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January 13, 2003
Me? Do the challenge? I guess, man. Is there air conditioning?
“Well, they know what they are getting themselves into…”
Okay, this argument, as it relates to being on The Real World, does actually semi- work when we’re talking about something like The Real World Road Rules Battle of the Sexes. We know we’re going to be filmed, just like we were on Real World. With our original season now behind us, we realize what parts (flaws) in our personalities they like to highlight so we can avoid any “real” feelings that may come up at something like a Challenge. For those of us who do not perform stunts and shit and are not fans of Road Rules, we can expect some type of bungee action, we can expect to hate missions, we can expect to hate hanging out with 78 RW and RR kids. That’s all given. I can say we have no idea, again, how the whole thing will be edited. This translates to small anxiety attacks when you come home from one of these glorious little projects.
Anxiety, name and face recognition all over again, the possibility of being a dick on national television. You ask, why go?
Well, for those of us who have been on a reality television show, we know that working at the old Starbucks just isn’t going to cut it. Go ahead, say it. “Real World people have no work ethic therefore they couldn’t get a regular job if they wanted.” Sorry, can’t say I agree. I did work many regular jobs for 50 and 60 hours a week while going to college full time and I’ll be honest, I like this post RW life a lot better. As Theo Chicago would say, “I’m just doin’ me playa.” I would die happy being my own boss, never having to face a time clock ever again. Punch in punch out, while Sally behind me is whispering about what I did on last night’s show? Nah, I’ll just be here kicking it with Making the Band 2, thanks though. Can you believe Puff Daddy said “Y’all thought the Real World was wile…” about his own show? Wile meaning wild. I guess that’s a statement to allure us to watch his show. I do oblige. We’ll get back to real celebrities doing reality TV. As I was saying, owning my time has to be the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. Having people trivialize what I do or have done as mindless, well, that just comes with the territory. So, yeah, no regular job will do for a little while. Circumstance won’t allow it. And I don’t know about you, but I need money.
Now, the Challenge offers four grand for your appearance. That’s more than I even got for RW New Orleans. And then, on top of that four grand, you have the opportunity to win crap that you can sell or use if you’re into sports that require the use of ores and wetsuits (which I am not). Although, I do like the word kayak. It’s spelled the same backward and forward, a palindrome if you will. Nerds come together. And the grand prize is $50,000. That’s a shitload of money. An insane in the membrane amount of money. Fifty thousand dollars! That’s half what you could win if you didn’t mess up at all on that pyramid game. That’s no mistakes, a good partner and the ability to listen to that opening song over and over again. Bada bada bup da da da da. I like that song. The odds of my winning that money are slim, but I must try.
Don’t get me wrong. Outside of the anxiety attacks, the social paranoia (you don’t want to care or feel paranoid, but it just happens), there are other drawbacks.
Nobody wants to live with 74 RW people in any given stretch of time. Nobody wants to wear a microphone in blaring humidity. Nobody wants to be under surveillance when there are beaches to attend and pina coladas to consume. But everybody wants money. And money is the root of many bad decisions. Sure I’ll look like a total asshole attempting crap like jumping off of buildings and being dumped into seawater (complete with animals) from a billion feet up attached only by a few Legos and a stretch of elastic. But the fact still remains -- it’s temporary television. Once the re-runs pass, people forget you all over again. And with money, bills are paid (except Verizon, I refuse on principle, subliminal switch to subliminal Sprint quick fast subliminal in a jippy), everyone’s happy. It’s really just a job. It doesn’t require determination, no. It does cost a lot more emotionally than say the toll from a washing machine repairman’s job (that Maytag man is still cold chilling somewhere), but I’ll take the social paranoia for a small period of time. Just make sure my cable stays on, thank you. And with the whole time ownership, I can honestly say I have time as a young person to be just that. According to my baby daddy, people, society, whomever tend to categorize success or work ethic as something so minute, like waking up at ass crack o’clock, sitting in traffic, going to an office where people either respect or fear you, and then being too tired to cuddle with your baby mama at the end of the day. I won’t lie, sometimes I want that life back. I like the regularity, the feeling of security behind it. But I like this life too. Is it successful? I stopped that cycle of questioning. It’s just a low self-esteem quagmire. I decided to just be happy chilling and hustling the way I do. And when the money runs low, there’s always more school. It never hurt to have a Master’s degree. Shit, there’s always work. I have the option of getting my black ass up and applying for a job. It’s nice to have options.
So yeah, I did the Challenge. I avoided feelings, applied and re-applied powder and lip gloss in heat that could melt your whole right foot off, hid my mic, whispered in the bushes about who was cute, did everything I could do to not appear on your television, but still got my little paycheck. Now I know they’ll show every single time where I just couldn’t bloody help it. Who am I, Hugh Grant all of sudden? Does he even say bloody? Whatever, you know what I mean. Tears flow when your adrenaline is rushing and the bungee.com man can’t assure your safety, but whatever. It was a short vacation that just cost some emotional setbacks. It will end soon. You’ll be okay. You don’t have to watch it. I, unfortunately, must watch. It’s a part of my life history that is both insane and downright hilarious. Come on homie (stole that from hot ass Alton), me cursing people out with all of my 92 pounds of fury, that shit is quite hysterical. Well, now that I think about it, where are those classifieds? I sense my RW run is up, over and out. Good, I invite all of you over to stone me to death if I get to over age 30 and still make an MTV appearance. If that happens, you hold me to this. Small pebbles please, all rounded off, shiny. I prefer a light pelting rather than a rocky onslaught. Try to steer clear of the face. It’s not vanity that prompts this request; it’s for the loved ones left behind. Don’t forget to tip a 40. I always envisioned that somebody in my life would have the comic genius, the ghetto audacity, the brass balls to actually do that at my funeral.
And dude, it’s not like I did one of these dating shows like Blind Date. Beth S.’ manager actually called me and left me a message saying he had “an opportunity” for me. Now, I know that Beth’s people were the ones who orchestrated that whole Playboy thing. Real live pictures of my vag, my nipples, my mouth open all the while, for $20,000? Hmmm, no thanks. I do have a degree. I could make money off of my education, my brain. Shit, even my hand-eye coordination. I have the utmost respect for people with technical and/or repetitive jobs. Thank you Daddy for all your hard work at the post office. I love you and the entire U. S. of A. better represent for you as well. So I’ll pass on the titty fest. I just didn’t return his call for fear that I would undoubtedly have to say something like, “Dude, man, dude, playa look, I have a mother and I want to be one someday here.” So then, an employee at Bunim-Murray, one that I actually really like, called me up and said it was for Blind Date, not Playboy. And that they’d pay all of $400 (edited to say: I spoke to a cast member that did that show, and she says she got paid $1500. Regardless, it’s a shitty amount of money to go on Blind Date). And he tried to entice me by telling me that several other cast members were doing it. That just made me laugh. The cast members he mentioned were either in relationships, not straight (maybe Blind Date is doing a gay episode, who knows?) or just ewww. Yeah, yeah, spare me the pot calling the kettle black commentary. We’re all kinda ewww on a reality TV show that specializes in demoralizing regular genuinely nice people who aren’t suicidal. Knock on wood! Four hundred dollars isn’t ending world hunger, not even ending Melissa hunger. I’d eat a box of salt before I took that money. I watch Blind Date. There are writers who get paid to write those stupid horrible blurbs in those little bubbles that pop up. Oh shit, I could apply for a writing job there. Fifth Wheel actually does have hilarious commentary sometimes. And Aisha, if you don’t want to host it, I will. I am not afraid. Anyway, I basically would be taking $400 to allow myself to be made fun of. My self-esteem is already fragile with Real World alone (did that just come bleeding from my cursor?), so I’ll pass the duchy* on the left hand side and keep on stepping. *Edited to say: I had no idea, until a friend who gave his critique on this entry told me that duchy was a reference to illegal narcotic type substances. I just liked the song, really.
Okay, did I say I’d get back to celebrities doing reality TV?
Yeah, like, at least for RW people this can be considered a viable and sometimes necessary way of making money when you cut away all the emotional and personal dysfunctions that would make a person do Real World (again and again). But if you’re famous and loaded already, why allow a camera crew to film you, your real feelings, your daily interactions? Please don’t. You’re a celebrity. For real, not some second-rate bullshitters who have to (it’s imperative) say things like, “I’ve been traveling” as not to let on that that they’ve been going on audition after audition and not booking money-making network shows or even KFC commercials, like those of us who end up Real World. Why would you do that? The whole cool thing about real celebrity is being Richy Rich and not having people really know your business. Sure there are tabloids, but you don’t have to read them. But to have a camera crew film you and take your fame down a notch, take your mystery away? Gross. Snoop Dogg even has a show called Fizzle Televizzle some mess like that. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll watch, but there’s a reason why you, Snoop Doggy Dogg, as much as you are my nizzle fo shizzle, are not bastardized and we are. It’s because people don’t know how you really act (subject to editors’ cuts), how much weed you really smoke (he has quit smoking since his appearance on the cover of High Times as the winner of the coveted Stoner of the Year, World, Universe Whatever Award, so raise the roof one time for that). And no I don’t read that magazine; I just saw that on some VH1 special about bad boys of the music industry. No, I really don’t read that magazine. Seriously, who are you talking to? I don’t, now get off my bong, back! Back I say!
Having said all that, if they made The Justin Timberlake Show, I would be the damn president of the fan club, moderator of the message boards and the baby mama of two maybe three, if our schedules permitted. I would just hope that he doesn’t say stupid things like “most smartest” or force his personal assistant to ride roller coasters or else face ridicule and scorn a la Anna Nicole.
Now, I’ve been informed by many sources, and when I say “many sources” I mean haphazardly meeting an editor of the Challenge at a bar who told me that I look like I “don’t take any shit” on the first episode. Another source, meaning a friend of a friend who works at BMP (the beauty of three-way calling and a mute button, psychosis anyone?), said he was worried that I look entirely like a bitch (as opposed to half a bitch, which I can pull off as well) and he knows I am not in real life (end quote). I am fully aware of my actions that first episode and I stand by them. Owning my shit, man. Of course they won’t give you the full explanation, the hows, the whys, the whythehellnots, so welcome to this page. I’ll break it down for you week by week, if I can stand it. I mean, if I stay in the country. I mean, if I can peel the ski mask back long enough to even write an entry down. I mean, if I care, actually care.
It’s a fine line with this Real World thing. You have to act like you don’t care but at the same time, in the moment that it’s on, it consumes you and you have so many questions, so many comments, so many things that are better left unsaid that you know everybody is wanting to say out loud but won’t, but you just have to tell somebody. And you don’t tell Josh Wolk over at Entertainment Weekly because he may call you a slut in print. Isn’t that terrible? I actually understand where he’s coming from. The voice he writes with and the comments he makes are grounded in keen observation and smart perception but to call a young person a slut in print is just so damaging to her psyche. Promiscuous is a better word choice, I’d say. He didn’t say that about me by the way, he said it about a Vegas girl. She was acting crazy though, true true truuuuuuuue, but still. Josh Wolk, if you’re out there, dude, anything but slut, alcoholic. I even don’t exactly loathe drama queen. Actually, don’t write about me. Them? Knock yourself out. So yeah, my observations, I’ll tell you.
And that brings me to this next statement. I took this site down for a little while. And I’ll be honest about my reasoning. I was lazy and quite tired of sharing my every day drivel and I was doing a half-ass job at that. It was sometimes just burdensome to pick some random thing to talk about and make it matter. Some things just don’t. But I started the site back up because I have to give my opinion on the BOTS. I have to tell you about my celebrity sightings. I don’t have to, but everybody else in LA acts like they don’t care when they see one. I have managed to control both my face and body language when I see one, but dude, I saw OPRAH in December. I have to start a new paragraph for this.
I saw Oprah mother grabbin’ Winfrey on Sunset Blvd eating with her friends. She had on a big old Color Purple hat. I first called my friend Penna and screamed excited profanities for a couple minutes. Then I called Coral, who I was on my way to pick up. I told her to be ready and waiting outside because we were going to drive back past and try to catch her again. Coral followed the instructions, jumped in the car and it was a mad dash down Sunset to see her again. She was gone! Gone! Coral was pissed. I was so disappointed. We just wanted to see her again. She’s real. She’s a real lady and we love her. I just want to tell her that I really like her favorite things show, that her hair and that smoky eyeshadow always look amazing on her, that I appreciate that her lighting person won an Emmy for lighting people of color amazingly. (Real World could stand to hire that lighting person.) Oprah.
Anyway, the site. I know that this isn’t Pulitzer Prize material, but it matters to me that somewhat entertaining stuff goes up. But you know, you get to a point where you just go, “Fuck it, this is my opinion.” There are millions of other web logs that have millions of controversial things, enlightening controversial things to say. And it’s cool because they say what they want under a guise of anonymity. See www.blackpeopleloveus.com. I feel like sometimes there’s way more scrutiny because what you write has to somehow always reflect what people know of you. But if you step outside my “there goes crazy Melissa on TV” side, you may just see a goofy ass girl’s opinion for what it is. A goofy ass girl’s opinion.
Now, go. Travel around the site. Did you see how cute the icons are? Yes, that’s a lava lamp. And a couch! Are you serious? I was trying to make the RW icon give you the finger when you placed the cursor on her. Is she doing it? If not, she will be doing it soon. Don’t take it personally. It speaks volumes, and it’s not about you. It’s just an icon for booty’s sake. Go. Welcome back. Thanks for coming!
Oh, and all of this, all of the content, all of the daily musings, observations and finger-pointing, are only as truthful as your truth. Goodie Mob. If you don’t like what I say, fly away.
Fly away.
Posted by melissah at January 13, 2003 10:57 AM