The
short version=I got a divorce and I haven’t dated.
The
longer version=
My
tough girl shell is thick. Recently I
heard something on the radio that was describing men as distant and
unemotional. I grew up with my dad so I
have taken on many male characteristics like drinking and watching boxing, and what they mentioned.
Writing
about what is happening right now is really intimidating because you gotta be honest and junk. It’s not that I want to remain a mystery (I
suspect that is exactly what I want), but I will go as far as to say that I
don’t like people knowing more about me than I want them to. This is all me just prefacing.
I
haven’t even gotten to my career and my situation. I’m still prefacing. (Is that a verb?) I am aware that I am guarded. The most incredible human (this guy Michael who
passed) told me so. I don’t like
anyone. It’s kind of a problem. So I’m writing this to figure out what is
going on, so that I can get some insight and then maybe get passed it. I have a feeling that the act of writing is
going to assist me. (insert gunshot noise)
I
love to go around the world with my ideas before I get into what is true, the core stuff, which is the meat of it all. I
should always be trying to go for that, because I am an artist. Growing up with a sick mother who left, and a
dad that was working and drank and then married an alcoholic monster, I
learned to pretend everything is ok to such an exquisite perfection that half of
the time, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.
I’m getting better at sorting it all out. I’m figuring out that the stuff that is buried
is where the gold is.
I
do stand-up comedy. Kinda weird. It sets me apart from the ordinary human
inasmuch as I am a being, who writes and then performs what I write, and then
people give me money for it. Simply put,
this is not a traditionally female thing to do (not my opinion and/or not me
being sexist, it’s more of an observation of society and I’m trying to get to a
hypothesis as to why I’m still single).
On stage, alone, on the proverbial soapbox, saying my plea to the masses
is sort of what it is. In old times vernacular
they called it an orator. It is not
something that is yin energy. It is
yang/male energy. Because I’ve been
around comedy a while, I’m here to tell you that when a male person is doing
the aforementioned type of performance, it is extremely attractive to
women. Not quite rockstar status, but in
the same way. Because, I guess, the
person is taking control, they are performing, it’s creative and thus, a
turn-on. But when a woman is on stage,
it does not have the same effect on men.
All
of that is true, which is convenient if you are trying to sort of hide from
your own sexuality. (I wear men’s Adidas
pants only, and lately I sexually
identify as a janitor). I don’t want to
give my failed marriage the dignity of writing about it. I want Sunshine
of the Spotless Mind for that chapter of my life. That was that movie where you could go to a
place and they would erase all your memories from a relationship.
It’s
just that my divorce was so Shakespearean. People used to ask me about it and I didn’t
even know how to respond. I was so
traumatized by it. If we had parted ways
maybe two years sooner, it still would have sucked, but it wouldn’t have been
so epically tragic. (I kind of want to
write this whole thing over again).
Why
is this so hard? I feel like Carrie
Bradshaw in Sex in the City, except
I’m having no sex and my articles aren’t published. Although ironically, I recently met Chris
Noth. His friend was hitting on my girlfriend Laura hard at Mimi’s on Second Avenue. At any rate, Noth is still hot, albeit gray,
but he’s Greek (they’re the worst) and married.
If
you truly love someone, like for reals, with all your heart and soul, and you
love spending time with them, you go before God and all, I’m here to tell you: it
still might not work. What the hell
kinda fucked up shit is that?
Now
the article has started. This right here
is where I’m stuck. I never got my
answer. I decided it was God’s fault
(since we got married in church in Southie, with the candles and
the procession and everything).
This
is a tough one because I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to write
about it. I want to be like Woody Allen. His screenplays are so honest and are
nothing short of brilliant. In Manhattan, Woody Allen’s character tries
to run over his ex-wife’s new lesbian lover.
The ex-wife is publishing a tell-all.
He is so specific in characterizing neurosis. Instead of furiously posting to my zero
followers on blogspot, maybe I should write a play. Or try to run someone over.
Well
let’s close out this debacle of a blog so I can write a play about a vindictive Albanian princess who plots the untimely demise of people who have wronged her and Chaz Palmeinteri will play the sleazy villan.
