All-Natural, Grass-Fed Human Laws

Ingredients

• 1 person, other than the performers, in the audience of your improv gig... and it's your roommate
• 1 actual 16-year-old in your commercial audition (for a 16-year-old)
• 1 totally separate actual 16-year-old playing your friend in your filmed scene (as a 16-year-old)
• 2 overnight shoots
• 2 times that you throw up in front of your date
• 2 weeks until your day job starts
• $3 for a bottle of water
•  3 career aptitude tests
• 3 teenage tutoring clients
• 4 days as the only woman with 3 straight guys
•  $4 pints of pre-made margaritas
• 4 days in New Jersey

Instructions

1, 2, 3, 4. The simplest numbers... a pattern as old as time (not really, technically.) Today's recipe is brought to you by the idea that all of life's greatest mysteries can be solved by life's simplest lessons-- lessons so basic, so ingrained that they're easily forgotten. But enough with this flippancy! Castrate your carelessness! Do you see that list of ingredients up there? You don't have time for this forgetful nonsense-- you must dig way down deep and selflessly extract some Laws of Nature, or else you'll continue to be subjected to date vomits, shocking career test results, and countless days in New Jersey. 

Lucky for you, I spent the last 2 weeks excavating incredibly simple, inherently necessary human lessons to help you process this batch of ingredients. I know we're working with the basic numbers 1 through 4 so far (totally arbitrarily, by the way), but, since you've all been such good kids lately, I thought I'd spoil you a bit with DOUBLE the amount of Natural Laws-- that's right, double that arbitrary number of 4! Get these 8 Laws into your body, because summer is almost over; the ocean can't wash off your mistakes much longer.

Law #1:

Anything in a script that takes place during the nighttime will be shot during the nighttime. 

(That means that, even though you have narcolepsy, you can’t avoid overnight shoots. Welcome to the rest of your career!)

Law #2:

Drinking on an empty—entirely empty—stomach is never a good idea. 

(That means that, even though you weren’t hungry, that little voice in the back of your head telling you to eat something all day was right. Ms. Monday Fun-day, say "Hellooo!" to Ruined Tuesday!)

Law #3:

When you’re 5’1, roughly 100 pounds, cute, and blonde, don't be surprised when you keep getting type cast as a high school cheerleader. 

(That means that, even though you are 24 and never were anything remotely close to a cheerleader in terms of both physical ability and popularity, you’ll finally be able to live out that childhood adult dream. Cue Hilary Duff's "What Dreams Are Made Of!")

Wanna play a game called "Spot the Real High Schoolers?" 

Law #4:

When you don’t get a weekly paycheck, you don’t get weekly money. 

(That means that, even though you’re tutoring at $90/hour, you won’t see that lump sum of money until the middle of next month when your paycheck comes. Another dinner of homemade, bulk black bean/quinoa/lentils/rice mash, please!)

Law #5:

People like it when you treat them like people. 

(That means that, even though there is one sole woman hanging with you and your boys, you can still tell your boner stories and make explicit sex jokes! Does this mean you really needn't mention how she's cool "not like most girls" and you don't have to reassure her that she’s funny-- no, like, really funny--  at some point, completely out of context? MIND BLOWN!)

 

Law #6:

Deals on alcohol are no different than deals in the clearance section. 

(That means that, even though it’s $4 Margarita Monday, you don’t really want those margaritas. Mmm, this drink tastes not nearly as good as how quickly it was prepared!)

Law #7:

Career aptitude tests make you feel bad about your life. 

(That means that, even though you already know what you want to do and are simply taking a few tests for fun, seeing "Clergy" as your top match is confusing and upsetting. Ooo, here, a "Vice President," you say?? Ain't nothing like knowing I should aim for 2nd best!)

Law #8:

Any venue's drink minimum also applies to you. 

(That means that, even though you've decided not to drink for a while [see above] and you're performing at this comedy venue, you're not special so you're not exempt. That's right, "strongly encouraged" actually means "if you don't, you're an a$$hole!")

NO. No, YOU'RE NOT.
BUY THE $3 WATER BOTTLE.

... Fun stuff, right? I can see that your body is adapting to the rediscovery of these innate truths, and I hate to interrupt enlightenment. So, I'm going to let you sit motionless & affected for a bit while I go make myself a smoothie. You be careful out there, ya here? There's teenagers in these hills... Let's not make the same mistakes they're making. 

Post Script

We've hit the final countdown, lovers. There are only FIFTEEN (15) more recipes left before we hit the mark! It's only taken 2+ years, too! In honor of true & tangible DISASTER, these last 15 recipes will be coming at you daily. That's right. I said DAILY recipes for complete and utter total devastation to your livelihood. I'll see you on the flip-side on September 17th. 

Thanks, Michael.

Your Pantry is a Superhero

Ingredients to Sustain Life on $2-10 (assuming your pantry is a superhero)
Cookies:
for your breakfast, snack, or health-ified sweet tooth
(I'm not kidding; these are actual edible things I made)

• whole lotta quick oats
• plain yogurt
• chocolate chips
• a tad of cocao powder
• spoonfuls of PB2 (original and/or choc. flavor)
• smidgen brown sugar
• splash almond milk

  

  This article? Really exists.

• some partially melted "butter," or what have you

Burgers:
for an actual meal

• lots of lentils
• yeah, quick oats
• so much quinoa
• can-a black beans
• peppers, whatever-- go apeshit with your leftover produce
• 1 egg
• let's say 2 TBS buckwheat flour
• spices, and lots of 'em
• some olive oil

Pancakes:
for an "F U" to those dumb "super skinny" "carb free" "pancakes" floating around Pinterest; because 2 eggs and a banana makes a CREPE, idiots

• 1 banana
• 1 egg
• get dat plain yogurt
• yeah, oats
• more *PB2
• protein powder-- amount dependent on how bad the protein powder tastes in relation to how many pounds you can deadlift
• a pinch of, like, whatever flour
• cinnamon!
• the dregs of your sugar-free maple syrup
• smidge of "butter," for cooking pancakes the right way
  
  *For any unfortunate misfits who still don't know what PB2 is:

  

  Click: "What's the Deal with Powdered Peanut Butter?"

   It is amazing.   Stop judging. 
  
  

Sides:

• brown rice!
• mixed with quinoa!
• because quinoa on its own is confusing, texturally and otherwise!
• kale
• plain yogurt (calcium is important, man; it's worth the cost of whatever the cheapest off-brand family size is at your local, savings-oriented grocery store)
• corn tortillas --> tortilla chips
• popcorn kernels (ain't none of that microwaveable sh*%-- I'm talkin' 99-cents of GOYA)

Instructions

Cookies: Put all of these things together in a bowl, in various experimental amounts, and stir/continue to add until the consistency reaches dough-ish enough. Plop onto a greased cookie sheet, in whatever haphazard ball-shaped size you want. Bake at probably 300-350 degrees F for, like, I don't know, 20 minutes.

They end up looking like this:

(No, they don't.)

Burgers: Cook, eh, a cup of lentils and a cup or so of quinoa. While they're doin' their thing, realize what you're doing: you're cooking lentils and quinoa for the purpose of making a burger. Do you get that? Do you see where I'm going with this? Good. Now, the lentils and ancient grain are probably done by now. Mix them together in a big bowl with the rest of the ingredients. Make sure your veggies are finely cut, because who likes inedible chunks. Coat your pan with cooking spray and some olive oil, then go to town skilleting these burger freaks.

Here's the final result:

(For sure, in your dreams)

Pancakes: Whip up all of the ingredients, except for the the maple syrup, in a food processor/blender/Bullet/Ninja. Coat a pan and cook like pancakes. Mix together plain yogurt and whatever's at the bottom of your maple syrup bottle for a delicious and less overwhelmingly sweet topping. You'll get caught with a supreme load of sweetness anyway, so let's at least try to take it down a notch?

Because the following is a photo on my blog, they have to look like this:

(Alright, seriously? I didn't even mention chocolate.)

What do you do when you're in between jobs-- and by "in between jobs" I mean you got another restaurant hosting job to hold you over until you start your well-paid nanny job in September because you thought you weren't making enough money at your old restaurant, but due to that whole training period with training wages thing you totally forgot about, plus those days you missed because you were sick, plus that whole week you missed because of the workshop of a new musical you did, you're really making way less money there-- and all of your tutoring clients are summering in the Hamptons; and Backstage and Wix both spring those damn yearly subscription fees on you out of nowhere? When you reach that sad, pathetic No Man's Land where your bank account will be well overdrawn if your landlord feels like cashing your rent check, which could happen any day now? When you have had 3 unpaid charges from your friends that have been sitting in Venmo for over a week, definitely making you "that guy?"

You raid your pantry.

In the past week, I have bought: 1 large container of plain yogurt, 2 corner grocery bell peppers, 1 bunch of kale, and the weak splurges of 2 boxes of on-sale cereal + a carton of almond milk and, heaven help me, a f*#$ing back of discount pretzel thins. That may seem like a fair amount in a week, so let me fill you in: I started with next to nothing--

Except the pantry.

The hot August air matched the stuffiness I felt in my own life: I was stuck. Trapped in a classic case of lower middle class New York City actor with the inability to spend a single dollar due to an overdrawn bank account threat. Classic. Money was as tight as a pair of cheap jeggings in July... Hey, when you're in a situation like mine, you can only think in metaphors. "Boy, this is a doozy, and a hungry one," I thought to myself, as I peered into the cavernous shadows of my nearly empty fridge. But then, I saw her--  fully stocked, bountiful, with goods for days. She called herself a pantry, and she gave me an idea. It was the kind of clear, tangible idea that clung to you like something real... a hearty plan of non-perishable goods. "What kind of poor kiddo does this kitchen take me for," I gloated. "I know my way around a pantry." That's right; I'd beat the system. Hell, I'd beat the whole damn world. And my pantry? No dame her size had beans like hers, flour for hours. She had everything I needed... or so I thought.

(I had to buy yogurt and kale. That was really it.)

Yes, for the last week I've been, I guess you could say, living in the shadows. Baking away a storm in my tiny kitchen to sustain my tiny body. I eat bountiful and nutritious staff dinners at work and throw healthy-ice-cream-making parties with friends to A. combine my pantry with their fridge&freezer and B. avoid going out and spending money. (C. when would I not throw an ice-cream-making party) When you lay low, and are honest with your friends about your financial situation, you can survive on very little. But need I say again that you must have one thing: various grains, flours, beans, lentils, baking ingredients, spices, popcorn, powdered peanut butter, chocolate chips, soup, Nutella, oats, oatmeal... one thing. A capital-P Pantry. Tell me your Pantry isn't a superhero and see what happens. Try me.*


*Follow Up: If you argue that your Pantry cannot defend you against the inevitable trust-fund-like amount of money it costs you to start dating someone, you will win. 

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.