I can alway find someone/ to say they sympathize./If I wear my heart out on my sleeve.

My head's going a mile a minute. This tends to happen when I clean my apartment. And when I'm wearing sneakers, oddly. The gods of comedy have been against me the last couple days. I didn't get a spot on the open mic I wanted and tonight I went to the Corner only to find there wasn't any room at the Inn. I had never been there on a Tuesday. It didn't feel friendly. I'm sure this is my paranoia talking.

Saw my shrink for my quarterly tune-up last week. Felt good. But he gave me the tough love.

There is something you're putting out there. I don't know what it is. I know you want to think that there's something wrong with you. You go out?

Yes.

You have fun?

Yes. And I'm surrounded by men. All the time.

And they don't talk to you?

Not really. I mean, I have this ugly 25-year-old unemployed, uneducated, bald, fat dude who's never been on a plane constantly pursuing me (though, at the time of this writing, he appears to have given up).

You need to act open and available.

I think I am.

But are you walking around with your heart open?

Shit.

I know my shyness sometimes comes off as something else. I know my fear of getting hurt and/or rejected again might sweat out in my pores but Jesus Christ, enough already.

I've got an iron in the fire. A potentially lovely person from my past. I don't know how much is there and I don't want to jinx it so I'll leave it at that. I know acting from a mindset of lack produces more lack so I'm to tell myself that there are plenty of lovely men out there for me to choose from and then they'll come marching into my life. Well, that feels like a lot of bullshit. I crush on people all the time but they're just crushes - often unavailable, often a bit younger. You see someone with a glint in their eye and a nice smile and you hope but the reality is that sometimes that's all it is.

I didn't get on stage tonight. Even if I'd bombed, I still would've grown a little. Instead I came home, watched the Biggest Loser, cleaned, did a little laundry, did some leg stuff and maybe I'll do some pilates before I pass out. I'm antsy, I'm cranky, I remind myself that I have to find my own path. Yes, I have some good friends in comedy and hopefully I'll continue to make more. No, I'm not part of the boys club ... I'll never be asked to play basketball in their league or put on a suit and see Billy Cosby. I've been asked to perform in front of two bookers next months, people who will potentially hire me for paying gigs, quite possibly roadwork.

I have to remind myself that the goal is to GET OUT OF open mics as quickly as possible. To take risks. Behave like you're already famous. That means I can't go by Kath on stage. I joke about it on stage but really I can't. Think like you've already got a tv show... whatever that goal is for you. I will only get better if I take risks. Trying new material. Trying new rooms. Taking the hosting gig on a rainy Friday night for an audience of five. Hell, playing dodgeball tomorrow even though my friend who got me on the team won't be there. I have to scare the shit out of myself every day.

The Amazon customer reviews for Skinny Bitch are a mixed bag. I think it's phenomenal. And worth every penny. I read this line aloud every day and night (it's been said countless other ways in countless other places but this one does it for me):

You can continue plodding along in your life feeling like you're not living up to your glorious potential or you can dedicate yourself to creating the life you want.

I don't want to plod. Not now. Not ever.

My life I live it to the limit and I love it/ Now I can breathe again baby now I can breathe again

Holy eff. It's almost Friday again.

I've taken some time to myself. I was sick for about 10 days with a nasty cold, I dogsat last weekend, the weekend before my buddies from Egypt were in town from outside NYC/outside USA, I did four shows and three open mics last week. In short, I was damn tired. I haven't been on stage yet this week. Laura and I had nails and dinner and drinks tonight and now I'm home.

Three shows last weekend. Didn't see that coming. I was part of the Festival. It was amazing. The last show on Sunday was rough. Not only did my 25-year-old stalker show up, but my ex from 2004, who's a fairly established comic at this point, was there as well. To his credit, he was a doll. We caught up. He gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. It was nice.

The next day we were effbook friends.

ENGAGED.

This same kid who was nice but flaky and non-committal and all over the place when we dated (and to be fair, about 23 years old) ... ENGAGED. I don't know why it should surpise me at this point. People move on. Everybody moves on. Hell, Fat Daly could have three kids by now. I've ... well... I guess I've moved on... I just don't have a somebody to show for it. Since becoming single, I got a new job, I put up a play, I started doing stand-up, I left the country, I started using mineral makeup, I lost some weight, I became a godparent again, I became financially stable, I built/grew biceps, I played a transexual male in a play that sold out night after night and got positive reviews, I got my first paying stand-up gig, I had my first instance of a fan sighting ME (yep, happened at Peter Luger. Someone who'd seen me the night before came to my table to tell me I was her fave comic.), I took down the dartboard that he gave me and got a massive mirror from Pottery Barn. I've done things. I've made changes. I've done shit that continues to scare the shit out of me and I keep doing it.

I met a nice guy. Friend of a friend. At the Egypt reunion. Took my number. Swore he'd call. Told our friend and me all of my wonderful qualities. Never heard from him. The only steadies are Lou Lou the drugsmuggling Jew, who I fully suspect is gay and my stalker. My stalker is a 25-year-old who looks like he's 40. College dropout. Has never been on a plane. Sold his life insurance to move from Richmond to NYC to pursue comedy. Massive beergut which he doesn't attempt to hide. He's the classic hipster fitted tee dude. Red beard. Black rimmed glasses. Bald. When I thought he ws 40 I was somewhat attracted to him. Now I think of him as my nephew who tries to make out with me. And, when I'm drunk enough, I let him. He gets angry when I don't let him come home with me. I tell him "hanging out" isn't "dating" and that home visits and sleepovers are for folks I actually KNOW. He says he gets and respects this. Yet I have yet to be asked out. Just the daily "what are you getting into tonight?" text. I don't want to be an ass because we have people in common. He strokes my ego and I drink till he's attractive. It takes a lot. I don't let myself do this often.

Then there's my Virginia fella. The wedding date. The unconsummated something. I like him. I'd like something to happen there. But for now.... he lives in Virginia. He'd like to sleep with me. I'd like him to sleep with me. And there we are.

This train of thought is beat. Slapping a MFCOTD on effbook and going to bed.

I turn my camera on/ I cut my fingers on the way

My brother turned 40 last week. My family skyped me in. I was there to see the birthday cake, hear the song. (I don't sing anymore. My nephew told me I was a "TERRIBLE singer" and thus I don't sing. Not even Happy Birthday. I've come to hate karoake. The fact that I'm tonedeaf is hardly a surprise. The fact that a young child can use a three-syllable word to describe it is something else.)

At any rate. I wasn't wearing pants. I was cleaning my bathroom when they called, using my Flylady ("You can do anything for 15 minutes")timer. I wasn't naked or in a thong or anything. Totally acceptable tshirt and a pair of boyshorts. Flaming pink boyshorts. Which they never would've seen except that the aforementioned timer went off and my sister-in-law in that voice of hers said "What is that beeping?"

I went across the room to grab it and turned it off. I thought I stayed away from the camera but I heard my brother:

"Way to wear pants on my birthday, Kath!"

And then his wife set upon me. Why couldn't I wear pants on my brother's 40th birthday? Was it so much trouble to wear pants? How dare I not wear pants?

And all the while, I wanted to yell out, in front of my dad (who wasn't near the computer to see my shorts), "YOU'RE NUDISTS! YOU NEVER WEAR CLOTHES EVER! IF I HAD A DOLLAR FOR EVERY TIME ONE OF YOUR KIDS PUT THEIR SACK ON MY ARM.... YOU DON'T HAVE A NAKED LEG TO STAND ON, LADY!"

But I didn't.

How I'd kill to post that on my FCOTD series on effbook. Alas.

They're way too young but I'm way too old to preach.

I'm several drinks in. Not drunk. But this will not be my best, most grammatically accurate writing.

Excellent birthday. It's a little after 5:00am. My block is relatively quiet. Elsewhere, my friends are getting laid. At least two if not six. I suppose I could've gotten laid if I wanted to. Some 26-year-old Australian. M asked me:

"Don't you want to get laid on your birthday?"

"Um. Well. Sure. But I would've been happy if so-and-so had asked me out for another time. That would've been enough for me."

"Hey. I'm all for sex for sex, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess that's just not where I am."

"But it's your BIRTHDAY."

"Right. And I want to wake up feeling good about myself."

"Oh."

Getting laid was not a priority tonight, which seemed to baffle my friend. It was great catching up with folks (though not nearly enough time to catch up as I would've liked, must carve out time elsewhere) and introducing folks to each other. And dancing a bit. And singing karoake (offkey, of course) a bit.

So, alone in my freshly tidied apartment, I think about some of the SMART goals I've set in recent days and how I want to spend my 33rd year. And I count my blessings. Dad is okay, thank God. I have some great, great friends. I have a job that sustains me. And it seems like I have some talent and maybe a little luck or maybe the other way around. I got through a crappy week including Dad going under the knife and discovering my ex's marriage...more or less okay. Figured out how to use SKYPE so I can talk to AND see my family. Two of my three nephews left me voicemails on my birthday.

I think, as a kid and, then as a young adult, I never really got that older = wiser. I'm no sage but I'm realizing that I know a little about some things. While it sometimes makes me even quicker to judge the younger folks, it sometimes makes me look at myself in a kinder light. I'm grateful for that, too.

I'm alone tonight. Like any other night. Last weekend's wedding date something of a tease. Nothing monumental happening there beyond using my date as a sort of PG-13 surrogate for something else. I did some quite decent standup last night and a comic friend (why I feel a need to qualify these new folks in my life, I don't know) brought Magnolia cupcakes for everyone.

Life is good, is what I'm trying to say. Life is good. My dad pointed out that my mom would've turned 70 a couple days ago. She's forever frozen in time, literally, for me, especially as I edge closer to the age she was when she had me. I think about how I want to conduct my life and the milestones I hope to hit. I have miles to go before I sleep. But to sleep now I go.

He who couldn't commit.... did.

I got really good at not torturing myself for a while. Really good. Then I googled some song lyrics by my ex's band. Three clicks later, I'm on his WEDDING website.

He got married in May of this year. I didn't need to know that. I didn't want to know that. But there it is. Complete with a photo album of his wife with his friends and family, all the same folks I remember. Looking more or less the same.

Except for him.

He's lost weight. His eyebags are less noticeable. He's discovered better hair product.

He looks, in a word, happy.

And she? She is also a fair skinned redhead (like him) with a last name that sounds Italian (like his). There are pics of him singing for her family, him rowing her around Central Park... beaches and lighthouses in Maine... she's in attendance at Thanksgiving and Christmas (which I was never invited to).... moments before and after she said yes....oh, just all of it. You know what I mean. He's happy. She's happy. They're happy.

The One I Thought Might Come To His Senses .... did. With someone else.

I've been mostly shattered most of the day. And numb. The guy who told me he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to get married .... indeed, the same guy who broke off an engagement to a girl he'd dated for TEN YEARS.... got married.

Ji told me I'm allowed to have a TOTAL MELTDOWN tonight if it will allow me to be done with it. I've got a bottle of wine, some cheese and I'm working my way through it.

Today's my mom's 70th birthday. No idea what she'd say. I found out Saturday morning that my Dad can't pee anymore and has a catheter. Surgery on Thursday. My 33rd birthday. There are more important things to fill my head then some dude who couldn't partner with me in any meaningful way. Right now it's all in the mix - Mom's still gone, the ex is hitched, Dad wakes my brother up to take him to the ER at 5:00am twice in the span of four days, I have two more shows of this play to do this week and I wrote some very decent standup that I went over with a friend tonight. My apartment's somewhat of a mess and I desperately need to do laundry. My right pinky finger keeps falling asleep.

On Saturday night, my friend Mark said "No offense, but guys are gonna look at you and say 'She's 33. What's wrong with her?'"

To which I replied:

"Uh, you live in Virginia. The same standards don't apply in New York."

Which is true. I still have boatloads of single friends at every age in New York. Men and women.

But what if they're all as lonely as I am?

It's just like the crying scene in "When Harry Met Sally" that I had to do in acting school. (When Sally is 32)

SALLY: All this time I've been saying that he didn't want to get married. But the truth is he didn't want to marry me. He didn't love me.

HARRY: If you could take him back right now, would you?

SALLY: No. But why didn't he want to marry me? What's the matter with me?

Eddie Izzard- Death Star Canteen

Best. Conversation. Ever.

When my dad's in town, we go to 6:00pm mass on Sunday and then hit the Palm for steak after. Today he decided to celebrate my birthday early since he won't be in town when I turn the age of Jesus. We had lobster. He can tell I'm not myself.

"You seem down."

"Boy stuff."

"Boy stuff?"

"Boy stuff."

"You mean at work or socially?"

"Two different boys treated me not-so great in the last few days."

"Well, when men are together, they can be -"

"They weren't together."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. I need more information to go on."

"I don't want to give you more information."

"But it was a one-on-one situation?"

"Yes."

"So you handled it."

You'd think we were talking about a mob hit and cleaning up the mess.

"I guess but I came away hurt. I was hoping you had some pearls of wisdom."

"Men can be pompous asses."

"Yes they can."

"In these social situations, you have to learn to develop a thick skin."

(Lengthy pause. Dad hits his Dewars. I sip my Chianti.)

"I think Mom talked to me last night."

"Who?"

The waitress delivered bread and butter.

"Mom."

"Who talked to you?"

"Mom. My mother?"

"Oh!"

"I know. It sounds weird. Does she talk to you?"

This is not the first time my dad or I have cried at the Palm. We take turns, apparently.

"Not a day goes by that I don't think of your mother. She and I talk all the time. In the middle of the night, I raise my voice. It upsets Mr. Brown."

"Wow."

"When did she talk to you?"

"Right before I went on stage for the first time. To do my monologue. It put me in a state. Which was kind of appropriate."

(In the monologue, my character talks to her mother, who is on stage, lying very still on a bed, in a coma. Whether or not she'll come out of it is unknown.)

"What did she say?"

"She said 'I'm here with you, Sugarcube.'"

Mom also said other stuff along that vein but I got too choked up to keep talking. I don't tell my dad that for the first time in our rehearsals and in our run (this was our 5th show), I noticed that the woman playing my mother is hooked up to an IV. There is tape and tubing attached to her arm. Flashbacks to seeing my mother for the first time in the ICU after she died, her fingers on piano keys playing Chopin, Mom singing "I Want to Hold Your Hand" when we crossed streets when I was a kid...

"That was the first time she talked to you?"

"Yeah. In almost 20 years. The first time. I wonder if I imagined it."

"Nah. I still think about that dove. Remember that dove that visited me in Leesburg? I was so down and then it just showed up. Or you're down and someone you haven't heard from in a while calls you."

"I wonder why she waited so long."

"Maybe it was the right time. Maybe she knew you needed her."

Well, hell. What about all the other times I've needed her?

During church, I wanted to put my head on my dad's shoulder. I'm almost 33 and that's what I wanted. I contemplated going back on meds. Going on catholicmatch.com. Becoming a lector at my church to help promote the all-Catholic comic show I plan to produce this fall. Having sex again before 2010. Thought about my past significant relationships and trying to find a pattern in what brought me potential boyfriends - where was I in life, what did I look like, where was I working, how was I feeling. And yet, all of those relationships ended so what's the point in even looking back? What is God's plan for me?

"Look at all the celebrities who are single," my sister said yesterday.

"But they're crazy. I mean, I'm crazy. But they're CRAZY."

"Kristen, oh what's her name, from Sex and the City. And she's beautiful and single."

"But this is me. I'm not a celebrity."

"Have faith that he's coming. He's making his way toward you."

"It's been three years of this. I want to fall in love again."

I hear so much different stuff. Lately it's been "it happens when you least expect it" yet I have friends, including my sister, who met their mates online but online dating has changed quite a bit in the last few years. I like to think a lot of my desperation and neediness has fallen away but maybe not.

I'm already trying to spin some of this shit into stand-up.

"I told a boy that I've liked for six months that I have a crush on him."
(pause)
"He shook my hand."

I was supposed to beer at a bar right now having delicious chocolate beer with Alex. Then... sex. For the first time since April. No dice. I'm alone. Again. Maybe with a dash more self-respect but still. I've got to be doing something wrong.

Re-jek-shun

He's cute. He's a little younger. He's friends with someone I dated many moons ago.

He's been somewhat following me on Facebook and gchat. He comes to see me do stand-up. He came to see the play that I'm in tonight.

And yet. And yet.

After the play I found him pacing in the courtyard. He gives me the briefest chest-on-chest hug I've ever received.

"Hey, I can't hang. I have to get to this party."

"Justin's?" (My ex had told me.)

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"You're .. like capable. I mean, the last two times I've seen you. Standup in June and now this... you're like talented."

"Thanks."

"How did you even get involved in this?"

"Mark directed my one-woman show about five years ago."

"Did you play multiple characters?"

"No, just me. A bunch of one-sided conversations. Sort of like really old Bob Newhart. Remember him?"

"Maybe. You have to remember. I'm a youngun."

"Um. You're five years younger than me. His old stuff predates both of us."

"I guess."

The conversation, especially for someone who has to get to this party, continues for a while. I feel my window closing so I hit it:

"If you ever want to hang out without Alex around, I'd be up for it."

"Sure. With or without, that's totally cool. I don't care."

OUCH. OH MY FUCKING CHRIST. OUCH.

He continues.

"I mean, I'm having a housewarming party in a couple weeks. You should totally come to that."

HE STILL SEES ME AS ALEX'S DATE. THEN WHY THE FUCK IS HE HERE TONIGHT? ALONE?

"Sure."

"It's sad. How undecorated I am. I mean, I broke up with my ex right before we addressed my walls so -"

"Right. Well, these things happen."

"I'll be in touch."

He shakes my hand.

Shakes my hand.

Who tells me I should put my heart on the line like this? My friends. My sister earlier today.

FUCK THIS.

I'm done. Hopefully, I'm getting laid tomorrow. Because Alex, who I suspect, has completely cockblocked me, is sniffing around again. Not because he wants to be my boyfriend but because he (and I quote) "wouldn't be adverse to the sex."

It's enough to make me jump out my window.

The play went really well tonight. We're extended through the end of September in a lovely venue twice the size. I have my first paying standup gig on September 11th.

There's now a forehead print on my otherwise freshly professionally cleaned window.

My sister tells me to have faith. He's coming.

Then why the hell do I need a fucking toychest for all of those plastic-y items keeping me company in the mean time? Why the hell do I hate myself so much right now? I've slept with one person in 2009. One! And yet I'm the whore. Fuck this.

Update: Alex flaked out on me today. Can you get rejected by two men in 24 hours?

Yep.

My botox got approved!

In case you didn't know, I have a sweating problem. Some people have it worse, some have it not at all, some have it pretty bad. I'm in the pretty bad category. It's gotten to the point where I can really only wear black tshirts when I do stand-up or go on dates. I really can't wear sleeveless shirts at all cuz then I stink. I've ruined at least two "set-up" dates due to sweating. Like I've caught guys looking under my arms. Well, I don't know about this second one. I had what I thought were two really good dates with this guy. Today I got the blowoff email. And I'm BETTER LOOKING than he is! By a a solid 30%! But he was really smart, really funny, really well read and came highly recommended by one of my castmates and I thought this second date went really well so all I can figure is that I pitted out yet another shirt and who wants to touch a sweaty girl?

No one. Apparently.

So I was really bummed and some part of me still feels rejected but then remembers how much worse he looked outside of a dim bar. Scrawny arms. A shocking amount of hair creeping out of various places. Decent teeth but not great. But who am I talk since I apparently sweat like a dude?

Not anymore. It takes a lot for health insurance to cover armpit botox. I've tried two different treatments in the last year or so with no success and I had to fill out a long ass survey and answer questions in longhand but I got the letter today. Thank Christ. Approved.

And I heard from a boy I've had a crush on for a while. He's gonna come see my play on 8/29. If ya'll were thinking of coming, the shows are selling out like hotcakes. Here's the skinny. The 8/19 show is sold out. The 8/15 show has six tickets left. Get 'em while you can! I bound my breasts tonight for the first time and stuffed my pants.