A Fuckton of Crap

 I just finished reading Christina Applegate’s memoir. 

I’d always been pretty indifferent to her - or as indifferent as you can be to a person whose poster adorned the walls of literally every guy you dated in college - but now I’m both impressed by her and pretty repulsed by the casual misogyny of our youth. 

That makes it sound like the world is less misogynistic now than it was back then. 

It’s not. Though I do think that more women are at least unpacking their own internalized misogyny. 

Anyway, I’m a sucker for a certain kind of celebrity memoir. I need to respect your talent, and I need you to be willing to share a certain level of introspection. Funny also helps. As does good gossip. Jeff Hiller’s (Joel from Somebody, Somewhere - go watch it if you haven’t seen it) memoir is my most recent favorite. It sort of felt like I was hanging out with Joel. 

I didn’t feel like I was hanging out with Kelly Bundy or any of her other characters when I read Christina Applegate’s book. Which is fine. It felt more like I was getting to know this interesting woman who has been through a fuckton of crap; it’s definitely more Jennette McCurdy (former Disney child star who has also been through a fuckton of crap) than Jeff Hiller. 

It’s the fuckton of crap that stopped this book from being my most recent favorite. 

Which sounds horrible... because it is. 

Most people who write memoirs (or blogs, let’s be real) have their own fuckton of crap. I get that. I expect it. But sometimes, some kinds of crap just hit me harder than others. Maybe they resonate a little too much. 

And maybe the news cycle is so filled with fucktons of crap that it’s hard to deal with more of it during my leisure time. 

All of which is to say that if you like celebrity memoirs, Christina Applegate, and/or survivor stories, you should definitely read You With the Sad Eyes. But I’m not going to pressure you to read it at this time because it made me cry. And that’s not something I need when I only read for fun, goddammit. 

We all need as much fun as we can get right now, right? 

(Of course, I normally read British mysteries and watch rich women scream at each other on Bravo- Christina Applegate is also a fan of the Real Housewives, FYI - so perhaps my idea of fun is a little odd).

And by “we”, I mean “women.” 

(And by women, I mean women who know the president is a sexual predator, are upset that no men have been arrested for anything in the Epstein files, are outraged and disgusted by that rape academy website getting millions of impressions, and who don’t make excuses for abusive men.)

The rest of you can fuck off.  And go read You With the Sad Eyes, and the Epstein files.

Anyway, we deserve as much fun as we can find while we’re constantly barraged with the virulent misogyny of the timeline we’re living in. So maybe skip this book for now, even though it was pretty good.