I am a Funny Female!

Which I hope you already know. But, like, this is for real, guys! I’m not just funny in my head or on the internet—I have been deemed funny and added to a roster that includes the dopest lady comics in the country!!!!

I'm the first one on Friday at 8pm, and second on Saturday!

Tomorrow afternoon I head for San Francisco and I must say, I am nervous as all get-out. What began as California Dreams have become California nightmares. What if the crowd has no California Love for me? What if the California “Gurls” spew whipped cream from their boobies whenever they don’t like one of my punchlines? Will I ever want to go Back, Back to Cali, Cali?

I just have no idea what I’m in for—I just found out two days ago that the current high temp in SF is 62 degrees, and my mind is officially blown. There is no certainty in this life; all bets are fucking OFF. If I can’t even count on some semblance of summer weather, how can I make any assumptions about the audience? Will the crowd be full of supportive gays or crunchy hippies? What about people who aren’t stereotypes??? I won’t even know how to cope!

My whole bit about not wanting children better not get me boo’d off stage.

I’ve been hitting open mics over the last couple weeks, but I haven’t had a booked show in a while. Plus, I don’t even know what the venue’s going to be like. Is the stage wide or narrow, deep or shallow? How bright are the lights—are we talking ‘get out of the light, Carol Ann’ type of bright or an ‘Are you afraid of the dark?’ type of spotlight? I was all set to wear cute dresses on stage, but now that it’s gonna be about 50 degrees by showtime, I’ve gotta find something that’s both cute and warm—The shows are being filmed, streamed, and circulated—and I’ve got some new folks to meet!

Yesterday I got an email from a graduate student from an SF university, asking if she could interview me for her dissertation. I kid you not, gentle readers. I have been found and sought out for my blackting and comedy skillz. Hours before that request, I got a (far less sketchy) facebook message from a comic who said he saw me on the internets and “Just wanted to let you know that I am a big fan of your work. I would love to be added as one of your friends.”
A FAN OF MY WORK? If this is a sketchy spambot, I’ll take it!

Now that I officially have fans, I’ve got to buck up. I can’t let them down with a sub-par performance. The PhD student must devote at least a full chapter of her dissertation to the history of Sojourner ‘You Can’t Handle the’ Truth.

I’ve gotta find a way to fit chunky sweaters into my carry-on suitcase! I’ve gotta hope that Delta Airlines doesn’t do me dirty again, and hasn’t taken a page from the American Airlines handbook of fuckery.

I’ve gotta hope that I can get my hair did bright and early tomorrow and make it to JFK by 1pm.

I’m taking a lot of risks, and to top it off, I’ve been writing like a demon for the 25th anniversary issue of my magazine, which ships next week. Sure, I could have not decided to do a show across the country a week before my press date. But then I would have cut a bitch. I can’t let these artists stop me from having dreams, y'all—especially not my California Dreams.

Wish me luck!

Things I Have Said Today That Weren't for Comedic Effect

1. To coworker, re: upcoming travel show: Do you think the crowd in Stony Point will appreciate jokes about gentrifying my vagina?

2. To the entire office: I'm sorry I said 'vagina' everyone.

3. To Jewboo, re: why I have an Ipad to play with: Well, love, I am a lady. And when I have my Iperiod, I need an Ipad.

4. Me [re: homeless man who is asking everyone in the lobby for change and bypasses our table]: That homeless man didn't even ask us for money.
Jewboo: He asked me when I was walking over here.
Me: What kind of institutionalized racism is that? Doesn't he see me with an IPad????

5. Out loud in office, to no one in particular: Well, I like genetic anomalies and "To Catch a Predator".

I'm in a weird mood today, guys.

I just found out some details on the out-of-town set I'm doing next week, and I'm getting nnnnnnneeeerrrrvvous!

The booker's email was ridiculously cryptic and vague, saying only:

Thu May 19th

8:30 show - arrive at least 30 minutes prior

80 people, Content R

MC: 20 min

Middle: 30 min

HL: BLACKTRESS 40 m

Guys, I'm trying to stay cool, but the other two guys are seasoned pros! The "Middle" man has been on Conan several times! His name is [something that's not his real name], he looks like an approachable Rob Reiner, and he's been on 30 Rock! How on earth did I get the headline spot? Am I being punked and hazed, or is the audience comprised of young, gifted, and black women? All these unknown variables are frightening me. I'll have to start working on a set list that'll kill--kill time, that is.

I may have to request a projector so that I can show YouTubes.

The show is at some Steakhouse or pub or something. My coworker is from the same county as Stony Point and said, "it's kind of hick-ish." Um.....can these hicks get down with stories about being "inside Caucasia" and my penchant for miscegenation? The booker wrote "content R", but does that stand for Racial, Racy, or Retro? I've been told that my comedy is "smart," and I've got to "slow it down for the rest of the crowd." Maybe I can kill time by spelling everything out?

I'm starting to get terrified. So I come to you now, gentle readers--the people who know my truths better than anyone else. Also, most of you are Caucasian and/or grew up in the suburbs, so you might be better equipped to handle this type of audience. What should I do?????

I need you now more than ever.

My New Frenemy

So, I mentioned my reparations in the form of UCB classes, right? Well, they just keep on giving, as this past Saturday I got a call from the theater saying I'd won the lottery!!

Instead of receiving heaps of cash (which my unemployed ass could use), I got the chance to perform on Harold Night with professional house team members, one of whom happened to be my future life partner, Jeff Hiller (I blog about him way too much). The plan was for 10 students, chosen from different levels of classes, to be broken up into two teams with 4 pro-team members on each. We'd do long-form improv, learning and growing with the help of the hardcore improvisers.

We had a rehearsal on Sunday, and us 10 students got to work. Our teacher was another professional improviser, and from the moment I walked in, I was a smitten kitten.
Two words: read beard.
Third word: SWOON!

Our rehearsal went pretty well, but we were such a hodgepodge. Some kids were just starting improv 101, and would now be expected to do the hardcore stuff in front of an audience WITH THE PROS! I was feeling pretty confident, because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darnit, people like me!

This all changed pre-show last night. I had no energy and hadn't had a chance to get in the improv headspace, so I just wasn't sure how good I'd be. I started running in place and making stupid jokes to get myself together. When I found out I was put on Jeff Hiller's team, and I knew all would be right in the world. After all, I'm obsessed with him, and although he's never seen me improvise, we do great work together. See for yourself:



Anyhoo, I figured at the very least, I'd let the pros lead the way, and I'd follow along.

Turns out, this blacktress isn't riding the back of the bus! All my scenes went really well, and post-show, I got alot of positive feedback from audience members and improvisers. I think I'm on my way to diversifying UCB from the inside--holla!

However, I have a frenemy in my way. She's another young blacktress who also got the diversity scholarship, and she's very cute. She's got that natural afro, a huge smile, and she's from the Midwest, which, coupled with the fact that she just graduated college in May, makes her bubbly and really smiley and optimistic.
She must be stopped.
She's somewhat funny, and I do want to support fellow blacktresses, but her shiny happy virgin-whore act is making her the blacktress-belle of the improv ball! WHAT ABOUT ME?!?!??! I'm older, I'm smarter, and way better baby-making material.

I wasn't trying to hate until last night, when we all hit up the UCB post-show hot spot, this dingy pub near 14th street. I told her about my fatty crush on Redbeard, and she's like, "let's go talk to him." We start to go over, then get sidetracked by fellow students. While we're talking, my frenemy walks over to Redbeard, and out of the corner of my eye I see her hugging all up on him! HELL TO THE NO!

That's when I knew she couldn't be trusted. We're supposed to have each other's back, not try to tap each other's wanna-be boos!

She hadn't met him before Sunday, there was no reason to touch (especially since most male improvisers, when taken off stage, display signs of mild autism), and SHE KNEW I WANTED HIM BAD BAD BAD.

If she wants to play by those rules, game is on.

God, jealousy and hatred are such lame emotions, and yet I'm finding them oddly satisfying in this moment. In fact, it wasn't until one of my main gays pointed me in the frenemy direction that I realized what I had to do.

Performing was great, and I felt so good afterwards, but it's the schmoozing with other improvisers that's tough for me. I've seen so many of them around the city over the years, and there are so many awkward bearded hotties, and I don't know how to approach them. See, in my head, we have elaborate relationships, we've known each other from the very first day I saw them on stage, and we're supposed to be best friends. In their heads, I'm a random girl who won't stop staring at them across the room.
It makes for uncomfortable dynamics.
Alot of the other students are nice, but some are so into the scene that it's weird, and others are simply not funny and boring. I'd prefer to get in with the veterans, get practical information and advice from those who have been through it, but I don't know how to make our love happen.

Any suggestions as to how to penetrate the world of Comedic Caucasia?