Is You Okay? (15 page)

I experienced this very thing back in 2011 after Tike had left, when
The Tonight Show
was done with, and I was building my YouTube channel. At the time, Jacqui and I had been reconnected for a while, and our friendship was going strong. We were besties—she was my sister from another mister. But
eventually, I found myself doing something with her that my dad had done with us in his final years: I made Jacqui one of my projects.

Here was this intelligent, talented, drop-dead gorgeous woman who was introverted and shy, but a firecracker when she was onstage. She was spiritually driven, but never judgmental. She was never mean, but maybe too nice for her own good. And most confusing of all for me, she was perpetually single. She'd have dates with guys who seemed promising, but they'd never go anywhere, or the guys would turn out to be phonies. I struggled to understand not just how she did not have a man, but how did she not have
the
man. How had some confident, successful Disney-prince-looking guy not swept her off her feet? This was Hollywood for crying out loud—they invented this kind of fairy-tale stuff. If it was going to happen anywhere, it was going to be here. When it didn't happen enough times in a row, I finally took it upon myself to find Jacqui a man. I was gonna marry this girl off!

For months, maybe even a year or two, if I wasn't making a video or doing a meet and greet or going on a talk show, I was trying to draw Jacqui out of her shell and hook my girl up. Heck, sometimes even during those things while I was working on my career I was also working on finding Jacqui her Mr. Right. I'd bring her with me to parties and events, introduce her to my YouTube friends, make her sit next to a
guy if we were at a big dinner. I'd tell anyone and everyone who would listen how amazing my friend Jacqui was. That doesn't work very well with introverts, I realize, but I couldn't let her stay in her head 24/7/365. If she had it her way, she'd just stand in the corner observing and analyzing everyone—not in a mean, judgmental way, but in the way curious intellectual types do.

One year I invited Jacqui to GloZell Festival and she spent the entire time off to the side of the stage, just watching, not talking to anyone. When I caught up with her at the end of the event, and thanked her for coming, I asked her if everything was okay. She said she had
the greatest time!
Go figure. I was even more determined to find her a man, whether she liked it or not!

Eventually, Lord only knows how, Jacqui met someone. He was a doctor, which was perfect, not because she was sick but because her family were all doctors so they would speak the same language. He was also older. Not like Morgan Freeman older, more like Denzel older, so she wouldn't have to deal with the insecurity of younger men. And most important, he adored her. Of all the men she'd dated while I'd known her in L.A., none of them
adored
Jacqui as much as they
drooled
over her, like she was an In 'n' Out burger.

I was a little suspicious of the doctor at first. He hadn't done anything wrong; I think it was actually the disappointment talking from not being the one who found him for her. Their relationship moved very quickly—they were in love before you knew it, which was fine by me. Their problem wasn't the speed with which they fell in love, it was the time it took for either of them to
do
anything about it.

Being her naturally shy, introverted self, Jacqui wasn't about to take the lead and talk about moving in together or getting married. And her boyfriend, being older, wasn't just going to jump in blind with both feet. As you get older, those big decisions are harder to make because there are only so many left, and there is less time to do something about them if you're wrong. I understood where they were both coming from—I recognized that getting engaged was an important decision at an important time in both their lives. That said, I wasn't trying to hear any of that nonsense. Boy better put a ring on that! (Beyoncé would have been so proud.)

When it finally happened, I was happy for them and relieved. Then I saw the ring. Future Mr. Jacqui had picked it out himself. It was just a band, and of course I thought she deserved a diamond that sparkled as much as she did. Jacqui loved it because she loved him, but I couldn't allow her to live her new life with a plain ring. That might mean a plain
wedding, which could mean a plain marriage. Then where would she be? Jacqui was anything but plain.

I had to do something. So, in the summer of 2011, I wrote them both an e-mail and put him on blast, in the hopes that a little reverse psychology would get Jacqui the ring, the wedding, and the marriage I thought she deserved.

The subject line was “
This ain't gonna happen!”

The e-mail was short and sweet:

“Girl, he ain't gonna marry you. He's never gonna do it, so you better get out now. And that ring is pitiful too. xo GloZell”

That was not one of my finer moments, I admit. We all do things in our lives that seem to make sense at the time, but later on with some distance, we regret because we missed the bigger picture (they were in love!). This was one of those instances. The thing was, at the time, I felt like I had to do it. As a proud black woman with a big personality and some experience with being let down, I felt like it was my job as the best friend to say the things that Jacqui would never say.

Jacqui had already seen the power of that personality for herself at the cell-phone store when we first reconnected. This time was no different, except for the bridge I had just burned. Jacqui ultimately got the ring and the wedding I felt
she deserved . . . not that I was there to see either, since right after I sent that superharsh e-mail I ghosted.

I completely disappeared from Jacqui's life.

I quit Jacqui's life for a very good reason: before you get up in other people's business, you should take care of your own. And I hadn't done that.

As things were starting to come together for Jacqui, they were going nowhere for me. I'd spent so much time focused on building her up as my project that I neglected to give my own life that same kind of attention and care. Charity starts at home, right? Well, Jacqui was on her way to having a comfortable home, a nice car, a man who loved and adored her—and I had given myself very little shot at any of those things, and for the first time I admitted to myself that I wanted those things, too.

Don't get me wrong, my life wasn't in some kind of downward spiral. My videos were going well enough, and my YouTube channel was growing at a decent rate. I was doing what I'd always wanted to do: entertain people and make them happy.

I'd also met a guy back in Florida whom I liked a lot. The problem was that everything had kind of stagnated, which
was a very weird experience for me. Since coming to California in 2003 I would reach these forks in the road every couple years, pick one and take that path, then experience these majorly exciting changes. Stand-up comedy, then
The Tonight Show,
then YouTube. I was constantly growing. Now it felt a little like I was standing still, or at the very least running in place.

I realized I had done with Jacqui exactly what my dad had done with our family. I put her oxygen mask on first before I even thought about putting on mine, and as a result I kind of went unconscious in my own life. If I was going to solve this problem, I needed to put myself first. No one else could do it for me—not my fans, not Jacqui, and not God (especially if I didn't try to help myself). By getting her happily married off and then burning the bridge behind me with that e-mail, I knew Jacqui would be taken care of, and I'd have no choice but to take care of myself. Once I did that—once I really made myself the number one person in my life—it wasn't long before I went from running in place to running like a chicken with my head cut off (in a good way, trust me).

A couple months after my relationship with Jacqui ended, I did my first challenge video—the Cinnamon Challenge.
The video opened a new path on my YouTube journey that has led to many life-altering opportunities. On the back of it, I crossed one million subscribers and then two million subscribers . . .
in the same year
! To date it is still my most popular video with forty-seven million views and counting. How nuts is that?

Around that same time, I also met Colleen Ballinger. We were in Utah filming an episode of a web series together, and we clicked right away. Even though Colleen was much younger than I was, we had a lot in common as performers. We were both singers and actresses, we'd both done a number of plays, we both had a goofball sense of humor, and we both loved making people happy through our work.

Back in L.A., Colleen and I started meeting every week to talk about our videos and our goals. Eventually, that led to a number of really successful collabs, our Sir Mix-a-Lot duet at the Streamys, and a new lifelong friendship.

Needless to say, it's been an amazing few years. And what's crazy is that while none of this would have been possible without Jacqui's friendship and understanding of the true me, it also would not have been possible if I had continued to rely on her. I ghosted her, not because she was holding me back—I would never say that, especially since it isn't true—but because I was holding
myself
back.

I was not putting myself first or prioritizing my own happiness. I put off dealing with problems and fears in my own life, by focusing on those of my friend. What's funny is that when you do that with someone you don't know very well, people call it being judgmental and critical. But when you do it with someone you are incredibly close to, they call it kindness and selflessness.

I believe the real issue is that both things—being too critical or being too kind—prevent you from growing as a person and fulfilling your dreams. Being true to yourself and open to the paths that make themselves known to you are a big piece of the puzzle, but if you wait for someone else to tell you which path to follow, then the puzzle immediately changes its shape. The path you take is no longer really
your
path. Those dreams are no longer really
your
dreams.

And it all stems from losing your focus on yourself.

I know there are a lot of people out there who probably disagree with me—especially adults. Some of them will tell you to ignore this advice completely. All I can do is talk to you from the perspective of my own experience, as someone who has been an outsider in nearly everything I have tried to accomplish. To grow, to lead a long, happy life, and to achieve big, new things in this modern world, you have to make yourself the most important person in your life. You have to
be your own number one fan. You have to put your oxygen mask on first.

That means studying for final exams instead of Facebook creeping on your ex's new bae. That means fixing your own flaws instead of gossiping about other people's. That means working on your talent instead of judging everyone else's. That means figuring out what makes you happy instead of worrying about pleasing your parents or your teachers or your partners (they won't want to hear that one).

I'm not going to sit here and tell you it's easy, but I also won't lie and deny that it's absolutely necessary. Jacqui understood that probably better than I did at the time, which is why once the pressure equalized in the jet plane that my career had become and I reached a comfortable cruising altitude, I was able to finally take off my oxygen mask and we were able to reconnect . . . again.

     
Q:
  What was it like to interview President Obama?

     
A:
  Completely amazing! I would say it's a dream come true, but never in my dreams did I think I would have an opportunity like that. The funny thing was that I made, like, every mistake possible that day.

           
I walked around the entire White House barefoot because the fancy shoes to my nice grown-up outfit hurt my feet (I wanted to wear a tutu and Crocs, but that wasn't “respectful” enough).

           
When Obama arrived in
Marine One
(that's the name of his helicopter) and walked in from the garden, I lost my mind and started screaming. The people from Google and YouTube who set up the
event were worried I wouldn't be able to handle myself during the interview. The people who worked at the White House loved it though, because they see it every day and it's boring to them now. Hey, the brother takes a helicopter to work and lands it on his lawn. That's cool whether you're the president or not.

           
Before the interview, the security and protocol people instructed us on how everything would work. President Obama would come over, we'd stand up, extend our right hand, he'd shake it, then we'd sit down for our interview. At no time were we to touch the president after that or hand him anything (not for security's sake, but because stuff carries germs and getting the president sick isn't usually a good idea). So what did I do? I went straight in for a hug and I handed him three tubes of glittery green lipstick for the ladies in his life.

           
I was a little flustered with the lipstick, because I remembered right then that we weren't supposed to hand him things. I tried to take it back, and in the moment I got all turned around and called the First Lady his first wife (the blogs loved that one!).

           
I'm not going to apologize for going in for the hug, though. The man is fine. He smelled so good too. Like
sandalwood, and power. And, hey, thanks to Rob Lowe, I found a larger grown-up audience and got millions of more views. A win-win all the way around!

Anyone who has met me IRL or watched my videos knows that I have no problem meeting or connecting with people. I can keep it real with anyone, which is probably why my life has become a giant collection of funny, nutty, “I can't believe you just said that,” out-there people. I mean, there are all my YouTube friends, who kind of speak for themselves. And then there's my mom and Jacqui who no one would ever accuse of being average or boring.

That said, the most calm, levelheaded, “normal” person in my life today is my husband, SK. And I had to kiss a lot of funky frogs to meet that prince.

The string of guys I dated after my divorce from Tike were so weird I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't lived it. Each one was a bigger mistake than the one before him. Had I known then what I know now, I might have been able to avoid these bumps in the road. Then again, if I had, I might not be where
I am right now. But in life, you don't just take the good with the bad, in most cases you only get the good by getting through the bad.

The first guy I dated was Dwayne. I met him at a club, and I never go to clubs. In all my years in L.A., that was still the only time I'd ever gone to a club. There's nothing wrong with clubs if you love to dance—which I do—but I also like to interact with people and have conversations, and clubs are not good for that unless you enjoy conversations that go like this:

Him: Hi.

You:
WHAT?!

Him: I said “hi.” What's your name?

You:
I CAN'T UNDERSTAND A THING YOU'RE SAYING!

Him: You know you're fine, right?

You:
NO, I'M NOT IN LINE. THE BATHROOM'S OVER THERE.

Dwayne was nice looking, he wore a suit, he didn't mind dancing a little, and he was taller than me, which is important since I'm six feet tall with my weave on. I liked him. After a couple songs, we managed to find a quiet corner
at the club and we got to talking. He was sweet and confident and respectful, so we hit it off. We asked each other all the normal getting-to-know-you questions. Our answers were all totally normal. Then I asked him what he did for a living.

“I'm an architect,” Dwayne said.

Wow,
I thought,
how could I be so fortunate?
I wasn't being superficial, I promise. I wasn't thinking about how much money he made. I was just excited that I had met someone who didn't have a Hollywood job—not a comedian, or an actor, or a producer. He had a real, normal job, and it was one that meant he could build us our dream home with a deck that a hot tub fits into, and a gazebo in the backyard where we could have romantic dinners in the summer.

You know, if we got that far.

“What kind of stuff do you design?” I said.

“You know when you go through the drive-through at a McDonald's or a Burger King, how you order at the menu, then drive around to the first window to pay and then the second window to pick up? I designed that whole system, with the windows and the overhanging roof to protect your food from getting wet.”

I didn't know what to say at first. I guess
somebody
had to come up with the design for a drive-through system. It's pretty incredible when you think about it—a lot of people have benefited from that model. There are tens of thousands of them all over the country, maybe even hundreds of thousands if you include banks and coffee places. Heck, even pharmacies have drive-throughs now.

“That's amazing,” I said. “So where do you live? I'm over in Studio City.”

“I live over the hill too,” Dwayne said, “with my mom.”

That sound you're hearing in your head right now is me slamming on the brakes.

Oh, heck no!
I already had one momster-in-law ruin my relationship; I had no interest in going back for seconds. Tike had been a mama's boy, but at least he had had his own place to live. I think Dwayne could see the doubt on my face.

“It's my house though. My mom lives with me, not the other way around. She's a quadriplegic, so I take care of her.”
Awwwww
. (See, that's what happens when I let my skeptical side dominate my hopeful side.)

Dwayne and I exchanged numbers and we started talking regularly over the next few weeks. He traveled a lot for work,
and you know how insanely busy I am, so we didn't get to see each other all that often. Our relationship developed primarily on the phone.

One night we were talking, filling each other in on how our week had gone, and he kept saying how tired he was.
Gosh, I'm tired. I'm so exhausted, I can barely keep my eyes open.

“Why are you so tired, Dwayne?” It felt like he was begging me to ask him.

“I drove a lot of miles last night,” Dwayne said.

“Why were you driving around so much?” I asked.

“Because I'm a truck driver,” he said, like it was nothing. Like I hadn't been imagining him as one of the twins from
Property Brothers
.

“What do you mean you're a truck driver? When I met you, you said you were an architect.”

“Well, I do both,” was his response, “because truck driving is just something fun to do and I like doing that.”

“So you're an architect . . . and a truck driver? You're a truck-driving architect.” I'm sure I sounded a little suspicious, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I mean, how could I
not
? He was tall, a good dresser, he's got
two jobs
now, plus he
owns a home that he lets his quadriplegic mother live in so he can take care of her. That's a catch in my book!

A couple weeks later we were on the phone again, and this time it wasn't fatigue that got in the way of our conversation, it was his mother.

“Dwayne! Dwayne!” I could hear in the background as I'm telling him about my day.

“Hold on,” Dwayne says.

“Dwayne, you want this dinner? I brought you some dinner.”

I'm, like,
brought you some dinner
?

“Okay, Mom, thank you,” he says.

So she leaves, but then I hear these footsteps going down a flight of stairs.
Clump, clump, clump, clump.
Now I'm confused. Maybe that wasn't his mom. Maybe it was his sister, or his mom's nurse, or maybe she brought it upstairs in one of those stair elevators. Before I can ask, he tells me to hold on again.

“You forgot the hot sauce!” Dwayne shouts. Fifteen seconds later the same person is back with the hot sauce.

“Dwayne, who is that you're talking to?” I had to ask finally.

“That's my mom. I told you I live with my mom,” he says, again like it's nothing.

“Oh, I remember,” I said. “She
brought you dinner
?”

“Yeah, she's a good cook.” Either this boy is dense, or I am missing something here.

“I thought you said she was a quadriplegic.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah,” he stammered, “not all the time though. It comes and goes.”

It comes and goes.
It comes and goes!?
I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure that's not how being a quadriplegic works. As someone who has experience dealing with a parent who endured major disability, I can assure you that being a quadriplegic limits your ability to
stand
in front of a hot stove, let alone
walk
up and down stairs to deliver hot sauce to a triflin' little mama's boy.

CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?!?

Dwayne is trying to play me with some sob story and he doesn't even have the intelligence or the decency to learn about the lie he was trying to tell? Needless to say, that was the end of Dwayne the Drive-Through-Designing Truck Driver with the part-time quadriplegic mother who sometimes forgets his hot sauce. I wouldn't have cared what he did for a
living, and I wouldn't have cared all that much that he lived with his mom, but I can't date a dummy
and
a liar.

You don't get three strikes in the court of GloZell.

The next guy I dated was superfamous, but I'm going to call him Tommy because it's never good to kiss and tell in Hollywood.

Tommy was only
regular
famous from TV back when I met him, but he's gotten
super
famous since he started doing movies. I met him at a comedy club where I was still doing some shows, and he dropped in to see what was going on. After I got offstage that night, he sent one of his boys over to get my number, because that's what guys do when they're famous in L.A.

What was I going to say? Tommy is supertalented, he's funny, and he has already made it in a field I'm trying to break into. Of course I gave his boy my number—at the very least Tommy might have some advice for me.

We kicked it for a few weeks. I saw his house (no fake quadriplegic mom). It was fun. But then I had to break it off.