Lebowitz All New to Me: Words to Chew On

(This recipe is not officially co-authored by Fran Lebowitz, though all of the ingredients contain her quotes. So you decide how you want to use the word "official.")

Ingredients, or Words to Live By

• "When you leave New York, you are astonished at how clean the rest of the world is. Clean is not enough."

  

  Outside of New York, your tequila is accompanied by sombreros and golf cart rides.

  

  You don't have to pay for a blow-dry because you have a sunroof. 



And you can capture your manly father with a shopping bag at a winery.
But it's not New York.

• "If you're going to America, bring your own food."

  

  Or else you'll eat an entire pizza.

Or buy something called a Dingleberry, which is what we call things that stick to my dog's butt.



Or order cheese fries that are just a slice of cheese, on fries.



Or... Nah, this is always a good idea.

• "Polite conversation is rarely either."
  

  

  (Some UCB improv "artvice.")
  I've spent $2,050 on improv and sketch classes.
  

  

  So far.

• "Having been unpopular in high school is not just cause for book publications."

  

  But look at me now. Stunner.

  

  Screw it: My mom is cooler than me.
  (That is her cup with the sidecar of Grand Marnier.)

  

  I need coffee and a blanket to keep up with her on an island in Lake Erie. 

• "Life is something to do when you can't get to sleep."

  

  6am Flight Club. 4:00am wakeup, 2 flights, 7 hours, 3 hour time change. My free standby-flying privileges ensures I never miss a sunrise. 

  

  Look at us, trying to be ironic on our kitschy trip to "Live! with Kelly and Michael"-- then being totally called out for it by this genius kid. I bet he gets Fran Lebowitz. 

• "There's no such thing as advice to the lovelorn. If they took advice, they wouldn't be lovelorn."
  "Romantic love is mental illness. But it's a pleasurable one. It's a drug. It distorts reality, and that's the point of it. It would be impossible to fall in love with someone that you really saw."
  
  
  
  ... Oh. I don't. I don't have a picture for these... because, uh, sure-- yeah: I do see everyone, really see everyone, undistorted. You might say I'm lucky. Very... lucky.
  
  
  So here are some pictures of my birthday:
  
  
  
• "Your life story would not make a good book. Do not even try."
  

  

  Oh, really, Fran?
  
  

• "... Then I wanted to be a writer, because, I suppose, it seemed the closest thing to being God."

Instructions

Why Fran Lebowitz? I'm a writer and a New Yorker-- what more reason do I need?

Hyokay, let's pedal back: a New Yorker? A writer? Hold on to your hats, kids, 'cause it's been a few months and that's just enough time for me to buy my first blazer:

This April, I had my first class of Sketch Writing 101 at UCB. It was 9am on a Thursday. Not only did my narcoleptic brain stay awake, but also this cheesy phrase kept knocking through my brain: "it feels so good to be back in a writers' room." (My quote, not Fran Lebowitz's.) 

I got oddly enlightened by comedy podcasts (Pete Holmes's "You Made It Weird" + any podcast that had an interview with Brent Morin from "Undateable"), from which I learned that working in comedy is an actual, attainable job-- also, that, especially in comedy, I don't have to live along the binary lines of actor v. writer. Then, through small-world serendipity, I ended up with an interview for an admin assistant position for two major TV comedy writers. I didn't get the job, but damn did it feel amazing. For the first time ever, my stalwart watching of exclusively half-hour TV comedies (if someone tells me to watch "Breaking Bad" again, I swear) wasn't a negative trait-- nay, it was a STRONG SUIT! I so wanted this perfect, dream job that came at the exact moment that I realized I wanted it-- but that would've been too easy, right?

It's all new to me. I had to look up what to bring to a real job interview. I Pinterest-ed what to wear, took a look at my child apparel closet, and headed promptly to H&M. I've never had an interview that didn't hire me on the spot to start at $15/hr or lower with no benefits!

It's all new, and I don't know. I really don't know. In the past month, I got my hair chopped to bits by a salon in Ohio then flew to Seattle and got it fixed in a small beach town. My dad voluntarily went on a winery tour. I got my first ever air conditioning unit. And, after roughly 2 years, my wallet-- with everything inside of it-- was returned to me in New York City.

Yo, real talk. I never believed in things coming full circle before; I didn't feel that ends could tie up because life is so messy. But almost two years ago, I boarded a subway train to board an East Harlem bus to board a Metro North train to meet a guy that I'd met once before in person. Oh, yeah, for sure it was super weird and hella ballsy. Thus, you can only imagine my thought when I went to buy my Metro North ticket and realized my wallet was missing and most likely on the M100 in East Harlem: "this is a bad sign." (Again, me, not Fran.) Thankfully, an accompanying friend bought my ticket and forced me to board the train. 

I lost my drivers license, all of my bank cards, medical cards, and Social Security Card. (Not to mention loads of useful gift cards and a shockingly irreplaceable CVS rewards card.) I went to the police, then called the MTA every other day for a month. I paid for identity theft protection. My parents and I worried constantly about a stolen SSN. And for every little thing that went wrong in my romantic relationship, the one I "lost my wallet for," I blamed my wallet; I told myself that I should've seen it coming. 

After that relationship ended, I remember thinking of all relationships as hexagons or triangles-- no full circles. Even long after I started dating again, even though I knew I was over that time in my life, something still didn't seem... finished. Then, a month ago, my mom called me to say the MTA had sent a notice card to her house in Ohio. I brought the card to the Lost Items Unit, and when the man asked what I lost, I said "I don't know." I sat. I waited, for 15 long minutes. And when the man brought out a tiny coin purse with my drivers license in the front, I was dead speechless. All I could think of were mighty swear words, so I kept quiet until I blurted out "This is bananas!" I forced him to tell me all he knew, but all he knew was that it was found on the M100.

Like I said, I really don't know, but here's what's new to me:

1. "This is bananas!" has become an uncontrollable catchphrase of mine and I hate it.
2. Either some kind, honest soul found my wallet a long time ago but kept forgetting to turn it in until their guilt almost crushed them, or the MTA cleans their busses every 2 years. 
3. Trying to create a perfect narrative for your life is stupid. It can be momentarily satisfying, but not everything happens for a reason. (Also taught to me in the Pete Holmes podcast!) If I had listened to the "sign" that my wallet was stolen right before I boarded the Metro North that day, I'd have missed out on so many important crazy adventures and friends that I now value.
4. Life can come full circle. Over 2 years, I'd lost my identity-- literally. It's been a wild and crazy ride, and, truth be told, a lot of it has not been good. When I got back to my apartment and opened that wallet up, I had an out-of-body experience: it was like all of the "me" that I'd let slip away over the past 2 years was trying to flood back into me-- only I didn't want it to. It couldn't, because I'm a completely different person now than I was when I lost that stupidly small coin purse-- I didn't even recognize it! I'd been waiting for closure or, dare I say, a positive "sign" for a while, feeling like everything was happening around me but I was riddled with problems or feelings that made me stuck. The return of my wallet lifted a weird weight-- an emotionally loaded weight-- off of my shoulders. In the end, something so serious was so... funny. I'd been afraid of something that was never really a threat-- something that was sitting, waiting, under a seat in the M100 for 2 years. There was no bad sign. There was only me. And, now, I have a little bit of that old me back. Full circle.

Anyone that has now begun singing Notorious B.I.G.'s "Want That Old Thing Back" truly gets me and we have to talk; please email me.

"There is no such thing as inner peace. There is only nervousness or death. Any attempt to prove otherwise constitutes unacceptable behavior." (Definitely Fran Lebowitz) 

Frannie and I are writers and New Yorkers. And I'm sure if she ever lost her wallet on a bus in NYC and got it returned, she wouldn't tell a soul. So, that's really where our similarities end. Except I'd like to think that she also likes Notorious B.I.G.'s "Want That Old Thing Back" ... I'll be waiting.