AREN’T YOU FORGETTING SOMEONE? Excerpt

Kari Lizer is a gifted comedic storyteller. She is an Emmy-nominated, co-executive producer and writer for Will & Grace and creator of the award-winning show, The New Adventures of Old Christine, which was based on her life as a single working mother raising three kids. Lizer recently signed with ABC for her new comedy series, “Call Your Mother,” to star Kyra Sedgwick, about an empty-nester mom who wonders how she ended up alone while her children live their best lives thousands of miles away. 

Lizer taps into personal experience again, foraying into books with her over-the-top hilariously funny, beautifully written and thoroughly entertaining collection of essays, AREN’T YOU FORGETTING SOMEONE? Essays from my Mid-Life Revenge (Running Press), which explores life after her three children leave for college. Embracing the sophisticated wit of Nora Ephron, the self-deprecating swagger of Jessie Klein, and boss-lady vigor of Tina Fey, Lizer reflects on the challenges of being a woman of a certain age and asks the question: Is this really the next, better phase? Julia Louis-Dreyfus says, “Kari Lizer writes about being the child of parents, being the parent of children and being a middle-aged adult with brutal honesty, a tender heart and a wicked sense of humor.”

This book is lough-out-loud, consistently funny–a welcome relief and the perfect summer read.

We’re delighted to feature Kari and an excerpt of her book!

I thought self-isolating would be a dream for me because like my youngest son, who is a loner after my own heart, said, “My life is exactly the same except now my friends can’t complain that I never want to go anywhere.” I am free to be. Me. It turns out, however, that I only like isolation, social, emotional and otherwise on my own terms. “Think of all the writing you’ll be able to get done”, people have offered.

Since I don’t like being told what to do, very few words have passed through my computer. Don’t you tell me I’ll be productive. I’ll show you. Which is why prescribed isolation is making me antsy. My only company is my oldest son, forced to move home, holed up in his room – only appearing a few times a day to feed, barely a word uttered in my direction. I have just myself to talk to.

Unless I want to ZOOM. But that’s not for me. Because unfortunately, ZOOM is not as fun as its name. It’s everything bad about a conference call with the added horror of staring at your face and neck in a mirror for forty-five solid minutes. I tried to meditate, but there was a hair that kept tickling the side of my face. I tucked it behind my ear, but soon it broke free and tickled again.

Finally, I captured it between my fingers and crossed into the bathroom to the magnifying mirror to see what this hair’s problem was. As I leaned in close, I saw why it wouldn’t stay tucked. This hair, was growing from the side of my face. Right out of my cheek. Four inches long. And hardy. I believe the threat of having to see other people or rather the threat of them seeing me is possibly the only thing that was keeping me civilized. Or I’m turning into a werewolf. Either way, not ideal. 

Excerpt

GRAVITY: 

I am a loner, a deeply reluctant socializer. I would rather sit in my bed with two dogs and a bowl of popcorn watching Law and Order: SVU than be anywhere with anyone that requires me to wear a bra. One or two friends have always been enough for me. In fact, my children as my only friends suited me nicely. Until they left me. The only problem with making your children the center of your social universe is that when they orbit away from you, you find yourself like Sandra Bullock in Gravity: spinning in the dark, alone in your underwear, thinking about George Clooney. It also leaves you with no one to reach out to when you need a ride because you’re going to be mildly sedated. 

“Routine,” Dr. Norman said. “It’s important to keep tabs on your uterus during menopause.” “Keeping tabs on my uterus”—this is what it’s come to. I’ve been seeing Dr. Norman since I was twenty-five years old, and he always has the tone of someone who is about to deliver bad news – loving, serious, and sorry. 

Twenty years ago when he told me he saw two heartbeats on my pregnancy ultrasound, I thought he was telling me my baby was going to be born with two hearts, not that I was having twins. It took me a minute to realize the news was exciting, not devastating. Although to be fair, I’m always looking for devastating news, so between his tone and my expectations, we’re a disaster together. This time the news was no news. He tells me they couldn’t see anything in the ultrasound. No. Here’s what he says exactly: 

“They got a pretty good view of your giant uterus.” What? Why? Why giant, Dr. Norman? No one ever wants to hear the word giant used in connection to anything unless it’s their brain, vocabulary, or penis. God. It was unkind. I would never say to Dr. Norman, “Oh. Hey. You’ve got a little something on your giant nose.” He said I was going to have to go back for another test. Something called a sonohysterogram. He said the problem was my endometrial lining. They weren’t able to see it clearly with the regular ultrasound because due to my age and hormonal changes, it gets quite thick. “Like a shag carpet,” he said.

And it could be hiding something. Jesus. Giant uterus. Shag carpet? Could you take it easy, Steven? You know, there was a time when Steven Norman was smitten with me. He would stroke my leg while giving me my pap smear and tell me he would run away with me in a heartbeat. Obviously, that was when my endometrial lining was a gorgeous tightly woven Berber, not a hideously matted shag, hiding old Barbie shoes and green plastic army guys and backs of earrings and God knows what. Was there no end to the indignities of menopause? “Okay. A sonohysterogram.

What’s the procedure?” I ask him. “Well, they inject saline into your uterus—it helps illuminate abnormalities.” “Does it hurt?” “No.” Right. Of course not. Since I was twenty-five, his only answer to this question has ever been “a little pinch or mild cramping”—that’s for everything from cervical dilation to childbirth. “How much saline goes in?” I inquire. “Quite a bit. They fill it up like a water balloon.” “And how does it come out?” “Some comes out right away, when you stand up. That’s why they put a pad on the floor.” “Je-sus.” “And the rest comes out over the next forty-eight hours.” “What?” “Your body releases it.” “When?” “Whenever.” “Where?” “Wherever.” Pause.

When my beautiful yellow lab Sophie stopped knowing when poop was dropping from her bottom, I knew it was time to say goodbye. She was much too dignified to live that way. Was no one going to offer me the same kindness? Dr. Norman tells me he’s set it up for Friday at Cedars and I would need a friend to drive me because they would be giving me a mild sedative for the procedure. A friend? Who’s going to want to be my friend when I’ve got saltwater dribbling out of my uterus? 

—

Kari Lizer is the creator of The New Adventures of Old Christine (which was based on her life as a single, working mom) and an Emmy-nominated co-executive producer of Will & Grace. She splits her time between Los Angeles and Vermont with her chickens, dogs, cats, horses, and occasionally children. AREN’T YOU FORGETTING SOMEONE? Essays FromMy Mid-Life Revenge (Running Press) is her first book.

AREN’T YOU FORGETTING SOMEONE?

From award-winning TV comedy writer Kari Lizer (The New Adventures of Old Christine) comes a collection of hilarious essays about the challenges of being a woman of a certain age and all that comes with it: empty nest, post #MeToo dating, aging parents, menopausal rage, unrealistic expectations, and eternal optimism.

What does it feel like to have your kids leave the house at the same time your parents might need to move in? With self-deprecating humor, sharp wit, and Ephron-esque aplomb, Kari Lizer gives an honest account of finding herself in the middle of growing up, growing old, and still figuring it all out. She finds the wry, bittersweet humor in (almost) all situations–whether it’s becoming radioactive during a thyroid cancer treatment, getting fired from her volunteer work, or struggling to find her identity outside of motherhood.

Aren’t You Forgetting Someone? speaks to those of us who lament the invisibility of the middle-aged woman, but also revel in the unexpected delights of newfound freedom to do whatever the hell we want while no one is looking.

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Category: Contemporary Women Writers, On Writing