My Last Blog of The Decade

Photo by: Erin Patrice O’Brien

I remember being a teenager and being the angstiest teen to ever angst. It was always the same on New Year’s Eve in my family.

Cheeseboards. Shrimp cocktail. And those tiny little hot dogs if we were lucky.

We watched a movie or two and then flipped on the telly to see mentally unstable people in New York City jump around behind Ryan Seacrest like they were actually having fun.

But who was I to say?

There I was like a loser, not even old enough to drink yet, just wishing I could rock a cute skirt and kiss a stranger at midnight.

I wanted so badly to join those idiots. Then I’d really be living.

Well, here we are, friends.

It’s the last few hours of the DECADE and I’m in my apartment in Brooklyn, In New Fucking York, warming up some of those little weenies and killing some time before my friend comes over to eat them with me.

My, how the tables turneth.

But this time, I don’t feel like such a loser.

Because you see, I’ve grown a lot this decade. Arguably the most in the nearly three decades I have graced this planet. This one was different. Why? Well, to find out we have to go into a time machine. Or, if you’re on your way to some ritzy bajillionaire’s yacht to kick off your decade then at least close your eyes in the Uber and pretend or something.

~cue whooshing noise and nostalgic music~

2010

I’m ready to be on Top Model, Tyra!

The year is 2010 and I’ve graduated from Grandview High School.

I’ve had a boyfriend all senior year and I straighten my hair almost every day. In a surprise move, I decide to go to college in the middle of nowhere, Minnesota to go play ice hockey, a dream I’ve had since I was a kid.

Also, I am still a child.

I move away and surround myself with friendly Minnesotans but ultimately by Spring Break I am trying desperately to keep my long-distance relationship with the boyfriend alive. I finish my Freshman year and return to Colorado to be with him.

I’m sure other things happened but my memory sucks so let’s just keep rolling.

2011

Jumping was huge this year.

I leave my friends at St. Ben’s, devastated but ready to start a new chapter.

Things with the boyfriend seem to be healing nicely after a year apart and I get accepted to the University of Colorado Boulder to continue my degree in History.

I join an improv team called Umbrella Improv Initiative. We are the first generation of improvisers and we call our team Slumber Party Knife Fight. I love discovering improv and that I’m not the only weirdo who wants to get on a stage and make up random shit.

Improv becomes my family.

Slumber Party Knife Fight circa 2011.

Also, I get bangs.

2012

New hair, who dis!

I go back and surprise my friends in Minnesota during Spring Break. This would begin my long saga of disrupting their lives with my unplanned presence.

I chop my hair off.

My boyfriend and I visit Paris, France.

I honestly don’t remember much about this year. Let’s keep going.

2013

Yes, you CAN see my ID ;)

I spend my 21st birthday in Minnesota because I just can’t stay away from those goofy Minnesotans.

I weasel my way into another improv troupe. This one’s called Amelia’s AirHearts and is all women. I’m so excited to share the stage with these ladies that are now my best friends. We take our team to a college improv festival in LA and my boyfriend tags along.

By this point, I have a promise ring and we’ve also been to Italy.

Trevi Fountain, 2013.

I get my first tattoo.

In the summer I work at a camp for rich kids at a country club.

I live with three beautiful and amazing women, one of which from my improv troupe and most of them teachers-to-be like me.

Could we be any cuter? (The answer is NO.)

2014

Oh, baby buckle the fuck up cuz shit’s about to get real interesting.

My boyfriend and I are about to celebrate 5 years together and I’m thinking of marriage. He’s acting kind of weird lately so I suspect he’s going to propose any day now. But the truth is we’re fighting a lot and he’s acting strange. I refuse to let myself believe that we’re not right for each other after all this time.

I “graduate” college and walk across the stage to my cheering friends and family. I am anxious because I still technically have to take one more science class in May to really get the job done.

I take my seasonal job back at the summer camp, this time as a Program Director.

One week after graduation my boyfriend dumps me and immediately gets with another girl and published the whole ordeal on Facebook and Instagram. I am wrecked.

I lose 20 pounds, run five miles a day, and somehow make it to my nutrition class and my job that summer. I turn in my final assignment five minutes late and the professor almost flunks me. By the grace of somebody’s god, I graduate college.

I discover Tinder and begin going on dates with sketchy dudes because I don’t know who I am as a single person.

In the summer I visit my friend Lexi in Germany. This is the first trip I haven’t taken with my ex-boyfriend. It hurts but we see so many amazing things. We go to the Anne Frank house completely hungover after spending the day drunk and high in Amsterdam. It’s fucking awesome and I’m still young so my body bounces back within a day.

In the fall I get ready for my student teaching semester at East High School in Denver. I put together lesson plans and buy cute teacher outfits.

East High School, approximately two months before my head exploded.

After five days as a teacher, my brain explodes on a blind date. I have a bad headache which eventually is diagnosed as a brain hemorrhage after my poor mother threatens to sue every single person in a hospital with a fake attorney.

The rest of this year is spent losing motor functions, watching a lot of Netflix, and continuing to hate my now ex-boyfriend who doesn’t seem to have noticed that I’m on my death bed.

Here I am in all my post-brain surgery glory!

In October I have brain surgery and spend several weeks in a brain hospital with old people relearning how to walk and see again.

My ex finally texts me.

I tell him to fuck off.

I start writing my book and prepare to get back into teaching again.

2015

After a small hiccup getting a little too “lit” on New Year’s (alcohol now impacts me differently post-brain), I make my triumphant return to East High School for my student teaching semester.

My head doesn’t explode after the first week (thank god), but I am learning quickly that teaching is much harder after having a brain bleed.

I hustle very hard and get a job lined up for the following fall at Gateway High School. I’ve moved back in with Mom and Dad since after college and they are the most supportive humans I’ve ever met.

I get my second tattoo.

Also, I start doing stand up comedy. I joke about my brain exploding and absolutely nobody thinks it’s funny but I keep doing it anyway.

I go back to LA for the college improv festival even though I’ve graduated. I perform again with Amelia’s AirHeart’s and have a great time but start to notice that I don’t feel like I fit in with the drunk college kids anymore.

I made these shirts.

I go back and surprise Sami in Minnesota on her birthday for kicks and hide under a box in a hotel room and pop out at her.

Before my big girl job starts I spend a week in New York City to take an improv class at the Upright Citizen’s Brigade. I’m overwhelmed and in love with comedy but tell my mom “I could never live there” when I get home.

In the fall I run my first half marathon and cry the entire time because not too long ago I was in a wheelchair.

I start teaching and work upwards of 80 hours a week.

I go back to Minnesota for Sami’s wedding.

Yo’ check out my GUNS!

My book becomes merely a list of bullet points and I can barely make it to one open mic a week.

My older sibling comes out as transgender which takes us all by surprise but we are supportive and love her as she begins her new journey.

I move out of my parent’s house and into a shady studio apartment in Capital Hill in Denver. I suspect my neighbor is on heavy-duty drugs and he keeps me up at all hours of the night screaming and one time I even call the cops on him because he tries to break my door down after I leave a sticky note asking him to keep it down.

Most of my friends are engaged by now.

2016

My best friend Kristen and I get a crazy idea and have a gigantic art show in Denver just because.

I finish my first year of teaching, in a blur, and continue trying to fill the hole in my heart that is still gaping wide open even two years after my bad breakup.

I am joyous to start dating a lovely man, we’ll call him Ben, who reignites my belief in love again and treats me like a queen.

We have an amazing summer together and I start writing again while on break from school. I get back into comedy and am starting to get into the big club Comedy Works.

Trump gets elected and the next day at school I have to tell a bunch of 14-year-old’s why our country is going to be completely fucked.

I run another half marathon.

I have a bipolar roommate now and in the course of this year, we go from friends to enemies.

Ben comes out to me as transgender, like my sister, and I’m even more shocked. We try to stay together for another month but things are weighing on us both. We break up after saying “I love you” for the first time. It is horrendous and painful.

The next day I am a bridesmaid in a wedding.

I go to therapy for a few months.

School starts again and I am quickly feeling like a shell of a person since the breakup and with the daily trauma of being a high school teacher. By September, I decide I’m going to finish the school year and move to New York City.

I was a COOL teacher, K?

2017

I go to Spain with Kristen and dream of the life I want to live and also walk into a plate glass door.

Kristen and I have our follow-up ROUGH art show and I know in my heart that I am meant for so many big things.

I get my third (and favorite) tattoo.

I run yet another half marathon.

I move to New York City in the summer with nothing but two bags and a manuscript of my book that I printed at FED EX kinkos.

I don’t have a job and I live with my cousin for 10 days before moving to a “co-living” house in Brooklyn. I live there with 10 dudes until some other gals move in. I date one of the dudes in secret and run the house as a house manager and live there for free.

I am unemployed for what feels like ever and watch my 401K slowly dwindle away.

While I am away, my ex-partner and my sister become best friends. I struggle at times with this, but I am ultimately very happy to see that they’ve both found each other and are building their tribe together.

My dad gets tongue cancer randomly but they take it all out and he’s all good.

I take an improv class at Reckless theater which lasts all of two months before the theater closes because of a scandal. I make friends there though and one of them knows a publisher.

My secret boyfriend and I split because his visa expires and he moves back to India. After we break up at JFK a really nice COLOMBIAN taxi driver helps me stop crying and then takes me out for pizza.

One month later I get an email. My book is getting published.

I take a job as a nanny to three little boys in Brooklyn. The family is pretty wealthy and I don’t mind all the fancy cheese in their fridge.

I sign my book contract and get an advance of $750 which I use to pay rent with.

I start doing sets at Broadway Comedy Club, Stand Up NY, and more.

2018

Who me???

I move out of the commune with two of my favorite women, Joy, and Simone. We move to Flatbush, Brooklyn which is absolutely the farthest place from everything.

I fly to Colorado for a TED Talk audition. I don’t get it.

I get bangs (again).

I work at a Matcha tea place for a few months then get fired for being on my computer when nobody is around.

I take fancy author photos and prep my book for edits.

I spend the entire year planning my book launch party.

I potty train a 3-year-old.

I start a podcast.

I get on TV three times.

I do a keynote at a fancy brain conference.

I take all my books from the bottom shelf at Barnes and Noble’s and put them on the Best Seller table while nobody is looking.

I become a Vegan.

I make a lot of new friends and “Brain Buddies” who are just as crazy and wonderful as me.

Mimi and The Brain is a finalist for the Werk It Women’s Podcasting Festival.

My sister has her big operation.

I get laid off from my nanny job unexpectedly at Christmas time.

I immediately take a job as an assistant for a science rapper.

2019

I hustle with multiple jobs.

I learn how to run lights and sound for an off-Broadway show.

I nanny some more.

I get punched on the subway and meet josh groban in the same hour window.

I apply for another TED Talk and I am the last one cut.

I battle depression, anxiety, and don’t have health care.

Why do I keep running all these fucking half marathons?

I get my fourth tattoo after getting my tongue biopsied.

I take a one-woman show and a giant foam brain costume to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, fall off my stage, and almost catch the speakers on fire, but I have a lovely time and come out of it alive.

I take a five-day road trip with a stranger from a Facebook group up Scotland which is hands-down the coolest thing ever.

I find out my tongue doesn’t have cancer. HOORAY!

I solo travel in Ireland, London, Paris, and MARSEILLES, eat the most amazing food, and fall in love with several street musicians along the way.

Our family doggo Tucker passes away suddenly.

I get home from Fringe and my mom immediately tells me she has breast cancer.  

I fall off the Vegan wagon.

I eat a lot of Ramen.

I pitch an audio story in front of 300 people and a panel of producers.

I meet Bill Nye, Emilia Clarke, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Jim Gaffigan, and briefly touch Neil Patrick Harris.

I write a TV pilot.

I get a full-time job right as I nearly run entirely out of money.

I apply for another TED Talk…third time’s a charm???

I play with my parent’s cute puppies Stanley and Dug.

And most importantly, I close out this decade truly, and fully in love with myself for the first time ever. Here, in my room, hiding away from all the flashy skirts and champagne towers, I am so in awe of the woman I have become this decade. Just me. In my sweats and cozy Christmas socks munching on my lil’ hot dogs.

I have come so far. I have learned, loved, and lost. I have suffered and rejoiced and done a lot of weird shit with my hair but hey, at least I am finally me.

I am the me’est me to ever me.

As I enter this new decade I know that the passing of time will continue to accelerate and hit warp speed. I will continue to change and grow. I will lose loved ones and experience new and profound traumas.

But I will never take for granted how powerful life can be and that we only get one to live (that we know of).

OK, now open your eyes. I’m sure you’ve arrived at your party by now.

Go on, cut a rug, hook up with a random hot stranger, jump up and down behind Seacrest why don’t you. Just watch out for that killer New Year’s hangover.

I’ll see you in 2020!

Let’s go!

Love, Memes

What I Learned Traveling the World in a Giant Brain Costume

I want YOU…to ask for my consent before you fondle my gray matter!

Photo by Roberto Ricciuti

Oh hey there friends, random people who follow my blog, and my Mom!

I know it’s been a while since I’ve stretched the writing muscles, but *ahem* I’ve been a lil’ busy! Oh you know, the usual: performing comedy, sippin’ on overpriced coffee and alcohol in different countries, walking around town in a giant foam brain costume ̶

Right. About that last one.

As I would assume at least some of you weirdos who follow me know, I’ve spent the past month parading around Scotland wearing my custom brain to promote my one-woman show at the famous Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

I know, I know. What in the actual fuck.

And it’s true, I got a lot of “wtf” looks while schlepping my gray matter up and down those cobblestone streets at all hours of the day (calm down, MOM, the taxis there are bigger and could fit my brain inside and I always, always got a taxi home past 10PM).

I’ll admit I was a bit of a freak-magnet.

I mean it’s not every day you see a lady waltzing around town in a giant brain. And if it is then you clearly live on another planet and I’m purchasing a rocket ship and going there immediately.

This lil’ baby is turning five years old next month, can you believe it? It feels like just yesterday that the words “I want a cool Halloween costume” escaped my lips in front of my architect father and crafty mother shortly after recovering from an invasive craniotomy.

When you survive something like that, you say all kinds of crazy shit.

Honestly, I was thinking like a cool T-Shirt. Maybe a hat with some funky noodles popping out of it, you know, something fun for the kids.

Oh no.

The OG shot, taken by my Dad as we walked into my PT on Halloween.

What followed was a civil war between my parents about how to make a costume for such an occasion. What do you make the girl who survived brain surgery? A giant foam brain, obviously. And when it came time for the festival, it was the first thing on my packing list.

It’s made it’s rounds at Halloween parties, bars, and hospitals aplenty. But never has the brain been on an adventure quite like this.

Of course, the first question was…how the fuck do you ship a giant foam brain to Scotland?

A hockey bag. Duh.

Getting it home was a different story, but we’ll get to that headache later.

Here are a choice few things I’ve learned in my past two months of performing, traveling, and frightening small children while wearing a giant brain costume. Enjoy.

I’m never really “ready” for anything.

In true Mimi-style, I did not prepare for this epic journey as much as I could have. I did a lot, to be sure. But the fact still remains that I submitted a paragraph about a show that didn’t exist to the largest theater festival in the world. That paragraph was accepted.

And then I shit my pants.

I’d never written a “one-woman” show before. I’m not talking stand-up either. I’m talking like theater.

That level of perceived prestige really scared the poop out of me.

Was I qualified to be on a stage for an entire hour with nothing but my story? How does this work? Will I have to memorize all those lines? Do I get a water break?

I actually hadn’t even seen any one-woman shows before.

So I went and saw Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag.

And then I shit my pants again.

It became clear to me in that theater that this person really knew what they were doing. And I did not. But I had approximately 90 days to figure it out.

I “finished” my show on the airplane ride over to Scotland.

And even then it wasn’t done and I wasn’t ready.

My show was about twenty minutes too long and I hadn’t memorized any of the lines.

I’d performed it once in New York before leaving to twelve people (more on audience size later!) and did well but looked at my script pretty much the whole time.

None of that shit mattered in the end though because I found my way.

I marked up my script until it was basically just a bunch of black scribbles on the page. I booked out a rehearsal room and rehearsed to myself the three days leading up to my first show. I marked it up more. I panicked. I held my script on stage the first week.

And then slowly, day after day, I needed the script less and less, until finally, I chucked it in my bag backstage.

I wasn’t ready. You never fucking are. Get over it and do it anyway.

It’s always good to lower expectations.

I know that sounds like something I wouldn’t say, but hear me out for a sec.

I didn’t go to Fringe thinking I’d be the next Phoebe Waller-Bridge. She started out there, as a lot of celebrities have. Her one-woman show Fleabag was turned into a hit TV show and propelled her into big bad-ass movie roles and international fame.

As much as I wanted to entertain that fantasy for myself, I didn’t want to go there. That was a lot of pressure for someone who was literally still completing the show the day before the first performance.

After doing some light research and hearing from other performers that Fringe was a slog, I decided I would just survive it.

On a very basic level, I would be alive by the end of it.

That sounds pretty apocalyptic, but you should read these Fringe blogs these days, my god.

And they’re all true.

“It’s expensive.”

“It’s hard.”

“It’s rewarding.”

“It’s not rewarding.”

“It was totally worth it.”

“It ruined my life.”

All these things and more have been said about the Fringe and they happened to all of us. Sometimes I felt all these things at the same time.

“And so it goes.”

I did better than I thought (but actually).

My plan was to survive, right. And in my opinion I barely hauled my decrepit bones out of the trenches.

It turns out I did exceptionally better than I realized at the time.

The average Fringe audience is three people. Yes. 3. 1-2-3 human beings.

Why so wee?

8,000 shows and 500 venues in the course of a month, that’s why so wee.

So the struggle wasn’t so much getting accepted to the festival, but actually bringing a crowd and also everything else.

And it was exceptionally difficult for me considering my “venue” and time slot, arguably the worst combination to exist in Fringe.

I put “venue” in quotes because it was actually just a fucking warehouse built in god knows what century with sewage issues and faulty lighting. And I’m not talking the cool, hipster kind either.

The first time I hauled my brain up to my room in the building I thought someone had surely been murdered there. If not, multiple people. Maybe this was where those cults all committed suicide at the same time in the 70s.

It was fucking bleak.

And here was the glorious location of my one-woman show. In a squat little room with a makeshift stage with a gaping hole in the back (that I promptly fell off of), forty dusty old office chairs, and two desk laps for stage lights.

This is surely where dreams (and people) go to die, I thought.

My first show I had an audience of 4. The next day I had 10. And then for the duration of the run I had anywhere from 2-8 people until my last show in which I had 15.

I really thought this was a failure until I remembered the average.

And considering my “venue” I was actually shocked when anyone came in at all without turning and running in the opposite direction.

One time the lights in the whole building were still off when I came in ten minutes before showtime. I opened the door to the room to find a 20-something couple happily waiting for me in pitch darkness.

“HOW DID YOU FIND ME HERE.” I said like I was on some true crime show.

I also got two 4-star reviews, a “Very Good Show” rating, features in two medical journals, and a mention in a newsletter for the biggest brain injury group in the UK. I got compared to Amy Poehler.

And I never had to cancel a show due to lack of a crowd.

The “venue” did close down for a day due to a backup of sewage…ohhhh THAT was fun! Try explaining that to a hopeful audience member!

“Hey do you want to see my show tomorrow?! You can’t see it today because they are currently pumping literal turds out of the building but I promise it will be all sorted tomorrow! I just got a 4-star review that says I’m charming AF!”

It took me a while to see just how well I did. It certainly didn’t feel that way. I kind of doubted Queen Amy had ever performed in such a grim place. I brought 72 books to Scotland thinking I’d sell out no problem. I sold 15. Again, that’s actually fucking great. But playing the numbers game can really make you question your worth and success.

I also had an epic stress-induced meltdown about two and a half weeks into the festival. It was after our family dog Tucker passed away rather unexpectedly and I was having a really hard time.

Keep in mind that Tucker is actually in my show. Multiple times.

I even impersonate him.

And I had to do that shit every fucking day knowing he was gone without bursting into tears.

I’m a god damn champion.

But finally I broke. And when I did, Mom and Dad were on Skype to listen to me blubber about how hard it was and that it wasn’t fair and he wasn’t supposed to die and nobody was giving a shit about me or my “art” in my stupid fucking “venue” every damn day ̶

I was crying so loud that my lovely hosts Laura and Doug came in and asked if I was OK and came to chat with me, bless their fucking hearts.

“Honestly,” Laura said in her posh British accent. “I’m surprised you didn’t break sooner. I’m exhausted and I’m not even in the festival.”

I loved that she said that. It showed me just how resilient I was and am still.

I didn’t just survive. I crushed.

I’m a really fucking good storyteller.

I can’t say I ever felt exceptionally talented at acting at a young age. I certainly never professionally trained or got some fancy degree. I loved the stage, but I never really got the roles I wanted and always felt bitter or jealous about someone else’s level of skill or naturally straight, fluff-free hair.

Well, good news is that when I did my one-woman show the cast was me, myself, and I!

And from what I’ve heard (cuz I obviously haven’t seen a lot myself lol), one-person shows can be utter disasters if the person isn’t at least marginally talented at storytelling, acting, and so on.

I guess it helps that I’ve been writing, telling, and molding this story for five years in as many mediums as is allowed per person*

*How many art-forms are you allowed to dabble in before you sound like a psychopath? I mean, come on, we all know Steve the DJ-podcaster-playwright-clown-poet-chef is out of his damn mind.

When it came time to write the actual script for the show I propped the book up on my knees and went through and basically found all the parts I liked that I thought could look funny on stage. When I was feeling exceptionally lazy I even plagiarized myself (HA…take THAT English teachers of my past!).

But you can’t just read a book on a stage and call it a one-woman show. That’s called a book reading. And those are awful no matter who the fuck you are.

So this required a bit of craftswomanship. And the help of two directors I hired to listen to my really lengthy and confusing script for several weeks until I figured out what the hell I was trying to say (Thank you Neal and Ilana!)

Eventually I did.

And the result was an entire month (except for The Shit Evacuation Day) of performances where I emptied my heart on that “stage” and made people feel things; laughter, tears, hope, fear, all of it.

I did that.

A lot of people wanted to talk to me (and some didn’t).

I wish I would have worn a Go-Pro strapped to my head because man did I get some interactions to write home about!

I wish I could remember all of them. I would say 3 out of every 10 were just drunk people fondling me.

But those other 7/10 tended to very fulfilling interactions.

Lots of therapists. Some nurses. PhD candidates. A science journalist. Terrified or curious children. A pack of about 20 Asians who watched me deliver a ladybug safely off my brain and onto a nearby leaf. It was quite the performance piece, I must say.

But truthfully, I had the most amazing conversations wearing that thing. When drunk dudes weren’t shouting at me that I looked like a giant ballsack, I really had quite a good time.

A lot of people wanted to tell me about their own brain injuries or the injuries of friends or family of theirs. Some had passed. Some survived. All had stories. They wanted to share something with me over this big weird brain. Even though several layers of spray painted foam separated me from these complete strangers, I felt closer to these people than I ever thought possible.

It made schlepping the damn thing around all the time worth it. It really did.

I mean I could have done without the drunk girl grabbing it from the ground behind me and trying to put it on her fucking head, but we’re all just lucky I’m not in a Scottish jail for first-degree murder cuz bitch, YOU TOUCH MY BRAIN I WILL SMACK YOU SO HARD YOU WILL TASTE LAST FRINGE FESTIVAL.

Shipping a giant foam brain to the states while you travel around the world is not cheap.

Ugh.

I don’t want to talk about it, OK.

No really. I said I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT GET OFF MY DICK.

But you know what it was worth it cuz I anticipate being YouTube famous in approximately a few weeks cuz someone finally caught my sexy brain on camera and he’s some big YouTuber with a million followers or some shit.

Cheers.

We made it, Mom and Dad.

Sorry I had to leave the hockey bag in Scotland. I’ll pick out a nice one for Dad and give it to him for Christmas and I promise I won’t also leave that one in Scotland.

Travel is the fuel for the soul.

MmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmIHaveEatenSoMuchFuckingFoodandWineAndBeerOhGodLotsOfBeerAndIRegretNothingggggggg.

I’ve seen some really cool shit. I touched the stones from Outlander, the Direwolves from Game of Thrones, and oddly enough, Neal Patrick Harris.

And outside of the all the usual tourist suspects, I’ve experienced some amazing things in the past few months that have revitalized and simultaneously exhausted me. It’s still a lot to process and I don’t know that I’m fully there yet.

I traveled to 4 countries over the course of 48 days. I’ve been on planes, buses, trains, boats, ferries, bikes, and just today, a motorized scooter around the Eiffel Tower. I had haggis in Scotland, a croissant in France, and choked down a Guinness in Ireland. I’ve danced the “Ceilidh” and given my number to multiple handsome street musicians. I saw Riverdance. I saw A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare’s Globe theater. I saw Banksy’s artwork. I’ve been rocking the same three outfits since the end of July and still getting cute Instagram pics. I’ve fallen off stages and curbs. I’ve lost and gained weight. I covered a spot of barf on a stairwell with a picture of my own face. I mourned the loss of a furry family member. I made some money and spent some money. I haven’t sent a single god damn email.

I feel fucking amazing.

Got to go now. Been at this cafe near the Eiffel Tower for a bit now and I think it’s high time I find a sandwich and hop back on my lil’ scooter.

Keep traveling. Keep crushing, friends.

On my way to steal yo’ man from 1745…

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

Kick Start Your Summer with My Kickstarter!

Hello Esteemed Friends, Family, and Stuffed Animals I’ve Lined Up Along The Floor To Recite This To,

It is I, your curly-headed friend, here to tell you the latest and greatest!

As you may be aware, I’ll be headed “over the pond” in August to premiere my brand new one-woman stage adaptation of my book “I’ll Be OK” at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival!

Pip-pip-cheerio!

I don’t actually know if they say that there, please forgive me kilt-clad people of Scotland.

Anyway! Like I did with my book launch, I’ll be raising funds to accomplish this spectacular undertaking. Except unlike the launch, you won’t be funding a mac and cheese food truck this time but rather a full stage production created by and starring yours truly.

This will be way fun and also way expensive, but the universe has spoken and I plan on following its instructions.

For those of you that don’t know, the Fringe Festival is the largest theater festival in the world. The world’s greatest comedians, playwrights, cabaret performers, you name it, they’re there. Hannah Gadsby, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Daniel Sloss, Lin-Manuel Miranda, and a ton of other people I admire all got their “start” at Edinburgh. It’s where dreams get made.

And you know me! I’m a dreamer!

This truly is the next step in my career.

And because I’m what you call “extra” I’m also challenging myself to complete my TV pilot at the same time in the random chance that I meet someone at Fringe who is like “have you thought about adapting this for TV?” and I’ll be like “yuppppp” and then it would end up on Netflix or some shit a few years later.

You know, weirder things have happened.

But Netflix or no Netflix, I’m going to challenge myself to be the best performer I can be this year. I’m going to put my comedy chops to the test and do things on that stage I’ve never had the guts to do before.

Shit, I might even have to wear a helmet, it’s going to get crazy up there.

But I’m ready for it.

Or at least I will be…once you donate!

Hey there it is! The plug! Yes, it’s unfortunate! I have to ask for money. I really hate doing that. But honestly wouldn’t you rather me ask for this than show up at your door demanding drugs or something?

Anyway, the point is: I need your help.

Here’s specifically what I’ve budgeted for:

• A flight to Edinburgh, Scotland ($704.88 USD)

• Accommodations July 27-Sept 2 ($200 Euro staying with friend +$238 Euro Hostels = $438 WOW I AM RESOURCEFUL)

• Venue (FREE)

• Inclusion in Program ($328 Euro)

• Fringe Society Registration ($10 Euro)

• Flyer and Poster Design (~$100 USD)

• Flyer and Poster Printing ($300 Euro, OK this one I have no idea because I could print a lot or a little, it really depends!)

• Flyer and Poster Distribution (This will be me, probably in my brain costume to attract attention so totally FREE)

• Production Photos (already have some nice ones but if anyone is offering $150 USD)

• Tech Hire ($50, I basically just need someone to hit a light switch a few times)

• Set (A chair and a microphone, wow so meta)

• Props (Probably shipping my brain costume across the country, how much do you think that will cost or should I just try to bring it with me on the plane and see what they think about stashing my brain in the overhead bins? ~LOL~)

• Rehearsal space (I'll probably just find a quiet corner to practice in on the street?)

• Food (Oh yeah! Haggis and crisps ~$20+/day for 37 days = $740)

• Director (I'd like to hire one, ~$500)

• Insurance (What?)

• Contingency (Had to Google this, but it's advised that you add 10% of your sum budget to the total just in case like you get hit by a bus or something terrible, please see "Insurance,” ~$332)

  Total: $3,652.96 (daaaaaang, gurl!)

Art may sometimes feel like a private activity, but it is really the community that makes or breaks creative projects like this. After all, I’m a comedian. I at least need an audience member… or two (one time there was just one and his name was Steve and he was really lovely and we both felt bad but I did make him laugh a few times so I guess it wasn’t totally a failure).

This Kickstarter has fun levels of “Rewards” that you get for donating as well. They are as follows:

$1: Special Thank You Video

I’ll shoot you a personalized video with a thank you as well as progress updates on the show!

$10: Social Media Shout Out

I’ll blow up your social media with awesome things about you or if you’re “off the grid” I’ll send you a nice postcard!

$15: Exclusive E-Books

I’ll throw you some awesome e-books: “Mimi’s Memoir Tips” and “Mimi’s Comedy Tricks” from the classes I teach in NYC!

$20: Signed copy of “I’ll Be OK”

I’ll send you a personalized copy of my book right to your door!

$50: Exclusive First Look Video + Signed Copy

I’ll shoot you a special rehearsal video of my show along with a personalized copy of the book!

$100: You’re Awesome Brain Box

I’ll send you a lovely box of goodies including Brain Swag, book, and more!

$200: Guest on Mimi and The Brain Podcast

I’ll schedule a Skype call with you for your very own guest spot on Mimi and The Brain!

And who doesn’t love prizes, amiright?

Once I hit my $1,000 goal I plan on kicking off another Kickstarter, possibly with new and improved Rewards for my donors. The closer I can get to my projected ~$3,600 the better. At the end of the summer I’ll have one more attempt to make my goal with a ticketed performance in NYC to debut the show.

And then from there it’s off to Edinburgh we go!

In addition to performing and running around a foreign city handing out flyers like a decapitated chicken in a giant brain costume, I’ll also be helping run a few other shows, picking up nanny shifts when I can, and touring up Scotland and through London for some possible speaking gigs when I’m all done.

*tribal yelling*

My chances of surviving this epic endeavor drastically improve with each dollar you donate!

And don’t worry, if you can’t donate this first round, please re-post it on your social media channels, or send it to a friend you think would be interested.

How cool would it be for you if I suddenly blew up and got that Netflix deal and you could be like “Hey I know that chick! I donated $3 to her Kickstarter! I MADE THAT SHIT POSSIBLE.”

Very cool, my friend. Very cool.

To check out the first round of my Kickstarter, please click here and feel free to share, re-post, and spread this shit like wildfire!

“Ah dinnae ken fer sure, but whit's fur ye'll no go past ye!”

Translation: “I don’t know for sure, but what is meant to happen, will happen!”

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.