Stupid Girls

Monday, March 03, 2008

it's not funny

You are reading, she thinks she's so clever!

She stands behind the mic. Her eyes roll up to the ceiling. A ridiculous smirk plasters her face. She NEVER looks at the audience. I don't blame her. We're not laughing. Mostly, we're either confused, or have given up and fallen uninterested. She's lucky; we're not out-right hostile and we don't heckle her. Others won't be so kind.

This is one of the jokes: As Neitze said, that which does not destroy us makes us regret that last bowl of chili.

That's her routine.

She owns digital audio & video equipment, but she never practices with them. She never looks at -- or listens to -- herself. She won't even use the mirror.

She squeels and squacks, practicing "cartoon" voices. When she was a kid, she told me once, she always wanted to be a voice in the cartoons.

She'd do the voices at school. Kids would, of course, laugh. At her.

Based on that information, she decided her future was in stand up comedy.

So, here stands this fat, middle aged squeeling, squacking, smirking embarrassment, still four years old, seeking attention, not even looking to see if there's a response.

She doesn't even practice in front of a mirror. She doesn't want to KNOW what people see; she just wants to indulge her fantasy of escaping into an animated world.

It may have made 'em laugh in grade school, but....

The first night at open mic, a musician was kind and giggled in the appropriate places. This open mic, and its audience, consisted of four of us.

The following week, she did pretty much the same "stand up" routine, still reading from a script, as she hadn't memorized any of it yet. And she repeated a large portion of what she'd done the week before.

If it wasn't very funny the first time, how is anybody supposed to laugh the second time?

And last night, she did it again. Still reading the same drivel as the first, two nights, from a script, she looked only at the ceiling, never at us.

She talks too fast. We can't hear, with the reverberation in the room. And she's using these voices: really BAD imitations of Southern or Russian or -- god help us -- Middle Eastern accents.

The Middle Eastern accent is for a very disrespectful set up of a 12th step meeting for suicide bombers: "Allah, grand me the serenety..." at which point she says "boom! It's a very short meeting." Embarrassing.

Now, she's going to open mic at a comedy club. The club demands each comic bring 5 guests, or they won't let the person perform!

She FINALLY paid for gas for the truck. I'm to drive her to the comedy club and fill a seat.

She doesn't ask what I think. She doesn't care if I enjoyed it, or could even undrstand what she said. My only purpose is to drive the truck and fill a seat. Period.

This woman punched me in the face 3 months ago.

I don't think she's funny.

I think she's completely narcissistic, manipulative, phoney, egotistical, arrogant and terrifying.

I can't WAIT 'til I can afford to live without her.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

KUNMfm podcast: "What's a Disability to Brenda's Girls?"

You are reading

Cris Williamson

Free Podcast software download:

You need to have the above, before you can download the podcast on KUNM's website:

Look under the Sunday specials section.

If the podcast software I suggested, above, doesn't work, try another. Remove the OLD one, before downloading a new one.

You can find podcast software here:

Thank you for your interest in the radio documentary, "What's a Disability to Brenda's Girls? an Oral History," produced by Rogi Riverstone.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

"Blue Rider" Cris Williamson

You are reading
Just wrote a lil sumpin for a music download site:

A favorite hot bath album. Interesting ballads & stories on wide variety of subjects. An interesting, little jewel is "What Good Does It Do Me Now?" Very long title for such a small, sweet, sad song, written by Vickie Randall, jazz singer, on any local tv, 5 nites per week, as part of a "talk show" host's band (percussions/vocals). Discovered the album in L.A., years after most of the artists on it had left for foggier and "cooler" places. Miss the old gang. Nice to hear it again. Rich and warm, like cocoa in a snow storm.