Thursday, May 29, 2008

Privy

Have you ever thought to yourself, "Can't I just get a break?" I feel like that's all I've been saying for the last several months, and last night proved no exception. I was wandering around the West Village with Jenny after my show, obsessing over the fact that my period is late but that it can't be possible that I'm pregnant, unless that one move that one time in the bathroom could have caused a ruckus because, come on, that was foreplay and though I'm not barren (Vaughn) I am certainly not fertile like Mesopotamia or Michelle Duggar, either.

Jenny and I decided it would be best if I popped into Duane, picked up a stick and peed on it, just for peace of mind. Jenny ran into an old friend whilst in the DR (note: in case you're confused or live outside of New York City, I'm talking about Duane Reade, not the Dominican Republic, tho if you think of the Dominican Republic as DR chances are you do live in New York). Speaking of barren... her friend was Chris Barron, from the Spin Doctors (yes, the actual Spin Doctors). He invited us to go see him and John Popper of Blues Traveller play at The Bitter End, so we said sure, we'll go eat first and come back. He very cleverly said, "Okay, but don't go eat and then be like, 'Yo, should we go back? Ehhhhn.' Just come back." Despite his admonition, that's exactly what we did. But not out of lack of interest.

We headed over to the Olive Tree Cafe on top of the Comedy Cellar for a quick bite. I ordered a water and drank it down fast so I'd have enough ammunition to go to the powder room and do what needed to be done. As I headed downstairs toward the loo, I realized, "Oh, right. I have to walk through the Cellar while there's a comic onstage. Great. Can't a girl piss on a stick in private?" I suppose so, if said girl actually bothered to wait until she got home to find out her life was over she was having a miracle.

I meander through the crowd just as the guy onstage says, "Man, I need a woman with a good job." He pauses, and I can feel everyone's focus on me as I try to discreetly shove my ginormous bag toward the bathroom door.

"What kinda job you got, sweetheart?"

I thought, "Great. Just great. All I want to do is find out if I'm gonna have another baby and this guy thinks he's funny. Swell. I don't want to do this right now. But I have to."

"A good one," I said, with signature but understated sassy-black-girl flair. I heard the audience laugh and applaud as the door shut behind me, and I felt a little vindicated. He took it in stride, realizing he'd been beaten at his own game, and then, like a man who was down with no hope but to be mean, he whimpered:

"Nah. She ain't got no good job. That bitch is a manager at Dunkin' Donuts."

That's the way to get your opponent. When they're no longer in the same room.

Ha-ha. Very funny. Wow. I'm not skinny so I work at a donut shop. Say, someone offer this guy a three picture deal!

That was almost as funny as him offering his "chalupa" (*wink*) to the Mexican girl in the front row.

Now, I am not a comedy snob, nor am I above easy jokes. Sometimes you have to do what works. I know that. But what I am a stickler about is intention. And if your intent is to be mean and dumb then you are a jerk no matter how funny or unfunny you are.

I was planning to stay out on an all-night bender if I was pregnant, drinking my last drinks and smoking my last smokes before 9 months of glorious hell, which made hanging at The Bitter End seem like the perfect plan. But, the good news is, I'm not pregnant. The bad news is, I wasted $11 to find out my baby bump is actually a burrito bump. (So, I'll take your chalupa, sir, and I'll raise you a box of Munchkins.) At least I can put the rumors to rest and you can all go back to reading newspapers now.

Thank you! Goodnight!