Three or four months ago I got invited to audition for Last Comic Standing. On the day of the audition, I totaled my bike and missed by bus and scraped myself up. I had to take the train, which I usually like because you can drink legally on it, but this time I was mad because I didn't want to be late... to the audition, don't worry you can't get babies from stress. The first audition went splendidly and I killed. I got a phone call the next day telling me that I moved on to the next level and I was elated.
A month after that I went down to LA to do the next round of auditions. At this point I was trying to drink less, so the first thing I did was lose my debit card and ID. I left my wallet in the cab before I even got to the hotel. Luckily my friends Bryan and Jessica live in LA and they took care of me. My mom tried to help by calling me every other minute and reminding me that they wouldn't let me on the plane to get back home, which totally helped put me in the mindset for the audition.
On the day of the audition I walked up to the comedy club in the morning (it was a daytime show, aaaagggh) with an older comic. He kept saying things like, "so who do you go on the road with?" and "what clubs do you work in the northwest?" And I was like "I don't know. I don't really get to do road comedy clubs; I have bangs and glasses."
I got to the comedy club super early and ended up sitting and reading my book (Amy Poehler!) They wouldn't let us look at the stage or the room or watch each others' sets or tell us anything about the show. I sat backstage and waited until someone came to escort me out. The room only had approximately 12 people sitting in the audience. On the long table in front of me there were pictures of me and articles I had written printed out, splayed out like dead bodies in a certain Game of Thrones wedding. (SORRY, NERDS.) Shaking, I began my first joke, and shockingly they laughed. I did my set quickly, full of nervous energy and trepidation, stumbling and stuttering through each punchline. They laughed in joyful surprise at almost every joke. Afterwords they reminded me to stay on stage. They were very kind and complimentary and enjoyed the tightness of my writing and my vulnerability.
A few hours later I went to the aiport to go back home. I was so nervous about the TSA not letting me back on the plane without an ID. Turns out it's a lot easier to be a terrorist if you are kinda pretty. They did have to do a full body pat down search, or as it's also called, a waspy massage. The lady giving me the pat down gave a lot of descriptive preamble style framework for her waspy massaging. She was like, "Okay, now I'm going to touch the outside of your legs with this part of my hand and then I'll touch the inner part of your legs with this part of my hand and then I'll pat down the top of your breasts with the palm of my hand and the bottom of your breasts with the back of my hand..."
And I was like, "Good luck."
Because I don't have a bottom of my breasts. My breasts are like a muffin, all top. Well, not really, but I haven't looked down in about 10 years so I think I still have the perfect perky breasts of a 18 year old. But, as it turns out, gravity has done a little bit and time has passed and my breasts have experienced a little bit of sag. Now there's an undershelf. The TSA agent was totally able to get her hand underneath my breast. Some coins and dog hair fell out. I was like, "Did you find my wallet?"
So I got home okay and the next day I got the phone call that I got on the show! About a month later I got another call saying that the filming had been indefinitely delayed. It was heartbreaking. I felt like it was my one chance and I blew it.
I have to keep telling myself, there will be other chances. This is my lifelong career that I will be doing for forty years or more and there will be a hundred times when I get my heart broken, so that's positive.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Friday, November 21, 2014
Girl T-Rex
My first memory ever was the day my baby brother was born, so it seems appropriate that we tell that story from my perspective to make it all about me. I was two and a half years old, and barely sentient. My parents dropped me off at their friend's house while they rushed off to the hospital to make me not an only child anymore. I think Mom's friend's name was Susan or something. She was my godmother, which meant she was one of my parents' drinking buddies in college. "Susan" had three sons, and I was close in age to the middle one.
My first memory was wishing my parents had dropped me off at a place with girls. That seems slightly foreshadowing of the militant guerrilla feminist I grew up to be. (Please note this is different than a gorilla feminist, which I don't think I like being called. (My friend Jen says my armpit hair is cute.))
I brought MY dinosaur toys from home over to these hooligans house. It's important to reiterate that these were my dinosaur toys; they belonged to me. At one point during the playdate I said I wanted to be the T-Rex because they were my toys.
The boy closest to my age- I think his name was Tristan; he fucking acted like a Tristan anyway when he was three- told me, "No, girls can't be T-Rexes. All T-Rexes are boys. You can be the brontosaurus."
And that was the first time I met a sexist.
"How can all T-Rexes be boys?" I said.
"Because they're big and scary and they eat the other ones." (Looking back this might also be when my vegetarianism was born.)
"You're a boy and you're not big and scary and you don't eat dinosaurs."
"Yes I am. I am bigger and scarier than you."
"There can't be only boys of anything," said the older one. "Remember Noah's Arc?"
"What's that?" I said.
The older one replied, "In Noah's Arc they have to have one boy and one girl of each animal to make baby animals."
Bow chicka wow wow.
I thought about this for a second. "Is that how the unicorns died? There weren't enough boy unicorns for all the girl unicorns so no babies happened?"
"Yes."
Several hours and graham crackers later, my parents came to pick me up, with tiny baby David in their arms. He was a little bigger than my baby dolls and wrapped in a white blanket. His eyes were scrunched up closed. I loved him instantly, let's say. I could say I was a tad jealous of all of the attention he got, and I kinda didn't see what the big hoopolo was all about since all he did was sleep and suck on Mom's breasts. But really, my first friend was born that day, and he still is my best friend today. I like him slightly better now that he poops in a toilet and can drink.
Mom was crying, "Now we have a boy and a girl. Just like we wanted."
I screamed, "WHAT!"
My first memory was wishing my parents had dropped me off at a place with girls. That seems slightly foreshadowing of the militant guerrilla feminist I grew up to be. (Please note this is different than a gorilla feminist, which I don't think I like being called. (My friend Jen says my armpit hair is cute.))
I brought MY dinosaur toys from home over to these hooligans house. It's important to reiterate that these were my dinosaur toys; they belonged to me. At one point during the playdate I said I wanted to be the T-Rex because they were my toys.
The boy closest to my age- I think his name was Tristan; he fucking acted like a Tristan anyway when he was three- told me, "No, girls can't be T-Rexes. All T-Rexes are boys. You can be the brontosaurus."
And that was the first time I met a sexist.
"How can all T-Rexes be boys?" I said.
"Because they're big and scary and they eat the other ones." (Looking back this might also be when my vegetarianism was born.)
"You're a boy and you're not big and scary and you don't eat dinosaurs."
"Yes I am. I am bigger and scarier than you."
"There can't be only boys of anything," said the older one. "Remember Noah's Arc?"
"What's that?" I said.
The older one replied, "In Noah's Arc they have to have one boy and one girl of each animal to make baby animals."
Bow chicka wow wow.
I thought about this for a second. "Is that how the unicorns died? There weren't enough boy unicorns for all the girl unicorns so no babies happened?"
"Yes."
Several hours and graham crackers later, my parents came to pick me up, with tiny baby David in their arms. He was a little bigger than my baby dolls and wrapped in a white blanket. His eyes were scrunched up closed. I loved him instantly, let's say. I could say I was a tad jealous of all of the attention he got, and I kinda didn't see what the big hoopolo was all about since all he did was sleep and suck on Mom's breasts. But really, my first friend was born that day, and he still is my best friend today. I like him slightly better now that he poops in a toilet and can drink.
Mom was crying, "Now we have a boy and a girl. Just like we wanted."
I screamed, "WHAT!"
Drunk girl (no it's not me)
Last night I attended a concert and all the bands were amazing, if you like music, which I do. I don't go to a lot of music shows because I can listen to cds or watch youtube from the comfort of my own home while naked and I can usually read while doing so. You can't read at a concert, or a comedy show, unless the comedian is super racist and rapey, then do whatever you want. (Please don't read a book at my show. (Unless it's one I wrote.))
Anyway, the bands were super great and I was feeling kinda socially awkward because of all of the crowds of humans. I like humans, individually, but in a pack/class/angry mob with torches/stampede, they give me some anxiety. I was dealing with it fine because I am a pro at dealing with anxiety, or in other words a stand up comic.
After the musics three friends and I went to another bar to play pinball and have drinks. I'm quite good at pinball and very good at drinking, but when you combine the two it doesn't always elicit to the best results. We were sitting at this table and this loud group of kookily dressed weirdos came in. At first I thought they were just benign hipsters who dressed that way all the time, and later I inferred they were costumed and celebrating someone's impending nuptials, which is actually worse.
This one girl sitting across from me looked like Krysten Ritter, which is a compliment from me. She was very drunk and slurred, "Hey, hey girl, hey..."
I looked behind me and didn't see anyone. "Me?" I said.
"You're like really really hot."
"Oh, thank you." That was just me being polite.I'm not like "really really hot." I'm barely British television sitcom mousey girl hot.
"Hey, girl, hey come sit by me."
"Um."
"What's your name?"
"....Barbara..." I said quietly.
"Barbara... Hey, I know you. Hey, hey funny girl, say something funny! Funny person. You're the funny girl. Say something funny! I know you, right? Do I know you? Funny girl!"
"I don't know. Maybe?"
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"...No..." I said even quieter.
The weird part (in addition to everything else that has happened so far) was that I was sitting directly across from a guy I had been kinda sorta seeing relatively casually for the last three months. I don't call him my boyfriend, mostly because he would hate that. Well, he never said that, I just assumed because he's hot and smart and cool and interesting that he would hate being called my boyfriend. So, I had to say "no I don't have a boyfriend." But if he were not there I would have lied and said I was in a committed monogamous relationship because I didn't want to get hit on by a girl who hung out with dudes wearing raccoon davey crocket hats.
The OTHER weird part, is why do I feel like I need to say "I have a partner" to deter unwanted advances? Why can't I just say, "No, I'm totally single, you're just not my type." Girls drop that all the time in conversation, "Sorry I have a boyfriend." Why can't I just be all, "Sorry, I have standards"? Just because I'm a single woman doesn't mean I'm so desperate for someone to fill my vacant womb that I'll say yes to anyone.
Sevenish hours later I woke up next to my vibrator and a copy of "He's Just Not That Into You," again.
One hour after that I started my period.
Anyway, the bands were super great and I was feeling kinda socially awkward because of all of the crowds of humans. I like humans, individually, but in a pack/class/angry mob with torches/stampede, they give me some anxiety. I was dealing with it fine because I am a pro at dealing with anxiety, or in other words a stand up comic.
After the musics three friends and I went to another bar to play pinball and have drinks. I'm quite good at pinball and very good at drinking, but when you combine the two it doesn't always elicit to the best results. We were sitting at this table and this loud group of kookily dressed weirdos came in. At first I thought they were just benign hipsters who dressed that way all the time, and later I inferred they were costumed and celebrating someone's impending nuptials, which is actually worse.
This one girl sitting across from me looked like Krysten Ritter, which is a compliment from me. She was very drunk and slurred, "Hey, hey girl, hey..."
I looked behind me and didn't see anyone. "Me?" I said.
"You're like really really hot."
"Oh, thank you." That was just me being polite.I'm not like "really really hot." I'm barely British television sitcom mousey girl hot.
"Hey, girl, hey come sit by me."
"Um."
"What's your name?"
"....Barbara..." I said quietly.
"Barbara... Hey, I know you. Hey, hey funny girl, say something funny! Funny person. You're the funny girl. Say something funny! I know you, right? Do I know you? Funny girl!"
"I don't know. Maybe?"
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"...No..." I said even quieter.
The weird part (in addition to everything else that has happened so far) was that I was sitting directly across from a guy I had been kinda sorta seeing relatively casually for the last three months. I don't call him my boyfriend, mostly because he would hate that. Well, he never said that, I just assumed because he's hot and smart and cool and interesting that he would hate being called my boyfriend. So, I had to say "no I don't have a boyfriend." But if he were not there I would have lied and said I was in a committed monogamous relationship because I didn't want to get hit on by a girl who hung out with dudes wearing raccoon davey crocket hats.
The OTHER weird part, is why do I feel like I need to say "I have a partner" to deter unwanted advances? Why can't I just say, "No, I'm totally single, you're just not my type." Girls drop that all the time in conversation, "Sorry I have a boyfriend." Why can't I just be all, "Sorry, I have standards"? Just because I'm a single woman doesn't mean I'm so desperate for someone to fill my vacant womb that I'll say yes to anyone.
Sevenish hours later I woke up next to my vibrator and a copy of "He's Just Not That Into You," again.
One hour after that I started my period.
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