I’ve got to hand it to my Mom: when it comes to meddling in my personal life, nobody does it better. For example, this weekend we’re all going to Las Vegas so Sabrina and her husband Curtis can renew their wedding vows. Of course, Mom’s real purpose for this trip is to surround me with hot guys and ply me with liquor in a town where there’s a quickie wedding chapel every three blocks and just, you know, see what happens. Every celebrity has a cause, and apparently my Mom’s cause is getting me back in a relationship by next week and married off by this summer. Meanwhile, back here in Reality Land, I’m not even ready to start dating again, let alone settle down with anybody. But in my Mom’s English-to-Mom Dictionary “I’m not ready yet,” translates into, “I’m totally ready!” Truth is, Mom wants me to get married again is so I can have another baby. But I’m lucky enough to live in an age where a woman can make that decision for herself whether she’s married or not. Now if I can just get my Mom to understand that.
This weekend I’m doing stand-up, going to a wedding, and trying to find a new boyfriend for Melissa. Actually, that’s not a weekend; it’s my perfect storm of happiness! Well, maybe not perfect…the economy is still bad, cheesecake is still fattening, and Ryan Gosling still hasn’t returned my calls…but it’s pretty good. When my assistant Sabrina and her husband decided to renew their vows I thought, why not do it in Las Vegas where I’m headlining? We can throw Sabrina a bachelorette party…check out single guys…have everybody come see my show…set Melissa up with somebody…have dinner…maybe see Melissa fall in love again…all the usual Vegas stuff! Melissa just can’t know that I’m setting her up, so I have to be discreet. I know– I’ll have Lynne help me! Because let’s face it, if there’s one thing Lynne’s good at its rounding up guys. Lynne just has to understand that these guys are for Melissa, not her, so they can’t have prison records, back hair, or tattoos. Seriously, I just want my baby to find love again, so if Mr. Right comes along and Melissa really likes him, I guess I could overlook just one small tattoo.
It’s my Mom’s birthday this week and she’s a complete basket case. Really, what’s the big deal about turning seventy-eight? Honestly, I’ve just been so over all that age, number-obsessive stuff ever since I turned thirty-teen. The way I look at it, you celebrate birthdays because each one marks another year you’ve cheated death. Sure, I get some funny looks at the bakery when I order birthday cakes with “You’ve Cheated Death Again!” written on them in frosting, but that’s how I feel. Now everything she sees is making Mom feel old, even our pet turtle outgrowing his tank. That’s why I’m so glad she’s going to New York for a few days because if her best friend Margie can’t cheer her up, nothing will. Mom will do some stand-up, she and Margie will have lots of fun, and hopefully Mom will come back to Cooper and me in Los Angeles with something more cheerful on her mind than planning her own funeral. Because if she doesn’t, I may have to start planning mine.
A wise person once said that Joan Rivers acts inappropriately for a living. OK, so it was me who said that. But I don’t think even Joan Rivers would deny that being brutally honest about sexuality, sometimes to the point of being outrageous, has played a major role in her incredibly successful career. The problem is, not everybody gets the joke. Which is why one of my Mom’s employees is suing her for—are you sitting down?—sexual harassment. At first Mom thought the whole thing was just a big joke. Then she found out that when it comes to sexual harassment she’s legally liable not only for her own behavior, but for the behavior of all of her employees. That wiped the smile off Mom’s face faster than a truckload of Botox. Now, my Mom doesn’t have to talk about sex to be funny, but I’m not so sure that’s also the case with Tony. And when Tony opens for my Mom next week he’d better be squeaky clean on stage or else there’s going to be hell to pay– and my Mom’s going to be the one writing those big checks.