Dirty Old Prom Queen

Look you, Look at this Look Book

2007-03-30T15:40:00.000-04:00

Gawker's Looking at the Lookbook column let me participate along with Greg Johnson and Charles Star. Get ready for one nutty biddy.

The ONN is UP!

2007-03-28T14:02:00.000-04:00

Hi all!! The reason I have not written very frequently in the last few months is that I am writing for the Onion Web Video site. Please watch. It is hilarious. You will enjoy the fake news much better than the real news.

Condoleezza Rice To Voyage East

Immigration: The Human Cost

Fat -- a secret weapon

2007-02-09T16:04:00.000-05:00

Someone told me that you can never get rid of fat cells, they just shrink.

Is this true?

Does that mean you have a set number?

Or can you make more fat cells but just not destroy them?

Does that mean that fat cells are indestructable?

Why aren't we making more stuff out of fat?

Global Warming is kinda sexy

2006-12-14T12:55:00.000-05:00

It's 60 degrees in New York today...and I'm not gonna lie...I have a little Spring fever. Just like these seals -->

The Daily Mail in the UK reported that seals are getting busier than ever because of the warmer temperatures. At least if the world burns up, it's gonna burn up sexy!

I would like all of my sensitive readers to know that I am not pro-global warming, I am just a "glass half full" kinda girl.

When you just know...

2006-11-16T13:47:00.000-05:00

Last night, I got into a cab with a cab driver who was clearly so intoxicated. What alarmed me the most, though, was not how he swerved from lane to lane regardless of whether or not another car was next to him. Not how he giggled and snorted so loudly on his cell phone headset. Not how he almost ran over a pedestrian, who then chased us a block. What surprised me the most is that I was too lazy to get out of the cab and get another one. I honestly am not even sure if I buckled up. He might've even fallen asleep on the stretch from Union Square to SoHo, I had no idea. I just sipped on my Fanta and yawned like a baby lamb and I also gave him a sizable tip even though my eyes watered from his gin-soaked "Have nice night, lady." I apparently can't be bothered to save my own life.

Check out my BEST NIGHT EVER PODCAST!!

My Costume Choice

2006-11-01T15:07:00.000-05:00

A yuge ball of fat. Get ready.

Good Luck on Halloween Costumes, guys!

2006-10-25T13:27:00.000-04:00

Hey everyone! Good luck on coming up with a really good costume this year. Here's to finding an outfit that's relevant but not cliche; hip but not pretentious; scary but not disgusting. Ladies, I sincerely hope that you find something that shows off your figure, while not making you seem like a trailer park whore. And gents, let's do something masculine, but also HILARIOUS, so that everyone can say, "Oh that Steve is so fucking awesome!" But hey, let's not forget to make sure that our costumes fulfill these necessary components:

1) That they keep us warm on this chilly holiday. This is a big problem for the sluts.
2) That they are machine washable.
3) That they don't hinder us from making out with another drunken person in costume.
4) That there is a way to go to the bathroom
5) That they don't offend minorities.

Love you all. Happy Halloween!!!

Pidgy

2006-10-19T01:36:00.001-04:00

Moment of the day:

On one of my unnecessarily long and firing-worthy lunches, my good friend and frequent lover, Mike, and I sit down for delicious sandwiches at a local joint, when all of a sudden a coked up pigeon comes flying into the restaurant, flaps around, and then hides behind me. He becomes stuck between my banquette and the window.

A local tree hugger, though, luckily was ready with broom in hand to lead the pigeon back to the outdoors. She tried and failed and tried and failed and the pigeon stayed stuck. But outside, help was walking down the street in a pair of well-worn clogs. A small hispanic woman came in and asked, "Can I help you?" The tree hugger replied, "No, I think we've got it (back to the pigeon) Okay, honey, come on out. Mama's got you."

Then, straight out of Dr. Doolittle the Hispanic mystery woman reaches between the banquette and window and grabs the flapping bird with one hand and throws it out of the FRONT DOOR. And then she disappeared into the baby strollers of Park Slope, never to be seen again. I was so stunned that I barely was able to order my giant rice krispy treat. Heroes, there all around us.

Dream Ruined

2006-10-17T23:50:00.000-04:00

Every girl gets only a handful of romantic comedy moments in her little life and I just royally fucked up one of the few that I was given. Picture this:

It's pouring out, you're standing in the subway contemplating how to get home, because you forgot your umbrella. Your only option is to run for it. The wind and rain sting your face as you leap out of the subway entrance. Your flowy skirt clings to your firm, nubile body. You yell because you feel free, you feel like a woman, and you are getting some much-needed exercise. All of a sudden, a young man runs along side of you and puts an umbrella over your drenched little head.

What do you do?

Clearly, you smile sheepishly and thank him through your embarrassed yet charming and feminine giggles. You lightly brush the soaked strands of hair away from your forehead. And then you ask your hero his name. Where does he live? Does he want to come in for a hot chocolate?

What did I do?

I initially trip over my own feet, because I think I am being attacked and I have a hard time stopping running once I have started. I say "thank you" through a lot of wheezing (I ran only 5 steps, but have not been to the gym since summer). And then...silence...and more silence...and a lot of awkward glances.... And then I say "you know, I can make it from here" and I retardedly walk into a puddle and run a block home. I might have peed a little bit on myself.

And then, it was gone. My romantic comedy moment turned into diarrhea before my eyes.

Ouch.

2006-10-06T14:58:00.000-04:00

Hey guys. So, today I received my very first REALLY nasty comment. Not on my blog, but on the Best Week Ever blog, where I have been doing some Best Night Ever podcasts. Anywho, people are entitled to their opinion and I have to have a thick skin to be in this business. But please take a look and decide for yourselves if she was being too harsh. Also, I couldn't resist defending myself in the cutest way.

Also, you should all know that I am draped in fur from head to toe right now, because I am too weak to remove the air conditioner from my window and it is freezing.

Anyone There?

2006-10-03T14:08:00.000-04:00

My cell phone is slightly broken. It no longer tells me whether or not I have a new voicemail message. It does tell me if I have a missed call. And it still rings when someone is calling. And my alarm is fine. And you can still read all of the names of the people like Buzz and Party in my address book. And if you wanted to call them, you could.

But if someone calls me, and they leave a message, I might not know about it. Because my phone no longer tells me that I have new voicemail messages. Quick question: is this a good enough reason to trade in my phone for a new one? Or should I stop using phones altogether?

More Than Necessary to Get Through the Day

2006-09-28T13:37:00.000-04:00

Thank you, Joe Mande, for this.

Big Happies to All

2006-09-19T14:49:00.000-04:00

It's my roommate's, and my old roommate's, and my stepmother's birthday today...and tomorrow, it's my friend Sarah's. Congratulations everybody! Way to age!

Totally unrelated, I think I have found the weakness in the tofu dog. On the grill, it tastes (to me) as good as any other hot dog. Where it falters though, is in the microwave. In an attempt to get some healthy protein in me, I bought a package of these little suckers for my office lunch. And after the requisite 40 seconds or so in the microwave, they are just slimy and tasteless and pretty awful. I wish that I had some good old fashioned Hebrew national and maybe a cherry soda. My slimy dogs and water are a pretty pitiful site, when you eat lunch at your desk.

Best Night Ever

2006-09-12T11:26:00.000-04:00

So, I did a VH1 Best Night Ever podcast last night...on September 11th. Please check out my musings on some of the best television the planet has ever seen.

Find Rob

2006-09-11T12:12:00.000-04:00

The very adorable and very funny, Rob Lathan, just sent out a link to a hilarious Yankees stadium prank that he recently pulled. Enjoy.

"Rob's Retarded!" (Clap clap, clap clap clap)

Who wants to french???

2006-09-08T12:27:00.000-04:00

The Kissing Booth: How We Spent Our Summer Vacation!

SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 9th, 2006!
9:30 PM- $5

The D Lounge
101 East 15th @ Union Square East, Basement Level
$3 Miller Lites~ $4 well drinks & shots!
with your obnoxious hosts, Brandy & Sara

and featuring:

Vince Averill
Lang Fisher
Gabe McKinley
Sean O' Connor
Giulia Rozzi
Lianne Stokes
Pat Stango

plus the triumphant return of DJ Law Tarello and a spectacularly drunken finale from your hosts!

www.thekissingboothnyc.blogspot.com

Back and Better than some people

2006-09-05T15:14:00.000-04:00

I'm back from Portland. Everyone needs to go there for some R and R -- Rickshaws and Rabies...just kidding.

I'm feeling so chilled out from vay-cay that I thought I would link to an article on public nudity.

The laid-back community of Brattleboro, VT is highly concerned that business will suffer because of a recent surge in rebellious teens disrobing in front of stores and restaurants throughout town. Apparently, these kids feel the need to release their nonnies and nannies in front of everyone. I guess I would too, if I had to suffer through insane winters like those in Vermont and I would hope that the town would appreciate the gift that I bestowed on them. The gift of my bare ass.

I'd like to say though, for the record, and don't quote me on this...but do, lots of people like to see other people naked. Sooooo, it seems like business should boom. Especially tourism. Especially tourism from the more repressed neighboring states like New Hampshire. Especially pervy tourism from New Hampshire.

God Speed, Brattlesboro!! And have fun with your Breast Fest!!!

Also, lots of love for Steve Irwin. God Speed, Steve Irwin!!

I have decided to be "Lang Fisher, Crocodile Hugger." And the animals will all be stuffed and all of the filming will take place in my ruffled bedroom, so that I will have access to candy and Hillary Duff albums.

West Siiieeeede

2006-08-31T19:09:00.000-04:00

I'm on the West Coast this week, people. I went to my cousin's wedding last Saturday in Seattle and now I am in Portland soaking up the good life. That is why I have not posted recently.

I thought I would post some fun Portland facts for everyone:

1. Largest number of strip clubs per capita. Zowee!
2. Popular destination for runaways. Luckily, I've packed my bindle.
3. The world's smallest park, totaling 452 inches, created in Portland on St. Patrick's Day for leprechauns and snail races
4. Most bumper stickers per capita. I don't know how you could possibly calculate that, but someone has.
5. Portland is very anti-chain. Lots of cute independent boutiques and restaurants and coffee shops. These are certainly appreciated by the runaways and strippers.

It's a pretty sweet place to visit. Lots of handsome healthy people and cheap apartments and beautiful scenery and wine in grocery stores. But New York still stays open later than anyone...except Vegas...but no one wants to live in Vegas.

More fun facts at http://www.maxwellsinclair.com/portland_funfacts.php. My links button isn't working.

Champagne anyone

2006-08-22T15:41:00.000-04:00

Great show tonight!!! And also, Snakes on a Plane is the greatest movie of all time. Hands down.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 22ND
Champagne
Plan B ~ 339 East 10th St. (and Ave B)
8PM / Free!

Livia Scott (MEAT, "Honesty" on Comedy Central) & Dave Engel (Below the Belt, "Turbo Charge" with Dave Atell)
welcome their favorite stand ups, musicians and storytellers to their weekly variety show / party.

Stand Up From
LANG FISHER ("Honesty" on Comedy Central, dirtyoldpromqueen.blogspot.com)

&

JAY BOIS ("Big Night Out," the hit Fringe Festival show, "Romancing the Terrorist" by Negin Farsad)

A Story Told By
LIANNE STOKES ("the Rejection Show")

An Interview With
LIVIA's COUSIN CLYDE

And the return of BIZ ELLIS (MEAT, princessponypartyamazing.blogspot.com), who will be reading from her high school diary, PART 15: Summer Camp! Plus the BIZ DIARY DRINKING GAME - yay!

Talent...unmistakable talent

2006-08-15T15:49:00.000-04:00

My dear friend, Joe Mande, like many of us comedians, has a day job. He works for a designer optical shop in SoHo and has just brightened my day with his latest window display entitled, "Why I Hate Myself."

I think it's beautiful.

It appeals to all sorts of vision impaired people: club-going night owls looking to turn a quick trick before dancing the night away in an abandoned tunnel as well as agoraphobic housewives who would just rather keep the city at a nice distance staying safely within the walls of their picket fence gardens.

I think he really knows his market. There's nothing that a snotty SoHo shopper wants more than a really obscure window display. The weirder the better. Take a walk down West Broadway. If the French Connection puts a display up where two mannequins are bottomless and being engulfed in flames made from orange panties, sales go up. It seems artsier and, thusly, more expensive and better. French Connection you better pay me royalties if you use that idea.

My Best Stand Up Set Ever

2006-08-10T13:20:00.000-04:00

This is what happens when you do stand up in Central Park on a hot summer day. You end up looking adorable and lonely.

A pea in a salad bowl.

There are actually people watching from the sides (where the shade is), but this picture is priceless. This is the picture I want to show to my parents to let them know that my career is taking off!

Thanks to Jenny and Matt for putting on a great show!

Where Did You Find That Old Picture?

2006-08-09T10:47:00.000-04:00

Everyone has clearly googled him or herself before, but have you ever google image searched or froogle searched yourself?

My Froogle search ended in one item under "Lang Fisher." A book called Two Kinds of Christmases: A Collection of the Classic Christmas and New Year Messages of all Time.
Go get it.

And my google image search returned this beauty as the second picture. It is entitled "Rattlesnake:"

RARRR!!

Well, that was a real treat for everyone wasn't it? WASN'T IT? Oh, dear god, what have I become?

Anywho, I am doing a couple shows this week and would love to see you all!

Tonight:

cactus makes it to the corner and tags in...

MAXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!

STARRING Jenny Rubin & Matt McCarthy

FEATURING

Eric Andre

Jen Scanlin

Lang Fisher

Abbi Crutchfield

Al Del Bene

Tony Camin

Tonight - Wednesday August 9, 2006 @ 8pm

and then Thursday:

MCC Finally Has His Way With Women

Thurs
8/10
8pm
FREE
GALAPAGOS ART SPACE
www.galapagosartspace.com
70 N. 6th St
Brooklyn, NY

with your host
Michael Cyril Creighton

Jen Dziura
Sara Schaefer
Lang Fisher
Adira Amram
Brandy & Sara
Michelle Buteau
Stickerbook

Personal Ponies

2006-08-07T15:18:00.000-04:00

Everyone who knows me, knows that I have an obsession for miniature horses and shetland ponies and that I constantly pray to Santa Clause for one. So, when Michelle Collins sent me a link to a charity called Personal Ponies, where UK shetland ponies are given, FREE OF CHARGE, to children with disabilities, I wept. I have finally found the charity to which I can give my millions...of hugs.

This is straight from the page. Prepare to fall apart.

"What do our ponies DO?

Lots of people ask us what our ponies must be able to DO. The only thing our ponies MUST be able to do is to be fine companions for small children. Most ponies are too small to be ridden (except minimally by a child of thirty pounds or less). Very often, however, they make very fine driving ponies if trained. But ALL of our ponies must love to be hugged and petted and kissed, to stand patiently while a child in braces or on crutches or in a wheel chair brushes and combs, feeds or caresses them. THAT is the work our ponies do!"

Now, I am wondering how I can qualify for a free pony. The foot I broke at my birthday party still smarts when it rains. Free pony please.

Two Dudes

2006-08-03T12:52:00.000-04:00

Since I keep posting videos recently, I thought I would post my friend, Jon Friedman's video called "Two Dudes." As the story goes, Jon asked two of his friends, Peter, the adorable and lovely host of the $1 Room at New York's Telephone Bar (hilarious comedy every Thursday at 9 PM) and this other guy, whom I don't know, to act out a douchebaggy dialogue that Jon had overheard. The only problem is that while shooting and "acting" like stoners, the actors smoked real pot. The film was never completed, but the result is dare I say probably better than the original script.

I AM GOING TO SING

2006-08-01T14:28:00.000-04:00

AHHHHH!!! I am doing a show where I sing! Am scared but also I think that the show is going to be really funny.

Please come if you are in town to see NYC's most hilarious young comics transform themselves into rock stars...or just musicians rather...or even just people who have heard of a song and at the present time will be trying to sing it.

'Honesty' on Comedy Central

2006-07-31T13:01:00.000-04:00

Hey everybody! There are some amazing short videos on Comedy Central's motherload website called 'Honesty.' I am starring in one called 'Black Mailman.' Now, I know that you just watched me dance as Hitler, but once again, I am NOT a racist, anti-Semitic bigot. I swear. I just play one on TV. Take a look, they are funny.

Ain't nothing but a G Thang

2006-07-25T16:40:00.000-04:00

I overheard this on the G train this morning but didn't feel like sending to Overheard in New York. I personally thought it was adorable.

Imagine a 10 year-old hanging out with his older, flyer cousins. Here we are at the Smith and 9th Street stop and, over the intercom, the train conductor bellows: "Last Stop! Everyone off."

10 year-old: "What? But we gotta get to Coney Island."

Cousin: "This is as far as the G train goes. Now we get off and wait for the F."

10 year-old: "Yo, the G train is messed up. This train has problems. REAL PROBLEMS. This is the G-Unit train -- like 50-cent, its career is about to be over."

Bravo, little man.

Wait, but is Fitty's career over? I don't think it is. Is the G train gonna get fired? Let's hope not. At least for the sake of the Williamsburg hipster who likes to escape his drum kit loft bed to sleep at his girlfriend's much cleaner and much boozhier house in Cobble Hill. Let's hope so, for that guy.

Mid-afternoon Train to Brooklyn

2006-07-24T12:22:00.000-04:00

Sigh, what's nicer than a long, romantic walk across the Brooklyn Bridge? The majestic East River splashing under you. The stunning New York skyline in front of -- or behind, depending on which way you are walking -- you. Local joggers, dog-walkers, young families, and couples in love traverse this bridge daily to feel at once out in the open and in the center of this urban metropolis. Which is why, after a friend's birthday brunch a week ago, feeling very full of delicious eggs benedict, my friend Chloe and I decided to walk off said brunch with a spirited trek from SoHo back to Brooklyn.

By the time we made it to Chinatown, both of us were feeling sweaty, but yet stalwart about completing our journey. And then my lovely comrade said, "hey, instead of the Brooklyn Bridge, why don't we walk over the Manhattan Bridge? No one ever walks across the Manhattan Bridge?"

I shook my head. "I don't know anyone who has."

"Let's do it!" she exclaimed.

So, we did.

My friends, there is a reason why no one walks across the Manhattan Bridge...or as I like to call it "The Poor Man's Brooklyn Bridge." It's a fine bridge for cars, stretching between the great thoroughfares of Canal Street and Flatbush Avenue. It's perfect for any cab carrying some drunken slut, who's crawled out of a seedy East Village dive, back to her home in Fort Greene. But for people to amble across, it is a 'no go.'

Some lesser reasons being that unlike the Brooklyn Bridge, where you walk above the traffic and under the impressive arches, the Manhattan Bridge, you walk alongside traffic and the scenery is marred by a graffiti and urine-covered concrete enclosure. Although, you can look through the chain fence at the vacant rotting apartments below in East Chinatown as you ascend a never-ending incline.

The main reason, however, that no one takes a date on a walk across the Manhattan Bridge, is that SEVERAL train lines also use the Manhattan Bridge as their crossing point. So, your conversation sounds like this:

Lang: So, that brunch was de...

N TRAIN:
RRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lang: licious.

Chloe: It certainly...

Q TRAIN:
RRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!

Lang: Wow, these trains sure are...

Q TRAIN in the other direction:
RRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR.... (comes to a stop) SQUEEEEEAAAKKKK... (moves again) ROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRR!!!!!!

Chloe: No I know... it's like every time we say anything, the train...

D TRAIN:
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRR!!!! HONK HONK HONK HONK!!!!

B TRAINS (in both directions) :
RRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRR!!!! HONK HONK!!! RRRRROOOOAR!!!

So, basically, you just walk and sweat in complete silence with one another. You give an occasional awkward smile, but mostly just stare straight ahead and sweat and climb. The high points are watching fit joggers sprint past you, but mostly you just avoid puddles and say "hi" during the brief silences.

Be With You

2006-07-19T12:12:00.000-04:00

I don't know how many YouTube fanatics there are out there, but one thing that I have noticed is the prevalence of people taping themselves lip synching to their favorite tunes. Anyway, my good friend Sara Schaefer, who' a music videonista, decided to make one of her own to Mr. Big's "Be With You." And the real treat with this one is that I get to be her back up vocals...oh, and also, I'm dressed like Hitler. (For those of you who are easily offended, please don't yell at me. I love the Jews! Ask my bestie Michelle Collins, she's as Jewish as Jesus and I love her just as much.)

Quitters Never Die

2006-07-18T11:17:00.000-04:00

So, first off, I would like to apologize for thrice misspelling 'gynecologist' on my last post. Spelling is my worst subject...always has been. I will try to use spell check from now on. But sometimes, I just get so jazzed to post and I forget.

So I had to quit the fast. Please don't be disappointed. I'm no quitter...usually. It was just that I was so weak. I could barely get up the stairs or out of the subway and I could hardly hold a conversation. Every morning as I left my apartment, I acted like someone who had been in solitary confinement for a month and was seeing the sun for the first time. I kept waiting for this euphoric burst of energy that was supposed to be coming any day, but literally every day I just got weaker and weaker and it became harder and harder to suck down that lemon-cayenne gasoline. And so after 6 days of not eating, I began to wonder, "Am I really detoxing or am I just dying?"

And so I called my mom, who is a doctor, and asked her what she thought of my fast. She thought it was dubious. She wasn't too sure how all of these things were supposed to clean me out, not that she has anything against holistic medicine. According to her, cayenne pepper and any kind of pepper for that matter just go right through you. But she just recommends, if you want to flush out all the bad stuff, to just get a colonic and getting it over with in one fell swoop. I'll let you all know if I decide to do that. Seems a leeeeetle bit scary.

Okay, but even this talk with Dr. Mom didn't sell me totally. I weakly crawled onto my couch and breathed deeply and listened to the hollow sounds of my heart beating against my empty carcass of a body. I was sure that I was just expiring. I didn't want to give up, however, I only had 4 days to go. So, I decided for inspiration, to go weigh myself. Maybe having dropped a few unneeded toxin pounds would keep me focused. So, I step on the scale, and I kid you not...ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to meet the only person capable of gaining 2 pounds after living off of lemonade for 6 days. This is when I yelled, "Fuck this!" and went into my kitchen to smoke a ham.

So, the fast is over. I am a terrible detoxifier and anorexic.

But mom! I don't want a summer job!

2006-07-13T16:17:00.000-04:00

Today, I went to visit my lady doctor -- a lovely woman...who could probably wrestle, skin, and fry up a grizzly in 10 seconds flat. She's a little terrifying, but a good doctor. Anyway, I walk up to the reception desk to check in for my appointment and behind the receptionist is a young looking girl with an unfortunate pubey, dark stache. The girl is filing away patients' folders, has a very short haircut, and is obscurely wearing a Monster Truck t-shirt. A young lesbian intern. What fun.

It wasn't until this young girl turned around awkwardly, that I got a good look at her face. She was no girl at all -- she was a teenage boy. And by the looks of those door-handle eyebrows, he was the teenage son of my gynecologist. He was just helping out the nurses and receptionists. Obviously out of school for the summer.

Now, I want to ask this question calmly...in a tone no louder than a whisper...

"what mother gives her son a summer job at the gynecologists office -- especially when she is the gynecologist?"

The poor kid. After I got my lady parts all checked out and did a roundoff back handspring out of my stirrups, I came back out to the main office and checked out. I kid you not, this poor boy was huddled in a corner, just staring...only moments away from sucking his thumb. So traumatized.

You know, and all he was trying to do this summer was to try to fill in his stache. Maybe play a little "Tomb Raider" or drink some Hawaiian Coolers at the beach with his pock-marked buds.

Before this summer, this kid was psyched when a his face accidentally brushed a gigantic black woman's 48 EE at the supermarket. But now, he is surrounded by sooooo much vagina. You should have seen his face when a salesman from Johnson and Johnson came in to sell the doctor KY, Monistat, and other feminine products. He looked like a baby being forced to try mashed peas. His pubey stache almost met up with his door-handle eyebrows. Young man, I salute you and all that you stand for.

Also, DAY 4 on my FAST. Okay, so I am less hungry, but am also less strong. I feel like I am wasted. I have started to walk at a geriatric pace and this afternoon I had the runs. Everyone feel updated? 6 more days y'all!!!!

Master and Commander

2006-07-12T15:58:00.000-04:00

Okay, how boozhy is this? I have started the Master Cleanse, otherwise known as the Lemonade Diet. I don't think I will make it the whole 10 days, but I love the idea of having my whole system flushed out. I decided to jump on the fasting wagon, when I caught myself inhaling lines of mac n' cheese while bathing in Svedka vodka. I said to myself, "Lang, you are not doing your body any favors...and are actually harming it intensely." Sooooooo, I am flushing all of the toxins out and letting only good stuff in. Basically, this means no food and only special lemonade.

Today is Day 3. AND I AM STARVING!!!! I AM SO HUNGRY!!! I want a perogie, and a candy, and a hamburger, and a beer, and a dumpling.... The list goes on. Yesterday and today are supposed to be the hardest days. Their only advice for your hunger is to drink more of the lemonade...let me tell you what I don't want any more of -- the lemonade. But I would love paella or one tic tac.

By the way, this is no normal lemonade. This lemonade is made with syrup and cayenne pepper and it is ALL you get. For 10 DAYS! It tastes like Heartburn flavored Gatorade.

I can't stop sweating. And I feel like I am embarking on a visionquest. Sometimes I hear voices. Sometimes my dreams don't stop when I wake up. (I'm being dramatic, cuz I hungy.)

Consequently, anywhere else in the country/world, people would think that this kind of starvation madness is a ridiculous form of self torture. However, in NYC, so many people have tried it, ask around, you'll be surprised. People love the Master Cleanse.

So sweaty.

Awww...aaaahhhhhh!

2006-07-10T11:15:00.000-04:00

I was just reading my daily dose of Wikipedia and did you know that in addition to werewolves, many countries' mythology around the world also includes werefoxes, werelynxes, werecats, and my favorite of them all...

the werebear!

This is my next Halloween costume. I will come to the party normally dressed and at midnight, under the moon, my tummy will become a rainbow...and then I will attack and kill all of the virgins. Yay!

Take My Breath Away

2006-07-06T15:12:00.000-04:00

Last night, I was on the phone with my mother having a normal conversation and she giggled at something and then she paused and said, "I've lost my breath." And then the phone went dead.

What? Mom?

She's thousands of miles away in California and the phone has gone dead. What did she mean she lost her breath? We weren't jogging. Mom?

And thusly, I panic. Will I now, as the oldest, raise my younger brothers...one of whom has yet to get to high school?

Yes, I will.

But wait!!! She may still be alive. Call back, Lang! CALL BACK!!!

I do. The line is busy. I call again. Still busy. And again. Busy, busy, busy.

At what point after your mother says that she has "lost her breath," do you call an ambulance? So, I sat there, potentially motherless, eating a cheese and pepperoni hot pocket, anxiety-ridden, wondering if I should call the Santa Cruz police department.

I should try the house again. Just one more time. If no one picks up, then I call the authorities and buy a red eye ticket to the West Coast.

I call once more...busy. Jesus! Is she literally lying on the floor, where her organic juicer lays in shreds as she had tried to grab something before she went down? Oh, the thought!

As precious seconds passed, I was packing my suitcase, filled with everything including the jelly jar of nickels I had earned on my early morning Brooklyn paper route.

Authorities had yet to be alerted. Call again. BUSY!

Washing my hot pocket dish was the most poignant moment of my life. My mother was dead and now I was the mother of my young brothers. Where would everyone sleep? My Brooklyn apartment was too small. Had she left us any money to get by? Would we all work in the mines? Would I have to sell my hair or the wedding ring that no one has given me?

One last call..."Lang? Heyyyy! Sorry 'bout that."

The thick Southern accent slaps me in the face like an insolent newborn. "You're alive?" I whisper as I heat up another Hot Pocket. "But I thought you lost your breath? The phone? The phone was dead? I thought you too were..."

"Oh no, sweetie, I lawst mah BARRETTE. MAH BARRETTE! And I gayess I leeyunned on the phooone to git it."

Hmm. Well, at least my response time was good.

Metrosexua...idiots

2006-06-30T13:45:00.000-04:00

I bought my little brother some work clothes for his summer internship at a real estate development company -- we just went for the basics straight outta Old Navy. Some khakis, some polos, a belt, some shoes. Done. Suffice it to say, that the clothes were not the cutting edge of style, but they are WORK clothes, for god's sake.

Anyway, apparently, he was walking through SoHo and, like any normal 20 year-old, he was caught gawking at some pretty chica by her boyfriend. But instead of the boyfriend being macho and saying something like, "You better turn your eyeballs the other direction before I karate chop your dick!" (Ha! My idea of macho is clearly retarded).

Anyway, instead of saying something manly, this douchebag, says, "What are you and your high pants looking at?"

High pants? HIGH PANTS? I BOUGHT THOSE DAMN PANTS MISTER AND IF YOU WANT THESE CHEAP ALDO FLATS HIGH UP YO' ASS, YOU'S BETTER KEEP ON WALKING.

What a fruitcake! Where else besides SoHo does a straight man try to diss another man by dissing the cut of the other man's pants?

Anywho, on another note. TONIGHT IS JULIA'S GOING AWAY SHOW!!! It's gonna be great!

Although her heart will technically still be pumping, Jules Langbein, comedian and author of the Bruni Digest, will be moving to Chicago forever this summer, and thus be dead to us. Come see her off at "Bye Bye Julia Langbein, You Nasty Bitch," a comedy variety show and party, hosted by Jules Langbein and Lang Fisher. If you can't make the show, please do come by after—the going away party will continue in Sadie's Lounge next to the main stage upstairs at Mo Pitkins. Bonus points for anyone who tricks Frank Bruni into coming, telling him it's "this really great Indian Buffet." Mo Pitkins is located on Avenue A between 2nd and 3rd street in Manhattan!!!!

I've Finally Done It

2006-06-23T12:00:00.000-04:00

I've finally managed to, a la teen chick comedy, pull out my wallet at a deli and accidentally launch a tampon into the face of the cashier. It was an O.B. so it literally hit him in the head like a little bullet. There's no real smooth way to leave that situation. You just retrieve your tampy from the vegan cookie stack, give the guy a dollar-twenty-five, smile, whisper "sorry," grab your Arizona Ice Tea, and mosey on.

Nasal and Naked

2006-06-19T12:47:00.000-04:00

New York Magazine has an article right now about how Viagra is going to be replaced by a new nasal spray. And, laaaaaaaaaaaadies, this is not just for men, it's for you too!! Get ready allergy sufferers...get ready to be sexy.

Also, please take note of the following description of the wooing act in rats:

The female rat will approach the male head-to-head. She will wiggle her ears, she will wiggle her whiskers, she will nibble at him, and finally she'll turn and run away. If the male chooses not to pursue her, she may return and, as one leading rat sexologist puts it, "kick him in the face."

That is literally how I get my men. I basically kick a man in the face, once a night.

I would love any and all comments on this particular article. Do you guys think that this is a good thing?

What if you could make a sex drug in the shape of a gummy bear? I'm not going to go into how turned on I would be. I will devour a crate of those little smushy critters.

Save the Date!!

2006-06-15T12:06:00.000-04:00

For those of you who are fans of this blog and of The Bruni Digest, please come to a raucous event on JUNE 30th. It is the "going away" comedy show for my good friend Jules Langbein, it should be a hilariously wild time. After the show will be a rager party with music and dancing and making out!! Whoohoo!!

Schoooooooooooool's Out for EVA!

2006-06-14T15:09:00.000-04:00

Last conversation with my young private school tutee:

Me: Hey, you're hair looks great, did you go blonder?

Student: Yeah. Did you?

Me: Yeah.

TONIGHT:

BEST NEW SHOW OF THE SUMMER

2006-06-13T13:44:00.000-04:00

ABC Family has outdone itself. Everyone PLEASE watch Falcon Beach!!!! It is the poor man's O.C. And by "poor man," I mean Canadian. It is Degrassi on a New England shore, where everyone wears fashions from the mid-90s and the drug of choice is E. PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE WATCH. There is a lot of making out and a lot of chunky flip flops.

It's on Mondays at 9/8 Central!!

Sultry Sunder

2006-06-12T12:11:00.000-04:00

You guys, I am so sorry that I have neglected my little blog for a bit now, but it's because I have been visiting my family in Georgia.

Every young person in NYC (aside from those who grew up here) comes from a place that, in comparison, seems lackluster, ordinary, average...but after you've been in NYC for a while, isn't that exactly what you crave? When you are constantly inundated by fabulousness and extraordinary culture and tremendous cuisine and so forth, don't you just want to sit in the middle of nowhere at an everyday outdoor barbecue? Don't you just want to be somewhere where people think that "The Break Up" is an edgy movie? Or a place where the hip people have just started to layer their monochromatic polos popping all three collars up for a rainbow flourish?

I do...and so I went...to Georgia.
Ahh, the southern comfort...and the Southern Comfort.

Basically, what happens when I go to Georgia is that I get to live the life of a 76 year-old socialite with the joints and the energy of a 26 year-old. It's genius. I get to go out for different lunch, tennis, and golf dates, but I have no arthritis. This is the glorious life at my grandmother's house.

One thing that a young, liberal, artsy New Yorker must remember is that if she thought her family's views were a little backward before she went to NYC, then they will be backward, upside down, and inside out after she has lived in the city a little while.

My grandmother arranged for my friend Julia (of the Bruni Digest) and I to take a day trip to our family's ancestral plantation, where my great uncle handed me a coozie of Coors Light and then relayed the details of his pipe dream to move a Mexican family onto the property so that the wife could work in the house and the husband and children could work in the fields. At this, Julia and I blankly stared off into the distance while gulping down our brews, purposefully not making eye contact with the old slave quarters (I kid you not).

The plantation itself is an old farmhouse on 1200 or so acres of fields which used to grow cotton and wheat and other crops but is now mostly devoted to pine trees. My first thought was, "Jesus, so many Christmas trees...is there really this high of a demand?" And then I realized that pine trees can be used for other things besides Christmas...like wood...or paper. Whoops.

The inside of the main house is covered in ornamental taxidermy that ranges from a bobcat leaping, to a snake slithering, to innocent turtles mating. But literally, every inch of the house is smattered with dead, stuffed, action-posed wildlife. Lit-tle creep-ee. This is my great uncle's doing. In addition to showing Julia and me all of his bloody hunting photos, he also showed us one hell of a combover.

Anyway, the rest of the week continued in an equally Southern fashion. My accent returned with a vengeance and I got used to the idea of having a legitimate 5 o'clock cocktail -- not just a snapple half-filled with Georgi vodka, that I took to "Boy Beach" (also called Hudson River Park -- but if you can find a straight man there, I will give you a nickel). We played rounds of tennis and strolled through gardens. It was the most ladylike I have been in ages.

I would say that the only things that I didn't necessarily agree with were:

a) everyone's penchant for littering in the Chattahoochee river ("You done with that beer?Throw it over the boat. Yeah, just into the water.")

and b) everyone's love of the "to go" cup. Even my grandmother insisted that we take our vodka tonics in plastic cups with us in the car. And everyone who came to pick us up or take us anywhere also brought a six pack for us to drink. In fact, by the end of the trip, it felt downright rude not to have an open container in your hand, while we were en route to our next destination.
Oh Georgia...you are my heart and soul and belly.

Office Appropes?

2006-05-30T16:37:00.000-04:00

One of my coworkers has moved all of his toiletries into our unisex bathroom. He has personal air freshener, a toothbrush, toothpaste, Listerine, his own soap, and so on. I think this is so weird. We've all been known to keep some extra clothes in our desk -- I definitely have some deodorant in mine. He also took the cordless phone...the one I always talk on...into the bathroom with him. I Lysolled it.

Inappropes no?

WYSIWYG TONIGHT!

2006-05-23T11:10:00.000-04:00

Tonight, come hear me regale you with my own tales of prom trauma. What's better than hearing how traumatizing prom was for the effing prom queen?

Tuesday, May 23, at 8:00 p.m.
aT the Bowery Poetry CLub
308 Bowery @ Bleecker

Tickets: $7

212.614.0505

Come join the WYSIWYG Talent Show at its brand new home at the Bowery Poetry Club! Doors will open at 7:30 to give you time to grab a drink before the show.
All ages can enter, but you've got to be 21 or older to drink.

Featuring:

The Vandervoorts
www.geocities.com/vandervoorts
(Featuring Mark from everythingbut.org and Yung-En from MisterChen.net (also Dorothy, who doesn't blog but does the awesome web comic CatandGirl.com, and Emma, who doesn't blog at all but is entirely awesome as well!)

Lang Fisher
dirtyoldpromqueen.blogspot.com

Fiffe
www.fiffe.com/diary

Jason Boog
thepublishingspot.com
jasonboogshow.blogspot.com

Nichelle
nichellenewsletter.typepad.com

Jess Hulett
blindcavefish.com

I Am Definitely NOT This Kind of Teacher

2006-05-22T13:58:00.000-04:00

Thanks Liam for this article about a Texas teacher who asked his principal for permission to take a 17 year-old student to prom under the guise that he was a "family friend." Smooooooooooooooooth moooooooooooooooooove, Sean! I mean honestly way to keep your statchy rapey secrey all locked up and then drop the key right into the authorities' Trapper Keeper, you know? And what if he had been crowned king? Scandalous!

Shockingly, the principal, concerned that more might be going on, decided to look into the relationship between the sleazebucket and his lolita...and things had definitely moved past the Whoopi Goldberg - Lauren Hill mentor-mentee relaysh into a Patrick Swayze-Jennifer Grey rebellious, naked, flying, dancing skinpalooza. Grode. Thusly, no corsages, no slow dances to Mary J., no photos, no punch, no crown, no prom for this totally inappropriate couple. Frown.

Don't worry Sean, I'm sure that Jose "Deez Guns" J in cell block six will go with you to the Houston County Jail's Winter Formal. This year, the theme is "Starry Nights and Shiv Fights."

IN OTHER NEWS:

A 10 yr-old girl from my hometown of Pensacola, Florida crashed into a couple of cars and a fire hydrant, when she stole her guardian's SUV. She also apparently threw a toddler and a 5 year-old in the back. It seems like she was playing the ultimate game of house. I wonder if she was pretending to run errands? Here are my top 5 guesses to where this child was driving:

1) Candy Store
2) Toy Store
3) Disney World
4) Fantasia
5) Jiffy Lube

But the most hilarious part of the article was this quote from the Escambia County sheriff's Dept:

She was so little she had to go down and hit the gas and pop her head back up to see where she was going.

Isn't that cayuuuuuuuuute!! That's how my friend Julia drives, too!

I Couldn't Tear Myself Away

2006-05-18T17:07:00.000-04:00

The other night, I decided to stay in and have a night to myself in front of the telly. I ordered in some chinese food, got myself comfy, and started surfing my hundreds of Time Warner channels, pausing briefly on my favorites like Discovery Health and the Food Network. Discovery Health was broadcasting a show about face-eating tumors that I had already seen, while the Food Network was showing Emeril (love Emeril's food, not crazy about the show).

Hence, I moved on, my thumb bouncing lightly on the Channel Down button, until...it stopped. I had found it. The movie of my dreams - and the dreamweaver was Lifetime. The film, if I may be so bold, was your typical Lifetime movie: a story about a young high school girl, who is dating an ultra-popular yet ultra-abusive boy, yet she is so myopic about his popularity and "being in love" that she fails to notice that he beats her all the time and is an insane maniac.

Now, you may all be thinking, "what is wrong with Lang? Why would she enjoy this?" Well, folks, because the abusive boyfriend was Fred Savage and the abused girlfriend was Candace Cameron. Literally, Kevin Arnold was a-beatin' on DJ Tanner. The plot is as follows: takes virginity, tells her he loves her, becomes insanely jealous all the time, is abusive, still manages to be the best athlete on the WRESTLING team, and then, in the end, he kills her when she tries to break up with him, but all as the characters of Kevin Arnold and DJ Tanner (I'm lying).

SO, THIS GUY
+
THIS GIRL

=
SERIOUS VIOLENC...buuuuuut they're sooooo cute -- look at em! Awwww.

Equally as horrible as the subject matter of this movie are the mid-90s outfits. A lot of tapered jeans and oversized flannels. Gots to love that Lifetime though.

I Might Be this Kind of Teacher

2006-05-15T15:44:00.000-04:00

This poor teacher. So, he was curious about how his students would commit murder? Isn't learning all about asking questions? Difficult questions? He must just be in a really conservative school district, because when I assigned to my English class an essay entitled "How would you make love to your English teacher?" parents were thrilled. They said, "Way to be! Way to make em think!" JK.

Fancy shmancy

2006-05-15T14:38:00.000-04:00

My tutoring student's prom is at the Waldorf and she is wearing a Roberto Cavalli dress. Being a NYC kid is so fancy. It is so grown up. I bet they spike their punch with Belvedere instead of Pabst. And Afterprom is probably at Lotus rather than Stickybuns Bowling Alley. Ahh, to be a New York City teenager. And they will never understand the beautiful mediocrity of growing up anywhere else.

Extra! Extra!

2006-05-10T18:28:00.000-04:00

Guess who made her major motion picture debut on Tuesday night? Meeeeeeeee!!!!

Yours truly is going to be starring (as an extra) in the next Hugh Grant/Drew Barrymore movie Musics and Lyrics By. I play the role of Jessica, an ex-commando from the Israeli army and puggle enthusiast. Jessica just recently broke up with her Norwegian fiance, Jherk (pronouced Y-ur-hik), after she found out that he was stealing funds from the Museum of the American Indian. With nowhere to go and nobody to call, Jessica hit the streets and began playing her accordion for nickels. One blustery July afternoon, Fabrique (played by Jon Friedman) a high-powered record exec, who has a tattoo of a penis on his penis, overheard Jessica wailing through the last stanza of "Cold-Hearted Snake" on her accordion and thought to himself, "This is the new sound that I've been looking for!" He signed her immediately and, a week later, they were working on her first single "Irene, the old man with a dream."*

Anywho, keep this backstory in mind when you see Jon and me in the shot at the post-Grammy party. Using this backstory, it will be obvious to you, as you look over Hugh's shoulder to see us conversing at the bar, that this is when Jessica and Fabrique discuss the prospect of Jessica shooting her first music video in the nude (aside from her accordion). Musics and Lyrics By will not be out for a while, maybe a year or so and this shot in the film might be less than a minute, but the struggles that Jessica and Fabrique overcame will thrill audiences until the end of time.

P.S. how many of you have been extras? And how douchey are most of the people who are extras? I have never heard so many stories about dropping out of SUNY schools to pursue modelling. I wish I could drop out of a SUNY to pursue modelling.

* Irene, The Old Man with a Dream

I'm an old man with a dream
I'm an old man named Irene.
I'm 90 and one lung has gangrene.
But I dream and I dream.
About making the Mets Team.
One day I'll meet the queen.
Oh I dream and I dream.

When I get older, I'll be an astronaut.
As your family doctor, I'll wipe your babies snot.
I could be a dancer a-tappity-tap.
Pay no attention to my cancer, a-zippity-zap.

I'm an old man with a dream
I'm an old man named Irene.
I won't give up 'til I've kissed Martin Sheen.
But I dream and I dream.
About singing with Celine,
And driving a truck with ice cream.
Oh I dream and I dream.

Uh Oh

2006-05-08T10:30:00.000-04:00

Has anyone else thought it inappropes that the new Dairy Queen coffee beverage is called a Moolatte? Has there not been one person who, while ordering, has had a moment of hesitation and has worried that he might be offending the young person beside him whose father and mother came from Sweden and Nigeria respectively? Was there not one ad exec who said, "You know, the title of our new hit milk-coffee concoction sounds an awful lot like the baby of a biracial union." No one?

What happens if you order two moolattes and they mishear you and then, lo and behold, sitting on your tray is Aisha and Ashanti Goldenblatt?

That's just going to be awkward for everyone.

You better believe that those Michigan white supremacist groups have noticed, and, let me tell you, they are having none of it. If there's one thing that those gun-toting maniacs understand, it's a conspiracy. And if their local white trash ice cream establishment is mixing dark coffee with white milk to metaphorically teach tolerance, then guess who just declared their allegiance to Baskin-Robbins (where you can still eat your vanilly with the barrel of an AK-47)?

Is that what you are doing Dairy Queen? Teaching tolerance? Celebrating diversity? Professing to the youth of this grand nation that we should all love another in spite of our differences? Well, okay, Dairy Queen!!! Count me in!! Wait, or is it that this is just a hugely retarded oversight on your part?

Stay tuned for Dairy Queen's newest Holland-inspired utra-fruity frozen dessert treat: "The Burly Berry Dykecicle!"

Quick Questions

2006-05-05T14:47:00.000-04:00

1) I just bought those Viactiv multi-vitamin chews. Does that make me a) "noony," because I am taking a chewable daily nutritional suppliment for pre-osteoporotic women, or b) childish, because my multi-vitamin is still candy?2) My accountant told me that because of the bottled water craze, people are starting to get more cavities, because unlike tap water, bottled water is not fluoridated. Is this true or is my accountant stoned? Actually, let me rephrase this, because I know that my accountant is stoned. In fact, he definitely didn't tell me this at all, I overheard him whispering it to the overgrown fern in his office. But what do you guys think? Is bottled water a sham?

3) This question is courtesy of Jules. We were watching Discovery Health last night, my favorite channel, and the commercial came on for the 18-hour bra and Jules said to me, "Why does a bra need a time limit? I'm pretty sure I've worn a bra for at least 48, maybe even 72 hours. It's not like deodorant." What happens to a normal bra at the 18-hour mark? (Be creative with this one)

Squirrel: Update

2006-05-04T17:12:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Undergrounder for a story about Russian killer squirrels.

The Sounds of Screaming

2006-05-04T11:37:00.000-04:00

At approximately 6:30 AM this morning, I heard what I can only describe as blood-curdling screams. Disoriented and drowsy, I looked around my bedroom for my phone, assuming that I would have to call the police, because it sounded as if someone was being stabbed. Right as I found my little Motorola, it occurred to me that the screams didn't sound quite...human?

So, I sat in my bed for a second, listening to these ungodly shrieks, wondering what everyone else in the building was thinking. At this point, it was obvious that the sound was coming from outside near our garbage bins. I had come to the conclusion that it was the squawking of an injured bird...an insanely melodramatic injured bird.

But you know how when you first wake up, your logic is totally skewed? I was convinced for about 5 minutes that I shouldn't look outside because if the bird were a raven or a crow, then it would be a bad omen, and I would certainly be bringing about my own untimely death. Once I broke out of this fatigued voodoo state, I reached for my glasses and climbed to the foot of my bed to peer out of the window. Lo and behold, there was no human screaming, no bird shrieking, no raven, no crow, no monster...the screams were coming from...

A SQUIRREL???? And not just any squirrel...a giant squirrel. This squirrel was the size of a cocker spaniel and it was screaming as it hopped from one trash can to another in search of its food. Who knew squirrels made any sound other than little nut-gnawing squeaks and such? So, if it wasn't injured, was this screaming the squirrel's equivalent to 'Whistle While You Work?' Was it making these godawful noises out of pure joy? Maybe for attention, like Bobcat Goldthwait or Peewee Herman or Delta Burke who vociferate their own particular squeaks, grunts, and whinnies. Whatever the reason, it sounded so unnatural coming from this creature. Not unlike the Simpsons episode with the endangered screaming caterpillar. It was tantamount to having a pet bunny serenade you with a Creed power ballad.

What the hell was wrong with this squirrel? And just then, we made eye contact and the little monster became silent. I was certain it could leap to my second floor window. My friend, Leslie, from high school used to tell this story about how she once threw a milkshake into one of those trash cans with the swinging flap cover, and as the flap swung back out, a squirrel flew out of the can and attached itself to her face. Squirrels are m-effing loco. So, I was quietly thankful for my window screen.

Anywho, shortly after our staring contest, this huge beast of a rodent screamed one last time and jumped over the fence into the Brooklyn wilderness. And with nothing but love in my heart, I marveled at her highness, Mother Nature.

MAX!!!

2006-05-03T12:00:00.000-04:00

Great show tonight!

MAX!!

7:30 at Mo Pitkins!
Ave. A between 2nd and 3rd Streets

Also performing are these hotties:
Katina
Jeff Kreisler
Will McKinley
Lang Fisher
Matt Little
Shawn and Jenny (Characters)
Jessica Kirson

Yahoo!!!!

Saturday, April 29th

2006-05-01T11:24:00.000-04:00

8:30 AM: Wake up and consider in what appropriate attire I will teach.

8:31 AM: Fall back asleep.

9:10 AM: Wake back up, but this time with a start. Freak out because I need to be out the door ASAP so that I am not late for my class.

9:12 AM: Brush teeth, wash face, and put in contacs in one fluid, panicked, propeller motion.

9:15 AM: Appropriate teaching attire, due to my hurried state, becomes mini-skirt, Uggs, oversized sweater, fur vest, driving gloves, beret, side ponytail, fake beauty mark, cape, camouflage bracelet, and feather earrings.

9:18 AM: Get breakfast...or rather a diet coke.

9:20 AM: Small trip as I rush down the stairs to the subway platform. Nobody noticed.

10:00 AM: Class begins.

1:00 PM: Class ends.

1:20 PM: Eye brows get threaded by the nutty Indian woman on the corner, who talks to me about how turning 45 opens up so many possibilities for a woman.

1:22 PM: Hives break out across my forehead from the threading.

1:30 PM: Steal Apricot Scrub from gay boy roommate's superior product shelf in the bathroom to try to exfoliate hives away.

1:35 PM: Idiot!! Hives are much, much worse.

1:36 PM: Move bangs to cover hives.

2:10 PM: Friends come over to watch the last episode of the old school Pride and Prejudice mini-series with none other than the most amazing man alive: Colin Firth. I have a huge girl boner for him.

3:00 PM: Sigh, Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy have finally ended up together.

3:01 PM: Everyone looks at each other. What should we do now?

3:02 PM: We On Demand the new Pride and Prejudice.

3:30 PM: Delivery Indian Food arrives. Yum.

5:00 PM: Sigh, Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy have finally ended up together...again...but this time I think they kissed with tongue.

6:30 PM: Alumni reception for the Varsity Show (annual musical satire about Columbia life in which I performed while I was an undergraduate there) where the guest of honor was Art Garfunkel. Quick aside: Art Garfunkel is a celebrity whose photos were all shot before 1985. I have seen nothing since. So, to my chagrin the man who accepted the alumni award at this reception was not sporting the bright red afro of my dreams, but hardly any hair at all. He was very old. His son, however, might have had an even better red afro than that of Art's glory days.
8:00 PM: Varsity Show. Ahhh memories.

9:30 PM: Intermission??? Holy shit this is a long show. Adorable but so long.

9:34 PM: Still intermission. Was thirsty. And consequently. Michelle and I ended up...ummm..."stealing" is too harsh of a word...borrowing refreshments from...ummm...a uh...orphanage fundraiser that was going on in the same building as the show. Whoops. Hee hee.

9:40 PM: Second half starts.

11:15 PM: The show was 3 HOURS long. Now, off to the old college hangout for margaritas, comraderie, and, if I'm lucky, a roofie in my drink!!

DAWN: dreamtown.

Noony Low

2006-04-25T12:39:00.000-04:00

Today, I have hit a noony low. I'm feeling feminine and emotional and just plain douchey. I am drinking a Fuze Slenderize fruit drink, have been adding Steamy Romance movies to my Netflix queue, and am reading Memoirs of a Geisha and underlining important lines to remember in my own life...as a geisha. I also consequently put on culottes this morning, imbibed a few TrimSpa pills, called all my ex-boyfriends and hung up on them, slapped a woman with a baby and then clutched my own empty womb in tears, dipped my naked body in the office sink which I had filled with self-tanner, won't stop listening to Dido on repeat, gave all of my body hair an Ogilve perm, frenched the Xerox repairman, did the electric slide alone in my office with 39 cent stamps stuck to my cleavage, huffed a dryer sheet, did a freewrite about love, and tried cutting myself just to see how it works.

Tomorrow will be better. Now, it's time to wrap my birth control in bacon, so that I can choke it down.

More for You

2006-04-20T17:01:00.000-04:00

My friend Emily says that there are stirrup pants available at H and M. The world is coming to an end.

Also, a large burly man brought a pet parrot to Prospect Park today with him. He also brought the parrot a little perch to sit on. And the parrot just looked on as this beast of a man did his ab crunches and pec struts and glute flexes. I wish I had a pet or a baby or anything...just to love.

Theeeeey're Baaaaack...God help us all

2006-04-19T13:47:00.000-04:00

I just heard the most horrendous news from the fashonista world...body suits are back. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

I am immediately reminded of the early 90's when I had several that I would wear with tapered black jeans. One of them was a poet shirt...remember those? Remember?!! And I desperately wanted one with the shoulders cut out. Ewwww.

I can't believe that they are back. For those of you who were cryogenically frozen from '88 - '95, the body suit was the love child of the lady's shirt and the leotard. It was invented to give waif-thin models a good tuck in their high-waisted Z. Cavaricci's. For the rest of us though, it only created awkward struggles in the bathroom and an unflattering spare tire effect. Miss Jules sent me a secret camera phone pic of a new one from an unnamed -- but very popular-- designer. Please look. I am appalled.

Oh and it is so BLOUSY!!! God!!! Yuck. Noony, noontown. Louis Vuitton (not the designer of this item, but is also rumored to have a body suit out in his summer line), why? WHY? Why must we have to unbutton our crotch to get to our underwear to use the toilet? What's that? We aren't supposed to wear them with underwear -- GROSS!!! Why don't I just add some shoulder pads, dock martins, and the rest of Bridget Fonda's outfit from Singles?

Or maybe I should just slip into this...

...because the future is inevitable and the body suit is back. And I can't stop it. Ugh. (Soft, slow weeping into a pair of stirrup pants).

The day after Easter and all through the house...

2006-04-17T12:38:00.000-04:00

Happy Easter everyone!!! Yesterday, I really wanted to create a hilarious Easter egg hunt on my friend Brooke's patio, which is Manhattan - or shall I say Chicklet-sized. I seriously wanted to put tiny miniatures of liquor in individual eggs and hide them all over the patio for my friends to find. Buuuuuuut, I had too many mimosas before noon and never made it happen. Too bad. I hope everyone else had a nice Easter.

Also, please check out Michelle's blog for pictures from Passover at the Pitkins. They are preposterous. As Elijah the prophet, I looked like a member of ZZ Top and bought one of those novelty beer helmets, but replaced the beer with wine, and got sooooo bombed on Manneshewitz that I had what Jules calls a Vanessa Huxtable hangover (wearing sunglasses indoors, cringing at any loud noises, and stumbling down stairs, hallways, etc.). I also went on a drunk dialing spree at the end of the night, leaving lovely messages for all those who were appropriately tucked in their beds at 2 AM on a Thursday.

Thanks again, Michelle!!!

TONIGHT: Come see me perform at

Twin Killing
Hosted by Matt Goldich and Chris Jurek
Swift
34 E. 4th Street
(between Lafayette and Bowery)
8:30 pm, FREE

also with

Seth Herzog (host of the show Sweet at the Slipper Room)
Sean O'Connor (VH1)
and Charlie Sanders (from Conan O'Brien and the UCB Theatre)

I'm Not Jewish but...

2006-04-12T17:28:00.000-04:00

Happy Freaking Passover!!!

You guys, I am soooo mother-effing psyched that it is Passover. I'm not Jewish...yet. Moishe where's my ring?!! But I am really excited for two reasons:

#1 Low carb count = skinny jeans for at least a week

That's right folks, I'm observing Passover...any reason to starve myself, any reason at all. Gimme any fasting holiday and I will worship your god(s)

#2 Passover at the Pitkins!!

Bestie Michelle has watched me for years staring through the windows of Jewish families on Passover. She has observed me silently weep as I see the children hunt for the Afikommen; and she has sighed and shaken her head while I mouth the words pathetically to "Dayenu." So, last year, when she caught me attempting to squeeze myself into one of her stylish suitcases so that I could join her at her grandparents sedar, she delicately lifted me out, patted my head, and said, "next year, little one, next year." We sealed this oath in blood and matzah and buried it underground in a Coach bag.

And she has kept her promise, ladies and gents. She has kept her promise. Michelle has so kindly invited me, a little WASP from the South, to participate in this extremely amazing Passover Sedar at Mo Pitkins tomorrow (Thursday, April 13th). I will be playing the part of Elijah the Prophet, which I have been told is like playing the North Star in the Christmas Pageant -- I was only ever asked to play Donkey #2 or Pine Cone #7.

I am filled with the joy of thousands of years of heartbreak and struggle!!! Also performing are NYC's best Jewish comedians -- yes, there are some Jewish comedians in New York.

I won't let you down Passover, I won't let you down.

Sixth Grade Subversion

2006-04-07T17:29:00.000-04:00

My 6th grade student just told me that he ripped up his Presidential Physical Fitness Test certificate for the mile run, because it had President George Bush's signature on it.

More power to you, little brother man.

6th Season Soprofoundos

2006-04-06T11:18:00.000-04:00

This season of the Sopranos -- my favorite show on television -- so far has been awesome, but reeeeeeaaaaallllly existential, right?

Very little wacking...but a whole lot of pontification about "who we are" and "why we're here." After last week's episode, I felt as if I had been through a combo of therapy, philosophy class, and church. When did becoming a wise guy, actually mean becoming wise?

Quick scene count from last Sunday's episode:

Number of scenes where an old cancer-ridden rocket scientist explained Quantum physics to two gunshot-wounded gangstas (Tony and rap artist Da Lux) and their crews: 1

Number of scenes where the same old sage explains that people are not separate entities but that we are all connected as collections of molecules: 2

Number of scenes exploring evangelical Christianity and the validity of evolution: 2

Number of scenes where a key character poignantly confronts himself, his place in the world, his future, and his own death: every single scene, except for...for...nope every single scene

Number of scenes where Paulie cries: 1

Number of scenes where someone's knocked to the ground and beaten: 2...only 2

Number of scenes where a character asked another character to wack or shoot him: 2 -- curiously, once to end someone's life and once to make someone's life better

Number of shots of that creepy Ojibwe saying: 3

Number of scenes where the wind was mentioned in a sort of other-worldly kind of way: 2 (1 in relation to the molecules speech and 1 regarding Native American beliefs)

It's getting deep y'all. It's getting ralll, ralll deep.

If this soul here are a few of my predictions for what we can expect in future episodes:

1) It's revealed that Dr. Melfi is an old Ojibwe prophet, sent from the past to save the future via the mob.

2) The whole crew revamp their infrastructure for the purpose of more positive Feng Shui

3) Dance numbers. Lots of dance numbers. (not a prediction, just a wish)

4) Twice the number of meaningful, heartfelt, prescient looks (not a prediction, a promise)

5) Now that Tony has come out of his coma, he, as the leader of the Northern New Jersey mafia, will in fact reveal the meaning of life...in the finale.

6) Adriana returns as the skimpiest-dressed angel of all time, with lacy wings, to reveal Doomsday whilst chewing Dentyne White.

The Winds of Katrina are No Match for Senior Prom

2006-04-04T14:42:00.000-04:00

In Pass Christian, Mississippi, students don gowns in FEMA trailers and dance 'til dawn next door to the local gas station. It's prom season and ain't no natchal disaster gonna stop it.

Literally, though, this story made me well up.

The only thing that has made me well up more than this story in the last two days is the Lowe's commercial that played all last night during the NCAA basketball championships. The one where the daddy helps his son build a basketball net outside of their house and, then, cut to future where the son takes the net down victoriously after winning the NCAA championships; and then he looks out to the crowd to see his father (the very same father who constructed the hoop outside of their home many years before -- now greying at the temples) gazing at him with pride. I saw it 8 times last night and cried each time. People achieving their dreams. Tears.

Singles Show

2006-04-03T13:51:00.000-04:00

I am doing a show for singles tonight. I haven't told them about Mr. Romance yet...my new boyfriend.

April 3rd at 7pm

The Singles Show

Featuring:

Eric Andre, Denise Bongiovanni,

Ben Chaney, Eric Deskin, Mindy Raf,

Lang Fisher and Drew Wininger

Hosted by Skip Lickdale and Sparkle Montgomery

brought to you by Ron Phoenixville and Mintyfresh: A Family of Sparkling Shows

McGee's Pub

240 West 55th Street, 3rd Floor
www.mcgeespub.com

www.mintyfreshcomedy.com/singles.html
$5 plus 2 dates minimum

Let's Grab a Drink

2006-04-03T10:01:00.000-04:00

Last night, I met up with my childhood bestie at a local tapas and wine bar. We shared a lovely bottle of red and some chorizo (not in the wine -- on a separate plate, silly) and caught up about boys, work, clothes, fascism, and other girly things. Afterwards, I felt pleasantly tipsy and full; and I was ready to go home and watch my Sunday night HBO lineup but then...

...my friend Jules called to say that she and her boyf were hanging out at the bar of a local Italian eatery down the street from my apartment. So, I said that I would meet them for a drink. "I can always 'On Demand' my HBO shows another night, but when can you 'On Demand' good conversation?" I thought to myself. And so, I skipped on over to see my dear friends. Well, as you might imagine, one drink turned into another bottle of red. And we laughed and we chortled and we talked about the weather and about summertime plans and current dictators and friendship. Afterwards, we all embraced and, stumbling slightly, I wrapped myself up in my scarf, ready to go home and curl up with a good magazine before I drifted off into sweet slumber. But then...

...I ran into my old roommate on the street and we caught up for a second, but she had just gotten off work at her restaurant job and she asked me if I wanted to grab a quick drink with her, since she had just had a long day and wanted to relax. "What the heck!" I exclaimed and, to the bartendrix's surpise, I walked right back into the Italian restaurant that I had just left. Another round of red and halfway through a flute of champagne, the two of us were on the verge of tears about career struggles, heartbreak, money problems, the loss of civil liberties for thousands of American citizens, and recent weight gain. Drunk as a skunk, I trudged homeward. But then...

...a homeless man offered me an old boot filled with moonshine, and I didn't want to be rude, so I guzzled it, lit my own fart on fire, and hired a Russian pre-teen hooker. JK, you guys. She was Lithuanian.

Anywho, the point is: catching up gets you fucked up. And now I am barely sitting up at my desk, guzzling Vitamin Water, and waiting for the focus in my left eye to return.

Tonight is the Last "Doody Calls"

2006-03-31T16:20:00.000-05:00

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!

2006-03-30T15:14:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-29T18:59:00.000-05:00

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

iiiiiiis, "Oh yeah he di !"

Mr. Romance

2006-03-28T17:39:00.000-05:00

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?)

2006-03-27T10:51:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-23T13:30:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-23T10:58:00.000-05:00

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!!!

2006-03-22T11:26:00.000-05:00

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?

2006-03-20T13:03:00.000-05:00

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?

2006-03-16T18:28:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-15T14:25:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-14T14:06:00.000-05:00

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!

2006-03-07T11:46:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-06T18:31:00.000-05:00

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?

2006-03-03T14:37:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-02T17:02:00.000-05:00

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.

I'm Going to the Gym

2006-02-28T15:01:00.000-05:00

It's been a full month since I broke my foot and I am about to go back to the gym. I can't run, but I can do the rowing machine and weights - maybe take a pilates class. I'll probably be in a t-shirt, running shorts, and my Uggs -- I am not sure if my bandages will fit in my sneaks -- but honestly, my heart is in desperate need of being used. It hasn't broken 6 beats per hour in weeks. And garsh dangit, I just feel puffy! Gym, here I come.

(tick tock)

So, here I go.

(tickety ticker)

It's so cold outside. I'll go in 4 minutes.

(ticka what?)

I'm eating a Cliff Bar right now. Apricot. That's rugged right? I'm gonna get up at the count of 3. One, two, two and a half, two and three quarters, two and five sixths, two point nine repeating...

(ricky ticky timbo no sar rembo charry barry buchi pip perry pimbo...has fallen into the well!!)

Maybe if I just contract my abs repeatedly, it will count. One, two, hooooooold.
Gonna vom.

(Ticka DOOOOONG)

Tomorrow would probably be better for me. I'll just sleep with my glutes flexed. That'll pay off.

Making a Grown-Up House

2006-02-24T15:02:00.000-05:00

In New York City, it is completely possible for one to live like a college student indefinitely. No one can afford to live alone, so if you are not in some kind of committed relationship,* you must continue to live in the ludicrous land of roommates. And for many people, those roommates are strangers. Strangers who fill your DVD collection with porn or leave a ring of bronzer on your toilet seat or drink your liquor and add water to the bottles to hide the fact that some is missing (hence, making me believe that I have an insanely huge tolerance, and thusly, almost killing me when, at local pubs, I order a quart of Jim Beam and a flexy straw).

It's hard when you go visit your friends elsewhere, who have back yards, pets, and (gasp!) mortgages. I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO OWN ANYTHING HERE!!!

Calm down, Lang.

In NYC, to live in an adult home requires an adult salary, so us struggling artists, teachers, administrative assistants, bankers, and doctors will continue to be stunted in childhood. We will continue to fill our tiny refrigerators with only beer, and unable to cook a normal dinner because our kitchens are too small, we will live off of mac n' cheese. We will use disgusting tapestries as room dividers and serve our futon-seated guests on TV trays. And we will try to feel sexy when we make it to our g-fries and b-fries on lofted bunkbeds.

Ugh. I moved to Brooklyn to be more adult. I was living in a veritable condom wrapper in the West Village. There was no light, I had to lift my bed to close my door, and at 5'4" I felt like a giant, always being able to touch two opposite walls at once. There wasn't even a dead bolt on my door, which is when I realized that I had moved into the renovated broom closet. So, in an attempt to be more adult, save some money, have a little more sunlight, etc., I moved to Brooklyn. Now, I have the opposite problem. My apartment is large, but falling apart more and more each day. I've only met my downstairs neighbors so that I won't feel awkward when the floor gives way beneath me and I land in their baby's crib.

It's just too hard to fix things up...it's so spensy!!! I watch Trading Spaces to figure out how they make such nice things with such a small budget, but there is no way that I am going to sit outside and affix shellacked cabbages to a lampshade. At least not all on my own.

I guess that there are little things that I can do, though. Like move the girl-who-used-to-live-in-my-apartment's hookah out of the middle of the living room...or store my roommate's Play Station underneath the DVD player...or maybe move my "dress up" box away from my bed and into the closet. P.S. this is not a sexy dress up box, it is for my sketch comedy costumes. You guys have such filthy minds! I could also empty the recycle bin so that guests coming over don't think that I've been on a Meryl Streep-style bender. Maybe I could take the sperm-shaped soap-on-a-rope out of the shower. Or perhaps, I could throw away the full-sized merry-go-round in the kitchen and the water slide attached from my window to the garbage shaft in my building.

Baby steps. Ooh, but we did install a doorbell. Heeeeeeey! Ding dong! Here's to being a grown up!!

*I am currently seeking out a serious relationship with anyone -- anyone who can pay rent, that is -- so that I can turn a second bedroom into an office, a dining room, personal gym, black box theater, prison cell. If you want to set me up with someone, I have a few very specific rules: No murderers, but am okay with furries. Clowns are fine, as long as I NEVER see you in your makeup. And I have real weakness for professional athletes who win a lot. Some call it a "type," but I think that I just know what I like.

Twinsies

2006-02-23T17:58:00.000-05:00

When you were in grade school, didn't you just die to have a twin? We even had "Twin Day" at my elementary school because the demand to dress exactly like one's best friend was so high. My elementary school was religious, however, so the kids who actually did dress like twins were immediately accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake.

Oh no!!

Anyway, my good friend, Jon, just informed me of a story where a biracial British couple gave birth to one white twin and one black twin. My mind exploded! I remember growing up in the South, trying to pretend that my best friend and I were twins, but finding it totally unbelievable because her 16th century ancestors were French peasants, whereas mine were English landholders. "No one'll buy it!!!" I'd scream, throwing down my Hypercolor tie-dyed leggings, which had turned icy blue from the heat of my rage.

Can you imagine, though, having a black/white/asian/native american/latin, etc. you??? It would be AWESOME! It would be human Barbie. And I know...they are fraternal twins, so they probably don't have exactly the same features, but let me dream. (And peeps, they look pretty twinish to me).

Anyway, the chances of this happening are 1 in a million. Basically both of their parents are biracial and the chance that they would have fraternal twins is already 1 in a hundred, but to have fraternal twins where the sperm with the black skin genes hangs out with the egg with the black skin genes and then the same for the sperm and egg with the white genes is almost impossible...or at least you'd assume in this day in age. You'd think that maybe everyone could hang out and be friends. That what would matter wouldn't be the color of their skin, but the content of their character. Damn, why are their gametes so racist? It's the 21st century, you know? It's so sad what some sperm think is okay.

But you know what is not impossible: a recording contract for these little princesses.

P.S. I'm gonna sign Becky Yamamoto up as my Asian twin. Ya hear that, Becky?

Give Yourself a Purpose

2006-02-22T14:08:00.000-05:00

Please, everyone stop what you are doing and listen to the "Last of the Mohicans" soundtrack. And then start up what you were doing before, but now with the pounding of a war drum and the urging of the mournful yet determined violin leading you toward a victory like you've never known. I have listened to nothing else today and I feel amazing! Like the captain of a small to moderate-sized tanker. An incredibly sensual and passionate tanker. Ugh, please just follow my lead on this one...it will make your day feel so purposeful.

Please regard the following IM exchange with my friend Emily regarding LOTM.

Me: have just transitioned on my iTunes to the Last of the Mohicans theme song

Me: am unbelievably inspired

Emily: hahaha

Emily: all of my guy friends in highschool claimed the last of the mohicans soundtrack was the ultimate make out/doing it music

Me: If by "doing it" you mean sitting at your desk wondering when you'll have your next bowel movement, then yes, it is perfect for "doing it"

Emily: ewww

Me: sorry

Me: I'm grodes

Emily: haha

A Tribute to My Hero

2006-02-21T14:03:00.000-05:00

LISA FRANK!!

I was just thinking about my psychedelic, unicorn-covered, hallucination-inducing folders/pencils/staplers from Lisa Frank. No grade school girl was without these amazingly trippy accessories and the only item more coveted was a little lady's Caboodle. Anyway, I got to wondering about ol' Lisa. And so I googled her and found out that she's still up to her old tricks, but also has the most magical and inspirational website for girls.

Not only does she advertise her whimsical, rainbowy products on the site, she also extends a day-glo glove-covered hand to mentor these tweens. She has articles on eating disorders, getting good grades, the environment, not to mention my favorite topic: "A Girls Dreams."The whole site rendered me so inspired that I bought myself an Ovaltine and started a chain letter.

Here's what the chain letter said:

Dear You, You have been selected to be the luckiest bastard in all of school. Listen carefully, copy this letter and add your smallest eyelash to the envelope, then send it to 43 other people telling each to add their own eyelash. When the envelope contains 3 million eyelashes, you will receive 1 million dollars. The million dollars will be left in a treasure chest in an unmarked location, which will be disclosed to you via telegram. Good luck! P.S. If you don't do it, you'll never get a car when you turn 16. Your parents will laugh in your face.

Oh! Also, on the Lisa Frank website, was a button that said "Gang." And it shows all of her characters and facts about them. It is so cute. Below is my favorite: "Rainbow Chaser!"

Hey Little Guy

2006-02-17T17:20:00.000-05:00

My sock has completely fallen off of my foot and is just floating around in my Ugg. Doesn't my stupid sock know it's job? What a freeloader!

He's like that guy who carpooled with you in high school and left nasty Wendy's wrappers in between your seats and always dragged leaves and branches inside. And he would always piss in the cupholders and steal my lipsticks and then make out with my windshield. That's what you are sock!! You're that guy!

Combustion Chamber

2006-02-16T13:29:00.000-05:00

Today, I had the distinct honor of being called "Quote of the Week" by fellow blogger Nacho Intolerant. Thanks, Nachito (pet name). But not only did I get to be "Quote of the Week," I got to choose the word that next week's "Quote of the Week" must contain, as Nacho searches through various blogs to find each precious quote.

So, being a lover of chance (talk to the blackjack dealer at Mohigan Sun about how I wagered $1000...that I could guzzle an entire slurpee in under 30 seconds without getting a brain freeze), I grabbed my 8 million page Webster's Collegiate Dictionary. And with my arm trembling under its heft, I threw open the pages, closed my eyes tightly, said a prayer to an unknown god, and placed my tender pointer finger right next to the word: "combustion chamber." Whoops. Is there anyone out there who is blogging about combustion chambers? Anyone? Todd? Randall? Valentina? Are you guys...no? Not at all? Okay, just checking.

I was supposed to choose the word and place it in Nacho's comments. I deliberated about choosing a different word, but that just seems like cheating. Hence, below is the comment that I left poor Nacho and next week's Quote of the Week will apparently have to contain an unreasonably unusable word.

Lang said...

Yay! Thanks for letting me be quote of the week!! I am obviously super honored. I have decided that the word for next week's quote of the week should be...(I am opening up my yuge dictionary and randomly landing on a word) "combustion chamber?" Okay, I landed on "combustion chamber." So, I guess you have your choice of "combustion" or "chamber" or both. Sorry, I have no idea what this will yield. Good luck! Love your blog. Hope my word doesn't ruin anything.

xoxo,
Lang (the dirty old prom queen)

I wish I were more helpful.

P.S. MySpace?

2006-02-15T14:43:00.000-05:00

Hey how's it going? Ummm, you look really good tonight. So, uhhh, I joined MySpace. Funny huh? Umm, so if you wanna be friends...you don't have to...but if you wanna. If you're free..go to MySpace...and you know, we'll see how things go. No presh. I guess I'll see you around.

On My Way to Work Today

2006-02-15T10:10:00.000-05:00

I found myself wondering, "where do domesticated cows come from?" (Not even joking, I was totally fixated on this thought). "I know that there are wild horses and wild goats and wild turkeys, but are there or were there wild cows. Was there a time when herds of wild bulls and heifers just galloped across the Great Plains and played on the beaches of the Rio Grande? Was there a time when the mighty cow was hunted by leopard and grizzly alike? But nuzzled with fellow comrades, the zebra and cockatoo? I mean, I know there are yaks, but what about wild cows?"

As I imagined a lone dairy cow perched atop a mighty snowcapped peak, another question passed through the vacuous caverns of my brain: "Am I autistic? Am I mentally 'weaker' than normal? Would someone tell me if I was? Does everyone know that I'm mildly retarded and no one wants to say anything? No, really, you guys just tell me...I can take it. "

Excerpted from My Student's Practice SAT Essay

2006-02-14T14:59:00.000-05:00

Folks, can I quote something from one of my kids practice SAT essays? Okay, the essay is about why people change

"Many people change everyday, some change is extreme and some changes aren't really noticeable, but change is all around us."

okay so far so good

"People change everyday, I have changed dramatically so that I could live a better life."

Intrigued. Where is he going with this?

"I quit smoking cigarettes so that I could have a better chance to get with the girl of my dreams."

What??? Noooooooooooooooooooo!

Newsflash: Kids, don't talk about your cigarette addiction or "getting with" a hot girl in your SAT essay.

Here's my impression of this kid's college essay.

"So, I was hanging at Binaca's house and her parents weren't home and you know, I scored this E from a friend of a friend of Tony's. Anyway, I gave her a pill and said, "let's take our shirts off" and she said, "only if you go to college." So, like I feel like I would be a good match for your institution, because all the fly honeys be lovin' up in this shit."

I Coulda Been a Contender

2006-02-13T12:13:00.000-05:00

Thank GOD! IT'S OLYMPIC TIME!!!! It's time for me to sit on my couch for endless hours at a time, eat fried wontons, and watch the world's greatest athletes perform feats of incredible talent, endurance, and strength. It's time for me to well up with tears at the slightest hint of the somber yet inspirational Olympic overture; and then to weep uncontrollably at the countless stories of struggle and dedication, while I bathe myself in orange soda and Pizza Hut popper pizzas. It's time for me to not leave my pajamas, sob incessantly, feel uncoordinated, wish to god I'd just die, and gain 50 lbs. Folks, it's the greatest time of the year!! It's the Olympics!!!!!! Yahoo!!!!

And what about those opening ceremonies? Weren't they something special? My roommate and I just kept saying aloud, "those crazy Italians!" and "Well, isn't that Euro!" and "I once made out with a guy on rollerblades whose head was on fire."
"You did? Me too!"
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"What a coinky dink!"
"Wait, was his name Darren?"
"Darren Samuelson?"
"Oh my..."
"GOD!"
"You slut!"
"You're the slut, slut!"
"I never want to see you again! I'm moving out!"
"Go then, bitch...hey, that's my Cream album...wait, let's not fight."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too. You're my best friend."
"No, you're mine."
"Stupid Darren."
"You said it, Sister." (hugs and tears + more hugs and tears + one pirouette)

(For those of you who didn't watch the opening ceremonies, there were guys on rollerblades with flames of passion flying out of their helmets).

Ooh, but I did get so choked up when the torch was lit. It always gets me every Olympics. As such a unifying moment, when nations embrace over one huge exploding inferno of peace, I can't help it...I feel one with the world.

(Everyone should know that, while I write this, Foreigner's "I Wanna Know What Love Is" is playing so hard on my iTunes. Imagine it while you read.)

Aside from love and brotherhood, I think another sentiment that is shared among all of the millions of Olympic viewers around the world is the sense of "I could've done that...If I had tried. Damn, if only I had committed myself to a sport and not to being mediocre." It's the same feeling that theatergoers have when they see "Stomp." Literally, go stand outside the "Stomp" theater and watch people come out. Everyone is banging their rolled-up programs on poles, trash cans, their children, other people's children, orphans, baby dolls, baby dolls' children, orphan dolls, etc. Everyone thinks that with a gently-used North Face parka and maybe a half-mile jog through the mall twice a week, that they would be the next Bode Miller.

That thought then seamlessly evolves into another thought which is, "If I had committed to a sport, in what sport would I have most likely achieved Olympian status." Now, my brother made it to the Junior Olympics and the World Championships in kayaking. Had he given up college for a lucrative career as a pro kayaker, he would've certainly continued on to Sydney and Athens. He's decided instead to become a professor of geology...ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, what a perve! It does bring up the fact though that the less popular sports are probably easier to excel at since there is less competition.

After using my TI-82, a protractor, some gunpowder, a few pebbles, arsenic, and the rind of an old Serbian peasant's melon, I have deducted that once again I really think that I could go to the Olympics in table tennis. I have a dynamite serve (as well as attitude). Archery is my second choice. Back to table tennis. I've been training for this my whole liiiiiiife!! Every time I find myself sporting a new Taz tattoo, soaked in burbon at 3 AM on the floor of Zeta Phi Beta Lambda, where do I crawl? Right over to the beer pong table. That's where I fashion a paddle made out of my own hand and begin to practice against a cup. I've never lost. And if you think that empty cup is letting me win...think again.

The other alternative is to play for a country where you are the only athlete in that sport. Has everyone heard of Grandma Luge? The only athlete in the Winter Games from The U.S. Virgin Islands and the only over-50 athlete to ever compete in the Winter Games. Does Turkmenistan have a rhythmic gymnastics team? They do now.

Doody Calls

2006-02-09T23:32:00.000-05:00

THE WIENER PHILHARMONIC (JENNY, GABE, TOBY, MIKE, LANG, and JULIA)

I know I mentioned it before but if you are in the NYC area, please come see "Doody Calls"

MY SKETCH GROUP, THE WIENER PHILHARMONIC, ALONG WITH JON FRIEDMAN OF THE REJECTION SHOW ARE PUTTING ON THIS HILARIOUS SHOW AT THE PIT EVERY FRIDAY IN FEBRUARY AT 8PM.

Just to get a taste of our work, watch the following videos.

Also, I was sharing this with a friend over email, but then I thought I would share an amazing teaching moment I had yesterday with you all. You know, because it cracked me up.

student: Ugh! When am I ever going to use the quadratic formula in my life?!

Lang: Well Emily, maybe you'll find yourself trapped in an ancient cave, where the only way out is through a secret doorway that can only be opened by solving a quadratic. Think how proud you'll be when you save yourself and the rest of your team.

student: (silence)

Wheelchairs of Fire

2006-02-07T16:54:00.000-05:00

I know that I am being a little lax about posting, but my broken foot has made me lazier than a dead raccoon on a shoreman's ass during a heat wave in Tuscaloosa. I'm getting better. Today, I showered. I also replaced my big shoe with an Ugg. Yes, the broken foot is now being supported by the finest sheep hide, courtesy of that criminal-laden island down under. Oh GOD, Australia has so many criminals!!! So...many...toned, burly, diamond-abbed, sun-soaked, shark-biting, gator-frenching, koala-punching, roo-birthing criminals!

Regardless, they make a damn good orthopedic shoe for this soft, weak, martini-guzzling, hoagie-humping, gigolo-paying, pillow-assed invalid.

It would seem that when one loses the use of her foot, her immediate reaction might be to be grateful for the use of her other foot, or for not being paralyzed, or for not being blind...but mostly, I've just been cussing out my bad foot. Mostly, I just say things to it like: "You're weak! Your brother would never do this to me!" or "A prosthetic is twice the foot that you are. A plastic fucking prosthetic!! Do you hear me? You know what? Ha! A TACO IS TWICE THE FOOT YOU ARE!! Don't turn away from me when I talk to you? Don't you dare hide in that slipper."

Also, not only do I more readily notice other cripples in the subway and on the street, but I've become much more competitive with them. I'm sickly jealous of the kids with those tasty sweet aluminum crutches.

Occasionally, I see an old lady with a cane that's nicer than mine and I blast by her on the escalator, as if to say, "I don't even need this thing. It's decorative. My homeless cane is an accessory. Like a belly chain. This is just a big wooden belly chain...that prevents me from tipping over onto the train tracks." Yesterday, I basically ran by an elderly man, who was using a combination of a cane in one hand and a crutch in the other, even though the pain was equivalent to a pair of jumper cables on my clit. I guess I'm just determined to out-cripple the other handicappies. And that's when it came to me...the Special Olympics. If I have a slightly fractured foot, which will most certainly be healed in a few weeks, could I potentially enter myself in the table tennis competition of the Special Olympics? What do you think?

ALSO SHOW UPDATE!! IF YOU ARE IN THE NEW YORK CITY AREA, PLEASE COME SEE "DOODY CALLS." MY SKETCH GROUP, THE WIENER PHILHARMONIC, ALONG WITH JON FRIEDMAN OF THE REJECTION SHOW ARE PUTTING ON THIS HILARIOUS SHOW AT THE PIT EVERY FRIDAY THIS MONTH AT 8PM. COME ON OUT!! IT'LL BE DOODYFUL!!

Neverending Sick Day

2006-02-01T17:10:00.000-05:00

So, since I have this achy-breaky fart...I mean foot, I have been living the life of a sick grade schooler in paradise. I sit in my pajamas and eat fudge and watch Oprah (and cry). I have also watched all of Seasons 2 and 3 of the Sopranos. And I take cabs everywhere I go. And in New York, you can really have anything delivered.

Maybe, I am being a little indulgent, but honestly, I can't really do anything else. I can't walk.

I started to feel a little guilty today, so I tried to be a bit more productive. I did at least four double-crunch (where you lift your legs and arms) situps on my floor, but cracked up too hard when I saw my big orthopedic shoe coming towards me.

Being the responsible chickadee that I am, I came into work today (in a cab) and tutored one of my favorite pupils. I forgot to, however, turn off my iTunes, which were playing really loudly in my office. Mid-graphing problem, the Neverending Story theme song starts to blare out really loudly (I've definitely mentioned my love for this movie, but also, I have an even deeper love for this song -- NYC peeps, you can play it on the jukebox at Cheap Shots on 9th and 1st). I freaked, but my broken foot kept me from getting up to turn off my music. Scared of being caught with creepy fantasy music in my collection, I just started to talk really loudly and heatedly about decimals. I'm sure it sounded to this kid like decimals had beaten and raped me as a child... Oh my god, you guys, decimals are so cute. Look at this: . Look at him! . Hi there little fella! .

Sorry, sidetracked. I am not alone, though. Everyone has those songs on their mp3s that they can't explain and never want anyone to find out about. It never occurred to me, however, that this kid wasn't even alive when the movie came out and would in no way ever recognize the theme song to it. Anyone, want to tell me what their embarrassing mp3 is? What about you decimal?

. "I can't get enough of Soundgarden. Anything Soundgarden! That's my little secret."

Brokefoot Langhorne

2006-01-31T17:09:00.000-05:00

You guys!! After all of your help, I decided to scrap your ideas and choose two of the sexiest, most provocative, most fashion forward accessories to spice up my birthday ensemble:

a cane and...

a big shoe.

Why? Maybe because combined, these two elements are more flattering than control-top panties? Or maybe, because while I was drunk as a skunk at my own birthday party, I managed to roll out of my heels and fracture my foot. That's right folks, yours truly managed to break her foot at her own birthday bash. Needless to say, I had had enough cocktails to dull the pain so that it wasn't until the next day when I realized that I couldn't walk.

And when the sun rose on that day and my foot looked at me all fat and black, I just laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed...until I cried. I will always remember this as the birthday that made me a cripple.

My Birthday Outfit

2006-01-24T14:14:00.000-05:00

I don't know what to wear to my birthday party this weekend. So far, my friend Michelle has suggested that I wear the following doll clogs.

If you have any suggestions please let me know. I'm at a loss.

UPDATE: John has helped come up with another addition to my birthday outfit. This hat:

Keep 'em coming people... I need an outfit. Girl needs to look goooooood.

UPDATE: Thank you Karen, for helping me get snuggly on the big day.

Emosions

2006-01-24T13:41:00.000-05:00

If you play any Curtis Mayfield song, regardless of what you are doing, you will feel like a pimp. I am currently making a cup of soup, and, baby, there has never been a sexier soup than this split pea funk. It is STEAMY!!! It is made of peas!! Damn sexy peas!! And a little bit o' ham. Grrrrrl, ham! Have you ever had ham? No? It is sexy!

Contrarily, if you want to feel like everything is at stake -- like your daily pointless tasks will save the world, play one of the following CDs: Evanescence, The Last of the Mohicans soundtrack, or Enigma.

And if you just want to noon it up and feel like a lady, drop yourself in a bath tub, because there is only one song to play: "Rosanna" by Toto.

Gas Leak

2006-01-20T15:27:00.000-05:00

So, you know when you make a farting noise, but you didn't actually toot, and you can never recreate the noise to prove to everyone that it was indeed not you who dropped a taint ripper? Today, that happened to me, but not with tooting, with an actual natural gas leak...like the kind that comes from your stove and the kind that you are pretty sure can end your life immediately if some leggy blonde walks in and lights a Virginia Slims.

Anywho, so all of a sudden, while diligently wasting worktime writing to all of my friends on IM, a coworker comes into my office to ask if he can pick me up anything from the outside world. Before I can answer, his face screws up and he says, "I smell a lot of gas back here." I, of course, am incredibly embarrassed.

And I say, "What? I didn't! I mean, I don't smell any..." and then I realized that my entire office is saturated in gas fumes and that my hands and feet are tingling and that my brain has a separate heartbeat from my own. Not to mention, I happened to be sitting in the lap of a magical six-eyed walrus named Arturo and the band Yellowcard was having rehearsal in the tiny pocket of my pocket tee. Soooooo stoned.

Of course, like the hero I am, I grabbed my bag and ran directly out of the office without stopping to make sure no one was left behind. And then I did what any rational human being would do with a gas leak, I called 911. Having never called 911 before, let me just say that the operators there, who are obviously trained to remain incredibly calm during highly stressful situations, have a demeanor smoother than Barry White.

Sure, if I were screaming about being trapped in a burning fire, then it would help to have someone act very calm on the other line; but when you have been huffing fumes for hours on end and you are really mellow/ borderline dead just sitting in the sunshine on a beautiful January day, then your convo with the 911 guy sounds a little like this:

911: 911 what's your emergency?

Lang: What? Oh...hi, how are you? Umm, so I think that there's a gas leeeeeeeeeak in my house?

911: Okay, well where is your house?

Lang: It's actually my office. Not my house. I live about a mile away.

911: Cool, I live close to my office, also. It's convenient. Soooo, where is your office?

Lang: Oh, a really nice area. Yeah, I mean, I was just working and then all of a sudden, we were all like, "Is that gas?" "Gas!" You know? And so I called you. Was that wrong? Should I have called someone else? Am I bothering you?

911: No, it's cool, I'm just gonna get the deets on your office and I'll send someone right over to check that place out. Is that alright?

Lang: I guess so. I mean, I've never done this before. I'm a little nervous.

911: Just relax and let daddy take care of you.

So, shortly thereafter, the police come and I'm just sitting outside waiting and making out with the neighbor's dog. He checks the office out and doesn't smell A THING. And then the arrogant bastard forces us to smell the stove, so that we can all learn what gas smells like. I was furious, because I was literally blind in one eye and eating a whole large meatlover's pizza. I didn't get so fucked up by making an excel spreadsheet. He left and told us that someone was probably just chopping up wood and that we smelled the saw. EXCUSE ME???? A saw? Chopping wood? NOBODY CHOPS WOOD IN BROOKLYN!! Except maple addicts looking for a syrup fix.

Finally, though, the firemen came. Those dreamy...MANLY men came marching into the office with their equipment...and OOOOH GURRRRRRRRRL, did they have some equipment!! And do you know what their equipment said? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT SAID? It said, "Yes ma'am there's a gas leak!! That ol' policeman was wrong! You may be drooling all over yourself and you may have just called yourself on your own cell phone, but you did it BECAUSE THERE'S A LEAK!!!"

Justice was served. Now, I'm just wasted, waiting for my 11 yr-old student to come learn some math. Math might be art time today. Math might be fingerpainting, my friends.

P.S. though, my favorite joke since this happened is this on IM with my friends:

Lang: OMG. There is a gas leak in my office. The fumes are overwhelming.

Friend: Oh God! Leave! Are you okay?

Lang: I Think I'm

Lang: Gonna

Lang: Pass

Lang: ...

Lang: Out

Lang: pheohwertw;riyhe/tiyh/3o4th34pt;.p34ju

That was to simulate my face hitting the keyboard

Friend: LANG??

Lang: (silence)

Friend: LANG???

Lang: What? Who's there?

At Night with the Two Cutest

2006-01-20T14:57:00.000-05:00

Hey! Anyone in the NYC area, come see the new Monday show at Rififi (321 e 11th st, between 1st and 2nd), At Night with Gabe and Jenny! The two cutest kids ever are doing a morning talk show at night every Monday at 8 PM. If you come to the one this Monday, you can see me perform along with Matt Goldich, Bobby Tisdale, and Greg Johnson. YAY!

Actual Physics Lesson

2006-01-19T14:12:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, I tutored some adorably trendy high school girls for their physics midterm. I sat between them and their matching laptops and we all three had our jeans tucked inside our boots. It was sooooo cute. Here is an excerpt from our lesson:

Lang: Okay, guys so here's a question: what's the difference between mass and weight?

(silence)

Lang: Well, okay, what is weight?

Girl 1: Like...how much you weigh?

Girl 2: How you react with gravity?

Lang: Gravity! Right. So weight has to do with gravity. So, if you're on the moon, your weight is different, because the gravity on the moon is different, but is your mass different?

Girl 1: No?

Lang: No! Right! Why?

(silence)

Lang: Ooooohkay. Because mass is all about how much stuff you are made up of, right? Your matter. Like how many atoms are inside of you...

Girl 2: Adams?

Girl 1: Ewwww...

Lang: Ewwww...

All: Ewwwww...

Lang: No ahh-TOMS.

Girl 1: Oh sure. Atoms.

All: (giggle)

Lang: Yeah, so just remember that weight can change, but mass can't. You know ladies, even at higher altitudes gravity affects you differently, so you can weigh less.

Girl 2: Really?

Lang: You might weigh slightly less on the top of a mountain. (pause) You guys, you would be soooooo skinny on the top of a mountain.

All: (giggle)

Dirty Old Prom Queen

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BEST NEW SHOW OF THE SUMMER

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Office Appropes?

WYSIWYG TONIGHT!

Tuesday, May 23, at 8:00 p.m.aT the Bowery Poetry CLub 308 Bowery @ Bleecker

Tickets: $7

Featuring:

I Am Definitely NOT This Kind of Teacher

I Couldn't Tear Myself Away

I Might Be this Kind of Teacher

Fancy shmancy

Extra! Extra!

Uh Oh

Quick Questions

Squirrel: Update

The Sounds of Screaming

MAX!!!

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Noony Low

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A Prom Dress Fashion Show, You Say?

Tuesday, May 23, at 8:00 p.m.
aT the Bowery Poetry CLub
308 Bowery @ Bleecker