This back room at the LVT is normally dark at 10 on a Wednesday, small stage, one mic, one light. Tonight it is bright with the glow of the game. We are cheering. I am cheering. Professional basketball. I have no real interest in professional basketball. But that collective effervescence is contagious. 

I am a public speaker.  Dale Carnegie graduate turned instructor.  This comedy thing has got me back into writing and everything that goes along with it so a stop in at Story Club was a box I wanted to check. I told the story of my snappy crotch.

I was recently called a trad wife and I was confused. I mean, I make most of the money — and all of the decisions. But I also make candles.

When I used to push A4 I got the Marlboro Man. Now I get the Vape Maverick. More human shield than body guard.

My husband sleeps 13" from the side of the bed. I know because I measured it with a yardstick while he was sleeping. A queen bed is 18" narrower than a king. Do the math — he feels romantic, he can knock me off the bed. We have a twin, a queen and a king in the house. So we've been sleeping around — like Goldilocks, if Goldilocks had a yardstick and trust issues.

Bryan consistently greets me like a friend of his mom's he ran into at a strip club.

I start by casually mentioning that I've been watching a new reality show. I pause, pacing like I'm trying to remember the name.

Iran War.

We raised two beautiful daughters. It was a good day at the Hayes house if nobody ended up on the pipe or the pole.

The other thing about current events — people have opinions. Strong ones. And the internet didn't just give them a platform, it gave their inside voice a megaphone.

I was delighted to co-host with Jimmy in the big room at One Star.

The 5 O'Clock has an energetic crowd, and when I mentioned Lucy's eyeballs, I was stopped with a loud "WHAAAT THA?" I then had to explain how she was martyred and had her eyeballs plucked out, which is why she is often depicted holding them on a plate. Yes, I understand how weird this sounds. Yes, these are my people.

At first I got a lot of, “You going up?” and I said yes, and they would smile. Comedy people ask, “You going up?” the way Marines ask if you’re storming the beach. I am feeling a little more a part of the scene.

I'm a white suburban woman, so of course I rescued a pitbull-boxer mix and gentrified her.

I named her Mabel, bought her a sweater, and planted artisanal grass in the backyard.

I spent two years not making eye contact with the only engineers who actually make eye contact. I’m a Catholic girl. I had to go to confession after my first lubrication conference.

Another comic, also smoking, told us this room used to be packed with comedians who came in from all over. This room was a rite of passage. "Don't judge it by tonight," he said. "Just remember you did a few minutes here—and come back."

The room was fairly empty when I went up. I bet ten people walked out just as I was welcomed to the stage. No, seriously, they opened the door in this tiny teacup of a room and fricking walked out when my name was called. Tell me how you don’t take that personally? 

Other comedians from my class had goaded me into coming. They had been before and seemed to know people, too. I can honestly say I have never felt like an outsider anywhere, anytime, in my whole life. There were cliques here. I spotted them immediately. And I was not part of any of them. I have never not been part of them.

We were assigned a five-minute set we would be working on for the next couple of weeks and then performing at a graduation show. Bill suggested thinking of a funny story or situation that could inspire a set. I immediately thought of my snappy crotch.