Right out of college as a baby journalist, columnist, or whatever you might want to call me, I just wanted to be able to write and pay my exorbitant New York City rent. I freelanced for Cosmo and finally a weekly column in the newspaper AM New York (for $50 an article!). That wasn’t enough. I didn’t know what to do (no trust fund, baby), except hustle for more and better paying gigs. So I was aggressive, I crashed parties (Like the White House Correspondents’ Dinner to cover it for the Huffington Post, the crashing of which was covered by the Wahsington Post, and I did an entire series on crashing media parties for New York Magazine), broke rules, pissed people off, and generally ignored social convention. Then I posted photos of myself doing it. Not everyone enjoyed my escapades.
As a result, I’ve been banned from the Time 100 Most Influential People dinner, Northwestern Debate Camp, and the FoxNews channel. I guess I did what I thought I had to do. We all have to learn our lessons in different ways, you know?
Many of the negative comments online now revolve around the (increasingly accurate) fact that I can’t seem to maintain a relationship. And of course (of course!), my physical appearance. I’ve read that I have stumpy, tree-like fat legs, fat sausage fingers, a fat bloated face, fat… well, fat everything. Just fat in general. And old. They say things like, “She looks 48!” But I’m sure that will seem young in a few years, so they’ll probably up it to 83 soon enough.
As I said in this episode, there are some days I would love to just push a giant delete button on everything I’ve ever written or posted on the internet so I could slink away into anonymity. It turns out that’s not an option, so I figured: why not go in the other direction? (Thus this show.) It can’t get any worse, can it? (Um, please don’t prove me wrong.)