I met Kat Ramzinski at Art Outside this year, where she performed under the pavilion with several other stand-up comics. I admire anyone who can entertain a crowd in such a chaotic environment, so I asked her to write a guest post for me here and offered an opportunity to discuss topics she might hesitate to use in her stage routine.
In coming weeks, she will appear at Capital City Comedy Club and the Salvage Vanguard Theater. Check Kat Ramzinski’s homepage for a complete list, or you can watch videos of Kat, add Kat on Facebook or follow Kat Ramzinski on Twitter.
Sex.
The word still makes me giggle like a bastard. Every. Time.
Yes, I am a member of the immature elite. You know, that breed of person that is incapable of seeing the “sexy” part of sex. Maybe it’s my career choice that influences my sexual behavior, or perhaps it’s the squishy noises that keep me from taking it all too seriously.
Whatever my issues are, I know there are more out there like me because I have had sex with a few of them. Yes, it feels good and shit gets “done,” so to speak, but I can’t count the number of horrifying encounters with the opposite sex that turned into a parade of dumb-assness, spearheaded by yours truly.
If you’re like me, the mentality of a fifteen year old boy is prevalent in your humping life. There are the times when you just get so excited about the fact that sex is about to happen and you’re drunk enough to enjoy it that you literally rip their clothes off. That’s when the person stops and reprimands you for tearing their only work shirt, and sex has turned into apology time.
Maybe you play the wrong song, and he soon discovers that you are secretly a Hootie and the Blowfish fan, so you try to play it off with “my roommate downloaded this, I swear…” but he’s already out the door with his pants on. Let’s not forget the classic, “Oh yah, that’s my pet hamster. His name is Mousey. Yes, I’m a 25 year old female with a pet hamster that runs in a wheel while you try to get hard. Deal with it.”
To be honest, as ridiculous as these situations were, I have used only one onstage. It just never felt right revealing something that belonged to two people, something sacred, to a room full of strangers. Then I remembered that most of these guys were assholes, and here we are.
Without further ado, I present to you three crippling moments of my sex life, all of which are meant as learning tools: Don’t be me.
That Poster
This is a recurring sexual problem that stems from my undying love for Eddie Vedder. We all have that one piece of decor that makes us the center of ridicule among friends. So I have a giant four-foot by six-foot poster of Eddie Vedder crowd-surfing on my wall?!?! Big deal!!
Unfortunately, Eddie has been a topic of conversation since my freshman year of college when the massive poster first went up. You have no idea how difficult it is for a man to get a hard-on boney boner when the Ved is sweating and staring him in the eye. I refuse to take it down, and encourage lovers to power-through. I fear the day that I have to grow the fuck up and commit to framed works of art. Perhaps that will be the day I discover joy in the missionary position — how BORING is that one by the way?
The Ultimate Warrior
Once upon a time I took a lover who released my inner passion for wrestling. No, not sexy wrestling, but actual wrestling. WWE, TNA, RAW, Smackdown, ECW, CZW, so on and so forth. Hell, we even wrestled each other a couple of times (in a sexy way). When our 3 1/2 year courtship ended, I was left with an inappropriate adoration for the only thing more retarded than NASCAR. I tried to ween myself off of my Dusty Rhodes’ and Rob Van Damn DVD box sets, and abandoned as much wrestling paraphernalia as possible.
Only one item from this period remains, an Ultimate Warrior Pillow Doll (aka “wrestling buddy”) that belonged to my love since his childhood. I had a matching one as a kid. Since then, I have found myself face-first in the Ultimate Warrior’s anime-eyes, being “administered to,” knowing full-well that the man behind me either thinks I’m a loser or is going to steal the Warrior when I’m in the bathroom. Regardless, he stays. The doll, not the guy.
The Leg-Humper
I’ve never deliberately ruined sex. However, I have “abandoned ship,” so to speak, when the waters got rough. Sometimes you meet a person who seems too good to be true and, when it’s too late, you discover they are a complete fucking freak. Sometimes, it is way too late to abandon ship. Sometimes, you go home and wish you hadn’t left the house at all, because now you have this terrible memory to repress for the rest of your life.
It began at a local bar called BarFly’s, where I was wasted, ignoring my friends to play Galaga, and KILLING tiny pixellated airplanes like a BOSS. Moments later, I hear the voice of a beautiful man-angel behind me whisper, “you’re incredible at this game.” Hours into the future, we’re totally about to go to bone-town. His apartment was huge, he had Netflix and a perfect bone structure. I was pumped and could not see how this could possibly go bad.
Then, about four pumps in, I realized that either his dingus had fallen off or my “Virginia” was experiencing a loss of sensation. Nope, it was just terribly small. When I looked down, I must have been visibly stricken, as he pulled away and confessed to me that he couldn’t get hard until he fulfilled his “fetish.” After making me promise not to laugh, he proceeded to tell me that he was only capable of release if he rubbed “it” on the outside of my leg, like a chihuahua. Yes. Ladies and gents, it was my knee this man was after.
Stunned, I fall back and burst into laughter. As I lay there laughing, almost in tears, he commences to anger-fuck my leg like a dog. I couldn’t help it; it was surely emasculating but I had never heard anything like it. The laughing only made him angrier, and the chihuahua let out a moan of “I’m so sorry.” He then let out the cry of a dying moose, curled up in a ball, and fell asleep. I snuck out and sat in front of my computer all night, a cigarette hanging from my lips, wondering if this was one of those things you “keep to yourself.” I guess not. Yes, I have since cleaned my leg.
So yes, sex is an adventure. Sometimes it is fun, but most of the time it is something that we are all a little ashamed of. Perhaps shame is necessary for getting off? Maybe that explains the whole “suffer for your art,” or “misery makes the best comedy” mentalities that occupy my mind. Who knows, and honestly, who cares? I am often guffawed by the sexual prowess of my generation, but that’s my shit that I have to deal with. It’s not that I’m better than you my friend, it’s that I am much, much worse.
Yes, I am the girl who has uncomfortable, awkward, and sometimes borderline illegal sex, for the collective team. Hopefully you got a laugh, as advice is something that I cannot provide. I have no tips, favorite toys, or secret weird fetishes. I wish I did because, even though he whimpered like a bitch, “Leg-Humper” sure did look like he was having fun.
Bless his heart.
