On December 23 of this year, I hit a bittersweet milestone: two years of no contact with my ex-husband. I’m not gonna lie, that divorce took me out. I was madly in love with him, and I know some people can maintain a relationship after it’s over, but I couldn’t do it. I’m just not wired that way.
We broke up that holiday season, and I didn’t tell anybody that I was getting divorced. I went to Jesse Tyler Ferguson and his husband Justin’s house and I made up some story about my ex needing to be with his family. After that, I went to Lance Bass’s house, and he and his husband Michael took me in. For Christmas, I went to Sia’s house. She already knew at that point, and I’d asked her if it was okay if we didn’t discuss the divorce in front of any of her other guests. She calls me “mate,” so she said, “Of course, mate.” She and all of my pals got me through the early stages of wanting to lie on the floor in the fetal position.
But then I got on the apps. It wasn’t my idea; it was all Sia and our friend Nia Vardalos’s fault. We were at Sia’s house, just being silly girls, when they dared me to do it. And because I’m emotionally 12 years old, I was like, Nobody scares me! I’ll do anything. I’m Kathy Griffin.
First, they made me get on Raya, which is hilarious, because you have to be accepted like you’re in a meat market. Then I went on one called Hinge, which I think is a funny name, because I feel very unhinged, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. And then I’m on one called Bumble, which also is a funny name, because I feel like I’m already bumbling in my love life. But my favorite name was EliteSingles, and I went on that one purely because of the name. I thought, Who has the nerve to go on here and be like, “Hi, I’m an elite single, and I only want to be matched with a fellow elite single”?
At one point, Sia just grabbed the phone from me and went, “Give it to me. I know you better than you know yourself.” She and Nia filled out my Hinge profile for me. For “likes,” they wrote, “Hosting parties and meeting people, is extremely extroverted, enjoys all topics, especially pop culture, news, and politics, as well as history, reads a lot, enjoys all kinds of personalities.” As for dislikes, I don’t know what they wrote. After a while, I didn’t even look at my profile anymore because she and Nia just kept passing the phone back and forth, and then Nia goes, “SEND. It’s done!” I don’t know what’s on there, but I trust my girlfriends to take care of me.
Whatever they did, it seemed to work. I had hundreds of guys hitting me up. My other girlfriend Lisa Guerrero told me, “Get ready for the man storm.” Sure enough, I opened the app, and it said I had 100-plus replies. Sia told me, “You should match with every single one of them. Why not just give them all a chance?” So she started matching me, and then a girl I was interviewing to be my assistant (she was Gen Z) would come over and pick out the ones that she thought were worth a date. First, I would make them FaceTime so I could make sure I wasn’t being catfished. I’ve watched every episode of that show. Then, I would have a coffee-only date, and if they passed that test, they would get lunch, and if they passed that, they would get dinner.
I ended up going on three dates, which for me were total blind dates, but for the men, they weren’t. Because remember: The guys can find out pretty much anything about me. You can see me in my bikini on TV. You can read about my divorces. You can read about my fight with the current president. But I did go out with three very nice guys, and while I did not get the feels for any of them, it was worth it. I also learned that guys don’t pick up the tab anymore? Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I’m sorry: I have financially taken care of so many men in my life, and I’m not picking up the fucking tab anymore. I showed up in full makeup with lashes and dressed nice. I put in effort. And I only ordered the baked-brie appetizer and a Diet Coke. I would literally rather get arrested in this restaurant for not paying than pay this fucking bill.
I don’t mean to vilify the guys that I’ve been with, because I’m no angel, and I genuinely don’t know where my ex is and hope he’s happy. But at my age, if you can’t handle everything that goes along with me being Kathy Griffin — and that’s a lot of baggage — then I’d rather hang out with my friends. And I understand that being with a woman who’s the breadwinner is still something that the vast majority of men I’ve been with don’t seem to care for. I can’t speak for them, but that seems to be the common thread. And I think that sexism and misogyny are still very much alive and well, unfortunately, and now we have to throw ageism in there.
I only liked one of the guys enough to get dinner with him, but he’s no longer in the mix. He’s super smart, which is my No. 1 thing, but it just felt like more of a platonic thing. We went on three dates and kissed once, but it was a tentative kiss — more of a peck. And, I’ll be honest, this is another one who lives in a one-bedroom apartment with one parking space. I don’t think it’s shallow to take financial issues into consideration, because I work really hard to have no debt. I have a beautiful home in Malibu that’s paid off, I’m worth $50 million, and I’m not a nepo baby. I give you that figure not to sound like an asshole, but I don’t like that women don’t talk about financial issues, and I don’t like that women are made to feel like they should be ashamed of something like that. That’s a lot of fucking money. Do you know how I jumped through hell to get that money?
I got one commercial when I was 18, and then I didn’t get another paid acting gig until I was 34. So I worked for free in the theater from 18 to 34, weekend after weekend after weekend in some play somewhere, or trying to do a singing competition or a monologue competition, or poetry competition, or dramatic readings … I mean, anything to get my face out there. And finally, I was able to get guest spots on TV shows, my first one being on a show called The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air with a very famous guy named Will Smith, and all of a sudden it was like, Oh, wow, this is more money than I’ve ever made in a week. Let’s not think about buying a Rolex or a Lamborghini. Let’s just calm down and put it in the bank. But the point: Ladies, save your money. You never know when you’re going to need it for a rainy day, like in 2021, when I was diagnosed with lung cancer, or like in 2017, when I took a certain controversial photo of a Donald Trump Halloween mask with ketchup. That was my rainy day, and I did not make money for seven fucking years. But thank God I saved my money, because you really never know what curveball life is going to throw at you, and life has thrown a few at me, so now my right hand goes up, and I catch the baseball.
Speaking of curveballs, I accidentally fell in love with a 23-year-old. Because of his age, he didn’t have the usual sexism, misogyny, and biases that guys my age tend to have. He seemed to see me. I know that sounds really corny. Oh God, it sounds so lame! But I felt really comfortable with him, and I felt very content just hanging out. It never could’ve lasted, and we both knew that. But it was nice to know that my heart could still feel like that in my 60s, and it was nice to have the universe show me a guy that I really got a kick out of but also respected. I thought he was smart. I thought he could roll in different worlds. It sounds cliché, and maybe he was an old soul, but I don’t know, we just clicked. And that click thing? It doesn’t happen all that much. So even though there was a big age difference, I’m glad that we were able to capture it for a little while. I knew he was too young when he told me he never wanted to have kids and that he could be with me forever. And I was like, “You don’t know that. You’re 23. You have no idea.” I just wouldn’t do that to him. I mean, when I was 23, I thought I knew a lot of shit, but I didn’t. So I had to set that dove free.
I really was in love with him. He touched my heart. He came along at a time in my life where I was like, “Men suck, and there’s only bad ones, and why do I pick the worst ones?” And then he appeared, and I was like, “Oh, okay, well, he’s cool, but it’s dumb, because he’s too young.” We gave it a shot anyway, and we both went with it for a while, and then it came time to go. He made me feel sexy and special and smart and funny. It had a lot of the elements of what I think would’ve made a real, lasting relationship. He hadn’t been banged around that much. He’s so young that he didn’t have this baggage. And I just knew that my baggage was gonna get in the way.
But the cougar allegations started long before him. I haven’t been with a guy my age since I was in my 30s. I don’t know what it is, but my ex-husband was 18 years younger than me. Pretty much since then, I’ve only been asked out by younger guys. So I’m constantly called a cougar, but I don’t mind. I kind of am a cougar, which to me just means you have the freedom to choose the person that you want as opposed to the age bracket that society tells you is the only option for you. Plus, it’s not like I’m a dude getting these guys knocked up, you know? And they’re the ones who asked me out! I put 64 on my profile, and when I went on those dates, every one of them was at least 20 years younger. What am I gonna do? I can’t let this bangin’ body go to waste.
I’ll be honest, I’m still ambivalent about dating because I think I’m a partner person, but I can no longer be a partner person with partners like the ones I’ve had. Looking back at my life, stand-up comedy is the best boyfriend I ever had. No matter what’s going on in my life, no matter if I’ve been canceled or the president is coming after me, stand-up comedy is always there for me. It knows exactly what I need and takes care of me while also keeping me disciplined and in line. And it also makes me happier than any boyfriend or husband did.
The one nice surprise was that even after going through divorce, my sex drive never went away. These women who are like, “Oh my God, once I turned 50, if I never had sex again, that would be fine with me” do not speak for me. My sex drive is the same as it’s always been, which is healthy. I’m not crazed or anything, I can’t do it five times a day, but I also don’t roll my eyes at the idea of having to have sex with my boyfriend or husband, or whatever. I’m like, “Let’s do this.” Also, I am a condom girl. There’s one in my purse right now. It’s the lubed kind. I am ready, because you just never know when the right opportunity might arise, and at my age, there’s not a lot of reasons to say no.
By the way, I went out to CVS myself and bought every kind of lube and condoms. All guys think they want Magnums, whether they need it or not. So I bought Magnums, then I bought a medium size, and then I bought lube, because I don’t want to end up in the emergency room with a UTI. Guys don’t understand that you get a UTI if you just look at a guy’s penis; hence, the lube. But I didn’t get any of the condoms that hurt. I don’t like the ones that have pricklies on them or any weird shit. If it’s gonna feel like sandpaper, no thanks. But now I have my array of different condoms: I call it a “party pack,” so I’m pretty much ready for any type of penis. I do like a medium-size penis, though. There’s all this talk about size queens and stuff, and for me, there’s a limit to that being fun. After a while, it just hurts. But at the end of the day, I will work with whatever the good Lord gave whatever lucky gentleman is getting it in.
I have still never received a dick pic, and I don’t want one. First of all, it would make me think the guy was a weirdo, even though I understand now that it’s just normal and it’s currency, like how you say hello. But I’m just an IRL type of girl. I want to see it in real life or not at all. I get maybe if you’re in a long-distance relationship and you want to have Zoom sex or phone sex: I understand that, because it’s participatory. But I have two assistants, and I’m constantly handing my phone to other people, and I can’t be bothered with knowing how to take it out of the cloud, so then my assistants would be emotionally scarred. Plus, they feel better than they look. You don’t need to send me a preview. When we’re in the moment, then I’ll do my oohs and aahs.
One thing I’ve learned while getting back out there is how important it is to have a full discussion where both parties come out and say what they’re interested in sexually. My single girlfriend told me that there’s this new trend where a guy is kissing you, open-mouthed, and then he fucking spits in your mouth. Are you kidding me? You think I haven’t been spat on enough by Hollywood or my own industry? I’ve been spat on by the Department of Justice, motherfucker. I don’t want you to spit in my mouth when you’re kissing me. That’s not kissing, that’s spitting, and that’s you being into some weird male-dominance, Joe Rogan nonsense that I’m not interested in. I want a good movie kiss, like in a rom-com when they finally get together, and the kiss is really deep and good. You don’t see the lead character then hock a loogie into this poor girl’s mouth. No, thank you. No spitting. That’s why it’s important to sit down and talk first, because I don’t want some poor guy thinking like, Well, everybody’s spitting in the girls’ mouths these days, so I guess I gotta spit in her mouth.
Every guy I’ve sat down with before sex and had a discussion with is like, “Oh, thank God.” He’s actually been relieved. Plus, the talking part can be the foreplay. The younger gentlemen that have been pursuant of me in the physical department have been better than I’ve ever seen in my life. They understand the importance of such a wonderful act. This is oversharing, but one guy was so proficient, shall I say, that I actually said, “How did you get so good at this?” He was good at all of it, the whole shebang. And you know what his answer was? He goes, “I pay attention.” And that is the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s pussy factory.
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