"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.

Yay America!

Someone who's blurry on the Brooklyn Bridge loves you! And her name is Brandy FUCKING Barber.

Drunken Late Nite Fridge Horfing.

There were all sorts of mischiefs last evening. Sara and I went to see our fellow comedy duo and pals, Pete & Brian, in their show at the PIT. It's called, refreshingly, Pete & Brian's One Man Show. I have to say that- and this isn't because I think they're both hot pieces of ass- it was fucking fantastic. It was smart, filthy, and fucking tight. They're both actors and it shows. It was so, so good. They'll be doing more shows, so do yourself a favor- see these guys. You won't regret it. I also recommend drinking a few Bartles & James Pina Colada Premium Malt Liquor Wine Coolers during the show. I know Sara & I did.












And then is was off to the races, to Mo Pitkin's. We were drunk by then and full of sass. It manifested itself thusly.















Becky & Adira. I yelled "Ya'll better fucking clap!" and realized my rowdiness was gross.














Fun times in Mr. Strickland's AP Bio Lab! Luv U Guys! Seniors '07!














Piercing stares from the sultry Mr. Justin Purnell & Ms. Sara Schaefer.














Crescent City Cass shows the flip-the-b-in-your-family-xmas-photo trick, Jon Friedman enjoys life and Purnell just misses the flash.

Not pictured- Brooke, Jack and Lang who all had the good sense to go home early or stay away from our sad, loud drunk asses. Sara nearly got in a good old fashioned bar fight. I am glad to say I would not have had to intervene on this one as the man-lady she was gunning for was short enough for her to make mincemeat out of. I am very, very proud of her. A real lady knows when to graciously accept a compliment, how to change the oil in her car, which little black dress to wear to Auntie Rhonda's fueneral, how to write a tasteful thank you note after receiving a thoughtful gift, and most importantly, how to beat the fucking stuffing out of loud mouthed bar sluts who think if they use "black girl talk" they saw on MTV and roll thier eyes they can get away with acting like assholes. Get bent.

I Do A Mean Minnesota Accent.

It's odd, because I'm not from there. Go figure. Anyway it came in handy in the run of Rich Zeroth's SWOLLEN HEAD, which wrapped up last night. I got to play Rich's Mom, among other things. It was a treat to be a part of it and get to meet some truly fab folks. Many thanks to Rich who let us have fun in our parts, and who bought me 4 Hoegardens (after buying us all beers for backstage during the show mind you) and did not laugh at me when I got the hiccups at the cast party. Let me re-write that- I got the hiccups AND KEPT DRINKING at the cast party. Wino alert!














Rich & Sara yuk it up.

Speaking of winos, here's one I know. Real friendly like and all:














Like the Tubes said so well: She's a Beauty.


And here's two more. Gosh, those show folk love their drinks!














Fantastic Mike Barry (of Weiner Philharmonic) & Delightful Gabe Liedman (of duo Gabe & Jenny).

Special love to Jon Friedman who produced & directed and managed not to blow a gasket during tech nightmares aplenty last night:














Jon would like you to know he does not smoke. Cigarettes.

I Gots 50 Things To Say In A Cheeky Kinda Way.

This sums up last night's plan, which began with drinking at Bar On A during happy hour. It was supposed to be a comedy-free night. There was a comedy show going on in the back room. Go figure. We escaped to Doc Holiday's and then, it was off to Webster Hall to see...




The Lady Sovereign herself. Do yourselves a favor. Buy her album "Vertically Challenged". Go see her in Central Park on July 6th (or whenever, I'mnot your godamnned secretary). She is the best of the best, we love her. She was awesome live and so much fun. How you can be such an amazing MC and have so much fun onstage- it boggled my mind. Her fly kept coming down and she kept making jokes about it, saying she was wearing boy's jeans she got from a skate shop. She's so in my gang. Give it up for the SOV.



And then, there was Mike Skinner. I was worried as I heard the first US Streets show three or so years ago was kind of a mess (that's when he was being promoted heavily by VICE Mag). Have to say- no reason to doubt. It was fucking GRAND. I had such a blast. He's the real deal and just as you'd imagine him to be. He kept thanking the audience for listening to the Streets. HE made us all crouch on the floor- THE ENTIRE HUGE BALLROOM did his bidding (and I had to clutch at Nathan and almost made him fall on the creepy gay guy next to him who kept talking the whole time). There was dancing and hopping and screaming and he said, "So let's have a little dance shall we?" and the room went wild. It was such a treat as I've wanted to see him for so long. He yelled at the prissy VIP section for being boring, he poured a couple of bottles of brandy into the audience, and at the end, he took off his shirt and crowd surfed during his own encore. It was so fucking badass. Go buy all the Streets albums if you are such a dipshit you don't have them already. Alright then, well go buy them again. Let's push things forward.


And then there was booze. Well, I should say MORE booze. At Lucy's in the Village as the smell at Doc's was too much to bear I'm afraid. Plus it was raining like a motherfucker. Amazing all around.

Tonight's The Night, Rod Stewart.

It reads, "Fuck Pig".



















Reading my essay discussing being a horny little kid at SMUT. It's going to be published in an upcoming NYC comics anthology- more details to follow.














Comedy partner Sara & SMUT host and all around artist Desiree Burch.















Graffitti on a truck on 1st Avenue.











































Stills from our recent Comedy Central shoot. We're supposed to be at a wedding. It's shot at a funeral parlor. Creeptastic.

I do love those Michigan boys. Vince, John and Jesse at Beauty Bar after Friends & Family, Josh Haness's sunday night fun show.

Lots of hi-jinx, lots of funs and friendships and whiskies and PBRs and such. It's been a fun couple of days.

Promotin' and Emotin'.

Eww, that title hurt me a bit internally but it had to be done. I am clearly still a tad bit tipsy from my sojurn from after my show to Soho, then the Lower East Side, then the East Village. I digress.

My pal Colleen (pictured flipping the b as we ladies are wont to do) who is a fucking bad ass, has a new totally aws blog based on her Brooklyn stoop adventures. Check it out. I came home, discovered it, and was thrilled. It made me laugh tonight and I was in no laughing mood. I am stuffed full of falafel and self-righteousness and before I clicked on it, I was being just a real pouty-pus. This is an animal much like the platypus but it is A) not a marsupial and therefore, not pouch egg baring and B) not on the Australian continent. It is a mere cousin of said beast, a tall red-headed hot mess of a creature, prone to sulking and eating red-wax wrapped Babybels and reading Peter Bagge comix and listening to George Benson too much.

Check out Colleen's stoop blog. Don't be a creep.

SMUT Tonight!

How About You Just Don't Fucking Speak To Me, You Drunk.
Originally uploaded by Brandy For Sale..

Short notice, but hey all- come on down to see little Miss Foul Mouth read in the weekly performance series, SMUT, hosted by the fantastic Desiree Burch. It's FREE! I will be swearing! And hopping around! Fan dancing! Ok, that part is a blatant lie.

Right now "Meet Me Halfway" by Kenny Loggins just came on my iTunes. If that doesn't make you want to come out I don't know what will.

SMUT
@ Galapagos Art Space
N. 6th & Wythe in Williamsburg
8 PM - Free!

I Will Love Again.

He's here.................. FINALLY!
Originally uploaded by Vidalia.

This gives me hope for the world.

Did I Mention I Was Born In Mississippi?

And ya'll can click here to take the Yankee or Dixie Quiz and see what your score is. Here's mine:

44% Dixie. Barely in Yankeedom.

I have to say, I got kind of a kick out of that. Barely, huh? Does this mean I put schmears of cream cheese on my cat-head biscuits?

Shut Your Cakehole And Let's Get It On.

Last night I had the pleasure of attending the lovely Katina's birthday party on the rooftop of a very tall building. I drank a ridiculously overpriced mint julep, and then scampered over to the karaoke birthday bash of Michael Terry. There was a lot of booze. It was fun. I will give you a shiny nickel if you guess the song I picked to sing.

The search for urban contentment.

Friend and Future Roommate, Porter Mason, was just drenched in the torrential rainstorm. He drug in a suitcase full of DVDs and delcared, "Tell everyone to ge to hell".

Then, as he unpacked, I forced him to watch NY1 where a recent play about rich people whining was reviewed and the phrase I used to title my blog was uttered with a straight face by the newscaster. It brought Porter & myself great enjoyment to mock it.

Now I shall begin to paw through Porter's impressive DVD collection in order to pick a rainy day treat to view. Or maybe I'll put on channel 11 and watch the atrociously bad lip-syncing on display on Soul Train. I used to watch Soul Train every Saturday afternoon with my dad when I was a kid, right after Loonet Tunes and American Bandstand. We're big fans of Mister Lou Rawls.

In closing, everybody's talking all this stuff about me, why don't they just let me live? Tell me why. I don't need permission to make my own decisions; that's my perogative.

Chafed.

According to the Post, [Angelina] Jolie tells Cooper she's inspired by the people she helps in her role as UN Goodwill Ambassador. "You think, 'Jesus, the things these people go through,' " she says. "I owe it to all of them to get myself together and stop whining about being tired and get there and get focused because, God, it's the least I can do with what they live with." --People.com


I bet other Hollywood-type actresses get really, really peeved with Angelina Jolie. I mean, really. It is VERY HARD to memorize three new pages of dialogue consisting of monosyllabic sentences the day before your shoot AND do your whole 2 hour Pilates routine in your home gym AND personally fire your 2nd personal assistant because she didn't adhere to the strict 1/4 Sweet & Low, 1/4 Spelnda, and JUST. A. DASH!!!!!! of Sugar in the Raw (and she claims she graduated magna cum laude from Penn State- HA!) in your skim-goat's milk mocha from Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. And here comes THIS asshole, this nightmare spawned by that kook Jon Voight in some LSD-fuled haze, making you feel bad for just trying to do your job as an entertainer by being all altruistic and shit! Like SHE'S never been on Nutrisystem! Talk about starving. Harumph! I mean, you have kids, right? Just ask Carmelita, your nanny! AND, hey, they're kind of adopted. Well, that 11year old one is, since he's from your husband's 3rd marriage and all. And the NERVE of her, telling everyone she gives a third of her salary to charity! Well, you for one are very charitable, just last month you donated a dress you got for free from a stylist to one of those benefits for poor black women who can't do Suduko puzzles or some such thing, I don't know but it got a write up in Home & Gardens so that counts for something. And you know, some of us need to spend a third of our salary on upkeep, because those hair extensions and chin implants and labiaplasties aren't exactly handed out in Oscar goody bags, OK?!?

Angelina Jolie, I'd watch your back next time you drop into Kitson for a super cute $85 t-shirt if I was you.

For Terry.

Happy Father's Day to the best of the best.

Oh, and I'm sorry all the koi died.

Just Add Air Conditioning.

This is the first Saturday I've been able to sit on my ass with apolmb in over two months. No meetings, no phone calls to make, no reharsals, nothing. Aside from a few emails I am responsibility-free. As a result, and in preparation, I went out yesterday and spulrged at the famous Sahadi's Importers and got tons of fancy imported-like treats and then went next door to the best produce stand in the world for fresh veggies. Later this evening there will be a fabulous chick-pea and artichoke hearts salad with homemade dressing served. On the side, there will be fresh hummous from the best middle eastern restaurant which I used to live around the corner from on Atlantic Avenue, when I first moved to Brooklyn. It's called Fatoush and you can listen to the sounds of the BQE exit as you sup upon falafel and such.

While at Fatoush this past Friday, I also ordered a mini lamp pit-za, (not to be confused with pizza) which was utilized for all types of snacking earlier. I had quite the hangover from Thursday night's wicked debauchery and had to counter it by scarfing down mozarella and fresh herbs and lamb chunks. I mandate that, after consuming a piece of the pit-za that the remaining crust is to to be dipped in the lovely hummous, which I have spiked with copious amounts of hot sauce and all is to be washed down with the clean crispness of Poland Spring Raspberry-Lime Sparkling Water.

I am finishing reading the most fascinating book, which I can't go into detail about as it's not out yet. But it's written by one of my idols Christine Vachon and it's riveting. It makes me glad I know about film and theater producing and even more glad I didn't continue to pursue it. I'm also relaxing to a marathon viewing of the first season of Dr. Katz, Professional Therapist. What a magical day.

I am not picking up the phone, I am not cleaning (big shocker there, eh?), I am not doing a damned thing but luxuriating on the couch under the air conditioner in a pair of boy shorts and a tank top with my hair in a ponytail. Perhpas I should don a mumuu, get a box of bon bons and a romance novella and turn on Oxygen. The only thing that would make this day better would be some nicely placed necking with a tall gentleman (6' and over only need apply) and perchance a nude massage. I'll get to work on that. Let's see where the day takes us, my pets.