BLONDE LOGIC

Mea Culpa

 

I’m terrible at journaling. My journals are sporadic collections of nonsense. I recently pulled out a bunch of old journals filled with to do lists, joke ideas, and things I want to do with my life rants.  Not one journal had been completed. They all have the middle part of the journal blank, then at the back there are a few entries that seem more interesting because of their odd placement but they’re not. No grand emotional disclosures, no scandalous involvement with the underbelly of society, and sadly, no sexual content. The best thing I found in my journals are a collection of  fake apology letters. I didn’t realize how prone I was to fake apologies but they are proof of my overbearing conscience. This one was written in red ink at a diagonal on the page.

 

Exhibit A:

Dear Credit Card Company,

I am writing to inform you I will not be paying you anymore. I apologize in advance for any inconvenience this may cause you. I don’t remember all the things you paid for for me. I really don’t and that makes me feel even worse. Plus, I kinda knew I would never be able to pay you back in full. I’m just being honest. I don’t know why I took advantage of the situation. I think it’s because we never met in person. I really do. I think if I had met an actual person who lent me cash, I would have been more inclined to settle my debt. It doesn’t really matter at this point. The damage is done. I do want to thank you for the trip to the British Virgin Islands. One of the best times of my life so far. If you ever get a chance to go there, do it.  Go to the Willy T. It’s a cool boat bar that’s off Norman Island I think. You can get drunk and jump off the boat, you can even jump naked and they give you a free tshirt. It’s impossible to fret about unpaid debts there. You’ll forget all about me and my inability to make things right. I am enclosing my card, I cut it up. I bought one more pair of jeans before I did. The Seven for All Mankind flares that I like. So thank you. I’m sure you’ll be in touch but odds are I’ll never return your calls. It’s just easier that way. Easier for me.

Thanks and again, sorry.

            -the date on this is too recent to disclose

 

I also found one to my TV when I had forgotten to pay the cable bill and one to my amazing bed that I had spilled a hot beverage on.

 

This is why I save all my journals, someday they could be used as evidence in my insanity plea.

 

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

Errand Cahoots

  

I performed in the Women in Comedy Festival in Boston last week (check out the festival http://www.womenincomedyfestival.com/). I arrived at the venue and the first thing the hostess said to me is “Your mothers here, she’s not happy”

Turns out, the show was sold out and she hadn’t made a reservation so she did not get preference in seating nor did she mask her disappointment.

The hostess went on “She wanted me to comp her but I …”

“Please, don’t worry about my mother.”

As I’m having this conversation with the concerned hostess, I see my mother leering at me from across the room.

I made the mistake of telling her what the hostess said. “She said that? Oh get a life. Seriously there’s something wrong with that girl. She can’t comp your mother? She sticks me back here? Look at all these empty seats. I don’t think she likes you”

“Maybe she doesn’t like you, Mum”

“Oh stop being ridiculous. She doesn’t even know me. Your hair looks good”

We spent the next day together. As I climbed in the car she asked “Now is there anything you want to do while you’re here?”

“Not really, I’m pretty flexible”

“Oh good because I thought we would go to Ashmont Grill around 7, I gotta stop by Joannes and, shit, I HAVE to pick up my laundry. Don’t let me forget”

Bingo I am in errand cahoots within moments. I did thank her for the courtesy of acting like what I wanted to do mattered.

Driving around doing errands is a means of bonding in my family. I can’t tell you how many Saturdays as a kid we would pile in the car at 9 am and not get home until we had gorged on a late lunch of Chinese food. Filene’s basement, food shopping, grandparent visits, whatever was on the list, it didn’t matter, we got to drive around and listen to music and hang out together. It was a mobile furlough.

I’ve been programmed to associate errand running with close relationships. If a guy says “Let’s pop in here, I need new sneakers”

 Alley Oop! Full steam ahead.

I have to stop myself from saying “Ok ok it’s official, I will be your Girlfriend but, Boyfriend, but we still need to talk about this, your expectations, my expectations…”

The worst is when your crush is a bad errand runner. Some people just do not enjoy errands. Once I witnessed a cutie furiously dropping off dry cleaning. Relax, buddy. It’s 2 o’clock on a Saturday. Take a deep breath. I can’t deal with people like that. Running errands is the perfect excuse to go brain dead. You walk around on autopilot crossing things off the list, knowing at the end of the day you will feel as if you accomplished something even though you didn’t have to THINK. You participated in a few bullshit conversations, maybe even an impulse buy or two,  snacks snacks snacks, these are the types of days you want to spend with a special someone.

That’s the best time to bond, especially with men, when you’re not thinking.

It’s a level playing field.

 

Read about our trip to Alumni Café here

http://blondelogic.typepad.com/dont_forget_to_chew_/

 

There is a  story about me and my cars here

http://www.thegloc.net/2012/03/27/bursting-flame-detail-assignment-g-l-o-c/

 

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

Comfort Love

 

 

 

I overheard some doe eyed girl talking to her friend about the spring weather “This is the type of weather that makes me want to lie in the park and read”

I thought “This is the type of weather that makes me want to get behind the wheel with a pack of smokes and drive to a tattoo parlor in Rhode Island”

I’m just not a lie in the park type of girl.

 

I’ve tried to be. I’ve packed a little bag with a book and a blanket and snacks, plenty of snacks, but it never turns out to be the Doris Day extravaganza I envisioned. I get there and I remember  I don’t like laying on grass. And honestly, laying down is in my top five “things I ALWAYS like to do not matter what” , so for me to abandon an opportunity to do one of my top five favorite things, I’m suffering. Nobody should have to suffer through laying down. I mean it’s one of the best positions to be in. That just goes to show you why “laying on things that have grass underneath them’ is number one on my list of “things I forget I hate doing”.

 

Anyway, if it’s not the grass, I smell shit. I get my whole set up going and I take out my book and I try to find a soft spot in the Earth, and walla! I smell shit. Whether I’m actually sitting on the shit, I don’t know but it’s close enough for me to smell. The smell of shit is enough to make me leave anyplace no matter how much time I just spent setting up.

 

The worst is when you sit next to people who clearly love going to the fuckin’ park. It’s not even the weather that brought them there, this is what they do. And they do it well. Always having a better time than the guy on the next blanket with the perfect choice in clothing for the weather, a deliberate combination of food that you would have never thought of and, usually, in love. Or even worse, lust. Fuck that. You want to put on a show about how great your little beach blanket bingo is? Well you just lost yourself an audience member.  I’ll pack up my shit and leave if I choose a spot next to well put together but, ultimately, uninteresting people.

For the love of God, if I’m forced to overhear your conversation, make it something puzzling.

Not:

“Where’s the spicy soppressata?”

“ Next to the olive oil that I mixed with spices most people haven’t heard of”

Yawn.

 

I won’t even finish my snacks before I leave an eavesdropping session that makes me want to interject a joke or two.

 

Sometimes it’s the people that make me not like the park.

But mostly it's my love of comfort. 

Comfort love.

 

 

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

 

Finger food

I’m definitely an emotional eater. Unfortunately for me I have a lot of undefined emotions.  I ate three Rotisserie chickens in the month of January. Thats finger food for me. I can polish one of those things off quicker than you can say “Would you like some silverware?” I’m like “Oh, no, I’m done. Can you get these chicken remains away from me? Do I have any fatty  skin on my face? I’m still hungry”

That’s one reason I could never be a vegetarian. Vegetables don’t make me feel anything. Especially not full. You never see a vegetarian push themselves away from the table, unbutton their pants and say “Christ I can’t believe I just ate that. Spinach, lentils, AND kale? I’m such a pig.”

It does feel somewhat criminal to have more than one animal carcass in your trash. At one point I had two chicken skeletons and 13 Starbucks cups in my barrel. I’m pretty sure that means something. I had thoughts of getting my trash analyzed but I was afraid the analysis would come back saying something like “ the last time we saw this trash combination was in  the flop house of  a 57 year old streaker who ultimately shaved her head and removed her own toe nails before calling in a death threat to an old lover whom she had not spoken to in 17 years”  I don’t want any “what’s gonna happen with my life” foreshadowings.

I have to start food shopping. And waiting until I’m hungry before I eat. I can’t remember the last time I ate because I was hungry.  I think the last time my stomach growled was at a Nirvana concert. Or I was listening to Nirvana. For some reason when I think of my stomach growling I think of Kurt Cobain.

I did go to the grocery store recently. I found myself heckling the food I was not going to buy “Canned beets? Ya, I don’t think so. I hope you have a long shelf life my friend. Fruit salad in a can? I want a “who buys the canned fruit salad” cam installed. Pronto! Oh and here we have food for pica people. Want to eat cardboard but it’s socially unacceptable? Don’t want your paper eating compulsion exposed? Buy these flatbread crackers, they taste like cardboard but they’re in a cracker package! Cheez its should sue! They should not be grouped in with unedible crackers. Cheez its should have their own display. Actually I wouldn’t mind being a Cheez its salesperson………..”  it goes on and on. Then I get to the register and realize 7 out of my 12 items are made by White Rose. The cash register operator should be allowed to upsell you. They’d have a field day with me and I’d be humiliated out of my “all my items are $5 dollars or less” habit. There is nothing like a Jeno’s pizza for one. At least I call it a pizza for one, I guess it’s just a pizza.

The check out girl chose not to act as a commentator in fact she chose to act like I was one big pain in the ass disturbing her texting session. When she was done beligerantly ringing me up she asked “ Did you bring a recyclable  bag?” but she looked over her shoulder at Lord knows what when she said it. No eye contact. I shook my head but she couldn’t see me. She got annoyed “You want me to bag this stuff?”  I was like “Yeah I want you to bag it. I want you to continue to work in front of the annoying lady with 12 items. Better yet don’t touch my shit. I’m gonna carry my items home one by one. That way  I can bug the crap out of you ELEVEN more times today. Give me my Bread and Butter pickles,  I’ll be back!”

Ok I didn’t say all that but I did ask her to double bag my stuff.

And I was real snippy when I said it.

I swear I saw her look at the calorie content of my Temp Tee cream cheese.

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

HAPPY NEW TEARS

I wanted to start the New Year off with enthusiasm, inspiration, and motivation. I really did but you can’t force that type of stuff. As I was sending out my Happy New Years texts, my phone autocorrected me on numerous occasions, sending out the ominous greeting “Happy New Tears” to friends and family.

 

Like a lot of families, my family is not good with open, frank conversations about emotions. I can’t even name my feelings most of the time. My emotional vocabulary consists of –Good, Tired, and Bloated. Bloated usually means other things like cranky, lazy, uncomfortable in my own skin.

That sentence was erroneously written ending with “uncomfortable in my own sin”.

 

I’ve been “bloated” for about three months now. My mother can sense I’m in a funk three days in. I’m not even aware I’m experiencing anything yet. I’m convinced I’m simply bound up.

Mum: Are you ok? You don’t sound good.

Me: Yeah I’m fine. My stomach is lethargic.

Mum:  You sound depressed.

There’s nothing like you’re mother telling you “you sound depressed” to under mind your happiness.

Once she gets it in her mind there’s something wrong, you’re doomed. The line of questioning gets more telling and painful.

Mum: Well, I mean, if you feel like you’re not where you should be in life at this age, I can understand that.

Me: No I’m fine.

Mum: I’m sure you want to find someone, I’m not talking marriage but …. It’d just be nice to have someone.

Me: Ok, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.

Mum: Ok, well if you need me to give you money let me know.

Me: Mum I’m fine.

Mum: You don’t sound fine.

Me: Can we don’t talk about my emotional state for two consecutive days in a row.

Mum: Awareness is the first step.

 

You see what I’m saying.

Houdini couldn’t get out of this conversation loop.

 

 

This will go on for weeks. It’s a verbal form of Chinese Water Torture. She always wins. Whether  she prompts my self awareness or simply convinces me that I am in fact, in the dumps, I finally admit it.

Me: Yeah I think I am a little depressed.

Mum: Oh, you’ll be fine, honey.  Did you ever get that Ralph Lauren sweater at Marshalls? If not I’ll send it to you. It’s a great color for you.

 

Like any good Cunningham once you’ve acquiesced and she has that “Seeeee, I was RIGHT!” moment, she’s more than happy to douse you with compliments.

And clothes.

“I like your new sweater, Kendra”

“Thanks I got it for agreeing with my mother. It’s a wardrobe reminder that she was right”

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One Mile Radius

 

 

My mother, my sister and I spent the day after Thanksgiving in the Prospect Park Zoo. We went vintage shopping then we went to the zoo. That was our itinerary. Most girls go shopping and then go for a  drink or get a bite to eat, we hit the closest city zoo.

 

I had never been to the Zoo in Prospect Park and I will admit, I kinda poo poo’d the idea. I was picturing mangy old animals that weren’t all that interesting throwing McDonalds cups and other litterbug trash at each other while clinically depressed zoo keepers sat around staring at brochures of better zoos, dreaming their lives away. Much to my surprise, the Prospect Park Zoo has over 400 animals of 80 different species. It’s a fucking ZOO. There is a Zoo one mile from my home where I have lived for over 5 years. For five years I have lived less than a mile away from hundreds of wild animals in captivity and never heard a peep. Not one noise to make me think “What the hell? Was that a wild animal?” Nothing. That scares the shit out of me.

 

We took pictures. We fed farm animals. We saw red Koala Bears, Baboons, Lamas, Porcupines, Bats, Seals and Golden Tamarins. And lots of small humans. Parents had strange reactions when we, three adults with no toddlers in tow,  approached their children to ooo and ahh over them. I could see their baby snatcher profiling minds at work. I was tempted to start saying things like “Oh she looks just like the one from the Zoo in Little Rock, remember her Mom? The one with the soft skin and silky hair”  or even better “ Your husband told me you couldn’t have kids. Where is he? That lying sack of shit. Get your fuckin kid out of my way or BigDick Junior will be taking his first swim in the shark tank. Move it fatty”   

 

We didn’t make any friends at the Zoo but we did learn that Porcupines spend most of their time in trees, staying out of the way of predators. We also learned very few animals will attack a Porcupine. So Porcupines spend most of their time hiding in trees to avoid their VERY few attackers?  Paranoid life avoiders.  

 I think I’m gonna start using that line when my mother calls

“ Soooooooooooo what are you up to  today?”

“Staying out of the way of predators, Mom”

“That’s good, honey, did you eat? ”

 

We also learned when a female Baboon has a red swollen rump, she is ready to mate.

It looked like all the females had red swollen rumps. My kinda girls.

Male baboons often groom females before mating with them. It must suck to be so horny that a whole body part becomes inflamed, then your knight in shining armor arrives and he’s like

“Before we get started, how about a makeover? Mani/pedi, a blow out …..”

 

“Did you see my ASS?  It’s SWOLLEN? Can we go to the salon AFTER?”

 

She offers him her big red ass and he thinks he can do better.

Applicable for any species.

 

 

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

Thanksgiving Slop

 

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. It’s the compulsive eaters day to come out of the closet and be “normal”.  We can eat until our bodies shut down in front of the people who love us with no cause for concern. Even today when I’m sitting at a big holiday dinner, I have to stop myself from saying “ SO, this is holiday eating for you huh? Not for me. This is what I do every day. Every day is a holiday for this girl, can you pass the butter? And the mashed potatoes? Fuck it, just push it all my way will ya”   I never understood why we had to wait to take the desert out. Why can’t everything be on the table at once? I’m very visual. I want to see EVERYTHING. If the pecan pie looks particularly glazed, I might just skip another hot buttered roll.

What? I said MIGHT.

Since my sister and I moved to New York, my mother comes to us and we go out to dinner. Our all -you -can -eat holiday spreads are put on hold until we head back to Boston for Christmas. Thanksgiving pictures for the last few years are just the three of us posing with glasses of red wine at a funky restaurant.  We can only tell what year it is based on visual clues like hair color or emotional state, sometimes it’s a combination of both “ Was that 2006? It must be. Remember you were crying because none of your clothes fit you? Look – you’re in a Red Sox sweatshirt with your hair in a French twist.”  

 “ That’s gotta be 2009, remember  you tried to color your hair red and people kept asking if it was wig? You were so mad. Look at you. ” . 

Mad at Thanksgiving caught on film.

As a kid I got in trouble at the Thanksgiving table for mushing all my food together like a big turkey pot pie without the crust. Turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, cole slaw, green bean casserole, all mashed up in an ugly epicurean delight. My father would get mad. He  thought I was doing it for the “that’s gross” attention but I honestly liked it. Mostly because I could never decide what to eat first.  I was too anxious to have a bite of turkey chew it and swallow it BEFORE I went on to taste the green bean casserole. It was all too exciting. Putting it together in a big plate of slop was the best solution I could think of. It wasn’t until later in life that I learned about Shepherd’s Pie, goulash and entire meals that were prepared in one big pot.  I wasn’t so strange after all. There were actual recipes for the shit I was into.

 One year my father brought a recovering alcoholic to Thanksgiving dinner. Nobody had ever met this man before and quite frankly, the only person buying the fact that he was in “recovery” was my father who did not drink at all and never had. The rest of us suspected the stranger was pretty lit up when he arrived. He also appeared homeless and come to find out, very hungry. I watched him piling more than one serving on his plate, a portion I would have gotten in trouble for but he’s the guest of honor soooooooooo. He then started mixing things together. I looked at my father who was suggesting we say grace despite the fact he hadn’t been to church since my confirmation when he stood in the back of the church chewing gum feverishly with a disapproving look on his face. When dinner was over, I pointed out his friend’s affinity for mixing his rations into one. He said “Kendra, he probably learned that in prison”

I’m not allowed to play with my food but he’s allowed to bring ex cons to Thanksgiving dinner.

Happy Thanksgiving from the Cunningham Household

Stop by and watch Kendra and a real live ex con turn a Thanksgiving spread into prison slop in 3 minutes or less.

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

Symptom Bluff

 

In the past month, I have had two fortune tellers tell me I have little tolerance for physical pain but an unusually high tolerance for emotional pain, especially being a female and all. One of the fortune tellers hesitated around the word female as if she was looking for a more appropriate word, I glared at her and she relented.  It is true I am highly sensitive physically, some may say I’m a hypochondriac, I like to say I’m just suspicious of my own body. I spend a lot of time meeting with the medical professionals and putting them through various tests from the book:

Everybody Thinks Doctors are so Smart   

disguised conversational questions to test your Doctor’s competency

Written Diligently By Kendra Cunningham.

Last week I had my Annual Physical. I felt like Reese Witherspoon in Election. I was showered, dressed, had all my ailments written up way before departure time. My Doctor and her assistant both complimented me on my outfit. Not at the same time either. I knew I had gained weight so I wasn’t looking forward to that part of the visit. Weight gain is not a diagnosis.

“179” the assistant called out.

“Holy shit” I said, “I can’t believe I gained so much weight. I knew I gained weight but…..”

My Doctor interrupted “You weighed 173 last year”

“Really? I swear I thought I was so skinny last year. It’s funny how….”

This time she straight up cut me off  “Yeah it was exactly a year ago so you gained six pounds. Let’s get your blood pressure”

She wasn’t in the mood for me. It was clear. She certain wasn’t gonna like my handwritten list of symptoms but I had to inform her or else I would be hindering her ability to do her job.  As I announced each symptom, she asked A LOT of questions I couldn’t answer. In a court of law I would have looked like I was lying about having trouble swallowing and feeling like I’m losing my balance sometimes. She did a great cross examination. I was even doubting myself.  At one point I caved and I felt like I was bluffing “Ok,Ok maybe I don’t get bloated with the smallest of morsels of food,  forget that one. Let’s move on to the pain in my left flank.”  She replied snidely “ Yes, let’s”

When all was done, she looked me in the eye and said “ I give this to all my patients, it’s a mental health assessment”

“Oh no! I never do good on these” I tried to joke with her.

She watched me answer the questionnaire which I thought was spooky but I didn’t say anything. When I was done she said “Well, you’re not depressed but you are anxious. What do you think you’re anxious about?”

“The fact that I’m not depressed? Maybe I feel guilty that I’m happy?”  I really wanted to get the right answer.

She just shrugged and asked if I wanted to be tested for HIV.

I said “Sure” like she had asked me if I wanted a piece of gum.

I ended up leaving there with blood test paperwork, a specialist referral, and the name of a dermatologist. No diagnosis but I felt good about my visit all the same.

When I got home I realized I left my Red Sox hat in the examination room.  I called and told them I’d come back the next day to get it but they insisted on mailing it to me.

Free of charge.

I hope they didn’t do anything to it.

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dick Hostel

 

My family is big into Halloween. My mother still dresses up. Two years ago she came to New York for Halloween and me, my sister, and my mother all went out drinking, costumes and all. Grey Gardens is just around the bend.

This year my mother had a Halloween suggestion for me “Why don’t you dress up like a woman trying to meet a husband?”

 I asked “What would I wear?”

“Exactly!” she responded.

My mother isn’t coming to New York this Halloween. I asked her what she was gonna do and she said “No plans but I’m dressing up. I’ll just go out and scare the shit outta the kids. I don’t care. I’m having fun”

Chasing the fun runs in the family. I went to a concert at Brooklyn Bowl with my recently single sister, we walked by some funky bar on our way out and my sister said “Look! There are cute guys in there. C’mon !”.  About two sips into our beers she turned to me and said “These guys aren’t even gonna talk to us are they?”   I paused. I didn’t feel good about squashing her optimistic, romanticized version of the single life. I didn’t want to tell her activity on the front line is sparse, inconsistent. I didn’t want to go on and on about how online dating, porn, and the bisexual nature of the younger generation are all in cahoots to squeeze us “Let’s go drinking and do it military style” types out. Rocky Balboa’s It Ain’t About How Hard You Hit speech came to mind but I knew starting my response with “The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. “ would be too transparent.  So instead I said “They’re way too skinny anyway” then I unbuttoned my pants so I could breathe.

Rocky's Words of Wisdom

I’ve given up on guys. I’m sick of the whole bunch of them. I bought an Apple TV for the winter and I’m shutting it down for the next three months. As soon as I made that decision I had an old boyfriend, for lack of a better word, call me and say “I’m gonna be in New York can I stay at your place? I won’t try to have sex with you.”  I said “C’mon! You know me better than that. I can’t have dick in the house and just let it be. I don’t have one. They’re interesting to me”

He said “seriously? You won’t let me stay there?”

“What do you think? I’m running a dick hostel? You and your dick can come and sleep on the floor in the corner and hope that you don’t get assaulted or robbed in the middle of the night? You think that’s what I do with my time now?”

I was finding the conversation increasingly amusing and started in on a giggle fit.

He thought I was stoned.

It’s a good day when people suspect your enjoyment of mundane events is induced my mind altering substances.

 I heard through the grapevine he ended up staying at the W hotel.

Big swinging dick.

 

 

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

 

 

Hellooooooooooooo Carol

My mother likes to act tough. She can talk a good game when the antagonist is nowhere to be seen but the minute there is a hint of confrontation, she’s off and running.  Avoidant behavior, it’s a family trait.

This weekend she called to tell me a woman named Barbara had moved into her building.

“You remember Barbara? She didn’t tip Kristen that time at Palm Beach Grill?”

My sister Kristen worked at Palm Beach Grill about 9 years maybe more.  If Barbara’s stingy behavior almost a decade ago is her character defining moment,  I’m guessing Barbara has finally trumped herself.

“I do remember the nontipping event but I can’t picture her”

“Well,  yeah you wouldn’t. She’s the epitome of depression. You know that labored walk and she never smiles.Never has. Never will. “

“That’s too bad” I said.

She bit back “Don’t feel bad for her. She’s not very nice to me. She moved into my building and she left a note under my door saying come by for a glass of wine and I never did. No big deal. I’m busy. I’m tired. I have my own wine. Whatever. So now whenever I see her she looks me right in the eye and almost squares off to me and says “Helloooooooooooooo Carol” then turns away. It’s so weird. It’s scary. I mean what the fuck is that all about? “Hellooooooooooooo Carol”  like Hello Newman from Seinfeld kind of shit. Fuck her. Don’t even bother saying hi”

Trying to be helpful, I suggested “You should say something”

“This weekend Kristen and I saw her EVERYWHERE we went and every time the same thing. One time she didn’t say hi. We were on the ferry and she looked like she was sleeping. Probably drunk or something”

“What did Kristen say about the whole thing?”

“She was creeped out! I mean who wants to see their mother being terrorized like that? She would see her and say “There she is! C’mon go this way” and steer me in the direction of safety. It’s ridiculous. Now I gotta avoid this woman?”

“Maybe you should get a pistol? Sit in the parking lot polishing it up.”

“I don’t have time to sit around participating in threatening behavior. I have a life”

“OK how about a water gun? When she squares off to you, squirt her in the face. What’s she gonna do?”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. I mean it’s not against the law. If she reported me she’d look like a big baby. You get squirt in the face with a water gun, you keep it to yourself, ya know?”

 

Who knows if she’ll follow through with the water gun retaliation. If I know my mother, she’ll dodge and sidestep Barbara when alone but when she has the support of a confederate, she’ll walk right towards her whispering to her side kick “Watch this”.

I asked my mother if I could share this story or if she thought the Big B might read it and lash out. She replied “I doubt she knows how to use the computer. I’ll print it out and tape it to her door. Can I get in trouble for that?”

 

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