Life is more fun when you RAWR!


Friday, April 29, 2011

Book Report: Bossypants by Tina Fey


I promised myself a comedy after the last book I read, and I followed through with Tina Fey's memoir "Bossypants".
I have a serious girl crush on Tina Fey - and have since she was reading Weekend Update on SNL.   Something about her really speaks to my nerdy-girl heart.  I get excited when I hear Terry Gross say that Tina Fey is going to be a guest on "Fresh Air."   My sister introduced me to 30 Rock and boy is it funny.   Oh and Date Night anyone?  I laughed so hard at that movie we had to pause it so I could catch my breath (and put the baby back to bed since he woke up from the loud snorts and screams).

The book just makes her more awesome.  She nails so much of the proverbial "it."  From what she calls "teat nazis" (I call them lactavists) who judge women based on their breast feeding choices, to the constant battle of condescension  based on how a baby exited your body, to the fact that women face insane battles in the work place to how we do the dumbest things to get attention from boys. Either Tina Fey is finally telling everyone how life really is or she & I are just cut from the same nerdy cloth.
I actually did laugh right out loud while reading "Bossypants."  She talks about the creative process behind some of the funniest scenes from 30 Rock and I was fascinated to learn the behind-the-scenes stories from Saturday Night Live.  (Jimmy Fallon is only mentioned like twice in the book and yet, somehow, I manage to like him even more for his mere mention.)  My husband kept asking what was so funny and I would end up reading about three pages out loud before offering to just let him read the book on his own.
The story of her first Pap smear had me rolling.  I mean, that is some seriously funny stuff.  I thought my 1st pap smear was bad.  (The doctor was enamored with my father who was on TV at the time.  He wanted to know all about my dad and my dad being on TV.  I wanted this stranger's face out of my crotch)  Her story is worse.  It's also hilarious.

"Bossypants" is a fun, enjoyable book.  It's honest but still kind (even towards Sara Palin).  It makes me wish I wasn't too old, too mommy, too suburban to move to New York and work with the cool kids on Saturday Night Live... so I just read about them then go sneak into my son's room to take his temperature because he felt really warm and worry why he's running a fever again.  It's a glamorous life I tell ya.

I highly recommend "Bossypants" and will leave you with her "Prayer for my Daughter" (it's all over the internet but now it's here too)

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Bea......uty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.  
Amen



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