#TBT the summer during college when I worked at Lifeline, the “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” company. We sat in a small windowless room and called elderly people to test their buttons. I was referred to by my co-workers as “crazy white girl that loves salads” because sometimes for lunch I’d have a salad. Once, in between phone calls, one of my co-workers talked to me for 30 minutes about masturbating under a bathtub faucet and about her vibrator named Roger. “Why did you name him Roger?” I asked. She replied “what, you expect me to scream my own name while I have an orgasm?” Not pictured is the crazy guy who would quietly mutter “I hope you die” during each of his calls, we all agreed that we didn’t want him in the group photo.
My dream is to do the red carpet just like this.
In this clip from the Live @ The Apt show, comedian Giulia Rozzi explains exactly what it’s like to be a funny woman, on the internet and everywhere else. Apparently, women are only allowed to have one talented hole.
A few weeks ago my friend Joel and I each got a $100 ticket from cops on the MTA platform at the Morgan L stop. My transit card was out of money and there was no ticket machine or booth so Joel opened the gate and let me into the subway platform. We were approached by 6 cops, 2 of which were in plain clothes “undercover” catching anyone who snuck into the subway. They had picked the Morgan L station specifically because people often sneak in, I’m guessing it’s because the MTA doesn’t have any options for riders to buy fares at that entrance and if people sneak in the MTA will make $100 per person instead of $2.50 per person (minus whatever commission the cops make, I heard the cops discussing quotas so I’m pretty sure they get some kind of bonus or high-five each time they write a ticket). Well played MTA, well played.
I don’t justify my actions. I broke the rules, I’ll suffer the consequences. Even though I just missed my bus home to Boston because the L train computer broke and they needed an hour to fix it. Even though I have spent countless dollars not only on MTA trains that stall, stop or never arrive but also on cabs that I had to frantically take to a meeting or gig or wherever after being told “there’s no trains.” I have been pushed, squashed, and packed into extremely crowded train cars with assholes who blast music from their phones while sitting with their legs so sprawled open their balls should have to pay an extra fare. I have stood in disgusting subways stations being dripped on by God knows what leaking from the MTA’s ceiling certain it would cause me to later grown a third ear. I have grabbed onto a subway stair railing only to put my hand in a clump of feces (most likely human feces). I have been cornered on a subway stairwell by a terrifying drunk man that towered at least one foot and 100 pounds more than me, threatened with rape. (Man, I would have loved some cops to be around then). When I managed to escape and tell the MTA employee working in the booth, she replied “and what do you want me to do about it?” It’s always great when a woman dismisses another woman’s plea for her physical safety.
And yet without argument, I will pay my ticket because I am someone who takes responsibility for my actions, unlike the MTA. The MTA knows we are slaves to its existence therefore it can act however it wants without remorse. It can shut down services screwing over local businesses (like the upcoming shut down of the G to Long Island City) with no regard. It can keep raising prices while lowering it’s quality. It can abandon us, abuse us, and fuck us when we don’t want to be fucked, because it knows we have no other choice but to keep this dysfunctional relationship going.
Sometimes I think I’m going to die on that subway. Whenever it pauses for more than 30 seconds I begin to panic, I start frantically looking for emergency snacks in my purse, I start to freak out about where I’ll pee. I look around the trying to decide who I’d ask to hold me (and maybe make out with me) as we took our last breaths. Please stand clear of the closing chest of anxiety. Thank you for riding with the New York City tomb.
There are some lovely things about the subway. I like striking up random conversations with fellow passengers. I like randomly running into an old friend on the platform and finding out we both now live off the same stop. I like when people actually give their seats to the elderly, pregnant women and kids. I like when a subway conductor is feeling goofy and makes jokes or sings during his or her train announcements. I like the enthusiasm of the people handing out AM NY and the Metro newspapers outside the station. I like the super talented musicians that play thier hearts out on the platform (not on the train, I don’t like being trapped and forced to watch entertainment. My favorite move subway break dancers do is the one where they leave). I like the 3 construction workers that helped me outside the Bedford L last summer when I collapsed. One held my purse, the other held my head, and the other bought me water. They all stayed with me till an ambulance arrived. If somehow they ever read this- thank you endlessly, I owe you each a drink. But these things I like about the subway have to do with the human spirit, not the MTA. If it weren’t for the kind, cool, resilient people I meet every day in this gorgeous disgusting city, I would probably go crazy. Like legit talking-to-mailboxes insane. Luckily my current crazy is limited to the occasional “go fuck yourself” outburst at one of those “can I talk to you about your hair?” dudes in Union Square.
And there are the cops. One time I found an unattended suitcase in Penn Station, when I saw something and said something to a cop he shrugged and said “ok.” I said “don’t you want to know exactly where the potentially bomb filled suitcase is?” He put down his iPhone and begrudgingly said “uh, fine.” So sorry officer to have interrupted your game of Temple Run, I was just trying to save the world.
But enough about terrorism, back to those 6 cops “protecting” the precious Morgan L stop MTA station from degenerates like me and my cheerful, thin, gay Asian friend in jean shorts. The officer that gave me my ticket was really nice and straightforward with me. He told me how the MTA is in such financial ruins that this ticket used to be $50 then the MTA raised it to $100 and now the MTA is trying to raise it to $400. When I asked why there were 6 cops working this case and couldn’t 2 have sufficed and aren’t there worst crimes for cops to be focused on? He said “the theory we are told as cops is, if you start cracking down on small crimes the effect will trickle up and stop bigger crimes.” Sure, you mean bigger crimes like cops killing an innocent man in a choke hold?For the record I don’t hate cops. I am grateful to many cops for their service. A lot of cops are wonderful. Cops that kill people for no reason and the cops that defend those killer cops are not wonderful.
Something has to be done, but I don’t know what. The only thing I do know to do is to pay my ticket because unlike some, I try to do the right thing.
10+ years ago I was in a sketch on The Jimmy Kimmel Show. I was on for maybe 7 seconds. I didn’t have any lines. I just walked by and rolled my eyes at wrestler Mick Foley as he squirted himself with ketchup. I had a terrible haircut that made me look Justin Guarini from season one of American Idol. I was also fat because I would get super stoned and eat half a jar of Soynut butter every night but thought since it had “soy” in the title it was healthy. The day that I filmed that sketch I left my sister a voicemail saying "hey no big deal but I might briefly be on Kimmel tonight if you want to record it" (yea, I said record because IT WAS THAT LONG AGO). She then left me a voicemail saying "that’s awesome! Now look, when he interviews you please do not mention the fact that I just got engaged, I haven’t told everyone yet and I’d hate for them to find out on TV." So not only did my sister think that I (a nobody who had been doing comedy less than a year) was a fancy sit down guest on Kimmel but she also thought Kimmel’s first question was going to be about her love life. Anyhoo, I don’t have Jimmy Kimmel listed in my bio and yet for some reason, bookers keep putting “as seen on Jimmy Kimmel” as one of my credits. So I wanted to share this story to clear the air in the hopes that bookers would stop including Kimmel in my credits and I wanted to share this story to publicly make fun of my sister.