Who gon’ love me?
I guess I could let a corporate holiday remind me that I’ve been chronically single for 22 years, but instead I’m gonna brag about how wonderful I am, because to quote Monique in “Precious: based on the novel Push by Sapphire”, “Who gon’ love me?” You gon’ love you, Monique, that who.
I shit on myself so often you’d think I spend most of my time standing on the inside of a toilet in Penn Station (I’m not saying I don’t), and to be fair I’m not my biggest fan. Probably because I have to smell myself pretty often. I’ve also got a slew of reasons to feel like I’m less than spectacular: being chronically unemployed, even from minimum wage positions; spending gargantuan amounts of time alone. But you know what? It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m gonna show myself a little love.
To start with, I might let a lack of direction and outside influence let me feel bad about myself, but I haven’t actually let it deter me from doing the things I’m interested in. As of next week, this year I will have written half an hour of new stand up. That’s absurd! There are comedians who have been doing the same hour their whole career, and I have a rough draft of half of that in under two months. I’m even happy with the material I have, and see potential in tightening and punching it up into something pretty great. I’m never that optimistic about creative stuff. I could paint the Mona Lisa and be like, “Meh, where are her eyebrows?”
I’m putting together a spec script right now, which is what I’m writing this to procrastinate on, and I guess I’m not letting myself recognize how exciting and advanced that is. Because in my head I think about how many other people have done it, and have done it better than I have, and younger too. But maybe I should focus on how many more people have told me that they wished they were doing it, as if I needed to pick up some special license and certification. You guys, it’s just fanfiction! All you have to do is avoid going erotic, no matter how much you want to read Donna/Jerry slashfic for Parks and Rec. (Unless you’re writing a Teen Wolf spec, in which case Derek and Stiles are supposed to make out obviously.)
Even on the nerd front, I know I’m pretty much definitely not going to get into a PhD program for math. And that hurts, because I am really really good at it. Like seriously, my GPA was 3.98. But since graduating I’ve read about 5 textbooks cover to cover and started perusing journals of math. You guys, one of my friends slapped me when I told them that. Another one gagged in actual horror.
I started a dumb cooking blog with a concept that doesn’t make too much sense. A character bit fit with genuine recipes and cooking advice doesn’t work in my head, but it’s actually garnering good reviews. It’s slow building, but the followers it has aren’t just friends boosting my ego. Sure, I could be jealous about someone jacking nearly the same concept; they started a blog called something like “angry recipes,” and it’s really shitty recipes with mediocre jokes but it’s FUNNY BECAUSE IT’S WRITTEN IN ALL CAPS LMAO. They have posts with 50k notes and sure, I can be mad about it. But I’ve always done long posts here. It never gets me popular, but the followers I do have are some quality motherfuckers.
So you know, I don’t really give two shits on a stick that I am alone again on a day when someone is supposed to demonstrate their love for me with vacuous cookie-cutter gestures by buying me overpriced candy and flowers that will die. I’m making some ball ass food for myself, photographing it for my food blog, writing my spec (I swear I’ll get back to it when I finish this), and not changing out of sweatpants because my relationship with myself is at the comfortable stage where I don’t have to try any more.
So lick my dick, Hallmark.