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    Showing posts with label First Time. Show all posts
    Showing posts with label First Time. Show all posts

  1. Maribeth's First Time

    Friday, July 6, 2012


    Let me preface this by telling you my first time doing Stand-Up was a very very long time ago. 

    And it was Fan-Freaking-Tastic!  How could it not be?  I was coming from nothing. 

    Quite literally. 

    I was a very lonely and shy kid.  I grew up with two amazing parents and very outgoing, fun, attractive siblings.  I was the tall, awkward middle child with minimal social skills who spent way too much time alone in her bedroom daydreaming.  My brother and sisters had friends, romances and went out a lot.  I was a homebody.  I had comic books, art supplies and a rich fantasy life.  I imagined I was a beautiful, creative and witty lady.  A lady who took all the pain of not being chosen, being relentlessly teased, viciously hated and turned it into hysterical prose that made people double over with laughter.  I played this tape over and over in my head for about 20 years.  Sports psychologists call this Imagery.  But for me it was my safe place.  An imaginary world where I could escape when real life hurt too much. 

    Sparing you the gritty details, here’s my story in brief:
      
    When I was in high school my art was appreciated for the first time in my life (other than my family of course). This gave me just enough confidence to start talking to people.  The classmates in my all girls catholic school told me I was funny.  “Duh”, I thought.  “I’m beautiful, creative and witty!”  Or I was in my mind.  Because I was funny I got roles in all the school productions.  Not leads, mind you, but if there was a need for a husband, boyfriend or wacky maid don’t even bother having auditions.  Dig what I’m saying?  So of course I had to go to college and get a degree in theatre so I could move back to New York City and let Woody Allen find me.

    That was the plan. 

    I eventually went to college. I wasn’t much of a student due to a tremendous lack of discipline, self-esteem and a growing penchant for intoxicants of various kinds.  This was a bleak period in my life.  Although I was getting cast as the wacky maids sadly the male roles all went to actual men.  Gone was the loner, enter the loser.  April of my senior year several of the girls in the dorm begged me to do stand up when I graduated.  “Oh yeah, stand up,” I thought.  Somehow I forgot about that dream.

    I graduated, moved to New York and made a promise to myself:  I will do stand up before the end of the year (I’m not telling you what the year was, suffice it to say it was last century before many of you were born).

    I had my debut at Don’t Tell Mama on December 1st and I KILLED!  It was almost easy since I’ve been rehearsing this moment in my head almost my whole life.  I knew I found “it”.  I did stand up for about 10 years, made friends, left my apartment and actually had fun. 

    But then life got complicated.  I got deep into debt, people got sick, life got very painful, people started dying.  Panic and fear became status quo. I got very sick. 
    This was so not in the plan!  I was supposed to be on set with Woody by now!

    I gave up stand up. Got serious.   Got a job in Corporate America and decided I was going to be a real grown up.  I did this for a long time.  I became obsessive, angry and mean.  I was out of debt, had a good job but I wasn’t living life.  I alienated all my friends and had no prospects of finding new ones.  I started going through jobs with the alacrity of someone running from the law.  After I was let go from the last job I gave up. 

    Time to get back to the plan.

    I had nothing to lose, so what the hell?  I went back to stand up with zero prep. (Stupid- don’t ever do this)!

    And this time I BOMBED.  Twice.  I did a horrible set at Gotham then headed over to Eastville where I followed Sarah Silverman and had my ass handed to me by one of the meanest audiences I’ve ever encountered. 

    Ouch. 

    Thankfully that just fueled my fire. “How dare they!  Don’t they know who I am”?? 

    I went home and got my head together.  I wrote, rewrote, shot two TV pilots, found a writing partner, made new friends, slept, performed a LOT, went on vacation, hugged people, read, went to shows, lost a writing partner, learned to meditate, met wonderful people, got healthy, cried, cried some more and here I am. 
      
    Things are not exactly going according to my original plan.  But that’s okay; it was a silly plan anyway. 

    Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to retire to my bedroom.  I have a daydream to attend to.

    Posted by She So Funny at 9:00 PM | Labels: , | 4 comments | |

  2. Krystyna's First Time

    Thursday, July 5, 2012

    I really wish someone could have told me about open mics when I decided that stand up comedy was the logical route for me. My first time happened when I was 21 and somehow on the receiving end of a "bringer show" email list from Broadway Comedy Club. I got confused, agreed to participate in the show, and literally urinated in my jeans while having a panic attack minutes before going on stage, in front of friends and family who thought my career ambitions were "adorable."

    Let me back up.

    I transferred from Penn State (aka Disney Land for young, freedom seeking, cheap-vodka-drinking teens) to Marymount Manhattan College so that I could be in a BFA acting program. I'd always wanted to be a mix between Angelina Jolie and Gilda Radnor (I know... Opposite ends of the spectrum). My MAIN reason for transferring was that I wanted to intern for Saturday Night Live. Like many, I am an SNL freak. Its one of the few things I nerd out on. I figured, if I interned for the show, then obviously Lorne Michaels would meet me, love me, and see that I'm a modern day Gilda and immediately throw me into a sketch. (...ha)

    I eventually ended up interning for SNL but the only interaction I had with Lorne was in a stairwell during a dress rehearsal. I almost spilled my coffee on his shoes and went to the ladies room afterwards to cry and slap myself in the face.

    At one of the after-after parties that I so eagerly attended every show week at 3:30AM, I asked John Lutz, a writer for the show at the time, what the hell I had to do to be a part of the show. He simply said, "Do stand-up." So when I got that email from Broadway Comedy Club, it was fate. Despite the fact that the idea of doing stand-up gave me instant diarrhea.

    Apparently, its a good idea to establish your comedic rhythm, do a ton of open mics, and grasp the structure of a joke before attempting stand up comedy. ESPECIALLY at a show people pay $12 to attend with a two drink minimum.

    I think my jokes were about how ridiculous judge shows on TV were (ie: Judge Judy and Judge Mathis). I mean... They ARE ridiculous but as it turns out, people won't laugh at you for casually spouting your poorly thought out, dumb ass opinions.

    Despite my failed attempt at George Carlin level hilarity, I immediately learned a very important lesson (get ready for the Lifetime Network moral of the story): being horrified of something and then actually doing it... feels unreal. And I finally left my husband who beat me. JK.

    I was born a fairly confident female, but overcoming that first hurdle of getting off my ass and onto a stage made me feel on top of the world. It immediately turned into a fierce determination to be clever and funny which I'm still trying to figure out.

    Posted by She So Funny at 9:00 PM | Labels: , | 3 comments | |

  3. Rhonda's First Time

    Wednesday, July 4, 2012


    I represented my high school Bishop McDonnell , at an organization dedicated to brotherhood the National Conference of Christians and Jews.  I was an earnest sophomore determined to eliminate racial intolerance one bigot at a time.  If world harmony depended on sensitivity exercises, the NCCJ was team trainer to we teenaged brotherhood Olympians.  We performed anti-racist dramas. We argued ceaselessly that religious and cultural differences added value and diversity to the human mosaic. We sang, held hands and swayed.

    During a routine NCCJ prep sessions I felt heat!  Out of the blue, a spark ignited between me and the outspoken Lincoln High School firebrand.  He was cocky, opinionated, argumentative and today suddenly very cute.  Les* and I lingered after NCCJ functions discussing independent films and the best countries for expatriation.  He was science fiction, I was science fantasy.  We just might end up being friends.  When not crusading against racism, we explored the underground labyrinth of Rockefeller Center, discovered treasures of the Botanic Gardens and roamed the Coney Island boardwalk.  If it was free in a NYC park we did it: movies, concerts, Shakespeare.  I thought we were friends.  Les thought we were dating.  Turns out we were both half right.

    When our friendship got to the I.D. bracelet stage, our hand holding led to kissing. That’s when things got weird.  Les was a senior graduating into full testosterone overdrive.  I was a chaste Catholic school girl contemplating the possibility of life as a nun.  A romantic goodnight kiss, for any normal person is a sweet sign of affection.  To a good Catholic girl it’s a deadly “Occasion of Sin“.  I didn’t have a clue what sex was but all that tongue dancing & groping felt like a one way ticket to hell.  I resisted… for months.

    One night I finally beat Les in a particularly competitive game of Scrabble.  I was probably gloating a bit when I mentioned it was after 9 o’clock and time for him to go home.  In the downstairs hallway I pursed my lips for a quick kiss and I raised my hand to open the door.  Les pressed me against the wall. He kissed me like he was trying to tell me something that I couldn’t hear over the sound of my own heart beating.

    I thought, this can’t be sex, I’m standing upright.  Is this that source of secret laughter?   Why do  I feel totally out of control in a very powerful way?  Every part of me is having an out of body experience.  I’m kind of scared.  Just like when Les insisted we go on the Coney Island Cyclone.  Once I realized I was really doing it, I couldn’t stop the experience.  I had to keep breathing and hold on until that ride came to a jerky halt.  Did I feel good? Did I feel bad?  I don’t know.

    I DID know these three things:  I definitely felt different, my life would never be the same…and I just might do it one more time. THAT is exactly the way I felt the first time I did stand-up comedy.

    *Names have been changed to indicate the guilty.

    Posted by She So Funny at 9:00 PM | Labels: , | 15 comments | |

  4. Helene's First Time

    Tuesday, July 3, 2012

    My First Time
    by Helene Gresser, Amazingly Successful Comic Extraordinaire TM
    Before I talk about my first time can I just say that it is amazing that I am even writing this little ditty a whole 24 hours before it is “due.” I spend my whole life in panicked procrastination and so this is a huge accomplishment for me. I await your approving “hmmf” sound. Still waiting. Okay WHATEVER.

    I was in college, my senior year, and there was some Doritos/Certs College Comedy Competition, so I entered it. Big whup, right? See, I had never ever, ever done stand-up before, but I was an ACTRESS, and was often told how HILARIOUS I was, so that was enough for me to think “Huh. Might as well try this little thang over here with the stage and microphone and HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE IN THE AUDIENCE for my first time ever on stage doing comedy and crap. What could possibly happen to me that is more humiliating than pretending to dance as “Anita” in West Side Story, or pretending to sing in a foreign language that I made up on the spot when I forgot the words to a French ballad I sang for the head of the vocal department of the music school?” Easy-peasey lemon-squeezy.

    West Side Story
    So the night of the competition, and I mean THAT NIGHT, I threw a bunch of props in a paper bag like some lazy-ass Carrot Top on extra steroids, and figured if I could not think of two whole minutes of funny stuff to say, I’d just pull this here Jem/Jerrica Barbie-type doll outta my little sack and riff on her light-up earrings and how it relates to her ORGASMS!! Ha ha! ‘Cause that’s the kind of classy, well-prepared comic I strived to be. Ole bag-of-props, blue-talking, comedy GENIUS that I am. But before I tried that bag-o-funny, I watched as one comic completely went up (meaning she forgot her routine) and stood at the mic for about ninety seconds saying “oh….um…gosh….heh heh….wow…. I……um…heh….wow….um…..I forgot my…..um…………uh…………….wow…………..hem……”

    and it was HELLISH TORTURE. The longest ninety seconds ever experienced on earth. I am not exaggerating at all. Seriously, try it some time. Try standing at a mic and act uncomfortable and say nothing for one minute and thirty seconds. I defy you not to want to run screaming offstage whilst wetting your lady-panties. Because if you do not, then rest assured the audience is PRAYING that you do, for that would at least provide some respite from the horrid torture chamber of silence and agonizing “mumph” sounds. Just do SOMETHING.ANYTHING. Make a fart sound with your hands. Just. Please. I think, I think that I was at least somewhat funny, from the little I remember, because the audience made a sound like I’ve never heard before, nor since (due to lack of humongous hundreds-strong audiences in my usual clubs): genuine, loud, tidal wave-like, delicious roar-laughter.

    I think I joked about my boyfriend, and then I freaked out shortly thereafter, ending my set about 30 seconds shy of the seemingly years-long two minutes, for I feared he was in the audience and JUDGING me and vowing to break up with me for daring to use him as material. Stupid boyfriends always ruin the fun.

    I did not do stand-up again until another competition while I was in grad school, and I was equally unprepared, and also freaked about my time, as you lose all sense of time when things are going well, and you cannot see the light “flash” to warn you that it is time to wrap things up, and going over your time is a sin equal to spilling your seed upon the ground or coveting thy neighbor’s wife or sheep or something. And I am nothing if not a girl terribly afraid of doing something that flouts the rules. Yessirreebob, I need everything to be JUST SO; unless it involves preparation, homework, paperwork, or anything that sounds horrifically dry and boring and “work” related. Fuck the work, just do it. That was my credo, and still sometimes is, though I cannot say it is advice I give to anyone I care deeply about. But hell, it got me to where I am today: completely unknown, but wildly poor. And

    SCENE.

    Posted by She So Funny at 9:00 PM | Labels: , | 5 comments | |

  5. Joanne's First Time

    Monday, July 2, 2012


    Friends have always told me I was funny.  Then again, growing up my sister told me there was an alien pod tree in our back yard that was there to take over the bodies of seven year olds. So why I chose to start doing comedy but not move out of my house when I was seven, I don’t know. Live and learn.

    I’ve always been of the opinion that anything worthwhile knowing will have a class out there for it (and sometimes even a tool set you can keep afterward).  As far as stand up comedy goes, I was right.  There are several.  Hundred. Thousand. 

    Being from New Jersey, my first thought was to go to New York City to learn comedy because people there are much funnier; New Jersey is mostly just a punch line.  So I researched and found a class that was twice a week for six weeks, where we learned about writing and delivery.  When it was over, we had a "graduation show" at Caroline’s Comedy Club where we could invite a few hundred of our closest friends and family members. It was exciting to think I could have everyone I’ve ever known watch me make a complete fool of myself in the middle of Times Square, all in just five minutes. I’m big on time management.

    Before this class, I used to say things I thought were funny and not really care if other people agreed with me.  Now it was all I could do to not go over every thing I wrote for the show with every single person I knew to make sure they thought it was hilarious. But I didn't want to do that. That could ruin everything.  What if they thought it was funny when I first told them, but now since they had heard it, it wouldn't be as funny anymore?  But if I didn't check with them, they could think it wasn't funny in the first place and when they heard me tell it on stage, they wouldn't be prepared to even give me a fake laugh to save my dignity! My overly obsessive mind wrestled with this for a week before I got side tracked into making sure all my bath towels were folded the right way. By then it was the day of the show and I had to hope for the best, whether it was mine or my friends. Or my towels.

    We had a varied bunch in our show, ranging from a little old lady schoolteacher, to an Asian woman mistaken for a manicurist, to a big businessman mistaken for a person. I was nervous and excited and most likely smelly from all the sweating.  We had five minutes on stage to determine whether or not we would ever do this again, much less ever discuss it again.  I had a lot of family and friends in the audience, a thought that made me wish I didn't have family and friends. Finally, I got on stage.

    What happened then is somewhat of a blur. I have a copy of it, so if I wanted to I could go watch it and give you a blow by blow.  But I won't because it doesn't matter what happened.  I don't even remember if I did all the material I wrote. (Actually I’m sure I did because I had spent the days and nights leading up to the show memorizing so much that I hardly spoke any words if they weren't in my set.) It only matters what I do remember.  They laughed.  Whether it was because they thought I was funny or they were drunk or they had seen my bath towels, they still laughed.  That's all I needed.

    It would be great to say I was discovered that night. Or even missed when I got stuck in the bathroom for twenty minutes. But it didn’t happen.  The discovering part- the bathroom thing did happen. I’d also like to say that now I know what I’m doing and all that it takes to be a successful stand up comedian. But I don't. Not yet. But that night helped. Of course, I’m sure having an audience made up of everyone you know isn't the best barometer to see if you are actually a good comedian.  And maybe having friends tell you that you’re funny doesn't make you funny.  But it’s a start. It’s my start. Unless, of course, I’m an alien pod person. In which case, at least somebody was right.




    Posted by She So Funny at 9:00 PM | Labels: , | 7 comments | |

  6. Samantha's First Time

    Sunday, July 1, 2012


    My first stand-up experience was painful, nay, excruciating. Here’s how it happened (As we speak, I’m trying to find the video.  Yes.  There’s video).

    I started stand-up at 40 years-old when a friend secretly signed me up for a comedy class at Gotham Comedy Club.  I was quite shocked to receive the email notification of my registration, but as it was a particularly rough time in my life, I figured I had nothing to lose, save my dignity and there really wasn’t much left of that, so what the hell.

    I trekked into the city (dear lord, I just found the first video and it’s even more excruciating than I remembered... now I’m not really sure if I want to post it.) and joined about 25 other people from all walks of life.  Dog walkers, a transvestite (who had a body that I’ve always dreamed of having ... minus the penis, of course), lawyers, teachers, authors, you name it.  One fella couldn’t speak Engrish.  How bad could I possibly be?  Rhetorical.

    We were told, at the end of class, that we would need to be prepared to do 5 minutes of stage time by the next class, preferably without notes.  

    I poured through my volumes of hilarious journal entries that I had been collecting since I was 17, and for a week, whittled those volumes down to my best 5 (with a smattering of new material to keep things relevant...we were also instructed to write, write, write).

    The night arrived.  I was 5th in the line-up and took the stage right after a Greek gent did his 5 with a condom over the microphone.   Four words.  Thank God no lube.  I do not know the purpose of the condom (the irony here being very poignant knowing the conditions by which my first son was conceived...actually, both sons).

    Disgusted, petrified, I took the stage.  What had seemed so funny on paper, what had seemed to tickle my friends after a few cosmos now just seemed so trite, so rehearsed, so unfunny.  Not seemed.  My set was trite, rehearsed, and unfunny.  I opened with a “Didja-ever-notice” joke about the weather.  No guffaws.  No knees being slapped.  I then segued gracefully into a real-life scenario about being at the ballpark with my son.  What, no one’s face hurts from laughing so hard?  I closed with a joke about the newly elected President Obama, did an awful impersonation of a ghettoized Michelle Obama (I just realized that ghettoized is a real word as spell check has not auto corrected it), and then “wowed” them with a Hillary Clinton impersonation/callback to the ballpark to show them all that I was smart AND witty. 

    Sometimes hearing uncomfortable laughter is worse than silence. 

    The instructor gave his critique (while I was still on stage), told me not to use my notes, suggested that I wear a dress, and then allowed me to crawl back to my seat.  Oh, he gave me other valuable advice I’m sure, but those are the only two nuggets of comedy wisdom that I can remember. 

    He bade us all farewell and said, “See you next week.”  There were 12 of us the following week and about 6 of us at our “graduation show” 6 weeks later.  That was 2009.



    Posted by She So Funny at 9:00 PM | Labels: , | 3 comments | |

  7. Amy's First Time

    Saturday, June 30, 2012


    Amy’s First Time.

    The date was November 10, 1998, the place, Buzz Coffee, Los Angeles.  That was the day that my stand up cherry was popped.

    I had just moved to Los Angeles from Charlotte, North Carolina in June 1998, and had given myself 3 years to become “famous” (like Madonna famous).  As I look back on my original plan, I realized that was one of my funniest jokes ever. …”Madonna famous in 3 years”…hilarious.

    I was taking improv classes at The Groundlings School and met a girl named Rylee Newton in my Level 2 class.  She was thinking about doing some open mics and asked if I wanted to come along.  “Fuck yeah”, I said.  Well, maybe it was, “Hell yeah!”, or possibly even, “I’m feeling thin, want to get a burrito?”.

    For a couple of weeks, I painstakingly watched Rylee suffer through her 5 minute sets – literally reading her jokes off a piece of paper (by the way, Rylee is an AMAZING comedian.  She has performed on Comedy Central, etc.  She is living in Portland, Oregon now.  If you ever have an opportunity to see her perform, do so.  It will be worth your while).  I finally grabbed my lady balls, and decided that it was time to do the do.

    I had written material for weeks…and all of my jokes were BRILLIANT, of course (see below for an example of on of my brilliantly written jokes for my first set.  Get ready to be blown away by my comedy genius).  Sunday came around and it was time to do an open mic and get famous.

    Once at Buzz, I signed up for a spot and nervously awaited my turn.  The night slowly dragged on.  Finally, Joe Wagner was on stage and I was on deck – ready to blow people’s minds.  During Joe’s set, he either accidentally or purposely poked fun at an old man in the audience, which didn’t go over well.  All hell broke loose.  The old man jumped out of his chair, rushed the stage and took a swing at Joe.  The old man’s wife jumped on her husband’s back and tried to restrain him.  Chairs and lattes were a-flying.  It was like a fucking Wild West saloon fight.  All of the excitement was moved outside so the show could continue.  Most of the audience followed the chaos outside.  So, 3 people remained inside to watch my set: Hal Sparks (only because he was going up after me), Rylee and Adam Gropman, who was running the mic.

    I walk up on stage and begin my set with (hold onto your pants…shit is getting ready to be brilliant), “I hit myself in my face while I was doing Taebo and my roommate asked how I got my black eye.  I told her that my boyfriend hit me.  She said, ‘I didn’t know that you had a boyfriend’”.  HILARIOUS.  I stood there waiting for a glorious outbreak of applause.  Instead, I heard crickets and saw three blank and confused faces.  I blacked out for the remainder of my set.  I have no idea what I said, or how I said it.  Whatever it was, didn’t lead to a development deal from NBC. 

    14 years later, I’m still “pushing the rock up the never ending hill” and trying to lead myself to the promise land.  I have a huge fan base that consists of my two dogs.   Living the dream, people.  Living the dream.

    Posted by She So Funny at 9:00 PM | Labels: , | 4 comments | |