Solo Performances

LITTLE THINGS

excerpt: 

I was born a honeybee. Born buzzing, and blue-eyed and blonde, and premature. Born a little thing. A little thing armed with a little stinger. Fact: Honeybees make honey. Also fact: Honeybees die immediately after they sting you. You’re basically given a shotgun the day you’re born and told, “Use this to destroy and you will destroy yourself.” Let me tell you, guns are rather heavy for bees. Not to mention the hassle of finding a storage space for one—hives are dark and cramped, and sticky as h-eh-ll. Plus I'm kinda sorta anti-gun.

So. It’s a good thing having a gun is just a metaphor for having a stinger.

ON LOVE (SORT OF)

excerpt:

Our first date story is not romantic. We got piss drunk and wanted each other. You walked me home (at midnight) and I fiddled with my keys in the doorway (because I was actually too drunk to immediately pick the right key-- not because I was pulling a stunt).We were so drunk we fell asleep before we could finish. Our pants around our ankles.

Our first date story is not romantic. I really like it.