June 14, 2009:

From this Day Backwards

In 2006 my brother got married at my parents' house and it was a lot of fun, even though I was asked to read a short poem during the ceremony. The poem was called something like "From this Day Forward" and it was only four lines, but it was my understanding that the lady minister was going to introduce me like "Steven [my brother] has asked his sister Martha to read a poem expressing his feelings towards Tomoko [his bride]." What the minister actually said was "And now Martha has something she would like to say to the bride and groom." Do what now? "From this day forward, I will hold you in my arms. I will never leave your side. From this day forward." How awkward that the groom's sister is in love with both her brother and his new wife. Is what I would have turned and said to someone if I hadn't been the one reading the poem.

Onward and outward, I don't know who first coined the phrase "the rules are there are no rules" but I would like to get a signed head shot from him or her. The first time I was in the super secret food cult the rules were there were lots of rules. Rule number one: stop eyeballing that guy's pizza. Rule number two: substitute compulsive boy-craziness for compulsive eating. Rule number three: run away and join the circus. Make out with the guy who's half-man, half-goat, but only make out with the goat half. Rule number five: acknowledge that rule number four is unrealistic. Make out with inappropriate non-circus acquaintance instead.

I didn’t end up making out with anybody as it turns out, not even during the first Crackpot road trip. I thought maybe I would "hit it, quit it, and fergit it" (as some college guy said to me one time) but my blood sugar was too low.

Speaking of college guys, I met the “hit it and fergit it” guy on a night when me and my comic friend Isaac were escorted to a college kids' dance club after a show and we stood around awkwardly for a couple of hours. Actually, Isaac danced on a stripper pole for a minute and then when the crowd cheered, he jumped off the tiny stage with his arms raised in victory. He landed on the marble dance floor on a spot where someone had spilled beer and fell flat on his back. That's the kind of thing that happens a lot to comics who are trying to enjoy one goddamn second of fitting in with hot college kids. Thanks a lot, the Universe.

Anyhow, I took a complete stranger home that night and let him sleep in the extra bed in my hotel room. He was a self-proclaimed compulsive gambler, only in town for one night. I developed a crush on him because he was A) not a college kid but a full-grown man and B) I met him when we were leaving the dance club in a mob and I was drunkenly panicked. He was in front of me and must have heard Isaac say my name because he (the transient gambler) turned around and smiled at me and said "Follow me, Martha." That's about all it takes when I'm drunk. He was cute and funny in an off-kilter way. Like the way somebody might be when they're on a tri-state killing spree.

Cutting to the chase: he didn't serial kill me. In fact, we didn't even fool around. We slept in separate beds and he got up super early the next morning to drive back to whatever small Iowan town he was from. We said a fond farewell and I was kind of melancholy the rest of the day, like I had said goodbye to a good friend. Which is why I probably shouldn't try to kickstart my career as a sexaholic. I get attached to people too easily. I hate to think of how long it would have taken me to get over that guy if he had actually stayed long enough to murder me.

Tootle doo,

Martha

Added June 14, 2009

inthecan09@gmail.com

Current Blog