The Daily Derenger

8/29/2003

I was meeting last night with the committee for my 10 year high school reunion. I hung out with them a lot in high school or at least I made them laugh in certain classes. Some of us have kept in touch over the years, while others have started new lives through marriage. Great people to surround myself with, nonetheless.

Pete is going on a trip through Europe next week. Kris did something similar when she graduated from U of I. Sue and Mary? Not sure about their international travels.

As Pete and Kris were talking about their European travels, Kris mentioned visiting Anne Frank's home.

"Who?" I said, not having something witty to say immediately and looking to buy some more time.

"Anne Frank," said Kris. And then she and Pete went back to their conversation.

A few seconds later, I chimed back in.

"Did you see the attic that she made famous?" I asked.

"Of course," said Kris, with a 'why wouldn't I have done so' tone.

Just then Mary and Sue chuckled. Apparently the way I initially asked "who" when Kris mentioned Anne Frank gave the impression that I didn't know who Anne Frank was.

"I know I went to 3 years of JUCO," I snapped back with. "But I know who Anne Frank is. I just wanted to know if Kris visited the attic. Why else would you see her home? I know of Anne Frank from living in the attic, not from having some tea in the study."

I then added that when I visited Graceland, I wouldn't be able to see the toilet that Elvis died on. There was no reason to pay for the grand tour. Without seeing the infamous shitter, it wouldn't be that grand.

Oh yeah, we also learned what "congeal" meant. Sue was trying to throw around her ISU education, surely being able to stump this JUCO grad. However, Kris, Mary and Pete didn't know either.

Congeal means to solidify or harden. Eggs congeal, so does jello. I guess a penis could, too, under the right circumstances. Or maybe not. I think it would have to be in liquid form to congeal. Oh well. That's why I never graduated with a Bachelor's in anything. However, if perversion was offered, I'd have that Doctorate.

So here at ShaveYourHead.com, we're out to educate and entertain.

Raise your hand if you've learned a new word today. And something about Anne Frank.

8/28/2003

Well the house-sitting is going well. At first I didn't think Chellie was too fond of me. However, she has come around and now enjoys a little petting and even some tosses of her catnip toys. She mee-ows at me as if to say, "Hey, you know what? I might as well be nice to you. You're all I got 'til mommy gets home. Plus, you know where the food is."

It's been 2 days since the Wrigley softball debacle. I'm moving as if I was the 70-year-old bald man I look like. My body is sore in places I've not felt soreness in a long time. It hurts to think, to sit, to walk and to go up stairs. It pained me to write this and then to sit on and get up from the toilet. A grand vision I know.

If Chellie was a masseuse, this whole experience would be going much better.

8/27/2003

I've had my beer koozies for sale nearly 2 weeks. I sold about 15 at my shows in Grand Rapids. The majority of them I have given away to family, friends and fellow comedians, though.

Last night I headlined a show to close a comedy class graduation. I had a koozie around my Budweiser but didn't sell any after the show. Some people left with some, though. I figure even if they don't pay for one, they are still looking at the koozie with ShaveYourHead.com on it. It's all about promotion.

As some comics and I were sitting at the end of the bar 4 hours after the show, I gave the bar owner a koozie.

"Man, my grandmother would cream in her shorts over one of these!" he exclaimed. "She's been drinking beer as long as I can remember."

Now I enjoy a compliment as much as the next comic. After all, the ego is a rather fragile one in this business. But knowing that a guy's grandma would cream at the sight of my koozie is a bit much. Besides, how much cream does a 76-year-old woman have left? And are you sure it's even cream? Could it not be mistaken for other bodily discharge, the very reason the Depends were created?

But this guy may be onto something. I'm off to book myself in nursing homes nationwide. Bring on the creamin' grannies!

8/26/2003

Yesterday was just another in the collection of my horrible car experiences. Although I have never been in a serious accident, I was in 3 of them in 1 week. I walked away from all of them just fine. My car, the 1988 Pontiac LeMans, wasn't so lucky.

With the Prizm I now drive, she has been through a lot with me. She went over 150,000 miles last week, 98,000 of them with me as her captain. She's been dented, bruised and battered. She has seen both American coasts on the same comedy tour. She has made it through 2 Northern Michigan snowstorms. She has seen the Rockies and the Appalachians. She has served as a closet and a bed while also allowing me to change her oil in about 12 states.

She has been ticketed for many violations and has even been booted for ignoring the payment of those violations. Yesterday, she was towed for the first time.

I parked for about 5 minutes to run inside to get my paycheck. When I came out, she was gone. There was no game at Wrigley. The lot I parked in had a few other cars in it, so I figured I was safe. I left my flashers on, figuring that would let someone know I would be back soon.

Yesterday wasn't my lucky day. Sure I got paid, but I also got fucked. And didn't like it one bit.

I had a friend take me to retrieve the Prizm. I saw her sitting among the other casualties of parking no-no's. The small booth where I had to pay to get her back felt like I was visiting a pal in prison. There was glass and steel bars protecting the clerk from unruly car-owners. Having parked the Prizm for only 5 minutes, I was irate at her being towed.

The behind-the-bars-bitch didn't care. She surely had heard it all before, perhaps just before I got there.

"It's their job," she said as I tried to explain that all I did was park for 5 minutes.

"How in the fuck do those guys live with themselves?" I said aloud, intended to be only a thought to myself.

"They make money when people make a mistake. How American is that?" I added, as others who were there to get their cars back looked on with dismay and frustration.

The moral is: you don't need to go to Las Vegas to blow $125 in 5 minutes. No blackjack or hookers. You can lose your ass and get fucked without leaving Chicago. Trust me.

8/24/2003

Last Monday I wrote about searching all over Cyndi’s place for her porn stash. (If you’ve yet to read it, you must. Check out the “Daily Derenger” archives from last week.)

Today I am again at Cyndi’s. I’m house-sitting for her, even though it’s a condo. Condositting will simply not work. You call it baby-sitting even if the kid is like 10.

I’ve done this for her many times in the past. It gives me a chance to live solo for a week while still being in Chicago, away from life at home.

Cyndi has included many rules over the years when I have to watch her place. The main rules usually have to do with her fat calico cat, Chellie. Well since she now owns this place, there are many more rules. Or maybe she’s just being specific on certain things. Whatever the case, Cyndi just wants to make sure her place and her baby are okay.

This time around, there are 4 pages of guidelines, hand-written on 5x7 stationery with Cyndi’s name on top of the page. The pad of paper sits beside the rules and I’m assuming was given to her as a promotional deal. It appears to be from some litho graphics company.

Here are the rules written by Cyndi. Of couse, I always have the last word. And since ShaveYourHead.com may be the closest I ever get to having my own show, I will write my last word about some of these rules. They will follow Cyndi’s words and appear in italics.

The Cyndi Rules

Chellie gets …

1. ½ cup of a food a day. If Chellie’s fat ass had it her way though, she’d have her own fridge with free reign of it.

2. Fresh water all the time. Like I’m gonna sit here and pour fresh water in her bowl hourly. The toilet has colder water anyway. Chellie knows where that is.

3. 1 treat per day. Well what if she does something extra good? What if she plays nice with me? Will another treat put her over the edge?
4. Her poop scooped every other day. I knew this one was coming eventually. Having had a cat before, I’m okay with it. It’s all covered in litter anyway. It surely beats walking around with dogshit in a bag and saying hello to a hot chick.

(page 2)

Wanna do laundrey? (Spelled that way, too.) Here are those rules.

1. Use the white card with the gold thing on it.
2. It’s $1.25 to wash and $1.25 to dry.
3. You stick the card the appropriate machine and wait ‘til the $1.25 is subtracted.
4. At the far end of the laundry room, there is a machine to refill money on the card.
5. It takes only $5’s and $10’s.
6. Fabric softener and detergent are under the sink.

Well I don’t have anything really funny or creative to add here. Besides, I just did wash at my mom’s before I came up to the city. And if I needed to do laundry, I wouldn’t spend $1.25 to dry it.

(page 3)

Miscellaneous rules

1. Make sure you leave my keys with the doorman on the day I get home.

2. Don’t eat my frozen meats. Like I couldn’t eat them and replace them with bigger and better meats. Who eats someone’s frozen meats anyway? I mean, if there were some freeze pops or fish sticks, so be it. But I would never feast on someone’s frozen meats.

3. If you drink that vodka, you replace it (33 bucks a bottle). Now she thinks I’m a drunk and a guy who eats her frozen meats. I hate vodka. No worries here. She’s really the lush. I never even knew Cyndi liked vodka. Yuck!

4. There are clean sheets and towels for you. Well jeez, thanks. That means she had crazy sex the night before she left and those sheets may now look like a cross between a crime scene and an art project. I won’t use the clean sheets, though. I will opt to sleep on her couch. Putting the sheets on will take too much effort. Plus there is nothing covering any of her windows in the bedroom or the living room area, so there’s really no difference.

5. No girls. Seriously. This stems from me staying at her place before and having girls there. Again, Cyndi owns this place now. There is no landlord to come unclog the sink filled with stripper’s vomit or fix the hole in the wall from the stripper’s head bouncing off the bed just before she ran to puke. All the fun will have to happen at their place.

(page 4)

Miscellaneous rules cont'd

6. Get my mail please. Maybe there will be some porno mags or a postcard sent from Cyndi.

7. If it’s gonna be real hot, leave the air on for Chellie. “Fuck me” I guess. The cat’s comfort comes first.

8. If it’s gonna rain, shut the windows. It just so happens that it’s gonna be hot and rainy all week. The windows will be shut and the air will be on. Even if it didn’t rain and was hot, the windows would still be closed. She can’t think I’m that dumb, can she? 3 years of community college taught me some common sense.

9. The garbage chute is past the elevator, turn right, first door on left. Well if there’s no girls, no vodka or frozen meat consumption, what will be in the garbage other than cat poop? Okay, that’s enough to empty the trash. Will see to that being done.

10. Water the plants every day. There’s only 2 of them. This will be no problem. I may even use the vodka to water the big plant. I won’t be the one drinking it so I think this will be within the rules. Maybe I’ll give Chellie a shot of vodka with her dry food. However, this will most certainly kill the plant, make the cat ill and leave no vodka. Cyndi will never have me house-sit again.

Check back all week to see how the stay is working out.