The post Hesitant Wig Wearer first appeared on .

I am a Land Lady.

Cruises aren’t for me. Hey, I know there is a whole subset of society who wants to board a ship with 2000 people they never met before and place their trust in a Captain they have never seen or spoken to. A trust that includes taking the safest path across the ocean where, if I had to get home on my own, I couldn’t do it. You might as well shoot me into outer space. I don’t know East West North South – knots, muster, I don’t even know the lingo. I don’t know enough about the sea to trust it. I mean what if a whale accidentally tried to mate with the ship. Me Vs Mother Nature – I am in the losing position.

But yet I boarded that ship. In all fairness somebody paid me to board the ship. I had to stop myself from saying “I’m getting paid to be here, what’s your excuse?” 

My cabin was nice but I was anxious. I guess it was a nice place to have a low level panic attack. The sheets were soft. Great pillows. Enough room to do some kicking and breathing exercises.

The captain announced Be prepared for 9 foot waves.

Be prepared? How do I prepare? I want to be prepared. It sounds like the right thing to do. 

I tried to google it. The internet wasn’t working. 

We had an evacuation drill. I follow the route I was instructed to take via a map on the back of the door to my room. I was the X on the map. I was going to the big RED DOT on the map, I left my room and took a right. There was nobody else there. I was alarmed. Should I go back and look at the map again? No, what if the ship was sinking. I would have to keep moving. 

Finally after three sets of metal stairs with nobody in sight,  I saw a lady in a life vest with a flashlight – she smiled and waved me on like it was a road race. 

Where is everybody? I panted.

Who? She said.

I was in an immersive horror film.

I was not having fun.

I had that mantra in my head. 

I’m not having fun

Where is the fun? I should have asked.

I was avoiding talking to people. The only people I had spoken to had asked “are you alone?” less than a minute into our small talk banter. Three separate people on my first afternoon. “Yes I’m alone right this moment, but there are people who will look for me if I go overboard. Just saying.” 

I made a name tag Kendra- I’m Alone and I DON’T want to talk about it. 

I got ready for my first night on the high seas. I heard the waves. I heard things banging and rattling. I thought “Somebody should check that. Sounds loose” 

I waited for screams. They never came. I stayed awake all night so I didn’t sleep through any Emergency Debarking signals. 

I finally got up around 8 am. I got dressed. I figured I’d be the courageous one. Assess the damage, assist the elderly, I had to be strong. I emerged from crew quarters to find people drinking coffee, eating eggs, sleeping in the sun. Not one piece of furniture overturned, at least not anymore. No seaweed and drift wood on deck.  No dead fish stuck to the walls. Just people vacationing without their equilibrium.

That is one thing I want on my vacation, equilibrium. I never even thought of it as a prerequisite for traveling ideas until now. How often do you lose your balance in everyday life? Nothing like putting on your cruise wear and then stumbling around like a zombie. It wasn’t just me. People were holding on to walls, railings, strangers. Interesting way to meet new people, heaving your body weight in their direction. 

People loved the cruise.

I couldn’t ask why. I couldn’t be neutral. I didn’t love it.

I hated it.

I wanted to go home.

I want to scream I’M NOT HAVING FUN.

I sensed the danger of the sea.

Is the captain a tsunami expert? Doubt it

Tidal wave psychic? Don’t think so.

What are we doing here? 

It took me two days on shore to lose my “sealegs” and the imminent sense of dread. The good news is, today, a month later, I can’t access the feelings I was experiencing. I thought I would have long term effects but alas, as soon as I spent that big fat check, I felt better.

Nothing that a nice pair of jeans, a facial, and a blow out can’t fix!

I’m working on my first comedic song “Unemployed Feminist” the chorus is “Gimme gimme gimme disposable income!!”

Coming soon

(bongo beats) 

Thanks for listening! 

Kisses- 

Kendra 

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn. She is the proud owner of a $3000 bed where she eats, drinks, and occasionally entertains. 

www.kendracunningham.com 

twitter @theotherkendra 

Instagram @theotherkendra

I am on Patreon. You can support the production of the blog, podcast and comedic series
https://www.patreon.com/kendracunningham

How’s Your Mother? podcast https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/hows-your-mother/id1294768033

The post Land Lady Forever first appeared on .

I just went to Southern Italy for the first time.

It’s nice being surrounded by people speaking other languages. Italian is a dramatic language to listen to. It sounds as if everybody is trying to convince everybody else to do what they want them to do. Very serious and intense followed by a sing song inquisition intonation.

I don’t speak much Italian. My Italian translates into the word choice of a woman who thinks she is of higher economic status than she is.

Waiter (in Italian): What would you like?

Me (in Italian): My wish is to have the special pizza on this night.  

The Italians who do speak English fluently frequently use the word “advise”.

“We can take the road of the view of the ocean or the quick road.. you will advise me”

“You may have the house wine or your choice of many other wines.. you will advise me”

I am the advisor in Southern Italy. I advise on rudimentary issues primarily: pasta or pizza – windy roads or straight roads- cheap wine or pricey wine.

Issues that need to be answered in a timely fashion. No time to debate research or count the majority vote. It’s intuition and sometimes, it’s wrong.

I made a bad decision in Mexico last year based on language barriers.

My boyfriend and I went to Mexico, yeah, we have it like that.

We stayed at a Boutique Hotel that cooked breakfast for us every morning and the staff was chatty. With only 6 rooms, they know everybody who is staying there.

It is interesting how much conversation is simply small talk. With limited Spanish I felt like we were having normal conversations.

Me “Good morning”

Them “Good morning”

Me “A great day for the beach”

Them (Smiling) “I like your dress”

Me “Thank you. I bought it specifically for the trip online but thirty percent off”

Them (pause) “Nueva”

Me “Si, nueva y barato”

Once we started asking questions that were more intricate, my rudimentary Spanish started to show.

“We were thinking of going on the catamaran trip. How many people are on the boat?”

“Yes, you both can go”

“No… quantas personas en total en el barco?”

( a rapid answer in Spanish)

“Lo siento, en Englis por favor”

Silence. (talk amongst each other)

After what I thought was an effective line of questioning in my second language

We concluded the snorkel tour on the catamaran sounded like a great day at a great price.

We were assured two times that the van would pick us up and then drive us back after the excursion (my word not theirs)

I said “Oh great, we will get catered to, just the way I like it! Now can you pick out my outfit for me?”

They didn’t get the joke.

The van picked us up on time. Our driver told us his name was Wild Man Mike.

I asked how he got that nickname. He smiled and didn’t answer. I don’t think he realized he missed an opportunity to brag.

Language barriers get in the way of good storytelling.

We were the only two in the van until we picked up two young French girls who took selfies and sang. I wished we had opted for the private tour.

We got to the catamaran dock and there were dozens of catamarans. I would guess 60. And at least 200 people.

“we should have done the private tour” my boyfriend said. I was not alone.

My cute vintage sundress went unnoticed among a sea of short shorts and mid morning drinkers.

Once again, my vision of what was going to happen was quite different from reality.

I had envisioned a dozen or so people sitting quietly by the water, watching the crew hands conduct safety checks and stock the boat with fresh sandwiches and cold water. Maybe some Carole King playing.

But no, we were informed we had reservations on the Red Boat and we should wait until we see the guy with the red sign yelling “rojo”. Why did he have to be yelling?  

We sat on a bench which is not my favorite thing to do. If I’m sitting, I’d like to be comfortable.  Why sit in discomfort when I can pace and ruminate? I’d rather move around and drive myself crazy in the brain than sit and think about how I could improve my comfort with a pillow or footrest or a backrub.

“ROJO” a small man yelled moving fast past us. “Rojo! We are Rojo!” I yelled after him with no impact.

We grabbed our things and followed him, along with about 30 other people. The men in charge of the tour were loud and gregarious and made jokes in Spanish.

I wanted to sit in silence with a lot of personal space and a Yacht Rock play list.

They played Spanish pop music and danced and drank tequila. They were not there to relax and look off into the horizon and think- contemplate- imagine. They were there to party. In was 10 am.

I suffered silently as I often ask others to do.

They made announcements in Spanish. In my opinion, the boat was overcrowded and nobody was taking that fact seriously.

The main party boy announced, “We have two people who speak only English” He looked at us, the blond lady with visible sunblock and the guy with the shaved head. We smiled weakly. The only two people not looking forward to the rest of the day. He pointed to where the life preservers were “If a big problem was to occur” I wanted to put one on or at least see them but there was a large woman in a bikini sitting on the box they were in. She liked when the boat boys poured tequila in her mouth.

We were the only two not drinking. We kept asking for water which was in a pitcher that became refilled when one of the guys took it into an area we could not see and that made me nervous. “Can I get a bottled water?” I asked less than 20 minutes into the ride.

No, only bottled beer.

It’s terrible when you make a bad decision and realize it’s a bad decision with 6 hours left to endure the consequences.

This was a situation where my poor bilingual skills caused vacation torment.

Thankfully, in Italy we did not have this problem. One time I ordered a bottle of wine instead of a glass.

That was the biggest problem I had in Italy.

If I had that miscommunication in Brooklyn, I would see it as a great opportunity to point out the decline in the hospitality industry.

When it happened in Southern Italy, it was simply and invitation to drink a bottle of wine.

Thanks for listening! 

Kisses- 

Kendra 

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn. She is the proud owner of a $3000 bed where she eats, drinks, and occasionally entertains. 

www.kendracunningham.com 

twitter @theotherkendra 

Instagram @theotherkendra 

The post Bi Lingual in Small Talk first appeared on .

My mother loves meatballs.

She’ll ask things like “Now did I tell you about the meatball dinner I had the other night? I can’t remember who I told and who I didn’t. I don’t want to repeat myself”

I love to hear about a good meatball. Good meatballs are hard to find. The meatballs my mother had were seasoned well, a perfect size and tasted fresh. A meatball trifactor. Not only that the meatballs were free. C’mon who gives out free meatballs?

Crap I can’t think of his name. A Boston politician. He’s onto something here.

It gets better. My mother stumbled upon the opportunity for free meatballs by chance. She was just going for a walk. Stretching her legs and stumbled upon the gathering willy nilly. Imagine going out for some fresh air and walking into a room full of people eating your favorite entrée free of charge.

My mother lives in a 55 and over community with common areas used for meetings and classes and MEATBALL events. ‘

She heard voices and opened the door and boom. There it was.

My mother worked in the State House in Human resources, so she knows some people. Turns out some of the people she knows were running this event.

“Carol!” people yelled. My mother is well liked.

They got her a chair and a plate and really treated her special. Her friends said things like “Ohhhh Queen Carol, with the special treatment”

 “That’s right! Watch and learn” my mother retorted with her fork in a meatball.

Her only complaint was she wasn’t dressed. People had gotten dressed to come to the event. My mother was in walking clothes. She is typically overdressed and wants to keep that reputation alive. She had to initiate a lot of conversations about how she didn’t know about the event and she was exercising when she heard the revelrie.

They sent everybody home with a cupcake. Which is really why I tell this story. My mother took the cupcake and brought it home but never ate it.

Five days later she told my sister about the cupcake and offered it to her.

My sister declined the five-day old cupcake.

My mother assured her it was still fresh as she had frozen the cupcake to preserve it.

My mother is freezing free cupcakes.  A cupcake that you can buy fresh for less than $5. Why eat an old cupcake that needs to be defrosted?

I don’t want to be waiting for the defrosting process.

This reminds me of the time I ordered a blueberry muffin at Starbucks and they offered to heat it up.

I felt like they were going out their way to make this better for me.

I beamed “Yes I would like it heated”

I left Starbucks with my hot muffin and took a piece off and stuck it in my mouth while walking down the street.

It was delicious- I wished I was with a friend so I could say “you have to taste this muffin” it was so good, I wanted to share it.

I sipped my coffee and thought about sitting on a bench and really making a big to do out of my muffin purchase but also did not want to run the risk of seeing somebody I know and then they can later say “I ran into Kendra’

“Oh, where?”

“She was sitting on a bench eating a muffin”

Nahhhh.

I kept walking and eating instead.

I reached in to pull another piece off my heated blueberry muffin and boom. Frozen in the middle. The muffin had been frozen from the get-go. Heating the  muffin wasn’t a step up in customer service it was a necessity. They cannot in good judgement sell a frozen muffin. They have to heat it.

Ooooh boy. I had to stop myself from going back and complaining and letting them have it for this mood-altering experience.

I wasn’t expecting much. They offered me more, then I found out they were bullshitting me the whole time. My outlook for the day had swung the pendulum rapidly in the course of one hour. I was now worse off than pre- muffin.

Now I have my mother with frozen cupcakes- no way. I can’t have frozen baked goods in the family.

I told her I had a bad experience with a frozen muffin.

She agreed Starbucks was in the wrong. I asked her “So, what are you gonna do with the muffin now?”

She said “Well, maybe it’s an expensive muffin”

Me: “so you want to try to sell it?”

She said “God, no. I don’t have time”

Says the woman freezing free cupcakes.

Thanks for listening! 

Kisses- 

Kendra 

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn. She is the proud owner of a $3000 bed where she eats, drinks, and occasionally entertains. 

www.kendracunningham.com 

twitter @theotherkendra 

Instagram @theotherkendra 

The post Finding Your Meatball Community first appeared on .

I’m always trying to create a process, have a system. An agenda. Every few months I sit down and decide “from now on, I get up at 7 am, work out, write, read, respond to email blah blah blah.” I try to control my time. It feels good to come up with a new plan to change my behaviors for the rest of my life on a Tuesday morning – it only takes ten minutes to create the new life.

It’s the implementing that is tough.

I can’t wait to be different. I’m always trying to be different from who I am today.

Grow. Develop. Have a plan. Get shit done.

So, I make a new commitment and Boom I feel energized, excited for the BETTER VERSION OF ME I am creating through the new self-imposed system.

It works for a while and I feel in control of my destiny.

Recently I have been getting up at 7am and going for a walk to Brooklyn Bridge park. When I see on my Runkeeper app that I use for walking, that I have walked two miles, I sit at a coffee shop and write 5 pages. There is a coffee shop with outside seating but no table service. So, you go inside to the counter, order, and then take your goods to the table of your choice, inside or out. For four days in a row, I walked over 2 miles, went to the coffee shop, ordered a cappuccino, also part of the BETTER VERSION OF ME. No more plain old coffee with a splash of milk. Then I would sit at the same table outside, a little away from the door and foot traffic.

On the fifth day, I showed up at the coffee shop only to see approximately 15 people monopolizing the four outside tables.

All the seats were occupied then some people standing around. Not all of the people had coffees or any purchased items, I noticed. I contemplated waiting it out or sitting inside but ultimately decided my run at the coffee shop was over. I didn’t want to be around the type of people who didn’t buy stuff but sat in the seats of a small business patio anyway.

Because of them the coffee shop lost my $4 cappuccino order.  It was a lot to accept so early in the morning, but everybody has their cross to bear. I thought “well I guess I saved myself a few bucks. Maybe I’ll sit on the bench and write.:

Immediately followed by  “I can’t. I don’t even enjoy sitting on benches in public.”

My list of things I don’t like to do in public starts with sit on the grass, sit on a bench,

Sitting on a bench in public just feels like “I can’t wait to get home to sit. I have to sit right now” Something a sad or tired person might decide to do.

If I want to rest, I wait until I get home. I don’t like to let my guard down in Public. I don’t want the general public to have access to me when I’m relaxed.

I relax in private.

But If I go home. I don’t write. I know me. So, either I sit on the bench as a means to accomplish my new habit or I give in to my old habit “I don’t sit on benches”

I headed toward the benches already feeling my internal “Let’s do this. Let’s make belief system changes” enthusiasm waning.

About 100 paces towards the benches I spotted it, ANOTHER coffee shop. I had never seen it before and Walla outside tables!

Fuck the bench.  I cheerly entered the newfound coffee shop.  I liked the lighting and the room temperature instantly. I said “Hello” and the counter person said “Hello! How are you today?’

She one upped me with the small talk by asking a question.

“I’m great. First time here. Love the ambiance” I liked the new coffee place!

They offered to bring the cappuccino to the table. “That would be great. Thank you” I beamed.

I sat outside and waited. In the distance I could see the other coffee shop with the group of people still outside, I was glad I hadn’t tried to wait it out.

My cappuccino arrived and I pulled out my yellow notebook with a tiger and Hawaiian flowers on it. I love this notebook.

Paper source sells them in packs of three for 15 but every so often they go on sale 50% off. Those are the days I wait for.

A woman walks by with a coffee and small bag from the other coffee shop. I smile. I’m giving these people my business now; I think to myself.  I wonder what is in the small bag she is carrying, a muffin, bagel, bacon egg and cheese? Did the person selling it to her ask her how she was today? Probably not. Suddenly the woman stops walking, turns around and sits at the table next to me, drinking her coffee from the OTHER coffee shop. I didn’t feel right about bearing witness to this behavior. Then she removes a bacon egg and cheese from the bag and starts eating. The degree of rudeness was off the charts. I would never. I thought to myself.  Her phone rings. She PICSK IT UP. She TALKED ON THE PHONE EATING OUTSIDE FOOD at MY new coffee shop’s tables.

She was recapping a 7-year old’s birthday party. Yawn. She thought it was not a yawn and laughed periodically.

I contemplated “should I go inside the coffee shop and alert them to existence of a nonpaying woman sitting at their tables eating a bacon egg and cheese and drinking a coffee, both purchased from a competitor. She had money, she just wasn’t spending it here, yet they were paying rent on the tables and chairs she chose to dine on. Not right”

Would they be grateful for the information? Maybe. Maybe not. They might not give a shit. Then it would be clear that I do give a shit about something they don’t give a shit about and that is a lot to reveal after my effusive first impression.

If they do care and come out and confront the woman, it will be clear that I had a problem with her and told somebody else so they could address it.

I was in quite a pickle.

I decided to send a message via nonverbal communication. I looked at her, closed my notebook, pushed my chair back with effort, picked up my cappuccino and changed tables.

I moved further away from her, with my back to her and put my headsets in. I was really doing a lot to make room for her to break common courtesy rules.

She did not care.

Her nonverbal communication told me so.

I ended up writing a short horror script about a girl who is called by the police regarding the death of a man she had given her number to. Her number was the last number he called.

Later I called my mother and told her about this wench who ruined my morning. She laughed when I told her I almost told on her.

Mom: C’mon! You should have reported her! It’s not right. What she did is not right. End of story.

Me: I just didn’t want their first impression of me to be a rat. I want to go back there and not feel funny.

Mom: Well what if she’s there again?

Me: Then I’ll tell on her.

Mom: Good. You should. Will you say it’s her second offense?

Me: only if I have to.

Mom: I think you should

Me: it’s my fantasy snitch story so I’ll do it my way

Mom: hahah Did I tell you about the free meatballs I had? I can’t remember who I told and who I didn’t tell.

Thanks for listening! 

Kisses- 

Kendra 

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn. She is the proud owner of a $3000 bed where she eats, drinks, and occasionally entertains. 

www.kendracunningham.com 

twitter @theotherkendra 

Instagram @theotherkendra 

The post Outside Food Detective first appeared on .

I am hypercritical about customer service. All types. Face to face, on the phone, over email. If I am having a customer to customer service representative conversation, I want to be dealing with an employee who just finished Customer Service 101 training. I want a smile in their voice. I want an eagerness to please me. As somebody who has had dozens of service industry jobs: bartending, financial services client relationship manager, Kenworth truck sales -yes, my father got his 24 year old daughter a job selling 16 wheelers, I have endured years of bosses drilling into my brain “the most important thing is to make the customer feel important, satisfied, valued and of course, right!” So, when I am The Customer, I expect to feel valued, important, satisfied and RIGHT. We both know that scenario is rare nowadays. Baristas who won’t look you in the eye, cashiers who continue telling their coworker about their relationship problems without acknowledging you but yet scanning your toilet paper two times instead of one, forcing you to interrupt the emotion fueled storytelling scenario to make sure you don’t pay double for four rolls of toilet paper without stealing focus. But you should have focus. You should be The Focus. I’m getting emotional just writing about it.

Listen, my blood pressure went through the roof last week because my waitress gave me a quarter crank on the pepper grinder. In my defense, SHE asked ME if I wanted some fresh ground pepper on my salad. I said “That sounds great” It may sound corny, but I do enjoy a pepper grinder when I go out to eat. When I see salt and pepper shakers on the table, I make a mental note “They don’t want to grind my pepper”

She went to get the grinder, came back, placed it kinda over my salad. Not to be hypercritical but she didn’t really try. She held the pepper grinder timidly, I thought, on the outskirts of my plate hemisphere, gave me a quarter crank and turned and walked away before the three pepper flakes she had half -heartedly created even hit the cherry tomatoes. I placed my fork and knife down and left my hands on the table. I suddenly knew what a mob guy feels like when he orders a hit based merely on a personal slight. I wanted to yell “Can I get a full crank of pepper over here?” while staring straight ahead motionless. I wanted to get up grab the pepper grinder, tell the waitress to follow me and crank the grinder like a mad woman. “This is how this thing works! You see that? That’s pepper!!!”  I was infuriated. In the end I did nothing. I avoided eye contact with the offending waitress, left a twenty percent tip, and walked my unresolved anger home.

Every once in a while, I have a stellar customer service encounter and, boy, do I feel good. It changes my disposition for the day. I went to Lenscrafters on Court Street in Brooklyn. I had the best Optometrist. I wanted to know more about her. She was well groomed, friendly, efficient, and knowledgeable about my eye history. I felt like I was cast in an internal training video. There was pressure to be a better patient. I wanted to be deserving of the service. I was not prepared for the high -level interaction. I put on lipstick and sat up straight. She had questions for me and I had to answer promptly. I did not want her to know that I did not know the last time I had my eyes checked. I knew she would frown upon that. She had good time management. I wanted to stalk her Instagram to see if she ever cuts loose. She made me want to do better on the eye exam, I tried to read the line of smallest letters accurately. I didn’t but she was still kind.

I told her I wanted to wear contacts and be able to see far away and also read. I want it all, I joked. She laughed but did not have a comedic retort. All business. She began explaining my options Monthly blah blah bifocal lenses- weekly blah blah – then of course you could always blah blah blah. I was tired I could not keep up the invested patient façade anymore. I opted for the monthly lenses. I was very grateful. I said thank you more than five times. I know because I started thinking “Stop saying Thank you. You paid for this.” 

Walking home I thought “If I was a Yelper, I’d give her a good review” and

“I wonder if the other Optometrists get annoyed by her”

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn. She is the proud owner of a $3000 bed where she eats, drinks, and occasionally entertains.

www.kendracunningham.com

twitter @theotherkendra

Instagram @theotherkendra

The post Competitive Patient first appeared on .

I like to think I take fashion risks. People don’t realize how frightening it can be to dress the way you want to dress if it’s out of the ordinary. If I had my way, I’d be walking around like I was heading to an awards show circa 1976 every friggin’ day. But no. You dress like you are going somewhere special, people start asking questions “Where are you off to?” They may as well say “You look like you are up to something and I want to know what the hell it is”

The worst is when you look like you are up to something but you’re not and you have to verbalize it. Back off. Let me pretend like I am doing something fun.

I have to coach myself into wearing a sequin vintage bell sleeved tunic by saying to myself “Who gives a shit? Let people ask. I’ll lie to their faces. I can lie in this outfit and this outfit alone” I don’t want people talking behind my back “Kendra has officially lost her marbles. I saw her last Tuesday in a sequin tunic, full face of makeup and an up do at 10 am. She was going to get a bacon egg and cheese sandwich.”

When I see somebody who took a fashion risk I want to talk to them about it. My sister and I went to a bar (how many stories start with that premise?) and there was a girl in big felt hat, full face of make up, alone. Pretty ballsy. We were at a bar, by the way, that had reservations for all the seats. Even stools in the window – Reserved. We had to ask “Can we just stand and have a drink?” I mean what is going on in Brooklyn? Anywho, we wanted to stay because they have these amazing cocktails called Tia Mia. They have a smoky mezcal in them with crushed ice and a flower. And the food is amazing. You should check it out: Leyenda.

We stood and drank and talked about the girl in the hat. I mean she looked good but I wondered, did she hesitate to wear the hat? It is a big hat to wear in public and act like nothing is going on. I mean I could not do it. Outside, sure. During the day inside, maybe. But at night in a reserved seat at the bar? I’d have to be hiding a bad hair experiment or be heading to a dimly lit party.

The truth is, if you wear a hat like that, you are manipulating conversation. People have to say “I like your hat” if they don’t, they are saying “I don’t like your hat” You get my point, it’s all about the hat. The hat must be addressed before carrying on.

I mean it’s days later and here I am still wondering about the hat wearer.

I wish I had asked her about it.  The thing is, a stranger approaching you and asking “So what’s up with the hat?” sounds catty. If I say “I too would like to be a hat wearer. How did you convince yourself to do it?” Is plain odd. I am tempted to get a big hat and make a reservation at that very same bar and see what happens. Facilitate a good old fashion hat off.

“Oh I thought you were Penelope. She always wears big hats like that.”

Penelope walks in twenty minutes later and spots me, in a competing big hat.

I raise my glass in her direction. She maintains eye contact. Her make up looks perfect.

Ok ok ok, I’ll stop with the hat.

I’ll admit it, she inspired me. I wore a pair of oversized Tom Ford glasses I bought, prescription, but never wear because I feel like they are “too much” After the girl in the hat, I said to myself “I’m wearing them”  I threw them on and went to run an errand in my neighborhood.

I ran into my neighbor on Smith Street. I smiled and waved, she stopped and said “Oh, I didn’t recognize you with the funny glasses on”

She hasn’t been seen since.

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn. She is the proud owner of a $3000 bed where she eats, drinks, and occasionally entertains.

Check out my podcast “How’s Your Mother?” https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/hows-your-mother/id1294768033?mt=2

www.kendracunningham.com

twitter @theotherkendra

Instagram @theotherkendra

The post Big Hat Nerve first appeared on .

Neighbor: “Hey Kendra how are you?”

Me: “I love and adore myself”

My Full Moon Rituals have not been working. Last night was the closest the moon will be to the Earth all year. A great time to journal and get clear on new beginnings and wants and needs.  I went out with a notebook in my neighborhood and got to writing. But the truth is, my belief in the process has started to wane. Here is what I came up with:

Dear Full Moon,

I hear so much about you. You have transformative powers. You symbolize new beginnings. You have power. I’ ve been counting on you, man. I’m not  one to address situations like this head on. I prefer the cold shoulder or minimal eye contact when interacting style of expressing disappointment but with you, I won’t get the chance. It’s been a few moon cycles and no new beginning. Just the same old stuff. I don’t want to blame you but I find myself blaming you nonetheless.

I do my rituals, my incantations, I journal, I light candles and sage

I wear mumus

I believe in the process

I’m not sure what else I can do to invite you into my life

I’m ready

I’m waiting

Maybe I should take a different approach and act uninterested and unaware that you are even happening?

You like it like that?

That just made me laugh.

Ok next month I am not doing one thing to address your arrival. No sweat. I can play that game.

But, just for the record, I am ready for a 30 day writing gig in a another country for over $5000.

I am also prepared to participate in cardiovascular activity three times a week and ENJOY it.

Owning a home would be great in the next three years.

I’m not asking you for anything just communicating information about myself that you might find interesting.

Anyway, you look great. Better than I remember you ever looking. Glowing, really.

You go, girl.

I look forward to hearing from you in whatever way you choose to communicate,

Enjoy the night,

Kendra

PS Let’s cut the bullshit …Send help! For real!

Thanks for listening!

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn. She is the proud owner of a $3000 bed where she eats, drinks, and occasionally entertains.

www.kendracunningham.com

twitter @theotherkendra

Instagram @theotherkendra

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A few years back my mother, my sister and I spent the day after Thanksgiving in the Prospect Park Zoo. We went vintage shopping then we went to the zoo. That was our itinerary. Most girls go shopping and then go for a drink, get a bite to eat, we hear there is a monkey up the street throwing trash at people, let’s go!

I had never been to the Zoo in Prospect Park and I will admit, I kinda poo poo’d the idea. I was picturing mangy old animals that weren’t all that interesting throwing McDonalds cups and other litterbug trash at each other while clinically depressed zoo keepers sat around staring at brochures of better zoos, dreaming their lives away. Much to my surprise, the Prospect Park Zoo has over 400 animals of 80 different species. It’s a fucking ZOO. There is a Zoo one mile from my home where I have lived for over 5 years. For five years I have lived less than a mile away from hundreds of wild animals in captivity and never heard a peep. Not one noise to make me think “What the hell? Was that a wild animal?” Nothing. That scares the shit out of me.

We took pictures. We fed farm animals. We saw red Koala Bears, Baboons, Lamas, Porcupines, Bats, Seals and Golden Tamarins. And lots of small humans. Parents had strange reactions when we, three adults with no toddlers in tow, approached their children to ooo and ahh over them. I could see their baby snatcher profiling minds at work. I was tempted to start saying things like “Oh she looks just like the one from the Zoo in Little Rock, remember her Mom? The one with the soft skin and silky hair” or even better “ Your husband told me you couldn’t have kids. Where is he? That lying sack of shit. Get your fuckin kid out of my way or Big Dick Junior will be taking his first swim in the shark tank. Move it fatty”

We didn’t make any friends at the Zoo but we did learn that Porcupines spend most of their time in trees, staying out of the way of predators. We also learned very few animals will attack a Porcupine. So Porcupines spend most of their time hiding in trees to avoid their VERY few attackers? Paranoid life avoiders.
I think I’m gonna start using that line when my mother calls
“ Soooooooooooo what are you up to today?”
“Staying out of the way of predators, Mom”
“That’s good, honey, did you eat? ”

We also learned when a female Baboon has a red swollen rump, she is ready to mate.
It looked like all the females had red swollen rumps. I think I might have a little baboon in me.
Male baboons often groom females before mating with them. It must suck to be so horny that a whole body part becomes inflamed, then your knight in shining armor arrives and he’s like
“Before we get started, how about a makeover? Mani/pedi, a blow out …..”

“Did you see my ASS? It’s SWOLLEN? Can we go to the salon AFTER?”

She offers him her big red ass and he thinks he can do better.
Applicable for any species.
Thanks for listening!
Kisses-
Kendra
Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn. She is the proud owner of a $3000 bed where she eats, drinks, and occasionally entertains.
www.kendracunningham.com
twitter @theotherkendra
Instagram @theotherkendra

Check out my latest video Neighborhood Network – Parody Talk Show

The post The Day Baboons Taught Me Men Are All the Same – Species to Species first appeared on .

Every once in a while I have a muffin then I talk about it for two weeks and then, honestly, I might not think about a muffin for two weeks. I had a chocolate chip muffin last week. A good one. I called it my lucky muffin. I felt lucky that it was so fresh and chock full of chocolate. I forgot how good a muffin can be. I just don’t think about them that often then one day, there they are; for sale, obtainable, a conversation away. I’m not waking up every day battling an urge to buy muffins. Not like I am with Cheez Its. Sometimes I think I see a box of Cheez Its when I don’t. You know you have a preoccupation with Cheez Its when you hallucinate them into your line of vision.
I don’t but Cheez Its as impulsive as I used to. I hate to admit it but the judgement that goes with it has caused me to hinder my consumption. It used to be fun to eat Cheez Its. People would say “Oh man, gimme some!” Now a days I feel like I’ve been exposed when people see me holding a box of Cheez Its. They’ll screech “Kendra, Cheez Its? No! Get them away from me.” People actually say that! Get them away from me? What a terrible change of public opinion. If I was a marketing guru, I’d take Cheez Its on pro bono.
People don’t react that way to a muffin. They act like you got a puppy. “OOOOHHH! You got a muffin? What kind is it? I loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee blueberry muffins. You know they have blueberry poppy muffins now! Oh god, now I want a muffin!”
Then they think of you the next time they have a muffin. They’ll see you and say “Hey, I had a muffin the other day, I thought of you. It was huge. The muffin top was the size of a muffin in itself. You gotta check it out. It’s in Brooklyn ……………..”
People relate to muffin people. Eating a muffin in public is like yelling “Where my muffin people at?” only you don’t have to say a word, they just appear.
The thing with muffins is you never know what you are getting, Every muffin is different. Not like Cheez Its. Cheez Its are consistent.
Muffins are a crapshoot. The other day I wanted a chocolate chip muffin. I didn’t go out looking for a chocolate chip muffin but when I saw one for sale, I realized I wanted one. The thing is, I’m a woman; I’m over 30; I’ve had a lot of muffins in my day. I know what a good muffin tastes like and sadly, what a bad one tastes like. So when I order a muffin, I got a few questions I want answered first. How fresh are the muffins? Were they baked today or yesterday? Or did they buy the muffins off of somebody else who actually baked them? If I’m talking to a muffin middle man, forget it. I don’t want the muffin. Who wants a muffin that’s changed hands never mind travelled in a van. This muffin could be coming off a road trip. No thanks. Never buy a muffin from a middle man, unless you don’t give a shit about quality. Maybe you just want a muffin and you don’t care about its background. I get like that about Fettuccine Alfredo. I’ll buy the Knorr Alfredo Sauce packet and make it with a big fat smile on my face. Bacon bits peppered in. I know I could have better, but I don’t care. Maybe you feel that way about muffins. I don’t.
I also ask “How may chocolate chips can I expect to get in my muffin?” (you can also ask this question by replacing chocolate chips with blueberries if that is the type of muffin in question) Ball park. I usually phrase it like “Can I expect more than 10 chocolate chips in my muffin?”
If they can’t answer that quickly and confidently – I’m out.
Nothing worse than a muffin with none of its name in it. A chocolate chip muffin with 2 chocolate chips? A blueberry muffin with 4 blueberries? That’s the stuff that gets me acting like a crazy lady in public. Half the time, the muffin salesperson is young and doesn’t understand that this is the type of shit that matters. Don’t even get me going on jelly donuts with a dollop of jelly in them. I will ask to speak to the donut maker. Point blank. It never happens. They never let you talk to the donut maker. Give me a break. Like the donut maker can’t take a little constructive criticism? He’s probably an ex con. He can take it.
Anyway, I had a chocolate chip muffin on a whim and it was scrumptious. The muffin salesperson answered all my questions promptly and confidently and, with a great attitude, I might add. I even told her I liked her attitude.
I’m turning into the older lady who doesn’t have any kids of her own, just randomly telling teenagers “You know, you have a good attitude. That’s gonna help you in life. By the way, do you guys do the punch cards here? Buy so many you get one for free type of thing?”
Thanks for listening!
Kisses-
Kendra
Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn. She is the proud owner of a $3000 bed where she eats, drinks, and occasionally entertains.
www.kendracunningham.com
twitter @theotherkendra
Instagram @theotherkendra
Over 20 years of self help books, affirmations and therapy, resulted in
me looking in the mirror saying “I love and adore myself” and meaning
it. Come see my solo show- a comedic recap of my family history and emotional limitations with humor and honesty.
at Don’t Tell Mama

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