So I say, “You don’t think people actually do that, do you?” (Great! There’s a brilliant point.)
And she looks sheepish and says, “No.” Then about six months later, we’re watching yet another one of these movies that I think is totally fine, when it happens again! Another actress makes a reference to going down on a man.
So, I say to Billie again, “You don’t think people actually do that, do you?”
I don’t know what she’s been exposed to between the internet and school—no matter how diligently I try to monitor it.
But this time she responds very quietly, “Yes.”
I’m totally unprepared for this so I say, “But you don’t think men actually like it, do you?”
And to this, she emphatically shakes her head No.
So, you can see how great I am with training with my daughter. I did tell her about the birds and the bees, but you kind of have to move really fast because of what kids are exposed to now. The weird thing is when kids see porn before they have sex and ugh… well, actually, I’m a fine one to talk because when I was fifteen, I was in the chorus of my mother’s show (like most teenagers) and the gay guys in the show showed a movie called Sixteen Inches in Omaha to either shock me or watch my reaction.
As you can imagine, this is a wonderful introduction into the male anatomy. So subtle and nuanced.
Anyway, more recently Billie told me that she’s changed her mind—she no longer wants to be a neurologist with a specialty in schizophrenia, now she wants to be a comic. (which is kind of a natural progression if you think about it).
So I say, “Well, baby—if you want to be a comic, you have to be a writer. But don’t worry, you have tons of material. Your mother is a manic-depressive drug addict, your father is gay, your grandmother tap-dances, and your grandfather shot speed!”
And my daughter laughs and laughs and laughs, and I say, “Baby, the fact that you know that’s funny is going to save your whole life.”
Now, if you had a daughter that great—you don’t, but if you did—wouldn’t you want to do something nice for her? Well, I did. I wanted her to have some normal Mommy memories of me. Not just memories of a mother who got tattooed and hid Easter eggs in July. So I learned to cook. And it turns out I’m a pretty good cook. I mean, I make most of my meals at about 11:00 at night, but they’re very, very delicious!
But when I first learned to cook, my mother flipped out. It was like I was violating a family code or credo—I didn’t even know we had those things.
She would say, “Carrie’s in the kitchen… cooking.”
Like she was saying, “shaving her head.” And what a weird thing to do in the kitchen, by the way.
So, one night, I’m at her house (I told you we live next door to each other) and I say, “I’m going back up to my house to make Billie dinner.”
And she grabs my arm and says “Nooo! Why are you doing this?! Please let me send Mary to make her chicken crepes.”
But I’m pleased to report that, over time, my mother has become more accustomed to my cooking so now she says, “You know, dear, we had an Uncle Wally in the family who was a good cook.”
So, if she can see it as a talent—especially one from her side of the family—she’s cool with it.
I heard someone say once that many of us only seem able to find heaven by backing away from hell. And while the place that I’ve arrived at in my life may not precisely be everyone’s idea of heavenly, I could swear sometimes—if I’m quiet enough—I can hear the angels sing.
Either that or I’ve screwed up my medication. But one of the reasons I think my life is going so much better is that having originally done Wishful Drinking (the show and now the book) as a singles ad—a really, really detailed personals ad—I think if I attract someone from one of my audiences or one of the readers of this book, he’ll never be able to say, “You never told me you were a manic-depressive drug addict who turned men bald and gay,” like men say to me now. Because I am no different than any other single person (all three of them). I also want someone to love and treasure and overwhelm—oh, and disappoint!—especially disappoint, I find that so erotic. Anyway, the ad worked! Because when I did my show in Santa Fe, I received in the mail a marriage proposal.
Now, I told you I was a manic depressive, right? So you know I have lousy judgment—so I was hoping that before I take such an enormous step, I could run the proposal past you and get you to somehow weigh in on it. Okay?
Keep in mind—I’m not getting any younger.
Dearest Carrie Fisher,
I want a relationship with you because I want to get married and have sex every night. [Because that is what you do when you are married.] You are older than me, but I am a full grown man of forty-one. I do love you Carrie.
Here are the most personal things about me. I have a big tummy and I had an anus operation for hardened hemorrhoid bleeding. [Which is good to know because now I can never say to him, “You never told me you had an anus operation for a hardened hemorrhoid bleeding!” Like I would.] I used to buy VHS videos for self-gratification since I was fifteen to a couple of years ago.
I have had sex before and I’m not a virgin since I was fourteen. I never had a girlfriend or been married because I was seeking stardom for myself until fall of 1992. [Because you all remember what happened in the fall of 1992.]
I love the band Duran Duran and the movie Star Wars and the TV shows MacGyver and The Price Is Right.
Please feel free to write me.
So, what do you think? Should I marry him? Are you an optimist like Marie McDonald?
Come on, I want to get old with someone—not because of them—and I already have such a huge head start!
11
A SPY IN THE HOUSE OF ME
Before I wrap up, I’d like to share some of the things with you that I’ve learned from going through all this nonsense.
• “Resentment is like drinking a poison and waiting for the other person to die.”
• Saying you’re an alcoholic and an addict is like saying you’re from Los Angeles and from California.
• Some of the wisdom I have gotten from my grandmother—my mother’s mother—the closet locker, who taught me, “A fly is as likely to land on shit as it is on pie” (which is true, if you think about it). She also said, “Cry all you want, you’ll pee less!” (I don’t know if that is true though.)
• But the main thing I’ve learned, I learned all by myself, no help needed. I learned not to get my tongue pierced. Because if you’re getting it pierced for the reason why I think you’re getting it pierced and you’re not good at that thing to begin with, no little piece of jewelry is going to save the day.
I was talking to a priest friend of mine recently (as one does) and I was telling him about how I was scheduled to meet with my daughter and her shrink the following week.