Mic 29 Emotional Support

Venue: Winchester

Host: Bryan Sternick and David Horning

Show: One More Joke

Set Time:  1 Minute

I got asked to be part of a women's comedy hour that supports a women's charity.

Listen, I have been doing charity work since I could walk, the mention of a cause gets me all ramped up and so when another comedian – OK – wait – I am not sure I am a comedian so when I say another comedian I don't want to take anything away from this very funny and smart woman, Cam Godfrey, who is in fact a comedian.

Cam sent me a message on Instagram. Yes, I am on the Instagram. 

No, I had no idea I could get direct messages there. Sorry DMs on Insta - but I did and it was from her. 

LISTEN - I am taking all of this in by fire hose. The daily learning and the daily doses of humility are overwhelming and also motivate me. The weird thing about starting over at this age is that I know exactly how capable I am. Which somehow makes it worse. If I didn't know better, I could just be clueless and charming. Instead I'm over here doing a risk assessment on a direct message.

It's Schrodinger's Stockholm Syndrome. I may be the captor and/or the hostage. I mean some days I am walking down to the basement and then wondering how I got here and trying to figure out how to make a 10PM open mic. 

So dear sweet, kind, funny, Cam reaches out to me and tells me she is doing this comedy hour, it is 5-7 minute sets, it's a charity and part of the ticket price goes to the cause. Am I interested?

Interested in what? 

That's my immediate response. 

No, I did not type that. 

I took a second and composed my thoughts and re-read the message. 

EIGHT MORE TIMES! 

Don't mock. 

I gave up and sent a reply.

Cam, tell me more, I don't want to get out over my skis – are you asking me to buy a ticket or do a set or both or neither. Gawd why am I an awkward teenage girl? I will also promote it for you and I will check out the charity.

I sent that in a direct message on Instagram. 

That entire ridiculous paragraph.

Kill me.

Cam wrote back. 

To do a set! 5-7 minutes.

Honestly, what the actual F-word is wrong with me? 

I mean I am out here doing this comedy thing. I am at bars with other comedians standing up and telling jokes. I am writing a blog, making social posts, and being part of the scene and yet I feel so far behind. 

For the record, I was never an awkward teenage girl.

The next request she had was for a head shot. Jesus. A head shot for comedy. How do I look funny and not funny looking? 

I have a professional one. The day job requires such a thing. But it gives competent, experienced woman who could run your project, not funny girl who does spit takes.

I thought about sending a pic of me in my inflatable Trex costume. Yes I have one of those inflatable dinosaur costumes, and I wear it often. I used to wear my wedding dress every once in a while - I mean paid a lot of money for it and it brought me joy -  but it got too tight with age - so the T-rex costume brings the same joy and is very roomy.

Anyway, back to the show.

Since the invite, I got out to my 29th Mic at the Winchester for One More Joke. It was an off night there. It was a rocky start for the early comics. I don't mind being uncomfortable; in fact I thrive in that space.

I am the daughter of a recovered alcoholic.

Yes I know it's recovering, but he is dead.

And he died sober - so Winner! 

I am a master of distraction, warm feelings, feigning interests and emitting joy. Those are my survival skills. An awkward open mic is like the family Christmas only a little quieter.  

I was lucky 13 on Tuesday — I went up right after a comic I genuinely found funny. Tonight, though, the alcohol overtook the wit. He'd already done a couple of mics before this one, and it showed. There's a fine line between loose and sloppy, and he was having a hard time putting one foot in front of the other. 

I am a control freak, so substances are not in my toolkit but I can see how a little "up" or a little "chill" works for some people.

I was fresh. Fresh, okay, yes it was 10:15 PM. I had worked a full day, babysat my grandson, done laundry, made dinner, popped over to see my brother, stopped at a wake for a dear friend who just lost her brother, then swung by the Brother's Lounge to catch the booked lineup.  All before walking into the Winchester. Ok, by fresh I mean I reapplied deodorant, lipstick and changed shoes. 

The host had done a couple jokes earlier about white mothers. I love when there is a set up to what I was going to talk about. So when I was welcomed to the stage, I let everyone know I was a white mom. Restating the obvious is funny.

Before I begin - I want to clarify that my jokes are exaggerations and mocking is part of the gig. These are not exact accounts of behavior or how I feel about people.  

(My children made me say that) 

So here's the funny:

I have gone drinking with my adult daughters twice and have regretted both times. I have amazing girls. Smart, employed, self-sufficient, they can read cursive and change a tire but somehow my Amex and tequila shots turn them into feral cats.

We got to Good Night John Boys and it was “hold my purse!” 

Gone!

Scurrying their way to the front -  to the top. 

Up on couches and speakers and stages dancing.

The photographer from Vivid Cle shouts out – I was at John Boys on Friday.

I KNOW AND YOU TOOK PICTURES AND I WOULD LIKE THEM BURNT!

I went on to explain how one of the funniest parts of the evening is that I have become something akin to a French Bull Dog when I am out in a bar at my age. I am not a threat, I am a mascot. 

People make way for me in a crowd, pat my shoulders, ask to fist bump and say things like 'Omg so cute' or 'fun, so fun, awe!' 

Yes, like how you speak to a toddler or a dog. No one should have a toddler at the Clerb I don’t care if we are all fam.  

But Dogs, people bring those little Frenchies everywhere!

And I swear to Gawd -  I get the same reaction they do. 

They point, show their friends, and it is not a COUGAR IN THE WILD situation - it is a snuggle puppy! 

I don’t like people enough to be a snuggle puppy.  

But even when I say things like, “Oh honey, you're super drunk and you should be talking to someone who isn’t older than your mom.” They think that's adorable and are more attracted to me.  

There is a tug, like they want to take me home.  But they can’t see the feeling is more about adopting a pet then hooking up.  

Here's another thing, confidence plays different at my age.  In my 20’s and 30’s confidence was bitchy. People thought I had an agenda.  I got a lot of who do you think you are?!  

For the record, I am Missy Hayes, act accordingly!

Nothing has really changed except the threat level. It is the same energy, same voice, the same I  know what I am doing and I am going to do it. My confidence is now like a beacon people are drawn to - go to the light Carol Anne. It’s like I am an anchor in the sea of nightlife.  If I stand by her, it will be ok.  I don’t want to be your emotional support animal, I want to be a neon sign that says do better.  There is something interesting and insulting about all of this.

Even doing this material at the Winchester at 10:15 PM I felt like the Frenchie.

After my set, I curled up in the corner and stayed the rest of the night.  I ended up next to some really good comedians, and we sat there together through all 35 acts,  catching the sharp lines, the well-crafted jokes, and enjoying the laughs.

It helped me shake off the flea collar and feel more like one of the pack. The thing about being the emotional support dog is eventually the room needs you. I'm not sure that's not the same thing as belonging. I am also not sure that is not the saddest thing I have ever written.

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