Sunday, May 17th I went on stage for my Improv Class demonstration.
It was very intimidating, and I handled my fear by eating as many cheese-based-food-stuffs as possible. It was an interesting coping method considering that I also suffer from “nervous stomach”. I’m afraid my apartment will smell like fear for weeks to come.
I was very terrified for several reasons: 1. Although I didn’t think I’d suck, I do live in fear of my luck running out. I thought this would be an interesting opportunity for that to happen. 2. I have an abnormally high amount of self esteem wrapped up in being funny, and bombing on stage would be a good way to find out one isn’t as funny as one thought. 3. I’ve heard the stage adds 30 pounds. So although I’m very fit and trim and have a six pack in real life, I was afraid I’d look bloated and pasty under the bright lights. 4. I worried that if things went really well, I’d have a hard time going back to normal life.
As it turned out, only #4 was a legitimate fear (well I’m still waiting for the poll results to come back about #3). I can’t remember very many of the gags I made on stage, but I do vaguely remember hearing people laugh. I am confident that I was competent, even decent. I got good feedback from my classmates and my family- who take great pride in being “honest”.
But normal life seems suddenly very very annoying. Heating up soup and sitting in traffic now feels like some one is flushing my head down the toilet. If I get one more call about lowering my credit debt I might have a good ole fashioned freak out at the recorded voice.
Where is my personal assistant? Where are the paparazzi who should be chasing me from my personal trainer to my personal stylist’s office? Where is my manager and why isn’t he calling me with countless offers to do the next big buddy comedy with Jackie Chan?
Maybe after I type up this spreadsheet and sit on another conference call, I’ll cruise over to my email and see if anyone wants to be my agent.
In addition to being hilarious, I also sing and dance badly.
Darling, you were simply wonderful on Sunday! It’s a shame you left so quickly; my entourage (aka, my mother) especially wanted to meet you. I’ll have my people call your people and we’ll have a little soiree (aka, keep in touch over Facebook, maybe get non-alcoholic drinks). Kisses!
Dear Poor Lucky Me,
#1. You’re not lucky. You’re just funny.
#2. Let me reiterate. YOU ARE HILARIOUS.
#3. I don’t know how you do it. Especially with the burritos.
#4. What are we going to do with ourselves now? Our Sundays are completely free. Not that I ever did anything constructive to begin with. But now there’s nothing to look forward to. Maybe I’ll eat a burrito.
You. Rush Hour 4. I called it.
P.S. I’ll miss having class with you! Really. You were one of the few people who was consistently funny. I hope you know that as well as I do. Have an awesome summer! Let me know how the D show turns out.