It’s not every day you feel like someone is watching your every move, unless you’re me– who grew up with just the right amount of ego coupled with the incessant watching of Sally Jesse, and a mother who cut out and displayed newspaper clippings of girls abducted in parking garages, stabbed in elevators and slipped roofies at parties– and then stabbed in elevators…
In all honesty, were it not for HBO’s new series Girls, my therapist and I could’ve
maybe successfuly worked through my perceived feelings of grandeur and paranoia. But oh no. A new show had to come out and prove to me, and to Dr. Silverman tomorrow at noon, that people are fucking watching me. Big time.
I’m not sure how it is I’ve missed Lena Dunham lurking in the shadows of the free STD clinic on 9th where I spent many a nervous minutes, or stenographing my experiences as a 25 year old editorial intern denied compensation because of Photoshop. Fucking Photoshop, I edit photos on my iPad assholes. But in any event it happened. Lena was there. She must have been. Or else how could my life be playing on the small screen Sundays at 10:30??? There is no other way. I mean I may not know any virgins, or flakey artists or friends who’ve been cut off financially, or dating effeminate men. Oh wait, yes I do. ME. Hmm I guess this is what Whitney meant when she said she was every woman. Well, I’m every Girl.
I guess all of my potions and Tiny Furniture chants worked because clearly LD and I have been conjoined ever since. And now that she knows that I know, I think HBO will be happy to know that the promos should really look like this… And just remember, I’m not the creep here, I’m just living my life. Blame Lena. jk. I love you, and your sister.
If you haven’t watched Girls yet, you need to. Funny, raw and unabashedly honest– need I say more?
Images courtesy of Imdb.com