How to Be Ballsy — in Any Situation 2011

"Wow, you've got balls!" This is the typical response when people find out I make my living as a stand-up comedienne. "Nope," I say. Well, at least the last time I went in for a Pap smear, my doctor didn't mention anything. What I have is unbridled confidence. I am one of the lucky women in this country who can look in the mirror and like what I see.
I think of myself as a fairly attractive girl and always have, thanks to my mom. I was brought into this world thinking I was gorgeous because my mother was extremely devoted to this notion. I remember being 8 years old, and she would say to me, "Look at you. You're an angel. You sparkle!" I bought it. I believed I was God's gift to the world.
I'll never forget the day I realized I wasn't quite the Ford model I thought I was. It was the first day of middle school, and I was ready for my debut. I had on jorts (jean shorts) and a huge fanny pack, because where else are you gonna keep your slap bracelets? I walked in as if it was a runway. I was like, "You'll all get to meet me, kids. Just form a line." But kids are mean; they let you know what your mother is too blinded by love to see. They told me, "Um, no, you're gross!" I thought, What? But my mom thinks I am so pretty! Maybe they didn't get a good look at my curly bangs and Cats (the musical) sweatshirt. I thought they were mistaken. Looking back at pictures, I realize they weren't. I remember going home and crying not because I felt ugly, but because I was confused.
My mom told me they were wrong and I was beautiful. This time, it didn't work. She was no longer the authority. I thought of other things she had not been honest about: Santa Claus (lie), Fraggle Rock (not a real place), what really happened to Bambi's mom (she didn't go to rehab). I took a long look in the mirror, frowning at myself and my ruffled socks and frizzy hair. I stood there until something caught my eye. It was my eye. I looked at my little blue eyes reddened from crying and thought, No, they are wrong. I like my frizzy hair. I like how this fanny pack makes Mr. Mistoffelees look. I am pretty, and I'm gonna be just fine. I marched into school the next day with twice as much confidence. I had found it in myself. That day, my confidence was shaken but not blurred. It rarely has been. That's counting the times I've been rejected by a guy or an audition or even a credit check. I have never thought, What's wrong with me? I always think, What's wrong with you aho?

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