Original subtitles

- We're here in Denver,

I have what I'm hoping is altitude sickness,

and not some weird form of meningitis.

They keep telling me it's not

meningitis but they don't know.

We've got an amazing crowd out front.

All the tickets are gone which is great.

All fans.

People who are coming to my show

should expect a healthy dose of

very honest, hilarious,

aggressive comedy.

The special is called "Freezing Hot,"

so the set is freezing hot.

Big ol' explosion in the background,

palm trees, and snow,

and then there's a surprise at the end.

Hello Blanche!

When I first started traveling,

I decided to get her so I'd have

someone to be with me on the road.

Fans like her.

Come here!

- Okay thank you!

We have to go make an hour special.

Ladies and gentlemen,

please welcome Iliza Shlesinger!

- Thank you!

Denver!

I picked this city.

I picked this city as my favorite

city to do comedy in for this special.

Thank you.

Thought is was gonna be a lot colder.

Really did.

I always feel like weather is something

you can use to ingratiate yourself

toward other girls.

Guys have sports.

When they meet each other,

doesn't matter,

"sup bro, sup!

You see that 30 for 30?"

"Fuckin' right I did!"

With girls, it's not fashion,

it's not anything else,

it's the weather.

It's like, "oh my God!

It was so hot!"

"Like, earlier."

And then the other girl's like,

"it was so hot!

I noticed that I feel!

I love it when it's hot but

not too hot, do you know what

I'm talking about?"

"I do. I know what you're saying.

Like I totally get it.

But not too hot."

"But I also like it when it's cold."

"Me too, but not too cold."

"No, because if it's too cold,

then it's like, brr!"

I can talk about weather.

But the weird thing for being a

girl is even if you live in cold weather,

no matter how much you're used to

dealing with cold weather,

girls always have an issue with

deciding what outer layer we should wear.

We always defer to the guy.

Like, "babe! Do a jacket?

Do a jacket?

A short one?

A long one?

You're not looking? Okay."

"For a jacket, are we going to

the thing"

"So a jacket

Should I do it

Would you just pause Halo for

like two seconds, thanks."

"Jacket

Do I do a jacket?

Jacket?

Should I just do like four

scarves and no pants?"

Seems counterintuitive.

"Jacket Jacket"

Finally he's like,

"Yeah, whatever, bring a fuckin' jacket!"

And then you're like,

"I don't wanna bring a jacket!"

"Why not?"

"Because then I have to carry it."

Girls hate the idea of carrying a jacket.

"It's too heavy!"

The female body is capable of

carrying a human being-

for nine months but apparently a

lightweight jacket stuffed with

feathers is where we draw the line.

"I don't wanna bring a jacket."

In your 20s, you never bring a jacket,

slash never brought a jacket.

Some of you are in your twenties,

so remember like, yesterday?

In your twenties, you never brought a

jacket right?

Because you're invincible and a

little stupid, and you're like,

"I don't need one!"

And that's why it's so funny for

those over 30, for those of us to

watch 20 year olds at like 2am

braving the cold.

Shivering.

Doing this shit with their dresses,

like, pulling it down,

all their shoes cracking under the pressure.

"My dress won't-"

"You're not wearing a dress,

it's a tube sock, Mercy!"

You always rationalize it.

You're like, "it's not that far from

the car to the bar."

In your twenties you want to

risk that icy walk for the

glory of not having to wear a jacket.

You have no problem with that

two minute walk.

Not every girl makes it.

I've lost many a hot Amber to that walk.

You're walking, you're like,

"where's Amber?"

Amber's frozen like, "go!"

"Order a lemon drop and toast to

my memory."

It's the worst when you're cold and

you can't find your car.

If you're with a group of girls,

you have to resign yourself to the

fact that you're probably not

going to find your car.

There's something-

Even if you're a brilliant woman,

there's something in the genetic

makeup of women that disables us from

remembering where the car is parked.

It's very rare that a woman parks the

car and is like, "boop! Okay.

I'm in spot 4F, let me remember that.

Let me be responsible for my

choices in this life."

Something disengages and takes over

and we're just like,

"boop! What's this

And then we just like,

wake up in a Sephora.

Always bring at least one guy.

There's something in a male makeup

that men can always find the car.

They throw down breadcrumbs

Hansel and Gretel style.

Maybe it's pride, maybe they've got a

tracking device in their junk.

I don't know, like, "ping, ping, ping!"

He may not even find your car,

he will find you a car and

you'll get in.

Guys, I'll tell you a secret.

As girls, we don't wanna look for the car.

It's boring.

If I do a scan and I don't see it,

I'll be like, "someone stole it!"

That's always the go-to.

"Stole it!"

Sometimes we'll act like we're

stressed even if we're not.

That's our go-to.

Women have been told that they're

feeble-minded for so many years,

once in awhile we'll play into

it to our advantage.

"I don't know where the car is,

okay"

"I don't know where the car is, okay?

I'm trying, okay?!

I'm stressed out because I'm working like

ten hours a week and I'm like..."

"There's the car."

"Thank you, officer, we found it."

"Like your jacket."

Girls always defer to the guy when

it comes to weather questions.

Every girl has done this.

When you wake up in the morning,

first thing in the morning, right?

Next to your husband, your boyfriend,

whatever dairy queen manager

Tinder has set you up with.

8:00am, first thing out of your mouth,

you're like,

" Babe?

Is it cold outside?"

Your boyfriend like,

wants to be there for you, he's like,

"I dunno 'cause I'm inside."

"It's chilly. Chilly."

Girls hate being cold. We hate it.

Girls don't like to be chilly.

Guys, don't let your date get cold.

We're not happy when we're cold.

"Oh, she's cold!

C'mere babe, you getting cold?

C'mere, I'm gonna warm you up!"

"Don't fucking touch me!

It's not what I want."

"It's not what I want."

Girls don't wanna have sex

when they're cold.

I'm cold, I wanna be miserable.

In my life, I've never gone,

"oh my God, I'm so cold,

I just wish I had somebody to fuck."

Like, it doesn't work that way.

We don't get horny when we get cold!

When girls get cold,

it sends a message to our brain.

"You're cold. Time to go home.

Time to hibernate.

Time to watch a show on TLC about

a 600 pound woman eating herself to death."

That's what we wanna do.

Cold.

Don't let your date get cold.

We're not happy when we're cold.

You'll notice the body language for

"I'm cold" and "I'm fucking pissed at you"

is the same body language.

Girls don't like being cold,

but we love cold weather.

That's girl logic for you.

Like, everything's a contradiction

wrapped in a bow.

Just, it's pretty!

Glitter!

It's the same thought process that's like,

"I'm gonna wear tight pants,

but don't you look at my butt!"

Like, it's that thing.

"I am so cold I'm sweating.

It's like freezing hot in here.

I don't know.

I don't know how I feel."

All girls love fall,

I don't know if you know that.

All girls are required to love fall.

Yeah, required.

When we applied to be girls,

went to the girl counter,

and they hold your girl card up and go,

"what's your favorite season?"

and you go, "it's fall, motherfucker!"

And they're like, "alright."

"Here's your girl card, here's your Uggs,

here's your glitter.

Go have fun, be insecure."

Girls love fall so much.

I've been planning this fall since

July of like two years ago.

We fucking get into fall.

You don't even have to tell girls

when it's fall.

We know.

We sense it.

Mmmmm.

Alright, we get into it.

The second it turns fall,

the second a leaf falls somewhere in

like, Connecticut, we feel it.

Sitting home watching TV,

outside the temperature drops from like

86 to 63 we pop of out the ground

like gophers.

We sense that fall is here.

Watching TV, fall comes, we're just like...

"did you feel that?"

"I did, it was a breeze."

"Fuck yeah, cinnamon, nutmeg,

cloves, pumpkin everything!"

"Eat the pumpkins!

Let's plan fall shit!"

You go over to your boyfriend,

you drag your boyfriend by the teeth.

"Let's go! We're doing fall shit!

We're going apple picking!"

"Babe, there's no apple orchards in Los Angeles."

"Fine, I'm gonna go to the grocery

store and throw apples at children, something!"

We go on Pinterest,

we start pinning fall ideas, leaves,

that's a fun thing we like to fuck with.

Every year the leaves change color,

and we lose our shit.

"Did you see the leaves?!

Oh my gosh!"

"Last week they were green and

now they're brown!"

They're not brown,

they're fucking dead, you sicko!

They're fucking dead and

you're doing crafts with their corpses,

have you no respect for nature?

That was a living thing, you monster!

We talk about it.

"What are you gonna do with your dead leaves?"

"I'm gonna make a pile on the front lawn

so the kids can play in the death!"

"What are you gonna do..."

"...with your dead leaves?

I'm gonna make a wreath on the

front door as a warning to other

dead leaves not to fuck with me!"

"Did you just eat a leaf?"

"I did."

Pin, pin, pin, we love Pinterest.

All girls love Pinterest.

Anyone

Yes! Pinterest!

Porn for white women.

We love it.

We love planning things on Pinterest.

A lot of girls plan their

weddings on Pinterest.

One of my girlfriends got married

on Valentine's Day.

Joking, I was like,

"oh my God, that's so fun.

What was your theme?"

Dead serious, she was like,

"we did like, love,

but like under the stars.

Under the sea, so..."

I was like,

"okay, it's a wedding, not a prom."

Tell you what, Denver,

if and when I get married,

I'm gonna get married the day after

Valentine's Day,

and my theme is going to be

75% off chocolate.

Right? Yeah!

'Cause it's my day!

Guys, any of you that are engaged,

just know that you fiancé has

already planned your entire

wedding on Pinterest, okay?

She's planned your wedding,

future vacations, your fucking funeral, man!

It's on Pinterest!

We don't do it when you're looking.

No, 'cause if you saw how creepy we got

with Pinterest, you wouldn't have us.

We do it under the cloak of night.

We wait.

We get a pumpkin spice latte and we

go in...

And we log on to Pinterest.

Gentlemen, just so you know,

Pinterest for girls is like

Call of Duty for guys.

I've got a fucking headset on.

Talking shit to 14 year olds in Michigan.

First person pinning pictures of

Channing Tatum like, "he's mine!

Pin, pin, pin, pin!"

We get into it.

You get into like these creative

downward spirals of like pinning, pinning,

"am I looking at porn?"

Pin, pin, pin,

I'm not even sure at this point.

"Natural water birth?

Why am I pinning that?"

Pin, pin, pin, pin, pin.

Looking outside six hours, seven hours,

24 hours later, you open the mini-blinds,

"it's sunny outside!

Keep pinning for the glory!

Babe!

Come in here, I wanna show you what

I'm pinning for my wedding-

our wedding, oops."

"I wanna show you!

I have all these ideas.

I think we should do a chocolate waterfall,

but instead of chocolate we should do

bridesmaids' tears, I think it's fair."

"It's only fair, I wanna show this to you!"

Pin, pin, pin, pin.

"Come in here! Brian, Ryan!

Who gives a shit what your name is,

I'm getting married.

I like this, do you like the pink

napkins or the red napkins?

I think there's a difference,

I think there's a difference."

"I'm stressed out and I don't know

what I'm doing!

Do you think I'm pretty?

I don't know!

I don't know what the theme should be, okay?

Do you know what the theme should be?

That your mom's a bitch,

that's what the theme should be."

"I wanna do it anyway because I

love you so much and it's gonna be amazing!"

"All these ideas-

We should do a swan,

no, we should do a dove,

no, we should do a swan made of doves.

Babe! Will you Google

'Human Centipede but for doves' and

see if we can sew them together ATM style?

Yes I know what ATM is,

I've seen your porn, I love you anyway."

♪ Getting married before my sister ♪

"I wanna show this to you..."

Yes, I'm wearing a diaper,

I'm not getting up!

It's gonna be amazing, and babe!

Babe! Babe! Babe! Babe! Babe! Babe!

Babe! Babe! Babe! Babe! Babe! Babe!"

"Is it cold outside?"

I think girls get cold easily because

we're not allowed to eat as much as

we want in one sitting.

Trying to get another girl to admit

that she's hungry, between two girls,

it's like a standoff.

You can't admit you're hungry,

that's admitting weakness.

It's admitting defeat.

"Are you hungry?

Me neither, so..."

"Are you hungry?"

"Nope, I ate last week, so..."

"I could do this all day,

I'm chewing on my tongue.

Feels good enough, that's fine."

Eventually one, usually the smaller one,

will concede.

"I'll... if you're... I'll go with you.

If you're hungry, I'll go with you.

I'll go with you."

Subtext: I want you to get fat.

"I'll go with you."

"I'll have a bite.

Whatever you get I'll have a bite.

I'm easy, I eat everything except for nothing."

"I'll eat nothing except for everything,

I'll go with you,

I don't understand what I'm saying either.

I'll go with you, I'll have a bite,

I'm so fucking hungry, please,

let's go have a bite.

A bite of a bite.

Do you wanna get tapas?"

One girl always throws tapas out there.

"Do you wanna do tapas?

What are they?

They're small plates.

You do like, five to ten per person,

about a hundred bucks each,

totally worth it. Yeah?"

Girls love anything as long as

it's small, not filling, and expensive.

We would eat diamonds if we could.

"They're tapas, they're small plates.

It's Spanish!

Well Spanish, it's like their Spanish,

not like the country below the

United States.

It's a different Spanish,

it's got like a fucked up thhh-...

I don't understand it.

I went to Spain for two days when

I was 16, so I'm cultured, okay?"

"They're small plates. Platito.

They're small, like a frisbee for

a rat, like small plates."

"It's like a monocle for an amebae,

just like really small.

One time I ate the plate on accident."

"So that was pretty horrific.

Small plates."

I think it's an absolute joke.

I don't wanna eat tapas,

I don't like anything about it.

It comes to you on a wooden block

like you're eating your lunch at Home Depot.

Some guy in the back with his

bare hands balls up some ham in

the corner and then throws some

shards of Manchego cheese and some

haphazard drizzle of honey so you

can eat like an Andalusian farmer

taking a motherfucking lunch break in

a field in 1830 for like a hundred bucks.

Cool.

"Small plate."

And then your one friend always gets

annoyed when you don't want her suggestion.

"You don't want tapas?

Fine, I'm sorry I'm just trying to

accommodate a group, so..."

Plus guys don't ever get tapas.

It's a girl food.

Only girls.

It's never dudes, never like,

"bro! Wanna get tapas?"

"We'll go after fantasy draft,

you wanna do tapas?

Nah, we'll go and get one meatball,

we'll split it with four dudes,

no homo."

"Fine, you don't like my suggestion?

What do you wanna get?

Do you wanna do a flatbread?"

"You wanna do a flatbread?

What is it?

It's like a thin crust pizza,

but like annoying."

There's always the one girl in

the group that suggests the flatbread.

"Do you guys wanna do the-

everyone?

Do you wanna do the flatbread?"

She's the one suggesting it.

She's the one that got everyone together.

She's the one that printed the Groupon.

Her name is usually something like Amanda.

"You want flatbread You do?

You're not eating

You're not doing dairy?

You don't do fun

That's weird, we're in public."

"Do you want-

You want flatbread?

Ask her! Does she want flatbread?

I can't, my phone's dead,

I can't text her."

"Ask her if she wants-

Do you want flatbread?

I'm asking if you want a .

Aflac!

Do you want flatbread?

Ask Cynammon with a "Y" if

she wants flatbread."

And then tell Kinammon with a "K"

that her name is not phonetically sound."

"I'm gonna do the ordering.

I'm gonna do it.

Hi, we're in a rush because we're entitled."

"Um...

We're gonna do one flatbread for

the 40 of us, yeah?

She's not eating, she's gonna have a bite,

she doesn't do dairy, she doesn't do gluten,

she doesn't know what gluten is,

but she feels like she doesn't

do it this week.

Yeah. And...

We're gonna do-

what do you guys want to drink?

No, don't order your own,

let's just get one.

We're just gonna do a trough of

white wine, yeah?"

"And then-"

"How do you wanna drink it?"

"No, you're being annoying, stop.

You don't need a glass.

No, we don't need glasses,

we're just gonna drink it with our hands."

"What do you guys wanna get on it?

Let's just go crazy.

Let's do half goat cheese, half air,

thank you."

I went on a date recently.

I made a real effort in my thirties,

I'm 31.

Made a real effort to try to date

normal guys.

When you're in your twenties,

you can date whoever you want because

you'll live forever and you're hot and

you're in your twenties, right?

You're like,

"you wanna go out? We're both

carbon-based, let's do it."

It's like, fine.

I try to make some responsible choices

in my thirties.

Recently I went out with someone

based solely on the way he was dressed.

He was an accountant.

But, okay.

Okay, I'll carry the conversation,

that's fine.

He had a plaid shirt,

tucked into khakis.

Okay.

Alright.

Little nerdling, that's okay.

Cellphone in a holster on his hip.

Dad style.

To the dads in the audience,

and subsequently watching this,

what text is coming in so fast

you have to have your hand ready

O.K. Corral Style?

And then what are you sending out

so fast that it's rendering your

cellular device smoking and

you've gotta holster it?

But the point is, he was dressed responsibly.

He was dressed nonthreatening,

he dressed nice, like an adult.

I knew I had to respond in kind,

I couldn't dress like a 19 year old

lesbian hot topic manager,

I get it.

Made a real effort folks,

I'm gonna tell you right now,

I made a real effort.

I asked my girlfriends that are

like in their mid-thirties,

they've been dating awhile,

they're very mature.

Right?

What should I wear?

"You need to get...

Like a silk blouse."

"So just wear it and then just

cover that shit up and just

tuck it in, blouse it out,

silk blouse."

I'm here to say right now,

I reject a silk blouse.

Fuck a silk blouse, okay?

Yes!

Just because you're not 20

doesn't mean you have to be

ashamed of your body.

I don't need to wear a tent over it, okay?

They're burkas for American women.

I said it and I meant it.

Alright?

They're oppressive, they're ugly,

they're hot, they're shapeless,

and if you wear an underwire bra

under your silk blouse and you

sweat through it,

it's gonna look like a face

with its eyes closed.

Fuck a silk blouse.

But I bought one anyway,

it'll be like whatever.

Went to a nice store,

made a real effort.

Went to a Nordstrom.

I asked the sales girl,

she was like 19 and just like hot.

I was like, "I need a silk blouse."

She's like, "what about this one?"

It was white, it had black splotches

all over it, and she was like,

"it's abstract."

I was like, "yeah, like a Rorschach

test but less interesting."

She's like, "I don't get it."

I'm like, "it's 'cause you

work here. Okay."

"No, it's like a fun pattern!"

I'm like, "that's a cow print.

Like 100%. It's black splotches.

I'm gonna look like a model for

Gateway printers, I'm not wearing that."

Here's the fact.

With prints like that,

it's a cow print.

You can't wear it if you're a

normal girl.

If you're a model,

you can wear something stupid and look hot.

If you're a model,

you can wear a blouse with cow print and

be like, "fuck yeah, moo motherfuckers, uh!

Uh, yeah, moo, uh!"

Right?

Not dicks, udders!

Normal girl wearing a cow pattern,

if you tuck in a blousey cow,

you're just gonna look like a

cow that had gastric bypass surgery.

Just blousey...

Tucked in blousey cow, so I got it.

Tucked in blousey cow.

Blouse it out.

And then I bought pants that were

very tight.

You're going on a date,

you wanna wear tight pants.

The tighter the pant,

the more effort it shows you've put

into it, okay?

Not unlike Chinese foot binding,

you want your pants so tight that

they deform your muscles and bones

into this kind of Palsy effect.

And you want to have shoes that are

so high, the heel is so high,

that you are literally cantilevered off

the edge and it forms a dainty hump in the back.

Men like this, trust me, men love a good hump.

Okay?

Like this so you're ready.

So you've got blousey cow Palsy pants and

you want your shoes to be so high that

you can't run from your rapist if

you want, so super high.

Blousey cow, Palsy pants, and I was

ready for the date.

We went on our date and already I

brought a special bag.

There's a special bag that women are

required to carry on a first date,

it's called a clutch.

Small mouse purse.

A clutch, for those of you who don't know,

is neither a synonym for the word cool,

nor does it have to do with a car.

A clutch is a tiny purse that women

carry on a first date.

The reason we carry it is because

we can't carry a big bag because

men don't like big bags.

First of all, it's not attractive.

You can't show up to a guy's house and

be like, "hey!

Ready for our first date, Steve?

I just brought my bag right here,

we don't have to go to no fancy

dinner or nothing, nope.

I bought me a hot plate,

we can just plug it in right here."

"We can do it on the lawn unless

you're ashamed of me .

You got an external power source?

Maybe a generator?

I call mine Jenny.

It's a little joke."

"Do you like beans?

Do you like beans, Steve?

I brought beans.

I don't need a can opener,

I've got this shit!"

We carry the little bag because

men don't like big bags.

Men don't like big bags because

big bags scare men.

You show up on a first date with a

big bag, guys' first though is,

"fuck, she's trying to move in."

That's the first thought.

And men don't like surprises.

They're already weirded out by

women in general.

They don't know what's in that bag.

You could have guns in that bag,

medication, "what's in the bag?"

"What's in the bag?"

"What's in the bag?"

Tampons

Gwenyth Paltrow's head?

What's in the bag?

Could have a lot of problems.

You could have medication in there,

restraining order.

Taking around a lot of that garbage with you,

that's why it's called baggage.

So we carry a little tiny clutch.

Carry a tiny bag to fool you.

We want you to think that all this

perfection, I said perfection...

...comes from the contents of this

tiny rat purse.

Right, just a couple of things.

Every girl's told that lie when

you first meet someone.

"It takes me like ten minutes to get ready.

Just ten minutes to get ready."

As you're telling the lie,

you can feel, "in ten minutes,

I'm not telling the truth ."

"It's fine."

No woman in this room has ever

closed a clutch on the first try.

Because... it's true.

They're like, "it was really hard

getting here, yes."

That wasn't the first try.

Because when women pack for a first date,

we don't pack for the date we're

going to have,

we pack for the date we want to have.

Imaginations take over.

"I should bring a lip gloss.

I should bring one lip gloss for

every degree the sun sets because

we're going to watch the sun set

from the yacht. Do it."

"Also bring my AAA card in case

his Porsche breaks down. He has a Porsche.

What if he's like a secret millionaire

and he wants to make sure I love him

for him and like not his money because

he's had problems with other girls in

the past like, wanting him for his money

and he didn't know if their love was

pure and he wants to test me.

I'll pretend he doesn't have to test me,

like, 'you don't have to test me' but

he really does because I really like money,

but I'm gonna pretend..."

"Not a big deal.

Maybe he's like the prince of a

small, recently liberated country

that I don't care about because

I don't watch the news and I should

pretend that I really care about him so

I should plan for this date to

be amazing so I should bring a

passport in case we go to dinner

in Paris."

You get it all in the bag, right,

you start to zip it,

you get it in your teeth, the zipper,

and you're like, "fucking close please..."

You get it like halfway zipped.

You can't go on a date with a bag

zipped halfway, that's ratchet.

So what do you do?

You take everything out,

all your accessories, you lay them all out, right?

It's tough, you've gotta make some cuts.

So sorry ladies, you're all very

valuable to the team,

not everyone can make varsity.

And rather than get rid of anything, right?

What do you do at least once?

You make an attempt to put everything

back in the bag, but slowly.

Thinking if you're somehow purposeful

in your actions,

you will sneak up on the bag,

and it won't know that it's full.

You get it down to like one thing

and then you snap, you're like,

"fuck it, everything goes in!

Luna bars, Activia, Uggs, dad issues,

let's go."

So I went to a bar, and we're sitting there,

and we sit down and he ordered one drink

the whole night.

Here's my problem with that.

Um...

It was a Friday night and I'm a lady.

I wanna party but I'm a lady,

so if you only have one drink,

then that means I'm only going to

have one drink.

If I only have one drink,

how the hell am I supposed to

wanna touch you later?

Okay?!

Yeah!

Thank you for being honest.

Do the math on that one, accountant.

Anyone who's not audience laughing at that,

you're lying to yourself.

That's what alcohol is for.

Loosening yourself up a little bit,

make some choices you wouldn't

normally make.

"Whatever, I had some wine, it's okay."

That's what it's for.

Otherwise, why waste the calories?

Let's all just have a glass of

warm milk and punch ourselves in the face.

He didn't even get alcohol,

he had like a beer.

Like an IPA.

And he'd like taken a sip and

I was done with my vodka soda.

I thought we were having a race.

He's sipping on his beer,

I'm down to the ice in my drink,

tonguing it like a dog on a hot day,

just like...

I'm running into the bathroom taking

shots of Scope from the attendant

trying to...

get like a prison buzz.

I'm holding my breath just

trying to get some kind of high.

My problem with it wasn't necessarily

that he only had one drink,

my problem with it really was

that I had a problem with it.

I'm 31, so I should have been

mature about it.

Had I been dating more in my thirties,

I think I'd have been okay with that situation.

My friends that are in their mid-thirties

that have dated a lot of normal guys,

they'd be okay with that drink,

and I wish that I was.

I wish I could have normal girl thoughts.

I wish I could sit there and have the

drink and have normal girl thoughts.

"This one drink is really nice,

I'm so grateful.

This is great.

He seems like a really sweet guy.

He's got really nice eyes.

I wonder what they look like in a jar."

Like, normal thoughts.

I'm still of the mindset that when

I get a drink in me,

it sends a message to my brain

that it's go time.

That's what it says.

I'm 31, I'm not 90,

it was a Friday, not a Tuesday during high tea,

let's make some fucking mistakes,

that's what it's about.

I feel like a lot of people are

wired this way.

I get a sip of liquor,

it sends a message to my party goblin

that it's time to do it.

Everybody's got a party goblin,

some people have party goblins

that have lost their ability to walk

from partying too much.

My party goblin sleeps on a bunk bed.

She sleeps on the top bunk,

my dignity sleeps on the bottom bunk,

he is not invited.

The second I taste liquor, it wakes her up.

She smells it in my brain.

She's there dreaming of eating

frozen pizza because she's a monster.

"Vodka"

She goes to the megaphone that

controls my actions.

We've all had party goblin controlling

our actions.

"You need to rage!

Find a door guy, ask him if he has drugs,

do not specify, see what he comes up with!"

"Do it! Fucking go!

Jump on top of that table!

Start dancing!

There is no music,

I will provide the music.

La-la-la-la-la!

You look so pretty!

Jump off that table,

run outside, push that cop,

see if he finds it adorable."

"Ask him if you can touch his gun.

The answer is always no .

Go over to that CVS, find the dairy aisle,

grab some whipped cream,

do some whipits, it might kill you,

it's fucking worth it!

Go outside, take a picture,

put it on Instagram,

take it down ten minutes later because

oops, we can see your nipple!"

So we left the bar, right.

Super buzzed off of our drink.

And he drove me home,

so now we're in front of my house.

So we're sitting in his car in

front of my house,

so this is where a kiss takes place.

This is where a first kiss takes place.

Now as a girl, you know when you've put

out the vibe that you want a kiss all night.

Men and women are wired differently.

For the guy, men are putting out the

vibe all the time.

Right now, lot of vibes, all the time.

"God I hope she sees my wiener."

That's what-

The vibe is ever-present with guys.

"You want this

You want this, yeah

Anyone Little bit?

What?

You're calling the cops?

Okay."

"See you on Facebook.

Okay."

For girls, we're very specific about

when we throw out the vibe.

Can't just throw that shit around.

Gotta be specific about it.

Every girl's got things that she

does to throw out the vibe.

Maybe you touch your hair a little bit.

"Oh that's funny."

Maybe you show off part of your body.

Every girl's got that one body part

she knows is better than any other girl's.

Maybe it's your forearm.

Maybe all night you're like fuck yeah.

Yeah?

You want it?

You wanna fuck?

Eh?

It's weird? Okay.

When a girl knows that a guy is

a little vulnerable and into her,

we become like an evil witch in

an enchanted forest,

and the guy becomes like,

the lost Angenieux.

We know.

Let's say your girlfriend just

broke up with you.

Let's say you were cheated on,

you're a little wounded.

We appear out of nowhere.

You're sitting there like,

"oh I hope I find a gal,"

and out of nowhere we're just like,

"hello!"

"Apple?"

"What's that?

Yes, I used to work at a pharmacy."

"Whole new life for myself."

And we start saying things to you

to lure you in like,

"yes, this way. Sports?

I love sports. This way.

Come this way, oh yes.

What

No, not me, I just wanna fuck

in perpetuity until you grow

tired of me."

"This way! Yes

Your ex

Oh she sounds like a bitch that

I would love to fight with my shirt off.

This way.

This way to my gingerbread house, yes!

Yes, come and nibble on the walls

of my gingerbread house!

What's that

It's a metaphor for my vagina,

you're very clever.

This way. This way."

Said all the right things,

did all the right things,

I knew we were gonna have a mouth kiss.

Now, for the guy...

he has to decide how he wants to

kiss the girl.

Now that's a tough role.

It's just for guys to decide.

You have to decide how you're gonna

kiss a girl because if you kiss her

too soft, you'll look like a big ol' puss,

and if you kiss her too hard,

charges will be filed.

You have to be careful.

Now, in this interaction,

the girl also has her part to play.

There are only three places you

can look when you're sitting on

the passenger side of a vehicle,

only one of which is truly acceptable.

You cannot look right at him.

That's too much eye contact.

He might take it as a threat,

he might bite your neck,

we don't know what he'll do.

Okay, we don't know.

Plus, it's creepy.

He's sitting there like,

"do I kiss this girl? I don't know,"

and you're just like,

And you can't stare out your

passenger side window because that's

not enough eye contact and you'll

look cutched in the head.

He's sitting there looking at you like,

"do I kiss this girl?"

and you're just like...

Laaaaaa!

Side note, ladies, if his window does this,

do not date him. Okay.

So the girl only has one option and

that is sort of just look down and

stare and her hands and

all of a sudden become fascinated with

her cuticle situation.

"That's amazing, I used to have feathers,

that is so weird."

And sort of monitor the impending

kiss out of your periphery.

When he gets about half way just,

.

Teeth first so you know that he knows

you mean business!

I've kissed like, two guys,

I think I know what I'm talking about.

So I was all set.

Blousey cow, Palsy pants, forearm,

creepy witch, I was all set.

I knew we were gonna have a mouth kiss,

and apparently he had a different plan.

He had a cheek peck planned.

Oh.

I did not see that coming.

So now I'm gonna show you what happens

when a cheek peck meets the intention

of a mouth kiss.

This is me and this is him.

We're just sitting here,

"oh my God, nail..."

Let's see the slow motion replay!

No? Fuuuuuck.

Tuck and roll!

So embarrassing.

It was so embarrassing.

It was sexual rejection in

the weirdest form.

I don't even remember how I got in my house.

I just know that I ended up there.

What I think happened is that my embarrassment

materialized into a magician smoke bomb.

I was just like, "this never happened. Pff!"

And I was gone.

So now I'm inside my house.

We've all had this happen where it was

like 10:30.

So we've had this happen where you

come home earlier on a weekend than

you thought you would.

You were all planning to go out and

you come home way earlier.

It's a very weird feeling.

Now for guys, they wanna go back out.

Right? You wanna get back out there.

Go team!

Get back out there because you wanna

get drunk and meet chicks.

For girls, it's a different motivation.

We wanna go back out because,

"I don't wanna waste an outfit!"

You try to contact your friends.

Here's the problem.

There's something energy-wise that

makes it very difficult when you're

sober to go back out and

rejoin your drunk friends.

You ever try getting a location

from your drunk friends?

It's like texting with a house cat.

And they send you the weirdest stuff.

Here's what happened.

They don't really care if they see you

because they went out together.

You were selfish, you went rogue.

You went off on a date, selfish,

went to go find love.

Your friends form like a little mini-mob.

They band together and they formed

a feylinks and they're like,

"let's find dudes!"

And they went out together.

You had your fun, they don't care if

they see you.

They send you back weird,

seemingly innacuous texts like,

"we don't know the name of the bar!

We don't know how long we'll be here!

We're in outer space, come find us!"

After like 20 minutes of trying,

you kind of resign yourself to

the fact that you're gonna be home.

Right?

So what's the first step in deciding

you're gonna be home?

You take off your going out clothes.

I had a silk blouse on.

I didn't know how to care for it.

I didn't know what to feed it.

I didn't know.

It's the fanciest material,

it's like the caviar of the material family.

I didn't know.

I stood by open French windows for

ten minutes waiting for bluebirds to

come and undress me.

Took it off.

Put on my at-home clothes.

What are at

Girls know what at-home clothes are.

Clothes you put on when no one else is around.

Super gross.

All the guys here are like,

"what? I've been with my girl when

we're by ourselves, she looks super cute."

No, we don't do that.

We don't wear roll-down boxers and

socks up to here because you're kind

of a pedophile and pigtails.

We don't do that when we're by ourselves!

What girls do when we're by ourselves,

we dig deep into the truck of old t-shirts.

You pull out your t-shirt from middle school.

Right? It's got paint on it.

You've got your Abercrombie varsity

athletic pants from like 1997,

stripes on 'em, you put those on.

Sweatshirt's got holes in it,

pants have holes in 'em,

underwear has holes it it,

socks have holes in them.

Why are there holes in your clothes?

Because tears corrode.

And you wander listlessly through your house,

you look homeless, but you're in a home,

so that doesn't make sense, just kinda...

Right? You wander from room to room,

you have no agenda,

you're just kind of not ready to

go to bed yet.

You go to a room where the light's off,

you flip it on and like one percent of

you is expecting there to be a

serial killer,

knowing full well that if he's there,

you're done for because you're in

your at-home clothes.

Can't defend yourself.

Flip it back off,

you wander to the kitchen.

Not really hungry,

you don't really make a meal for yourself,

do you?

Just kinda stick your hand deep

in a bad of deli turkey.

Just kind of .

Right? A couple of crackers.

Maybe like two Starbursts for dessert.

Staring at nothing.

Maybe you have a show on in the background,

maybe Frasier's on,

hypothetically me every night,

I don't know.

I'm just wandering.

Sitting there eating it.

You start saying weird things to your dog like,

"one day you'll be my wife."

I'm sitting there doing this.

Phone buzzes. It's a text message.

Who's it from?

The accountant.

What's it say?

Is he gonna ask me out again?

Does he like me?

What's it gonna say?

"Hey Iliza, had a great time tonight.

Would love to have kissed you,

but I have to be up early."

I don't even know how to answer

that like a human.

You sent me a text that is

un-text-backable.

First of all, what do you mean,

who are you making out with,

wolverines that your legs

are just immobile the next day?

You send me something that stupid,

I'm not giving you the dignity of

a normal text back.

You're not even getting a regular-

You're not even getting back a

regular emoji.

There's no winky face,

there's no sad face,

I'm going deep into that emoji bank,

and I am pulling out...

Fried shrimp!

I think what bothered me about the

whole thing is that it was

sexual rejection no matter how you

slice it.

It bothered me because I wasn't

saying, "let's get married.

Let's make plans to meet my mom,"

it was a kiss.

So even though you denied the kiss,

it's still denying me sexually,

which is very uncomfortable for girls.

We're not used to that.

Again, guys get sexually rejected,

it's part of being a guy, like,

"you want it? Nope. Okay.

Anyone else? Hey!

One over here, dick over here,

penis over there, one, two, two,

right here, sold!

To the seven in the corner with

low standards."

It was a mouth kiss and you

rejecting that is the equivalent of being like,

"hey Iliza, you see this?

None for you! Pff!"

Let's talk about this for a second.

Every girl's seen this,

I talked about it on my last special.

Every girl's seen a guy do this.

So I've done some thinking on

the topic of this.

I want to let you girls know,

because girls get offended like,

"that's so gross, why are you doing that at

a family picnic, what are you doing?"

Girls, I want to give you some peace of mind

and let you know that it actually has

nothing to do with you.

He would be doing this whether you

were there or not.

Take it as an insult, take it as a compliment,

whatever you want.

I don't have an issue that guys do this.

My issue is that there's no reciprocation

on the female end.

Gentlemen, you'd be very upset.

You were like laying in bed,

ready to have sex, game's on pause,

ready to go.

And your girlfriend came out of

the bathroom in just a t-shirt,

no bottoms.

"Hey babe."

And she just did some sort of

weird vaginal puppetry.

#VaginalPuppetry

You'd be very upset if she just

came out and was like,

"Babe! Hey."

If there are any guys here not audience laughing,

that's how we feel about that.

It would disrupt the entire cycle of

human procreation.

Men would cease having sex with women,

they'd be super grossed-out,

they'd move to the woods,

they'd take raccoons as wives.

We would just-

it would be horrible.

I think what's weird about it is

that as a girl,

you are open to the threat of

a guy doing this at any point.

If you're dating a guy,

he could do it a week in,

a year in, ten years in,

it could be in the bedroom,

at a concert, the produce aisle,

this could happen at any minute.

That fear is ever-present in your mind,

so I think if men and women are

ever to be fair and equal,

guys should have an inherent fear

of raptor-vag.

#VaptorVag

It's only fair.

So I have a plan.

Tonight we strike.

Every guy in here on a date is like,

"Jesus, fuck.

Why did we buy tickets for this?

Oh they were free? Still."

Here's what's gonna happen.

Here's my plan, okay?

Tonight, when my boyfriend is sleeping...

Let me take it back.

I'm gonna get a boyfriend.

Wait 'til he's sleeping, okay?

Sneak up in there,

and when you do this,

'cause you're gonna do it, right?

Pinky swear?

When you do it,

you wanna make sure he's in REM sleep.

It's the deepest most luxurious sleep, okay?

REM sleep.

You need to check to see that he's

in REM sleep.

How do you make sure someone's in REM sleep?

It's very easy.

You open their eye...

...while they're sleeping.

You ever do this to someone

while they're sleeping?

Fuck you guys, I'm not the only one

that's done this!

And you say things to him like,

"I love you, look back and forth

if you love me too!"

Make sure he's sleeping,

okay so I've established that,

and I go into the other room and

I pin for a little bit, pin, pin, pin,

and then I would go and

take out my raptor claw and

sharpen my nails down,

not to a point that was sharp enough

that you could like stab a meercat and

eat it if you wanted to,

but you want like a rounded point so

that the pressure will be localized.

Like an apex of sorts, okay?

Rounded, like if a raptor, you know,

went to get a manicure, she'd be like,

"make it lovely."

So I'd make it lovely and I'd sheath it

for my own protection,

and I'd go in and I'd descend upon

the sleeping boyfriend,

and I'd apply the raptor claw to his cheek,

and I would gently stroke.

Not enough to awaken,

but merely to stir!

Okay, why am I doing that?

I'll tell you.

What I'm doing is introducing external

stimuli into his land of slumber.

Who talks like that?

I'm introducing external stimuli into

his subconscious,

thus permeating his dreams, okay?

So whatever he's doing in his dream,

he's gonna feel this and somewhere

in the back of his brain he's gonna

be like, "oh shit, raptor vag."

Doing this, let's-

no, it's not unlike having a dream

and let's say you're talking to

like a model and your alarm clock

goes over and she's like,

"another reason I don't like

to wear underwear-"

It's the equivalent of that, okay?

So I would so this.

So in his dream land,

he would feel it and he would know.

So he's still sleeping but he's

feeling this and then for the

final stage I would sneak up to

him and I would sound the raptor

mating call.

It would resonate all throughout

the land of Nod,

and he would know.

And he's sitting there in

his dream delivering his naked

high school commencement speech,

whatever dream he's having,

he would hear the raptor mating

call and be like,

"oh fuck, mama's here."

He would know.

So I get in his ear and I do the

raptor mating call right before I striked.

I stroked?

I striked.

I strict? Okay.

Get in his ear,

raptor mating call,

and he would,

" huh?"

and I would go .

"Just like, a jacket."

Girls are weird.

We do weird things, but we're cute,

so it's okay.

Girls do crazy things.

It's our own brand of crazy.

Guys do crazy things too like rape and war.

They do their own kind of crazy things.

Girls have a more insidious kind of crazy.

Sometimes we'll start a fight with you

just to make it seem like you started the fight.

We have to do it three times a year or

we lose our standing in the club.

Every girl's done that.

Just to see how strong your powers are.

"I don't wanna fight with you, stop it.

I don't wanna fight with you,

I didn't start this, you started this.

You started acting weird.

I don't wanna fight with you!"

"Bullshit."

"I don't wanna fight with you."

We'll turn around,

we'll talk to a fake jury.

"I don't... what is this?"

"I don't wanna fight with you.

This is on you, okay?

I'm peaceful, you're being a dick.

You're being-

Stop it! What are you doing?

You're like yelling, stop it.

I don't wanna fight with you."

But in your girl head, you're like..."

I wanna...

"I wanna fight with you!"

"I woke up feeling chubby this morning,

and that is somehow your fault.

Get in the octagon!"

We play all kinds of head games.

"Go hang out with your friends.

That's fine."

"Do it! Go hang out with your friends,

I dare you."

"I know you made plans with me,

that's fine. Go!

Go hang out with your friends.

No it's fine, I want you to be happy."

"Do it! Go hang out with your-

there are no friends!

Only Zule!"

Look, I'm sure being a guy has its difficulties.

I haven't been one in awhile so I don't

really know what that's like.

But girls have a lot of stuff

that's being thrown at them all the time.

We have to suss out what's good

for us and weed out the positive messages.

I truly believe our society operates on

a currency of women's insecurities.

Multi-billion dollar industries thriving on,

"just make them feel like their

bodies aren't acceptable,

and then sell them some shit."

Look at any magazine, like,

"you're amazing, but you need to

lose like ten pounds."

"Love your body, love your hair,

whatever you've done is wrong.

You look like a sea monster."

Everything's got a weird mixed message

and a weird whorey undertone.

"Be a bad girl, own your sexuality,

but if you fuck more than one dude,

you're a whore!"

Like everything's wrong.

You can't just go around like effing dudes,

you can have sex with more than one,

and that's okay.

Even my eyeliner has a sexual message,

it's called "Bad Gal."

14 year olds can buy this.

Are they bad gals?

Yeah, tiny bad gals!

It comes with a little devil that

sits on your shoulder and as

you're putting it on,

whispers malicious things in your ear.

"Ah, better, get ready for the-"

"You're a bad gal."

"Close that window, yeah,

I'd better get-"

"Yeah! You wanna fuck in a dumpster!"

"What are you talking about?"

Doesn't sound like a bad gal as

much as someone that just needs a home.

"Not a bad gal, I'm just trying to

put on eyeliner so I don't look

like a newborn hamster face.

I'm just tryna..."

"Yeah... no you're a bad-"

"I'm not a bad gal!"

"Yeah you are!

You wanna give a handjob in

an Acura going 50 in a 30!

No insurance, you're a bad gal!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I have insurance!"

What's my blush called?

Flirty girl.

"Yeah, tart it up, you hooker!

Yeah, look, super horny!

Ready to go.

You're a flirty girl,

dressed like that, you're asking for it!"

Dressed like what, like a cool mom

out on like mom's night out?

Dressed like what?"

"Yeah, you wanna fuck in a dumpster!"

"What's with you and fucking with dumpsters?"

"I wanna fuck in a dumpster!"

"Well you're projecting!"

Again, my issue isn't that there's

a sexual undertone,

my issue with it is that it's

a negative message to women,

but guys reap a positive effect, right?

Guy's like, "oh she's a bad girl,

maybe she'll touch my D."

That's pretty much the message you

get out of that.

"Bad girl, maybe she'll wear

spiky leather gloves, yeah!

On a motorcycle!"

She's probably a lesbian if

she's on a motorcycle.

Bad gal!

There's no men's products-

there are no men's products that

have a negative message to men

but women reap a positive effect.

There's no guy putting on cologne

and as he's doing it he hears,

"you're gonna text her back

within a reasonable time frame."

There's no guy putting on aftershave

and as he's putting it on, he's hearing,

"you're 37 and share a room with two

other dudes in the hipster part of town,

and outside of the context of

Los Angeles, it's actually totally

socially unacceptable bro.

What's that? You run a t

Awesome, you only have online shit?

That's cool, no real t-shirts.

Also, you ride a bike to work and

claim it's ecologically responsible,

but we all know your credit is

so fucked you can't get financing

for a Kia!"

There's a lot to contend with as a girl.

We have different rules for being a girl.

Girls are always like,

"girls should be equal.

We can fuck whoever we want."

That's not the way it should be.

We're the fairer sex for a reason, lady,

we have a responsibility.

If you want guys who do things like

pay for dinner and open doors,

you have to act like a lady.

You can't act like a guy,

we're just not built for it.

Sorry if that's crushing some of you.

It's just the truth.

Fuck.

My girlfriend called me the other night

and she's like, "do you wanna go out with us?

After your skit?"

Continuing to not fully comprehend

what I do for a living, that's fine.

But we're talking about it,

and in the back was my drunk friend.

Drunk friend never gets to hold the phone.

Drunk friend is always in the

background yelling shit at the sober one.

Drunkie's always like,

tethered to the sober one like,

"ah! I miss you! Ah!"

When they yell, "I miss you,"

girls always do that,

and you don't miss them,

you're like, "miss you too, babe, uh..."

"Come out with us!"

She kept yelling at me.

I'm like, "what is she talking about?"

"Come out with us,

I'm gonna fuck a stranger!"

I'm sorry, do whatever you want.

I feel if you're a lady,

that is never a sentence that should be uttered

with anticipation in future tense,

it is only a sentence that should be

said with the utmost apportion in past tense.

It should never be,

"I'm going to fuck a stranger!"

It should always be,

"oh my God, I fucked a stranger."

We always talk about the downside

when girls sleep with someone.

There's a lot of risks that it

poses for women.

However, we take up for the guys' side

for a second.

I do believe there are plenty of

guys in here, good guys,

that have gone to bed with a girl

for like a one night stand thinking,

"I found someone special.

I really like her."

And then you wake up the next

morning next to like, a fat water rat.

Like, these things have happened.

Okay?

Plenty of guys in here, I'm sure,

thought they went to bed with an

absolute angel and tomorrow morning-

this might happen to you.

Tonight you're gonna go out in Denver,

on a Friday, you're gonna go out,

you meet a girl,

"oh, she's so angelic, so beautiful."

And tomorrow morning you're going to

wake up next to Satan himself.

You're gonna look down at your sheets,

there's gonna be a pile of sheets,

and they'll just be like, undulating.

Pulsating.

And there will be heat lines coming

off of it, pff!

"Uh, good morning.

Excuse me, is it Stacy?"

"No one by the name of

Stacy is here."

"Oh my God, I'm so embarrassed,

I thought your name was Stacy."

"Il nombre non es importante."

"Wow, well, judging by that and

the smell of sulfur,

I'm gonna take a guess that you are Satan?"

"Yes!

Clip clop."

"Yes!"

"Uh, you gotta go."

"Why? I thought we were gonna get

breakfast, smoochy-pie."

"Uh we can't get breakfast

because...

Look, I cheated on my girlfriend."

"You what?

You cheated on me?"

"Are you crying lava?"

"Fuckin' right I'm crying lava."

"I'm the devil,

what do you think I'm gonna cry?

That's so fucked up,

I thought you were a good guy, fuck you!"

"Alright, alright just-"

"No, you know what?

I know when you're gonna die."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"No, that's the angel of death,

I'm just kidding."

"People think we're the same,

but we're not just similar height,

we both have brown hair."

"Alright, you gotta go."

"Don't fucking touch me.

Get off my tail. I'm going.

Give me some bus fare.

In my hoof."

"What are you audience laughing at?"

"I'm sorry, I just think it's ridiculous

that you're taking the bus."

"Yes I'm taking the bus, okay!

I am fiscally responsible.

Do you know how hard it is

to be the devil?

I have no business,

the Kardashians take all of

my business.

I'm not even joking.

It's really hard to earn an honest dollar!"

"Ridiculous!

I had to have sex with Kris Jenner

and everything.

It was horrible."

"She's evil.

Of course I don't have any money,

what do you expect me to ride around?

Of course I take public transportation.

I am a demon of the people.

Okay?

What do you expect me to drive around

in a hearse made of skulls?

Okay, I'm not Rob Zombie,

I'm not an asshole! Okay!

Gimme six dollars and sixty-six cents

and I'll be on my way!"

"Alright, fucking go."

"I have a question!"

"What?"

"Is it cold outside?"

You guys are a wonderful crowd.

There's no elegant way to

wipe off a sweat mustache.

I was talking at the beginning

about how a lot of my friends are

getting married and I'm happy for them.

I think I'm just in a different

headspace at the moment.

They all get really excited to plan

their weddings,

and I get really excited to

plan a breakup.

Guys, hear me out on this.

Girls do weird things.

The day we start dating you,

we keep tabs on everything you do wrong,

so that if and when we decide

to break up with you,

because I don't know,

the wind changes direction,

we can then refer to said list,

extrapolate one isolated incident,

and use that as the peace de resistance

of our breakup masterpiece.

You don't believe me?

Have you ever been dating a girl

and everything's going great,

you know, things are mediocre, not great,

but whatever, things are fine.

She breaks up with you out of the blue.

"You breaking up with me?"

"Yes, your feet look like eagle claws!

There, I said it, ca-caw!"

"Ca-caw, goodbye."

It seems like it's out of nowhere.

We let things build.

It could be like a hairpin trigger.

You could be sitting at your

anniversary dinner.

"I'm thinking about getting salmon-"

"I'm fucking done!"

Like it doesn't really matter.

Just so you know, I'm not cavalier about this,

I put time and effort into these breakups.

You put time and effort into dating me,

I'm going to return said time and effort,

plus interest, a very good ROI,

on that breakup, okay?

These are hand-crafted breakups.

Hand-hewn, ecco in California,

tailor-made, forged from the fires

of your own insecurities specialty breakups.

I don't do a generic breakup.

I don't do a breakup template.

I don't do the whole,

"oh my God, it's me, not you."

No it's you, motherfucker,

here's a list of reasons why.

I was dating a guy,

we dated for three months,

and we were on our first date.

So it's a first date,

we're doing first date stuff.

We're at a bar, drinking, talking,

taking muscle relaxers,

so it's like a first date.

I was asking him first date questions

like, "what do you do

What do you max out at?"

Just stuff you wanna know.

I was like, "oh, what's your middle name?"

He goes, "my middle name is Paul."

"No!"

Reciprocity, in like a normal conversation,

would dictate that perhaps his next

question to me should have been,

"what's... your "

That's right!

"What's your middle name?"

But he never asked me my middle name,

and I fucking remembered that.

'Cause here's the deal.

He wasn't necessarily wrong in

not asking me that.

Men and women communicate so differently,

I'm surprised we can be in the same

room without ripping each other's

genitals off, quite frankly.

If you went back and you said to him,

"why didn't you ask her her middle name?"

He'd be like, "what? At the time she had long hair,

I thought she was a mermaid."

Like not even in the same stratosphere.

And what's crazy is every guy in this room

was like, "yeah, right on.

Mermaid hair, I get it."

And where I went wrong-

where girls tend to go wrong is

I didn't tell him why I was mad.

We don't tell you why we're mad,

"because you should know."

Which is insane.

We barely know why we're mad.

"I don't know, but something happened

and now I'm mad.

I don't know why I'm mad,

but you should know

The secrets are locked in my brain."

"Did you eat a key?"

"I did.

That and the plate and the leaves from earlier.

I feel fat."

We just sit there, stoic,

with this Stepford Wife facade,

and we let it rot our brains and

we sit there smiling,

but we're just like,

"he didn't ask my middle name.

That means he doesn't want to get

to know me, my hopes, my thoughts,

my dreams, my feelings, my friends,

my family, we'll never have a baby."

Like, that's the way that devolves.

So I began planning the breakup.

On the first date.

We dated for about three months,

and at the conclusion of three months,

I decided that I wanted to do a rain breakup.

Felt the rain would be emblematic of

the tears shed during the courtship.

A lot of poetry in that.

Rain breakup.

Wanna break up in the rain.

"Oh my God, uhhh, rain!"

There's all different kinds of rain breakups.

You can do one in an alley crying,

you could be a young British country girl in

the 1800s running through a field, "nooo!

I can't, I can't!"

You're in a white dress, no shoes.

Women actually weren't allowed to

wear shoes until 1962, fun fact.

"No! I can't be with you,

I've been betrothed to another Jeremiah!"

"Why, I love you so much!"

"No!"

Running in the rain and it's cascading,

I've got long hair because they didn't

have scissors back then either.

Just long hair, I'd wrap it around like a belt.

It's weird.

I'd be running and it would cascade over

the white so it was just see-through.

You wouldn't see areola,

but you'd see nipple bumpage.

Like Rachel, Friends, circa 1997, network nipple.

Running...

No bra, running hard. No bra.

Because in your fantasy,

your tits are like rocks, just running.

Run!

Every girl in this room's fantasized

about kissing a boy in the rain.

Which, if you've ever actually done it,

is fucking horrible.

You will get the flu.

I live in Los Angeles.

That's not clean rain.

That's fucking rats, cabbage, headshots,

lettuce...

Kale, three times of leafy greens, we're healthy,

syringes, dreams.

Couldn't do a rain breakup.

It rained one day while we were dating,

but I was wearing a wool sweater, so, eh.

You know.

You can't get wool wet,

you're going to smell like a dirty sheep.

No one's going to miss you.

"You're breaking up with me?"

"I'm breaking up with you."

So I had to plan an alternate breakup.

Before I share with you my alternate

fantasy breakup,

I'm going to tell you the way

we actually broke up.

The way we actually broke up was

yours truly got a little drunk and

a little honest one night and

texted him something to the effect of,

"you don't even watch Breaking Bad,

how are we supposed to be together?"

That's actually how we broke up.

Fried shrimp!

So now I'm going to share with you

my ultimate fantasy breakup.

In my fantasy...

We would be sitting on my couch

at my house and I'd be a little

bit more tan than I am now so people

would be like,

"where'd you go on vacation?"

I'd be like, "it's a secret."

And my hair would probably be

a little bit longer, but not too long,

like layers, you know what I'm talking about?

Like a long bob.

You know what I'm talking about?

You wanna keep the length but not

the weight, so you have layers,

you know what I'm talking about?

And maybe highlights in the front,

but maybe a partial running through the back.

Some warmer tones, like a honey for the fall.

Do you know what I'm talking about?

Sitting on my couch at my house.

I would start a fight out of nowhere.

When you're a woman,

you possess a magical, enate ability to

create conflict where there formally was none.

Alright, we're talking out of thin

fucking air.

We could do this as a show in Las Vegas,

like argument illusionists,

just creating them.

"Nothing up my sleeve, nothing in my hand, pff!

Now there's a fight, motherfucker!"

Maybe we'll have a dove.

I don't know the budget,

I don't know what we'll have.

The point is, gentlemen,

if the girl wants to have a fight,

the lady shall have a fight,

and there's nothing you can do about it.

You could cough, that's enough.

That's enough kindle for that fire.

Sitting there watching TV.

"What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything."

"What the fuck did you just say?"

"I didn't say anything."

"You know, I-"

And then I would start crying.

Start crying, I'm telling you now that

I'm going to cry then.

I'm planning to cry.

Gonna put it my phone.

Set reminder: cry later.

Going to make myself cry.

How to do you make yourself cry?

That's what you're thinking right now.

"Iliza, how do you make yourself cry?

A lot of actresses get paid a lot

of money to make themselves cry,

how do you make yourself cry?"

I'm going to tell you.

You take a small pocket knife...

I'm just kidding.

Turn around and unbeknownst to him,

I would pluck a solitary nose hair.

You ever do that?

That shit hurts.

Real bad.

It's physically undetectable,

and it's going to escalate the energy

of your argument very quickly.

Your argument will be magically

transformed from,

"you know what, just forget it."

Big tears, okay?

Girls, I'll tell you why it's important

to have big tears, okay?

If you're going to make the attempt to

illicit an emotional response from

an otherwise emotionally unavailable individual,

you must be demonstrative with your

ocular lubrication, okay?

Unlike women, men are very black and white.

They respond to big gestures, okay?

Big tears means, "I am sad.

This is not fun. I do not like this. I am sad now."

That's what big tears say.

You can't risk it with little sniffly

allergy tears, that's a mixed message.

That's not clear, he's like,

"what do you fucking want?"

"I don't know what I want!"

"What do you want?"

He might go kill a squirrel and

bring it back, he doesn't know what you want!

So I'd start crying and be like,

"you know what, forget it!"

And I would run out of my own house.

I'd run outside.

Prior to starting this fight,

I would have gone into the street and

set up orange parking cones in the street.

For my ultimate fantasy breakup,

I want to have a street fight breakup.

Anyone that's ever fought in a street knows

you need a designated fighting area, okay?

That's a public thorough fare,

you can't just run into it and start

fighting, this isn't West Side Story,

you're gonna get hit by a Buick.

So I'd run outside and I'd run into the

comfort of the designated fighting area,

the DFA, I'd run into it.

I'd run into it and immediately start yelling,

"I hate you!"

Why am I yelling

I'm not angry.

I want the neighbors to come out.

I want them to come out,

I want them to see how you treat me!

He treats me fine.

Like we got frozen yogurt that morning, it's fine.

I want them to come out, I want their energy,

I want their attention, I need an audience.

Obviously.

So I'd have it set up and he'd run out be like,

"Iliza, what is your problem? Get back inside."

I'd be like, "you don't tell me what to do.

I'm an independent woman.

I listen to Beyonce. Surfboard."

"Surfboardt."

"What does that mean?"

"No one knows."

"What are you so upset about?"

I'd be like, "I just feel like um...

This is so hard because I feel like

I'm letting you down.

I just feel like...

We don't even talk anymore and...

We don't even know what we argue about."

"Are you quoting Boyz2Men?"

"Maybe."

"I don't know why you're so upset."

And then I would begin.

"I just feel like um...

Sorry, I just feel like...

I just feeling like...

Why is this dry?

I just feel like..."

"You're a great guy and you should be

with a great girl.

I want you to be with a great girl,

sort of, and..."

"I feel like we have a really good time

together and you're wonderful,

but I feel like I'm not the girl for you.

Okay? I said it.

We have fun but I don't feel like

we're gonna be together.

I feel like we're just wasting time

and we don't belong together.

I feel like we don't really even know each other."

"Of course we know each other.

Of course I know you."

"Really?

What's my middle name?"

We did it!

Good job.

- The snow!

Should I go back out?

Should I do a curtain call?

Is that weird?

They're kinda going crazy out there.

You wanna do a curtain call?

- Yay!

What did you get?

We did it.

- Oh my God.

I think um...

That the theatre might file a police report

and I might have to get a lawyer...

Because I killed!

Oh!