Seriously... I'm Kidding (9 page)

The problem with labels is that they lead to stereotypes and stereotypes lead to generalizations and generalizations lead to assumptions and assumptions lead back to stereotypes. It’s a vicious cycle, and after you go around and around a bunch of times you end up believing that all vegans only eat cabbage and all gay people love musicals. (For the record, I find musicals very unrealistic. If I suddenly turned to Portia and burst into a song about how we’re out of orange juice, I don’t think she would just immediately join in. I think she would be confused and concerned for me.)

Stereotypes obviously come from somewhere. There are similarities among certain groups of people, but it would be dangerous to assume that all stereotypes are accurate. You can’t say all New Yorkers are rude or all Californians are hippies. You can’t say all blondes are dumb or all white men can’t jump. You can’t say all rich people are snobs or all celebrities have big egos and are self-centered. That’s just not true.

But going back to me for a second. I know there are a lot of stereotypes associated with being gay. However, I didn’t realize just how many there are until recently when a woman asked me how many cats I have. When I told her I have three, the first thing she said was “Oh, you really are a lesbian!”

And at first I thought, Well, yes I really am a lesbian. That secret’s out. But then I thought, Wait, what? When did that become a stereotype? I thought most people who had a bunch of cats were single and lonely. No. See? That’s another stereotype.

I was so taken aback by her comment. How does the number of cats you have make you a lesbian? And why is three the lesbian number? Would having only two cats mean I’m straight? Would having four make me a super-lesbian? I’d like to make it clear for anyone who may think otherwise, I assure you that having cats does not a lesbian make. There are a few other characteristics that define one as a lesbian.

When she said that, it reminded me of when I came out. At that time there were extreme groups that didn’t think I was gay enough. There were other groups of people who thought I was too gay. It didn’t occur to me that when I announced I was gay I would have to clarify just how gay I am. What does it matter? What does it mean? All I can say is I’m gay enough for me.

To me that’s why stereotypes and labels can be so damaging. People make these sweeping generalizations and have preconceived notions of what you’re supposed to be and of who you are based on a few tiny, little words. I think it’s important to actually get to know someone before you make generalizations. And you can do that pretty easily just by talking to them, asking questions, or reading their diary.

Despite all the labels, in most ways I’m really not that different from anyone else. I guess if you had to label me, you could say I’m like the girl next door. Well, maybe not next door. I’m like the girl a few doors down.

For the Children—Part One

O
ne of the things I love most about my talk show is the fact that everyone from babies to great-great-great-grandparents watches it. My show is fun for all ages, kind of like an amusement park or a strip club that offers day care.

Believe it or not, I have a loyal fan base made up of toddlers. I always assumed it was because they were impressed with my comedic timing and interviewing skills, but it turns out they just like to watch me dance.

I love that kids love my show. In fact, I love it so much I want to devote this chapter to them. On the next few pages you’ll find pictures of cool things kids love that your son or daughter can color in. It’s like a coloring book! Only better because it’s my book! Please feel free to color it in yourself. You know that old saying: “You’re never too old to play. You’re only too old for low-rise jeans.”

For the Children—Part Two

I
f there’s one thing I know about children it’s that they have a hard time understanding the meaning of the words “priceless Warhol.”

If there’s another thing I know it’s that they love a good story. If it were up to them, kids would have you read them the same book five hundred times in a row. That can be very frustrating on the days you decide to read them
War and Peace
.

The real problem with kids wanting to hear the same story read over and over again is that as the reader, you get incredibly bored. So once again, Auntie Ellen is here to help. What I’ve done in this chapter is written a story that your child is going to want to hear many, many, many times. But the good news is, so will you! The parts of the story that are in parentheses are for adults, so as you read along be sure not to read any of that aloud.

Now get those kids into their pj’s and let’s get reading!

The Endlessly Exhilarating Adventures of a Pretty, Pretty Princess

BY
E
LLEN
D
E
G
ENERES

Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there was a pretty, pretty princess named Isabella. She had long, flowing blond hair (most of it was a weave) and wore a tiara upon her head. She was often ridiculed for wearing her tiara because she never took it off—not when she ate breakfast or when she swam in the lagoon (or when she went out with strangers she met on Craigslist).

Many townspeople thought the king and queen had a peculiar daughter but the truth was Isabella didn’t care what anyone thought of her. She was a free spirit. (And she slept with a lot of older men.)

The king wanted Princess Isabella to marry a wealthy prince who lived in the next town over. But the princess didn’t want to marry the prince because she wanted to explore the world before settling down, which in her mind meant she wanted to do a great deal of experimenting both sexually and with the illegal drug ecstasy—

Oh no, I’m so sorry. That was supposed to be in parentheses. I hope you didn’t read that part aloud to your children. I’m so sorry!

The king and queen were both shocked that their daughter didn’t want to marry the prince, for every young lady in all the land was envious of her opportunity. But Isabella meant it and so the king called off the wedding.

The princess was ecstatic. She immediately packed a bag and left for an exciting and magical trip around the world. (Her first stop was Amsterdam, where she immediately got a tattoo and started doing improv.)

She traveled all over every continent. (I think there are eleven?) One day she was walking through the beautiful streets of London when a sudden gust of wind blew her tiara right off her head. She ran into the street to get it just as a car was driving by. The driver slammed on his brakes so hard that everyone in the street stopped and stared.

Suddenly the driver stepped out of the car and Isabella couldn’t believe her big, blue (fake contact lens–wearing) eyes. It was the prince.

Isabella couldn’t explain why, but she was so happy to see him and he was happy to see her. He picked the tiara up off the street and placed it upon her head. (He had run it over with his car so it was in about four different pieces that he had to stack on top of one another.) He explained that he, too, wanted to spend time traveling and living on his own. But now as luck would have it, there they were together again. They embraced.

(They went back to their hometown and ended up getting married about a year later. Isabella gave birth to a bunch of kids throughout the next decade. She continued to wear her tiara outside of the house, which gave her the reputation of being a full-on weirdo, and she kept her hair long well into her late sixties. After the princess’s father passed away, the queen moved in with them, which put some strain on their relationship. They got through it but there were definitely some rough patches. They had some money trouble on and off just like any other couple. A few of their kids weren’t that smart. It seemed like they both couldn’t help but wonder if they were meant to be together, even though it did seem like fate brought them back together that one day in London. Or maybe if she didn’t wear that tiara all the time it wouldn’t have blown off her head and they never would have seen each other again. It’s one of those things that no one will ever really have the answer to.)