Christina Pazsitzky

I feel like such a dbag for blogging. Not only am I late on this bandwagon, but it seems every tortured adolescent and new mommy has a blog and I promise not to bore you with tales of what my toddler niece said today. I’d like this  to be for something different, something personal, something embarrassing and hopefully far more cathartic than the everyday stuff. Then again, what else is there but everyday stuff?

I was in Knoxville last week and this 21 year-old hipsterboy in white plastic sunglasses told me that my stand up wasn’t like stand up (which is always great to hear and translates to:  “you’re not really funny, but I like your tits”). But as I braced myself for the inevitable cut down, he said “your stand up is like a confession”.  I loved that word.  Mostly I loved that someone paid enough attention to my act to form an opinion. I am desperate for approval and this really made my day.  But more so that word.

Confession. It reminds me of St. Augustine’s Confessions, where the Father of the Catholic Church summarized human existence by writing “We are born between urine and feces.”  Not sure if this is more a commentary of St. Augustine’s fear of women’s  filthy but tempting  no-no hole or a statement on why human beings are capable of being such pieces of shit.

I think about it all the time. Are we really inherently destined to be dicks? Born in between urine and feces and doomed to live lives indicative of such a beginning? Or can we transcend this and be good boys and girls?  I’m childishly fascinated with good and evil and how we function in this world.  I don’t have evil thoughts so much as self-loathing ones. I’ve got a perpetual hair shirt on and no party to wear it to.  Maybe that’s just part of being a stand up comic.

But why? Maybe thru this blog I’ll confess it all. Find out where the sickness begins and ends in something funny.  So this is it, these will be my confessions.