Take My Mom...Please!

So last Friday semi-evening, I hosted a show at Gotham - mom came, and so did Lynda, chick I'm seeing - after the show, I introduce them, and after telling mom that Lynda writes novels, I make a joke about the type of stuff (chick-lit) Lynda writes...let's listen in, shall we?

Me - Yeah, her last book was called "Women Wear Shoes."

Lynda - It was not!

Mom - So what do you write about, like fashion?

Lynda - Does it look like I write about fashion?

Mom- No! It doesn't!

Me - Good night, everybody! You've been great!

Rock On,

Aitch

Weird

So I got into work fifteen minutes and already so bored that I googled myself and I found that yesterday, a piece of mine that I had submitted months ago was posted online! This is the second time this has happened (no, not me googling myself...that's a daily occurrence).

Anyway, Yankee Pot Roast is a really good site, right up there with McSweeney's (in fact they do an awesome parody of McSweeney's in their archive)...so check out their other stuff (as most is better than my piece).

http://www.yankeepotroast.org/archives/2007/05/further_proof_t.html

Rock On,

Aitch

Easy Come, Easy Go...Easy Come Again

So I'm at the dog run yesterday when Samantha calls me to break up. Maybe I'm not all that into her but my response was basically, "Ok, good luck!"

After we hang up, I'm like, "Shit! Who am I gonna take to see Ricky Gervais Saturday night?!?"

Five minutes pass. My phone rings again. It's Samantha.

"Umm, hi, I was wondering if it's possible for us to forget that I called before."
"I'm sorry?"
"Well, I don't want to break up."
"Okaaaay. Can I ask what happened in the last five minutes to change your mind?"
"Well, when I was doing it, it didn't seem right."
"Well, I've already moved on...I'm seeing someone else."

"I'm kidding! But you realize that I can't even send this out to my friends as an e-mail cause you'll sound insane."
"Yeah, sorry about this."
"No problem."

If she were a Gervais fan, I woulda been suspicious...but she's not, so she's just insane.

Rock On,

Aitch

Mother's Day

What I wrote to mom in her Mother's Day card:

"I honestly couldn't have become a comic without you."

She's going to bring it to her office to show off.

Rock On,

Aitch

Where's Security When You Need Them

So I hosted at Gotham on Friday night. Having told my mom that she can get n free when I host, she came with some of her work friends. It may be the last time I tell her that I'm hosting.

Before the show, I was hanging with one of the managers* when mom walks in. First thing she says...

"Hi Harris...you want a banana?"

Truely a percursor of things to come.

So we start the show. As host, I'm starting the "Whereyafrom's?" I ask, "Anyone here from out of town?" Mom raises her hand.

"You're not from out of town, mom."
"Well, I was born in Kentucky."
"Yeah, but that's not what I asked."

Later on, I tell her that she's not supposed to talk to me on stage.

"Well, if you called, maybe I wouldn't have to."
"Oh, God help me." "Security?"

After the show, an audience member wanted to give me twenty bucks for my therapy.

Rock On,

Aitch

The Jerkstore Just Called...

Have a date tonight.

When someone at work walked by my desk as I was checking out her online profile and I told him that I was going out with her, he looked at her picture and said with his Italian accent, "Is she for real?"

Mike and I started dying laughing.

He may as well've asked, "Has she seen YOU?"

Rock On,

Aitch

I'm Gonna Die Alone

You'd think now that I do comedy and write, it would really give me a edge with the ladies. I mean, usually, once someone asks me what I do for a living and I say, "Regulatory Accounting," she's asleep by the "count" part.

But now, my hobbies can fill up at least 30 minutes of conversation before they fall asleep.

There's just one problem with it.

The natural inclination is to "google" me... see if anything's out there about me. I know I would. The very first match that comes up is...

CONFESSIONS OF A SERIAL DATER!

Super, I've managed to c**kblock myself.

Rock On,

Aitch