humans are funny

Category: Mambert

  • Happy Father’s Day, Mom

    Dear Mom on Fathers’ Day,

    I think it’s only fair that you get a celebratory hug today too. You may have a vagina and you may not possess the other usual characteristics of the stereotypical dad, but in many ways you’ve been a better dad than many.

    You bought me a skateboard and a pogo stick and a Wiffle ball, making sure I got a well-rounded childhood experience. I am not sure if that’s because you were playing a dad role or because you’re a tomboy yourself, but I liked it. Barbie was too pink for me, and she was really only good for planning sexy trysts with Ken. It was better that I got outside and away from that dream house turned porn den.

    You barbecued, spackled, nailed, painted, and grouted. In a traditional family, the dad would have done that stuff. In my family, I learned that a woman can do just about anything with her hands. Now, one of my most cherished possessions is my cordless power drill. Drill, baby, drill (If you’re hanging shelves.). Because of you, I am proud to NOT be one of those girls who needs to “call a boy to help.” Thank. Goodness.

    You told me dirty jokes and taught me that farts are funny. That’s usually a dad’s job, but you did it really well (sometimes too well). When you smirked and divulged the real words to The Man from Nantucket, my junior high popularity soared. Thanks for that. ‘Whose dick was so long he could suck it!’ Hahahaha.

    You taught me all about the male psyche. When I was “dating” in sixth grade, you told me just what those little bastards were thinking. You weren’t a man but you sure knew that Caleb was flirting by calling me stupid. You were so smart. (I kinda wish you would have told me not to go see Ferngully the Last Rainforest with him though. Worst first date ever. [Side note: dating has not changed much since 6th grade].)

    You came to every game or performance or big deal. And you drove me everywhere I needed to go. If there had been a dad around, you guys might have been able to rotate. But, nope. Your presence was for two, and that was enough.

    I don’t think you deserve recognition on Fathers’ Day just because you performed the tasks of a “normal” dad. I think you deserve recognition because you performed every task. All by yourself.  That’s hard. You’ve been the good guy and the bad guy. You’ve planned every birthday party, and you’ve cried enough for two every time we’ve said goodbye at an airport. That should be rewarded.

    Maybe you don’t deserve a tie or a mug because, really, who does? But you deserve recognition and thanks and love.

    Happy Father’s Day, Mommy!

    PS. I respect many of your choices, but why did we take photos in a black hole?

  • Thx Again

    Thank you to all who commented and left gratitude over here Tuesday.
    I think I’m a glass-half-fuller even though I agree with my friend, Rahul, who says you should never judge a glass half-anything unless you know what’s in it. I also take pleasure in being cynical and my favorite color is black. But as I sat in the hospital Tuesday with my friend who was heading into surgery, we read all of your beautiful pieces of gratitude. I’ve never been so happy in a hospital before. Thanks for that. It was truly an amazing day. I even cried a little, you bastards.

    I have decided to show my gratitude for your gratitude by donating another book to the contest. I bought a signed book for my mom, whose nickname is Mambert. I don’t know why we call her that, but we do. I don’t know why I just said ‘we’ when I don’t have any siblings. (There’s still time, mom– one sister. Pleeeeeease? What do you mean you’re 65? So what. There are fertility pills.) She will never know if I send her book to one of you instead. All you have to do is scratch out ‘Mambert’ and write in your own name. Or, you could change your name to Mambert. Totally up to you. But, just a warning: if you do change your name to Mambert, you won’t be able to get a personalized license plate in Illinois that says ‘Mambert’ because my mom already has it.

    Ok, now that that’s out of the way, let’s pick from this hat.
    (I’m making a drum roll with my lips. FYI.)
    The first winner of the book addressed to you and signed by Leah Dieterich of thx thx thx is:

    Maring. She said:

    Dear mornings i walk out of the house with baby puke on me and smelling of baby pee,
    Thank you for the respect I now have for mothers everywhere and the unity I feel in disheveled appearances.

    And the winner of Mambert’s book (who might soon be named Mambert if she or he is so inclined):

    Travelin’ Chick She said:

    Dear iPhone, Thank you for the many things you do to help me; get to my next appointment, remember my sons Kung Fu lessons, finds a deal on shoes, find a Starbucks, get a flight, call my mom, connect with a long lost friend, read a blog for the first time in bed while I have to pee but can’t get up because its so funny…thank you…and that was all before 7:30 this morning!
    -going pee now

    Hooray! I don’t know either of these people, which is great because I’d already planned to defend our random selection process if my friends had won. Maring and Travelin’ Chick, may you enjoy your beautiful books of thanks. And, Mom (Mambert), sorry about your now lack of book. If I’d have gotten a sister, maybe things would have turned out differently.

  • As long as they laugh, it’s all ok.


    When I was 13, I was deathly embarrassed of my mom. Not because she wore puke green dresses and too big eyeglasses (she did). But mainly because, no matter where we went, she talked too much. It wasn’t just that she brought up the weather in every single elevator or complimented someone’s shoes in every line for popcorn. She also told strangers all of our business. Someone would comment on how we were dressed up, and she would tell them all about how I had just graduated from junior high with a 4.0 GPA and that my grandmother was in town and that we deserved a treat and we were going to get pineapple shakes right after the car wash and the video store. She told every detail to surely uninterested strangers. I would cower. I wasn’t a comic book nerd, but I still pretended to put on an invisibility cloak. How. Embarrassing.

    The other day I told the story of my first blowjob to a room full of strangers. And I write this blog where I recently wrote a story about how my dead father’s rotting body smelled like Korean leftovers. I have clearly surpassed my mother in the lack of discretion department. My 13-year-old self would be mortified. And have braces.

    Now I’ve found a way to be even more revealing, even more honest, and even more embarrassing to any future children I may have. It’s stand-up comedy. And I think I love it. It’s like welcoming hundreds of people inside the chamber of the brain that holds all the secrets. And damn, it’s liberating. I’m seriously hooked. I walked off stage Monday night, and I wanted to immediately walk back on.

    It took 12 weeks of class with 8 other students under the direction of Gerry Katzman (who teaches the best stand-up class in LA) in order to get our sets in order. On the first day, Gerry asked us to come up with a personal topic around which we would write 16 jokes. I thought the fact that I drive a scooter was interesting. No. That’s not what he meant. He was more interested in the fact that I only date unmotivated men who don’t have jobs and make me pay for them and how I do so willingly because I feel like I have to take care of them.
    Oh, that.
    Then, he wanted to know why and when and how. And THAT’s when the jokes got funny. The deeper you dig, the better you get. I was into it. A scooter? Ha.

    After that first day, I knew I’d love peeling off more and more layers of myself in order to get to the jokes. It was easy for me (the being honest about myself part) since I grew up with a mom who talked too much and have a blog where I already share everything. This blog made it easy. Thanks, everybody. I wrote jokes about dead dads and trying to be spiritual, and how it’s hard to be single and/or masturbate, and my mom, who has since stopped buying clothes in puke green (for the most part).

    After writing and rewriting every tiny part of every joke, it all came out on stage on Monday night in 9.5 minutes. There’s a silence you can feel while you’re telling a joke where you realize that you’re holding a microphone and everyone is waiting to hear what you have to say. And then you say something important about your life. And it’s out there. And it’s accepted. And it’s ok. You can admit anything up there, and it’s ok. Because you’re on a stage. And because even the deepest darkest secrets find other people in the audience who can relate. That’s what comedy is all about: Saying things that other people feel but are too scared to admit.
    Once the people laugh, it’s all really ok.

    So I’m hooked. And excited. And ready to do it again.
    But I’m not so sure how I’ll feel when I get up there and share my secrets and nobody laughs. I know that’s going to happen. Any day now. Probably as soon as I start performing without my friends in the audience. And that’s going to be hard. And painful. But probably still pretty liberating. We’ll see. If anything, I’ll just quit and be that lady who unloads information on strangers in elevators. Whatever the case, I still won’t be like my mom. Because I do not wear puke green.

    Stand-up class 2010 in post-show bliss. We know everything about each other now.
    We can only become either best friends or sworn enemies. We’ll see. Not so sure I trust the Koreans.

  • Welcome to my Blaaaahg

    I am starting a blog. A blaaaaahg. I’ve always had an itch to start one, but I never could find a reason to. I mean, who is really going to care what I have to say besides my mom, Mambert? She will show up often around here because she lends herself well to the idea that humans are funny. (By the way, she got a heck of a deal on dishrags at Aldi’s last week. She called and told me.)

    So here it is. A blog. My blog. In which I will shed light on the human plight. We are hilarious without even trying. We all think we’re so smart but then go and make big mistakes. Like China, for example. Even before the Olympic debacle, China invented a policy that made families want to only produce baby boys. Not only did this lead to baby deaths (and lots of unwarranted stretchmarks), it created a country with a huge population problem. China is scratching their head and saying, “Well, gee. There aren’t enough women to mate with the men.” Duh! They all died prematurely.

    See! Humans are funny and weird. And crazy. And self-absorbed. And sometimes smelly. And sometimes really stupid. But that’s just how we roll.
    Welcome to my blog.