I read somewhere that girls who lie around in panties and a tank top are incredibly sexy, so now I lie around in barely-there cottons and laces, wistfully kicking my feet in the air as my super hot Stuart Townsend-esque boyfriend walks into the room, half-surprised, half-smitten as he looks me up and down and decides that he cannot stand to be away from me a moment longer. This is the part where I realize I still live with my parents, I have no such boyfriend, and I have been watching way too many romantic comedies.
Such is the life of a 20-something who reads Tina Fey's Bossypants all afternoon believing that she is sitting out from underneath the well-shaded canopy because she will get a nice summer tan, only to run inside 20 minutes into the book to hunt down sunblock lotion for her now lobster-red arms. And it wasn't even adult sunblock lotion, rather 15-year-old oil found in a forgotten cabinet that still had sand in crevices around the cap.
No matter. I shook off the incident and proceeded outdoors once more to the beating sun that my fair Irish skin is so thankful for and continued reading about Ms. Fey's insanely normal childhood. The similarities between the funny lady and me are scary. Strong father figure who frightens other men and prides himself on being stylish? Check. Gossipy teen who heckled blondes and befriended gays everywhere in order to feel superior in my own little fish bowl? Check. Attempted then-magnificent, now-embarrassing feats just to be dry humped? Check. Child-sized, colonial lady costume? Well, no, but I do have a Cher wig if that counts for anything.
I'd see Tina Fey again. I'd probably dry hump her if given the chance. She makes being normal pretty cool.Not to mention the "your mom" jokes, the Star Wars references, the wide-set breasts, and the knack for drawing charts to showcase statistical nonsense; either I am Tina Fey or my ego just inflated by 1,000 and it won't burst because my ego does not burst and I'm thinking I've got a damn good shot at making it with this whole writing thing.
Or, option C: I have just presented evidence for a future restraining order in which Ms. Fey will make it legally impossible for me to smell the shampoo that she uses so that I may immediately wander into the nearest Walmart and purchase the entire store's supply. I can only hope that she'll brag about me to her friends, say what a good little stalker I am.
I read Bossypants in one day. Actually, I read it in under seven hours, which is a HUGE feat for me because I am an unbelievably slow reader and I become distracted very easily. My peers in high school will tell you that I was the smartest kid in our class, that surely I zinged through the ACTs and achieved a high score. On any reading comprehension portion of any standardized testing I will have you know, peers, that I maybe only read the first two paragraphs of any story and even then I could not tell you what an adjective was from a pronoun within those sentences. My eyes wandered to the clock, to my hairy knuckles, to the real smartest girl in the class and, fuck, I can't see her paper.
And, yes, I graduated with a B.A. in English. You can, too!
Bossypants is 277 pages long and that doesn't include the hilarious jacket commentary. And despite noticing the same blue truck drive past the fence line roughly 18 times and stretching my neck to confirm that it was the same truck every time, I made it through all 277 pages in one afternoon, finishing just as the sun was setting. It was the ending to a perfect date, only so much better because I didn't have to listen to a guy ramble about his ability to delay gratification or comment on my naturally rotund backside for the 32nd time.
I'd see Tina Fey again. In fact, I'd probably dry hump her if given the chance. She makes being normal pretty cool. I already loved her on SNL and 30 Rock, but now I really loved her. I love her so much, I'd probably buy her a sandwich. Also, this is further evidence that Ms. Fey will have me legally banned from every sandwich shop within a 50-mile radius of her existence.