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Stand-up comic and comedy writer Carol Leifer faced a critical dilemma and had only two options: either continue sharing her greatest childhood memory (seeing the Beatles at Shea Stadium in 1966) or lie about her age. But the choice soon became clear: I see now that when you deny your age, you deny yourself, and when you lie about your age, you become your inauthentic twin. But most important, when you lie about your age, they win. (And of course by 'they,' I mean the terrorists).o Now, in this uproarious book, Leifer reveals all her age, her outlook, her life philosophy no holds barred.

Carol Leifer is an accomplished stand-up comedian and an Emmy-nominated writer and producer for her work on such television shows as Seinfeld, The Larry Sanders Show, Saturday Night Live, and the Academy Awards. She has starred in several of her own comedy specials, which have aired on HBO, Showtime, and Comedy Central. Her “big break” came when David Letterman unexpectedly showed up one night at the Comic Strip in New York City and caught Carol’s show. His visit led to her making twenty-five guest appearances on Late Night with David Letterman. Carol has also been seen on The Tonight Show, Real Time with Bill Maher, Late Night with Conan O’Brien, and The Oprah Winfrey Show. She starred in and created the WB sitcom Alright Already. She lives in Santa Monica with her partner, their son, and their seven rescue dogs.

From the Hardcover edition.

But This One's Eating My Popcorn	p. 3
40 Things I Know at 50 (Because 50 Is the New 40)	p. 10
Shea Stadium and Its Effect on the Aging Process	p. 14
Surprise!	p. 20
Sticking with Gravity	p. 29
Extreme Makeover: The Chanukah Edition	p. 35
Truman Defeats Dewey!	p. 40
Take Five, Japan	p. 46
Two by Two Starts with One by One	p. 53
Shhh! I'm Driving	p. 60
Fighting for Your Fake Tits	p. 64
Holiday Gift Guide	p. 71
76 Trombones	p. 76
A Dozen Things Men Should Know (but Most Don't)	p. 83
The Call of the Sweatpants	p. 87
Dr. Fathead	p. 93
Preventative Medicine	p. 101
Minimum Wage	p. 112
The/Un "Team"	p. 121
So Long, Friend	p. 129
The Body Grabs the Mike	p. 134
Soul to Sole	p. 139
Five Lessons of Animal Adoption	p. 148
Class of '74	p. 160
Buried or Not, Here I Come	p. 165
Creating a Jew	p. 172
Been There, Done That	p. 183
Acknowledgments	p. 187
Table of Contents provided by Ingram. All Rights Reserved.

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Chapter One

But This One’s Eating My Popcorn

My father was a really funny guy. He lived a good long life. And he was the reason I wanted to be funny and become a comedian and a comedy writer, so to say that he’s somewhat of a mythic figure in my life would be an understatement. Every year, I sent my father the same thing, his favorite gift for his birthday. A box of Godiva chocolate-covered nuts. Big emphasis on the nuts. Because, as he was not shy of saying as he unwrapped the cellophane to grab the first piece, “Creams? They’re a waste of time.”

But this year is the first year I have no place to send anything. See, that’s the thing that truly sucks about death—no forwarding address. So on this birthday, which would have been his eighty- seventh, in lieu of a gold box of chocolates, hopefully this story will come in a close second.

I have very clear, distinct memories of looking up to my father holding court and telling jokes when I was a little girl. And for the record? I see now that as a child a lot of “looking up to your parents” has to do with height. So my father would tell jokes mostly at family gatherings or with people around the neighborhood, and I was fascinated by the power of him telling these stories. Now, don’t forget that when you’re a kid, stories are major. A big chunk of your life revolves around them. Granted, they’re mostly about princesses and fairy godmothers, moonbeams and farm animals, but that’s pretty much your iPod at that age. And here was this guy, my relative yet, telling very short stories to people who were standing up—not in bed in their pajamas. Revolutionary! Then at the end of this very short story, he would say this one line, a little more forcefully and pointedly than the rest of the story, and everybody would roar. But that one line was usually when he lost me.

What I came to find out was that these were the punch lines to “dirty” jokes being told. And I learned to distinguish them from clean jokes, because as he approached the punch line—the mystery line to me—the circle around him became that much tighter and smaller.

Here’s a joke I remember my father telling a lot. “A guy goes to the ticket window of a movie theater with a chicken on his shoulder and asks for two tickets. The ticket lady asks who’s going in with him, and the guys says, ‘My pet chicken here.’ ‘Well, I’m sorry,’ the woman tells him, ‘but we don’t allow animals in the movie theater.’ So the guy goes around the corner and stuffs the chicken down his pants. He goes back to the window, buys his ticket, and goes into the theater. But once the movie begins, the chicken starts to get hot, so the guy unzips his pants so the chicken can stick his head out and get a little air. The woman sitting next to the guy in the movies sees this and is appalled. She nudges her friend and whispers, ‘This guy next to me just unzipped his pants!’ The friend whispers back, ‘Ah, don’t worry about it. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.’ And the woman says, ‘I know. But this one’s eating my popcorn!’ ”

Now, as a little girl, the bulk of this joke made sense. “Chicken”— sure, I was made to eat that quite a bit. “Chicken as a pet”—never seen it, but I’d buy it; I’d just bought “a cow jumping over the moon” the previous night. “Movies”—fun, mostly when they were cartoons. “Popcorn”—love it, but to get those two tightwads I lived with to spring for any outside of the house, good luck. But then that damn punch line! What gives? My older brother alluded to it being a penis joke, but all I heard mentioned was a chicken and a zipper. Forget “Why did the c

Excerpted from When You Lie about Your Age, the Terrorists Win: Reflections on Looking in the Mirror by Carol Leifer
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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When You Lie About Your Age, the Terrorists Win Reflections on Looking in the Mirror

When You Lie About Your Age, the Terrorists Win Reflections on Looking in the Mirror

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