Being the head writer for The Garden State Jubilee--a new, cutting edge, up and coming, old-school radio variety show--allows you certain privileges--like writing yourself into as many skits as you can when the headliner has a stick up his ass, the entire male- dominated cast pisses you off, and the producers are three sheets to the wind. So, this past Friday I made my acting debut on the stage of The Asbury Lanes. Okay, so the stage was really lanes 14-23 covered with a well-worn carpet.(No bowling was allowed during the show, but I was tempted at times...)
Trying to be hip, trendy, and cool (emphasis on "trying") I bought a pair of red platforms and a black Massimo mini dress at Target. (Sarah Jessica Parker, eat your heart out!) Can I just tell you how many times those platforms got stuck on the carpeted gutter and I almost fractured my friggin' ankle!!!??? (Oh, and by "mini-dress" I mean that when I sat down my knees were bared--which is when I discovered that I only shaved my lower leg, so I had "knee afros" or knee-fros as I like to call them. Thank God it was dark!)
When I walked into "The Lanes", as it is referred to by locals, it appeared that time stopped somewhere in the early '80's and when I heard the Ramones blasting on the sound system it was surreal and disorienting. All I wanted to do was dance, but I was overcome with the urge to mop the floor at the same time because it looked like it hadn't been cleaned in 30 years. Who goes into a bar and thinks about mopping a floor??? I felt like somebodies punk-rock Jewish mother!
Being a part of the show, we got to drink and eat for free, a perk I took advantage of. I was starving so right after rehearsal I grabbed a cold beer and indulged in their infamous taylor ham and cheese sandwich. As I took the first bite of the sandwich I was in heaven...pork roll and melted processed cheese...and then the stage hand with halitosis decided to sit across from me and engage in conversation about "man-cans" (yes, this is the man fixated on his "man-cans") Well, the halitosis was overwhelming, but so was my hunger so I tried to eat without breathing. Didn't work. I took a sip of beer--it was tinged with halitosis. Finally, unable to take it any longer, the mother in me kicked in and I shouted, (I had to shout over the music) "Your halitosis is killing me!" to which he replied, "Hal's not talking to me either." Thoroughly pissed off, I gave him my sandwich and went off to sulk.
The show was a hit. At the end, a female audience member wearing a black micro-mini dress and flip flops got so excited that she jumped up and down really high. After her third jump the entire cast looked at each other for confirmation--yes, she was wearing no underwear. She continued to jump up and down, we continued to gawk. I couldn't help thinking, "No underwear, really? And wasn't she sitting on the barstool earlier that I then sat down on???? And look at that floor--it's filthy!"
After the show a man came up to me and said he would love to "ink" my legs because he thought they'd be even hotter with ink. (Somebody called my legs hot??? God, I love these people! For a moment I felt like the Jennifer Aniston of "Bizarro World" but my mind was too busy calculating if I was old enough to be this man's mother. When did that happen??? Calculating if I'm mother or MILF material???) Flattered though I was (and dear God, I was--I felt like the claw in one of those claw machines the kids like to play--and in my claw was the prize) I waved my husband over to me. Now, I've established that his hearing is going, so imagine in a loud bar--deaf as a stone. So as this man gushed about my legs (gush...please gush) my husband stood, nodded, and smiled. Amazing. But it was getting close to closing time and we had to head home. So I bid my new friend goodbye, and took my old man home.
As we left "The Lanes" and walked out to go back to my real life, I told my husband about this man's fascination with my legs. The "delay" button on his machismo kicked in and he wanted to go kick the guy's ass (as soon as his sinuses cleared up because his head was killing him). I handed him a Kleenex, and said, "Come on Grampa--your moment passed."
Wow, I wonder if Jennifer Aniston has such problems????
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