I’ve been talking for a long time about doing things with my hands.  And thanks to Pinterest, I’ve been able to get so much inspiration.  I’m going to start doing a project every weekend and posting the results here in the blog.

The first entry?  Pomander Flower Balls!

Pinspired by this Pin… I decided it’d be a good first project to get my feet wet.  Now, I have been known to create a few things here and there, but I don’t follow through too often – mostly cause I’m lazy.  However, these balls looked easy and inexpensive.

They would have been, had I not decided to buy 3 or 4 different punches.  And they’re not cheap.  I could have used my Pazzles to cut out the flower shapes, but I still have that in the box on my living room floor… since last November. Lazy.

But after about an hour, I have 3 Pomander Flower Balls to go in a gorgeous hand-carved bowl I bought from Globally Sound in Appleton, Wisconsin.  I’ll try to get a pic soon of the balls in place, but I need to make a few more to get the full effect.

BEHOLD! MY BALLS!

I’m kind of, sort of in LOVE with Pinterest.  No, for real.  In love.  I’m totally inspired by the site and the ideas and I love having somewhere visual to post things and look back at what tripped my trigger.

I’ve organized my boards into things like recipes, clothes, colors, etc.  And of course, DIY goodies.

Today, I created a new board call “Pinspired”.  I plan to blog about my DIY adventures when I create something inspired by something I’ve found on Pinterest. I’ll also let those of you who wish to, post your pinspirations.

My first post will happen very shortly. Be ready!

One of the reasons I hesitate to make some grandiose pledge to blog every day, or even regularly, is that I lose focus.  I guess I can point to any number of things as my excuse… maybe my four jobs… maybe being generally distracted… maybe a general amount of apathy… maybe adult ADHD.  It could be any number of things, but I just feel generally unmotivated and unfocused lately.

It’s not that I don’t set out to do something and stick to it – I do.  I sure do . In fact, I made this big pledge to commit to things and stick with them back in my first blog entry here.  And I can look and say “I’ve not told anyone I am committed to this blogging thing.” But, I’d be lying to say I’m not typing this and being frustrated with the fact that I started out on a good roll and have now seemed to go off track.

I think a lot of things in my life get derailed, somehow.  Maybe because I lose focus.  Because I don’t keep my “eye on the prize” or I don’t see “the forest for the tress” or some other stupid, cliche bullshit like that.  But really, I’m sure lazy has something to do with it.

So, readers, if there are any of you left – maybe you can help spur me on? Any thoughts on blog topics?  Anything you’d like to read my thoughts on?  I’ll take just about any suggestions to get my creativity flowing again.  I feel “meh” – so un-”meh” me, friends.

When I started comedy, I kept it clean – VERY clean.  I don’t know that for the first couple years, I had any naughty words come out of my mouth while doing a set. Those who know me in real life know this is a staggering statistic.  I oftentimes joke now that I say “fuck” more times a day than all of the people in the room with me, combined. That’s probably not that far from the truth.

When I started producing Comedy Under The Tap, I was faced with a difficult decision – should we, or should we not have any type of language restrictions.  The decision was made to say we ran a PG-13 show.

Over the next couple of months, folks pushed the envelope. Of course they did, comics are notorious for pushing boundaries.  And in their defense, some of the BEST comics were ones that didn’t adhere to many rules.  That being said, I constantly had to clarify the definition of PG-13.  Then, one day, a comic made sure to link me to the MPAA site to tell me exactly what the PG-13 rating meant.

All along, I wanted to set a standard in the room that made it a show that would attract the most fans.  I felt pretty strongly that words like “fuck” and “cunt” and phrases like “anal fisting” weren’t really punchlines… and comics continuously badgered me about the rule until I had to clarify that our room does not allow “fuck” or “anything more lewd, crude or obscene.”  To this day, comics still want to “run things by me” to see if it’s ok to say.

Ugh.

This rule initially was made because many of the comics on the early Comedy Under The Tap lineups were fresh, new folks trying comedy for the first time.  So, with a lineup of 8 comics, the first would say fuck once, the next 4 times, and by the end of the show it was a fuckfest.

I look back on my comedy experiences when I started doing comedy very fondly, and I believe, wholeheartedly the only reason I’m at all even moderately good (and I say that with some angst) at comedy is because I was ‘brought up’ not relying on “Fuck” for an easy laugh.

Now, does that mean I think “Fuck” is always an easy laugh.  Fuck no!  I think that words like fuck and even cunt can be used to make a very funny bit even funnier, but I also believe that’s an exception, not a rule.

I’ve taken some flack for this ‘rule’.  I’ve been told I’m censoring people.  I’ve been told that it means I don’t have a sense of humor myself.  I’ve been told that it means I’m an anal-retentive bitch who talks down to people (as a note, that one may be true).  The “flack” I’ve gotten has even led to some drama (and comics, oh man, we LOVES drama!)… but happily, it’s worked its way out with those involved who are worth working it out with.

Do I think “fuck” is funny? Sometimes, yes.  Do I think “fuck” is an easy laugh?  Sometimes, yes.  Do I think I need to get fucked?  Maybe… err, yes… any takers?

When I look in the mirror, I don’t see what other people see. Or at least what they tell me they see.

Part of it is definitely related to my weight loss.  Going from 320lbs to 150lbs is bound to make anyone a bit mirror-shocked.  When I look in the mirror, I don’t see “Fat Amelia” but I don’t see “Thin Bitch Amelia” either.  I think I see something in between, I guess.

When I look in the mirror, the words that come into my head aren’t kind.  And I can’t quite figure out why my view of myself is so distorted.

Physically looking in the mirror, I see “vanilla”.  That’s the word I’d use.  Nothing to write home about, nothing appealing really. Though I can’t say anything is horrifying either.  Of course, as a woman, it’s my job to be totally self-critical.  I see every imperfection probably 10000x bigger than they actually are. I think if I let myself, I could stare in the mirror for hours and just make an exhaustive list of things I’d change about my appearance if it were possible.

More disturbing though is that while I’ve begun surrounding myself with amazing people who say amazing things, I don’t see any of those things about myself.

I don’t see that I’m kind or caring.  What I see is someone who is selfish and cold.  Keeping folks at arm’s length to avoid anyone knowing the real me.  I see someone who often fails those in her life because she can’t just “fix” things.  I don’t think of myself as kind or caring.

My last post talked about failure – and so many people point out the things I’ve accomplished.  And they are right – I have accomplished a few things that are probably noteworthy – but what I see looking back at me is

Happy is a word used to describe me by so many people.  But I know that right now, not so deep down, I’m sad. Sadder than I’ve ever been.  And while folks see happy and fun and charismatic – I see cold, sad and lonely.

People say I’m strong.  Dear God, I wish I were. Maybe it’s just something I project because I am, deep down, incredibly weak and weak-willed.  Where anyone gets any idea I’m strong is far beyond me.  Super duper far.

Loving? Wow, hardly. I’m so judgmental and I’m quick to make rash decisions and say things that are anything but loving.  And then I think “How can I be loving if I don’t even love myself?”

I guess that’s where I need to start – to figure out how to love myself.  I have no idea where to start… but I want to see just a bit of what others say they see staring back at me in the not so distant future.

While working on some new comedy material, I decided to make a list of things I was afraid of.  I suppose many folks would have items on it like spiders or dying… or leprechauns or trolls (maybe that was redundant, sorry)… I actually had a hard time making a list of my fears.

It’s not that I’m not afraid of things, I just don’t think there’s much I can’t handle. Yeah, I’m tough like that.   And I will cut you if I need to/want to/feel that you  need cuttin’.

I’m staring at the page and I jot down a few things – but one sticks out like a store, gnarled thumb: failure.  I’m woman enough to admit I’m afraid to fail.  At anything and everything.  I think part of that is because I care entirely too much about what others think of me (please LIKE this post and comment, ok?).  Another reason is that because I have very little in the way of life accomplishments (no kids, no degree, I change jobs more often than an OCD woman changes her panties, etc) – I hold like crazy onto my few successes like trophies… and I display them to the world to validate me.

And who wants to validate a failure?  No one.  Well, maybe TMZ, but yeah.

Of course, the fear of failure comes from failing at things.  It’s a vicious circle.  I failed at college (twice).  I failed at becoming a pop star.  I failed at just about every job I’ve ever had.  I’ve failed my friends.  I’ve failed my family.  I’ve failed to be able to create a family of my own.  Fail. Fail. Fail.

I think my fear of failure is one reason I oftentimes don’t follow through on things I plan.  Cause if I don’t try, I won’t fail.  How’s that for simple logic?  But it makes sense I guess.

It’s strange to hate failure so much that I feel paralyzed from actually doing anything.  That’s fucked up, right?  So I’m going to let the fear of failure stop me from trying anything. As I type this – I realize the dumbth that this is.  DUMBTH.

I can say that the light at the end of the failtunnel seems to be that I think I’ve learned something from most of my failures.  Though it hurts to go through the fail part to get to the “aha” part.  And I look back and can’t see many repeat failures at the same thing.  Of course, I don’t try things very often, so that could have something to do with it.

I guess I need a point in order to wrap this post up – I guess my point is that I’m a failure.  Ok, there it is.  I’m a big (but no longer fat) failure.  And maybe admitting that and being ok with the fact that I fail is part of getting over the fear of failing.

Only one way to find out!

This past spring marked my fifth year doing comedy. Five years. Wowza. I actually had to look back at dates to figure this out (I’m bad at math). And of course, that included the ubiquitous “break” that most comics take (mine was a little over a year). But yeah, five years.

When I started doing comedy, I thought it’d be completely different than it turned out to be. Don’t get me wrong, I dreamed, like most comics do – that I’d be surrounded by easy whores throwing their bras at me after an amazing set… and groupies.. perky-nippled groupies. Mmmmm! I mean I was a natural at hanging out with friends and making them laugh for hours. I had witty retorts for just about everything (can you say “Class Clown”?) and after becoming a bitter musician (as a 280 pound girl, was actually told to call a record producer back when I lost 150 of those pounds… yeah… anyhow, I digress…) I thought my passion for the stage was something I’d have to give up.

So that leads me to how I decided to try stand-up comedy – I’m out with my friend Shana at IHOP one day, and as I’m leaving a woman grabbed my arm and said “I was listening to your conversation with your friends and you are the funniest person I’ve ever heard, you should be a comedian.” And the dream was born – I was going to pursue stand-up comedy… and save for a shitty experience with a douchebag comic in Chicago who ran a ‘workshop’ (that’ll be another blog entry, I’m sure), I have never felt quite as much “me” as I have on stage as when I’m performing. Well, ok, I have felt like “me” off-stage – but my first “me”, truly “me” experience was telling jokes into a mic.

[and yes, I appreciate how much you want to feel me, you're very cute, hornball, now let's move on]

And now, 5 years in, I’m here to tell you – COMEDY IS HARD! It’s still hard. It will always be hard. And that means I’m doing it right.

Being funny on my couch is natural (clothed or not)… I can be in a group of 2 or 25 and slay them. For real. [turning on humble Amelia] But being on stage is a completely different situation. On my couch, my friends know me – I know them – so I can make them laugh pretty easily (and yes, girls not only think boob and poop jokes are funny, but we tell them, too). Nothing is more of a reality check than being on stage in front of 20 (or 2 or 40 or 200) people and thinking you’re the funniest person ever and hearing crickets – or worse – nothing. If you’re new to comedy, don’t invite your friends to every show. Why? Being funny in front of strangers is hard.

One of the best things I did when I started was to get stage time anywhere I could. When I started comedy, I lived in Dallas. Dallas didn’t have a ton of opportunities… nowhere near as great as Chicago. And while I weekly went to The Backdoor Comedy Club for open mic (I miss you guys, so much! And SHUT UP you assholes who are giggling at the name). I would wait and wait for my 4 minutes… after 30 comics had gone up, and worked and worked on my fat jokes. And work I did. I then started doing music open mics to get more opportunities. It helped I had those Billboard connections I mentioned in a previous post (namedropper, pshaw)… but it was about getting up on stage as much as possible and working. It was tons of time, lots of writing, and lots of disappointment. But it made me a better comic. Go up – and if you don’t have places to go up, make them. Finding places to go up, and going up as often as possible is hard.

I’d say my ratio for things I write to things that actually work is about 18 to 1. That may be a bit a little too generous… but it’s true. I think it’s because I feel I’m a natural performer – so when I write, I tend to not sound like me. I mean come on, who talks onto paper anyhow (if you can give me a good answer for this I may give you a prize)? And I’m a totally/ridiculously critical person when it comes to my own self – so whatever I write, I immediately hate (I am assuming this is how the disciples felt as they wrote the New Testament, which helps a bit).

Writing has always been tricky for me. Whereas many comics have trouble performing – I have none of that. I do, however, have writer’s block/laziness/lameness/bleh. And in an effort to try to come up with quick fixes or magic bullets – I’ve read tons of books, done some classes (I know, shut up naysayers). I’m still unable to find ways to spark my laziness when it comes to writing. But I’d make the mistake of following the rules too closely. Like, there I was, filling in the blanks. And then when I’d tell a joke it had this strange “Mad-Libs” rhythm to it. Bleh. It wasn’t authentic. It was boring. It was methodical and maniacal and mediocre (and that, my friends, is alliteration, woot!).

And I know I never have, and still don’t write enough. Like a fat girl working for Hostess, I get into bad habits – like being married to some jokes. Let’s face it, as a comic, nothing feels quite as good as getting a huge laugh from an audience – and I take that joke, and I love it and hug it and call it George. I beat that joke like Michael Jackson… no, I’m gonna leave that one – cause I’ve got nothing (except vodka in my system). After losing 170lbs (yes, I’m HAWT now), it was hard to get rid of my fat jokes (and that’s another point, because it was DAMN easy to write fat jokes). I mean I spent YEARS relying on those jokes – pointing out the most obvious thing to me – my hugeness. I was married to that. Now I need to try new things, write new things, find new things to write about. And hey, writing comedy is hard.

Back in Dallas, I was mentored by some fabulous comics and people who gave me some great advice. And THAT was hard too – figuring out who to hang out with. I think that you tend to gravitate toward certain folks (the good looking, well-to-do types, right ladies?) – but finding the ones who were helpful and made me a better comic – and dare I say, me them – was important. We worked together. WORKED.

Back in the big D, very Saturday, a group of about 8 comics would get together at my place and we’d workshop our material. We’d go to open mics together. We’d send each other emails. We’d help each other get better at our craft. And It was great. Maybe codependent, yes, but great. I miss it often, but I’m lucky to still have a relationship with my buddy Shaun Arredondo, and we still send each other things from time to time. It’s that old proverb that rings true, even now: Iron sharpens iron. It’s hard to find the right folks to surround yourself with, but worth the work.

When I started, I worked 100% clean. Let me be clear – I say “fuck” more times a day than just about everyone else I know, combined. But reality is, when I wanted to get paying work, I had to be clean. And for the record, I’ve made some money doing paid work. Most clubs didn’t seem to want anyone who’d be dirtier than the feature or headliner. And I get that. Following rules and being different from how I am from day to day is hard.

And now, like other things in my life, I’m starting over with comedy five years in. After the weight loss, I’ve had a difficult time redefining myself. I’ve also used that as a huge amount of laziness to not move ahead with my comedy. I have had to find a new voice… and while I am still funny (and, note HAWT), I can’t be married to those fat jokes I mentioned earlier, and I can’t get married to thin jokes (cause, I’m NOT a whore, ok?)…

Comedy is hard work. I have to work even harder on my writing than I did when I started. I’ve got to continue to surround myself with great people. Unlike Dallas, I’ve got so many opportunities in Chicago. While I still say fuck more times in a day than I can keep track of (carpal tunnel prevents me from doing so), I still tend to work clean and not rely on “fuck” for a laugh (but dammit, “fuck” is funny).

It’s still hard… and I hope it always will be. Cause if it’s not hard, then I’m not working enough.

BONUS FEATURES:

My first comedy set ever at the Improv in Addison, Texas. Spring 2006.

One of my most recent sets at Comedy Under The Tap in Oswego, IL. Spring, 2011. Five years later (and -170lbs too)!

I’ve produced live events/shows on and off for many years. Back in Dallas, I did some work for Billboard, and got to work with some really talented musicians and produced shows there. Nowadays, I’m producing comedy shows. Comics are a rare and special breed (and by special, I am referring to diseases, yes), and they come in many different flavors (feel free to take that statement however you want to, you filthy whores).

Over the past year and a half of producing Comedy Under The Tap, I’ve been lucky to meet some great comics and make some fantastic friends. For every douchenozzle comic I meet, I meet about 3 who are good people. That makes it worth it. For real.

But, let’s face it – there are so many annoying things I could drone on and on about when it comes to comics, but I’m going to pick just one today: The Stats Man.

Who is he? He’s the comic on your FB friend’s list who posts about how many shows he’s done over the past few months. He updates everyone about how many ‘road comic’ miles he has under his belt. Every post about comedy is about how many LPMs (laughs per minute) he got. He loves to brag about the size of the crowd he was in front of. He posts incessantly about how many open mics he was able to get to in one night. He sandwiches one bit on top of another to keep making an ego-sandwich that totals X amount of minutes.

Numbers-wise he’s top of his game. I can face facts, he is doing more than I am. More shows, more open mics, more jokes, in front of more comedy fans. He is quite impressive if you look at his stats roster.

Sadly, though, this comic equates all of his success on things that don’t really matter: How many folks he’s performed for. How many shows he’s done. How many miles he’s traveled… and as a producer, I honestly could not give a shit about any of that. As a comic, it makes me stabby.

Mr. Statsman, in my experience, is usually a weak comic. Holding onto a joke that got 1 laugh out of 234 shows. He spends his time making tally marks instead of doing the work it takes to be a good comic.

Which brings me to my point about why Mr. Statsman is so fucking annoying: Fundamentally, what is important in comedy is not how many bits you have written, how many folks you’ve performed in front of, how many miles or shows. All that matters is that you’re funny. THAT IS IT!

JUST. BE. FUNNY.

Now, I’m not saying you shouldn’t do mic after mic after mic – when I started (and before I had 4 jobs), I would perform anywhere and everywhere, and that made me a better comic. Now, I’m not as strong of a comic as I could be because I’m not getting out there. But don’t get so hung up on the stats that you lose sight of what comedy is about – making people laugh.

- I’m going to write again.  Starting here, starting now.
- I’m going to sing again.  Maybe not on a huge stage in front of thousands of people, but I’m going to make a conscious effort to make it part of my regular doings.
- I’m going to perform more.  How I’m going to balance that with 4 jobs (1 “real” job and 3 part-time gigs) is beyond me, but dammit, I’m doing it.
- I’m going to put my time and energy into things and people that make me happy.  And I’m going to strive to find things and people that make me happy and surround myself with them, come hell or high water.
- I’m going to learn to be ok with not being able to fix things or be perfect.
- I’m going to open myself up to others.  I’m going to be transparent with people – and though that carries a ton of risk, in the right situations, it brings a bevy of reward.  It’s worth the reward.
- I’m going to make decisions and stick with them.  I’m going to formulate plans and follow them.  I may be slower than I intend, I may be more deliberate than others think I should be, but I’m going to move ahead.
- I’m going to stop letting what I’ve done or what I’ve been define me. I’m going to fuck up, and when I do, I’m going to deal, get over it, and move on.
- I’m going to live for me and put myself first (ok, maybe at least some of the time – wink).
- I’m going to learn to love myself.
- I’m going to let others love me.  The real me.
- I’m going to read this post every day, at least 3 times to remind myself that this is the first ‘plan’ I’ve made, and the things I’m claiming to do will be done.

Go me!

And as a note to myself: I may have to start over again tomorrow - but I’ll be here to try.

So who’s behind me?  Who’s on my side?  Who’s in my corner?  Cause if you’re not, there’s no room for you. I’ve got things to do.