I really should know better

At 38, I no longer pick my scabs, I am learning to control my chronic stage whisper, and I haven't drunk-dialed in I don't know how long ... I probably cannot remember because I was drunk. Like a moth to a blue light I am, however, occassionally drawn to self-destructive behavior that can only be explained as a primal urge. I can think of no other rationale for my incredibly dumbass decision to invite MY parents to see me perform stand-up comedy. I am an Augustus Gloop for punishment.

There are lots of ways to describe my parents -- supportive doesn't even make the hot 100. They are not child beaters, alcoholics or anything specific enough to warrant a chat with Dr. Phil. They are, however, insidious in their ability to undermine any shred of self worth or confidence.

A dime store psychologist could explain that seeking the approval and validation I never received at home is exactly WHY I perform stand-up comedy in the first place ... but sometimes we still need to touch the fire to see if its still hot.

Its hard to explain the full genius of their crazy-making skill, but I'll throw out a few hall of famers.

* Their walking out of my High School graduation without congratulating me or saying good-bye because it was too crowded and their feet hurt.

* Their dereliction of duty when asked to babysit their only grandchild while we gave birth to their second. (They turned off their ringer on the day they were on call to avoid pesky telemarketers)

*The time they did not call me for my 30th birthday. Calling a few days later when they remembered only when they saw the date on some expired lunch meat. (OK, this last one technically happened to my sister -- but its classic)

So why would I put myself out on the high-wire without a net? I have no idea. I guess I hoped if they saw a room full of people laughing and applauding me, the peer pressure would be so great that they would have to say ... "Wow, what a fabulous, funny, smart daughter we have. We are so lucky. We have been utter clods - we will change our ways, become demonstrative and kind ... Hooray for you" cue schmaltzy Mary Tyler Moore music and we skip off into the sunset.

In reality, even if I had killed at the show -- I would have been lucky to get a head nod.

I did not kill at the show. I was so addled and keyed up, that I had a crummy set. My timing was off, my tension was palpapble and an audience can sense fear. I swear I could hear crickets chirping several times during my set. It was the set I had always feared in front of the audience I least wanted to see it.

My parents left the show early, demanding I show them the way back to the highway. In the parking lot they just walked away from me towards their car. I felt odd saying nothing - so I just said, "Thanks for coming tonite. I hope you have a safe trip home." They just looked awkwardly at each other and my father said to me. "Thanks for inviting us ... it was interesting." My mom looked at me and said "Yeah, it was interesting."

OY - It was precicely my fear of THIS set that drove me out of stand-up comedy the first time after one great performance 13 years ago.

I won't let that happen again. I learned two important things tonite. I really and truly am not a bar-room comic. My silly, irreverant observations on the absurdities of parenting and cube life don't belong on the same stage with people telling incest and masturbation jokes.

I will NEVER, NEVER invite my parents to one of my shows again. They can watch me on Leno with everyone else and I will not call them to hear what they thought.

Live and learn ... I think I may go play with some matches in traffic now.

Yuck.