Twenty-two was a bit of a cheat. Doc Wasabassco (seriously, always puts a great show together) started a new monthly at Waystation, and I thought I could commandeer the audience into listening to jokes before they saw my boobs. They were definitely more interested in my boobs, so a big B+ for my B cups.

Twenty three was with Sassi at Broadway Comedy Club, which is also the home of my stand-up debut! It was the year I graduated college, a bringer show, and I thought it would launch me into superstadom overnight. I was an idiot. Also annoying. Most pretty women go through an annoying phase at some point in their life. Mine was my early 20's.

Twenty four came in the form of one of my favorite shows in the city, because despite being one of the most bizarre and unpredictable audiences ever, it is one of the few shows that can truly claim variety, and that show is Floating Kabarette at Galapagos Art Space... No, that's Public Asembaly/ Old Galapagos. New Galapagos moved to Dumbo. Yes, Dumbo. Uh-huh, you sure will get lost on beautiful cobblestone streets as you try to find it, but if you hit a deli called Peas and Pickles staffed by middle eastern men in patterened sweaters, you know you're going the right way. Also, try the Cajun Mix. I adore it, and if you go late enough at night, there may be some sort of super religious radio station playing and, if you are a lady, the man behind the counter will ring you up without making eye contact and will put your change on the counter rather than run the risk of touching your bare hand. I like to deal with it in the same way that I deal with Hassidic people... by trying to touch their hand, making eye contact, and saying thank you extremely loudly as if I were, oh, I don't know, a human being rather than a vessal for sin. Glitter is my gdd, motherfucker.

I should also say that Kabarette is the site of the only instance in which I have actually had someone  walk out on my set out of principle. It was a group of European men (think "Legally Blond" Gay or European, not "I own a yhat and have an accent so slick and a body so gracefully ripe with sinew that even a devout lesbian like Scout will flirt with me, until she realizes that you have tufts of pubic style, but slightly thinner hair where your breasts should be, and even if we do make it into bed together, I will spend most of the time pawing at your chest and having the disapointing realization over and over again that you are a gross man, and not a lovely lady) and my mention of my period was what did them in. I have a song dedicated to the matter. A sing along. It is usually such a crowd pleaser. Perhaps they went to Peas and Pickles and discussed poor fashion choices and a general distaste for women and bodily functions with the hands-off fellow who sells me Cajun Mix for my late night train ride home from the cobble stoned streets of Dumbo to the sea of abandoned Carribean food in the park that is where I reside: a place so deep in the bowels of Brooklyn that late nights and weekends, sometimes the trains don't even go there.

Or if they do, they shuttle.