“Love” 1.01: Mickey Dobbs Is Every 20-Something Single Girl

 

For anyone looking to jump in Netflix’s new series “Love” I have a few pieces of advice. First being: do it. So far, at least, I haven’t come to regret it–one episode in and it’s exactly the dosage of Judd Apatow that I had been missing in my life, a grown up Freaks and Geeks that was sorely needed, especially with few bars held, rating wise.

Secondly, do not repeat my foolish mistake: this is not a show to watch on your phone or iPad while at the gym. Or in public. This I should have known sooner, and yet, I still made the rookie mistake of turning it on while on a stationary bike at Planet Fitness with plenty of onlookers to see the multiple sex scenes that occur within the first five minutes.

I finished the episode at home, to say the least. Which is fine–I could pay more attention when I wasn’t sweating off a few calories. It deserved my full attention in the comfort and safety of my own, judgment free bed.

Let me say that as a 20-something year old recent college grad trying to navigate the whole adulthood terrain (hint: still as clueless as ever) who has been perpetually single for years now, there are certain aspects of Mickey Dobbs (Gillian Jacobs) that speak to me on a spiritual level. One episode in and sure, she seems like a hot mess, to say the least–but she’s a sarcastic mess that speaks to us. I get her. She’s real, I’ll give her that.

 

I’m so glad we broke up, I just don’t really want to live alone, you know?

Well that’s perfect, we can hang out!

And we will! I just want to really clearly establish the roommate boundaries initially.

 

-Mickey Dobbs, every roommate.

 

Post one of the funniest and yet slap in the face break-ups I’ve ever seen with her cocaine addicted boyfriend Eric, Mickey is looking for a roommate, and when adorable Bertie (Claudia O’Doherty) shows up a month later and Mickey doesn’t feel like meeting anyone else, she offers her the spot. I get it. I have four roommates of my own. We’ve been there. We’ve all been there– all roommates, everywhere. Let’s not forget about personal space, all right? Seriously, I live with some of my very best friends–but that doesn’t mean I don’t need my alone time and a promise that they will not barge into my room unannounced. (I’m most likely pants-less. Or sleeping. Maybe both.) I might be up for sharing the milk, the bread, the butter–but please, let’s be clear about leftover pizza.

 

You know what I love about Uber? You don’t have to tip. Fuck taxis, man, Uber’s changing the world. And you own this car, right? This is like a nice car.

 

She wasn’t wrong. After Eric texts Mickey asking her to meet up with him so he can apologize to her–minutes after she’s taken an Ambien and planned on zoning out for the night–she throws on a one piece bathing suit, jeans, false lashes and wedges (my hero) and calls an Uber, promptly starting a conversation that we’ve all had in some form or another at least once. Don’t tell me you haven’t lamented your love for Uber to your Uber driver–tipsy me has been there. Mickey Dobbs has, too. We’re not alone.

 

Can I ask something?…Yes, speak what’s in your heart. Hi guys, sorry, I’m on Ambien, so…um, you said earlier that if you ask for love the world will send you love back, but I’ve been asking and asking and I haven’t gotten fucking anything. Hoping and waiting and wishing and wanting love–hoping for love has fucking ruined my life. You’re right, Eric, I am a fuck up. I’m really sorry. But I refuse to believe that all those dipshits I went to high school with who are married now and putting pictures on Facebook everyday of their kids in little headbands have it all figured out, right? That’s got to be bullshit. That can’t be the deal–that can’t be it.

 

Mickey’s ex boyfriend invites her to Bliss House, a recovery program of sorts where he’s found himself and was looking to make apologies and amends–think part twelve step program, part gospel gathering. Mickey, still high on Ambien, sat through the sermon about opening yourself up to love and her reaction, more than anything, stuck with me. I’ve replayed just this one scene too many times already–the way Jacobs delivers it was heartbreaking itself, because that lost, hopeless look on her face while she delivered–I’ve been there. It can be hopeless and miserable, but mostly you just can’t believe that they–the collective they–are doing something you’re not, are somehow more deserving of love. Everyone tells you when you open yourself up to love, it’ll come–still waiting. (I’ve also been giving the conflicting advice of,  “The second you stop looking for love, it finds you.” Which one is it, guys?!)

Here’s hoping Mickey Dobbs finds some semblance of happiness and love, or at least pulls it together, just a little. The end of the wonderfully awkward, down-trodden yet down to earth first episode leaves us with Mickey meeting Gus (Paul Rust) in a convenience store, so, dare I say it: I have some hope. Maybe.