All language subtitles for Iliza.Shlesinger.Elder.Millennial.2018.NF.WEB-DL.DD5.1.x264-NTG

Guys, I'm about to take a giant ship.

Thank you so much!

Thank you.

Thank you so much...

for being here. So...

first up on the agenda is...

I got engaged.

Thank you.

I appreciate that enthusiasm.

I appreciate the applause
because I live in Los Angeles

and when you tell people in L.A. that
you got engaged, they don't applaud.

You tell people in L.A. you got engaged,
they're, like, "Good for you.

Good for..."

So you tell people you got engaged,
next obligatory thing out of their mouth

is, like, "How did you guys meet?

How did you meet?"

I don't like to tell people

how we met.

I don't like to tell people how we met.

It's not bad. It's not embarrassing.

It's just not cool.

Like, we met on a dating app.

Right, like all of you. Yeah.

We met on a dating app, which is...

less of a product of my lack of creativity
and more a result of my generation.

I'm a millennial.

That's how we meet each other, okay?

Yeah.

A dating app, at a bar,

or it's, like, "I got her pregnant. Well,
Skylar will make a good mom." That's it.

Some of you were so quiet when I said
I was a millennial. Fuck you, okay?

I am... 35.

Which means I was born in 1983,

which means I am...

right at the cutoff.

Okay, so I am a millennial,

but I am an elder!

Elder millennial!

Wizened.

Sage.

Yes, gather 'round the Snapchat, children.

I'll tell you the tale...

of the landline.

Hello, goodbye.

When I was a young girl...

I once sent a text message
from a Sidekick.

I remember when Skechers were invented.

They were ugly then.

And they're ugly now.

In high school...

we danced to a band called Sugar Ray.

How did you guys meet?

You ask a girl, "How did you guys meet?"

We want to tell you.
We want to tell you...

everything.

We want to give you personal information,
background story,

ancillary information,
anything information.

Just say, "How did you meet?"

Are you sitting down? Chapter One.
In seventh grade,

I showed an aptitude for the clarinet.
We take it... back!

We want you to know so much.

You ask a guy, "How did you guys meet?"

Men don't volunteer personal information
as readily.

Seldom will you meet a guy where
you're, like, "How did you guys meet?"

And he's, like,
"So, I'm a Pisces, so I love faces."

A man's objective is often to let you know
not so much how they met,

but to let you know that, like,

"I could still fuck if I wanted to.

'Cause I'm a fuck man.

That's how I do.

I'm not gonna fuck you,
cause I'm fucking her, but...

I come from a long line of fuck men,
all right?

My daddy was a fuck man,
my granddaddy was a fuck man.

I fuck.

I pack up this dick, on to the next town.

Yeah.

Fire in the hole.

Fuck Man Terry, that's what they call me."

Down at the Walgreens, whatever.

How did you guys meet?

I say this next part as a woman
that champions other women,

as a woman who chose to be single
for a very long time.

I always feel, when single women ask me,

"So, how did you guys meet?"

It's less about a genuine personal inquiry
for me,

and it's more like
they're looking for clues, like,

"Where did you find a suitor?

Tell us your ways."

Like, you walk in...

to a Trader Joe's on a Sunday night.

That's when hot girls
go grocery shopping.

Like, I'm buying flowers for me, right?

You walk into a Trader Joe's with a ring
on your left hand,

single women can feel
the vibrations of the ring.

Like, "The ring! It mocks us!" And they...

They come out
of the frozen yogurt aisle...

Lululemon, highlighted hair, like,

"Tell us your ways,
we wish to be betrothed as well.

Secrets.

Tell us. Be a girl's girl."

There's no secret, just so we're clear.

Don't buy the books. Don't buy the hype.
Don't listen...

There's no secret, okay?

I'm going to be 35 when I get married.

And if there was a secret,
I would have fucking used it.

There's no... secret.

There's no special magic to it.

I'm never going to be, like,
"Gather round, ladies.

Off the 405 lies a toadhole...

You must go to it."

No secret. Plus, chances are,
if you are single

and you are not enjoying that time
in your life,

you're probably doing everything
in your power to not be single.

I don't know a single girl out there
that's, like, "I hate being single.

I don't get it. I wash
with ham and cat hair. Where is he?

Where is he?"

Women have no problem letting people know
that they are looking for a relationship.

We shout it from the mountaintops.

We take a seminar.

We take a class, we ask around.

Are you single? Does your brother
have a brother? Do you have a sister?

I will take anything at this point.

We let people know...
We get license plates made

like "LOOKIN4U." Like, we let you know.

I feel like men are more laissez-faire
when it comes to relationships.

I guess I fell into her,
now we got four kids. It's kind of...

It's less deliberate.
Women are, like, "This way."

"I guess I'll just go that way."

It just becomes.

Their stories are less deliberate.

I've asked a lot of guys,
"How did you meet your girl?"

I've noticed that about 80%
of the stories sound very similar.

80% of the time it's, like,
"How did we meet? All right, well...

I was out with my buddies.

And you know me,
I wasn't looking for anybody.

And then I saw her."

And that lie becomes...

A big part of our narrative as women,

this hope that we will go out
and a man is going to see us,

save us, rescue us.

It's this hope that we're going to be
seen and that's going to happen for us.

And we all have this sort of shared
fantasy where you walk into a...

a club or a bar with five of your
girlfriends who look exactly like you.

And you walk in
and a man picks you out of the crowd,

sees you for the beautiful soul
that you are, like, decides...

like, there's some DJ up there
and he looks out and he's, like...

"Her."

And you're, like, "Me?"

And then your life begins, right?

This is not our fault for expecting this
or thinking this will happen.

We have been taught this message
since we were little girls.

Princesses get saved.

Snow White got saved by the prince.

It was really the seven dwarves
and she was, like, lost in a forest.

But, like...

seven men.

Who is she? Right.

Sleeping Beauty was saved when the prince
kissed her while she was sleeping.

Terrible moral.

What do we take away from that?
Generations of men, like,

"No, you kiss 'em when they're sleeping,
they're forever grateful.

Officer."

So naturally we go out
hoping to be discovered.

There's this weird thing
where a lot of girls, when we're single,

we don't want to admit that we're
going out hoping a man notices us.

Of course you are,
but we don't want to seem desperate.

I'm just going out with my girlfriends,
in full makeup, with padded everything.

This is just for fun. I'm just going out.

It's normal to want to be noticed
by someone that you find attractive.

That's the caveat, okay?

It's normal...

to want attention. Even in a relationship,
you still have a beating heart.

You still want people to let you know
you're attractive.

If you're with your guy, you're holding
his hand and you're walking,

and you see some hot guy, like, "You like
that?" He's like, "I like that." Okay.

No harm, no foul.

We all try this bullshit, like,

"I'm not even trying." Really? Then put
a feed bag over your head. Carry an onion.

You're trying, okay?

You don't have to try that hard, but
you're going out. It's nice to be noticed.

So we all do it. Put on the makeup.

Force our chub into some pants.

You shove your coyote paws
into some heels and we go out.

You don't even hunt.

What do you do, girls? You just stand
in a pack of six other women.

Six other coyotes.

Getting annoyed
that no guy's hitting on you?

Yeah, there's six of you.

He's terrified.

We get annoyed so quickly when a guy
doesn't notice all the effort.

So what do you say?
Like, "This sucks, let's take a lap."

So you just move...

in a perfume cloud
around the perimeter of the bar.

Maybe they're more progressive
ten feet from here.

So this begs the question, as women,

as feminists...

Maybe some... one or two lazy guys
might pause at the question.

"How come the guy's got to hit
on the girl?

You're an independent woman.

Why can't a girl hit on a guy?

Why can't the girl hit on the guy?"

God's honest answer?
'Cause we did all this.

You fucking do something, Scott.
That's the answer.

It's a lot.

Okay.

A lot. I haven't had bread in five months.

It's a lot, okay?

A big part of the reason
women don't hit on men

is that women aren't seen as equal to men.

Therefore, when we step out
of a traditional feminine role,

and do something alpha and hit on a guy
and he rejects us,

it hurts that much more.

And on a biological level,

you know, at your core, he's not rejecting
you based on your shoes or your outfit.

He's rejecting...

your eggs.

You get up nerve to talk to a guy, like,
"Excuse me, would you like my eggs?"

"I don't want those fucking eggs."

Please! I only have but a few.

Women aren't seen as equal to men,

so it's uncomfortable to hit on men.

There's a lot more at risk for us.
Maybe one day...

in a utopia where men and women
are considered equal,

maybe one day we can hit on men
unencumbered by self-esteem issues.

But as it stands now,
that's not something we can do.

Our grandmothers didn't hit on men.

Our mothers didn't hit on men.
Maybe one day.

Maybe my generation changes it.
It's too late. But...

maybe my generation,
with the hashtags and the tweets,

maybe we'll change it
so that our great-granddaughters

can hit on men. Yes, that's the dream,

that we do the work now

so that our great-granddaughters
will know the thrill

of hitting on a half-in-the-bag Guido
outside a taco truck

at 2 a.m.

'Tis but a dream.

Another big part of the reason
that women don't hit on men is that

men are better at dealing with rejection.

Sexually.

Women are not used to dealing...

with rejection... when it comes to sex.

We're used to dealing with rejection when
it comes to... governing our own bodies,

having our own thoughts, getting paid
the same as a man, but...

when it comes...

When it comes to sexual rejection,

men deal with it more than women
because they have more at bats.

They hit on women more.

Ask the guy next to you, "When was the
last time you were sexually rejected?"

He'll be, like, "You mean in the Uber
on the way here? At the box office?

Like, behind that plane while you were
in the bathroom? Be specific."

'Cause every guy knows...

it's about the at bats.

It's about how many times
can you hit on a girl.

'Cause you know
eventually one's going to say yes.

When men first start going out,
it's about quantity over quality,

like, "Hey, sweetheart!
You're ugly anyway. How about you?"

You keep going through it.

Every guy knows you got to kiss a lot
of frogs if you're gonna what, guys?

Fuck a frog, that's right. So...

'Cause he knows. They're not going
to admit it to you, every guy knows

If he hits on, like, 20 women in a night,

one's gotta say yes.

Like, one gross-out's gotta be, like...

"Yeah, all right."

2 a.m. It's his Hail Mary,
at the buzzer pass,

the lights are coming on, he's like,
"How about you?"

Some girl will turn around and be, like,
"Okay.

Can we wash my hump before we make love?

Just kidding. It's an egg.

So...

By that same token, men aren't allowed

to have feelings in our society,
which isn't fair.

You're expected to move past it,
work through it. Get over it.

Women don't get over...

anything.

No, we don't get over it.

Instead, we hold onto it.

We hold onto that rejection.

We hold onto it.

We pluck it out of space-time
and we examine it from hindsight.

We put it in different scenarios.

We bring in experts, like,
"Stacy, get over here!

Remember that guy,
took me to Coachella, never called again?

Shall we drive to his house?"

And sometimes... we hold onto the pain
of our rejection

so tight...

that they become part...

of the makeup of our personalities.

And then we get to use the pain
of that past rejection, ladies,

as an excuse for why we are the weird
brand of fucked-up that we are, now!

'Cause he broke up with me over breakfast,

so now I don't drink milk, and I'm
annoying. Like, it's always... something.

Every girl in here remembers
almost every time she was rejected.

For women, it doesn't happen as much
as for men.

And every human remembers the first
time they were rejected. I'll go first.

Fourth grade. So...

We were going to sit down for circle time.

I went and sat by a boy
that I thought was cute.

And he told me to go away.

Now, he's dead.

Now I don't sit in circles any more.

But we cherish our rejections.

They give us texture, personality.

We take each one and we label it.

We label each issue, each past grievance,
in its own Mason jar.

It's very rustic. Pin it. And we put it...

into our sack of emotional baggage.
Each one.

He broke up with me
because I slept with his brother.

They're twins. They should have worn
different color hats or something.

I was set up. And we put it...

into our baggage, and we throw
that baggage over our shoulder

and what do we do, girls?

We then walk it into the new relationship.

Yes. And the best part is,
the new boyfriend...

has no idea...

what you're hauling.

And he welcomes you.
Yes, he welcomes you

to the new union.

Come on in. You seem pretty cool
and well-adjusted.

And you're, like, "Oh, I am!

Yes, this seems like a safe place
for me to...

unpack my shit!"

Another big reason
women don't hit on men

is because men... typically don't find
strong women attractive.

They don't. Your date's going
to look at you, like, "No way, babe.

I love a strong woman."
Bullshit, Chad, okay?

They love vulnerability.

It's very attractive
when a woman is vulnerable.

Why is that?

Men are very physical creatures.

Women are very verbal.
Men are very physical.

When a woman is vulnerable,
hypothetically, it would mean...

that she needs physical help.

When a man feels he can be of help,
physically,

then he feels needed, and that makes
him feel good and attractive.

When a man feels he can insert himself.
No pun intended.

Fuck it. We're making a comedy show.
Pun intended, okay?

You got to give him something to do.

We, as women, a lot of times fault men

for not communicating the way we do.

Women speak more words on average
than men.

It's not that one's better or dumber
than the other, it's the way we are.

We talk at you. "I wanna be communicative
about being communicative.

You're not saying anything. Why?
You're being uncommunicative.

And I want to talk about how much I hate
Stacy. When you meet her, you're gonna."

We have to have...

He's just sitting there, like,
"Mongo, no." Like, it's scary.

If you have any doubt a guy likes you,

don't always look for the words,
look for the actions.

They will show you.

I wish someone had told this to me
when I was in my 20s.

When you're younger, you're, like,
"He's not texting back. He's busy.

He's at work. His family died."

There's no bullshit like that.

When a guy likes you, he shows up.

If you have any doubt the guy likes you,

give him something to do.

If a guy likes you, he'll do anything.

Will you carry this glittery brick
of cat shit?

He's, like, "No problem."

When a guy likes you,
carrying your purse isn't an issue.

They'll carry your bags if they're heavy.

They'll put gas in the car
if you don't want to deal.

They'll check under the hood for the...

thing, I don't know.

But they'll do that.

It's very attractive when a woman
is vulnerable and needs help.

And that's historically
always been that way.

I didn't make that up.
That's why the term is...

"damsel in distress".

Not "overly opinionated dyke
who needs a fucking hand, man!"

That's why.

If a woman can do it herself,
it's not as attractive. Put it this way.

If we're all animals, okay?

And men are...

lions.

And women are, like, gazelles.

What's a lion, if he's hungry,
more likely to go after?

The gazelle, running at 90,

unencumbered by a self-esteem issue?

Like, I own my home and have a Ph.D.

I enjoy witty banter,
I just put a down payment on a boat,

and I don't hate my daddy. Onward!

Or...

remember he's hungry. Or...

the gazelle with the broken hoof, like,
"Help, how does basketball work?"

Like, what?

An easier meal.

Side note.

I am aware that it's the lioness
not the lion that does the hunting.

Let's pretend that lion was a bachelor
and hadn't met his wife yet. Okay, so...

We got the zoologist questions
out of the way.

So...

I will stand up here,

and perhaps women in your life you
consider strong will stand before you

and tell you,
"Be strong, do it your way, be tough."

It's one thing to say that,
and for a lot of women

it's very difficult to live that

when everything that we're taught
tells us the opposite.

Every movie we've seen
since we were little girls

has an opposite message.

In movies, it's not the strong girl,

the funny girl, the brave girl,

the smart girl, the loud girl,
the opinionated girl who gets the hot guy.

No, girls like me get, like, fucking Steve
Zahn and Jonah Hill. Like, that's what...

She is funny, he looks funny, then they'll
fuck funny and appreciate each other.

And it's always...

it's always the quiet girl.

Right, the new girl that gets, like,
Channing Tatum.

It's always the girl that doesn't realize
how beautiful she is.

The girl that isn't funny,
isn't opinionated.

The subtext of that message is,
"That's right. That's right, girls.

Men don't like a lippy woman,
so zip it, honey."

It's always the girl
that doesn't know she's hot.

Which, by the way,
that Hollywood archetype? Bullshit.

Okay? It's bullshit.

Because you fucking know when you're hot.

No one's walking around, like,

"What do I do with these giant tits
and thin legs?"

How did I get on this Victoria's Secret
catwalk? I'm choking on my silky hair."

Like, you know.

We keep seeing the same story
over and over.

It's about the girl
that's unsure of herself,

and a guy sees through it,

and she realizes how beautiful she is
when she takes off her glasses...

it's the same thing.

Always the girl, like,
"I don't know if I should go out."

The girls that are outgoing that maybe
enjoy their bodies,

are confident, like, "Let's go out!"

"I don't know. I should stay home.
I've never left the house before."

We're taking you out. Let's go drink,
let's go dance...

I should stay in. Stay in and study.

We're 35. What are you
fucking talking about? Let's go!

Walk into the nightclub,

all the girls that are confident
are dancing, they're having fun.

Like, "Hey, Channing Tatum!"
He's, like, "Later, hookers. I want her!"

All the girls...

"Uh-uh. Her."

Cut to our hero, she's just sitting there
in a corner, just...

maybe she wore, like, board shorts
to the club. She has no idea.

She's reading a book.

Maybe she has brown hair. Whatever.

Before you get all offended at that,

look at all of our eyebrows.
We all have brown hair, okay.

Maybe not you, I don't know.

I don't see any
pure Norwegians here, okay?

This joke isn't about
shaming that type of woman.

This joke is not about that.

Whatever kind of woman you are,

quiet, fat, small, big or tall,

loud, you don't know much,
you got a gill,

whatever kind of woman you are...

you are right.

That's it.

Whatever you've chosen to be...

whatever you want to be...

you are correct in being that
as long as you're happy.

My point to you, is if you are
the shy type,

if you are the wallflower,

if you are the shrinking violet,

if you are another... floral metaphor
that has to do...

with being an introvert,
my point to you

is that you don't want the guy who wants
you because of that energy.

A man who wants a woman
because she looks scared...

is a sexual predator.

Okay?

All these girls that he could hit on,

he picks the one that's shivering
like a wet chihuahua.

Like a nervous street urchin
just in a corner

putting out all kinds of "no" vibes.

You don't want the guy that walks up,
like, "Excuse me.

I couldn't help but notice
you look terrified.

Wanna see my dick?" So...

"I was out with my buddies.

I wasn't looking for anyone.

And I saw her."

The idea...

that in a nightlife setting...

that the man would ever see the woman...

before the woman saw the man.

No.

Women are astute, but moreover, women
are the ones with the biological clocks.

Women are the ones with
the socially predetermined shelf life.

Women are the ones who are cantilevered
off the edge of high heels.

We've got five hours
before we take them off

and walk through a lobby flat-foot, okay.

Women are the ones whose skin
and foundation is dehydrating

with every alcoholic beverage imbibed.

We are the ones on a time crunch,
on a schedule, okay?

You saw me first?

Bullshit, motherfucker.

I clocked you!

Like, the second you walked in.

Dudes walk in in a pack, unaware, like,
"I'd better fill out this bracket,

or I'll turn into a pumpkin at midnight."
You're not even...

You walked in, I was already hunting
with five other women.

He walked in and I was, like, "Hold!"

And then we stalked around you.

Encircled you, sussed you out,
like a German shepherd

sniffing out an IED in the sand,
motherfucker. Like, we...

A lot of times, men pride themselves
on being very observant, right?

Ever date a guy that,
you go to a restaurant,

can't sit with his back to the door?

"I gotta sit with my back to the wall
so I can assess all entrance

and exit points. I gotta make sure that..."

Okay, while you're checking out
the people eating at Denny's,

I checked your fucking credit score, okay?

While you were doing counter-surveillance,

I looked you up and down,
I gave you a pre-cancer mole check.

It's benign, move on.
I looked at everything.

"I'm an alpha. I gotta look at the door."

If you ever date a man that says
he's an alpha...

he's a beta. So...

A lion doesn't tell you he's a lion.

He just lets the girl hunt for him.
Okay, so...

So, we look at everything.
You think men judge women harshly?

They do. But, gentlemen, you have no idea
what we're looking at.

We're judging your hair, your shoes,

we scan you, like Predator.

Every atom, every molecule of your DNA,
we go through it like...

"Scanning for physical abnormalities.

Is he balding? Okay, but is it in
a weird way?

Is that a goatee? What's happening there?

Is his shirt unbuttoned too low
for his ethnicity?

Is he wearing embroidered jeans?

If so, is he a European male
or just someone from Arizona?"

Like, we go through it.

We go through it.

We aren't looking to see
if you're the hottest guy ever. Nay.

We are merely assessing
if you're 50% attractive enough

that we want to put the effort
into putting ourselves in your orbit.

So that, in an hour, after a drink or two,
you, gentlemen, have the luxury

of turning around and being, like, "Oh,
excuse me, I couldn't help but notice."

Then we turn around, like...

Really?

That's it.
Just set it up for you to knock it down.

A lot of times it's not that easy.
We see a guy we think is cute...

and he doesn't notice us,
so we have to make you... notice us.

A lot of times, we get our girlfriend
to help us. Every girl's done this.

There's a boy over there you think
is cute, you're, like, "Come here.

Do you see that guy, over there?

Over there.

Over there.

Do you see him? Do you see that guy?
Are you looking?

Don't look!
Do you see him? Are you looking?

Is he looking? He's looking? He's looking?
Start dancing.

Come here, keep talking. Say something
funny so I don't look like a loser."

You're trying to put out...

this vibe that you're so carefree.

'Cause you, and don't lie about this,
you want him to look over and be, like,

"There will never be another, there
has never been another. She is the one."

You want him to be so taken.

"She looks like she doesn't need a man,
so carefree."

I'm so carefree, I don't use condoms!

So effortless.

If he was close, he wouldn't be hearing
it. From afar, you want him to hear...

Sports.

If he were close,
what he'd actually hear is your...

Like, you're trying so hard.

Please!

He's going to find you,
he'll see you at some point.

There's only so many places in a bar,
a club, that your eyes can fall.

He's going to see you.
This is the important part girls, okay?

You're out there,
it's a competitive situation.

There's a lot of girls,
there's a lot of bars.

He's gonna look at you,
that's your chance, okay?

That's your chance.
You've only got one shot.

It's like 8 Mile, but with flirting.

Hopefully there's no vomit on your shirt.

Maybe it's a good thing. He'd be, like,
"She parties!" I don't know.

He's going to look over, the lights
are going to reflect and refract,

and they'll hit you both and
he's gonna see you,

and that's your chance, ladies,

to fucking stick it, and pose,

like a peacock in heat that you are.
Just...

Don't dance like that.

Little bit of insight to stand-up comedy,

and the risk and reward
with choosing certain jokes.

That joke is a risk because I realize

not every one here knows...
what a peacock sounds like.

But for, like, the 12 of you that knew,

it was so worth it for me.

And for the rest of you,

the good news is
you don't ever have to hear a peacock,

'cause that was, like, top ten peacock
impressions you're going to hear...

tonight.

I hate it. I hate the noise.
I'm allowed to make fun of peacocks,

'cause I grew up with them.

What I find so unsettling,
if I might divert from the stand-up

to a TED Talk about ornithology
for two seconds, the...

it's the dip in the mating call
that gives me...

It's just not...

We, as avian enthusiasts, which is
why you've come to my comedy show...

enjoy consistency in a mating call.

Like, a crow or a raven is like...

It just goes. Right?

And a dove and its low-rent cousin,
the pigeon, that's just...

Right?

The dove and the bird it
loans money to, just...

Right? And we all know a warbler
goes like...

"I'm a warbler." I don't know. And then...

and the bald eagle is, like,

"Fucking freedom!" Okay, so...

we know.

To me, the peacock sounds
like a tired hooker.

Like he's just standing on the corner,
like, "You want a fuck or what?

I already paid for the room."

Another side note,
I realize the peacock is the male.

They're the ones with the plumage.

The female peacock is a peahen.
Their colors are muted.

So really it's a feminist joke
'cause it's about a male prostitute.

Mmm, okay, so...

So you peacock and he sees you, and he
walks up. "I couldn't help but notice..."

And you start talking,
maybe you have some drinks,

maybe you dance, maybe you exchange
numbers, maybe you start to date.

Now, I happen to think the very beginning
of a new relationship

is the most exciting part
of the relationship.

Granted, I'm not married yet,

so, technically, I've only had beginnings
of relationships.

I don't know. I can't say empirically
how fun being married is.

I'll tell you on the next comedy special
what that's all about.

But I don't know.

The beginning of a relationship
is exciting because it's brand new.

You're both on your best behavior,

it's still electric,

you're not totally sure about the history
of mental illness in each family.

It's fun.

And the most nerve-wracking part
of a new relationship

when you're younger,

is the first time a boy comes over
to your apartment.

'Cause it's ostensibly like
your girlfriend audition time.

You want him to come in and be, like,
"It's so homey. I'd like to stay forever."

Yes, come closer.
Like, that's what you want.

You try so hard in your 20s, right?

Because you're young, and it's fun.
That's your 20s. In your 30s...

In your 30s,
homeboy knocks on the door, you open it,

you're in combat boots, nothing else,
and a garbage can on fire, you're, like,

"Welcome to Fuckdome, Scott."

Ticket? Okay, so...

But it's interesting, in your 20s,
it's a weird mental game.

Boy's coming over for the first time,
you're trying to reconcile

the beautiful home that your mother kept
that you lived in growing up,

with the beautiful home that, like,
Pinterest says you're supposed to have.

And the fact that you have
no fucking money, so...

Should I buy a rug or eat dinner?
I don't know.

It's so hard.

Boy's coming over, you are cleaning

like you've never cleaned before,
and it's hard

because women secretly are... filthy.

No one wants to laugh about it. "Not me!"

And no guy wants to imagine, like,
"No way, my girlfriend's so hot."

Yeah? You think you have a hot girlfriend?
Check the center console of her car.

She's owned that car for a decade.

Every year, the shit just piles up.

You open it, like, "I didn't know an Acura
came with a time capsule!" You shut it.

You open it again.

You just hear, "Help!"
There's something in there.

It's our little filthy secret stockpile,
right?

It's a Now That's What I Call Music CD.
"In case they come back!" Yeah.

It's one of those cables that plugs
from the tape player into the CD player.

It's spilled nail polish,
it's a little bit of weed dust.

It's a... Calgon body spray, 'cause you'd
rather smell like a stripper than weed.

It's that...
It's a Lip Smacker, Dr Pepper flavor,

that's just... lying there with a gash
in the wax neck,

like, "Tell my children I died well."
Like it's...

it's an iPhone 4 charger.

It's some McDonald's napkins.

It's a French fry.

Times that center console by a million...

in her apartment.

You are just cleaning
with Swiffer and Brawny.

It's like a winter wonderland
of paper towels.

You're just shoving shit under the rugs.

You didn't build a shelf,
I dunno how that fucking works.

You're just moving everything,
you take everything...

You put your coats in the oven.
Burn 'em! I live in L.A. Take everything.

Put your cat in a hamper for now, Marbles.
We don't know how he feels about cats.

Taking everything, you're cleaning. You're
discovering new rooms in your apartment.

How come the water heater
gets its own closet? Fuck it!

You beg your gross-out roommate,
"Please, just stay in your room.

You're so fucking disgusting."

She's there, on a throne
of Wendy's wrappers, like, "Okay!

You text me dick pics."
Hello. Shut the door.

Cleaning. Lighting Glade candles
like it's a fucking Catholic mass.

Smells like ham in here!
You're just trying to make it nice.

He opens the door. You're, like, "Hi!"
He walks in. He's, like,

"Oh, place is cool."
You're, like, "Fuck you."

And there's an art, by the way,

to the outfit you wear the first time
a boy comes over to your place at night.

You don't want to wear...
what you wore during the day.

Don't want work clothes. You don't want
to wear your daytime clothes, 'cause...

'cause it's nighttime.

What if that was the end of my show?

I hit my head.

You don't want to wear
your civilian clothes, okay.

'Cause you had a whole day. Maybe you
sweat in them, they're gross.

However, at the other end
of the sartorial spectrum,

you don't want to go, like, super hardcore
sexy the first time a guy's coming over.

Just relax. You don't want to wear
nipple tassels. Now...

some women are, like, "Wait a minute."

I am the woman that has stood here before

and will stand here before you again
and let you know

you can wear whatever you want.

It doesn't give a man the right to put
his hands on you. No always means no.

That's like a boiler-plated given.

No means no. Kindergarteners get it.

I don't know why we forget that
as adult males, but...

no means no. This is less about that,

and more about just being mentally kind
to the other person.

You show up in that,
he'll be, like, "Oh, my god!"

The blood's gonna go from here
to his dick, he's gonna impale himself,

he's gonna sue you,
and you ain't got no money. So...

just be kind,
because, mentally, it's like,

"Maybe she wants me. I don't know.
Oh, my god." It's frustrating.

You know, girls, it'd be like
if you have the worst day,

you came home to your boyfriend, like...

"I had the worst day.

I got fired, and...

I cried in front of everyone

and... I ate that French fry from my car.

It was just such a hard day."

Your boyfriend's like, "Aw, babe. You want
to talk about it?" You're, like, "Yeah."

He's, like, "Just kidding. Psych."
That's what it would be like.

So the question is, if I can't wear work
clothes, I can't wear nipple tassels,

what's a girl to do?

There's an entire, sort of intermediary,

post-dinner, pre-bedtime apparel world.

There's a whole category of clothing

that you, as women, have mastered
without even realizing it.

The category is called

athleisure wear.

This is an entire clothing category.

It's a multi-billion-dollar
clothing category

predicated on the idea that, as a woman,

sometimes you don't have time to change

when you're going from the boardroom
to Pilates. There's no fucking way.

You gotta be ready.

Sometimes you're going right from spin
to open-heart surgery,

and you've got to look good.
That's...

Spin to open-heart surgery?
How about my bed to my couch?

What are you fucking talking about?

So what is athleisure wear? It's athletic
apparel you wouldn't really work out in.

Right? So it's... yoga pants
with, like, a racing stripe.

You just... race to your snacks.

Sometimes it's like
a complicated tank top.

It's, like, not quite supportive.

They're, like, "It's backless."

What do you do?
"You don't wear a bra."

I'm sorry, what the fuck did you just say?

I don't wear a bra?

So if the athletic part comes into play,
and I have to run, it's gonna be...

No!

My whole life...
they've been pitching to me,

"It's a tank top,
there's a shelf built in."

It's a... Go fuck your shelf, okay?

I want a bra.

I want a bra!

We do that. Sometimes we'll do, like,
a push-up bra under the tank.

Show the strap off.
It's got to be a cute strap. Not beige.

No one goes, "Ooh, beige."

Like magenta.
'Cause that's not as sexy as red.

Magenta's like, "Maybe we'll fuck."
Red's like, "We're gonna fuck!"

Push-up bra.
That's what we do for you, gentlemen.

You have no idea... of the sacrifices.

Not a woman here wears a push-up bra
when she's at home with the flu.

No one walking around, like, "I just like
it when my nipples are near my tongue."

It's just safer that way.

He gets to be comfortable.

You're all bundled up, sitting there
in a push-up bra on your couch,

drinking with this dude
you're having a date with.

He's got his shoes off, shirt off.

You're suffocating under your own tits,
watching House Hunters.

Crown molding.

You're all dressed up, have a nice night.
Maybe sleep together, maybe you don't.

That's not what I'm interested in. What I
want to talk about is the next morning,

when he goes to leave.

What I've always found so endearing
about men...

I find many things endearing about you.

But...

you think... we stay...

that put-together...

once you're gone.

You have no idea.

They have no idea... what lies beneath.

You have no idea... that under the hair,
and the make-up, and the lashes,

and the shelf, and the bras...

for every woman,

lies the beating heart

of a hungry...

exhausted...

annoyed...

she-dragon!

And she is waiting to come out.
She comes out every couple hours.

Like opinions, sweat, urine. Hopefully you
pee more than every couple hours, still.

She's got to. You gotta let her out,
and she's waiting.

And homeboy is taking forever to leave,
he's, like,

"All right, I guess
I'll give you a call later."

Your dragon's, like, "Get out!

Get out. I got to take a shit. Get out!

Get rid of him. I gotta go in that
bathroom I share with another grown woman

and take a Jurassic thunderdump,
mostly in the bowl,

then send him a picture
like I'm doing something hot."

Hey. "Get out!"

I feel like the boys here
don't believe me.

That breaks my heart. I want you
to trust me, okay?

You don't believe me that there's a dragon
inside every woman.

I will prove it to you. Are you ready?

There's no zipper, okay.

I'll let you prove it to yourselves.
Tomorrow, when you leave your girl,

okay, and you're saying goodbye
at the door...

here's what you want to do.

Look deep in her eyes.

This is great, because, she'll be, like,
"Oh, my god, he's mesmerized by me.

This is amazing. I'm doing amazing."

Great, let her think that.

It buys you time, gentlemen. Because
what you're looking for in her eyes

is like a nictitating membrane, okay.

For those who don't know, it's the lid
under the lid that keeps the sand out.

You need more Planet Earth from Netflix
in your lives, okay.

That's what you're looking for.

If you want to see...
the dragon come out on its own,

just prolong your goodbye,
'cause that dragon's coming out.

Nothing you can do about it.
Just take a little longer.

All right, well, I have your number,
right? Lemme make sure.

Okay, great, you have my number. Bye!

You're just flying round
your own studio apartment.

You can't go outside.
You will get shot down.

Like, this isn't fucking King's Landing.
Like, you can't...

you're just doing it for the cardio.

Tiny pulses, ladies.
We're toning, we're firming.

You fly into your kitchen.

You land on your counter.

You're hungry, right?
So you take out a talon.

You skewer an entire sleeve of Oreos.

You toast it.

Your dragon body and your farts

aren't the only thing
you've been holding in all night.

You've also been holding in...
your intentions.

We have this really nasty habit
in our society

of labeling women very cruel
and unfair things

when they express their desire
for very normal things.

Monogamy, exclusivity, a relationship,

a family, babies. Right?

We like to call them desperate,
sad, psychos, baby crazy.

"We've been married for six years.

She already wants a kid! I'm a fuck man!
They can't get me."

It's very normal to want these things.

And we like to chastise women for this.

And so, as women,
sometimes we don't speak our truth.

You go on a first date, and a guy says,
"Do you want to have kids?"

And you say no.

Or I don't know.

When you do know.
Because you don't want to what?

Scare them off.

By the way...

if you're the kind of woman that doesn't
want kids, you're still a woman.

This joke's not about you.
Wait your turn, okay.

Another "by the way."

Gentlemen...

you ask a girl if she wants to have kids,
and she says yes...

it doesn't necessarily mean with you.

And it's interesting...

because your views about relationships
or marriage or children

do change the older you get.

Some girls are in the crowd, in your 20s,

you're, like, "Whatever, elder millennial.
I don't care.

I'm 20. I'm going to be a gypsy
and make jewelry out of cat noses.

Yeah. I don't care."

I get it. That's totally fair.
I was like that at one point.

Society tells you over and over,
they say, "How old are you?" "I'm 23."

"Oh, my god, you have so much time."

And you do.

But not much.

So...

It's not about deciding now,
it's about not writing it off totally.

Because I never thought about it,
God's honest truth.

I wasn't anti or for. I figured
you get a boyfriend, life goes on.

When I was in my 20s, I loved... still do...
stand-up, traveling, working.

And I figured, when you turn 30,
the government issues you

a house, an okay-looking husband,
a baby, a plant, you're done!

I never thought about it.

And it's interesting,
because my reaction to children,

and I don't know how many kids I want.

I don't want like a Duggar situation,
but maybe one.

One cool baby. I don't know.

I'd be in the airport in my 20s
and I'd hear a baby cry.

All the women would be, like,
"Oh, my god, it's a child."

I'd be, "Oh, my god, don't sit by me.
Like, that's all. Get it away."

It's interesting,
'cause I never thought about it.

It changes slightly, the chemistry,
the way you think about it.

I was in the airport the other day.

There was a baby there.

And the baby made a big mistake.

'Cause that baby...

let a chubby baby leg...

hang from his blankie.

I had to squeeze it.

I was, like, "What is this feel..."
I found myself moving toward the mother.

And I knew... intrinsically, I knew...

she would let me squeeze his leg.

Because women don't fear other women.

When it comes to children, not like
the corporate ladder or dating, but...

she knows I'm not creepy
and I mean that baby no harm.

That's something we can trade on as women.

Women aren't scary.

Late at night, if a woman's walking toward
you, you don't cross to the other side.

I mean, you do if she's, like,
"Purple hippo!"

When you're in an elevator
and a woman gets on,

you don't clutch your purse
and back up a little.

Women aren't scary
and women aren't creepy.

That's an important thing to remember.

No matter what we get faulted for,
and we'll get faulted for a lot,

things like aging,
things you can totally control.

No matter how much weight you gain,
how many wrinkles you get,

no matter how opinionated you are,
no matter what you become as a woman,

women are welcome around public parks
and children's birthday parties.

Always. I could go to
an elementary school right now

in a hospital gown,
with a raccoon on a leash...

and the children would be, like,
"You have a weird dog."

Because of that inherent fact
that women are not creepy.

Men.

All you've got to do
is part your hair wrong.

So I get up near this baby,
I wipe the sweat from my brow,

I calm myself and say to the woman,
"Excuse me, hi.

I need to squeeze your baby's leg."

She was, like,
"Absolutely! Get in there! Get in there!

His name is Charlie." She gave me his
blood type, his social security number...

There's an art to squeezing a baby leg.
You're not actually squeezing.

You're taking your pincher fingers,

and you're putting it like this,
and lightly oscillating...

allowing the fat to rapidly undulate...

so fast it looks like a fluid motion,

not unlike the flapping
of a hummingbird's wings, okay.

This is how I give a hand job.

Baby leg!

Any pressure you would apply to said
leg, you divert up to your back molar,

and you grind it.

When you feel enamel starting
to break down, that's how you know

you gotta get out of there, okay.

You know you're at maximum capacity
for cuteness

when you start making
thinly veiled threats to the child.

I'm going to eat that leg.

I'm gonna bite that nose!

The mom was into it!
She was, like, "Eat his fucking leg!"

I'm gonna eat that leg. "Bite his fucking
nose!" I'm gonna eat that nose!

Everyone's into it, except the kid
who's being the adult. He's, like,

"What the fuck is this?"

Baby leg.

So... back to our original narrative.
You're a dragon in your kitchen.

And those maternal, we don't have to
restrict it to just women.

Paternal, parental. Those maternal urges
start to bubble up.

Because they're unrealized. You did not
verbalize last night on your date

that you might, one day, possibly,
with the right person, want kids.

It's bubbling up, you're sitting there,
eating your Oreos, like...

Baby.

I want a child.

Family.

Baby.

Who's the baby?

You look over and who do 100%
of us take out our parental urges on?

Our pets.

Who's the baby?

Your dog is sitting there, like,

"Oh, fuck, it's me!"

And you, scoop him up,
you don't give him a chance to run.

You sweep all four legs,
Daniel-san, just...

And you throw him on his back!
The dog's, like, "This is not natural!"

And then you start to rock it.
Now you're a psychopath.

Who's the baby? And the dog's, like,
"Please, I'm nauseous!"

You're an angel. Who wants kisses,
who wants kisses?

The dog doesn't know they're kisses.

All the dog sees are your canine incisors
coming at his face.

This tooth right here is what lets him
know that you're a fucking carnivore.

Human beings don't get this close
to other human beings' faces

unless it's like a UFC weigh-in, like,

"I'm gonna eat you, motherfucker!"
That's exactly...

Who's the baby?
The dog's, like, "Please put me down!"

Who wants belly kisses?

"Please don't bite my dick!"

It doesn't even occur to you
that he might be terrified.

You're, like, "Oh, he loves his mama."

He loves... He loves you?

Next time, notice the Cirque du Soleil
stunt your dog is willing to pull...

to get away from your love. He's, like,

"I died well!"

Dog looks up at you.

Closes his blouse.

Goes and hides under something
he deems impenetrable,

like a kitchen chair.

"Yes, from behind these four legs,
I will lead the war."

What's really fucked-up...

is that ten minutes later...

the dog has forgotten.

He's forgotten the broad strokes...

of the abuse. Here's what he knows.

He knows something bad... happened.

He knows...
something bad will happen again.

And again, and again.

He also knows... that he loves you.

But he's conflicted.

Because he knows
that the person he loves...

is the one who's going to make
the bad thing happen.

It's like Stockholm syndrome
meets Groundhog Day.

Here's what's even more fucked-up.

Ten minutes later...

you need another hit.

You're just coming down off your high,

you're, like, "I gotta go to
the grocery store. I've got a callback..."

Who's the baby?

This time he doesn't remember.
He's, like, "I don't know!

I don't know. Why don't I remember?"

You're getting closer. Who's the baby?

"I don't know."

The dog's having very blurry flashbacks
of teeth, and kisses, and belly rubs.

It's like Westworld for dogs.

Who's the baby?

"I don't know! Leave me alone!"
Who's the baby?

"I don't know! I don't know who the..."

He looks down at his arm
and there's a tattoo that just says...

"You're the baby."

You're the baby.

So, I'm getting married.

One of the lovely things
about the man that I'm marrying is that

he has never asked me to change
anything about myself.

This is a very weird job.

We're on a ship.

I'm telling jokes.
Those things don't go together.

He's always been respectful of my job,
he's never asked that I not go,

not go to work, that I not take a gig.

The only thing he's ever asked
that I not do

was a couple of weeks ago,
we were getting ready for bed,

and I came out, dressed,
and he looked at me and went,

"Babe.

Love you.

Can you not wear men's basketball shorts
to bed?"

And I was, like,
"Interesting request. Proceed."

He goes, "Uh...

Love you. Think you're beautiful.

It's just that...
I'm not as attracted to you

and I don't really want
to have sex with you...

when you're in men's basketball shorts."

I was, like, "Oh...

that's the idea!

Thanks for the ring, fucker!"

He's sitting in the back, like,
"We fuck. I mean..."

My dad's also here
so that was a weird take, so...

A big part of getting married
is you have to buy a wedding dress.

And this is just one more milestone
in our lives as women

where other women don't clue us in

on how terrible it actually is.

We say we're girls' girls and feminists,
but none of us, like, give the truth

about girl things.

We act like it's sugar and spice, I keep
my cereals in canisters like a psycho,

I'm doing it, yoga. Okay.

Everything, every big thing in
a woman's life.

Oh, you had your period?
Welcome to being a woman.

There's no homegirl, like,
"You're gonna wanna rip out your ovaries,

and hate your body,
and you're gonna cry.

You're gonna want a lot of chocolate.
Probably not even go to school.

Your skin's gonna break out. Welcome
to womanhood. Get in the game."

They don't say that, okay?

You're having a baby?
Oh, it's so beautiful.

"Come here. You're gonna shit yourself.

Then society's gonna judge you 'cause
you didn't get your body back like that."

"You're getting a wedding dress?
Oh, it's so magical.

So magical. You show up.

It's so magical. You show up.

Your mother is there.
She doesn't tell you you look tired.

You've lost so much weight,
every dress just cascades off of you.

A modeling coach walks by and says,
'She's too beautiful for the runway.'

You stand there.
Your best friends are there, and they...

And none of them are jealous.

And a dove brings you
the perfect silken... and it just..."

No. It's you standing there
at a dress shop in West Hollywood

with your mom on FaceTime asking you
how FaceTime works.

Just use the button!
Ask somebody near you!

There's some Russian seamstress
at the bottom, like,

"Your hips are too wide for this cut.
You should not try it on."

Then you go eat Chick-fil-A.
Like, that's buying a wedding dress.

So, I was trying on wedding dresses,
and I figured

I should go with a big princess dress,

because that's the chance to wear it,
so I put it on, and I come out...

and I realize, if that's the kind of dress
you wear,

if you extrapolate your wedding dress
from the actual day...

you're dressed like a lunatic.

For, like, deeply disturbing
psychological reasons.

You're, like, "I'm a pretty princess.

I'm a pr... "No, you're Gaby,
and you work in HR. You are not a pr...

"No, I'm a pretty princess."

And all of your maids have to agree
with you, like, "Yes, fairest of all."

"I'm a pr... I'm a ballerina princess!
'Cause I've got Arena shoes.

'Cause I'm Daddy's ballerina.
I'm a pretty princess.

Bring me Snow White's heart on a platter."

So I'm trying all different dresses, and
there's this weird phenomenon with women,

when you try on more than three articles
of clothing.

There is no fourth. You just start crying.

There's something about incandescent
lighting hitting your fat cells

that actually makes them multiply
on the spot.

You get angry. Do you ever do this move
where you hit your fat, hoping to pop it?

It doesn't. It just leaves a bruise,
then you can't wear shorts. So...

I started to get upset
and I did the mistake that all women do.

I started to get angry about something
on my body I couldn't control.

Every girl's got a thing

that she hates about herself
that's impossible to change.

For me, I don't like how tall I am.

That makes it sound like I'm tall.
I wish I were taller.

So tall. To you, like, "She's so tall."
'Cause I'm this big on your TV.

But I am 5'5".

And it kills me.

It's not short enough that... "Do you shop
at Gap Kids? You're so petite!"

No.

And it's not tall enough that
people assume I'm a natural athlete.

I'm just this average...

5'5"...

member of the proletariat
marching to pick a size 7 shoe.

Like, it's just...

Anytime you tell another woman what you
don't like about yourself,

they never let you say it.

Oh, I'd kill to have your hair.

I'd kill to have your beak,
I love your feathers. It's like...

So, I'm sitting there, getting ready
to pick out a dress for my wedding,

and I was angry.

That's not an emotion you want
to attach... to your wedding.

I started to feel sad, and, for me,
when I get upset about something,

I attach it to literally everything else
in my life.

And it spirals.

It's not about the dress,
it's about how I feel about the dress,

it's how I feel about me, I'll marry
my dog, we'll live in the woods!

Like, it just goes, like that.

Started to get real angry about my body
'cause it wasn't fitting perfectly

into the right dress that I wanted.

I stopped and was, like,
"If I'm feeling this way right now,

there's gotta be other women
who feel this way."

So I'm going to say this 'cause I wish
I'd given myself this pep talk that day.

Here's the truth.

Girls, your bodies are perfect...

and normal...

and functional... and beautiful.

There's always one girl in back
with a horn. "What about me?"

No.

Not you!

Shave it.

Quit following me.

But we've been brainwashed into trying
to live up to this Instagram Photoshop

example of what beauty is.

And some girls do look like that.
Fuck them.

No, some girls do. There's always
something you don't like.

We have to stop faulting ourselves

for things that are very normal.

"I've got cellulite. What if he doesn't
want to have sex with me

'cause I have cellulite?"

Well, 100% of women
have some form of cellulite.

If he doesn't want to fuck you
'cause you got cellulite,

he'd better start fucking dudes, 'cause...

there's no other option till the robots
take over.

Moreover, he doesn't want
to have that conversation.

A guy doesn't find it attractive

when you verbalize over and over
how much you hate something.

"But my cellulite? I showed it to you."

Look at that. I'll make a face out of it."
He doesn't...

The conversation he wants to have
is the following.

"Let me ask you a question.

Are you going to continue to breathe
during intercourse?"

You're, like, "Yeah, I was planning
on it."

He's, like, "Then we're cool.

That holds up in court...

I found out."

But I've got this, and chub,
and I don't like my arms.

And I have stretch marks,
from growing from an infant!

And I don't want to be this hand-holding,
like, "Every woman is perfect."

Look, you might not be perfect, okay.

I'm not here to judge that,
if you're not, if you are.

What I say is it's up to you to decide
how much you love your body.

Fuck everybody else. Don't fuck them...
Not literally. But...

if it makes you feel good!
It probably won't.

It's up for you to decide, because
we get so upset, and you know what?

The guy you like probably isn't even
going to notice the thing you hate.

Most people won't.

Men won't.

Most of the things, a guy is not going
to notice. They're not that observant.

40% of men
can only see three colors.

40% of the men here
don't know that that's red.

Notice it's a hollow laugh.

40% of the men are, like,
"Hah! Oh, fuck.

Siri, what is red?"

And, again, you might have a perfect body.
You might not have a great body.

I don't know what you got
under that tarp.

You could have... blown out the whole
region with a bad wax strip, I don't know.

But I do know is this.
Whatever you have as a woman,

whatever your body looks like, girls.

However bad you think it is

pales in comparison to the look

of 100% of...

scrotums!

What is that?

What the fuck is that?

Why is this not the topic
of every State of the Union address?

Why is this... how come...
my thighs can't touch,

but you have two dead baby birds,
hanging.

Sir, bat-like. Hanging.

Sometimes so low,
they're in the toilet water.

Hanging.

Every guy here is laughing, smiling,
or not making eye contact with me.

Because it's never occurred to men
to question their bodies.

Every guy is, like, "Why wouldn't you want
this on your face for free?"

If we are to move forward as women,
as feminists,

we need to decide we won't be shamed
for what our bodies look naturally either.

And just so you know, gentlemen.
It's something that we tolerate.

But it's not something
that we fantasize about.

It's just the way it is,
so we never really question it.

But no woman growing up was, like,
"This is my Backstreet Boys poster.

This is NSYNC.

And this is a nut sack!" Like, none of us!

It's hideous and, I'll tell you something
else, it's a little traumatizing.

'Cause we put effort into the way we look.

And we're sitting in bed,
waiting for you to come out,

just like you have every night,
and you come out the bathroom naked.

You look at us, and we look at you,
like, "Oh, god, there it is."

Who's the baby?

Thank you so much for coming out tonight
to have a good time. Thank you.