OLIVIA, I LOVE YA

I renamed my blog and here’s why. Plus, an announcement.

Some of you may have noticed that I recently changed the name of this publication. Far many more of you have not. The grand majority of you don’t remember signing up for this email list and are only reading these words because they’re on the way to the unsubscribe button. Fair enough. I won’t beg you to love me. Good bye, good luck, and good riddance.

The short of the long is that the lawyer with whom I’m working to apply for my American working VISA told me to make this blog - in her words - “more legit” (should I get a new lawyer?) She says that it’s better if my publication title isn’t entirely eponymous, so here I am, compromising with an eponymous flare. 

BEFORE:

AFTER:

She also brought to my attention that I have not been an obsequious servant to my magnanimous master, the Almighty Algorithm (she didn’t phrase it like that, or I would certainly replace her)

sigh

It’s so humiliating when someone tells you something you already know, but they don’t know that you know, because you don’t do it.

What am I supposed to say? “I know that I am supposed to post more, lately I’m just lazy and insecure and apprehensive that anything I make is worthy of warranting attention” (???) That’s something I would only divulge to you, dear reader, because we’re close like that.

I know the Commandments of Modern Artistic Success, I know that Thou Shall Post Thrice A Week, and I know that that is currently 700% of my output rate. HOWEVER -I’m excited to announce that going forward, dear reader, I will henceforth be reducing that margin to around 400% (approx… not legally binding btw) !!!! YES!! Huge (hypothetical) win for Ostans (fandom name I thought of) all around the world! This blog has served me far too long as a semi-infrequent mode of creative expression whenever I feel moved to do so, and I simply can’t wait to post more, when I don’t want to, when I don’t feel inspired, because that’s where the best art comes from, dear reader (do you like the dear reader bit btw? I feel like “dear reader” kind of reverses or at least validates our parasocial dynamic)

From here on out, you can expect regular posting in the form of PAYWALLED DIARY ENTRIES! There is one available now. I promise I would make it cheaper, but five bucks is the lowest price Substack will let me sell my proverbial pussy for. And hey, since I’m going down this path, maybe I will post pussy behind the paywall! There’s only one way to find out… »»»»» CLICKBAIT!!! «««««

RARE SELF-ENDORSEMENT: Whenever I read back my diary, I think to myself wow, this is literally the best book I’ve ever read… it’s sporadic, it's poignant, it’s funny as fuck, and it sucks that some of these insights, experiences, and memories never see the light of day; never find their way into a structured piece. That or they feel too intimate. Then one day it came to me: why not honour them in the context they exist? I’ve long since toiled with the prospect of posting my diary entries in their unmanicured, unformatted glory but would too frequently flinch in the fear of having you all know my private thoughts. But alas… the only thing scarier than publishing my diary is continuing to have no money… so I guess if there’s anything I’m willing to trade my secrets for, it’s your dollar dollar bill y'all

And so I will be excerpting the best of my diary entries and posting them regularly on here. I’m starting with recent times for now but will dive back into the archives eventually. I was going to post all of July and August in the first one, but half of July populated 7 full pages in a Google Doc, so it’ll just be that for now. 

**Spoiler** July is mostly sad, but things look up in August! Either way, the fans are raving so far:

I will continue to post essays at my own rate as they are ready to be published. I’m working on a few right now which will either be partially paywalled or free, depending on how generous/shy I’m feeling.

Anyway, thank you for withstanding the announcement portion of this newsletter. You have now earned the paltry prize of hearing why I renamed my blog…

…

For as long as I’ve wanted to write a book (since my lawyer told me I’d need a project to ostensibly be working on in America in order to justify my being there) I’ve wanted to title it “olivia, i love ya” and it would contain an essay with the same title that I’ll synopsize now:

Something about me is that my head is perennially in the clouds (cute!) and also I’m going deaf (young!) and on more than one occasion, a man who has not yet declared his love for me has half-heartedly, semi-consciously mumbled my name - “olivia…” - probably to begin soliciting a blow job, or worse, to ask me to turn the lights off (before soliciting said blow job) and instead of my name, I heard: “I love ya”. They sort of sound the same when the speaker is stoned and mumbling and the receiver is deaf and delusional.

Therefore I have - more than once - responded to my own name by saying “I love you, too”, and then by neither their fault nor my own, the relationship would prematurely advance into L-word territory.

While olivia, i love ya has a nice ring to it and a fun backstory, it being the perfect name for this blog goes beyond that, it’s also telling of who I am: I am someone who hears what she wants to hear, for better or for worse.

Sure, you can call that an entitlement problem. I guess you can call it that, sure. That’s literally rude as fuck, but call it whatever you want, I guess.

For me - I’m an optimist; me, I’m naive as hell. And all of that (entitlement + optimism + naiveté) culminates in a sort of hopeful disposition. That’s how I see it, and that’s what “olivia, i love ya” represents for me: my hopeful disposition. It’s a disposition that has granted me the ability to feel love and belonging even when they aren’t being offered, when I’m ultimately misunderstanding. And though that can be embarrassing, it’s also sort of nice. In all elements of life. It’s the same disposition that has allowed this brain-damaged, dyslexic, former remedial student to embark on a comedy and writing career. It’s like, “I’m sorry… I’m hard of hearing, I’m pretty sure you just offered me… a seat at the table…?”

Yes, I’m really sitting here romanticizing my flaws; I’m making the kool aid and drinking it too. In comedy writing they say that your flaws are your superpower and that you don’t need to fix them (I stg that’s what all the texts say…) Just being aware that you suck is all you need - because then you can write about all of the horrible, shitty things that you do!! Your personality is content, baby, it’s money. So don’t even think about changing or “working on yourself” because then what will you write about??? therapy? like everybody else?? ZzzzZzzzzzz

Lean In to your flaws (this is what Sheryll Sandberg was talking about) and Believe in your POV (ditto Cher) !! It’s the one you were given for a reason, dear reader. I believe there is something to my misperception of “olivia” as “i love ya” ; there is something about someone saying your name that is synonymous with love, at least in the ear of the beholder. If you’re looking into my eyes and saying “olivia” but I choose to hear “i love ya”… forgive me but… what’s the harm and honestly what’s the difference?

…

Thank you as always for reading, I would literally be nothing without you, dear reader. 

I hope you choose to upgrade your subscription. There's some good stuff in my first post and though I complained amply above, it was fun to re-read, transcribe, and organize bits of my diary and I’m truly excited to do more of it, thus advancing our parasocial relationship into ominous territory!!

til next time…

i love ya,

Olivia

p.s. here’s the book cover concept that came to me in a dream which I woke up and poorly photoshopped