Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Love what you do

So for a while, I've been working on a new fiction piece, figuring out what to do with this whole situation, and working at the bar. Among other...things. And the other night, someone asked me "what I do".

I get this question a lot, especially at work. Most of the guys who come into my bar assume I'm an actress, singer, performer, stripper, hooker. You know, the typical "I came to New York to be famous and I ended up paying my bills by way of tips" answer.

When I say I'm a writer on the side, they tend to not know how to respond. Because they know we have legit journalists who work at Sports Illustrated also working at my bar (true story, an editor no less and she's awesome). So I might not be a struggling idiot eating beans and trying to write the next vampire/human sex story for 12 year olds. I might be legit. And this helps, this possibility of being legit. Gives me more clout, even though I'm not really legit. Obviously, ha. Because you don't always get paid big money for big articles. So there is a reason I could be doing both - slinging beers in work shorts and writing about my experiences in bed. LITTLE DO THEY KNOW...

When I tell them about the blog and book, they REALLY don't know how to respond. Some think I'm joking. Some think I'm awesome. Some have no interest in talking to me whatsoever.

The other night, I had the President and CEO of The Chicago Blackhawks at one of my tables. We got to talking about sports, and partly because of the four espressos I had, I found my hands shaking and my whole attitude hyped up. Because we talked hockey. We talked about the Canucks and the Islanders' potential move, and playoffs and trades. We talked about my book and about what I went to school for. We talked about my love of sports, and he and his guest both seemed entirely impressed. They told me I should send a reel to a couple of stations, because they both thought I'd do very well with sports commentary. I proceeded to talk about my dream of one day overthrowing Kimberly Jones. They also threw me invites to games if I ever go to Chicago, and then I told them the story about my most epic bender that occurred in Chicago. Surprisingly, the invite wasn't revoked!

The point is, I remember when I first started this whole thing, I was worried. "I write about sex" was all I kept thinking, and I was nervous to admit that to people, especially guys I went out with, or guys in suits. I thought people would look down on me, think I was slutty, think I was uneducated. Rachel Uchitel was like my anti-self, because I just kept thinking eventually people are going to compare me to her and I'm going to get this shitty rep that's based off her stupidity, not my own. For a while, I struggled with the reality of what I really wanted to do and it sucked balls.

And then finally, I thought "what the fuck do I give a shit? I'm way happy".

And suddenly, I stopped caring and started realizing that while I'm not exactly solving the world economic problems or getting paid millions to share my life with you fucks, I still hold my own pretty well without the safety nets that the likes of Sarah Silverman and Chelsea Handler have. And I'm doing it pretty fucking well without any abortion jokes.

Now, I love talking about it. And I love having the ability to tell people about it at my bar. It's like in person PR shit. And sometimes, it works in my favor.

There is nothing I would rather do all day than talk to people about hockey, or lacrosse, or baseball, or injuries or trades or signing bonuses or mechanics or stats. I love being a girl who loves sports. I got so worked up by these two old ball men at my table because we were bullshitting about playoffs, and it's the dude WHO RUNS THE TEAM. It's like talking to Joe Torre about baseball. Or Bill Bellichik about football. The guy took a good 30 minutes out of his meal to chat with me and that made me feel like hey, I wasn't totally fucking up the conversation. Some girls get off on Bergdorf. I get off on hockey blather.

Clearly, I also love the sex aspect and I've totally come to appreciate my abilities here. Not my sexual abilities, though I have many of those in my own damn mind. But my ability to take to this poorly constructed website and tell some of my favorite stories to fuckers I have never met. Because in my own mind, they're good fuckin' stories. Literally.

So when people mock me, and they do, for being 25 and working in a bar, despite having a degree and once having aspirations to do the whole sports journalism thing, I look back over the last year, or even three years, and say fuck off. I love my life. I make just as much money as a lot of the assholes who slave across the street at Barclays for 10 hours a day, and I have a lot of fun doing what I do. My life is a balance of working to pay bills and doing something I love to do. Bullshitting with you fuckers on an almost daily basis. When shit hits the fan, or I'm in a mood, I have this whole open book to say whatever the fuck I want and get it off my chest. It's like free therapy and at the end of the day, it gives me a little bit thicker skin.

I used to feel shitty that I ended up in a bar. But honestly, these stories all started out in a bar, and got told over a beer or nine. I can't imagine starting this whole process anywhere else. I'd never be happy behind a desk, crunching numbers, buying someone else's lunch for them in ugly shoes and my hair pulled back. Fuck, would you trust me with millions of dollars?! I'm going with a no if you have 1/4 a brain on that one. Whether this shit ever goes big or whether it stays to my 250,000+ readers I have now, doesn't matter. I'm a sports nut through and through, and I write because it's the only thing I legitimately don't get bored of doing. I enjoy telling stories and my only hope is you guys like reading 'em. I do what I do, and on the side I hang out in a steak house and bullshit with my friends and serve Stella's and J dubbs black on the rocks to dudes, 70% of whom are assholes. But I come home at night and I get to come home to this, and for me, that's good. I don't hide shit. I don't pretend to be someone I'm not. I don't spend my life fighting to get a promotion or to get recognized or to get someone else's report finished so that oen day I can have a job I hate just as much but that pays more. I enjoy the fuck out of my life! And this whole situation has given me the ability to accept who I am, what I do, and embrace it.

From sixth to tenth grade, I kept journals. And when I was cleaning out my closet a few weeks before I moved in, I found one and went through it. And there's this whole really fucking lame entry about a boy I "loved" in 8th grade. And about how much better I felt about the situation after I wrote about it. And at the end it says, "maybe I want to be a writer when I grow up". I shit you not, I know that's some cliche Lifetime movie shit right there, but it's true. And that's what I've always wanted to do. I've always wanted to write, I've always loved to do it, and I finally found two topics that go well together that I can really shine with. After all the shit I've been through, seen, done, fucked, spooned with, why would I ever write about anything else? First rule of thumb, you write about what you know. I know sports, and I know sex, and I'm not going to change anytime soon. So this is what I have to offer.

Fuck, at this point I don't have a choice because it's book or bust because God knows I ain't getting hired at any law firms anytime soon with this Google track record of "FUCK". If you can't tell from the picture of the brunette retard in the middle up there, I like to have a good time, have some laughs and document the stupidity of the things I get myself into. So in the grand scheme of things, I landed on my feet. And I'm learning that that's a fair thing to be happy about.

1 comment:

  1. So pretty article! lovely to find your blog, i am feeling well to visit your fabulous blog! Thanks for the share.

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