Check out my latest comedy column:
Check out my latest comedy column:
Everything feels a million times magnified when you come out of a breakup. You start noticing your friends are all in relationships, a million new engagements pop up on facebook, here comes the babies, and lets not forget you’ll no … Continue reading
Jesus Herbie Christ, Mary and Joseph. What in the heck kinda rubbish did I publish? I just looked at my last blog, and it just had a random sentence that trailed off it at the end. What in the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. I was hurt. I was crying loads. I was devastated.
I spent the weekend after my first date since the ‘break-up’ in a haze. I don’t want to date anyone else. I don’t like this feeling of even thinking about being intimate with someone else. How do I ‘move’ on? How do I pull an Elizabeth Gilbert and let go of ‘us’? Send him light and love? Fuck that. I want to punch him in the face, because I haven’t been sleeping thanks to the crappy fucking pillows I let him convince me we needed for the bed.
Do other people have these kinds of problems when it comes to break-ups?
Yeah, her name is Taylor Swift. She has a hella-hot new boyfriend, so there’s hope for me yet. Or not…because this is the kind of messages I’m getting on the dating app now:
My response was sincerely: Are you fucking kidding me?
Why do men think it’s okay to speak to women like that? I mean, I get it. It’s the internet, but still. Unless you’ve bought me a three day weekend in Barcelona, get your penis away from my golden vagina.
He blocked me shortly after, but not before my excellent screen shot skills came into play. That’s when I realized I was missing laughter in my life. No wonder my writing, my general mood, and all that is around me was becoming more and more complacent. I wasn’t laughing through it like I normally do!
Thanks to the Supreme Court, I’ve come to the conclusion:
I’ve never really been a relationship person. I don’t let people in. That’s what hurts so much about this particular break-up. This guy knew all of those things and chose to take me to a place that I have never been, then mysteriously disappeared like mother f’ing Batman. On the plus side, maybe I was dating Batman.
This week my friends have really come through for me, because they know that I don’t do ‘love’ or let people in like that, with words of encouragement and copious amounts of wine.
I’ve stuck myself back into my career, and well you gotta have a hardcore vagina and a boat load of strength to be a female writer, comedian, and general bad-ass. *see Creative Writing below
No more winging about, like a heart-broken lunatic. I was so down in the dumps that I couldn’t see my strengths. I’m not gonna heal overnight. There was even a moment I told the ex that there was no God, and boy did ‘The Big Guy’ knock me down a notch. My whole world came to a halt. This relationship wasn’t a test of my strength. It was a test of my relationship with ‘The Big Guy’. I lost faith in everything including myself. But in the end, we patched things up. I figured it out when God made it abundantly clear:
It’s not my fault some guy hasn’t realized this about me yet:
And until I meet Mr. Right, I’m gonna keep writing the way I want to write, with the kind of comedy I want to put in, no matter who it offends. Because this is about me, not ‘you’.
And yeah, there will be days that I see things like this outside my house:
And my heart smiles thinking of all the reasons I loved this one man, and why this is so special to him.
And with that…I’m getting my sassy groove back. Because it’s gonna be alright.
“I’m just gonna shake it off!” *commence half-naked pants dancing in the living room, and yes my giant bay window faces the very public street.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
This was supposed to be the ‘Summer of Fun’. Instead it has been the Summer of Suck.
‘One thing after another’ has been the theme of the week. Someone kindly reminded me yesterday that my writing was sucking, too. *that comma is there to annoy him. 🙂
I lost sight of who I am. What I want. My drive, my focus, my passion. So, God hit the reset button.
I was fighting ambiguous loss. I lost, the one person, the most important person in my life. I read an article in Elite Daily today, and it all started to make sense. We have to be able to learn from everything, especially the bad stuff. The stuff we don’t want to happen. Things we have no control over. “You don’t need someone who understands you, just someone who wants you,” Paul Hudson says in Dating. He goes on to say,
“If you want to find the right person to spend your life with, then find someone who recognizes you as being important enough to fight for.”
That’s it. When do we convince ourselves to let go of something that was important, and move on? Remember my three day rule from Hope You Have An Amazing Birthday…And Get Raped By a Bear? That didn’t apply here. I fought. I fought hard. With blogs, love letters, texts, calls, and an mp3 file via email. LOL. In the end I wasn’t important enough to fight for.
I know. That is a hard thing to admit, but you have to treat people who walk out of your life like the dead ones. You mourn them just like someone who commits suicide because there are no answers. The sooner you quit torturing yourself for them, the faster you can begin to heal. And how does this Sassy Lil’ Biscuit heal? With a new writing gig involving dating–and sex toys! Shit yeah. So, it’s back to online dating. “Hey Girl, looking for something serious?”
Also, it’s back to writing that second book…
A journey of self-discovery, self-healing, learning how to live, and I mean really live. I’d Rather Die Than Eat Thai is a book about ambiguous loss, and how to pull yourself out of self-loathing. I thought this book would end with a true love story, but I’m not Elizabeth Gilbert. Then again, maybe I should be:
I woke up today realizing that I haven’t eat in three days. I’ve been so depressed I just fucking forgot to eat. And I forgot to fucking curse. I forgot who I was…I forgot to moisturize. I can’t get saggy skin. OR bags under my very pretty eyes. I’m single.
So, I’m gonna eat some mother fucking pizza today. Screw weight loss.
I also have a date tonight. No doubt you’ll hear about it soon. Just because someone walks out of your life doesn’t mean that you have to quit living. If they don’t want you, you need to surround yourself with people who do.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
I have been a non-blogging machine lately. Sorry guys. What? I’ve been in Italy working on my next film. Woo! The sun was bright, the fruit was in full bloom, and the air was refreshing…
While I was on a very strict production schedule, scouting locations, wining & dining, and meeting people in the Italian film industry, I couldn’t help but think of what happened the night before I left England. The man who has ‘wrecked’ me in the last few blogs came back from France. We talked privately about what had happened between us. He simply admitted that I scared him, then he kissed me. Twice. He told me to have a brilliant time in Italy, and that he’d be there when I got back.
He didn’t speak to me the entire time I was gone. I went through massive feelings of anger and hate, and had to just work through it…I was in Italy for Jesus Christ and peanut butter’s sake! I was also so very prepared for a grand speech when I saw him again. What? I had some free time.
Two weeks later I was back in England, and when I saw him: he immediately said it was so good to see me, and so nice to have me home, and he commented on my tan, and my super blonde locks–Oh, God.
I just smiled and got on with shit. He had simply got over the fact that I was back in England for work and my love for the city of Bath had nothing to do with him, and maybe he really does want to be my friend or something…because he told me to stop by for a drink, that I could take his dog on play dates with my really good friend and her dog, and walked me to the door, letting me leave with “I’ll see you soon”.
Dude sat right in front of me and lied to my face. If you really know me, that is a big, fat ‘no-no’. I’ve tried to get in touch with him and what have I got–once again? Ignored. Straight ignored. Dude, if you don’t wanna be my friend ‘fuck off’. But don’t kiss me before I leave, and tell me it’s great to see me when I get home, and that you wanna hang out, and I can stop by whenever, because that was bullshit.
Shame on him. Shame on me, though, for letting him do it again. My life has been so simple amazing lately. He’s just one more piece that doesn’t fit in my brilliant puzzle. That is the hardest thing to admit, as a woman, to yourself. That you let someone be a part of your life longer than they should have, and each person has a breaking point. Mine was the other day.
When life knocks you down, calmly get back up, smile, and very politely say, “You hit like a bitch.”
I realized in my self-pity, that I had forgot to take care of ‘me’. I spent two weeks in Italy binge eating my feelings in the form of pasta, pastry, and fried everything.
Yep. Every damn day, and gaining more weight than I have ever weighed in my entire life. Why? I ate this every day.
Oh, yeah. That’s filled with nutella. A lot of nutella.
I was eating this every day for breakfast with at least two cups of cappuccino. I was turning into the Freshman Girl I left at WVU who was fat, who guys were really mean to, who self-loathed in weed, Cheetos, and beer. I didn’t get this far in life to regress. Plus, I’m a firm believer in:
But I’m currently on the verge of a coronary with all this shit I’m eating, and I don’t look like that girl up there in a bikini. I wouldn’t even put a bikini on right now. I know a thing or two about body shaming and fat calling. It’s not nice. But when did we make it okay to say, “Fuck beauty standards” in order to justify obesity?
Simply put: I’m not happy. I’m especially not happy with the guy I was dating. Most importantly I’d say, most often, we aren’t happy with others, because we aren’t happy with ourselves. True story. So, yesterday I changed all of that.
I started the military diet to jump start healthy eating and weight loss.
No more damn donuts! I’ve decided to keep a diary, take photos, and highlight my whole week in a super, sweet blog. I have to pee like a pregnant lady. But–I have lost weight! I feel so much better already. I’m prioritizing my life to be more creative on a daily basis. I’m also making time for people who want to be in my life.
Oh, yeah! For those of you that have read my book, you are gonna love this: I had coffee with Apollo yesterday…
As for all the negativity in my life, including my bad food habits and lack of exercise…
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
You know that moment when you sorta start to get somewhere with your goals, your hopes, your dreams? I always thought that moment would be, like, amazing. I’ve dreamt of that ‘Tonight Show’ moment when you’re ‘in’, and joking around because the person interviewing you is genuinely interested in you and your career.
Yeah. That did not happen last week.
I booked what I thought was my first interview of sorts…I was listening in, getting ready to dial. The hosts were having a blast with the other comedians asking about their backgrounds, and jokes they write. I’m thinking, ‘Oh! This is so awesome!’ These people are from my hometown, and I’ve just got home from a stint in the UK. ‘So awesome!’
I was opening a gig for Grandma Lee and Jeff Zenisek. I was stoked. Pretty cool, huh? Yeah. I thought so…until, just as I was calling in, the hosts took a call from someone else. The drunk guy. I got stuck with the drunk caller. It was very painful.
You always try and handle the heckler with style and grace. I did not. Dropped the F-bomb on air, cause nothing else was gonna come outta my mouth. Yeah, wasn’t as graceful as I wanted to be or imagined myself being.
I wasn’t even sure at one point what I was even doing, why I was even on air. It was slightly embarrassing. Okay. It was totally embarrassing. I’m sure they thought it was going to be funny, but the guy that called in was shwasted. For those of you that don’t know, that means: drunk out his ever loving mind.
Right off the bat Schwasted Guy is like, ‘You don’t know me’. I literally just went weird. As I start talking he interrupts with, ‘What the fuck are you even talking about?’ The hosts even told him at one point, ‘we appreciate you calling in.’
Um…I don’t. Dude just starts slamming me while I’m talking. All I hear is “BOOOOOOOO” over everything I was saying. The hosts are laughing. Not me. Then! Shwasted Guy starts telling me I should be more excited about my own gig.
I got to the point where I was able to talk and here comes Shwasted Guy with, “I do things that still matter.” Right as I’m plugging my Clash of the Comics gig at the IMPROV in Kansas City.
There was a moment where he asked if he could give me advice. Of course, why say no? He comes out with, “Why are you calling in looking for advice on plugging yourself and shit?” Dude. I was calling in cause I thought these guys from my hometown were trying to help me promote myself as a comedian, and interview me for an upcoming gig.
I was wrong.
As if it wasn’t awkward enough. I wanted to be like: You don’t know me either. I’ve done stuff. I’ve done stuff!
I couldn’t even say what I had done professionally because the Shwasted Guy wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise on his little drunk dial spree. Finally, one of the hosts asks what all I have done, and I’m like–Uh…
I don’t know. Clearly nothing. I couldn’t even name the last venue I performed at in the UK. I shut down.
I finally let Shwasted Guy have it. Said he was in dire need of a blow job. He asked if I was gonna give it to him. I should have channeled my inner ‘Karen Walker’.
But not your penis. *insert cheeky grin.
I didn’t do that. I just sat there. Very awkward. Especially when he told me he wanted to give me advice. I’m not here to ask for advice, Drunko McDouchebag Pants. This is not how I thought this was gonna go.
I thought I was gonna be like: Yeah, I got into comedy when I started writing for Second City, Hollywood. Just finished up some sweet gigs at Komedia and Oxjam Festival in the UK. Am currently working on a feature film with a brilliant Italian director and producer in NY. Getting ready to hit Clash of the Comics in Kansas City at the IMPROV. I write a comedy blog, that was developed because of a novella I published on the comedy of dating, called Hope You Have An Amazing Birthday…and get raped by a Bear. Yeah, I titled my book that. So, Charleston is my home town and a lot of people have been asking when I would do a gig here at Comedy Zone–thanks to Sam and BT, we made it happen. Then the guy interviewing could be like ‘So, you wrote in the UK. What’s comedy like there?’ And so on…
Unfortunately, that did not happen. Drunko McDouchebag Pants turned me into a blubbering fucktard. Then he started telling me what to do. I just wanted to be like:
Only I can make fun of me, Buster. I kinda know what I’m doing. I should have just said: Google me, Mother Fucker.
But alas, I am not that cool in an interview.
Next time I shall channel Paul Rudd. Genius. He’s a genius on Conan.
I could be upset about the interview, but I’m not from North Korea. Might not have been what I expected, but it was awesome–either way. Cause I learned some stuff, and made some friends. Or so I thought. Dammit. They offered me a spot on this week’s show. The first spot, which is 30 minutes. They advertise said show yesterday: I’m not on the list of people on it. Some other comedian is…
I’m pretty convinced I’m the butt of some cruel joke, or people here just aren’t interested in me. I’m the everyman. I really have done some pretty cool shit. Just no one asked me about it. That, and when men move their lips here, I’m now convinced, they’re pretty much lying.
However! I am classy and sassy. So. I will heed the advice of the great comedian Taylor Negron, who was the ‘classic’ everyman, and wrote this beautiful sentiment just before his very untimely passing:
“I look at my alternative everyman predicament this way. By letting go of what you thought was going to happen in your life, you can enjoy what is actually happening.
That is what I do.
I’m That Guy.”
Upward and onward. I’m not giving up on that interview with Jimmy Fallon, though. Mark my words: I’ll sit in that chair across from him, one day, dammit.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit