3 A.M., Saturday Morning, Three Sheets to the Wind

I went to a comedy club tonight. First time. Any person who goes to a comedy club leaves thinking they’re a comedian, including myself. It’s just natural – if that comedian can spend 45 minutes riffing on her Jewish upbringing, then so can I! Same with being black, masturbating, being overweight, sucking at life, etc. These are things we all have in common. “Last time I masturbated *pause* I was black *pause* and I could see my dick!” Look at that I riffed on multiple topics at once. I’m a real jokester.

I talked to the comedians after the show and they’re just normal folks. Intimidating, though. You stand there, trying to chat about Wisconsin or wherever they’re from or whatever they talked about, and the absolute last thing you want to do is make a joke. In your head, though, you can’t stop thinking I’m Funny, I’m Funny, I’m Funny and, suddenly, that moment will arrive where something just slips out – like when the comedian mentioned he couldn’t do his “I’m pre-diabetes” routine in the south because everyone in the audience is incredibly obese and I blurted, “Yeah, they’re post-diabetes.”

He cracked a grin, shook his head ruefully, and said, “That’s good.” If that line isn’t in his next routine I will be shocked.

That validation felt pretty good. So good that I didn’t mind not finding a dance partner at the gay bar. So good that I didn’t mind all the fluids on the floor as I peed in the gay bar restroom. So good that I didn’t mind how gay dudes seem to get to practice hooking up with the hordes of available straight girls while it’s so rare for straight men to get the chance to practice our moves on anything except the bathroom mirror. So good that when we made it back home I passed up on the rest my body desired and instead climbed into the nearby field to look at the stars.

So bright and seemingly close, the sky was spackled with stars like the glow-in-the-dark ones on the ceiling of your childhood bedroom. The ground was surprisingly comfortable, smooth and soft. A bug climbed on my arm and I didn’t care. I was conversing with the universe.

“Hello, world,” I murmured. “I’m here.”

The world – so vast, and huge, and enormous, and gorgeous – did not respond, but that was ok. The stars were bright and the ground was soft and that seemed like response enough.

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