This one’s for you.
Thanks! Ok, so what do you see happening?
I see an outpouring of Hillary love if you concede. It makes my skin crawl to think about it.
What, conceding or the outpouring?
The outpouring. Saint Hillary is a denial of form. I can’t worship unused talent.
You know I came here to be teased and delighted and you’re being Debbie Downer.
Sorry, I can’t help myself.
You could at least offer me a beer.
I have Sierra. Is that ok?
Well, it’s not what Joe Six-Pack drinks, but it’ll do.
You’re right, he's worried about his waistline. This is Sarah Fat-Dyke beer.
You’re not fat!
Come June your most virulent critics will form the base of the Hillary devoted.
Sybil, I want to talk to Sarah, not Debbie. Is she in there or what?
Sarah needs a few more beers before she’ll come out and play.
How about a hit on the head? Will that speed it up? I don’t have all night, you know.
No, please don't hit me! I promise to tease and delight. Did I ever tell you my Ellen DeGeneres story?
No.
The summer before I left for college I dated a woman who was her best friend at the time.
This was in New Orleans?
Yeah. It was a great summer. Ellen used to perform at the Faux Pas Lounge on Poydras Street.
Never heard of it.
It probably no longer exists. But I remember the night she, or her brother actually, filmed her standup routine to send out to people in California. She let me invite some of my high-school friends. Of course we were all under age, but fairly seasoned drinkers.
God love New Orleans.
Anyway, Ellen and her girlfriend and Liz and I did a lot together. She had a house right off City Park Avenue.
Who had a house?
Ellen. Liz lived with her parents, so we hung out at Ellen’s.
Who is Liz?
The woman I was dating.
Ok, got it. Go on.
Anyway, I moved to Houston for college.
Where did you go?
Will you let me finish?
Sorry.
So Liz dumped me within a month.
That’s too bad.
Yeah, it was tough. But about two years later I was waiting tables at this Irish Pub and in walked Ellen.
Oh yeah?
Yeah, she was performing across the street. She was opening for Louie Anderson.
What happened to him?
I think he’s in Vegas. I’m not sure. Anyway, I went to see the show the next night. She put me in the front row and it was great. I mean this was the eighties. They were both so funny back then. Afterwards we had dinner with her dad, who drove in for the show.
What was he like?
Funny. Dry. I liked him a lot actually. Then the next night, the last night of the show, she gave me and my girlfriend tickets and we were sat next to Liz and her new girlfriend. They came to town too. It was horrible, especially at dinner. I pouted the entire time while Ellen flirted with my girlfriend.
[laughs] That does sounds horrible.
Zoom ahead twelve years. I’m in Detroit and I hear that Ellen is performing in Ann Arbor.
Okay.
So I call around to try find her publicist or promoter or whatever, just someone who could ask her if she had time to hang out after the show, and I left my name and phone number.
Did you get through to her?
No. But I went to the show, which was really a Q&A. It was an HRC event, right after the Matthew Shepherd murder. And the questions were so bizarre. Some were downright cringeable.
Like what?
One woman asked her if she used tampons.
Oh my god.
Yeah. It was this weird mix of adulation and aggression.
Well, what happened?
Ok, well, after the show there was a book signing. You had to pay $50 and, I guess buy the book, to enter. I wasn’t going to do either. I just told the security guy that I was an old friend and he let me in.
He did?
Yeah. So then I asked the two women, standing first in line, to let me step in front of them. I promised to be quick and they were like, “Sure.”
I know what’s coming next.
Wait. So out she comes. She sits down and shoots me an impatient look. I walk up and, assuming the familiarity of an old friend, ask, “Hey Ellen! How are you?!” And she says “Fine. And you are?!” I say “Sarah, Sarah Ferguson!” She shrugs her shoulders and says, “Sarah Who? I don’t know you! Who are you?”
What did you say?
I don’t remember. I managed to spit out a few things like New Orleans, names of people, etc. Then she sort of lost it and screamed, “That was twelve years ago!” So I stepped back and said, “Ok, ok, sorry.”
Well, it sounded like she had a tough time with that audience.
Whatever. I turned and walked away. I could hear her yelling in the background, “I’m sorry! I meet a lot of people!” but I didn’t turn around. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.
Poor thing. I’m sure you’ve suffered worse humiliations.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Nothing. I’m just saying, you know, I’m sure there’s some childhood event or something much more traumatic.
No.
Right. #