Trying to Find the Humor in Comedy Life : After her last gig at a bowling alley, local comic J.D. is glad to be back in a club, even if there are only 36 customers. Better yet, she makes them laugh.

On a recent night at the Comedy Club at Hornblowers, J.D. Frazier waits to take the stage. Sitting at a table on a patio overlooking Ventura Harbor, she watches boats bob serenely, their cabins casting funnels of light across the dark water.

A cigarette at her mouth, J.D. prints neat notes on a napkin--”Shotem,” “Bubba,” “2 women,” “Spam,” “G/teddy,” “Jack/Outlaw”--code names for the observational comedy bits she is about to perform. Most times, J.D. rifles through routines without pause. But on occasion, she has forgotten her place, and the cocktail napkin tucked discreetly beside her drink becomes a handy item.

She used to etch these crib notes on her microphone hand until one day, in a club in Dallas, she was in the restroom, heard her name announced, looked down and realized she was washing her hands.

J.D., 30, is a success by comedic standards--with television appearances on HBO’s “Comedy Central” and Arts & Entertainment’s “Comedy on the Road” and “An Evening at the Improv”--but these days that doesn’t mean much.

Recently, she accepted an offer to do a show in Cerritos; the money wasn’t good, $75 for the night’s performance, but as she says, “It’s 75 bucks more than I had.” She arrived to find the show at a bowling alley. She was feeling sorry for herself until she realized the headliner had won an Emmy the previous week for comedy script-writing.

“What I’m being told is I can even win an Emmy and there’s no guarantee that I won’t be headlining in a bowling alley,” says J.D., who hopes to stay in the business she loves by hitting it big in the equally long shot business of script-writing for TV sitcoms.

At Hornblowers, J.D. is being introduced on stage. She stabs out her cigarette and takes the mike in front of 36 strangers. A sampling:

On male insecurity: “It’s OK. You guys can relax. I will tell you upfront I am not one of those female comics that gets on stage and belittles men or makes men feel insecure about their manhood. That would be your wife’s job.”

On marriage: “This is the best advice I can give you. Never marry anyone named Bubba. And that goes double for you guys.”

On making the wrong choice: “I know what it’s like because I was married to an alcoholic for three long, miserable years. The worst part of it wasn’t that he was an alcoholic. I mean, that was like one of his more redeeming qualities. The thing that pissed me off was he was a hypocrite. He was one of those guys that would drink all that he wanted to, and then he would look at me and say, ‘You know J.D., when you start drinking, you turn into someone I don’t know.’ Like it’s never occurred to this fat hillbilly that when I start drinking, I’m hoping he’ll turn into someone I don’t know.”

On growing up: “Actually, I grew up in a predominantly male family. It was just me, my mom and my eight stepfathers.”

J.D. whips through her set without pause. She is funny. People are laughing. In seven minutes, it’s over. J.D. hustles out and grabs dinner. In mid-mouthful, she considers her prospects.

“I believe if you want something bad,” she says, “it just happens. Opportunity will open itself eventually.”

When J.D. finishes eating, it’s 11 o’clock.

“You can’t tell people not to do comedy,” she says, and ducks out into the night.