Sigh...I’m a woman and as a woman, I love shoes so when a friend of mine told me about this online shoe store with awesome looking shoes, I had to check it out. There seemed to be a wide array of shoes in all sorts of sizes. I decided why not give this ShoeDazzle a try. They offer free returns (but only in the united states), sales (but not really, after you order them, they discount further, two-for-one sales (but not really, they say choose a clearance item but don’t specify that it has to be from some hidden clearance page, and a customer service support (perhaps the biggest joke of all). And you know, I LOVE jokes.
I placed an order, received a tracking number and was excitedly awaiting my shoes. A box came. With one of the two pairs of shoes I ordered. I looked up the tracking number, to see if there was a second number. Nope. So I called their world class customer service, waited for 23 minutes and then was told my order was shipped. I explained I ordered three pairs of shoes and received one. She said the order was shipped. I asked if there was a separate tracking number than the one I provided. She said ‘no’. I asked her where the second and third pair of shoes were, could she locate them? She said they were shipped and received. I said that I had not received them, and she said ‘well it says they were’. Then she looked a little further and found another tracking number, and that they should ‘arrive soon’. I asked her for that number, and as soon as I got back to my computer I looked it up, they were ‘enroute’. A week and a half later, I finally received my shoes. Now, the shoes looked like the shoes I ordered, but they were definitely not made with great materials. The one set of shoes feel like you’re putting condoms on your feet. My feet sweat so bad I can’t even wear them. The second set of shoes look like they are cloth, but the entire shoe is plastic and terribly uncomfortable (think jelly shoes from the 80’s and you’ve found my misery) and the last set of shoes were okay.
I know, I know – what was I thinking- buying shoes on-line? But my friend loves them, and they look great on her so I decided to give the undazzling ShoeDazzle another try. I offered them suggestions for improving their customer service (maybe give the customer both tracking numbers, who would have thought? – maybe tell people what materials the shoes are actually made of – WHAT? Transparency? Managing customer expectations? What sacrilege!) and was rewarded with a $10 credit (that expired...what I’m learning is you need to check the small print with these people).
I didn’t order again for months and then decided to give them another try. I haven’t received the shoes. I have called twice (was hung up after waiting over 20 minutes, the second time I waited over half an hour and then gave up). I placed the order on a Friday (August 13), received a confirmation email that was incorrect, so called them Monday, emailed Monday, called again on Wednesday, sent two more emails, and this morning (Sept. 5) – well after the time when they actually could have done something about my order, I received an email:
“Hi Serena,
Thank you for your email! I'm sorry we weren't able to get back to you sooner as we've been especially busy the past couple of weeks. The discount on the Buy One Get One Free sale applied automatically at checkout. If you chose a regular price pair of boots and added a clearance item to the same order, the clearance item was discounted and you would've received it for free. I checked your order and you didn't receive a clearance item for free because there was no clearance item included in your order. Be aware that we did have a separate sale going on as well, but the free item needed to be specifically from the $15 clearance page. Your order has already shipped so at this point we are unable to make any changes. Going forward, if you have any issues with a promo please call us so we can take care of it right away. We can be reached at 1-888-508-1888 Monday through Friday, 6am - 5pm PST.
Please let me know if there is anything else I can assist you with, and be sure to check out the Daily Fix and our brand new Boutiques!
Take care and have a Dazzling Day,
Arnold Dazzle
Client Services
2501 Colorado Ave. #325, Santa Monica, CA 90404
Phone 888.508.1888 | Fax 213.973.6888
Fall-in-love with #FallFavorites and
see what's trending in your showroom!”
Isn’t that special? Thanks for nothing. This time, they didn’t even bother to offer an expiring credit. So here I am. Just advising whoever reads do not be dazzled with Shoe Dazzle. The shine is off the shoes...and just in the bull crap advertising.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Monday, August 12, 2013
Beauty in the eye of the beHOLDER
It's nice to be called beautiful. It's even nicer when it's someone other than my mother. I read a book about the 5 love languages - the premise being that everyone has a particular love language which is their 'first' tongue - a way of speaking and communicating with them that makes them feel loved and appreciated. The five love languages were: personal touch, words of affirmation, quality time, acts of service, and gifts. I did the quiz a few years back - absolutely convinced in my stubborn self that it was absolute B.S. and a collosal waste of time, but I thought I would humour my boyfriend and the counsellor and take the test. My first love language is "words of affirmation". I laughed, because I was sure it would be "touch" - I mean, I love being touched, carressed, so why would I give two shakes what someone said to me or wrote me? The third was "acts of service".
I went home and was grabbing something from my night table drawer, when I had to pause. In my top drawer, I had a note from my son, a birthday card from my boyfriend, a handmade bookmark saying "you're the best mommy" and a few other notes I ran my fingers over. So here was the evidence. I am a 'words of affirmation' person. I feel loved, cherished, appreciated when someone writes the words down or utters them, these are the words that make my heart sing.
Skip forward to 'you're beautiful'. These words were uttered to me many, many moons ago. I was 18 and in a dry bar (unheard of now, but back in Saskatoon in the 90's, there was a bar you could go to that didn't serve alcohol). I had come to Saskatoon to pursue higher education, but really I had come to escape the small town life and live in the big metropolis of Saskatoon. I wanted to be a big city girl, and here I was, standing next to a 2nd year Engineer, still sweating from dancing with him to Autograph's "Turn up the radio", and almost swooning when he said "you're beautiful." I'm sure I responded with something sexy like "neato" but I honestly don't remember.
What I do remember is him offering to give me a ride home, and me, very naively, accepting. I also remember him driving me to a park and wanting to make out a little. I was a little nervous but thought I could handle a kiss or two - but was pulling the plug when it turned into a full out, knock down, mach-3 grope session - the man sprouted hands and arms like an octopus - all the while, sucking my face like a full on incubus. I managed to push him away, and tell him that I wanted to go home. He laughed and said "not until I'm done with you" and grabbed the door handle I was trying to push open.
It was at this point, I got scared and reacted in a true Serena fashion. I turned back to him, grabbed a HOLD of his crotch, and, while squeezing, I said "If you don't let go of that door handle, you will be singing soprano for the rest of your life" with a very incessant clench at the end to reiterate my point. Beauty in the eye of the beHOLDer - I checked off all three love languages: words of affirmation (I was very affirmative as to what I was about to do if he didn't let me go);personal touch - having your fingers digging into a scrotum doesn't get much more personal than that; acts of service - oh, I was servicing myself just fine. Bottom line - it was beautiful.
note: I am not advocating that people should put themselves in dangerous positions. What I do advocate is that we find the courage to look after ourselves when needed - therein lies the beauty.
I went home and was grabbing something from my night table drawer, when I had to pause. In my top drawer, I had a note from my son, a birthday card from my boyfriend, a handmade bookmark saying "you're the best mommy" and a few other notes I ran my fingers over. So here was the evidence. I am a 'words of affirmation' person. I feel loved, cherished, appreciated when someone writes the words down or utters them, these are the words that make my heart sing.
Skip forward to 'you're beautiful'. These words were uttered to me many, many moons ago. I was 18 and in a dry bar (unheard of now, but back in Saskatoon in the 90's, there was a bar you could go to that didn't serve alcohol). I had come to Saskatoon to pursue higher education, but really I had come to escape the small town life and live in the big metropolis of Saskatoon. I wanted to be a big city girl, and here I was, standing next to a 2nd year Engineer, still sweating from dancing with him to Autograph's "Turn up the radio", and almost swooning when he said "you're beautiful." I'm sure I responded with something sexy like "neato" but I honestly don't remember.
What I do remember is him offering to give me a ride home, and me, very naively, accepting. I also remember him driving me to a park and wanting to make out a little. I was a little nervous but thought I could handle a kiss or two - but was pulling the plug when it turned into a full out, knock down, mach-3 grope session - the man sprouted hands and arms like an octopus - all the while, sucking my face like a full on incubus. I managed to push him away, and tell him that I wanted to go home. He laughed and said "not until I'm done with you" and grabbed the door handle I was trying to push open.
It was at this point, I got scared and reacted in a true Serena fashion. I turned back to him, grabbed a HOLD of his crotch, and, while squeezing, I said "If you don't let go of that door handle, you will be singing soprano for the rest of your life" with a very incessant clench at the end to reiterate my point. Beauty in the eye of the beHOLDer - I checked off all three love languages: words of affirmation (I was very affirmative as to what I was about to do if he didn't let me go);personal touch - having your fingers digging into a scrotum doesn't get much more personal than that; acts of service - oh, I was servicing myself just fine. Bottom line - it was beautiful.
note: I am not advocating that people should put themselves in dangerous positions. What I do advocate is that we find the courage to look after ourselves when needed - therein lies the beauty.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Shit happens
Here we go. So I've been busy. So I've been really busy. I've been driving a lot - some of it fun, some of it not so fun, but what really matters at the end of the day - is I am mother frickin' tired. I average about four hours of sleep a night (before you go there, it's for all of the wrong reasons - well actually some of the reasons are right, just not sexual) and so I spend quite a bit of my day yawning, drinking caffeinated beverages, chewing gum, etc. for the first few hours of my day and then I get into the swing of things.
At least, I USUALLY get into the swing of things. Yesterday, not so much. Warning - what you are about to read might very well fall under the 'TMI' section of your brain, and yeah, it's embarrassing as all hell to me so why not share it with an indiscriminate world.
So again - here we go. Yesterday started off like every other day. I yawned, I yawned, I drank water, I brushed my teeth, I yawned some more and then drank my coffee. I came into work and still felt tired (my eyes were puffy and dry - sensitive to light like I'm some albino mole emerging from the cave) so I decided to drink some more coffee; but not just any old coffee - coffee from the pods that are available to me here at work. I then went into a long strategic meeting, and proceeded to drink some more coffee...and then my guts let me know that this alien coffee was not sitting well, that it was proving itself to be a very strong diarrhetic and I best change locations - and SOON!
So, listening to my body, I proceeded into the bathroom. Now, my day job has an enlightened look on bathrooms. They like the not-quite unisex but let's call it communal approach to bathrooms. You walk through a glass door and there's a "his" bathroom to your left, and a "hers" bathroom to your right - but no doors are in between, because everybody likes it when it echoes when they're doing their business on either side. I mean, how can I get an applause break if you can't hear how masterfully I tinkle, fill and flush a toilet?
Anyway, I went into the stall the farthest from the door, closed the stall door, fumbled with the buttons on my pants and proceeded to do my business - courtesy flush almost as soon as I sat down. I told you, my stomach was hurting, my guts screaming and so I wasn't exactly sure how long I would be sitting on the throne...so I gamed it. Yeah, I did. I pulled out the trusty solitaire on the phone and played while the hot flush of desire (to excrete)passed. I heard someone come in, so I held out, hoping they would do their business and leave so I could finish doing mine. I didn't bother to look up or try and watch for feet - I mean, I was struggling not to just flush and flush to hide my body's desire to cleanse its colon...I heard the splash of water which signalled they were washing their hands, the slight pause in front of the mirror (really lady, is this the time to be vain? Are you Snow's evil step mother Queen?) and then they were gone - and I was able to finish what needed finishing.
Finally my body was ready to go back to the world of the working, and I got up and proceeded out of the stall. Then stopped. dead in my tracks. In my bleary-eyed exuberance to get to the stall, I had failed to shut the stall door. I started to giggle - all I could think about was this poor woman who had come in, washed her hands, turned around and saw me, sitting on the throne, flushed from my effort, one hand on a phone - thumbing my next solitaire move, and the other hand poised to do a courtesy flush on the chance I let one go. So yeah, shit happens.
At least, I USUALLY get into the swing of things. Yesterday, not so much. Warning - what you are about to read might very well fall under the 'TMI' section of your brain, and yeah, it's embarrassing as all hell to me so why not share it with an indiscriminate world.
So again - here we go. Yesterday started off like every other day. I yawned, I yawned, I drank water, I brushed my teeth, I yawned some more and then drank my coffee. I came into work and still felt tired (my eyes were puffy and dry - sensitive to light like I'm some albino mole emerging from the cave) so I decided to drink some more coffee; but not just any old coffee - coffee from the pods that are available to me here at work. I then went into a long strategic meeting, and proceeded to drink some more coffee...and then my guts let me know that this alien coffee was not sitting well, that it was proving itself to be a very strong diarrhetic and I best change locations - and SOON!
So, listening to my body, I proceeded into the bathroom. Now, my day job has an enlightened look on bathrooms. They like the not-quite unisex but let's call it communal approach to bathrooms. You walk through a glass door and there's a "his" bathroom to your left, and a "hers" bathroom to your right - but no doors are in between, because everybody likes it when it echoes when they're doing their business on either side. I mean, how can I get an applause break if you can't hear how masterfully I tinkle, fill and flush a toilet?
Anyway, I went into the stall the farthest from the door, closed the stall door, fumbled with the buttons on my pants and proceeded to do my business - courtesy flush almost as soon as I sat down. I told you, my stomach was hurting, my guts screaming and so I wasn't exactly sure how long I would be sitting on the throne...so I gamed it. Yeah, I did. I pulled out the trusty solitaire on the phone and played while the hot flush of desire (to excrete)passed. I heard someone come in, so I held out, hoping they would do their business and leave so I could finish doing mine. I didn't bother to look up or try and watch for feet - I mean, I was struggling not to just flush and flush to hide my body's desire to cleanse its colon...I heard the splash of water which signalled they were washing their hands, the slight pause in front of the mirror (really lady, is this the time to be vain? Are you Snow's evil step mother Queen?) and then they were gone - and I was able to finish what needed finishing.
Finally my body was ready to go back to the world of the working, and I got up and proceeded out of the stall. Then stopped. dead in my tracks. In my bleary-eyed exuberance to get to the stall, I had failed to shut the stall door. I started to giggle - all I could think about was this poor woman who had come in, washed her hands, turned around and saw me, sitting on the throne, flushed from my effort, one hand on a phone - thumbing my next solitaire move, and the other hand poised to do a courtesy flush on the chance I let one go. So yeah, shit happens.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
the gift
I love doing stand up comedy, I really do.
There's nothing quite like when you're up on stage, looking at people's faces, watching their reactions, working out in your head where you should go next, leading them there and then seeing their faces change as they catch the joke. It's that moment that draws me in - that inexplicable connection that is so amazing and so awesome.
Let me try to share it.
Do you remember the movie "The Natural"? The one with Robert Redford as an over-aged man who returns to the sport he loves so he can give it one more shot? He loves baseball - it's all he's passionate about - but things keep happening, thwarting his return to play in the majors. Now, by no means am I saying I am Robert Redford, or that I am anything like his character "Roy Hobbs" was to baseball. No - at least not yet:)
The comparison I am trying to make is to that when he stepped up to the plate, there was that moment that Director Barry Levinson brought to fruition - when everything was in slo-mo, when "Roy" looks out at the field, sees the pitcher, looks back over to his dugout and then down at his "Wonderboy" bat and everything becomes crystal clear. Everything makes sense - everything is aligned and it just feels so perfect.
That. That, my friends, is how I feel on stage.
And I am so very thankful to have discovered this gift.
There's nothing quite like when you're up on stage, looking at people's faces, watching their reactions, working out in your head where you should go next, leading them there and then seeing their faces change as they catch the joke. It's that moment that draws me in - that inexplicable connection that is so amazing and so awesome.
Let me try to share it.
Do you remember the movie "The Natural"? The one with Robert Redford as an over-aged man who returns to the sport he loves so he can give it one more shot? He loves baseball - it's all he's passionate about - but things keep happening, thwarting his return to play in the majors. Now, by no means am I saying I am Robert Redford, or that I am anything like his character "Roy Hobbs" was to baseball. No - at least not yet:)
The comparison I am trying to make is to that when he stepped up to the plate, there was that moment that Director Barry Levinson brought to fruition - when everything was in slo-mo, when "Roy" looks out at the field, sees the pitcher, looks back over to his dugout and then down at his "Wonderboy" bat and everything becomes crystal clear. Everything makes sense - everything is aligned and it just feels so perfect.
That. That, my friends, is how I feel on stage.
And I am so very thankful to have discovered this gift.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
one sunny Sunday afternoon
A few weeks back, a friend of mine invited me to a Sunday afternoon concert with Fred Eaglesmith. Given that I love this band's music and I enjoy spending time with friends, I readily accepted. The concert was in Black Diamond, at the Hotel, and it was a perfect way to spend a Sunday. The sun was shining, it was a 40 minute drive - long enough for me to be alone in my thoughts but short enough for me to not get lost in them.
When the band took the stage, the place erupted. I guess I was not the only one who liked this band. Fred Eaglesmith is not just a singer/songwriter - he is very much an entertainer. In between songs, he talked about the band's escapades and even told a few jokes. It was fun to watch an entertainer effortlessly segue from one thought to the next and I found myself laughing, drinking (it was Sunday afternoon, afterall), tapping my toes and singing along to the music. As the music played, and the crowd relaxed into a blissful folk music-type revelry, I found myself lulled into a state of bliss myself - doing my favourite creepy thing - which is people watching.
I recognized the people that were just at the point of too many wobbly pops - they were loud and their eyes were bright, their leers at the waitress becoming more pronounced. I also saw the ones that had passed that point at 10 a.m. that morning - these ones were loud, slobbering and slurring - laughing at something they thought (and thought that they had said), and oblivious to the deep dagger-stares that were coming from people sitting close by. It was fun to watch - and then my eyes found a couple across the room and I found myself being just as drawn to them as I was to the band on the stage. No, it wasn't because I knew them. And thankfully, it wasn't someone I had dated and forgotten (that's an embarrassing story and one I may share another time). This was a couple in their sixties.
She had longer grey and white hair. She was wearing jeans and a cute corsette-type top with little flowers printed all over it. Her hair was pinned gently at the sides, and her jewelry was silver and plain, stylish but not overbearing. She was watching the band, tapping her hand to the beat of the music and bobbing her head from side to side with the rhythm of the drums.
Her companion was a man about the same age, his hair was combed back into a ponytail, his face clean shaven except for a greying goatee that framed his mouth and jaw. He wore wire rim glasses, and behind them were bright eyes that were glancing between the band and the woman seated beside him. It was the look in his eyes that caught my breath. He was enjoying the music, much as she was, but he was also - equally - enjoying watching her. He watched the band - and beamed at her.
She was not indifferent. As I watched the couple, I saw the exchange of the knowing glances, the casual - yet intimate - touch of the hand on the other's arm, the squeeze of the fingers as they held hands briefly, the colour on her cheeks as he leaned into the nape of her neck and whispered something meant only for her. These gestures, these moments that only two people who truly knew and loved each other could share. Most of the time, when I am people watching, I find myself creating a story for them - perhaps it's the writer in me, but I always seem to want to imagine a storyline for the people I watch. In coffee shops, it's quite easy to spot the people meeting for the first time. It's also entertaining to watch the body language of people and imagine how they got to this particular point in time...but this couple was different. I was not interested in what their backstory was - I was just interested in this very beautiful and tender afternoon when I was able to witness the beauty of intimacy and love.
It's hard to admit, but I was overcome with this awe of what I was witnessing, and that growing ebb of sadness that washed over me as I realized that this is something I am not likely to feel myself. If you have read any of these blogs I post, you know that I am not the luckiest or accomplished when it comes to matters of the heart. That sadness was hard to take.
I watched them for quite some time, at least until my friend leaned over and asked me 'where did you go?' and I realized that I may well be the creepy person in the bar who is gawking at someone across the bar. Not wanting to let on what I was thinking and feeling, I told my friend that I was enjoying the music. Hard to say why I didn't want to tell him about the people. Perhaps, I just wanted to revel in that moment I shared with this couple, and selfishly didn't want to share it.
When the band took the stage, the place erupted. I guess I was not the only one who liked this band. Fred Eaglesmith is not just a singer/songwriter - he is very much an entertainer. In between songs, he talked about the band's escapades and even told a few jokes. It was fun to watch an entertainer effortlessly segue from one thought to the next and I found myself laughing, drinking (it was Sunday afternoon, afterall), tapping my toes and singing along to the music. As the music played, and the crowd relaxed into a blissful folk music-type revelry, I found myself lulled into a state of bliss myself - doing my favourite creepy thing - which is people watching.
I recognized the people that were just at the point of too many wobbly pops - they were loud and their eyes were bright, their leers at the waitress becoming more pronounced. I also saw the ones that had passed that point at 10 a.m. that morning - these ones were loud, slobbering and slurring - laughing at something they thought (and thought that they had said), and oblivious to the deep dagger-stares that were coming from people sitting close by. It was fun to watch - and then my eyes found a couple across the room and I found myself being just as drawn to them as I was to the band on the stage. No, it wasn't because I knew them. And thankfully, it wasn't someone I had dated and forgotten (that's an embarrassing story and one I may share another time). This was a couple in their sixties.
She had longer grey and white hair. She was wearing jeans and a cute corsette-type top with little flowers printed all over it. Her hair was pinned gently at the sides, and her jewelry was silver and plain, stylish but not overbearing. She was watching the band, tapping her hand to the beat of the music and bobbing her head from side to side with the rhythm of the drums.
Her companion was a man about the same age, his hair was combed back into a ponytail, his face clean shaven except for a greying goatee that framed his mouth and jaw. He wore wire rim glasses, and behind them were bright eyes that were glancing between the band and the woman seated beside him. It was the look in his eyes that caught my breath. He was enjoying the music, much as she was, but he was also - equally - enjoying watching her. He watched the band - and beamed at her.
She was not indifferent. As I watched the couple, I saw the exchange of the knowing glances, the casual - yet intimate - touch of the hand on the other's arm, the squeeze of the fingers as they held hands briefly, the colour on her cheeks as he leaned into the nape of her neck and whispered something meant only for her. These gestures, these moments that only two people who truly knew and loved each other could share. Most of the time, when I am people watching, I find myself creating a story for them - perhaps it's the writer in me, but I always seem to want to imagine a storyline for the people I watch. In coffee shops, it's quite easy to spot the people meeting for the first time. It's also entertaining to watch the body language of people and imagine how they got to this particular point in time...but this couple was different. I was not interested in what their backstory was - I was just interested in this very beautiful and tender afternoon when I was able to witness the beauty of intimacy and love.
It's hard to admit, but I was overcome with this awe of what I was witnessing, and that growing ebb of sadness that washed over me as I realized that this is something I am not likely to feel myself. If you have read any of these blogs I post, you know that I am not the luckiest or accomplished when it comes to matters of the heart. That sadness was hard to take.
I watched them for quite some time, at least until my friend leaned over and asked me 'where did you go?' and I realized that I may well be the creepy person in the bar who is gawking at someone across the bar. Not wanting to let on what I was thinking and feeling, I told my friend that I was enjoying the music. Hard to say why I didn't want to tell him about the people. Perhaps, I just wanted to revel in that moment I shared with this couple, and selfishly didn't want to share it.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
standing up to comedy
There's nothing quite like the exhillaration I feel when I get on that little stage. I drink in the atmosphere - the smell of beer or other forms of alcohol, the eager upturned faces, the whispered comments and the unavoidable young woman at the front with her arms crossed, her eyebrows drawn together - almost daring me to entertain her.
Yah - I know, it sounds like I'm a stripper, but hey - when you're over 30 (this I will admit to and thank you to my sister who is not setting you straight), that is definitely NOT an option. you're welcome, btw:)
No, it's a different kind of stage and one that requires a number of my faculties to be firing at the same time. It's the stage of stand up comedy and one that I have grown to love, adore, and admire. I love the feeling of being up there, sharing my views and looking for that connection with the audience and maybe, just maybe, getting them to laugh.
It's an art - and one that I am just learning. And thankfully, I don't have to try to do it alone. There's uber-support here in Calgary - a stand up comedy community that is so supportive and a group of people I truly admire. People who have been doing this for years and are willing to share their experiences with you - the ups, the downs, the pitfalls and everything in between.
I would like to take credit for taking the plunge into this world, but to be truthful, what inspired me to finally get up and give it a try (after writing it for 20 some odd years!) was not me, it was just a man. A man (sorry ladies, I know this is hitting close to the feminist bone, but please give me a chance!) who for all intensive purposes, is useless to me now (see? I told you, feminist-types - wait for it!)
A few years back, I met a man and fell in love. A man who proved to not be who I thought he was, and so the relationship came to an end, but not before we were able to go out on an outing - to a little comedy club here in Calgary called 'Comedy Cave'. There, we sat amongst his coworkers, enjoying a meal, sitting in the dark, staring at a stage where comics bravely ventured and worked their magic to make us all laugh. And laugh I did. I had a great time. In the car, on the way home, I talked about my admiration for stand up comics, how I had always wanted to try it, and how I had once written a routine, practiced it and practiced it, put my name in for an amateur night, but when the time came - I chickened out. I also shared that my friend had gone up and done my routine (since she had sat and listened to my practicing it - rather painfully, I might add - and so felt she knew it too). I remember that night quite well (even including the fact that I had downed a few beer in preparation for my stage time), and I remember that even though the timing of the jokes wasn't what I liked, that people laughed...and I was content with that...
For 20 years. Until I was sitting in the car, on the way home with this man that I thought I loved, and thought loved me as well. When I shared that I had always wanted to try it, he guffawed, snorted and said: 'you can't do that...you're not funny.' We finished the drive in silence. And silently, it ate away at me.
So - fast forward a year later, with that relationship having gone up in flames, ashes still smoldering, and me thinking that I needed to move on, my mind found its way inexplicably back to that car ride - and back to his 'you can't do it' and I thought to myself: "oh yes, I can."
And I did. February 14, 2011 - I hit the stage and tasted that first tinge of freedom, that first bubble of champagne-like excitement and realized I was standing up.
For comedy. For me. And damn it.. I was funny.
Yah - I know, it sounds like I'm a stripper, but hey - when you're over 30 (this I will admit to and thank you to my sister who is not setting you straight), that is definitely NOT an option. you're welcome, btw:)
No, it's a different kind of stage and one that requires a number of my faculties to be firing at the same time. It's the stage of stand up comedy and one that I have grown to love, adore, and admire. I love the feeling of being up there, sharing my views and looking for that connection with the audience and maybe, just maybe, getting them to laugh.
It's an art - and one that I am just learning. And thankfully, I don't have to try to do it alone. There's uber-support here in Calgary - a stand up comedy community that is so supportive and a group of people I truly admire. People who have been doing this for years and are willing to share their experiences with you - the ups, the downs, the pitfalls and everything in between.
I would like to take credit for taking the plunge into this world, but to be truthful, what inspired me to finally get up and give it a try (after writing it for 20 some odd years!) was not me, it was just a man. A man (sorry ladies, I know this is hitting close to the feminist bone, but please give me a chance!) who for all intensive purposes, is useless to me now (see? I told you, feminist-types - wait for it!)
A few years back, I met a man and fell in love. A man who proved to not be who I thought he was, and so the relationship came to an end, but not before we were able to go out on an outing - to a little comedy club here in Calgary called 'Comedy Cave'. There, we sat amongst his coworkers, enjoying a meal, sitting in the dark, staring at a stage where comics bravely ventured and worked their magic to make us all laugh. And laugh I did. I had a great time. In the car, on the way home, I talked about my admiration for stand up comics, how I had always wanted to try it, and how I had once written a routine, practiced it and practiced it, put my name in for an amateur night, but when the time came - I chickened out. I also shared that my friend had gone up and done my routine (since she had sat and listened to my practicing it - rather painfully, I might add - and so felt she knew it too). I remember that night quite well (even including the fact that I had downed a few beer in preparation for my stage time), and I remember that even though the timing of the jokes wasn't what I liked, that people laughed...and I was content with that...
For 20 years. Until I was sitting in the car, on the way home with this man that I thought I loved, and thought loved me as well. When I shared that I had always wanted to try it, he guffawed, snorted and said: 'you can't do that...you're not funny.' We finished the drive in silence. And silently, it ate away at me.
So - fast forward a year later, with that relationship having gone up in flames, ashes still smoldering, and me thinking that I needed to move on, my mind found its way inexplicably back to that car ride - and back to his 'you can't do it' and I thought to myself: "oh yes, I can."
And I did. February 14, 2011 - I hit the stage and tasted that first tinge of freedom, that first bubble of champagne-like excitement and realized I was standing up.
For comedy. For me. And damn it.. I was funny.
Friday, April 6, 2012
the power of words
Do you remember your first word? I don't remember the first word I ever spoke, but I do remember the first word I ever spoke on stage. It was "hi" Probably not the most powerful word out there, but kind of a natural one when you're making an introduction. I'd like to think my subsequent words have had an impact, and I suppose they have - well, at least for me. I am still doing stand up comedy so that says something.
But this got me thinking. About words. They're pretty powerful.
How about this: do you remember the first time someone (other than your mom) said "I love you"? It's pretty powerful - and can send you to the moon - especially if you feel the same way about them.
it's a whole lot different though, when someone says that to you and you don't feel that way. then the powerful word of that moment is 'AWKWARD'. This happened to me once. After he said it, I found myself trying to find a way to get out of the car without his knowing, and without hurting his feelings. That was awkward, and the more I tried to find the 'powerful' words to let him know I didn't feel the same way, the more awkward the situation got. As you might have guessed, he doesn't have much to do with me these days.
But, to be fair, I have also been in his situation. I was dating a guy that I thought was special (oh, he was special all right - especially two-timing). I remember that perfect moment:
We had just finished another perfect kiss. I was aware that my heart was hammering loudly, and how his breath smelled, how soft his lips were, and as he pulled his face away, and I looked into his blue eyes and those dark lashes, I was overwhelmed with the very sense of him. How much I was aware of him, and how much I wanted this moment to go on and on forever. And then I said it, that overwhelming feeling that started in the pit of my stomach as butterflies, spread through my hammering chest and out my lips in an expression of warmth and love as I breathed out "I love you." I looked in his eyes, and saw as the words registered there. He was shocked. suprised. stupefied. He stared at me, and I stared back and in that moment (that eternally long moment)I waited for his response, and as his eyes looked deeper and deeper into mine, I felt the uptake of his breath, and then he said it: "that's nice."
I think about that now and it still makes me smile. A romantic moment ruined by the power of words:)
But this got me thinking. About words. They're pretty powerful.
How about this: do you remember the first time someone (other than your mom) said "I love you"? It's pretty powerful - and can send you to the moon - especially if you feel the same way about them.
it's a whole lot different though, when someone says that to you and you don't feel that way. then the powerful word of that moment is 'AWKWARD'. This happened to me once. After he said it, I found myself trying to find a way to get out of the car without his knowing, and without hurting his feelings. That was awkward, and the more I tried to find the 'powerful' words to let him know I didn't feel the same way, the more awkward the situation got. As you might have guessed, he doesn't have much to do with me these days.
But, to be fair, I have also been in his situation. I was dating a guy that I thought was special (oh, he was special all right - especially two-timing). I remember that perfect moment:
We had just finished another perfect kiss. I was aware that my heart was hammering loudly, and how his breath smelled, how soft his lips were, and as he pulled his face away, and I looked into his blue eyes and those dark lashes, I was overwhelmed with the very sense of him. How much I was aware of him, and how much I wanted this moment to go on and on forever. And then I said it, that overwhelming feeling that started in the pit of my stomach as butterflies, spread through my hammering chest and out my lips in an expression of warmth and love as I breathed out "I love you." I looked in his eyes, and saw as the words registered there. He was shocked. suprised. stupefied. He stared at me, and I stared back and in that moment (that eternally long moment)I waited for his response, and as his eyes looked deeper and deeper into mine, I felt the uptake of his breath, and then he said it: "that's nice."
I think about that now and it still makes me smile. A romantic moment ruined by the power of words:)
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