Thursday, January 14, 2016


So, first of all, trigger warning...

The man who assaulted me over a year ago showed up to my show last month to... like hang out, and be a fucking asshole. Multitasking! Seeing him sitting there watching the show was very upsetting, but I felt paralyzed to do anything about it. I'm embarrassed that I didn't do or say anything. At one point during the evening my assaulter asked me if I wanted to talk to "clear the air" and I was like "um of your existence?" 

The thing that really upsets me about this, apart from the obvious, is that he had no sense of guilt for his actions. I make fun of sociopaths sometimes, and that doesn't make me feel guilty. I try to empathize with whatever fucked up thing turned a person into a sociopath, but it's very hard for me to relate to people who don't experience guilt. I still have guilt dreams about using too much of a green crayon in 2nd grade. WHY DON'T SOCIOPATHS FEEL GUILT?! I would call them robots but I think that's insulting and dismissive to robots... Siri apologizes to me when she doesn't know something. Why can't sociopaths be more compassionate, like Siri? Probably because Siri is a girl robot. If Siri was a male robot he'd be like "I didn't understand your request, but I don't give a fuck and I'm gonna do whatever I want anyway and your feelings do not compute." 

If you are a straight cis gendered man do not come up to me after the show and say "I'm so sorry that happened to you." I FUCKING KNOW you're sorry. Telling me you empathize doesn't make it better, just stop hanging out with people who assault women. The guy who sat with my abuser at the show identifies as a male feminist, or in other words kinda sketchy. 

Sometimes people don't believe that happened to me. Why the fuck would I lie about being assaulted? For all of the positive attention it gets me? Women do not lie about assault. That's so stupid. I mostly lie about having seen movies or knowing a band. If you mention a movie and I say "Oh yeah!" that "oh yeah" is definitely a lie. 

The assaulter did eventually leave, but I hate that he felt entitled to show up to my show at all. I hate that he didn't feel any guilt for his actions. The lack of guilt makes me think he might do it again to another woman. Sometimes I say things like "women should not be assaulted!" and everyone's like "you manhating bitch!" And I'm like thank you. I usually argue no I'm not manhating, a lot of people just assume that I hate men because I'm smart. But at this point.... sure... I hate a lot of men. Like I'm not saying that all men are all rapists and assaulters, but statistically... they are.

Thursday, December 31, 2015



Got assaulted in January 
Wrote and published a comedic sci fi graphic novel
Found out several other men I had really previously trusted had committed assault 
Lost a lot of friends 
Was named one of the top 100 comics in the country in a television show! 
Became more isolated 
Gained about 15 pounds due to depression 
The television show I was supposed to be on was cancelled 
Got into two festivals! 
Didn't get into a different festival that I really wanted to do 
The television show was un-canceled and I got flown down to perform in the filming! 
Met a sweet girl I really liked romantically! 
Due to recent assault I couldn't commit to any type of romantic relationship all year 
Got to help participate in a really fun webseries with two of my favorite comedians Angela Webber and Lucia Fasano! 
My set was cut out of the television show when it aired 
Started a really fun podcast called Addicted to Heroines! 
Started a fun webcomic called Shut up, Diary! 
Got hit by a car while on my bike and my adorable bike got totaled 
Found a new therapist! 
The man who assaulted me showed up at my show, probably in an attempt to scare me, or just because he didn't care 
Got into a fight with my dad about genocide at Christmas

It's been a dark year for me, but many people had it way worse, so I can't really complain. I hope 2016 is better.

Friday, December 4, 2015

Ski Trip

There was this movie called "She's All That" that came out when I was 12 years old where a mousey nerdy girl gets bullied and then falls in love with a handsome tall man. (I think that's as complex as the whole plot gets.) It was very easy to put myself in the role of the short mousey girl with glasses who loved art and everyone was mean to her because of those facts. I saw myself as an underdog. The basis of the movie conveyed to my simple brain the stereotype that popular people were mean and nerds were awesome. Characters in my books and on tv were good or evil, bullies or victims, wookies or ewoks.

There was this girl named Caroline (name changed) in our grade who was mean to everyone. She said ridiculously cruel things and made me cry on numerous occasions. To be fair, I do cry over like every single thing. I'm like a raw nerve, wiggling about in the open. Caroline laughed at the smart kids and the disabled kids and the jocks and the nerds and the pretty girls and EVERYONE. She went for "low blows" saying hurtful offensive things that in the 90s constituted "bullying" or "playful teasing" and maybe now would be considered "hate speech." Adults in the 90s were always telling us to stand up for ourselves to our bullies, and I have never had that work out for me.

Around that time, my family was also going through some drama at home. Everyone's relationship in my family was somewhat strained, and my brother and I alternated between being at each others' throats or being inseparable best friends and each others' support systems. We're kind of like each others' rock, in that we make music that hurt old peoples' ears.

One day several kids in our class got to go on a ski trip after school. (No, I was not rich. I lived basically on a mountain so it was hard to avoid such activities.) Caroline's mom forced her to go against her will. Outside, before boarding the bus, I hugged my brother goodbye. Once on the bus, Caroline loudly asked me if I was dating my brother. The entire bus laughed uproariously. I was somewhat sensitive to the idea of incest because I had witnessed some sexual abuse when I was seven that had greatly darkened my idea of all sexuality, especially in relation to family members. This sensitivity combined with my recent familial strain hit me in the chest like a sharp heavy thud. Caroline smiled proudly of her joke and streams of silent tears cascaded down my face.

I sat by myself for the rest of the bus ride, sobbing uncontrollably and doing extra credit homework: still my two favorite activities! Why am I single? Oh right, because I want to be. Anyway.

Once at the ski lodge, I was over it. I loved the clean, muffled quiet of snow, the giant protective trees, and the dreadlocked hippies working the lift machines. The snow made me feel safe and separate from the stress of my family and school. I also loved (and still do love) moving super fast (not in bed; go away, men). The speed of downhill skiing made me feel strong, in control, and like I could fly. All traces of my recent crying dissipated and I returned to my happy, giggling self in the span of minutes. Puberty mood swings are so cool. Do they ever go away?

My good friend Meggy and I were on a chair lift high above the mountain and trees, looking down at the beautiful sparkly night. Meggy had just gotten the part of Glinda in the school play and so we were singing The Wizard of Oz. She had a really beautiful voice, and I... I just like to be included in things. Below us I saw Caroline fall on her snowboard. She sat in the snowbank where she fell and looked down, putting her head in her hands. The emotions of the stupid bus joke washed over me again and I was filled with a dark, painful rage.

"There's Caroline," I said. "I hate her."
Meggy looked down and then said, "There's no way you hate her as much as she hates herself."

I don't think I spoke again for a minute. I was as deep in existentialist thought as a 12 year old can be. The way I saw Caroline completely shifted. I no longer saw a cruel bully, but a very lonely child. She didn't have many friends; she wasn't doing well in school, there might be so many other things going on that I didn't know. She was mean to people because she was miserable and lonely. In her eyes, I was not the mousey underdog victim, but a sorta cute kid with good grades and seemingly solid relationships with people. Maybe to her, I was not the nerd, but... gasp... the popular kid.

She picked on people like me because she was angry and frustrated with herself. Meggy was so compassionate that she could feel empathy for someone that tore people down, which is impressive for a child.

The idea of certain characters being completely good or evil changed for me. Not everyone who is a bully is always a bully. Not everyone who is a victim is always a victim. Nothing is absolute.

I've never been the kind of person that tries to belittle people, either teasing or otherwise, and I never try to hurt people if I can help it. Often I find it baffling when people hurt others, with their words or actions. I need to work on remembering that people who hurt others do so because they are angry and miserable with themselves. People who hurt me hate themselves way more than they hate me. I still cry all the time and I still am too sensitive for my own good, but I try my best to remember to be compassionate toward everyone, because whatever they're going through in their own minds is way darker than what they're putting me through.

Sunday, October 25, 2015

Shut it down

Recently (a long time ago in a galaxy far far- actually this galaxy) I was at a bar with a group of friends/ comedy colleagues and acquaintances. I was standing next to one friend and another girl approached us. The approaching girl mimed holding a microphone and said in an old timey reporter voice (which is always hilarious and adorable) “Here we are with channel seven news, here to comment on the recent headlice of local Comedian (Name of Male Comic)* Any thoughts, Lady Churchill?”

She held the imaginary microphone up to my friend who said, “My client has no comment at this point.”

She then took the mic back and said, “How about you, Widow Rutherford?” and held the imaginary microphone up to me.

I said in a gravelly tone, “Well, we don’t get much worked up about lice down at the harbor, not since the accident,”

Another woman interrupted me, “Weird how the widow has the same lisp as Barbara.” Then she laughed.

I stopped and looked down at the floor. A minute later I excused myself to go get a drink and I sat at the bar by myself while my friend and the two other women laughed and enjoyed their evening. I felt like an unfunny leper who had messed up the joke by having a lisp.

Some version of this has been happening to me on a regular basis since I was six years old. The familiarity of the subtle shut down was what stung the most. The words themselves weren’t cruel, but it time traveled me back to being a first grader at camp and struggling to say anything funny or cool and then getting corrected and criticized when I finally mustered up the courage to do so. Every teacher, friend, person I’ve looked up to has pushed for me to be more outgoing and then shut it down once I did so.

That evening my friends and I were doing what my good friend Yogi calls “a social bit.” Yogi defines social bits as funny jokes you do between friends, not something one would do on stage. My favorite of Yogi’s social bits involves him doing a super lonely dance where he mimes eating pizza and masturbating. He probably will do it for you if you ask him.

In Tina Fey’s amazing book “Bossy Pants” she writes about improv comedy: “The first rule of improvisation is AGREE. Always agree and SAY YES. When you’re improvising, this means you are required to agree with whatever your partner has created. So if we’re improvising and I say, “Freeze, I have a gun,” and you say, “That’s not a gun. It’s your finger. You’re pointing your finger at me,” our improvised scene has ground to a halt. But if I say, “Freeze, I have a gun!” and you say, “The gun I gave you for Christmas! You bastard!” then we have started a scene because we have AGREED that my finger is in fact a Christmas gun.”

I’m NOT saying I believe every silly social bit needs to follow Tina’s rules of improv. (Although, I do love rules so much I’d be willing to go to jail for them.) However, it’s clear that by tearing down the fourth wall and pointing out my physical handicap, my acquaintance had grounded the bit to a halt, and made it clear she didn’t think I was good enough at being funny to play along.

I have been consistently told that I’m too sensitive. Usually I disagree, but I’m crying too much to contradict them. I might be sensitive, but I think it’s a strength, because it allows me to sense (that’s the first syllable of “sensitive!” Weird!) when someone is uncomfortable. I like that I’m aware of feelings (mine and others’). Despite my tough badass pleather jacket wearing exterior, I find it’s easier if someone is my FRIEND not my acquaintance before they make fun of me. Additionally, there are some topics people who know and love me steer away from and there are some topics people who dislike me seem to zero in on

Things my friends usually do make fun of me for on a regular basis:
Being nerdy, being awkward, being clumsy, being messy/ dirty, having a little bit of a speech impediment, loving books, living in a fantasy world, being anxious, being a spaz (Basically, anything Sandra Bullock would do in a romantic comedy from my childhood.)

Things people who are not my friends make fun of me for:
being cruel, being bad at comedy, failing at a bit socially or on stage, being intrinsically** funny being annoying, being difficult to like/ love,

I’ve worked very hard on being a confident enough person to believe I’m even somewhat funny or likeable. I have a few friends and I love them unconditionally and would do anything for them, yet I constantly worry that I’m bugging them or being rude or annoying or stupid and not funny. I spend a lot of effort caring and empathizing with the feelings of others and it sucks when someone cares so little about my feelings.  It SUCKS being shut down and criticized for trying to be funny and social.

*I took out the male comic’s name because it’s not important to the story.
**Bullies don’t use the word “intrinsically” that is me paraphrasing. Bullies seldom have as apt word choice as I do. Hmm, I wonder if this type of thinking could be why I get bullied…

And finally, if lisps are so nerdy, then why did the best clarinetist at 7th grade band camp tell me mine was hot?

Thursday, July 30, 2015


I've been crying for like... 28 years. I cry in public a lot, so basically, I've proved these eyelashes are real! It's weird I can do something so often, so continuously, and SO WELL, and it still makes me feel shitty. It would be like if Michael Jordan was like "yeah I've been playing basketball my entire life, and I'm literally the best at it, but still, every time I touch the ball I remember how alone I am in the world."

Sometimes my body starts crying before my brain and heart even realize we're sad about something: oh this again? Time to start thinking about how no one likes us! And that's really what I'm crying about most of the time is me feeling alone, or other people feeling alone, or the concept of loneliness existing at all. I'm so rarely crying about something productive. Whenever I do start crying about police brutality I'm like "good job, Babs, keep it going." 

Today I started crying because Mike Birbiglia told some jokes about uncovering truths about himself and then had the gall to play DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE in the credits of the special. I started crying when I heard Death Cab, which is weird because I am not 16 and/or on my period. My boss was like "what's wrong?" and I was like "no one will follow me into the dark!" Wait, is that song about killing yourself because your friend died? Ugh... um, nevermind, no thanks.

Part of being a comedian is essentially crying because one thinks everyone hates them, which is stupid because some people don't know me well enough to hate me. I used to fool myself into believing I did comedy solely to make people happy, and I know for a fact that that is a big percentage of the reasoning, like maybe 58%, which is not exactly a passing grade. And I do not get non passing grades. 

2015 has been hard for me, as hard as it can be for any 28 year old pretty white person, but, um.... I didn't get into a festival I wanted, I didn't advance in a comedy competition I wanted to advance in, I didn't advance in a local comedy competition, but one of the judges and I had a conflict of penis size interest, so I think he was biased against me. Overall, there were a couple set backs in my still young, about 6 years in, comedy career. It's easy to go from thinking "am I not FUNNY?" to "do I not make people happy?" to "do I make people miserable?" to "am I a worthless piece of shit who everyone hates who doesn't have any friends and is totally alone?????" 

Yesterday a friend of mine posted on facebook that something very positive was happening for him. I don't want to discuss it, and I'm legally obligated not to, not that I think the people who wear the suits with the briefcases read my shitty blog, but just in case... let's use a metaphor. My friend posted that he was going to get a pot of gold delivered to his house that night. I had fought and bested the same leprechaun in battle, chased the same rainbow, but it is still uncertain whether a pot of gold will be delivered to me. I am VERY happy that my friend gets a pot of gold, but I hate thinking "now if I DON'T get a pot of gold everyone will think it's because I am a bad person and did not play the leprechaun's reindeer games, and then they will all hate me, and then I will be even more alone." Okay that's too dramatic...

I also recently had a death in the family, and I had a friend/ roommate kinda betray my trust, and a friend got sick, and I am feeling very secluded from my friends and family, and the festivals and comedy competitions and everything.... AND ON TOP OF ALL THAT, I MAY OR MAY NOT GET MY LEPRECHAUN SCHRODINGER'S GOLD????!!!!!

If people stop laughing, even for five minutes, does that mean the clown isn't making them happy and the clown is ruining everything and get back in her clown car but she doesn't have any friends so there's not enough clowns in the clown car?

My brain tells myself that no one likes me.
My body tells my eyes to start leaking liquid.
My brain says myself that I make people miserable.
My body tells my shoulders to shake.
My brain tells myself that I am alone.
I proved these eyelashes are real.

Monday, July 27, 2015

Yelp Reviews for States of Being

State of Being: Depressed

I come to Depression a lot when I'm feeling lonely, or when I can't feel anything. I really love the couches in Depression, or at least I think I love them. It's difficult to feel enthusiasm for the things that I normally love when I'm in the state of Depression. The food is kinda... meh... Lots of cheese and salted things just mushed together. It's fine and it does the trick, but it's nothing fancy. Oh, and the service is terrible. I laid on the couch for hours before I offered myself a blanket or a beer. Oh, there's lots of beer in depression, but it's all the way in the fridge. It's a good place to be if you want to curl up under the blankets and watch emotionally driven science fiction or fantasy all day.

Three and a half stars.

State of Being: Anxious

I um go to anxiety um a lot a lot a lot!!!!!! It's great! Well it's okay. I don't know. I'm sorry. It's super scary!!!!! Do you like scary things? Me too! Oh you don't? Me neither! SORRY IF I OFFENDED YOU THERE! Anxiety has some really fun exercises, like shaking and trembling while pacing: SO GOOD FOR YOUR CORE WORK OUT. The shower in anxiety is nice. You can sit on the floor and shake back and forth of the shower if you want to. Uh, sorry if that uh um... The coffee here is good!!! Come for the coffee! Stay for the panic attack work outs!

Five stars! I mean one star! I don't know.