Monday, March 27, 2006

Have a Case of the Monday Night Doldrums?

Just because I'm losing my voice doesn't mean I'm not up to the challenge of performing tonight!! I may not be singing any songs, but I've got something much, much more terrifying planned.

Tonight at 8pm come and see

At Night with Gabe (Liedman) and Jenny (Slate)
(New York's finest nighttime morning show)
Michelle Collins
Brett Gelman
Andrea Rosen
and Bobby Tisdale

Rififi (332 E 11th St. btwn 1st and 2nd)

Or, if you want a Family Circus-like stalker of an evening, I'll be performing in another show at around 6 pm called

(the corner of W. 4th and Mercer)
My friend Lindsay
Possibly my friends Mike and Julia

I'll be eating the Dojo's Chicken Salad and complaining about things.

My friends yell at me for eating here, but can you blame me? Their salads are like $2.95, and it's in an old shack that's gonna make a sweet, glorious death trap.

Please, please, please do not come up and introduce yourself to me. It really makes me lose my appetite. Just sit in a corner and stare. I like that dangerous feeling of eating a meal while debating who amongst the diners is going to murder me in the ladies toilet, and turn my body into carrot-ginger dressing.

Also, an aside: I watched 2 straight hours of Friends last night on TBS, from 6 - 8 pm. They were showing the last 3 episodes of the series, including the hour long season finale (Mon and Chandler move the the burbs with twins, Rachel goes to Paris, Joey... buys some birds.) I remember when the show aired originally, I could not have been any less bored. The same stale jokes, the same character flaws, the Ross and Rachel melodrama that I wanted to gag from.

But a strange thing happened last night: I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I laughed heartily at all of that wacky Joey's crazy antics, all of Chandler's wry witticisms... and... well.... I CRIED when Rachel came back to Ross's apartment declaring her love for him in the last episode. Well, not so much "cried", as "had trouble breathing air", or "hyperventilated" (what I've dubbed my "Post-9/11 Breathing Pattern"). This can only mean one thing: I'm not as barren as my gyno warned me I'd be if I didn't quit smoking meth and drinking Crystal Light. Yay!!! Hormones... more like Crack Whore-moans!

Seriously, what the hell am I talking about.

Genius idea for a spin-off: "Friends and a Trout." (Photo courtesy of Julia, whose comic antics have also been known to cause "Post-9/11 Breathing Patterns".)

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