My First Stand-Up Comedy Routine / by Dana Bergstrom

Yesterday, my comedian pal, Jenny, suggested that I write a five-minute set so we can go to an open mic and I can make a fool of myself.

Well...that's not why she suggested it.

She thinks it'll be fun.

I don't even know how to begin such a process, so I'm writing a blog post instead.

Ya know why I love Love LOVE doing blog posts?

Because I never have to get dressed to chat with y'all!

I can write wearing my favorite outfit - a stained 29 year old college sweatshirt and jeans with holes blown out in sketchy places - like I'm doing now.

Or I can write wearing no clothes at all!

It's soooo great!

Maybe I can talk on stage about how, as a feral human, getting dressed every single day is like a total ordeal for me.

And how Pauly, my husband of 24 years, sometimes finds me in the kitchen, nekkid head-to-toe, happily making scrambled eggs for breakfast.

HEY! PUT ON SOME CLOTHES! he always shouts.

Not gonna do it.

My motto is: DON'T WEAR ANYTHING UNLESS YOU HAVE TO.

Clothing at home is constrictive and unnecessary and I'm not having it.

Or maybe I can use open mic time to discuss my comedically incompatible husband who believes Minions are the most hilarious things on the planet.

Geez.

Pauly was watching them again yesterday and if I didn't derive so much joy out of seeing him laugh, I'd blow a giant gasket over his love for those yellow goofballs.

Truth be told, I'm jealous.

There are so many times I say something funny and he doesn't even crack a smile.

But one Minion on YouTube smacks another one in the face with a pair of goggles and Pauly FALLS OFF THE COUCH crying and laughing.

I love that man very much and I do not understand him.

minion.jpg

Maybe I can talk about that.

Or I could talk about how a friend suggested that I post a How-To-Twerk video since I love making dance vids.

I've never attempted to learn the move so I found a tutorial online.

I began to twerk, well...maybe...I did, but I was wearing super baggy overalls and couldn't tell in the mirror if I was actually doing the move.

All of a sudden, I'm staring at myself wearing only a t-shirt and panties, with a big pile of denim around the ankles, ass in the air, having a twerk-inspired existential crisis.

What am I'm doing with this bizarre, middle-aged existence of mine?

Or I could mention the night I was PMSing and drank too many cocktails in an attempt to cope with all the wild emotions.

Then came the tequila-fueled shopping spree where I purchased a ridiculously gigantic and expensive food dehydrator on Amazon.

Not something fun or whimsical or luxuriously extravagant.

A dehydrator.

Goddammit.

Do you know how much EXTRA WORK I've created by buying this?

Work that involves going outside and growing vegetables and WEARING CLOTHES?!

After the dehydrator arrived, I really, really, really wished there had been a breathalyzer attached to my iMac.

Guess we all know what gadget I'll be purchasing next time I'm sauced and near a computer!

Welp.

I still haven't written my five minute set, but this is a start.

I think my living room has just become a stand-up writing lab where I hope to eventually shoot comedy videos from the neck up so I never ever ever have to get dressed.

Goals!

I've got 'em.