Susan JessicaHumor. Funny business, really. One minute you’re on—cracking jokes that make people double over in laughter—and the next, you’re off and sweating bullets. I learned that the hard way.
My first attempt to do comedy wasn’t even a flop. It was worse. It was like that moment when you hit “send” on an email meant for your boss—only it’s a text to your mom. Anyway, here’s the kicker: Lauren Compton makes it look so effortless, but trust me, trying to be funny like her? Let’s just say I did not pull it off.
The First Step: Me, Pretending I Was Funny
I remember thinking, “If Lauren Compton can do it, why can’t I?” I mean, she just steps on stage, delivers these perfectly timed zingers, and boom—people love her. Me? Not so much.
So, after binge-watching her stand-up for what I’m sure was the fourth time in a row, I thought, “Yeah, I can do this.” There was a tiny part of me (very tiny) that still remembered I wasn’t actually Lauren Compton.
I signed up for an open mic night. It was at this sketchy little comedy club down the street. Nothing fancy. Just a low-key vibe and a really suspicious smell of stale beer and regret. Perfect for my big debut.
The Flop: How I Bombed
Oh, man. You ever walk up on stage and feel like every eyeball in the room is secretly judging you? Yeah, that’s how it felt. And then, when I started talking… silence. Pure, excruciating silence. Maybe they were too stunned by my comedic genius? Yeah right. More like stunned by the sheer awkwardness that was radiating off me.
You need to understand: comedy isn’t just about jokes; it’s timing. Lauren Compton? She’s got it down. Me? I was sweating, shaking, probably looking like a deer caught in headlights. Oops.
Here’s what went wrong:
- Timing: My “punchlines” felt like slow-motion car crashes. They just lingered, awkwardly, with no payoff. It’s like I threw the joke and then forgot to follow through.
- Material: Trying to sound like Lauren Compton? That was my first mistake. You can’t just steal someone’s style. Trust me, it shows.
- Nerves: Ever tried being funny when your hands are shaking? It’s like your body’s telling you, “You’re not funny, stop.” Guess what? It was right.
Fast forward past three failed attempts—I had to literally walk off the stage with my tail between my legs. The only thing I successfully delivered that night? Cringe.
The Recovery: How I Got Up After Falling Flat
Honestly? It sucked. But after I sat in my car, feeling like a failure, something clicked. I realized—wait a second, Lauren Compton didn’t get good by being perfect from the start. She got good by failing. She probably bombed a ton of times before she found her voice. And if she can survive bombing, so can I.
Reworking My Material
I spent the next few days licking my wounds, but also rethinking everything. The jokes? I wasn’t even laughing at them myself. Note to self: If you’re not laughing, no one else will.
I scrapped most of my material. Instead of trying to be someone else, I worked on making my jokes fit my actual personality. I even found a piece of inspiration in a place I never expected: a taco truck parked outside a 7-Eleven. I mean, y’all, that truck was full of stories. Who knew?
Fixing My Timing
Let’s talk about timing, though. It’s like cooking the perfect scrambled eggs. You rush, you ruin it. You wait too long, and it’s rubbery. That’s how my first set felt—way too rushed. This time, I slowed down. I let my punchlines breathe. I listened to the audience. I let the laughs come naturally.
Embracing My Weirdness
If you ask anyone, they’ll tell you: I’m weird. I’m that person who thinks talking to my plants helps them grow. It doesn’t, but I do it anyway. The point? I had to stop trying to be like Lauren Compton and just embrace my quirks. People don’t want perfect. They want real.
And here’s the thing—I realized that was the lesson. Be yourself. Not someone else’s version of you.
The Comeback: It Got Better (Promise)
So, after licking my wounds and doing some soul-searching, I signed up for another open mic. I had new material. New attitude. A little bit of fear still—but a lot less of the “I’m gonna fail” vibe.
Let me tell you: It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And that’s what counted. The laughs came a little easier. Not roaring applause, but actual laughter. And for me? That was a win.
What I Learned from Lauren Compton (and Myself)
In the end, I learned something really important about humor: You can’t fake it. The more I tried to mimic Lauren Compton, the less funny I became. The more I just was myself, the better it got.
Fun fact: Did you know that in Victorian times, people believed talking to plants helped keep you sane? Maybe that’s why my begonias haven’t given up on me yet.
I wasn’t trying to be Lauren Compton anymore. I was trying to be me, flaws and all. That’s where the magic happened.
Conclusion: The Journey Continues
Here’s the truth: My first few sets were terrible. Like, I could’ve used that time to learn to juggle flaming swords and still have had a better chance at success. But you don’t get good by avoiding failure. You get good by embracing it.
Like Lauren Compton, I learned that failure wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning. And, hell, maybe next time I’ll actually nail it. Or, at least, not make the audience want to hide under their chairs.
One thing’s for sure: I’m going to keep trying. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll get a real laugh out of someone. If not? Well, at least I’ve got an excellent self-deprecating joke about bombing at open mic night.
