I will soon be met with the biggest challenge of any comic on the road:

I will try not to get laid.

Some of you will not get that or, worse still, think me douchey for saying it, but that’s the truest thing I can write about being on the road.   If you are on the road and seeing someone or attempting to see someone or have “standards” or waiting for the Penicillin to clear up that drip, there’s a very difficult and unsettling conundrum with which you have to wrestle.

I call it the “pilgrim’s paradox.”

On the one hand, the second you walk into a big, empty, lonely hotel room, you instinctively want to hump anything with a hole.

On the other hand, do you really want to jeopardize something good in your life and/or possibly deal with a slobbering drunk stranger and risk disease, or even worse, talking.

I don’t get presented with this all the time.  I mean, there are shows where almost everyone in the room hates my guts.  However, there are other shows where I’m convinced that if vaginas were detachable, I’d look like Bill Murray at the end of “Ghostbusters.”

Why is it so easy for male comics, a very subpar-looking bunch, to get laid?

First of all, in every comedy club —  for some obscure reason that no one has been adequately able to explain to me —  there exists a two-drink minimum.

“What?  You wanna laugh sober?!  Well then, I think it’s time for you to leave, ma’am….”

As a result of this arbitrary mandate, you get a lot of women who “don’t usually drink” ordering ginormous cocktails that they nonchalantly chug like cherry sodas because of the distracting sparklers, bamboo umbrellas, and teddy bears attached to them.  They think “yum, fruity!” and keep ordering, occasionally asserting (between languid draws on skinny straws) the following drunk girl mantra:   “Geez, I don’t feel a thing!”

After the third drink, they will stand up and experience a slightly re-matrixed configuration of gravity.  They will giggle and stumble and haphazardly hover over the seat when they pee.  By the middle of their fourth drink, they will realize they hate their boyfriend, who invariably just doesn’t “listen,” and they will want revenge.  And it turns out you made them chortle twice because something you said is just “soooooo fuckin’ true!”

They will then swiftly down their 4th to the dregs and that is when they approach you… a horny, intoxicated velociraptor, swirling a glass of ice cubes and bad intentions.

Mostly there is absolutely no temptation, as these stories from my 20’s will surely attest….

Story #1:

There was a girl in Chicago, a friend of a friend.  She kind of flirted with me before the show and she was actually kind of hot and fun.  And sober.

After the show, not so much.  She staggered up to me with a newly wandering eye, smiled, and grabbed the whole of my left butt cheek with velicoraptor claws.  This, of course, was in front of her 3 other friends, who laughed knowingly.

I was being treated like a piece of meat…. Finally!

I thought I’d love this reversal of gender roles, but, to be honest, my asshole puckered and my ears reddened.  I tried to laugh it off as if it was all just goofy horseplay, while deep down, my soul looked for ‘a happy place.’  Then she leaned into me, pinched my ass with tight finger forceps, and whispered with fiery breath, “I want to fuck you.”

Then she took a couple steps back and, with her good eye, winked at me.  That’s right, she winked.   In case I missed the subtle fragrance of innuendo she was wafting my way, she figured she’d remove all doubt and clear up that ambiguity with a wink.

“You want to fuck me?… Hmmm, meaning what?…. Oooooh, you’re winking… I get it!  Fuck, as in fuck fuck!  Ah-hah!  I thought you meant “fuck me” as in over pull me over in a police cruiser and give me a DUI!  Noooowww I get it!”

A few minutes later, she came in for a kiss on my mouthal area right in front of her friends.  I leaned back and said, “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t the FIRST time you’ve done something like this?”

Her friends erupted in knowing giggles again.  I almost expected a red flag to literally pop out of her vagina.

All of a sudden, this nice lady vehemently contested: “I never do this — I swear to God!”

“What, throw yourself on a comic?” I asked.

“No, throw myself on the opener.”

Somehow, I wrested myself free and went back to the hotel where Sportscenter and its ubiquitous theme music was dutifully waiting for me:  “Duh-nah-nah-DUH-nah-nah!”

Story #2

In Boston, I got 3 and 1/2 offers for threesomes.  Considering that I spent much of my masturbatory youth praying to Beelzebub to provide me with a delicious threeway, I just couldn’t imagine putting my happy into any of those horribly aggressive Southie Mouthies.  The accent alone made my penis wanna retreat behind my lungs.

One girl who offered a threesome opportunity wasn’t a Southie, but she was one of those confident fat girls whose mother apparently told her she had a “pretty face” growing up.  She had an enormous color dragon tattoo running along down her arm and back.  I think tattoo parlors should have a rule:  if you’re over 200 pounds and shorter than 5′6″, the only dragon tattoo you are allowed to have is Puff the Magic Dragon.

I told her I wasn’t down, at which point she called me “gay.”
I quipped, “If I hang out with you any longer, it might turn me gay….”

“DUH-nah-nah-DUH-nah-nah!”

Story #3

Maybe the reason I’m hesitant about hooking up with strangers may harken back to my FIRST experience hooking up with someone after a show.

And I mean IMMEDIATELY after a show.

I actually got head IN a comedy club (for legal purposes, I will call this club the “Laff Factorial”).

I’m not bragging — this girl was drunk!  And not just drunk, like “puke in the hair” drunk.  And not just her puke, I think other people’s puke may have been mixed in there too.

After the show, she aggressively grabbed my hand and said “Let’s go!”  I said “No, no, no!”  but I kind of jogged after her because she was pretty.  I faked resistance, all the while I’m sprinting after her with aerodynamically-shaped hands.

She led me up some stairs, took me into a little vestibule, and instantly dropped to her knees.

I said “No!” but I sort of shimmied off my Levis to help out.   I had never received hallway head before, and I found myself very unclear about what to do with my hands.  Do I interlace the fingers behind my head and “Calvin Klein” it?  Do I put my hands on my hips in a Peter North porn star pose and say bossy and dirty things?  I honestly don’t feel like I have the experience or equipment to justify that pose… So, do I just hit the “I’m a little teapot” stance?

In the end, I decided to put my hands on the crown at the top of her skull.  I looked for the place where there wasn’t any puke and planted my palms.  This will work, I thought.

And then….

Her hair moved.

Her whole scalpage area just… shifted.  Just a bit.  Enough.

For a second, I froze like a deer getting head in headlights.

I remember thinking… “Please have CANCER!”

That’s the first time I’ve ever wished that on anyone.  I was literally wishing that she was post-Chemo.   Probably not good karma to be thinking “cancer” and “please, please, please” at the same time, is it?

I was freaked out.  So I left IMMEDIATELY…

IMMEDIATELY after I came.  I mean, I’m not a quitter!  But I also wasn’t going to stick around like the Scooby Doo gang and try to figure out that mystery!  I think I almost knee’d her in the Adam’s Apple trying to get my pants up.

Anyway, I haven’t seen shim since.
—————————————

I have slowed down considerably since then.  I’m safely in my thirties now and I’m starting to think about finding someone who might put up with me for the long haul.

But, until that day, I might have to learn to like baseball, the most boring sport in the world that also, coincidentally, has the longest season.  That way, I will actually look forward to the day where I might enjoy a plethora of baseball highlights…

“DUH-dah-dah-DUH-dah-dah!”

This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 6th, 2010 at 6:45 pm and is filed under All blog entries. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.