I always get so proud of myself for not spending money on food, but then I go and blow $60 at forever 21.
If anyone out there thinks this does not happen somewhere in America every single day, you are wrong. If you think I am exaggerating when I tell you that the cumulative effect of experiencing and anticipating racism throughout my life has made a part of me feel constantly and irreparably enraged, you are wrong. If you are a white friend and have been or will be offended when I argue the sufficiency of your racial awareness, please consider that this is an issue far bigger than you. If you are a white adoptive parent of a black child, or a white biological parent of a black child, and you are not prepared to handle this WHEN it happens to your child (not that any of us are ever adequately prepared to handle racism), start trying to figure it out immediately.
I was going to write a review about boyfriends, or relationships, both of which I haven’t had but I decided to focus on something a little more specific.
Something that really chaps my ass, when of my friends in a relationship says this about their significant other:
“He’s my best friend”
Normally when I hear people say this about their loved one, I brush it off but it’s one of my friends I have no choice but to suppress the massive side eye I want to give them. Isn’t it me that you’ve known since you were 10? Does the fact you that you get to bang twice a week close the 13 year gap when he wasn’t in your life? I’m so glad that after two years of knowing him you consider him to be closer to you than I am! Haven’t we spent countless night up on the phone sharing secrets? Aren’t I the one who consoled you when you two were having problems? Yea he’s seen you naked but I’m pretty sure I have to.
So I’ll be moving in a few weeks and I’m trying to explain to my parents the importance of having a TV in my room.
Watching TV for me is like therapy. For two hours a day, six when I was unemployed, I was transported to another land. A land of Kardashians, Mob Wives and Duck Dynasty. I forgot my troubles of being a 22 year old unemployed college graduate who was in $30,000 worth of debt and no way to pay it back (thanks so mom and dad it’s now down to $27,000, yay!). When you’re watching TV time stands still and it moves forward, your mind is still but it’s also running at 1,000 miles an hour. There’s nothing like snuggling up in bed, fixing yourself a delicious snack, settling into a neck pillow and having a four hour Law and Order: SVU marathon for an entire afternoon.
Going out. Just the phrase going out make me want to put on footie pajamas, my biggest pair of underwear and watch a thousand episodes of Downtown Abbey. I was first introduced to the idea of going out at the tender age of 16 while spending my school year abroad in Zaragoza, Spain, and I couldn’t get enough, so much so that for the next six years it was my livelihood. However, this all came to a screeching halt the second Father McShane handed me my diploma and I moved back home. Fast forward and things still haven’t changed. A miniskirt hasn’t hit my flesh in one fiscal year, and I couldn’t be happier.
Gone are the days of wobbling around in 4-inch heels, piling on five layers of mascara and taming my hair. My Friday and Saturday nights are now consumed with eating unhealthy amounts of ice cream, browsing tumblr and thinking about how nice it is, that I’m not going out.
So you’ve put out 20 or 85 resumes and you’ve finally heard back from someone! yay! It’s probably been so long that you’ve forgotten what companies you’ve applied to. You’re excited! Gone are the days of lounging around the house all day, watching all your favorite TV shows, eating endless amounts of Frosted Cheerios at 2:30 pm, and having casual lunches with friends at 4. Finally you’ve entered the real world, you have a bedtime, you have a desk, a computer, a phone, and if you’re lucky a time sheet. Then, after a week, you realize it sucks.
Working is terrible.
I hate waking up early, I hate answering the phone, I hate driving to work, I hate punching in on a time card, I hate having to smile at co-workers at 8:30 in the morning and I especially hate having to put on pants, every.single.day.
You think work life is filled with happy hours, flirting with co-workers, and cute work clothes. You’ll finally be able to save up enough money to buy that fabulous blazer from Zara or those casual nude pumps from Steve Madden, until you see your paycheck and realize that $10 an hour is actually $7 an hour….thank you, taxes.