I love me some Amy Schumer, so when I heard she was coming to town I quickly snapped up two tickets, one for me and one for Brian (unless he pissed me off in the weeks leading up to the show, in which case they’d go to my bff). And, of course, I screwed up the purchase…
First, a few words about me. I grew up in Delaware, a state so tiny that if you stood in the middle and stretched your arms out reallll wide, you’d touch the Atlantic Ocean with your right hand and the Maryland border with your left (look at a map and tell me Delaware’s not the single-wide trailer of states). So anytime you hear there’s an event happening in Delaware, you rarely ask yourself “Hmmm, will this require hotel accommodations?”
So as a newbie Pennsylvania resident, when given the choice of three PA locales, it went like this,”I have heard of these cities. I have seen signs for these cities. I’ll pick Wilkes-Barre because it is on a Saturday night. Saturday nights are fun.” Done. And then I spent the next 3 hours researching laundry detergents.
About a week ago, Brian asked me, “Which show are we going to?” and I replied, “Wilkes-Barre. I like Saturday nights.”
“WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?! Kim, that’s in the Pocono mountains!” Then I spent the next 3 hours researching hotels.
About 30 minutes into our drive I had to pee. Brian asked “Can we try to get a little farther before stopping?” sure. sure.
An hour later, my fully distended bladder was experiencing a slow pulsating burn causing me to moan and writher in my seat. Brian, slurping up the last of his Starbucks Green Tea, announced, “Just 10 more miles.” you son of a….
As soon as he put his empty cup down, I took it to the backseat, set on getting him a “refill”.
And that’s when he decided to stop at the nearest travel center.
I wasn’t sure I could make it across the parking lot so I had him pull up to the door. As I began running for the doors in a hunched-over Quasimodo gait, he stuck his head out the window and yelled ‘WE HAVE A PEE-ER! WE HAVE A PEE-ER! MOVE OUT OF THE WAY, SHE’S GOING TO BLOW!”
At 1:30 pm we arrived at our hotel, The Woodlands. I have to say, they have a great marketing team because the outside didn’t look half as good as it did on the internet. But the inside was lovely and the entire rear of the complex faces a river, offering a picturesque view from every room…except ours. Apparently the “Amy Schumer Package” gives you a bottom floor closet overlooking the parking lot.
Our dinner reservation at the hotel’s Japanese Restaurant wasn’t until 4:30 pm, so we decided to kill some time before dinner by pre-eating.
What a cool find! Like a diamond in this quiet coal mining town. (diamond, coal mining town – see what I did there)
Knowing our second dinner was only 2.5 hours away, we limited ourselves to a turkey panini with gouda and blackberry-jalapeno jam, a seafood cheese dip, and a bunch of micro-brews.
Then we headed back to our pantry-sized room to get ready for dinner.
Brian was sooo hoping that with a name like “Shogun”, the Japanese Restaurant would have a gong to announce our arrival. Sadly, they did not. Not even a little souvenir one on the hostess stand.
We ordered some delicious sushi, and I washed it down with a margarita…an orange margarita tasting of Tropicana. I guess that’s how they do it in Japan.
6 p.m., time for the BIG surprise. “Guess what, Brian?! We’re not driving the 1.2 miles to the stadium. Nope, we’re going to squish ourselves into the hotel shuttle and be shoulder-to-ear with the other ‘Amy Schumer Package’ guests! YAY!”
He tried to reason with me:
– 1.2 miles isn’t that far
– parking is only $10
– strangers will cough on us
– blah, blah, blaaaah.
Umm, the shuttle drops us off right at the door so I don’t have to walk across 2 miles of asphalt while the 35 degree mountain air kills my soul. I think I’ll risk the cooties.
And you know what, the shuttle was the best! Dirty Dan (not his birth name) was our driver, telling us some of the raunchiest jokes. Brian initially rolled off the van laughing, but then he turned to me looking all serious and said,”You know, those were some great jokes but he better be careful, he could have easily offend someone.” Yes Brian, Amy Schumer fans are real pearl clutchers.
We entered the stadium, grabbed a couple beers, then quickly found our seats.
Then we met the couple next to me. A 30 year old woman and her 65 year old father, who happened to be a gynecologist. But of course.
They were a chatty pair. And when they were parched from talking SO much, the father got up to seek out some beer. And that’s when the daughter moved over to take her father’s seat next to me.
She told me all about her life- her hopes, her dreams, her failures, her attempts to follow in her father’s footsteps without riding his coattails. It was all very Lifetime Movie-ish. And every 30 seconds she’d interrupt her own story with, “Hmm, I hope my dad’s ok. I should have gone with him. I hope he doesn’t get lost.” Finally I blurted out, “Relax, if he can find his way around a vagina, he can find his way to a beer and back.”
“I like you” she said. Then shit got weird.
A few minutes before the show started, I said to Brian, “I need to use the bathroom. Where is it?” Before Brian could answer me, I received a tap on my leg from my new BFF, who was now two seats over because her father had indeed found his was back, “I need to go too. But let’s do Kegels until we can’t hold it anymore, then we’ll go together. Ok?” She added a wink for effect.
Lots of questions.
- How long had she been reading my lips?
- Kegels until we can’t hold it anymore?!? Who does that?
- What kind of sadistic gynecological shit was she into?
Having flashbacks of the Allentown Travel Center and merging it with my all-time favorite movie Dirty Dancing, I hissed, “NO ONE PUTS BLADDER IN A CORNER!” and left her Kegeling ass there.
Luckily, the show started when I returned. And as the lights dimmed, I could feel her eyes burning into my chubby cheeks, signaling the death of our friendship.
Amy was crass, gross, raunchy – basically awesome! However. How.Ever. a large part of her set was spent discussing vaginas, mostly about how they could all use a deep cleaning. Usually that wouldn’t bother me, but when you’re sitting next to a 65 year old male gynecologist who keeps nudging you in the arm, nodding his head, and whispering in your ear“Tell me about it!”, “You’re not kidding!”, and my favorite “Oh my god, you can’t EVEN imagine!”, it kinda makes you shift in your seat contemplating your hygiene regimen and wondering “Am I doing enough?”
After the show, Brian and I took the hotel shuttle to the Mohegan Sun Casino where we wandered into yet another comedy show. We arrived just as the main act was beginning.
It wasn’t until the end, when they were raffling off the big, big prize, “Free tickets for a future show!”, that we realized we had inadvertently snuck in.
After our illegal viewing of the show, we hung around the casino long enough for me to consume 4 chocolate martinis and an skunky Heineken before heading back to the hotel.
Did I mention the hotel called me 3 days before our trip to let me know they were hosting a Fraternity? Just a “heads up” they said. “I’m sure you won’t even know they’re there” they said. And that might have been true except:
Brian and I walking down the hall at 2 a.m.
Brian: “OMG, a skunk got in here! He must have entered from the parking lot.”
Me: “Dammit. I knew we should have upgraded to a higher floor”
20-ish year old guy walks by us giggling
Brian: “Woo-wee! That poor guy got sprayed.”
Me: “He got sprayed BIGTIME! You know, I heard tomato juice takes the…”
quick flashback of a hazy, smoke-filled college apartment, everyone laughing while I re-stack the Jenga tower wondering what’s so funny
“…wait…a…minute…that ain’t no skunk…” (it was pot. they were smoking pot.)
We’re so incredibly naive. We should just take a cardboard box and fill it with cheap booze, spare car keys, and a stamp embossed with our signatures on it, and give it to our son on his 15th birthday. Save him the trouble.
We woke up around 10 am, surprisingly not hung over, and made our way over to Bob Evans where I set up shop. Seriously, breakfast is MY MEAL. Brian is always incredibly embarrassed as I order, substitute, shift, omit, and request various food items until a perfect balance of salty, sweet, and savory has been achieved without the use of pork or beef. And then I take about 10 minutes to pre-butter, pre-cut, and pre-syrup everything. My motto: once eating commences, there shall be no reason to pause.
After an exhausting breakfast, we headed home, admiring the beauty of the mountains, reflecting on the fun we had together, and feeling pretty darn grateful for another of my geographical screw ups.
Tell me, have you seen Amy Schumer on tour yet? If so, what did you think? And did you sit next to a gynecologist?