Last night I was driving to the show when my mom called to discuss sad things. When the subject finally changed to happier things, like my cousin’s new baby, Mom sighed and said, “I’ve pretty much gotten used to the idea that Chris’ kids are the only babies that will ever be in my life.”
“What?” I asked her.
“I’m pretty sure you and your sister will never have children.”
“Not together, no.”
“You know what I mean. I just don’t think that your lives are going to go that way. Families. Children. I guess I’m okay with that.”
What is the correct response to this statement?
Every once in a while my mom drops that Baby thing on me, always out of the blue like that. The last time was when Eric and I broke up. “Well, I guess I’m never having grandchildren,” she said, arms flapping against her sides.
This is because I live so far away, I’m sure. She knows that if I have kids, she’ll only have to see them a few times a year, whenever it’s convenient. No spur-of-the-moment babysitting. No frequent diaper changes. Just cute babies to send presents.
She’s not fooling me. She doesn’t want me to have kids to enrich my life or start some new journey or chapter or whatever. She wants Kmart photos for her wallet. They’re lighter than a copy of my book.
Regarding yesterday’s entry: sometimes I get in a funk. Just like we all do. It doesn’t mean I need you to send me things. Thank you, sweet people who want to make me smile. But I’m nowhere near homeless and suffering. I’m not even near “I sure wish I could wear socks without holes in them.” I just have a crap bed and I try to save money by not eating out very often. It’s not going to stop me from buying both the Chicago and the All That Jazz DVD’s as soon as I get to a store. On my credit card. Sometimes I get bummed out that I don’t know when I’d be able to buy a house, or buy a decent television, or replace furniture I’ve had since high school. Just like you get bummed out when you look in your closet and think, “I hate all of these clothes and why am I not famous yet?”
Dude. My friends’ apartment burned down. I’m bumming because my phone call with Miramax got postponed for the fifth time. I’ve gotta keep it in perspective. So I feel a bit like an asshole when I do complain about sink pasta or fretting over the next job I’ll get. And for the past four years that I’ve been freelancing, something always comes along, usually at the very last second, on the day I’m faxing resumes to random gigs. Thank you for thinking of me. But I’m no Save Karyn. Not yet, anyway.
I only ask you to spend money on other people… and my book… and my friends… and libraries…
I’m kinda Save Karyn, huh? You wanna know what’s funny? I do believe this is the first, trashed version of the cover for Why Girls Are Weird that my editor gave the big thumbs-down to.
Does anyone else get livid over that book? Want more fuel for the fire? She just sold the movie rights.
Here’s a copy of the email I just sent out:
Subject: “Hmm… I wonder what Pam’s doing tonight.”
I know you ask yourself that every Friday night. So here’s your answer.
I’m doing exactly what I did last night, which is watch one of the best One Man Shows I’ve ever seen. Tonight’s its last night, so you’d better cancel your plans and take your date to Todd Robert Anderson’s —
Santa Monica Playhouse
1211 4th Street
$15, 310-394-9779 (ext. 1).
It’s not often that a show makes you laugh that stupid laugh that comes more out of your nose than your mouth, and then also make you do that embarrassing cry where you hide your head from your friends and lie about something in your eye because it’s technically a comedy but it’s that kind that kicks you right in the gut when you weren’t expecting it. And then you get all mad about it, because you were caught off-guard, so you call Todd an asshole because that makes you feel better somehow, and then you do that weird guy-punch to his arm and sort of shake your head and avoid looking him in the eye.
USELESS is a benefit for the Santa Monica Playhouse, which has been around since before most of us were born and needs help making ends meet. So you’ll be supporting my friends, helping a theater, enriching the arts community, hobnobbing with other likable actor/writer/filmmaker/industry people like you, getting out of your house, working toward having a “life”, and people will think you’re sexier for doing it.
And I’m sleeping with the director. But I’d say all this about Todd’s show even if I weren’t. Because it’s that good. And you know I’m one of the last few people in your life who wouldn’t lie to you. I wouldn’t. That shirt looks awesome on you.
Free beer and wine after the show for when we all hang out until they turn the lights off on us. It’s a show, it’s a social gathering, it’s a very cool Friday night. Let’s all go out on one big date. I’ll bring the condoms.
What? I said it.
See you tonight.
I would like to promise here and now that I will never carry a dog in a purse.
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