They’ve stolen my life and turned it into a TV show.
I swear, HBO must put something into the water of every house that has their channel. Case in point?
GoldDust and I were talking the other day.
“This show is us,” she tells me. “It reminds me so much of our friendship.”
I YouTube the show and watch a trailer. “As long as I’m not the girl in the preview that falls off her bicycle.”
“We’re all parts of each character,” GoldDust assures me.
Thus, I agreed to watch the show.
Thirty-two seconds into the first episode I was hooked. I was also most like the girl who fell off the bicycle, a struggling writer (wait, does that sound familiar?) who is snarkily funny. I’m snarky. ADMIT IT, I am.
I was so hooked on this series that I ended up watching the first few back to back, sitting on the couch, while eating slices of swiss cheese. It was all delicious. The show and the cheese.
Midway through one of the episodes, the snarky writer that reminds me so much of myself gets a phone call, from a doctor and is informed she has HPV.
I suddenly am having massive flashbacks.
For my 21st birthday, I received great news.
Just prior to my birthday, I had been living on my own the past few years, and was being rather neglectful of things that you shouldn’t be. I wasn’t eating on a regular basis, was drinking like a sailor, and was neglecting basic things like doctor’s appointments.
Well, I moved home for my sanity’s sake, and found myself getting caught up on all these things. The eating, the check ups, etc.
Turns out that the first doctor’s appointment I had came up with bad results. Case in point: cancer-y looking things.
Happy Birthday to me, right?
“What the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks, HBO?” I’m asking myself. “Have you stolen into my room in the dead of night, taken my old journals and created incredibly awesome TV with them?”
Now, granted, when I got this call from my doctor, it wasn’t about HPV. But it was still a call from a doctor basically telling me not good news.
And I’m also sure that millions of women have watched this episode and thought, holy balls, this was me in some way, shape, or form at some misunderstood point of my life.
I hope that a million others watched this episode and thought, holy balls, I better go get my lady parts checked out. In the healthy way, not the dirty way.
But still. HBO. I’m expecting a royalty check in the mail at any time for airing an episode that was basically my life, and thus has really invaded my and my lady parts privacy.
And also, everyone, watch GIRLS. And probably go see your doctor if you haven’t lately.