People say this to me all the time, “wow, that’s so brave, I could never do that.

They’re talking about stand-up comedy…

And I’m thinking, you know…“ if your parents just paid a little bit less attention to you, or perhaps they just pushed you a little bit harder, you could probably stomach an open mic.

That’s just my joke theory on it. I said that on stage a couple weeks ago — the comics in the room liked it.

Dan Soder said that, “there’s no such thing as a well adjusted comedian.” Dan Soder is a pretty famous comedian, he’s smart, and makes these adorable jokes about his grandma, and I think I was in love with him at one point…

I guess it’s ok to acknowledge that it’s cool, but that most people would just, rather not, in a million years, do stand-up — which makes us a bit of a peculiar bunch.

When I was brainstorming “nerves”, I thought to myself, well, this could be about anything. Excel spreadsheets make me nervous, and I know they make a lot of people nervous, so I’m aware that this may sound cliche, but I would rather bomb, naked, in front of 100 people than be expected to complete any kind of merge on an Excel document.

Another thought that popped into my head — it was back in 2016 when I saw my ex boyfriend at a party in Manhattan. I didn’t realize it until I signed the check, that my hand was shaking so violently I couldn’t sign my name. I wasn’t expected that, nerves.

Oh yes, and the time I actually met Dan Soder at The Stand where he preforms. I was so nervous that I couldn’t speak too very good well. He said to me, “hey, if it makes you feel any better, I have a girl-friend.” That was only slightly devastating, but it calmed me down, I no longer had anything to lose, ya know? I regained my ability to speak, to which he noticed and said, “Hey! Look, now you’re jean-jacket cool.” I was wearing a jean-jacket that night, nerves.

I used to see them on my way home from work, Dan Soder, Tim Dillon, Janeane Garofalo, Yamaneika Sauners, comics — just hangin’ out outside The Stand, which in 2016 was on 3rd ave and 20 something. Then they moved to Irving Place a couple years later. The owner of The Stand was actually stabbed to death in 2019, by the jealous boyfriend of the au pair who was living with him at the time, a deranged stalker who killed them both. I think he’s very much aware of how incredible the new Stand is on Irving place. Personally, I don’t believe in death, but thats quantum, and I’ll get back to the story.

When I went to my first show, just to watch, and check it out — (say it in that voice) “Oh my god” — (make the gesture with your hands). After that one night, I was going to shows, open mics, multiple times a week, everything. I fell in love with them, comics, especially amateur mic-ers, because they stuff is so raw, it still is — unpredictable, (pause) unpolished material.

It can get awkward, and uncomfortable, because the pressure on stage can make you cave in on yourself, and the audience can always smell fear. Watching someone descend from grace, in front of your eyes, (we call this the bomb) some people can’t handle the cringe, but I tend to find it authentically human.

As a social work student, I used to go in there with my notebook, because I’d get a peek into the inner-psyche of whoever was on stage, comedy can be so philosophical. “Oh, wow, so that’s your perception….hmm. Interesting, OK. I mean, let’s say you meet someone that you’re interested in — someone you’d like to get to know — if you take them to a few comedy shows and pay attention to what they laugh at–it’ll tell you a lot about them in a short period of time.

I remember it so clearly, sitting at these shows, feeling like, “I need to be friends with these people.” So, I just kept going back, and then I became “that girl who was always there” — (say it in that voice) — -they recognized me…

One night comic, her name was Remi, came up to me and said, “you’re here all the time, why don’t you just do a mic?” I wasn’t going to say no. It took me three months, three months of writing to do a 4 minute open-mic — in the basement of a random polish-bar on the lower east side called The Klimat Lounge (with a K) — that you would never want to go to if you weren’t there to do comedy.

That was 3 months, for 4 MINUTES, but that’s what my perfectionist part was into at the time — doing way more than it needed, working way too long, because, it was never satisfied– its favorite line was: “this is not good enough yet”

My first therapeutic supervisor said this to me, he said, “the strive for perfection is an attempt to be loved, or an evolutionary mechanism not to die.” Your words have stuck with me, Dr. Grossman. And to my recovering perfectionist part, if you can hear me now — I want to appreciate you trying to protect me from revealing any potential shortcomings on stage, and of course, from judgment– No one’s ever judged anyone on a stage before…

Thanks for finally letting me be seen, and not using your 5000 unfinished google docs as another form of avoidance 🙂

I went by myself to my first open-mic, I didn’t invite anyone. At open mics, they typically pick the names out of a bucket, (but it’s also rigged). They picked the first comic, then they picked the runner up, eventually my name got called, so I knew I was on deck.

I don’t know what happened, but as I stood up — all the sudden — I was peeing. Uncontrollably — I tried to stop peeing, but, it didn’t work like it usually did. The flow could not be stopped, and I remember thinking to myself, “ok, this is happening…”Thankfully — I was wearing black tights that night, so the tights absorbed the pee–and no one could see.

I proceeded to do my set — And… people actually laughed, and my only regret was not making a joke that I had just peed my pants.

I did not walk home that night, I glided home on air — and It felt incredible — and then I took a shower because I smelled like piss.

FAST FORWARD A YEAR OR SO — ( I just did my first real show, people thought it was hilarious that I ate brownies out of the garbage).

FAST FORWARD SOME MONTHS LATER — I got asked to do a comedy set — for a charity Event/birthday party — these were people I kinda knew. I was super excited about this offer, and I told a bunch of comics at the Klimat Lounge. Brock Savage the comedian told me, he said, “Rachel, just be careful doing comedy at non-comedy event.” I didn’t really know what he meant, I mean, I heard him, but I didn’t take it too seriously. I also just want to pause, and take a moment to mention that– Brock Savage IS his real name.

I later found out that people I knew from college actually bought tickets to this charity event, just to see me! I worked so hard on this set.

So, were at the party — the place is called GOLDBAR. An Upscale Lounge in Manhattan, with Creative cocktails & DJ music– in a gold-themed space with a velvet rope out front. I’m at a glorified frat lounge with 100 of my closest bros.

When it came time to do my set, I was ready to go, but no one wanted to introduce me, and there was no stage. But I had a microphone, so I introduced myself.

The first punch-line — awesome– got a response —
Then, after about… mmmm 45 seconds — the volume in the room started to go up.
“Wait, what’s going on ?”— everyone started talking over me, no one was listening anymore, “AM I STANDING HERE? I cant tell…”
“I’ll just try talk louder?” — NOPE, but it was a nice effort.
By that time my hand starting shaking on the mic, F*UCK — you know the audience can smell fear. I tried switching the mic to my left hand, but that didn’t work, shaking all the same, rats! Then I decided to chop both my hands off, just kidding.

I’d say there was about 5 people, not including my one friend Sarah who came with me, who saw me out there, and actually tried to listen — and I have not forgotten those folks faces.

I watched myself from outside myself, so clearly, I was getting massacred. I was going down like the captain on the titanic, Edward Smith was his name. I will say, I went down gracefully.

You know, at the Oscars/Academy awards, when they speeches go for too long, then they turn the music up, the lights go down, and they take the microphone? That is exactly what happened to me that night. Some woman in a leopard skirt took the mic out of my hand, and didn’t say anything, and the people who invited me didn’t say a peep.

Honestly, I don’t think the majority of the party knew I was doing comedy, they were just there to drink and party.

Nothing will ever be as bad as that, EVER. But at the same time, in that moment and to this day, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alive.

My friend Sarah and I took a shot, then Sarah went home, and I went to a place called ACME to dance by myself. When I got home that night, I actually laid down in the shower, which I hadn’t tried before but it felt good.

This was a process of debunking fear, a process of knowing, and you will always respect yourself, just for getting up there.