You're all invited to my pity party

It's BYOB: Bring your own Blame

I hate to shave. Too many options really.

Shave gels. Shave creams. Shave lotions

They all look the same when mixed with blood.

I've let my facial hair grow grow and grow to the level of "Code Red". And my facial hair doesn't grow long. It grows thick. It adds weight to my face. I feel like Harrison Ford in "The Fugitive" when I let it get this bad. There I am, trimming hair, trying to re-enter society. I find it strange that immediately after shaving, I end up in a footchase with Tommy Lee Jones. Coincidence? I think not.

Tommy Lee Jones is the name of my beagle

I find putt-putt very relaxing. Bowling too. Coloring three. I liked all those things when I was 8. Then I went through a basketball phase, and when my dad tore down my basketball goal when I was 18 so he could put in a carport... that section of my life went down the gutter. So I guess now I'm regressing.

Come find me in 3 months when I'll be Co-captain of the Dallas Hopscotch League.

Every now and so then again I get into a complete creative funk/standstill. (Hence, the hopscotch joke) I try different things to get out of it

I blog
I cry
Then cry some more

So after spending the last 7 hours in a tearfall. I've come to this conclusion

Crying gets you nowhere. Unless you're in a crying contest, which in which case you might, depending on how good you are, get a ribbon.

See what I mean about creative funk?

Boo-hoo.

Alcohol Intelligence

I overheard a ridiculous conversation at a bar concerning the United States pursuit of Osama Bin Laden.

DRUNK ONE: They're not even looking for Bin Laden. They're trying to sweep it under the rug.
DRUNK TWO: It's all a conspiracy. They know where he is.
DRUNK ONE: That's crap. They don't know. Send me over there. I'll find him

(Sure you will. You can't even find a job. In fact after 6 shots of Yager, you can't even find your car keys)

I said that comment in my head where they couldn't hear
I ain't skerrd

It all just goes to show that there's people out there who really think they have it all figured out. Look you may be able to kill Bin Laden, but do you think that there isn't a Vice Bin Laden running around to assume command? These guys have thought it through. They have their own TV crew. Hey if you kill Ted Turner, CNN ain't going off the air.

And don't underestimate them cus of how they dress. He's not any less intelligent cus he wears a robe. I'll prove it.

Hugh Hefner and Judge Wapner

I rest my case.

Get a Whiff of This

I think the "pressure" is finally getting to me.

And by "pressure" I mean smoke.

I perform in bars and open mikes when not in comedy clubs, and that's where smoke abounds. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a protester or the guy who fake coughs to insinuate that I don't like cigarettes. Most of my friends smoke. I have no problem with that.

My nose does

So that rears a couple of questions..

Should I perform my stand-up sets in a bubble?..Of course not. Can't do it. Cus then comics around the city will bitch and say that the only reason I got anywhere was because I was an Indian comic who lived in respiratory isolation.

"All Paul does is jokes about living in a bubble. What a hack"

Or could I go to Brookstone and solve this problem another way, so that when I went to a bar I could let them know..

"Yeah, I'd like a Heineken and a coaster for my Ionic Breeze Air Purifier."

So you might've heard....

They denied my Pope application

Atleast I tried. I saw the job listing on Monster.Com and even though I didn't meet all qualifications, I do have strong neck muscles with which to tote the bling-bling and mitre (you know..the big pointy hat that he wears..)

When Doves Cry

Saw Purple Rain last night. Never seen it. Did see The Last Dragon with Bruce Leeroy and The Shogun of Harlem. Never saw Purple Rain though until last night.

I miss Morris Day and the Time. What happened to suits and keytars and choreographed dance moves with the bass player?

I wish I played tambourine

Purple's such a strange color. Weird as a shirt, even weirder as pants. Because only 2 people wear purple pants: Pimps and the Incredible Hulk. Both are angry beings

I think I'd make a great pimp. I'd bring class back into the pimpgame. No more ear pulling or back handing. No fingersnaps or yelling out "ho" to assert my authority.

I'd be gentle, diplomatic, they wouldn't call me Sugar Sweet Fuzzy Fox for nothing. Long flowing coat with a tail so long I have kids carrying it behind me.

No watch - But a friendship bracelet

No cellphone - I communicate by letter. It may take awhile, but the recipient will appreciate the time and thought I invested in it.

No pimp fedora - A ski hat with ear muffs (rims on the earmuffs that spin as I stroll)

No alligator boots - Allnatural sandals to show off my pedicure. Each toenail with one part of my name: Sugar Sweet Fuzzy Fox..the pinky nail just says Playa

I wouldn't even have hos. I'd pimp cookies for the Boy Scouts. They need money too. It's not fair that the Girl Scouts are raising money to go to D.C. The Boy Scouts are stuck camping in the woods, freezing their ass off, eating Girl Scout cookies just to stay alive..

"Scoutmaster, could you pass me some Samoas?"

I wanted to join the Boy Scouts once. Gave my dad the application and he literally laughed out loud. It didn't make me insecure, I already was before that. Keep in mind this is the same guy who threw away a form that I gave him so I could play Little League. I never blamed him though. I could never be mad at him for thinking I didn't have athletic prowess. After all, he knew me better. He knew I had no hand-eye coordination. He knew I couldn't eat a bowl of Froot Loops without spilling a Loop or two onto my cordurouy pants.

"That loser can't even keep cereal on a spoon and he thinks he can hit a baseball?"

Thank you Papa Varghese. I just wished you saved me from embarassment in high school too.

"Now Katie, my son Paul may ask you to the Homecoming dance. Trust me, just say no. The boy still puts his shoes on the wrong foot every so often, you don't need to be dancing with Captain Clutz."

But whenever I have kids, I'm not gonna save them like my dad tried to save me. I'm getting revenge. In fact..I'm jaded, bitter and ready for payback. I'll coach a Little League team just for that reason alone.

"Alright, here's the lineup. Billy you're on 2nd. Caleb you're shortstop..and I'm pitching"

"But Coach Varghese, you can't pitch!"

"You know that's what my dad used to say about me. Now let's play ball. Either you let me pitch or no one, I repeat no one's going to Chuck E. Cheese afterwards! You hear me?"

I don't know why they were crying. I pitched a no-hitter. I even beaned the fat kid

Perish the thought

I lost my cellphone

Traumatic. Life-altering really, because I have no back-up plan when it comes to losing my cellphone.

Gone is the little black book that used to store the digits
Gone is the trusty friend or relative who could shout me out a number from across the room
Gone is my ability to text message
Gone is the ability to play "Solitaire" at a moment's notice
Gone is my way of looking like I'm an important somebody when feeling insecure

All that. Gone

But then I found it.

Perfect time to misplace it too, because I needed a reason to blog.

I was buying some Swiss Miss Hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. And right on the box it said "No artificial sweeteners" Yeah because we all know marshmallows grow naturally in the wild.

"Kids, it's been a rough winter for us. We're not gonna have any S'mores this year."

"But Pa, it's Christmas"

"Well Ezekiel, the locusts done ate all our mallow crop. What are we to do? I thought I got rid of the critters after they devoured my Fruit-Roll up bushes but they went from there to the Pop-Tart patch."

Ezekiel died that winter..

He was 6.

Bitter Critters

Why are folks so jaded?

There's comedians in this city who are obsessed with constantly bad-mouthing others. I'll admit that I've done it a few times, but it doesn't affect my psyche or personality or professionalism.

But I'm sure it's like that in every job. Some guy on the assembly line for Wheat Thins is getting ridiculed by some guy in the packaging department.

I refuse to be the old man on the porch, shooing and bah-humbugging little kids off my front lawn, polishing my sawed-off shotgun. I don't want to be the guy watching TV going "that was supposed to be me!" I want to be the guy on that TV.

On the other hand, I don't want hugs and cuddly wuddlies 24-7. A little sarcastic comment here and there definitely spices up the mood. But if you're bitching now, how's it gonna be when you're in Hell and now you've really got something to bitch about?

Maybe practice makes perfect

I saw a commercial for Oral-B Brush Strips. Brushing on the go. A finger glove you put on. You swipe across your teeth. That's how I brushed my teeth when I was 3. Who knew you could make money off that.

"And before you head out on that first date..make sure you prepare with new Circle-Circle-Dot-Dot-Cootie Shots from Biore!"

I was thinking about joining the Army. Not because I want to fight. I'd just like to get on The Price is Right. And how come the Army and Navy have football teams? Especially in war times, we could use the quarterback to go to Baghdad and hurl some grenades. Because how could you compare your struggles with troops who just came back from Iraq?

"Bro, while you were gone, I scored 4 touchdowns against Notre Dame!"
"That's great. My base was bombarded with mortar shells. I had to dodge flying shrapnel. And you have the nerve to wear a helmet?"

The only trophy I ever got was for memorizing the most bible verses in kindergarten. It was the typical trophy statue with the muscular shirtless guy with wings. What does that have to do with bible verse memorization? Just give me a trophy that shows me staring out my bedroom window on a Saturday afternoon, watching other kids play. That's what I remember.

I was flipping through the Yellow Pages and saw an ad for a place called Castle Dental. Because when I think teeth and oral hygiene, I think England.

Smile and spread good cheer, people.

Fine Line

There seems to be a small, almost microscopic step between 2 emotions.

Worry vs. Obsession
Fear vs. Paranoia
Good vs. Evil

I toe that tightrope many a time. Very rarely ever teetering to the latter half. Just to make sure I don't, I don't have hobbies. I don't collect anything (unless you count guilt). Because collecting is cute..until you have more than 10 of something. And then it's just creepy

4 Beanie Babies...awwww
444 Beanie Babies..drink a cup of bleach

The same goes for writing. I lug a tiny notebook around everywhere I go. Anything that makes me laugh or worry or confuses me or makes me angry or sad or if I see someone else experiencing that, always ends up in my book. I've just recently begun to not bring it around, then when all of a sudden I can't remember what it was I wanted to write down, I begin to worry. Worry leads to obsession which leads to sleepless nights thinking what exactly it was.

But then again if I bring the notebook around, I find myself constantly writing in it. Everywhere I go. Walking by 2 homeless guys and overhearing them discuss the pros and cons of a jelly donut makes me wanna pulll up a cardboard box and start jotting it down. It's obsession either way.

Someone told me to bring a digital recorder with me so I could verbally record my thoughts. But to me that comes off twice as creepy and suspicious, especially when you look like me and you're in an airport, whispering into a tape recorder. Here I am just trying to document my little rant on baggage claim and there's airport security thinking I'm plotting something fishy.

There's a little jibbering going on that the new Pope may be black. I hope the new Pope is a white guy. For stand-up comedy's sake. The last thing I wanna hear is a bunch of comedians talking about "White Popes do this.." "Black Popes do this.." It'd give new life to every hack stand-up out there. I cringed when Arnold Schwarzenegger became governor in California because that gave even more comics reason to do impressions of him. But a black Pope would open up a whole new bag of played-out premises and punchlines. Is that the kind of legacy the Catholic church wants to leave behind?