Hippity-Hoppity!

Come check out these March appearances, where I'll be kickin' it live onstage like Ms. Melodie. Both NYC gigs are free and at venues with cheap booze. That's how I do. If I haven't seen you in a dog's age, then why not use this as a time to reconnect while giving me the attention I so desperately crave? I thank you kindly.







Thursday March 2nd at 7 pmVARIETY UNDERGROUND @ Parkside Lounge
317 E. Houston St between Clinton St. & Attorney St.

Take the V or F train to the 2nd Ave. stop.

Come and see a brand-spanking new Brandy & Sara sketch! This show is run by two really great guys, Sean & Eric, and it's always a fun time. Expect to see stand up, characters, and maybe even music. And check it out: Happy Hour at this delightful venue lasts until 8 pm, so you can get 2-for-one well drinks & pitchers for $10 to enjoy during the show. Even better, PBR pints are $3 all nite long. Don't miss it- this is going to be a scrapbook moment if ever there was one.

Tuesday March 7th at 8 pm

The Best of BRUTAL HONESTY! @ Otto's Shrunken Head

14th Street btw Aves A & B (closer to Ave. B)
Take the L to 1st Ave.

I will be re-telling the tragic story of my worst birthday, EVER as seen at BH's 1st Anniversary Show last month- a real tear-jerker. Added bonus: beloved comedy partner Sara will be re-enacting her hilarious tale of Google-fueled woe from BH's "Google It Just A Little Bit" edition. That's right, you get to see BOTH of us act up & out for free. Plus, a bevy of other Best Of Brutal Honesty Performers who are sure to please. No cover! Amazing tropical drinks (try the Singapore Sling, my fave)! And juicy true tales from some of NYC's most delightful performers!

SPECIAL BONUS! NO FACE TO FACE SUPPORT REQUIRED: Make sure to check your newsstands for PLAYGIRL Magazine's Comedy Issue, due out in the second week of March 2006. I was lucky enough to get to write some reviews. In fact whie you're at it, subscribe. You know you want to. I'm also in the current issue of the ever-lovin' BUST Magazine. If you don't know about BUST, now you do.

So long and thanks for all the fish.

Real Human Bodies.

A pastiche, a veritable pastiche of images. First off, I have decided with the recent slate of cold weather it is well time for a hot dish to be prepared in the Barber kitchens. This shall take place this fine weekend methinks. Second, I went out and saw Tell Your Friends at Lolita Bar last night, and it was a fine time. If you haven't attended you are missing out on a free (yes FREE) show that feels much more textured and rich than some things I've paid a lot of money to see. Liam McEneaney, as usual, makes sure all the ladies know he appreciates them. Photo proof provided. And if you haven't, you should click on over the the website of the lovely Kambri Crews, also pictured here. She is all tall drink of water who is always a delight to talk to. Sign up for her event mailing list- this one know's what's going on all over town.

I am on the hunt for a job. That's right, kittens. It's time for this one to get back to work a.s.a.p. Hence the picture of the classy lady in pearls by the yard. I've decided that while freeing the artist within was primo, so is having money to buy everyhitng bagels with scallion cream cheese and tomato to shove in my fat face. If you know of anything, drop me a line why don't you? I promise not to show up (visibly) drunk at my new place of employ.

Lastly, I hope you kept your Thursday night free because comedy partner gold Sara Jo Allocco and I are going to be doing our very first burlesque routine! That's right, and it's for a good cause- we auctioned off a burlesque "date" with us and all the funds will go to a very worthy charity. We decided to celebrate with an Easter theme and what better way than to dress up as Playboy Bunnies? You don't want to miss this! Come one down and see us at 7 at the fabulous Parkside Lounge- there's even $10 pitchers to enjoy during the show!

On a parting note: once a woman I know told me that she got so drunk ast a dive bar she took an MTA employee home to have sex. I was, as you'd imagine, repulsed at the thought. I mean, look at the majority of these guys- they're old school union fatasses with plumbers' crack, complete with years of crystalized rat urine caked under thier nails tamped down to a fine peanut-brittle like consistency. Yet I was, as is my way, intrigued. So last night while waiting for fucking EVER for the F train to come, imagine my delight when I espied a tall, hot MTA worker guy! He was young so I imagine him to have been some sort of trainee, fresh off the Forest Hills R train. Perhaps he had a bit of an Irish-inflected accent on top of the standard Queens drawl. It made me happy for some odd reason. Perhaps that reason was because I wanted to fuck him? No, no it was more than that. It was because I hoped in my heart of hearts that that was the guy my friend porked way back when, even though I knew this was not the case. I chose to rewrite history right then, to turn back time as Cher so throatily sang. Dear readers, may all the MTA guys you pick up in those filthy "pubs" strung out along 8th Ave be tall, supple, not possesed of astroturf back hair and not at/around 50ish. That is my wish for you. Good day.

Black Velvet Beaver.

I have zero. EXcept for this. Thanks to Porter.

"You were in a BRASSIERE!"

Someone, like a chirruping parakeet into its tiny cage-mounted mirror complete with sliding primary colored beads made small enough for itty-bitty beaks, likes to look at themself. Themselves? Aw fuck it.

A whirlwind week full of seeing shows and celebrating- lots of parties and most importantly, D A N C I N G galore. I mean, Sara & I got to dance Thursday night (at the Slipper Room post-SWEET), Friday night with Ang (at The Slide, where we were given glow-bracelets in color codes to signify top, bottom, or flexible) and Saturday night again with special co-star Ang (where we kept screaming at idiots in button downs and pressed blue jeans, but only half-heartedly because we were actually having too much fun dancing to me full speed venomous). I to my credit had not a drop of the devils' potion. OK I had a sip of a Shirley Temple that had grenadine which had been infused w/ alcohol, but we're talking a baby sip. Then I fed it to Allocco.

I got to see a large majority of my Vassar teaching staff friends in one place for the first time since August, including the elusive Zhen, which was a rare treat. And I got to dance all seductively in a dark corner with boy(s). OK with Ang but I PRETENDED she was a boy in my mind. It does too count.

The Body Says No.

Will write more later- running out the door. Dear sweet christ child, The New Pornographers are a real kick in the vag. Fuck yeah they are. Anne kicked ass in her show last night, BATEMAN365 @ UCB. The lovely Anya & Marianne were a true delight- and I finally got to see Corn Mo. AND AND AND I only had seltzer to drink! That's right, people. I am on the wagon, and this time I KNOW it's for real Donna Summer.

Not sure of you got the memo but that "GOD IS LOVE" crap is for the birds.

Panty Soaker.

BEASTIE BOYS PREVIEW SCREENING, March 28, 2006

Awesome; I Fuckin’ Shot That!
With Adam Yauch in person
Tuesday, March 28, 7:30 p.m.
2006, 90 mins.
Directed by Adam Yauch.



This innovative concert movie was shot with 50 video cameras handed out to fans at an October 2004 Beastie Boys concert at Madison Square Garden. A discussion with band member and filmmaker Adam Yauch (a.k.a. MCA, a.k.a. Nathanial Hörnblowér) will follow the screening.

At the Loews 34th Street, 312 West 34th Street, Manhattan.

Tickets are $24 public/$16 Museum members. Call 718-784-4520.

A selection of Beastie Boys’ music videos will be shown in Behind the Screen’s TV Lounge from March 25 through April 23.

Don't Get It Twisted, 'Cause I Still Hustle.

Here's me attempting to re-enact one of my favorite movie scenes ever, which is when Glenn Close smears her lipstick off at the end of "Dangerous Liasons" after she's been shamed out of the grand opera by all those she used to control with the batting of a mascara-ed eye. I do the best imitation of myself, right Ben Folds Five? RIGHT?!?

I have developed a new naughty habit. When I am up to no good, I chain smoke. Even if I'm so much as typing something scandalous I have to have a Lucky Strike half-stuck to my bottom lip. As I am a full-time gadfly this means I'll soon have cancer. Oh, well. Better empty out that cedar hope chest Daddy made by hand for me because it looks like my Barbie Dream Wedding is to be marred by bloody black-chunked lung cancer.

Sometimes I think I like Cat Power. And sometimes I think I'd like to kick her square in the ass. It's a toss up really.

Hot tramp, I love you so.

I just got EXCITED about this weekend. Like, wiggling in my chair anticipation. There is going to be dancing. I have not been to a dance party (in public or at say, at 3 am in my apartment with forced participation from sleepover guest(s) and/or my cat) in way too long. And I've been too, too drunk the past few times I could have taken advantage of dancing at parties to do so. I am going to play the old college game my friends Carrie, Christina and I made up of "How many guys can I give a boner to by grinding on and then just bail?" I intend to request "Pony" by Genuwine to the delight of only myself and the disgust of all unfortunate onlookers. That's how it's going to be.

I, too, have Cabin Fever at AOL dot com.

Pelt.

Holy shit. I can't stop listening to "If It Isn't Love" by New Edition. It's like I'm back in high school, and the whole bus in unison yells, "LOVE HER? WHAT?!?" along with the Mighty 690 AM as it plays on the way home. That made my friend Becky laugh her ass off, I remember.

My cat Nigel continues to assault all fur items in the house, in a vaguely erotic manner that is both cute and unsettling. I have mostly fake fur as I find the purchase of real fur repugnant but, some of my vintage pieces have trim (tee hee) on them and this can be somewhat problematic. I caught him in the act a whole ago and decided to document it. Keep in mind he pulled this coat out of the closet (which he also opened on his own) off its hanger and into the living room. THAT'S how great his love is for his drunk, slightly pudgy Mommy's vintage three quarter-sleeved lady coat with fur collar. Did I mention Nigel has a blog? Because he does.

Who the fuck is the genius who thought of this piece of turd?!? I mean, really. Just buy me a drink at a bar for fucks' sake. I'm going to send one of these so-called "Margarita Boquets" to an AA Meeting as a form of protest. Most likey I'll also double task it and keep the address for when I need to eventually attend. But that's for later...like, after summer.

And in closing, someone had better buy me this STAT. I'm going to be needing it as an substance abuse substitute. Watch the leather, man.

One Day At A Time, Schnieder.

Seriously. I knew in my heart of hearts that I was going to have a rough week last week. I was on the tail end of a cycle of self-destructive shennanigans and I needed to really just scrape rock bottom. Friday should very well have been the end of that but it continued into Saturday night. That involved drinking to the point of vomiting (this happened twice in a four day period, mind you)throwing a traffic cone in the street a la Key West, getting kicked out of a tiki bar for hurling a beer bottle at someone's head and breaking the heel off of a pair of beloved boots from Barney's Co-Op that I just got back from the cobblers, then falling and bruising the shit out of my knee, ripping my jeans and ending up on my back in the gutter. Ick. Sunday was as you can well imagine a wash, spent on the couch in a haze. I managed to go to sleep very early Sunday night after eating half a pizza- which I'm glad I was able to gag down due to alcohol poisoning-induced nasuea. Although, I did manage to go to brunch. I was still pretty torn up then. But not so torn up that I was drinking a can of Budweiser wrapped in a paper towel at our 10 am next-day meet up with Angela and Big Dan to re-cap how I decided to take the getting thrown out of bars for the night reins from she and Sara.

But today is a new day. I was up at 9 am and seem to have depleted my supply of various narcotics with the help of a variety of special guest stars. And that is as it should be. Because this is going to be a period of behaving. It is time for behaving myself.

No, you guys I MEAN it this time.

"We're all lesbians until the right guy comes along." - Karen Walker

I'm Burning For You, BOC.

This week is pretty much in the toilet for your old pal Brandy. But never fear: she doesn't remember most of it anyway. Wednesday night was the launch party for the newest issue of the ultra fab Playgirl Magazine, and I made a point of double fisting it up at the open bar which was hosted by Alchemy Polish Vodka. I asked for a vodka-cranberry (OK I asked for two) and was given ones made with some sort of fancypants chocolate-infused vodka. It is a testament to my overall stoic nature (RE: budding alcoholism) that I slurped them right down. And then I went after more. I think I was supposed to network and stuff, like how a big girl who's a professional acts. I was busy drunkenly sitting in the corner making eyes at the attractive DJ who, most likely, was gay. Then along came Thursday...I can't really go into that because honestly, my Mom reads this stupid blog even though I asked her not to anymore. Sara and I had a "meeting" (DRUG LINGO, KATHY BARBER!) I don't know how we made it out of the house, we were so obliterated. Staggering around the Village in a paranoid haze is always a delight. Yikes. Allocco at one point leaned over and whispered frantically to me, "That guys' balls are out! Look! Look!" I said I'd take a pass, as I had had my fill of checking out dudes' balls for the week- quota reached, LMOA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But she insisted I look and then took it a step farther and MADE EYE CONTACT with him. Allocco like to mess with the bull, homegirl is fucking fearless. Apparently he was marching and biting at air in addition to exposing himself. It brings me peace that our homeless sex offender has hand-eye coordination going for him. He's truly God's special angel. This debacle ended with us going to see Giulia do stand up and me having such a fit of snickering that was clearly not in response to the comic onstage at the time I had to put my head into one of my many gigantic handbags. And then I snorted like a pig because I was laughing so hard. Sophisticated single lady in the house, gents! Oink oink!

This was clearly a pattern of naughtiness. So after some deep subway reflection when I was finally sober, I rolled in to my apartment at about 1 pm Friday "morning" and decided to ease off the gas and put a lid on it and cool it with the monkeyshines young lady. I mean, it's getting bad when we have various iPod playlists for specific types of hangovers on certain days of the week, Brandy. Seems that this particular drunken trollop has graduated up from days of the week underpants. As Sara and I had a party to attend, we planned on exhibiting best behaviours. We ate a lovely supper together (parmesan cous cous and chicken & feta sausages- courtesy of Allocco, apparently the newest Food Network hostess) and planned to be there for approximately one (1) cocktail, some lighthearted chat, and then make a tasetfully executed exit. What professional-type young ladies! And then we arrived at our destination.
















WHAT. There was KARAOKE in progress. Uh-oh spaghetti-o.











The party invite mentioned some drink specials. These two love things of that nature. Sara asked what these drink specials were. Why, for $20 it was all-you-can-drink until 11 pm. Oh, dear.















This is were the train went off the tracks. I had about three beers in half an hour and then we began stockpiling them so that as we finished up with our harmonized version of "Hold The Line" at the stroke of 11, we each had about 3 full drinks awaiting us. This did not stop is from stealing the various beers of other people, because really, that type of thing is a sport for us.
















I was supposed to meet someone for a dignified late supper at 10ish. That would have been around about beer 4? 5? Also I think I was singing "Back For Good" at that point, poorly. I ended up strolling up to supper so drunk it was scary and trying to maintain. What about my partner in crime Allocco, you ask? Oh she was just fine, after ruining a game of pool and sticking her head out of a cab barking like a dog on the way home. The moral of the story: Brandy is a drunk? Sara & Brandy are a pair of good time Charleenas? Don't catch Cabin Fever? No, sires and madames. It's that life is too $hort and I refuse to apologize for enjoyng the fuck out of it. Life is a cock banquet and most poor fuckers are starving to death. What!? I don't know but I like it. It stays!!!!!

"No thanks, I'm way too romantic for that."

Some idiot who was invited by a friend of a friend to our Anti-Love karaoke bash had the audacity to post that reply to our evite. You know what I'm too romantic for? Getting married young to my high school boyfriend/loser who's destined to become an Oxycontin freak that fucks your best friend behind your back when you're at your crummy receptionist job earning a living since his disability is about to run out. EAT MY FUCK. How's that for romantic you dumb bitch?! Now shut your tits.

This sunshine-y attitude was in full effect at the party. An hour beforehand I gave myself a guided mediatation that I would not freak out and start being mean and bitter. I sat with my hands folded quietly and thought about all the people in my life who I love so much and even did that thing where you send love to your worst enemies. I focused on how lucky I am to have such amazing funny friends and to live in New York and to have such a wonderful family. I then had a glass of wine as a treat for being so darn wholesome. I did, however, not eat. Too busy attempting to dress myself in as unflattering a manner as possible. Mission accomplished, folks! Someone played dress up in Mommy's closet!




















6:45 pm: I am shown here dueting with the beloved Rob Webber to "Seperate Lives". I am about to flip the bird AT NO ONE. That's right, AT AIR. I have had a whole mai tai in a pint glass. And maybe a lollipop for dinner. Great plan. Watch out. Anger level is at a gentle simmer.
















8:ish pm: Sara and I kicked our party off with one of our signature songs, "This Time I Know It's For Real". I am drunker than everyone there clearly, which becomes evident when I start yammering about how "I Like The Gays!!!" WHAT. The yelling will only get worse. Then we got up and ripped through "Hole The Line" with harmony no less. That's how WE do. At one point, Sara & I sing "Take A Bow" and I grab her, throw her in a booth and lay on top of her while screaming in a microphone "I just love you so much why can't I be with you?!?" Someone actually lets me drink more in spite of this gross display. Great plan.
















9:65.3-ish pm: Horrified onlookers. This is a trend I court openly with my obnoxious behavior. There were moments of complete stunned silence as I pranced about like a damned drunk baboon, yelling into the microphone, groping guests who I had only just met, throwing candy in the air, did I mention the screaming, sucked down MORE alcohol, flipped the b, and most adorably, I trotted out my old stand-by of snatching a rose that someone bought to be nice (Matt Sears?! Sorry) and bit it then spat out the petals. Just, really. Ick.
















Beyond 11 pm: Here comes trouble! And she's drunk on a combo of self-loathing and mixed light rums. I am at my grossest of gross drunks here. Well, minus Key West that is. Soon after this I would go into the bathroom to re-meditate (read: cry). Sara became concerned. She pounded on the door and I answered it with a creepy grin on my face (Problem Child) with my pants unbuttoned and said "Hi, sire" oh, so casually. Then I'd get the spins and be put in a cab where I'd vomit on Giulia's fiancee'. So I got that going for me. What a gal.


Seriously, thanks to all who came, the night was a blur to me after 7 but I seem to recall it being a fun blur. I am sorry I got so drunk and I hope my antics were funny not super scary. I love you all. Even if I did keep yelling in the microphone that I hated everyone.

Also, not kidding here, quitting the booze for a while. Does anyone want a half-full box of wine in the red kind?

Valentine's Day, Part Two.

Valentine's Day, Part One.

KID ROCK SEX TAPE WITH SCOTT CREED! JESUS WEEPS!

2/16/06 11am EST
Scott Stapp and Kid Rock Sex Tape Revealed!!!
There's more trouble on the horizon for newlywed and Creed frontman Scott Stapp, 32. Us Weekly has learned exclusively that a sex tape involving the singer and fellow musician Kid Rock, 35, is set to be released. The tape shows both stars involved in explicit sex acts on a tour bus while touring together six years ago. The two don't engage in any sex acts together, but are seen and heard talking to one another during the acts. Footage was acquired by the Red Light District, the same company that distributed Paris Hilton's infamous sex tape One Night in Paris. 'We acquired the tape from a third party' says Red Light's president David Joseph. 'We haven't decided exactly what we are doing with it but our goal is to release it towards the middle or end of this year.' Representatives for Kid Rock and Stapp could not be reached. Stapp wed former Miss New York Jaclyn Nesheiwat, 25, on February 10 in Miami. He was arrested for public drunkeness the following day at LAX airport while enroute to his honeymoon in Hawaii. Stapp was treated for substance abuse in December 2004.
As the not-yet-divorced Jessica Simpson

Building A Mystery.

In pants pocket:

Half-chewed candy conversation heart
$1
Post it note with the following scrawled on it: 11J889 THIS TIME I KNOW IT'S FOR REAL
Gold Casio Illuminator (men's)
Lollipop stick


What. Happened. Last. Night.