Woodchuck or ground hog: My Life Crisis.

I can't be the one made to decide these things! Is one name more suitable than the other? I just can't make up my mind this afternoon.

I love being here in Poughkeepsie, where all my daily quandaries boil down to decisions on how to properly address the furry brown rodents with a predilection for rummaging through our rubbish bin in search of left over bits of hummus or apple scraps.
Working up here is a treat- I have my own "cabin" as it were, I'm surrounded by my friends who also happen to be my co-workers, and I get to do all sorts of shopping. Yesterday I got a vintage necklace for $4 that would have easily cost me at least $20 in NYC if not more. Plus, I went to the Farmer's Market and got fresh squash, tomatoes, zucchini and blackberries that look like I swiped them from Ina Garten's own refridgerator. I've been feasting on these healthy snacks and enjoying long walks through the lush Vassar campus. Really, really long- this year the teaching staff is housed on the farthest point up top, so it's a good 15 minute walk to the center of campus. But it's such a lovely stroll, and you're likely to see robins, squirrels and maybe even a chubby chipmunk if you're lucky. I especially love seeing the swans in the lake, and once in a while I've seen a doe and baby deer. It's amazing that the city is only 2 hours away- this feels like another planet.

Later tonight, I'm going to go off to a birthday supper on the banks of the Hudson, and pray to god that someone brings bug spray. Mosquitos fucking love me and my ankles.

Too much.

Too busy right now to focus up enough to write anything. Feel like a piece of garbage. Enjoy picture. Also, bite me.

Boston Birthday Bar-B-Que.

A lovely time was had in Boston. There was a trip to the local mall and a gorgeous backyard bar-b-que where I ate my weight in hot dogs and pasta salad. There was a keg and lots of kids, so we were drunkenly well behaved. And later, there was ice cream cake. Truly marvelous. Yay, Boston.

From Popbitch.com:

"The top ten brands mentioned in r&b and hip-hop
tracks in 2005: Mercedes, Nike, Cadillac, Bentley,
Rolls Royce, Hennessy, Chevrolet, Louis Vuitton,
Crystal and AK-47."



No TCBY? Aw, nuts.

I love you. You know who you are.

Bikini Girls With Guns.

I have no comment on this. Just sharing, is all. I mean...OK, I have ONE weensy comment.

Maybe they should have included a small container of black greasepaint. Just a thought. Since this is so tasteful, is all.

I fucking LOVE VH1 Classics. They are playing a fucking Jellyfish video (for "Baby's Coming Back", one of my favorite songs). I am besides myself with how much I want to hump Jason Faulkner.

I will now play all the songs I listened to in high school. Expect "Sexuality" by Billy Bragg, "Kiss Them For Me" by Siouxsie and the Banshees and maybe even a little "One Step Beyond" by Madness, who were already considered a classic band by the time I was in 10th grade. Eeep.

Also, I have decided I want to slow dance with someone to "Heaven Help Me" by Deon Estus (backing tracks voiced by none other than a very-not-out-yet George Michael). STAT.

My Hero.

TO: Brandy Barber
FROM: Terry Barber

RE: Uncle Greg

Tonight Greg and I were talking about some of your Aunt Kim’s cardboard luggage (boxes taped shut). Greg reminded me of one Christmas when he was visiting me. We had piled him up with Xmas/birthday presents to take home on the plane*. Greg packed all of his beloved gifts in a cardboard box to fly home with. When people started staring at him at the airport he discovered that I had written “KOTEX” on one side of his gift box. I am so ashamed-not.

dad




* My Uncle is a Xmas baby, so he always gets heaos and heaps of presents.

We Can't Be Stopped.

Today, I stumbled across a delightful little channel called TV One. And you'll never guess what they had on. Oh, 'twas truly grand.

It was an old episode of Martin. This one was titled, "Your Arms Are Too Short To Box With Martin". Why, you ask?















Oh, because none other than vertically challenged Bushwick Bill was the guest star. And yes, he did at one point say aloud, "My mind is playin' tricks on me." WHAT!?! I screeched with glee and howled the entire time. Right after this, "Good Times" came on and after that, it looks like "Wanda At Large" is on. I could not be happier. This is as if someone took a scan of my secret reptilian brain, and then used this to program a network.


























If I could have any dream job, I would have loved to have been a writer on "Good Times". That, or maybe "Maude". Either or.

Sam Rockwell, This HAS to stop.

Dear Sam Rockwell,

I'm so sorry it has to come to this between us. But I have to be honest with you, it's just not working out for me. I know, I know, and please, take that look off your face- I know you're upset. I don't blame you. But I just didn't want you to be the last to know. We can't be an item, and you've got to accept it and stop just showing up in my life. I beg of you, Sam- let me be the woman I need to be.












This all started when we danced together at that one after show cast party at New York Stage & Film, up on the Vassar campus, way back when in 2003. I know you were loaded, probably too loaded to even remember since you danced with pretty much every lady there, especially the 18 year old actress apprentices. But I know that's just your defense mechanism. You were trying to lure me, to make me jealous. Sam- we both know that's just childish. It didn't work. But I certainly respected your dancing stamina, I'll give you that. Also the fact that I was taller then you was kinda gross- I can't lie. Shhh- no please, don't speak. It's just going to make this harder.














Things were pretty low key between us for a few years. You did your films (loved you in "Hitchikers' Guide" BTW), I did my various artisitic pursuts*, and we let it breathe ala Blu Cantrell. That is, until last weekend.

Which was, and I know you know this, the huge Bastille Day celebration here in Brooklyn. There's the largest petanque tournament in the US, right on my beloved Smith Street. Over 100,000 spectators crammed themselves on the block, and all sorts of merriment ensued.

I was out with my pals, strolling the streets, feeling ennui in the most French of ways. And then I saw you. I was, to sat the least, shocked. Were you there with Tim Robbins, also spotted enjoying the fun? I don't know. I don't want to know. I just want to make it clear that, things are O-V-E-R between us. And I really appreciate your devotion and enthusiasm, but it's getting close to stalking. You keep popping up wherever I am, and I can't have that. Look, I don't want to embarass you, but do I have to pull a John Cusak up in here? I don't want it to go that way, Sam. Nor, I imagine, do you.

Sam Rockwell, you're a handsome Hollywood sensation. I know you can have anyone you want, but, and I'm sorry to say this- you can't have me. No one can, Sam. No one.

xoxoxo,

Bran

* these included being unemployed, being drunk, and sleeping a lot.

Not even a little amused.

My absolutely INSANE landlord ruined what was one of the nicest weekends I've ever had. Sara and I were so pleased with how our show went, we had a lovely sleepover afterwords with Lang, we went to Brooklyn for Bastille Day and watched pentanque and ate pasta that Ang cooked for us. Then I came home and new roommate Porter told me that our LOON landlord has decided with less than 2 weeks notice to raise our rent by $400. That's no 7% increase, like the ones people in Manhattan piss and moan over. That's at least 25%. I took to my bed at 9 that night, cried myself to sleep and have been in a daze the past few days.

I mean, jesus. If you've ever been to my apartment the irony of this ludicrous declaration is not lost on you. My Islamic landlord and his- I kid you not- extended family of at last count, 13 (I think one of the wives is knocked up again) run screaming bloody murder in the halls all day long, leave huge cones of incense burning in a way that would cause any fire marshall to shit thier rubber pants, hurl trash into the hallways and leave it there to rot, and basically make the entire area outside of my soon-to-be-overpriced oasis sound like World War III at all hours of the night. For what he's charging I could have a garden apartment somewhere on this block with a roof deck or something. He's cracked out, really.

I guess it's good I like shoes so much because it looks as if Nigel and I are going to use all the boxes to construct our own cardboard castle. Jesus. This sucks.

Me, Whining.

You've no doubt seen it in person. But if not, catch me mewling and whining in this fun spot for the New York Televison Festival. It was shot last year- note the short, non-Dokkened out hair. You can also see some other nice folks like Jason Mantzoukas from UCB's Mother, Greg Tuculescu from Quiet Library, and Mark Lee, improviser and music lover.

Enjoy!

This Saturday: The Kissing Booth!

Don't try to front like you're doing anything tomorrow night. I won't hear of it. You, my fine feathered friend, are coming to roost with Brandy & Sara.

The Kissing Booth: America is COOL!
July 15th, 2006
9:30 pm
The D-Lounge

101 East 15th Street at Union Square East
$3 Beers! $4 Shot Special! Full Bar For You Fancy Types!
Dance Party to follow the show with DJ Law Tarello!


with:

SEAN CRESPO, (DrinkAtWork.com) comedy commentator, snarky stand up and swell guy

MATT MCCARTHY,(MAX!)Fierce, fun comedian and clearly genetically superior because he has red hair like Barber

BROOKE VAN POPPELEN,(Caroline's)Chicago Underground Comedy Darling, new New Yorker and a fucking funny lady

JACK KUKODA,(Sweet) smart, savvy comedian, cuddly black bear cub

Plus: A Truly Gross, Inappropriate Flag Burlesque Dance & Hi-Jinx Galore!
Check us out here:
http://www.thekissingboothnyc.blogspot.com

This One's For You, Tiger.

There's a thin line between love and hate. And my friend Keith and I have been back and forth over it many times. And I would like to say for the record, that I am glad we came back to where we are now.

Seriously, where's Jamie?

Hey Ladies!

A collage of all the performers from the fab Chicks & Giggles show this past Tuesday. Kudos to Carolyn & Nichelle for creating an often-imitated, never duplicated night of comedy. And to Brian, for the great photos!

Does That Make Me Crazy? Possibly.

Holy Cats! It's fucking raining like a mofo tonight. Just came back from inhaling more food in onbe sitting than I eat in a week. Sara & I went to Two Boots Pizza and I had a piece of The Night Tripper (which I always accidentally call the Night Stalker, and that is because I am obesessed with serial killers because I think I'm going to be killed by one someday so I like to keep abreast of them) and a Mug Root Beer. Then we walked in the shitty weather up to St. Mark's where I scarfed down a Temptee Dog from Crif Dog- deep fried hot dog, bacon wrapped, schmear of Temptee Cream Cheese. I washed it all down with RC Cola. WHAT. I didn't eat at all yesterday- I think I had some cantaloupe at noon and one mini cupcake at Chicks & Giggles- and then today I ate 2 crackers with cream cheese and a single piece of chile-spiced mango slice. Real, real healthy gal. That's me. After all this, in which I coerced Sara to take baby bird bites so I'd not be alone in my odd binge, we tried to brave the torrential rain storm. We made it half a block, were soaked thru the tube tops, kept shreiking like loons, and managed to hail a cab. It would have been romantic had one of us been a dude.

Potential necking partners, take note: I have a real thing about making out in the rain, and it never seems to happen. The last time I stood in the rain with a member of the opposite sex, it was with someone who I was no longer involved with and with whom I was trying to forge a very fragile friendship. We were both really, really drunk, he blindingly so. He had just puked on the street, told me he couldn't help that he "liked what he liked" (this, I realized later, was guy code for "I want to have sex with you but I don't want to be your boyfriend") and then tried drunkenly to kiss me. I believe he also said, "Isn't this romantic, standing here in the rain screaming at each other?" Yes, standing a foot from a puddle of cheap Chardonnay & Maker's shots puke being screamed at for making you have a boner still is my idea of romantic. It's funny in hindsight. Wait. No, no it's not. The point of all this? My damp make out wishes are doomed.

Porter told me about this lady, who is the real life person that Jerri Blank is based on. AWESOME.

After viewing that clip, I'd like add to the unflattering parade, so here are pics of me at Chicks & Giggles last nite (which BTW was an amazing show full of really funny ladeeez), playing a very naughty restaurant trainer (also based on a real person I once encountered):















And here's me with the fab Carla Rhodes, with whom I may have been seperated at birth:













Here is my awesome cat, Nigel, be-decked & be-ribboned:



















Here is a picture of Jenny and Shawn at MAX! tonight, delivering a PSA on the Dangers of Date Rape (hint-it involves ugly triplets):
















And lastly, here's Sara and I at MAX! tonight, making friends for the world to see like Elton John:














My top and our suspicious body language may lead you to believe we are Jazzercizing it up, perchance to "Let's Get Physical" by Olivia Newton-John. No. Just two whores, about to get into fisticuffs over a remote controlled fart machine. I'm sorry, I mean, over our MATCHING remote controlled fart machines.

Thanks for asking...

...if it was, in fact, me who sent this in.

Lovely Lovely Lovely.

Today I read an awesome interview with my pal Adira Amram at a site I absolutely love, called Hello, Hilarious! It's a collective comedy blog run by a bunch of talented hilarious broads. All of these ladies are NYC comedy vets with impressive credentials and plento moxie. Real spitfires, each of them.

Do yourself a favor. If you're a comedy fan, link to them and get the good word out about it.

Fold Your Hands, Child.

I think they stole the idea for this cover picture from me directly. I love, LOVE pictures where someone is tarted up but also bawling with mascara stains down the face. Always a favorite of mine.

An amazing idea for an anthology and a delight even if you're not a Belle & Sebastian fan outright- great stuff.

"Why does the crazy ape keep yelling at me?" - Porter "Homeboy" Mason the III.

"Did I mention I have a full page article AND a book review in this month's BUST?! Anyone?!?" Based on a true, sad story.














Sara, Giulia & Margot, who pleaded with me to not put a picture of her on my blog.














Kukoda, letting the ladies know who gives the moustache rides in this town.















Becky checks out b-day girl Sara Schaefer's goods. O'Donnell salivates.
















"Whoever's doing that-is it you, sir? Please stop it, it's really immature." B & S at Fink's show at the Goldhawk.
















After the fart machine was confiscated, Sara made the music with her mouth, Biz.















The dapper Josh Hanness and Dusty Springfield.

I love going out and having adventures. I worry about getting married, because I don't think I'll ever stop wanting to go out and carouse and cause all sorts of trouble. It just won't involve making out with strangers so much. Who am I kidding, it doesn't involve that now. The fact that my hair is Dokken-ing out in a most black denim vest of ways may be the culprit.

Or my obnoxious, abrasive hi-jinx. Could be those, too. Who can say?

Faeries, Gnomes, Mermaids, Dragons, Unicorns Hither and Thence!

I headed to the fancy city of Boston yesterday to perform at the MORTIFIED! Boston show. The night was fantastic- all the Boston cast members were top notch and the crowd was lovely- and we went out afterwords for drinking and hi-jinx. I passed out sometime around 3 am and was woken at 7:45 by the sounds of a huge hammer pounding by my head. It was the contractors putting aluminum siding up on Giulia & Tim's house. Peachy. After eating a lovely breakfast at 9:30ish, we headed into Boston for shoppings and such. I cleaned up at G-Star and the Urban Outfitters Bargain Basement in Harvard Square. Then we went to a creepy comix store where there was only one ailse of comix, but tons of shit straight out of your local Spencer's Gifts at the mall. You know, like rebel flag belt buckles, Zippos with "Rat Fink" on them, stickers of that stupid rabbit saying "You Ain't All That!!!" and other assorted souless snide crap marketed to people with no personality. Yuck. I managed to scrounge up a copy of the Belle & Sebastian tribute book at a good price there, however, so all was well. Did I mention they had an Ashley Parker Angel poster up? All in all, a confusing business.

Rozzi mentioned she wanted to take me to the Johnny Cupcakes store, and I was game. Little did we know we'd get to meet the ADORABLE Johnny Cupcakes himself, who patiently waited in us while Rozzi tried on three t-shirts before revealing his true identity as the loveable proprietor (and this was only after Rozzi asked him straight out if he was the man behind the myth). I even got a picture with him. HOW CUTE IS HE?! Listen- buy his shirts and not the shitty Urban Outfitters knock offs! He is so polite and cool- he told us about his new store opening in Soho in Fall 2006. I hope he continues to do so well, because it's great to see the good guys finish first. I got some buttons and the black graffitti t-shirt pictured here, except mine is a 2006 version. Can't wait to bust it out in Brooklyn.

Later, we saw any and all sorts of enchanted creatures, ate ice cream in a tea cup, walked through a park and saw bronze ducks, looked at vintage porn (OK maybe just me) and then headed back to Rozzi's, where tensions flared and tempers mounted. It would seem an old neighbrohood rivalry was to be revisted as Oliver, Giulia's prior tormentor, was back for more. When we drove up to the house, he was sunning himself quite languidly on the front steps. I of course took the chance to instigate and ran with it, like I do. I egged Giulia on to confront Oliver in the hopes of more fireworks, sans scratching and biting of course. It ended badly. OK, not really, it ended with me shooing Oliver away so Rozzi could get into the house without being attacked. But it was pretty fucking entertaining. Not as entertaining as the homeless guy with the huge shitstains* on his trousers that was dancing in front of us as we walked down the street of lovely Boston shops, mind you. But pretty damned close.


*for the record, I kept PRAYING that a pen broke in his pocket and that mine eyes wereth deceiving me. NOPE.