BLONDE LOGIC

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

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

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

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

Direction Jeopardy

Everybody in New York is going somewhere in a hurry and they all think their destination is far superior to anybody within their line of vision. People are actively avoiding eye contact with everybody else, including me. I like eye contact but when someone on the streets of New York looks me in the eye, I assume they’re thinking about telling me I have egg on my face but they don’t have time to get into it, plus they want to pretend they didn’t see a someone in broad day light with egg yolk face. I get it.

Every once in a while a pedestrian acts vulnerable in public. These people need directions. A lot of people ask me for directions. I don’t know if I look approachable or if they see me and think “I don’t give a fuck what this chick thinks of me and my inability to find my way around”. Either way, it’s kind of flattering that everybody thinks I look like somebody who knows how to get places. The thing is, I like giving directions. I like to help people. I like to see people get what they want out of life. I think that shows. Sometimes I wish I could keep in touch with all the people I’ve given directions to but I know it would be just weird to add that to the interaction. “Two blocks up there and take your second left, it’ll be on your left. You wanna keep in touch? Email or something? I’d just like to know how the directions work out, ya know?”. Maybe someday.

Every once in a while a direction seeker is a real jerk. A direction disbeliever. I had a guy ask me where Radio Shack is. Yes, I know, I didn’t think people went to Radio Shack anymore either but, guess what? I knew where it was. Yes I did. And I told him and you want to know what he said? “No, that’s wrong”. To which I should have said “So you know where Radio Shack is, you’re just walking around asking if other people know where it is? Leave me out of it”. But I didn’t. I sat there and defended my initial answer, knowing the validity of my directions. He eventually turned to ask someone else, I stopped myself from blurting out “Don’t tell him, he’s a jerk. You’re doing something nice that will not be appreciated”. I pretended to get an important phone call instead.

So there are people who don’t really want to be helped then there are the people who are more eager to help me than me, the direction interrupters. They come out of nowhere. Someone says “Excuse me, can you tell me where the closet subway is?” and the direction interrupter comes out of nowhere. “Oh yeah it’s so easy you just…” and I’m standing there thinking “Excuse me, that question was directed at me” but what do you say? If I get all pissy, not only have they stolen my thunder, they also get to see me say something stupid with an emotion fueled facial expression. It’s like Jeopardy for directions, a stranger calls out the destination and whoever gives the directions first, wins. Well I don’t want to play. If a direction interrupter shoves his face in the conversation and spews out the information, I blurt out to the person seeking assistance “I knew that. I knew the course to take. You made a good choice in picking me as the person to ask. Sorry I could not have communicated quicker. I wanted to be the one. I think you know that”

Then I ask them to call me when they get to their journey’s end.

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

$28 Worth of Hope

I performed recently at the Comedy Vault (www.dickdoherty.com) in Boston and I stayed with my mother in Quincy, MA. I grew up in Milton one town over so it was pretty much like going home. Milton is a small, dry town so as teenagers, my friends and I would have to go to Quincy or Dorchester to do anything out of the ordinary. Quincy happens to be the home of Regina Russel’s Tea Room. http://www.rrtearoom.com/ .  Their website reads “in the psychic reading business since 1973” and they have the furniture to prove it!  I can’t tell you how many Saturday afternoons I spent at Regina Russel’s, trying to find out if the hottie I met at the under 21 club the night before was going to come to my friend’s house party. Most of my visits to Regina Russel’s were prompted by men. This time I was there simply to have a stranger spin a tale of hope and inspiration about my future. Fuck, for $28 bucks Helen looked me in the eye and talked up the next two years of my life for 15 minutes, I would have paid $50.

“In only a few months you will have major career changes” Helen said.

“Sooooo, September?’ I said giddy with anticipation.

“More like October, November”

I nodded my head as if to say “I can work with that. I will not argue with fate”

“There is an enthusiastic younger man who loves you and WANTS to be in a relationship with you, do you know who this is?”

“NO! Who? No, don’t tell me! I want to be surprised”

I was hanging on Helen’s every word like Kathy Bates in Misery. Helen looked like she had special powers.  I would wager she was well known for performing exorcisms, she had a few stories from Laconia, and was troubled with internal dialogue. I knew I liked her right away. She gave me a once over. I appreciate a good once over, I do.  To me it says “Get a load of this one”. I was wearing a black sundress that cost me, at most, twenty bucks but it seemed to be getting me a lot of attention in Quincy. I’m not complaining.

I jumped into the car feeling energized with anticipation about the next year of my life. My mother on the other hand was moderately satisfied with her experience. “Which lady did you get?” I asked. “Oh I don’t know. I was more entertaining than she was for Christ’s sake. I gotta go to Walmart.” Then she backed out of her spot at 20 miles an hour.

Driving with my mother is like watching a one woman show on four wheels (sometimes two). She tells stories, imitates people, and makes you question if she has any experience at this at all. There is a lot of improvisation in her driving. Loads of last minute decision making, routes are continuously changed, and other drivers are left for dead, if they’re lucky. We pulled up to a red light in a four lane intersection. We were in the third lane behind 3 cars, the fourth lane veered to the right and they had a green light so when a car in the fourth lane sidled up beside us and came to a stop my mother was instantly disgruntled.

“What the hell is this guy doing? You have a red light! What?  You want in my lane? Jesus Christ this guys rolling down his window. Kendra, you see this guy?”

I roll down my window.

The guy looks foreign and confused. He asks with an accent “Is this the right way to BJ’s?” I stifled a chuckle.

My mother responded immediately and loudly “Oh you gotta go, well it’s tough to explain. It’s over there. Take a right here, make a u-ey, take another right….”

The guy interrupted “So take a right here?”

Feeling as if he hadn’t been a good listener, coupled by the fact the light is about to change and she can actually give him the information he is looking for if he’d only stop acting foreign,  my mother stops being patient and starts talking fast, adding finger pointing to her instructions.

“Take a right (finger jab at air) then turn around and take another right (the other finger jabs) then bear to the right on the ramp (both hands move through the air on an incline)”

The light changes while he repeats “So take a right here?”

My mother shakes her hands around, grabs the wheel, sneers “Good Luck” and peels off.

Carol Cunningham, just another impatient American deserting a foreigner in a time of need.

In all fairness, hours later, my mother turned to me and said ‘You think that sad sack ever made it to BJ’s?”

See? She cares.

 

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

Relationship Drop

 

Like any upstanding member of the female gender, I can be hypersensitive at times. Sometimes these ‘times” have a continuous and indefinite duration. Lately I’ve been persistently susceptible to overanalyzing and acutely responsive to external stimuli, yes, I’ve been a little crazy. I’ve been enjoying it.

I may be the only one.

This past Saturday I was out with my sister Kristen, for a ‘snack’ when we got to chatting with the bartender. A MALE bartender. Fun chatter. Some of it may have been interpreted as flirtatious or suggestive. My sister was drinking Dickel. I mean, how can you not say something suggestive about that?

How do you like that Dickel?

There’s more Dickel where that came from.

You know once you have a little Dickel well, you wish you had a lot of Dickel (hand on hip, sucking back chewing tobacco juices)

I like to think it’s highbrow Beavis and Butthead material.

About 20 to 30 minutes in, he says ‘ blah blah blah this thing I’m doing for my girlfriend blah blah blah’

Now I don’t know if it’s a single thing but as a single person, when a new social contact does the ‘I’m in a relationship reveal” I get a couple of things from that.

1.Braggart

                'I’m in a relationship while you guys are trolling bars pretending to be hungry so you don’t look like you’re a couple of booze bags.     '

2. Disinterest

"While all this banter is making my work sentence go quickly, I am in no way, shape, or form interested in either one of you like THAT"

3.Condescending

"Let me tell you what happens in the world of people in relationships, you single people you. So you can see how our situation in life is better, right?"

Now I’m sure he didn’t mean any of those things, but all of those things popped into my mind to some degree which directly effected the amount of fun I was having.

When he walked away, Kristen and I were both enjoying the 3 appetizers we had ordered and I said ‘I always think it’s weird when someone throws that out there”. My sister agreed while picking at the last bits of the house smoked thick cut bacon but we didn’t talk about it at length. I think we both realized we were coming to the end of our appetizers and if we wanted our fair share we better focus before the other one quietly scarfs it down.

I’m trying not to read so much into things.

I had a friend call me recently and leave me a voicemail ‘We had a girl. The delivery was easy. Call me. I want to see what’s going on with you’

First of all, I didn’t know she was preggers. So that’s how long it’s been since we chatted. Enough time for her to make a human. So, I’m gonna call and say..what?

‘So great to hear your growing and developing like a traditional citizen of the United States of America. Me? Well in the past 10 months IIIII.. what have I done? I got a 42 inch flat screen, oh and a dog, what else hmm Jesus I can’t think. Oh yeah, I might go to Eastern Europe, probably not, but I’ve been talking about thatttttttttttttttt. Gosh, oh I got a bunch of new jokes. I think you’d like them, huh? Oh you gotta go? Your spawn needs to know you love them? That makes sense. Ok, well make sure to leave me a message when you get a summer home ok?  Cuz I wanna know when great things happen to you! Hello? Hello?”

I sound acerbic, I know.

I kinda like it.

Relentless biting saracasm.

It’s Irish gangster.

 

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

The Girl with the Outside Food

MY LATEST CRUSH

I’ve been talking about being lazy and bloated for a long time. I think I bottomed out. Lately when people invite me somewhere, anywhere, I ask “ How close can I get to lying down once I get there? Are there big comfy couches? Ottomans?” usually the answer is no but every once in a while someone says something like “Last time I was there I fell asleep” SOLD! No dress code right? That’s the other thing, I’m always saying things like “OK I’ll go but I’m not changing. This is what I’m wearing.”

I’ve barely been going to the gym. I don’t think anyone there has noticed my absence. The only time someone talked to me there was three months ago. They said “ hey, wheredya get the snacks?” I am known as the girl with the outside food at my fitness facility.

I hate the gym, I always have to stop myself from approaching chubby guys and saying things like “who are we kidding? I know an ice cream shop two blocks away, whatdaya say me and you get outta here?”

I saw my old personal trainer on the street this weekend.

Here’s the scenario.

Exterior- Daytime- Smith Street, Brooklyn

Kendra is walking down the street, feeling good, eating Doritos and drinking a Fresca. A physically fit, good looking black man with a revealing t shirt appears on the scene. It is a personal trainer Kendra trained with last year. He smiles and they hug. She wipes Dorito cheese on her dress.

Personal Trainer: Let me help you.

Kendra: It’s a nice offer but I can’t be helped.

Personal Trainer: I said HOW ARE YOU?

Kendra Oh, I thought you said let me help you.

Personal Trainer You got Dorito stuff on your dress.

Kendra Yeah, I know, it doesn’t stain.

Fade Out

My “I can’t be helped” response to that social nicety spurred a new level of introspection. I sat down with him and had a brutally honest chat Here’s the thing, if I want to look good. Like kick ass drop dead gorgeous good, I gotta change my entire life which in turn means, a personality change.

I have to

                Eat different

Ok sounds doable but this is like ( hair toss) a big deal! Because, you know what?

I eat whatever the fuck I want. Everyday. No matter what time of day. No holds barred. I will order a pizza at 2 am if there is someone there to pick up the phone, take my order and bring me the food, it’ going down. All that’s coming between me and a large hamburger and onion is me hitting the speed dial? Where’s the goddamn phone? Feeling like an assorted meat sandwich from Los Paisanos but its not quite noon? Who cares? They’re open. No line. Let’s get to eating.

He asked “Do I like to prepare my own food? “ No I don’t. Everything tastes better with someone else’s elbow grease. Everything. Even a fucking cup of coffee made by a stranger tastes better than a cup of coffee I had to make. I would rather get dressed and walk three blocks in public, running the risk of bullshit conversation with a neighborhood nuisance, than have to look through the cupboards for the coffee grind filters, get the water for the machine, wait for the stuff to brew, blah blah blah.

                    Personality Change: Social isolation. Getting something to eat is the number one reason I leave the house.

                Consistent Cardio

You know what cardio means to me? Discomfort. You know what I like? Comfort. Preferably unclothed horizontal comfort. Cardio means standing up, wearing special breast supportive clothing, moving fast, panting, sweating, having a red face in public that causes others concern. Cardio is not a natural talent to me. Don’t get me wrong, I understand the benefits. It’s a mood stabilizer for me, I am pretty silly when I have cardio in my life. I feel out of character. I’m suddenly a girl who sweats out the alcohol from last night in one hour instead of 48. That alone will make you feel different. Free from the past. A three day hangover is unhealthy. It keeps you connected and rehashing post Jaegermeister behavior for longer than necessary.

                        Personality change: Socially estranged from drinking buddies due to inability to commiserate on bloated hangover feelings.

I had him stop there. There’s only so much an unhealthy chick can be open minded to during a caught- eating- Doritos inspired heart to heart. I joined his Tuesday morning running group. 6:30 am meeting time. I was late. I was the slowest, the reddest, and the biggest of the bunch. Even the one dude had skinnier legs than me.

Next time I’m wearing a moo moo.

What? C’mon, they’re so slimming.

Plus you can hide snacks under them.

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

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