I moved in with Sam in record timing. Even my lesbian friends were shocked by the speed. But when it comes to comics, everyone is eager to cut rent costs down to afford to do more stand up. (If you don’t know it costs money in the beginning you might not want to quit your day job.) We would be three people living in a two bedroom apartment just off Melrose, making each person’s rent $350/mo. A deal even for 2002, but WOW were there ants. I started to call it the Ant Farm. One morning I even woke up and saw one crawling through Sam’s chest hair. (I killed it, obvi. Poor guy was probs lost in that maze.)
His roommate claimed to be a comedian too, as most people in L.A. who “tried it once” do. He was a narcoleptic who worked for AVN magazine reviewing pornography for a living. Sam beat me to writing material about this:
“Does anyone really need to debate whether Ass Blasters 2 was better than the original?”
Because of his job, we were constantly being shipped cases of new releases. Our entire living room was coveted with stacks of jizz flicks. One time he even suggested I try reviewing one. I was definitely tempted. I’ll never forget the one I watched that I drafted a review of- it was called The Villa and it was very artsy. I felt classier than I should have jillin’ off to it. But of course I was too scared to actually submit my work. Female comics were already called “dirty” after saying “sex” one time. I think you could actually abbreviate seconds to “secs” and be called dirty. I didn’t want to be the girl comic who reviewed porn. Huge career regret tbh. Maybe it’s not too late. I could start reviewing all the episodes of “Fake Female Taxi Driver” I watch on PornHub. (Could possibly get more hits than this blog.)
On top of all the free “movies,” he also was gifted hundreds of vibrators. And he couldn’t exactly review those. I had never used one before, but there they were, stacked right by the door where the umbrellas would be if I still lived in Vancouver. Surely I would never use them. I’m dating a Scorpio.
BUT THEN-
Both Sam and his roommate went to Vegas for the AVN Awards. Weird they didn’t invite me. I almost reviewed one porn. I’m practically industry. What could they possibly be doing at a porn convention in Vegas without me? Oh well, it’s kind of nice to have the apartment to myself even if I did have a paparazzi of 8000 ants.
The vibrators started taunting me. I mean I think I was horny, but how would I know? I was so much younger than my sexual peak, and still on birth control, which I’m convinced was drying up my vag and urges for years. When I finally went off it my libido lit up faster than a check engine light on a Nissan Micra.
I decide to just go investigate the boxes. See if there’s an “Ages 18+” on the front. (There’s not.) I pick the green one, cuz that feels lucky and rip it open.
“Batteries Not Included.”
Ooooof. That is NOT what you want to see when you’re drunk, horny, alone and debating using a vibrator for your first time. At least it was the early 2000’s. I usually had extra AA batteries in my Discman.
But NO.
This bitch required D BATTERIES. Who has those on hand? Maybe somebody who has a flashlight but do you think the two guys I live with currently partying with porn stars in Vegas have earthquake supplies on hand? They can’t even buy a can of Raid. But at this point, I really want this vibrator to do whatever it is it’s supposed to do. I put on my Sketchers and head for 7-11 on Santa Monica Blvd. (Only four blocks away, but by L.A. standards, that’s an insane walk.)
You learn a lot when you walk into a convenience store drunk at 2am for batteries. I walked up and down every aisle and couldn’t find any signs of Duracell or Energizer. Obviously they have to sell batteries, right? Where the fuck are they? By the Kit Kats? And then I spotted them…
They’re behind the counter.
I have to ask the cashier for them.
Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a woman, asking for D batteries, drunk at 2am, in a 7-11 all alone? Despite that fact my career is not where I wish it was, I still think this was the lowest point of my life. (KIDDING! SO MANY MORE LOW POINTS TO COME! KEEP READING!)
I threw a small pack of gummy worms into my purchase as to not look like an obvious late night masturbator. Or late to the masturbating game.
I walked back down Hayworth Ave with my batteries and candy. You’d think I would have lost my lady boner in the stress of this mission but I didn’t. It’s not like I was gonna try a vibrator while the guys were both in the apartment.
Through out my time at the Ant Farm, I sent multiple Canadian visitors home with vibrators. You’re welcome, Meghan. (Oh and Eddie. I did I give you one too?) This was a bit of a pivotal moment where I learned how sexually self-sufficient I could be.
Possibly self sufficient all around.
We’ll see.
Sure this chapter doesn’t have too much to do with the trajectory of my career, but it was the dawning of the 87 vibrator jokes I have today. You can thank the AVN for that. And I’m sure it was just a prelude to my podcast with Jen Murphy, “Jillin Off.” We just recorded our 100th episode, which I highly recommend.
Thank you to Katherine at The Folly on Houston for having her laptop on the bar, inspiring me to write when I thought I wouldn’t. There are so many distractions coming back to life in this city. Thank you for creating our new social “We Work” to keep me having fun and being productive at the same time. In any event, I will keep up with this blog again. I have some upcoming chapters that I believe will be more powerful than my fully charged vibrator.
(Edited in a coffee shop, obvi.)
P.S. Watch me get kicked off Substack for that photo. (Imagine being a fly on the wall as I partook in this private photo shoot…)
Yet another blog that tells us absolutely NOTHING about being a comedian in LA. ... Which is what we're interested in. ... The gigs, the bookers , the other comedians, the $.
Your room-mates and "boyfriends" are of no interest, because they're ALWAYS the same... Goofs & bartenders, bartenders & goofs.... A Walmart cashier could write that blog.