Category: authenticity

It all Started in Branson: How I became a stand up comic

Deana4 Comments
The roads I travel in life are rarely smooth. Maybe it’s because I live in Oklahoma and we don’t believe in repairing concrete, or maybe it’s the wonderlust redhead in me, either way I start down one path and I inevitably wind up on some motorcross race track doing loops, turns, tricks and stops, pausing from time to time to eat mud pies.

This is a mud pie kind of day. I’m editing what I used to think are funny stories into something more compatible with a stand up format. As I sit at my computer picking gravel out of my knees and my stories, I’m struck by the thought of “Who can I blame for this mess?”

Being a humor writer and loaning out stories and jokes is a smooth road. Stand up comedy? Not so much. I don’t know this road and yet here I am, forsaking one for the other. I’m taking my shot and running with the big dogs. Why? Only my psychiatrist can answer that. It just feels right. That’s all there is to it. I have this insatiable need to make people laugh and to do it well. “Hi, I’m Deana and I’m a stand up comic.” My 12 step group meets in clubs throughout the United States.

I didn’t start my comedy career doing stand up. I’m a humorist. I write and tell funny stories. Have for years. Then it happened. My oldest son gets straight A’s in 6th grade and he wants to see Yakov Smirnoff in Branson. Simple enough really. Branson is only three hours away so off we go. I should have just bought him a car. It would have been cheaper.

Yakov has this part in his show where members of the audience are allowed to tell him jokes. The person with the funniest story gets to go on stage and interview him. Neat little piece. At least it was before my son looked up at me and said “Mom! You’re funny, why don’t you tell him one of your stories?”

” How hard can it be.” I thought to myself.

I’m convinced those words will be on my tombstone. In short, I died a horrible, humiliating, miserable death-by-choking in front of Yakov, my son, and 1,400 people. All of it on film. Nice.

I can only blame myself for what happened next. I spent the next two years striving to save my pride and convince this dear sweet long on patience man that I am indeed funny. I went to no less than six of his shows hoping for another shot. We communicated via telephone, email, snail mail and in person. I even bought roughly ten of his paintings. Hey, it’s not stalking until you see the whites of the retraining order, okay? It turns out that I cannot get within a hundred yards of Yakov without turning into a walking labotomy. Go figure.

In short I made an idiot out of myself. I convinced him that I was something alright. I’m not so sure about the funny part though. Suffice to say, I have not set foot in Branson in about five years. Just driving through Missouri gives me hives.

Undeterrred by my egostically driven set back, I continue on as a humor writer and story teller. Joining writing groups and comedic message boards to better hone my craft, I learn that Christian comics have their own club of sorts. They have a message board, facebook, fan pages and conferences. Figuring that four years is enough time to hide from comics and that the stigma has to have worn off by now, I drive with a friend to their most recent conference in Nashville Tennessee.

I am at home with these funny people. No longer a slave to my comedic lust, I find other kindred spirits and I find peace. My friend talks me into participating in their Open Mic for newbies and I gladly participate.

In all fairness, I erroneously assumed that the men and women would be separated. Women would critique women and men would critique men kind of thing. I assumed incorrectly. Imagine my surprise to learn that my panel of advisors would consist of men named Bone, Nazareth and Thor. There was also Kenn and LeLand, the oddballs with normal names, but I digress. Bottom line, I’m a female humorist/story teller about to face an entire audience of comics and male critiquers with a story about the time my husband’s doctor guilted me into being present during his vasectomy.

I’m an intelligent woman. It did not take me long to assess three things.

1.) This story was probably not appropriate for this particular venue.
2.) I don’t have the energy to stalk these five men for two years to convince them I really am funny so I better think of something quick.
3.) I had consumed so much sweet tea that evening that the stability of my bladder is now questionable.

I took three of my funniest bits and tried to turn them into stand up material on the fly. Thankfully they laughed while I tried not to hyperventilate or pee.

As for my bladder issues, I just moved around a lot hoping it would stablize. If that failed, I’m over weight so I was just going to tell the guys that I’m pregnant and my water broke. They are men. They would have dropped me off at the nearest hospital and gone on their merry way and I would have hidden out in my hotel room until the conference was over and my room mate was ready to drive home.

And that, my friends is how I became a stand up comic.

Deana O’Hara is presently living with her husband of 19 years and two teenage boys in Broken Arrow, OK. She can be found perfecting her craft at any and every open mic night throughout Oklahoma as well as at a Target Store near you. While Deana no longer “loans” her jokes and stories for free, she will be performing this Friday night with Tulsa comedienne Michele VanDusen. Headlining the night will be funny man Dan McGowan from Denver. You can call the Our Savior “box” office at 836-3752 for ticket information.

Or order you tickets online via Eventbrite by clicking here: Just Pure Laughs with Dan McGowan

My Head in the Clouds

Deana4 Comments

Now that I have admitted that my head and my body are not in the same time zone, I thought I’d share with you where my head has been all week.

It’s been in New Mexico. Jeff and I went to the Dynamic Communicator’s Workshop held in Glorietta NM. We had a wonderful time and I will probably post more thoughts on that later. Suffice to say I learned a ton, I still have a lot to learn, and I’m not giving up. I left encouraged rather than defeated. — There was a ton of talent there and I had to remind myself that they too started somewhere. THIS is my somewhere.

This isn’t a fancy video by any stretch, but if you look closely enough, maybe you can smell the pine trees and aspen that I miss so much. Walking down those paths, took Jeff and I to a place I’d forgotten. New Mexico is far to barren and brown for my tastes. But the mountains? Oh, the mountains, call to us in a way that I still cannot put in writing.

Stay Calm and Pray

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“I’m tired of hearing how our mission start isn’t growing because of space. Space isn’t the problem, it’s the people running it. If we had people who knew what they were doing running our mission start this wouldn’t be an issue.”

I hate voter’s meetings. Don’t get me wrong, I think they are important. I just don’ t like participating in them. My least favorite part is the people who feel the need to verbally disapprove of everything they are not running themselves. They are the arm chair quarterbacks on ministry: quick to call the plays and criticize the outcome but slow to get out of their chair and get their hands dirty. 

It took everything I had to not jump up and shout “That’s a lie! Our church plant IS growing. We have more kids than we have room for. We’ve outgrown our space and need something more permanent, so how can you say something like that?”

Oh, I had all kinds of words in reaction to theirs, but I’m afraid very few of them are appropriate.

The fact that no one else believes them and most everyone supports our little mission start did not matter to me. All that mattered at that precise moment was this person’s words. And I got angry.

I am not a very loving person in the face of comments like the one posted above. I am one of the people they don’t approve of and I have to fight the impulse to not fight fire with fire. At times like that I have to remember to stay calm and pray. I’m a hot tempered redhead who feels the unrelenting need to defend myself at all times. I’m getting better and staying quiet, but my heart hasn’t matched God’s yet and I have to will myself to keep my mouth closed.

Which brings me to the second part of my new memory verse.

“Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

This isn’t my battle to fight, it’s God’s. By remembering that it’s His fight, we can be gentle with others. We can keep Jesus present in our mind, thoughts, heart, and prayers. We don’t have to be anxious. We do need to pray and HIS peace will be ours.

This particular couple speaks out against everyone in church, not just us. They’ve chased away more ministry leaders/volunteers than I can count. They hate change and they won’t leave. I’ve heard it said that the hurt leave, but the mad stay. That is very true.

It’s warfare, in more ways than one. They are Christian, and they are hurting. Remembering that helps me to not take them personally.

So.. we have two steps now in this dance I’m learning.

1. Praise God in all things.

2. Stay calm and PRAY.

What battles are you fighting today that would be better turned over to God? Can you praise him in it? Can you stay calm and pray? Can you feel His peace when you let go?

Bullies Don’t Scare Me Like They Used to.

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But now, this is what the LORD says— he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. —

Know any bullies in your life? I once believed that bullies were something that only existed on the play ground at school or on the walk home. I can remember being chased home by a boy up the street with threats of annihilation. Mom said he had a crush on me. I don’t believe her. I really think he just liked the fear that he was able to get out of me. It was a control thing.  I wasn’t the only kid he did that to. Sad part is someone had enough and ran him down with a car when he was older.

It was no different with the A-List girls. You’ve seen the movie “Mean Girls” haven’t you? — Them. Those ultra popular, pretty girls, who live to make the awkward, late bloomer as my mother would call it, girls like me miserable. I would inevitably allow those girls to define who I was — a sniveling mess of mascara hiding in the girls room – as an ugly, stupid, never get it right kid. The more they taunted, the more invisible I wanted to become.

I spent most of Jr High and a lot of high school hiding from girls like that. I was also a majorette and in student council. You’d think I’d know better. But I didn’t.

I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I got brave one year. As fate would have it, one of these mean girls was alone in the locker room. Her goonie body guards were nowhere to be found and I came up behind her, grabbed her hair and body slammed her face into the locker. What felt good for about five seconds didn’t feel so good afterwards. Her goonie friends weren’t as missing as I had thought and faster than you can say “detention” they threw my half dressed body onto the co-ed gymnasium floor, landing me at the feet of our middle school principal.

Getting even with cheap shots like that is never worth it.

Bullies exist well into adulthood and I’ll write about that tomorrow. For right now, I’d love to hear from you. Have you ever been bullied? What did you do?

Finding Rest

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It is in the quiet of morning, that God sings to my heart a love song so strong and pure that nothing can stand against it and beauty finds rest.–Deana O’Hara

What moves you?

What voice calls you in the morning?

Where do you find rest?

One Month Tomorrow

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Can you believe that I dropped my oldest son off at college one month ago tomorrow? I didn’t think I’d survive the change. I mean part of me knew I would, and part of me was afraid I wouldn’t. You can read how it went HERE. I am happy to report that things have gotten easier for me. Even though I miss him a lot, I no longer cry at the drop of a hat.

I realized that I was treating the situation as if he had died. And he hasn’t. But I was treating it that way. Telling myself that Charlie would want me to be strong. What kind of mother am I if I just curl up and stop living because my son moved out? I’m better than this. And I willed myself through my first couple of weeks. God and I got really close again, trust me.

It’s not that I haven’t been planning for this. I have. My boys are a huge part of my life, and yet I have made sure they are not my total life lest I wake up feeling hopelessly alone when they leave. What I didn’t expect was the tidal wave of emotions. I didn’t expect to grieve.

But you know what? Grieving is okay.

We still facebook each other. He does call. And he has visited home once already. College is going great. He’s going to be just fine. And so am I.

Chonda Pierce Prettyville coming to CMT

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Alison, Chonda Pierce, and her National Turbos in Nashville
Alison, Chonda Pierce, and her National Turbos in Nashville

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I quit ministry once, did you know that? Well I did. I joined the Christian Writers Guild and went to work in a church to pay for my classes. Within 12 months, I buried ten of my closest friends, lost the only school my kids had ever known (Bankruptcy), and my birth father showed up on my door step – homeless, jobless, and penniless. To call me pressed would be an understatement.

There were also relational conflicts with the people who were still living, and I’d reached my limit. So I packed up my little bag of sorrows, handed my hopes and dreams back to God and essentially told him, he could keep them. I was done.

I didn’t quit God, per se’ , I just quit ministry. It wasn’t worth it, the church wasn’t worth it, people weren’t worth it, and little old me just wanted to curl up in a hole somewhere and die. Not only was I throwing a pity party, I had hats, streamers, favors, and cake. Lots and lots of cake. – which would explain the 50 pounds I gained.

No one warned me about spiritual warfare. I wasn’t equipped. The truth is though, while I may have turned in my resignation to God – He didn’t resign on me. My gracious and wonderful heavenly father, poured out his Spirit into my wounded soul and blessed me with a rather unusual gift.

I had gone to Women of Faith just a few short months before bailing on ministry and while I was there, I had seen Chonda Pierce for the first time. I laughed until I cried. I was so impressed with what I saw that I signed some form of some kind saying “Sure, if Chonda comes to my town, I’d love to help.”

I don’t remember doing that. But lo – a few measly months later, I get an email from Chonda’s best friend Alison asking for help. Ali wanted to know if I would be a Lead Turbo for Tulsa as Chonda and Kenn Kington were coming to the Brady Theater that Spring.

Turbos are men and women who help coordinate volunteers at these comedy concerts as well as work with the promoters to get the word out to area churches about Chonda’s concerts. It’s a lot of work and it is so worth it.

I reminded God that I had quit ministry and He gently reminded me that I had signed up for this and should probably keep this commitment. Just this one then we’ll talk. So I did.

I coordinated volunteers, brought my bible study ladies to the show, worked with Bob at Trinity Communications, met Chonda and Kenn, shook in my boots, and promptly ran away. I was a mess. I couldn’t believe that God would allow me to do something like that. Why was he blessing me in the middle of a temper tantrum? Maybe he knew something I didn’t.

I’ve been volunteering as a Turbo now for almost six years or so. I don’t run away any more and I’ve made the most amazing turbo sister friends in the world. I’ve learned how to love and how to live again. Not because of Chonda, but through her and through God’s grace.

I didn’t know her story when I agreed to do this and now that I do, I wouldn’t stop. She is just too funny, too precious, and loves God in ways I can only imagine.

So… Turbo action here – The picture above is of a few of her national leads, myself included, in Nashville Tennessee in February 2009. We decided among ourselves to surprise Chonda and go to her video taping of This Ain’t Prettyville and help anyway we could. The taping was a pure blast as was finally meeting other turbos face to face.

Here is where you come in – CMT has chosen to pick up Chonda’s new video and air it as a Comedy Special. We need your help.

CHONDA WANTS YOU!!!
To Laugh and To Vote
by watching her CMT Special
“This Ain’t Prettyville”
 
 America’s funniest female comedienne Chonda Pierce on CMT!!!

 We need your TV tuned in to CMT for Chonda Pierce, This Ain’t Prettyville, CMT – September 15th!
7pm Central
8pm Eastern
8pm Pacific on cable
5pm Pacific on dish

 This is your chance to impact network TV. By simply tuning in, you are casting a vote through the ratings system for great family laugh-filled entertainment – which we all need more of.
Let’s do it!

 Be a part of the Chonda Team! Cast Your Vote!

 www.chonda.org

 

Social Networking (But that’s NOT what I meant!)

Deana7 Comments

home alone pic

Imagine if you will, posting a humor piece that is poorly received. So poorly received in fact that one woman actually posts something along the lines of calling you “an overstuffed pig who plays with puppets and can’t keep a day job.” How eager will you be in responding? Will you be nice enough to say “Give me three days to think about my response and I’ll get back to you?”

My head line should read “Smart man meets stupid redhead with a hot temper and behaves much better than she does.” I’ll be lucky if I hear from him in the next century much less in three days.

For better or for worse, the world wide web makes everything more readily accessible than ever before. That applies to great things, and not so great things. The web makes it easy for all of us to sit behind a screen and communicate things to a computer forgetting we’re talking to a person.

Every day I read words that I know the person would not use face to face. Some days I respond with words I’d never use in person. Some days I’m brutally harsh. The downside with writing, is tone cannot be conveyed. It takes a very talented writer to properly convey humor. And it takes self restraint to not ask the person where their head was when they wrote that story when the humor fails to be conveyed. While my self restraint is improving, I still have a lot of work to do. As is the case with a very talented comic whom I called a stuffed pig yesterday. He wrote (what I hope) is a humor piece only I didn’t get it.

I didn’t see the humor. I saw (read) a very degrading post against women – and it lit a fire in me that ensured 1 – he’ll never hire me to open for him and 2. I was not so sure I wanted to ever buy tickets to his show anymore. I should have sat on my “instinct” and said nothing. Really.

I allowed my emotions to rule my actions – I’m usually better than that.  I should have read it, remembered the guidelines for commenting (keep your comments productive or move on) and either moved on or simply stated “Wow, I don’t get this, would you please expound?”  Turns out it was a humor piece – but not having a personal relationship with said comic – I did not know that. I should not have called him anything.  That not the way to communicate “I don’t understand this.” Chances are, he’ll never speak to me again – and I deserve that.

In today’s world we can blog, twitter, digg, and stumble our way to fame (for better and for worse) and mediocrity in a heart beat. There is no such thing as a “private” email, e-zine, or blog post. We forget that as writers. Sometimes, self indulgent creatures that we are, we forget that while *I* know what I meant by this or that post, my reader may not. I need to choose my words carefully.

There are wonderful writers out there – and I do not pretend to be one of them. There are great blogs to read and to learn from – most of them are on my blog roll.

My whole point here is I forgot I was responding to a person – and that is never cool

Blogs and social networking are about relationships and two way communication. And with the “safety” of a computer screen, we sometimes write blogs we’d never speak out loud and sometimes we comment or email responses using words we’d (hopefully) never say otherwise.

Has that ever happened to you?

FGP Say’s I’m Not a Wheenie!

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Shaolin Kung Fu with SiFu Rick ThomasOn July 11, Runner’s World starts its free Tulsa Run training groups every Saturday morning. Runs start with stretching at 6:45 a.m. at Veterans Park, 21st Street and Boulder Avenue. There will be beginner and advanced 15k race training groups, and a 5k race training group. – Carrie Aspinwall

 

 

I am not a wheenie… did you see that? There are training groups for the Tulsa Run, including a training group for the 5K race. I love it. So, I can now proudly say (Because Carrie put it in print) that I am TRAINING for the 5K – life is so good.

So, who might you ask, is Carrie Aspinwall? Carrie is the Fitness Guinea Pig for the Tulsa World and she is training for the Tulsa Run. Carrie is also the women who turned me away from boot camp (Yikes!) and on to Zumba, a real live exercise/dance like class thing. If Carrie says it’s fun, we try it. Carrie knows healthy living.

I have three favorite Columinists with the Tulsa World. Carrie, Natalie Mikles and Jason Ashley Wright. Between them they cover everything this girl wants to know about Fitness, Food, and Fashion. Call me shallow, but hey, I like what I like. Which might explain why I know so little about politics. Either way.

I wasn’t always overweight, but I have always had issues with food. The smallest I’ve ever been is a size six and that was 20 years ago. I tend average around a size 10-12, which is an acceptable size for me. Right now, I average about 40ish pounds over that ideal and I need to get back in shape. I love working out. Seven years ago I studied Tia Chi and helped teach Shaolin Kungfu to kids at the YMCA. I could even do a really cool back kick back then. My father in law thought that was hilarious and warned my husband that life as he officially knew it was forever changed.

 I also enjoyed walking until I blew out my ACL playing church softball five years ago. Oddly enough I loved Re-hab. I had my own personal fitness trainer for two hours, twice a week and enjoyed every minute of it. Then my knee healed, and I was released and afraid to do anything else.

Since then I have been on many diets trying to lose 10-15 lbs and wound up gaining 40. In the past five years I’ve Weight Watched, Metifasted, Atkinsed, Acaiberried, green tea-ed till-I-peed-green my sorry self all the way to LA Weightloss and South Beach, only to diet  my way up to what I weigh now. I’m thinking I’ve done every diet out there from A-Z. That plus now when people comment on my “new” look, I tend to hoover brownies in response. Not cool.

So, I’m counting my calories – or at least trying to and I’m in training again. Yeah it’s for a 5k, a lousy 3.10 mile race. But so what. It’s a start. I didn’t start of doing spinning back kicks and wielding swords – or doing a perfect horse stance for five minutes when I did martial arts, I had to build up. Okay, actually I had to stop ducking when SiFu kicked in my direction – but the point is, I started somewhere.

This is my somewhere.

But… I Can’t Do that…Can I?

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Month’s ago someone Tweets “What is your favorite running song?”

Seriously?

There really is such a thing?

I mean unless there is a song called running makes me vomit, I just didn’t see the point.

Being as he was training for a triathalon I’m thinking he was serious. So replied.

“C is for cookie” by cookie monster.

Radio silence ensued and my serious running tweet-pal never asked that question again. That or he deleted me from his follow me list. Who knows.

I wasn’t always so flip about running. I actually used to like it, until I shattered my ankle. The dr’s fixed it, and I could run again, but now my ankle is in need of a brace to help me walk straight. Marathons are out. At least that is what I keep telling myself.

Only, I keep reading about people almost 20 years older than I placing third in this triathlon or that person running in that race. I even read a book about a guy who was running marathons and climbing mountains with his daughter when he was my age.

I’ve done the whole conversation with God – in my true to mask joke form “you know God at my age and my shape, I could achieve neither the race nor the spandex.” That is just too big of a step for me. KWIM?

So what happens? God apparently agreed with me and so he sent me Heather.

Heather – from church – our C-Fit instructor runs her very first 5K and places third for her age this past Saturday. I saw that and thought, I can run a 5K. I mean it’s only 3.10 miles. I just have no idea how to train for that. I’d have to train, trust me. My favorite song really is C is for cookie.

My next thought was after reading all my friends post about the Tulsa Run and other such marathons, is saying I’m gonna try for a 5k the total of weenie ville? Maybe, but it is a start. And to help me because I know nothing about running, I found the From Couch to 5K training information.

So… to David who climbs mountains, Reed who always ran past my door every day, Melissa who trained for a half marathon last year, Heather who tried a 5k and did it, and my other triathlon friends, I’m gonna do it.

And I’m going to try not to feel like a wheenie about it.

EDITED JULY 9, 2010 — The verdict is in… I cannot run, my leg won’t tolerate it.  I can, however, swim and cycle. Those will be the areas I can pursue. I tried. And I’ve learned my limitations. yes, I will some day need a brace. That is reality and not defeat. And I’m learning how to be okay with that.