Girl on the Brink: Surviving Desperate Times with Desperate Measures

I almost bought—on sale—a Hannah Montana karaoke contraption at Radio Shack today, but opted for the Plug ‘N’ Sing Karaoke system. It costs $10, compared to $69. At the checkout line, the clerk said, “I bought one of these for my son.” I nodded, thinking, lady, this one’s for me.

She looked aghast when I turned down the $2 annual insurance in case the thing broke, but $2 is $2, and I had just donated $2 to the homeless woman selling the poverty tabloid Street Sense a few minutes before, in exchange for information about what she keeps in her plastic garbage bags (another blog entry, for sure).

I have no intention of practicing for the Fox hit American Idol, though if I believed in reincarnation, I’d want to come back as a singer. It’s so sensory, and I think Idol judge Simon Cowell has possibilities as a future mate. But I hear English chaps are cheap, and I can’t sing well enough in this lifetime for that.  No, instead  I’m practicing for a gig as a stand-up comic. I’ve got one at the Hyatt in Bethesda this Saturday, which features stand-up comedy every week on that night. I’ve been invited as a “bright fresh face.”

Why this turn in events? Isn’t writing Girl on the Brink satisfying enough?

Well, no. One of the big problems of being unemployed is an obsession to feel wanted again. Since I’m divorced and uninvolved, the feeling is amplified. Writing is a cold medium. I need to feel the hot in-person vibe of real people in real time. I don’t expect to make any money at it. Life as a stand-up comic isn’t listed as one of U.S. News & Business Report’s best career moves for 2009.

Nonetheless, I’ve been practicing in the basement when my ex is out of the house. I need to keep this a secret from him or he’ll make fun of me. I’m revising some of my columns into shorter skits and assuming personas that make me feel sexy and alive.

Hearing yourself through a microphone is the next best thing to talking to somebody. Truth be told, I also do other things to make me feel important. Try setting up a Google alert on your name. About every day, I receive email that someone somewhere has mentioned me. I also “follow” people on Twitter that I don’t, but would like to, know. They seem to follow you back, and some guys look cute. I could also look at myself in the mirror and talk, but writing my blog is the most fun because I can feed my alter ego.