How One Year Changed My Life

A year ago, I had no idea what I was in store for.
A year ago, I had no idea I’d change my life.
A year ago, I started my new career as a stand up comedian.

WHAT?!

If someone had told me that this would be my life, I would have scoffed at them in disbelief.

I went from having the worst year of my life, to the best.

Let’s rewind.

January 2006.

I had just moved back home from Florida. I had spent an amazing six months living in Orlando, working for Disney World, and making wonderful, lasting friendships.
I missed my new friends, my job (the perks: free admission!), and the freedom of having my own place. I was looking forward to seeing my friends from home again. I had many myspace comments, all similar: “When are you coming home?! We have to hang out!”
I finally came home, and besides my family, the most excited person to see me was Megan, my co-worker from the hardware store. She was the only one who continuously kept in touch with me while I was away.

Just some notes about Megan, at this particular point in my life.
Megan and I have known each other since middle school. I hung out with a small group of girls, and one of them hated me. Who knows why… but she did, and she recruited Megan to “get rid” of me. So in middle school, Megan was a bitch to me. Once we were in high school, we really didn’t see each other much. Maybe a class or two together, honestly, I don’t remember seeing her that much. Something happened by senior year. I’ll never forget this. It was the first day of senior year, and after school a few of us went to a local park. Megan and I had to use the restroom, so we walked over together. On the way back she confessed to me, “I just want to apologize about being mean to you in middle school. I was trying to make friends and Megan (that was the other girl… I went to school with like eight different Megans.) said I could hang out with her if I got rid of you, and since I didn’t know you, I agreed. I really regret that, because you’re really cool. You’re one of the coolest people I know. I’d really like to be friends with you.” Wow. To this day, that is probably the most amazing thing anyone’s ever said to me. We began bonding more and more, mostly because we were both casted in the school’s murder mystery dinner, and the spring play. We spent a lot of school time together. By the end of senior year, I was hired by ACE Hardware. I was taking Megan’s job, as she went to go try out a new job. She tried it, she hated it, and she came back. Not even a year after my employment there, I was accepted to the Walt Disney World College Program. 6 months in my Mecca. I was truly sad about leaving all my friends, but I knew I was coming back. I left Megan a note at work, filled with inside jokes. In some weird way, our friendship benefited, no, bloomed while I was across the country. We sent snail mail back and forth. I’d send her little gifts, and she’d said me notes on office supplies, like ‘Please Pay Cashier’ tags. There were a few days I was able to get off of work from and flew home. (I had tickets to see ‘Wicked.’ I wasn’t missing out on that.) Besides my family, no one knew I was coming home. It was so hard to keep the secret contained, but I did it. I drove to Megan’s house and called her while I was standing outside her door. “Hey, it’s me; could you do me a favor? Could you open your door?” “What?” “Just open your front door.” The door opening was followed by the best reaction ever. Publisher’s Clearing House has never seen a reaction like this. Anyway, my point is, Megan and I weren’t friends for all that long considering how long we actually knew each other.

What about my other friends?

I met up with them, some of them a few times, some just once. I tried to see them on multiple occasions, but my phone calls were not returned. Eventually I stopped trying. I didn’t realize that six months could change so much. Why were my friends not my friends anymore? I thought they wanted to see me.

My new friends were across the country, and my old friends weren’t returning my phone calls. I was back living under my parent’s roof. My freedom was gone. I became depressed. I didn’t want to do anything. I went to work, I came home, and that was my life. One of my friends from Florida came to San Francisco for a week, and I picked him up from the airport and drove around. We had a good time. But during his stay he wanted to hang out again. I did too. I did. But I was too depressed. I felt so bad about flaking out on him. I just couldn’t step outside. I hated myself. I hated my life. I didn’t understand why my life had turned out the way it had. I felt abandoned.

My life has completely turned around since then.

Fast forward to February, 2007.

I needed a creative outlet. I had taken an improv workshop at B.A.T.S. the previous summer, and I needed something more. I remembered a Comedy College website. I came across it in my search for an improv class, but because I had always felt uneasy in the big city, I opted with the B.A.T.S. class, since it was located near the Exploratorium; not as scary. I revisited the website. Stand-up comedy classes. I briefly flirted with the idea of stand up comedy my first (and only) year of college. I read that it was good to be familiar with all kinds of comedy, so I thought I might give stand up a try. One of my essays in my English class was about humor, and I told my teacher that I was into comedy, and he asked me to do some stand up for the class. I was nervous, and excited, and ditched my other classes to spend time in the café to write. I knew were my priorities were. The only joke I remember telling was about wanting to be in a sorority.

“I wanted to join a sorority here, so I could move out of my parent’s house. But San Francisco has outlawed sorority houses as whore houses. That’s not fair; whores need a place to live too! Otherwise you have whores on the street. I’m sorry; my family asked me not to talk about them.”

Stand up comedy classes seemed like a good idea. I sent an email to ask about signing up for classes. I remember pressing the “Send” button and feeling like I was doing something good. I had no idea what I was in for.

It was the first day of the beginner’s class and I didn’t know what to expect. The first day of anything always makes me anxious. I was the first one there. I’m very punctual. I hate being late. I was greeted by Richie, who I had only known through emails. He gave me my necessary papers, and made small talk with me. I remember making some small joke and then thought to myself, “Should I be making jokes? I don’t want to seem like a show off, or a kiss ass, or like I’m trying too hard to be funny.” Neurotic, I know. I was anxious to see who else would be taking a class as unique as this. And the teacher, what on earth could he be like? I sat there listening to Kurtis talk about his comedy career, the school, and what the class would be like. I was inspired. I felt at home. “This is good,” I thought. “I’m supposed to be here.” I paid for my classes immediately. I had the money in cash (oh how I miss having cash), and I was on my way.

What? Homework? Come up with a punch line for this premise? I couldn’t do it. I’d read the workbook, and I just didn’t understand the structure of a joke. “How am I going to do this? Is it possible to flunk out of Comedy College?” Those thoughts danced in my head as I tried to come up with anything that made sense. After two classes, I did what none of my classmates had done; I signed up for the Saturday open mic.

March 17th. St. Patrick’s Day. I was excited to be on a stage again, even if just for three minutes. I waited in the green room with the other comics, waiting for the show to start. A comic came up to me and asked me my name. He introduced himself as Kenny Altman. He never mentioned what that thing on his head was. It wasn’t quite a yalmulka. This catholic girl was a bit bewildered, but didn’t let that distract me from the conversation. He asked if this was my first time. Performing stand up on stage? Yes. This was a first. He assured me that I’d be fine, and that I’d have a great set. To which I replied, “You haven’t seen my set yet.” Megan was unable to attend the show, but her brother in-law and my co-worker Kevin came with his girlfriend, Alex. Kevin filmed, while Alex took pictures. I was sitting in the audience, anxiously awaiting my turn. I soon realized that all of the performers were entering from the right side of the stage. I was seated on the left. I spent a good minute deciding on how I would get from one side of the room to the other without disrupting the show. Laziness won that battle. I stayed put. Soon enough, it was my turn. I was welcomed onstage by cheers and applause, a sound I had missed so much. I noted my dilemma about being seated on the left side of the stage, and then proceeded with my first joke.

“Happy St. Patrick’s Day. I’m wearing green, as you can see, cause I can’t go out drinking, cause I’m not 21. So that’s kind of a bummer. So I wear green, and I pinch people who don’t. Which is lame right? It’s weak. We’re Irish; shouldn’t we be punching people in the throat?”

Laughter followed. That was it. I became a slave to the stage.

It’s been a year of comedy for me, and it’s treated me well. I’ve never written more than I have this last year. I’ve revamped some monologues I wrote in high school, like The Maury Show, and Smelly by Kelly. I’ve taken lines I made up in conversations with friends and turned them into bits for my act, like Drunk Stacey, and the 1930s Booty Call. I’ve drawn on my own (yet few) experiences to humorously talk about how I dropped Jesus in church, and how my mom warned me about the dangers of rufies at the age of 11. And during this year I have met amazing, wonderful people I am proud to call my friends and fellow comedians. I can honestly say there isn’t another group of people I would want to drunkenly fall off of a stage in front of. You’ve become my second family. I was taken aback by all the concern about my health this past holiday season. Thank you. It is truly a wonderful feeling knowing that others care about you and your well-being. I don’t think I ever told anyone, but I there was a brief period of time during my time being sick, where I started thinking about a grim, short future. You think about that kind of stuff when the doctor’s don’t even know what’s wrong. Okay, so I also watch a lot of “House.” I digress. What snapped me out of it was comedy. I had a show in just a few weeks. Like hell I was going to miss another opportunity to be on stage again! You all have been so wonderful to me, and I hope that I have been just as wonderful to you all in return. What a brilliant beginning of a magnificent journey this is turning out to be. The future looks bright. Cheers!

religion

I don't understand religion. If you practice a religion, and you have faith, well that's awesome. I mean it. That's really cool. I, myself, could just never get into it.

I grew up Catholic and went through Holy Confirmation in high school. Why go through a ceremony claiming your faith, when you don't really believe in the Catholic church? My parents wanted me too. My brother refused to go through with his Confirmation, and as a result, there were numerous arguments in my house. I didn't care either way, so I opted to make my parents happy.

Now my sister is being confirmed and I am her sponsor. I go to these meetings and it's hard for me. As a comedian, I want to be sarcastic and crack jokes. As a person, I don't want to be offensive, rude, or condescending. Example; we were supposed to talk with our candidate about how we communicate with God on a daily basis. "Text messages, of course!" That's what I immediately thought. I don't communicate with God on a daily basis... not even a semi-annual basis. What am I supposed to say? I just sat there the whole time restraining myself from being rude. I really do respect those that have faith, I do. My instinct to deliver a punchline was hard to fight. But I did it.

There are things about this religion I do not agree with. At this last meeting all of the candidates were going to go to confession. Before they individually went to go confess their sins, they had the priest name some sins, and after each one everyone in the church was to reply, "Forgive me Father for I have sinned." (something along that line, I can't remember the exact words) Well thanks for assuming that I did all of those things. I thought that religion was supposed to be about faith, not guilt. They have a lifestyle they expect Catholics to live by, yet they just assume that they aren't abiding to them. I just feel that its very contradictory.

I don't remember the last time I was at church. I was supposed to go for Christmas, but I was sick, and at work. Whenever I go to a mass, I suddenly get a severe case of ADD. I can never focus on what the priest is saying. I look around at the other people there and try to decide if they are truly getting anything out of the sermon. I wonder what they are thinking. Then I wonder if anyone can read my mind. "If there is someone reading my mind, could you stop. Or if it's possible read someone else's mind and report back to me."

I sometimes wonder if I'm a bad person because I can't get onboard the religious train. Maybe it's just not for me. Maybe there's a different religion that I can connect with better. Maybe there just isn't a religion for me.

Religion is about faith; believing. I believe that I'm living a good life. I believe that, despite some of my choices in life, I'm a good person. I believe that that's what should matter.

really

This entry took me a while to complete. I feel it's ready to share.


When I was in high school, I never really stood out. I wasn’t smart enough to be considered smart. I wasn’t athletic enough to be considered an athlete. And I wasn’t pretty enough to be considered a catch. I wasn’t even bland enough to be considered invisible by my peers.

The girls that I hung out with in high school always seemed to be attached to a boy. Their relationships would last anywhere from two weeks to two years, and no matter how long they lasted, their world revolved around their relationships. I never understood their need to be with their boy friends twenty-four/seven, their numerous fights about nothing, or why, if they weren’t happy with their guy, they stayed together. They made relationships seem so complicated, when if you could just step back and see the whole picture; you could realize it doesn’t have to be so difficult. Maybe they’d realize you can have a healthy balance between your boyfriend and your friends.

I had numerous crushes throughout those four years, but only a few of them made me absolutely melt. I would somehow always man up the courage to tell the boy on my mind that I liked him. Never would they feel the same about me. One rejection caught me so off guard, I felt my heart break. I felt it break and I didn’t know if it would ever be whole again. I was so convinced that this time was different. This time, he would feel the same way I felt. This time… this time would be my time. I’m still waiting for that time to come.

Friends would ask me why finding a guy was so important to me. It’s quite simple really. I have so much to give, and no one to receive it. I want to experience sharing your life with someone. I want to find someone who I can completely be myself with and enjoy the little things in life. Life is an adventure and to have someone journey with you in a deep, meaningful way would just maximize the thrills.

I could never understand why guys didn’t want to date me. Was I not pretty enough; not skinny enough; not out going enough? Did I dress too conservatively? Could I not carry an interesting conversation? Was I just absolutely repulsive? I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. My friends would tell me how wonderful I was, but how could I believe them? Your friends could tell you a million times that you’re amazing, that you’re gorgeous, and that any guy would be lucky to be with you; but at the end of the day, month, or year, those kind words are just that. They’re words. Without action, they are empty. That is how a 15 year old girl thinks, or at least, that is how I did. I felt I was plain, and uninteresting because no one made me feel special.
Today, I can stand up and proudly say: I am special. I can say I’m worth something. It took me a long time to really appreciate myself as I am. I don’t need someone else to define me. I know I’m awesome, and if someone else can’t see that, then they aren’t worth my time impressing. I am worth being appreciated as I am. If no one else is going to tell me I’m great, then damnit, I’ll say it! No longer do thoughts of self-doubt plague my mind. No longer do I rely on others to boost my self-esteem. I’ve stopped questioning myself, and I am just living my life as the person I want to be; the person I am now.

V-Day

It only seems right that the one day I finally have time to sit down and write out my thoughts would be on Valentines' Day. It's nothing special. I don't get paid double time at work, so it's not a holiday. I'm too jaded, bitter, and cynical to loathe my lonesomeness on this one day. Besides the low prices on candy, I can't stand the Valentines' Day merchandise. The only thing worse than that is all of the "Anti-Valentines' Day" crap.

"Send your friends an Anti-Valentines' Day card."
"Download the top 20 Anti-Valentines' Day songs."
"Celebrate 'Singles Awareness Day'."

All you're doing is bringing attention to Valentines' Day as if it has some significant spiritual meaning when all it is, is a Card day.

Do what everyone else does: Sit at home with Ben & Jerry, watch The Notebook and cry your eyes out, because Noah LOVES Ally! He Loves Her! And that pint of Half Baked ice cream really does fill that hole in your heart the way a hooker can't!!!

I digress...

You shouldn't just wait for this one day of the year to tell the one you love that you love them. Tell them all year. Show them all year.