Emotional humility is having to admit to people that you feel pretty meh about Star Wars.
Emotional humility is defriending someone on Facebook who you thought you would never see again only to have them confront you about it two years later in front of a group of people.
Emotional humility is saying goodbye to someone after hanging out and then realizing you both parked in the same direction.
Emotional humility is accidentally making eye contact with someone in the car next to you and doing your best to give them a heart eye emoji face to make the uncomfortable in a whimsical way.
Emotional humility is when sometimes you try to hard to be alternative, but ultimately you are still right handed.
Emotional humility is not being able to tell a workout song from a regular song.
Emotional humility is admitting that your keyboard is red not from blood, sweat, and tears, but from Hot Cheeto dust.
Emotional humility is not updating your blog in six months and admitting that was an oopsy. It is also emitting a small prayer than you are using the term emotional humility correctly.
A few highlights of my 2015🙂 :
- My old boss told me I sounded “too straight-forward” in work emails, so I should try to include a smiley face and an “!” in each email. This is now amongst my worst habits.
- I discovered those video blackjack machines in Las Vegas that are pretty demeaning to animated women, but also pay well if you play them right. Verdict: Worth it, but I feel a little dirty.
- I think I only read one book, and it was about makeup …
- I am almost out of debt
- I didn’t write enough, this sentence feels short.
Happy New Year, every body! Be weary of drunk drivers, they are terrifying.
Some days I feel nostalgia for things I’ve never had. For example, a pen pal in second grade who keeps up the charade of old-school blind friendship for more than ONE flashcard-sized letter. This is coming from a girl who gets overly excited by getting an email from a real human because my ratio of those to casting notices and newsletters is super underwhelming.
Hence, I’ve been largely hanging out in the physical world with the notable exception of online poker because no one is perfect except for my dog, and even she poops on the side of the house sometimes because it brings her great joy.
Here is a short list of what I have been up to:
- Started to run a comedic variety show where I have made a lot of inspiring friends
- Gave up all variations of soda for 8-months, didn’t lose any weight
- Booked a national commercial and several pilots
- Rented a house in the city (with roommates) that bled my finances dry
- Got really into tap dancing
- Moved to my parent’s house
- Ran into Ricky Gervais on my way to a commercial audition, got really jazzed about it. Pulled a butt muscle during the audition, played it off real cool.
- Hollywood is glamorous, y’all
So now I am back in the valley, charming everyone with my valley accent, and working to get myself back on my $$ feet because I am not sure how possible it is to be in your 20s and not work in tech and have a savings account.
I always sit in Chuy’s section, granted he could spell it Chewy, but I’ve never asked. I ordered chili sides the first few times I went and got trapped in that being my usual order because there is something tangibly awkward when someone asks you “the usual?” and you say “no”
Then the bowling alley diner became the opposite of awkward and I would go at least once a week with a book or friend and drink way too much caffeine at 6pm because I was just out of college and invincible. I was also in a new neighborhood where I didn’t know many people and on my first bout with being relatively self-sufficient (i.e. poor). I could get a good cooked meal for $10 with tax and tip and sit next to a row of old men and a strange and talkative younger doctor at the counter, who were friendly faces and largely the same faces (night after night, not same faces as each other). Oh, also, and a lot of overweight friendly cops sitting with sides of ranch dressing.
I feel like this whole thing would be amiss without mentioning the one-armed long-haired chain-smoking league bowler I would pass on the way in.
As someone who largely prefers books to conversations with strangers, I kept to myself and my waiter friends and I loved it. Over time I got busier with comedy, hanging out with my cat and losing my college 20, so my visits had largely slowed down. Last week I drove by and there were 100 people protesting the eviction and as a Berkeley grad I was hoping for some important societal change. Turns out the local AMF is effectively evicting them at the end of the month and replacing it with a supper club that I hope no one in my neighborhood ever gives his or her patronage.
God showed me an acrobat who dreams of being a clown to remind me that I live in the most beautiful of poems.
There is one thing about comedy that makes my skin itch. Neutrality. Like khaki pants and dry turkey sandwiches, I just gotta ask why.
This could be my Berkeley brainwash, but I think the mass rewards of formula and structure lead to a lot of mass boring (i.e. almost every buddy cop comedy, except for the one with Jimmy Fallon and Queen Latifah because what). I would say that all the people who have had the largest impact on me as a writer and performer are very unapologetic about the lens in which they view the world. I find that so refreshing, inspiring and captivating. Hubert Selby Jr., Lucille Ball, a scientologist wanting to give me a stress test. All fascinating. May we never settle!