One of my plants committed suicide. I came back from a few days out of town and my plant had jumped out of its planter. It just didn't want to live with me anymore. Relationships are so hard.

I would love the hell out of Mickey Rourke, Fucked up face and all. A man who gives his chihuahua mouth to mouth for 20 minutes sounds just crazy enough for me.

Indeed.

First off a voice over for Huggies. I was auditioning to be the voice of a socialite baby. (I’m sure most babies sound like they brush their teeth with whiskey and tobacco, but anywhooo…) Georgia Engel (who played Georgette on ‘The Mary Tyler Moore Show’) and Peter Scolari (who played Hildegarde on ‘Bosom Buddies’ opposite America’s favorite man, Tom Hanks) were also there. It was so neat seeing Georgia Engel, she looks exactly the same and sounds exactly the same. But seeing Peter Scolari was a little depressing, and not just because he wears an earring and tucks in his pants. Seeing Peter Scolari is always going to be depressing because he’s not Tom Hanks. I actually once heard someone say, “You know, for every Tom Hanks, there’s a Peter Scolari.” Peter Scolari has worked consistently throughout the years. Most actors would be lucky to have his career. But because he didn’t marry Rita Rudnick or whatever Rita he married and he didn’t win 2 Oscars for crappy movies, so Peter Scolari will always be sad. Oh show business. You so crazy!

My next sighting was of Tom Wopat, the one and only Luke Duke and Broadway legend. Now I was a BIG ‘Dukes of Hazards’ fan as a child. I would play a very un-feminist game in the schoolyard where I was Daisy Duke and I would get kidnapped and Luke and Bo Duke would have to rescue me. I think it was mostly an excuse for me to tussle with the boys. Not very progressive but I loved it. So seeing my childhood idol was a particular treat. He was auditioning for ‘Sweeney Todd.’ I was kind of like – just give it to him! He’s Luke Duke. But I was auditioning for a Hallmark commercial, so what do I know? (I’ll tell ya! Nuttin’.)

Luke Duke, I mean Tom Wopat, looked good. Real good. Like he had been around the block a little, but still rugged and handsome. Like he could beat the shit out of someone and then make you a nice pasta dinner. On the way to the bathroom we bumped into each other and he said excuse me. I was taken with his gentlemanly charm. And I was delighted to find out he was a real live human being. When I was in school, there was a rumor going around that Luke Duke was played by a hologram. I’m not sure how the rumor got started; I guess holograms were sort of big then. Like, wow an eagle and now if I tilt the image the eagle is behind a flag. Oh technology! You so crazy! I’ve asked no less than 50 people if they ever heard that rumor when they were kids, but alas no one had. So to all the folks from Mercymount Country Day School – Luke Duke is real!

I really hope it takes off.

Boing. Did time just stand still? Outback Steakhouse Pussy Waitresses! I am at a loss for words. I think we have a winner for most insane search item ever.

Let’s imagine the gentleman who would type in such a request.*   Mid 40s, government job, on his 2nd divorce, has a bag of tortilla chips by the bed. Hates Applebees but LOVES Outback Steakhouse. Hates boobies but LOVES pussy!

Yes, he wants an Outback Steakhouse Pussy Waitress. No, scratch that. He deserves more. Much more. Let’s get Outback Steakhouse Pussy Waitress_es_. Plural.

It is so American and male to want to engage in coitus and eat a steak at the same time.

* This person could also be a 12 year old fat kid. But most any porn search could be linked back to a 12 year-old fat kid.

But this journal entry isn’t about bikini lines. It’s about Villanova University. I was part of a UCB Tour Co show there this past weekend. Villanova is a Catholic University and it states in its rider that no references can be made about Catholicism or the Pope. As a fully lapsed Catholic (I once asked my father if there was a form I could fill out to officially leave the faith) I realized this might not be the best place for me. I also hate the Pope and I don’t believe in God. If me and Villanova were on a first date I think Villanova would talk about preventing stem cell research and I would order 3 more glasses of wine.

Villanova is a campus filled with the nicest people you have ever met. They are clean cut, positive and always smiling. And they are known for philanthropy. These kids spend $40,000 a year to raise money for charitable causes. When I was in college I peed in a cat box. I hate it when a gaggle of 20-year olds make you feel like a loser.

My fear intensified when I found out that we were performing in a benefit for cancer research. Children’s cancer research. Yikes! How did WE get hired for this job? We aren’t exactly benefit performers. If you have an uncle going to jail and want entertainment at his party then great! Hire us.

We were the first act after the intro. And the intro consisted of meeting a child who had cancer. We were literally following an adorable sick tot. This little kid was on stage with his whole family and his Dad spoke most of the time. And his Dad was crazy. He was bullying this little kid in a really abusive way that could only seem totally normal in a Catholic environment.

DAD: Mikey, introduce yourself.
MIKEY: Um…
DAD: Come on! People don’t want to see you mess around!
QUESTION FROM AUDIENCE: What does the hospital look like?
MIKEY: Well…there are animals on the walls.
DAD: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU! GET SERIOUS!
MIKEY: There ARE animals on the walls.

No wonder this kid was sick, his Dad was yelling at him for not being sympathetic enough. He kept apologizing for Mikey. It really was disgusting. I couldn’t see the rest of the Eugene O’Neill drama that was Mikey and his Dad because Eli made us leave the room so we couldn’t climb further into our heads.

We opened our show with the classic “Kicked in the Balls” sketch where Chris Gethard has to try to break the world record for getting kicked in the balls. As soon as we announced that Chris was going to get kicked in the balls, Mikey went WILD! He was so excited! It was all of the things little boys love – balls and kicking. If we had crammed a fart reference in there, Mikey would have passed out from joy. I have never seen a human being laugh that hard at that sketch. It was divine and adorable. Mikey kept volunteering to come on stage and kick Chris in the balls. And we all seriously considered it but we were afraid that the kid would miss the rig and really kick Chris in the nuggets. But Chris put it best, “I’d take a kick in the balls for a kid with cancer.”

I really liked Villanova. And I wanted to hate these people. They were Catholic and largely Republican. But even I can’t shit on optimism and earnest good deeds. So Villanova gets a thumbs up in my book.

An ad for Secret deodorant.

"No secret, I've got a red cunt."

he he he he

With someone trying to clean it up to read "cuntry."

he he he he times a million

Truth be told, it isn’t my parrot. It’s my father’s and stepmother’s. Their marriage has ended and they continue to fight tooth and nail over every single purchase made before and during the marriage (who knew people could get so mad over crappy Ethan Allen furniture) but the parrot, no one wants. So it lives with my sister in Massachusetts.

Her name is Rania. And she is evil. I was once watching TV in the den while Rania was perched on top of her 5-foot cage. After noticing me, she methodically climbed down the cage, walked over to where I was sitting and nonchalantly tried to bite me. We never got along. When my folks bought her I insisted on calling her Bud, even though her name was Rania. I thought it was funny, she thought I was degrading her. Rania has a checkered past. She actually had a Discover card in her name and she racked up about $5,000 in charges she never paid off.

My parents used to sign up for magazines in the pets names so they could ward off junk mail. Of course, we still received the junk mail it was just delivered to Boots Clarke, Ginger Clarke and Rania Clarke. I’m sure the mailman thought we were running a half-way house for vagrant strippers. Then the pre-approved credit cards started arriving. And my folks, being made up of the dubious moral fiber that makes you stay in a loveless marriage for 17 years, took to using said cards. My problem with the situation was that none of the ill-gotten monies were spend on me or the other children. But mostly me.

But back to parrot diddling.

Rania can masturbate on her own. And on my last trip home I took a picture to prove it. Most people can’t quite grasp the concept of parrot masturbation. The picture is graphic but you’ll neither puke nor get turned on.

What happens is this: Rania starts screeching at the top of her lungs. She moves to the bottom of her cage, turns around so her junk is facing the bars and she rubs up against it. (This system of masturbation is similar to the one 6th grade girls across the world use when they rub up against their chairs during Social Studies.) Rania’s junk then pulsates while the screeching/moaning continues. Then I assume she climaxes. Or like many American women, give up. But since she is originally from South America, I assume she climaxes.

To further the creepiness of an already creepy situation, my stepmother used to help Rania along. I realized how vile this was during a game of ‘I Never.’ “I never have been in the room while an act of bestiality was taking place.” Most people that drank during ‘I never’ had been fraternity brothers who watched a pledge jerk off a dog. Not me, I had to admit that my own stepmother, the woman who was my primary guide for womanhood, used to diddle my parrot.

And so is the story of Rania. Which I think explains a lot about me.

I always get an itch to leave NYC. But when I do I always think, "ugh every place in the world sucks except New York.”

We had a tour show in Amherst, Mass on Wednesday. Western Massachusetts is a beautiful area but it is so boring you could cry. It took us 5 hours to get there because we took 95 instead of the Merritt Parkway. Um, hello! 95 is driving suicide.

Now Amherst College is probably one of the best schools in the country. I went to crappy ole UNH. But at UNH people were at least familiar with the concept of fun. At Amherst, fun is a language no one speaks. AT UNH there was a lot of drinking. At Amherst there is a lot of chess playing and building your own crosswords.

The show was fine. But the audience gave off that air of “We’re silently judging you because we’re smarter than you.” And they definitely were smarter than us (it should be ‘we’ I just wrote it to prove a point)! They would laugh at things like ‘War Craft’ and not ‘Carmen Electra.’ Sure, I may have a shitty SAT score but at least I know who Carmen Electra is. Take your double calculus and poo on it. But they did like it when we made fun of Mount Holyoke and Smith Colleges. Smart people aren’t above petty rivalries.

We also couldn’t buy beer after 11 pm. Which meant we had NO BEER. After the show we checked into the hotel and watched a little bit of “Whose Line is it Anyway.” And by the time we got to the liquor store it was closed. So Wayne Brady fucked up our drinking plans. Damnit.

I hate this law. When I was at home for Thanksgiving I got into a fight with a woman at a gas station. I was trying to buy beer at 11 pm on the nose and she refused to sell it to me. Even after I reintroduced her to the concept of time. When I kind of clinked the bottles together she told me that if I broke a bottle I would have to buy it. “But I thought you couldn’t sell beer after 11 pm.” Then she yelled at me and I went out to the car and informed my sister I wasn’t welcome in that Tedeschi’s anymore.

We did get our drink on at a local bar, which did NOT serve pitchers of beer but did have a painting of Uncle Sam eating out a female soldier. I tried to take a picture of it with my camera phone but the phone thought the image was misogynist.

We all got a little tipsy and went to a deli to stock up on snacks. $75 dollars worth to be exact. We got soda, chips, beef jerky, ice cream and candy. And it was all the boys doing. I have never seen men go so snack crazy. I wanted something to call my own so I stole the sign they had reminding people that they card. I don’t know why, at my age, I am still committing petty crimes. But it had to be done. This town needed some excitement.

We furthered confirmed our membership in the blue states by tearing up pieces of a Bible to use as chips in a game of poker.

And then we came back to our Mecca – lil’ ole NYC!

On a cleaning break, I did some more poking around my website’s administration page to see what people search for when they get my website. Yes, I’m an egotistical jerk. I make no bones about that. But I was rewarded for my vanity. I found a new humdinger: “jackie clarke straight or gay.”

* *

I don’t quite know what to say about this one. I feel like Marcia Cross but without a Golden Globe. Who could be wondering if I’m straight or gay? Maybe a guy who thinks I’m sweet and wants to ask me out but had to do a Google search to test my sexuality. Maybe a star-eyed womens studies major who heard me mention Ani Difranco or organized sports. Maybe an ex who thinks I crossed to the other side. Maybe one of the 14,000 girls I have made-out with.

Alas the internet provides no answers, only questions. So I shall buck the trend and answer the burning question - is Jackie Clarke straight or gay?

Neither. Just slutty. But in a nice way.

I'm part of a gay wedding later this month. I'm officially a cast member of Sex in the City.

And although I am putting down the show, I know a lot about it. I know Debbie went off the pill – but she isn’t trying to get pregnant she is just taking a break. I know that Steve really adores Johnny Carson. And from the way he talks about him I figure that he wishes his career was a little more Carson and a little less local. And I know that Arthel favors leather jackets that look like they were purchased on sale from a mall in Florida.

But I got to see Good Day Live and its parent show, the far superior Good Day LA in LA, as I was there last week. Normally I like to complain about banal LA things like the driving and the lack of souls attached to the populace out there. But this trip I have something new to write about – the apocalyptic weather.

While I was there the area was averaging something outrageous like 5 inches of rain a day. My friend Susan and I left the house one evening to find the 101 closed because 50 cars were floating down the freeway. People had to crawl out of their windows and swim out their cars. It was so wet I could barely wear the cute shoes I brought. But I managed. I’m a survivor.

While I was in LA, a tiger was shot and killed because it was roaming around some town. But that I understood. You can’t have a tiger roaming around during Oscar season!

While I was out there I got to do some of my favorite LA things:

• Eat at In and Out Burger
• Eat at Taco Bell
• Shop
• See friends (who arrived approximately 45 minutes late – LA does that to people!)

All in all a nice trip. And like always food was the Goddamn center square. Well if life was Hollywood Squares. Which it should be.

The worst was on Thursday. But like in any war, there is the aftershock.

Let’s plot the course a horrible tragedy like food poisoning takes.

WEDNESDAY: I am at a meeting for UCB Tour Company and my friend and castmate, Brian Huskey, was waxing poetic about the Telluride Comedy Festival. He couldn't go last year because he came down with a bad case of food poisoning (borscht!). I said that I would love to get some food poisoning because I could stand to lose a few pounds. I said this even though Brian said it was the worst he ever felt in his whole damn life. And another friend, Chris, chimed in with, "it was the closest I’ve ever been to dying." That didn't stop me from inviting a parasite into my stomach. I’m a girl! Yay!

THURSDAY: An audition at noon and a date with my friend Seth for some detoxifying at the Russian baths. He was treating me for my birthday. So I have a middling audition where I have to pretend to be a 'Bridezilla' and the highlight was an improvised rant at a flower girl. I will not book this. I don't look like a bride. I’m the bride's sassy best friend.

On the way to the audition I spot a 'Pret-a-Manger.' It's this chain of sandwich shops that have fun great sandwiches, nice teas and great service. Also, apparently, Staphylococcus on rye. I eat my delicious chicken sandwich with dill, avocado and mayo. A nice cup of tea and head off to the baths. I suspect nothing.

The baths are fun and great for about 2 hours. Then I start to get nauseous. I think it is the detoxing. But it was getting worse and worse. I am not sure what normal food poisoning is like but I am pretty sure it can't be helped by entering 150 degree rooms then dunking yourself in a bath of freezing cold water. I was microwaving the parasites. And it angered them.

There were also annoying hippies at the baths that walked around in bare feet (EWWW!) and performed earth cries every time they entered the cold plunge. I hate hippies. And Seth hates hippies too, and he is from Northern California. So for him it is like hating part of him.

I started to feel even worse. So I ducked out of the baths at about 4:30 pm. I canceled all of my evening plans and cabbed it home. I won't disgust you with the details of the next 12 hours of my life. But let's just say if the force of the vomit was a punch and I was a girl in Mike Tyson's hotel room, there would be no raping that night. It was gross.

More than 48 hours later and I still don't feel 100%. It is a crazy sort of illness. And the kind of illness that you wish you had someone pampering you but in the end you are glad you could be that disgusting solo. I also managed to not crap myself or vomit on myself. So that's something.

Pros and Cons of Food Poisoning

PROS:

• Free colonic!
• Weight loss
• 20 Episodes of Law and Order: SVU!

CONS:

• An eternity of sickness crammed into a lovely 12 hours
• Saw parts of my toilet I have never seen
• Vomit

"Jackie,

I got home from classes today to find that my friend Christina left me a few messages on AIM.

CrazyGoogler: TYLER
Auto response: where's the damn snow?
CrazyGoogler: READ JACKIE CLARKES JOURNAL
CrazyGoogler: I DEFINITELY LOOKED UP JACKIE CLARKE PEE PANTS!
CrazyGoogler: that was me.
CrazyGoogler: i forgot her address and so i just looked it up like that
CrazyGoogler: ahahahha
CrazyGoogler: i lead a sad pathetic life.
CrazyGoogler: but i enjoy it!

Imagine my confusion when I read "I definitely looked up Jackie Clarke pee pants!"

Your fan,
Tyler"

There is a section which tells me what search terms people are using to find me. Needless to say, I was surprised by the results I found.

Terms listed in order of frequency:

jackieclarke, jackie clarke, respecto montalban, jackie clarke conan pics
Ok, these are easy ones. My name, my improv group. Someone saw me on Conan. This all makes sense. Keep reading.

jackie clarke pee pants
What the fuck? Who the fuck is doing a google search with JACKIE CLARKE PEE PEE PANTS as a search topic. Let's investigate further. My name is spelled correctly. So these people either know me well or stalk me well. Some possible scenarios:

1) Someone read my journal and knew that I peed my pants. Maybe they lost the URL and needed to google me. Creepy factor, almost none.

2) Say a friend of mine is at his temp job and is googling people and decides I'm the type of person to pee myself, and googles JACKIE CLARKE PEE PEE PANTS. Sadness Factor: High

3) Say someone doesn't know me well and maybe he's seen me perform or we've slept together and he decides I'm the type of person to pee myself, and googles JACKIE CLARKE PEE PEE PANTS. Creepiness and Sadness Factor Beyond the Valley of High.

brian huskey homeless
Um, what? WHAT WHAT WHAT? Brian Huskey homeless? It is beyond my understanding of the internet to imagine how someone can search for that and get my website. Brian Huskey is a friend of mine. He is not homeless. As a matter of fact he recently became engaged to a lovely lady. And I have been to his home. His very nice home so far into Brooklyn my nose bled when I got off the train. Anyway he has a home. That was my original point.

vagina photos, bahamian wet pussy, vagina bahamas, local bahamian pussy.net, pussy fucking
First of all, what is wrong with people? I am not against people using the internet for porn. Go for it! Yay! But BAHAMIAN WET PUSSY? Isn't that a tad specific? And my personal favorite is LOCAL BAHAMIAN PUSSY.NET. Not only does this person want the local flavor he only wants a .net site. Something like localbahamianpussy.com would not suffice for this discriminating porn user. Hats off to you, sir. Second. How, in God's green earth, did they end up at my site. All of my local Bahamian pussy pictures are unposted. Ha ha! That was a joke!

humiliating peed my pants
I pray that someone was looking for a porn site and found my journal.

tom brady s fiancee
We broke up. 'Nuff said. Drop it Googlers.

chad clarke
My new boyfriend. We aren't married. But if we were, he would take my name.