere, and they can pull rank. One of “they” was Dave Attell. 


This week I got to perform on the same show as someone I remember laughing at in high school.

It’s moments like these that makes me remember how far I’ve come. I was terrible at comedy when I started. I’m a girl that use to fail so hard that I once thought I was getting a one man applause break, but it turned out the dude was just packing Parliaments. I’ve never been to war, but I have an audible trigger for PTSD. It’s not the slow motion spinning blades of a helicopter. It’s the slow motion sound of packing smokes.


So that was my new thing for the week: a moment of recognizing how far I’ve come. And I’m sure in two years, I will look back and this will feel like something so small. But right now, it’s pretty cool.

(Side note, I did real well, which is probably the only reason I’m mentioning this as “new.” If I had sucked, I wouldn’t have mentioned it. Because I’ve done that before.)

And yes, I will still have a week 5 adventure by the end of the week.

Thank you!

Choose My Own Adventure, Week 3:

                                         Group Meditation

My neighborhood has a healing center that does a pay what you will meditation class. I entered the building pulled out a $20, and two dollars. I did that awkward thing you do with homeless people and tried to tuck the 20 back away before it was seen, but handed over the two singles. I tried to find another couple of bucks, but the lady stopped me. “That’s good enough.” Thanks, nice lady.

I’ve meditated, but never with other people, and never sitting cross legged. I do it upside down.

That’s not true, but that’s a thing! Monks are secret vampires.

Or vampires are just meditating.

Cross legged, my foot fell asleep, which is very distracting. I only half-listened to the guidance toward unconditional compassion. 

But it was interesting enough for me to try it again.

Choose My Own Adventure Week 2.
Made a new friend who is hysterical, not a comedian, and not actively seeking the contents of my pants. Also, a LADY (that’s her bag in the background… definitely not mine).
Met at Mother’s Ruin. 18 Spring St, NYC. Drinks were rufie-level strong, and included muddled blackberry, lemon juice, pernod & gin. Yum. Yum.
See you next week! (And possibly sooner to share the weeks prior to starting this tumble.)

Choose My Own Adventure Week 2.

Made a new friend who is hysterical, not a comedian, and not actively seeking the contents of my pants. Also, a LADY (that’s her bag in the background… definitely not mine).

Met at Mother’s Ruin. 18 Spring St, NYC. Drinks were rufie-level strong, and included muddled blackberry, lemon juice, pernod & gin. Yum. Yum.

See you next week! (And possibly sooner to share the weeks prior to starting this tumble.)

Choosing My Adventure

I’ve lived survived in NYC longer than any city in my entire life (nearly 5 years). I’ll be honest, I thought it would take longer to get bored. “But how can you be bored? There’s SO MUCH to do!”

Free Stuff in NYC - by BuzzFeed

Things to Do in NYC - by TimeOut



Well, yeah, but the trick is you’ve got to go do those things. More importantly, when you’re single and have a daytime weekend bartender’s schedule, you’ve got to find those things by yourself and do them (mostly alone). Ya know. Like a grown up individual.

Because in New York City, no one has your schedule.

In May, I got so bored with NYC that I went on my first vacation in 8 years. I went to Thailand— as far away as possible, to somewhere I would struggle to communicate. I expected to come back refreshed and grateful to be home. I came back more frustrated than ever. 

I was frustrated by the rat race.

Frustrated by the fast pace. 

The endless “someday I’ll get to be and do and have the experiences I want.”

Well, someday is bullshit. Life is now. And in honor of that, I’ve vowed to create one new thing to do per week. My goal is to log them here. 

Someone once told me that my life was a Choose Your Own Adventure book.

It’s time to make it an exciting one.

As natural as I can get. #nyc #dumbo #reset #whatamidoing #sunset #filter #night #love #tree #clouds #glow #blue #sun #city #lights #skyline #flyingsolo #gratitude #peace #aloneinacrowd

As natural as I can get. #nyc #dumbo #reset #whatamidoing #sunset #filter #night #love #tree #clouds #glow #blue #sun #city #lights #skyline #flyingsolo #gratitude #peace #aloneinacrowd

A flight with “Fiances”

So first I’ll admit: I was so grumpy on my 7 am flight that I could have been a dwarf for Snow White. Or a dwarf in any other Hollywood fiction. Why are dwarves always written into stories as such angry little people? Short in stature does not equal short in compassion. That’s a weird thing to assume, Hollywood. But it is probably why I love Kevin Durant, he is soooooo compassionate (tall).
That’s not why I like him. I like Durant because I want a man who could fight for me (but choose to not). “You’ve insulted my love. I would beat you up, but I’m a better man than violence.” Physical strength in a mate is more important to me as I age. You either have to be strong enough to protect me or rich enough to pay someone to do it because my main concern is protecting these kids I don’t yet have. I feel the little fetuses bubbling up my uterus like a lava lamp. Ugh. Cliche. (Right? Lava lamp uterus = totally cliche.)

But I digress.

The fiances. The flight.

They asked me if I would switch seats because I had an empty seat next to me & they wanted to sit together. I said no because this morning I was determined to be miserable and take everyone with me. They were asking me to switch to a middle seat. Gross. Middle seats are the worst. Then again: this morning, so was I. I should have just switched. It would have given me a shortcut to supreme misery, without the silly illusion that this empty seat next to me would give my nasty mood the space to dissipate.

The fiancee did not take my “no” as THE “no.” She went on to ask the girl in the window seat. Unfortunately, THAT girl was a total sweetheart, and agreed to move. Damnit.
The couple slides in & immediately begin a make out session. I close my eyes tight to shut out the noise. It doesn’t work.

This is a couple that makes out on a plane, and I think the plane knew it when they booked their tickets.
“Teacher! Johnny & Emily are groping each other again!”
“Don’t make the separate you two!”
I didn’t mind that as much as the constant climbing in & out of their seats they were doing. They were probably excusing themselves to fuck in the bathroom, but I didn’t care enough to keep my eyes open and verify. All I know is: it’s not nice to wake someone up by poking them repeatedly with a hand that was probably just inside someone else. Ewww.

Anyway, we all know how this ends. I get off the plane, a  “cynical and jaded 30-something that hated on a young couple’s happiness.” Right? That’s the judgement that’s made about any single person who actively resents a couple? “…You’re just JEALOUS.” I would rather be single than be SO in to one person that I am inconsiderate of everyone else.

And before people call me a hypocrite… I don’t mind couples that make out in bars. It is my belief that most people in bars are just looking for a makeout buddy anyway. So if you have that buddy in the place you probably found them… GET to KISSIN! But a plane is a place where I, as a non-paired person, have no escape. I am leashed to my seat like your dog at a picnic while you and your make out buddy go at it next to me. My only options are bathroom, sleep, or watch. I should have just stared @ them the whole time. Maybe put the complimentary blanket over my lap & kept my hands underneath, with a “creepy smile” resting face…and now I can’t wait for this to happen to me again.


This morning, I awoke to an argument in my hallway. My gay Trinidadian neighbor was screaming something in Patois to a chick that also lives on our floor. The only word I understood was “condom.” How did you start your day?

No excuses! (except this one)

I’ve been sick for a few days, so blogging has not been a priority. On a list of important while ill, it finishes about 10 places below “stand once today” and “don’t cry from feeling helpless against your body’s attempted murder of you.”
I become such a baby when I’m ill. The only thing that can save me during those times are soup from my Mom or a cuddle buddy. But who wants to cuddle the infirmed?

Peoples reactions to illness are pretty standard.

"How are you?"
“A little sick.”
“well don’t give it to me!” And then they attempt to get as far away from you as humanly possible, throwing stool-gauntlets & padlocking doors as if they were in their own version of Resident Evil.
“I’m not a walking virus!” you scream. “I’m still alive!”

"Don’t give it to me!"
Well there goes my day. Here I was, planning on spending all of my time finding ways to infect you. I’ll laugh in your face Hahaha! Now how are you feeling? I was going to pretend you were Inspector Cluseau from the Pink Panther, & I was the butler-ninja you hired to try to give you disease.

Seriously though. I wasn’t going to ask you to make out with me or anything… but a hug would be nice… now that you’re hugging me, you may as well kiss me… because sometimes when you’re sick nothing feels better than seeing someone with the same thing & thinking ”well at least I didn’t get it THAT bad.” So I guess you were right to be a bit defensive.