Pop Quiz Sleepy Baby

I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. It’s not the kind of sleep trouble where I wake up every half-hour, but rather the kind where I am up till crazy late hours doing absolutely nothing that’s worth being up that late for, night cheese style. For some reason, come two o’clock in the morning, I cannot NOT watch an episode of Veronica Mars or check my facebook one last time cause, really, who knows what could be posted up there at that hour? A grammatically correct status update? A friend request from a vague high school acquaintance? The whereabouts of the Lindbergh baby? You see how tired I am? The freaking Lindbergh baby. THAT’S the most topical thing that my slow brain can think to make a joke out of. Yeesh.

So, yes. The point of this post is that I’m really tired. And it’s bumming me out because, call me crazy, but I like being a functioning adult rather that an over-sized baby who cries and thinks that it might be easier to wet herself rather than make the exhausting 30-foot trip to the bathroom. That last sentence, I think, signals my time to sign off.

Dear Hair,

Grow on my head?

photo by Juco. found via For Me, For You.

Lookin' is free. Touchin'll cost ya.

Alright, ya'll. Fingers to keys. Let's do this. Since we’ve last talked, a lot has gone down. For one thing, I’ve moved to Brooklyn. For another, I lied. The Brooklyn thing was really all I’ve got, but what a thing it is! I can’t believe how many little pockets exist here, each with a new style of architecture and culture to explore and ultimately gentrify (ha ha?). Really, there is something so satisfying about taking the train into Manhattan in the morning, contributing the to crazyville that is midtown, and then, come quitting time, leaving it all behind for the quiet tree-lined streets of Brooklyn where a burrito is but a stone’s throw away and free (and good) comedy shows occur on a weekly basis. Fetch the smelling salts and get those slapping hands ready cause this previously sour and foul blogger is obviously under some trance that makes her want to give transformative make-overs to the less popular and pass out affirmations to the homeless (you see? I’m feeding their souls). Seriously, this whole positivity thing could severely damage the whole unlikable witchy vibe that I’ve spent half of my life cultivating. AND I’m living in Williamsburg, which, as a post-hipster epicenter, should breed nothing but a holier-than-thou attitude with a constant cloud of cynicism hovering over it. But no. I even like Williamsburg cause it just makes life so damn easy.

Another thing that I really like about being here? I think that I might have friends. Creating a social circle for myself was a little more difficult than I expected. I sort of thought that I would be met at the airport by an ethnically diverse group of young people who all wear cardigans and split their time between the UCB theater and writing sketches at some coffee shop/bar where none of the furniture matches. And what? They think that I would be the perfect addition to their comedy group that is currently teetering on the brink of success? And I would be the one to push them over the edge? Why, of course I’ll accept. And while I’m at it, I’ll take the perfect leather jacket and a cure for world hunger (more affirmations, maybe?). Alas, I once again had to learn the lesson that seems to be popping up all over my life these days. Most things worth having take work to get (yeah, you're welcome for that taste of mind-blowing philosophy. I'm full of life-changing shit like that). And by work, I mean loudly complaining at work about how you don't know anyone in this city and how depressing your weekend is going to be until someone, ANYONE, takes pity on you. See, the first time you spend time together, it's out of pity, but then you hit them with the awesome personality that lurks beneath your shameless bids for attention and WHAM they're hooked. Then you use the first friend to get another and another and... Suddenly, you're training it down to Park Slope for a Bad Movie Night or heading to the Lower East Side to go to a literal pickle festival. Through my methods, I've actually met people who do perform improv, write amazing sketches, and perform stand-up. True, my complaining has yet to convince them to collaborate with me, but I'm sure I'll wear them down eventually. If that doesn't work, I can always exhaustingly and unnecessarily throw out punch lines until my real funny shines through ('what is this? New Jersey?!").

Apropos to nothing, isn't it about time that Jane Lynch got some public affection? Has she ever been less than great in anything that she's been in? Sue Motherfucking Sylvester, am I right? How many rhetorical statements can I put in a row? Does Glee's success mean no more Constance Carmel? You can actually answer that last one, if you'd like...