BLONDE LOGIC

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

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