Girl Walks Into a Bar . . .: Comedy Calamities, Dating Disasters, and a Midlife Miracle Read online

  Girl Walks

  into a

  Bar…

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  Published by Gotham Books, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First printing, May 2012

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  Copyright © 2012 by Mousepaw Enterprises, Inc.

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  Gotham Books and the skyscraper logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Dratch, Rachel.

  Girl walks into a bar—: comedy calamities, dating disasters, and a midlife miracle / Rachel Dratch.

  p. cm.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-57990-9

  1. Dratch, Rachel. 2. Women comedians—United States—Biography. I. Title.

  PN2287.D5495A3 2012

  792.702′8092—dc23

  [B]

  2011047377

  Printed in the United States of America

  SET IN NEW CLEAR ERA

  DESIGNED BY JUDITH STAGNITTO ABBATE/ABBATE DESIGN

  While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  ALWAYS LEARNING

  PEARSON

  For Eli,

  Beyond my imagination

  This book starts off by talking about Showbiz for a while, but I assure you, it is actually not about Showbiz. It’s about Not Showbiz, and what happened to my life when Not Showbiz became my un-chosen profession….

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  We’re Going in a Different Direction

  Show!!!!!!

  WASP World

  Chicago

  Dreams Do Come True!

  Any More Questions?

  Horsemeat

  Body by Shtetl

  Dating the Fonz

  “She’s Siiiinngle!”

  My Pal, the Universe

  I Left My Heart

  Hey, Baby!

  A Real Dog

  Attack of the Tiny Pants

  Girl Walks into a Bar

  Gore vs. W

  Meet Me on the Astral Plane

  This Little Piggy

  Serious with a Capital S

  I’ve Got Spirit!

  What to Expect When You’re Not Expecting

  Giggles and Tears

  We Are Thrilled to Announce the Birth of … Hercules!?

  How to Care for Your F’in’ Baby

  A Letter from the Prophet Doug

  With All Due Respect to Edgar Allan Poe

  ’Tis ’Mones

  The Day I Became a “Baby Person”

  “Do-It-Yourself Infant Care”or, If You Live Outside Manhattan, “Infant Care”

  First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage, Then Comes the Baby in the Baby Carriage

  The Natalie Merchant Converse Axiom of Child Care

  Over Theeeere! Over Theeeere!

  The Great Pile of Unknowns

  “You May Ask Yourself…”

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  “Hey, I know you!” said the stranger.

  I was on Third Ave in New York, emerging from the Starbucks.

  “Hi,” I said.

  The stranger turned to his friend and nudged him. “You know who that is? SNL! SNL, man!”

  The friend gave a vague, fake nod of recognition. The stranger tried to convince his friend to be more excited.

  “She’s funny!” He turned back to me. “What’s your name again?”

  “Rachel.”

  “Yeahhhh! Rachel! Man! SNL! SNL!”

  The friend looked down the street, wanting to move on.

  “Awwww! I miss seeing you on TV! I never see you in movies or anything anymore!” said the stranger.

  “Yeah, well …”

  “What happened to you?!”

  How to answer this question: What happened to me? Where have I been since you last saw me on TV? I know where I’ve been. My friends know where I’ve been. They see me all the time. But, to the comedy-viewing public—Where have I been? Sometimes people think I’m still working, because they see me on reruns of Saturday Night Live or King of Queens. People think if they see you on reruns, that means you’re working. No. You are sitting in your apartment watching Judge Mathis. That’s what you are doing.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m still a vibrant part of the showbiz community. My agent still calls with offers for work. It goes like this:

  RRRIIIINNG! RRRIIIINNG!

  “Yay!” I think to myself. “It’s my agent!”

  “Hi, Rachel. Is this a bad time?”

  “No, not at all!” I hit TiVo to pause Judge Mathis. He is about to deliver a verdict to the girl being sued by her mother for wrecking her car.

  “We’ve got an offer for you.”

  “An offer. Great!” An offer means you don’t have to go in and audition—the part is yours if you want it. It’s my lucky day.

  “It’s to play the part of Cammy.”

  “That sounds awesome!”

  “It shoots in November for two days.”

  “Great!”

  “Cammy is the lesbian friend of the two leads.”

  “OK!”

  “Now, in the script it says she’s three hundred pounds, but just ignore that.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You have three lines.”

  “Hmm. Um. Can I think about it?”

  “Sure. Give it some thought. I’ll circle back.”

  “OK. Bye.”

  An hour goes by. I finish up my courtroom duties for the moment and move on to my other career: amateur psychologist with Dr. Phil. I kind of detest him, but I get a secret thrill at how pompous he is. I also love how his wife, Robin, sits in the audience smiling every episode and that’s her job. Right now, he’s speaking to a mom who is addicted to Oxycontin. “Now, I’m not gonna tell you that what you’re doing is even a little bit OK? ’Cause it’s not?”

  RRRIIIINNG! RRRIIIINNG!

  No way. It’s my agent again!

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Rachel. I got another part here.”

  �
��Yeah?”

  “They want you to come in and read for the part of Ginge.”

  “OK. That sounds funny; now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “So don’t get put off by the character description. Keep an open mind.”

  “Hit me.”

  “Ginge is the chief of police.”

  “OK!”

  “It says in the script she’s a fifty-five-year-old bull dyke. Obese. But they want you to put your spin on it.”

  “Okaaay. Wow. Fifty-five years old … and obese?”

  “Well, they say that, but they don’t really know what they’re looking for.”

  “You know I’m trying to get away from these kinds of parts, right?”

  “Think on it. You might want to just go in and read for it. I’ll send you the sides.”

  “OK. Bye.”

  Wow. Well. I … do … not know about this. I return to the television. After Dr. Phil, I may as well head back to the courtroom for Judge Judy. I think of my college classmates from Dartmouth who are performing neurosurgery at this moment, or being senators (Kirsten Gillibrand [D] NY). Coming up on Judge Judy: “‘YOU’RE A MORON, SIR!’ ‘Listen, she told me I could keep her dog.’ ‘I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT! I’M SMARTER THAN YOU, SIR! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’ ‘Um…’ ‘UM IS NOT AN ANSWER!’”

  RRRIIIINNG! RRRIIIINNG!

  What the huh? It’s my agent again.

  “Rachel, I have another part for you.”

  “Three parts in one day? This is unheard of. It almost seems like it’s being used as a comedic device.”

  “Character is named LaLa.”

  “OK.”

  “Now, don’t pay attention to what it says in the script. It’s a great part and the movie’s gonna be huge. Paul Rudd is the lead. You just have one scene, but it’s a killer.”

  “OK.”

  “LaLa is a mousy secretary.”

  “OK. That’s my specialty. What’s the scene?”

  “LaLa walks into the room. She’s sixty years old. She is the ugliest woman in the world.”

  “Sorry, wait, I thought you just said she’s the ugliest woman in the world.”

  “Well, that’s what it says in the script, but you know, they just write that…”

  “Oh, man.”

  “… and in the movie there’s a contest to see how much money each man would pay to not have sex with LaLa. But that doesn’t mean they think that about you. They want your spin on it. It’s one day. Pays scale. You have to fly yourself to LA.”

  “Um, let me call you back.”

  These are pretty much the only parts I’m offered since I’ve been off SNL. Lesbians. Secretaries. Sometimes secretaries who are lesbians. Usually much older than I am in real life. Usually about 100–200 pounds more than I am in real life.

  I am offered solely the parts that I like to refer to as The Unfuckables.

  In reality, if you saw me walking down the street, you wouldn’t point at me and recoil and throw up and hide behind a shrub. But by Hollywood standards, I’m a troll, ogre, woodland creature, or manly lesbian. I must emphasize that of course in the real world, lesbians come in all shapes, sizes, and varieties of hotness. I’m not talking about the real world—I’m talking about Hollywood and Hollywood comedies, where lesbians come in two varieties—the hot, unattainable, “What? You’re a lesbian? No way! Not after you get with me!” variety, and the mullet-sporters. Needless to say, I was being called in for the latter. It’s like how black and Latino actors get frustrated because they’re called in only to play drug dealers, or Arab actors get calls to play cab drivers and terrorists. In the narrow lens of Hollywood, which wants to give the instant stereotype viewers can zone into, I belong in the lesbian parts. Trolls, ogres, and woodland creatures can be done with CGI, so that leaves yours truly to play the bull dykes.

  That’s the very quick answer to the question “What happened to me?” But read on—I’ll tell you some more.

  We’re Going in a Different Direction

  I was a cast member on Saturday Night Live for seven years. Then my contract was up. I was going to be starring in a new show called 30 Rock in the role of Jenna. Have you guys seen 30 Rock? Yeah … I’m not Jenna.

  That was back in 2006 and strangers still ask me, “Why aren’t you on 30 Rock?” “What happened with 30 Rock?” “Are we gonna see you on more 30 Rock?”

  30 Rock. If you are one of those “Oh! I don’t have a television” people, then I will give you a brief background. Of course, if you don’t have a television, then none of the following will matter to you, but let me tell you, this is the very important stuff you are missing while you are playing the fiddle or telling stories by firelight or whatever it is you do instead of watching TV. 30 Rock is a show about the backstage happenings at an SNL-type comedy show called The Girlie Show. Created by and starring Tina Fey. Produced by Lorne Michaels (who, for you actively non-TV people, is also the creator and producer of Saturday Night Live). Also starring Alec Baldwin and four other actors Tina had worked with previously—Tracy Morgan from SNL, Jack McBrayer and Scott Adsit from Second City, and, briefly, me from both SNL and Second City.

  After we shot the pilot, I got a call from my agent. “They’re changing the show.” Or he may have said, “They’re going in a different direction.” In showbiz, you hear that phrase a lot. At best, it means you are being replaced by a black man. (“Oh! I couldn’t have done that part—now it’s about a black man! The character of Suzie is now named Jamal! See? They went in a Different Direction!!”) At worst, the different direction is the direction of Away From You, as in “We Don’t Much Care for You!”

  At the time, I was not even upset by this news. I was told that the show, which in the pilot had included real sketches within the context of the sitcom, was now no longer going to have sketches. Instead of a sketch performer, they wanted more a sitcom ingénue type. If you have been in the acting business for any length of time, you don’t take this stuff personally. Replacements in pilots happen all the time. Everyone always refers to the fact that Lisa Kudrow was replaced on Frasier—“and look what happened to her! She went on to do Friends!” It’s the anecdote that always gets trotted out of the barn whenever an actor is consoling another for being kicked off a job. Besides, Tina called me up and said that, instead of Jenna, she had thought up a different role for me to play. Actually, many roles. I would appear in various episodes as a different character each time, popping up in the show in all sorts of incarnations. I thought this idea was unique. I had never seen anything like it before, and I thought it could be fun to be a sort of “Where’s Waldo?” character within the show. Plus, I felt way more comfortable doing these kinds of parts than playing Jenna, a diva type who, in the pilot, sort of tries to seduce Alec Baldwin. No one needs to see me try to seduce. I think that would be grim and awkward for all parties involved. I felt fine about the whole situation. And then things started to go in a Different Direction.

  For one thing, this story became instantly public. Before, I had a mild level of fame—not the type to land me in a blurb in Vanity Fair—“spotted dining in one of New York’s hotspots, Rachel Dratch had the duck confit!” But after I got replaced on the pilot by Jane Krakowski, oh boy, was I a celebrity! I had never been this mentioned in the press or this buzzed about for my whole career, until now that something “bad” was happening. “Someone’s getting fired? Tell me everything. Now, who is Rachel Dratch again?” It was everywhere—“What a Downer for Dratch” read the articles, and here’s where the story turns ugly. Literally.

  The general opinion seemed to be that it wasn’t about “sitcom” or “sketch.” It was about attractiveness. It was about Pretty. The Internet, magazines, and news stories all gingerly speculated that I had been replaced by a more attractive actor and that this was the only reason I had been replaced.

  Well, the newspapers and magazines did so gingerly. There is nothing “gingerly” about the Internet. When I first got hired on SNL, I was warned by the oth
er actors: Don’t read what they say about you on the Internet. With newfound fame, that’s like telling a child, “Whatever you do, don’t look behind this door.” My fellow cast member Ana Gasteyer would call the act of reading people’s comments about yourself on the Internet “cutting,” as in the mental illness of cutting yourself with sharp objects. She’d come in and say, “I cut last night.” Occasionally, you would look online if you were feeling masochistic. Early in my SNL career, I stopped pretty much for good when I saw one comment that hit me in the face like a frying pan. Actually, that was the comment. It said I looked as if I had been hit in the face by a frying pan.

  I arrived on the 30 Rock set to play my first little character. Because I still had a part on the show, I was in the unique situation of being there for the reshoot of the pilot I had shot a few months earlier. Most actors replaced on pilots aren’t then hanging around to see how all the action goes down when they no longer have the part. “No matter, I’m a professional!” I thought. As I walked onto the set of the “backstage area” and rounded the bend, it occurred to me I might need more than professionalism. I might need superhuman Zen master strength: There, surrounding me, were these huge pictures of Jane Krakowski posing as various characters in the posters for The Girlie Show. There was Jane dressed as a little girl with a huge lollipop! There she was as a grumpy old lady clutching her purse! In a way, the posters were no surprise; I had seen them before. They were exact duplicates of the posters I had posed for when we shot the pilot earlier in the summer and I was Jenna—same setups, same poses and looks and props. They were everywhere and they were large. Was this real or was I having some sort of fun-house mirror/showbiz anxiety dream?

  Later that day, the surreal feeling continued. The first character I was playing was the Cat Wrangler—a woman who was based on all the animal wranglers Tina had encountered on various sets. The Cat Wrangler was not an attractive lady. Working with all those cats, she was not dressed for glamour, and she had a long mullet. Bad clothes, no makeup, and horrible hair. Lesbian? Check!

  At this read-through, there was a video feed to the big NBC execs over in Burbank, so we were all seated around this horseshoe-shaped table. That way, the people in California could watch the performance of the script as it occurred. In an unfortunate coincidence, it just so happened that the producers in New York wanted to see how my wig and costume looked right when it was time for the read-through to begin. There I was at the table—the only one in costume, and everyone else looking fresh as a daisy. Jane was in some hottie dress with regular-person makeup; all the guys were in their regular clothes; Tina was there, looking cute. And pan across the table to the end aaaand … AGH! Who is that person in the corner with the wiry mullet? The one who looks like a carnie worker in the army jacket? That must be Rachel. Whoo, boy. We really made the right decision there, guys. I imagined them high-fiving over in Burbank as I tried to shrink myself into my own mullet to provide maximal invisibility.