Here’s a new EP to be obsessed with, if you’re into that sort of thing.
Bill Murray on Gilda Radner:
"Gilda got married and went away. None of us saw her anymore. There was one good thing: Laraine had a party one night, a great party at her house. And I ended up being the disk jockey. She just had forty-fives, and not that many, so you really had to work the music end of it. There was a collection of like the funniest people in the world at this party. Somehow Sam Kinison sticks in my brain. The whole Monty Python group was there, most of us from the show, a lot of other funny people, and Gilda. Gilda showed up and she’d already had cancer and gone into remission and then had it again, I guess. Anyway she was slim. We hadn’t seen her in a long time. And she started doing, “I’ve got to go,” and she was just going to leave, and I was like, “Going to leave?” It felt like she was going to really leave forever.
So we started carrying her around, in a way that we could only do with her. We carried her up and down the stairs, around the house, repeatedly, for a long time, until I was exhausted. Then Danny did it for a while. Then I did it again. We just kept carrying her; we did it in teams. We kept carrying her around, but like upside down, every which way—over your shoulder and under your arm, carrying her like luggage. And that went on for more than an hour—maybe an hour and a half—just carrying her around and saying, “She’s leaving! This could be it! Now come on, this could be the last time we see her. Gilda’s leaving, and remember that she was very sick—hello?”
We worked all aspects of it, but it started with just, “She’s leaving, I don’t know if you’ve said good-bye to her.” And we said good-bye to the same people ten, twenty times, you know.
And because these people were really funny, every person we’d drag her up to would just do like five minutes on her, with Gilda upside down in this sort of tortured position, which she absolutely loved. She was laughing so hard we could have lost her right then and there.
It was just one of the best parties I’ve ever been to in my life. I’ll always remember it. It was the last time I saw her.”
"Mumble, mumble, hey, mumble, girl, blah blah blah, honey."
I was sitting at the gas station ignoring a car full of men parked to my left. As is my habit, my skirt was pretty short and I figured that whatever was coming out of their mouths wasn’t worth hearing, because the way they looked at me when I exited the gas station was enough to make me wish I was wearing a burqa.
Moments later, my ex-husband pulls up next to me to retrieve our spawn in our bi-weekly spawn trade. I am forced to expose my whole self to these men again as I exit the car to get the spawn supplies from the trunk.
"Hey man! Hey!" yells the idiot they’ve deemed worthy to drive their idiot-mobile around. "You better MARRY that woman FAST because that is a GOOD LOOKIN’ woman."
I immediately snort really loudly because HAHAHA, OVER MY DEAD BODY. I mean we tried that once and I know exactly how that works out. So the concept of purposefully entering a union with this man again is an absolute no go, and the fact that these men have no idea that both of us probably just vommed in our mouths at least a tablespoonful at the notion is SO snort worthy. So yeah. I snorted so hard I think I hurt my nose a little bit and there are probably some motherfuckers somewhere out there who would like to fine me.
The Idiot Driver pulls his car around behind my car so he can continue pretending that I’m invisible while he shouts at my Ex. The Ex says, “Ha, no thanks, sir. We already tried that once.”
"WUT! DID YOU HEAR THAT? Did you HEAR what he said?" Idiot driver exclaims with glee to his idiot car mates. "Oh my god, he said he already tried that!" And then there was much guffawing. I admired Idiot Driver’s concern for his companions’ auditory capabilities. He really wanted to be sure that Tweedles Dum and Dee (or Tweedles SEXIST and RUDE) didn’t miss out on hearing what he considered to be the funniest and most delightful thing that one grown man has ever said to another. Meanwhile, I just stand there and pretend to be a teapot because I’m already being objectified so I want to look the part. I mean, I don’t get a say in any of this, I’m just here for the marryin’!!
Just as I’m tipping myself over to pour myself out, Idiot Driver presses on. “But my MAN. You know you still want that woman. You KNOW you ain’t never EVER gonna find you another woman like that!”
"Oh, yes. I know that," the Ex says with an uncomfortable smile and a look of intense relief in his eyes.
"Yeah you KNOW what I’m saying!" Idiot Driver exclaims triumphantly. He is super stoked that his conspiratorial comrade sees my worth, which is based solely on either my physical appearance, my snorting abilities, or my spot-on impersonation of a teapot because I haven’t said a word yet. Idiot Driver turns to his hearing-impaired buddies and shouts, “He knows what I’m saying!”
I, on the other hand, know that my dear Ex is NOT being complimentary about my wonderful and unique never-gonna-find-it-anywhere-else personality, because that’s EXACTLY what he’s counting on not finding again, and EXACTLY why he married a girl from church this time around.
I bust out of teapot mode and hug my little spawn and send them on their way. Captain Idiot and his companions ride away into the sunset, laughing happily because they’ve made a new friend at the gas station who agrees that “good lookin” women are here for the marryin’ and that’s about all they’re good for.
I hop in the car and drive back to Charleston, the city I moved to, on a whim, because I felt like it, because I’m a tough independent lady and I do whatever I want to when I decide to do it. I don’t just sit around steaming and shouting.
Fuck. I’m thirty-one.
I’m not sure if I was supposed to have been successful at this point in my life, but I suspect not. Every 30-something I know seems to be in the middle of “figuring it out” because we sure as shit didn’t do it in college or with that first relationship or career. Sometimes this comforts me, but at other times I think I’m part of a large herd of aimless fuck-ups.
So far in life, I’ve fulfilled at least a few of my long-terms goals, and, hey, THAT’S something, right?
1. I have always dreamed of making my way to the top of a career and earning a great salary and then freaking out and quitting my job. Done, son! I can only hope that this accomplishment ensures that I never have to use Microsoft Outlook again or do all the work for an egotistical piece of shit that is paid three times more than I am!
2. I became a divorcee at the tender age of 27. I get extra points for this one, because it was completed waaaaay ahead of schedule. Now I get to empathize with all you LATE BLOOMERS who are finally doing it, and revel in the bareness of my ring finger.
3. I made tiny miniature me’s that are way cooler than me or you or anyone else. Not to shove my kids in your face on the internet or anything (who does that?) but if you think your’s or your sister’s or your best friend’s kids are better than mine, come and GET SOME because they aren’t. I don’t know where they got it from but they are incredibly good-looking, smart, funny, and sassy as balls. Something about dna/genetics.
4. I decided in the space of about 2 weeks to leave the city I had lived in for 8 years because WHY NOT? If you haven’t done anything lately that sort of scares you shitless, leaves you awake at night, and makes you wonder about the meaning of your life, try uprooting the WHOLE THING! Pack it up and move on out! DON’T FIND A JOB FIRST. Leave that for later. It makes it all the more exciting!
5. I have never been arrested. Just handcuffed, you guys, and not in a sexual way!
6. I vacuumed out my car today, wrote a Facebook post about it, and spelled ‘vacuumed’ correctly. This one may not SEEM like a long term goal, but in reality, making sure your spelling skills are up to scratch should be a lifelong goal, you guys, and I bet (I just BET) that it’s been a shamefully long time since you’ve vacuumed out YOUR car, so I’m counting this one today, because it made me feel like a responsible adult in this new world where I wait tables, sleep till 11 on a lot of days, and only have a vague life plan worked out.
For year 31 I have big plans. Having patted myself on the back for all of ^^ these accomplishments, I’ll be moving on to equally challenging things like making sure that I still haven’t been arrested by the time I’m 32.
Ugh. 32. I just threw up in my mouth a little. This shit is getting real.
After listening to “Serpentine” 18 times in a row i’ve decided to propose to Chris Bathgate.
"That’s how it goes. Designing clothes. Cats on everything, cats on everything."
Last week THREE people told me they thought I was only 22 or 23.
BAM, there go those ASIAN genes, y’all. I’m on my fourth decade!
My favorite conversation was this one:
Dude: Wait, wait, what? You have a kid?
Me: I’ve got two. They’re 9 and 6.
Dude: TWO? NINE? (I forget what we’re talking about now and I’m trying to think of why we’re just saying numbers to each other, and then thinking about which numbers I’m going to say next.)
Me: Yup. So, back to the topic at hand: selling my house. We were talking about me selling my house.
Dude: You OWN a HOME?
Me: Yes. I own a home. I have two kids. I’m divorced. I’ve already lived the American dream and had it all. I hope to start working on my second sure to fail marriage soon.
Dude: Oh. Kay. *Turns away from me at the bar*
I mean sure, the conversation ended in biting sarcasm, but I took it in stride because I LOOK 23 YOU GUYS!
But then a few days later my Azn mom brought me back down to earth by doing what Azn moms do REALLY well.
Here’s me and my Azn mom:
They tell you you’re fat. Even if you are not, by any normal American (or health) standards, fat.
I’m driving to Charleston after a rough week. Mother calls to check on me.
Ma: How are you?
Me: Good. I’m good. I’ve been, you know, just doing things for myself. Going to the gym a lot.
Ma (reminiscing of fonder days): Oooh, remember when you were in high school and you were REALLY skinny and went to modeling school? Remember that?!?
Me: YEP. I was 14. I remember it, even though it was SIXTEEN YEARS AGO.
Ma: Welll, if you lose a LOT of weight, I will buy you some new clothes. REALLY EXPENSIVE clothes (said as if she were dangling a carrot—no wait, a celery stick—in front of me and I was supposed to jump for it).
Me: Oh. Thanks?
And then I let it go, because I’ve learned that that is the best way to deal with it.
So, in sum, the Azn side of me makes ‘Mericans think I look really young, but the “Merican side of me makes the entire population of Korea think I’m obese (I’ve been to Seoul. I SAW the looks).
You win some, you lose some.
In related news, I’ve decided to just move to Canada.
you know the goddamn difference between a cat and a kitten.