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Mexico City

I have a performance Sunday night that I’m terribly unprepared for. I could be reading the scripts over right now, but I would rather sit here and wax poetic to you, dear blog.

This past weekend I was in Mexico City. That’s right: a different country. I am always deeply ashamed when I do not speak the language of the country I am visiting, so I made it a point to mime apologies for my ignorance and be as easy a customer as possible. But one person I was travelling with was a vegan who was very concerned about food poisoning from tap water. She also did not speak Spanish, but that did not stop her from asking if there was meat, milk, eggs, honey or butter in the ingredients, and whether their ice was created using purified water. I enjoyed watching the confused servers track down their strongest English speaker who appeared baffled by the questions every time. And my traveling companion was oft left uncertain of their answers.

We went to a delicious bakery in Mexico City, and I took a picture of it so that I could recommend the bakery to other people. When I was talking about it to some people in Mexico City, I said, “Here is a picture, it was called Panadería, are you familiar with this bakery? I highly recommend it.” I showed them the photo, they looked at each other and then back at me and said, “Panaderia is Spanish for bakery.”

So, anyway, now I know one word in Spanish.

We also went to the Frida Kahlo museum in Coyoacán. I originally led my friends to the wrong part of Coyoacán using an address I found on Trip Advisor: Avenida Coyoacan No. 2000, Mexico City 03103, Mexico. This was not an interesting destination. They forgave me, and we all agreed the hour long walk to the wrong location was a lovely expedition through Mexico City. Then we took an Uber to the Frida Kahlo museum, which was the cooler part of town.

The End

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I do not like the nurse that calls to tell me I’m not pregnant. Joan. I don’t blame her for the news, but I do blame her for her delivery.

Next time I’m going to react differently. This time I knew, so I was understanding, but I had follow-up questions about next steps, and Joan seemed surprised by that, which was also annoying. I felt asking those questions was logical. But next time, I’m going to be really crazy. The conversation will go like this:

Joan: I have some bad news.

Me: What is it?

Joan: It was negative.

Me: What was negative?

Joan: The blood test.

Me: What does that mean for me?

Joan: You are not pregnant.

Me: How would a blood test prove that?

Joan: ….

Me: Joan are you there?

Joan: (heavy sigh) I’m sorry this must be difficult. (who knows if she would have the wherewithal to even say this)

Me: Joan what are you trying to say?

Joan: You are not pregnant.

Me: Thank you for sharing your opinion. What did the real doctor have to say about this?

Joan: The doctor says we should try again next cycle.

Me: So you’re saying the doctor shares your theory about blood tests.

Joan: ….

Me: Joan, how do I know…you are not making this up? What if I have the baby, and you take it away?

Me: Joan where is my blood right now? I want it back.


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So That Happened

On Sunday, David and I walked into the town pharmacy. The teenager behind the counter turned around, saw me, and said, “Wow.”

I smiled at him; it was the least I could do for someone so taken with me.

“I thought you were my mother,” he said.

My smile faded immediately.

I calmly replied, “I hope you’re referring to a young floozy your father recently married and not the woman who originally spawned you.”

He shook his head, “No.”

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International Star

  1. I performed comedy in another country last weekend, no big deal. The 12-15 person crowd roared with polite applause after the performance, and there may have even been a standing ovation. The lights were so bright; I have no way of knowing for sure whether they remained seated in an orderly manner or jumped to their feet.
  2. I re-read The History of Love for my book group. It was still beautiful. Perhaps it was even better the second time. I identified most with the 10 year old who thinks he’s an angel wandering this earth to do good, secretly. But I wanted to identify most with the precocious daughter who solves a puzzle she stumbles upon. In book group there were some people who thought the relationships in the book were all broken, but I disagreed. The characters found loves of their lives. And they were loved back. That’s the best thing that can happen to someone, even if it’s short-lived.
  3. The best character in the book wrote in lists, and I liked that a lot, so that’s what I’ve done here.



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I was at the laboratory in the doctor’s office today for some blood work. The room had posters about the importance of washing your hands and general cleanliness guidance all around it. People in the room are not supposed to eat, drink, use chap stick, or apply make-up, because all of these things facilitate germ transfer.

I had my water bottle with me, and I asked if I could put it on the table. “Can I put this right here?” I asked, hovering the bottle over a table.

The nurse looked at me, then at the table, and said, “I wouldn’t. That table is dirty.”

“Oh! Thank you for honesty!” I replied.

Then I fumbled with my water bottle clumsily, but the whole time I was thinking, “WHY IS A TABLE IN THIS ROOM DIRTY?”




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