The celebrity I slept with before I got married

There’s no proof I ever slept with Kathy Griffin. It was 1991, before selfies. She was the assistant teacher in my level 1 Groundlings class, my first acting class in Los Angeles, or anywhere. I’d randomly wound up in Marina Del Rey living with my uncle selling women’s shoes at Nordstrom at age 27, no plan for my life, so figured I’d try improv comedy.

At the end of my level one class, there was a meeting at the main theater to discuss each student’s progress. They said I was funny, but I couldn’t listen to anyone. I would have to repeat level one. Maybe try stand-up.

I walked out into the bright sun of Melrose Avenue in the afternoon stunned. I hadn’t even known there were levels. Kathy hugged me. Was I OK?

My dad was visiting me so I took him to the Groundlings mainstage show. I was an alumni. It was so unbelievably fun, with a piano player and Kathy and all of her friends creating brand new scenes from audience suggestions like wizards. I introduced her to my dad after the show. She said, “What are you guys doing?”

My dad said, “We’re getting burgers. Would you like to join?”

My dad was president of his own company. We had a lot of fun, and I got Kathy’s number and took her dancing and wound up in her one-bedroom apartment all because of my dad. (Also, my 27-year old self was quite sexy.)

Kathy took me to an LA bar with all the Groundling company gabbing about comedy. I felt way out of my league, my arm around her smiling blankly in a dark booth. The comics asked if I was a gigolo.

I kept going to her shows and attended her one-day workshops. All of her friends were so amazing and fast and funny. She was fun. We went to the movies. She’d microwave brownies and put a scoop of Haagen Dazs on top. She broke up with me when I didn’t want to pay for dinner. We were standing outside a restaurant, and I told her I’d prefer to go Dutch. She was a teacher in the main stage show, I was the little boy living with his uncle Steve.

Maybe I’m thinking about this now because my wife is having a bad depression, crying every day. The sound of crying makes me jittery. I can’t leave her alone right now. On one of our daily walks my wife said, “If I don’t get better, you can marry someone else.”

I said, “Kathy Griffin just got a divorce. She announced it in a red bikini on the Sheri show.”

Kathy’d be happy to see me again, the boy as a mature man with 23 years of marriage under my belt. I probably would still suggest we go Dutch, and she’ll have me sign a prenup.

My wife was always happy that Kathy Griffin was the celebrity I slept with. I assured my wife that she would definitely get better and there would be no need for me to remarry. She’d written a one person show about her first depression, so now we have a sequel.

Kathy’s a mega star, travelling the world, hated by MAGA for posing with a mold of Trump’s head in 2017 as if she’d decapitated him. She has a giant mansion next to the Kardashians and she’s dating after her recent divorce. I am doing open mikes at 61. As a married man it’s disastrous to think about past lovers and to let the word divorce float around your consciousness.

This is what it would look like if I wound up with Kathy Griffin

A new pin! Risky since you don’t want to ostracize a hugely powerful demographic.