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, more than once, Pauly has walked around the corner to find me in the kitchen, nekkid head-to-toe, happily making scrambled eggs for breakfast.
"Hey! Put on some clothes!" he shouts.
"NO! All the windows are covered! I don't need 'em!"
I say - DON'T WEAR ANYTHING UNLESS YOU HAVE TO. Clothes are constrictive, and unnecessary, and I can hardly wait till we have a world leader who finally announces this truth and makes all clothing optional.
I will move to that country and will hope that it is warm.
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.
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 bonks another one over the head 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.
Maybe I can talk about that.
Or I can 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, and wondering what on earth I'm doing with this strange, 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 my 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.
I bought a dehydrator.
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.
I guess we all know what gadget I'll be purchasing next time I'm sauced and near a computer!
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.
I've got 'em.