Funny Feelings (5)

I freeze in panic, my tongue swelling in my mouth as I grimace and huff out a laugh, suspecting the direction this is headed for.

“I would just prefer that part of my real life to stay somewhat private,” I lie. I don’t need to explain that what I share on stage is different.

“Understandable. But, even if we don’t stoke the flame of publicity beforehand, you do understand that it would be a natural byproduct of taking this on? I have SNL booked two months from now, plus Shauna has a movie coming out, and will be photographed at every one of Tyson’s games until the tour starts…” Right. Shauna Cooper is dating Tyson Callahan, star something for the something-somethings of a sport. I don’t care who she dates. I care deeply for her comedy, though…

But that’s just it, isn’t it? I have an investment in her after years of watching her and looking up to her. And yet even I still know that who she dates is newsworthy and has probably drawn more people to look her up.

“My…dating life. It’s not actually existent,” I admit.

She laughs quickly before smoothing it away. “Oh believe me, I know. I figured that. Not that you seem undateable or anything. I just know how it is when you’re starting out.” She smiles warmly before blowing out a breath. “Would you object to being photographed with a celebrity faux-beau? Let some speculative gossip happen?”

“Oh my god, that’s a thing? Celebrities really fake attachments for publicity?”

She curls an eyebrow my way. Oops, she did not like the judgment implied in that tone.

“They do. Most people are willing to do a lot of mildly uncomfortable things when it comes to furthering their ambitions.”

Touché.

My eyes clash with Meyer’s from across the room, and I’m transported back to months ago when we were working through the material that’s in my current set. We stayed up for hours, him helping me work through a bit about the bleakness of Tinder, about how being in stand-up always hinders dating…

“Why do you think it is, though, Meyer? For real. Why do I get ghosted when men find out I’m in comedy?” I asked him, genuinely wondering. Hazel’s head laid in my lap, dozing softly.

“I’m not sure. It seems cliché, but I think men, especially the ones who want to think that they themselves are funny, are intimidated by funny women. Probably because they don’t want to risk being source material.”

“Well, how interesting. Men are afraid of women being funnier than them, and women are afraid of, oh, I don’t know, being oppressed, beaten, raped, or killed by men. But look out! Funny chick here might follow you down an alley and make you chuckle without consent!”

“I think you just found your punchline.” He smiled, a megawatt thing that deepened the creases around his eyes and brought my attention to the ones that bracketed his mouth. New ones that I’d never noticed before. A laugh escaped.

“Oh my god,” I said with unfiltered awe before I could even think to stop myself. And, immediately, the smile was gone. He didn’t break eye contact, though. A muscle in his jaw rippled.

“Anyone who is pathetic enough to let you being funny—or your career—get in the way of being with you doesn’t deserve you, Fee.”

Kara’s words pluck at my brain in the present, and I remember, “You said you had an idea?”

She looks at her manager and Meyer, waving them over. “I do.”





38 MONTHS AGO





“Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes. After that who cares? He’s a mile away, and you’ve got his shoes.”- Billy Connolly





MEYER


I’ve stood alone on a stage, sweating under blinding lights, talking about genitalia, politicians, and ‘your mom’, in front of a thousand people before, and I still don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous.

I wipe my palms on my jeans as I look around at a table full of seven-year-old girls staring blankly back at me. It’s the first birthday party I’ve ever thrown for Hazel, and so far, I am patently not crushing it. “I’m going to go call and check on the pizzas.” I tell them, and I sign it as well as speak it, since her friend Olive is not Deaf.

I walk over to the bar where Lance is throwing me a sympathetic look. “I know, I know. I’m improvising here,” I say.

“I seem to recall you being a bit more entertaining when it came to improv.” He chuckles as I school my face into a baleful glare. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. Which doesn’t look like it’ll be more than fifteen minutes anyway, but open mic doesn’t start until eight,” he says.

“Just like old times with the heckling, huh?” I sigh. “Thank you again. I didn’t think I needed a contingency plan for rain in August.”

All Hazel wanted to do was have a few of her new school friends join her at the water park for her birthday. Simple enough. She’s at a new school; an excellent school with a bunch of other Deaf students like her, along with many other multilingual kids who know ASL.

She was so excited to have enough friends to warrant a real celebration, and I wanted to make this perfect for her. I did the necessary prep work with the other moms, ensuring they all felt comfortable with their girls under my watch, and I reserved a cabana thing with pizza, cake, ice cream… Hazel wanted to make ‘favors’ after attending another L.A. kid’s birthday last year—I know, I know, I am groaning at myself here, too. So, after the fever dream that was a foray into the land of Pinterest, we made bags for the girls that contained: sunscreen, goggles, mermaid printed hair ties, and a plethora of snacks that “fit the theme.” Licorice pool noodles, shark gummies submerged in homemade blue jello cups, seaweed chips… Never did I think—back when I was in my early twenties and being passed a joint backstage at a Dave Chapelle show—that my life would one day involve squeezing melted chocolate onto a Nutter Butter to make it look like a flip flop, but alas, here we are. And most days I love it here.