So, I guess if you’re going to be a blogger, you should do it more than three times, right? I swear, I’ve been writing for the last week, but the weather got nice and I really wanted to sit on a patio. You can’t write on your computer outside, because the reflection from the sun will make it impossible to see your screen. That, and the lack of electrical outlets. I did write in my journal, though, while enjoying sunshine and pints of Keiths. I can honestly tell you the shows ROCKED- amazing crowds. As the other comic (yes, the dude I once bing banged) put it, “It was like the Apollo, without the black people.” Oh, and in case your wondering, no, nothing kinky happened on the road. The only thing I cheat on is my vegetarianism. (I did go for Lobster- I couldn’t resist. And let me tell you, it took FOREVER to get the smell of it off my hands. The plus side? I enjoyed going up to guys asking them to “smell my fingers.”)
I meant to file all my Halifax stories over to this blog, but right now I’m too stressed. I’m about to do a show I don’t want to do. A show I KNOW I should have said “NO” to. I’m such a sucker. And now I’m terrified. Ugh.
A regular of mine(at my bar job) is in a band. I’ve been supportive, and seen them play. I appreciate all artists, whether they’re actors, singers, painters, etc. He’s seen my show too. Before I left for the Maritimes(Oh, ya-I’m back in Toronto now,) he asked me for a favour. He’s doing a fundraiser show amongst some other bands and was wondering if I would do the show too. I explained I was going to the Maritimes to do a tour, so probably not.
“When do you get back?” He says.
“When’s the show?” I say.
“April 15th.” He says.
“I think I’m still away.” I say.
“For sure? Can you double check?”
Fuck. I’m such a bad liar. I agree to get back to him, knowing in my stomach I don’t want to do it. Don’t ask me how I know… I just know. I avoid him for as long as I can. Then, one morning as I’m leaving the gym, he spots me on the street(see-going to the gym is not always good for you.)
“Hey, you haven’t go back to me. Can you do the show?”
Ugh… endorphins. All that Pink blasting on my ipod made me run for a long time, and now I feel feel good.
“Sure, I can do it.”
He’s super excited, and says he’ll email me the details. It takes about a half hour for my workout high to fade. Why did I just say “yes?” Fuck. Don’t think about it now. Think about it later.
Now is later. My first morning back in Toronto he came into my bar.
“You still set to do my show?”
Should I claim I got amnesia? Use the new beer special at work as an excuse that I can’t get Thursday nights off work anymore? Cry?
“Yep, can’t wait.”
Great, now I’m a good liar.
He smiles. As he walks away from the bar, he has one more uplifting remark.
“Oh ya, and I forgot to tell you. It’s all ages. So it has to be squeaky clean.”
All ages? All ages!!! You’ve seen my act! I talk about vibrators and end on a blow job joke. And now you’re telling me I have to go write five new minutes on Hannah Montana and the Suite Life of Zack and Cody? That’s like telling a stripper to keep her clothes on half way through Mambo #5. Why did I agree to this? There’s no money involved. My self esteem is at stake here, people. Yesterday, I got another email from him. In it he writes,
“Don’t forget to keep it clean because the Secretary of Cabinet and other High Level government officials and teenaged kids will be there. See you tomorrow.”
Fuck. Who’s the Secretary of Cabinet? High Level government officials? I haven’t filed my taxes in two years. Though to be fair, I bet the teenaged kids will be bigger perverts than I am.
Fuck. Fuck, I should probably practice not swearing for the rest of the night. I better go now. Must surrender myself to humiliation. Ugh.
fuck, shit, fuck, shit,
ps I swear I’m going to file taxes this year.
pps If this blog seemed all over the place, it’s cuz I was just drinking with my friend who is ten years younger than me. I don’t know if she’s my enabler, or my muse. Either way, I like her.