Because It's In The Scorpion's Nature.

OK, seriously. I have hives! Stress hives! How can someone who does so little have such powerful stress that she actually breaks out in hives, you ask? How the fuck should I know?! Oh, well.

Ick. Hives!!!

What's odd is, I am as of right now, in the best mood I have been in in days. Nay, maybe in months. And no, I am not drunk. I just turned the corner on some stuff, and realized I'd been a major asshole to myself and some other people in the process. And realizing that, and making steps to not be that way to people who don't deserve it, gives one a sense of peace. It's born out of control. I like being in control of my emotions. I know that all sounds corny, like some dofus girl's syrupy pink-paginated diary entry about karma after she attends her first yoga class. But it's true.

I had an epiphany: I spend a lot of time being angry at many people for being The Scorpion. If you don't know the fable, look at it here. Basically, why be angry at a scorpion for biting people? It's inhernet in its nature. It can't help what it is, and you run the risk of being bitten when handling it, no matter how gently. I need to stop putting people on pedestals, expecting them to be perfect when no one is. I'm not. Yet I get so frustrated when my expectations aren't met. I wonder lately if these are even realistic. I ask a lot from people. This type of pointless rumination may explain the fucking hives. Sheesh.

Ben just called and said he had spied my doeppleganger walking ahead of him in Manhattan. I wonder if he will tell her "Get over yourself!" Hope so.

Beer For Breakfast.

My cool Mom just sent me this link and I simply had to post. This makes up for that whole "Bringing Down The House" DVD mis-step last year, Kathy Barber. I love you.

This day may not be as bad as previously thought.

Replacements reunite for 2 new songs
Tracks will appear on new best-of CD, slated for June

MINNEAPOLIS, Minnesota (AP) -- It's a 'Mats fan's dream come true -- new songs from The Replacements.

The surviving original members of the Minneapolis '80s group have reunited to record two new songs for a best-of CD, according to news reports.

Singer-guitarist Paul Westerberg, bassist Tommy Stinson and drummer Chris Mars were recently in the studio to record some tracks, the Star Tribune and the St. Paul Pioneer Press reported.

Westerberg wrote both songs: "Message to the Boys" and "Pool & Dive." Mars sang backup while a session drummer handled the drumming.

It's the first The Replacements -- known as the 'Mats to fans (for "Place Mats," an old name for the band) -- have recorded together since disbanding in 1991.

Original guitarist Bob Stinson, Tommy's older brother, died in 1995. His replacement, Slim Dunlap, wasn't asked to play on the sessions, but said he never expected a call.
"It's really neat they put aside their little squabbles and did it," Dunlap told the Star Tribune.
Rhino Records is releasing the 20-cut best-of CD, "Don't You Know Who I Think I Was? The Best of The Replacements," due in stores June 13.

Otis To The Rescue!

Nothing cures an full-blown allergic reaction brought on by permanent marker abuse better than having a visit with new kittens named Otis. Just look at that little squirrel-baby. He is the bee's knees. Ben certainly agrees. Otis is quite the lap-sitter, and his purr has been known to cure old ladies of their gin coughs. Hell, I heard that he even taught the Chinese neighbor proper English upon immigration all with a single whisker whip.

Ben informs me that I need to get over myself. Ben always says that. If I come to Ben with any sort of personal issue (OK mostly it's boys which he especially hates to discuss) this is his first announcement. Then I say, "But I'm sad, Ben!" To which he stares at me through his Ben Sherman sunglasses, shakes his head and announces, "Yeah, but just get over yourself." Today I guess that was what I needed to hear.

I also forced Ben to hug me. Those of you perhaps not in the know- Ben hates to touch people, or be touched for the most part, with the exception of hand jobs. Public affection makes him squirm. So when I demanded a hug on the corner of Smith & Wyckoff today, he was less than pleased. But, he complied. And he even threw in the consumate, "Everything's going to be alright." And added after some back pats, "But get over yourself". I love you, C3-PO.

No One Will Ever Love You. Fatass.

When I have a few drinks, turns out I like to write things on my hands. Some of the past things I've scrawled on myself have included such gems as "No no no you're better than that" and, a personal fave from college that seems to be a motif for a lot of the ladies these days, "He's a drunk dipshit".

This morning I woke up and noticed there was a red smear on the side of my face. I had a really bad nosebleed yesterday and my face is all puffy from bawling about some nonsense as per so I groggily thought maybe I was having an allergic reaction of some sort. No. No, that wasn't it. Seems someone came home and wrote on herself yet again, this time in red Sharpie.

Now if only I can get this off before my very important appointment later this fine eve, all will be well. Time to bust out that nail polish remover, that is if I didn't drink it out of shot glasses with Giulia.

Laptop Sleeve, On Sale.

My first night back to waiting tables was not, as I suspected, as hellish as I'd imagined. It was hellish yes but, there's been worse. Mostly I was just re-amazed at how rude people can be when it comes to servers.

Let me tell you this: when something comes late out of the kitchen, it's not because it's your server's fault, 80% of the time. Yes, we do forget to input things but honestly, that's rare. It almost always means there's a snafu that the cooks are handling and that you can just calm down after politely reminding the waiter about it. It does not mean that you have a shit fit and talk loudly about your server even after they explain the situation for you. I mean, really. Do you think I care after you've just been such an asshole? Now I'm going to make sure I take forever.

Another no-brainer. If you have ANY type of preference as to how food is prepared, ask your server. Seriously. For example: if you order mac & cheese at a restaurant known for adding spices to everything, and you suspect it may be a bit spicy, then why don't you just go ahead and check on, oh I don't know, whether or not it may indeed include spices? Now the wrong thing to do in this situation is to tell me that I should have told you that your entree was spicy. When it was clearly on the menu as "spicy". I'm worried about the other 25 people in the restaurant, so I don't have time to phonetically spell things out for you off of the menu. And if you attempt to blame me for not playing Reading Rainbow with your ass, you can rest assured it will indeed backfire. How, I am not at the liberty to discuss. I just know I wouldn't want to anger that large man from Mexico City in the back who just burned himself making your first pansy-assed order of mac & cheese and now has to re-make it to toothless bland mush while violating his own special recipe based on your whinging. Word to the wise: ask first, or suck it up later.

I forgot how being a waitress means you get flirted with a lot. When you're in a position of servitude, I sincerely think it turns some men on and since you're trapped, they feel free to put the moves on you. It's amusing and I try to be gentle, but last night this guy would not stop. I am also not really into the idea of flirting with you to get more tips so, please note there was no leading on. I was just being nice. But finally I had to make it clear "Look, this is my job. Now, here's your check and leave me be." I hate being that person, but I also hate the idea of being strangled behind the restaurant's dumpster with my own bra so, it had to be done. These are the breaks, Kurtis Blow.

Just in case you were wondering, here is a helpful guide for how to pick out a pet tarantula. I know I feel better about my impending purchase of this exotic, potentially lethal pet.

What A Glorious Time To Be Free.

I do so love that Donald Fagen.

Look at me! Look at my comedy partner! Look at the darling boys we trick into doing our bidding onstage, which includes getting kicked, punched, harrangued, having their crotches grabbed and being vomited on! Look at the handsome gentlemans who come out and show the love when we perform! And look at those stupid outfits!

If you missed it, I feel sorry for you, my friend. Real fucking sorry.

Brandy & Sara at SMUT Tonight!

Playboy Bunnies at VU 030
Originally uploaded by Brandy For Sale..

Hey, a quick plug- come and see Sara and I perform at SMUT, the weekly reading series at Galapagos this very fine night. We will be joined by Special Guest Star Mike Burns and there will be nudity and such. OK, partial.

If you've been saying you'll come out and see us for a while, this would be the night to do so. Thanks!

SMUT Weekly Reading Series
Monday, March 27th at 8 PM $FREE$
at Galapagos Art Space
70 North 6th Street (between Kent and Wythe) Williamsburg- Take the L to Bedford Ave.

http://www.galapagosartspace.com/events032706.html

Matthew Sweet, Echo & The Bunnymen, and Sara Vaughn.

Such a fun weekend, all a blur but all delightful. On Saturday I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art with April and her lovely daughter, Emma. I hadn't been in a few years so it was a treat. Spent a lot of time looking at Victorian hair & photo lockets- such creepy, awesome jewelry. I do love the shiny shiny.

Later that same evening, I headed over to the BUST Magazine party, where I got lots of cool goody bag loot and spent time with my fab pal, Emily. After that it was off to Justin Purnell's fan-fucking-tastic dance fest: Keep It Fun 2006. I managed to dump a drink down the dear Birch Harms within the first 20 minutes I was there. Then I danced all night like a loon and eventually, started grabbing abandoned drinks and dumping them down my front slowly, while yelling "YEAH! OH YEAH!!" and moving my hips suggestively while forcing dear pals Rob & Porter to look at me. All in all, pretty gross behavior but all in day's work for Barber.

It was nice to get out after being so sick. It was very nice to see good friends that I haven't talked to in a few months and to spit margaritas at them. But it was the nicest to get to slow dance to "Don't Stop Belivin'" even though everyone else was leaping around doing rock kicks and such. It was an simple but effective act of rebellion, right there on the stage, and it made me enourmously happy. Also when someone randomly grabbed my ass. I hope it was a cute boy. Oh, word?

They're Gonna Make It After All.

These two plot your defeat on a daily basis. Don't think otherwise. Just know that if you cross them, you will pay. They're smiling because they're delighted about a death threat they'll be phoning in to a certain party this very weekend.

Know that.

Seriously, have you seen this ape?

I Want To Do It With You: Chapter 79

Hi, my name is Brandy Leigh Barber. I have been drinking. Let's just get THAT out of the way. My very nice friend kept getting my drinks and I don't posses a smidgen of self control, so I said "Si senorita!" Just like that. Boy did that make the bus staff po'd. Anywayzzz, I am hammered. But on the subway home, a song you, Lloyd Cole, that YOU sang came magically onto my iPod. My iPod that my Dad, Terry, bought me for my recent birthday. Look a shiny thing! What? Anybutt, I want to "DO IT" with you. Based on one song you wrote which my friend, Dick Luxury played at a wedding. Now I am going to listen to "Crossroads" by Bone Thugs 'N' Harmony and reflect on when I went wrong, when it all went off the track and when I became this awfully drunk. It's going to be super duper.

But seriously, the offer stands. I will dry hump you in your cinnamon velvet blazer and then buy you a Maker's. I know how to treat a gent.

Someone shoot me in the mouth.

Seriously you guys we should do a sketch together!

Seriously you guys we should do a sketch together!
Originally uploaded by Brandy For Sale..

I don't know why Blogger is being such a wangfest still. But I just love this picture so fuck them. I am posting it via the fab flickr. So there.

Freaked Out!

Freaked Out!
Originally uploaded by Brandy For Sale..

This is the photo I sent to Porter in the IM conversation below. Just for you.

Porter Mason is My Shrink.

xanadutattoo (2:36:31 PM): Sire please!!!

xanadutattoo (2:36:35 PM): I called you!

porterhm3 (2:36:41 PM): Ma'dam!

porterhm3 (2:36:46 PM): I was napping

porterhm3 (2:36:50 PM): I want to nap more

xanadutattoo (2:37:16 PM): Ewww

xanadutattoo (2:37:17 PM): OK then

porterhm3 (2:37:24 PM): I want to nap with you, Brandy

xanadutattoo (2:37:29 PM): NO WAY

xanadutattoo (2:37:31 PM): GROSS

porterhm3 (2:37:43 PM): I long for your sweet embrace

xanadutattoo (2:37:57 PM): Can it

xanadutattoo (2:38:08 PM): Look at this picture

porterhm3 (2:38:11 PM): tough talk

porterhm3 (2:39:14 PM): that's scary

porterhm3 (2:39:23 PM): you look like you are pulling your face off

xanadutattoo (2:39:27 PM): That's my reaction to your proposition

porterhm3 (2:39:51 PM): come on, we don't have to do anything, we can just talk

porterhm3 (2:40:06 PM): as the WHORE who propositioned me this weekend said

xanadutattoo (2:40:33 PM): ICK

xanadutattoo (2:40:43 PM): Hey that's one of my lines!

porterhm3 (2:41:13 PM): what, the "we can just talk" part?

xanadutattoo (2:41:42 PM): Just kidding

xanadutattoo (2:41:50 PM): I don't have lines

porterhm3 (2:41:55 PM): kidding... like a FOX!

xanadutattoo (2:41:55 PM): I am not that savvy

xanadutattoo (2:42:00 PM): I am a mess

xanadutattoo (2:42:15 PM): Lots of crying and misery this past week

porterhm3 (2:42:21 PM): oh no

xanadutattoo (2:42:24 PM): plus the incredible sickness

xanadutattoo (2:42:28 PM): not too good

porterhm3 (2:43:59 PM): well, I am sorry

xanadutattoo (2:44:17 PM): it's my fault, I know that. I deserve this

xanadutattoo (2:44:22 PM): thanks porter

porterhm3 (2:44:29 PM): goodness, I wonder what happened

porterhm3 (2:44:35 PM): I shall have to be filled in at some point

xanadutattoo (2:56:18 PM): sorry- my mom just called and I was crying on the phone

porterhm3 (3:10:17 PM): oh, Brandy Brandy Brandy

xanadutattoo (3:11:13 PM): Yeah well again I made these choices

xanadutattoo (3:11:18 PM): I am an idiot

porterhm3 (3:11:39 PM): no. well, no more than anyone else, i mean

xanadutattoo (3:13:08 PM): No, I think I am

xanadutattoo (3:13:15 PM): I do this to myself

xanadutattoo (3:13:38 PM): Anne says I am not allowed to think that way because, am I an idiot for talking a risk?

xanadutattoo (3:13:41 PM): Which is kind

xanadutattoo (3:13:54 PM): but I am ALWAYS the one taking the risk

xanadutattoo (3:14:00 PM): I am lame.

xanadutattoo (3:14:04 PM): Weee-ak!

xanadutattoo (3:14:09 PM): (in Porter voice)

porterhm3 (3:14:13 PM): ha

porterhm3 (3:14:30 PM): no, I don't think so. you are just emotional and get caught up in things.

porterhm3 (3:14:42 PM): which is better than being a robutt

porterhm3 (3:14:51 PM): but along with it comes sadness

porterhm3 (3:17:28 PM): I think we are just better off alone, that's what I've come to think

xanadutattoo (3:18:28 PM): I think I, myself, am doomed to be alone for the rest of my life

xanadutattoo (3:18:42 PM): Now if I can just re-program myself to LIKE that idea all will be well.

porterhm3 (3:19:24 PM): yeah

porterhm3 (3:19:44 PM): well, we'll have friends, just no spouses

porterhm3 (3:20:06 PM): and it won't matter, because in 2035 when the robots take over, they'll kill us all

xanadutattoo (3:20:28 PM): I should just stop fighting it because- well clearly yes because of the robutt war which is impeding

xanadutattoo (3:20:31 PM): oops impending

porterhm3 (3:20:50 PM): and impeding!

xanadutattoo (3:20:55 PM): ta da!

porterhm3 (3:23:43 PM): I think we're also kind of hoping that we'll have someone with us as we try to figure out our own lives, but I think we have to do that some more before anyone will stick around with us

porterhm3 (3:23:52 PM): which is too bad, but I guess that's the way it is

porterhm3 (3:25:31 PM): Regardless of who it is, I'm saying, we long for someone to be there and love us while we're being lost in our lives, and while we find our way, we don't want to do that alone.

porterhm3 (3:25:39 PM): But I guess you just have to.

xanadutattoo (3:25:59 PM): Ah ha.

xanadutattoo (3:26:17 PM): Yeah I do want that "Us against the world" person, that makes sense.

porterhm3 (3:26:33 PM): Maybe later, when we're 40, we'll have our own selves figured out enough to actually be attractive to someone.

porterhm3 (3:26:47 PM): 40, 50, 60.

porterhm3 (3:27:00 PM): We will meet people on those senior cruises

xanadutattoo (3:27:03 PM): Maybe.

xanadutattoo (3:27:57 PM): It would just be nice to be worth fighting for for once, you know?

xanadutattoo (3:28:04 PM): It would be nice to be that girl.

porterhm3 (3:28:13 PM): yeah

porterhm3 (3:28:31 PM): I wish the same thing

xanadutattoo (3:28:51 PM): The one that people can’t wait to give an engagement ring to, that they laugh at her eccentricities which you're encouraged to have in every stupid movie and book but in the real world, punished for relentlessly.

porterhm3 (3:29:14 PM): yes, these are the great lies

porterhm3 (3:29:32 PM): "sense of humor is the most attractive trait"

xanadutattoo (3:29:42 PM): ha ha MY ASS

xanadutattoo (3:30:20 PM): people who say that are liars

porterhm3 (3:30:43 PM): try having every girl you ever know tell you that you're the funniest person they know, and then going off to fuck Johnny Haircut

xanadutattoo (3:30:51 PM): Yep.

xanadutattoo (3:30:54 PM): I feel it.

porterhm3 (3:31:00 PM): I FEEL THE WEINER!!

xanadutattoo (3:31:03 PM): (that was just for you I know you love that line)

xanadutattoo (3:31:35 PM): Try hearing, "You're the coolest girl ever, you're like one of my guy friends/you're my best friend"

xanadutattoo (3:31:50 PM): but somehow NOT the best friend they want to be with/marry.

xanadutattoo (3:31:54 PM): Hmm. Confusing.

xanadutattoo (3:32:27 PM): Sometimes it is hard to love yourself when no one else seems to be convinced.

xanadutattoo (3:32:38 PM): Even Nigel seems to scoff these days.

porterhm3 (3:32:47 PM): well, no, you have to remain self-centered throughout it all

porterhm3 (3:33:03 PM): you are awesome, whatever anyone says

porterhm3 (3:33:07 PM): or does rather

xanadutattoo (3:33:20 PM): Does that mean get drunk all by myself and listen to "I'm Conceited" by Remy Ma and dance in my new prom dress I got in Boston?

xanadutattoo (3:33:27 PM): Because I can do that.

xanadutattoo (3:33:37 PM): That, I can do.

porterhm3 (3:33:45 PM): think of yourself as a famous artist, who will be appreciated after it's too late. see, you're still famous, just not when you wanted to be famous.

xanadutattoo (3:33:54 PM): But I want it now.

porterhm3 (3:33:59 PM): yes, the singing and dancing is good, too

porterhm3 (3:34:38 PM): Well, I dunno, Brandy, I only fall in love with girls who are moving out of the country, so I'm not much for sage advice.

xanadutattoo (3:35:08 PM): I only fall in love with alcoholics...we're even-sies.

xanadutattoo (3:35:37 PM): I am going to get a bagel now.

xanadutattoo (3:35:52 PM): Will you nap?

porterhm3 (3:36:28 PM): yeah, and do work

xanadutattoo (3:36:36 PM): OK then I will not be coming over

xanadutattoo (3:36:47 PM): plus I am a gross mess and have been crying and have a black eye

xanadutattoo (3:36:49 PM): don't ask

porterhm3 (3:37:18 PM): ok

xanadutattoo (3:40:52 PM): you may choose...your own adventure!!!

xanadutattoo (3:44:33 PM): OK sire, I am off for sustenance

porterhm3 (3:44:44 PM): ok

xanadutattoo (3:44:44 PM): I love you, thanks for comiserating with me.

porterhm3 (3:44:56 PM): no problem, always happy to Eeyore out with someone

xanadutattoo (3:45:45 PM): Oh no, Eeyore!

porterhm3 (3:45:48 PM): c'est la vie

xanadutattoo (3:45:53 PM): I am going to pin your tail on you!

porterhm3 (3:46:04 PM): ew, Brandy, it's no time to get kinky

xanadutattoo (3:46:10 PM): Beat it!

porterhm3 (3:46:19 PM): TELL NIGEL TO STOP FARTING!!!

xanadutattoo (3:46:28 PM): I may reprint some of this IM in a blog. Full disclosure.

xanadutattoo (3:46:33 PM): I WILL!!!

xanadutattoo (3:46:40 PM): BUT HE WON'T!!!

porterhm3 (3:46:42 PM): I guess that's fine

xanadutattoo (3:46:50 PM): Eeyore seems to approve.

xanadutattoo (3:47:23 PM): Ok I am really leaving now (see this is what it's like, I'm simulating for you what it's like to pretend to want to “date” me while you're fucking someone else behind my back and then I dump you but because you say it's not that you don't care for me it's that you have trouble with committment I see a cause to rescue so I keep sleeping with you and make a fool of myself and then I say I won't anymore but I do because I'm drunk and then one day I say no I really mean it and then...)

xanadutattoo (3:48:09 PM): I log off! And cry about it a lot! To everyone! Then I find out about the other person who it turns out, you are in fact committed to. Because you lied about that instead of just saying you didn't want to date me when I asked you point blank & you kept me around for kicks. And once again, I am a big fat joke and some other girl gets to win! And I bet she's short, too! A ha! I showed you!!!! (sob)

xanadutattoo (3:50:29 PM): Bye, I love you.

porterhm3 (3:50:41 PM): bye, love you too

"DEEPLY SUNK LOVE YOU SOMETHING TERRIBLE."*

Picked up and re-read my copy of Dorothy Parker: What Fresh Hell Is This?, Marion Meade's excellent bio during my sickness. It was, as always, a salve. I've always been a Dorothy fan and sometimes in my darkest hours, I worry we are destined to be the same person- full of snotty sayings, skilled at rooting out the worst drunken turnip off the truck to have damaging affairs with, never writing the things of some depth we dream of creating yet managing to amuse with pithy one-offs, and having a wee bit of an issue with the gin. Anyway, in my deliriousness I noted some passages which I will now re-type as I am up late.

-The bad time passed away fairly quickly, but it shook her confidence. She had imagined herself strong again, since she had been able to write so much that year. She worried that her periods of creativity were going to be nothing more than intervals between suicide attempts.

-Instead, she continued to place her faith in Scotch. Any substance that made her feel good was as velvet to her-- and Scotch had the further advantage of being portable.

-In Sunset Gun Dorothy included a concise poem..."Two-Volume Novel":

The sun's gone dim, and
The moon's turned black;
For I loved him, and
He didn't love back.

She dedicated Sunset Gun to John, but the situation remained as unsatisfactory as ever. She was not prepared to send him packing, nor could she accept him as he was. Her emotional dependece on him was contrasted by the autonomy she exhibited in other areas of her life.

-Daily she prayed, "Dear God, please make me stop writing like a woman. For Jesus Christ's sake, amen."

* transcript of telegraph sent from Parker to her beloved Benchley.

Smiles, Everyone, Smiles.

Even though this was displayed a few days late, I decided to pose with it. Boston was a treat and I look forward to returning and not getting in any scraps.

I am trying my hardest and I am failing. It feels like drowning.

No Image- Blogger is being a real wang.

Well, I just cried for approx. 2 minutes as I typed "elephant walk new york 2006" and found to my GREAT DISMAY it happened THIS VERY EVENING, instead of tomorrow night as I was originally led to believe. It HATE when that kind of thing happens. When I made the plans to do it, I had a sort of romantic ideal that it went hand in hand with, some sort of New York late night adventure I'd planned to have with someone. So I suppose I'd have disliked going to it alone as would have been the case as that someone has yet to appear. It just sucked. I was in the city and could have at least caught a solitary glimpse. I'm horribly forgetful enough on my own, I don't need dates changing on me like that to compound the problem. As I said, I was in the city prior. I went to see a show hosted by the dreamy Dave Hill. His guests were all great. Nick Swarsdon (sp?) was a riot. I am always delighted by Corn Mo, who is full of mischief and hard-rock yowlings galore. Fred Armisen got up and did an amazing performance, one that I bet was simple for him but that I could never even fathom doing. I have said this to lots of people but I think he's a genius. The fact that he's a former musician AND is able to be effortlessly funny amazes me. I can barelt play a recorder or memorize a knock knock joke. Perhpas if I spent less time bawling about elephants and swilling cranberry ginger ale...but I digress. It was a fucking kick ass show and I left it full of delight.

Boston was amazing. I had the best time, the show was (after a rocky start due to 18 pieces of human garbage who seemed to think they were at a murder mystery dinner theater) so much fun. I loved the city- my first trip there and it was so lovely. Giulia and Tim were the most gracious hosts and Sara & I laughed until we cried the entire time. I had a really painful week so this was just what I needed, after being sick and shut in and just really sad. What a great escapade.

More on that later. I want to sleep now, still trying to be healthy. Although I feel better I want to be careful. This means, instead of 3 Oreos, I eat only 1. I'm a problem solver people. It's what I do.

We Create ART, People.

Back from Boston, more on that later...off to see attractive comedy types.


PS Why yes, we DID rip that off someone's apartment door, steal that bar of soap from some party's bathroom, and Allocco is sitting in an infant's stroller, which some poor fool left in the hall. And we're drunk. Why ever do you ask?

"Get Lost, Killjoy!"

After a 6 day house arrest due to illness I am losing my shit in a major way. I decided it was finally safe to leave the house for longer than it takes to scurry to the Rite Aid for Robitussin or to hail a cab to the emergency room (I will never get over the fact that I ACTUALLY HAD TO GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM I WAS SO SICK), so after some deliberation I decided to head to the local diner for some motzah ball soup and such. I realized that being sick gives you an excuse to leave the house dressed like an escapee from the lunatic asylum. But I made an attempt to dress attractively. Unfortunately, I chose (without meaning to, it was CLEAN) a kelly green t-shirt layered over a long sleeved waffle-knit. The realization of my terrible, awful, no good, very bad choice hit me the minute I stepped out on the sidewalk.

Let me say this: as a tall, redheaded woman with fair skin & freckles, I make a point of avoiding St. Patrick's Day. I think it's boring. I am neither amused by it nor angered, more baffled and frankly embarrassed that people need that framework to get ripped off their asses. Give me a late Sunday afternoon, "Ooops how did I get so drunk at brunch and now it's 1 am and I'm at a bar I've never beento in Mexico dancing onstage and I have to open the store at 8:00 am since I'm the only one with keys aw fuck it tequila shots on me ya'll" anyday. That's a fucking Brandy Barber holiday, people. Know that.

Also right now I am sick and in a terrible mindstate and the last thing I need or want is intoxicated male attention. So you can imagine my delight as I tried to stroll nonchalantly past Ceol, some "pub" on Smith Street. Out front there was a bunch of office trash who, I presume, took the day off!!! BECAUSE THEY'RE SO CRAZY!!! OMG!!!!! They, like, started drinking at like 3!!!!!! They haven't been this drunk since like the Beta Kappa mixer in '98!!!! I hope they all end up drowning in their own vomit because they can't get their Brooks Brothers ties off to properly yack in the gutter of MY STREET that's right MY STREET WHERE I LIVE, not on the Upper East Side where you take cabs from to fun places where real people live so you can urinate on their doorsteps and buy bad coke cut with baby laxative, Gordon Gekko Part II. Get fucked.

As I was walking I was saying in my head, "Please don't notice me please don't notice me please don't notice me" as my mantra, pretending I was the Invisible Woman. Which as we all know is a sure way to get pestered. And so, one of these chubby ruddy trolls in a fucking button down and khakis decided to slobber at me, uttering some dumbass ninny shit like, "Hey now there's a real Irish lass!" WHAT. This leads to his friends all demanding he kiss me. Do you like how this little gang rape scene is playing out so far? Oh, it gets better I assure you.

I turn and say, "You're gross. Really. Just, ugh. Look at yourself." I look him up and down, make time to glare down at his brown bowling shoe-style Campers circa 2000. And I shake my head as I keep walking by.

I expected at least some yelling, or booing, or perhaps projectile vomiting. There was silence. I somehow managed to shut them all the fuck up. I wasn't even in top form. Man. I seem to be invincible. Next up: I take "Showtime at The Apollo" by storm!

Again, let me restate my position that if you need to use this as an excuse to get drunk all day, I feel real fucking sorry for you. Feel free to contact me, Brandy L. Barber, and I will GLADLY show you what a real honest-to-goodness all day drunk good time is. And yes, you did also read that scrawled in the men's room stall in Peter McManus, and it is indeed accurate. Solid.

After my trip to the diner, I came home, and watched "Same Guys, New Dresses", laughed until I cried/hacked over Scott and his Robot Dog, and punished myself for not working hard enough on my writing. I declared tonight would be different! As you can see I am clearly doing so. (sigh)
Get it together, chief! Good gravy!

Also, I suggest when you want to be in the bestest mood ever you listen to "Summertime" by The Sundays. I never read too much fiction, is this how it happens?

This One's For You.

In a drug-addled state after a weekend rampage a while ago, I saw a DVD in a store window. It was one of those unholy kids' DVDs where a beloved toy from my childhood has beenr e-licensed out and now any jackass can write a cruddy story for it and have is cheaply animated in TAiwan or something then sell it here under titles like "Pony-topia!" and "The Ponies' Pic-nic!" Even though I was going on one hour of "sleep" and was still drunk if not otherwise altered, I started mumbling the theme song to myself. At first quietly but then, with increasing volume. This continued throught the remainder of the very slovenly hung over day. At the time I knew it was assanine and downright irritating but I couldn't control myself, anymore than I can when someone I am mad at makes a pass at me and I have the urge to fuck them full of my venemous onyx hatred. I also knew, somewhere deep down inside, that it would be funny someday, if only to me.

That day is today. I may have a fever of 99.9 degress. I may have been freezing a scant half hour ago to the point where i put on 4 layers of clothing. I may feel like I'm Angelica Houston in the Grifters and I just got fucking worked over with some oranges. My throat may feel like I swallowed glass, my nose my be raw, nay sire, even my sinuses may ache as if they had Lincoln Logs jammed into them by a bad little ADD boy from the kindergarten class named Corey who all the other parents resent for his constant disruptions. ALl of this and more may be the case. I may be fucking miserably sick. But at least I have My. Little. Fuckin. PONY.


Here is my version, with apologies to those present and you know who you were:
My Little Pony, My Little Pony
Pony, Pony, Pony, Pony... [trails off, stares at ceiling, looks around for half-drunk beer]

Here is one of the actual songs I found on the magical inter-web!:

My Little Pony Rainbow Ponies
Beautiful ponies with rainbow hair
My Little Pony Rainbow Ponies
Rainbow colors everywhere!
There are Starshine and Windy,
Moonstone and Sunlight,
Par-a-sol, and Skydancer, too!
My Little Pony Rainbow Ponies
[Little pony, it's all for you]?

Now I don't know about you but I think that sounds suspicously similar to another popular tune about ponies. But I am sick in the head.

Oops, I Did It Again.

Forgot not only National Potato Chip Day AND the Ides of March, but this, too.

March 14: Steak & Blow Jobs Day

Clumsy Me!

Fever Dreams, Cough Suppressants And A Lot Of "Me" Time. Ick.

Today is the first day in a while that I did not want to be put down like an aged horse. I am taking it easy still, yes, but I am finally blessedly not craving handfuls of sleeping pills to put me out of my misery.

One good thing about being this deathly sick is, you get to do a lot of thinking and personal inventory-type stuff. Someone had decided that she needs to really evaluate a lot of unhealthy, stupid behaviors made over the past few months and then, chose not to replicate them. I never ever want to feel this way again. And I did this all to myself- the physical sickness, the emotional tumult, all of it. All my doing.

Having an variety of physicians tell you in plain English that you're an immature moron who made yourself sick is a great self-esteem builder. Putting yourself in situations where you let other people make you feel like a piece of garbage is also a neato way to feel A-OK. I think it's a super duper idea to can it with all this shit, grow up and take care of myself.

To that end, I am now going to watch "Her Alibi" on HBO Z. What.

Happy [Belated] National Potato Chip Day!!!!

I am sick so I let this very important holiday slide. Because my harrowing cab ride to and from the emergency room late this very eve was kind of a deterrent. But I, in cough induced insomnia, even though they gave me stuff to supposedly make me sleep (my ass), am powering through. That's the kind of snack food eating pig I am.

So here we go. Let me celebrate the magic that is the Frito-Lay company. A place that I imagine to be filled with magical, obese snack elves. Behold then the latest offering that I jammed into my mouth, cough spasms that lead me to think I have a broken rib and all:

And then there's an newsih yet already classic old standby. The breathtaking perfection that is Lay's Dill potato chips. These perfectly marry the way that the chips on your plate at the family reunion bar-b-eque tasted when the pickles you were eating nudged up against them, giving them a gentle dill basting. Ah, yes. PUT IT IN MY EAGER MOUTH, YOU WHORE.

I encourage all of you to go out in your navy blue sweat pants from Old Navy, your fake Ugg boots, a yoga sweatshirt, a huge scarf for your lacerated, ruined throat and-yes that's right- a baby blue wool beret. Leave the house in this ensemble, coughing all the merry way, and buy soup, popsicles, throat lozenges, passionfruit sherbet (as suggested by the fantastic Matt Sears) and then, inexplicably, bag(s) of potato chips. You tuberculosis-ridden sow.

I am over it.

This fucking sucks. I am miserable, this makes strep throat seem like a horny teen comedy romp from the 80's that I stayed up, taped over "Once Bitten" on my own personal VHS tape my Dad got me, and then subsequently took the to 6th grade slumber party to make everyone watch because there was fucking. I mean, really.

I am in so much pain, and it's exacerbated by the fact that I can't sleep more than 45 minutes at a time before that's right, I cough myself awake.

The worst part is, is that I did this to myself by acting like a drunken buffoon instead of taking it easy. Really, this is pitiful.

Someone make me laugh or something.

I am going to the store to get popsicles, maybe that will improve things. Sugar is always a helper.


NB: Thanks to all pals who have called to check in and sent nice IMs and emails to check up. You're the cat's pajamas.

There's Not A Lot Of Room For Laughter When The Lines Overlap.

Vanel On First.

So sick and woke myself up coughing. I have bronchitis and as such am having constant spasming coughing fits that render me unable to talk. Anyone who knows me personally must understand how upsetting that is.

I am also forced to endure "bed rest". This is akin to torture, even for me who happilt sleeps 10 hours or more at a stretch if allowed. But beds, beyond nighttime, are not for sleeping. They are for holidng that suitcase of clothes you stull have yet to unpack from your trip in January, various books all of which you are currently reading, and your cat Nigel. Just FYI.

I just made myself yet another packet of Top Ramen. This is great because it quells the throat irritation as the monumental sodium content is not unlike your standard hot saltwater gargle recommended for sore throats. Now off to sleep for three hours then re-awaken in a fit of hacking. Delightful.

PostSecret Does It Good.

Batsu.

You listen because listening is gentle and also because it's dependable, and then you listen just because it's the best way to express love. -- Rick Moody

Yaki udon.

A polecat is no cat. It is a nocturnal weasel.

Last night as I was standing on the subway platform, I was furious because the train took forever to come and I was beyond angry about it. I worked myself up into a snit over my "tax dollars" being squandered by the MTA, leaving me high & dry & drunk at 3:30ish. I was also crying and this made it that much worse because I'd have preferred to be at home making my roommate suffer the strains of my tantrum to mewling for an audience on the 2nd Ave. stop. Of course, seeing people cry in public in New York is so common, we're all used to it and tend to respectfully ignore it and this was no exception. Everyone left me be, except for one wiseass who told me no one who loved me would make me cry like that. And then after some deep consideration, added "Nice tits". I'll take what I can get at this point, sir.

That scene in "American Beauty" where Annette Benning has a slight breakdown after her disastrous open house comes to mind at present. No one likes being a joke.

A Present For ME?!

I'm ever so delighted! Why you shouldn't have. I love it!

I need a muzzle.

Clockwise from top left: Burlesque Gone Awry at Variety Underground 3.2.06; The Hand Job: A Public Service Announcement as seen at SMUT @ Galapagos 3.6.06; Me & my alcoholic ex, Doug, onstage at Brutal Honesty @ Otto's 2.7.06; My day was made brighter somehow by this subway warning; SJ and Stokes on the G train with cupcakes.

If You're Willing To Play The Game, It Will Be Coming Around Again.

Sara channels Carly Simon as she preps for her performance in the upcoming BEST OF BRUTAL HONESTY, which I too shall be appearing in, come tomorrow evening. And you, dear reader, should be there to take it all, every last inch of it, in. And yes that is a big deep cock reference. What?

Tuesday March 7th at 8 pm

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


Featuring:
Sara Jo Allocco
Rachel Kramer Bussel
Brandy Barber
Bex Schwartz
Michael Cyril Creighton
Joe Randazzo

Love, Lift Us Up Where We Belong.

If you're free tonight I suggest you head on over to Galapagos to catch Sara'a impassioned performance at SMUT, a naughty monthly reading series. I myself will be making a cameo. Like you have anything better to do, you piece of garbage.

Fajita By The Pound.

Sara defaces a menu as a gift of sorts for our dear friend Giulia. I decided topost this in honor of the Oscars as it clearly was snubbed. Who do I have to give a hand job to in this town to have my artisitc endeavors respected?!? To hell with the lot of you, says I.

Been a busy week...

Brandy bunny
Originally uploaded by Lodigs.

but enjoy this quick update. Thanks to Lauren for the photo!

A Movie What I Made.