Normally, when I tell people that Liz Lemon not only is the character who is most like me, but is exactly who I aspire to be, my number one role model in life, I get a lot of incredulous responses.
No, wait, let me amend that. When I tell men that, I get a lot of incredulous responses.
“But Liz Lemon is such a failure!” They say. “Isn’t the whole point that she’s a farce and ultimately unhappy? There are people like Buffy and Scully and Veronica Mars and you’d choose to be Liz Lemon?” And I say yes, yes I would. I would never poo-poo any of the lovely ladies other people cite, but there’s a reason women love Liz, that women watch her and laugh as much as they identify with her, all while aspiring to be her. And it’s exactly for the reason so many of my guy friends don’t get — it’s because she’s a failure.
So first of all, I should start by making it clear that when it comes to television I have no standards and am easily swayed to watch pretty much anything that involves people sarcastically commenting on situations. So it was inevitable during all of my copious Olympic watching (when I became addicted to curling — it was a dark time) I would be swayed into watching The Marriage Ref.
And seriously, I have no idea if I liked it or not.
Credit: The New Yorker
When people ask me what I do, I always reply “blogging”. This inevitably evolves into some sort of discussion (“I didn’t know you could make money doing that!” “Oh, you can’t, but I’m trying it anyway. Last month I made eight whole dollars”), after which the person walks away feeling suitably impressed at my kickass lifestyle.
I admit that I’m quite fond of these conversations. When I initially made the decision to put off full-time higher education after setting my heart on a college that ended up rejecting me not once, not twice, but three times in a row, I was crushed. In my head, college was the next inevitable step, and here I was, stuck at home while all my friends were away, unable to get a job with only a high school diploma that didn’t involve me bagging things, asking if someone wanted me to supersize their order, and vaguely miserable. Now, even my friends sometimes think that I’m some sort of hugely successful person for “having a job”, or bemoan college loans collecting interest and wish that they’d really thought out college before they went, and I’m not going to lie, it makes me feel pretty damn awesome. And then I remember – these people clearly have no idea about exactly how glamorous the life I lead really is.