So Close to Being the Sh*t, Y’all Don’t Even Know

Life can change on a dime.

I was killing it on the college circuit, working nonstop, when the worst tragedy in American history went down. September 11. The economy tanked and, along with it, so did my stand-up touring schedule. My bread and butter, my bookings, slowed down dramatically. I had bills to pay. Back in LA, I auditioned for whatever came my way and tried to get into as many rooms as possible with studios, producers, and networks in the hopes of getting another holding deal or a development deal. But the competition was stiff out there. It was hard to stand out in the crowd. It felt like I was being lumped in with one group—funny black female—and the powers that be were making no effort to discern the differences between us. You’ve heard the phrase, “They all look alike?” Well, apparently, we all WERE alike. I can’t tell you how many parts I went out for and lost to Wanda Sykes. Now, I’m funny and Wanda is funny, but we are NOT the same. There were even times when casting directors and producers auditioned actresses, including me, while they waited to hear if she had accepted their offer. This happens all the time. I am in no way special when it comes to this sort of thing. But when it got really heartbreaking was when I went in to pitch a show to a network and they were like, “What’s it about?”

“Well, I’m a judge…”

“Um, before you go any further, Wanda Sykes just pitched a show where she’s a judge. Sorry.”

Gaahhhhhd damn! Is this trick gon’ take erry job? What are ya gonna do. Wanda was HOT! And everyone wanted her. I don’t begrudge anyone their success. I love Wanda, as well as most of the women I’ve met out on the “African American women who are funny” audition circuit. I’d heard horror stories about actresses trying to sabotage you during auditions. Talking really loud in the waiting room so you can’t focus, or trying to intimidate other actresses by walking out of the room and saying things like, “Oof, good luck with that one!” I gotta say, that shit would definitely have worked on me. But I didn’t find it to be cutthroat. I think that passive-aggressive behavior is what the average thin white girl going in for the myriad parts available to them goes through. That is the struggle of the could-be ingénue. There are so many jobs for them, but still way too many of them.

Black actresses are different. I’ve found that they are very supportive. When you see them at an audition, they’re like, “Hey, girl!” “Kill it.” “Do your thing, mamma!” At my very first sitcom audition, Sherri Shepherd was in the room. We’d never met before, and I told her it was my first audition and that I was nervous. She was like, “Don’t be nervous. Go in there and do what you want to do. Stick with your choices.” She went in before me and I could hear her in the room. Her read was bold, boisterous, and energetic, and I thought, That’s not what I planned to do. I immediately started doubting myself and the choices I had made when rehearsing. I went into that room with a completely different agenda, one I had decided on while sitting in that waiting room five minutes after hearing someone else’s choices for their audition. I went in there trying to be Sherri Shepherd.

For a long time I’d go into auditions thinking, What do they want? I’d look at material and try to guess what it was the casting directors might want as opposed to doing what I thought was best for the material. It took me a looooong time to make choices about material based on what I thought was best and not worry what “they” had in mind. Because, truth be told, sometimes casting directors, producers, and writers don’t know what they want. Sometimes they aren’t certain of what they want until you walk in there and give them what they didn’t know they wanted. Now when I read a part, I do what I think will be funny or right or poignant. I make my own choices instead of trying to get into the minds of people I’ve never even met.

Now that I think about it, it might be more of a plus-size blacktress phenomenon. I tended to hear the “good luck” and “break a leg” comments more when it was a room of women of like size. That’s not to say that only plus-size gals are friendly or even that there aren’t some who might wanna sabotage others, but I do think we’ve experienced enough negativity that we tend to try to uplift. There’s more positive energy in those waiting rooms. I at least thought it was real and I learned from it. In the past I’d had moments where I questioned why I didn’t get called in for this project or that but have come to an understanding that, just like half shirts and low-rise jeans, everything ain’t for everybody. I trust that there’s a reason for everything and don’t fall into that “Why not me?” space anymore. I’ve also taken to forwarding information to other actresses (and actors). If I see something that a friend would be great for, I make sure they know about it and let their reps know to get them in on a project. Why not? It can only bring good karma, right? People have done it for me and I’ve taken to paying it forward.

When things got really bad for me financially, this sisterhood had my back. I got so desperate for money, I sent out a mass email to everyone I knew in LA asking them to keep me in mind if they heard about any kind of side gig. I was willing to babysit, pet-sit, house-sit. It was an e-version of a WILL WORK FOR FOOD sign. Pride and ego went out the window. I needed to pay my rent. I got one interview to babysit a friend’s kid and a response from Aisha Tyler, an old stand-up friend who was hitting her stride in Hollywood and working like crazy.

“I need someone to respond to my fan mail,” she wrote. “Do you want to do it?”

I was like, “Hell, yeah. I can sit on my floor watching TV while stuffing envelopes with your headshot. Easy-peasy.” So I did that. I got paid to mail out a friend’s headshots. I was grateful for it and grateful for my friend. Aisha and I had lunch not too long ago and we laughed about it. I still have some of her damn headshots in my closet. You might ask if it was humbling. It wasn’t, because I was doing what I needed until I got to where knew I could be. I never thought seriously about giving up. I mean, in the back of my head, I always thought, If worse comes to the very fucking worst, I’ll pack up my car, drive home to Jersey, and start studying for the MCAT again. Medical school has always been (and still is, as far as I’m concerned) an option. My father wasn’t going to let me starve or live on the street. I always had someplace to go. So because I had that in the back of my mind, I never really feared living in my car. I just really didn’t want to have to go to Jersey. That would have been failure to me. Like, “Ugh! If you hit Jersey, your body won’t die, but your spirit might.” In my heart, I knew I wasn’t gonna go home. I always knew something big was coming. I’m one of those people who thinks if you know deep inside that something’s going to happen for you, it’s going to happen. People who are going to be successful know it’s gonna happen. And those people tend to hustle until it does happen.

Nothing will deter you from it. Even when it seems like your own agent doesn’t care if you’re alive. Or should I say “agents”? Let me break down the nightmare of my representation in the early days:

• After I won the Comedy Central stand-up contest, I got a development deal with ABC. I wrote my agent a $12,000 commission check for that deal, and then I can’t even recall her sending me out on a single audition for maybe a year after that. I politely moved on from her.

• I signed with a new agent at one of “The Big Three” agencies. She was on Forbes’s “30 under 30” list of hot agents. Someone had taught me a trick about staying in your agent’s mind: Only give them a few headshots at a time, because then you have to keep going into the office to give them new headshots (this was before digital everything). This way you stay in their minds and won’t become part of the agency white noise. So I would call every other week to say, “Do you need more headshots?”

1. She was never available when I called.

2. It seemed when she did return my call she was always in her car and the phone call would always drop. I know, I know. It’s Hollywood. And she’s a Hollywood agent. #ParForTheCourse

When I finally got to talk to her, she never needed headshots. “No, we’re good,” she’d say. Really? You’re good? It’s been two months and you don’t need aaaaany more headshots from me? It was shady but I thought, I’m with the Big Three! At least there’s that, right?

The straw that broke the camel’s back was when I got a call from John Papsidera’s assistant at the time. John was the first casting director to cast me in a movie. He holds a special place in my heart for his kindness and general badassery. I answered my cell, whose number very few people had because I had JUST gotten it. She said, “Retta! You’re a hard person to find!” And I was like, “I am?” She asked if I was still at that Big Three agency. I told her yes and she said, “Oh, because I just called over there to see if you could come in to audition for this pilot John’s casting and they don’t have you listed as a client.” That’s what she said. That I wasn’t listed as a client. The FUCK? Talk about dropping the ball. I’d have respected them more if they had just dropped me, but to have me thinking I’m being represented and then when potential work actually does come through you don’t have my name and number on a list?? I was too through. I scheduled my own audition, and as soon as I hung up, I called my manager and asked him to draw up a Notice of Termination. I had zero words for my “hot 30 under 30” agent. That’s not true. I had two words: Girl, bye.1

I signed with another agent, who promptly passed me off to a junior agent. I booked a feature film (wut, yay!), shot it, then ran into this kid on the Paramount lot one day. “Ah, Retta,” he said, “I gotta visit you on the set!”

“I wrapped that movie a week ago.”

The agency dropped me as a client right after that.

Luckily, even during the depths of my misery and frustration with my agency drama, something would happen to keep hope alive. A little appearance here, a little costar there. I had no agent, but between my management and the few people who knew who I was around town, I was able to get the random audition here and there.

Including a little audition for an NBC pilot called Parks and Recreation. I remember my manager saying, “It’s not anything major.” I didn’t care. I wasn’t doin’ shit. It’s not like producers were knocking down my door begging me to bless them with my thespian magic. I remember seeing Octavia Spencer in the waiting room. It was nice to see a familiar face. There were some other ladies that I recognized but didn’t know personally. Octavia got called in before me and then it was my turn.

When I walked in, there were a bunch of people in the room. I don’t like when there are a bunch of people in the room. It makes me nervous … Who am I kidding? The room makes me nervous. Anyway, I did the scene—the character Donna was at her desk in the office reading a book when the new guy in the parks department approaches her and starts chatting her up about the author of her book, who happens to be her fave. The new guy’s trying to get on her good side and she ain’t buying it. Nothing too challenging, a pretty straightforward scene, A SCENE that wasn’t actually in the pilot script. The character had no scripted lines in the pilot but the creators knew eventually she would speak so they wrote this scene so we, the actresses, would have something to audition with … as opposed to calling us in to see what we looked like sitting behind a desk. I finished reading the scene with the casting director, which I think went okay, and then just before I was about to leave, the creator/executive producer, Mike Schur, complimented my ToyWatch, which was very popular at the time. I’d just ordered it off a new site, Gilt.com, which was inviting people to become members.

“If you want to be a member, I can invite you!” I said excitedly. Like he wants to be a fucking member of an online shopping site!? But I continued my sales pitch. “Oh my God, you guys, it’s normally that price, but I got it for this price. It was almost free, it’s so amazing and I love it and I keep getting compliments. I mean, you liked it!” I was having a Chatty Cathy mixed with saleswoman-of-the-year moment. I could and would have talked them to death if they had let me. I was that person.

The other big-deal exec producer, Greg “The Simpsons and The Office” Daniels looked at me like, “Oh wow, she’s a lot.” But I think Mike was amused by how enthusiastic I was, how invested I was in this website, and how much I loved this fucking watch.

When I was done, Octavia, who had waited for me, and I walked to our cars together.

“I don’t think they’re offering much,” she said. The part was basically to be glorified background until they figured out what to do with the character.

“Well, I ain’t got shit happening.” I laughed. “I got nothing going on, I might as well learn what it’s like to be on set regularly.” I’d done a couple of episodes of sitcoms and one or two TV pilots, but I still didn’t feel like I was at home on a set. This would give me an opportunity to watch and learn.

Mike and Greg decided to hire crazy. I got the role of Donna Meagle, office manager for the Pawnee Parks and Recreation Department. There was no dialogue and the first “season” would only be six episodes, but when my manager told me I got the part I was helluh geeked. I don’t know if that feeling of elation ever goes away. I still get a flutter and a slight high upon hearing that I booked a part. But you wanna know the best part? I didn’t have an agent when I booked Parks. For the next seven years, I did not pay that 10 percent to ANYONE. To all my former agents: Y’all played yaselves!

Booking Parks was what I’d been working toward for a decade. I had told my parents I was giving up med school to make it in television, and I accomplished that. Plus, it made me feel normal. To wake up every morning and have to go to work made me so proud. I loved being able to say “I can’t, I have to work.” As a comic, I was usually home during the day. Now, as an actor with a regular gig, when someone would say, “Want to get lunch?” I could say, “Nah, I’m working today.” Felt damn good to say that. Like I fit in in Hollywood.

As ecstatic as I was about landing the part, the reality of what I’d gotten myself into started to make me uneasy. I felt like I was in a bit over my head and the odd man out. This was a cast of accomplished improv actors and comics—Amy Poehler, Paul Schneider, Rashida Jones, Aziz Ansari, Nick Offerman, Chris Pratt. Plus, they all seemed to know each other already and they essentially did. They had spent time together once the cast was set. As regulars, they’d done reads and meetings together. I was a costar, so I didn’t even meet anyone until the first day of shooting. As improvs, they would play these games on set where they’d name a famous person and you had to do an impression, whether you knew how to do it or not. There were moments where I’d be like, I don’t even know who that actor is, let alone how to do an impression.

And they were a blue bunch. It was nonstop jokes on set. The filthier the better. I don’t work blue. I get too embarrassed. I think people might be surprised by that, but it’s true. Were I white they’d have been able to see how much they made me blush. For every scene we had what was called a “Fun Run,” which meant after we’d done all of the takes according to the script and all the alts, we’d do one take that was improvised; you could do whatever you wanted. The very first week we had a conference-room scene and Nick ended the scene saying something so off-color that my heart skipped a beat. I was like, Holy shit, that was ON camera. He’s going to get fired! This was the type of thing they talked about in our mandatory harassment seminar. I quickly found out they were all of like mind. This was how they played. I was quickly on board. I didn’t necessarily come up with the jokes but I no longer ran and hid. One of my favorite behind-the-scenes moments was a surprise for Amy provided by Chris Pratt. In the scene, Leslie opens the door to Ann Perkins’s house and finds Andy, who, in hopes of winning back Ann’s heart after a fight, shows up nekkid. They’d done a few takes where Pratt, of course, wore a merkin to hide his junk but there was one take where Pratt was merkin-less. The surprise on Amy’s face was fucking priceless, and she has a laugh that you can’t help but laugh along with. I enjoyed it to no end. Of course, Pratt received a letter from upstairs saying not cool, you can’t do that, bruh.

I think back to these moments and they make me laugh now, but it belies my original insecurities. I’ll never forget the first day I shot with Rashida Jones. I knew who she was because … Rashida, duh. But I had just found out that she had attended Harvard with our executive producer Mike Schur. I, as you know by now, attended Duke University and Duke has long had an inferiority complex about Harvard. I believe it’s because Duke is touted as such a great educational institution but since it’s not one of the original Ivies there’s been a bit of a chip on the Blue Devil’s shoulder. What’s crazy about it is that we only feel that way about Harvard. We don’t give a shit about Princeton, Yale, or Brown. I think it has something to do with the fact that Duke has been called the Harvard of the South.2

That history in mind, I always wanted to seem like a peer to Rashida. Not that she even knew where I went to school or cared. Why would she? She’s got bigger fish to fry. I never brought it up. I just remember the first day we were on set, she said, “Irregardless is in the dictionary,” and I go, “No, it’s not!” And she’s like, “It’s used so much they put it in, even though it is not a word.” When she walked away, I googled it and wouldn’t you know it, she was right. So, at this point, not only am I insecure about my professional background, I feel as though my education isn’t on par with those around me. I know it’s stupid … now, but in the moment I thought, Who am I and what am I doing here?

Insecurities aside, I loooooved working on the show. I loved knowing and feeling like I was a part of the business. I wanted to work EVERY DAY. I didn’t because I was a costar, so I wasn’t in every scene or a part of every storyline and because I wasn’t a regular I wasn’t in every episode. Even though half the time I was just sitting at Donna’s desk “working” at the computer, I would get so sad when I found out I wasn’t in an episode. It made me feel like I wasn’t truly a part of the cast. I wanted to be around our cast and our crew. I loved spending my mornings in the trailer with our hair and makeup team. I loved laughing with our camera guys during blocking3 rehearsal. I loved singing Shawna Malwae-Tweep4 with Amy, Aziz, and Rashida in the bullpen. I remember being so upset once that I wasn’t in an episode that I went on a last-minute trip to Hawaii with a friend who I was in love with, but who wasn’t in love with me, thinking it would make me feel better. It didn’t. It was a trip he’d planned for a girlfriend’s birthday, but they had gotten into a huge fight and it was the last time he could use his days in the time-share … blah blah blah. It was a mess and stupid and I don’t recommend that kind of self-soothing.

I didn’t feel like the redheaded stepchild forever. The turning point for me came during season two, filming “The Hunting Trip.” I was helluh nervous because Greg Daniels was directing and he made me nervous (I now know he’s a sweetheart, but back then…). He seemed so serious and was very quiet. I don’t trust quiet people. When I’m comfortable I’m chatty and I can be boisterous. I used to get in trouble at school for talking too much. Nothing made me crazier than people who said I was loud; I fucking hated that shit. So people who were quiet made me nervous because I always thought they were judging me. Greg is very quiet and he was The Man. So I was doubly nervous around him because:

1. I thought that he thought I talked too much.

2. He did a lot of takes.

3. The episode required me to run out to my car but I have bad knees and a wonky ankle and the costume department put me in workman boots with a heel. I can’t wear ANYTHING with a heel. I was so fucking stressed about how I was gonna manage, it was almost making me sick.

I was freaked but I sucked it up and went up to Greg and said, “Oh my God, Greg, I can’t run. I have a bad ankle. I can’t run down steps. If the camera follows me, I can maybe do it twice and then I’m done.” And he was so cool about it (gasp). I was so relieved that when it came time to cry about my Mercedes being shot, I was so relaxed that I wailed as though grieving the greatest of losses. Greg was dying laughing and nothing could have made me happier in that moment. Greg Daniels just laughed at something that I did; I will survive this shoot.

When the episode aired, I remember getting a bunch of tweets about my crying scene. People seemed to enjoy watching me lose my shit over my car being shot. It felt good. It felt like maybe I can hang with this crowd.

By the time season 3 came along I started cookin’ with gas. Jim O’Heir and I were made regulars on the show. It was so exciting. I remember when Mike announced it to the cast and writing staff at a table read for one of the episodes. I don’t think I looked too excited on the outside. I tried to act like it was no big deal, but on the inside I was so happy. Now I was in this business. I’d already done close to thirty episodes of the show and was now going to officially be a regular on the show. Oh happy day! So I became a regular and it was great. I mean, nothing really changed that much other than getting a parking spot near my trailer as opposed to having to park in the parking deck.

But, having been on the show for more than a year, I learned some things about myself as an actor. I learned that the character isn’t you. I used to get upset when I didn’t like my wardrobe. Donna considered herself fly and I didn’t think her clothes were so fly. It wasn’t until our costumer reminded me that Donna lived in Pawnee and these are the options she would have that I came to accept what she wore. Donna wears floral prints and endless cardigans. Retta does not. I had to think about Kathy Kinney, who played Mimi on The Drew Carey Show. She wasn’t on the street, wearing that fucked-up makeup and those outrageous clothes. She was playing a part. I was playing a part. Being able to separate myself from the part was me maturing as an actor. After a while Donna got to get a li’l more fashionable and when Kirston, our costume designer, let me pick and partially design Donna’s wedding dress, I was thrilled.

I have also since learned how to have a thick skin. There was the first time Entertainment Weekly shot the cast for the cover of the magazine. And by cast I mean everyone but me and Jim. Or the time the ladies of Pawnee did a very glamorous photo shoot for a magazine where there were beautiful gowns to choose from except for the big gal. Nothing fit right and I ended up having to wear a strapless dress and we know how I feel about strapless. Another time, we were doing a promo for the Super Bowl, and the director lined us up to walk toward the camera. Jim and I were on both ends and were going to be cut out. Someone shouted out, “We can’t see them!” but the director was like, “Oh, it’s fine.”

It’s in these moments that you find out who really has your back in this business. Turns out, Amy Poehler is the fucking best. She was our mother hen. They always say that the tone of the set is set by the number one. And Amy is just so cool, she’s fun, she’s funny, she loves funny, she is absolutely not that person who needs to be the funniest. If somebody comes with a funny line, she says, “Say that, say that, say that!” as opposed to those insecure performers who want all the gems all to themselves. You know? She just wants the show to be funny, she wants the work to be good. Then you feel free to try things and not feel like you’re going to get knocked down or judged, or if it is funny have somebody be mad that you get to say something funnier. Our cast was not competitive. We only wanted to make the funniest shit possible.

Amy, bless her heart, spoke up for Jim and me several times. “No, it’s not fine,” she told the promo director. “We need to see everyone, otherwise, what’s the point? Why are we shooting this if we can’t see everyone?” Basically it got done because Amy put her foot down. (These are clearly first-world problems if you can consider them problems at all.)

The next time Entertainment Weekly did a Parks cover, they planned to include me and Jim, but only on the inside of the magazine. Once again, Amy came to our rescue. “That’s absolutely not an option,” I heard she’d said, then she threatened not to do the cover at all if we weren’t included. So we got on that damn cover, but Jim’s head was completely behind the “ent” in Entertainment Weekly.

Because Jim and I became regulars later than everyone else, we really bonded and became work besties. I call Jim my set husband. We shared a double-banger trailer. Whenever there was a food truck at the stages, he would knock on my door. “You want some ice cream? You want a hotdog?” He’d always get snacks for me and then we would sit and talk for hours waiting to shoot our scenes. Jim is like a New York Jewish mom who doesn’t have a job because they don’t need her to work and she knows everybody’s business. Jim would gossip so much, I would just sit in his trailer dying laughing. I was like, “Oh my God, you’re like a catty woman!” And he was like, “If you can’t say something good about someone, come sit next to me.” I loved his crazy ass so much. I used to hate when they were mean to his character, Jerry, because it felt like they were being mean to Jim, and I had to make a conscious effort to be like, Okay, Retta, it’s a character. Fucking relax. Jim would even say, “Retta, it’s Jerry. And it’s hilarious.”

It took a while for Donna to get her own storylines. My friends and family were like, “When are you gonna have a story?” And I was like, “I don’t know, I don’t write the show.” The truth is, I probably needed time to grow into Donna slowly. I think it was a blessing that I didn’t have much to do at the beginning. I was able to watch and learn from the skilled actors, and the more the writers got to know me, the more they wrote to my brand of foolishness. You know what I mean? I really appreciated that she wasn’t the stereotypical sassy big black woman in the office. She was a sensible person, grounded, and saw the crazy in those other characters. She didn’t have to be the loud person. She got to have her own quirks that weren’t stereotypical of what I tended to audition for.

By season 4, episode 4, I was ready for my big episode. It was called “Pawnee Rangers” but it might as well have been called “Treat Yo Self.” That’s the one that raised my visibility and made Aziz and me a part of pop-culture history. The episode was written by Alan Yang, the Emmy Award–winning cocreator of Master of None. When we were filming it, we didn’t know it would take on a life of its own.

Our storyline was that Ben was feeling down, so Donna and Tom invited him on their annual “Treat Yo Self Day.” We shot the scene where Tom brought the cupcakes and then we shot the talking-head portion:

Tom: “Every year Donna and I treat ourselves.… What do we treat ourselves to?”

Donna: “Clothes!”

Tom: “Treat yo self.”

Donna: “Fragrances!”

Tom: “Treat yo self.”

Donna: “Massages!”

Tom: “Treat yo self.”

Donna: “Mimosas!”

Tom: “Treat yo self.”

Donna: “Fine leather goods!”

Tom: “Treat yo self.”

Donna: “It’s the best day of the year.”

Both: “The best day of the yeeear.”

I remember my friend Britnee happened to be visiting me on set that day. I walked over to her when we were done with the talking head and she said, “That’s gonna be huge.”

And I go, “What?”

And she goes, “That treat yo self shit, it’s going to be fucking huge.”

I was like, “Really? Seriously?” I never think anything is funny if I’m doing it.

“Trust me, it’s going to be huge.”

Sure enough, the night it aired, I had been out. When I got home, I remember checking Twitter and my @ mentions were through the fucking roof. WTF? I was like, what happened? I clicked Mentions and it was:

TREAT YO SELF

It was crazy. People were dying. “Oh my god, this is the best!” I couldn’t believe how big it got. I used to play a game with my friends where we would go to lunch and I’d bet, “If Treat Yo Self hasn’t been tweeted in the last six or seven minutes, I buy lunch.” I never bought lunch. It’s still tweeted pretty consistently. Check it. I’ll wait … It’s there, isn’t it? Be sure to check the hashtag as well. That counts. People say it all the time. Businesses use it for marketing. There are all kinds of products on Etsy. Target sells Treat Yo Self T-shirts. And now there’s even a frozen yogurt shop in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, called Treat Yo Self.

I once saw someone tweet, “Please stop saying ‘treat yo self!’ I’m begging you.” And I get it. Just imagine how much Aziz and I hear it. There was a point where I thought, What if I hate this? What if I get to a place where I’m like, “I need everyone to stop saying it.” Here’s my thing: People really think that they’re the first person to say it to me. Like they are breaking new ground. I’ll order food, they’ll hand it to me and say, “Treat yo self.” I’ll be getting on a flight: “Treat yo self.” And don’t let me post a new purse or a happy-hour cocktail on Instagram. If I don’t get a hundred Treat Yo Self comments then something is wrong. I usually try to smile and be friendly about it because for them it’s a big deal. They’ve never seen me before in person and it’s likely the first thing that pops to mind. What I don’t like is when someone expects me to say it on their Snapchat or in a video to their friend. I’m sorry but I’m not your puppet. I was at a basketball game and this fucking kid came at me, shoving his phone in my face and demanding I say it. And I was like, “I’m gonna need you to back the fuck up off me, homie.” And absolutely not. I meeeean, R U D E.

And, just a quick note, Ginuwine is NOT my cousin. I feel the need to point this out because about twice a week someone asks, “Is Ginuwine really your cousin?” Nope. Not my cousin. It was a plot point in a TV show. I don’t have a real estate license or own a condo in Seattle or drive a Mercedes. I do, however, love Michael Fassbender and would name my Mercedes “Michael Fassbender” … if I had one.

I love my Parks family. I miss them. Actually I miss the crew most because I don’t get to see them often. The cast has a group text and we basically talk every week. We are forever sending pics from when we shot the show and pics from new projects when we get to work with other Parks family but mostly we send pics of Aziz sleeping on set. Aziz even sends “sleeping Aziz” pics from the set of Master of None.5

As an actor, you live in uncertainty. The uncertainty of stability. The uncertainty of longevity. Since I was on Parks, a beloved show that made it to seven seasons, people always say, “Oh yeah, you don’t have anything to worry about. You’ll always work.” I don’t feel that. I don’t trust that. Just cuz I’m known for a pop-culture catchphrase doesn’t mean my career is set and I can kick back with my wonky feet up. When Parks ended in 2015, it was really sad. But I was ready for the end because it was the only season we knew for sure we were coming back for and that it was to be our last. Every time we did a scene on a particular set for the last time we got sentimental. It was thirteen episodes of good-bye.

I loved that job. I am grateful for that job and the experience it gave me. I am grateful to Mike and Greg for taking a chance on me and giving me the opportunity that jump-started my career. I’m grateful to Amy for showing me what being a gracious class act in this business is and what it means to be a boss bitch. I’m grateful to Aziz for being my TV partner in crime and Jim for being my set hubs and keeping me sane on set. I’m grateful to Nick for taking the lead on all things business when it came to our group and laughing at my foolishness when I didn’t think I was that funny. I’m grateful for Pratt’s childlike joy for life and for showing me what it is to be a humble superstar. I’m grateful for Aubrey’s hidden sweetness, which, if you see it, you know you are loved. I’m grateful for Breezy, Helena, Kirston, JT Fabulous, Liz, Ned, Tom, Johnny, Will, Dustin, Tsang, Lozo, Jeannie, Sara, Morgan, David, Doug, Dean, Gay, Jules, Susie, Steve Day, Terrie, Trim, Aisha, Dave, Megan, Donick, Mande, Levine, Robin, Valeria, Lucchese, Willie, Nathan, Karen, and, most important, Terry from crafty.

I’ve gotten new jobs since the show ended. I’ve done several movies and recently was made a regular on Bravo’s Girlfriends’ Guide to Divorce. But I don’t take anything for granted. I know there are plenty of actors who have been on a series and when it ends, you never see them again. I don’t live in a mind-set that because I was on one show, I’m about to live large for the rest of my life. You always have to hustle. I’m determined to stay above water.

In the meantime, I am embracing “Treat Yo Self” because it will likely be on my tombstone. It’s my “Dy-no-mite!” My “Kiss my grits!” My “Norm!” My “Whatchu talkin’ bout Willis?” My “Yadda yadda yadda.” I’m aight with that. As Donna would say, “That’s the Meagle motto!”