This week I borrowed Tina Fey's Bossypants, and I made the horrible decision of reading it in a public cafe where everyone could see me laughing out loud/squirting chai out of my mouth/nose. Whatever, it was worth it. One day, a waitress even told me she was quote jealous of my life unquote. Best day ever.
Here are some of my favorite quotations from the book. I'm not sure if it will be funny out of context, but I'm not going to spend my summer vacation explaining the context to you. Just read the book already.
I was taken to an examining room where a big butch nurse practitioner came in and asked me if I was pregnant. “No way!” Was I sexually active? “Nope!” Had I ever been molested? “Well,” I said, trying to make a joke, “Oprah says the only answers to that question are ‘Yes’ and ‘I don’t remember.’ ” I laughed. We were having fun. The nurse looked at me, concerned/annoyed.
I guess I should also state that Karen and Sharon never hit on me in the slightest and it was never weird between any of us. Gay people don’t actually try to convert people. That’s Jehovah’s Witnesses you’re thinking of.
Conversely, [my dad] would tell us things like “If you see two black kids riding around on one bike, put your bike in the garage.” This wasn’t racism; it was experience. Those kids were coming from West Philly to steal bikes.
In September, my daughter was born. (For the record: epidural, vaginal delivery, did not poop on the table.) [That's for you, Mary!]
A coworker at SNL dropped an angry c-bomb on me and I had the weirdest reaction. To my surprise, I blurted, "No. You don't get to call me that. My parents love me. I'm not some Adult Child of an Alcoholic that's going to take that shit."
Talking about what she wishes for her daughter's future:
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it's the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach's eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered,
May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half
And stick with Beer.
I don’t hate animals and I would never hurt an animal; I just don’t actively care about them. When a coworker shows me cute pictures of her dog, I struggle to respond correctly, like an autistic person who has been taught to recognize human emotions from flash cards. In short, I am the worst.