BLONDE LOGIC

Tuxedo shirts and tulips

Tuxedo shirts and tulips

 

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

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

 

Do you ask questions during sex?

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Victim of Love trumps sex talk everytime.

 

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

 

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

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

 

 

Do you turn tip money into origami?

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

“That’ll be three dollars, please”

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

The worst part is these guys are getting laid!

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

 

 

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

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

www.kendracunningham.com

[email protected]

Twitter @kendracomedy

Ladies Who Lunch (alone)

I like to go out to lunch alone. It’s always a crapshoot on how a solitary guest is treated by the service staff. Sometimes they try to bully you into eating fast, or sitting at a shitty table, or getting your food to go, I don’t budge. When I set out to get waited on, I get waited on. In my experience, the deader the restaurant the worse you get treated. I went to a predominantly empty restaurant (with no dress code) in my neighborhood and the hostess asked “Do you have a reservation?” with the undertone “Are you sure you don’t want to go home, shower and put some outside clothes on first?” which triggered the wiseass in me.

I wanted to say “I’m not sure if my assistant called, I’m the sole member of the Ladies Who Lunch Alone Club and I’d like to have a meeting here” but I didn’t, I said “No reservation, do I need one?”

The hostess feigned a smile “How many in your party?”

“One but I’ll be ordering for four so if I can get the six top in the corner, I like to have all my food laid out in front of me like a Grecian goddess. Do you have a private party room? Because I’d like to eat in my underwear, it would be reflected in your tip if you can make that happen”.

She didn’t try to hide her disappointment about not having to rearrange the floor plan or make me wait for an opportunity to pay someone to cook for me. “Right this way” she said without looking me in my day old mascara covered eye.

It’s not only the hostess who can exhibit a negative reaction to an independent diner. Sometimes I end up with a waitress who wants to get me the hell off her 6 top in the unlikely event Beyonce and her entourage want to come in and make it rain. A woman dining alone is scary for her, maybe even an eyesore, a foreshadowing. There’s a lot of “are you done with that?” “do you want me to wrap that up for you?” “should I bring you the check?”. I hate being rushed out of a place. I’m like “No, I’m not done. In fact, I’ll have two more fish and chips but don’t bring them to me until I take this dish and whip it against the wall and yell “More food, table 27” that’ll be your cue to approach me. When I yell “More food, table 27” you’ll know I want some attentive service.”

I haven’t had a leftover all year. I go out to eat, I over eat. I order too much food and I eat it all.

I didn’t have three orders of fish and chips, that was just something I said to be funny but I did order a hot fudge sundae. I had to stop myself from lying my usual reason- why-I’m- ordering-dessert-lie “it’s my birthday” but I made a big to do about it when the waitress brought it to the table.

She didn’t like 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

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

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

 

 

 

 

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

Beer Dork

 

Beer geeks take themselves too seriously. How can you act snooty talking about something that appears on a Things We Need to Open Our Bowling Alley list?  Don’t get me wrong,  I love beer. I do. All kinds of beer. But I’m not interested in participating in a debate about whether the hint of grapefruit is stronger than coriander. Or if the malt outweighs the hops.  Some of these beer geeks want a complete ingredients vs. brewing process analysis before handing over their measly six bucks. Who gives a crap? If it tastes good, drink it. Let’s be honest here, as much as I like the taste of beer, I drink it to get drunk. If beer didn’t get me drunk, I wouldn’t keep drinking it for the TASTE, I’d be drinking something else. Like Jagermeister.

Beer geeks are another microcosm of drinkers who want to one up the bartender. With flare. They are the bad boys of the theater department. Ordering a beer is high stakes, overly revealing, and verbose.  Getting a one beer order out of these guys turns into a one act play, complete with conflict, exposition, and a dramatic monologue.

INTERIOR BAR – BROOKLYN,NY

Beer Geek: “Hi wow, great beer list. I just started brewing at home. Reallllly into beer and the process, you know what the ingredients are and all that.  Now maybe you can recommend something, I want a beer that is darker in color but light in taste.”

Bartender: “Hmm. Ahh let’s see”

Beer Geek: “Something that wakes me up and puts me to bed at the same time. Something sweet but sour, light but heavy, a complete enigma of a beer. Something that no man has yet to create. Do you have that here?”

Bartender: “Well, I could give you a taste of something”

Beer Geek: “But will it quench my desire to be the most interesting beer drinker around? Will it make me forget how easily I was overlooked and unnoticed by all the Fraternities in college when I really needed to be accepted? Will it give me the intellectual and ethically fuelled  halo I crave and by golly, deserve? Will it, my fair lady?”

Bartender: “Well, no, probably not..”

Beer Geek: “No? No? Nooooooooooo? Oh I knew it. I just knew it. What I want does not exist. It is not to be found here in this beer selling place, nor is it to be found near or afar. Pardon me as my eyes tear up and my voice cracks but when a man is faced with his truth, he cannot be accountable for his visible emotional reaction. Look away! Look away so as to not bear witness. ”

 

You may have noticed there is no beer order placed in that exchange. I was unwittingly cast as the supporting character and didn’t even make a buck.

My other thing with beer geeks, not good flirters. Flirting at work is one of the biggest fringe benefits of bartending. Take that away and all we are left with is an open bar. Open bar sans flirting = heady buzztime. Nobody wants to get buzzed and ruminate. Work with us here.

Place a beer order in 3 minutes or less and compliment the bartender’s choice in clothing.

A random compliment has the power to ignite a crush.

You can practice on me.

 

 

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

How to Get Ousted from Hot Potato

 

For some reason people love to give bartenders presents. Usually little things like CDs or books or baked goods. Sometimes these baked goods have illegal drugs in them but the gift bearer doesn’t disclose that fact.  The bartender has the pleasure of figuring it out. I love that.

Who doesn’t like to know someone was thinking of them? Even if that someone has a bit of a drinking problem and periodic anger management issues. I tend to operate under the guise “if you like me, I like you”. It’s the mutual admiration society. Once in a while bartenders receive things they don’t want.  At all. Like lovelorn poems, creepy drawings, or things we could absolutely care less about like unusual coins. I can’t think of a more boring gift than a Susan B. Anthony coin.  There is a whole microcosm of people who think dollar coins are neato keen. I don’t. I’ve never met a bartender coin collector. Most bartenders hate coins. They symbolize a shit tip. I’ll tell you what bartenders do like- dollar bills. If you have a rare dollar bill, a bartender would cherish it. Cherish meaning they would vigilanlty hide it somewhere until they could get to a bank to cash that sucker in.

The dollar coin is like a Hot Potato. You’re always trying to quickly pass it off to the next person before they can realize what has happened. In case you weren’t lucky enough to play Hot Potato as a kid, the “game” involves sitting in a circle and while music plays, the kids throw around a “hot potato” which could be a beanbag or a stuffed animal. Someone periodically and unexpectedly stops the music and whoever is holding the Hot Potato is out of the game. I was a spastic player during Hot Potato as a kid. The minute it came towards me I caught it, panicked, and whipped it aimlessly often hitting my best friend in the nose, eye or forehead. Someplace that would cause other kids to yell “no fairsies”  and I’d get in trouble for poor sportsmanship even though I was just highly anxious about losing. I often got ousted for something other than holding the Hot Potato. Sometimes they’d play songs from Annie and I’d get caught up singing It’s a Hard Knocked Life and lose my competitive edge. Either way I never cared for Hot Potato. Hot Potato was billed as a game to increase eye-hand coordination and catching but you never heard people say “ Did you see Kendra catch and toss that Hot Potato seconds before Beauty School Drop Out came to a screeching halt? She’s good that kid. Real good.”

The point is I don’t like dollar coins. When someone gives me a dollar coin I think “ I just lost a dollar” because I know I’m not going to pawn it off on some other unsuspecting sad sack. I’m going to put it in my coin jar and years from now I’ll still take the extra time to sift around it to get at four quarters in order to avoid the bashful exchange of a dollar coin mano  a mano.

That’s the type of anxiety that can only be bred from years of forced participation in Hot Potato and Musical Chairs.

Brought to you by the Commission to Discontinue Traditional Childhood Games

 

 

 

 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

Provisions

 

Every time I leave the house I buy something consumable. It usually starts immediately with food or a beverage. Or both. There are always snacks involved. For later.  I spend way too much time foreseeing bouts with hunger that never come to fruition. Two months ago my stomach growled. It took me a minute to realize what was going on. I couldn’t remember the last time it did that. I thought I had a verbal tapeworm.

I’m a big fan of snacks. I don’t like to eat the whole snack at once in the event I want more later so I end up with a lot of half eaten snacks in my purse.  Monday I opened by purse at  5:25 P.M. to find three  forms of snacks: half of a honey glazed donut, Cheez Its, and a Starbucks bag with a little more than a morsel of a salted caramel square. And a 64 oz bottle of water. I could survive for days on the contents of my purse alone. So if you see me carrying a purse know that I’m gonna be ok whether there is a natural disaster, or I somehow end up on the top of a mountain where someone needs to rescue me or if I just walk too long, I have provisions.

Although I am a compulsive snack buyer I don’t go food shopping much. Whether I’m talking about losing weight or saving money or cooking more often, at least once a week I come to the conclusion “ I should go food shopping”.  My doctor even told me “ Stop eating out as much. Go food shopping. You’ll eat less and have better portion control”. The thing is, getting something to eat is the number one reason I leave the house. If I stopped eating out I’d be skinny but nobody would see me so what’s the point.

It would probably have the reverse effect on me because when I go food shopping, I binge.I come home and I’m like “All this shit is paid for?” I act like I’m at an all inclusive resort, coupling fruit with pasta and a tomato and cheese omelet. Some yogurt with granola. A couple of cookies. I’m eating snacks paired with snacks and desserts paired with entrees. I don’t eat less. I eat it all.

I go to my married  friends houses and their cupboards are full. I ask “ what is all this food for? “. They buy food for the future. When I buy food I pretty much start eating it in the moments after purchase. Sometimes I say  “I’m gonna save some for Thursday” but most likely I’ll chow it down in the next twenty minutes. There is no shelf life for the food I buy. “ I’m like sorry half pound of pepper turkey – say bye bye!  I know you thought you had a few days left before you were completely devoured but no. I’m bored and you’re here sooooooo…..but don’t worry  there are hot dogs  and Cheez Its and lots of alcohol where you’re going – you’ll have fun. Have you met Bread and Butter pickles? They are very sweet. You’ll be travelling together”

 

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

 

 

Drunken Evolution

 

There was a time when I would get drunk and call guys I liked at all hours of the night or get online and stalk crushes maybe even email their girlfriends. Recently my drunken behavior has evolved, or possibly matured. Lately I’ve been getting drunk and heading home to try to make my life better by applying to jobs at 3 a.m.  It’s interesting to see the casual tone of the cover letters I compose while under the influence but not as interesting as the medley of vocations I am drawn to when inebriated. Most choices are with organizations that don’t have a human resources department.  Drunk Kendra wants to be a black jack dealer at private parties in Brooklyn. Drunk Kendra is game for heavy lifting with a start up shipping company.  Drunk Kendra is willing to be discrete and answer phones at a bondage facility for ten dollars an hour under the table.   You know you’re getting called about a crap job when they refer to the job as THE JOB and use first names only. “This is Tony. You wrote me about THE JOB. You can reach me at 555-1212. Click”.  

Drunk Kendra went on the wagon for lent.

Sober Kendra applies for part time bartending jobs and comedic acting gigs. I went on an audition to play Dog the Bounty Hunters wife in a mock comedic segment. I chatted with the guy for a bit and then asked if he had a script for the audition. To which he replied “Oh you don’t have to audition. You’re a shoe-in”. Now if you’ve seen Dog The Bounty Hunters wife you know why that is a raw insult.  In broad daylight to boot. But I still took the gig!

I got called for an interview for a bartending job. My phone has been ringing off the hook! The Spanish manager at the Italian restaurant asked for a copy of my resume, eyeballed it, and scribbled something that looked  like “muy gordita” in the margin. Now I’m not fluent in Spanish but I know enough to guess that “muy gordita” means something along the lines of very chubby. I was immediately insensed. I can see chubby but VERY chubby. Up yours Carlos. And by the way Carlos happened to be “muy flaco”  and I didn’t need to write that down to remember. I was waiting for my moment to lay into this guy because I have been itching for a fight lately. That’s one of the worst things about being single, I can’t pick arbitrary fights with my boyfriend . I have to do it with strangers. Strangers who have unfamiliar fighting strategies. Just as I was about to embark on my verbal barrage, a waitress asked Carlos a question and I got a good look at his Spanish scribble. It said “muy bonita”.  Oh, my sweet sweet Carlos.

Besos para ti Carlos!

I never saw Carlos again after our official interview at a two top by the kitchen but I’ll always remember him simply because Sober Kendra likes to repeat the phrase  “ My sweet sweet Carlos” to herself intermittently and arbitrarily.

Why? We’ll never know.  

 

This is  a picture of Beth - Dog The Bounty Hunter's Wife - you see my point?

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

 

 

 

Bartending on the Wagon

 

Bartending while on the wagon can be a tricky thing. The normal everyday annoyances of being a public servant either become miniscule or magnified. With the lent season upon us, remember a lot of Irish Catholics end up in the bartending business, or as we like to call it, Utopia.

Not everybody makes conscious decisions to participate in self inflicted self deprivation, it takes a certain breed of people. People who strive to be better, to challenge themselves, or simply need to dry out.

Here is an excerpt from my mock self help book designed to help social inept patrons connect with their neighborhood bartender. Keep this in mind for the next forty five days in order to foster a positive bartender – patron relationship ( and make a sober bartender’s life easier!)

 

 Place your orders audibly.

Mouthing your orders or using hand gestures to indicate placing an order often results in incorrect order placing, arguments with the bartender, and, ultimately, yes, it happens: overcharging.  Miming and communicating via hand signals are both inappropriate modes of communication in a bar. If you get tired of yelling your order to the bartender, get a friend to do it, write it down, or better yet, call it a night. If you can’t pull your weight, your dead weight .  Dead weight is not just a state of mind it’s also an energy drain, for everybody. Can’t you tell who the party pooper of the group is right away? Even if you don’t know anybody in the group, you just know. They don’t smile, they become easily annoyed when jostled, and nothing tastes right.  They  forgot their ATM card, their phone is dying, and a random spilled red wine on their new kicks. The list goes on and on. These people are prime candidates for the mime or wild hand gesture method of ordering a round. Once the bartender has procured the actual order via hostile interrogation, the dead weight drink purchaser will typically take up to five minutes to figure out his method of payment. For the love of God, be ready to initiate, except and pay for the order all in one swoop. How can you not be prepared to pay for drinks you ordered three minutes ago. The bartender went and made the drinks and came back and you just now think about the method of payment? Go home. That is all I can say. Go home.

But don’t forget to tip your bartender!

 

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