Today I watched the latest episode of Inside Amy Schumer.
An Episode, any episode, they’re all brilliant.
You know what I love about that show? It’s that it feels like it’s just the contents of her brain, spilled out all over the place, the good, the bad and the ugly. In any given episode there will be some amazing, subversive feminist pieces like this.
And there will also be other random stuff she finds funny like this
And her humor includes the gross and scatological.
I don’t love absolutely everything but she’s a person with a broad sense of humor. And I love that she’s allowed to express all of it.
How excited am I to see her movie? Very excited.
A wonderful old friend of mine (who I don’t see enough) recommended to me the other day that I should start listening to the Dear Sugar podcast.
She was right. It is delightful.
And the first episode that I listened to was #10, about friendships. In the episode a woman tells the story of her best friend helping her through the death of her mother. The feeling of having that best friend right alongside her in the first row with the family of the deceased.
And I realized that I never wrote an ode to the amazing friends who crossed the country to be with me when my father passed.
When I was just starting high school I befriended two other girls who happened to live in California. It’s a long story. But apparently, when our friendship developed and they found out that my dad was ill they decided that when he passed, whenever it was, wherever they were, they would come. I didn’t know this at the time. I only found out when they called me from the airport “We’re on our way!”
They sat right behind me and my family at the service, they answered every question I could think of, helped me pick out what to wear to the cemetery. They did all the things that a friend could do.
And I just wanted to say thanks. Because they’re amazing. Because friendship is an important and beautiful gift. We should all appreciate it more.
Life has been really hard without cheese in it.
You really have no idea.
I live in New York, the pizza capital of the world.
But this girl is spot on.
And so is all her pizza.
I don’t like open-toed shoes.
I don’t like sneakers that make my feet look wide.
I don’t like mushrooms.
It hurts to have things between my toes.
It hurts to drink milk.
It hurts to smell coffee.
If you dislike a thing it’s not a promise. It doesn’t mean you’ll never like that thing. It means “I’ll try it again when I’m good and ready, but for now no thanks.”
For something to hurt means “No. Maybe one day if I’m ready, but until then, NO.”
If you dislike something, or are hurt by something, it’s your prerogative to avoid it in the future. No one should make you try to like it before you’re ready.
And if they make you try it then you can spit it out in their hands. You have my permission.
It’s been a while since I’ve written.
And this week I’ve been in a few places with lady friends and have said that.
And every time it was met by:
Well you can write about what happened to me the other day.
Which just made me remember what I liked about writing in the first place.
It’s a reminder that everyone walks through the world with questions, concerns, decisions, fears, events, memories and disabilities on their shoulders.
They’re all different but they all have that burning desire to be told nonetheless.
They’re all welling up like spit in our mouths, being swallowed instead of freed.
Tell me your story.
Recently I’ve heard two great food metaphors, one for love and one for kink.
A few weeks ago I toured the Kink.com factory and our tour guide said of the preference for pain
“It’s like spicy food. You can watch someone eat spicy food and shake and cry and wonder why they’re doing this to themselves. But they do it again and again and tell you they love it. Other people, of course, hate it. People are just different.”
Last night I was talking to a friend and she said that saying I love you does change things between the people saying it. She said
“It’s like the difference between chicken broth you bought at the store and chicken broth your mom made. Both are good. If you’re making rice then the store bought stuff is better than water. But there’s nothing like the stuff your mom makes when you need it.”
That is all.