MIC 43 Backyard Party

I have a comedian friend. She also happens to be a white woman of a certain age with a husband and children.

If crazy begets crazy, then stable begets stable, and so it is nice to have her on the scene.

And she’s smart and funny. Funny in so many ways.

She has a backyard party each year with neighbors and friends and their families, and this year, some comedians. 

She said she wanted to have comedy and maybe karaoke.

I was like, sure, sounds fun.

I love a backyard party.

Pot luck food, free drinks, yellow jackets, I am in. 

Did I really think we were doing comedy, like a show?

NO!

Absolutely not.

The party started at 6, and an 8 PM arrival was all I could hope for.

She informed me that was right about when comedy would start

I vaguely remember my OB-GYN telling me I was going to have to deliver my baby.

Frequently.

As if she knew I wasn’t registering the reality.

Somehow, being told we were doing comedy wasn’t registering either. 

It’s the end of summer, I picked up a hostess gift, threw on some sandals and headed.

I never even touched up my makeup.

When I arrived, there were a couple of other comedians there, and we were in fact going to do comedy.

We have made friends with some comedians in the scene and so this was a combination of new and seasoned.  She had a 5 person line up planned.

I applaud her diversity. Two women, a gay white man, a straight white father of two and Jamaican.

She had a line up, a mic and no spotlight.

Comedy in the dark.

Backlight by the garage.

Jesus Christ, this is my life. 

We are having this baby! 

I was second to last and when I went up I started with yeast.

We were in Gordon Square; these people have sour dough starters.

They understand witchcraft. 

From there I went on to the trad-wife bit.  Doing my best Tradvestitie work.

Again, a number of them in the crowd.  After all, This is a group of friends that trade bean salad once a week. 

Then I took them on a walk through the neighborhood: gentrification. The white men and women staring back at me had in fact been part of gentrifying this area, and so they understood the rescue dog jokes

I ended the set talking about white Jesus, California Jesus, with his podcast and entourage.  Here is where I lost them.  I was in the land of secular hipsters. 

My Lord and Savior, even when mocked, is a carves away at my perceived intelligence with this crowd.

I could see facial expressions, but I felt it in the air.

It was dark, I felt like the light under the bushel.

How dark was it?
The closer was the Jamaican, he followed me.  And I am not sure anyone saw him.