To the Well Organized Mind, Death is the Next Great Adventure.

I have never had a weird relationship with death, maybe that's what's actually weird about it? As a pretty serious and morbid child, which has only turned me into a less-serious but still morbid adult, I was destined to either become a professional artist or a murderer. So far, I'm 0 for 0 on both assumptions. Cool beans?

I've witnessed and been around death pretty frequently especially as a kid. I remember vividly waking up in a musty, yellow hotel room in New Jersey with my mother, grandmother, and aunt to the phone call from the hospital that my grandfather had passed in the night after being taken off of life support. He had suffered a surprise and severe stroke at only the age of 63, leaving my grandmother a widow and something their four adult children could finally talk about. I was the tender age of six years old when I looked death straight in the face in the form of my cold grandfather on a hospital bed. I processed it as well as any six-year-old could, but I mostly recall the energy and feelings of the adults involved, and how my grandmother was never the same. Until her death day, which was twenty years after her husband's, she refused to date or even consider another man.

About two years, almost to the day, later, my childhood best friend finally lost her battle with Leukemia. She was only just ten years old, and had been fighting a losing battle for over three years at that point. I was eight at the time. 

I'll never forget the day my parents told me my best friend had passed. It was a relatively mild August afternoon in rural Ohio, where my mom and dad decided to surprise my little brother and me with a trip to the county fair. As a young child with very little means, this was like winning a trip to Disney World. I remember that my parents let me eat cotton candy and elephant ears until I was sick, and I rode every ride I could, sometimes twice. When we finally came home, my parents sat on the back patio in our rusted metal chairs, my father with a cold Molson's beer, and my mother with a glass of unsweetened homemade iced tea. I looked over my new treasures and reminisced on my wonderful, perfect day in my bedroom, before my mother called me from outside to sit with them on the patio. I embraced my parents both, and said, "thank you mommy and daddy, this was the best day ever! I love you."

Which is when my parents decided it would be a good time to break the news to me about my friend's passing. To be honest, I'm still not sure if I fully processed it, I remember grieving briefly, but ultimately trying to get on with my eight-year-old life. Somewhere in that time, I adopted the, "everyone dies, who cares?" mentality, along with my own increased interest in death and the macabre (one of my nicknames was Wednesday Addams. One part the hair, one part my morbid sense).

Death changes the psyche, as well all know. Studies have shown that children don't fully grasp the concept of death until around the ages of five or six, and even then it's more of a, "they leave and don't come back ever. But it's only old people, animals, and not people you personally know." kind of understanding. As one would probably expect from a small person who's soft spot on their head hasn't finished closing in yet.

Even though I don't totally love my experiences with death as a very young person, or my bizarre interest in it following two untimely deaths, I am thankful for the perspective it has given me. I don't fully know or believe what comes after life, but I am thankful for each day (even when I am annoyed at said day for various reasons).

I know JK Rowling is cancelled now, and she did the one thing Voldemort couldn't do, which is destroy Harry Potter. BUT I will hold Harry Potter near and dear to my heart for as long as I live (without supporting JKR or giving her more of my money because fuck that bitch).

What I'm getting at is my favorite creatures from Harry Potter are the Thestrals, whom Harry and friends meet in book five. You can only see Thestrals if you've seen death, which is why Harry and Luna Lovegood are the only two who can seem them out of the bunch. The Thestrals are used to take the gang to a safe location quickly in their featured chapter, appearing as just invisible flying beings to the other children, while presenting as haunting, beautiful, majestic creatures to those who have been unlucky in witnessing death. 

I'd like to think of Thestrals as a form of empathy and perspective in the Muggle world. Death is one of the living's greatest fears and obstacles, but to the dead it is just a part of their journey. I am thankful for the empathy and kindness and perspective I have, and can share with others. Not everyone is as lucky, I suppose. 

Hello, Puppet

Looking back, I was a weird ass child. Which only manifested into a weird ass adult. As a kid, you don't know any better, you think that your family and their traditions and ideals are how the rest of the world live, until you move out, or start meeting other people outside of your circle. Additionally, if you were born in the millennial generation, you were also brought up to believe you're, "so special and so talented."

I had various hobbies as a child. My parents, while the epitome of lower working class, worked hard to find resources and ways for my brother and I to have a well-rounded childhood. I'll get into some of my other interesting childhood hobbies another time, but one that sticks out prominently (and the title of this post that undoubtedly drew you in), was that I was in a, "Christian puppet troupe" for longer than I was allowed to be or should've allowed to be in (sorry, ending on a preposition, I am not a technically skilled writer).

The church my family chose to attend throughout most of my childhood and early adolescence is, at best, fraught. But as anyone who ascribes to the Christian faith will say, "every church is flawed, Christ is perfect." (ok so explain your consistent "slut shaming" and mistreatment of special needs children in your children's programs. I digress). I don't really know how much I hold in my heart to be true regarding the Christian faith, and even when I was a child attending church 1-3 times a week, I can't honestly say I was as convicted as I felt guilted into being. I enjoyed church for the social aspect. Being a homeschooled child, I didn't have many kids my age to choose from regarding friendships. Lucky for me, the homeschool co-op and the church we went to consisted of pretty much the same people. You can hear the sarcasm dripping from my last sentence.

While attending church, I was involved in various clubs and activities for children my age. I was part of the Pioneer Club that met every Wednesday, along with children's choir, children's theater, and, when I got to middle school, a band member of the middle school worship band. All of these tracks had their social benefits, but the one that sticks out most prominently to me was the puppet troupe. Once I heard that this was being started in my grade school class, I was instantly enamored.

I have always had a weird affinity for puppets, weird only because people deem it weird to be "into" puppetry. I think people forget that a lot of American childhoods are rooted in classic programs such as Sesame Street, The Muppets, and even earlier, Lamb Chop and Charlie Horse (which I had both puppets as a child, and they went with me everywhere). So, in reality, puppets are more mainstream than people give them credit for.

I was one of the first to sign up to be part of this new puppet troupe, and definitely one of the last to leave. We worked on various plays, mostly Biblical stories and original ideas (based on biblical stories), along with some very basic improv scenes. We sometimes got to make the puppets, but we were fortunate to have access to many well-made puppets that we got to use in our shows. We would normally perform for our peers, and those a little younger than us, but eventually we were getting booked for gigs on the road! We played THREE nursing homes over the course of my tenure with the troupe. It was huge for 4th grade Cortney.

One of my very last performances was one I'll never forget. We, as a team, got the licensing rights to use The Veggie Tales adaptation of Ester. For those who are not as well-versed in the Veggie Tale lore, this was one of their animated feature films that many households owned on VHS.

Of course, everyone was vying for the coveted role of Ester. And while I had been a loyal member of the puppet ministry troupe, I had not yet been cast in a leading role by our director. At this point, I was "aging out" of puppet ministry, at the ripe old age of 11, and I was really hoping I could make my, potentially last performance, as the lead.

To my delight and surprise, I was cast as Ester! I was ecstatic. I immediately began running my lines and working with my designated Ester puppet. Probably annoying my family to large degrees.

After about a month of rehearsals, it was finally time to debut our take on the Veggie Tales take of whoever the fuck wrote the book of Ester's take of Ester's life. I, for the special occasion, begged my mom to buy me a new skirt. Not just any skirt, but the Mary Kate and Ashley for Walmart brand skirt. Truly one of the most sought-after brands of my youth. The skirt was flawless. It was denim, came right to my stubby, scabby, prepubescent knees, and purple and pink flowers embroidered all over the front, WITH RHINESTONES. Along with a detachable pink woven belt with a faux brass buckle. You can clearly tell how much I loved this skirt. I also love trying to fit in even more.

Anyways, I saved the skirt for our special performance and my debut as a leading lady of puppetry (the rationale behind me dressing up just to stand behind a stage is beyond me, but that's Cortney logic for you).

The way the stage is set up was in two tiers, to allow for an illusion of depth and to convey different locations easier. The bottom tier of the stage was manageable to stand on your feet without any boosters, but the second tier required an average grade school child to stand on a chair. As the lead, I had to be able to manuaver around the stage with my puppet, and so they had some light blocking laid out for me, to be able to go from the bottom tier to standing on a chair for the top tier.

The show was going flawlessly. we had the 2nd-5th graders in the audience, as it was a mandatory part of their religious education (this was in place of a normal Sunday school class). Every student was there to witness US performing what we've worked so hard on, including my grade school crush, [redacted].

Once we finished the performance, we were all required to step out from behind the stage to take a bow and say who we portrayed. I thought to myself, "ok, this is how I'll finally get [redacted] to notice me. I am wearing my new Mary Kate and Ashley for Walmart skirt, I was the lead in the Veggie Tales adaptation of Ester, why wouldn't he be in love with me?" (turns out, there were a lot of reasons, mainly because he liked my friend. A motif that continues to follow me through adulthood).

As the last line of the play was uttered, and the applause began to fill the small, carpeted classroom with the carpeted divider, all of our peers hopped up on hi-c grape juice and animal crackers, we all start to step out to take a bow. As rehearsed, I was to go last. As confident as I had ever felt at that age, I step off the grey, plastic chair, and I immediately hear a tearing sound that can only be described as cheap denim ripping against extreme pressure. I look down, and see that my Mary Kate and Ashely for Walmart denim skirt, the one that was supposed to win me the affections of my peers and my love interest, [redacted], had ripped all the way up to my Kmart brand cotton underwear, the kind that comes in a pack and that your mom thinks is, "very cute."

At first, after the initial shock and horror passed over me, I thought, "ok, maybe nobody heard, and I can play it off like this skirt came like this (ha)." But before I could finish that thought, my arch nemesis, [redacted] (who, turns out to be a flaming racist piece of shit), yells out, "HEY, WHO'S PANTS RIPPED?" and the whole room of children erupted in laughter.

I was mortified, but tried to maintain composure. I still stepped out, holding my Ester puppet in one hand, and my skirt together with the other, as we all took our group bow. Our director, a kindly woman who wore long skirts and kept puppet materials in a Rubbermaind bin in her grey minivan, saw my discomfort and quickly walked me off to assist me (which consisted of tan masking tape around my whole lower half to try and hold the skirt together. It popped off after about 30 seconds). The class eventually forgot what happened, and they were ushered out of the room to their waiting parents in the hallway.

Clearly this is a story I need to share with my therapist, and maybe not on this blog. But either way, I still love puppets, and am always looking for ways to shoehorn them into my performances as an adult. I still love Mary Kate and Ashley for Walmart, and if you have any leads on buying some of their goods on resale, leave a comment below.

One Last Good Day (in Savannah)

"I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you actually left them."-Andy Bernard

Who would've thought the, "good old days" was a mere month ago? 

There's a saying that goes something akin to, "you get one last good day before you die if you're terminally ill (or something to that effect)." Which is a phenomenon that people who are about to pass away from illness will have a day where they seem cured and in good spirits, then they die (I've also witnessed this with animals. RIP Bear, Theodore Bennett, Sabrina, Corese, Adam, Spunky, Chloe, Miffy, Stinky, Jake, and so many more-all buried in my parent's back yard. Check out the reboot of Pet Sematary in my parent's back yard next Halloween).

We all had one last hangout or event that was truly the LAST one we would have before the lockdown, of course we didn't know it at the time.

I am blessed with many amazing friends, all who I truly cannot imagine my life without at this point. One group of friends that I am still flabbergasted that are in my life and are such good friends to me are the LLOMSJ (lovely ladies of murder she joked-not quite the same tone as GLOW). Murder She Joked is an improv team I am proud to be part of. We are an, "improvised, true crime live podcast (without the recording)," and it's been a damn blast getting to work on developing the form and performing with these funny women. 

Let me just say, I like improv FINE. It's not my main bitch, but it's been a helpful tool for me in my other creative endeavors, and in everyday life, actually. What keeps me coming back are the people.

As most individuals around my age are realizing, it's incredibly hard to make new friends as an adult. I used to question why my parents still talk to their high school friends, as it seems they have nothing in common with them, besides their shared history of growing up in an arbitrary school district around the same time with the same social class standings. After uprooting and moving to a new city and starting over as an adult, I can absolutely see why.

Our improv team has been fortunate to have a (up until recently) monthly headlining show at the local improv theater, along with getting to perform in a few out of town shows and festivals. Our last show, and our, "last good day," was at the improv festival in Savannah, GA. For my personal life, it was a rather tumultuous weekend. I had to make a few big decisions that I was rather not fond of, but more on that later.

In spite of that, the weekend with the ladies (and Greg) was absolutely perfect. It was gorgeous outside, and everywhere we walked, it felt like we stepped back in time, or to an alternate universe where all our worries washed away, if only for a weekend. We did the typical touristy things, such as a ghost tour pub crawl, and ate all the good food (but not enough), and walked around a lot. Along with performing at the festival. It was perfect. 

Interestingly enough, the best part of the weekend for me was, on our last night, we all crowded into one of the bedrooms of our air bnb, drank wine, ate pizza, spilled wine (Rachel is a wizard with the Tide pen!), and talked until we fell asleep (and Dana kicked us out because she also wanted to sleep). It was like a scene out of a movie I had longed to see played out in my own life. Several close friends living in a giant house laughing and talking, all within the dreamy background of a place Savannah. We can do that literally anywhere, of course, but this memory will have a stronghold in my mind forever.

I am a pretty introverted person, and I require a lot of alone time, or else I get MOODY. Not going to lie, I was worried about spending an entire weekend, including the drive to and from, with a group of people. Not worried about them, but worried about me. That my grump side would come out, and I would do something I would regret, mostly due to my own inability to control my emotions (I'm working on it). But that didn't happen. I never grew tired of these magical humans that the universe somehow blessed me with.

I didn't have a lot of lady friends growing up (most of my hobbies were deemed, "masculine"-but the boys didn't want to play with me either), and I don't know how I got through life for so long without them. 

Friendships are the great romance of life. 

I didn't know adult friendships (or friendships in general) could be this good. Katy, Dana, Libby, and Rachel (and Greg), I can't imagine my life without them now, and despite our ups and downs, I will always love you, and you've got a friend in me. Forever. Thank you for making our last good day before quarantine so memorable. Here's to many more adventures! 

The Mask (1994), The Mask (2020)

Like I've mentioned before, I am thankful to be gainfully employed during this time, and to have easy access to food and other necessities (in addition to the store I work in, Walgreens and a liquor store are right next door, with Chipotle Mexican Grille across the street), but I'd be lying if I said this was an easy time for us all.

It is funny, I kept this job so I could pursue my artistic endeavors outside of a day job, and my part-time gig was the smallest part of my day and mental space. Now, it's going to be the thing I am known for during this historical event. Honestly, I thought it would be for something much more incriminating. Hello, NSA. Maybe I'll finally have a reader on this damn blog now.

The store I work at generally has an upper-echelon clientele (so they tell themselves-it's mostly middle-aged women in unflattering Lululemon teetering on a Percocet addiction while their husbands cheat on them with their nanny), so thankfully we don't have as extreme horror stories as those who work in big box stores or larger, general grocery stores.

Unfortunately, there are still shitheads everywhere. Under normal circumstances, I get at least one racist thing said to me at my day job a week. My reactions have ranged from being utterly humiliated and crying in the back of the (now defunct) sample food prep section, to verbally reprimanding and correcting these grown-ass adults as if they were ignorant children (my personal favorite). One time, a woman claimed that she could say the VERY offensive thing to me because, "her husband is Asian, so it's ok, like, it's all good." At least she never threatened my physical safety, much akin to today. Ah, a simpler time.

I feel like every one of these posts turns into some sort of racist chronicles rant, moving on now.

The company I work for has taken many safety precautions for their employees, which I am thankful for. We have yellow tape on the sales floor, marking off six feet exactly, along with limiting the amount of customers that can shop at once. We are also supplied disposable gloves and, now, are required to wear cloth masks throughout our whole shift. I understand it's all for our safety and the safety of others, but oh my fucking god it's a nightmare. You can't really breathe in these masks, but you also can't really breathe with the virus so it's a real Sophie's Choice. I thought if I was to be paid to wear some sort of a muzzle, I'd be making a lot more money and wearing sexier clothes.

Interestingly enough, the company-issued masks bear a resemblance to the mask worn by Marsellus in Pulp Fiction. You know which scene.

ANYWAYS one of my favorite childhood movies was The Mask (1994), starring Jim Carrey (as if there's another one?). At first, it terrified me (it came out a year after I was born, and was a frequent VHS tape played at my cousin-who I idolized and tried to be like), but then I grew to enjoy the grotesque-ness and the humor within that. I will never explain or understand my sexual attraction to Jim Carrey, but I'm guessing his influence slipped under the garage door of my formative years via The Mask (1994).

If you're not familiar with the plot to The Mask (1994), then you've lived under a rock until yesterday, or you were born after the year 2000 (which either are totally fine-I love Billie Eilish ). But as a recap, a beta male (Jim Carrey) finds a "mysterious, magical mask" (or, as some put it, the mask finds him-much like adopting a stray). And when he wears the mask, he gets to unleash his "shadow self" (a term I learned in therapy, not actually in the press release), and thusly, wreak havoc on the city as a true "antihero". He has more confidence to speak his mind, and to go after the girl (Cameron Diaz-in her film debut no less!), and overall to appear to have a backbone. All is well at the end, until the sequel comes out that we will not speak of.

I never thought that I would have a chance to compare any part of my life to The Mask (1994), but working at a grocery store during a pandemic, I can absolutely say I can now. When I wear my mask, I immediately get pissed off and my shadow self is out to fucking play (in the confines being professional and reminding myself approximately 845 times a day that, "I need this job" in between crying and saying, "fuck you" to nobody in particular). I can make any face I want at shithead customers and they can't see, and it's a lot easier to make asides under my breath now.

Wearing a mask sucks, especially when you're already generally uncomfortable at work to begin with, but hopefully this'll pass and we can all get back to not looking like we are all in a shitty Bane costume. Thanks for reading (shoutout to Julie! Beep!).

The Greatest Love Story I Will Ever Tell.

I am really missing stand up and performing live lately. I know we will all be able to return to it one day, but for now, here's the greatest love story I've ever told, as told at The Moth StorySlam at The Basement East and Tenx9 storytelling night at Douglas Corner Cafe.

Originally written and spoken: August 2019.

Growing up, I thought I would either win an oscar by age 19, or die by age 21. Neither of those things happened. Somewhere along the timeline, I took an interest in music. I heavily pursued learning the guitar and songwriting, and I would come to Nashville every summer for five years, until I graduated college and could move here in hopes of starting a career in the music industry.

Flash forward to 2016, I had been living in Nashville for a year at this point, and was working a day job and definitely not pursuing music anymore. I was making excuses as to why I wasn't playing open mics or trying to connect with the people I had met over the five years I had spent coming here. Usually they were excuses like, “I’m too tired” or “I don’t know where to start”. Which was all garbage. 

One day, a coworker asked me, “If you could do anything else, what would you do?” and I said, “literally ANYTHING.” She then said, “well, maybe music isn’t the right path for you.” 

At first, I was offended that someone would have the nerve to say my lack of ambition and work ethic towards something would prove I don’t care (she was right), but still, who has the nerve these days to say that. 

A few days pass, and that same coworker and I had our lunch break at the same time, and she asked, “what would you do if you weren’t doing this?” I impulsively said, “I don’t know, comedy?” The American office was one of my favorite shows (still is), and I wanted to understand why some things were funny, and why others weren’t, and how to create that. 

In a true Elle Woods moment, I had remembered that the boyfriend I broken up with before moving to Nashville was finishing up his masters in creative writing, and always had an interest in trying stand up. I thought he was the funniest person in the world, he thought I was just alright. That has sat with me for years.

The coworker and I finished up our lunches, and I kept thinking about my answer the rest of my shift. Not too long after, I decided to try to write some jokes, and to go to an open mic. 

The first time I tried stand up, I knew I had found what I didn’t know I was looking for. The second I got off of the stage, I knew my life would be different forever, and that I finally understood the difference between really really liking something (music), and truly loving something (comedy). It felt like a missing piece of my soul finally was found. 

With that, it was also terrifying. I took a long time between trying stand up for the first time, and doing it a second. Because I was scared. I knew this was it, but it terrified me. I still had my doubts and hesitations.

A week or so later, a friend of mine recommended this book to me, Sick in the Head by Judd Apatow. It is a collection of interviews that he has done with comedians over the years. I read it, and never felt more understood. My whole life I just thought I was so crazy (granted, the book is called “sick in the head”, so not too far off), but I didn’t realize there were other folks who thought about the world and life the same way I did. 

Around the same time, I had been offered a full-time position in a 9-5 downtown, verses the grocery story job I had at the time. I had to make a decision on what I wanted to do with my professional and creative life. I chose to stay at my current job, and to give comedy a fair shot. I said I’d give it a year, and if I hated it or it wasn’t working out, I’d look for a new job or move somewhere else. 

After that, I started going to pursue comedy full-steam ahead and I haven’t looked back since. It’s been the best and the most intense three years of my life, but mostly the best. It’s not been easy, Ive spent too much time sleeping in parking lots and dealing with racist and sexist comments than I’d ever care to. It’s not always easy, because most of the time, I am the only person who looks like I do on any show or in any scene. It has made for a lonely life sometimes, but the payoff is when I get other marginalized people who come up to me after shows and say, “thank you, it takes a lot to go up there and share about your life, and I appreciate it.” When in reality, I am so thankful for them.

I had a show in Atlanta a few months back, and I had to drive straight through after the show to get to work at 5am on time. I hadn’t slept at all, and I was grumbling about how tired I was. That same coworker asked me, “would you do anything different?” and I stopped and said, “absolutely not.”

To Margot T. With love, Cortney W.

I love movies, and if you spend any amount of time with me, in-person or via this blog, you will quickly find this out. The 2001 Wes Anderson film, The Royal Tenenbaums, is my favorite movie. I used to try and toss in some other navel-gazing films by other modern day auteurs, but TRT has always won. Between it's immaculate color palette, star-studded cast, and undeniable style, this movie won my heart, and many others too, as it's regarded as one of Anderson's very best works.

To say that I am up Wes Anderson's ass is a total understatement. I adore his work (again, I am a sadboi AND a softboi), and will see just about anything he has created or has contributed to. Granted, being a woman and a person of color, I cannot look past his tokenism of POC and his use of women as props more than characters.

The Darjeeling Limited and some choice words from Gene Hackman to Danny Glover in The Royal Tenenbaums bring to mind (and really every one of his films treats POC and other cultures are more of a prop or background deeply rooted in harmful stereotypes, in order to appear "quirky" and "irreverent"). That's not to be overlooked, no matter how talented or beloved the creator of the content is (I have a "Directed by Wes Anderson" banner above my bed, if you were doubting my allegiance to the director and his work).

I digress. If you are interested in my "unique" perspective (not that unique, just underrepresented) opinions on popular culture and the arts, then maybe I will start another blog, but this is not the place (at least for today).

Back to my queen, my hero, the beloved Margot Tenenbaum. Honestly, I still find some bizarre comfort in watching Gwyneth Paltrow interviews, even to this day, no matter how much of a quack she is (because she is, and I don't condone Goop at all, but some of their recipes are tasty). Margot, without Gwyneth's astute acting, could've easily slipped into a one-dimensional "female lead" that inhabited movies during that time (and really, just about every other time).

But there are a lot of moving parts as to why I am STILL enamored with this enigmatic supporting character from a movie that came out 19 years ago. The obvious reasons, as to why every hipster gen x and millennial has encountered a Margot costume at at least one Halloween party over the years (I have contributed to this statistic, note attached photo), is majorly due to Gwyneth's intense focus and charm inhabiting the character. She is swanlike, a classic beauty with a contrasting personality that can only truly be pulled off by women that look like Gwyneth. Then it's the compelling fashion. The polo dress, the Birkin bag, the heavy eyeliner, the FUR COAT. All of it is a hodgepodge of specific pieces that create the iconic wardrobe.

As with any WA film, it is kitschy yet impossibly cool, and while each of the Tenenbaum children have their own style, it's Margot's that has seemingly stood the test of time. Her undeniable brilliance and extreme secrecy are alluring, both inspiring those who want it and want to be it.

What stood out to me, like a shining beacon of kinship (and also unearthing some of my own pain in the process), is her adoption storyline. It is played for a few dark laughs, but what I appreciate and found empowering in Margot is that she (on the surface) takes it in stride, and there's more to her than that cheap punchline.

I don't openly talk about my adoption (unless it's in stand up, where others cannot weigh in on their thoughts), and it's hard to find anyone at all (I was also homeschooled, so I only knew like five non-familial people until 2011), let alone pop culture references, that could accurately depict a character as such. Or, on a more depressing side, characters who aren't featured as the butt of the joke, because they're adopted.

The first time I saw TRT, I immediately knew what Margot was thinking, feeling, and her thought process. All from that throwaway line from Alec Baldwin's opening narrative explaining she was adopted, and she never had a chance to forget. Her secrecy from her loved ones, the pain in her face, the spiky, blunt, seemingly indifferent way she tells Chaz's sons, "I'm adopted, did you know that? Well, I am." It pierces my heart every time I watch that scene.

Most people don't know how to react or handle when they find out that piece of information about you, and, until I moved out of my parent's home, I was constantly reminded by family, family friends, acquaintances, strangers who happened to see us together, of my unconventional origin story. You (me) have to learn how to present as if it doesn't bother you, in hopes that people will drop the subject sooner than later. Which, her deadpan and blunt responses to everyone, seeming void of emotion on the surface, and her indifference to missing her fucking finger, plays into that narrative.

Margot, as I am sure she is meant to be depicted, can represent any of us at any part of our lives. The angst, the heartbreak, the desire to belong, the fear of failure. All of Wes Anderson's characters and worlds feel as if they are animated films, but are carried out with human beings.

In some ways, Margot served as a cautionary tale for young Cortney. You see that Margot carries all her pain, emotions, and trauma with her and her alone, and is not willing to open up to anyone (sans maybe Ritchie). She fills the void with secret chain smoking, soaking in the bathtub, and infidelity.

I felt myself going down this same path (in my own way-sans chain smoking and infidelity), and recently I have been worried that I am closing myself off from expression and sharing with people (because it's painful and being vulnerable can come back to bite you). A friend and I were on the phone recently, and I said the very same thing. She wisely told me that I am seemingly on the path to work towards not becoming that way, since I acknowledge my feelings, and am actively working to not close people out (hence the phone call).

Maybe that's where Margot and I diverge in our stories, which is fine with me. She forever will remain a heroine and great love of mine, and served as a comfort and lighthouse to project onto, to not feel so isolated in times when I so very much (and still do). Thank you, Margot, I will always love you.

It's April, Fools!

The universe really pulled the best April Fools prank on all of us this year. Hahahahaha (it's not funny at all).

April, for me, is usually the beacon of hope and new beginnings, the epitome of springtime, and (less importantly) my birth month.

I'll be 27 this year, and I used to make the morbid joke about joining the 27 club (hits a little too close to home to be funny to me anymore).

I had all these plans laid out on how I would spend this monumental (to me) birthday (I love musicians). Most of it consisted of a trip to the local art museum alone, where I can take as much time as I want reading every little plaque and not feeling like I am burdensome to my artist friend and/or Bumble date who reminds me that he did not pick this as his date choice, getting my annual "birthday doughnut" at the local doughnut shop, and then a walk around a park somewhere, maybe stopping to read a book or take photos on my Pentax film camera, mostly envisioning myself inside of some indie romcom, bangs and funky earrings and quirky tote bag and all. It would've been even better if it were overcast, or with a light misty rain (I am a sadboi).

My pie-in-the-sky dream for this year was to take a trip to the PNW (which is sadly the last place I'd want to be during this pandemic). Where I would drink good coffee, drink good tea, drink good kombucha, buy a bunch of good edibles, finally get a cartridge for my pen (this is all incriminating, isn't it?), and wear my soft linen clothes and birkenstocks and not feel like I am cosplaying as an adult homeschooled person (which I am anyways).

I had briefly considered running away to Montana to live with my one cousin that I still kind of relate to, meanwhile buying a log cabin and maybe a few cows and braiding my hair every day and sleeping under the stars while reading a Joan Didion book, but that remains to be seen.

This year, realistically, will be spent at my day job in the morning, where I can only hope my favorite coworkers will be working that day (and not the ones I don't like-I'll say it. It's my fucking blog), along with maybe buying some chocolate, gluten-free cupcakes with the slightly stiff frosting on top (one of the best pastries we sell, IMHO), and of course, copious amounts of alcohol (a bottle of Zinfandel that's under $6).

I will then go home, tired and disgruntled from dealing with the general public who somehow still doesn't understand social distancing or that we most definitely do not have what they're looking for "in the back" (like, read the fucking room-and maybe a news article or two), make some sort of roasted veggie and chicken dish while listening to a carefully curated playlist that consists of ONLY Rihanna and Big Thief (my two moods), and then force myself to do a yoga workout via YouTube, all before falling asleep with my laptop fixed on a random Buzzfeed Unsolved episode. #stayathome

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying the peace and stillness from quarantine. Granted, I feel guilty for even admitting it to myself, much less the 1 reader of this blog (thanks, Julie). I should probably be more miserable than I am currently, to join in the angst of my fellow peers, if not more. It is considered to be more justified for me (I am on the front lines as an "essential" employee, after all. haha).

Maybe it's because, logistically, my daytime life has not changed much at all. I work the same hours and the same days. The main difference is, I come home exhausted from the intense anxiety and doom that's looming over everyone for eight hours, but then I have the rest of the evening to myself.

I miss stand up, terribly, and I miss seeing my non-work friends, but this time alone has given me a chance to catch my breath after a whirlwind of my 20s. This is obviously not to downplay the devastation that's happing in the world right now, but mostly me trying to find a bright spot in this bleak time.

I've been enjoying getting to know Cortney as a mid-20s adult woman with her own health insurance and 401k (not that those are absolute ear markers of an "adult", but I am thankful I have both), and, even more importantly, doesn't share and act on every thought and feeling on a whim anymore (usually).

Compared to not feeling stunted and living the breakneck lifestyle of 3 hours of sleep every night and eating bar food at whatever place I was performing at and emotional breakdowns every hour as early 20s Cortney (a lifestyle I will probably retreat back to as soon as live comedy is tangible again, truthfully, but hopefully with some balance).

I still have a lot to process from the last year, and from the last almost 27 years of my life, and some I will share with you, most of it is for me. Happy April, and here's to new beginnings, even in this bleak time. Please be safe.

Attached is my enneagram chart. This alone feels really revealing, but feel free to drop yours in the comments.

PRO-ductivity

I'd like to fancy myself as a fairly productive, self-motivated person. Usually I allow myself to chill out after work for a little, and then I move onto writing or cleaning or some other project that will never see the light of day. Lately, it's been hard for me to curb that need to be productive all the time. Mostly because of the feeling that I HAVE to be doing something during this quarantine time. I mean, Shakespeare wrote "King Lear" during quarantine that one time, or so I've been told by everyone who is expecting great art to come out of this time period for everyone who identifies in the "creative" category.

Most days after work, I am beat, and that's when things were the old normal (I guess we have to call this the "new normal" for the time being. Probably longer if people don't get their shit together and actually fucking social distance. If you're one of the assholes who think this won't affect them, or hates the elderly and immunocompromised, fuck you). ANYWAYS, I digress.

Nowadays, I feel even more drained after my normal 7-8 hour grocery store clerk shift. I can chalk it up to mostly emotional energy that is being zapped faster than usual. So when I come home from work now, I can barely function (maybe it's the alcohol consumption, who am I to actually say?).

Early on in the pandemic, I was like the one "studious" twin from the Sweet Valley High books (I can't remember her name. Elizabeth? Peg? Suze?), where I would come home, attempt some weak "social activism" (telling people to fuck off if they're not taking this seriously and secretly wish they get it just to prove a point on my social media, and buying cool t-shirts to support local businesses), meal prep for the foreseeable future, read, write, go outside for really whatever, floss, online shop for things I don't need, watch The Office for "educational purposes", and exercise.

I also have taken up the challenge of changing my skincare routine and if you want to talk to me about it, please let me know. I still have pockmarks and chin zits but other than that my skin is GLOWING.

Now, only a week and a half into the serious business, I am lucky if I can come home after work, shower, change into "daytime pjs" and fall asleep on the couch to Tiger King with a half-eaten Trader Joe's frozen Indian meal (that I don't even like that much but I panic bought last week along with a container of diced onions, two bottles of salad dressing, and a sangria starter kit) like the rest of the country is doing (Right?).

I am trying to give myself some grace, and I hope you are too. This is a weird time and we are all coping and grieving in our own ways. I am hoping my anxiety mellows out, and I can allow myself guilt-free rest, and I hope you all are able to listen to your body and brain and give it what it needs during all of this. And (this is also mostly for me but) know that your self-worth isn't in what you do or don't do. Unless you're not taking this seriously and social distancing and overall being considerate, then fuck you.

Not All Heroes Wear Capes (?)

To say that the world at large is in dire straits is an understatement. To say that we, the people of the United States, are ill-prepared and ill-advised under poor leadership is also an understatement. It's a full-out pandemic that most (but not all) have taken seriously (super judgmental right now). Many of my friends have started working from home (the dream), and many of my friends have been laid off during this time (which is bullshit).

I work, and have worked, at a grocery store for a little over five years, and it has it’s ups and downs, like any job. I mainly kept this job because it allowed me the freedom to pursue comedy (and the health insurance-it damn near kills me to qualify for it, but then I can just go to the doctor after the fact), and unfortunately I am not able to perform live comedy at this time, so groceries it is. I am thankful for the job security, and for how the company treats their employees, and my (mostly) great coworkers, and also for the human study that I’ve been able to conduct during this pandemic.

Before the store I worked at (thankfully) limited the amount of people that could shop in at a time, it was like the wild west out there. People fighting (passive-aggressively, since we are in a “affluent” part of town, and one wouldn’t want to get their Lululemon’s all in a bunch over organic mouth wash) over general household necessities and things we rarely sell at a normal time. Honestly, the toilet paper is recycled paper, which is great, in theory, but not always in practice. I think you get what I mean. 

But people are going nuts. I tweaked my neck the first day of the pandemonium, and I still don't know if it’s from the stress of the overall situation, or from lifting six 24-packs of waters into this VERY capable Green Hill’s mom’s Range Rover that was illegally parked at Walgreens. Who’s to say?

I promise these won’t all be gripes, as I am thankful for this job (and no, not in the “I am not a hostage, I love this country” sort of way), but I am truly grateful. But I thought this could be a good place to show some perspective from "the front lines" as they call it. I am thankful to have some structure to my work day still, and my main goals right now are to 1. not have a panic attack, 2. not develop crushes on every customer that comes in (quarantine will do that to you), 3. not test out my "new material" on my unsuspecting coworkers without their consent, 4. not cry in front of customers at work when they get mad at me personally because we are out of organic black beans, and 5. not get COVID-19. In that order.