Hungry Hungover and a Whore, reviews Gotham City Improv

So, after getting white girl wasted, and drunkenly reading my latest blog post to a bewildered, and probably very frightened, bartender; I decided it best to skip drinking on a Friday night and see an improv show a friend of mine had recommended. Why the hell not, right? I was hungover at 1pm, and completely improvised that interview I had not long after, so why not see professionals put my improvisation skills in their place?

The show was 'Off the Top of Our Heads,' at Gotham City Improv; it's a completely improvised, short form improv show every Friday at 10pm, and at $6 it's cheaper than a venti Frappucchino at Starbucks. It's also BYOB! (Not the drooling baby kind, but the better kind, the kind that makes you drool, the booze kind. Can I get a hallelujah?!).

I was pleased to find the location easy to get to, they're located on 48 W 21st street, on the 8th floor. The setting is pretty much; well amazing. The minute the elevator doors opened, I was transported into a party land, full of improvisers, humorous historical references, and a dog who does tech! The space wasn't stuffy, there was no librarian-esk host asking for my ticket; and then giving me the stink eye for not buying her burnt Pillsbury cookies or cheap sauvignon blanc. Instead people were talking and laughing, confirming that it was going to be a great night. No one shushed you for talking (I generally feel if I make so much as a gasp, or cry in a tear jerking situation, the theater police are going to be on my ass), but instead talking was encouraged; the audience was needed in every game for suggestions. It was completely different from the theater experience I am used to having, and different for the better.

To make the show even more improvised and exciting, the cast is rotated; so you never know who is going to be performing. This week's cast consisted of Jordon Zolan, Matt Ringler, Maddie O'Hara, Evie Aronson, Nikolai Solonski, Nanette Deasy, Curt Dixon; and last but not least, my good friend, Mary Hynes, whom I was very happy to see. Mary has such a lovely spirit and energy, and is one of the creators of the obscure German Moose dance, (rather popular if you haven't heard of it). Fellow  cast members Nikolai Solonski and Evie Aronson are creators of the dance as well.

Marc Adam Smith, Evie Aronson, Nikolai Solonski and Mary Hynes (left to right); photo courtesy of Roberto C. Tobar

Here Evie, Nikolai and Mary acted as one, portraying an expert on Obscure German moose, while being interviewed by the crowd as well as Gotham City Improv's artistic director and just about everything else, Marc Adam Smith.

Each game was led by Marc, who picked which cast members would participate and probed the audience for suggestions such as 'place,' 'relationship,' 'time period,' indeed we did travel to the American Revolution as well as the Spanish Inquisition throughout the night. Which, while very fun, had me desperately searching any knowledge I had pertained from my Western Civ class, as to what actually happened in the Spanish Inquisition...I knew it was Spanish, and something involving inquisition-ing...but that is all, so at the very least, I think I received a fun, if not slightly inaccurate history lesson; or self reminder 'Hannah, sales at Barney's aren't all that's happening/happened in the world.' If fashion history was a class; or rather a section on the SATs, I would probably be considered a genius. Now back to business.

Marc was a lot of fun and very engaging, in fact, at times I felt like a member of the troupe, as if I were playing along with them. One of my favorite games played was a game where the audience gave quick lines or physical actions to Marc, who then put them on a piece of paper for the actors to use in the scene.The scene for which this game was played, took place at a family reunion, with two deeply in love second cousins, played by Jordan and Maddie. The finishing touch was when Maddie somehow made 'I'm out of clean panties so I'm wearing brie,' sound scintillating.

Other games included genres, where the actors played out a scene, and adjusted to different types of genres, ranging from '80s teen movie, to film noir, to a Shakespearean play.

Maddie O'Hara, Nanette Deasy, Curt Dixon (left to right) photo courtesy of Roberto C. Tobar

 In the photo (above), Maddie, Nanette and Curt, played out a hilarious scene of genres.

All in all, the entire group of talented performers worked together wonderfully, bouncing ideas off of one another and never breaking concentration in the scene, unless, well the scene was so funny they couldn't help but laugh; which quite frankly I'm amazed anyone was able to keep a straight face. Most people in the crowd couldn't, I found myself laughing out loud multiple times throughout the night.

Among the faces in the crowd was Roberto C. Tobar, a devoted audience member who has been coming to the show every week for years. He was kind enough to supply me with awesome photos, in fact, he's so great, he even has his own section on Gotham City Improv's website : 'Super Roberto.' You can visit the website to learn more about upcoming performances as well as classes, or 'Super Roberto at http://www.gothamcityimprov.com/.  

If you'd like to keep in the loop with cool happenings at Gotham City Improv you can also follow them on twitter, @GothamCityImpro or visit their facebook page,

https://www.facebook.com/GothamCityImprov.

There's always great shows happening there, and another great 'Off the Top of Our Heads' performance is scheduled for this Friday at 10pm. I don't know about you, but an improv show may just be the best pregame for a great Friday night in NYC. BYOB and laughs, what more could a girl ask for?

Deep Throat, Deep Feelings : Blowing to be Heard

Ever find yourself falling into old habits as a way to cope when emotional disaster strikes? New Year's resolutions of eating healthy, drinking less or whatever you resolved to do in the new year are dropped. Instead a typical Wednesday night turns into drinking yourself to sleep by 9:30 while cradling a bag of Doritos like it were your favorite teddy bear. Time on the internet becomes hours spent perusing the Facebook pages of old classmates in the hopes that they've moved home to South Dakota to become a pharmacist at Rite Aid or that they've just gotten unrecognizably fat; to counter the feelings of failure with your stalled career, or the loneliness of not fitting in at work or school. Just me?
Then there's dealing with rejection. Which for me, often results in using Moon River or Meatloaf as my own personal montage music, while power walking aimlessly (I don't run, I feel like it makes me look like a penguin) through the streets of NY; pushing past grumbling elderly women in felt hats and tacky leopard print gloves on fifth avenue. Imagining myself as the lead in some Rom-com circa 1990, much like Julia Roberts in 'Pretty Woman' or Drew Barrymore in 'Never Been Kissed.' Hoping that my state of despair paired with my mini skirt, will attract my prince charming; because if I've learned anything from movies growing up, it's that charming, wealthy men, are extremely attracted to dysfunctional women; how I'm still single I'll never know. I've totally got crazy in the bag.
With Meatloaf music ringing through my ears, I play out a love scene in my head; something terribly romantic and suspenseful; like that scene in 'Titanic' when Rose jumps back aboard the ship and Jack races to find her. And for those thirty seconds, while watching, you feel you've found what true love is; and just wish a guy would call you stupid and kiss your face.

 For a brief moment even, I hear Leonardo Dicaprio calling me stupid, and I think such romance is possible! But then I realize it's just an old Jewish woman resembling my mother calling me a stupid cunt for bumping into her. Then, yet again, reality sinks in.
I felt rejected and hopelessly confused not too long ago. I had a huge crush on this guy that we'll call Douchebag Guy, although he's really not a douchebag at all. In fact, he's one of the most respectful men I've met, a real gentleman. But a friend of mine called him a douchebag once and the name kind of stuck. C'est la vie. Anyways, after Douchebag Guy and I 'did it' I didn't really hear from him again for a few weeks; during which time I renounced him completely and proved that I was 'over it' by moving on to more men.
I find that when I feel sexually or romantically rejected, I lash out and look for validation anywhere I can find it. Proof that I am good enough, cool, fuckable. Not the crazy chick who falls asleep next to an empty bag of Doritos and watches 'The Hobbit' three times in theaters; but instead, the quirky girl with a big ass and a heart of gold, the way I describe myself to agents.

Stop being a whore. There's no place for that on Pride Rock

So I went on a sexual pilgrimage, a sex crusade through the cheap bars and pubs of Manhattan, picking up men left and right, avenging myself and my vagina. Replacing french fries and chips with man parts, using each penis as a means to purge away my feelings of inadequacy and embarrassment. Blowing to be heard. Somehow thinking that Douchebag guy would fabricate into a spirit cloud like Mufasa in 'The Lion King,' and watch over me, witnessing all my sexcapades and think; 'Wow, look at all the guys flocking towards her. She's so HOT right now! She's as popular as those hipster mustaches I'll never understand. But regardless, I must make her mine before she's off the market!' Then, while I'm leaning over my toilet, exhaling whiskey and onion rings from an eventful Saturday night, I'd hear a booming James Earl Jones voice and Douchebag Guy's face would fabricate in the toilet water below me.
 Then, Douchebag Guy borrowing James Earl Jones' voice for effect, would say, 'Hannah, and Bonnie (I call my vagina Bonnie Tyler because she's holding out for a hero), you are more than what you have become. You must take your place in line at Five Guys. I'm just not into you, stop blowing your feelings and go back to eating them. Remember who you are! You are the quirky Jewish girl who copes with carbs! Remember! Remember!!!'
And thus, my blowjob cries for help would be heard. That never happened. Instead, it took a dick to knock some sense into me, in lieu of  Rafiki hitting me with a stick.

 I found myself at an all time low, taking a guy home that I wasn't into and who didn't respect me. It was of course in a drunken stupor, him having a hard time...staying hard, and me licking like I was looking for the center of a tootsie pop, because I was...well, hungry, definitely not my best work. Thirty minutes later, he was still as squeezable as a thing of toothpaste and I was no where closer to finding that tootsie roll, and seeing that the whiskey was wearing off, and my stomach was growling, I sent him home. There you have it Mister Owl, I don't know how many licks it was, but after thirty minutes you can go fuck your stupid tootsie pop!

 I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, craving a cheeseburger, and with dick breathe; I swear he had the most aromatic penis; my breath smelt like rose petals and latex all morning. It was then that I looked down and said, 'Bonnie, girrrrrl, this shit has got to stop. I am so sorry, I won't ever put you through that again Let's get our shit together.' And then I ordered a cheeseburger and onion rings for breakfast via GrubHub. Then, I remembered who I was. I'm the crazy Jewish girl who eats her feelings and imagines she's the star of a corny Rom-com. So Bonnie and I got our groove back. We hit the streets with Meatloaf blasting; and hit up the shops in SoHo, we may be hungry, hungover and a whore some days, but we look super stylish doing it. Bonnie in a sparkly thong and me in a mini skirt and my Christian Louboutins.

New Year, New Men

So, I've been thinking. New year, new men. But I find that going solo and dropping the booty call connections or short term flings, gets me back in my overly neurotic, not sure if someones hitting on me or not lifestyle, where I fail miserably at responding to pick up lines. I've been working at a sports bar as a waitress, and there are times when customers will ask me out. One night, I had a table of cute college boys, and one in particular struck my fancy. He had a scar under his eye, kind of like Tommy Flanagan,
 that guy in all the historical, time period movies, like 'Braveheart' and 'Gladiator' the one that has scars on his face, but somehow makes it work and just seems bad ass.  I always go for guys with quirks like that, I once had a huge crush on a guy with a rotten tooth, that I wanted to bone so bad for some reason. But that's another story. Anyways, we'll call this guy, Scar Guy. So after the college boys paid their bill and were about to leave, Scar Guy said 'Thanks for the great service. I hope they don't keep you here too late.' Aka, what are you doing later tonight? My response, 'Oh, I know! I have to get up super early to play D&D tomorrow!' Now at the moment, I was like, 'Ok Hannah, play it cool, let him know you're super awesome and on his level and play D&D and read Batman comics, dudes LOVE girls that are into that shit!' Ehhhh, WRONG!!! That's so not the best first impression to give, I basically said I'm not interested because I have to get up early, and I'm a weirdo because I play D&D. But I thought I redeemed myself! Because he knew about D&D, he was like 'I bet you're chaotic neutral.' So the initial embarrassment of my dorky word vomit, seemed to make an about turn because he's a D&D player too! Uh, SCORE! Maybe hat wasn't such a bad move after all? However, my friends later explained to me that chaotic neutral pretty much means you're unaligned and you don't really give a shit. Seeing that I didn't get a number, maybe that was actually a backhanded insult, like 'Hey crazy, you clearly don't give a shit because I'm hitting on you and your D&D game is more important to you, why don't you go home and hump yourself.'

Anyways, I feel like sometimes I'm on my A game, and sexual prospects stick to me like glitter to a first grader. And then there are times like the epic fail described above. There's the times I'm experiencing now, where after countless hookups with various men; non of whom I'm interested in. I become tired and treat my vagina like a savings fund, running low on accounts. Trying to throw out the numbers in my little black book and focus on myself. Only pulling out savings when absolutely necessary, just enough to cover the essentials; bread, butter, a nice lay to keep my crazy at bay. I feel like my vagina is a small bodega struggling to push the last of the Twinkies and cans nearing their expiration dates off shelves in time to take a much needed vacation; and to revamp the store with products from new suppliers. Since the shop hasn't closed since...never? Well, there was that one time a black customer visited and we had to close for repairs, i.e tightening screws...aka my vagina. (Once you go black, you really can't go back). But even so, we still had suppliers calling to deliver more shipments. If you're following me, it's totally acceptable, if not expected that you're not, but in the slight chance that you are...I suppose my question is this: What is one to do when all the Twinkies are gone?

What it means to be Hungry, Hungover and a Whore, as well as an intro to this blog.

Ever have those days where you wake up with a splitting headache, a growling stomach and pray that since there's no man or woman beside you; you can pretend that blow job with a random stranger never happened? Many call that the result of an all too eventful Saturday night in NYC or the less romantic, but more probable, result of a lack of self esteem. But don't fret too much, it's rather common to experience waking up, 'Hungry, Hungover and a Whore.' I experience it so much it's practically my life story, rolled together in three words that combined, create an amusing alliteration.  I'm not always hungry, hungover and a whore. But I'm always one of the three, and well...of course there's Saturday's when I become a triple threat of hot mess. I don't like to think of my easy antics as a bad thing, or a result of sexual repression from being fat and epileptic in high school. Rather, I prefer to think of it as liberating, discovering myself; much like Julia Roberts did in "Eat, Pray, Love" only more realistic. I get down to the nitty gritty of things, there's no romanticized ethnic cuisines, enlightened discoveries, wealthy men who look like they belong in cologne ads; instead there's the honest truth. Fried foods at 2 in the morning, house tequila shots and short lived adventures with unemployed twenty-something men. Hopefully you can enjoy my stories and possibly relate, or at least find humor and amusement in my adventures as a hot-mess.