This past week was my parents 37th wedding anniversary. Just look at them (see the photo above) It truly was that 70′s wedding. My mom is wearing a hat. A hat, not a veil. What a hippie! And my dad, we’ll get into that later.
37 years. If they had gotten divorced, I’d at least have an excuse. But nope. They are best friends and still manage to have things to talk to each other about. I have a lot of respect for that. I can’t imagine the patience that it takes my mom to talk about the History Channel or listen to my dad mangle the already mangled jokes from The Big Bang Theory. And I can’t imagine the patience that it takes my dad to listen to my mother talk about what she’s eaten in the last 3 days. It’s her favorite topic of conversation.
Just look at my dad up there. He knows he just scored the hottest babe. And look at that mustache. My dad has had a mustache since he could grow one. The only time he didn’t have the mustache was when he graduated from high school, my grandfather made him shave it off, and when he surgery on his nose for sleep apnia. When that happened, my whole world view changed. I had no idea that my dad had a top lip. I am pretty sure that mustache is why I haven’t been able too have successful relationship. How can you compete with that? There are 2 people in the world who can compete with my dad on mustaches – Hulk Hogan and Nick Offerman. For Halloween, my dad used to dress up as Hulk Hogan with a tin foil championship belt that we made for him. He’d rip off his shirt and yell, “Hulkamania” and we loved it! He’d ruin four or five shirts every Halloween. I can see why my mom stuck around. He’s funny.
This past week marked two solid comedy milestones for me. It was my year anniversary, which in a relationship is a big deal, but in comedy, no one cares. It just matters to me that I have stuck to something for longer than my usual attention span. But the bigger accomplishment? The one that I will ever remember? Getting heckled for the first time. And not just by any run of the mill heckler. I get heckled by the most meth addled crazy diarrhea of the mouth chick named, of all things, Moe.
Moe was so off of her chain that she had to be removed from the venue. But before leaving, convinced the bouncer to let her use the bathroom and kept running at the mouth the whole time she was in the bathroom. We could hear all the crazy jabber.
Her beef with me? My dress.
Just how was she pissed about my dress? According to her I was like “Norma Dean up there”.
“Norma Jean – you know Marilyn Monroe with your skirt all blowing up.” You could not actually see up my skirt. I asked a room full of comics (80% men) who would have answered me truthfully, especially about something like that.
“Empire waisted bullshit” She mistook my obviously cinched waist dress for an empire waist dress. She was the only wasted. (The Empire waste was popularized during the reign of Napoleon by his wife Josephine. And no matter how thin you are, it makes you look pregnant. Doesn’t everyone know that?)
She proceeded to call me ugly. How can you be like Marilyn Monroe and be ugly? It’s a paradox only those on that good meth can understand.
The best part was being able to back handedly call her a dumb see-you-next-Tuesday and watching her removed from the venue spouting off about how there is a KKK informant in the club. Moe, please, please, please come back next week.