If you’ve read my previous post listing the 10 reasons why David Sedaris, the uber-talented writer and humorist, won’t marry me, you’ll be interested to know that tonight I met the object of my affection in person…and proposed.
Okay, I halfheartedly suggested that he enter into marital bliss with me, knowing full well that our love would be a lie and, in the interest of full disclosure, admitted to him that if he agreed to make me Cristy Carrington Lewis Sedaris, both us would both likely be charged with bigamy – a third degree felony – by local authorities in the State of Florida. In the unlikely event that it was the fear of an unattractive mug shot that was the source of hesitation on David’s part, I was prepared to present him with a well-researched, legal defense, complete with a loophole and lots of Latin words – all of which would be written in italics to make them more intimidating. Florida law states that “Whoever, having a husband or wife living, marries another person shall, except in the cases mentioned in s. 826.02, be guilty of a felony of the third degree…” Sounds pretty cut and dry. Except that the very first exception mentioned in s 826.02 (1), Fla. Stat. indicates that the bigamy penalties shall not apply to someone who reasonably believes that their prior spouse is dead.
As I would technically be the bigamist in the relationship, it would appear that any reasonable uncertainty about whether or not my husband, Matt is dead would serve as the loophole which could permit David and I to marry without being charged with a felony. How you may ask? Am I planning to take my husband sailing, toss him overboard like in a bad Ashley Judd film, then claim six weeks after his body fails to resurface that he must have become a tapas treat for a giant octopus (Matt loves calamari and payback’s a bitch)? After all, Matt possess a nice, lean body – attractive to a wide variety of deadly sea predators. But no, that’s not the tack I would take. The idea is to avoid criminal charges – and the badly lit photographs that accompany them – not to incur a six page spread in People magazine dedicated to nothing but David’s and my mug shots. Plus, I’m a girl who wants her cake and wants to eat it too. Otherwise, what’s the point of having a cake, if you think about it? I mean, if all you can do is look at the cake, that’s so fucked up. People like that are masochists, salivating over cream cheese frosting they’ll never allow themselves to taste. David may be my key lime pie, but Matt is my chocolate lava cake – and both have their place in my life.
No, I propose that we simply confuse the court with science. Why wouldn’t that work? If you’re a Republican, you are likely already befuddled and all I did was write the word, science. Specifically, I suggest utilizing the Schrödinger’s cat theory, which purports that if you place a cat in a box, you can’t know if the cat is alive or dead while it remains in the box. It could be either dead or alive, and both possibilities are entirely reasonable. Schrödinger clearly didn’t use any of my cats while proving this theory because they whine, screech, and use their cage as a litter box to signify their dissatisfaction when confined to a small, locked space (the opposite of a “dead” give away, I suppose). Moreover, the longer this experiment goes on – assuming that the cat box is not opened to provide food, water or air – at some point in the future, the odds of the cat being alive go from 50/50 to 99.99/.01, and not in the kitty’s favor. Regardless, I suggest that we put Matt in a such a box, drug him and seal his mouth with duct tape to ensure that I really have no idea of his status on this earth. Alive or dead? Who knows? And in that entirely reasonable moment, I could marry David Sedaris without censure. When Matt emerges alive, albeit irritated as hell that I’ve put him through this all so that I can marry a homosexual man who doesn’t know me and collects owls, I doubt there’s a court in the world who wouldn’t let me keep them both. And David has lots of room. We could move in with him. He’s apparently downsizing his owl collection – and then there’s all that space between his teeth.
In the alternative, I did propose to David that should he choose to reject my offer to become his betrothed, he could provide me with the 11th reason as to why he and I will never get hitched. The bastard chose the latter.
So, without further adieu, here is the 11th reason why David Sedaris won’t marry me:
As David Sedaris sketched this vagina with his Sharpie, he said, “Well, I assume this is what it looks like.” Close enough, David. Close enough.
54 thoughts on “The 11th Reason Why David Sedaris Won’t Marry Me”
That’s the worst drawing of a black eye I’ve ever seen!
It’s an even worse drawing of a cat.
Seriously. I mean, where’s its tail?
Good god, that is hilarious. I also think he gave you the most flattering reason you could ask for. Seriously. If you were only differently-equipped, he would be yours. Unfair, yes, but it is just one little thing…
“If only you were differently equipped.” What a great idea Christine. There is a surgery for that. If Cristy is willing to kill her husband in theory, and go to court, “equipment” surgery should be a walk in the park. I cant believe Cristy didnt think of it.
She doesn’t have to kill him, Kathleen. She just has to put him in a box.
No, it’s becoming officially too much work for me. Anyway, I did previously come to the conclusion in my earlier post that it just wouldn’t work out between David and me. Particularly if gender reassignment and killing my husband – the one man I truly love – becomes a necessity in order to earn David’s love. I’m afraid that I would soon begin to resent Sedaris and that would kill our relationship. I think I’ll just stick with Matt. Believe it or not, he says lots of pithy things too…he just doesn’t write them down. (But I do…and then I call them my own.)
I know, but I have to tell the truth. He didn’t really bother to get to know me first. I mean, it was kinda like, “Hi. Nice to meet you. Oh, you write a blog and you did a post about wanting to marry me. Yeah…don’t need to know any more you vagina owner.” Bam. The door to our love was slammed in my face.
“I’m gay; you’re married; you have a black eye.” So many damned excuses.
Erm, Transman…that, uh, wasn’t an eye in the, uh, drawing. You, uh, know that, right?
It’s a perfect companion to Kurt Vonnegut’s asshole drawing.
Oh, if I only had both…
I was thinking the same thing.
even when he rejects you, david sedaris is hilarious and charming. whatta man!
The best part was as he was drawing, he said, “Well, I’m assuming it looks something like this.”
That is hilarious, how gentlemanly of him not asking you to pose for a still life.
He did say, “I assume this is what it looks like,” as he was drawing it. As I’m fairly certain he’s not working from memory, I can only assume that someone with his interest in taxidermy and anatomy must have seen photos of the female genitalia in book. Then again, those artsy Big City types put photos of vaginas and penises all over gallery walls, so who knows?
Actually those artsy types put drawings of genitalia on nursery walls. Downtown, anyway.
And they’re probably done in bright, primary colors to stimulate the child’s development.
I think I hurt myself. I laughed very, very hard (more than once) while not being properly balanced on my barstool. Whip up some “legalese” boilerplate to protect yourself from hysteria-induced injuries. I’d sue, but I’m too lazy. Just sayin’. (“lean” we are calling that “lean” now? Okaaaaay. [claps slowly and chuckles about “Sharkbait Lewis”])
Your solution to that sticky bigamy problem is genius. And just think you’ll have Amy as a sister in law.
Well, I would have had Amy as a sister-in-law…except for my vajayjay. I’ve got no defense for it. It’s not like you can put a mustache on it and hide it. Plus, I don’t think David was as worried about the presence of my vajayjay as much as he was worried about the absence of some other anatomy, if you catch my drift. I should be used to it, though. This isn’t the first time I’ve been rejected because I don’t have a gall bladder.
“Am I planning to take my husband sailing, toss him overboard like in a bad Ashley Judd film, then claim six weeks after his body fails to resurface that he must have become a tapas treat for a giant octopus (Matt loves calamari and payback’s a bitch)?”
Your hubby must’ve expelled a sigh of relief … hahaha …
The scary part for him is that this is one of the few posts that he hasn’t previewed in advance…because I sent him home last night after the show so that he could get some rest (yes, he did protest because he’s a gentleman, but I insisted) and I stayed and waited in line with a charming man named Chuck for nearly three hours to meet David Sedaris in person. Soooooo, Matt wasn’t aware that I had posted at all last night and read this, presumably, while riding the trolley on his way to work. I’m hoping the fact that I called him my chocolate lava cake makes it all better.
Haha … If *you* married him, then he likely has a kickass sense of humor, to which I doubt he’d feel offended of the hyperboles in your post involving him and murder (which also sort of reminded me of that terrible boat scene in The Talented Mrs. Lewis, err, I mean Mr. Ripley).
Yes, he’s (sigh) much funnier than I. Really…I was thinking Double Jeopardy (even though she really didn’t throw her husband off the boat – he set her up). God, I just love those angsty Ashley Judd movies.
Oh Ashley Judd. yes, now I remember Double Jeopardy — wow. It must be fun hanging out with you two if your husband is funnier than *you*. The two of you would work out my nonexistent stomach muscles from all the laughing.
Look who’s talking! Plus, I’m pretty sure that I’m clenching my teeth at night in jealous fits over your ridiculously eloquent and grammatically perfect writing style. I’m like, erm, I think a comma looks good…there.
There are, erm, procedures to counteract reason #11, Albeit a bit extreme. There is no accounting for the actions one does in the name of love. Great blog! I am grateful to have found this gem>
Thanks for the compliment. I’m afraid that my husband would be extremely disappointed if I took any additional steps to attract the attention of Mr. Sedaris. Anatomically, I’m sticking with what I’ve got. Please follow me and come back and visit often!
Was he giving out any Costco treats?
OK, I’m clearly still a space cadet. I wish I would have read the posts before looking at the last photo. I kept reading…”To Cristy and Matt….#11 you have a ….David Sedaris. I even read it again. I didn’t get it…..Didn’t even notice the picture of the “black eye” until I read all of the posts. I’m retarded. Great post though. 🙂
Erm, you know that he drew a vagina, not a black eye, right?
LOL..Yeah, but sometimes there really is no difference.
It’s not a very good vagina…but then how many has he seen up close anyway? Not many, I guess.
I can’t stop laughing! I’d matte and frame that black eye. Who knew he was such an artist? I guess with this subject matter, he’s an impressionist.
Erm…it’s not a black eye. Does everyone know that or are they using “black eye” as a colloquialism for my vagina?
Yes, we know. Yes, we are.
Funny. Based on his drawing, I’d say he’s looked both ways before crossing.
That was a good one. Of course, he does have sisters. And, a bit that I didn’t add to the piece, but probably should have is that, as David was sketching, he said, “Well, I assume this is what it looks like.”
Interesting—his comment almost sounds like he’s overcompensating. I wonder if gay guys have nightmares of being misconstrued as straight and having awkward conversations with relatives and friends.
This is fantastic!
Now that you’ve seen it with your own eyes!
Oh, Miss Sassy, you do not disappoint. My day will go infinitely better having read this … provided I can overcome the trauma of knowing you’ve actually spoken to my lovely David IN THE FLESH, so to speak, and been sufficiently intimate with him to have your “portrait” drawn. I love him so. But I do appreciate your having done the necessary legal research to ascertain that a union is out of the question, for you OR for me. Hmmm, Jesus, the adorable Mr. Sedaris ……. who’s next, I wonder?
I have a lot of awkward celebrity encounters to share. May I suggest the post I wrote about meeting Alan Alda?
Last month, my hubby and I were flying to Tulsa and Martin Sheen was on the second leg of our flight. I spotted him while we were waiting to board and my hubby absolutely refused to go and sit next to him with me. So I didn’t meet Martin Sheen. I don’t think he realized that he deprived my blog readers from another story of my strange encounters with celebrities.
Oh, not Alan Alda, too!! I don’t think I can take this. But hey, hit me again … where’s the darn post?
Here it is: How To Insult Alan Alda Without Really Trying
This one is pretty painful. I can be so clueless sometimes!
Oh lord, I laughed out loud. Repeatedly. At least you know how to turn unspeakable shame into a great story! And I’m trying very hard not to gloat that Alan Alda did not for one second consider marrying you.
As if David Sedaris considered it? Hah! He jotted down that number 11 at lightening speed.
The worst part about meeting Sedaris is that I actually asked him if I could shake his hand after he signed my book. I’m such a douchebag.