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Yes, I’m a Douchebag in ‘Real Life’, Too

People, what you see here is what you get. As much as I might like to kid myself that I’m writing as some ‘character’, or ‘alter ego’, we all know the truth: I’m the same snarky, clueless screwup in my daily life that I am in print. And usually worse, because out there in society, I don’t get to edit shit before it happens. And you should see some of the willy-inducing crap I delete here before you see it. That shit would singe your eyelashes, follks. Trust me on this one.

So, even if some of what you see on these pages isn’t exactly true, in the strictest sense of the word, it does paint an awfully accurate-but-not-so-pretty picture of the trouble I’m likely to get myself into.

(And I’ll never tell which stories here are simply concoctions of my warped and fevered brain. And really — would that make things seem any better? Maybe I really did some assheaded thing or other that I describe here… and maybe I just imagined the whole embarrassing thing, and found three thousand words to describe it. Either way, I’m in sick puppy land, people. There are no ‘good’ answers on this test.)

Okay, let’s get this over with. My latest asshat extravaganza has to do with a show that I went to tonight. Now, normally I don’t say too much here in the ‘center ring’ about comedy shows. If I tape ’em, the link to the description shows up on the sidebar. If not, then that’s it — I’m not describing it, if I don’t have actual footage available to back me up. Nobody’s gonna trust my account of the events, anyway, right?

But I’m making an exception tonight. Not so much to tell you about the show. Although it was a good time — and chock full of fun comics I hadn’t met before. I even did a bit more material than in most shows, though I’m not sure the crowd was really ‘with me’ the whole way. Besides the fact that I’m still feeling my way through longer sets — and didn’t know beforehand that this show would turn out to be such an opportunity — the audience was comprised overwhelming of women. Sort of an ‘anti-pickle party’, if you will.

(Which is not to say that the audience was ‘anti-pickle’, necessarily — there just weren’t many menfolk to be seen, is all. And I don’t have a term handy for ‘anti-pickle party’ that’s any better than… well, than ‘anti-pickle party’, as unlikely as that seems.

What, you don’t believe me? Fine. How about we call it a ‘melon festival’, then? Or a ‘boobie bash’? Would you believe a ‘panty parade’? ‘Estrogen extravaganza’? See — this is what you get for not taking my word for it. Happy now?)

Anyway, I had a really good time — and a really good sandwich — at the show, so no complaints there. But here’s the thing — I found out about the show late last night. I had emailed Linda, who runs the room, about another comedy place she hosts, and she mentioned that a spot was open tonight. It was short notice, sure, but I’m always game for stage time, if I can weasel my way into it. And this one took barely any weaseling at all. Score, baby.

So, Linda included the details of the show — the name of the venue, show time, and such — in her email. And she added that the place was ‘in Marlborough, if that’s not too far for you‘.

Well, I’m no geography expert, and had never been to Marlborough, so I looked it up. And it wasn’t all that far from Boston — a little bit of a hike, sure, but I’ve done weekday shows in Lowell to the north, and Marshfield to the south, and never had any problems. It might take close to an hour to get there, and a little less to get back — late at night, after the traffic’s cleared out — but it’s all in a day’s work. We cool.

So, at work this afternoon, I decided to look up the actual venue — a coffee house / restaurant combo — to get directions. And I made an interesting and panic-inducing discovery:

Yes, the place was in Marlborough.

But not that Marlborough.

Meaning — I hadn’t signed up for a quick jaunt westward to Marlborough, Massachusetts. I was on board to schlep fricking West, with a capital ‘W’, and then south, across state lines to perform in Marlborough, Connecticut. Niiiiice.

Now, before I go any further — and it’s not like I have to tell you this, if you’ve ready any of my shit at all — but the mixup was entirely my fault. The first room I’d asked about — wasn’t in Massachusetts; it was in Connecticut. And it stood to reason, then, that Linda wasn’t in Massachusetts, either, and neither was this room that I was scheduled to perform in a couple of hours later. She’d even left directions at the bottom of the email — I just hadn’t read down far enough to see the big honking ‘CT’ staring back at me. That ADD really kicks in at inconvenient times, you know?

Anyway, long story not really shorter to speak of, I managed to wrap up what I was doing, get the directions, skip out early from work, and made it to Marlborough, Connecticut on time. Early, even. I don’t know if I would have had time to hit my Marlborough on the way out there — I wasn’t all that early — but once I finally clued in, it wasn’t such a big deal. I don’t know what you people were so worried about all this time. Sheesh.

(Hey, can we pretend this was one of things that only might have happened? Or say that I made the whole thing up? I think I’d rather be ‘delusional’ or ‘mental’ than ‘just fricking stupid‘ I’m goin’ to bed. Meh.)