#LoveQuest2016

Hi BeanBags,

I’ve been single for almost 5 years now and for the past year  I’ve been dipping my furry little toes into the dating pool. I’ve been wondering around long enough now to enlist someone to watch  and do the commentary for me. Also, I use the word “dating” very loosely here, as it’s more like me falling in love with a stranger who happened to catch eyes with me because I was blocking the exit of the Starbuck we were in. WHATEVER, BRAD. ENJOY YOUR FRICKEN LATTE.  #LoveQuest2016

I tried OKCupid and it was a fun experiment to see if this ol’ girl could still turn up the charm. However, the crippling fear that my picture was better looking  than the real life version of me had me too scared to meet anyone because I can tell myself I’m ugly. I don’t need BingBong from Dorchester telling me I should get a nose job and veneers.

According to The Secret, I should start making room in my life if I want a buddy to hang out with and smooch me and tell me my hair smells like lavender. I like living in clean spaces and, that being said, my room is a rathole. Everything is fresh and delightful and I have fun trinkets you can play with but storage is not on the top of the selling points for the apartment. Everything doubles as a shelf. Bed, desk, windowsill. All shelves. When one is in use, you just have the rotate which one is going to be the main shelf, then disperse the rest accordingly. I’ve been cleaning up and making room on my shelves so my beau, which I’ve conjured with the law of attraction, can sit down and watch me brush my hair for 45 minutes and talk about how small cotton balls are getting.

To add to the atmosphere, I have lovely beeswax and coconut oil candles. However, the faint scent of farm fresh potting soil from the flower bed outside never ceases to waft in at just the right time. No, Brad. Maybe YOU shit your pants. #LoveQuest2016

I’ve been going out to events and social gatherings more than usual, because unless he drives the pizza delivery car, then I’m most likely not going to meet anyone inside my house. I’m one step away from walking around Boston asking “Are you my mother?” but only replace “mother” with “boyfriend,” “soulmate,” or “twin flame.” There are a lot of people, someone is bound to respond favorably.

I’ll report  back if any of my rituals calls forth a worthy mate for my hair brushing ceremony. How’d you guys meet your partners? Tell me. Is it close by? I’ll be right over.

xosmooch143bye

 

 

Nana Don’t Destroy My Sweater

Day 9 of Writing 101. 

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.

No. You leave Nana and her sweater alone. Stop crying over it. I’m sorry you knitted a sweater for your ferret, Julian, but he’s gone now. He packed his little suitcase and got on a little bus and moved in with his little mother because he was sick of your little sweaters. Let Nana enjoy her sweater-knitting. That little sweater is for Mr. Crackers, her little Parakeet. Sure, it’s more of a vest so his wings can fit in it, but that’s none of your business anyways. Goddammit Marc, pull yourself together. You’re embarrassing Glenda. I know you’ve been dating for two years and you think it’s comfortable and you can both be yourselves around each other but come on, you can’t cry every. single. time. you see a little sweater! I mean, you guys couldn’t even go shopping her sister’s baby shower together without you disrupting the peace in Baby Gap. Let’s get you in some therapy at least. Work through your issues so that maybe one day you can see a little sweater or knit little sweater for a new little ferret friend. You can do it, Marc. Me, Nana, Mr. Crackers, and even little Julian..out there…somewhere, believe in you. Godspeed.

FIN.

Okay kids! Thanks for reading. Follow me on Twitter for more weird things I say! @LOLOVONK !

ciao butterfingers, 

❤ Lo

SHOWCASE! And Other Emotions.

Hey kittens!

I’m pretty sure it’s only been two days but it’s felt like an eternity since we last looked longingly into our computer screens at one another’s words and stuff.

Fitting, as George Michael’s “Kissing a Fool” is playing in the background. *kisses screen* Is this weird? Shh, I don’t care. Turn down that backlight while I slip into something more comfortable. *sets up gel wrist cushions to prevent tendonitis*.

Anyways, I’ve been really sick the past few days. There’s a Steve Martin quote from his book “Born Standing Up” that talks about how before preforming an important show the nerves you get as a performer can fight off weight gain and illness, yet 24 hours after you’ve finished the show, you succumb to complete exhaustion and flu-like symptoms.

I’m flu-like symptoms. Hold me. Brush my hair. Tell me I look fine with braces.

But look, I kept my promise! I attached a picture of my gems and footwear that I wore at my showcase.

Why yes, those are RingPop shoes with a a bejeweled RingPop necklace.

Apparently the gummy bear knuckle ring was sparkling so brightly that 3 people in the audience were blinded. There might be a class action suit against me but I don’t really know because I make things up.

Being in the green room was fun. Although I sounded like a clydesdale hoofing it up and down the stairs in the RingPop shoes. There was a lot of excited and nervous energy, but I started getting distracted and I could tell the order of my jokes was running away  down the street to the restaurant I knew I’d be eating at after. I had to stand in a corner and face the wall and shout my jokes at the water heater to make sure they didn’t order a salad over the French onion soup. I ended up getting both later, but that’s besides the point.

The theme of my set was babies. Terrible, terrible babies. I felt a little cliche being a ladygirl and talking about all those darn babies that ruin her life. I have better premises, but there are some that I want to spend more time on because they are like my children (not babies though, gross) and I want to nurture them with PopTarts and watch them grow.

But I did well! Minus blanking when I got up on stage! But that’s okay, because my dress had pockets that I nervously shoved my set list in, along with some granola bar crumbs and a straw wrapper.

I changed a lot of my jokes last minute because I wasn’t feeling 100% behind my material (Even though I had 2 months to prepare. I get a sick pleasure out of torturing myself by doing things last minute. And by last minute I mean changing jokes while I’m pacing in the hall waiting to go on.)

I also didn’t tighten the mic stand because I have marshmallow arms. It started to slowly get lower and lower, so I looked like a troglodyte hunching over the big noise boom stick.

But yay!

This was something I always wanted to do, and the only thing I’ve really cared about consistently. I can play about one and a half songs on every instrument known to creation. I’m decent at roller derby. I can brush my cat really well so she doesn’t get hair balls. But stand-up is my favorite thing and has been since elementary school. In my head I have a reputation of being the crazy girl who shows up to everybody’s comedy shows (famous or local) and has a big goofy smile and eyeballs popping out of her face. I’m not crazy just so excited it that it looks crazy. “My Heart Will Go On” just came on the radio. I think that’s a sign that shows my intentions are as pure as a sweaty palm print in a Renault Type CB Coupe de Ville.

Yoouuuu’re heerrre…therreee’s NOOOOTHIN’ I FEEAAR.

Oh shit, my favorite song (“Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’) came on after that. This the best day ever. Dance children, DANCE.

Alright, maybe there is a tinge of whacka-doo, but those are great songs and you know it.

Have a great night, and until next time my little PopSharts!

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Coke Whore

I’m sorry, did you say something? I couldn’t hear you over the cracking of my sweet, delicious Coke.

The cracking of the can, the first sip of crisp liquid love.

I’ve fallen back into my old habits.

When I was in 6th grade I would have a minimum of 5 cans per day, along with 2 meatball Hot Pockets. I stopped drinking it and lost a bunch of weight, but now over 2 years out of college I find myself standing in front of the display at CVS wondering which package will come home with Mama.

I touched that one, but I saw that one first. Well I can’t just choose between my children. You both can come home! (Cue me walking out of the store with a 12 pack under each arm.)

I get into my car and there are cans in all the designated cup holders. The trash bag in the back seat is filled to the brim with cans that clink around as a drive, just like Santa’s sleigh bells.

I didn’t really see the problem with it. I love what I love and it’s the one thing, you know, besides friends and family and bler blah barf, that I can rely on.

I did question myself as I was sitting at my desk, watching some stand-up, when reached for my Coke. I started to take a sip when I came out of my Coke haze and remembered I hadn’t put my Coke on my desk. I looked over at my night stand and my darling cherub sat there in all it’s beautiful red glory, shining like the angel of mercy it is.

I looked down at the Coke in my hand and realized it was probably from when I was cleaning my room the weekend prior.

That would explain the green fuzz growing around the mouth piece. I thought maybe this can came with it’s own terrarium. Got to be environmentally conscientious these days.

I mean, even the name Coke, sounds like the noise it makes when you open the can. The freshness. The bubbles dancing around on my tongue. Sweet relief.

At any rate that’s where I am, squealing with delight over a box of Cokes that still have the polar bears on the can, even though the box didn’t indicate they were the winter edition.

Now that is a true treasure.

Until next time, my Chipsqueaks!