What a week to work at Kathy -- KG finally broke her own “no famous people” rule and welcomed two insanely funny women to the show: Chelsea Handler and Whitney Cummings! All hell (and a dog) broke loose when these three hilarious broads got together; the guy running the bleep button almost worked himself into a heart attack. We’re looking into getting him retroactive hazard pay.
As a lifelong comedy nerd, and also as a human with a uterus, it was fascinating to hear Kathy, Whitney, and Chelsea compare notes about their experiences as women in the male-dominated world of stand-up. So with that in mind, I thought I’d share with the challenges of working as a ladyproducer here at the Kathy show.
Health and Fitness: It’s tough to make healthy choices when you’re scrambling to pull together a new hour of television every week. You can forget about hitting that after-work yoga class -- your butt’s not going anywhere when there are late-night script changes to deal with. And then there’s the dark little secret hiding in the office kitchen. Our PA’s keep the shelves stocked with snacks for the staff: crackers, cereal, fruit, the usual. But next to the reasonably-easy-to-resist kale chips and dried blueberries is a nefariously genius delicacy called cookie butter. It’s like peanut butter, but instead of creamy pulverized peanuts, you get creamy pulverized cookies. It’s delicious, and it’s evil, and it’s your girlish figure’s worst nightmare. It’s also the reason our office is frequently out of plastic spoons.
Feminism and Solidarity: I’m all for female empowerment, sisters doing it for themselves, and the like -- but I must confess, watching countless, Kathy-mandated hours of the crazy bitches on Real Housewives, Mob Wives, My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding, Dance Moms, Say Yes to the Dress (shall I go on?) makes it hard to want to gather ‘round the sharing circle and sing the praises of womanhood in all its infinite magic and mystery. Also, not to call you out, random female member of the studio Grammar Police, but if you’re gonna get snarky about the poorly written flyers in the ladies’ restroom, you might want to consult spellcheck.
Safety Concerns: I took a self-defense class in college; so clearly, I’m prepared for any shady characters I may run into in the parking lot. Our aforementioned ladies’ room is another story. The lights are on a motion sensor, so if you’re in the office late, you shove the door open into absolute darkness and wait as the fluorescents slowly flicker to a dim glow, then nervously peer under the stall doors checking for rapist and/or zombie legs. It’s frankly difficult to pee when your heart is pounding like Tori Spelling’s in a Lifetime movie in which she either sleeps with or awakes to danger.
All obstacles aside though, I’m learning so much about womanhood from Kathy that it’s all been worth it. I now know that I shouldn’t get straight-married; it’s OK to give your most precious gift to a man if he provides you with freshly-fried donuts; and flashing your boobs is not just fun, it’s your birthright.