Funny AF Woman #11

Natalie Mead

Guess how I met Natalie? I put out a call for self-professed funny AF women on

Sarah Fay

’s thread and she raised her hand. I love when one can admit to being a comedienne. Behind Natalie’s Substack, which was inspired by her chronic pain journey, is a funny lady. My hats off to anyone who has a disability and is able to turn it into humor— and a brilliant Substack. Thank you, Natalie, for participating today.

Here’s Natalie…

1. What were your life events that led you to realize, “Hey, I’m pretty funny.”
   

   In 2019, I was swiftly and decisively disabled by chronic migraines. Prior to that, I hadn’t had any migraines, and didn’t even know what a migraine was. But they got really bad really quickly, and I ended up in the hospital for two weeks as various doctors scratched their heads over what to do. After getting out, I remember having some friends over for dinner and telling them about everything that had happened to me while in the hospital. These were the worst two weeks of my entire life, and yet as I shared my stories with my friends, everyone was laughing. Even the most harrowing moments I recounted were funny when I looked back on them. As time went on, I realized that the fact I had an incurable, invisible illness that everyone thinks they know everything about (because “normal” migraines are very common) puts me in a lot of naturally funny situations.

   

   Hanging out in the ER during the pandemic.

   
   

2. Do you think you may have inherited your funny bone? A funny uncle? Who?

   My extended family provided an unending source of humor when I was growing up. My grandmother moved in with us when I was 11, and she took seriously her role as the strange, quirky old lady in the family. As a result, my teenage years felt exactly like living in a sitcom. Whenever my grandmother would attempt to cook dinner (this once involved putting a plain frozen chicken breast in a fry pan), or when she came home in the middle of summer wearing UGG boots and carrying yet another flower pot shaped like a camel, I half expected to hear the laugh track and see the TV cameras. 

   I also grew up around four gay uncles. Only one of the four—my dad’s brother—is actually related to me, but all four are family, and they’re all completely hilarious. My Uncle Don, who also has a chronic illness, is in possession of this quick-witted, dark sense of humor that I’ve always admired. Family gatherings and holidays with the uncles (or, as we call them, the “Guncles”) were all about keeping up with the banter, and eventually, learning to add a bit of my own.

3. If you’re in a partnership, is he or she funny? Was/Is humor a requirement?
   

   This one’s easy—my husband, Cory, is not funny. However, he loves to laugh and will often do so loudly and at inappropriate times/places. I envy his ability to laugh and be entertained by so much of the world—I think he enjoys life far more than I do! Cory considers it a miracle if I laugh even once while watching a sitcom or funny movie with him, as I’m just not much of a laugher. Cory does have a great sense of observational humor, though, and he often gives me some of my best material, though never in the most funny/presentable form.

   

   With baby elephant seal we may or may not have taken home and hidden in our bathtub.

4. Did being a jokester ever get in the way of school or work? How?
   

   I was never considered a jokester at school or work, though I do remember taking on a goofy-nerd persona in high school and being completely obsessed with toe socks. 

5. Can you tell me about a time when you turned something painful into something humorous?
   

   Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Humor is often the mistress of sorrow.” As a disabled, chronically ill humor writer, a large portion of my existence is spent turning painful things into humorous things, or, more accurately, finding the humorous things in the painful things. 

   Take one of my migraine treatments, for example: Botox injections. Botox is a toxin….botulism toxin, to be more precise. Every two months, I get enough of this poisonous liquid injected into my head and neck to kill FORTY mice. It’s painful, and terrible to think about for too long. But then when I do, I wonder…who the heck thought to inject a toxic substance into someone’s FACE? They must have been either quite the practical jokester or a very, very lucky idiot. And then there’s the fact that celebrities pay lots of money to get Botox pumped into their foreheads. At least I’m smart enough to get my insurance to cover it!

   (Health insurance…that’s another topic full of both humor and sorrow. I’m planning to write a whole essay on it soon.)

6. Can you tell me about a time when you couldn’t muster anything funny and how it affected you? How did you rebound from the unfunny funk?

   
   I am constantly in an unfunny funk of sorts. There is so much about my life as a sick person that just plain sucks. But, there is a standard formula: Comedy = Tragedy + Time. This is very much true for me. Most of my real life is very unfunny, but usually, I can see what aspects of my current experience will eventually feel funny after I’m done crying my eyes out!

7. Can you describe the type of humor you possess? Clever Wit, quick-with-a-joke, physical, goofball, aggressive, self-enhancing, self-deprecating, dark, observational, or one I ddn’t think of? 

   
   I prefer observational humor because you don’t have to have any imagination. You just look for funny things that are happening in your life and, voila! Given how tired I am all the time, I can’t imagine mustering enough energy for any more creative type of humor. I am also self-deprecating whenever possible because it’s only too easy to make fun of yourself when your body is breaking down and heckling you 24/7.

   

   Lake County, CA. I made it about a half mile. Haha.

8. If you have kids, when was the first time you made them laugh?
   I have no kids, but my two dogs make a tough crowd. My older dog, Donut, is especially hard to entertain.

   

   With Cory and grumpy, curmudgeon dog, Donut.

9. Did your sense of humor change in the last 5 years? If so, how?

   
   As I’m coming up on the 5-year anniversary of my chronic migraine disorder, I’m thinking about the many, many things that have changed about me since before I got sick. However, my sense of humor is not one of them. Other significant aspects of my personality have either changed beyond recognition or disappeared altogether, but my sense of humor has felt much the same. Except maybe it’s stronger now than it once was, because I’ve used it daily to survive.

10. Was your humor ever mean? What happened? Any regrets?

    
    I don’t think so, as I tend to poke fun at faceless medical systems over individual people. Though I did recently write a parody of a chronic illness memoir that I was terrified to publish, for fear of pissing off my fellow sickies. I was so relieved that other people with chronic illness liked it, as my entire goal in writing it was to give people like me a little bit of laughter.

11. Who is your role model? If you could say anything to this person, what would it be?
    

    There are many people I admire for various reasons, including my husband and all of my friends, who constantly bail out my sinking boat of a life. But when I think of a role model as someone who is literally modeling a role that I would like to play in society, I think of the writer KJ Ramsey. She, like me, is a Christian with chronic illness. Unlike me, she is so kind and encouraging and inspiring while also being very badass. You should check out her Substack. I guess if I could say anything to her, it would probably just be “Thanks.” 

    In the comedy world, I’ve always looked up to Dorothy Parker. She had this immensely understated, clever style of humor that I find myself constantly trying to reproduce in my own writing.

About Natalie:

Natalie Mead used to work in tech, but now works as a personal assistant to her two dogs, Honey and Donut. She writes about life with chronic pain on her Substack, Oops, My Brain. 

Let’s get to know Natalie better—

1. Her very short memoir is here. Usually, there is a rule of comedy not to use a joke more than three times, but her diagnosis of “SGLNHPWD” which is referred to 21 times in the memoir is hilarious. I laughed every time. (Also touched by this piece.)

2. Favorite Dorothy Parker quote?

3. Can you remember a Cory-observation that turned into an essay or funny conversation?