Today is the last day of Dlisted. And if anything’s feeling it hard, it’s my delete button since I’ve hit it (and not in a sexy way) at least 800 times while trying to write the first few sentences of this final post. I couldn’t hate goodbyes more if they wore CROCS, and I’m a master at the Irish exit, but this is one goodbye I want to and must make. But be warned, if the love child of an obit and a sad awards show acceptance speech sounds like a Rosemary’s Baby to you, then brace yourself because that’s what this post may turn out to be.
“Do you ever read Dlisted.com?”. I can still remember my friend Addie asking me during a break in one of my college classes. Although since this story takes place in 2005, I’m pretty sure she said the full website address, like Dlisted-dot-blogspot-dot-com. It doesn’t matter, really. The relevant information here is that long before I began writing for Dlisted; it was my dream to write for Dlisted.
I promise I won’t make this too long.
Thousands of years ago (aka 2008), my friend Akona introduced me to the magic that is Dlisted.com. As someone who loves pop culture and entertainment news, I did a deep dive. And once I finally regained consciousness from the beatdown of sarcasm and top-tier writing, I knew I was in love.
I’m not a particularly smart woman. I mean, my brain’s a’right, I guess. But it’s not like when I die; anybody’s going to be chasing my corpse around with a mason jar, trying to capture my lobes for science. My shit is 100% USDA-certified Abby Normal. Which is probably why I’m here, honestly, and I suspect, why you’re here too. Michael K rolled out of bed one morning and said to the world, “I am going to create a blog that is so dumb…” and well, the rest, as they say, is Dlistory as of today. Oh shit, I think I’m gonna puke.
I cannot believe that after all these years, my time with Dlisted has come to an end. I don’t know how I’ll cope without talking so much shit every morning. I will have to find a similar release, so please follow me on all my socials to see how that goes!–I’m @Kristianidy on many of them. It’s been wonderful making jokes about people hotter and richer than I am, and I will continue to do so even when not being paid. A big, gigantic thank you to King Daddy Michael K!–if Dlistedweres a Housewives franchise, he would be Andy Cohen (minus all the bullshit). We all would not be here if we weren’t enamored by Michael’s hilarity during the rise of online celebrity gossip! He’s a trendsetter, and we’re all just following along.
And, of course, I want to thank EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU for reading, commenting, emailing, and being a part of this wild, wacky, and wonderful journey. It’s been so absolutely magical and amazing.
I’ll see you all at the next gig! Be blessed and beautiful! <3
Pic: Jennifer Graylock/INSTARimages
I’m an anxious person. I hem, I haw, I catastrophize, and I loooathe change. I’d rather have my eyes Clockwork Oranged and be made to watch an entire sports match than face the great unknown. So, like many of you, the news that DListed was shutting down totally bummed me out. Truly the end of an era. But, on the plus side, how lucky were we to get to be a part of it? Hell, I still have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I actually got to write for Michael K.
The moment I saw Michael’s “Writers Wanted” post back in January 2020, I was petrified. I really, really wanted it. And wanting something that badly is scary. My brain said, “You?! Ha. Ya got zero chance, so don’t even bother. Now, let’s smoke weed and watch six hours of Glee. I said NOW, bitch!” For days, I procrastinated writing my sample article about Cameron Diaz naming her newborn daughter “Raddix.” But, eventually, I bit the bullet, did the work, and applied. I got Michael’s “you’re hired” email in the middle of teaching a Level B improv class. I told the students to take a quick break from zip-zap-zipping, ran to the bathroom, and happy-screamed into my sweater. A moment of pure joy. And it would’ve never happened had I not taken a goddamn leap. So, maybe embracing change, facing your fears, “Yes, And-ing,” and all that other corny improv shit is… good? UGH. Maybe. But I’ll still miss DListed.