My friend texted me, “do you know any couples counselors?” My response, “not in the city, but I’ll ask around. I’m really glad you guys are working it out.” Her response, “it’s for my Dad and step-mom…”

My mother has some lines she’ll repeat over and over again. For instance, we’ll be at a restaurant, and the waiter will ask, “how do you take your coffee mam?” — her response, “I like my coffee like I like my men, black…” That was always confusing for me, because mom, why are you still married to my Jewish father?

I wish my mom could have her sweet chocolate lover…another personal favorite, “Rachel’s boobs are small, but they are mighty.” Which I always found to be super encouraging.

When I was in 3rd grade, my family and I moved to a new town, and I got invited to Hope’s birthday party, super nice of her to include me. Something happened to my stomach, I don’t know what I ate, but it seriously f*cked me up, because I pooped my pants and my mom had to Clorox me in the shower, I also made a ton of friends that year.

It was summer at Nicole Meyer’s pool, we were probably five or six years old, just swimming — and then. I pooped in the Meyers pool (I’m six, ok?), I have no idea why or how I let one slip, but Mrs. Meyers blamed Nicole’s little sister, Jacquline, and she got in a lot of trouble, they had to drain the entire pool. She was crying, saying she didn’t do it, but Mrs. Meyers didn’t believe her. Then I walked up to Mrs. Meyers and said, “Mrs. Meyers, maybe, Jacquline didn’t do it…and she said “no, she did”, and I did not push any further. I need to come clean about this, it’s been hanging over my head for 24 years, Mrs. Meyers–I lied and it felt terrible, Jacquline is innocent, I”M SO SORRY.

I feel better now.

In my experience as stand-up comedian, I learned to never, ever, make jokes about poop, unless they’re hilarious — and — to never tell people when they ask you, “what are some of your jokes about?” that you ever made even one joke about poop, especially not a group of attorneys at your holiday party, they felt embarrassed for me, they actually turned beat red. I walked away from that interaction feeling like a piece of shit.

I was taking the subway home from work, this was back in manhattan, and the 6 train during rush hour can is sardines, and I was standing, holding the pole, when this nice man asked me if I’d like to sit down, and gestured to my belly — I was — not pregnant — and the people who saw that interaction were waiting for my reaction, I thought I handled it well — I waited until 14th street/union square to cry about it …

There was a time I thought it would be a good idea to smoke weed before the gym. I got there and saw my gym crush, I’ve heard some women refer to this as their “gym husband,” anyway, I thought, ok, now’s the time, I’m gonna say “hi” — I was in a plank position, and he was right next to me, so I decided that I would roll-plank over to him, and say hi–and then roll back over to my original position, so I did that, and then I never spoke to him again.

Yellow shoes, that is what I called him…

Let’s see — It was college, and I was spending the night at the Pike house, and the fire alarm went off, this was probably 6 or 7am, and all the boys had to gather outside while the fire department inspects the house, you know… just to see if everyone was outside — I was still in there, hiding butt naked inside Harrison’s top bunk, trying to be flat as humanly possible while also trying not to breathe, and when the firefighter came into the room, he saw my human mold under the covers, gently lifted the blanket — and did not say a word, just walked out of the room, and then, I died.

Are any of the women in the room familiar with the nipple petals? Just in case you’re unfamiliar, “breast petals are meant for instances when “women are unable, or unwilling, to wear a bra. “Breast petals cover the nipple in order to preserve modesty.” IYKYK–so this one the guy I was seeing thought that for a moment, that when I took my shirt off, I did not have nipples…but I do, I do have nipples. Haven’t worn em’ since

FREE THE NIP!

When I was 13, my Dad and I were driving back from a soccer tournament, but it was Chander’s bat-mitzvah that night, and I was freaking out we weren’t going to make it on time, so I begged my dad to hurry up — he was speeding home, weaving through traffic, but unbeknownst to us, as we were speeding down the highway, his car was kicking up rocks that were hitting the windshield of a motorcycle gang. This gang must have followed us for 10/15 miles until we got off the highway, and when they caught up to us at the stop light, they were all holding ROCKs in their hands, ready to throw them at my dad. They saw me in the passenger seat and decided not to — every time my dad and I were in the car together and saw a pack of motorcycles, you could feel the tension, because we never spoke about almost being stoned. My dad also has a hard time saying “I love you,”…out loud, out loud.

Watching tv with your any or both parents and a sex scene comes on, I want to die one million deaths, and that will never change.

My grandmother has dementia, and it’s sad, ya know? I saw my grandma last weekend, and she said to me, “Rachel, i’m so happy you found “the one,” and I said, grammy, I don’t have a boyfriend, but — my friend Taylor just got engaged, so that’s exciting. She looked so shocked and confused, I feel like I should’ve just gone along with it. At 92 she talks about wanting to die, which is awkward to hear but I get it. Living with all that pain, it’s tough, having a single 30 year old granddaughter with no prospects.