April Fool's Day is the absolute worst. Well, that's a lie, New Year's Eve is the absolute worst, but April Fool's Day is certainly up there. I just can't get behind a holiday that celebrates making people look stupid and embarrassed. That's my reality all day everyday, do we really need a holiday celebrating that? In fact, if you could all do me a personal favor and not play a single April Fool's prank on someone today, that would be great. I really appreciate it. And if you already have played a prank on someone this morning, I want you to do the following:
1.) Bring a chair into the nearest bathroom stall.
2.) Stand on said chair.
3.) Lift the rear band of your underwear up and out of your pants.
4.) Place the band over the stall's door hook behind you.
5.) Kick the chair away from you.
Feel that? That's from me to you. And you're welcome.
This April Fool's day marks the one-year anniversary of me turning my back on my destiny, and for that reason, this is a particularly painful AFD for me. So friends and family, please be aware that if you do decide to play a prank on me, I will kick you in the testicles. Regardless if you have them or not.
You see, I am convinced that actor/comedian/writer Michael Showalter and I are meant to be. If Dr. Dre is my soul mate and John McCain is my guardian angel, than Michael Showalter is my one special someone. Here's why:
- The Baxter (which he wrote, directed and starred in) is a large part of why I moved to Brooklyn (it is also a supremely underrated movie. "Ask her to dance Elliot." Holy shit, I cry every time.) I remember sitting Chris down two summers ago, popping in The Baxter and being like, "LOOK! LOOK AT THIS MAGICAL LAND THEY CALL BROOK-LAND! LET US GO THERE AND FLOURISH!" Of course we should have stabbed each other in the heart instead of going through with it, but how were we supposed to know our landlord would turn out to be a psychotic ex-Marine über patriot? The fact remains that Michael Showlater has touched my life, and I would like to touch him in return.
- I appreciate his sense of humor so deeply. I get it. I get you Michael. I get you, and I applaud you.
- Jean Claude van DAMN THAT MAN IS FINE! There it is. The heart of the matter.
- We both have Jewish mothers and Christian fathers. HALF-BRED JINX!
- This means that technically he's Jewish, so on some level he must be looking for a nice Jewish girl to fall in love with. Welp. What Jewish gal has two thumbs, a heart of gold, a rack as big as the Gaza? This girl.
- He's a writer, I'm (sort of) a writer!
- He's funny, I'm (occasionally) funny!
- He was in a movie about Jew camp, I was waitlisted from Jew Camp!
As you can see, we're clearly made for each other. When I moved to Brooklyn, I put a little something I called "Operation M! F.I.L.M." (Michael! Fall in Love w/ Meg) into full effect. I promised myself, that I would meet Michael Showalter. And I would talk to him. And thus, we would fall in love.
Which brings us to April Fool's Day 2008. It was a Wednesday, which meant that the magazine was going to print and I had to wait around the office all day for last minute photos and articles that needed to be layed out. At approximately 3:30pm, I realized that I hadn't eaten all day and I was starting to feel a little dizzy. I ducked out of the office and ran to get lunch at my usual spot—Café Charlie on East 40th between Fifth and Madison. Now on any other day, I'd get my usual small cup of chicken gumbo, but because I was so blindingly hungry, I broke away from tradition and ordered a large bowl of gumbo to-go. What I was handed what can only describe as a vat of gumbo, that I was one-part embarrassed of and one-part extremely excited to eat.
Moments later, I was standing outside of Café Charlie on East 40th struggling to put the change I had just received into my wallet while balancing my recently purchased gumbo, spoon and bottle of water. Suddenly, an attractive man smoking a cigarette hooked a right from Madison onto 40th and started strolling towards me. "Shit, that guys hot," I innocently thought to myself. "I dig the scruffy facial hair and sunglasses. Wait, that guy looks familiar. Why does he look familiar? Why is he so hot?" And then I realized: It was Michael Showalter. He was standing three feet away from me. It was go-time for Operation M! FILM...And I fucking failed. I didn't say a god-damn word to him. Instead I just stood there like a jackass staring with big squirrely coke-eyes, spoon danging from my mouth, bottle of water shoved between my legs and a comically large tub of gumbo in hand. He walked past me, into an office building and out of my life.
Had I said just one thing to him, I am convinced my life would be completely different right now. I'd be starring in a successful and critically acclaimed husband/wife comedy act touring the nation's hottest clubs instead of being stuck in this hell hole doing data entry and stealing pita chips and toilet paper to sustain my life.
What's worse is that absolutely no one believed me that this happened. Knowing of my love and admiration for the Showalter, they thought it was just another stupid April Fool's joke. In fact, I'm 98% sure that Chris still doesn't believe me, even though a year has passed and I've sworn upside down and sideways that it really happened.
So thanks a lot April Fool's Day jokesters. Thanks for ruining it for the rest of us. I'll be in my office not having sex with Michael Showalter should you need me for anything not-prank related.