Fast-forward to me, 24 hours later, sitting behind the raised stage, trying not to: a) freak out b) crap my skin-tight pleather pants c)run out of the conference room screaming d) all of the above.
Had I known how many people were going to be there, I never would have gone. I thought maybe TOPS it would be twice as many people as were present at the auditions.
Oh how very wrong I was…
The crowd of 1,800? Very different than the porn-loving, free-spirited, morally bankrupt, Los Angeles crowd of which I am proud to be a member. These are the nerdiest of the nerds. Anime Addicts. Make no mistake folks, Anime is a serious addiction that keeps you isolated and disconnected. All these people have it bad and their junkie pride runs deep.
I am not even close to kidding when I say that I don’t understand A SINGLE FUCKING JOKE my fellow comics are telling. Not ONE. I feel like I’m on another planet and they’re all speaking Pig-Latin-Klingon-Gibberish-Ebonics.
The fans however, seem to understand this foreign language. They are flipping out, going crazy for all the Anime-addicted comedians before me; jumping up on their chairs, dog-whistling, cow-belling, screaming and clapping. Hooting and hollering. Blowing their horns.
Oh, I didn’t mention the horns? Those fucking horns. This particular expo took place smack dab in the middle of the World Cup games in South Africa and every other nerd in the conference room had one of those annoying Vuvuzelas at their disposal. You know what I’m talking about, right? It’s the disconcerting sound of a million Malaria-ridden mosquitoes, swarming.
In fact, these things are SO annoying they were banned at the next Anime Expo in Baltimore due to the “discomfort” they caused attendees. I wish the LA representatives had the foresight to put that ban into place. I am definitely feeling "discomfortable".
The waiting is excruciating. Slowly and very surely….it's killing me.
As has been the case almost every stand up show I’ve done (all 4 of them) I am on late. Second to last. This seems to be my designated place at all the shows I’ve done (because I suck). According to comics who are much more experienced than me, this is a horrible spot. One of the worst. The audience is tired. They pray persistently for the headliner to relieve them of the sometimes seemingly interminable torture and you are the last bad comic cock-blocker standing between them, the funniest funnyman of the night and their well-deserved stiff drink.
After 9 comics, a break and a guest star, it’s FINALLY my turn.
I step on the stage. I’m almost knocked over feeling the blast of energy coming from that many people focused on me; it defies explanation. They say imagine everyone naked. Instead, I feel naked.
A hundred thousand adjectives could never describe the sensation of what it’s like to stand in front of that many people and try to make them laugh. Can they hear my knees knocking from shaking so violently? Am I going to puke? I’m dizzy. Everything gets blurry. I think I may pass out.
I realize I should have dressed in my Cosplay disguise—it wouldn’t have been so immediately apparent that I clearly do not belong there. I am wearing what has become my signature stand up outfit: skin-tight leather pants and a revealing little tank top.
(crazy like a fox.)
I am an invader in their strange little world, the mean girl at Nerdfest. The disapproval is palpable. I, an outsider--the naughty little party girl without a clue about their precious obsession--have taken one of their beloved comrade’s coveted spots in the competition. I feel like Paris Hilton at Comic Con.
I wouldn’t call it bombing per se...I would call it boxing. Half the time I’m boxing with the audience. The other half I’m boxing with myself.
I step into the ring. I can hear the starting bell.
Round 1. Immediately, the usual jokes (not even the controversial ones) don’t fly. I am staring at a sea of people, staring back at me, blinking. 1,800 pairs of blinking eyes--judging me. 1,800 crickets. I go blank.
Round 2. I recover. I recall circling around, ready to give up and walk off the stage. My timing is off. Get. Through. The set. I come back around and BOOM! Lay down another completely inappropriate joke in a completely inappropriate setting. I may as well be doing jokes about Facebook in a nursing home.
The whole experience is such a blur, I don’t remember much. But I’m not going down without a fight. Some girls in the front row boo and heckle me.
Round 3. Unbeknownst to anyone but my panties, it is at this exact moment I realize I’m exhibiting female signs of arousal. In other words, I’m wet.
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me! I’m feeling the sting of bombing, being completely off beat, losing my way in a routine I am clearly performing for the wrong crowd… and I’m fucking turned on??????
Very early in my stand up “career”, in an attempt to ease my stress, someone wicked smart told me the brain doesn’t know the difference between nervousness and excitement, it’s all in how we perceive it. I didn’t really believe him--until this very moment. Apparently, I’m not nervous at all. I am straight up stimulated.
Facing the contempt, the jealousy, the admiration, the lust, the judgment, the hatred, the love…looking at all those faces and realizing that it’s me affecting their moods, their emotions, causing their laughter or their anger…realizing the power I have…it’s intoxicating, invigorating and extremely fucking sexy.
I’ll tell ya what will throw your stand up routine off pretty quick other than getting turned on: realizing you’re completely out of your mind in front of almost 2000 people. I mean, this isn’t some news flash--but apparently, not all the therapy in the world is going to be able to save this twisted soul.
I stumble blindly through the rest of the set in my stiletto boots from Tokyo like a traumatized victim of some natural disaster. I am disoriented by the feelings and sensations competing for my attention. My brain feels like it might explode. But it doesn't, and somehow, by the grace of a cruel God with a demented sense of humor, I make it through the match.
Just writing this essay and re-living the experience all over again flashes me back to that exhilarating feeling of anxiety as I stood on that stage. I will never forget it. I had NO BUSINESS getting up in front of that many people this early in my foray into the horrifying, suicide-provoking world of stand up comedy. But this experience taught me more about stand up in 1 set than 40.
I’m acutely aware of
how different our perception of things is versus the actual reality, so
I promised myself I would get down the way I experienced it--how it felt right then,
in that moment, as clear as I can recall it--before I even look at the
above video and have a chance to break it down into a billion pieces,
fall into a pit of despair, self-loathing, doubt and fear; only to then swing the other way and continue on my merry way down my path of self-delusional grandeur.
Looks like stand up is exactly where I belong after all.
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