How To Meet Women

An open letter to parents with children ages 3 months-12 years.

Road Diary

Hello From Havey April 13, 2004

Hello From Havey October 10, 2004

Hello From Havey December 2, 2004

Johnny Carson 1925 - 2005

Hello From Havey January 11, 2005

Hello From Havey February 25, 2005

Hello From Havey June 21, 2005

The Christmas Vagina

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The Christmas Vagina

On the Friday after Thanksgiving, two years ago, I got a call from my agent who asked if I wanted to work the week before Christmas in Miami. Thinking of what it would mean to my holiday budget I immediately said yes. I hung up the phone. Took a deep breath, and had a panic attack.

I was raised in Miami. I had not performed there in nine years. My parents were long deceased. My siblings had relocated to Atlanta and Dallas. What made my heart pound was the image of a former classmate seeing my mug in the paper, turning to his wife and saying "Hey honey, this guy I went to school with who's a comedian is coming to town. Let's go see if he's any good."

The very idea of being judged by people I went to grade school with not only scared the hell out of me, but really pissed me off. Atomic stomach flips of anxiety and anger came frequently. Even the best scenario is scary for a comedian. This gig was rife with emotional baggage. Steamer trunk size that could hold the entire casts from every Marx Brothers movie ever made. Old teachers, pals, girlfriends and little league teammates long out of my consciousness were coming back not to haunt me, but to satisfy their morbid curiosity.

I wanted to kill. I had to kill.

You may be saying to yourself. "Hey man. You wanted to be a comedian. That goes with the territory." Well, you're right. It does. I've been working successfully for twenty years. Made more than a few television appearances, and have headlined at most major clubs in the country. I've made my bones in a tough racket. But no matter how many times your do it well, you have to go out the next night and do it again.

"Isn't it better with an audience that knows you?"

Nope. Don't believe me? Think about your next business presentation or seminar with about 37 of your high school classmates sitting around the conference table drinking beer and whooping it up. If you can get through that without shitting yourself, let me know. I could use an opener in Cleveland next week.

When I arrived at my hotel in South Beach the messages were piled high. Friends of my parents, Frat brothers, girls I felt up (with their husbands and college age children) all wanted to come. Even a nemesis or two from the old days left cheery welcomes asking for free tickets. True enough, their wounds had healed over time. Mine had re-opened.

My first night in there was no show. I had to get up the next morning and do radio so I decided not to drink. Sitting in a trendy bar I nursed a diet cola and tried to relax. The place was packed with well-dressed tanned movers and shakers. I sat there stiffly trying to shake my yips, and then, over the sound system, Sinatra starts crooning I'll be home for Christmas. My ass tightened as every emotion I was trying in vain to negotiate started to surface.

Oh my God, I thought. I'm going to be the guy who cries at a bar!

I tried to stifle it, but it was no use. I felt a juggernaut of tears coming on. My eyes welled up and I turned to walk out. It was then that I saw it. Everything inside me whip lashed. Stonewalled by the image my synapse had fired off. Next to me, between two long tanned legs, (sans panties) was…

The most beautiful vagina I had ever seen in my life.

It was a slotter. The majors were indistinguishable from the minors. A light pink glisten within. And then, the capper, a small curly-q of hair that swung down and lightly tickled the little man in the boat. A small dime of dark moisture stained the stool cushion just beneath it. The woman moved and it was gone. But the image was ingrained as if I had studied it for a full term at M.I..T.

Miraculously my angst was gone. Vanished from the shock of the majestic vision. Like a bald eagle out of the blue or a unicorn that appears in the backyard, I was overwhelmed by the pristine vision. I ordered a Martini to celebrate my good fortune as my mood shifted to warm contentment. I mean, after all, how often do you see one in the wild?

I soon stopped feeling sorry for myself and realized how lucky I was: Fortunate that I toiled at something I loved. Grateful for the blinking red light on my hotel phone. Flattered that so many had cared enough to call.

The week was fantastic. I ripped the joint up. Kicked ass in front of them all. I received a bonus at the end of the week and had a mini-reunion after every performance. I don't know the name of the Christmas angel who graced me with her maiden-head. I don't know if it would work for every man, but I do know she was a natural blond.

God bless us, everyone.

Sincerely,
Allan