Kirkman - I Know What Im Doing -- and Other Lies I Tell Myself: Dispatches from a Life Under Construction

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ALSO BY JEN KIRKMAN

I Can Barely Take Care of Myself

Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright 2016 by Block of Cheese, Inc.

Note to readers: Some names and identifying details of people portrayed in this book have been changed.

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

First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition April 2016

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Interior design by Lewelin Polanco

Jacket design by Na Kim

Jacket photography by Robyn von Swank for Simon & Schuster

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

ISBN 978-1-4767-7027-7

ISBN 978-1-4767-7029-1 (ebook)

This book is dedicated to my friends, both men and women. I dont need to name names. As Ice-T said in his song M.V.P.S.: Too many to name. Yall right here in the studio, so why Ima name ya? Yall know I aint even got to tell yall, yall are players.

Youve all kept me sane when at times it felt like things would never get better. You have the best senses of humoronce youve comforted meyoull make fun of me. I trust you all implicitly. Our love is unconditional.

This book is dedicated to my family as well. Mom and Dad, please dont read this one. Just know that yes I got paid for it and that is all that matters. And if I was paying attention correctly at church as a kid, Jesus hung out with prostitutes, so really, nothing in this book cant be forgiven. But just in case. Maybe just rewatch those videos of my preteen dance numbers instead of reading this book.

And lastly, this book is dedicated to anyone who is misunderstood because romantic relationships elude them. Being normal seems not meant for you in this lifetime. People who crave intimacy but settle for less. People who fall hard. People who want love but are afraid of being loved back. I. Hear. Ya.

U gh, my parents are going to read this.

I know that Im forty years old (and even older by the time this book is in your hands), and I shouldnt care. Just be a grown-up and dont be afraid to speak your truth, Jen! And you know, funny person Bob Odenkirk once said that people should make their art, whatever it is, as though their parents were dead. Why am I starting this book with sentiments about dead parents? Look, you know what I mean (or he means). My parents will have to handle the information in this book in their own way, whether its calling to yell at me or just bursting into tears at the sight of me next Thanksgiving. They created another human being and that human being went on to live her own life, make her own mistakes, have her own sex, and oh, God. Its not just my parents. YOURE going to read this.

For a stand-up comedian who talks about her life onstage, Im weirdly, fiercely private. (By the way, Ive also tried to respect the privacy of some people Ive written about in this book by giving them aliases, including my sister Gail, who insisted that I call her Violetnot because she has anything to hide but she always wished that was her name.) Im so afraid of being judged. And yet, I wont even know if youre judging me because youre reading this and Im not there. I cant see your looks of disapproval.

Heres the thing: Ive never talked publicly about my secret on-again, off-again Friend With Benefits of twenty years. My ex-husband has no idea that while we were still married, I almost embarked on an affair with a new man I felt emotionally bonded to. (A different guy from Mr. Friends With Benefits.) Its new to me to reveal that, yeah, I get really lonely sometimes and I think of myself as the surrogate girlfriend for my male friends who date twenty-six-year-olds but come to me for conversation. Oh, God, please dont pity me. Its worse than judgment.

I really want you to know how much Ive learned from my less than perfect experiences. I hope I dont make it seem like this short-lived boyfriend I had was just some idiot with abshe also had a really great design aesthetic! And I promise, I really, really do not have hep C. (Youll read about that...) My editor said I dont need to include a picture of the lab paperwork. And if you know anyone in Dublin, please, again, apologize that I called their city a bunch of cuntsand I cant believe that I just wrote cunt in my intro, to a book. This thing could be in a library someday.

So why did I write all of this down, then? Because Simon & Schuster paid me to? Partly. But I begged them to. I wanted to write this book. I think that people, not just women, will relate. I know Im not Ernest Hemingway, although I do agree with him that my only regret in life is probably going to be that I did not drink more wine. (Im not totally positive that Hemingway actually said that but according to some drink coasters I purchased at a museum gift shop he did. The quote is printed right on them.) My job isnt to win Pulitzer Prizes and stuff like that, but to provide a voice in your head, other than your own, that sounds like you. My voice is here to say, Hey, I have those same thoughts and do those same stupid things and am generally awesome despite what people might think about my lifestyle choices. And Im also here for your voyeuristic pleasure. Im happy to show you what its like for a single-and-not-so-good-at-the-mingle woman of forty.

The thing is, the other stories that make up who I amdevoted friend and family memberjust arent that funny. This is supposed to be a funny book written by a funny person. Im not going to tell the story of how I stayed home one Friday night to do laundry and return e-mails. Theres no funny story about how much I love my best girlfriends and how many times we got misty-eyed over a bottle of a blended wine and Trader Joes Camembert Cheese and Cranberry Sauce Fillo Bites about how lucky we are to have one another. Or my male friends who are like the brothers I never had. The kind of guys I can text late at night and they listen to me instead of sending me pictures of their dicks.

Theres nothing funny about the fact that about seven months after my divorce, I met Jake. I was afraid that getting involved so quickly after a marriage ended wasnt smart. I felt that I should play it safe, keep my options open, see other people. I wouldnt commit. Eventually, because I decided to stay open to every other possibility but a committed future with him, after two years he told me that he had to end our friendship. I spent a year of my life not speaking with him. Luckily, I had this book to write.