Tonight is the Last "Doody Calls"

Everyone in the New York area come see an amazing sketch show from the Wiener Philharmonic (my sketch group). It's called "Doody Calls" and tonight is our last performance of our two-month long run.

I love you guys!

DOODY CALLS
by Jon Friedman and the Wiener Philharmonic
The PIT
154 W. 29th Street, NY, NY 10001 (212) 563-7488
8 PM
$8
Buy tickets online at Brown Paper Tickets

Yowza!

Who here has done a spinning class?


Not that kind of spinning, silly! You know, there's nothing like riding a bike nowhere but somehow ending up in hell.

"It's the best exercise a girl can get" beamed the little pixie behind the counter at my gym. "It'll tone your whole body aaannnnnddddd it's fun." Hmm...okay? Thanks tiny little toned lady, I think I'll check it out. (Skipping and singing and waving at other gym-goers).

My heart sank as I entered the dimmed room filled with sinewy, muscular ladies. When I saw the other "students" in the class, who were dressed as if they were going on a real bike ride, I knew I had made a mistake. A Jack Palance look-alike was my instructor and he had enough gear on for a three week trek into the Andes. I couldn't help imagining me sitting on his handlebars giggling during the class, holding a parasol, and drinking lemonade.



"Get ready to climb some hills, ladies!!! Everyone get in your saddle."

Uh-oh. Saddle? Now I was really worried. I walked to the front of the class. "Ummm, excuse me sir? Can someone who's never tried spinning before take this class?"

"You've never?"

"No."

"So, you've done an intro class before?"

"No."

"You've never done a spinning class before?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I just haven't."

"So, this would be your...seee...cond..."

"First time."

"First time..." (shaking his head as if he doesn't understand me)

"Yup. I should probably just go and do something elll..."

"No, no. It's fine. Hop on up. First time huh?"

"Uh huh."

"Weird."

Anywho, he plopped me up on my bike in the front row, so that he could save me if I fell off. At first I was a little too high up and I couldn't reach the pedals at the bottom. But my weathered teacher adjusted my seat. I immediately was aware of how uncomfortable the seat, oops excuse me, saddle was. It genuinely felt like I was sitting on the edge of a brick, where the edge went right up my hoo hoo. And there's nowhere to adjust so that you have any relief. The genius is though that you don't want to ever break because sitting down is worse than standing up, so you work harder.

The next hour passed as a fog of peddling and trance music. About twenty minutes in, I truly believed that I was on some Swiss Mountainside with a gang of Olympic cyclists. I only broke out of that fantasy when I realized that my legs were burning as if I was being slowly scalded with chicken broth. Biking is hard! Remember when you used to "ride bikes" with friends? When did you get so fat and lame that riding alone in an air conditioned room was such a fucking nightmare?

Afterwards, I walked like I had been raped by pygmies. But afterwards, my old instructor gave me a high five and said, "good form! Like a pro!," which made up for my lower back pain, piercing thigh pain, and terminal blindness.

And so children, the moral of this story is: "You can do anything you put your mind to...especially when your mind is slowly deteriorating."

My New Response

My new response to "Oh, no he di'nt!"


iiiiiiis, "Oh yeah he di !"

Mr. Romance

It's Spring and you know what that means. L.U.V. So, I thought that I would kick this nasty season off by announcing my springtime crush: Mr. Romance. Everyone get to know him and get ready to start calling him "Lang's Boyfriend."


Perfection? Yes please.

Asian Girls Gone Wild (How many Google Searches will I get?)

On Saturday night, Michelle Collins, Carolyn Castiglia, Jen Dziura, Desiree Burch, Adira Amram, and I performed a stand up show at my Alma Mater, Columbia. It was supposed to be a show featuring NYC female comedians in celebration of Women's history month. When we arrived, there were only 3 Asian girls in an audience with chairs for 100. Whoever the organizers were, they had not done a very good job publicizing the event, making us believe that they in fact hated women and the month that celebrates our history. One of the girls was doing her math homework.

As we waited to see if anyone else was coming, the organizers, two more Asian girls, showed up with a ten-year supply of soda and several tons of wheat thins. They even made incredibly cute plates of cakes and cookies for everyone. These two were ready to feed an army, but the audience was only up to five people...and if you've ever done comedy, that's just awkward.

Slowly but surely more people started to show...and by people, I mean more Asian girls. It finally occurred to us that the show was literally going to be for the cast of Miss Saigon. JK!!


All of the comedians shared similar concerns: do Asian girls do anything more than titter? Will they laugh at our raunchy humor? Michelle Collins paced back and forth, "All I have are date rape jokes!! Asians like date rape right? RIGHT???"

But you know what? They did! The Asian girls, math homework and all, loved Michelle's date rape jokes! And they loved when Desiree Burch talked about shaving her pubes! And they guffawed when Adira Amram said she had a swastika tattoo on her! They were wonderful sleazebags -- just like us!!

They proved us all wrong. And they proved themselves right. What?

Also, I read some drunken love letters from an old flame aloud at this show. To read them, please go here.

Taxes

I wish I had the energy to spend 30 minutes to file my taxes and get some money back? Lord knows I need some money back. What did I do in the last 30 minutes? I ate a salad. Did that salad give me vitamins? yes. But did it give me money? No.

Things I would do with my tax refund if I would take the time to file my taxes:

1) new shoes. my shoes are falling apart. they're like leather holey pitas.

2) repaint my walls.

3) rent a pony...just for a day.

4) vaycay anywhere.

5) pay off credit card. not so fun.

6) massage. facial. pedicure. abortion. highlights. waxing.

Upcoming Shows N' Stuff

Hiya! Doin' some fun shows in the next few days.

TONIGHT: $1 Room at the Telephone Bar
149 Second Avenue (between 9th and 10th)
9 PM and only 1 DOLLAR!


TOMORROW (March 24th): Doody Calls at the PIT
COME SEE THIS HILARIOUS SKETCH COMEDY by the
WIENER PHILHARMONIC at 8PM


MONDAY: SMUT
Galapagos, 70 N. 6th in Williamsburg
8 PM
Watch out this show is sexy! Yeehaaa! I am going to be so sexy during this show. You just wait and see!


YAY! COME ON OUT Y'ALL!!

Snakes on a BLOG!!!

Michelle Collins, Bex Schwartz, and I have started a new blog dedicated to the up-and-coming action flick, Snakes on a Plane! Snakes on a Blog is our homage to this literally-named and unbelievably preposterous film. I am pretty sure that there are already blogs dedicated to this film, but we wanted to get in there and celebrate our love for Sammy J. along with everyone else.

Michelle, Bex, and I will be camping out all night before the big premiere -- each clutching our own stuffed snake and will be reenacting the trailer over and over again. Please join us!

What was that?

As you may or may not recall, depending on whether or not you read this bloggy very often, the name of my high school clique was called the Hive, named for our stinging attitudes, our penchant for swarming, and our yellow and black unitards. Anyway, last weekend, while I was out at a bar with my friend Mike, we were talking about our cliques and he confessed that he gave his middle school clique the most amazing name.


This incredibly elite, uber-sophisticated, ultra-snobby crew consisted of two 'mos and one very small asian girl. Being a 6th grade honor student, Mike's brain was restless as he combed the dictionary for the perfect word to truly capture what it meant to be in such a top drawer crowd. But alas, the dictionary was empty of such names...for the dictionary was a soulless, classless tomb of useless lexica. Mike panicked, he threw up multiple times during social studies, and was found shaking and fetal underneath the big kids water fountain. WHAT WOULD HIS GROUP BE CALLED???

It was not until the greatest movie of all of 1992 came out that he would find his inspiration. A movie about a magical rainforest. A movie with magical fairy characters like Crysta, Pips and the Beetle Boys. And there it was...Mike called his clique "Ferngully." Never has a name been more menacingly pretentious than that. Mike continued on to magnet high school and to Ivy League college, but would never forget the day when he first became a fairy.


Please tell me the names of any of your high school/middle school cliques!

UPDATE: The small Asian girl in Ferngully, was named Tri Ho. Amaze!

A Prom Dress Fashion Show, You Say?

Only in New York, people, only in New York...but probably other places like L.A. or DesMoines...is there a fashion show for prom!!!! And guess what? Prom dresses are still hideous.
(I say that while spinning round and round in my office chair crying and wishing that I could still hold that forest green velour Betsey Johnson halter dress that I wore to my own senior prom, which could only be paired with the chunkiest of open-toed Steve Maddens -- HELLO NINETIES!!!!)



Go to the Village Voice to see the slideshow of these ungodly creations that would make Jessica McClintock beat her breast with a ragged copy of YM.

Growing Up

Mike: I was with Jenny at the post office, when she got her period. All of a sudden she said, "Oh! Gotta go. I just got my period!" And zipped right out.

Lang: I got mine on a plane this weekend next to an obese woman and I had the window seat. So, I just bled.

Sara: I got my period later than the other girls in school.

Jon: I got my boner later than all the boys in school.

Gabe: I haven't gotten my boner this month.

Cute Tips

Today, I received an email from a reader who needed my help. I have changed her name to help conceal her identity, but otherwise this is the actual letter.

hi my name is nanette and im an exchange student . i go tpo a privat international school (there is nly exchange students there :( )

i wanna be the prom queen

if u culd pls help me and tell me how to get ready because my prom is on may and i don`t know anything

even the dress that im gonna get or anything

tell me how to do to be the prom queen

byeeeeeeeeee

help me plsss

nanette

My first thought was, "she clearly has not read this blog." But my second thought was, "well, I was the prom queen and I've survived this long. I know a thing or two, sure Nanette, I'll help you." And my third thought was, "the new Soprano season is so fly."

My response.

Dear Nanette, International school, huh? Well, bonjour and gracias my приятель (Russian for friend). Do not worry, anyone can be the prom queen if she really works hard for it and if she starts early. Here are some simple rules to follow to ensure that you'll be a great candidate for the most highly regarded position of power in your high school. A position that will forever validate your place in this world even on the loneliest, darkest, and coldest of nights.

Rule #1: Be confident. I mean, really love yourself...in a terrifyingly egotistical way. Make sure that when you walk down the halls of your high school, people...especially people with retainers, weight problems, and astigmatisms...cower behind lockers and trapper keepers alike.

Rule #2: Smile. There's nothing like a great smile to say the masses, "I'm really popular." Also, if you can lift one eyebrow and cackle slightly, particularly if someone less popular is being made fun of or if another girl has her mini skirt tucked into her underpants. In that case, smile and point...and hold your point for a little while too long.

Rule #3: Be friendly. But only to people who matter. One nice word to a member of the MathCounts team and you're doomed.

Rule #4: Love your body. But with tough love. Be like Dr. Phil to your body. Yell and admonish it for not living up to its potential and put it through unnecessarily tough exercises. Tell it that it won't get dinner until it shapes up.

Rule #5: Wear something that makes you feel special. Like a water bra, fishnets, stilletos, corset, pasties, girdle, boustier, rhinestone tattoo, fake eyelashes with stye-inducing mascara, lube, a roofie necklace, whipped cream bikini, or an outside thong.

Rule #6: Choose a fun date. You know what's fun? Football. You know who has the most fun on the football team? The captain. Now, you might pay for it with your virginity. And there's a good chance that you'll have a teenage shotgun wedding quickly followed by the birth of your first son RayRay Jr. But guuuuurl, when you are sitting on the front stoop of your mobile home nursing little RayRay on your left teat and your precious premie Janessica on your right, while RayRay senior is boozed up having an affair with a 90 year-old parking attendant, and you're thinking "I was gonna be a doctor. I had the grades. I had THE GRADES!!" just remember that you were the most popular girl in high school. And even if that tiara of yours is acting as the antenna for your AM radio, it's yours...all yours.

Come On Over Here You Big Lug!

I just had an overwhelming urge to "hug goodbye" a man that I just interviewed. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the interview. I looked at his resume and asked him a few questioned -- asked him if he had any questions for me. And when it was over, I walked him to the door, but instead of extending one hand for a professional handshake, both arms raised. For a split second they were both outstretched in his direction, but I recovered from this awkward moment by moving the left hand further upward into my hair. I felt the weight of my body move toward him to give him a kiss on the cheek, which resulted in me leaning so far into this handshake. It was just so bizarre. I don't know why I forgot where I was and just transported myself to a gallery opening. If the day continues like this, in one hour I'll be frenching my postman.

Oscarappy dappy doo

Ugh, Crash, ugh. I reeeeeaaaaalllllly wanted Brokeback to win. Doesn't anyone care about reality? Or subtlety? How come it takes a four year-old latina getting shot with blanks to win an award? I just really felt like Brokeback was a superior film all around. But honestly, isn't one incredibly sincere love story more profound in its simple complexity than every race issue in existence being hammered into your head by a series of car crashes and over-the-top racial slurs? Ugh, Crash. I just wasn't a fan. If some of you were fans, please don't yell at me, especially since your movie won.

Luckily, though, my second favorite movie of the year, Jenny McCarthy's Dirty Love took home the Razzie for worst movie of the year. If you have not seen this rapt and trenchant portrayal of the female psyche, you must On Demand as soon as possible. When she takes E and effs the man with a bass in his ass, I think we all understood a little better the human condition. And I certainly felt each ovary ache with empathy when Ms. McCarthy ran through the aisles of the grocery store leaking liters of menstrual blood. While obviously it goes without saying that the most moving scene of the film was when she gets snubbed by her ex-boyfriend model at the runway show and runs out grabbing both of her bare breasts and screaming. It's a must-see folks. A. Must. See.

Who Is General Tso Really?

I just found myself looking up the true identity of General Tso. I have eaten his chicken twice this week and I wondered if he was a real General or China's version of Colonel Sanders. As we all know, Colonel Sanders was just given the title of "Kentucky Colonel" in 1935 by Kentucky governor Ruby Laffoon. And although he did serve as an army private in Cuba, he never actually attained that title in the U.S. Military. Okay, I looked him up too.

Anywho, back to the T.S.O. Yeah, so anyway, apparently he was an incredibly skilled warrior and a bit on the bloodthirsty side. He actually helped to snuff out the disastrous Taiping rebellion which almost extinguished the Qing dynasty.

And here I thought that he was only a flavorful, deep-fried chicken dish that gave my bowels a nice bear hug.


And funnily enough, "he raised a force of 5,000 volunteers and took the field in September 1860, driving the Taiping rebels out of Hunan and Guangxi provinces, into coastal Zhejiang." -- Michael Browning of The Washington Post.

And lo, I was thinking that Tso was just a delicious combination of the poor man's poultry parts and a sauce made from the sweetened waste products of gasoline and ether.

General Tso, a fatty chicken for a phatty general.

A Baby is in My Office

A baby just walked into my office. I was just sitting at my computer typing away and a baby walked in. She's adorable. Big pigtails and a bottle. It is the most unbelievably startling and, subsequently, the most awkward thing to be sitting like a normal grown-up business lady in your office and then, all of a sudden, a baby is just standing there.


We just stare at each other for a second. And then I finally say, "Helloooo...what can I do for you today?" She drinks her bottle and stares right back.

Nothing makes your office seem less comfortable than a tiny, round baby. She makes your desk look huge and rickety and dangerous. And you immediately panic because the sockets are not covered, there are scissors within an arm's length in every direction, and you just feel crazy because a baby is in your office. Alone.


Silence. Is anyone coming to claim this baby? Anyone? No? Oh no! She's tipping!!! Bloop! She lands on her hugely swollen diaper and continues to drink her bottle. Still no one.

Just me and the baby. I think about taking her home. As I stated earlier, my house is literally the set from Saw. Mountains of lead-based paint chips line every doorway and nails seem to fall out of the ceiling. "Where am I gonna get a crib?" I wonder. The baby doesn't seem worried, so I'm not gonna be worried.

I think, "If you take her home, she's gonna think you're her mother. When are you going to tell her that you aren't? Ugh. That's a toughie. And how are you going to legally adopt her when you just found her in your office? What's the protocol for a found baby? Probably the police. Definitely the police. Buuuuuuuut the police are so difficult. They'll never let me keep my new baby. It'll have to be a secret. I'll tell my friends that I had a baby at the end of the summer, when I was supposedly at my family reunion. Good, that's good. And that I've just been hiding her until she could walk and hang out."


"Hmm...what should I name her? I can't just call her 'baby' can I? Maybe. Ooh, 'maybe' is a cute name. That is keyoooot. Maybe Fisher."


"When is your birthday little Maybe? Over the summer? Like say June or July. My brother's birthday is June 23rd. Wanna just share with him?"

As I rise to go pick up little Maybe and put her in my tote for the next few hours before I go home, her father enters the room.


"Oh there you are, Olivia. Now that she walks, she just gets away from me," he says.

I am fuming. I don't get to keep baby Maybe! Damn him. Damn it. Damn damn crud. I guess I'll just have to go back to being a single parent of an imaginary baby.