My name is Alexis Pereira. I live in NYC, where I dabble in writing and acting. My work is regularly featured on Funny or Die and I've even created some original work for Funny or Die's Youtube page.
I currently write and perform at a monthly show at UCB, and I was even once on a house improv team there!
In this tumblr, you will find what I hope are interesting essays about my life. I like to think of myself as a statesman, though I may not know what that means exactly.
If you want to see and hear more about me, please visit alexispereira.net
This was the audience when I got off the stage at Kaleidoscope last night:
He cradled it.
That’s the only way I can describe the way he held his open bag of Oreos.
My girlfriend and I rarely visit the Brazilian supermarket. They don’t speak English, and I only speak a handful of Portuguese. However, they are host to some delicious Brazilian treats with an un-American amount of sugar. And so we stood in line with two small packages of dulce de leche biscoito.
Unfortunately for us, the man in front of us was taking his sweet time unloading his cart. Why? Because every time he’d hand the cashier an item as though the conveyor belt was lava, he’d then grab an Oreo and pop it in his mouth.
I am always bewildered by anybody who opens a package without first paying for it. Isn’t that illegal? I’ve gone shopping with people who’ve done it and spent the rest of the trip as far away from them as possible because of my irrational fear of being arrested.
This man was brazen.
Finally, when he emptied his cart, he handed her his now nearly empty bag of Oreos. It was some kind of smaller Brazilian version. She handed it back to him right away, sympathetic to his plight.
“E aí?" the cashier asked me as I put the cookies down.
I just nodded, smiled, and held out a 20 dollar bill.
When I was in grade school, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. The first child in my family to go to an American school (and to any grade school since 1955), every project was a mystery to me and my parents, eventually culminating with me just giving up, frustrated with the onslaught of B’s and C’s no matter what I did. I basically just became a crash test dummy for my younger, smarter, much more successful brother.
Essays were a different story.
My dad went to Columbia University in 1962, and whenever he heard the word essay he would send me down to the library to read 3-5 giant books. I’d then sit down and write what could only be described as a tome. Every report had the same thing scribbled on it:
"Too Long! C."
In 8th grade, we were given a final project. Each student was given a President about whom we had to do a research project. I had never before heard the phrase “research project,” and my dad, who probably hadn’t either, saw to it that I became an expert on one Rutherford B. Hayes.
I read biographies. I read articles. I read criticisms and defenses. At 12 years old, I became an expert on our little known 19th President of the United States. And it was ok with me because my passion for reading was only surpassed by my love for writing.
And oh did I write.
I probably ended up writing a 15 page manifesto on the sadness I really did feel about Hayes not running for President in 1880. I stuffed it with facts and theories and hypotheses, and I proudly presented to my teacher, ”Rutherford B. Hayes, 1877-?”
It was by far the biggest paper in the pile.
A few weeks later, a month before the conclusion of 8th grade, I was given back my manuscript. She wrote C+, crossed it out, and wrote “B-, Too Long, Confusing.”
I asked her why she crossed out the C+, and she said it was because she realized I must have done a lot of research, but that I still needed to learn how to write.
Well, almost 20 years later, I probably still don’t know how to write like a human, but I do know one thing:
Way too much about Rutherford Birchard Hayes.
Happy President’s Day*
(There’s actually no such thing as President’s Day, it’s just Washington’s Birthday)
Yeah I get that Valentine’s may feel like you’re elevating the relationship before it’s ready to get off the runway. But if you completely ignore it and then ask her out on the 15th, that’s some depressing Bridget Jones’ Diary shit and you’re the Hugh Grant bad guy.
Call her and ask if she has plans for Valentine’s Day. If she’s free and interested, offer to take her out to dinner. Make a reservation like a goddamn adult, comb your hair, have dinner, and then do what have you. You don’t need to rent out Disneyland.
You might be thinking, “but what if I don’t like her and I just took her out to Valentine’s.” Well, if it doesn’t work out, she’ll get over it. You never know, you may get lucky and she may dump you.
- written by a guy who spent the weekend playing side missions on Far Cry 3
She was one of the strangest people I’d ever met - a very pretty white girl with black hair and dark brown eyes from College Point who used the words “yo” and “mad” in every other sentence.
Every guy hit on her heavily, but she had a boyfriend whom I never met that she was crazy about. She would also talk about how she was a virgin and proud of it. I didn’t hit on her because I was 18 and suffered from an extreme youthful sexual insecurity. But we used to talk a lot at work and we got along, whereas the mostly female staff hated her. One day she called me to hang out.
"Because we’re friends yo."
We hung out a few times. Her declawed cat at the apartment she shared with her mom straight up attacked me, and she said it had “been through some shit” and attacked everyone. I even took her bowling, and when I asked why her boyfriend didn’t join us, she told me he was passed out drunk.
One day I came into work and she had been fired. Apparently she was a 16 year old high school drop out who had forged her paperwork and claimed she was 18. I didn’t call her and just let that be the end of it.
A year later we ran into each other at the mall and we briefly caught up. She apologized for lying and told me she moved in with her boyfriend and his friend. She also told me she lost her virginity.
"Well, yeah, you live with your boyfriend."
She shook her head.
"Nah, while my boyfriend was sleepin I knocked on his roommate’s door and asked him to take it."
I was shocked, but not entirely surprised. She told me that she didn’t want to lose her boyfriend. Thus she let his roommate take her virginity so she’d never sleep with her boyfriend and ruin the relationship.
"Aight, goodbye yo," she said as she then hugged me and walked away.
She is one of the strangest people I’ve ever met.
I grabbed the parallel bar on a crowded train, looking down to make sure I didn’t step on the man sitting under it. Sensing that I was looking down at him, he immediately slammed his newspaper closed against his chest.
The fuck is he reading, I wondered. I imagined that it might some sort of racist newspaper, so my interest was now extremely piqued.
I took out my phone and turned slightly away from him, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw he was actually doing a crossword puzzle. I then wondered if he was writing something insane in the puzzle, so I looked at it. Nothing unusual, though. But he looked up and we made eye contact, and he quickly looked down again and angled his newspaper away from me.
"Come on," he said under his breath, exasperated, "I’ve been working on this all day."
I immediately ignored him, semi-freaked out, and went back to my phone, getting off on my stop without further incident. I then walked to the local Key Food to stock up for Winter Storm Hercules…
…even buying a newspaper with a crossword puzzle…
…to which I finally had the answers.