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.
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