Just a Bit

In comedy, if you do very poorly, you "bomb".
I've bombed before. I'll tell you about it sometime.
If you do substantially well, you "kill".
I killed. And it was fucking great.
I thought it was going to bottom out because the crowd was non-seated, which is something I consider to be a negative thing, and an overall bad sign. Because of those bombs I just mentioned, you see.
My friends kept asking if I was nervous. I explained that I was just bummed out. I figured the set was doomed before I started.
Not so. Worked out.
No co-workers came. Just one. Shannon. Good guy. Wears a lot of sleeveless shirts. Basketball jersies, and the like. Good guy. But not female.
Speaking of 'not female', I really wished Turpin had been there, after I was done.
Amy said she was going to make it, if she could. She didn't make it. I found myself wondering if she could.
I thank everyone who came, if any happen to read this (likely just Trace).
And, I learned something as well from a fellow comic.
Closing with a bloody cervex joke? Not a good idea. But I think that, deep down, I already knew that.

Funnier than me, and the human anitomy jokes that evening was this:
We're leaving the bar. My two brothers, my brand new sister-in-law (I called her sissy while drunk last week. I promised to never do it again), and I are walking the length of Water Street. Whenever I park downtown, I focus so diligently on finding a parking space, I tend to overlook the distance from my destination.
We walk.
We arrive at our vehicle. Colin is going to drive because Andrea is 'from away', and therefore cannot hope to navigate while downtown, and Brian and I are too high to drive (thanks to Shannon. I believe it was the LA Lakers that night).
We all stand at our respected doors. We wait. Colin hits the obnoxious unlock button on the keychain thingy.
Nothin'.
Hits it again.
Nothin'.
I am beginning to assume that I have broken the car's remote device somehow. Probably because of a lifetime of Colin saying things like:
"Did you break this thing, somehow?" Which he says at this point.
I tell him "no", while desperately searching through my lacking memory for potential tidbits of me dropping, mashing, or otherwise mistreating the keychain thingy.
The three of us mock Colin for not being able to operate a simple piece of machinery. We accuse him of being technalogically inept like dad. We pull on door handles.
Four of us. Two of us are sober. And Andrea just got into the family. None of us realize that we are trying to get into the wrong car.
And the Buick that actually belongs to us? Three spaces away.
Maybe Dad's sperm was exposed to a lot of radiation in his younger years...