Anniversary Song

I read this on Halloween in 2001 but i'd it written earlier in the month, when i was still feeling the speedy high from the laughs i'd gotten at my first reading ever. i could understand how stand-up comics got addicted to Uppers.
Halloween was the second reading i'd ever done and the first at an all-girl open mic (T.M.I) hosted by then-recent bay area transplants ali liebegott and anna joy springer. that year i was Enid from Ghost World. the comic, not the movie! anna joy made me take off my vinyl cathead mask before i read, but i had it back on when i drooled all over her later and told her i'd always thought the Blatz side was best on The Shit Split ep eventhough all my friends preferred Filth.
This year, my relationship with "Berkeley is My Baby (And I Wanna Kill It)" celebrates its 10th anniversary. For reals.
Ali was so funny i almost didn't read that night because i didn't think my shit would ever float. they ended up inviting me back to be a feature. I kind of bombed it but that's another story.
i ended that Halloween getting a drink (probably several) from a bartender dressed as Tintin. Jeremy Willis, who's actually one of my favorite painters ever.

FIVE MINUTE, MINUTE MEDITATIONS ON
WHAT MAKES PEOPLE HAPPY

1. MONEY
If I had a nickel for every dime I’d be a rich woman.
If I had a nickel I’d be a rich woman.
If I were a rich woman I’d have a nickel and a cocktail dress for every dime.
If I had a purse like a burlap sack filled with gold-plated nickels then I’d be a rich woman.
If I had a gold-plated nickel for every subway musician who wanted a dime then I’d be a rich woman.
If I had a bronzed statue of a subway musician I’d be a rich woman.
If a subway musician had his way with me then I’d be rich woman.
If I were a rich woman who let a subway musician have his way with me and then he blackmailed me by threatening to tell my rich husband then he’d be a rich man.
If I were a well-kept woman with a rich husband and a long and lean subway musician to have my way with then I’d be getting it from both ends.
If I were getting it from both ends and said it in a way that didn’t mean something was going up the down chute (iffff you know what I mean) then I’d be a rich woman.
If you know what I mean then you’re probably not a rich woman.

2. BLOTTO
The woman on the other side of the counter could be drunk. For all I know she is
half in the bag. “Give me the five of the five dollar,” she says, “three of the three,
two of each two dollar and one of the one.” It’s her method. They all have one.
Some won’t buy green tickets. “Too obvious,” they say. This one has a lisp
which makes her sores and cane depressing. I fold each ticket up, then down,
and tear at the dotted lines. She doesn’t look at her money as she drops it on the counter,
I guess it’s best not to. She hobbles to a corner and begins scratching each box in each column.
One by one. Left to right, like reading. She takes the card.

3. PETS
How much is that kitty in the window? He’s so cute and cuddly and little. Cute and cuddly and little. And easily manipulated…ah…trained…easily trained. And what I really want to know is are there any cute and cuddly 17-year-old boys back there too? Yes, behind the counter where you keep the expensive cat collars. Because that’s what I really want. Easily trained, easily manipulated, cute and cuddly 17-year-old boys who sleep by my feet on those cold winter nights and who only require a handful of things to feel fulfilled:
Water
Food
Regular walks
And of course,
Heavy petting.
Mmmmmmm heavy petting.

4. TRUCK
My 10-year-old son has a red Tonka firetruck. He’s played with it since he was three, before he even knew how to pull up the ladder. His mother gave it to him before she left. Which is nice because it’s a reminder. But whenever we play pretend with it he always drives it off a cliff.
After five or six times I said, “Stop It! Cliffs are dangerous!” He kept doing it. After twenty or thirty times I said, “Stop it! We need firetrucks. Firetrucks save lives!”
He didn’t say anything he just looked at me and steered his truck over another imaginary cliff. It was only this year that the truck began to explode into flames as it hit the bottom of the cliff and although I am glad to see he is learning about sound effects the whole thing is a little disconcerting. So I ask him, “Who puts out the flames on the burning firetruck?”
“What kind of question is that?” he says blankly. I guess it never occurred to him.

5. WINNING
Zephyr is not a word! It’s just not a fucking word. No I don’t want to challenge! I’m just saying. I’m not playing Scrabble with you again because you’re a lousy fucking cheater. You’re a lousy fucking goat-fucking cheater.
Zephyr is not a word. It’s really just not a word but okay, okay. I’ll just let it go.
You win.
You won.
Goat-fucker.