What I’ll Miss About New York (And What I Definitely Won’t)

Taken moments before throwing my mattress down 4 flights of stairs.

I am sitting on my Aunt’s couch in Colorado nursing a bloody nose. I haven’t been back here in nearly a year and it shows. The altitude is kicking my ass. That plus the fires are making me into a little crisp raisin of a person.

Last weekend my little brother and I threw my mattress down four flights of stairs and drove a minivan full of my shit from New York to Colorado.

27 hours, 2 days, and lots of junk food later, here I am.

I am home.

I was born and raised in Colorado. But despite its wilderness and natural wonders, I wanted a different kind of wild. I wanted a new life entirely.

So on July 6, 2017, I packed two bags and moved to New York City with no plan, no job, and some really impractical shoes. You’ve been hearing me tell this story ever since then so I’m sure you’re tired of hearing it.

The point is, I threw myself into the void and I prayed that something would catch me. In a lot of ways, I had convinced myself that I wouldn’t make it a month. Maybe not even a week if I kept wearing those stupid paper shoes!

I made it 3 years, 2 months, and 13 hours. Actually I don’t know about the hours thing I just made that one up, but you get the idea.

I left in a hurry, just like I came. I told no one and I threw everything in suitcases and trash bags and hit the road. It was all a blur and I’m positive all of you are sitting over there going, “Wait WTF, she moved out of New York?!?!”

Believe me, I’m as shocked as you are.

Due to the raging dumpster fire that is 2020, I’ve been unemployed for two months, slowly losing my mind and watching from a distance as my parents continue to one-up each other with a buffet of health issues.

I’ve been homesick and confused and boy, have I taken a lot of depression naps!

It’s impossible to say if this is an end of an era, a chapter, whatever metaphor you’d like to use to refer to my “New York Years.” All I know is that it happened and it changed me enough to write a lengthy blog post about it.

Here’s what I’ll miss…and what I won’t:

I will miss that skyline.

I will miss my friends; old and new, strange and funny and creative.

I won’t miss the fucking MTA.

I repeat. I won’t miss the fucking MTA. Not one god damn bit.

I will miss celebrity encounters (although I’m still bitter I never met Tom Hanks).

I won’t miss 4th-floor walk-ups.

I won’t miss trash castles on the sidewalk.

I will miss my roommates, Simone and Joy, the longest relationships I have managed to hold onto in my entire life.

I will miss hearing music in the distance, on the street or in a park, and looking for the source.

I will miss the rush of ACTUALLY MAKING IT BEFORE THOSE SUBWAY DOORS CLOSE I AM SUPERHUMANNNN.

I will not miss getting catcalled.

I will not miss running late to literally every place I ever tried to go.

I will miss our pizza place.

I will miss my bodega guy and his smile when he said “Hello, Mami!”

I will not miss $20 cocktails.

I will miss CVS, Duane Reade, and if I’m feeling ratchet, Rite Aid.

I will miss packed comedy clubs and really slaying it.

I will not miss not having a closet.

I will not miss having my packages stolen off my front porch.

I will miss “SHOWTIME, Everybody, SHOWTIME” unless I’m tired and this train is delayed because I really don’t want to catch a shoe to the face right now.

I will not miss the fish market on my old block that was stinky as hell.

I will miss Bacon, Egg, and Cheeses at 2 AM. Really any time. That shit is delicious.

I will miss those tiny little blue cups for coffee with the greek stuff on it.

I will miss riding a couch carousel on a rooftop drunk on Cinco de Mayo.

I will miss dog park Saturdays and getting asked which dog is my dog and looking like a psychopath who just sits in dog parks even though I don’t have a dog.

I will miss doing improv shows.

I will miss laughing at my friends coming to visit who always end up passing out on my kitchen floor in the exact same position.

I will not miss stepping in dog/human shit on a regular basis.

I will not miss paying a locksmith $150 to break open my mailbox and then finding my mail key the very next day.

I will not miss spending all day trying to acquire enough quarters to do my laundry in the basement only for the machine to break.

I will not miss shitty landlords.

I will not miss bed bugs.

I will miss finding random pieces of furniture on the sidewalk like a daily garage sale.

I will miss 75 cent bagels.

I will miss running into people I know on the street which feels statistically impossible considering everyone and their mother lives there.

I will miss discovering a hidden new restaurant.

I will miss meeting two lovely Brits on their honeymoon in a speakeasy on my birthday who later housed me during the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

I will miss colliding with Josh Groban’s chest in a theater and yelling, “ARE YOU JOSH GROBAN?”

I will not miss being punched on the subway by a crazy lady an hour after colliding with Josh Groban’s chest.

I will not miss first and last month’s rent, double security deposits, and lying about how much money I make just to get approved for an apartment.

I will miss being a nanny to three adorable boys and only occasionally pretending to be their mother in public.

I will miss the day I got the email that I was getting published and sobbing in Grand Army Plaza and calling everybody I knew.

I will miss the mystery of the Z train.

I will not miss the smell of a homeless person sitting next to me on the subway.

I will not miss the doctor who told me I didn’t have double vision and just needed to “move my whole head to look at something.”

I will miss the perfect fall morning and grabbing a coffee on the way into the city.

I will miss brunch that I can’t afford but fuck it.

I will miss teaching a couple of dudes how to do standup comedy and watching them blossom and grow on stage.

I will not miss being asked at Thanksgiving, “So have you ever thought about auditioning for SNL?”

I will not miss that time I asked a guy to take me to a “quiet spot” for a date and he took me to a bar where a 12-piece jazz band was playing. Not his fault but still LOL.

I will miss wholesome conversations with Uber drivers that end in one of us telling the other our life story (when I’m in the mood for it).

I will not miss breaking up with someone at JFK.

I will miss the conversation that followed that breakup with a Columbian cab driver who took me out for pizza on the way home and reassured me that I would find love again.

I will not miss trying to be in public on New Year’s Eve, July 4th, or any time where everyone else is outside.

I will miss that rare moment when you get a whole subway car to yourself.

I will not miss getting kicked out of Buzzfeed for asking if I could “talk to Dan.”

I will not miss man-spreaders.

I will not miss actively trying not to make eye contact with the psychopath on the street, train, etc.

I will miss seeing the Empire State Building change colors every night.

I will not miss getting spit on but I was a white girl with tattoos living in Brooklyn so I kind of get it.

I will miss everyone saying good morning to you in Brooklyn.

I will miss Zabar’s in UWS.

I will miss Drunken Dumplings in LES.

I will miss BLM marches across the Brooklyn Bridge.

I will not miss bringer shows and whoring out 12 of my friends to pay $50 to see my comedy.

I will miss finding money on the ground when I was at my most broke. Seriously, I found so much money on the ground you would not believe.

I will not miss packing my bag like I’m going to Mordor. Snacks, sunscreen, change of clothes, water, a golf club, I mean you never know what’s gonna happen.

I will not miss my mother asking me if I’m being hit by a car every single day for 3 years when I’m just walking outside on the sidewalk which is where people walk.

I will miss sneaking an entire box of wine into a concert, getting lost in Queens, and crying in an Uber Pool with Mary. I repeat. An Uber Pool.

I will not miss sleeping on a bunk bed for 10 months with 20 strangers in a “co-living” house which was just a glorified hostel.

I will miss being on TV and feeling like a celebrity during my book launch.

I will miss storytelling shows.

I will not miss hauling Trader Joe’s home after I clearly went a little overboard.

I will miss seeing my book in the Barnes and Noble shop window in downtown Brooklyn.

I will not miss being over-stimulated every second of every day by the screeching sounds of the subway, screaming children, and the noise of the city.

I will not miss trying to not accidentally commit tax fraud because of the 20 different part-time jobs I had.

I will miss the energy of that place. Something so inexplicable I don’t know I’ll ever be able to describe it. Just this non-stop buzzing of people and things. It was almost like we all knew, deep down, that we were in the greatest city in the world.

Regrets? Oh, I don’t have any. Only that I couldn’t stay a little longer.

It wasn’t the safest of places at times, but it was mine. I liked that danger, always underneath everything I did. Was I going to get the job? Make the train? Lose my wallet? I never knew what obstacles New York would bring me each day. And that was kind of exciting.

When I arrived, I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted. I would never call myself an artist or a writer or a comedian. I had no confidence and I was desperately seeking to fill a void at the bottom of my stomach.

That void is full now. It’s brimming with crazy stories, new friendships, and once-in-a-lifetime experiences I never imagined for myself back when I first stepped foot in the Big Apple.

Sure, it took a bite out of me. Existing in that place was not at all like Meg Ryan makes it seem in You’ve Got Mail.

But all of those bad days taught me that I’m more resilient than I thought I was. And it really is true, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.

That place will always be with me. Like a beautiful garbage stain on my heart.

Thanks for the memories, New York. You can keep the mattress.

Love,

M

An Open Letter to My Boyfriend, New York City, on Our 2 Year Anniversary

#mancrusheveryday #BAE #howsweetitistobelovedbyyou

Hey Babe,

I know I could have just sent a text once I got off the subway, but I wanted to write a little note instead. You left your laundry card jammed in a tube sock again, silly goose! You’re so funny when you hide things from me. But seriously. Knock that shit off ;)

Anyway, not sure if you remembered that today is our 2 year anniversary of being together. I didn’t put it in your Google Cal because I was hoping you’d remember. And last year we didn’t really get to celebrate because my phone fell out of my pocket on the street and got stolen and taken to the Bronx Zoo. Remember that, Babe! We have fun, don’t we!

I guess you did give me a gift of sorts today. Bleeding heels and a nice blister. That’s what I get for wearing these new fancy sneakers without socks, huh Babe! I think you were trying to be funny. A little #TBT to when we first started dating and all the shoes I brought to the city were trashed within the first week. Then I got smart and bought a pair of ~white!~ Nikes. They’ve stood the test of our relationship, but I was ready for something new, you know?

See that’s kind of why I’m writing this letter.

Hey, don’t jump to conclusions, Babe! I’m not breaking up with you, oh God no!

I just, um, need a little break.

Call it a vacation if that helps. I mean technically it’s for work. And also pleasure. But trust me when I say distance will indeed make the heart grow fonder!

Babe, don’t worry, OK. I’ll only be a Facetime away. 

But before I go, I just wanted to remind you of all the beautiful and crazy times we’ve had these past two years together. Life-changing and formative, maybe a little insane at times. And definitely unforgettable. I hope these memories can soothe your worries while I’m away…

In no particular order:

• Sneaking into a VIP tent at OzyFest with Mary, seeing Passion Pit in the best seats in the house, and coming home with bags full of beer and wine spritzers

• Walking into Buzzfeed, asking for “Dan” and promptly being told to leave the premises

• Getting drunk on a rotating couch carousel with Vanessa on Cinco de Mayo

• Long runs to Prospect Park

• Writing a blog about how to winterize pipes and getting paid $20

• Wandering Greenwich Village my first week with you, sweating through my white blouse, drying it out with the hand dryer in the bathroom, and trying to find a company I had an interview with which, according to the doorman, “didn’t exist”

• Getting punched in the face on the 2 multiple times at 1 AM while 15 people watched and did nothing

• Tap Dance Festivals with K-Dog

• Reading old letters from my students and missing them

• Building an IKEA bed and nearly losing a finger with a power tool

• Losing lots of headphones, sunglasses, and hair ties

• Falling down a flight of stairs wearing heels for the first and last time

• Reading the email that my book was getting published at Grand Army Plaza and bursting into ugly tears

• Taking my first UCB Intensive in the summer of 2015 before we got together

• Crying looking a the seals at the Central Park Zoo when I was going through a breakup

• Doing my first stand up set in NYC that summer and being called a “headliner” which actually just meant I was the last name to get called out of a bucket

• Dreaming about you sometimes while I was in a windowless classroom getting heckled by teenagers

• Getting booked on my first comedy show at Broadway Comedy Club

• Starting a podcast shortly after learning what a podcast was

• Going to Carnegie Hall with Jill Bolte Taylor

• Dad getting cancer in his mouth and then getting it taken out safely

• Losing my cellphone then learning that it was stolen and taken to the Bronx Zoo

• Long runs to Domino Park (and our weekly Puppy and croissant visits!)

• Getting spit on (last week) by an angry man in Brooklyn

• Starting an awesome community of brain injury survivors with people I now consider my closest friends

• Bingeing Outlander with Mom back in Colorado

• Whoring out all my friends to come to my bringer shows

• Working for a cool science rapper

• Moving to Flatbush in Ubers

• Sharing prosciutto with Bill Nye the Science Guy

• Being crippled by anxiety and crying while making Vegan tacos

• Writing a TV pilot

• Going on a shake diet for 30 days

• “Brain Buddy” calls

• Getting catcalled on the way to the Women’s March

• Emptying my bank account after buying new glasses

• Buying my “New York backpack” with Mom at the mall before moving which turned from white to brown within six months

• Talking to “Park Jesus” a.k.a. Sugar Ray Leonard at Prospect Park

• Crying in WeWork cubbies my first few months with you during my internship every single day

• Sunburns

• Having my face held by a doctor and told I didn’t have double vision

• Moving into a commune in Brooklyn and becoming the House Mom

• Interviewing for promising jobs and getting none of them

• Discovering FreshDirect and FoodKick

• Spending my 401-K (or at least what I’d been able to acquire in 2 years)

• Losing my healthcare

• Getting accepted to perform a one-woman show at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival

• Trying to get cast in an alcohol commercial set to tape in the Bahamas and failing

• José the Cab Driver buying me a slice of pizza after breaking up with a guy at JFK

• Surprising Mom and Dad when I came to Denver for a TEDxMileHigh audition

• Driving a Uhaul through Brooklyn (twice) and hitting a parked van (once)

• Summertime Adventures with Gage, Lafe, and Henry

• Discovering Smorgasburg for the first and not the last time

• Friend weddings

• Watching The Handmaid’s Tale

• Discovering Almond Croissants

• Gazing up at the Rockefeller Christmas tree after getting laid off right before the holidays

• The Catskills that one time

• Watching Game of Thrones Finale with Mary

• First keynote at Brain Injury Alliance of Colorado

• Reckless Theater Improv shows before it was canceled

• Going to Ellis Island with a boy scout troupe and K-Dog

• Signing my first author contract in the kitchen of the commune

• Getting friend-dumped by several friends via snail mail, in person, and ghosting my podcast

• Free Yoga classes

• Meeting Josh Groban (and proceeding to get punched in the face)

• TED Talk submissions

• Sitting in a Burger King in Brooklyn, calling every friend I knew until one picked up so that I could weep uncontrollably

• Learning that my best friend was pregnant while roped to a charger behind a trashcan in a Starbucks in Midtown

• Going home for the holidays

• Live podcast recordings at science museums and contests

• Being on TV a couple of times

• Moving my books from the bottom self to the best-seller table at every Barnes and Noble

• Buying a floor-length parka after weeping in the street during our first winter

• Teaching a group of adults how to do stand up comedy for the first time

• Getting my tongue impaled by the only dentist I could afford

• Bringing tea bags into coffee shops and asking for hot water

• Going on a date to a Rite-Aid on Valentine’s Day with a weirdo

• Selling out all my books at a Barnes and Noble in Salt Lake City and playing with Lexi’s kitty

• Befriending a pair of adorable Chileans while they were on vacation

• Getting ghosted by my personal trainer

• Watching my friends pass out on my kitchen floor from exhaustion after their first visit

• Sunsets on the Brooklyn Bridge

• Losing an audio recording interview with 4X best-selling author Sam Kean…then getting it back 48 hours later

• Buying Dr. Scholl’s inserts for all my shoes.

• Meeting Jim Gaffigan and personally handing him a signed copy of my book

• Working at a Matcha tea place for like 2 months then getting fired for being on my laptop when there were no customers around

• Trying to see fireworks on July 4th and getting stuck in a mob of one million sweaty people instead

• Apartment hunting with Joy and Simone in Brooklyn

• Being overloaded by stimuli every single day

• Sneaking in a full bag of rosé to The Head and The Heart concert, getting lost in Queens, and crying in an Uber Pool with Mary

• Blowing the roof off my book launch party a.k.a. Mimi’s Brain Carnival Extravaganza

• Shooting a music video and successfully running a light and sound board at an off-Broadway theater

• Sprinting for the LIRR and missing it by literally five seconds multiple times

• Wineries by myself in Long Island

• Going on anti-depressants

• Running two half marathons

• Going on a handful of awful Tinder dates and calling it quits entirely

• Meeting Emilia Clarke in a hallway

• Cutting my own bangs

• Being a finalist at the Werk It Women’s Podcasting Festival

• Almost getting investigated by child protective services after picking up a stupid roommate in the ER and being suspected of running a drug ring

• Having my Blue Apron boxes stolen off my porch

• Getting my first author check for $750 dollars

• Clubbing with roommates and dancing like a weirdo and getting zero free drinks

• Wasting weeks of my life stuck underground in subway delays

• Raising approximately $4,500 from friends and family for my book launch and Fringe Kickstarter

• Which leads me to…

• Having food poisoning from Chipotle Tofu (today)

I know I’m probably missing a lot, but these were some of the moments that jumped out at me like the Pizza Rats on the subway. They stick to my memory like the gum sticks to my shoes.

It’s been a fucking wild ride, Babe.

And I’m in it for as long as the arches of my feet can stand walking 10,000 steps a day.

I can’t say for sure how long that will be, my love, but just know that you have made me who I am today: A person so lively and unafraid of chasing her dreams it sometimes scares me. And maybe that’s why you challenge me sometimes. Maybe that’s why you push my buttons and put the hardest possible paths before me.

You’re trying to see how long I’ll fight.

Well, buckle up, Babe. It’s gonna be a long ride.

I’ll send a post card when I reach Scotland!

Love,

Memes

Photo by: Via Perkins

A Broke Girl's Guide to the Galaxy: New York City Edition

I totally forgot about this gem of a film…

What in the hell? It’s already February? Lemme just wipe the goo out of my eyes and flip my calendar over.

What a whirlwind of a winter. Really. It was in the single digits here in New York a week ago and my long underwear was practically becoming a new layer of my skin. Then inexplicably yesterday it was 65 degrees and I sweat through those same long underwear.

But we’re not here to talk about the weather. No. Today’s topic is all about moneyyyyy. Cash, bread, dough, coin, dolla dolla billz y’all, Benjamin’s, George’s, shit who else is on money...

If you haven’t been following my journey for the past 2+ years then welcome! I am broke.

Now I’m just going to clarify so that I don’t come off as some millennial ass-hat (I might anyway, we’ll see), but my brokeness is minimal compared to, oh, I don’t know…over 80% of the world’s population who actually live in poverty.

That being said, the past year and a half I have struggled.

I pulled my retirement money to come out here. I live in an 8x8 closet to be here. And I’ve made a lot of mistakes.

You ever see that movie, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Yeah, I haven’t seen it in a long time but I think this blog is going to be kind of like that. Except maybe less aliens.

Here are my top galactic hacks should you find yourself knee deep in student loan payments trying to live in one of the most expensive cities in the world:

Try having multiple jobs

As far as I’m convinced, gone are the days when you could have a single job that provided you with all the income and health benefits you could ever dream of.

Most people I know my age have 3-4 sources of income. Part of this is a shift in job culture that no longer guarantees you a job if you have a college degree. To be frank, that actually doesn’t mean shit anymore.

All that means is that now you have a heaping pile of student loan payments to prove that you spent four years taking bad notes in history seminars and doing improv with all your friends on weekends.

Because of this, you’re going to have to get diverse with that income stream. $30 bucks a month writing freelance pieces for some random website, another $250 a month teaching writing classes, a handful of $20’s every time you babysit some kids…it’s time to really double down on your New Year’s resolution to “try new things.”

Exhausted from all these jobbies? I know. I am too. That’s why I’m going to sign up for a sleep study at NYU. That’ll be a couple hundred bucks right there.

Find free shit

I know all our dads told us “there’s no such thing as a free lunch” but there actually is. It turns out that there are plenty of free things in the galaxy, specifically in New York City.

Free gym memberships?

Free alcohol?

Free foot rubs?

Yes! All of this and more can be free! How you ask?

You get crafty, of course. Did you know you can get free day and even week passes at gyms and yoga studios before enrolling? Who needs to get a gym membership at one place when you can simply sample every fancy gym in Manhattan one at a time and then never go back to those places again?

There’s also this cool thing called Class Pass that you can also get a free month of by clicking this link here. It has all kinds of day passes to gyms and fun workout classes. The coolest part? There’s even massages and other random wellness stuff on there!

You get a free month of points that you can use for different classes around your city. Yoga, Ballet, gym time, even candle-lit hot Pilates that you’d never be able to afford in this lifetime. And as long as you cancel at the end of the month you just get all those points to spend on whatever you want.

I even did a free “nap session” at the Dreamery Casper bed place with some of my points. Would I ever spend actual money to go to a swanky studio where I get my own nook, cozy sheets, and tiny samples of free skincare products while I take a 45 minute REM session in the middle of the day? No friggen way. But you better believe I’d do that kind of nonsense for free.

Oh and the key to free alcohol?

Might I suggest third-wheeling one of your friends and their beau on New Year’s and edging yourself over to the bar? Tons of bros willing to get you that Whiskey Sour in exchange for a dance or two it turns out. Then all’s you gotta do is give that friend a quick hand signal and she can swoop in for some fake emergency after you down that beverage.

This probably isn’t the nicest (or most feminist) of things to do, but it’s either that or smuggle your own shooters into the bar cuz ain’t no broke kids shellin’ out $15 for a glass of god damn wine no thank youuuuu.

Adopt a bartering mentality (a.k.a start trading shit)

You know back in the old days money wasn’t even a thing, OK.

People used to get by just on their own cunning ability to make their old crap look like a new iPhone. Want that buffalo skin your cool neighbor has? Better check your wagon for some dirty prayer beads to string together into a nice necklace!

I’m not saying you should go around throwing your belongings at people, but you should think about it in terms of economics, something I’m going to talk about now even though I barely passed my ECON 101 class in college.

It’s like this. Supply and demand. I have a supply of…um…IDEAS…and someone has a demand for ideas. A personal trainer I just met while using that free Class Pass from the last item has a supply of FITNESS AND NUTRITION SKILLS and I have a demand TO NOT BE A FAT SLOB WHO GETS TIRED WALKING UP ONE FLIGHT TO MY APARTMENT.

The capitalization was for effect, I’m not angry. But you get it, right?

If I’m so good at writing books, maybe somebody won’t necessarily pay me for that (see December’s post 11 Inconvenient Truths About Being an Author to Brighten Your Holiday) but they might want to trade me a couple of free massages for some advice on how to structure a memoir or short story.

So far I’ve only been remotely successful at this. But think long enough and I’m sure you’ll find something you have that you don’t think is that great and there will undoubtedly be someone out there who thinks that’s worth trading for. Speaking of which…

Get Some Cute Merch

If you haven’t seen my extremely more talented friend Kristen Jorden’s quilts then you need to seriously check yourself before you wreck yourself how friggen CUTE is this!

If you don’t have anything to trade or sell, now would be a great time to put that Etsy account to good use.

My partner in crime Kristen Jorden makes stunning quilts and they basically put everything to shame. You can check out her Etsy store here and her personal website here.

It’s nice to have a book, but I don’t recommend you spending the next four to five years trying to convert your brain into a published book because that shit is way too hard. Go easy on yourself. Make some cute shit out of garden pots or something.

If you think about it. Having trinkets to sell is a solid way to have a consistent stream of baby income flowing into your pockets. It might not seem like it’s worth it when you’re slaving away with your hot-glue gun, but once you make a few dozen of those ceramic gnomes your inventory is set until you sell out!

If you’re a good crafts person and solid at marketing yourself online that could mean a week or so. And if you really suck at making things and live off the grid you’re probably good for a few decades.

Kick Your Goddamn Starbucks Habit

I know, I know. That green lady with the twelve arms is really cool but you have seriously got to knock it off!

$5 doesn’t seem like a whole lot in the grand scheme of life, but come fucking on do you understand that dirty Chai latte is burning a hole in your pocket that already has holes in it in the first place???

Think about it this way. Even one $6 (cuz you don’t drink dairy now you fancy bastard) drink even just once a week is going to cost you about $24 a month. That’s $288 a year. And if you’re up to an addictive three times a week, that $2,592 a year! Did I do that math correctly, Jesus H. CHRIST. Yes I did. I absolutely did.

Get your shit together. That green lady is lighting your precious money on fire with all twelve of her arms.

So you like coffee. We get it. But you know what you could do instead of sacrificing that $6 to American mass consumerism?

You could just buy a big can of Folgers, mmkay. Hate Folgers? Fine, spring for a knock off or something cheap and bearable. Get the vanilla flavor. Knock your fucking self out just keep it under like $10.

And then you could make your own god damn coffee and bring it to the coffee shop.

Master cheat code? Try paying attention to when the barista’s change shifts and then ask for a free (or usually $1) refill in your road mug. How the hell are they going to know you never bought a coffee in the first place?

Or if you’re worried about your morals or something switch out the coffee for tea bags and just ask for hot water. That shit is absolutely free and totally legal.

Now sit back and enjoy not having $2,592 dollars mysteriously leave your bank account every year, you coffee genius.

Go “Green” (so to speak)

Always wanted to have a lesser impact on the slowly dilapidating environment? Well now you get to!

Being broke means using less and getting thrify with things, and that includes your carbon footprint. Now you can avoid breaking your wallet held together by duct tape AND the planet at the same time.

Everything has a purpose. Half empty shampoo bottles can become mega shampoo bottles, giving you 12 new containers to use however you want! Isn’t that exciting?

This will also keep you from buying more shit that you don’t need, because chances are, you already have it lying around in the bottom of the drawers of your IKEA bed somewhere so there is literally no need to waste the money.

And hey, who knows? Maybe you can jerry-rig your toilet to be like those cool eco-toilets in Japan where the water from the sink cycles down and gets used in the toilet water…that you can sell…on Etsy!

Become a Better Cook

Thanks a million Emily Hardwick!

It’s no surprise we spend so much money on eating out. None of us can cook for shit! At least not on a consistent basis that doesn’t destroy the kitchen and all of our dishware in one fell swoop.

And nothing is more sad than lobbing off a block of cheese and Ritz Crackers at 1AM because you’re too damn tired to make an actual dinner.

I was just kind of raised that way. About once or twice a week we’d get tired of cooking and we’d all ravage the kitchen for anything we could find. We call it “Fend For Yourself” Night.”  

As a kid I thought this was kind of cool that I could eat a pint of mint chocolate chip unchecked at 10PM but now I’m starting to realize every night of my adult life has become “Fend For Yourself Night” and it’s far less exciting than it used to be.

Sure, it can be easier to motivate yourself to cook when you’ve got a significant other to help you chop the onions and shit, but you’ve really got to get better at being on your own.

I used to really love cooking for boyfriends. I kind of felt like I was fulfilling my gendered societal duty every time I pulled a casserole out of the oven for my guy. There’s a lot of things wrong with that, but mostly it’s that I was only motivated to learn how to fucking feed myself when I was in the presence of someone else.

Now that I’ve been single for foreverrrrr I think it’s safe to say I need to get my act together. Luckily I got a great Vegan cookbook from a friend for Christmas and unlike every other cookbook I’ve ever had, I’ve actually make things from it.

And if you didn’t know, I do a once a week “cooking show” on Instagram Live where I cook in a made up character, funny voice and weird backstory and everything. Sometimes my roommates end up walking into the kitchen wondering why in the hell I’m talking to myself in a terrible French accident but ask me how many fucks I give?

I give about as many fucks as I have gallons of real dairy milk in my fridge! #VegansUNITE

It’d be cool if Netflix or someone picked this up and made it into a real cooking show, but for now I’m just enjoying coming up with obscure ways to explain why I’m cooking for myself alone in my kitchen at 11PM. Usually it involves a freak accident and a dead or seriously estranged husband. One time I made Butternut Squash soup as Christopher Walken. That was one of my personal favorites.

Buy (and Cook) in Bulk

Whoever made this is a saint.

It may seem counter intuitive to drop $20 on a liter of ketchup when you’re stretched for cash, but honestly you’d be saving yourself a pretty penny if you did.

I actually don’t have a membership to Sam’s Club or Costco but my best friend in Long Island does. Most of my time spent with her is actually just going there and picking out 10-pound bags of rice that she lends me extra suitcases to take home with.

If you live in New York City and don’t drive a car, this is kind of an impossible ask. If you tried to carry all those bulk items out you might end up like that Home Alone kid and drop your groceries all over a crowded sidewalk.

But what I can tell you is that there’s an app for that. FreshDirect, Shipt, and Postmates just to name a few. When I heard about FreshDirect it absolutely changed my grocery game. You’re telling me I don’t even need to put my pants on to get some more peanut butter and toilet paper? Get outta here.

It sounds like black magic but it’s really popular in New York and other cities where it’s not common to have a car or even large chain grocery stores.

And because you’re so great at cooking now, you’ll appreciate getting those groceries quickly and easily so that you can focus your efforts on making an 8-serving risotto dish which amounts to roughly 3-4 meals for you and you only yuh little sad single person!

Cha-ching! Someone just scored some extra moolah!

Borrow Your Roommates Books

Hey thanks, Joy! This book was great! I’m so glad I didn’t have to buy it!

If you’re like me, walking into a Barnes and Noble is the quickest way to drain your entire bank account. Books are awesome! And I’m not just talking about my own because I guarantee you there are better books than mine out in the world.

Books can transform our worldviews. They can transport us to new places and times and like damn isn’t J.K. Rowling a fucking genius?!

However, books are expensive. And if you’re broke as shit you shouldn’t buy them.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t raid your roommates bookshelf! Don’t have a roommate? Well then GOOD FOR YOU 99% OF THIS POST DOESN’T APPLY TO YOU since I’m assuming you must be either a bajillionaire working for a Fortune 500 or in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere and you can buy an entire house with a backyard and 5-car garage for $200 a month because that’s what real estate is like there and in that case fucking congrats, man.

So go ahead, temporarily misplace your roommates book in your bedroom for a few weeks (or a few months if you’re a slow reader like me). Even better, be on the look out for boxes of free books that somehow appear on the streets of New York City every once in a while.

Use Your Families (or Exes) Netflix Accounts

I honestly don’t even know anyone who has their own anymore. And as long as they don’t change the passwords on you then you’re pretty much set for life.

And if all else fails…

Convince Yourself that Money Sucks, You are Not a Slave to it, and Your Joyful Experiences in Life Will Serve as Evidence of Your Worth

I’m still working out the details on this one, but I think it involves sticky notes that say “You’re Awesome!” taped to your bathroom mirror and truly believing that a 401(K) is just a socially constructed concept meant to trap us all in miserable jobs that suck our souls for 30+ years.

Dunno, jury’s still out on that one…

Thanks for reading! Stay thrifty, my friends.

How I Became a Podcaster on Accident

Here I am, relaxed as ever, after nearly losing an entire audio file...

Me: “I should start a podcast.”

Also Me: *looks at calendar booked to infinity*

I have a bad habit of accidentally doing things.

Not anything bad. I’ve never been pregnant or on cocaine. Although I did spend two weeks in a rehab center one time. And I did do a lot of drugs while I was there. But that was kind of necessary considering my brain exploding and all.

When I say “accidentally” I mean I had no intention of doing these things. I didn’t put them on any sort of Bucket-List or 5 Year Plan. And even when I was actively doing them, I still didn’t really consider the fact that I was doing them.

Does that make any sense?

I wrote a book on accident because my friend told me it would be a good idea and that maybe Ellen would invite me to be on her TV show.

I thought that was cool.

So that night I went to my computer, pulled up a word document, and wrote the words “I am writing a book” under a title page. I had no credentials, skills, or writing experience. And four years later it’s no longer a silly punchline that I merely humor and joke about to my friends, but a real-life BOOK that you will be able to buy in three weeks. And read. With your real-life eyeballs.

Ta-daaaah.

Trippy right?

I also accidentally started doing stand up comedy. Because a college buddy and I got drunk one time and signed up for an open mic. I was allotted three minutes and I performed eight, paying no mind to a person in the back of the room waving a phone light at me telling me to get the fuck off the stage.

Here I am probably telling the joke about the guy that held my face on a date who I figure is probably next in line to become a serial murderer (or THE serial murderer...from a true crime podcast I'm currently bingeing...)

And then four years later here I am in New York City telling jokes in big ol’ comedy clubs because that’s what real-life comedians do. One time I even got featured on a list called "New York City Comedians To Look Out For in 2018" which is strange considering I wasn't even trying to be a comedian at all ever. People still wave phone lights at me, but I’m part of a special club and I know what that means now.  

And wouldn’t you know it a few months ago a friend told me to start a podcast and I bet you can guess the punchline to this joke.

Artwork by the lovely and talented Joyah Love Spangler

Yep. I started a podcast.

Whoopsie-doodle!

Silly Mimi! Artistic projects are for…ARTISTS. Oh wait, you’re one of those too! This was not part of the plan!

I had a lot of plans growing up. Plans to be on Broadway and then more realistic plans to be a high school teacher. These things are still within reach for me, and I’m even still pursuing some of these things now.

But here’s the cool thing about “falling into” things: It’s way better than the shit I actually planned.

Why? Because planning comes with expectations. When I plan something, I set up an expectation in my brain of how that thing will turn out, so I obviously imagine the very best. I planned to be the best teacher imaginable, for every student to become a better person for having met me.

~LOL~

Now that’s not to say I wasn’t or am not currently a great teacher. Because I am.

But I’d be lying if I told you my expectations of clean cups of pencils and an organized classroom with zero questioning of my authority matched up perfectly with my reality of choking back tears in the teacher’s lounge in between class periods.

I was a hot mess.

And that’s fine because I’ve anchored that experience into what I’m currently doing, which is being a badass podcaster, writer, comedian, and human being. Hot-Mess to Bad-Ass: My Crazy Artist Life…anyone dare me to write another book?!

~SPOILER ALERT: I’M ALREADY WRITING LIKE FIVE~

I wasn’t really planning to be any of these things, so I have a very low bar when it comes to how successful I will be with them or what new opportunities will arise as a result. And when I say low bar I mean I practically trip over it on a daily basis.

It's a lot easier to succeed in something when you have zero concepts of what success looks like in that thing. For all you know, success means just not bursting into flames! Hey, good job! You're not on fire! You are slaying it at life!

Start a podcast, you say? Sure! Why not! What have I got to lose?! What’s one more thing I can immerse myself in that I know absolutely nothing about?

To be clear, I lacked all the necessary skills, equipment, and physical time to become a podcaster. It was only last year that I even KNEW what a podcast was, mmkay. I’d even been lightly nudged by other podcasters I'd met in New York not to start one because of how time-consuming they can become.

But that bar of expectations was already rolling around at my feet so I simply stepped over it and bought myself a copy of “Podcasting For Dummies” and binged more of my favorite podcasts on the subway and tried to learn their styles and techniques.

My favorites? Up and Vanished, Serial, Tiny Leaps Big Changes, Hidden Brain, and Science Vs.

Up and Vanished especially taught me the power of a regular Joe starting a podcast. Now, Payne Lindsey was already a filmmaker before he started his podcast so I bet he had a nice network of sound people and fancy microphones, but still, he was just like me! A random human with a story to tell!

So I borrowed a couple mics from a friend of a friend (who later became the creator of my theme song, what up Lucas Murray Music you the MAN) and started fooling around with sound software.

I was still missing some things, though. Mainly a sound mixing device and knowledge of what the actual fuck I was doing.

But that was easy to find. And the story was already there. The story is me.

As many of you know, I’ve expertly branded my brain injury into some content that is oddly marketable, it turns out. Much like my brain injury itself, that was also an accident. And a happy one at that.

But I already had a whole book about me and my brain, right? What else is there to explore? Are you really about to be yet another friend I have with a silly podcast I have to listen to? You say as you scoff audibly into the air as you read this. Well, if we’re going to get into the brain itself, there’s quite a bit of crazy phenomena to try to understand.

Like why do eyeballs see double after a brain injury? What part of a brain is responsible for making someone a serial killer? Do we have any idea why it takes babies so long to stop putting Legos in their mouths and trying to kill themselves when my back is turned?

I’d like to know these things. And because I’m not a neuroscientist (or rather, I haven’t accidentally enrolled in medical school yet) I can’t answer these questions. But I bet there are people out there that can.

And there you have it, the birth of an accidental podcast.

Powered by sheer curiosity, lots of fumbling with microphone cords, and a can-do attitude! 

The path to this podcast has been filled with many peaks and valleys; losing audio files, learning curves, and late nights spent reading lengthy science research trying not to look like a fool in front of my guests with Ph.D.’s, best-selling books, and award-winning research.

Mimi and The Brain is a science podcast, with a comedic twist. It’s a podcast about brains, for people that have them. In the first season, I will be interviewing top brain scientists, surgeons, and psychologists about the intricacies and mysteries of the human mind. I will tackle my confusion with real-life experts and have one heck of a fun time doing it!

Sound cool? It is. And guess what, it’s available now to listen!

Episodes 0 and 1 are now available to listen on Spotify, Apple iTunes, Google Podcasts, Stitcher, and you can click here to find it on our host site Buzzsprout!

Join us every other week to learn about my brain and your brain, baby brains, and even monkey brains, all of the brains! And feel free to follow us on social media @mimiandthebrain on Instagram and Facebook and @mimiandbrain on Twitter for the latest updates on our journey to discover all things brainy!

I hope you enjoy this accidental endeavor as much as I do.

Bye now! Or as I say on my podcast signoff… “Catch you gooey brains later!”

Mimi and The Brain is brought to you by...

Kylie Holloway, Producer

Jose Manuel Alfonzo, Sound Editing

Lucas Murray Music, Theme Music

Joyah Love Spangler, Artwork

Gotham Sound, Equipment

and Mimi Hayes, Writing and Co-Producer

50 (Even More) Things You Learn Your First Year in New York City

Just me and a 3-year-old living our best lives over here. 

I hope by now you know exactly the kind of sage New York wisdom I’m about to descend upon all of you.

Or at least if not all of you, the die-hard fans.

You know, those of you who have been reading from afar wondering just how long it will take my tiny foot to get caught in between the subway platform and snap clean off.

All right, that’s kind of graphic. But you get the idea. It’s a tough city. And while I’m my own brand of badass, I don’t think I’m hardcore enough to deal with that kind of trip to the Emergency Room.

And I really hope I never have to. Because my doctor sucks. And she’d probably take one look at my dismembered ankle and tell me, “Oh that? No, no, that’s fine. Just use your other foot!”

There are few people on my “Would Murder If Shit Hit The Fan And Everybody Was Just Murdering People Left And Right” List. But my current doctor is definitely one of them.

Murderous thoughts aside, it’s been a very crazy year.

Yes, you read that correctly. Do not adjust your screens.

I have lived in New York City for a whole freaking year. That’s 365 days of foot blisters, missed subway connections, and enough interactions with crazy people to fill the entire state of Texas.

Me: *looks longingly into the distance, hoping desperately to work at Buzzfeed*

If you can believe it, on this day* one year ago I packed a hiking backpack and a large suitcase with clothes and my printed and bound manuscript and made my Dad take me to the airport really fucking early, bless him.

I remember the night before, on my parent’s bed watching pay-per-view movies and spiraling into madness looking over my “New York Attack Plan” like it was going to tell me my future. Items 1 and 2 were necessary for survival:

1) Find a job

2) Find a place to live.

In my first full day in the city, I walked into Buzzfeed to try to acquire Item 1 only to learn that I looked like one of those crazy Texans from the previous paragraph and was promptly told to leave.

I offer below several images of my face while walking through the East Village for the first time fully equipped to conquer the literary and comedy universes with my highly impressive resumé.

And Item 2? Oh, you know, real casual.

I lived in a commune working as a “house manager” which meant cleaning up after upwards of 20 young people in a four-floor Crumbling Brownstone in Brooklyn. Which was super fucking annoying but at least I got free rent for half a second.

There are many things I’ve learned this year; about myself, and this strange foreign country we call New York City. Some of these lessons have been painful, others harrowing or hilarious. I can’t say for sure when I’ll stop learning these life lessons in this city. And maybe I don’t want to, really.

If you haven’t already, please feel free to revisit the prior two segments in this ridiculous three-part series (as well as any other content you may have missed this past year):

50 Things You Learn Your First Weeks in New York City

50 (More) Things You Learn Your First Six Months in New York City

Now, onto the good shit:

1.) You know you’re a New Yorker when you get into an argument with a Taxi. In the middle of an intersection.

Me: “WHY ARE YOU GOING! I HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY!”

Translation: “Hey! I’m walkin’ here!”

No really. I’m walking here. Motherfucker.

2.) Failure is the best thing you can do in NYC. It shakes you off your moorings and teaches you the only thing that matters if you’re going to “make it” here: Grit.

3.) The failure stated in Item 2 will not be awesome like some early 2000's chick-in-the-city Hollywood montage. In fact, you won’t feel like Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wear’s Prada even once despite having bought a sexy pair of black heels before moving here that you called your “New York Shoes” that you have worn approximately zero times. Wait. One time. To a show. And you fell down a flight of stairs in them and cried the whole way to the subway. Completely forgot about that.

4.) You are going to make a lot of new friends. But only after a period of approximately six months of feeling helplessly alone and misunderstood and broody and spending a lot of time calling your friends back at home complaining about your lack of friends…then you’ll have brunch with a bunch of strangers at the actual apartment building where the show Friends was filmed and you’ll be all like, “Wow! I have so many friends!”

*Cue Friends theme song clappy thing*

5.) Around nine months in ̶ after some dust has settled and the subway rats don’t scare you anymore ̶ you’ll start to say ‘yes’ to everything; random spots in comedy shows, birthday party invites from people you’ve just met, spontaneous business pursuits. You’ll do it all. And a few months later you’ll start to wonder if you’ve gone mad (which you most certainly have), but at least you can say you did a comedy show at an all-male drug rehabilitation center in Harlem for about 200 rowdy dudes, who absolutely loved your bit about stealing Handicapped parking spaces.

6.) Your bank account will be on your mind 24/7 and anxiety will sit on your chest like a fat baby every time you check your balance. Some days (i.e. paydays) you are equipped to deal with this chunky toddler squishing your vital organs. Other days you will question the very basics of  your being, curse your past self for taking out student loans, and probably try a few money saving apps that will only increase the circumference of your fat, broke baby demon by informing you that your net worth is approximately -$75,000.00. Cheers.

7.) Despite Item #6, you are somehow miraculously able to pay rent each month which makes you a winner at life.

8.) You probably own a large percentage of Uber and Lyft stocks by now considering how much money you pay them to get you out of sticky subway situations.

9.) Speaking of which, the 2 and 5 lines are absolute trash. Oh, and the F isn’t great either. Come to think of it the C has been giving you trouble lately. And the J and M move like getting to your destination is fucking optional. And did you know they’re shutting down the L in 2019? Guess you’re never going to Williamsburg for hipster-brunch* anymore.

*New word I’m coining today: Brunchster: noun, A hipster who likes to brunch.

10.) Due to Item #9, you’re going to memorize the entire subway map of NYC without realizing it. This not only comes in handy when your expected route derails (sorry), but you’re going to look like a fucking wizard to all of your friends who come to visit you.

Friend: *looks at Google Maps, panicked* “HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET HOME? MY PHONE IS AT 2%!”

Me: “Shhhhhh…I got this.” *jams finger in closing subway doors at last second without flinching*

11.) You can actually survive in the city if your phone dies. It just means you won’t be able to update you Snap/Insta story about that cute puppy in the rainboots you saw just now. Which is a little heartbreaking but you’ll get over it. Also, it's called a map. Read one. You peasant.

12.) You are going to read more books, listen to more podcasts, and discover more music than ever before, causing your life prior to moving to NYC to seem cultureless and gauche (see, look at you using fancy words n’ shit!). It turns out an hour trapped inside a metal tube underground is the perfect amount of time to binge that new true crime podcast about a 27-year-old cold case murder that happened in your little college town that you never knew about until just now. Just keep one earbud out of your ear. Someone’s going to bump into you from behind in what you thought was an empty subway car and you’re going to holler out “DON’T MURDER ME I WANT TO GET A DOG NEXT YEAR” on accident.

13.) You give way less shits about what you look like these days. You used to take an hour or more to hand-craft an outfit, manage your hairstyle, and carefully apply complex makeup to showcase your best features. Now you give your hair a good shake, plop one dollop of powder on each cheek, and shimmy into some yoga pants in under three minutes flat. You figure there’s so many god damn people here there’s no way anyone’s going to notice your face anyway, so fuck it. Also, you work with small children so double fuck it. All those nice blouses you brought here for when you’d be working at Buzzfeed will get wrecked instantaneously at your actual job as a nanny. Baby puke and magic marker are just a part of your look now and you so clearly don’t give one single, solitary fuck about this.

Stranger: "Do you want me to take a picture of you and your son?" 

Me: "Yes, smile for the camera child that is definitely mine!"

Gage: "Whadjucallme?"

Me: "SAYYYYY I'M YOUR MOMMY- I MEAN CHEEEEESE!"

14.) Item #13 will cause your wardrobe to be boiled down to roughly five staple outfits and three blazers on rotation for comedy shows (and your signature bowler hat, of course). The only time you feel self-conscious about this is when you’re in SoHo (God knows why, you can’t afford that borough, you peasant) and you start to feel like the overalls and flannel say less “quirky nanny” and more “homeless hipster.”

15.) Around the long tail-end of your first winter you’re going to have a nervous breakdown, walk into an expensive hair salon, and allow a stranger to do whatever she wants to your hair. You consider this serendipitous because they were booked six months out but somehow a walk-in spot opened up just for you. You will immediately Facetime all of your friends and family back home who will take long pauses and gently ask if you’ve gotten any therapy lately to which you’ll say, “Why would I need therapy when this new hairstyle allows me to cut my own bangs now?!”

And thus began my relationship with cutting my own bangs...

16.) You always thought people who cut their own bangs were whackjobs. But it’s totally normal for you now to lob off a lock or two in the morning so that you can see straight. See Item #13.

17.) The triumph you feel at receiving your very first New York paycheck will quickly deflate when the 30% New York taxes start kicking in.

18.) You’re going to hate your first living situation with the passion of 1,000 broody poets in Williamsburg. Even if there are great perks and fun roomies at your first crash pad, this will all be overshadowed by the fact that you’re not living in a cushy studio apartment by yourself with a pug named Herman. You’re living in a trash dump, fish-smelling neighborhood with 20 strangers in a shoddy Brownstone. Which you hence refer to as ‘The Commune.’

19.) You’ll break out of The Commune eventually. Only to experience the horrifying and unjust beast known as Real Estate Hunting In NYC. You’ll work very hard to secure this living situation, sign your first real New York lease, and live off a diet of Trader Joe’s cookies and cheese blocks for a month after nearly emptying your entire bank account to make two security deposits, first month’s rent, last month’s rent, and build an over-the-top IKEA storage bed to account for your lack of a closet. You won’t be the biggest fan of this neighborhood or management company either. But it sure beats watching that guy sit in the same spot at the kitchen table every hour of the day making the same exact toasted cheese and tomato sandwich for every single meal. He had a heart of gold, really he did. But if you had to endure his monotonous and immovable life routine for one more day you’d surely put your hand directly into a toaster and hit “OBLITERATE.”

20.) You’ll fly back to your homeland more than you can afford in your first year, but it will all be for really good reasons like Ted Talk auditions, holidays, and to run half marathons in 11-degree temperatures without having properly trained. When you do go home you will feel so filled with love from your friends and family you’ll want to burst…and a few days later you’ll get a little bored and weirded out by how quiet it is and have a burning itch to get back to the city and dodge a taxi or double-decker tourist bus in Times Square.

21.) You have dodged both a taxi and a double-decker tourist bus in Times Square. What a rush! Mom that was a joke (sort of).

22.) You will reflect back on your early naïve “NYC Attack Plan” checklists with amusement as nothing has turned out how you planned. Not. A. Damn. Thing.

Have I tried to convert you to the Passion Planner yet???

23.) For one, you definitely thought you’d be dead by now (see item #21) as evidence of a heading at the top of a page in your notebook that reads, “You have approximately six months to live (if you don’t find a job and figure this shit out).” The exact Doom’s Day prediction was February 2018. By this date, you thought you’d be on a flight back home (that your parents bought for you because you’re a loser), jobless, and probably nursing an open wound because, in addition to being a failure at adulthood, you also got stabbed by a coked-out perfume salesman on the J train. It turns out you were on a flight back home in February 2018, but for an audition for a motherfucking Ted Talk, you fucking badass motherfucker.

24.) You didn’t get the Ted Talk (fuck!) but it’s chill because you just applied again and you’ll definitely get it this time (Lol jk you didn’t get that one either! Double fuck!)

25.) You’ll do a bunch of cool shit that wasn’t even in your dumb little checklist, like get a book deal, perform stand up comedy in top comedy clubs, teach stand up comedy classes to beginners, make short films, have your essays featured in popular magazines and digital publications, be referred to as a “Top NYC Comedian To Watch Out For in 2018,” start a podcast, and create a business plan to run your own company as a writing and comedy coach.

26.) Who the fuck even are you anymore?

27.) A god damn Kween, that’s who.

I don't wear this coat. I am this coat. 

Courtesy: Jajuan Burton 

28.) Despite this extraordinary success you’ve found your first 365 days in NYC, you still don’t feel like you’ve “made it.” You have a hard time when you compare yourself to other comedians who are getting booked more than you, authors who have bigger publishing deals, girls with curlier hair, and friends who have stable paychecks, nicer houses, lawns, and dogs to play with on those lawns. You hate it when you play these sick, twisted “who’s adulting better?” games with yourself because you know damn well that one person’s success does not diminish your own. As cramped as it is in this city, there’s room for every single one of us to achieve and follow our dreams here. So keep your head down and keep plugging away at all your dope shit.

29.) If you're having trouble remembering said dope shit, please refer back to item #25, you sociopath.

30.) You can learn a lot about a person based on whether they step to the side or in front of the subway doors when boarding a train.

31.) Try not to turn 26 your first year in New York City as you’ll age out of your parent’s healthcare coverage, leaving you certifiably F-U-C-K-E-D.

32.) If you do happen to turn 26 and need basic medication that keeps you from falling asleep at work five times a day and maybe some light physical therapy to address lingering symptoms of a brain aneurysm, be sure to bring your joke book to your first appointment with your new doctor because you’re going to get a ton of new material. Here is a sample of your new bits! Enjoy!

Me: “I have some double vision in the left corner of my left eye so I think I should go back to physical therapy.”

One of the two doctors I was able to select online after applying the filters “woman” and “speaks English” into healthcare website: “No. You don’t.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

“Doctor”: “You don’t have double vision. Just move your whole head when you look at something.”

Me: *leaps out of the five-story window, effectively using $6,000 deductible and scoring free healthcare for the rest of the year (if still alive)*

33.) After nearly ending your own life at Doctor Visit #1, you’ll try again and find your dream doctor. He’ll be handsome and sweet and will give you referrals for everything you need without blinking and hold your hand when you pass out from anxiety during the blood draw. You will fall madly in love with him only to learn 24 hours later from your health insurance that he actually doesn’t take your healthcare. You will call your dad sobbing in public and then your mom after you’ve leveled out and run out of tears to cry. You’ll write a few depressing Facebook posts about it, leave a scathing Yelp review for Doctor #1, cross out all the Mrs. Doctor Matt graffiti you’ve scrawled into your diary, and resolve to never step foot in a doctor’s office again for as long as you live.

34.) Speaking of love and loss, you’ll fall in love for a hot second, lose him to an expired visa, and be hopelessly single the rest of the year excluding small romantic encounters with an Irish dude on Halloween and a complete bonehead (who became the subject of one of your best bits of 2018 titled “Betwixt Guy”) on New Year’s. Which actually works out in your favor because who’s got time for cross-borough casual dating in between a nanny job, three side-hustles, weekend comedy shows, planning a book launch, and recording a weekly podcast? Oh…NOT you.

35.) Who would you even date in your neighborhood anyway? That middle-aged bodega guy who calls you “Mami” and gives you a hard time every time you ask for change in quarters to do your laundry? Fuhgettaboutit.

Who said chivalry was dead! 

36.)  You’re going to go apeshit over all the amazing food all up in your face around every corner. Go ahead. Eat it. Eat all of it. Then get a reality check in the summertime from a personal trainer who will inform you that you are 34.5% body fat which is considered clinically obese. You’ll reel it in with the 99-cent pizza deals and try to slowly but surely make improvements to your health. This will be a long, long, long, long, process and you’re going to try to speed it up with 30-day cleanses and miracle pills, but ultimately you’re just going to have to start trying harder to achieve the body that you want. Sorry bout it. Sexy, flat abs TBD.

37.) Don’t sweat the small stuff. Unless it’s mid-August and 103 degrees and there’s no AC in this packed subway car. Then in that case I can’t help you.

38.) You will develop your own detailed case study on crazy people ranging from “Normal Person Talking to Themselves About Lunch Options” to “DO NOT MAKE FUCKING EYE CONTACT. DO NOT MAKE SUDDEN MOVES OR REMOVE HEADPHONES. I REPEAT. DO NOT ENGAGE.”

39.) You don’t get what you don’t ask for. Unless it’s Herpes. Which you’ll frantically think you have for about 12 hours after Web MD’ing some unfortunate itchy bumps that you picked up from using a gym towel. Don’t worry. It’s nothing serious. They’ll go away after being lasered off by a very nice doctor named Carl back a home in Colorado before your healthcare expires.

40.) Making fancy new business cards will not only legitimize your existence as an artist but will also make you look professional AF to anyone you give it to. A solid bizz card says, “Don’t fuck with me! I’m a professional!...or do…here’s my email and I’d love it if we collaborated on an artistic project together.”

41.) At some point around the year mark, you’re going to be stopped in Prospect Park during a late night run by a man who you will dub “Park Jesus” for his odd yet spot-on spiritual and Yoda-like advice on breathing techniques. He’s gonna be a complete rando, but you’ll smile and nod for about 10 minutes so as to not make any sudden movements in case he’s one of those “do not engage” crazies from item #38. Don’t worry. He won’t make your skin into a lamp or anything. He’ll just tell you to inhale with your nose and exhale with your mouth and that “you gotta keep your head down, kid.” Oh. Also, he’ll turn out to be Sugar Ray Leonard.

42.) You’re going to see a lot of celebrities in the Big Apple, including Ebon Moss-Bachrach from Girls, Riz Ahmed from Star Wars, Jason Bourne, and like everything (was also on a few episodes of Girls), Justin Bartha from National Treasure, Half the cast of Orange is the New Black (Abigail Savage lives on the street where you work and you see her every single day), The side of Michelle Pfeiffer’s head, and of course, Sir Park Jesus himself, Sugar Ray Leonard, Hall of Fame Boxing Champion and apparently an avid runner at Prospect Park.

43.) Always fly Southwest because seating is open season and hey you might not get that window seat back home for Thanksgiving but instead you might sit next to a man so attractive you will immediately spill your Ginger Ale all over his lap. But don’t freak out, you’ll tell him that you’re a comedian and author which will impress him and he’ll be so nice and play twenty questions with you the entire flight and then take you to a little restaurant in the Kansas City airport and share a frittata and tater tots with you and even share that he too had an intense brain thing. Oh, and he’ll be engaged. Which really sucks but at least you made a book sale and entertained that fantasy for a while.

44.) After maintaining your single status for quite some time, you’ll get the crazy idea to start taking yourself on dates, which you will actually enjoy way more. Like infinitely more. Like so much more you honestly consider going ahead and taking those vows to become a nun cuz seriously this shit is awesome.

Me: *takes bite of pizza, but first snaps a pic for the Insta captioned #datenightswithbae

45.) Some friends from back home will say that you’ve changed, which catches you off guard at first until you realize that the change they speak of is actually growth; the purest form of you becoming a you that you don’t hate, that you respect and even admire. A you that was so hidden deep inside of you that for a minute there you thought you were actually dead; like a fish flushed down a toilet and out to sea. That’s a terrible fucking metaphor but you get the idea. Therefore, if they refer to this change in you as a negative thing, you know that Taylor Swift was right. The haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate. So yeah, you’re gonna shake it off, shake it off, cuz change = growth = power = pizza lezgoooooo.

46.) You relate deeply to the expression, “in a New York minute” because as far as you can tell you packed up two suitcases, pocketed your retirement money, and moved here yesterday. Yet somehow the opposite is also true. Because the fact that 365* days have gone by since you arrived in the city like a fresh lil’ bald baby seems impossible considering your 86-year-old knees and all the shit you’ve seen in this long, elderly NYC life of yours. You’ve actually started to believe that you’ve reincarnated at least three times since moving here, embodying the life of a starving artist, a powerful midtown CEO, and a humble but take-no-shits bodega owner. You’ve lived it all. You’ve seen it all. And yes, you’re getting too old for this shit. Oh damn, maybe you’re Benjamin Buttoning this whole thing...

47.) Your parents will come and visit you for the first time around the year mark, making you equal parts anxious and excited. They’ll criticize all the construction in the city and say things like “these stairs aren’t to code” in the subway but their smiles at you give away that they are super fucking proud of you and can’t wait until you “get on SNL” or whatever.

48.) They’d be proud of you even if you don’t get on SNL, honestly, because you’ve done something special here in this city. Just by being yourself. You didn’t sell your soul or put others down or lie or cheat to get your success. You were just you. Pure, simple, you. How fucking cool is that?

49.) It’s the coolest. So cool, that a few of your friends will come to you and reveal that they too want to move to New York City just like you did. They tell you how refreshing it is to watch somebody chase their dreams and that they want that for themselves too. At first, you don’t know what to tell them except for “STAY THE FUCK ALIVE,” but then you remember that you’ve created a mini-move-to-NYC user manual with this 3-part blog series and kindly direct them to that for their every need.

50.) Because the universe is a great comedian that gets booked more than you do, this blog post will be posted several days after your official year anniversary. Because you lose your phone. On the street. In Brooklyn. While wrestling a 3-year-old into his stroller. You try tracking it when you get home to learn that it’s mysteriously ended up at the Bronx Zoo. So you spend the next few days trying to get your shit together and buying a new phone with one of your parent’s available updates, because hey, why not. You carry on, as normal, wondering when the universe will whip up some new and impressive bullshit for you to deal with. But deep down, you know you can handle it, whatever it is. Because you’re tough; like the 100-year-old subway rails and the very foundation of the Empire State Building. The city may have brought some of this out of you, but you had it there all along; a big ol’ dallop of grit, just waiting for you to move to New York City to give it a little spin.

* This post was delayed several days due to item #50 so to maintain artistic integrity, just pretend it's July 5th, mmkay?