Iliza Shlesinger lives for comedy club stages, but more's in store
LOS ANGELES - She finishes a set at the Improv, grabs Blanche, her Chihuahua-Pomeranian mix, and rushes out the door to an Uber. She hops out at the Comedy Store on Sunset, whisking through the kitchen and mentioning that the place was once a mob hangout. She plunks Blanche in a seat and darts to the stage, where she edges into a bit about how coy women can be at attracting men, those poor, unaware, testosterone-cursed creatures.
Applause.
Iliza Shlesinger is gone before it fades, finding Blanche, jumping into another Uber and tracking back to the Improv for a new 20-minute show before heading home, popping a melatonin ("If I don't catch my sleep wave just right it's like, 'When's my dog gonna die, what if L.A. catches on fire?'") and thinking how much there is to do, how unfinished it all is, this career, its skits and voices, its clever stories about who we are when stripped to our magical, exasperating essences.
"I don't like to waste anyone's time," Shlesinger, 34, said a few minutes before
