I Know I Am, But What Are You?
Samantha Bee
Language: English
Pages: 256
ISBN: 1439142742
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Candid, outspoken, laugh-out-loud funny essays from much-loved Samantha Bee, host of TBS's uproarious late-night show Full Frontal with Samantha Bee, executive producer and writer of TBS's comedy television series The Detour, and former The Daily Show with Jon Stewart’s Most Senior Correspondent.
In I Know I Am, But What Are You? she shares her unique and irreverent viewpoint on subjects as wide-ranging as:
BARBIE’S DREAM HOUSE
There were six main players in my coterie: G.I. Joe (macho, good-looking), Wonder Woman (hot, carpet-munching neighbor, busy with athletics), Marie Osmond (career gal, smart), Ken (gay, obviously), regular Barbie (slutty, dumb, eternally single), and an old-timey Barbie from the sixties (smoker’s cough, swinger).
HER CHILDHOOD CRUSH
I had a notebook dedicated to ironing out the details of my postmarital name change. Samantha Christ. Mrs. Jesus H. Christ. In fact, Jesus and I were so tight that if at any moment He should materialize, I knew we would listen to my disco records and eat Tang straight from the package, just like lovers did.
GYM CLASS
My grandmother would send me in a navy-blue, puffy-sleeved, one-piece cashmere sweat suit with a patent-leather belt, and warn me not to sweat in it, since it was dry-clean only.
FAMILY TIES
There’s really nothing creepier than going somewhere with one of your parents and having people think you are together, as a couple. Of lovers. Who do it. With each other.
into an awkward grimace. This was a woman who had trouble with the word Perrier when ordering it in restaurants, so any attempt to say my boyfriend’s name just made it sound positively menacing, like the name of some rare disorder. He and his family wore their heritage proudly. So proudly, in fact, that it was his ethnicity that drove the deepest wedge between us, taking our shabby teen romance and elevating it to the level of Romeo and Juliet, let’s say. Star-crossed lovers who were meant to be
could definitely picture myself puttering around a beautiful garden somewhere, snipping fresh herbs for our salads, working only on artful passion projects that were perfect for me as an actress and spoke to my newly christened philanthropic interests. I’d have to convince him that we needed a home base with unlimited hot water and cozy featherbeds from whence to plan all of our daring exploits. A potential relationship with Jim spoke to my softer side. The side of me that wasn’t afraid to let
understand why she would frequent our low-rent establishment, until she asked me if I wanted to become a card dealer in her illegal casino. Celeste had been keeping herself busy poaching clients from every game she could find—high-end, low-end, it simply didn’t matter. Whether you had a welfare check to blow or your grandkids’ inheritance to put on the line, she was your gal. In the entire time I knew her, I never once saw her smile. The night she asked me to come work for her, there was a
most prized cat, King Marmalade, out the door, it would have meant instant banishment. Daggers. Guilt trips for days, complete with the sounds of Meredith sobbing down by the railroad tracks and wailing her cat’s name. “Marmie? Marmoo? Come home! Mummy loves you, King Marmaloo! Special food!” She would pop open twelve tins of Fancy Feast to tempt her cat with the sound of the vacuum seal releasing. Eventually, her cat always found its way home. It would spend three or four days eating trash out
in the presence of a child. And then he would ramp up again: “Why not just believe that Goldilocks and the Three Bears were Jeanus’s [sic] siblings?” He thought that calling Jesus “Jeanus H. Cripes” or “Jeebus H. Crackers” was hilarious. “Let me ask you something. What was God’s inspiration for creating fondue? Did He get tired of eating all of those sea creatures and birds? Poof! Let’s dip some bread into a cauldron of melted cheese! Mmm, delicious! Way to go, God!” As a Jeebus Freak myself, I