Lesbian comics share hilarious stories of getting hit on at their shows

Whenever people find out that I’m a comedian, the first question they ask is “Where can I see you perform?” followed swiftly by “So, do you get hit on a lot?”  I always thought that was a weird question. Is it a known thing that comics get picked up after shows?

I am mean, who wouldn’t fall in love with a comedian? We’ve got charm, swagger, confidence, and we know just how to make you laugh! However, sometimes those post show run-ins can be more of a nightmare than fantasy.

I’ve asked some of my fellow comedians/friends to share some of their post show come-ons and how they handle those awkward situations.


A lady offered me a ride home after a show once. It seemed like she was into me, and I didn’t have a car. Obviously I said yes. It was a no-brainer. There was an after-party, so I met her there and we started dancing. I’m a terrible dancer, so it wasn’t going well. Suddenly, a random girl (let’s call her Sue) shows up. Sue looks like a more butch and intense version of me. The lady introduces us to each other so I assume Sue is her friend. But after awkwardly dancing all together, they leave to go dance alone. I could’ve just gone home right then, except for the fact that I didn’t have a car and I had agreed to get ride from this nice (now not-so-nice) lady. I always follow through on what I say, so I had to pretend I didn’t see them making out for the next two hours. Next time I’ll just walk home.


I’ve had people come to my shows who I’ve wanted to sleep with and then depending on how I did, we would maybe hook up after. I’ve had some fans come to my shows but I generally get afraid and say “Thank you!” then ghost away.

After one of the Gal Palace shows, a girl gave me a giant Rice Krispie treat weed edible (giant as in an entire pan’s worth) she deliberately brought to the show. But I did not do the nasty.

Honestly, I’m generally so in my head after shows that the last thing I want to do is have sex. Maybe people have hit on me after, but I don’t really pay attention because I’m counting the change in the bottom of my purse to take the bus home.


Once while preforming on the south side of Chicago a very beautiful woman—probably early 40s—approached me after my set. She was dressed to the nines and very confident. She strutted towards me and said, “Hey, white girl you’re real funny and you like women…we need to hang out.” I laughed, said thanks, and walked into the bathroom.

She followed me and began banging in my stall door while commanding me to let her in: “You and me got some more talking to do!” After all my lady parts were safely inside my pants I opened the door. She grabbed me passionately and insisted I kiss her. I was very taken aback and I said, “Well, I can see you like women, too, but I don’t know you.”  She told me, “I’m not a lesbian but I find women sexy and like kissing. But I’m not gay!”

She continued trying to get me to kiss her so finally I kissed her on the cheek and power walked out the door toward my car. She followed me then blocked me from my car until I took her number and texted her so she would have mine. I sped away and received texts for a week about “Getting’ together for a sexy time.” Since I had no interest in being murdered, I chose to not reply.


I’ve heard this more than a few times when I was single: “I’m sure you get girls all the time!” Usually said by a well-meaning, older-lesbian who lives in a small town but with a glisten in her eye knowing that she has unlimited access to the local high school’s P.E. pinnies.

“Well, you know, I blush,” saying “I blush” out loud, making her giggle at the unexpected description and getting me one step closer to her equipment closet (ahem, hello euphemism). Alas—and sadly—this shit-storm of a story is not about me hooking up with a local P.E. teacher after a gig, we’ll save that storyline for my next network comedy pitch.

“Not true, Sue!” I say, “Not true. But, hey, thanks for coming and for laughing!” I quip, my go-to way of awkwardly accepting a compliment. It’s my answer for all compliments, including if someone says “Nice shirt!” Weird.

But Sue was incorrect about me. Oh so wrong. What she didn’t know was it had been a long three years since I had dated anyone, a self-imposed imprisonment of sorts that came after several years of terrible decision-making on my part. I always told inquiring minds that would ask why I wasn’t dating that I felt “full.”  That women were like the dessert tray they bring out at one of those cheesy chain restaurants after a long meal, desserts that look wonderful but that you just don’t have any room for. The truth was that I was in love with one of my best friends, and it had me stuck there for a while.

Ironically, I ate tons of literal dessert during this period in my life. I learned one day on the internet that the hormones in your brain that arise from orgasms are the same hormones that are released when you eat chocolate. This would explain the sudden burst of chocolate cravings I was experiencing on my 25-year-old mid-life crisis. I loved chocolate milkshakes, chocolate lollipops, chocolate fried chicken (it’s a thing), chocolate bars, regular chocolate, chocolate chocolate, dark chocolate, medium-rare chocolate (not a thing), rumor had it there was even a chocolate rose in the drawer where my sex toys used to be. That’s right, I made sweet soul-searching love while just eating chocolate.

Which is why one day, when I was performing in Seattle, I didn’t expect to meet her. Or even be interested in her. I flew back home after the show and a Facebook message popped up. I don’t know if I was ready for a relationship or if I was determined to will myself into one because of some sort of made-up expiration date that I put on my singleness. (Have you guys ever done that?) Either way, I thought, time to get back in the game with an internet romance.

She was great (on the internet). And funny (on the internet). And very kind (I want to stress on the internet). We immediately took our messaging off Facebook and into two weeks of texting. After that came intimate conversation over emails and phone calls. “Come visit me,” she said. “Stay with me!” she said. “Meet my Mom!” she said. WHAT COULD GO WRONG? I had never seen her before, aside from some YouTube videos that showed off her talented singing voice, but she had seen me, and we had so much in common, she found my comedy hilarious and I found her taste in comedy just divine. We had everything we needed (it was implied, of course, that she would also love cheese).

I flew up to Seattle and, as I left the terminal to meet a virtual stranger for a date exactly 1,113 miles away from where my chocolate was kept, I realized that I was crazy. But I needed to pass more red flags, just to be sure that I was indeed back in red flag-ville, my hometown, where I was born and raised and where there are no black-out days for my frequent crazy-ass flyer miles. We would spend the next two days together collecting said flags.

It turned out that she had not just a boyfriend but also a female friend that she was deeply in love with. She wasn’t sure if she was even gay, and could we maybe process that? It ended with me feeling very led on, walking out of her house with my backpack of contents, walking through the streets of Seattle not knowing a soul except for a stray dog whose spirit I recognized. I was a walking Indigo Girls song.

I made my way into a gay bar and sat across from a bartender. I easily racked up a 100-dollar tab and as I was cut off, he said, “Honey, I don’t know why you’re sad, but if it helps when you walked in I thought you might be the cutest lesbian I’ve ever seen.”

I slowly looked up and couldn’t believe my eyes. You GUYS (choose your own adventure here):

1). It was Sue, my sweet, smoking hot middle aged P.E. teacher/biggest fan. And so we went down the street, unlocked the P.E. closet, played some one-on-one basketball, finally.


2).  I crashed with a group of strangers that a friend of mine knew, and flew out the next morning, swearing off women, dedicating myself to chocolate, and most importantly vowing to never date anyone I met at one of my shows ever again.