Yep, I fell off stage…

Not figuratively…literally. I said, “Thank you, goodnight!” and fell off the stage.

I guess it was bound to happen. I’ve been doing comedy for a billion years and the odds were stacking up against me. I named my first CD “Dignity Under Duress” for a reason…I have, eh-hem, mishaps.

The scene of the incident: The Improv at Harrah’s in Las Vegas. My favorite club in the country. I love the club, the staff and especially, the manager Carl. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be a Mom…but I digress. I’ve played on that stage hundreds of times over the years with nary a mishap. (There was that one time, I had to go to the bathroom so bad I almost peed my pants on stage…but again, I digress.)

The audience is split in half down the middle with an isle from the stage. There are four steps down from the stage that takes you down that isle, through the crowd. They are well marked with reflective tape and covered with non-skid carpet. I usually walk down the steps to get off the stage and walk through the crowd to get to the front of the theater to meet the crowd as they leave. Easy-peasy.

I get chills just looking at them now.

Flash back to me sitting in the green room, talking with Carl:

“Hey, Carl…do you have any lotion? I’m feeling extra Vegas-y.” (Which means we’re in a freaking desert, so all the moisture has been sucked out of my skin, leaving me feeling/looking like a velociraptor.

“Sure…here ya go.” as he pulls a big jug of lotion out of his magic sound booth.

I load up my hands with the lotion and can actually hear the sound of my skin sucking it in. Now hindsight is 20/20…I SHOULD HAVE put some of the lotion on my feet. I know that sounds weird and inappropriate but believe me that would have been the LEAST inappropriate thing that’s been done in that greenroom. It is Vegas after all.

I hear the MC introduce me, so I ignore my dry feet and head out onto the stage. This is probably where I should mention my shoes. Very tame shoes by Vegas standards. In fact, I think they’re the approved shoes for Vegas nuns. Low heels, slide-on, comfy shoes:

Certainly not shoes I would ever have to worry falling off of. You would think.

I had a great set. The crowd was responsive and fun. I talked with several of them from on stage. I especially remember the doctor. He was in town on “business”. Yeah, isn’t everyone? (wink, wink)
I finished my show, picked up my cup of water, bowed to the thunderous applause (eh-hem) and handed off the mike to the MC. As I took my first step off the stage…

(reenactment)
My cozy, Vegas-nun shoe slipped halfway off my Vegas-dry velociraptor foot. My ankle buckled and made me fly (head-first) down the stairs! I heard a collective GASP! from the audience…then complete silence. I think they were wondering if it was part of my show. “I meant to do that!” I yelled from the bottom of the stairs. They all laughed. I was still face-down in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Well, technically my face was at the bottom of the stairs and my legs and feet were still at the top of the stairs which made it impossible for me to get up. I AM proud to say I still had my cup of water in my hand.
The woman sitting in the chair 6 inches from where I was sprawled said, “Hey, you broke your leg.” Thanks for your diagnosis, crowd member. Here’s the crazy part…NO ONE GOT UP TO HELP ME! Only Maria, the sweetest Maitre d’ in the world, came running to my assistance.

“Hey, Maria…I think I fell down the stairs.”
“Yes you did, Baby.”
“Everyone is just staring at us, huh?”
“Yes they are, Baby.”
“Thank you for coming to get me, Maria…I notice the DOCTOR didn’t come see if I was OK…he’s busy with his ‘business’ trip I guess.”

Maria pulled me up to my feet, which is an amazing feat since she only comes up to my bellybutton.
“You’re freakishly strong, Maria.”
“Yes, Baby.”

The crowd cheered when I was back on my feet.
“I’m OK…NO THANKS TO ANY OF YOU!” I screamed at them. They all just laughed again.

Thank goodness I’m a comic, I just made a joke and brushed it off. That would have gone WAAAAY different if I were a vasectomologist.

 

Happy New Year and I’m Sorry.

It’s a new year, 2012 to be exact and this is the time we all make resolutions with the best intentions of keeping them. Of course they’re the same resolutions I’ve made for the past 10 years but who’s counting? I’ve already broken one and day 1 isn’t even over yet. “I vow to eat more healthfully this year.” That’s been shot to hell… I’ve been eating all the holiday sweets in the house. That’s because my other resolution is to stop being wasteful. Kinda set myself up to lose on that one.

The other and more important resolution is a direct result from getting a year-end report from WordPress (my blog’s host site). In it, they tell you all the stats of your blog for the past year, like how many subscribers, how many views and the most telling stat for me: How many posts I wrote. (This is the part where I hang my head in shame and ask all my subscribers for forgiveness)  In 2011, I wrote a whopping 7 posts. I seriously thought it was a mistake. 7 posts? I felt like I had written at least once a month for crying out loud! Then I realized I had written them all in my head…I just forgot to type them in.

So here I write on Jan. 1, 2012 my solemn oath and resolution to write and post AT LEAST one post a week if not more. That would be 52 posts of hysterical, fall-down comical mishaps in my life written on this blog for your enjoyment. I’m taking the boys to a petting zoo/farm tomorrow, so it’s already writing itself. Fingers crossed that the next blog’s title isn’t:                                                “Hoof & Mouth Disease…Included With the Price of Admission”

Your loyalty and support mean the world to me. Thank you for reading and laughing with me in 2011.

Maryellen Hooper