The Time I Pulled a Liz Lemon


This season one of the greatest shows on TV will exit stage left for the last time: 30 Rock. I have found many of my most hilarious pop culture references in Tina Fey’s prose.

But this post isn’t about that series finale. It is about the time (or to be more accurate – a time) I pulled a Liz Lemon.

What is pulling a Liz Lemon? It is when you do something so foolish, so ridiculous, so hilarious in front of a hot guy, only you and Liz Lemon are capable of it. Here is a classic example.

So there is a guy I have had a crush on for a while. Let’s give him the nickname of Channing even though that is not his name.

Channing asks me to go to drinks with him at a lounge and I assume it is a date. We meet up and he lets me know he has started to see someone. At this point the date with drinks becomes drinks with friends, and the night becomes a Choose Your Own Adventure.


  • Option A: What I should’ve done is glanced at my watch, kept the drinks to an hour, and then had polite conversation with Channing. That is sensible, that is logical, that is not me.
  • Option B: In my infinite wisdom, I proceed to knock back the drink I call Liquid Luck (a dirty Belvedere martini, two olives) and start spewing information. Channing is entertained, he is laughing his ass off, the bartender is even engaged. Unfortunately you should never push your luck. Even my risk-taking mother taught me that.

So after two martinis I have overshared. Channing is amused and I am the klutzy, nice Jewish kid. As my blog description says, a golden boy with bad habits. After a four hour drinks with friends, Choose Your Own Adventure, Channing has heard way too much about my history. Never open The X-Files on a date. They never need to hear about the Ghosts of Boyfriends past or the time you got your head stuck in a chair as a kid and then got your head stuck in a chair again three years later showing people how it happened the first time.

After drinks, Channing makes sure we have dinner so I am ok given my state.

After dinner, I am a still a bit tipsy so I say goodbye to Channing and end up wandering through the Tenderloin and sitting on a curb. Not advisable. Yes I know this. At this point, a homeless guy sits walks by, mumbling, and asks me what’s wrong. I let him know in my buzzed stupor that I had a date gone wrong. The homeless guy wrongly assumes I am straight and proceeds to belabor how, “chicks suck.”

I did what seemed logical at the time. I bought the homeless guy dinner, had some pizza to sober up, and complained about “girls” and had a most entertaining hour. Did I pull a Liz Lemon? With the execution only an Olympic conversationalist could pull off.

Was it an awesome evening, absolutely.