I once received a text out of the blue (well not really out of the blue, but just kind of random) from a boy who liked me, saying: “You really are the real-life Liz Lemon, aren’t you?”
Side note: He used proper punctuation via text and it was such a panty-twister. God damnit, so hot!
We had talked earlier that day. Not about Liz Lemon, or 30 Rock, or even Tina Fey, for that matter. I don’t remember what we talked about earlier actually, we probably about bacon.
I just remember sitting on my bed, half-naked while writing, when I heard that beautiful iPhone “Bom Bom” (that’s not what that sounds like at all, but you catch my drift) text sound go off. When I read it, I laughed for a very long time. It had always been implied that I shared many qualities of the Liz Lemon, but no one had ever flat out asked my opinion on the matter.
I responded:
Me: You’re watching 30 rock aren’t you? Did she just put chocolate syrup on bacon? Cause that’s my thing, Liz!
Him: Nope.
Me: Were you watching it earlier?
Him: Nope.
Me: Well, where did this random epiphany come from then?
Him: I was just thinking about it.
Me: About me being the real-life Liz Lemon?
Him: Yeah.
Side note: He usually used more words via text, just FYI.
The weird part was I was actually flattered. Like, my whole body was blushing at this point. For one, he compared me to one of my idols, Liz Lemon. (Is it weird that I look up to Liz Lemon more than Tina Fey?) He didn’t even compare me to her, he said I was her!
And two, he was thinking about me. I had done nothing different to make this boy “think” about me. A boy I so desperately wanted to impress (and do terrible, terrible things to, which I did do later, so take note boys, if you want a lady to do amazing sexual things to you, just compare her to Liz Lemon, like a lot).
It was in that very moment that I truly became okay with I was. Here was this great guy constantly telling me how amazing, and beautiful and hilarious I was, and I didn’t change shit about me, I didn’t hide anything about my disgusting self. Which is very hard to do, for your information.
What scares me is it took a boy to show me how awesome I am. While I’m grateful that I discovered my awesomeness at a young(ish) age, what does it say about me that I couldn’t figure this out on my own?
Honestly, I don’t want to know.
One of the reasons why I write this blog is in hope that all my weirdness/disgustingness/awkwardness will one day make you (if you are not already) cool with your own crazy/weird/awkward self.
We all are pretty weird, and for those of you that don’t think they are… no one ever really remembers and/or likes you. So, um… sucks to be you.
I’m in a relationship with Hellman Mayo on Facebook. I have put Cheetos on top of an ice-cream sundae, multiple times. I’ve worn bathing suit bottoms as underwear, and no I was not near a beach.
I hope I never change. And I hope you never do either.