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.