Bill is an actor, writer & comic in Los Angeles. Read more...

The Blog

Meeting Mystery

December 20, 2008:

“It’s like you–no matter how much I blow you off, you always come back.”

The burst of adrenaline her comment elicited sent a concussive wave of chemicals through my brain and pasted a look on my face that, I’m sure, was hard to disguise. If I had the ability to TiVo my life, I’d probably wear out the remote in amused Golem-esque self-loathing watching the expression develop. My eyes popped, my jaw dropped, my face reddened. On stage, I shoot hecklers down with the ease of a seasoned crowd sniper, but in my real life I’m not as nearly adept. Her sentence rendered me utterly speechless.

She – let’s call her G – stared me down with her entitled smile; the same stamp of smile that has challenged and weakened my spirit throughout my life. Smiling dark eyes, full lips, at least one unique quirk. With her, it was the beguiling way the tip of her tongue nestled, wet and coquettishly, between her upper and lower set of teeth; poised to say something scandalous.

I wanted to say something quick and smart like, “Pfft! Nigga please!” but this bitch had my number and she knew it. It could not have been more obvious. I couldn’t have been more submissive if I had been a Korean in a leather harness licking dried dog poo off the sole of her shoe.

My brain continued to buzz from the cocktail of adrenaline and fear. I ransacked the relationship archives of my brain and mustered quite possibly the most pathetic and feeble response of my life… and that’s saying something.

“You shouldn’t SAY that.” I spurted back.

“Oh come on, it’s true, we both know it.” G laughed.

“Yes, but it’s not something you should say out loud.” I had a yuk-yuk-isn’t-the-war-of-the-sexes-funny smile on my face, but my attempt at levity was betrayed by the fact that my normally beady eyes had enlarged to the size of saucers like some Japanese anime character. “AKIRAAAAAA!”

Silence followed, mostly. It was peppered by a one-sided argument between our Pakistani cab driver and whoever was on the other side of his blue tooth. I looked at the cabbie through his rearview mirror and could have sworn I saw a smirk on his face. Busy with driving through Manhattan traffic and arguing with the leader of his sleeper cell, even Ahmed could tell I was pitiful and pussy-whipped.

Spiritual Cunt

“I can’t believe you would tell personal things about us while you’re onstage. People see me there with you – it’s embarrassing!

A few hours earlier, I was on stage at the Laugh Factory in front of 200-plus USC fraternity brothers. They were rich, young, handsome trust fundish kids with Greek lettered t-shirts and the type of tooth whiteness that, until ten years ago, was only available to people with meth addictions and a bottle of 409 tile cleaner. Tan, young, fucking bastards. They probably still smelled each other’s fingers.

Driving home at the peak of DUI hours, I found myself in the familiar and unenviable position of rolling logic algorithms around in my mind in an attempt to systematically break down the ‘what the fuck?’-edness of yet another sentence set forth from a woman’s mouth. The exercise was par for the course with women in Los Angeles.

I stopped myself short – both physically and emotionally. Deep breath, Bill. Use the tried and true Scientific Method. You have a theory about what’s happening, so experiment and find evidence to prove your thesis. Drill down on the problem.

“What… are… you.. talking… about?” Right to the heart of the matter. I suppressed the urge to hurl every curse word I knew at her.

“The joker joke. It’s just rude,” she snorted back.

What a downer. While I’d adapted well to single life in Manhattan, the isolation and general sense of disconnect I’ve experienced in LA – my new home – has begun subtly rewiring my brain to want, and need, a companion. Sure, we’d only been seeing each other for a short time, but I liked Alison. I was looking forward to dating her.

Alison was beautiful and sexy with soft yogi skin and vocal tones. She was a booze hound, which juxtaposed nicely with her daily Buddhist chanting. Ironies in female behavior more and more seem to be what gets me out of bed in the morning. Plus, I took some comfort in the fact that it made it easier to get her naked. That being said, sex wasn’t the point. It was more about having a new best friend who just happened to be gorgeous. We’d just had lunch that afternoon and spent two solid hours talking about books, movies, philosophy… and of course, spirituality.

I had to remind myself that it was ‘okay’. It was okay that I found myself, once again, attracted to an archetypical ‘spiritual actress.’ I reminded myself that I am, at times, a spiritual actor. Come to think of it, at times I’m a spiritual actress.

If you don’t know WHAT a spiritual actress is, let me explain it as succinctly as possible:

A ‘spiritual actress’ is an actress who doesn’t work as an actress.

Because this ‘actress’ doesn’t really work, period, she has hundreds upon thousands of hours to read ‘The Secret’ and Eckhart Tolle and every other self-help/new age/personal development book in the clearance bin at Borders. While I think self-improvement is a valid and worthwhile goal, I find it odd that NONE of the spiritual actresses I’ve dated (I’m drawn like moths to a flame) have ever found hilarious irony in the fact that they continually justify their needy, selfish, actress insecurities with the eternal, selfless, gentle platitudes of generosity and worth.

The image of two actresses in a casting office trying to out-Secret each other for a role before either has even auditioned would be funny if it weren’t 100 percent accurate and observable on a daily basis. ‘Spiritual actresses’ have become one of those Hollywood clichés where the truth is always stranger than fiction. Go to any yoga class in LA and watch how many women immediately check their iphone to see if they got that call from their agent. No? Okay, I’ll hang out at Coffee Bean and set up a small business for 4 hours.

But I digress.

All Grows’d Up — Bill Dawes @ The Comedy Palace

As many of you may know, I’ve been doing comedy for about six years. When I first started, I did hosting at the Laugh Factory in New York City. Soon though, I began featuring for comics like Marc Maron, Greg Giraldo, Dom Irerra, Bobby Lee, Godfrey, Jo Koy, Andrew Dice Clay, and Jimmy ‘JJ’ Walker–whose act was certainly not ‘dy-no-mite.’ Then, about two and a half years ago, around the time I joined up with Tucker and Nils at Rudius, I started touring with Jamie Kennedy as his opener. Like with every other headliner I opened for, I tried to modify my act to fit in nicely with his. I also took (and still do take) notes and wrote jokes for him once in a while. As one sassy 20 year-old girl at the ‘Juice It Up’ once quipped, “HAHA, you’re his bitch!” What I wanted to retort was ‘No, we’re business partners and writing partners,’ but what came out was “Fuck you, cunt!”

I guess the point is that sometimes I felt like young Kobe when less-than-old Shaq was still with the Lakers. I just want to do MY thing.

This weekend, I get to do MY thing. I’m headlining at The Comedy Palace in San Diego for Valentine’s Day Weekend. Although I have headlined some colleges before, it’s really my first legitimate headlining gig at a club. I’m on the website and everything. So I think it’s time I stretch my legs and push some boundaries.

Since Rudius has been good to me, ANYONE who goes to the show and says they are with RUDIUS MEDIA gets in absolutely FREE and anyone who orders tickets online and makes their reservation as “Rudius Family” gets in free as well.

There’s a buffet and free champagne, but you really should buy lots of booze. I’m not worried though, I told the owner that’s what Rudius readers do. As a further enticement, there will be ONE room at a nearby hotel for any derelicts to stay if they traveled and need a crash pad that night.

– — –

HERE IS THE MOTHERFUCKIN’ INFO:

Who: ME, you sonuvabitch!
Where: The Comedy Palace , 8878 Clairemont Mesa Blvd., San Diego, 92123
When: Friday, February 13th, 8pm and 10pm
Saturday, February 14th, 8pm and 10pm

Also, if anyone has a quality video camera who is willing to film it… I’ll get you free booze all night and a cash prize to be disclosed to the interested party….

Thanks for the support over the years and maybe I’ll see you a couple of you in San Diego!

Spooning: An Educational How-To Film

Teaspoon, Tablespoon. They’re not just culinary units of measurement, they’re the fundamentals of non-coital slumber. HI! I’m Troy McClure…I mean, Bill Dawes! You might remember me from such films as “Netchix: Renting Chicks from the Internet just got much easier” and “Sex With a Tiger: The Dangers of Method Role-Play”. Today, we’re examining the foibles and challenges associated with that time honored tradition among those godless bastards among us who dare cohabitate with a member of the opposite sex before marriage: SPOONING.

Funny Or Die / Cobb’s Comedy Club San Francisco

Two things:

First, I have a new video up on Funny Or Die. It’s called Netchix. It’s pretty funny for only having taken a couple hours to shoot.

Vote Funny. OR DIE!! Get it? See what I did there?

Second, I am at Cobb’s Comedy Club in San Francisco this weekend with Jamie Kennedy. Email me at bill@billdawes.com for free Rudius tickets and come support some stand-up comedy. I don’t say that like some charity case, don’t get me wrong. I’m fucking awesome on stage. Hope to see you there. Here are the details.

WHAT: Motherfucking Stand-up Comedy

WHO: Jamie Kennedy and Bill Dawes

WHERE: Cobb’s Comedy Club, 915 Columbus Ave, San Francisco, CA

WHEN: November 1st (8pm, 10:15pm) & November 2nd (7pm)

HOW: email me (bill@billdawes.com) or GO HERE TO BUY TIX