What it Feels Like to Have a Trans Sister and a Pro-Trump Brother the Week Before the 2020 Election

It’s 4 AM and I can’t sleep.

This isn’t new, really. For the past month, it’s been nothing but odd sleep patterns. Either I’m not sleeping at all or I’m sleeping until noon.

And when it’s the latter, my mother literally comes into my bedroom and tells me to get out of the house because I’m “depressing her.”

When I lie in my bed, unable to drift into REM, I think about a lot of things.

Things I should be writing, guys I’d like to text but know I shouldn’t, but mostly: the end of the world.

The election is in one week. An election that feels so divisive, I’m not even sure how we ended up here in the first place. 24/7 I hear “us” vs. “them” and I can’t help but feel like we’re all on the brink of strangling each other on live television Hunger Games style.  

Anyway. I have some things I need to tell you.

I learned I had a Transgender sibling during my first year of teaching in Colorado–a “blue” state. It was about a year before Trump got elected.

I got home from school and went for a run around the neighborhood to clear my head from the day. There in the distance, a few blocks away from Mom and Dad’s was my then-brother approaching me.

It was weird to see my sibling looking for me. We weren’t the closest back then and they said we needed to talk.

I thought they were going to tell me they had cancer, to be honest with you.

I was relieved (and confused) to learn that they were Transgender. For the next few years, she would experiment with hormones, inherit my old make-up, and wait patiently for gender reassignment surgery.

I’d always wanted a sister. I just never thought it would happen this way.

Then there’s our little brother.

I learned that he was voting for Trump on a 27-hour road trip with him from New York back to Colorado after losing my job. I was coming off a summer of BLM protests and watching the virus wreak havoc in Brooklyn.

We must have been somewhere in Missouri when it happened.

I don’t even know what I said, but it must have been something Liberal. He disagreed with me for I think the first time in my life.

In a completely different way than with our sister, my concept of this person quaked like a bowl of Jell-O during that scene in Jurassic Park.

I knew I didn’t love my brother any less, just like I didn’t love my sister any less when she came out as a woman.

Strangely enough, I actually wanted to protect him. From the world, mostly. But also from our sister, who has become more militant in recent years with politics.

I was the last to find out about this Conservative rift in the family. The second I unpacked my last box I could feel the tension swirling around the house.

I have a Trans sister and a Pro-Trump brother just a week before the most heated election in our lifetime.

How are we going to survive this as a family?

I have always felt like the “referee” of the three of us. As kids, the two of them didn’t get along, which I hated. I didn’t want to pick sides. I just wanted us all to be friends. I participated in my fair share of sibling smack-downs, but more than anything I wanted us to be together.

Before I go any further I’d like to point out that “staying out of politics” is a privilege. I’m sorry but it’s 2020 and you can’t be Switzerland anymore. If you don’t feel like you need to have strong opinions about what’s going on right now, it’s because your life doesn’t depend on it.

I also personally hold an immense amount of privilege being a white, educated, cis-woman with a supportive family in the United States. I can vote, drive, speak my mind, and own a gun to protect myself if I want to (which I don’t).

I try my very best not to take this for granted.

With that being said, each of us possesses a unique brain with a bunch of lived experiences that ultimately shape our opinions and daily thoughts. We can change the way we think, but only by vigorously re-routing our built-in biases.

For most of us, this is a nearly impossible task. So, we take in our world and formulate some sense out of it and stick to it.

And that’s just fucking science, yo’.

I told my sister I had an interview for a job out in San Diego and she immediately told me when it was projected to be underwater if Climate Change were to continue its course. The same day my little brother went to a driving range to learn how to shoot a gun.

Sometimes I still can’t believe any of us are related.

But fundamentally, the way our country has been set up makes us choose opposing sides. Black or white. This or that. I think we are all victims of this simplistic system, in a sense.

We stake out our yards with our prospective signs and yell at anyone else who has a different sign, without even considering who that person is or where they came from. We turn our backs on our own family because we can’t understand how we think so differently.

Empathy is a lost art these days. It’s now “fashionable” to go viral by screaming the N-word at a complete stranger.

You know who’s winning this election right now? Hate.

Forces that I can’t control are tearing families like mine apart right in front of my fucking eyes. And yes, I am angry.

Look, I don’t know how to fix this.

I’m an unemployed comedian approaching 30 living with my parents during a global pandemic, OK?

But I know that my heart is splitting in two, not just for my family, but for humankind.

We are not OK, you guys.

So I want you to vote, not for a party or a person, but for yourself.

I want you to open up your heart and ask yourself some hard shit. I want you to call your siblings and tell them that you love them. I want you to rest. I want you to turn off the TV and step away from your phone and just listen to your own air enter and exit your chest.

Do not let hate win this election and do not let it win you.

~mic drop~

Creativity for Dummies

As of late, I am what you call a “Freelance” worker. Emphasis on the free. Free from the chains of corporate trenches, sure. Free from all monetary comforts, a 401-K, and healthcare benefits? Yeah, I’m free of those too.

I used to have a capital D, Day job. But that quickly became a Night job and a Weekend job and even a Shit How Long Can I Keep My Fucking Eyes Open To Enter This Last Grade job.

In many ways I loved my j-o-b as a high school teacher. I loved the kids and the weird pubescent shit they’d say all the time. I loved being in all their Snapchats and also looking like a certifiable badass when I successfully laid down the law (which I probably only accomplished like one time).

But then I did this silly thing.

I exited that licensed and seemingly “safe” job for no job. I sprinted toward the unknown which for me meant packing two bags and moving to New York City to live my creative dreams and leaving behind me a wake of panic and also all my belongings in my parent’s storage unit that I insist they can’t throw away in the event that all this falls to shit and I need to crawl back home and file for bankruptcy.

What has become of those creative dreams? Shit, y’all already know I’m ranked #1,373,092 on Amazon today! I’m sure you’re aware that my podcast got 35 downloads in the past two months! Haven’t you seen me taking 2nd place in like every contest I submit to these days!?!?

I’m being funny. I do actually think these things are cool. But you get it.

Being creative is not exactly among the ranks of highest paying or most prestigious jobs these days. And honestly, I get it. That’s exactly why I didn’t want to be a creative the second I stepped foot in New York City in 2015 for a week-long improv class.

“Those aren’t like, real jobs,” I’d scoff when somebody said I should pursue writing or comedy as I started to moonlight haphazardly whenever I happened to not be telling a 16-year-old to quit ripping my posters off the walls.

This is literally what’s wrong with society.

My rejection of “artist” as a legitimate job description is exactly why it’s so important for me to continue teaching. Y’all. We are a bunch of creative idiots. And I say that in the nicest way. But really, what the actual hell.

If you, like I, have been or currently are of the mindset that to create is to be financially and morally reckless then please have a seat and let me educate you. Please keep your hands where I can see them at all times, place your cellphone in this bio-hazard bin, and shut the hell up for the duration of my lesson.

And no. You cannot use the bathroom.

Lesson 1)  Artists do make money. Literally. They create it.

The biggest worry surrounding my trip to The Holy Land has always been money; if I have enough, how I’m going to go about getting it, and ultimately what to do when someone inevitably steals it all from my back pockets.

Other people have worried about this for me to such great excess that it began to consume me as well. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about it.

But then something crazy happened. I made some. I, Mimi Hayes the “starving artist” was suddenly not starving because I got some money to buy some slices of pizza.

How did I achieve such a miraculous feat?

I made it.

I mean OK, I didn’t like counterfeit it, OK, I’m just saying I made it meaning like something ̶

I made lots of things. I made childcare and I made blog posts about donuts and I made instructional guides on how to winterize your pipes and I made emails and I made writing classes and I made lighting cues and I made podcasts and I made entire books and I made speeches and I made comedy.

My income might not come in the form of one single paycheck every month, but I definitely made shit and got paid for it. I even have the pay stubs to prove it.

It is not your job (nor is it mine) to determine my worth based on what that dollar amount is so sit the f**k down and let’s get back to work.

Lesson 2) Being creative is fun. But not as much fun as not having daily existential crises.

Some of you in the crowd might see what I do as playtime; an endless buffet of hip comedy and author events that I go to and from without ever having to change into sensible shoes as I sip effortless on a craft-brewed latte.

If only you knew (you soon will by the end of this sentence) that most of my day is re-positioning my ass-pillow so as to not incur crampage while I fight against every distraction in my home to get a single email done.

Other days it looks different. Other days I find my “office” is actually a sweaty subway car where a homeless man is screaming and demanding I hand over my Cheetos and homeboy next to me is lighting up a blunt and all I want is five minutes of peace to construct a cohesive lesson plan for my writing class while I am running late to teach that very same writing class.

And still more, there are some days when I am tucked cozy into a sound booth, hitting buttons (seemingly at random) to make an off-Broadway show run smoothly while also planning a to-do list 37 items deep in my head for the following day.

It can be fun, what I’m doing. But it also isn’t fun. And it isn’t easy.

Which is why some people don’t do this shit.

What I show you on social media; sprinting around the city like a doofus, drinking bougie things, occasionally rubbing elbows with famous people (for the record, Bill Nye thinks I’m a redhead and we shared a plate of prosciutto that I didn’t pay for)…that’s just the highlight reel, what I choose to show people.

What you’re not seeing are all the times I’m not doing those things; all the times I am utterly hopeless and crying while eating Vegan tacos in my kitchen…oh wait, I guess I did show you that.

But really, there’s a whole inner world of fear, doubt, and creative self-sabotage that surrounds me like an ominous cloud just about every waking moment of my life. And if I’m lucky, in my dreams too.

Don’t fucking kid yourself. Being creative is uncomfortable. The only thing I can think of that is more uncomfortable than being creative is the suspected hemorrhoid I’ve been nursing for the better part of a year and a half because I don’t have health insurance. *winces, readjusts pillow*

Lesson 2.5) If you have solutions to said last paragraph please see me after class.

Lesson 3) Success is scarier than failure.

It’s a big ol’ lie. It’s not failure that we’re afraid of, OK? It never has been.

Because failure is actually what readjusts our lives. Failure is what shapes us and helps us overcome obstacles and reach new heights.

Shit, I wish I was trying to fail at something right now. That would be awesome.

No, it’s actually success that we’re afraid of. We’re so damn terrified of actually succeeding that we will go to great lengths to keep ourselves from doing so. We’ll scroll on social media and dating apps for hours on end, we’ll take naps when we’re not tired, we’ll drag our heels on projects that we could have finished months ago.

Why?

Because if we succeed then we actually have to change our lives. Our status quo would change entirely, shit we might change entirely. And that’s a scary prospect so we might as well watch one more episode or procrastinate for a few more swipes so that we don’t have to deal with that nonsense.

That is the biggest lie we can tell ourselves. That we’re afraid of failure.

No we are not.

Because obviously if you picked up a damn book or read any of my assignments you’d know that everyone who has ever been successful (scary) at anything (oo, empowering) has failed at it at least 10,000 times before.

Without those 10,000 failures that person wouldn’t be who they are today. They wouldn’t be as authentic or honest or humble and honestly who makes great shit their very first time that is just statistically improbable.

No I do not know the exact statistics. Put your fucking hand down.

Lesson 4) Creativity does not flow. Creativity is a skill and you better fucking learn it.

For the last god damn time NO I do not sit and write for eight hours of uninterrupted bliss and spew genius out of my hemorrhoided ̶ what do you mean ‘hemorroided’ isn’t a word SHUT UP I SAID ̶ out of my hemorrhoided asshole.

I’m lucky if I remembered to take my pills today much less do all that fanciness.

As I write this now in this fake classroom I have constructed out of my mind and a few crushed up Tylenol to numb my booty-pain, it is currently past midnight and I can think of about 12 things I should be doing now instead, the obvious one being sleep.

Nobody is holding a gun to my head (that I know of), I just thought maybe I should do this since I had one single, fleeting idea while in the shower a moment ago to write a blog about why it is that I can’t seem to get my creative shit together.

My “flow states” do occur from time to time, but they cannot be prepared for or predicted. They are often times like now, when I have forced myself into my pillow chair with no regard for what time it is or where I should be right now instead. I couldn’t tell you the last time I had water although a yellow note card next to me reveals I’ve consumed roughly four 17 ounce bottles as evidence of four little blue drops next to the word “Thursday.” It is no longer Thursday as it is past midnight now, making it Friday, a day that I still enjoy, more so than when I was a teacher when I’d spend the weekends wallowing in my own self pity and boxed wine.

See? There’s your fucking flow state. It’s right there in that paragraph.

Being captively in this state is not something I was born in. It’s not something I suddenly woke up with when I took on the title “writer.” It’s a skill. I l-e-a-r-n-e-d it. That’s what you do in my class, you fucking learn shit. Curse words and all.

And how do you learn shit? By making MISTAKES. Oh, I really don’t like writing in the morning, maybe I’ll try at night. Wow, I have a lot to say about the brain, why don’t I try writing more about that. Turns out writing a book takes a lot longer when you write like you’re a fat kid eating a cake over the kitchen sink so maybe with the next one I’ll try giving myself permission to write one full day a week without distractions or other responsibilities.

When y’all say you’re not creative I want to smack you with my yard stick.

It’s called “practice” look it up.

Lesson 5) Creative ideas are not random. They are parts of your soul screaming at you to pay attention to them.

Elizabeth Gilbert said it best with her book Big Magic and her podcast Magic Lessons does an even better job: Any time you feel the urge to make something, that is “Big Magic.” That is your unconscious self yearning to step into the world and create. And when you respect that calling, you become aligned in your creative self and as a consequence you end up making really dope shit.

For all y’all out there that are like, “Oh yeah, Mimi has recommended that book to me like four years ago…” WAKE UP PEOPLE YOU THINK I TALK TO HEAR MYSELF TALK.

It’s a free country, OK, but this is required reading and it will be on the test and that test is called fucking life so get with the program.

When I first read this book I started having dreams. Dreams that were so vivid and powerful that I awoke from them and immediately ran to get a piece of paper to write them down. This dream is a novel, I’d think to myself as I madly smudged the page with nonsensical dream logic. “ICE CAVES,” I shouted to my mother from a hotel room last summer. “SHE IS IN AN ICE CAVE AND SHE SEES HER FATHER DIE.”

This might sound like crazy hotel talk to you, but to me, I knew right away that it was Big Magic. And even if it took me years to capitalize, I was going to make something of these ideas.

Unfortunately, life is very good at fucking up our creative plans.

I’m too busy right now.

Work is crazy.

I just had a hemorrhoid removed.

I get it. Really I do.

But if not now, when? If not you, who? If not here, where? If not cat, dog? ̶ Opps, sorry, I got distracted. That is the main criticism on my Amazon reviews ̶

I really don’t care if you’re spiritual or not, OK back row.

What we do know is that our attention spans are short and so are our pathetic lives, so if you don’t capitalize on whatever that weird nonsense is ping-ponging around your skull right now then you can just show yourself the door ̶

*bell chimes*

Ah, perfect. Lunchtime. Take five.

Yes, I said five. What, you think Creatives have time to go for a leisurely brunch? There’s a vending machine down the hall. Knock yourself out.

Meet me back here with a fully outlined memoir about your experience being in this seminar.

CLASS DISMISSED, BITCHES.

I Refuse To Make a New Year's Resolution This Year, Here's Why

*emerges from a pile of Christmas cookies*

It’s January 1st* in the brand new year.

This morning at around 3 AM I broke a poor guy’s heart by leaving him at the club to go get chili cheese fries after dancing with him most of the night. I didn’t give him my number. Shit, I didn’t even give him my name.

But off I walked, into the shadows of the early morning to glorious drunk snack heaven.

Aren’t you wondering what a newly acclaimed “Vegan” is doing eating chili cheese fries at three in the god damn morning?

Does it concern you at all if I say that, despite being single for the past year, I broke two other gentlemen’s hearts this morning by not agreeing to let them buy me more drinks and dance with them?

I used to worry about shit like this. But now I’m not.

Let me just make one thing perfectly clear, OK: Fuck New Year’s resolutions.

Now, this doesn’t mean I think you are stupid for having one. You are welcome to “new year new me” yourself all the way to kingdom come for all I care.

All I’m saying is that the concept itself is Ludacris. And yes, I do mean the American rapper.

Let’s go back in a time machine real quick…you comfy back there? Good. Let’s roll.

2014 was the first year that I actually hated. It was the first time that I approached the end of the year with a desire to burn my cute Lil’ Target calendar inside a dumpster.

On one hand, I’d overcome two near-cataclysmic events in the same year: a break-up from a five-year long relationship that ended horribly, and a brain hemorrhage. Also I’d graduated college, which for me might as well have been a cataclysmic event because I almost didn’t graduate at all (LOL ask me about that Nutrition class I took that summer).

But survival was exhausting. And my emotions had been to their extremes so many times I didn’t even know how to regulate myself anymore.

What nobody tells you about having several life-changing events in one year is that you don’t really get to be the same again. You cross a threshold; of growth, of grieving. And once you step over that threshold you don’t get to go back to whatever “comfortable” life you lived before.

If that sounds dramatic to you, it’s because it fucking is.

If you don’t believe me, go to talk to the strongest person I know: my mother.

This woman has been through so much shit she’s practically an armored tank.

She’s going to call me once she reads this. Why? Because she’s my absolute biggest fan and if I ever get on Ellen someday she’s going to be crying in the front row. When I miraculously made local television this year, as the camera panned out to commercial I literally waved and mouthed “HI, MOM!”

“Don’t look at the camera.” Me:

When I arrived to December 31, 2014 I was really depressed. I was healing up nicely from my brain injury but only on the outside. My insides were still squirming with anxiety and record-breaking low self-esteem.

I was about to start my student teaching back up again and I felt a pit in my stomach drop every time I tried to pick up a lesson plan. PTSD. That’s called PTSD. I didn’t understand it then, but the classroom brought me higher rates of anxiety than normal.

Probably, oh, I don’t know, because my head exploded while trying to explain “ethnocentrism” to a couple of 14-year-old’s.

I decided to go out on the town with my best friend Brennyn so that I could do what most people do on New Year’s: get white girl wasted and pretend like my life wasn’t falling apart. I could drink alcohol again. And my doctor told me as long as I didn’t black out I was probably fine.

So I continued my trajectory to inebriation and landed myself with bloody arms (I was wearing a sequin skirt and it had scratched my arms up while dancing) in a friend of a friend’s bed drunk and kind of high, calling up my other best friend and demanding that I be her Maid of Honor if she got engaged** that night.

Do you even know what’s about to happen next in this story? Do you even understand the kind of wacky shit I’m about to tell you right now?

Here we go.

The next thing that happened was that I woke up in that stranger’s bed soaked in pee because I had just drunkenly pissed myself.

Didn’t see that one coming now did yuh?!

OK, maybe you did. Also maybe you read my book and that little juicy story is buried in there somewhere. Wow, did I just spoilers you without telling you I was gonna spoilers you right now?

I feel like that was kind of manipulative of me. But hey, if you actually read this then you must enjoy torture because literally all of these posts are ridiculous.

What was the resolution that led to this tragic event? I’ll take “What is…Stop Living Through Life-Altering Events and Having to Deal with The Emotional Fallout?” for $1,000, Alex!

As silly as that sounds, my “resolution” was to stop being me, essentially. I didn’t want to carry all that baggage with me into 2015! 2015, babay new year new-ohhhhhh, nope. I just pissed in a stranger’s bed. Same me. Wait, was I pissing in stranger’s beds before 2014? What in the actual fuck is going on here?

I’m happy to announce that I haven’t had an “incident” since. Unless you count passing out and puking at a routine blood draw every single time but I mean cut me some slack will you, pressures cuffs and bins on walls with needles in them make me lose consciousness, OK.

But that doesn’t mean my resolutions since then have been any less stupid.

There was 2016 where I vowed to get back in shape.

Also 2017 where I vowed to get back in shape.

And 2018 where I settled for being “a shape.”

Most of my resolutions in the past few years have centered on my body and changing it. I didn’t understand what this was about until recently when I remembered that my body went through a massive change in 2014 causing me to lose 20 pounds of muscle mass and gain it all back in my face, ass, and bellybutton.

I’ve also resolved to write daily, eat healthier, do more comedy, do a TED Talk, get a book published, and move to New York City.

I’ve tried all kinds of mechanisms for this change including countdown calendars, planners, writing affirmations on sticky notes and putting them around my house, and who doesn’t love a good ol’ vision board? And I’m not saying these things don’t work, because they do. Obviously a few of those things got done. And if I haven’t tried to sell you the Passion Planner then are we really even friends?

The only thing is that this change comes from within.

I know that sounds like I read it from a fortune cookie or some shit, but it’s true.

The planners and the vision boards and the resolutions can only get you so far.

It’s what you do when you’re alone that counts. What do you tell yourself when nobody is around to like your Instagram posts about your progress towards that resolution? Who is going to be there for the setbacks? How far are you willing to go to write that book or lose that weight or make that documentary? When it’s March and you’re trapped inside in a snowstorm and taking a nap or watching another Netflix show or scrolling through other people’s lives is so much easier? What are you going to give up to make a change?

Let me repeat that one more time: what are you going to give up to make a change?

We talk big talk, but when the rubber meets the road, or whatever, suddenly it’s December again and we didn’t even get so much as a chapter of our Great American Novel written. When we talk about resolutions we talk about what we’re going to get. Money, fame, the washboard abs. Nobody talks about the giving up part; the sacrifices and decisions made to make those resolutions actually resolve.

Historically speaking, I can maintain momentum with a resolution a couple of days in a row before I get distracted and derail myself because OH LOOK SHINY. WHAT’S THAT, A NEW PROJECT TO TAKE ON WITH ALL MY NON-EXISTENT FREE TIME AND SURPLUS OF MONEY? WHY YES, YES I WILL VOLUNTEER AT THAT BLIND DOG SHELTER.

We’re all like that. It’s not just me with my head injury over here flaking on resolutions left and right when we get side-tracked. January 1st rolls around and we want to change ourselves right the fuck now and right the fuck forever.

Because who doesn’t? Change is awesome. Change is what happens when a depressed high school teacher moves to New York City with nothing but a few pencil skirts and a manuscript and transforms into a slightly less depressed stand up comedian and motherfucking published author who wears mostly sweatpants and the occasional nice dress to book signings and local TV appearances.

My life is unrecognizable.

I hope my exes stalk my social media. In fact, I’m sure at least one of them does. And I can die happy knowing that he is kicking himself every time I post a juicy “look how successful I am, you SHMUCK” post on Instagram.

But change doesn’t happen overnight. And it isn’t permanent. Not for me and not for all those ex-boyfriends that ended up in my first book.

It’s 2019 and I don’t care how many “alternative facts” you’ve read today on Twitter, you know that much to be true.

I’ve seen a lot of friends achieve some amazing things this year. Some of them got married, had kids, finished Master’s degrees, climbed mountains, lost weight, and became artists.

I’ve achieved my own as well: publications, speaking tours, TED auditions, book launches, TV interviews, comedy shows, New York City hustling, Veganism. Shit did you know I cut my own bangs for a while back there? It’s been one hell of a year.

And in a sense I am still very much in progress; a process of becoming.

I refuse to reduce myself to a resolution. No, you know what I want, a revolution; a rebellion. I want to fuck shit up.

And I can’t do that with a flimsy promise to the ether to “be skinnier,” or “more successful.”

I don’t even want that. I want to be strong. So strong I can lift a fucking car over my head and still look graceful for a camera catching this viral shit go down. I want to be irrefutable. So irrefutable that people will stop at nothing to get inside my damn air bubble.

And if I really am going to get a revolution, then it’s going to take a long-ass time. I’m going to need to be strategic about this shit, get some advisers, do some homework, really dust off my suit of armor and probably get some life insurance already.

I’m going to war, basically.

I’ll fight for the life I want to live, not according to some calendar, but in the little moments that I choose to do the things that move me onward and upward.

And you know what? Some days all that means is drinking more damn water. Some days it means hiding my phone from myself so that I can write for 30 peaceful and uninterrupted minutes. Others it means letting myself eat the “non Vegan” thing instead of beating myself up for an hour over it.

And when I slip up (often), I will wipe off my bloody arms and acknowledge that the journey I’m on will challenge me to new places that I can’t even see yet. I’m going to fail and fail well, learn from my obstacles, and love myself no matter what day of the year it is.

Editor’s Notes:

*OK, I lied. It’s the 3rd. This post could have been much more timely but I figure by now at least 3/4ths of you have given up your resolutions already so it evens out.  

**This same friend just got engaged today*** and I may or may not have sent an identical voicemail to her this morning from the parking lot of a diner in Brooklyn. What can I say, some things never change.

***Two days ago.

I Had My Tarot Cards Read For the First Time and Pretty Much Lost My Damn Mind

My face when a deck of cards tells me about my life…

Okay, okay, everyone stop what you’re doing right now. Put down the pastry or po-go stick or small child you’re holding and listen to this.

I am freaking the fuck out, mmkay.

And not because Oprah or Spielberg called to deliver contracts for my movie rights.

I am freaking the fuck out because I just had my Tarot cards read this week, all right. And boy was it a doozy. Like the kind of doozy that makes you write blog posts about while you listen to the hum of a washing machine as three little angels sleep in their beds instead of passing out from pure exhaustion covered in stickers and macaroni noodles.

That’s right. The kids are asleep, the kitchen’s clean, and I’m ready to get into this shit.

But before I take you on the epic quasi-acid-trip that was my tarot reading, I’d first like to point out a couple of key details to this story.

1. I have never had my tarot cards read in my life.

2. I have never had interest in having my tarot cards read in my life.

3. I still don’t know what a tarot is.

4. But I think it’s a small animal of some kind.

In the past week I have discovered “Bumble Bizz,” a much cooler side of the classic dating app Bumble. I’d never noticed it before, but I swiped over to find one million professionals of all kinds of industries at my swipey little fingertips. Way cooler than trying to make a myriad of Steve’s, Chad’s, and Tyler’s more interesting than they actually are. Oh, your profile says you’re 6ft1, how fascinating!

I switched over to the Business side and quickly adjusted my profile to read “Seeking Ted Talks and Brain Gigs. LMK if you want to make my book into a movie” and began the ol’ swiperoo.

Within minutes I’d found a potential new student for my weekly writing class, neuroscientists that I wanted to interview for my podcast, and a lovely woman who was offering discounted Tarot readings.

Who doesn’t love a discount, amiright?

I guess the last time I’d heard the word ‘tarot’ was in the movie Ghost. I think there were tarots in that movie, right? Maybe it was just Whoopi Goldberg doing a séance when Patrick Swayze shows up and says she’s full of shit.

Well, as curious as I may be, I definitely didn’t believe in spiritual mumbo-jumbo like tarot cards any more than I believed Beatle Juice would show up in my livingroom if I said his annoying name three times.

But for whatever reason I right-swiped on this Tarot Reader and quickly messaged her to tell her I was game. We exchanged numbers and I picked my favorite coffee shop near the Brooklyn Museum to meet up in broad daylight. No dimly lit basements or side alleys for me, okay, I’m not a moron.

So I get to the coffee shop early and set up shop with a little notepad to record my thoughts pre-tarot. Here I am waiting to have my future told! I scribbled. I’m so excited! Although I was skeptical about the whole thing, I was still excited to hear thoughts on my life. It was way better than getting catfished, I decided.

A lovely Latina-looking woman roughly my age greeted me and I was immediately drawn to her energy, literally, I got out of my chair and squished around the crowded tables to give her a hug. She looked like a friend I’d known for years, or maybe in a past life, if I believed in that sort of thing, which I probably didn’t. But she was just so adorable.

We walked through what the cards did and didn’t do…

They can open up channels within you.

They cannot predict your future.

They can reveal things on your mind or in your life that you’ve been suppressing.

They cannot tell you when or how you’re going to die.

I was a little fixated on the death thing, probably because it’s that time of year and it would be so cool to know the year in which I’m finally allowed to shed my gooey human body and fuck with all my friends and enemies as a ghost.

She asked me to shuffle the deck in any way I chose. So I scrambled them around for a good minute or so, repeating back to her that the cards do not actually predict death.

Then she placed the deck to my left and gracefully pulled them to the right of the counter, making a perfect line between us. For some reason I expected her next move to be to pull one randomly from the deck and shout, “IS THIS YOUR CARD?” But she didn’t. Instead she asked me what I wanted to ask the cards.

“Ask them?” I clarified.

“Yes, ask them something you’d like to work out in your life that you are unsure about right now.”

“Ask them…ask them…” I hadn’t really prepared any questions for the session. I kind of thought she’d be doing all the work. “Oh, I got it! Can I ask them about my art? I want to know…like am I going to be successful at my art actually or am I just going to be a flash in the pan and not be relevant at all?”

Yes, it’s been weighing on me. Since releasing my first memoir and discovering it behind a ladder this week in Barnes and Noble, far from any wandering eyes to possibly find, I’ve been wondering if I’m truly going to become the author I want to be.

Do you guys know how many books there are in the world? Just think about that for a second, okay. Just think about how unlikely it really is that my little blue-green cover will make its way out of the slush pile of J.K. Rowling’s, Roxanne Gay’s, and apparently, Tim Tebow’s.

Yes. You guys. Tim Tebow is even writing books now. Or he pays someone else to and gets his face plastered all over them. And he gets his own fucking table at Barnes and Noble.

This title is like a motivational poster threw up all over the cover…

Where is the justice in the world, hmm?

New York Times Best-Seller?

Can somebody explain to me what the actual fuck is going on here?

All right, I’m calm.

Back to the cards.

She asked me to pull three cards with my left hand. Why the left hand, you ask? Yeah, I asked about that too. I forgot what she said but it was something about the heart’s connection to the brain. I’ll look it up later.

I pulled them a little apprehensively, after all I didn’t want to come this far to pull shitty cards. I’d just asked if I was going to be a best-seller or toil into a career as a has-never-really-been. I chose the cards one at a time, making sure to pick the first ones I laid my eyes on and not second-guess myself.

Here’s what I pulled:

The Master:

“The Master in Zen is not a master over others, but a master of himself. His every gesture and his every word reflect his enlightened state. He has no private goals, no desire that anything should be other than the way it is. His disciples gather around him not to follow him, but to soak up his presence and be inspired by his example. In his eyes they find their own truth reflected, and in his silence they fall more easily into the silence of their own beings.”

”The master welcomes the disciples not because he wants to lead them, but because he has so much to share. Together, they create an energy field that supports each unique individual in finding his or her own light. If you can find such a master you are blessed. If you cannot, keep on searching. Learn from the teachers, and the would-be masters, and move on. Charaiveti, charaiveti, said Gautam Buddha. Keep on moving.”

She explained: In order to be successful at my art, I need to be the Master of it. 10,000 hours, all that shit, mmkay. I didn’t tell her I was a writer or a comedian but she told me whatever my art was, I need to take it seriously and get. to. fucking. work. I need to live an breathe it. Why? Because I’ve got “disciples” now, all right. I’ve got people gathering around me listening to what I have to say. And not only that. What I say, or as the card would tell me, what I don’t say (i.e. “silence”) is helping others understand who they are. Holy fucking shit, you guys.

Also: Can we just talk about the Sanskrit word “charaiveti” for a second? I had to look this up, but when I did my brain literally walked out of the room for a smoke break that’s how overwhelmed with emotions it was, okay.

Chara = moving

Eva = alone; only

Iti = Thus

It is said that Buddha concluded his sermons with “Charaiveti, Charaiveti”, or “keep moving, keep moving,” which is part of a larger phrase:

“The honey bee, by its motion, collects honey, and birds enjoy tasty fruits by constant movement. The sun is revered, by virtue of its constant shining movement; therefore, one should be constantly in motion. Keep moving, keep moving on!”

If you need some context as to why I’m flipping out right now, which you likely do: I am so constantly in motion my parents literally say “that one, she’s always moving, always got her hair on fire.” So for me to draw this card which is to become constantly in motion and to become the master of my art so as to inspire others, well, I’m shook to say the least.

Let’s charaiveti, shall we?

I also pulled…

Clinging to the Past:

“The figure pictured in this card is so preoccupied with clutching her box of memories that she has turned her back on the sparkling champagne glass of blessings available here and now. Her nostalgia for the past really makes her a 'blockhead', and a beggar besides, as we can see from her patched and ragged clothes. She needn't be a beggar, of course--but she is not available to taste the pleasures that offer themselves in the present.” 

“It's time to face up to the fact that the past is gone, and any effort to repeat it is a sure way to stay stuck in old blueprints that you would have already outgrown if you hadn't been so busy clinging to what you have already been through. Take a deep breath, put the box down, tie it up in a pretty ribbon if you must, and bid it a fond and reverent farewell. Life is passing you by, and you're in danger of becoming an old fossil before your time!”

She interpreted: I’m literally obsessed with my past. Which is also to say, I’m obsessed with my trauma. Again, she didn’t even know about my book, my brain, or any of the other shit I’m currently not working on with a trained medical professional like I should be. She told me I need to “let it go.” Whatever “it” was that I’ve been holding onto, I need to get that old stuff out of my face.

My thoughts: No. Fucking. Shit. If you didn’t know, I spent four whole years reliving and rewriting my trauma into a memoir that is now sitting proudly in the front window of a least 1-2 Barnes and Nobles in Brooklyn where I have strategically placed them so as to not be sandwiched between Arthritis Pain 101 and Heal Your MIGRAINES Now on the very bottom row of the book shelf.

Honestly, I’m glad I spent four years clinging to my past. It made me tough AF and ain’t nobody can tell me shit. Why? Because resiliency that’s fucking why.

But the cards are right. I have to let it all go now. Which isn’t to say I have to pretend it didn’t happen, but it’s time for me to truly move on, move on, dear traveler.

Should I still tour my book and comedy and use my brain injury to promote my identity as the most adorable and funny brain-injured chick in all the land? Abso-fuckin-lutely. Should I toil with every book sale and allow myself to linger in yesteryear? Nope. Not. Gonna. Do. It.

I also pulled…

Totality:

“These three women are high in the air, playful and free, yet alert and interdependent. In a trapeze act, nobody can afford to be a little bit "absent" even for a split second. And it is this quality of total attentiveness to the moment at hand that is represented here. We may feel there are too many things to do at once, but get bogged down in trying to do a bit here, a bit there, instead of taking one task at a time and getting on with it. Or perhaps we think our task is "boring" because we've forgotten that it's not what you do but how you do it that matters.”

”Developing the knack of being total in responding to whatever comes, as it comes, is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself. Taking one step through life at a time, giving each step your complete attention and energy, can bring a wondrous new vitality and creativity to all that you do.”

She interpreted: I have to focus. Just like a cast member in Cirque du Soleil, I gotta be on the ball and never take my eye off that same ball. I have to be the ball, okay. She also said when I am The Master and I stop Clinging to the Past, then I will have totality. I will be in the moment and I will thrive.

My thoughts: Yeah, I’m a hummingbird and my hair is on fire like all the time so yeah, you know what I do get distracted. I experience these flow or “total” states when I’m writing. I literally forget to go to the bathroom or eat or drink for like eight hour increments, it’s insane. But I’ve got too many damn balls floating around.

And try not to laugh at that, okay, I’m trying to be serious here, you guys.  

If I were a juggler I would suck right now and Cirque du Soleil would surely blacklist me from every future circus gig. I need to focus. I need to zen. I need to take some shit off my plate like right this very moment.

So if you’re reading this, that’s me telling you that I’m going to take a tiny pause from my podcast, Mimi and The Brain, for about a month, just to get my little zen head back on my neck for a minute.

Don’t worry! I’m not going anywhere, OK!

And if you are itching for some prime Mimi content might I direct you to like…everything else I’m doing right now. Including but not limited to my very fun and very dramatic book that is available right the fuck now, Fam!

Anyway, this post is getting long. And if I were to walk you through every single card we pulled with my questions like:

Is there anything holding me back from being successful?

Will I truly find love? And

Should I let someone else be responsible for my art or produce it solo?

I think I’d end up with a full-blown book proposal so we’re not going to do that, okay?

But I will leave you on a couple juicy bits and some emotional aftershock to stew on for the next month while you’re waiting for more content from me.

Honorable mentions:

I asked the deck more about pursuing my writing and I got Past Lives, a card which says in all of my past lives I encountered a choice to pursue a thing, or not and to regret it like a loser the rest of that life. My Tarot Spirit Guide said that every life I’ve lived before* I haven’t pursued it. Which is why leaning into my identity as an artist is so hard in this life.

*What do you guys think, hmm? Former Prime Minister of India? A carpenter in Renaissance Italy? One-armed juggler in 1930’s Chicago? Hit me up with your best predictions of my past lives! WHAT A FUN GAME I JUST MADE.

As you knew I would, I also asked the deck if I would find love or remain an old dusty hag with lots of dogs and a cabin all for myself. Which doesn’t sound so bad minus the dusty hag part.

I got the Schizophrenia, Morality, and Sorrow cards. Sounds promising, right? Well, actually it kind of is.

Schizophrenia:

“The person on this card brings a new twist to the old idea of "getting stuck between a rock and a hard place!" But we are in precisely this sort of situation when we get stuck in the indecisive and dualistic aspect of the mind. Should I let my arms go and fall head-first, or let my legs go and fall feet-first? Should I go here or there? Should I say yes or no? And whatever decision we make, we will always wonder if we should have decided the other way.”

”The only way out of this dilemma is, unfortunately, to let go of both at once. You can't work your way out of this one by solving it, making lists of pros and cons, or in any way working it out with your mind. Better to follow your heart, if you can find it. If you can't find it, just jump--your heart will start beating so fast there will be no mistake about where it is!”

She explained: When I go on dates, I’m kind of two-faced. I’m not being my truest self. And guys can see it a mile away. They are so good at spotting my two-facedness, in fact, that not one of them has seriously approached me as a romantic possibility in over a year. What does the deck Have to say about my future as that dusty dog lady, you ask?

Well…then I pulled:

Morality:

“Morality has restricted all the juice and energy of life to the narrow confines of her mind. It can't flow there, so she really has become 'a dried-up old prune'. Her whole manner is very proper and stiff and severe, and she is always ready to see every situation as black and white, like the jewel she wears around her neck.”

”The Queen of Clouds lurks in the minds of all of us who have been brought up with rigid ideas of good and bad, sinful and virtuous, acceptable and unacceptable, moral and immoral. It's important to remember that all these judgments of the mind are just products of our conditioning. And whether our judgments are applied to ourselves or to others, they keep us from experiencing the beauty and godliness that lies within. Only when we break through the cage of our conditioning and reach the truth of our own hearts can we begin to see life as it really is.”

She said: In order to find love, I need to let go of that desire to hold back my true self, the master, totality, all that. I gotta quit being such a dried-up old prune. OK, so she didn’t say that, but how goddamn hilarious is that?

I think: This card is spot-on. I don’t have any jewels around my neck but I’m pretty sure I’ve been pretty stubborn lately when it comes to dating. And like my new schizophrenia diagnosis, I have to quit hiding my full self from these dudes. Otherwise…

Sorrow:

“The image is of Ananda, the cousin and disciple of Gautam Buddha. He was at Buddha's side constantly, attending to his every need for forty-two years. When Buddha died, the story is told that Ananda was still at his side, weeping. The other disciples chastised him for his misunderstanding: Buddha had died absolutely fulfilled; he should be rejoicing. But Ananda said, "You misunderstand. I'm weeping not for him but for myself, because for all these years I have been constantly at his side but I have still not attained." Ananda stayed awake for the whole night, meditating deeply and feeling his pain and sorrow. By the morning, it is said, he was enlightened.”

”Times of great sorrow have the potential to be times of great transformation. But in order for transformation to happen we must go deep, to the very roots of our pain, and experience it as it is, without blame or self-pity.”

She said: Yeah. You better get your shit straight or you’re gonna be in peril, Mimi. Whoopi said it best:

This seemed grim, but she actually told me I’m about to find love, like the real kind. She told me I’m going to meet the man of my dreams and have everything I’ve ever wanted. The catch? I’m going to go very on-brand and freak the fuck out about it which will lead me to this lovely card of a man weeping uncontrollably. And that just doesn’t really sound fun for me, personally.

So: I can pursue the man* of my dreams but only if 1) I’m being my most authentic and awesome self and 2) I chill the hell out

*I’m not going to be dramatic…but I did meet a super cute guy at a party this weekend. Have my dusty old prune days come to an end? STAY TUNED TO FIND OUT.

Okay, okay, I’m going to talk about two more cards followed by a story, mmkay?

Next Question: Am I gonna be OK? i.e. “listen you little deck of cards I have seen some shit and I really want to achieve all these awesome dreams so am I going to or not?”

I pulled…

Adventure:

“When we are truly in a spirit of adventure, we are moving just like this child. Full of trust, out of the darkness of the forest into the rainbow of the light, we go step by step, drawn by our sense of wonder into the unknown. Adventure really has nothing to do with plans and maps and programs and organization.”

”The Page of Rainbows represents a quality that can come to us anywhere--at home or in the office, in the wilderness or in the city, in a creative project or in our relationships with others. Whenever we move into the new and unknown with the trusting spirit of a child, innocent and open and vulnerable, even the smallest things of life can become the greatest adventures.”

She told me: There’s this story of this guy who asks his guru what he should do to be happy, OK. And so the guru is like yeah sure go to this mountain. And there aren’t like planes or even like boats really he has to travel all across the world, literally swim the Pacific or something to get to this mountain. Twenty years this guy is trying to get to this fucking mountain. Along the way he meets the love of his life, has some crazy stories, all this stuff. But he gets to the mountain, all right, and it suuuuucks. Literally the mountain is dumb and he hates it. But then he looks back at his twenty-year journey and he’s like okay it’s not so bad I did all that cool stuff on the way here.

My thoughts: Wow I would hate to be that guy right now. But what a cool story. And so perfectly intertwined with my life and my constant pursuits to find the next best thing but never really enjoying the moments that get me there. “Drawn by our sense of wonder into the unknown?” Oh hell yeah. Let’s go find that lame-ass mountain!

Question asked next: What are my best qualities?

I pulled…

The Fool:

“Moment to moment, and with every step, the Fool leaves the past behind. He carries nothing more than his purity, innocence and trust, symbolized by the white rose in his hand. The pattern on his waistcoat contains the colors of all four elements of the tarot, indicating that he is in harmony with all that surrounds him. His intuition is functioning at its peak. At this moment the Fool has the support of the universe to make this jump into the unknown. Adventures await him in the river of life.”

”The card indicates that if you trust your intuition right now, your feeling of the 'rightness' of things, you cannot go wrong. Your actions may appear 'foolish' to others, or even to yourself, if you try to analyze them with the rational mind. But the 'zero' place occupied by the Fool is the numberless number where trust and innocence are the guides, not skepticism and past experience.”

Guru said: I have the ability to continue trusting, loving, and existing even when bad things happen to me. I am “foolish” in that I have an aura of innocence that allows me to bounce back from the past in a way that others cannot.

Me: At this moment in the session I was ugly crying. Why? Because the cards were right. The cards knew. They knew that I’ve been hurt by others and betrayed by my own body. They knew that on a daily basis I foolishly forget all the pain I’ve been through.

The card goes on to say:

“A fool is one who goes on trusting; a fool is one who goes on trusting against all his experience. You deceive him, and he trusts you; and you deceive him again, and he trusts you; and you deceive him again, and he trusts you. Then you will say that he is a fool, he does not learn. His trust is tremendous; his trust is so pure that nobody can corrupt it.”

”Be a fool in the Taoist sense, in the Zen sense. Don't try to create a wall of knowledge around you. Whatsoever experience comes to you, let it happen, and then go on dropping it. Go on cleaning your mind continuously; go on dying to the past so you remain in the present, here-now, as if just born, just a babe.”

”In the beginning it is going to be very difficult. The world will start taking advantage of you...let them. They are poor fellows. Even if you are cheated and deceived and robbed, let it happen, because that which is really yours cannot be robbed from you, that which is really yours nobody can steal from you.”

”And each time you don't allow situations to corrupt you, that opportunity will become an integration inside. Your soul will become more crystallized.”

At this point in the session I had to blow my nose. Which my guru was totally cool about. I explained to her in vague terms why I was crying and that it was true, I’m resilient because I am not burdened by my traumas, I use them to get me places.

Now for the final story.

I’ve been carrying on my week like normal, despite having been totally shaken by the truths told to me by a deck of cards I’d never even heard of before. I went to work like normal, did a few after-work social gatherings, and continued to stalk the shelves of every bookstore I could find for my book.

But something crazy happened tonight.

I went to go see A Star is Born with a friend, ugly cried, as was predicted, made a trip to the eye doctor for some new contacts and glasses, met a complete stranger at a coffee shop who grew up in Colorado, is a writer, teacher, and probably my new best friend…but the weirdest thing happened when I was reading my copy of my own book on the subway home.

I got to the part where I get a little humbled and deep. No spoilers, but I talk about feeling lucky that I’m not disabled, dead, or blind.

I went to my first eye exam in three years earlier today. And aside from being that idiot that wears a single pair of contacts for six months until they literally rip themselves out of my eye sockets, my eyes are fine.

I have some double-vision in the corners of my eyes still. Mostly just in the morning or if I look at something really fast in that upper left corner. Do you understand how fucking lucky I am?

I woke up from brain surgery seeing double and sideways. Are we on the same page now?

I closed my book on the end of this chapter right as the subway doors opened and began sobbing. All of a sudden I remembered. The Fool remembered what I’d been through and all of the sudden that was very heavy.

I ugly-cried myself the two blocks home while calling my mom. As I slowly puttered down the street leaving puddles of eyeball goo behind me, bodega owners and taxi guys on the street started shouting at me “What’s wrong, Baby? What’s wrong?” It was like reverse catcalling, it was kind of awesome.

But I kept walking, telling my mother that I was probably just overly emotional because of Bradley Cooper but also that I almost died four years ago and I kind of thought that was a lot to process.

I hadn’t realized in that teary phone call, but my brain was lining up all the information from the tarot cards and delivering them in real time. This wasn’t just some random thing I did. I’d opened up a window into my soul.

Added bonus? I got this all for $30.

Talk about a mind-fuck.

Well. That’s all I have for you this…morning? It’s currently 2:32AM as I’m wrapping this lil’ puppy up. Which I guess makes me The Master of Writing.

And also really fucking tired.

Charaiveti, charaiveti friends, I’ve got some REM cycles to attend to…

Editor’s Note: The cards used in the Tarot session were called “Osho Zen” Tarot cards and reflect the teachings of Osho, an Indian spiritual teacher who died in the 1990’s. During his lifetime he was viewed as a controversial new religious movement leader and mystic. The descriptions for each card were pulled from a site I found online that appear to be from a book published from Osho himself. I do not know the credibility of this source, however the descriptions found on the site matched what the Tarot reader said to me.

All My Friends Are Getting Married and Having Kids...I'm Launching a Book Instead

*Disclaimer: This is NOT a piece about marriage or having children or any statement of judgment on either of these two things. If you’re my friend I’ve probably been in your wedding, held your child, or both. I love doing this for you. Please continue to let me be a part of these beautiful life milestones in whichever ways you see fit.*

Phew, glad we got that out of the way.

Now let’s get into this shit.

In the summer of 2014, I went to a friend’s wedding up in the mountains of Colorado and spent the entire time hiding my sobs underneath burlap table runners and behind adorable photobooth props.

It was snowing. In May. And she looked fucking beautiful shivering in the snow in her little cowboy boots.

But no, I wasn’t crying about that.

I wasn’t emotional because I trekked through the snow in my high heels to get to the barn or because I watched the groom cry tears of joy when he saw her walk down the aisle.

I was crying because I knew this shit would never happen to me.

At least not with the guy sitting next to me that I’d been Fake-gaged to for nearly five years (that’s ‘fake’ and ‘engaged’ if you were wondering).

Me: *gets distracted for 30 minutes* Sorry...got distracted by all the wedding porn on Pinterest...

This rustic and Pinterest-perfect barn wedding was not in the cards for me then.

Neither was the garden palace entrance another friend made that same year. Or the magnificent old school church setup yet another friend had the year after that.

I’ve been going to weddings non-stop since I graduated college four years ago.

I’ve seen seven-layered dips, champagne fountains, and cakes made out of maple-bacon donuts.

I’m the real life 27 Dresses except I’ve gotten smart and have recycled a few so as to not burn a hole in my non-existent wallet.

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I fucking love weddings.

And while I sometimes gripe about shelling out cash for airfare, attire, and gifts, the fact of the matter is I’m stoked for this bottomless mimosa situation you’ve got going on here, my friend.

But more than the fun, I rather enjoy watching my friends be happy.

Weird. I know.

The painful part was knowing that I wasn’t happy like that.

I hid it well during the festivities, shying away from the “how are you?” questions and answering instead with, “OH MY GOD THIS IS MY FAVORITE SONG LET’S BOOGY” and sprinting to the dance floor with the 5-year-old cousin of the bride.

I didn’t want the looks of pity. Or the well-intentioned but weird commentary about my joke of a dating life.

“Oh, you’re into online dating, how…adventurous…” they laughed uncomfortably as they held hands with their significant others or patted their pregnant bellies. I imagined them having a discussion about how worried about me they were later as they brushed their teeth together.

Because that’s what you do when you’re married right, you like brush your teeth at the same time, shit I don’t know I’m not married.

For a while, I was sulky and obsessed. I thought married people my age could go suck a big fat one. I’d never say that to any of their lovely faces, obviously. But they had no idea about my single person pain.

I hated that I felt this surge of anger every time a good friend of mine “bit the dust,” but I couldn’t shake it. Especially after my big breakup left me feeling like I’d been so close to that mountain barn party only for it to go up in epic flames at the last second.

I pictured my poor guests running for their minivans from the explosion as I sat in my tarnished gown, alone because my betrothed got trampled to death by the horses in the stables, using my broken heel to roast the marshmallows from my all-you-can-eat smores buffet.

In reality, I was miles and miles from being emotionally equipt for something like marriage.

And kids? Ah, shit don’t even get me started on how un-ready I was to birth a small human out of my you-know-where (I still am by the way).

So here we are in 2018.

I’m 26. I have a health insurance plan that I don’t know how to use. Single in every sense of the word. No kids although I take care of other people’s children. With a book on the way and all saddled up for the most life-changing year of my life.

Did I mention I’m single with no kids? Have we covered that?

And guess what.

That’s fucking okay. That’s more than okay. That’s the best news I’ve heard since He Who Must Not Be Named began his stupid orange dictatorship.

I did not always believe this.

It’s taken me years to come to terms with who I actually am, and also who I’m becoming now. I’m not there yet. There are a lot of things I want to get done in my personal and professional life. I want to get better with money. I’d like to lose ten pounds or so. Get a pug puppy. I want my Ted Talk to go viral and my book(s) to become best sellers which will land my delicious, athletic booty on Ellen’s awesome white couch.

And I’ve got time, Y'all.

Holy shit I have so much time.

And I’m not really talking about marriage or kids anymore, although there’s time for that too. The time I’m speaking of is the amount of hours, days, months, and years that I have in this life to love myself and what I’m doing. Time to make an imprint, no matter how small. Just a tiny speck of a scratch on this earth’s surface that proved that I was here and that I mattered.

And even if nobody sees it ̶ even if a bunch of fucking aliens pass by that lil’ speck like it’s nothing when they colonize our asses and blow this shit sky high ̶ at least I will have known that I was there.

So at the end of the day all this bullshit about some 30-year-old deadline to accomplish these life “milestones” like getting married, having kids, or having a 401-K and a stable 9 to 5?

It’s exactly what I just said. It’s bullshit.

Hopefully, you read my disclaimer, or you’re probably real mad at me right now. Maybe you’re mad because you have these things and you think I resent you (Nah, I don’t). Or you’re mad because you don’t, but desperately want them for yourself (it’s cool if yuh do).

And maybe you should be mad.

Be mad that society pushes us to care about stupid garbage values like “not dying alone.”

You know what I wanna do when I’m croaking on the side of some toilet and all my vital organs are shutting down causing me to shit my own pants and cry so loudly I might actually wake the dead (that I’m about to join)?

Be by my fucking self.

Jesus, I don’t want my family or loved ones to see me like that are you kidding me?!

Don’t you hear how ridiculous that sounds?

So onto the main attraction of this blog post.

What life changing event am I preparing for this year?

Oh, you know already! My book is coming out! HOLY SHIT I KNOW RIGHT.

So what does one do with such an epic life accomplishment?

Have a big ol’ party! With the donut cakes and champagne towers and everything!

Yes, you’re invited. And aren’t you all stoked that I don’t care who you bring as a +1? Bring your grandma, your dog, your second cousin three times removed, IDGAF! The more the merrier!

BECAUSE I’M GETTING MARRIED (TO MYSELF) AND HAVING A (BOOK) BABY!

And just like my friends out there in suburbia, I’ll be taking on a lot of new responsibilities and expenses to prepare for my big day. I’ve got linens to pick out, book jackets to design for my little one, and food truck vendors to call.

I’ve got to come up with hotel plans for other people’s in-laws, prepare thank you speeches, and I will most likely spend way too much money on my dress, hair, and nails because this is my special day and you can’t put a price on happiness (yes you can it’s approximately several thousand dollars that I don’t have).

I’ve got my hands quite full.

Literally. I’ll probably be hauling 300-odd copies of my book from some warehouse to the launch party to distribute to you, my fine-ass audience.

But damn I’m going to look and feel like a million bucks up there. I’m going to have my moment in the sun and errybody’s gonna wanna have sex with me.

I’m not gonna lie, it’s not what I expected.

It’s better.

Nothing against weddings, baby showers, and the “standard” trajectory. I’m just doing things differently right now. By myself. Which is how I like it.

But I’m never really alone, am I? Because I have YOU.

Yes, you reading this right now because I probably tagged you in this and you’re like oh my god seriously quit blowing up my newsfeed with your blog posts I have better shit to do.

And I’m going to need YOUR help!

Because it turns out getting married to your dreams and birthing a book baby can get pretty expensive. There’s the venue, invitations, marketing, food, decorations, and flights back and forth once I plan on touring the U.S. for comedy shows and book signings.

It’s starting to add up, Y'all!

Which is why I’ve started a GoFundMe page and opened up a separate bank account solely for my big day and making it the best it can be.

I know you’re going to buy the book. And that makes me so happy! I’m going to enjoy that 10¢ royalty check from you so freaking much (Yes, you read that right! Welcome to my fancy author salary! Hollywood here I come! Step aside, Peasants!).

But in the meantime, I’d really appreciate it if you threw a couple dollars into my GoFundMe campaign. If you were planning on getting a Starbucks this morning, just keep walking past that twelve-armed Sea Lady and put those $5 toward your ol’ pal Memes chasing her dreams instead.

It would mean the world to me.

And if you send me your address I will hand write you a thank you card.

I just picked up like a thousand from Target. They’re cute AF.

I’m thrilled to go to all of your weddings, graduations, live-water-birthings, and your kid’s pre-pre-K coronation ceremonies. And I’m so glad to be a part of all of your stories, no matter how small my presence may be in your day to day life.

Thank you for reading and being my friend (and donating!)

Stay tuned for my book launch updates in Denver and New York City and the release of my memoir, “I’ll Be OK, It’s Just a Hole in My Head” coming to bookstores near you this September!

Click here if you'd like to pre-order my book and click here if you'd like to contribute to my GoFundMe campaign. 

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