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  1. When leaving a Bronx open mic show one night, I was three bus rides from home.  This guy was there.  When he offered me a ride along with another comic he'd be taking home, I figured I was getting dropped off first, so I agreed.  I did wonder though if the three buses (and waiting for each one at night in my Bronx)

     

    would be safer.  It was a tough call.  But the third person in the car made me feel like things would remain somewhat sane.  He fuckin' took that guy home first.  I objected.  They explained why it made sense, geographically speaking, to do it this way.  Ugh.

    My memory is fuzzy on the chronology of things.  I know at some point during a crazy and heated conversation, I asked him what he thinks he's mad at me for.  He looked up the way a kid does when searching for an excuse, and said, "You support Annie.*"  That was a young confused person I basically only knew through the website we all participated in.  What he called 'support' was basically not verbally abusing her.  But yeah, according to his bullshit, that was my 'crime.'  Maybe this was just what I needed, I don't know.  I screamed for the next fifteen to twenty minutes (however long the drive was).  I screamed my head off at him for everything he pissed me off about.  I would have liked to have been at the point of just laughing at his ridiculousness, calmly reminding him that he doesn't get to make those choices for anyone other than himself, suggest he look inside himself as to why he thinks he should have a say in that, and that be that.  But I screamed for twenty minutes. 
    I was hoarse the next day.  Apparently I had a lot of screaming to do.  I know I included that my husband doesn't decide who I talk to, so who did he think he was.  I know I accused him of not having a problem if I had called that young girl a whore, but treat her like a human and there's a problem?  I threw in some references to oral sex out of fury and knowing he had a problem with my talking about it in my act.  I was having a FUUUUUUCK YOUUUU moment (times twenty). 

    I wouldn't think it my place to tell another adult who they can or cannot speak to; that is just amazing to me that people feel that right.
     

    In a strange way, it seemed like he was more comfortable with my outrage than with the day I had booked him for an event.  It may have felt more like 'home' as he knew it.  We are all bound to different degrees to our formative years. 

    I went upstairs upset.  I told my then-husband that I just had a fight with Ken Burger.*

    "Over what?"
     
    "That's a good question," I said.  "He claimed it is because I talk to Annie.  It doesn't make any sense."

    "Why does Ken Burger care who you talk to?  ...unless there are other feelings involved."


    ...to be continued...



    *Annie and Ken Burger are fictional names.

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  2. 2 comments:

    1. Ed, there's nothing as intriguing as real life. Thanks for your continued interest.

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