Disco Naps.

I love this song. It's by the Gap Band and it's called Outstanding. It used to remind me of someone I "dated" because we used to dance to it all the time- somehow it was either on at his house or at whatever dive bar we were at yet again together. The last time that dancing to this tune together took place was on the stage at the Slipper Room, much to the chagrin of others who were simply trying to enjoy themselves. Later that evening he said something shitty to me (surprise), I dumped my beer in his crotch, and that was that. The night was over. And not 48 hours after, so was the drunken courtship.




Anyway, I've been hearing it a lot lately in a lot of random places...and I really like it again. Nice to know that good things don't have to be ruined unless you let them be.

Both Nigel and Giulia are asleep on my apartment floor right now, after we just scoured the place. How does someone who basically wears a uniform akin to a 4 year old's Garanimals (me) have so much clothing? It baffles me. It also makes me feel crazed in my own space all the time, so a purge was necessary.

Which is why in about 2 seconds I'm going to walk over to where Rozzi is peacefully slumbering and let off an air horn blast right by her ear. Get to steppin'!

MORTIFIED- Now Casting in NYC!

NOW SEEKING YOU:
Dust off that diary! Whip out that Trapper Keeper! Mortified is always looking for new performers to appear in our stage show. Open to anyone from actors to accountants. Must be 21+. Thanks!

ABOUT THE SHOWS:
Hailed a "cultural phenomenon" by Newsweek and celebrated by This American Life, The Today Show, The Onion AV Club, Entertainment Weekly's "Must List," Esquire, Jane, Bust, Daily Candy and more... Mortified is a comic excavation of adolescent artifacts (journals, letters, poems, lyrics, home movies, stories, plays, schoolwork) as shared by their original authors before total strangers.

ABOUT OUR SELECTION PROCESS:
Read our Casting FAQ to learn about our approach and how you can participate on stage.

WANNA JOIN IN?
Sound like fun? It is! Request a screening session here: www.getmortified.com/casting

More info at getmortfied.com!

"And I'm Married. Let's Hook It Up, WORD!"

Joel McHale, I want to do awful things to you. And by awful I mean, NAKED things. I know you're married. I know you have a child. But in my dreams, none of this matters. And in my dreams of a perfect, smart-assed tall husband is where you, sire, dwell.

And by the by, if you're not watching E's The Soup you are missing out on all sorts of magic. So says I. This clip made me laugh until I cried, kicked and nearly peed my butt.

Mad Sick.

Sirens

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The new Dizzee Rascal album, available now in the States on iTunes, may very well make you shit your pants due to overall quantity of AWESOMENESS. Check out this clip, Sirens. Loudly.

Happy Father's Day.

You keep trying to make me cry, PostSecret, and it just may have worked this time.

I love you, Terry.

Image courtesy of PostSecret.

This Is Why We're Retarded.

Heeeeeey Macarena from marianne on Vimeo

The lovely Marianne Ways, super producer of comedy gold and all around fun time gal, shares this video proof of the insanity brought on by a bucket full of punch and karaoke and crepe paper. Thanks to all who came out and celebrated the show, which being a part of has made the best year I've had so far. Loves, loves and more loves.

The Kissing Booth STATS.

Matt, Sara and I compiled some fun facts about The Kissing Booth over the past year. Enjoy!

Year One of the Kissing Booth: A Statistical Review

Number of times Matt McCarthy showed his balls: 5.2
Number of times Brandy flipped someone off: still processing
Number of Times One or both of the hosts were visibly intoxicated/altered onstage: 4
Number of prop baby dolls currently owned by Brandy & Sara: 3
Number of creepy backrubs issued by John F. O'Donnell on/offstage: infinite
Number of stink eyes given to the D Lounge Bartender per show: 37
Number of dumps taken on stage: 1
Amount of show truncated due to tardiness of its 2 hosts: 60%
Number of bags of Hershey’s Kisses bought to serve at shows: 36
Number of Times a heckler has been told he would have his throat slit by Sara: 1
Number of times people made out in bathrooms/closets/backroom: at least 5 that we saw



COME SEE THE SHOW, FOOLS!!!

The Kissing Booth presents: PROM-TACULAR: Our One Year Anniversary!


June 9th, 2007
10:30 pm - $7 cover

10:00pm Doors Open Pre-Prom Party (free spiked punch till it runs out)
10:30pm Show Begins
11:30ish FREE Party to follow (posed prom photos & share your prom story and get a FREE Jello Shot!!)


The Tank
279 Church Street between Franklin and White

$3 Beers All Nite Long!
FREE spiked punch!

With performances by:
Wendy Ho!
Party Central USA!
and
Tom McCaffrey!

...plus a video created with Anya Garrett and special guest appearances from Sue Ball, Mike Dobbins, Katina Corrao, Matt McCarthy, Seth Herzog, Sean Crespo and MORE MORE MORE!

As always, the kick ass dance party begins right when the show ends, SO STICK AROUND or DROP IN LATE!

Brandy & Sara are so fucking amazed they managed to not die of alcohol poisoning over the past year that they're doing a big old celebration party & show. So come on down to our NEW location and share in what has been a year of nonstop filth, foul-mouthery and fun.

Honestly, we're so grateful to have gotten the chance to host the amazing talent we somehow bamboozled onto our stage in front of an audience of warm, wonderful friends (IE: drunks).

This month's installment of THE KISSING BOOTH will feature a mini-show and real life prom stories from lots of funny folks. Plus, appearances from some of your most beloved high school teachers, there to chaperone the totally rad pre-party (don't ask us how we found them, we just do shit like that).

EXTRA SPECIAL BONUS!!! Everyone in attendance will be eligible to be King & Queen of the PROM! Your paid admission comes complete with a ballot, so come on down and vote for your damn self.

PLUS! Candy, slow dancing to Warrant and the like, fast dancing to all sorts of "that rap noise" (copyright Brandy's Grandma 1993), comedy tech wizardry from our 3X Dope head writer MATT SEARS, posed prom photos of you looking all hot and shit that will be taken by the sultry NATHAN KLOKE (www.nathankloke.com), and lots of hi-jinx and capers and cutups. Plus, our undying love to you for being a part of the show this past year!

SEE YOU THERE, SUCKAS! AND WEAR THEM PROM OUTFITS!

The Kissing Booth Turns ONE YEAR OLD SATURDAY June 9th!

Come on down to my show, because it's going to be the mother of all our Kissing Booths...I'm actually kind of afraid how this one is going to end. Be there to see.



THE KISSING BOOTH is a monthly variety show hosted by comedy duo Brandy & Sara. Stand ups, sketch, songs, and more from NYC's premiere performers, always with a spectacularly drunken finale. If you can't make the show, drop in for the FREE late nite dance party that begins directly after- cheap booze specials all nite long. Pucker Up For Comedy!

The Kissing Booth presents: PROM-TACULAR: Our One Year Anniversary!


June 9th, 2007
10:30 pm - $7 cover

10:00pm Doors Open Pre-Prom Party (free spiked punch till it runs out)
10:30pm Show Begins
11:30ish FREE Party to follow (posed prom photos & share your prom story and get a FREE Jello Shot!!)


The Tank
279 Church Street between Franklin and White

$3 Beers All Nite Long!
FREE spiked punch!

With performances by:
Wendy Ho!
Party Central USA!
and
Tom McCaffrey!

...plus a video created with Anya Garrett and special guest appearances from Sue Ball, Mike Dobbins, Katina Corrao, Matt McCarthy, Seth Herzog and MORE MORE MORE!

As always, the kick ass dance party begins right when the show ends, SO STICK AROUND or DROP IN LATE!

Brandy & Sara are so fucking amazed they managed to not die of alcohol poisoning over the past year that they're doing a big old celebration party & show. So come on down to our NEW location and share in what has been a year of nonstop filth, foul-mouthery and fun.

Honestly, we're so grateful to have gotten the chance to host the amazing talent we somehow bamboozled onto our stage in front of an audience of warm, wonderful friends (IE: drunks).

This month's installment of THE KISSING BOOTH will feature a mini-show and real life prom stories from lots of funny folks. Plus, appearances from some of your most beloved high school teachers, there to chaperone the totally rad pre-party (don't ask us how we found them, we just do shit like that).

EXTRA SPECIAL BONUS!!! Everyone in attendance will be eligible to be King & Queen of the PROM! Your paid admission comes complete with a ballot, so come on down and vote for your damn self.

PLUS! Candy, slow dancing to Warrant and the like, fast dancing to all sorts of "that rap noise" (copyright Brandy's Grandma 1993), comedy tech wizardry from our 3X Dope head writer MATT SEARS, posed prom photos of you looking all hot and shit that will be taken by the sultry NATHAN KLOKE (www.nathankloke.com), and lots of hi-jinx and capers and cutups. Plus, our undying love to you for being a part of the show this past year!

SEE YOU THERE, SUCKAS! AND WEAR THEM PROM OUTFITS!

I Ask Of You: Where is Salicious Crumb?

Yes, Jaunita Young. You're ever so right. 10 million and some odd dollars will never, ever bring your (wrongfully shot at a drug bust) son back. So why not donate all of those funds to a youth charity that helps young men of color to fight economic disparity by teaching them job & study skills they may not have access to vis the lacking public school system causing them to dabble in illegal activities in order to gain a semblance of financial security in order to support hier families, such as your son?

No?

Oh, wait...you're buying a new house? Huh. That's...no, no it's cool. I mean, you know, you earned it. By hawking over your dead kid's corpse with a bullhorn, and all.

Naw, g'head, have at it! Also tell Han Solo I said hi, right before you eat a furry bird-creature thing and yank at that sexy Princess Leia's chain. Maybe you should go after George Lucas for stealing your countenance for the Empire Strikes Back? Not for nothing.

Lord.

I just got a mean e-mail from my own mother. I also, while perusing said e-mail, saw the commercial I "booked" that I then was "unbooked" for and got to peer at the woman they replaced me with. This after an afternoon of getting yelled at by my therapist and running out of food for the one man who I have ever truly loved, Nigel, and getting hateful meows and even a scratch for being irresponsible. This has been a rough past couple of days for your old pal Brandy.

I'd have gone into the bathroom and had a relaxing slit wrists spa has it not been for NY1, which was showing a segment with its parenting expert, Shelly Goldberg. Shelly and her volunteer reader Raymond, read from some delightful books, one of which made me nearly bawl. And for reasons unbeknownst to me, their shared performance made my day. The book is called Wag A Tail. I may have to check it out from the library. Buying it is an option for when I sell a kidney.

Also I want to french kiss John Edwards as of today. Kick ass and take names, you Southern charmer.

Bring Me The Head of Paris Hilton.

Can someone just fu8cking behead the millenieum Marie Antoinette, already?! This is a fucking disgusting outrage. Thanks, Paris. Race riots are sure to follow and frankly, I think there's a point. As someone who has lost a family member to drunken driving this makes me so fucking angry I could vomit. I really, truly hope someone fucking kills her. Please. Before I do.

End of rant.

Damned Thieves!

I have SO many ideas for SO many great shows/movies/novels/Skinemax flicks, and I KNOW I'm the molten-hot-lava-diarrhea shit. I just have to get it together and stop chasing tail enough to keep informed of what my artist breatheren- you know, Joe Francis and the like- are vomiting into the collective cesspool of reality TV. I intend to do this by putting mirrors on my shoes. Reserach, research, and research.

In the meantime, one of my brilliant show ideas was nixed because they felt it was too close to the clip above. I say I wuz robbed. And over 30 years ago to boot! Curses. Foiled again! Back to the drawing board...hmmm. How about something involving little people, horny teens with no moral core, and the Amish. BINGO! OH, YEAH! SHOW ME THE MONEY!!!!!


This one was for you, Sears.

*Sigh.*

DSC_6253, originally uploaded by brianvan.

Crazy From The Heat.

Sadie has morphed into "IN-Sadie". Watch your feet!

Violet! You're Turning...Violet!

Someone thought she looked ever so chic in her new blue frock at a recent exchange of nuptuials (sp?) in Boston.






































































































Someone was ever so wrong...

Pride.

I'm a cukoo cat lady, to a certain extent. Can you blame me? My cat is awesome, he has a blog fer chrissakes.

But this...this is. Eeeeep.

I read it and was like, "It's never THAT bad, Brandy." Then I started to cry because I knew I was a god damned liar.

This Just In: Sweetie, Darling, Loose The Gun!

Is it any wonder I fucking worship Joanna Lumley? Absolutley Fabulous is one of the best TV shows of all time, hands down. And in real life, Saunders and Lumley kick ass, too. Check this shit out!

GUMNMAN FOXED BY JO
from the UK Mirror


Once again, saw it on the awesome ANGLOPHENIA blog over at BBC America...check it.

Ashamed? Embarassed? Scandalized?

All of these and more, because you realize that ,when all the smoke is cleared, you dated a complete and total dipshit? And not only that, that all your friends are in the cahoots about it and there's no backtracking on the fact? Saddened about all the inside jokes they've gotten the chance to stock up on that you'll hear about until the day you die (like the time he talked about how many dates he went on when you were at a group dinner and everyone's eyes bugged out, or how about when she made out with one of your friends in front of you at a bar right after you ended it)?

Don't let it get you down, sisters and brothers. If you're like me, you get up out of that bed of shame, you scarf down some yogurt, you brew a pot of coffee, give yourself an Annette Benning pep talk ala American Beauty, and you listen to your fancy under-cabinet mounted kitchen CD player while playing this fucking raging tune over and over and sing along until your landlord's ears bleed.




Enjoy OMD's So In Love. Possibly one of the world's best breakup songs.

Re-Post: Boner Trophy.

I wrote this essay for a now defunct essay reading show called Brutal Honesty. I found it again recently and since I am too lazy to do anything else, I am reposting it. Enjoy.

As the theme of tonight’s Brutal Honesty is Obsessive Crushes, I decided to go ahead and instead of talking about, oh, I don’t know, ONE particular soul-shattering romantic experience I’ve had, instead to talk about my consistent habit of developing unrequited, disastrous crushes when I was younger. “That’s why they call them crushes”, says the kindly Dad to Samantha in the classic teen canon film, Sixteen Candles. What the hell is his fat ass talking about? The smug bastard was married and had nothing to worry about. But I digress.

The first ever crush I remember having was on a boy named Seth. He was the chubby bully of the class at Little Lambs Christian pre-school in Pensacola, Florida. His attack method of choice was a swift bite, delivered to the calf or forearm of his opponent, often the class teacher, whose name I have forgotten but whose face I recall was one of a pretty, perpetually worried looking young woman. Having come forth with this, my memory of this time is admittedly fuzzy, but I am fairly certain Seth also bit me and, even though I surely protested this violence, that I liked it. I cannot recall obtaining a kiss from him, but I supposed a circular stamp of teeth marks—a visible token of male affection— was good enough for me. That I did not see this as a rejection of the most basic kind illustrates the difficult, often misguided life journey I was embarking on.

My next recollection of a crush is the one I had on Brandon, who was in 2nd grade while I was only a lowly 1st grader. Brandon was tall and had a bowl cut much like TV’s Adam Rich, star of “Eight is Enough”. He also had a Grizzly Adams lunchbox. These were all strong selling points, but the clincher was that his name complimented mine so perfectly. Brandon & Brandy. Clearly this was a sign that he was meant to be my husband. I sighed in relief. Whew! Glad to have that life milestone out of the way. All I had left to do now was menstruating and perhaps have some Botox and I’d be ahead of the game of becoming a fulfilled woman. Up next: being United States President by age 13. Now, I have never been strong at mathematics. And so I didn’t understand that in this equation, one did not equal one. There wasn’t consent on the second party’s part, and so this lovey-dovey numeric computation failed. Brandon, as you’ve gathered by now, was less then enthralled with my moxie and had other life goals for himself than being Mister Brandy Barber. Marriage on the playground during recess was not a priority to him, and my go getter attitude was received less with something far below enthusiasm. I do seem to recall him hurling a ball at me? It is worth noting that we were not involved in playing a game of dodgeball at the time.

The trail of stupid crush-induced tears continues on to The Big One: Shane.

Shane was a gorgeous blonde surfer, one of 6 boys in a Mormon family. He was funny and so cool. To other people. Not to me. I was new at school, having been transferred into the strangely named “Gifted & Talented” program in another school district. So I was new and an arty nerd. Nice combo. Shane wanted nothing to do with me from the moment he laid eyes on me. This proved problematic, as I had fallen helplessly, hopelessly in love with him. In the lunch line, Shane called me a flat chested baboon. I later remarked to myself, "He has such a great vocabulary.” When I told him that the Mighty 690, a local top 40 AM station, was my favorite, he shook his head at me and announced, "The Mighty 690 sucks donkey's balls". I was enthralled with his colorful, concise lingo. He threw half a hamburger at my head during a class trip to the beach. As I cleaned mayonnaise out of my hair, I marveled at his commitment to caring for animals by making sure some of the undernourished seagulls had access to his leftover food. If Shane had pulled down his pants in front of me at the cafeteria and produced a glistening turd onto my fake-marble plastic lunch tray, I am pretty sure I’d have smiled serenely and reached into my Jansport for some glitter to coat it in, ever so gently. My father, taking pity on my romantic cluelessness, had bought me a pair of Austrian crystal star shaped earrings. I snapped one of the tiny stars off its sterling silver post., and glued it to a piece of pink stationary that I’d scented using cotton balls soaked in my Mom’s L’Air du Temps perfume. I wrote a passionate, awful poem evoking images of a mysterious lover, and I included this unforgettably mortifying line:

Look for her by stars, but not of night.

The plan for this secret admirer letter, after it was snuck into his backpack during Social Studies class, was to have Shane searching furtively, high and low at the 8th grade dance—because yes, this obsession with winning his love spanned the years of 4th to 8th grade, on and off—Shane’s eye’s would light upon the single sparkling star in my ear, the remaining earring of the pair. He’d walk up to me, take my hand, smile, and walk me out to the dance floor, where we’d sway to “Always” by Atlantic Starr.

If there’s one thing that’s sure not to get an 8th grade boy’s attention, it’s women’s jewelry. At least a straight 8th grade boy. Shane did come to the dance, where he danced the whole time with Veronica, the new girl at school that all the 8th grade boys had apparently made a silent pact to be in love with that year. I stood off to the side in the strapless bra I didn’t even need, skinny and tall and winsome and crushed, moving my lips as the DJ played “Always”, no sound coming out of my mouth, pretending not to care while Shane stared over Veronica’s shoulder and right through me.

Years later, in high school, I began to date Shane’s best friend, another handsome Mormon surfer. We were very serious, and Shane and I had no choice to become fast friends. And we did- we genuinely liked one another and laughed all the time. The past was never referred to in an unspoken agreement between we two, and I was truly glad of the chance to be his friend. One night, I was taken to a Mormon stake dance, and somehow, Shane & I ended up in a long overdue embrace during a slow jam (aw, yeah). It was done in a light hearted manner, the two of us laughing as the song began and our respective dates having dissipated. There was a strange, intoxicating moment where, when our hands touched, that I felt some twinge of that residual crush energy I’d long thought dead. He whispered into my ear what a cool girl I was. It was a bizarre, wonderful moment. I felt like I’d won, somehow. I’d won back a piece of myself that night from the 8th grade dance at the Jefferson Junior High School gym that I’d lost, or more accurately, let be taken from me. But what really felt like victory was the fact that, when we danced together, I had felt the unmistakable poke of Shane’s erection on my right hipbone. That longed-after attention, that yearned after boner was finally mine—my trophy.

NB: I’d like to think this habit of having infatuations with boys has ceased as I’ve grown older. I mean, that’s one of the pluses of being an adult, right? Learning from your mistakes, not pursuing people who don’t return your affection, seeking out those who appreciate what you have to offer instead of seeking approval from others, approving of yourself by doing so. And I am glad they happened way back when, not only to help me grow into the cynical, angry cunt I now am. But because the power of my crushes was terrifyingly strong over me, without the added assistance of caller ID, answering machines, cell phones, voicemails, the Internet, Google searches with someone’s name in quotes for better results, Friendster, and MySpace. It was bad enough to be in a classroom with these maddening boys all day, on the same bus route, in the same small beach town. Having such powerful, invasive tools at the disposal of a young, still sweet Brandy could only have aided and abetted something that, I’m fairly certain, would have left me a legacy of shame-and most likely jail time- that I’d never be able to live down. Boner trophy, or no.

Here Is Some Of What I Like.

This blog is rad and shit. See?



















Personally, if jesus (lack of capitalization done to display disdain 100%) didn't care for hot wings than once again, I am so glad to not have fallen for religious bullshit. Add it up, hot pants. Add it up.

This blog is so hilarious. I HATE when I walk down some street in New York and chance to see a place that's named "LUCKY CHICKEN" and there's a drawing of a goddamned chicken dancing a jig, meanwhile then you look in the window and there's 43 chicken breasts lined up on the grill, being charbroiled. Deeee-pressing.




















And lastly...
















I like it! I like it A LOT.


Thanks to Passive Aggressive Notes & Suicide Foods.

Kicks Just Keep Gettin' Harder To Find.

I sent one of these to Matt Sears, and Matt Sears sent some back to me. We now communicate solely via YouTube URLs.

Got To Hold Of Some Bad Stuff.

During the filming of a new segment for the next Kissing Booth (PLUG: JUNE 9th!) today, Sears and I were in the kitchen smoking & waiting. Anya called me in for a scene, and as I was leaving, Sears handed me a paper with a crude drawing on it. This was a facsimilie (SP) of a certain "amateur sketch" featured in this duo of clips. I howled with glee, and after the shoot, I demanded that we view the videos. Chanting ensued. You must watch them in the order they are presented. Do not ruin it for yourself. And keep an eye out for the magical vest.

"CRACKHEAD!"


POST NOTE 4:29 PM: Sears just sent me this link. THANK YOU INFANT OF THE LORD!

Nigel Says This Is His Fave From James Todd Smith III.

I was singing this loudly all week and dancing, even when asked to cease doing so. Whatever.

$preadin' love, it's the Brooklyn way.

As many of you may know, I am often referred to as Maude Lebowski because I am fully prepped to lecture your ass on why you must NEVER, EVER call me "Miss" but must ALWAYS, even after I'm married, IF I DO GET MARRIED, call me "Ms.". I will scold you for putting your body-dysmorphic-bullshit guilt trip off on me when I happily chow down on a Snickers bar, an ice cold can of Dr. Pepper and a bag of Lay's, swimsuit season be damned. And let's not get started on the whole "cardio strip tease classes sound SOOOOOOOOOOOOO super fun!" movement that makes me want to foam at the mouth and kick.

Why, Brandy, you may be tempted to say. What is wrong with that? In short, I think it's dumb to teach upper middle class suburban dolts who have unlimited financial security how to imitate real life sex workers who chose to make money using their bodies, many times because of limited economic opportunity. It's a tough line of work, and I have a lot of respect for these women (and men). Who I do not respect are people that condem them, or who support illegal sexual trafficking by being uninformed about it, or who use their money to support hateful sexual imagery of women that hurts all of us.

I don't hate strip clubs, and I don't hate strippers in the least. I hate the majority of jerks who go to them, because it's been my experience that they on the whole dislike real interaction with women and would rather compartmentalize emotion into an economic transaction. Yuck. If you've ever paid for a lap dance because you want to "interact" with a woman (?!? WHAT), I think you're some kind of lame. I can understand it for other reasons, but if it's a substitute for TALKING TO SOMEONE HUMAN TO HUMAN than you are just repugnant.

Anyways, check out the excellent $PREAD magazine, made for sexworkers. Or you could check out the cool Sexworker's Project. Or you could get bent. Your choice.

End of rant.

Ruined Music.

I got to do an awesome show recently called RUINED MUSIC. Here are some pictures from it.

The essay I read will be up in edited form on the website soon- check it out.

Thunks.