Ellie Kemper - My Squirrel Days

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Scribner

An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright 2018 by Ellie Kemper

An earlier version of Hysteric ran on McSweeneys Internet Tendency .

Some of the materials in this book originally appeared in The New York Times and is reprinted by permission.

Certain names have been changed.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Scribner Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Scribner hardcover edition October 2018

SCRIBNER and design are registered trademarks of The Gale Group, Inc., used under license by Simon & Schuster, Inc., the publisher of this work.

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or .

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Interior design by Erich Hobbing

Jacket design by Jaya Miceli

Jacket photographs by Andrew Eccles

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-1-5011-6334-0

ISBN 978-1-5011-6336-4 (ebook)

Photograph credits: courtesy of the author

For Mom and Dad

Loving, smart, and just so funny

T here comes a time in every sitcom actresss life when she is faced with the prospect of writing a book. When my number was up, I told myself that I would not blink. I would fulfill my duty as an upbeat actress under contract on a television series and serve my country in the only way I knew how. I would cull from my life the very greatest and most memorable of anecdotes, I would draw on formative lessons learned both early on and also not too long ago, I would paint for the reader a portrait of the girl, the teenager, the woman I am today, and I would not falter. I would write a book.

And so, Reader, I got to work.

First, I started dressing like an Author: black turtlenecks and dark denim jeans. Then, I started sipping like an Author: double shots of espresso with no Hersheys syrup to cushion the blow. Finally, I started talking like an Author: That reminds me of my book, I would begin most sentences. I noticed people stopped talking to me as much.

But onward I marched.

I reread all the classics: Pride and Prejudice , The Catcher in the Rye , What to Expect When Youre Expecting. I scribbled in journals and I sighed with meaning. All shaving came to an immediate and powerful halt. Did I stumble in my journey? Of course I did. Nothing ventured, nothing gained , I would remind myself as I boldly considered mixing two flavors of Ben and Jerrys that I had never tasted together before. Also, you should try writing the first paragraph of your book , I would add, after I had declared my new frozen dairy creation a success.

Heroes are not born; they are made. Nonetheless, being an Author is exhausting. I would struggle to fall asleep at night, tossing and turning in the way that only a tortured artist can. Is this how Chaucer felt?! I cried out to the big black darkness. You are being so loud! hushed my now-awake husband. I envied his innocence. You see, Reader, I knew that I had some great wisdom to offer you, but I worried that I did not have enough great wisdom to give to you. And this worry very nearly destroyed me.

I began losing interest in food.

And then, one Sunday afternoon, alone in my closet, sifting through a bunch of broken memories and Spanx so stretched out they were no longer useful, I came across my very first headshot:

I stared at the woman in this photo. I know you , I whispered. Oh, wait. Youre me. For a second, I had thought it was an old picture of Prince Harry. Anyway, there I was. At the time of that headshot, I was twenty-three years old, but I look both fourteen and eighty-seven. The photo was taken by Kris Carr, a beautiful vegan who wore tank tops in winter and cooked us black beans and sauted kale for lunch. Besides my pale, remarkably round face, every inch of my skin is covered in this portrait. I am wearing a brown corduroy jacket from the Gap and a beige turtleneck that threatens to swallow me whole. My left forearm is placed casually on my right knee, suggesting that I am a strong woman with definite opinions but also that I am able to kick back and relax like an easygoing cowboy. Very little attention was paid to hair or makeup that day, but my mischievous smile assures you that I am crushing life and also that I might just have a secret or two tucked up that corduroy sleeve.

I looked at that girl and I missed her. She was full of light, of hope, and her cheeks looked like they were storing nuts. Had this girl moved on to learn anything of substance over the next fifteen years? Nah. But she did remind me of the power in pretending. She also reminded me that the Gap seems to have great sales just about every other day (at least online).

The Ellie in that headshot was not only a dead ringer for British royalty, but she was also pretending to be confident at a time in her life when, frankly, she felt a little bit lost. Wait a minute , I realized a few hours later over an exciting new mix of The Tonight Dough with Peanut Buttah Cookie Core: I do have enough wisdom to share! Corduroy Ellie may have been smiling bravely, but there was a considerable amount of doubt and fear hiding behind that smile. And yet Corduroy Ellie did not let the doubt and fear win.

As a reasonably talented person who is also part fraud, I cannot praise highly enough the virtues of enthusiasm and tenacity as substitutes for finely honed skills or intensive training. And in this book, Reader, I will tell you about the numerous times that I have made up in pluck what I have lacked in natural ability. I will reveal tidbits from my past, and I will feed you morsels from the present. Some stories might seem implausible, some anecdotes farfetched. And I am here to tell you that this is because I have made them up. What do you want from me? I have an energetic toddler and my memory is fuzzy.

Here are some of the tales I have to share:

My exhilarating risethough some have described it as more of a flatlinethrough NCAA Division I College Field Hockey. A very thin woman with a bionic knee plays a prominent role.