I Lowered my Expectations, Had a Margarita, and Went Kickboxing. Here’s What I Learned.

I took Jen Psaki's advice, to brunch through the apocalypse.

A weekend in the world of a Jen Psaki fan, as imagined by Raheem Kassam.

So there I was, cold, naked, and afraid, halfway through a box of 2022 Riesling while my cat, Mr. Fauci, flapped his tail scientifically across my face.

I grabbed up my phone and began to hate-scroll through GETTR – this new, white supremacist platform which I assume Jason Miller invented because he’s mad he can’t date me.

Finally, I came across one glimmer of hope. Yas, kweens. It was our kween Kween. Jennifer K. Psaki. The ‘K’, which I invented, stands for Kween, naturally.

Until this video I felt like I had been losing my mind.

See, I got home from this 3-hour shift at Walgreens. I don’t work there, nor do I shop there. Ew.

No, I was doing charity work. Contributing to civil society. Voluntarily standing near the beef jerky screaming at people who either weren’t wearing masks; weren’t wearing masks correctly; or weren’t wearing bespoke N95s. My own tailor, Andræs, did a superb job with mine. I can barely breathe!

Obviously I don’t go custom all the time. Only on special occasions. In fact, my latest order of “off the rack” N95s just came in from Xinjiang. I think that’s in China or something. You can still kind of smell the passion of the artisans in the material. Super authentic.

I was still literally shaking when I got home, so I took a floor bath (I laid on the floor of my shower) with Mr. Fauci (the cat, lol, silly!).

This guy at Walgreens had taken his mask off before he had fully left the store. Like, he was out the first set of double doors but not the second, you know? People could’ve died. I let him know about it. Still. Literally. Shaking.

So there I am, on GETTR, when I see my girl. Jen. Fucking. Psaki. I made up that middle name too. Her real middle name is actually Rene, which is super cool because Bridget Jones’s Diary is literally my favorite.

“My advice to everyone out there who’s frustrated, sad, angry, pissed off, feel those emotions, go to a kickboxing class, have a margarita, do whatever you need to do this weekend, and then wake up on Monday morning, we gotta keep fighting.”

And there it was, you know? Revelation.

America’s (extremely racist) founders took over 4,000 words to write the Constitution. Yet here, in 42 words, was our Commander-in-Kween explaining everything the nation needed to know. Checkmate, James Madi-son. You just got school by James Madi-daughter!

In these few words I felt seen. I felt heard. I felt inspired. You know why?

Because I was frustrated. I was sad. I was angry. I was pissed off. And I was sick of the patriarchy telling me what to do.

“Don’t shout at me, Karen!… Don’t touch my kids, ma’am!… No you can’t have a 14th Pfizer shot yet!”

Ugh, slimeballs.

So I took Jenny’s advice. I feel like I can call her Jenny because I know we would totes get along if we met. Kween recognize kween, you know?!

The problem is – and this is NOT Jenny’s fault at all, so PLEASE do not drag her on Twitter for this! – I did it all in the wrong order. This is why we need to LISTEN to menstruators more closely.

See, I signed up for a kickboxing class, right? But there wasn’t anything until the afternoon. So I figured I’d get the margarita part out of the way first.

So I rocked up, yoga mat in hand, to this cute little Mexican spot in my neighborhood. I think it was called Chipolte? Chipoytle? I’ll look it up later.

The Latinx lady behind the beef bar was super nice. I had no idea what she was saying – not because of her accent (that would be hella racist) but because of her mask. I thanked her for her service though, and order a margarita.

“Pomegranate, with sloe gin,” I said with a wink. I felt like James Bond, except way better. Jane Bond! I felt the excitement rush through me as a I realized Jenny was probably having a marg too, right at that moment!

But beef bar girl… I think her name was Gloria… kept mumbling something at me, and making, “No,” signs. I had no idea what she was saying and people behind me groaning. I felt my blood pressure spiking and my (very mild) myocarditis kicking in. And that’s when things took a turn.

It happened in slow motion. Picture it, okay? Slow motion.

Gloria started raising her hand to her face. I knew what this meant. I had to stop it. I couldn’t let her murder people like this, especially because Gloria was probably undocumented and the the Proud Boys would so pounce on this to spread fake news about infected Mexicans illegals!

Oh gosh. She was raising her hand to lower her mask. I gulped. I knew what I had to do. It wasn’t going to be pretty. But it was for the greater good. Gloria would understand. All these thoughts, so little time. She already had the mask pinched. One more move and she’d be breathing her COVID droplets all over the artisanal pepper tray.

“Build Back Betterrrrrrrrr!!!!!” I yelled, reaching my arms across the glass.

I forgot I had my yoga mat in my hand, and I *grazed* Gloria across the face. She went down, hard. Drama queen. Not a “kween” at all.

But her mask? Still up. Phew.

Well anyway, before I knew it, I was in handcuffs. Was this how Nelson Mandela felt? It wasn’t supposed to go this way. But I sure felt like a martyr. I’m also pretty sure one of the cops grabbed my boob. Ugh, now I know how poor George Floyd felt – except the reason I couldn’t breathe was because I double-masked before leaving the house. Can’t be too careful.

I missed the kickboxing class. I didn’t even get a margarita. But the good news is no one prosecutes crimes anymore so I was out of jail ready for my 9pm shift at Target. It went extremely well. This guy called Randy (probably) got really pissed because I told the manager about his mask slipping under his nose and now he’s banned from that location. A-mazing!

Now, just as future President Psaki suggest, I’m ready for bed. Ready to get a good night’s sleep. Ready to fight again on Monday morning*.

*My lawyer says I have to make clear that I do not mean literally fight, I just mean in the way that Jenny meant.

**Obviously none of this, barring Psaki’s inane comments, is true.

Image credit: GrandOldMemes