2004-08-23

I want to sob with somethng that is part elation, part sadness. It's over. My whole Second City experience is over. But, by golly, I stuck with the thing and finished it. And, no kidding, I have partial fans.

See, yesterday Krazy K and I were having a wierd end-of-an-era dinner at the French Market Place on Santa Monica. I was mourning and celebrating my little graduation. She was bummed because her sister had been visiting for a few days and now she's gone. Boohoo us. (By the way, Krazy K is a lot better now. Seems to be in a better place. She's not so manically happy or sad, sort of stable. Good for her). Anyhow, there we are. I have moved on to cheesecake, which I always find to be anti-climactic. See, I had this awesome, just from the oven REAL New York Cheesecake once when i was fourteen. I always expect other cheesecakes to compare. I'm not a snob on most desserts. If it's covered in chocolate and creamy shit, I'm usually okay. It's just cheesecake. If it says it's New York cheesecake, it needs to at least approach it in taste. Never does. If anyone out there knows where there really is New York cheesecake in LA, please let me know. Because I am so sick of the lies.

Off topic again. Mea culpa. Whatever. I was semi-enjoying my underwhelming cheesecake when two people I didn't really know came up from the street (we were on the patio because I needs to smoke, yo) and said all about how they saw me in the show Friday and gave me all these awesome compliments about it. Just out of nowhere. Like I was Bette Midler (as I always secretly hope). I didn't recognise them from the show because I probably didn't get to talk to them or anything. I was too busy being drunken and unruly (more on that later). Anyway, after they left, I was so happy-high I couldn't finish my cheesecake. I pushed away dessert, that's how nice it was.

I can't help feeling that this is some sort of proof that I shouldn't be doing anything else with my life besides trying to get paid for the funny. I can't just let this get away and sink into my family and their troubles and pretend I'm not meant for this. I need to do something, at least weekly, where I'm on stage, giving it to the good people of Los Angeles.

I've decided to do the jam at Second City, at least weekly. I also want to get into stand-up again, get over my little dramatic phobia. I had one bad show and I choked and that sucked. No reason to never do it again. It's like Choda Boy's hampster-style story from Oragazmo, me acting like I'm all scarred from it. No more.

And me and Krazy K have a definite plan to go to Mann's Chinese theater and do some fun shit. I thought I could dress up like Liza Minelli and be among the people. And Krazy K agreed to be my personal paparazzi. We're gonna go down there and she's going to film me just talking and being all crazy and it will be so freakin fun. Like a little experiment. Maybe I could find a way to send it to Lorne Michaels. Hmmmmm. Sure, like it's that easy.

Anyway, a crapload more to tell about my fabulous, fun weekend. And now I think I shall have more time to tell it. Still sorry about not updating much. I need this and I haven't been utilizing it. I'd be much happier if I did. And maybe if I had some chocolate right now. I better hold on to my happy high to keep the dessert at bay.