Thursday, October 6, 2011


I have always loved making people laugh. I can remember as clear as day the first time I consciously made people laugh. I was in the first grade, we had this cool slide that whirled around, super cool slide...but not fat friendly. Anyway, I was going down this slide, and well, as I head around the corner of the twist my ass got caught 'cause I am a totally on fashion patrol in a squort. As I am coming down I hear this bitch Ericka (who I hated since she had all of these badass scented pens and crayons that I always wanted) making fun of me for making the slide screech. I was like 'EFFFF her", nobody even likes that bitch, haha [truthfully I remember thinking this]When I get to the end of the slide my friends are there asking if I was ok,  and I yell "I felt that all the way in my asshole"!  I mean, I remember my friend Tony's face contort into these crazy twists from the shock and hilarity. Jerry Garcia (real name!) was the one who told me that whuuuer Ericka was laughing. Everyone was laughing after I said "asshole". They all thought it was funny, and that was the birth of my potty mouth, but it got worse, I mean I would say anything that had a swear word in it...ANYTHING!! 'fuckstick', 'fuckass' anyyything! I realized because of Ericka that it was always better to make people laugh than to make someone feel like shit, 'cause what I said felt better. But that schtick got old, eventually things had to get better. I had to do other stuff to make people laugh...things we'll talk about later. Regardless, this is the moment in time, this was the turning point, this was when I realized my power...and yes, I see it as power.

As I got a bit older, I'd say around the fourth grade I began to appreciate comedy as a real thing, as something that exsisted for a purpose. I also discovered SNL and MadTv! Improv and sketch comedy really ruffled my feathers, I loved it, I would secretly stay up passed my nine o' clock bedtime every Saturday night to watch. I learned about timing, and the importance of wit and characters. Ohhh, this was a revolution for me, I realized I didn't have to be Monica being funny, I could be Monica being ANYONE being funny! I lived in Delaware at the time, and had one friend, her name was Kelly CoFransisco, I can never forget her because she told me I was funny and we both loved Alanis Morissette! Around the seventh grade I would toy with different personas, I'd come to the table dressed as a Majaraja Princess, Sadaam Hussein and once a Hooker (all real) for dinner. My goals as I was preparing in my bedroom for dinner, were to come out to the table and not laugh or break character for the meal's entirity. I usually met my goal and managed to annoy/freak out/crack up my family, so I got more and more comfortable. blah blah blah! In H.S I got caught up and typical Highschool stuff took over, then I met my friend John freshman year, boy together we could get a crowd going. We were in New Orleans once with our High School band and we were on a dinner cruise, there were about 6 other schools from around the country on there and we had them in the palm of our hand...pretty hilarious. I learned a lot from that moment, commanding a crowd's attention and holding onto it until I was done muahahahaha!

I have to mention, though, that this mouth of mine [and I know what you are thinking "what a great mother"] cannot be blamed on my mother or's Grandma! Every freaking morning my grandmother would wake up at four.fucking.A.M. UGH!!! and at 3 or 4 years of age I would wake up everymorning to the sound of newsprint shuffling in the kitchen, with the sound of my grandmother complaining about all of the "GOT DEM" bad news. She'd be reading the obituaries (which I am sure is why whenever I pick up a newspaper I go straight for the metro section) just chatting with herself about how young someone was, or wondering how they could have died...sometimes she'd find obituaries of our family members we'd lost touch with over the years and cry and call every freaking person in our family to tell them someone we didn't care about had died, which I always thought was super awkward. Then we'd get dragged to these depressing funerals, as the same funeral home every.time. {since there's one in our family, and Gd forbid we give anyone else business...or that our family passes up a good funerary discount}, I have definitely gone on a rant now, and I want to stop.

ready? ok so this has nothing to do with funny shit or cussing anymore. Now, it's just about why I am weird. kinda. Def. not the whole explaination, but something to wet your whistle...
 So, as my Great-Grandfather got older, my Grandmother, being the eldest, took responsibility for his care. She moved him in with her and they pretty much lived together for a few years until he got cancer and died. Well let me tell you something, this guy was a total jerk. I know, I know, don't speak ill of the dead...whatever. UGH! I mean, I am telling you. He was a freaking racist, a meanie and he would always yell at me. Granted I was like 4 or 6 when I was around him the most, but he gave me the creeps so hard I started to hate going to my Grama's house. ANYWAY, we'd always find him in the dumpster digging around for shit, he couldn't bathe himself, but he sure the hell could climb into a FUCKING DUMPSTER to grab a bronze horse or someone's old pair of underwear he decided were still good enough to keep[actual finds]. So, basically he'd leave the house in secret, dressed in a suit with a hat, Stacey Adams shoes and a cane...real secret huh? sometimes he would leave through the window or while Grama was sleeping, anyway, he'd leave and then when Grama figured it out she'd go nuts looking for him and invariably we'd find him in an 'effing dumpster. ok ok ok so here's where the story goes funky...Great Great (which is what we called him ironically) gets sick, he's totally dying, diapers, Hospice the whole nine. One night after his priest came over to give him the last rites, everyone comes over to visit and have a final chat with him. As the night wears on, he's totally still alive so everyone goes home around 1 a.m. and I remember this because I have the memory of....well whatever animal has a really awesome memory. Oh!Also because after EVERYONE leaves and it's just me and my Grama she calls me into the room she and her dying father were in. Grama's a good Catholic, and being a good Catholic means calling on Gd at just the right moment, so she's praying on her Rosary beads and humming shit all exorcist-like coming out from her trance just long enough to say "Look at him, he's dying". OK WTF Grama!?? Who does that?? I mean really who does that? My Grama that's fucking who!!  So what do I do? I mean come on, I am a good kid! So I look...DUH! The old douche is gurgling and totally dying and I am sitting there with my Grama, like, "ok now can I got to bed?" BUT no!! no! Sleeping can not happen, that would be too damn normal. But, you know what does happen next? Grama finishes her prayers and won't let me leave and makes me pray with her, at this time it's 1:23 (which I also remember because, well 1,2,3..DUH! plus the animal thing) we go on for a good ten minutes because of all the freaking beads, and as we say "amen" what does Grama do?? Call the mortuary? No. Call my freaking Mom? No. The cops? shit, I don't know who you call when people die. She has to finish him off I guess, so she proceeds to jump on top of him, like, mount, and at the top of her lungs is yelling "DADDY, NO, DADDY, don't go!!"
At this point, I know, I am totes coming off as a fucked up, callous 6 year old, But you guys gotta understand...he was soo mean! Logically, none of these things were making sense to me, she knew it was going to happen, she freaking called me into the room and put me on fucking deathwatch!! SHE KNEW!! All I am thinking is "what.the.fuck. is Grama doing on top of Gurgles McGee over there, and when can I sleep in the cool remote control hospital bed??" Luckily, I had my wits about me enough to call the only responsible human I could identify in the moment, Mom...and basically hers was the only number I knew next to 9-1-1, which clearly wasn't on the call list that night.

What does this tell you about me? maybe something, some kind of something...but what is says about Grandma is far more juicy. I have spent a lot of time with that woman, I love her dearly; but this, me, random creepy effed up me, is totally her fault...My Mom's not cool enough for that honor.

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