Two Girls, One Site

This is how most of my dates end, actually….

Here’s what I’ve been up to, blaudience. Enjoy!

Anneken Out!

I don’t even want to talk about my week.

Anneken Out!

Mondays…geesh!!!

Since I don’t have any friends to “pimp” as the catagory would suggest, I will just pimp myself…and my sketch group Hopeful Chester. Check us out on You Tube, mothafucka!!

I only make a cameo at the end, but I did write the script for this one. Enjoy!

-K.Wil

I was Nashing it up like nobody’s business on the way to and from work this week.

Anneken out!

Hey blaudience! Check out this Sex and the City parody I’m in! Props to my girl Isa for putting the whole thing together! Enjoy! Exclamation points!

Anneken out!

Okay, people. Stop the motherfucking WordPresses. There’s something happening here. What it is, ain’t exactly clear. There’s a girl with a blog over there, telling Xtina she got to beware.

You, blaudience, may not have noticed Kristina’s subtle attempt to “come out,” as the gays and members of PFLAG would say, about having a boyfriend, “coming out,” as she did, under the ample cover of my potential pregnancy, continued employment around impressionable children and militant rad-fem plan to eliminate date rape.

First of all, Kristina, congratulations. Having a boyfriend, along with getting your first Barbie (and the training bra and Lady Bic that are soon to follow), is an important rite of passage for any girl, and I hope that you love and cherish this experience in the manner of Steinbeck’s Lenny in Of Mice and Men.

Second of all, Kristina, if you have not yet clicked the above link, I strongly recommend that you do so immediately. It contains information you should be aware of due to the fact that you now find yourself the girlfriend of a standup comedian and are a known quitter (when’s the last time you took your diet pills?)

First of all, with regard to dating a standup comedian, congratulations. I myself am a standup comedian and I really love rewarding my loved ones’ narcissistic paranoia by writing jokes so biting and insightful that they barely even notice that I’ve just told the audience that they’re all pleasant mother pheasant fuckers or some other nonsense, so thrilled are they that I have mentioned them while I am holding a microphone in a room full of strangers, which is surely evidence of some additional psychosis I’m too bored by them to investigate, in order that I might address the universal truth that, despite a certain uniformity of appearance, human beings are completely fucked up. And that, Kristina, is the soul of humor. Or maybe it’s time plus tragedy. Whatev. You know I have dyscalculia.

But why am I telling you this? You, yourself, are a devotee of the cult of that panstwettingly funny Greek patron of larfs, Euripidouche or something. You do that sketch comedy you’re always talking about–in fact, I must confess that jerking off to Kids in the Hall is probably my third favorite hobby, right after helping the homeless and trashing hotel rooms, especially the flying pig sketches. I am from Cincinnati, after all–it’s like how you told me that you like to jerk off to the movie Reign of Fire because of the Dayton Dragons. Remember? It was the night those cokeheads stole your clogs.

But I digress. You should know that dating a comedian is exactly like Anonymous (must be a Greek name) says it is. I know, because I AM THOSE COMEDIANS. No, I am not saying that I pulled a Mariah Carey and dressed like two different comedians and tricked her into thinking I was a boy, once so I could teach her a lesson about expecting other people to pay attention to her, and then a second time so I could learn her better than to think she could break up with ME. Although that would have been hilarious, costumes are for pansies. I’m Kelly Anneken, goddammit! Do you have any idea how many times I’ve seen Cruel Intentions? Me neither, but that’s beside the point. “But Kelly,” you’re thinking, “Do you think maybe you don’t know how many times you’ve seen Cruel Intentions because you never learned to count?” Yes, blaudience, I do think that. Now pipe down.

No, Kristina, I am a standup comedian. I expect people in my life to understand that not all my jokes are specifically about them, just most of them. I expect people to understand that I am amazing and that I improve the day of every person I meet because I refuse to take them seriously, which usually results in their laughter or a swift kick in the vajay for yours truly. Either way, I bet they feel better.

Just bear in mind that as the girlfriend of a comedian, there are a lot of traps you could fall into. Like this one, for example.

An hour later, he stepped onstage. There were only 12 people in the club — four of them friends I’d begged to come. Luke told his first joke, and the audience just stared at him. He launched into a second joke, and the sound of silence was overwhelming. Third joke, and still nothing. I summoned up a chuckle to break the tension. Luke was totally bombing.

Then finally, “My girlfriend says…”

The funny thing is that I don’t even remember the joke itself. All I remember was that my face flushed and I felt…angry. Not only was he selling me out for a laugh — but he wasn’t even being true to his own vision. One of my friends turned to me. She didn’t speak but her arched eyebrow said it all. “This is the guy you’ve been telling us about?”

Luke and I broke up a few months later. While he was generally a good guy, he was also needy. He came off as confident, but after that night, I couldn’t help but notice his constant approval-seeking. I figured that was what made him want to be a comedian.

Kristina, on behalf of standup comedians everywhere, I implore you, do not repeat Anonymous’ juvenile mistake. Don’t worry about comics being needy. Of course we’re needy! We stand up there pouring our souls out to perfect strangers because our hilarious truth bombs have alienated everyone in our personal lives, but we just can’t stop. We like the way we feel. We like thinking about the red dress and the television and you and your father. I just want you to remember, no standup comedian anywhere who actually wants to succeed won’t not tell a joke about you just because you’re there. However, if he tells you in advance that he won’t tell any jokes about you and then he tells a joke about his girlfriend, you should perhaps listen to the entire joke before getting your panties in a twist and consider that this joke is perhaps about some previous girlfriend, not you, you self-centered git.

Comedians, being a generally isolated and hard-to-live-with bunch, will never, ever do anything to intentionally jeopardize access to consistent sexual intercourse, although most of us have been isolated and hard-to-live with our whole lives, so chances are, we’re so retarded at both the mechanical and emotional aspects of sex, we’ll never actually know how to not jeopardize access to consistent sexual intercourse, so if you’re upset by something like that, maybe you should wonder why you’re so emotionally crippled and self-centered.

Speaking of self-centered, get a load of this next Anonymous anecdote, about a second comedian she dated, against her better judgement. I do have to say that I’m glad she implies that she’s capable of “better judgement,” because if she hated the first comedian so much for fairly obvious reasons, you’d think she’d save the pain of once her flame and twice her burn, or some other Fiona Apple-type platitude. But no! The next guy, John, got a pass for being “uber-hot,” and look what happened!

I was appalled. Seriously, he’d dropped our conversation to joke with these two women he didn’t even know? Why was he so much as looking at them when I was sitting across the table, showing tons of cleavage? I felt invisible, ignored, and pissed. John was always soliciting the laugh, like a kindergarten boy desperate for a gold star. He was always trying to “own the room,” always trying to be the life of the party, always thinking in terms of “material” rather than having actual conversations.

And more than that, I was never the center of his attention. He didn’t want a girlfriend—he wanted an audience.

Later that night, we decided that our relationship wasn’t working and said our goodbyes. I’ve been comedian free for a month now.

Look here, Anonymous, if that is your real name, John (so boring it probably is his real name), is trying to build an audience so he can make enough money so he doesn’t have to spend all his time convincing every single person he meets that he’s funnier than anyone or anything they can read, watch or listen to in the comfort of their shithole apartment and he can quit the soul-crushing job he hates and finally have time to develop material and have his ideas heard, at which point, if you’re still around, he plans to either lavish you with attention or develop a drug problem, he probably hasn’t decided which. But you and your impatient cleavage just couldn’t stick it out, huh, Anonymous? Do you have any idea how much comedians will pay to keep you quiet during a high-profile divorce? The answer is “a shit ton,” which is handy, considering that that amount doesn’t involve any pesky numbers that might confuse and anger me.

So, to recap for you, Kristina, bloggular humor goddess that you are, just be patient and understanding, especially in your vulnerable cleavage-baring moments, and whatever you do, if this guy breaks your heart and you decide to share what you’ve learned about dating stereotypes on some internet relationship advice site, make sure he really looks like the bad guy, because otherwise I will totes eviscerate you on this here blog.

Anneken out!