Stand-up Comedy Virgin

I haven’t been blogging much because for the past month whenever I have gotten some time to myself, I’ve been working on a stand up comedy act (and I recently started working at Starbucks). Stand up is not something I have always dreamed of doing.  Not because I didn’t want to, but mainly because it never crossed my mind as a possibility. I just never thought of myself as someone who does that professionally. But when I look back at my life, I realize that I have been doing comedy in one way or another since I was little.  I am always telling a story in front of a large group that is laughing at what I am saying. It feels good, I’ve always enjoyed being a silly little asshole. People have suggested I pursue acting or comedy before. My reaction to that was usually, YEAHFUCKINGRIGHT. I would never get on stage. I guess if I had more confidence growing up, or if I wasn’t always so self-absorbed and stuck in my head, maybe I would have thought about taking my talent for being a complete jack-ass clown onto a stage and see if it got the same kinds of laughs that I do in real life. Well, better late than never, just as I always say when I get my period.

The real reason I even thought of this as something I seriously wanted to try is because of twitter. I am pretty sure I have discussed my feelings about twitter on this blog in previous posts, but just in case I haven’t…basically, it gave me validation that not only my friends want to listen to my ridiculous shit. Which is what I always assumed before. But of course, twitter is not a stage. And computer keys are not a microphone. But my curiosity is officially sparked, and I want to find out if I could take my twitter persona that I created 5 months ago, and say it out loud in front of a bunch of drunk people looking for a laugh. If It goes well, I’m positive I will become a junkie and want to do stand up all the time from that moment forward, because I am a middle child, a redhead, a rape victim, a former fatty, and a reformed slut, therefore I am a complete and total attention whore.

I’m debating allowing any of my friends or family to come to my first show. I have read mixed opinions about this online. I think I only want my Husband there for the first time. Because he has heard me fart at least 2500 times. He has rubbed oil on my pregnant belly stretch marks. He has seen my postpartum hemorrhoids. He has cleaned the puke off my face countless times from legitimate sickness, or hangovers. He has heard me singing when I didn’t know anyone was around. You get it. Basically, I can’t get really embarrassed in front of him at this point. A little embarrassed, sure..but nothing traumatic. But friends, that is a whole different story. So yeah. Maybe the friends will have to wait until the second or third show.

I secretly (well, not so secretly because I’m writing this online, idiot) hope that absolutely horrible comedians go on before and after me so that I feel like the shit, and I leave convinced I am a star in the making rather than feel enraged with jealousy and doubt because the other stand ups were way better than me. Am I getting ahead of myself, yes?  I am thinking too much, yes?  Am I psyching myself out, yes? Have we met? My name is Tara. I am the female version of Woody Allen, only I have no interest in sleeping with my Asian orphan stepchild.

Apparently the place I am going to do my first ever set at is a comedy club/hair salon.  Yeah, that’s right. Hair salon. WTF? I don’t know. But it sounds like a safe bet for a virgin like me.

So I’m scared. But at the same time, I have this cocky, balls of steel woman inside of me that is like, “You got this, Tara. This is the only thing you don’t fuck up at, being a total jack ass. This is where you shine.” So hopefully that strong internal dyke of mine will pin my inner Woody Allen down and cover his mouth with duct tape on the big night so that I can make people laugh rather than cringe for me.

I hope I break both my legs on the way to the show to make sure I do well.

In conclusion, this video of Dave Chappelle discussing this topic to James Lipton is really encouraging, and helped make me feel more at ease about all this. But since Dave Chappelle ended up losing his shit, and quitting the business at the top of his game, maybe he shouldn’t be my go-to guy for inspirational speeches. Oh well, too late. I’m inspired.


I Shit In Public

Why is it taboo to take a shit in public restrooms?  I don’t get it.  I have heard so many people say, “eeww, you shit in there?  Why didn’t you just wait to go home?”  What?  Why?  What if you are on vacation?  What if you are at the office?  What if you are on a road trip?  Why is it wrong?  Why is it gross?  What are you supposed to do in the bathroom if you can’t shit?  Is pissing okay?  I assume it is.  Which doesn’t make much sense because pissing has more potential to be messy and spray everywhere than a heavy shit log.  And I assume I can change out my pad or tampon, but that is much grosser than shit, because period blood smells like a dead fish that has been dying in the sun for a few hours.  And you have to like, get in there, and really touch that shit.  Taking out a tampon is nasty.  You can try to use toilet paper wrapped around your hand, but that really doesn’t work without it ripping up or getting drenched in bloody fishy liquid.  So why can I change my tampon with no judgement, but I can’t take a harmless shit?  The other day, at a Dixie House Cafe, I went to take a shit because I just ate the pancake combo special, and time was running out.  And while I am relieving myself, I read something that someone carved into the wall in front of me, the words, “you are really going to poop here?  ewwww.  go home.”  It is in the middle stall of the women’s restroom in Haltom City, if you want to see it.  But it was very intimidating to have to stare at that while I was shitting.  I felt bullied.  Bullied by some stranger’s carving that may have been carved 10 years ago.  That person may be dead now.  But I still felt mad at the carver.  And I feel mad at all you crazy people who drive home to take a crap.  I don’t discriminate against toilets, and you shouldn’t either.

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