My evaluation of graduating college and becoming an old woman living in Brooklyn.
I’ve been inactive on here for a few months now and it makes me a little sad. This has been my hub for the last two years to let loose about whatever I was currently obsessed with in pop culture or more accurately, whatever provoked me that day.
I’ve wanted to spin the blog in an entirely different direction for some time now but every time I think I want to make it like my online journal I roll my eyes at myself and close my laptop because that’s when I hate my writing.
It’s been difficult facing real life these days – I had it so good for so long, which is probably why I’ve been posting so infrequently. A kick ass internship, the run of my school’s teeny but powerful Comm Arts department, and the greatest roommate a gal could possibly dream up, but alas the time has come and now - cue Monica Gellar – I HAVE TO LIVE WITH A BOYYYYYY!
But life has been treating me well. I’m working under a spanking new startup and it’s going to be legendary.
What more could a 22-year-old collage grad who is easily 100K in debt ask for? Not much, I’ll tell you that.
But I’ll tell ya man, this working thing is TOUGH. Waking up at some ungodly hour everyday, commuting with all the other 9-5 schmucks, burning brain calories for nearly 9 hours, commuting back to Brooklyn which we all know is a BLAST when you’re coming from midtown, then settling in for some Jeopardy! and toaster oven pizza. What the hell do you mean it’s only Tuesday?
But I’m like paving the way for myself, right? Putting my name out there. Networking. At least that’s what all my family friends are telling me at upstate barbecue gatherings. Thumbs up.
One thing I don’t miss about college is listening to the pretentiousness of private school and spoiled nimrods who probably received way more scholarship money than I could ever imagine while I bartended and interned on no sleep. But it’s coo, I’m not bitter. Nope. Because guess who’s living the New York City dream every day bitches? This guy. Even though I’m broke, exhausted, and currently watching a homeless man on the subway spit in his lap, I’m doing it – living the dream.
I guess that’s the whole point of college: in addition to leaving you penniless and bewildered when you leave, it makes you realize you are exactly where you are because of who you wanted to become in that incredibly brief moment of four years.
Those who know me really well know I was fucking terrified of leaving school. Forget sports, forget schmoozing my way through anything with my awkwardness - school was my thing. I was good at it and it was comfortable.
It’s scary being pulled from your comfort zone of the meal plan, the internship, the help from home – time to be a whole new person. Buck up, kid. Get your shit together. Get a grip. Oh you’re scared? You should be. Because life is scary. And if it’s scary in New York City, I would probably be nursing an ulcer if I were back home because there is next to nothing to do there in the long-term.
But what does the long-term even mean anymore? I think Gen-X changed the definition of “career” and staying on a singular professional path your entire life until the ripe age of 55 when you’re free to get discounted doughnuts at Dunkin’ on Wednesdays and travel the world if you were smart enough to save all those years.
I’m not sure if I necessarily have a conclusion to this rant and if you’ve been reading this blog since the beginning, I appreciate you sticking around this far. Your comments and emails mean the world, especially on my bad days when I feel like a total boob stuck in writer’s block and keep telling myself I should just go hand out fliers for a living.
One thing I’m grateful for however, is being 22. I look around me and being old looks like it totally blows. And not like old old, that obviously blows, but the getting old part. I don’t care what Louis CK says about chewed up nipples being sexy – shit’s not for me. And I’m starting to see itty bitty gray streaks, which cause me to scream at my scalp in the mirror every morning to the point where Kev springs out of bed thinking someone has broken in.
I don’t wish to “grow old.” I know I’ll be too cranky to endure it. I don’t think wrinkled hands and flabby what’s-left-of-biceps suit me. Plus my tits would be in shambles. But by the time I’m actually old they’ll probably have drive-thru plastic surgery where you can get one hell of a boob job in the time it would take you to order a Big Mac, so I have faith.
So in conclusion, graduating has clearly messed with me. But I am eternally grateful for the hand I’ve been dealt. I owe my mentors everything and beyond. I’d probably be one of those flier people if it weren’t for them. So, thank you for that. And thanks to the readers of this shit show for the past two years. I hope to be back more frequently than I have been when my big girl life allows :P