Ivy’s Real Talk for Fake Life: Frankenstein, Ilana Wexler and Mom

In our new miniseries, Ivy’s Real Talk for Fake Life, comedy writer Ivy Johnson offers advice to some well-loved or much-hated characters.

Dear Ivy,

Frankenstein have “creature problems.” Yes, Frankenstein horrifying monster, but Frankenstein still want love. Most ladies repulsed and terrified by Frankenstein. A few ladies very into Frankenstein, but Frankenstein not like feeling like fetish object. Frankenstein already not quite sure he technically human: dehumanizing Frankenstein even further make Frankenstein feel terrible! Please help. Loneliness bad. Loneliness also maybe lead to murderous rage.


Dear Frankenstein,

I’ve got good news for you. What you’re struggling with happens to all creatures, great and small, horrifying and regular. The search for love is part of the human condition, and although one can often feel left out or hopeless, believe me, every person in the world has felt like you feel at one time or another.

Now, before you fly into a homicidal rage, I want to ask you: are you sure that these women you’re describing really are only interested in you as a fetish object? Because there are a few warning signs in your letter that you might have some body insecurity issues. If all you see when you look in the mirror is a hideous beast, created in a lab by a mad scientist, then of course you’ll think that’s what others see too. As an exercise, I want you to spend a whole week pretending that you’re not crudely sewn together from scraps of discarded corpses. Try approaching the world with a healthy dose of optimism! If a woman shows interest in you, ignore your self-doubt and see where things go. It’s amazing how much easier it is to find love if you can find a way to love yourself.


Ilana Wexler here. Listen, my best friend Abbi is THE BOMB. I am SO lucky to have this smart, beautiful Jewess in my life. Her birfday is coming up and I am JAZZED to throw her an awesome surprise party, complete with six pugs for snugglin’ up on, all the special cheeses her precious heart desires, an ounce and a half of sweet Hawaiian ganj, plus some of her “other” friends or whatever. Don’t start grinding into this fucking fabulous idea yet though, because I’m about to rub a huge ‘but’ in your face: I CANNOT keep a secret from this woman.

I was texting with one of her friends about the party last week and Abbi asked me who I was texting and I just panicked and yelled, “Stay out of my room!” and then I ran down the street for a few blocks. Then yesterday she was about to see the invitation I made and I freaked out and tried to distract her by telling her that I’d put an avocado up my ass. We spent four hours in the ER, and when they didn’t find anything I had to tell her that I forgot that I didn’t put it up there after all! Now she’s trying to FaceTime me, but I’m surrounded by the Abbi masks I had specially made for everyone at the party so we can all be as gorgeous as she is! I can’t stand having this secret between us. WHAT DO I DO???

Love ya!

Dear Ilana,

If your best friend thinks you’re acting crazy (and she does), it’s because you are acting crazy (and you are)! But this high level of eccentricity makes me think that even at a baseline level, you’re a pretty weird lady. That’s probably part of what Abbi likes about you! I’d bet that you’re also a very honest person, since it sounds like you haven’t had a lot of practice lying to your friends. In any case, you’re not going to use up all the goodwill you two have built up just by getting jumpy and claiming to have inserted fruits or vegetables into your rectum. (Is the avocado a fruit or a vegetable anyway?) I think you have to deal with the awkwardness you’re creating, knowing that it’s all in service of a birthday party she’ll never forget. Hopefully in a good way.

Oh hi Ivy,

I hope you don’t mind my emailing you. I know you’re so busy that you barely get a chance to check your emails/texts/missed calls, which I’ve always found strange because whenever I’m around you’re on your phone the whole time instead of engaging with the woman who pushed 10.5 POUNDS OF YOU out of her literal vagina.

Surely you haven’t even noticed, with all the social engagements that keep you from visiting me, but just in case you’ve been wondering why you haven’t heard from me all week, it’s because I thought I should probably wait until I received your Mother’s Day card before I got in touch, to thank you for remembering the person who gave you life on the one day a year she humbly asks to be honoured. But—surprise, surprise—it never came. At first I thought to myself, “It’s probably just been delayed in the mail. I’ll wait here on the porch, next to the mailbox, day in and day out,” but after a week of receiving nothing but bills, like for that line of credit of yours that I co-signed, I had to give up.

Since I didn’t get so much as a phone call on the actual day, which we both know takes the far-from-momentus effort of lifting your tiny cellphone to that gigantic head of yours (which wasn’t much smaller when I pushed it out of my LITERAL VAGINA, FYI), I must assume that something horrible has happened to you. So the advice I’d like, Miss Fancy Advice Giver, is should I phone the police to locate my definitely incapacitated daughter, or should I just move on with my life?


Hi Mom,

Okay, even though this is a public forum, I’d rather not do this, because frankly it’s a little embarrassing. I’d like to respond to your question in a mature and adult way, because we are both mature and level-headed adults, even though some of us don’t act like it sometimes. (See above.)

I’m sorry that I forgot about Mother’s Day, but you know that I’m terrible with dates, because I got that quality from you! Would you really have me believe that you never forgot to call your mom on Mother’s Day? (Or her birthday? You have TWO days, remember?) I am very busy, and I get stressed out very easily, which I’ve been told probably has something to do with having too many expectations put on me as a child, so it’s hard for me be on top of every single thing in my life all the time. Anyway, like I said, I’m sorry. But you have to admit that it’s kind of your fault.

Also, just while we’re here: I really appreciate that you birthed me, and I’m sorry it was so unpleasant, but hearing the story with all its gory details every time you’re mad at me is also unpleasant. Other mothers talk about the miracle of life like it’s some magical gift; I don’t know why you insist on describing it like a horror film.

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