BLONDE LOGIC

Tuxedo shirts and tulips

Tuxedo shirts and tulips

 

It takes so long to get to know people. Lately I’ve been trying to script a few key questions that I consider deal breakers, in other words, qualifying questions I used to ask the typical “what’s your longest relationship?” “what’s your relationship like with your mother?” now I stop myself from blurting out “Do you snore? Do you need a mechanical device on your face to breathe at night? Does your dick work? Ok. Pick me up at 8. You’re paying! Don’t fuck this up!”

 I try to have a few I can communicate with patience and curiosity. Ends up I have a lot of them but here are three that came up recently.

 

Do you ask questions during sex?

 

I don’t like that. Don’t ask me questions during sex. Odds are you’re not so inquisitive fully clothed, don’t get curious now. I don’t even want to hear a “does that feel good?”

If you are unsure if I’m having a good time, I’m not. I like to think my sexual behavior speaks for itself.

If you want to make a rhetorical statement – have at it but be careful, a “you’re so sexy” might result in ME asking questions. “What do you think is sexy about me?” and we both know you won’t have a quick answer for that. Most guys get stumped if you question their compliment, which infuriates me. Don’t be throwing have assed compliments around.

The thing is, being a stellar communicator, if you ask a question

I’ll assume you want an answer. Then I have to think. You don’t want me to think during sex believe me. Thinking might lead to the realization that I’m too tired for all this.

Plus I can’t hear the music if you’re gabbing away.

Victim of Love trumps sex talk everytime.

 

Do you like to talk about all the women you are attracted to?

 

I love this question. You know why I ask it? Because there are guys out there that truly believe they should be able to treat a woman like a man. Like a buddy. A drinking buddy usually. And when a woman responds to their barbaric behavior by acting like a woman, the guy throws out a “You’re being insecure” There is nothing worse than listening to a guy you are interested in talk about other women he finds attractive. It is moronic, insensitive, and totally fucking annoying.

I’ve gotten into wicked fights over this one. These types of guys will then say “you’re being insecure” which I have found really means “you’re being girly” or “you’re acting vulnerable” I guess my question should really be “do you have any degree of sensitivity for other people’s feelings?”

 

 

Do you turn tip money into origami?

I have been out on a lot of bad dates but I have yet to go out with an origami guy. As a bartender I see it. I see a couple laughing and talking and sometimes even making out while the guy sits there and makes one dollar bills into tulips or tuxedo shirts and then offers them to me as a tip. My payment. A satirized payment I might add. What am I supposed to do with these little prison yard arts and crafts numbers? Use them at Dunkin Donuts?

“That’ll be three dollars, please”

“Here’s two tuxedo shirts and a tulip. This is the currency I get paid in. Do you accept it here?”

The worst part is these guys are getting laid!

Making balloon giraffes out of condoms, I’m sure.

 

 

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com

Kendra@kendracunningham.com

Twitter @kendracomedy

pictures from the dating world

I have a friend who is online dating. No, it’s not me claiming it’s a friend, it is really a friend. I am the anti dater. I don’t like dating. The last thing I want to do with my free time is go meet a stranger with the mutual hope that we like each other on many levels. It’s the pressure cooker of one on one socializing.

 

Online dating sites should come with testimonials about the ramifications online dating can have on one’s self esteem. “Hey for $19.99 a month you can receive an abundance of emails from guys. These guys will not be relationship material today or any day in the future nor have they maintained any sort of personal relationship for more than 6 months but they WILL email you. They may or may not send you pictures of them in their underwear, some like to try their hand at poetry, others will simply try to woo the pants off you with statements like “Where you at?”  So no, this site won’t make finding that special someone easier but it will make it easier for the mean, median and mode of all averages to find you”

 

I don’t know about you but my self esteem is fragile when it comes to the opposite sex. Three emails from ugly, unfunny guys and I am back to eating pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner in my 7 year old grease stained sweats wondering if Benicio del Toro is funny.

 

Anyway, this friend is going out on dates 3 to 5 times a week. Are you kidding me? That’s a bartending job.  She claims it’s easy because you end up talking about the same things over and over again. The scenario just got worse. She said “what would you talk about on dates?” which stumped me. I guess I would probably talk about what time he had to get home and if he hates dating as much as me and does he like my new jeans. Those types of things. I really don’t even want to think about it. I used to be good at qualifying questions “how long is your longest relationship?” “what’s your relationship like with your mother?” now I’m down to “do you snore?” “do you need a mechanical device on your face to sleep at night?” “are you ok with being kept arms length away emotionally for 6 months to two years?”

 

So I don’t know exactly what I would talk about on dates but I do know what I wouldn’t say.

 

 

Top ten things Kendra won’t say on a date

 

1        It was really nice meeting your girlfriend the other night.

2        See that guy in the green shirt, I used to fool around with him.  Or was it his brother?

3        I’m so excited, I got here an hour early

4        Crap! I got mac and cheese on my leather halter top.

5        No dessert, thanks. I’m full.

6        Next time we come here, I’m getting a salad

7        Let me get the check.

8        You want a bite of this?

9        Stop pawing at me!

10     Let’s wait until we get home to do it!

 

 

Send me pictures from the dating world!

I haven’t been in a while.

 

 

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super

comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her

sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com

www.blondelogicblog.com

@kendracomedy

 

 

Weepy Werewolf

 

I’m not much of a crier. People learn that about me over time and think I’m tough. Or less feminine. Or heartless. The point is there are a lot of labels put on girls who don’t cry much, labels which would make a girl who cries, cry. It’s not that I don’t have depth, I do. I just have a high tolerance for emotional pain. Physical pain? Forget it. I’ve been known to display low level histrionics over a stubbed toe.

That shit hurts.

 

I think I learned not to cry from the way others reacted to my displays of sadness As a kid, I saw other girls cry and people would try to comfort them by saying ‘don’t cry” and hugging them. Other girls crying evoked empathy, sympathy, and understanding. Not me. I cry and people went into shock and disbelief. Not because they didn’t think I was capable but because I look like I’m morphing into the Werewolf of London. My face gets barbarically distorted and turns a deep purple/red. I tend to bare my teeth.  It scares people.  I am also terrified, adding to the whole “what the FUCK is going on with Kendra? Is she crying because she’s sad or because her “when I cry I turn into a feral wolverine” secret has been exposed?” scenario. When I cry in front of someone I show them my arms to assure them I’m not suddenly growing animal hair. Mostly I do it to assure myself. I’m just not the type of girl who enjoys a good cry. Crying scares the shit out of me and everybody around me. I’ve had boyfriends who would be like “oh you’re crying? I’m sorry but I can’t watch this and have a sexual relationship with you in the future sooooo sounds like a perfect time for me to start that running regime I’ve talked about for 3 years. See ya when the facial swelling subsides”

 

After moving my sister to Maine, I cried in the airport in Portland. I tried to hide my hideousness with a baseball cap but that didn’t dull the audio of my whimpering. One lady offered me a tissue I took two. She wanted to talk about someone else who had cried at the airport but when she took a really good look at me she stopped midsentence, covered her jugular, and waved a cross in my face

 

Still crying I went into Burger King and gasped out my order

“Large root beer please”

“Sometimes all you need is a sugary soda to make you feel better “

He walked away, forcing me to put my payment on the counter. Later I thought he may have done that deliberately so as to keep his distance.  Smart. Keep the wild beast arm’s length away.  Avoid the Danger Zone

 

I had to stop myself from going back and asking “can I buy a hamburger raw?”

 

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com         

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy

 

 

Catatonic Coping

My sister got the seven year itch, from me. We have been roommates for seven years and she’s packing up her things and taking the show on the road. Moving to Portland Maine. Someplace unaccessable by subway.

It’s like a break up. I’m kinda hoping I respond by hooking up with a bunch of guys.

My coping mechanisms have never included extreme promiscuity which is unfortunate for me and the men in my immediate line of vision.

The thing is, I cope with change like a wild animal who spots its predator.

I freeze. I remain still and stoic. The weird, nonreactive behavior is noticeable. People are like “are you Ok?”  I stand like a  physically catatonic stress victim “I’m fine” I respond.

“You don’t seem like you”

I move my eyes so they know I am alive.

 

I’ve never been much of a crier. Ever. Even as a kid I never thought to cry about things

I feel like I was always one to strategize.

Like “oh I can’t have cake now well how about I act slighty annoyed at that information but just wait til you try to sleep through the night you stingy cake controlling parent you”

 

Sometimes my reaction is delayed, for years.

“Kendra, why are you crying?”

“I can’t believe Boris broke up with me”

“That was 5 years ago”

“Was it?”

 

I know this is going to be one of those situations.

“Kendra, whats this box of stuff in the middle of the living room?”

“Oh, that’s from my sister’s move”

“That move was like three years ago?”

“Was it?’

I’m the Leslie Nielson of personal problems.

 

I have been feeling very Naked Gunnish lately. Somebody asked me to recommend a good date spot recently. The place I suggested had been closed for two years. I’m not much for dating but I will point out what is wrong with everybody else’s relationships. No problem.

I’m a ruthless relationship critic.

Is there any money in that?

 

 

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand-up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com                   

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy

 

 

 

 

Love Meddler

I recently had a friend of a friend hound me to set her up with one of my guy friends. One of my favorite guy friends. Finally she said to me “give me your number, I’ll text you pictures of me” an aggressive move on her part. At that point, my hesitation and deliberation about introducing people from different parts of my life, is taken out of the equation. I can’t receive the pictures then not pass them on. Then I’m a sexy picture hoarder. I passed them along and thought “now I’m involved, whether they like it or not”

Now they both have what I like to call, a love meddler.

.

Setting people up is always a crap shoot. They are both your friends and who doesn’t want to see friends find love. We as humans tend to think “this is perfect! Two likable people who are interested in each other. This is a no brainer” the caper is everybody has relationship issues. EVERYBODY. Will their idiosyncrasies mesh? It’s like an issues jigsaw puzzle and nobody knows if all the pieces really fit but you started the damn puzzle and you got some of it and you think you can see what it will look like when it’s done but it’s kinda too time consuming and sometimes you pretend like your still into it but in your head you know you’ve tried to fit that three bubbled bit with two straight edges into a corner slot 7 times already and it doesn’t fit but to stay in the game you pretend that’s the piece you’re working on. The point is you may be sending them on a candlelit cruise of exploration or you may be shoving them into a hot lava pit of romantic incompatibility.

That being said, I am a girl, physiologically and somewhat emotionally, so I have to meddle. Just a bit. As a girl asking questions like “Would you ever be into Joey?” is commonplace. Now if a dude goes and asks those types of questions I’m sure the conversation is a bit more lewd and definitely short lived. Guys are not great information gatherers when it comes to one on one interaction. Have you noticed?  There is nothing worse than finally getting some one on one time with a guy you like and you’re navigating the conversation with questions. I have blown a gasket more than once with a revealing question like “Don’t you have any questions for me?” and then they look at me like  “You are seriously keeping track of who asks who how many questions?” and I look back like “Fuckin A I am.” And the rest of the night is spent with few words but a lot of faces being made.

So yes, as a girl I will be following up with my set up. They haven’t even met yet so I figure I’ll have my mitts in this thing for another 6 to 8 weeks.

Thats about two months of meddling.

Just when  I thought I had nothing going on this summer..................

 

Thanks for listening.

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com                   

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

bellyaches > colds

I’ve had a cold for almost two weeks. The worst part about having a cold is everybody knows just by talking to you, that you have a cold. I deal with the public a lot so I have been bombarded with

“you have a cold? or you think its allergies?”

“what are you taking?”

“how long have you had it?”

“you sound like, that lady, what was her name?”

It goes on and on. People LOVE to talk about colds. My mother will call

“you sound worse”

“you sound better”

“did you get the zycam?”

“are you drinking orange juice? You gotta drink orange juice. Shit, I got orange juice here, I’d give it to you if you were around”

If you're sick, you better be prepared to answer some God Damn questions. 

If it’s not the questions, it’s the relaying of their own personal cold story or someone else they know that recently had a cold.

“I had that. Two weeks. Took me two weeks to get rid of it”

“this guy I know, he thought he had allergies, turns out he had pneumonia. No shit”

“last winter I had a cold for 3 weeks. The doctor couldn’t do anything just had to let it run its course. Then I broke my foot and got colitis. You know what colitis is?”

 

When I have a cold the last thing I want to do is chat. I want to be home in bed feeling sorry for myself. But no, I’m not sick enough to cancel my obligations.  I’m sick but I’m not sick enough. I have to be sicker.

I’d rather have a bellyache. Then it’s up to me whether or not I tell people I’m not feeling well. As I kid I had a lot of bellyaches. Shit, I would get sent home from school with a bellyache. Half the time I just ate too much and I wanted to lie down but still, my belly hurt. As an adult I never fake sick. I never cancel shit claiming “I don’t feel good: even though I’m feeling perfectly fine. Faking sick is so much better than being sick. Faking sick is pulling a fast one on your community of people. And I never do it. I gotta start faking sick. THAT I would want to talk about.  I would even strike up the conversation.

“Hey did you notice I wasn’t at work last week? I was sick. God I was so sick. You don't want to know what I had. I was bedridden. Nothing worse than Mother Nature telling you to lie in bed and watch TV for days. It was terrible. Do you have a cold?”

 

When I was younger I liked when I had obvious physical ailments. Once, a Queen bee stung me on the lip while I was sleeping. I woke up and the bee had its stinger in my lip, dead, hanging from my face. I rose from my bed trying to keep my head from moving, I went to wake up my mother who grumbled “go back to bed” so I did. Yes, I am an obedient good sleeper; I can fall back asleep with a cold dead insect hanging from my bottom lip. No problem. Needless to say my lip was swollen. I could not have been happier. I went to school with the dead bee in a see through sandwich bag. I didn’t wait for people to ask me what happened; I shook that bee in my friend’s faces and dove right into the story. Most people gasped when I told them my mother sent me back to bed with a dead bee on my lip but I pointed out the most impressive part, my obedience. To this day, I like to be acknowledged when I do what I’m told.

When I was ten I got sun poisoning in Florida. My face swelled up and had little bumps all over it and it was really itchy. We had to go to the emergency room while on vacation. My father was all pissed off he was missing time in the sun. I was annoyed because my itchy face made me lose my appetite and I really liked to eat. Especially on vacation. By the time we landed back in Boston, my face just looked red and flaky. Like a bad sunburn. I tried to tell people about my big bumpy face but, without being able to SEE it, well, it had less impact on the kids. At least I had my appetite back.

My cold seems better but as far as I’m concerned, I’m still sick.

I have to bartend and I have a few shows this week, I decided to take a preemptive approach to conversations about my cold. I ran into a friend earlier ( I almost wrote acquaintance but in the event the person reads this I want them to feel like they are more than an acquaintance even though I don’t know their last name)

Me: hey, how are you? I have a cold. Just took some decongestant and had a juice. So I’m addressing the situation. For all I know it could be allergies.

Him: That sucks! I’m late I gotta run.  See ya

Me: See ya wouldn’t want to be ya

Him: Yeah well, your nose is running

Me: Guess I better catch it.

Him: Ha ok well, hope you feel better

Me: (as he walks away) you do, do ya?

He didn't bite. Attempt to keep ridiculous conversation going: FAILED

 

Everybody says they hope you feel better but nobody says “You know what, you should call in sick”

That’s all I’m really looking for, is for someone to tell me what to do.

 

 

Thanks for listening

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com                   

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy

 

 

 

 

 

 

Self Taunt

 

 

I’ve been mean to myself lately. If  I was going out with me, I’d break up with me right about now.

I’m trying to get back into the self help scene. I used to read self help books. In fact, that is all I read, one self help book after another. Sometimes I would read them 2 or 3 times in a row. That’s how bad I want to be normal. I’m willing to learn. All my self help books are worn at the seam. Any chapters titled anything along the lines of ‘how to stop being attracted to unavailable men in 30 days or less’ have been ripped out and laminated, or are simply unreadable due to chicken wing sauce stains.

 

I’ve been rereading What to Say When You Talk to Yourself  by Shad Helmstetter.

It reiterates – you should talk to yourself like you would talk to someone you have a crush on. Your self talk should make you feel good.

Mine doesn’t.  

My self talk is more of a self taunt.

I wake up and the first thing I say to myself is “Were you just SLEEPING?”

Nothing like waking up to an accusatory, disparaging voice in your own head.

I’m in an abusive relationship and I’m not even getting laid

I have sexual fantasies and the voiceover is “You can’t get anyone to do that for you? It’s missionary style for Christ’s sake. You know how many people find someone to do it with them missionary style everyday? You’re not even trying.”

 

The thing is, when I get into a bad mindset, I start to think only BIG changes can make me feel better like getting involved with a man-boy fast and furiously or packing a bag of mumu’s and big sunglasses and taking this show on the road or aggressively demanding lit agents meet with me. The truth is it’s always the little things that make me feel better. Flirting (via text so I don’t have to put make up on) always makes me feel better. Without fail. Sometimes you gotta flirt with yourself.

The Artist’s Way advocates for taking yourself on a date or splurging on a special treat once a week. Act like you have a crush on yourself. Last week I bought a Time Out New York. I have a love/hate relationship with Time Out. It’s a collection of “Don’t you want to be cool in NYC?  You gotta be doing this” articles. Sometimes when I see Time Out I mock it with an internal ‘sooooooo what do I gotta do this week to be cool? Well? Tell me.”  The truth is, I want to be cool so yeah, I’ll reluctantly dish out the 5 bucks. Surprisingly, this Time Out changed my views on the future pretty damn quick. First of all, I saw an MIH sample sale listed. http://us.mih-jeans.com/home/

I’ve been eyeballing MIH jeans for two years. I shit you not. Two hundred bucks plus a pair,  me likey. I went to the sample sale the next day and got two pairs of MIH jeans for 40 bucks each. That Time Out saved me $380 bucks and got me excited to go out in my new jeans, maybe even flirt in person with my latest unavailable crush.

I also read about the Brooklyn Zine Fest http://brooklynzinefest.com/. I didn’t know about Zine Fests. I want to make a Zine and sell it at the next Fest.

I spent 5 bucks and ended up with two new pairs of ass flattering jeans and a new creative endeavor. I told myself what a good job I did and then I asked myself “you want to get a drink sometime?” and I responded  “how about right now?”

I remembered why I liked myself in the first place.

 

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com         

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy

Ayudame

Someone recently told me I need to work smarter. No elaboration just a matter of fact statement.  

Please, Judger of Work Intelligence, show me the way. Don’t make my life a fable: 

 “the girl who learned she worked wrong”

There was a girl wandering the world working stupid.

Working stupid over here.

Working stupid over there.

 Everybody could see her working stupid. Then, one day, the Judger of Work Intelligence pointed it out to her. He told her “You need to work smarter. I know you are trying really hard and not getting the results you want. I know that. We all know that. It’s hard to watch.

There is a way to achieve the goals you desire but I’m here to tell you, what you are doing, that’s not it.”

With that, the Judger of Work Intelligence disappeared

Then she knew, she didn’t know how to work smart.

The end

 

Don’t just tell me something like that, put your top hot back on and light a cigar in the moonlight. .

Offer a solution

I need one.

They have to be better than the ones I’ve been coming up with

-go back to school

-move to Mexico

-nap more

 

In other words, quit.

Believe me I’m ready to throw in the towel. I have the towel in my hand, I’ve already dramatically raised it above my head and now I just need to throw it, hopefully in the face of someone who really hates getting towels thrown in their face. 

Truth is, he is right. I do need to work smarter. And he gave me some great advice. He said “make a list of the ten people who can help you, and figure out how to meet them.” Which made me realize, I don’t know who can help me. Not only that, I don’t even know how to figure it out. I know how to write humorous flash fiction type of things, I know how to get booked on a show, and I know how to serve drinks but, meet important and powerful people? No clue.

Plus I barely have time to visit the bartender I have a crush on.

The thing is, I’m an Irish Catholic from Boston, we work hard not smart.  Why? Priorities. I crave good friends and fun times far more than turning my art into a business. I don’t do a lot of self promotion with industry people. Why? It’s not fun. I’d rather spend my time writing funny quips that people will laugh at. Or short videos where I get to collaborate with people I like. Then I want to go have a few drinks.

So yeah, for the record, I know I need to work smarter.

But I don’t want to.

So there.

 

On that note, if you or someone you know can help me….

Ayudame!

Por favor

 

Thanks for listening!

Stay flirty!

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com                   

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy 

Yesteryear Protection

I have been applying for conventional jobs. Jobs that have a set schedule and a designated desk where people come to talk to you about deadlines, going out for drinks, or, hopefully, some fucked up but good looking coworker. Not a bartending or stand up comedy job where going to work runs the possibility of someone throwing up in front of you or calling you names and laughing at the same time. A job where I am protected from my yesteryear, where going to work does not have a heightened risk of unexpected and unanticipated social visits. Places where I only have to be afraid of bumping into other downtrodden, lifeless employees when I walk around the strictly defined work space for eight hours. A safe place where I never have to worry about some unemployed guy who crushed my fragile self esteem by teaching me I can’t even get an imbecile to appreciate me, yes that guy, popping by to remind me I liked someone who has no drive or self awareness. I need a restraining order from my past. It’s following me around.

I love bartending, I do, but more and more lately I feel like the moody ape at the zoo. “Hey, Kendra’s in a mood. Let’s taunt her. Oh look she’s smoking cigarettes “– I flick a lit butt at them and they laugh. “Hey let’s see if we can get her to chug this beer. Ohhhh I hope she’ll get aggravated and say something funny.” Maybe I just take everything too seriously. I need to be more like my mother.

My mother works in the State House in Human Resources. She likes the social aspect of it but she doesn’t really like to work. Who does? I know. The difference is she’s pretty honest about it. Lately a lot of people have been calling about an employee benefit that allows discounts on public transportation. My mother didn’t like repeating the same information so many times plus, the people asked a lot of questions without even looking at the website so she decided to make a flyer, it took her a long time. When she was done her boss gave her feedback which included making changes to the flyer which my mother didn’t want to nor did she know how to do. So she said “I think they get the gist.” They flyer idea was squashed but now when people call about the benefit everybody says “Don’t give it to Carol.” So it worked, she doesn't have to do what she didn't want to do.

 

My mother called me from work the other day furious. She had been accused of making 710 copies of a single page document. That means 710 pieces of paper with the same stupid words, she explained. She only needed 10. She had 700 extra copies. She didn’t do it but everybody thought she did. And she didn’t like it. Her theory was Fred did it. Yes, she was pointing the finger at a man to take responsibility for not knowing how to operate a big huge machine. Not only that, his name was Fred. I know a lot of trouble makers, none of them are named Fred. My mother had an alibi, she had been at lunch when the offense occurred. That’s the other thing about my mother, nobody wants to deal with her when she’s mad and defensive. She’s the sweetest, prettiest, funniest little lady to be around but piss her off, holy shit, she’s unrecognizable. The more I listened the more I began to realize nobody was quite as upset about the hundreds of copies as my mother was. I had a feeling her coworkers had stopped listening so she picked up the phone for a fresh audience. Ultimately, I told my mother I had to go which she hears as a challenge, a challenge to try to get me to stay on the phone even though I want to not be on the phone anymore. So then the questions start, grasping at straws to keep the phone conversation alive “where do you have to go?” “what are you doing there?” “are you alone?” “what will you be doing later?” “did you get those pants hemmed you mentioned to me once in passing two months ago but I forgot about it until just now?” And then someone on her end mentioned Fred and Voila! I am cut loose.

I haven’t heard a peep about Fred, if he’s smart, he’s avoiding my mother at all costs.

My mother listed a pair of jeans to sell on eBay so that should be good.

Thanks for listening!

Kisses

- Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle. www.kendracunningham.com

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy

Taunting the Stranglers

Somebody recently asked me that age old question “Do you think you’re

afraid of success?” I wish I was afraid of success. That would be a

normal fear. I’m afraid to wear a scarf. I wear a scarf and I feel like

I’m taunting the stranglers. I’m walking down the street trying to keep

warm thinking “I’m a walking crime scene, an accomplice in my own murder.

I put this scarf on, I went out in public, I knew there were people in the

world who like to strangle people, and I flaunted an opportunity right in

front of their face. Annnnnnnnnd I hear footsteps.” If you ever see me

wearing a scarf, odds are I’m also running, running from imaginary mean

people.

 

I don’t think I’m afraid of success. Then again my ideas of success change

every year, sometimes every day. Today my idea of success was to have an

Ellen Barkin-like job where I got to say things like “you listen to me,

you son of a bitch……..” And make out with that son of a bitch 10 seconds

later. Yes, making out on the clock was included in today’s version of

success. So in that instance, no, I’m not afraid of success.

 

My biggest fear is feeling like I haven’t accomplished enough. I like to

accomplish things and I like to accomplish things as quickly as possible.

It’s hard for me to enjoy the process because I’m white knuckled, aggressively

focussed  on finishing whatever it is. Even sex, I'm sexually competitive and looking to finish on top.

Pun intended.

I have sex like I’m going for a KO in record breaking time. The last guy I was involved with sounded

like a coach in bed “Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy below the belt. Remember what

we talked about, conserve energy.” I’m a haymaker. It’s not so much skill

as it is endurance and overenthusiasm. Anything just to tire the guy out.

He’s falling off the bed and I’m standing with my hand on my hip, swigging

on a water bottle, panting out the count down “10…9…8...”

 

It’s always hard to schedule a rematch but I don’t take it personally.

I just practice my 2013 motto

“Be a competitor. Even when you don’t have to be”

 

This is me getting horned up 

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand-up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super

comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her

sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy