I live in New York. I am a comedian, writer and actor. My day job is blogging for VH1.com. I write about the silly things celebrities and pop stars do, so you know...God's work.
You may have seen my writing on many other reputable websites (The Huffington Post, Hello Giggles, xojane.com, The Hairpin, Splitsider, The FW, etc.). I also write crazy blogs about Game of Thrones, Magneto and Jeff Goldblum.
I don't want to talk about anything with you except Star Trek Into Darkness.
I have not seen the film, One Day, but I tried to read the book earlier this year. I couldn’t get past the first few chapters because it felt like I was reading an idealized version of how miserable my (love) life was before I was 25. Needless to say, I have had a Dex (three of them actually, but if you put them together, you build an actual Dex), and I was very, very Emma (but American). Reading this analysis of the film is terrifying because it makes me see very clearly a pattern of behavior I was engaging in and how it would have progressed had I not realized that I deserve to be loved well. The other terrifying thing is I think a lot of my notions about romance and what was normal have been—or were—defined by this genre of literature and film, and it pains me to think that we still romanticize the idea that pining for an asshole is okay because maybe one day the asshole will grow up and realize how awesome you are.
If ever you find yourself in a one-sided love, kill it. Kill it with fire. It’s not love; it’s fantasy. I can say this because I have had to do it (more than once), and because I did it, I’ve been able find myself in healthy relationships with guys who are not assholes. The guys who were assholes are still assholes and they still don’t see how awesome I am. Most importantly, my life has been a lot happier now that I don’t cater to assholes and everyone deserves to be happy.
This literally ran through my mind last night while I was looking at a hot guy.
“He probably doesn’t like Star Wars” is my new psychological deal breaker. Be advised.
Me: You should make friends, Mom! You go bowling sometimes.
My Mom: Actually, I've been having lunch with some ladies at the office and they're all single, too. Well, one of them is about to leave her husband, but I can't say anything more about that.
My Mom: We were all talking about going to this singles' place, but I don't know.
Me: Well, why not?
My Mom: I don't know. I'm just scared.
Me: What's there to be afraid of? What's going to happen to you?
My Mom: Well, it's just the last time I went to a singles' night, a man asked me if I liked it rough, and no! I did not like that. It made me feel very uncomfortable. You remember.
Me: Mom, that was like 20 years ago.
My Mom: Well, I didn't care for it.
Me: I think you're old enough now that you could put him in his place.
My Mom: I just didn't like it, okay? Besides, you should be dating more.
Me: Well...I'm...busy...with...stuff, okay?
My mom let it slip last night that my sister is worried about me. Specifically, she is worried that I’m spending too much time writing, performing and studying comedy and not enough time dating guys. She’s worried that my good years will pass me by and I will end up with a shriveled vagina that no man will want.
This is the same sister who told me it was her goal in life to have a baby before she turned 30, and then didn’t get it when I said my goal is to not have a baby before I’m 30. Different strokes, folks.
I wanted to propose a date on HowAboutWe.com to see a specific comedy show tonight, but the only reason I want to see said show is to eye fuck a specific guy in the show. He’s soooo attractive to my body.
Dating is hard.