Vanessa Bayer’s Sunday Routine Just Made Me Fall In Love With Her

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Vanessa Bayer's Sunday Routine Just Made Me Fall In Love With Her

Sunday rituals are essential to your Sunday sanity. If it weren’t for my nightly Sunday process of getting in bed and settling into a movie, my Sunday Scaries would be even worse than they already are. Naturally, being Sunday’s mortal enemy, I legitimately enjoy listening to the Sunday processes of others. I want to know where and when you read your Sunday New York Times. I want to know if you put cream cheese or peanut butter on your bagel. I yearn to know which relaxing movies you watch when you’re hungover. It’s in my genes.

Luckily for me, yesterday’s New York Times interview with Saturday Night Live‘s Vanessa Bayer shed some light on her post-show Sundays, where you’d have to imagine she’s pretty beat after a week of writing, rehearsing, and performing. The results weren’t all that surprising but more reassuring.

SOFA BOUND I try to get up by 3. I put a sweatshirt on over my PJs and I go down my stairs. It’s like a loft where I live; my bedroom is upstairs. My TV is in an entertainment center. You have to open the doors for the remote to work, so I open those and then I sit down on my couch. I’ll forget my slippers upstairs and I’ll be like, “Ugh! I have to go upstairs to get them.” It’s like eight stairs. But stairs are stairs.

Now, I don’t know what happens after the live airings but you’d have to assume they’re pretty fired up after the show, so I’m going to have to look past the 3 o’clock rise. At that point in the day, I’ve probably already had a quarter-life crisis and two panic attacks, so maybe she’s actually onto something.

While it’s kind of surprising that Vanessa lives in a loft, I do respect it considering she’s in New York City where the average Manhattan loft is $2,000+ per month (which I’d still assume is well within her budget). Everyone worries about money on Sundays, Vanessa’s just a regular gal who’s no different than any of us.

I like the idea of a New York loft with natural light pouring in onto her lush, white bedding while she crushes a little television. Sounds money.

‘TOASTED!’ I order food from my couch and I don’t leave my couch again until it comes. I’ll order a bagel. I’ll get really mad because they will forget to toast it. It didn’t happen when I lived further east, near NYU. Those people were really on it. I’d say it takes me a good 10 minutes to get over it. I’ll have a savory or sesame bagel. Sometimes I’ll get a raisin bagel with raisin walnut cream cheese and they’ll use a knife they cut an onion bagel with and then there’s a whole section of the bagel I can’t eat. I usually order coffee with the bagel. My coffee maker isn’t the best, so I like ordering it in. Sometimes the coffee will have spilled onto the bagel, and then of course, you know how upsetting that is.

They say opposites attract, so hopefully that rings true when it comes to Vanessa and I because I actually prefer the oniony side of bagels. Onion bagel? Hook it up. Everything? Yeah, I’ll take one. Salt bagel with a little chive cream cheese? Daddy. Like.

Ordering coffee, though, seems a little misguided. I would recommend she just get a Keurig, but then she’s just drinking mediocre coffee and shoveling insane amounts of plastic into today’s already littered world. Vanessa, you work for Saturday Night fucking Live. Just spring for an espresso machine and live like the queen you are.

UNREALITY TELEVISION I’ll sit and I’ll watch TV while I’m eating my bagel. It’s stuff I have DVR-ed. “Real Housewives,” stuff on Bravo. I also weirdly watch “General Hospital.” I used to watch it and then I stopped and now I’ve started watching it again. They have a lot of supernatural stuff. I truly love it, but the level of believability is very low. It’s very refreshing.

I’m not your token “Real Housewives” guy, but if I’m brutally hungover or tired, I can pretty much watch anything that’s not a Mad Max-esque movie that will make me sweat profusely more than I already am. I’m not going to shy away from a little Notting Hill action or a few ‘sodes of Dawson’s Creek if we’re trying to kick it old school, though. Say what you want, but everyone knows I have a thick skin when it comes to skipping Game of Thrones on Sundays so I’m not really ashamed of my beta male movie and television choices. Your own personal mental health isn’t about making others happen.

PRIORITIES I joined Twitter two years ago. I was late to it. So I am still really into it. I’ll make a tweet. Wait, is that what you say? Post a tweet? I’ll post a tweet and then I’ll call my brother and say, “Hey, did you see my tweet?” I won’t talk on the phone too much. It’s usually fun to talk to my parents. I mean, it’s always fun! I don’t want to burn my parents. But I don’t pick up the phone much on Sundays. I like texting with friends, but I find if I am watching TV, I have to focus on the show.

And this is where we start clicking. If it’s a Sunday, I’m picking up my phone to do the following, in order of rank – check Twitter or Instagram, text with my friends, call my parents. That’s it. Sometimes you need a little mom-time in order to get your mind right. Other than that, if there’s not a way for me to see favorites, likes or retweets trickling in, I’m probably going to toss my phone facedown on my comforter and go all-in on some On Demand viewing.

CHECKING THE FRIDGE My fridge is usually pretty empty. If I can get it together to order FreshDirect, I will have some fruit and yogurt in the fridge. But there isn’t a ton of stuff you would cook with. I feel like my parents are going to be very proud of me when they read this.

I’m ashamed by how much food I actually order in. It should have actually been one of the reasons my father should hate me for being a millennial piece of shit, but that’s neither here nor there.

When most people are hungover, they’re looking for big brunch spreads or a greasy cheeseburger to soak up all the debauchery from the night before. But nope, not this guy. Not me. The second I eat, it’s all aboard the struggle bus because my stomach is about to ruin at least two hours of my day by either screaming at me or forcing my legs to fall asleep while I sit on the toilet for an hour. I know calories don’t count on Sundays, but that doesn’t really matter when you’re not eating much anyway.

NOISES OFF I usually meditate twice a day, Transcendental Meditation. For some reason, I always forget to meditate on Sunday, because it’s such a weird day, and I’ll remember at 5 and meditate for 20 minutes. And it’s great, because I’ll feel like I’m getting something done. Even though I am sitting on the couch.

It’s like you’re in my brain, Vanessa. I’ve been using the app Headspace lately to do meditations for ten minutes a day but I’ve been too afraid to discuss it with anyone for fear that they’ll think I’m a psycho. After, even though all I’ve done is listen to a man speaking out of my phone, I still feel like I’m a fucking Tibetan shaman who can solve all the problems in the world. Yes, I understand that meditating with your cell phone is the most twenty-something way of meditating ever, but it’s better than everyone else who are just overthinking their Bumble exchanges.

DELIVERY At 7 or 8 I decide to order dinner. I try and eat kind of healthy on Sunday nights, to balance out the bagel. Some kind of salad, or sushi sometimes. At dinner, I’ll switch to HBO. I can stay up watching TV so late. The problem is I don’t get tired early because of staying up so late. I might order a snack, popcorn, at 11. Sometimes I’ll order in three times on Sundays. People think New York is crazy and busy, but it’s actually a great place for lazy people to live. You can order microwaveable popcorn! I’ll order, like, those bags of it. But there’s a minimum, so then I’ll order laundry detergent. I wonder sometimes what the doormen think of me.

My girlfriend thinks I’m a madman because I crave sushi when I’m hungover. But like I said, after a long weekend of crushing cals, the last thing I want (physically and mentally) is some grease-soaked sandwich that causes my body to explode. Hit me with some high-flavor sashimi or a low-cal salad from Whole Foods and we’re stylin’.

Let me know if you need a Sunday boyfriend, Vanessa. Sounds like that loft gets pretty Scary on Sundays and I’m not afraid of that.

Image via YouTube

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