BLONDE LOGIC

Vicky Christina Barcelona

Vicky Christina Barcelona

Watching the trailers for Vicky Christina Barcelona months back,  I thought it was a more cerebral, modern day version of Summer Lovers complete with ménage de trios in foreign landscapes with sexy  foreign guys and flirtations with bisexuality. It’s always one sexy foreign guy  on his home turf with two American women,  both ultimately falling for him because he’s blunt and uninhibited and, most of all, ridiculously complimentary. Everything is amazing and beautiful to this guy. The final shot of the movie is always the girls exiting the plane back in American,  home …confused, introspective, and changed in some way by this man and their experience.

It’s never one American woman in a foreign country having the time of her life with two foreign hotties who both fall for her and she flies home happy as a lark, licking her fingers clean. Meanwhile the hot lovers are walking around the streets of Mikonos in a daze, calculating how many piles of fish they would have to sell to go to New York and complete this romantic dalliance.

The point is there should be more movies empowering women. You would think Angelina Jolie would be all over that. The problem with Angelina is she embraces the fact that she’s a powerfully sexy and an influential woman but she doesn’t want any company in that arena. She’s not into the sisterhood. I can’t even say she’s one of the guys because she’s not. She’ll hang with the guys long enough to figure out who her next victim is and then she lures him away from the group and beats any glimmer of individuality and testosterone out of his post coital carcass. She doesn’t want to help anybody who might prove to be competition to her in the future. That’s why she goes to other countries. And helps kids. She always shooting off at the mouth about strong political views on education and rehabilitation. I don’t think she ever went to college. If she did, she was the hot chick with no female friends. Not because she was hot because she has no sense of humor. I could write a book about all the things about Angelina Jolie that drive me crazy but, to be fair, I doubt she comes up with half of this shit on her own. Someone’s spoon feeding her information to change her image and then she gets to have her makeup and hair done by professionals, dressed by a stylist, and coached by an expert, before she goes out and makes her public appearance. I never said I wasn’t jealous.

Vicky Christina Barcelona was ok. I got to watch it in my super comfortable bed, alone on a Sunday afternoon so it’s hard not to have fun in that situation. I found out later that day it was a Woody Allen film. I feel like it makes the story more interesting.  “ I spent Sunday watching a Woody Allen film” somehow sounds better than “ I spent Sunday watching Vicky Christina Barcelona”.  The movie itself was ok. I hate to admit it made me want to have a fling with a man with an accent. I feel like that’s what it was supposed to do and I hate that I succumbed. Being the cynic that I am, I spent most of the film wondering how these happy, crazy artists supported themselves. Javier Bardim had a kick ass house in the hills in Barcelona with a convertible and went out drinking wine and eating and flying off to secret parts of Spain for days at a time. I saw him paint a few times but I never saw him in any sort of monetary transaction or work a few hours in a coffee shop or temp or anything!  These are the things I focuis on. Sometimes it’s not that fun to watch movies with me. I realize it’s a movie but divulge his source of income for Christ’s sake. Make him a counterfeiter, a vineyard owner, give him a bartending shift. I could care less, just don’t make him come from a wealthy family who wants to disown him. It’s not that interesting.

It was a fun movie. Penelope Cruz steals the show. I think this is my favorite role for her and I am not a fan. I miss people like Ellen Barkin and   Linda Fiorentino.  Javier was sexy and funny and a bit of dick, but a hedonistic dick, which is my favorite kind. Of course, all the American characters are stereotypical to the point where you can predict their conflicts and reactions without hesitations. Yawn. The movie was aesthetically  pretty and fun but not riveting or enlightening or meaningful. The biggest thing I got out of it was a heightened desire to move to another country and play the American woman on a few months vacation and see how ballsy these foreign guys really are. 

After the movie, I went to the gym and on my way home I saw Christmas trees for sale. I was poking around for a cute little tree when the tree salesman approached me and asked “ Do you think your husband would like that one?”  with a very heavy eastern European accent.  I wanted to say something like “ He’s in Tokyo for the month. Do you deliver?” and let the games begin but he probably says that to all the tree browsers. I’m no fool.  We had a lovely discussion about his tree inventory. He promised me he would have some smaller trees in this week and he never mentioned my husband again. Pathetically, I thought about him hours later while I was working. I wondered how he came to sell trees on Court Street in Brooklyn and if he really thought I was married. Now I have to spend the next month avoiding the tree stand so I don’t get sucked into a meaningless crush on a tree salesman. It’s alright.  It will force me to leave the ten block radius of my apartment more often.

 But I do want to buy a tree.  I’ll just have to make it clear with the European man who talked to me for four minutes at the tree stand. We have a strictly business relationship.  I’m here to buy a tree and that’s it. End of story.

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blind Dates

Blind Dates

Everyone takes pity on the single people around the holidays. The influx of people offering to set me up with someone is unpalatable. “What happened to that Italian fella?” “You know who just recently became single, oh what’s his name. He ran for office” “So you’r really not dating anybody”.  I can honestly say that I’m happy. Then they speculate I am self centered, egotistical and non committal. Or better yet, a lesbian. I’m gonna tell the next guy I fool around with “ Feel free to tell your friends about this because I want people to know Kendra Cunningham’s still doin’ it”. 

I agreed to a blind date recently. A friend sold me on this guy who travels a lot for his work which I think is going to be a prerequisite with me from now on. I like a lot of Kendra time. He was in the film business and smart and funny and all the things that someone says to get you to commit your time to meeting a stranger to see if you might even consider having sex with them. I hadn’t had sex in months so I made the commitment.

I spent 90 minutes listening to how his ex girlfriend used him for his money- braggart, his friendship with Oliver Stone – whoopee ding dong- and how he recently committed 100% to being  a vegetarian- pussy. Not one question about me. No “ Have you ever modeled?” which is my favorite line. Yes lay the extraneous compliments on thick. That is fun for me. Not 90 minute monologues. The crescendo was when his ex girlfriend texted him and called him an asshole and he explained the whole situation with his ex who is a crazy lady and obsessed with him and harassing his mother or some shit. I was like you “ you lost me at vegetarian”.  I told him I had to go meet some friends and that he should probably deal with his crazy ex pronto.  Which was nice of me because I wanted to say  “ There was a 97% chance I was gonna sleep with the guy I came here to meet tonight, but somehow you managed to squeeze yourself into the tiny 3% of positively unfuckable category so maybe you want to talk to your buddy Oliver Stone tomorrow about doing a movie “ the Unfuckables” while you’r eating your gold dusted edamame.” 

 

The blind date before that said “ I just don’t think women are funny” when I told him I perform stand up comedy. I think I said “ are you fucking kidding me?” or something along those lines. Silence. Finally he said “ this is awkward”. I said “ Not as awkward as its gonna be when I rip both your balls off and fast pitch them at your forehead” .

Now that was funny. And a girl said it.

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

An excerpt from my mock self help book - A Non Drinkers Guide to Social Acceptance

An excerpt from my mock self help book- A Non Drinkers Guide to Social Acceptance

DECEMBER

Barfly Tip Number 12

 

Here we are at the years close. A perfect time to reflect and give yourself credit for all you have accomplished, your progress, and a time to analyze where you went astray in this calendar year.  Everybody makes mistakes and suffers the consequences of poor decision making at some point in their life. Making a mistake is not the problem, when the mistake is not acknowledged or learned from, that is when the problem sets in and often becomes the domino that sets off a string of related problems.  December is also a month when family issues come to the forefront of our minds. The holidays are supposed to be wholesome and cheery with sweaters and Mom’s hot cocoa. The truth is, holidays are usually filled with awkward social situations, guilty feelings, and clothes you feel obliged to wear because they were a gift. Emotions run high in drinking establishments this month, whether it’s crying or fighting or passing out on the stool, people are prone to misdirecting their emotions.  

Which brings me to the last barfly tip of the year:

Never fight with the bartender

Seriously- don’t! If you are mad at the bartender or simply don’t like them, talk behind their back, mimic them when they walk away, blog about them on your goofy “ Bartenders I don’t like” blog site. Whatever you need to do to get it out of your system, do it, but don’t get into a verbal toe to toe with the bartender. I say this for a number of reasons. One, bartenders have fought with a lot of people and will either destroy your fragile sense of self worth in less than a minute and have  a shot to celebrate after, they may not be in any mood to bother with your attempt at a battle of the wits and  they will simply tell you to leave. Two very obvious scenarios. The third reason you don’t want to get into it with the bartender is it ruins your likeability factor. Not just with the bartender but the drinking society at hand. It only takes one bad scenario like this to destroy a whole years worth of effort to be accepted by these people. Drinkers are a fickle bunch. They will ingratiate you into their harem with love, laughter and support very quickly once they have decided “you’re cool” but as soon as they see “you’re not cool”.  That cold shoulder is icy for life. And I am not just talking about the uncommunicative Irish Catholics or the stoic bastards of Eastern European decent. I’m talking everybody. They may say Hi and chat a bit but you are now viewed as a time bomb. Nobody sticks by a time bomb, buddy. Except another time bomb of course.  Time bombs don’t get invited to brunch. Time bombs don’t get invited to smoke a joint in the alley  before last call. Time bombs don’t even get invited into conversations! That’s how bad time bombs get ostracized. So, for Christ’s sake, don’t get into it with the bartender. Exercise self control and remember, people are starting to think “your cool” so act cool. Fake ‘til you make it, as my mother says.

Too Big for Williamsburg

Too Big for Williamsburg

I’ve been to Williamsburg maybe 7 times. Four of those visits were to Peter Luger so I had a good excuse. Every time I go to Luger’s  I wonder how they feel about the fact that the old school steak house is suddenly surrounded by 3000 pseudo intellectuals who are adamantly against eating meat and probably sit around lamenting about the lack of “good” restaurants in New York.  I don’t like those people. I’m as far from a hipster as one can be. I’m too big, to begin with and, if anything, I’m a townie at heart, bordering on cheesy. I admit I still go to Joyce Leslie, Forever 21, and Rainbow. I was in the check out line at Joyce Leslie the other day and I would bet money I was the only one of drinking age. Those stores should have parameters and age limits. They shouldn’t sell that stuff to people like me. I feel like the cashiers chuckle when they hand me my receipt like “ here ya go, crazy lady! Now go make a public statement about your resistance to aging. Run wild, Maam”.

I had to go over to Williamsburg on Tuesday for an interview to work in a beer bar one shift a week. I figured I could handle it one day a week. I got off the train and immediately felt like Creature Double Feature coming out of the subway. I was the biggest person on the block. A shadow fell on the coffee drinkers sitting on a bench. They were looking at me like” she looks like she’s from the 80’s. She must be time travelling or something. “  That’s how bizarre hipsters are. They see someone who they believe to be a time traveler and go on drinking their organic coffee and discussing the ramifications of the fiscal instability of Instanbul.

I was lost. Nobody offered assistance to the 80’s lady. The other thing I hate about Williamsburg is I don’t know my way around and I absolutely refuse to let any of those snooty kids see me looking at a map or asking for  help. I missed the job interview but I did buy a pair of vintage corduroys 3 sizes too small for me. The counter girl had the gall to point out the size and give me a once over. I snapped at her” Don’t worry about the size, sweetheart. Just be a doll and ring it up. I gotta get back to the 80’s. I’m supposed to get my braces off Friday.” 

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

Running Club Dropout

Running Club Drop Out

I have my 7^th week of an 8 week running club tomorrow at 6:30 a.m. . It is past midnight and I am seriously contemplating not going. I didn’t go last week and I feel like I need to work on being consistent. I know running is good for you. Week one, the guy who runs the group tried to hype us up by saying “ I want to congratulate each and every one of you for making your cardiovascular health your top priority.”. I was tempted to raise my hand and respond “ I don’t feel right about accepting that congratulations as my top priority is reducing the cellulite on my ass” but I was too friggin’ tired to speak and I couldn’t remember if I had brushed my teeth.

I hate running mostly because I’m not good at it but also because I’m an ugly runner. I get beet red in the face, I sweat like it’s a medical condition, and I hyperventilate with my arms flailing. People stop me on the street “ are you ok? Do you need help?” .  I’m like “ oh no I’m just exercising. I know it looks like there is something very bad happening but this is good for me, I’ve been told.”.

When I run, other people  start running. It’s like a Domino effect. They see me coming and they throw their shit in the air and start bolting in all directions.

You know how you meet someone new and you really like them, then you bring them to a new scenario like a wedding and you come to find out they are a really enthusiastic bad dancer and suddenly you can’t think of them the same way again. Running is that thing for me. It’s an image blaster. I’m so paranoid someone I know is gonna see me running and start telling everyone “ you know that chick Kendra? I saw her running the other day. Ridiculous! She looks like an epileptic baboon or something. She definitely should not be running in public. It was shocking.” 

I’m starting to wear disguises when I run. I tuck my hair up in my hat and wear big sunglasses and humongous sweatshirts. I might even get a fake mustache. I’d rather hear people saying “ hey check out this guy with the nice tits” .

 

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

 

 

Wanted - The Movie

Wanted  - The Movie

 

I watched some of that movie Wanted and when I say some I mean 14 minutes. I like contract killer movies and, secretly, I wanted to  find a moment in the film where Angelina looked ugly. I realized pretty quick I am not a big special effects fan. It was ridiculous. One bullet took what seemed like a minute to get from the gun to the target and it managed to do all these groovy dance moves in the air at a high rate of speed only to explode this guy’s head with electric red blood that floated through the air. The movie was much more about special effects than it was about the storyline. Plus, that Angelina Jolie looked sexy as hell and I feel like she knew it. She was swaggering around the screen with a smug cocky look, bordering on bored. It really got to me. Every time she came on screen I got more bloated. It seemed like she was looking right at me like “ Look at you! You’re a mess. A big bucket of popcorn and a syrupy soda. No man to speak of. No kids. No international travel in over a year. It’s people like you that allow me to feel so superior. I guess in some strange way I should thank you. But quite frankly I don’t have time. I’m a fucking movie star remember?  Yeah you should leave 14 minutes into the movie. Go ahead, say the special effects annoyed you. Say it distracted you from the storyline. Say what you will, but we both know you’re leaving this theater today because of me, Angelina Fucking Jolie. “

 I can safely say I will never go see an Angelina Jolie movie again. My ego can’t take it. I wish they made movies with all ugly people. If I ever become a movie producer I am going to cast Angelina Jolie and then in post production make her the victim of all these ugly special effects. She’ll probably sue me or steal my husband but it’ll be fun.

 I’m still waiting for her to beat the shit out of Brad Pitt, if it hasn’t happened already.

 

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

 

Perpetual People Pleaser

Perpetual People Pleaser 

Walking home Tuesday night around 11 P.M. after performing stand up (ww.kendracunningham.com – plug) at a show in Brooklyn (31 Rockwell run by Dave Lester -plug)  I saw a familiar face from the bar I work at ( the Brazen Head http://brazenheadbrooklyn.com/ - last plug?) and said “Hi”. The guy responded “Hey are you going to the show? Rachel is taking a break but I think she is doing one more set.”.  I had no idea what his name was or who the hell Rachel was but I felt like I was supposed to know what was going on so I said “ Oh I forgot that was tonight. I’m beat. I think I’m gonna head home.”  Still racking my brain for a picture of Rachel and a recollection of what my relationship was to her.  “C’mon you gotta go in and say Hi” the bar face guy stated. Being the perpetual people pleaser that I am, I felt all my “just say no” training slipping away rapidly. “ where is she?”  I asked looking around and trying to think of how I could mentally will my phone to ring so I could blame my rapid unsocial escape on my mother’s late night call. He pointed to the bar directly across the street. “Do me a favor” he said “ you know Jeannie, the short blonde? Tell her I got her sandwich and I’ll be over in ten minutes”. If I bailed now, I was not only being rude to Rachel but I was also a failure in the message delivery department. To be perfectly honest I did not like the sounds of the “I got her sandwich” message. It sounded like code words to me. Finally I broke, “ I hate to admit this so late in our conversation but I don’t think I know who Rachel is never mind her short blonde friend Jeannie.”.  He made a weird face at me, at least I think he did maybe that is just what he looks like. Who knows. I don’t even know the guy. “who are you?” he asked. “Kendra, I work at the Brazen Head. I thought I knew you from there.” He gave a short forceful laugh and went on to explain he thought I was a girl he talked to in the laundry room of his building on Sunday. He went on for a bit about how much I looked like the girl in the laundry room. I felt obligated to tell him I drop my laundry off at a place on Smith street, all the while completely annoyed that he had cast me as the laundry room person in his world and not someone a little more scandalous and spicy. The conversation came to a screeching halt. I was just about to say “ so I guess you don’t need me to deliver the sandwich message to Jeannie then?”  when his phone rang. “I gotta take this” he stated and I  mumbled something stupid like “understood” and proceeded on my way.  

I should have been relieved that I got out of a socially awkward situation but I found myself annoyed that he was the one who got to call the shots in the end. He was the one who got the phone call. He was the one who gave the final indication our interaction was officially over. He was the one reducing me to laundry room girl. At least give me the familiar bartender role. Next time I see that guy I’m gonna pretend like I am the laundry girl and make all sorts of sexual ly charged comments including “next time I see you in the laundry room, shut the light and see what happens!”  and then sashay away into the night. Maybe he’ll be able to make the distinction between” Brazen Head bartender” and “ the girl who kicked me in the balls in the laundry room”.

Dog Trumps Boyfriend

 

 

Guys in this day and age do not know how to treat women. Every time I meet a new guy I find myself having to tell him what he is allowed and  not allowed to do. Simple things like “Even though we are going to celebrate my birthday on Saturday, you still need to call me on my actual birthday which is Wednesday.” And “ when you ask me out on a date, make a plan. Don’t show up acting like” I dunno what do you want to do””.  It takes a good three months before they even start showing signs of positive change. Three months of intensive behavior modification is exhausting. Especially when you factor in resistance and power struggles.  I have not had a serious boyfriend in about 4 years and just recently , I realized, I don’t want one.  At least I don’t want to put the effort in to whip someone into relationship shape. My plan for 2010 is No Action. If someone wants to pursue me, fine. I might even get a little leg breaker side kick named Butchie to bring around town with me and if I see a sexy guy, I’ll send him over to talk to him for me. I'll issue ridiculous orders to him  like “ Have him washed and brought to my tent Butchie!” and then I’ll stand back and watch while he exercises brute force in order to get  the guy to fornicate with me. Butchie can train them for me. If anybody has to be responsible for training someone I think I should just get a dog. Dogs are better than boyfriends  in so many ways . First, a dog knows instinctually that I am in charge. I don’t have to argue or prove that I am the smarter one. The dog jus t knows and looks to me for direction and approval, naturally. Second, I am never gonna wake up four years from now and my dogs gone. Nowhere to be found. Dog collar laid out by the door. Then I see my dog frolicking in the park with another owner – the dog walker- barking and wagging his tail, licking the owners face like he used to lick mine. Only to find out while I was working and paying  this dog walker to  walk my dog- there wasn’t too much walking going on. They were snuggling and playing and sleeping on my couch. It won’t last. Those dog walkers are a fickle breed, The most important reason a dog is better than a boyfriend is a dog isn’t gonna file charges when I pay someone to cut his balls off.

 

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

Pregnancy

A good friend of mine called me freaking out because she just found out she is not pregnant. She has been tryign for months to have a baby. Ten years ago she was calling me with the same news begging me to go have beers with her. I liked her better then.

I have never been one to sit around dreaming of my wedding day nor have I picked out names for my children. I feel like I'm coming out in a sense when I say I have no desire to get pregnant. If we could choose a gestation process, my feelings might be different. I mean if I could lay eggs and then just make sure they were kept warm and didn't crack for a few weeks, I might agree to the whole thing. Possums have a gestation period of 11 to 13 days. You would think the world would be overrun with possums. They must not have a high sex drive. That's the one thing I would not change about getting pregnant, the process of fornication. I like that part. I can't imagine being one of the animal species in which the male animal getst to mount the female animal at any point in time. Like dogs. You see a cute little dog playing, having fun, enjoying a nice spring day, and boom - next thing they know thye've been mounted by behind by some mangy mutt they never even saw before. I'd be the only female dog who was constantly bolting around the park at a high rate of speed, killing myself physically just so nobody could surprise mount me.  

I admit, sometimes I see cute kids and I think "maybe they are worth it".

I just don't agree with the physical burden of pregnancy. I'm bloated and uncomfortable as it is. I can't imagine feeling worse than usual for eight or nine months. The minute I see that urine dipstick give positive results, I am on self directed bed rest. People will have to carry me around on a medical cot. I use any excuse to be horizontal as it is, but pregant? I would milk that like you wouldn't believe. I don't know if I would even be a good mother. I saw a 7 year old the other day with his mother who looked like he was on the verge of tears and I almost started tearing up just by witnessing his painful moment. I can't imagine having a kid. I would be like " only Happy feelings!!! Can't deal with vast range of emotions." My kid would be an obese alcoholic by junior high school. I'd be like " You look tired. Let Mommy put some makeup on you sweetheart. You need color in cheeks, sit still, Michael.Put the beer down for one second, Mommy wants to make you look pretty!".

Some people shouldn't have kids. Or get married. Or have corporate jobs. Or credit cards. Or have a consistent running practice.