Sandra Bernhard is a Scary MotherFu%&;er

Posted on January 28, 2014

Dear Sandra Bernhard,

Hi. You may not remember me, but I remember you. Well sort of. After our run in, I googled ‘tall brash red haired comic’. And, well, Carrot Top came up. And then I remembered your name sounded like Sandra Bullock. So I added Sandra to my previous search, and there you were. In all of your tall red headed brash comic glory. Who knew you had such attitude?

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Now that I look back, you’re the woman who tipped over my small decaf with your black coat. How could I have known that THE Sandra Bernhard could zip through a regional jet aisle with the speed of Batman. Maybe next time you could be a little more cautious with your cape? I’m sorry, I meant your coat. 

So what could have possibly happened to cause me to write a post on my cripply blog titled “Sandra Bernhard is a Scary MotherFu%&er”? Well let me tell you. We got off the plane. That’s all that happened. I suppose it isn’t so simple though. Not when you’re flying a regional jet from Minneapolis. I knew there was a line of passengers building up behind me as I slowly walked toward the gate. I remember feeling frustrated when I discovered the flight of stairs I would have to climb with my luggage. I remember hearing you were frustrated when you discovered the flight of stairs you would have to climb with your luggage. It involved a lot of the word “Fuck”, and “God Damnit”, and “Bullshit” among others. You used the words so many times that I turned around to see where all this rage was coming from. 

And it was you. 

That’s when the employee at the top of the steps came walking down to help me with my luggage. He saw what you didn’t see. He saw my Purple Cane. And OMG so awkward SQUEE, you thought he was coming for you! Oh how my heart leaps with joy at what comes next. When he grabs my luggage and heads up the stairs, you scream “THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT!” And I knew, oh how I knew that I was going to do everything in my power to get a photo of you. 
 
Next thing I know, you and your caped crusader coat blow past me in a blaze of pissed off glory. So I haul ass. Well as much ass as one can haul when their ankles don’t move. I CLOMP CLOMP CLOMPED through the airport terminal, determined not to lose you. My Neurologist would have been so proud. So we both arrive to the baggage claim.

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I don’t have any baggage. But you do. Apparently so much so that you bought one of those carts. So I did what any rational person would do while you’re distracted, buying a cart. I stood in front of you, and took a selfie. You’re my very own photo bomb. I was scared you saw me, so I left quickly and called everyone I knew. 

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And on the way home, I was thinking about fate and the miracle that brought us together on this bitter cold day. I had to know… so I Googled (again). It was my trip to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN and your Stand-Up gig at Minneapolis’ renowned Dakota Jazz Club and Restaurant.

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So I’m thinking, I’ll let you know the next time I’m at the Mayo, and perhaps we can grab a flight home together. You made me laugh so hard today, I can only imagine how funny you are when you’re actually trying to be funny. 

Best,

Liz

Update: Sandra Bernhard amazingly retweeted my story!

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