Maybe I’m immature--or just too easily amused.

I giggle to myself every time I walk towards Essex Street and I see that “E-s” is covered by a “No Honking” sign. I laugh when I see dorky, overweight men run like they’re on a mission, and I constantly have to suppress my laughter when I see over sexed women in their high heels drastically trip on the pavement and take a fall. That’s what got me into comedy. I notice the weird, and the ridiculous, the cruel ironies of life. Actually, I don’t just notice them, I thrive off them.

Like most comics, I started doing jokes about what I know and what bothers me the most: my family. What is a comic without a dysfunctional family to subconsciously push you into comedy? If my dad weren’t overbearing and my mom weren’t insane, where would I be today? Would I have become this outspoken girl that thinks the world is as crazy as her family? If I had not felt the weight of the world as a teenager, would I have felt the need to open people’s eyes to its absurdity?

I don’t think my family is the sole cause of my dependence on laughter. Growing up in an abnormal environment makes you open your eyes to other things abnormal. When you’re trapped in a weird situation you have one of two choices: throw yourself a pity party because you are not like the rest or go on a mental excursion and show the world, you are not like the rest.

My mindset that the strange are here to delight me, not hurt me, has become what many of my jokes center on. I have tons of jokes about getting hit on by creepy, old guys. At first it was disturbing, then it became annoying, and now it’s just hilarious. While I’m saddened by the fact that I’ve yet to be hit on by my Prince Charming I’m thrilled by the realization that I have a notebook full of stories about all the freaks and creeps that have boldly asked what no other man has had the balls to ask me: “Hey pretty lady, can I have sex with you?” You may call them retarded. I call them comedy gold.

While most girls would go home and bitch with their girlfriends, I barely give myself time to walk away from the scene of the awkward proposal to write it in my notebook and add it on to my ever growing line-up of  “Weirdos that Think They Have a Chance with Me.” Then I bitch to every stranger who pays to see the next show I’m in.

I feel blessed that these experiences aren’t being wasted on a girl with a real life, one that doesn’t take enjoyment in writing down and reliving every unusual person that hits on her. While most girls feel trapped in a meaningless relationship, I sigh in relief knowing that I have enough self-esteem to hold out for something better.

While I sometimes think I’m too immature for life, I have to remind myself that I’m a comic. I can profit off my immaturity and the knowledge that I am unlike the rest.