I’ve gotten into the habit of calling myself a bitch. Just now: “Lindsey, you bitch, you haven’t written anything.”

In the car: “BITCH, the light is green! GO!”

Lindsey, Lindsey, you sucha bitch.

Calling myself a bitch is instant gratification. When I say it, I think, you can’t call me that. But I am me, and I can call me anything.




I listened to Patton Oswald and didn’t laugh once. I thought about my trip to New York and thought that would make a funny joke. I never blogged about that much, but my friend Finza really, really wanted to go to Niagara Falls for some reason. And so my NY trip was interrupted by some strange pilgrimage to the falls. One morning we rushed to Chinatown to see if there were any cancelations, and there were TWO. So we boarded this bus, completely unpacked, and I was the only white girl there.

HUMOR, people. There’s HUMOR there. That needs to be worked on.

Another joke I’m working on is in regards to the modern dating scene.

“I don’t get dudes who take you on date and then all they wanna do is fuck ya. Might as well hire a prostitute with that 150 bucks you just spent…”

I just can’t seem to be unauthentic in my work. I was talking to some of the other comics about this, I told them, “I make it too personal.” My first bit was about my experience clubbing. (Doesn’t sound funny, but it fucking WAS.) And they told me, “just lie! nobody’s gonna fact check ya

“You think all my stories are real?”

Uh. yes. I do. Lies are boring. Life is too full of truth to make shit up. Is my life boring? is YOUR life boring? is that why we make shit up?

Honestly. The whole comic thing is a cover up. I just want to be comfortable on stage. When you read poetry or stories in front of people they look at your with glazed over eyes. You tell them a funny story and they laugh. Instant gratification. I’m not dissing comedians, I love them. Writing bits is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. However, my style. I want to be David Sedaris-like. I want to tell STORIES.

If I’m just up there telling you stupid one-liner lies what the fuck am I doing?

I’m doing open mic tomorrow. Don’t ask me about what. I have no fuckin’ clue. I’ve been trying to make jokes all night. You can’t be funny when you try to be funny. I’m almost certain that this standup idea of mine was a fluke. I am not funny. I am depressed and anxious. My writing reflects this. I am not one of those funny blogger dudes who writes off-handed witty things.

Have you read my blog? absolutely no funny business. But when I’m on stage I bloom! I will bloom. Oh, god. I’m wilting…

But just you wait, I’ll pull something together tomorrow…. hopefully.

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