I was recently asked to write a short description of myself. Not for a dating site because I assume that all of the guys on dating websites are just looking for the next human head to add to his collection. Instead, I was working on updating my comedy bio after a club owner asked for my most updated bio. After he asked, I immediately realized, I haven’t updated my bio in over year. I always struggle when writing my comedy bio. It seems so insincere and awkward to talk about myself in the third person and try to embellish my comedy “accomplishments” in order to appear successful and hirable. Plus, I’ve been told that I share too much personal information on social networking sites and that’s the last thing you want to do in a comedy bio.
Your bio should be professional and paint you in the best light possible, but as I was working on writing it, I realized that this may be a better article for my column than a comedy bio. You’ll see why as you read on. So enjoy my “bio” and lack of shame for over-sharing on the World Wide Web.
I come from a family of addicts…not everyone, but enough for it to be noted. Most are functioning, some are not. I quit drinking for that reason and because I blacked-out and peed my bridesmaid dress at the age of 32.
I have a mood disorder and anxiety and it comes out in the form of OCD and crying.
I believe I can be great someday even though I know that logically, the odds are against me.
I fear I will never be truly happy.
I’m motivated by deadlines and accolades. I enjoy being the center of attention when I’m in control…like when I’m on stage, but get extremely anxious after shows if people want to talk to me or when I’m in a social situation where I have to meet new people or “small talk.” I’d rather be home with my boyfriend watching Netflix or writing.
I tend to date younger guys who make less money than me and have no interest in settling down. I think this is because subconsciously, I’m not ready to grow up.
I’m a bed hog and I love french fried “potaters.”
I’m conscious of my looks and want to be attractive, but am plagued by a crooked smile, no pigmentation of the skin, a deep belly button, an average body, a small hump on my neck and a large port-wine stain birthmark on my back. I’m modest in how I dress despite the fact that my mom encourages me to “show it while you got it.” I change my hair a lot because to me, it’s just hair.
I want everyone to like me, but get mad when they do because that means that I’ve compromised who I really am.
I judge things before I like them. And I rely on my mom too much for emotional support.
I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. I love it when it’s honest and hate it when it’s cryptic.
I like going to therapy…it’s a hobby of mine and I am not ashamed to admit that I am on medication. Instead of telling people that I have bipolar 2, I like to say that I’m The Bipolar Bear. It just softens the harsh bipolar title that seems to have such a negative stigma. Most people define it as being “crazy,” when in reality, most artists past and present are/were bipolar. It’s the mania that can inspire great creativity and also great despair. I identify with brown/black bears because they put weight on for the winter and frighten most people by their honesty. If they don’t like you, you’ll know it in the form of becoming their dinner. They aren’t afraid to defend themselves when someone appears to be a threat and they react on instinct. However; saying that I am The Bipolar Bear is far easier because everyone loves polar bears. They drink Coca-Cola during Christmas and when they slip on the ice and fall into the arctic water, it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. They have a train named after them and they are white so they don’t scare most of America.
The greatest high I’ve ever felt is getting on a stage and making people laugh. The lowest low I’ve ever felt is whenever I’ve been the cause of someone else’s pain.
I often find that I have some of my best conversations with animals…mainly cats, but feel that I am unjustly labeled a “cat lady.” I only have one. I don’t like them all. I’ve met a few asshole cats along the way.
One of my biggest fears as I get older is that I’ll miss my opportunity to be a mom, but I know that I’m too selfish and self-absorbed to be a good mom right now and that may never change, which will prevent me from ever procreating.
I have no emotional attachments to objects and enjoy throwing things away and starting over. I once tried to throw my old yearbooks away and then my mom dug them out of the trash. Apparently, someday I’ll want to look back and remember that I used to have a big nose that caused me to get teased a lot, but also helped me to develop a quick wit and be voted, “Most Blunt.” As one friend explained, “Joleen, sometimes you have a dagger for a tongue.”
I hope to live in San Francisco one day. They have amazing bread pudding there and I like fog and weather where I can wear a light jacket.
I like getting pedicures because it’s the only place where my extremely vampire-like pale skin is appreciated. The Vietnamese women at the salon I frequent run over at each visit and take turns touching my legs and telling me how beautiful my skin is and how lucky I am to be so pale. In the tan-obsessed culture of the US, most people just look at my skin in disgust and say things like, “Your skin is so white. Have you ever tried getting a tan?” They say this as if it’s a novel idea. As if they have opened my eyes to something I’ve never thought of. Why thank you random lady at Kohl’s, I will definitely take advice on how to treat my skin from someone with premature facial wrinkles and the outline of a Playboy bunny sticker on her stomach so that she can gauge how awesomely bronzed she is getting in the tanning bed. Therefore, one day I may live in Vietnam as well.
Well, that’s about it. Go forward all of you and embrace your truth! Do all the stereotypical things the signs they sell at Kohl’s advise us to do. Dance like nobody’s watching! Love like you’ve never been hurt! And Get divorced like it’s your first time!