
I used to write blog posts all the time – for six years, to be exact. Then I discovered stand-up, and Instagram, and “going out for drinks,” and I stopped. It’s been over a year since my last post…which makes me feel pathetic because I hate discontinuing things out of laziness and general lack of interest…which is why I have trouble letting go of romantic relationships that don’t serve me…even if the sex is great…which it usually isn’t. Anyway.
I miss writing long-form essays about myself – hilarious, because all I do is talk about myself and think about myself and make videos about myself. But I guess one can never have too much of oneself.
(One can.)
I’m not sure I have anything specific to write about. This blog was established on the promise that foolish shit would happen to me and I would write about it. And for a long time, it did. There was that time a hair straightener salesman at the mall told me I’d “never get a boyfriend with frizzy hair like THAT.” Or the time my grandparents met a young man during one of their trips and told me he was perfect for me because he had “really hairy legs.” And then there was the time I salsa danced with an old man in France and had to pretend I could understand what he was saying to me, through several whiffs of hot, old breath.
But that was all pre-pandemic. Pre-quarantine. Pre-unemployment. These days, the only foolish things that happen to me involve me falling off of my parents’ Peloton, or stepping in my dog’s warm shit, or “taking a night off from drinking” and then…drinking.
This is all to say: Hello, it’s me. I’m glad to be back. And I’m here to just…write.
Quarantine has been great, thank you for asking. It began on a cold, rainy day in March, when Drunk History closed down for “two weeks” and I raided the office kitchen(s), desperately grabbing things I’d never eat: chocolate-covered almonds, rogue Cliff bars, communal raspberries. Germs were of no concern to me back then. Starvation, however, was a pressing concern.
I rushed home to my roommate, Jasmine, who was still unsure how freaked out we should really be. I showed her my liberated goods, then told her to gather as much food as she could at work the next day. She did. Together, we could feed an entire family of six-year-old children with high blood sugar.
The days went on. Jasmine worked; I “worked”; together, we created meaningful Instagram content to mark the very thrilling first couple weeks of quarantine.
“When will we ever get this much time at home again??”
We made caprese sandwiches with toasted bread. We started drinking right at happy hour, and not a moment later. We designed elaborate cheese boards. We invested in adult coloring books. We started – and finished – ten million new series. We tanned on our tiny, cramped patio and shunned the mask-less people below us. It was a kind of fortunate paradise.
And then the days got long. Three o’clock would roll around and I’d tell Jasmine I was “bored.”
“What do you want to be doing?” she’d ask.
“Nothing,” I’d answer.
“Okay, then you’re not bored.”
She can be annoyingly correct, sometimes.
Eventually, we each decided to go home to our families for a period no longer than two weeks. I packed a suitcase for two weeks of lounging around with my dogs.
“I can’t stay home longer than two weeks,” I explained. “I’ll lose my sense of independence.”
Two weeks passed and I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t want to fly. I didn’t want to leave my family during the prime New England summer months. Nothing was happening with my job. And I had my eye on a local love interest.
So I stayed. I stayed for five surprisingly quick months. I had a job and then I didn’t. So I applied to new jobs, and constantly reminded my family I might have to “jet back in an instant” for the right opportunity.
I did not “jet.” There were no “opportunities.”
I stayed. I stayed as Massachusetts’ numbers crept down. I stayed as one of my sisters left her job for law school and my other sister finished her junior year of college. I stayed as the days became hot and long.
I went to the beach with my quarantine pod. I tanned, and drank spiked seltzers, and ate ice cream. I went power-walking with my parents and had distance picnics with my friends. I wrote scripts and made comedy videos and did virtual stand-up shows.
I started seeing someone, and that was fun. But then I had nothing else to think about or look forward to other than that person. And that was not fun.
“Maybe it’s time to put boots on the ground?” Jasmine suggested. She was back in LA, alone in our apartment. I think she loved it, but I think she also…missed me, perhaps? (She’d never admit it.)
Mid-October, I finally decided my hometown wasn’t going anywhere, and that I could go back to LA, be productive, and then come home for the holidays.
And that’s exactly what I did.
I saw friends (at a distance). I went hiking. I watched the Biden/Harris ticket win the election. I drank champagne to celebrate the win. I drank more champagne. I almost felt like my life was back to normal. And I felt very lucky to have that feeling.
It’s now December. I’m still in my hometown, with my dogs, and my family, and the winter weather. I’m still – basically – unemployed. And I just ate a yogurt that tasted curiously old.
My blog posts usually have a thru-line, or at least some semblance of story structure. But this year hasn’t had structure. This year has been up and down and all around. This year told me it liked me, let me have sex with it, and then decided it didn’t want anything “serious.” (YOU GUYS, I’M FINE. I’M JUST USING THESE SEX REFERENCES TO CREATE BEAUTIFUL METAPHORS, OKAY??)
GUESS WHAT, 2020? I don’t want anything serious with you, either.
I don’t want to forget this year happened, because in a lot of ways, it’s been transformative and meaningful for me. And I know that’s a privileged, lucky thing to say, but it’s my reality. I did a lot of things this year that I never would’ve done were it not for the time, restlessness, and desperation that fueled my creativity.
I also don’t want to sit around and feel sorry for myself. Do I need a job? Yes. Would I like to have good health insurance? Yes! But have there been other, unrelated benefits to both of these things suddenly disappearing? Yes. (???) I’m kidding. Definitely. Yes.
I suppose that…stay with me here… just like that mall man insulting my hair made me stronger, so has 2020. It’s been one giant Tom Foolery, and I’m lucky for it.
But fuck that guy. My hair is great.