Wallflower at the Emmys

One of my legs is shorter than the other. I can never remember which one it is until I put on my pants and one hem is longer than the other. It's not by much. Just a sixteenth of an inch or so. I once knew a man named Lou Korn and one of his legs was six inches shorter than the other one and he wore a special shoe with a six inch sole. And he still limped. Every once in a while I have a nightmare about Lou Korn. I don't think he was a bad man but when you're a little girl a man with a big shoe can be very scarey.

As of today I am on strike. Oh, what a difference that is going to make in my life. NOT. All that is going to happen for me is that I'm just going to get older during the writer's strike so they'll have even more reason not to hire me when the strike is over. But I'm going to picket. Nice way to get some fresh air. Meet the people who are taking my jobs. But, you know, maybe they're right, those young, brilliant show runners. Maybe a middle aged female comedy writer cannot possibly exist. Because how on earth could a middle aged woman actually be funny? Yuck. Just the thought of a middle aged woman trying to write a joke is just such a turn off. Your mother saying something funny? Come on, we all know dads are much funnier. And the sitcoms on TV right now? Aren't you just on the floor laughing your brains out? And don't you just know that when Tina Fey turns forty she is instantly going to be so UNFUNNY. Just like that. Must be some kind of chemical thing. Like menopause. Funnypause. Happens in an instant to women.

Thirteen years ago I was left alone at the Emmy Awards after party for two hours. This was when the man formerly known as my husband was having an affair with a TV executive. (I know there's a joke about having an affair with a TV executive but I can't think of what it is right now.) The people at our table were the people who worked on a show called I'll Fly Away. They were nominated for some awards but didn't win any. David Chase ran the show. He kept asking me where my husband was and I kept saying he was in the bathroom. At half an hour away I said he must not feel well. At an hour away I thought maybe he had food poisoning. But at two hours away I realized he was in a bathroom somewhere shtooping this TV executive. At the time this executive was in her late twenties. The formerly man was in his late forties. Now I think I could go out with someone twenty years younger than I am but whenever I'm with someone twenty years younger I always feel like a mom, like I should tell them to button their sweater or eat their vegetables. There are certain differences between men and women and they become clearer with conversation.

Like...I was talking to a man whom I'd had a tiny crush on. This conversation happened about two weeks after the formerly man left me for the younger version.

"I did not leave you for her."
"No?"
"No, I left you because I was very unhappy. With you."
"But you spent most of last year telling me how much you were falling love with her and you told me all about HER unhappy marriage and you were leaving poems you wrote to her and about her on the dining room table."
"So?"
"And the minute you left you were calling her and making plans."
"So?"
"And you took her to Paris a few months later."
"So?"

Anyway, so I was talking to this guy two weeks after the SHOCK and his first question was...
"How many people have you slept with?"

I'd only been separated for two weeks. And I'd been married for twenty three years.

"So?"

Why is it that these guys always think "So?" is the perfect response? Sooooooooo, I certainly am not about to hop into bed with just anyone. And truthfully, I could not imagine hopping into bed at all right now. How could I even think about sex when I was devastated and lost and trying to figure out what happened.

"That's the perfect time to think about sex. What else is there to think about? I mean, come on, I can maybe go one week without it but two weeks? Don't do this to yourself."

And this guy was sixty seven years old. And he'd split up with his wife the year before and from what he told me he had slept with, like, dozens of women. Like dozens.

So when he left that night I was feeling like a total loser, a eunuch, and I went online and found the most horrible pornographic sight I could find and tried to see if I still alive...Down there...And I was, sort of...But it didn't seem right and I called my friend and he said...

"Good. This is good."
"Why is this good?"
"I'm going to find you someone to sleep with."
"But I don't want to sleep with anyone. I'm just getting over my failed marriage. I couldn't get into it."
"What are you talking about. What's to get into. You just do it."

And see, there's the difference. Men...You just do it. Women...Gotta have a reason to just do it. For instance, I think this guy's funny.

So it's a year later and I'm sure my friend has now slept with another 240 women and I won't tell you what I have done but let's just say I haven't met that many funny guys yet.

However, now with the writer's strike I certainly know where to look.