The kids didn’t call me Amy Schumer. They called me Amy Jewmer. One summer — I’ll never forget this — all the kids took turns throwing handfuls of pennies at me. I know! I was like, ‘Excuse me… this is awesome!’
There’s nothing more awkward than going to the first birthday party of a little girl when you told her mom to get rid of her. Because the kid can tell. “Here’s Tickle Me Elmo!” She’s like, “Fuck you!” I stand by my decision.
I usually feel pretty good about myself. I know what I look like. You’d bang me, but you wouldn’t blog about it. You won’t be Twittering “You won’t believe who I’m inside.” It’s fine.