A few days ago, I was
diagnosed with endometriosis. I need to have surgery. From what I’ve
been told and read (from credible sources, like the first page of Google
results from a search of “oh fuck what the fuck is endometriosis what
happens now”), I’m going to be fine. Things should only
get better with my disease because of this diagnosis, surgery and proper
medical care. While I’m not feeling like a lottery winner and sometimes
view having a female reproductive system as a very effective curse by a
witch I mistreated as a young child, I should been fine. I have a
really good life that includes an HBOGO password, a Tempur-Pedic bed and
a butt that men occasionally bow down to in its presence.
Welcome to “The Worst Thing” with Maria Heinegg, a podcast where she gets up close and personal with
guests about some of the worst things they’ve ever done, seen, said,
experienced, witnessed or felt.
My first episode is with great
comic, director and friend, Omar Shaukat. We get right into it and talk
about his mother passing away when he was 16, the aftermath, later
getting a DUI and a lot in between.
I spend a lot of my time not knowing what I’m doing. This wouldn’t be much of a statement except that I’ll soon have been alive for 30 years and you would think, after 30 years of doing a thing, you’d arguably be pretty good at it. You know how people say 10,000 hours makes you an expert at something? Well, this is still really fucking hard and, as far as I can tell, “knowing what you’re doing” is pretty made up.
But I guess I know some things.
I know I have a job. I know because I go to it every day and they keep putting money in my bank account. That lets me know, “hey, pay your rent and eat something because we need you to come back and write some emails tomorrow, then the day after that and then again the day after that. It’s a pretty good one in that the people are nice and the work environment is new-age positivity culture with snacks and music and couches. And who among us doesn’t want to discuss the weather and point out how close we are to Friday?
I have witnessed a concerning pattern in the annual landscape of thirst. It’s the “Thirstgiving Parade”.
It’s when dudebros and ladybabes from your past or new but only acquaintance-levels suddenly come up outta the woodworks around mid-November tryin to holler being like “are you coming home for Thanksgiving?” “How have you been?” “Do you want to come over and caulk my tub?”
It’s that Black Friday loneliness starting to creep up with the end of year onset: Thirstgiving. And it’s real.
We all fear the reality of dying alone but the more palpable concept of having no sexual prospects when the ground starts to freeze over and everyone is either wifed up or veritably your worst nightmare, leaves you vulnerable. You had so much self worth before Halloween. Yet, here you are, actively responding to texts from a guy quietly wearing True Religion jeans, like that’s an okay thing to do. Is that a 24 carat gold thumb ring? You’re perfect.
Girl,
on this raining, overcast coldish morning, I just wanted to say how
much I love you, Summer. You are my heart. Listen, I know you hear the
talk. People complaining saying things like, “I’m sweating out here.”
“It’s muggy. "It’s too hot.” Don’t listen to them, girl. They’ll never
understand you. They dreamt of you. Dreamt of you for so long through
the cold winter, the socks and the boots
and the dry skin on their faces. They all wanted you and then they got
you and look how they don’t appreciate you and your blessings.
Summer, you are
perfect. Sleep in. I’ll light some candles and rub your shoulders.
Everything about you is right. I celebrate your mind and your body and
your spirit and your humidity and whatever.
Just keep
summering, my Summer. We only have a little bit more time together and,
trust me when I say, they’ll all miss you when you’re gone.
To all the comics (including me) who may be feeling crappy about themselves and their lack of comedy accomplishments who are seeing the “New Faces” announcements and with “Last Comic Standing” about to air or whatever other credits you see other comedians getting, know that other’s successes are not indicators of your failure. Just keeping writing jokes. It’s hard to keep your eyes on your own paper but, if you love the art you do, it’s more important to be good and getting better than to be acknowledged.
Good quote to go along with:
“If you work work really hard & you’re kind, amazing things will happen.” -Conan O'Brien
And here’s a great blogpost by Andy Sandford on career envy:
As a burrito maker in the burrito making world who spends all their time practicing making burritos, I think this blogger needs to shut up. Who does he think he is judging his burrito and its maker when he doesn’t have any working knowledge of the process of how to make burritos. He shouldn’t be calling out burrito makers just because he doesn’t like the way they make the burritos. Just because his burrito maker makes different kinds of burritos than this guy likes doesn’t mean the burritos are bad- maybe they just come from two different schools of burrito making thought. This burrito maker is a burrito making professional. He is an artist. Maybe the burrito guy was just having a bad day or the flawed burrito was taken out of context and he made a bunch of really good burritos earlier and just one bad one because nobody is perfect. How the fuck would this once and awhile burrito eating motherfucker even know if this burrito maker is really bad at making burritos? He doesn’t know the struggle.
Somebody just did this to my burrito which made me remember this old post I love so much. I’m kidding. It was a salad.
I’m friends with a very funny comedian named Maria Heinegg. About a year ago, I photoshopped my face on a picture of her face photshopped over a Covergirl ad, and it made me laugh so much that I kept doing it. Here they are for posterity.
8 years ago
