Team Lisa

When I learned that my friend -and fellow comedienne- Lisa Lampaneli (a.k.a. the "Queen of Mean") was up for a Grammy Award for Best Comedy Album of the year, I was shocked......then amamzed. And, not a little jealous.

Lisa and I have kept tenuous ties over the years. Usually, through E-mails. So, though I always kinda knew what she was up to, I just didn't know all the details. In fact, I sent her an E-mail once I heard the news, to congratulate her and wish her the best of luck. She E-mailed me back, with a "Thanks".

Not anymore, though. Lisa is a comedienne on-the-rise. She is one busy woman, and having time to respond to every correspondence that comes her way has got to be an impossible task. I get that. No problem.

Now, I get E-mails from 'Team Lisa'.

She has a friggin' 'Team'.

I want one.
-Think of the possibilities!!

And, then, I want to break-into the MySpace 'top ten friends list'. I don't know how it works. Is it a for-profit thing? Is it promises of fealty and blood? Is an actual 'like' of the person involved in the equation -and could that problem with smoothed-over with cash? I don't know. Just tell me who I have to blow to advance my picture up that social chain.

This won't be a tit-for-tat thing, either. Momma didn't raise no fool. You better have the keyboard in your hand, keys better be tickin' away, while my face is in your crotch.

"mm...mmmm,..mmm...mmm...mmmmmmm..mmmmmmm..mm..mmmmmmm!"

Feed Your Head

Whenever I would ask my mother about my birth, and about how I came into this world, she would inevitably tell me that I was an accident. In fact, I was one of several.

Here's some advice, from someone who knows: when your child asks you that question tell them that they were the product of love. Tell them that it was a moment of magic. Tell them that two people, deeply in love, united for one special evening, to produce the child that would be them. (I don't care if you have to lie). It'll do wonders for their self-esteem.

Me, I'm an 'accident'!

And, just how the fuck did this 'accident', occur?

What the hell does it mean?

I'll tell you what it means. It means that two people, motivated by sheer carnal lust -and alcohol- had sex....and never bothered to use a condom.

That's when you hear: "Hon, do you remember that Chinese New Year when we had sex in your mother's basement?"

(Quizzical look) "Noooooo........... Should I?"

"Did you wear a condom?"

That's what I am. An 'accident'.

Now, I have no problems with the circumstances surrounding my conception. It's the wording that bugs me.

An 'accident?!'

How about: In a moment of passion, we threw ourselves together with complete and utter abandon. It was a devil-may-care attitude fueled by our lust.

That would be better.

An 'accident' is when you stub your toe. An accident is when your mother-in-law forgets to eat her bran, or you back into another car in the Mall parking lot. Those are accidents!

Getting drunk.....and rutting like pigs....is not an accident.

-That's a plan!

What I have learned is that I am not an 'accident'. I am the result of a finely-tuned plan, that was executed with military-like precision.

I'm not an accident.

-I'm Collateral Damage.

Tammy in Fancy Pants

Just so you know who it is you're dealing with, and what you can expect from that who; a short introduction....of sorts.

My name is Tammy Twotone. I am anxious, neurotic, paranoid, and obcessive compulsive. If that's not enough, consider my past; my father abandoned me and my family when I was still in the womb;I was raised by a step-father who was abusive -both emotionally and physically. Not from this country, my mother, my three sisters and I were dumped into the 'projects' where the welfare state did it's best to cloth, educate, and keep a roof over our heads, when said step-father no longer did. This barely skims the surface of my dysfunction. But, it's part of where I come from. And, it's something you probably should know.

I've been a puppeterr, a retail clerk, an actor, a college student, a taxi dispatcher, a United States Marine, an independent bookseller, and -on one ocassion- a stripper. All of which is grist for my life as a transgendered stand-up comedienne.

Still with me?!

What I learned in Therapy

I learned that the only time that I am completely confident is when I'm alone. Alone. That's it. "No problem", says a little voice inside my head. More than one person, and it's "No way."

-Because, one of us is 'Wrong!'
It doesn't matter what that wrong is.
It just is.

And, maybe I am wrong.
Then, I start to question myself.

"Is this an isolated incident, or part of a pattern?" Not good.

This inevitably leads to the stark truth that my life is riddled with mistakes. Concluding with, "I don't deserve to live!"

- you can see why I like being alone.

Therapy is great.