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And the winner is…

I wrote this already.

I did.

The night before the Atlanta Comedy Film Festival. 

I wrote this blog…

I’m serious.

I wrote this exact blog for when I lost.

And the winner is….not me.

I know, I know. It was dumb. And insecure of me. Why would I write a blog before I even knew the results of the festival? Shit. It’s the same reason I read the last page of a book when I first buy it. Or the reason I’d tell my mom I failed a math test before I got the results back. Or why I always assumed I didn’t get the part I wanted in the play I auditioned for…

I am an eternal pessimist!

Which is really quite funny, considering I always think of myself as an optimist! For real! If you know me, I am perpetually flippin’ peppy! I’m like the fucking peppiest bitch on the block! But inside, I’m just a Negative Nelly. My glass in never half full! Hell, it’s not even half empty. It’s just well, bone dry. I am one of those people. One of them. I am the girl that thinks the absolute WORST so when it’s even a little better than that…I’m pleased as punch!

Yasssss. That is me.

So, whatever. I wrote a “losing blog” because after hearing “no” for the last three years, I might have thought (do you blame me) that losing is just my “thing”. I am a loser. I have heard “no” more than a flat chick in a strip joint so I just figured I would be hearing no again at the Atlanta Comedy Film Festival. But when they called my name, “Jennifer Weintraub for Best Television Episode Screenplay” the first thing I thought was,”OMG I have to write a new blog!” Ha. Ok, that’s bullshit. That is not what I thought. What I thought was they must have made some kind of mistake. Isn’t that sad? Ya. Negative Nelly.

I was shocked.

Actually, scared to move.

I sat there for what seemed like a long time…

Truth be told, I had spilled wine all over me during one of the films and I was praying it was dry enough so when I walked up to the stage it didn’t show. Fuck. Who does that? Rhetorical. I was trying to drink out of a plastic cup, and missed my fucking mouth. It literally dripped off my bottom lip, down my chin…onto my breasts. I had to mop up my wet tits with my paper-thin graphic tee. Some even got into my fat rolls and belly button. I was sticky and smelled of cheap vino. Thank G-d it was dark and I was alone. And there was clearly no way I was winning! No way. Shit! Did they just call my name?

Did that guy just call MY NAME?

“Jennifer Weintraub for Best Television Episode Screenplay for Jen Again”. I was scared to move. I just sat there for a really long time…I said,”Holy shit! Me?” And he said,”Are you Jennifer Weintraub?” And I said,”Ummm Yes!” What a moron. I got up, shoved my Peanut M&Ms (great with wine) into my purse, and made my way to the stage. People were clapping. I was shaking, crying…and saying oh my god a lot. Not my most poised of moments. They were taking lots of pictures which I hope came out okay because it was not my best side. Oh, and I didn’t shower. (That’s another blog in itself, coming soon!) 

I didn’t write a speech.

Number Thirteen asked me if I did, I told him yes. I lied. Ok, I didn’t really lie. Lie is such a strong word. I “fibbed”. I didn’t want him to keep buggin’ me about it, alright? He was making me all nervous and shit! Who writes a speech for an award they’re not even going to win? Well, yes I’m sure people do that. (And the Oscar goes to…whatever.) People that actually think they’ve got a shot at winning! Not me. But Number Thirteen was SO sure. He kept saying,”You are going to win, Jen.” Why did he keep saying it? How was he