BLONDE LOGIC

bellyaches > colds

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

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

“what are you taking?”

“how long have you had it?”

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

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

“you sound worse”

“you sound better”

“did you get the zycam?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: See ya wouldn’t want to be ya

Him: Yeah well, your nose is running

Me: Guess I better catch it.

Him: Ha ok well, hope you feel better

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

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

 

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

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

 

 

Thanks for listening

Kisses-

Kendra

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

www.kendracunningham.com                   

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy

 

 

 

 

 

 

Self Taunt

 

 

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

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

 

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

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

Mine doesn’t.  

My self talk is more of a self taunt.

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

I remembered why I liked myself in the first place.

 

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

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

www.kendracunningham.com         

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy

Ayudame

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

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

 “the girl who learned she worked wrong”

There was a girl wandering the world working stupid.

Working stupid over here.

Working stupid over there.

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

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

With that, the Judger of Work Intelligence disappeared

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

The end

 

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

Offer a solution

I need one.

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

-go back to school

-move to Mexico

-nap more

 

In other words, quit.

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

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

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

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

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

But I don’t want to.

So there.

 

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

Ayudame!

Por favor

 

Thanks for listening!

Stay flirty!

Kisses-

Kendra

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

www.kendracunningham.com                   

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy 

Yesteryear Protection

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

Thanks for listening!

Kisses

- Kendra

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

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy

Taunting the Stranglers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

people.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

Pun intended.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

I just practice my 2013 motto

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

 

This is me getting horned up 

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

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

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

sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com

www.blondelogicblog.com

twitter @kendracomedy

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

Forest Find

Last week my sister Kristen drove me up to Boston for Thanksgiving, me and Butchie, the dog. I brought my king size pillow with the satin pillowcase for the ride, Butchie’s pillow was bigger. About 4 1/2 hours into the ride we were approaching our destination, Momma's house, when my sister said “I want to bring the dog to the park so I’ll have Mom come pick you up there.” Nothing like driving over 4 hours to get somewhere and 15 minutes before you arrive at the destination your driver says “Hey, change of plans, I just realized I got a dog here who needs to run in the woods so you, well you’ll have to carry on alone from here.”

 

I called my mother who agreed to come pick me up by the woods in the park, identifying my location with “Kristen said you know the spot in the park where the dogs are, that’s where I am”. As I sat and waited, dog owners seemed suspicious. Who is the girl in the faux fur jacket with sunglasses and a suitcase and NO dog? Murderer? Embezzler? Scorned mistress? Dog snatcher! Everybody watch your dog, there’s a brazen dog snatcher lurking. As my imagination ran wild, time passed. No sign of a forest rescue. My mother called “I’m at the spot in the park by the woods where the dogs go and I don’t see you, THIS is ridiculous. Where the hell……………”

I interrupt “I have a fur coat on”

She interrupts “It’s not that I don’t recognize you! I DON’T SEE YOU. Where is Kristen?”

“In the woods”

At this point I can’t help but laugh so hard I cry. I tried to catch my breath “Wherever you are, can you hear me laughing?”

My mother said “I’ll try one more spot but then I’m GOING HOME”

Thankfully she found me. She pulled up in her brand new jet black sedan. I threw my suitcase in the trunk. We pulled into the mud and spun the tires as we took off. I think a dog owner tried to get our license plate.

That was day one. Thankfully I was not abandoned in any thickets or croplands or any other wild terrain for the rest of my stay. Although I did see a field of willowy stalks that I thought would be fun to run through. I verbalized the thought and my mother said “Would you run naked?” which got me to thinking how little I do when I’m naked nowadays.

Gotta change that.

 

10? I know of 2!

Maybe 3

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 Inquisitive Acquaintance

 

People don’t realize how protective comics are of their comedy. Sometimes it takes a simple inquiry to make me feel taunted, especially when it’s an insincere exploration into the validity, success, or future of my comedic life.

“When’s your next show?” is the most common attitude provoking inquiry. You know why? It’s always the same people asking, sometimes twice in one night. Guess what? They NEVER come to a show. Not once. I want to say “Hey listen don’t use my comedy as a conversation filler. It’s important to me. I know it’s not important to you, but a measly conversation filler? That’s an affront. Comment on my shirt or my hair or my fluctuations in weight, or better yet, pretend like you didn’t see me. That’ll work for me.”

And it’s always right off the bat.

Goading me.

“Hey Kendra, over here, remember me? The Inquisitive Acquaintance? How’s the comedy going? You still doing that? Has anything HAPPENED with it? When are you performing next?” That would be like me seeing somebody I know in passing and greeting them with “Oh hey, are you still pursuing your wild card dream? When can I come watch you chase this lofty goal in public? Can you write down the details so it seems like I’m going to go and bear witness although I’ll most likely not show simply because I’m not truly interested in seeing other people go after what they want in life? And quite frankly, I only laugh if the person I’m banging is laughing. I don’t know funny.”

“Do you have one of those web site things? You do? What is it?” What’s my website?

Take a guess.

MAYBE it’s my name. Have you ever tried that? Do I really look like the type of comic who is gonna have a kitschy site?

Right bitches dot net

Kendra made a funny dot com

If these tits could talk dot edu

Actually I kind of like that one.

In closing, Comedy is going well. Let’s leave it at that. My next show: Eugene Mirman’s Pretty Good Friends show on Sunday November 4th at Union Hall, Brooklyn http://www.unionhallny.com/home.php

My website is www.kendracunningham.com

It has a calendar section

I just got a haircut, talk about that if you’re scrambling

I was going for Bridget Bardot ………….

Stay silly

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

Drunken thespians

There are a lot of emotional reactions to hurricane forecasts. My mother loves this stuff. People overreacting in a frenzy? She wants to watch! People underpreparing? She wants to hear how bad they are fucking up their lives. My mother loves to hear about emotional angst, sometimes I play into it.

Mom: How scared are you?

Me: Terrified.

Mom: Don’t tell me you didn’t stockpile!

Me: Oh you’re talking about the hurricane?

Being somebody who derives a lot of self worth through achievements, the hurricane put a screeching halt to my getting shit done which turned into a perfect excuse to go drinking. Nothing like a forced day off to recharge your social life. Some companies kept delaying work cancellation, it was fun listening to employees plot and plan how they were going to call the shots. They were not going to work, no matter what. You gotta love a story that starts with a passionate “You know what? Fuck that!” even if it is referring to a sick day.

My sister, for instance, began to script an email to her boss at around midnight. Thankfully she asked “How does this sound?” before she hit send. Never try to sound professional when you have 6 or 7 hours of drinking in your recent past. Her carefully worded (drunken) email, sounded like it had been scribed in old English vernacular

I Kristen Cunningham being of sound mind and body on the menacing eve of the 28th of October in the year of 2012 have lucidly concluded the risk and perilousness associated with my arrival on site necessitates the unfortunate determination …….

“I think you should wait and see what happens in the morning, that sounds a little theatrical, it belongs more in a Greek amphitheater than an email”

She laughed and reread it aloud with an English accent.

It’s not often a sick day request can be played out as a monologue in Greek theater complete with comedy and drama masks and flowered hair thingamajig.

Her work was cancelled at 6 am just 5 short hours after she scribed her flowery declaration.

Kendra Cunningham, helping drunken thespians retain gainful employment.

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