Tom Segura and Christina Pazsitzky have reportedly split.

The comedy power couple are calling it quits after 18 years of marriage, according to TMZ. A source told the outlet that the pair separated a couple of months ago but remain amicable and plan to continue co-hosting their podcast, “Your Mom’s House.”

Reps for Segura and Pazsitzky did not immediately respond to The Times’ request for comment.

Segura, 47, and Pazsitzky, 50, tied the knot in November 2008. Segura told “TigerBelly” podcast in 2018 that he met Pazsitzky while they were both doing open mic nights around Los Angeles. She was in a relationship with someone else (whom she lived with), so Segura and Pazsitzky were just friends. According to Segura, there was no flirtation in the early days, and he treated her with the respect he did any other fellow comic.

“I always thought she was attractive, but she was taken,” he said. “And then I got the call from one of my spies. … They broke up. And I was like, ‘I’m gonna swing in there, see what’s up.’”

According to Segura, he tried to ask Pazsitzky on what he thought was an L.A.-appropriate date — a hike — and she said no. He thought that meant she wasn’t interested in him, when, really, she just wasn’t interested in hiking.

“I called her the next time, and she’s like, ‘Hey, I know this bar you can still smoke at. Do you want to go there?’ And I was like, ‘OK. This is why she doesn’t want to go on a hike.’ So then, yeah, we went on dates and it just continued.”

Both comedians have used their marriage as source material for their comedy routines over the years and discuss their relationship on various podcast appearances, but especially on their own podcast, “Your Mom’s House,” which debuted in 2012.

In 2024, Pazsitzky told The Times that when they launched the podcast “we lived in a crummy two-bedroom apartment, we were newlyweds and we had no money. We got a mixing board, two mics and a computer, and at that point, we slept in one room and used the other room as an office. It bordered this other house where this lady would cook the smelliest food and have aggressive sex.”

“Oh, yeah, she was newly divorced and very performative with orgasms too,” Segura added.

The couple, who have two children, also spoke about their relocation from Los Angeles to Austin, Texas, in search of a slower pace and easier travel while touring. “Our lives are very normal, and we’re grounded family people. At the end of the day, we come home, our kids fart on Tom’s head, and I make dinner.”

The new comedy film The Invite centers on an unhappy married couple who host another couple — they live upstairs — for an uncomfortable, and revelatory, evening of dinner and charcuterie. The film’s screenwriters, Rashida Jones and Will McCormack, are actors who are also longtime writing and producing partners.

Jones and McCormack met decades ago, when McCormack’s sister (actor Mary McCormack) set them up on a date. It didn’t work out as a romantic pairing. Instead, it was the start of a long-running creative partnership.

“We’re really like brother and sister who dated briefly, which is not weird,” McCormack jokes. “I think we both knew right from the very beginning that we were connected and that we had to be in each other’s lives. And it took us a minute to sit down to write, but finally we did, and I’m so glad we did.”

Jones says she and McCormack share a voice: “The two of us have the same clip, the same rhythm, and we’re so different in so many ways, but we just kind of like fit like puzzle pieces conversationally very quickly, which is a wonderful thing to have with a writing partner.”

Inspired by the 2020 Spanish film The People Upstairs, The Invite takes place over the course of one night in a chicly appointed apartment in San Francisco. Two couples gather for dinner, and as the evening unfolds, the stories they’ve been telling themselves about their relationships and about themselves fall apart.

McCormack describes the film as a sex comedy that’s not really about sex. “It’s about wanting to be seen and heard and valued,” he says. “You live with someone for so long and it’s really hard.”

Jones says it’s no accident that their work tends to focus on relationships and middle age: “Selfishly, it’s great that we can channel the thing we’re most interested in, which is relationships, living with other people, being parents, losing parents, being alive, getting older, being middle-aged, looking straight down the barrel of the back half of life. All these things we got to bring to this script.”

Bestselling author Jessica Knoll’s protagonists mostly follow a specific pattern: They are women who have learned Not. To. Flinch.

And, apparently, neither does Knoll. Talking over Zoom about her fourth novel, the erotic thriller “Helpless,” which is out this month, the author is blunt about the challenges it took to complete the book. “It takes a lot of skill to write good sex,” Knoll says. “I relied a lot on feedback from my editor and from my book agents saying ‘this is hot; this is not.’”

Knoll has written romantic scenes before, but “Helpless” needed to be enthralling and economic enough not to get her kicked off of Target’s bookshelves. In the end, the author says, “I went by what felt good and natural for these characters and maybe a little bit of the really unfiltered talk you have with your girlfriends after a couple martinis or are on a girls trip.”

Knoll’s successful career as a novelist rests on her knack for creating provocative page-turners that depict the absolute worst things one person could do to another — but in such a sensational, tongue-prickling-sour-candy kind of way that her books come off as devilishly evil beach reads. Since her debut bestseller, 2015’s “Luckiest Girl Alive,” — a master class in braided narration between a Machiavellian magazine editor and her younger self who endured so much emotional and physical trauma that it’s no wonder she grew up to be extremely calculating — to 2018’s reality TV-set “The Favorite Sister” and 2023’s “Bright Young Women,” a response to the public’s obsession with immortalizing serial killers while also not knowing the name of a single one of their victims. Knoll’s books are not only stories about women who do not care if you like them but also ones where disastrous results await the women who do follow our cultural conditioning to be agreeable to men.

Her “Helpless” heroine is not so different from a lot of her previous main characters: Type A overachievers with cutting inner monologues that let the reader know they’re always one step ahead in the social Darwinism that is female relationships. This time, she’s named Faye Heron, an Emmy-winning Hollywood multi-hyph who found cachet while working on one of those edgy premium dramedies that probably aired on HBO. Faye, and her husband/producing partner, have parlayed this notoriety into indie, cool-kid projects that are just commercial enough that some of the target audiences’ boomer parents may also watch.

When Faye’s beloved college professor dies suddenly and she’s asked to speak at a memorial ceremony, nostalgia and flattery make her drop everything and hightail it back to the leafy northeastern college town. The place is a time capsule with sketchy internet service, drunken frat boys, and — most crucially — Faye’s college boyfriend Henry, who is now married with two kids and still lives in the area. The clothing references and song choices are popcorn for those old enough to remember the aughts but young enough to party during them. The Elsa Peretti-designed Tiffany & Co. heart necklace that was the it-girl accessory of the time, and now is one that Gen Zers are fishing out of the bottoms of their parents’ jewelry boxes, factors significantly into the plot.

Although the story eventually spirals into other tropes of the Knoll-niverse — kidnappings, cover-ups, affairs, the laissez-faire security that only old money affords — Faye stands out because she wants to be told what to do. In a secure and mutually consenting relationship, of course. And preferably after she’s told her partner what she wants.

“Helpless” was influenced by the 1995 Susanna Moore thriller “In the Cut” as well as Sarah J. Maas’ currently uber-popular romantasy series “A Court of Thorns and Roses,” both of which discuss power imbalances and smart women who become enamored with dangerous lovers.

Knoll has always been open about creating work that’s commercial. She famously wrote a 2018 New York Times opinion piece, titled “I Want to Be Rich and I’m Not Sorry,” that discussed her need to rank in money with an almost Scrooge McDuck fervor: “Success, for me, is synonymous with making money,” she writes. “I want to write books, but I really want to sell books. I want advances that make my husband gasp and fat royalty checks twice a year. I want movie studios to pay me for option rights and I want the screenwriting comp to boot.”

(Evelyn Freja / For The Times)

During our Zoom, with the background carefully faded behind her wavy blond bob, she promises that she doesn’t just copy and paste her subjects and settings from what sells.

“I’m just always looking on what the spin is; like, what the timely take is on something that happens to capture my attention,” she continues, citing a habit she credits to her early career working in women’s magazines like Cosmopolitan and Self. She adds that “I just happen to be interested in, like, really dark s—.”

“Helpless,” Knoll stresses, is a work of fiction; even though fans may be looking to draw comparisons to her life since “Luckiest Girl” was heavily influenced by her own career and childhood. Like the book’s Faye, Knoll went to a private liberal arts college. She’s spent time in the Adirondacks with the wealthy families who vacation in bare-basics cabins on the land they own. And she has dealt with her share of studio executives. Unlike Faye, Knoll is happily married to her husband, financial technology executive Greg Cortese. They share a young daughter. Last year, the family moved back to New York after some time in Los Angeles.

She does relate to Faye’s wealth dynamics. Her “Helpless” heroine grew up middle class but now has reached the “made it” level of nervous cockiness that happens when you combine new money and fame; the dream of so many who move to L.A. Henry, Faye’s ex, and his family are so comfortable in their generational wealth that he was raised to wear the same, now-bleach-stained, chambray button-down he had in college than buy a new one because clothes aren’t sound investments.

Knoll says she doesn’t want “things to feel didactic,” but concedes that class divides offer a treasure trove of stories.

“I just find myself going back to, again and again, this idea of someone who is the outsider because they don’t have the pedigree of their peers, but however many years later they’ve accomplished something and they think that they’re on more equal footing with these people from their past,” Knoll says. “Then something happens that brings them back into this environment where maybe they felt less-than years ago. They think that they’re going to go back and be like, ‘well, I’ll show you now because I’ve made it’ and those feelings of inferiority are still there.”

As she’s grown older and her career has become more stable, Knoll says she doesn’t think about success and fame the same way she did when she wrote her viral opinion piece or gave interviews where she talked about money and her own financial security. She says now that her priority is “the longevity of the career.”

Like her heroines, no one tells Knoll what to do. Unless she gives the OK.

Friedlander is a pop culture and entertainment journalist based in Los Angeles who hates coffee but loves Coke Zero.