She So Funny

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This Is America 2019, dysfunction on steroids. I am living in a cartoon yet terrifying alternate universe. 

A United States of intolerance, elitism and white supremacy to rival our volatile 1960's.











with blatant disregard for Everyman. The TrumpShutDown has left 800,000 Americans without pay. Furloughed Federal workers are stretched to the limit. Did I mention the multitude of support businesses suffering from lack of customers? Government tasks for our safety and well being are now left undone because of Trump's wall stand off.

"The wall came about as a “mnemonic device” thought up by political consultants to remind Donald Trump to talk about illegal immigration."... Forbes 1/4/2019

All while daily the chaos and lies escalate. Is this for real?

Steve Bannon's mantra is the mission of the Trump administration: 


8 PM Sat. Feb. 2nd - 
Bayport Fire House Comedy Night
251 Snedecor Ave. Bayport NY

3 PM Sun. Feb. 17th - Free!
10 Penny Comedy @ Coney Island Baby Bar
169 Ave. A @ 10 & 11th St. NYC 10009

6:30 Fri. Feb. 22nd -
The Griot Show @ Caveat NYC
21 A Clinton St. NYC NY

6 PM Sat. Feb. 23rd -
Sistah Celebration @ Wow Cafe Theater
59 E. 4th St. NYC 10003

4 PM Sun. Feb. 24th - $10 Cover * 2 Drink Min.
Groovin on A Sunday @ 53 Above Broadway
318 W. 53rd St. NYC 10019 



8 PM Thur. Feb. 28th - 
Cosmic Comedy @ Tilly's
1223 Bedford Ave. Brooklyn NY 11216

7:30 Fri. Mar. 1st -
Icons of Comedy @ Brooklyn House of Comedy
1165 Bedford Ave. Brooklyn NY 11216

9:30 Fri. Mar. 1st -
Black Don't Crack @ Joloff Restaurant
1617/1618 Bedford Ave. Brooklyn NY 11216

7 PM Sat. Mar. 2nd -
Griot Story Telling @ Joloff Restaurant
1617/1618 Bedford Ave. Brooklyn NY 11216

9 PM Sat. Mar. 2nd -
Solo Showcase @ Joloff Restaurant
1617/1618 Bedford Ave. Brooklyn NY 11216



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New York will woo you, whip you and leave you naked in the gutter. She crushes with potential and fulfills with irony. When you embrace New York don't give her your soul and sanity.

In a veritable blizzard of disturbing news stories, these two headlines shook me to my core.



The blatant violence made me all too aware that at any moment in this city that never sleeps, you can be vulnerable and assaulted. My heart broke for these victims of unsolicited violence.

The perpetrators of these hateful acts are enthralled in a degree of unhappiness and desperation I pray to never know.

by Helene "Oh My GAWD What Day Is It???" Gresser

-hmg

by Helene "Boxcar Willy" Gresser

Being somewhat homeless these past few weeks has been interesting. No, I am not sleeping in a box on a Madison Avenue church step, though, if I were that homeless, I know the church and particular step I would choose to lay my cardboard -- let's just say it's something I have plotted out as a distant possibility, knowing how the past ten years or so has gone for me financially. After the Disaster, which is how I refer to that delightful day in September 2001, I finished one last children's theater tour and hung up my spider costume for good in December of that year -- and then there was no work. I mean NO work around NYC for actors/temps/part-time admins. And then there was shitty work for low pay. And then there was work at a underground poker club. And then a paralegal job that paid well but then the fucking financial CRASH happened and I was out of work again. I have been playing catch-up for almost eleven years, and it has finally become too much. I cannot borrow any more. I cannot maintain my Fortress of Solitude, and I have to put on my big-girl pants and face reality.


I am going to be renting a room from someone soon, and the thought of paying one-third of what I used to shell out in rent money is a reassuring thought -- but, BUT, it means I have to share my space with a stranger, including the BATHROOM, and that makes my butt cheeks clench in anticipated worry. What if my future roomie needs to fall asleep with the TV blaring "The Wonder Years" at full volume as was my experience with my first rented room in 1993? I mean, the sweet old lady was related to Sigmund and Lucien Freud and was fascinating and served me tea and I had a safe place to lay my head, but I could not have a dude over or get up naked and make myself a peanut butter and jelly sammich at 4 a.m. and wander the apartment while thinking. I like to do that sometimes. It's not sexy, but it's freedom. Having money does not make one happy, it makes one free to have choices.




Listen, I am actually grateful to have my good health, to have jobs, to be able to eat, and yes, I can go live with my parents if I was truly in need. I have been blessed with amazing love and support from friends and family. I am aware of my need to face reality and live more simply, and I don't have children to put through college or needing braces or new shoes. I can be a gypsy for a while. My burden is light in comparison to many of my friends who are also facing financial crises and health problems. Believe me, my skin is clearer, my posture is straighter, my nervous tics have died down since I had my things moved to storage and bade farewell to my 250 square foot hovel. I feel relief. Actual relief has washed over me, now that the anticipation of doom and gloom has actually passed and the worst (I hope) is over, for now.

I don't want to have a roomie who needs the bathroom right after I have had a spell in there.

 I don't want to listen to Bette Midler at 3 a.m. with the bass turned way up through my bedroom wall. What if he/she cooks stinky food and leaves the dishes in the sink and has weird friends hanging out and insists on running the air conditioner throughout the winter months when I pay half the electric bill? He might scratch his balls a lot as he walks around in his dirty skivvies and hates my cats and she might leave her brawrs hanging on the shower rod and drink my orange juice from the carton mouth. But I don't buy orange juice anyway, so fuck that worry. Fuck all of it, I'll pay an affordable rent and deal. And then I'll have the freedom to be a gypsy and do things I need to do to keep me sane and nervous-tic-free. I can audition and sell real estate and bartend and live without fear of eviction and housing court and bill collectors. I can sneak smokes outside and maybe stop smoking altogether, since I will fret less. My parents won't be concerned about me like they are now. My friends won't have to buy my drinks and I won't feel like a total schlemiel.

I am happy. I am dating a nice guy who cooks me dinner and refuses to let me clean up afterwards. I feel like the future is exciting again, because I don't know what part of the city I might be moving to after nine years in the same neighborhood. It's time to change, time to rearrange. And that's alright by me. I'll buy some matches and air freshener for the shared bathroom. I'll adapt. My parents raised me to be strong, to be scrappy, to pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again. Fuckin' A.




-HMG

p.s. what does the "A" stand for in "Fuckin' A" anyway???

by Helene "What the hell are you doing with your life?" Gresser


Dudes, I am sorry, my blentry is late and I am trying to solve some issues here in lovely, beautiful, adorable, ever-affordable New York City. I am not remotely funny today. I am the least funny person in this library, where the woman who mouths every last thing she is reading on her laptop (with an audible whispery sound that drives one with ADD to murderous thoughts) is soon replaced by MAN WITH EVERYTHING IN A SEPARATE PLASTIC BAG who must read one inch from his paper with a magnifying glass while simultaneously sticking his finger up his left nostril. Then there is the dude who is only listening to his iPod and leaning WAYYYYY back in his chair. Why is he here? Why is he here?? Stop it! You will fall backwards! I can only concentrate on you not falling backwards, now, iPod-man.

I will report back next week with thrilling updates and annoying tics and stomach-churning tales of woe and gloom and despair and agony on me. Deep, dark depression, excessive misery. If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. Gloom, despair, and agony on me.

That is from a "Hee-Haw" song and sketch. If you do not know what I mean when I say "Hee-Haw," then you are either under the age of 40 or have led a life that is not tied to a boob tube. If you do not know what I mean when I say "boob tube" then just shut up. Shut up and stop snickering at the fact that I said "boob."



I love NY.

-HMG

p.s. Nostril McRustlebags just stuck his hand into his shirt,scratched his chestle region with his toothpick, and came back out to stick it in his gaping maw. This is awesome. I want to stay here forever. Here in this library, with all my comedy material writing itself. O why, why-o did I ever leave Ohio?

by Helene "Coffee Is For Closers" Gresser

It's 5:31 a.m., and I should be in the shower right now. My building will be without hot water for a few hours today as they work (once again) on the ancient boiler, and I very much need to have clean hair today. I have to start showing up at my real estate office more often, as working from home means I am out of sight out of mind too much of the time. This means I must dress in my best "Hey, I just happen to be super-polished" professional look and wear lady-heels. And wearing lady-heels almost always leads to gross-blisters, no matter what I do to try and prevent them, and lady-heels also make my wobbly left knee hurt.

I don't earn a salary, I earn commission from each sale or rental I transact to completion. I don't have health insurance. I am responsible for my own taxes, and I don't have an accountant. I am starting to think that a full-time office job may have to be in my future, and I got my real estate license to avoid being stuck in an office doing filing and wishing I was dead. But being a grown-up means making these types of decisions because the rent must eventually be paid or I'll be evicted. And I owe friends money. This weighs so heavily on my conscience -  along with my cluttered apartment, my bills, my future in NYC - that I am wide awake until the wee hours. It is now 5:45 a.m.

Often, when I cannot sleep, I walk around my neighborhood, stop in my corner deli, get coffee, sit on the bench outside my building, and watch the morning unfold. Doctors, nurses, and hospital staff amble to Mount Sinai, just a block up Madison Avenue from my apartment. Shirtless garbage men fling heavy, wet bags of leaking garbage into the crunching maw of the garbage truck. Coffee carts are parked on corners and set up for the morning rush. Bakery trucks deliver boxes of hard rolls and doughnuts to the cafes, or set the boxes just outside the cafe doors, and strangely, no one ever seems to steal these baked goods. The boxes are left alone, unmolested. I am also left alone, sitting outside my apartment, while the early-morning people head to work or wheel their hand trucks. Few seem to notice the lady in the pink sweater sipping coffee, munching her bagel, checking her cell sporadically, in vain hope of a text from some other early bird/insomniac.

It's 6:17 a.m. now. I took a brief Facebook break. I am delaying my shower as long as possible, which is risky, to be sure. I just so hate blow-drying my hair. It takes forever.

The teevee keeps showing these horrific new anti-smoking ads with hacking, wheezing, dying people. But I am still sneakily smoking to spite them. I know. I KNOW. I disgust myself. That is part of the charm - the defiant self-loathing. God I don't want to have to get another crappy office job, or move into a rented room, or move out of Manhattan. I am determined to make this real estate gig work. I am good at it. It just takes time to get rolling, and I don't have time on my side right now. And if you think I have any delusions of grandeur regarding a comedy career, then HA HA HA HA VERY FUNNY. There, that made me chuckle, that right there. Ah, life.

Both my cats are snoring as I sit here on my couch typing this. At least they can sleep. I need a cigarette. I need some magical elves to come do my dishes and organize my shelves. That rhymed. I am giddy.

6:44 a.m: I went for another walk. The sun is rising and the moon is still high in the sky. Dudes with those funny "feet" shoes are heading for their run by the Central Park reservoir. Dog-walking is in full force. More coffee carts are setting up. Now the hospital people are scurrying, not ambling. Custodians are spraying dog pee and garbage juice off their fancy-building sidewalks with garden hoses on Fifth Avenue. I actually looked for fallen cigarettes on the street, I was that desperate for a smoke. No luck. I got chilly (yay, fall is coming!) and had to come back inside to mull my to-do list. I guess the first thing should be a shower. Then sleep a couple hours, then head to the office and get busy.

Being a grown-up is hard. My neighbor across the way just kissed her boyfriend goodbye as she heads to the subway. It's 7 a.m. Time to shower. The lottery is now at 110 million. My next-door neighbor is rattling my dish cupboards with his exercise routine. I want to sleep. I want to live in a hotel with room service and housekeeping and no jumping neighbors. I want someone else to take care of me.

7:05 a.m. Time to grow up.

-HG