The Sue Funke

I Want My Tip Back

2008-08-19T09:28:00.003-04:00

This weekend i was in Atlantic City for a Bachelorette Party.
Wild fun times were had.

But during this crazy mini vacation my gal pals and I took a cab from one Casino to another. The cabbie was pretty quick to get us from point A to point B so I gave him a a generous tip, $4 on an 11 dollar cab ride.*

As we get out the cab dude at the Trump hotel waved the cabbie down and pointed the next man in line over to that cab.

The man walked towards the car and the cabbie shook his head side-to-side furiously. The Trump cab dude opened the door for the man and the cabbie said, "no", and drove off.

The man was black who was about to get into the cab.

I watched this occur and kept saying, "No, that guy is next, let him in!" and when he didn't and drove off, I tried to go after the cab. Unfortunately, in heels I'm barely able to stand straight, so I didn't make it to get my four bucks back.

Ever since this happened I've been really pissed. I mean, I gave this dude four bucks because he was nice to me, and then he goes all racist and mean to someone else?

Not cool. I hope he spent the four dollars on a really crappy slot machine and lost everything he owns because it was an enchanted slot machine that can tell when someone's a jerkface and rips them off to the -enth degree.

Take that jerkface racist cabbie!

*For some reason, I often act like I'm Steve Martin in My Blue Heaven and live with the philosophy of, "It's not so much tipping I believe in, but over tipping". This may be one of the many reasons I'm broke. I'll just cross my fingers and hope tipping is good karma.

Astorian Pals

2008-08-10T11:54:00.004-04:00

Within the past year two of my comedy pals have moved to Astoria: Joe Powers and Colin Dempsey.
On occasion these fella's and I enjoy a drink. This is a good thing/dangerous thing, because before they moved close we were known to drink more than our fair share. Now that we're in walking distance from each other, and off the same subway stop, well let's just say our livers may not enjoy us living around each other as much as we do.

About a month ago, Colin and his lady invited me and Joe over to a dinner party. Not wanting to do anything too crazy because I had plans the next day I said yes, thinking - it's just going down the block for some dinner, how crazy could it get?

Well, dinner wasn't too nuts. There were some other non-comics there that made conversation less focused on out-witting each other. A good time for all.

Until I found out about the next part of the dinner party...

"Ok, time for The Beer Garden!"

Wha? I had signed up for dinner, I could not possibly stay out late drinking at the beer garden. I politely declined and said I'd walk out with the group, but really must go home and get some rest.

"Oh come on now, just get one," Colin insisted in his thick Irish accent.

"Fine, just one," I replied.

When we got to the Beer Garden though, I realized I was in for a long night, as Colin handed me a pitcher of beer and said, "I said one, I didn't say what size that one would be."

Hours later and I'm drunk walking through the Burger King drive thru with Joe convincing the guy at the window we have an invisible mini van and need Whopper meals.

Colin's depiction of how my evening ended though is different, and false, but funny none-the-less.
Click here for picture of the three Astorian drunk comics and Colin's Story.

Still Smoke Free, Still Doing Comedy

2008-07-26T15:08:00.003-04:00

Here's some updates with me:

I haven't had a cigarette since May 15th, 2008.
What I've learned so far- I'm a bitch.

Apparently, all of those years of smoking I was inhaling carcinogens and exhaling my bitch.
Now that I'm smoke free, I'm a little bitchy.

To hear about this and more humorous tales from a smoke-free Sue Funke, please visit my comedy schedule because I've got a lot of great comedy shows I'll be on soon in New York City!

I Love TV More Than You

2008-07-16T16:55:00.003-04:00

Dearest Loyal Sue Funke Readers,

I am so sorry I haven't been updating. There's a good reason. I'm working on a new blog that I'd love for you to check out:

I Love TV More Than You . com

It's got the current information on new TV shows and interesting tid-bits on old ones.

I will still be writing here the happenings of my daily life, but the TV blog is going to be my first blogging priority.

I love you all for reading my words.

Thanks,
The Sue Funke

Personal Essay

2008-07-16T16:40:00.004-04:00

The following is a piece that I wrote for the Inner Monologues show. It's a monthly show in which a group of writers create a personal essay based on one theme. This month's theme:
Apologies.

Forgive Me My Wrong Doings and Deliver Me My Karma

As I lay on a local Long Island beach, my dear friend Debbie lays beside me in the sand and comments on how our mutual friend, Sam, has run into an old friend on the beach, “I can’t believe she ran into someone she knows here,” she remarks.

I bask in the sun as I retort, “It’s not at all really. I always run into someone I know when I come back to Long Island. It’s long, but narrow, you run into people you know, it’s inevitable.”

Debbie is leaning on her palms, squinting to observe the routine reunion she knows no part of in front of her. “You Long Islanders are weird,” she concludes, and lays back.

The sun grew hotter and my body sunk into the sand in a beautifully warm, comforting relaxation. As I started to drift with the ocean’s sounds I heard a familiar voice: the nasal voice of Veronica Chambers.

I have to say hello, I thought. She’s right in front of me. There’s no where to hide on a beach. Damn this skinny island.

“Hey Veronica!” I call out enthusiastically, getting not just her attention, but people within a thirty foot radius. There really is something about Long Islanders that make it impossible for us to not make a big show of uniting with each other.

“Oh my god. Sue! I wouldn’t imagine seeing you here in a million years. You’re all the way in the city. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with my college pals,” I gesture and introduce the group.

She then launches into it. It being the one thing you fear when you run into a very old friend. The embarrassing old stories you have long forgotten, for good reason.

“I’ve known Sue for twenty years. Hey Sue, you know what story I’ll never forget? The day you, and Gina, taught me how to rollerblade.”

I shrink back. She pushes on, like the unstoppable Veronica I’ve always known. My friends listen on eagerly.

“You and Gina got so annoyed with me, because I was scared. I kept saying I didn’t want to do it and was going to get hurt. You yelled at me to shut up and finally had to bet me that I couldn’t stop talking for an hour. Then, after the hour was up I still didn’t talk and you guys begged me to talk, but I still wouldn’t and I went home crying.”

She comes up for air, and I jump in, “Now, I remember that.”

I stammer on trying to save myself, but I’m too late.

“That’s really mean!” Debbie exclaims.

“Well, to be fair, Veronica really did never shut up,” I say in my own pathetic defense.

“I was a pretty bad motor mouth,” Veronica she says as she looks over the rims of her glasses at Debbie, but the damage was done.

The sun moved and we all shifted into comfy sun spots. I lay in the sand suddenly feeling too hot to take it anymore. “Wanna go to the water Deb?”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” she says looking down at her burnt breasts.

We saunter down to the water, sucking guts and trying not to step on small children. We get to the water’s edge and stand there letting the frigid ocean lap against our ankles. Starring out at our friends jumping into and over crashing waves Debbie says, “So, you were a bully as a kid.”

My brow immediately furrows, “I-I don’t think so…Not really.” This idea of me being a bully was more jarring than the cold rushing tide that was creeping up to my legs. I think back to my early years. “Well…my imaginary friend’s name was Wussy.”

“There you have it,” Debbie said, closing her case. Smug with her own conclusion.

I never thought of myself as a bully before. It could be because from 6th grade on, I was a giant dork. Dorks aren’t bullies, we’re the bullied. But, to be fair – I wasn’t fully dorkified until the middle of 6th grade.

In sixth grade I was a chubby kid with purple glasses that were bigger than my brace face. My clothing, like always, was a little out of style. I wore leggings one year past their prime with sweaters that didn’t always cover the junk that I was carrying in my trunk. I developed early though, so I had breasts that were comparable to my belly. Basically, I was your typical awkward 11 year old girl.

The group I was running with in the beginning of the year were people commonly thought to be cool. They smoked, they talked back to teachers. I was a smart ass and smoked too, so I felt as if I belonged. I walked with them in the hallways and followed them into town for shop lifting excursions, never realizing I was always ten steps behind and the only one laughing at my dorky jokes

“What a maroon!” I’d say in response to a story about a peer’s folly.

My hilarious faulty moron insult fell upon clogged ears. That must be it. Either that, or plain ol’ deaf, or they’re crazy. I mean that is classic Bugs Bunny bonafide hilarity.

I delivered it again. This time the response was deafeningly silent. I continued to walk behind.
It wasn’t until I found a note that was meant for the trash that I realized how unwanted I really was within in my group of pals. The note had been passed through the hands of all my pals during the teacher’s reading of a Wrinkle in Time. As she read with her nose buried, her students ran amok. I would watch them from time to time, but often didn’t take part, because I really loved reading and learning. I know what you’re thinking, who wouldn’t find that kind of girl cool?

Well, apparently all of my friends. For the note that I saw passing out of the blurry corners of my four eyes landed near my feet instead of in the garbage as expected. A gasp was let out by a few of my so-called friends. I picked up the crinkled piece of paper, unfolded it and saw a picture with two round circles like a snow man and arms sticking out of it. There were glasses and straggly hairs on her head. A word bubble protruded from her mouth which encased the words

“Hi! I’m Sue”. Under this each of my pals had taken the time to agree with the drawing.

“That’s totally fatty Funke”

“She’s such a loser.”

The floor beneath my sixth grade high horse fell out. I found myself friendless. To be a cool kid, you had to put down all the other kids. Not even the losers wanted me, but I wanted them, for it was now apparent that I was one of them.

Like an olive branch stretching for forgiveness I looked over at the empty seat. At the table sat a group of girls with pants hiked way too high, over bites in the process of being fixed, hunched over, eating smelly sandwiches. I was at their mercy.

“Can I sit here?” I asked. They rapidly responded in turn:

“Is this a joke?”

“No way, you’ll just make fun of us.”

“They sent you over here didn’t they?” one said as she pointed to my fraudulent friends.

“No. They don’t even like me anymore. I realize now they’re assholes…and I’m pretty sure Colleen either doesn’t shower, it either that or she rubs shortening in her hair.”

They all giggle.

“What a maroon!” I said topping it off.

One of the girls nearly blows her milk out her nose.

Clearly I was sitting with my type of pals.

“You were pretty mean to us though.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, the first time of many. “Not only will I not make fun of you again, but because you guys were so nice to let me sit here, I’ll stick up for you next time they make fun of you.”

They took the deal. And from then on I made it my point to befriend any fellow dork I meet, and only bully the bullies away from my fellow dorks.

I’ve hopefully paid off my old bullying times by now with my Robin Hood kindness. Maybe that’s why it shocked me when Veronica brought up the story from my bully days, because in my mind, that bad karma has been erased.

From time to time though, I still may bully the wrong people, and for that I am truly sorry. To all the people I’ve bullied in vain, I swear to you, here and now, and forever - I’ll be nice to a really nice to, and stick up for, a dorky person in your name. I promise.

Sue Funke, for president??

2008-07-09T11:49:00.001-04:00

Proud to Be a Woman

2008-07-09T11:34:00.003-04:00

Ok, so I love gossip blogs.

But, maybe the writers behind them are worth not participating in them anymore.

Perez is probably the most annoying man alive.

And, um the Jezebel woman are apparently wastes of life. Click here to read about/watch the awful turn their "feminist" conversation with Liz Winstead (Daily Show and Shoot the Messanger creator)

Life Without Air Conditioning

2008-06-09T05:24:00.004-04:00

...is really no life at all in NYC.

I'm dying here in our sweltering apartment.

I would've purchased an air conditioner long ago, but Pink insisted, "We'll just get ceiling fans. I've never had AC, there's no need. We'll be fine with fans."

Now, I knew we wouldn't be able to get ceiling fans installed in time for summer, but I went along with it because every time I said I was going to buy an AC, she'd go on the above rant.

How long did it take her to change her mind?

About two hours in our apartment on an 80 degree evening.
She conveniently wasn't here for the 90 degree weekend.

I've placed an order to get an AC, but keep in mind, I'm pretty broke. I had to get it off a site where shipping was minimum 2 weeks.

So far, I've taken two showers this evening in order to cool off from the thick heat that is almost impossible to sleep through.
Any other suggestions on how to get through these next two weeks are welcome.

Still Smoke Free

2008-06-09T00:03:00.003-04:00

I had my last cigarette May 14th. I was cigarette free May 15th.

I just wanted to say, I'm still smoke free.

I'm much more bitchy, I can't sleep, and I've had to go on medication to freaking coupe with the loss of cigarettes.

But I'm smoke-free.

It's all worth it because I climbed the stairs at the Lexington station today and wasn't out of breath, nor did it take me 30 minutes.

Hooray for increased lung capacity!

I also can smell my perfume all day long.

Yay for not smelling like smokes!

I also enjoy sniffing people who have just had cigarette.

Oooh, that's a little creepy.

I'm doing the best I can here people.

If You're Going to Party, Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair

2008-06-08T23:34:00.003-04:00

Things you need to know about this picture:
This is a pic of Hubs
It's her birthday.
Those flowers are real.
She did that herself.
She wasn't in a bridal party, like the people sitting next to me hypothesized.
My stylish, talented pal Jen here celebrated her bday at the Brooklyn Beer Garden.

This party was a test of my love for the hubs.

See, Here are two fun facts about me:
1. I don't like traveling to Brooklyn.
2. I've got the best damn beer garden in walking distance from me.

The Brooklyn Beer Garden attempts to act like it's got history in this neighborhood that has been completely overhauled to be hipster-friendly. It was not a neighborhood of Czechs like Astoria, it was mostly Jewish and Latino.

The Brooklyn Beer Garden's "out door" section has an open roof, but the windows are nailed shut. There are also no fans. I guess this is what makes it "old timey", because it's similar to a sweat shop on a 90 degree day.

I'd complain, but no one has more need to complain than the sausage dude that was working on fryer all day.

I really can't complain either, because the company and delicious beers made the time spent there well worth it. I rolled in with fellow Astorian, Rachel, around 6pm, and ended up chatting it up with party goers until 12:30am, when a newly made pal walked me to the cab station.

Over the course of the day there were presents brought that were fun for the entire party. Most notably:
-a view finder with interesting animals, that I'm pretty sure aren't real.
-bubbles with various animal blowers

Conclusion: J-Hubs's birthday brings out the bubbly animal in all of us, and she's the flowery centerpiece of festivities.

I Love My Incestuous, Gay Cats

2008-06-07T15:49:00.005-04:00

Pink's kittens are brothers.
And as boys do, they often fight and tumble around the ground together.
But ever since we got them they had this habit that was kind of awkward to walk in on.

See, the kittens sometimes like to 69.
Pink and I didn't know what to do the first time, so we just left the room.

"Um, so, they're gay?"
"I think they might be cleaning each other."
"Cleanliness ended about ten minutes ago."

After going to the vet, Pink asked about the boys sexual deviance:

PINK: The vet said it's really bad and we have to separate them anytime we see them going at it.

FUNKE: Why?

PINK: I dunno, it's bad for their nipples or something.

FUNKE: Maybe the vet just doesn't understand their love. Maybe she hates gays.

PINK: What?

FUNKE: She made that nipple shit up. I think she just doesn't like homosexual behavior.

PINK: I dunno, she seemed to think it was bad for them. She just seemed real adamant about not letting them do it.

FUNKE: I bet if cats could marry people would oppose gay cat marriage, too.

PINK: I think you're taking this a little far.

FUNKE: Well, I think your vet is a homophob.

PINK: They're doing it again!

FUNKE: Don't separate them! They'll only grow up to resent you! I love you boys -no matter who you love!

Tell Me How You Really Feel...

2008-06-07T11:44:00.006-04:00

Me: I might have a date in three weeks.

Mara: Ugh, I'm sorry.

Me: What? Come on, I never date.

Mara: But you know how it goes: awkward conversation, not being yourself. You might as well say, "I'm going to have a nightmare in three weeks."

Let's Do Dunch

2008-06-05T00:00:00.006-04:00

Last week Pink did the food shopping.
It was awesome.
My entire fridge is full of taco makings and delicious yogurt.

As a thank you, on Saturday I decided that we'd go to lunch, my treat.
Since it was Saturday, and we hadn't spent a lazy one at home together in a long time, it took a while to motivate to leave the house (read: we got caught up watching chick flicks such as 27 Dresses).

We finally figured out what we wanted to eat, and motivated motion around 4pm to go get food.
Ahh dunch, an even bigger treat. (the dinner/lunch meal)

Where in Astoria did we travel for our fine dinning treat?
Applebee's, of course.

I really just wanted a fancy mudslide.
Pink got a fruity frozen margarita.

As you can tell from the pictures, it was well worth the trip.
"Mmm... this mudslide sure is awesome. You like yours, Pink?"

"Uh-huh!"

Quitting's Easy, I Do it All the Time

2008-06-03T01:20:00.005-04:00

So, two weeks ago, as a present for Quel's bday, I quit smoking.

I know, you're thinking, "Wait a minute, didn't you quit already?"
Ummmm.
I got the bed bugs and things were wicked stressful and busy, and cigarettes always make me feel better..
even though somehow they make it really hard for me to breath.
Maybe, it's because I have asthma.

Anywho, I wanted to quit. I was supposed to May 1st, and that came and went.
-But I still really wanted to quit.
-But I still really loved smoking.

The week I decided to quit Lindsay(one half of the brunettes) sent me an article by David Sedaris. Now, here's a man who understands why a woman such as myself would love to smoke. He's quite the fan himself, but if he could quit - so can I.

The last cigarette I had was May 15th, a day chosen for me by Dan Upham.
"Ya gotta pick a random day and just do it. May 15th. You should quit May 15th. That would be a good day," Upham said.

I told Quel this, thinking it was a crazy statement.

"That's the day before my birthday. You can do it as a birthday gift for me!" Quel said.

I was broke, because of the smoking, and couldn't really afford a better gift. So, I decided that was a very good reason to quit.

When I smoked my last cigarette (it was after an Ultimate Experts Meeting) Joe, Art, and Quel all put their hands on me. I am not really sure why, but it was like by having their hands touch me it made it tangible. They were physical witnesses of my very last cigarette.

Week one was tough.
Week two I got really depressed.
Week three I'm now feeling as though I've lost a close friend.

Some people say, it gets easier with time.
But others
those that know me well enough to tell me the truth,
tell me I'll always want one.
The trick is not having one.

"Anytime you want a cigarette, drink milk," Quel says.

Crazy as it seems it's been helping.
I love milk now, who knew?

SIDE NOTE: My sketch group, The Ultimate Experts (Dan Upham, Raquel (Quel) D'Apice, Joe Powers, Arthur Carlson, and me, Sue Funke) are performing on Friday, June 6th at The Producer's Club.
The theme for the show is Game Shows and Weddings. All of the experts will also be sharing their thoughts and theories on D-Day and the following comics are performing: Del, David Greek, Gilad Foss, and Seth Herzog.
Email: TheUltimateExperts@gmail.com for tickets and/or to get on our awesome newsletter list!

Sex and the City Movie Poster Fun

2008-05-31T11:47:00.003-04:00

My pal Amy Carlson made the Sex and the City movie a little more realistic.
That picture of me was taken during my "white trash" photo shoot in the Hamptons.
Sing it with me now, G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S...

I Apologize, A lot, I'm Sorry

2008-05-18T15:53:00.003-04:00

After the bedbug breakdown on Wednesday, I did a show on Thursday a couple of weeks ago.
I didn't do very well at all
and unfortunately was in front of a manager who could've gotten me paying gigs.
When it rains, it pours.

When I met with the manager I did something you're never supposed to do:
I apologized for my shitty set.

I'm an apologizer - I'll admit it.

I'm sorry!

It is my knee jerk reaction to when something goes wrong.

I'm sorry!

It might just be genetic though, because my mom and sister both have similar issues,
which they also apologize for if it is genetic.

See, when you're an apologizer, you even say you're sorry for things that you have no control over. You just feel bad for anything you have done ever.

So, I'm sorry I had that bad set and apologized for it,
and I'm sorry if this post wasn't as exciting as it could've been.

Break Down, Go Ahead, Give in.....

2008-05-10T14:08:00.003-04:00

About a month ago I woke up with bites on my hands, arms, and legs.
Bites from a bug,
a bed bug.

We haven't been able to find them.
We've exterminated, but we don't know how they came.

I have recently spent some time at the Union Square Station,
apparently that might be the culprit.

It's quite an ordeal to have bed bugs.
All your clothing goes into bags, you lose a lot of sleep, spend a lot of money, have to move your cats to your friends place, juggle work and dropping everything you own at the laundrymat, you sleep on friends couches because the stench of the spray is awful, and when you come home you have to sleep on the floor using a trash bag as a pillow.

Yes, you go through a lot of hardship, but you (if you're me) keep telling yourself - I can do this. This will all be over soon. I'm gonna be fine, I just have to get through this.

But when it's all over and your life is finally starting to come back- You're not buying the only dress you sorta like and throwing it on in the bathroom because that's the only place you feel safe. No, you've got your clothing arranged by color and type and even bought a nice set of plastic drawers for your underwear because you went two weeks only able to find the most uncomfortable pairs and you never want to do that again. -The last thing you want is to wake up with bites.

So, on Wednesday morning, when I woke up with three bites on my arm -
I lost it.

I fell to my knees and cried. I screamed. I paced the railroad apartment not knowing what to do. Where to go, no where was safe. I cried some more. I screamed.
I got dressed and went to work.

My co-workers are actually quite familiar with my struggle, so it was really the best place for me to go. My pal Caryn Solly is a bit of a bed bug expert. Urban has also suffered the wrath of the tiny suckers. Both of them listened and sympathized with my breakdown.

"It's inevitable. Bed bugs will make you crazy," Urban offered.

Caryn held me as I sat in an office and just sobbed.

We all worked together with the exterminator to come up with a solution. I'd change my sheets, get another new bed cover, and wait.

Now, I know a lot of people will say, "Throw out your mattress!"
Yeah, um no.

They have never been spotted on the mattress. To throw out that mattress would be just fiscally ridiculous. Also, the covers should help.

Anyway, after this wonderful break down I went on auto pilot. I used the reserve brains. This was apparent to anyone who was at the New York Comedy Club on Thursday, where I bombed on stage. I was basically me from 5 years ago on stage. Uncertain of time and myself. It wasn't cause I was on stage or supposed to be funny or nerves. It was because I'm in the shit people.

I'm coming out of it, but once your in the shit fog, all you've got are the reserves. You've got basics. Sure, you know how to get to work, hold superficial conversations, you can even manage to squeak out some decent emails. But come on, you're not really there, you're thinking "Ugggggh I don't even have bed to look forward to."

Hopefully I'll be back to the real Sue Funke soon, I'll talk to people and really be thinking about the conversation, and actually focus on work and stand up ....and I'll also hopefully be back to blogging on The Sue Funke soon as well.

But for now, I'm just trying to emerge from this, forgive the inevitable pun, funk.

I’m Not Your Guy, Buddy

2008-05-03T11:48:00.002-04:00

An Open Letter to My Male Friends:

Here’s the thing pals, I’m a woman. I dunno if you’ve realized this. Apparently not, because there’s a running theme with us which is:

“I never even thought of dating you, you’re like one of the guys.”

While I love being “one of the guys”, come on guys! I’ve been wearing dresses for a year now. What more must I do to prove femininity?! I mean dudes -I have a hair, make-up, and jewelry routine every morning. Do the other guys, too?

Even though I enjoy sporting events, and making fun of stupid girls, and hate Sex in the City (don’t hold it against me ladies, that show just sucks. It’s an abomination to women, but let’s not get “Carried Away” here.) I’m still an emotional woman who gets upset by words.

So, let’s just try this again shall we?

How about something like, “Dating you crossed my mind, but then I saw a cheeseburger… and all of the sudden we were friends.”

That would be more acceptable than, you’re never a woman to me.

I love you guys though, that is probably my downfall. I enjoy joking around about sex, watching the game with a beer, and not talking about how my day made me feel when it’s been ‘a tough one’ but rather chill out and shoot the shit. But I’m doing it wearing a dress, so I’m still a girl, and you’re still a guy… I’m not asking any of you to fall for me.

What I’m asking you though, is it to just realize that you should at least for a moment act like there was a “Oh, Sue’s a pretty gal, maybe…” crossed your mind. So this way I don’t spend our time hanging out together being all, “Wah, I’ll never meet a guy.”
And you having to say, “Nah, don’t say that. Blah, blah, blah, good person, great guy yadda, yaddi…”

And we can get back to more pressing things.. like working on my fantasy baseball league that’s tanking.

Thanks bros,
Sue Funke

Barely Legal

2008-04-12T23:18:00.003-04:00

As some of you who read this blog on the regular might've noticed, I haven't written much lately.
And what I left you with was pictures of my freakin' cats.

Some of you may be worried and think "Holy Crap, Sue you have stopped writing and started knitting sweaters for your cats as if they're your children. Come back to us Sue! Step away from the kittens and back to the dog side!"
And by some of you, I mean my sister-in-law.
I'm here to tell you, I'm ok T. I just love all animals, and don't worry, I can't learn to knit for shit.

I've actually been spending a lot of time writing a monologue/essay for the show Inner Monologues hosted by a wonderful author Alexis Barad. The show has a theme that all the writers use to develop their pieces. April's was Barely Legal.

Since not everyone could make the reading party, I figured I'd publish mine here.

So without too much adieu I present:

Barely Legal
(This could've also been titled:
This Is Why I Smoke Cigarettes
A Love Story)
By Sue Funke

I had my first taste of that sweet, silky smoke when I was about 11 years old. It was my father’s cigarette that laid across the Waterford crystal ashtray that had an elegant F etched in the bottom for FUNKE.

I snatched the cigarette and relit it with a lighter that was embedded in marble. I inhaled the cigarette as if I had smoked for years.
Most people cough their first time; I make this shit look easy.
I thought.

I continued to grab drags like these briefly. Running the cigarette butts up into my room and striking matches from souvenir packs to fix my habit. The guilt afterward made me an enthusiastic teeth brusher and might’ve kept Bath and Body Works in business.

It was the summer between middle school and high school that I had decided to really give this smoking thing a go. I was hanging out with a group of girls, and guys, who were just beginning their addictions as well.

I was eager to share my veteran experience with the group, “I tried smoking. It was ok. I didn’t cough at all my first time.”

I started taking full cigarettes from my dad’s pack of Merit Golds. They were an older gentleman’s cigarette, not very popular with “the guys”. I liked smoking out of the blue pack because they looked cooler. My father rarely bought the blue pack.

Finally, there came a point that the uncoolness and rarity of the cigarette situation needed to change. My friend Jill and I wanted a pack of our own. But how do we get one?

“If we had the money, I could get us cigarettes,” I told her.

I don’t know whose idea it was to steal the money from our friends’ bags while they were in the pool. It was one of those things you do before you fully understand your personal ethics. You don’t realize that you’re fucking with karma; you’re just trying to get a mission accomplished.

We had about three dollars in quarters and we walked the back roads in bathing suits with wet clothing clinging.

“I’ll go in, you stay outside, it’s more convincing that way,” I ordered her in the know-it-all manner I held myself with at thirteen.

“You think they’d call the police?” Jill asked plotting consequences in her mind.

“We’ll be fine.” I said with confidence I was pulling out of my ass. I was paranoid of getting caught, but at the same time I believed in my bullshit plan.

I took the money from Jill and walked into the tobacco shop. The old man behind the counter had seen me before, but I was just one of about a hundred kids my age around this area. We all blended together in front of his black, wide glasses.

“I need a pack of Merit Blues for my Uncle. That’s his car out there,” I pointed to a car sitting outside the store.

The guy nodded and pulled out the pack.

“He said he didn’t want to get out of the car,” I offered up unprovoked.

He looked down at me with a face that seemed disappointed in me for making him think this was a ruse.

“He’s right out there - and he gave you this money to get him cigarettes,” he inquired as he looked down at the pile of quarters in his hand.

“He pays for it out of change in the ash tray,” I said this quickly, so quickly that for a moment I believed I really did have an uncle sitting in that 70’s green Caddy.

The old man was either defeated, or more likely, didn’t want to refuse the money, “Ok.” He handed over the cigarettes and matches.

I walked slowly out. My entire face and ears burned. I could barely feel the cigarettes I was holding. I was convinced it was all a dream and a SWAT team was going to come swarming in and take the cigarettes from me.

Instead, I pushed open the door and walked out onto the sidewalk, a.k.a. base. I was safe.

Jill looked at me amazed, “You got ‘em?” she exclaimed in disbelief.

“Fuck, of course I got them,” I said as I pulled the plastic string to open our cigarettes.

We split that pack- several ways once everyone found out we had it and got it by using my balls, and their money. That was my first split pack of cigarettes.

My first full pack of cigarettes was a month or so after. My partner in crime that day was Alexis , who I had also shop lifted and took shots of vodka with on random-chance occasions. She asked her crush, Tim, to get me a pack. I gave her the money to give him. And that day, after the last school bell rang, Tim was pulling out a pack of Marlborough Reds for me.

As I smoked this pack I felt different about my smoking, before it was all the thrill of finding the way to get the cigarette. This pack was different. It wasn’t as sneaky and fun. I was getting them because there was part of me that felt like should be addicted by now. At least, that’s what all those pamphlets had told me.

As I inhaled the first cigarette from my pack I felt sick: a head-to-toe a feeling of heaviness and regret. This was not the rush I was looking for. It was the exact opposite.

The guilt ate away at my thirteen year old mind.

Who was I becoming? Only 3 years prior I was so upset with my Dad’s smoking. I was supposed to be part of the smoke free class of 2000. I had even sang my allegiance to that concept:
We are the smoke free,
Class of 2000
Two triple zero,
Everyone’s a hero
Or a she-ro
Yet I was already hooked – I mean I’m buying packs, what’s next?

Sure, I wanted to hang out with the “bad kids”. I grew up listening to Billy Joel, who didn’t want to laugh with sinners? Saints just sat around and cried. I enjoyed their stupid stunts at a close but not-too-close, friendly distance. But, was I really one of them?

The next evening as my mother cooked dinner I paced around her nervously.

“What’s wrong Susie-Q?”

“Mom, can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

I choked on my confession. This was where I was supposed to inhale and let it out. Tell her that her daughter was a bad ass, but I couldn’t find it in myself to tell her. I couldn’t find the words in myself. I was so ashamed, embarrassed… in shock that I was actually about to confess.
My mother stood, concerned that her youngest child was having a mental breakdown at the age of 13.

“What is it Susie-Q, are you in trouble?”

“I think I’m going to be,” I said wide eyed while my stomach back flipped at the inhalation of pork chops cooking and guilty dry mouth.

“Whatever it is Susie I can forgive you. I love you. It’s ok.”

She sat hugging me for a minute as I found the words and ultimately I blurted out, “I’ve been smoking cigarettes!”

“Well, that’s not that bad,” she said probably relieved I wasn’t pregnant.

My chin rose up and I looked at her.

“I’m not happy about it, but your father smokes, I used smoke. I’d be a hypocrite if I screamed at you. How much do you smoke?”

“Not much,” I said. “I bought a pack this week, but I barely made I dent in it. I hate it.” I pulled the pack of Marlborough Reds out and presented them to my mother.

Her face fell and true disappointment was furrowed in her brow, “Oh Susan, Marlborough Reds? Truck drivers smoke Marlborough Reds. Couldn’t you have smoked something more feminine? Like a Virginia Slim or a Cool?”

The shame I felt for my lack of femininity in my mother’s eyes would continue to be a theme through out my life, as smoking would.

Even though I promised her I’d quit, I couldn’t give up smoking, not even for a mother’s love. It was so tempting with packs around the house and high school. I started getting cartons from friends who worked at supermarkets, smoking anything they’re four finger discount could grab.

The expense for cartons though was much greater than packs, so it required a lot of money. Where does a child who’s not even legal to join the work force get money for cigs? Babysitting.

I was fourteen when Kathy moved across the street with her two children and “old money” husband. Mrs. K was a very relaxed woman, who was in her early forties and had lived a wild and exciting life before settling down with a man who seemed so lack luster compared to her jet-setting finance life style.

“Do whatever you want with the kids, here’s money for the pizza,” she handed me thirty dollars and then utters the magical words, “keep the change.”

It was wonderful tax free money that was ridiculously simple. All I had to do was not fuck up. So, what did I do? Steal her cigarettes.

She caught me puffing on her stashed Merit Ultra 100’s when she came home early from a PTA meeting. There were no mirrors in the yellow kitchen, but I’m pretty sure I turned green.

“Sue, you smoke?”

“Yes,” I squeaked as I stood with it held out toward her as if to say – “You caught me! Take it! Burn me with it! I’m so freakin’ guilty!!!”

She looked at me and nodded, then pulled another pack from her purse and sat down on the patio furniture. “Well, at least I have a smoking buddy now. Just don’t give me shit about smoking while pregnant and we’ll be fine.”

I must’ve blinked a thousand times before I sat down next to her.

“You gonna smoke it or let it fall to ash?” she said to me as she tapped her cigarette, “How often do you smoke?”

I finally realized she didn’t give a shit so I opened up to her, “Well Mrs. K, I smoke as often as I can. Lately not so much, I have this carton of Newports at home and they’re so gross.”

“Ugh, Awful! You should try something lighter.”

“I have, I really like Parliament lights, but I’m kinda at the mercy of whoever can grab me cigs.”

“Ok then, here’s a deal. You baby sit for me all summer and I’ll buy you a carton of Parliament lights every two weeks. And, if my mother-in-law ever comes over and we’re smoking, you say all the cigarette butts are yours.”

I was giving up a lot of other gigs to go solo with her, families I had worked with for years. But I would be crazy to give up on the chance for guaranteed cigs.

“Deal,” I said, but then as I sat there longer I wondered why she still had to worry about what people cared about. I always dreamed that once I turned 18 I could smoke however much I wanted, whenever I wanted. Being a blunt I just came right out and asked her.

“Kathy, why do you have to hide your smoking? You’re an adult, can’t you do whatever you want?”

“I wish. You still have to follow social rules. Sure, I can buy cigarettes, but I’m not supposed to. I’m pregnant and people are telling me how to do everything, but what they don’t get is I love smoking. I’m not saying that I love it more than my child. My life’s changed a lot over the years, and the one thing that hasn’t are my smoking habits. They’re always there to make me feel better, make me feel at home.”

And you might say I shouldn’t follow advice from a smoking pregnant woman, but I did. It was that night that I realized that I wasn’t just smoking because it was cool, or the thrill, or even the addiction. It was because it was my constant too. Maybe I didn’t cough that first time because it was part of who I was from the very beginning, or maybe it’s because whenever I was all alone and didn’t know what to do with myself, I always knew cigarettes were there with me. What I do know is, now that I can get them whenever I want as an adult they aren’t as much fun to buy. That also might have to do with the fact that I don’t have all that indispensable tax free babysitting money, or that I have ethics that bar me from stealing from friends, or the lovely pot habit I picked up in college. But that’s a whole other story.

Confession: I Love These Kittens

2008-03-21T22:07:00.008-04:00

I have given up folks. I can't fight it anymore, this dog person - who was completely normal and in love with life single gal is now in love with the Dapper Duo.
Just look at these pictures and tell me they are not adorable:

I pick them up every morning and cradle them and say, "I love you!!!"

Like every f'in dorky cat lover I've ever mocked.

Oh, what has happened to me?

There's something so sad about loving kittens, calling them your boys, acting like they are really your kids with your female roommate who's your close pal, but not your life partner.

Pink and I have joked about being a sexless lesbian couple, but now with the kittens, it's kinda like we are. We sit around and discuss our parenting methods of the boys and talk about the funny little things they do.

They sleep with me.
I'll wake up and they're around. They wait till I come home to eat.
I'm a Mommy, but, closer to a foster one. Because ultimately they are Pink's cats.

I know them well enough to know their individual personalities, and I can tell them apart without using their collars. In person they are quite different. This picture best shows their "personalities":

On the left, we have Tux. I know this for several reasons:

He's chubbier
The swirl on his chin
He's pushing his brother out of the picture

See, these brothers love each other, but Timber gets more attention and Tux can get bitchy about it.

The above picture is on the inside of my phone. The one below is on the front display:
Who am I??
I am a softy.

Ahem, I am also a comedian, and I've got show dates for April '08 posted.
Click here, and mark your calendars! I'll see you at the shows, I hope! :)

Simple Meals for One Person

2008-03-16T19:34:00.004-04:00

So, I'm broke and good things have come from it - I remembered how much I love to cook.
Here are three meals I've made to consume this weekend and this week.

Boboli Personal Vegetarian Pizza
1 personal pizza
1 handful of frozen spinach from a bag of frozen spinach (defrosted)
1 handful of frozen corn from a bag of frozen corn (defrosted)
3 mushrooms cut and sauteed in a pat of butter, garlic, rosemary, thyme, oregano
1 handful of low fat mozzarella cheese
sprinkling of parmsean cheese

The corn might seem weird in this recipe, but it actually adds a nice texture to the topping.

Spinach and Chicken meal
1 Chicken breast cubed, sauteed in a tbsp. of veggie oil with garlic, rosemary, thyme, organo and a dash of Ms. Dash garlic seasoning as well
1 handful of frozen spinach from a bag of frozen spinach (defrosted)
3 mushrooms cut and sauteed in tsp of veggie oil, onion powder, rosemary, thyme, oregano
1 handful of low fat mozzarella cheese

Combine all these ingredients.
Make sure not to over cook the mushrooms, they should only be in the pan like two minutes tops or else they'll burn or cook away. You want them to add more heartiness to the meal.

Spring Chicken
This is by far the weirdest experimental cooking I did today, but I'm the proudest of it because it turned out great.
1/2 can of dole pineapple chunks in juice
2 packets of apple oatmeal
apple juice
1 Chicken breast cubed
dash of apple pie seasoning

Basically, I saw the pineapple in the pantry and thought, "Man, I freakin' love sweet and sour chicken, but I can't really have the sour part anymore. I wish I could make a sweet chicken."
So I did.

I poured half of the pineapple can into the pan - with juice. Then I added some apple juice. Then I chucked in the chicken cubes and let it simmer together. I threw in a tiny bit of cinnamon and then switched to the apple pie seasoning to give it more of the apple sweetness flavor.
As I tasted it I realized that it needed to be over some sort of rice or pasta - but I didn't have any pasta or starch, so I looked in the pantry and saw the oatmeal packets and tried it out.
It was a great addition and really coated the chicken well and made the meal complete.

So, now I have lunch for the week other than pb and j sandwiches - oh and the best part, the chicken dishes took less than a half hour to prepare.

Thought I'd share because I know it's tough to figure out what to make when you're only making food for yourself -- oh and my best tip of all - buy chicken in bulk and freeze it individual, makes defrosting and cooking easier.

Eternal Happiness

2008-03-03T18:00:00.002-05:00

On Friday night, after standing for an hour and a half through the hilarious "Don't Touch Me There" show, (It's a testament to how funny a show is, if you have to stand to see it - and after you see it standing for so long you walk out and remember the hilarity more than the discomfort - in this case hilarity won.) I went for a nice dinner with Raquel D'Apice, Joe Powers, and Rachel Parenta.

After which, we went through the rainy, snowy, slushy streets of Manhattan towards our perspective trains. Due to poor foot attire planning, Raquel left us at 1st avenue for the L train in hopes of feeling her feet sooner than never again. This left Mr. Powers, Parenta, and I to trek on towards Union Square and the yellow line trains.

On our walk we passed a Baskin Robbins with a giant sign in the front windows that made me stop in my squishy tracks: NEW REESE'S PEANUT BUTTERCUP SUNDAE AND SHAKE!
We all instantly wanted one, and thought for a minute or two about going in. But it was cold, I was poor, we weren't that hungry, so we didn't go in.

All weekend though, I thought about that sundae.
By Sunday I was no longer thinking about tasks, errands, even during conversations with Pink I would just nodd off and start thinking about how delicious that sundae would be...

So, on our weekly trip to the grocery store Pink and I stopped off at the Baskin Robbins attached to the Pathmark. I asked the guy at the counter for the Reese's Buttercup Sundae --
only to find they were out of that ice cream.

-CRUSHED-

Pink's father happened to be visiting and said that he thought he could see tears in my eyes. The counter guy tried to woo me with other flavors that could be placed into this sundae, and I tried to play along, but I just couldn't settle.

So, when we got home and unpacked the groceries I sat uneasily on the couch fidgeting until finally I could no longer take it.
"I'm going to the one on Steinway."

"What about dinner?" Pink asked.

"It will be my dinner."

I walked to the Baskin Robbins on Steinway and Broadway and ordered my sundae. They not only had the ice cream, but the girl who made it did it up just like the photo that had been dancing around my mind.
Then, when I got to the cash register it rang up $5.95.
I looked in my little red wallet and saw only $5 - and all my change was in my other coat!
I looked up at the older gentleman behind the counter with watery eyes again.

"How much do you have?"
"Only 5, but I've got a credit card."
"Machine is broken," he paused and looked at me and before I could say anything else he said, "No problem. I give you a discount. You looked so happy about that sundae, how could I not?"

I thanked him several times and took my sundae back to the apartment.
And there I sat eating contently a sundae that was so delicious that I was happily full the rest of the evening.

It doesn't take much to make me happy.
Just something like this.

I Got Reviewed!!

2008-03-02T15:17:00.003-05:00

I was Googling myself this morning, because I've got so much writing and rehersing to do,
that I figured I should probably do something that has nothing to do with either of those things
-and I found out that one of the students that attended the show at Oberlin College wrote up a review of the show.

Click here to read a review of my stand up!

Comedy, Family, Food = My Life Right Now

2008-03-01T13:32:00.006-05:00

This blog could also be titled:
I'm Broke
Easter The Way Christ Intended - A Lazy Day of Reflection

Lots of great comedy going on right now. I've got a decent March schedule lined-up so far.
This year, I said I'd go to more comedy shows.
I have been really good at doing that.
Unfortunately, comedy somehow leads to social drinking. And social drinking leads to me taking cabs...
and that leads to me eating out of the vending machine at work and constantly complaining about how broke I am.
I don't know if my friends are sick of me saying it, but I sure am.

The fundwatch '08 is just beginning. I've still got the dreaded "t word" to deal with (t is for taxes and it's mighty frightening for me, cause I always owe money).

The brokeness doesn't just effect eating habits though. I'm also unable to spend Easter with the family in Florida this year. This won't be that big of deal, though. My family rarely gathers for Easter.

The first year I lived on my own in fact I started my lone Easter tradition - ordering in lamb, getting a good bottle of wine, and watching TV until I fall asleep.
Sure, it might sound pathetic and borderline alcoholic to you - but to me it's a lovely way to spend Easter Sunday.

My brother Mike's family orders in Chinese and watches movies. This may sound low key, but I believe my sister in law Tina may enjoy this more than Christmas.

The dedication to low key is something so rare for holidays.

Usually holidays mean: high stress family visits, the need for perfection, and extreme over eating

So, even though I'll miss out on this years Florida-Easter-Fest with my brother Matt, my Uncle Bill and my Mom at the house her and my step dad are renting for their "Snow Bird" month, at least I'll get a day of relaxation.
Even if I am broke, I intend on continuing my tradition.
And if I find myself worrying about the cash flow- well, there's always 3 buck chuck.

In other family news - Go check out my sister's book on Amazon.com. This book is going to be hilarious. I know this, because her columns are so freakin' funny.
And I'd say that even if she wasn't my sister.

It's My Brother's Birthday!

2008-02-26T08:30:00.003-05:00

I had a dream last night about how I was walking in Manhattan and I was supposed to meet up with my friend Matt Urban.
Instead - I bumped into my brother Matt Funke!
When I woke up I looked at the calendar and realized it was Matt's birthday.
Thanks unconsciousness! You are so good at remembering.

Matt is ten years older than me.
So he's the easiest math to figure out how old he is every year.

My brother Mike is 9 years older than me.
Jen is 12 years older than me.
They're more complicated, I've got to carry one's - it gets involved.

By now you might be thinking- "My, that's a large age difference."
Sure is.

My nickname was "hole in the condom".

My parents denied this.
My mother said I was a luxury baby.
My father explained this as, "You were the kid we could actually afford to have."

Either way - happy birthday to my big brother Matt.
The best babysitter in the world - we'd get a movie, soda, pizza, and a pint of Ben and Jerry's each and hang out late.
The best influencer of music - he taught me to love classic rock.
and an all around great big brother - even though he lives in Florida, if anyone messes with me, watch out sucker!!