A Cry for Help, Thinly Veiled as an Update on my Life

Listen, I cry a lot. It’s not really a secret and it’s not really weird. I cry at dove commercials (Hello? The little girls who think they are beautiful and then grow up and don’t anymore? I’m not a fucking robot) and at BudLight commercials (Dogs) and at songs which feature women overcoming bad relationships. I cry at Landslide and Rather Be and people who are nice for no reason. This is just a fact about me and I’ve come to accept it. My friends I’ve made in grad school think its endearing even though every time I tear up one of them laughs at me and then we inevitably get yelled at by our teacher.

I don’t think my crying at these things point to the fact that my life is a mess, but there ARE things I cry about (and other things in my life) that do point to this conclusion. For instance, when my teacher cancelled my 8:30 class, which means I get to “sleep in” (til 8am), I cried. Not normal. I also cried when I walked into Monmouth’s gym for the first time and saw how empty and beautiful the track was. Very not normal. Last week in class, we watched a video in which a young woman came out to her mother (I think…it was completely in Vietnamese) and I. Fucking. Cried.

These facts alone might make you think “ok, she’s definitely a sensitive gal, but maybe she’s just a softie” you might even think it’s kind of sweet. No. It’s not. Here are some other things you should know that truly show you that my life is just an all out disaster and I’m slowly spiraling out of control:

  1. I suspect my neighbor is stealing my garbage. Long story but basically my garbage went missing. Not my garbage CAN, my actual garbage. I never put the can out at the curb and it wasn’t even garbage day. SOS.
  2. Last Tuesday, I lost my flash drive with all my assignments for school on it. On friday, after three days of constant rain, I found it in the parking lot. It had clearly been run over and had some serious water damaged, but I decided to plug it into my computer anyway (I had to do some handy work to un-warp it so it would fit in the USB drive).
  3. My uncle just delivered me four boxes full of wine and champagne and so I have a lot of solo drinking in my future.
  4. I have a midterm due tomorrow that I haven’t started yet.
  5. I decided to give up cheese. Then cooked a casserole in which cheese was a main ingredient.
  6. I just received pepper spray in the mail from my friend’s grandma because I’m “all alone at the beach.”

I also ignored my co workers all day in favor of listening to the new Taylor Swift album and it was the most productive I’ve been in weeks.

Normally I would say if you want to help, send alcohol but at this point I have more wine and champagne than I know what to do with. My second request would probably be pepper spray but I have that covered too.

I guess my main request is a camera system so I can find out why my garbage keeps disappearing and also so I can more accurately gage the percentage of the day I spend giving myself pep talks out loud.


Having it all together

You might be a semi real grown up if one of your classmates tells you “everyone thinks you’re very together” and you don’t spit out your angry balls** in her face from laughing so hard. On the one hand, I’m flattered because I tried (semi) hard my whole college career to make it seem like I was a together, competent, almost-professional. From insisting that I had car sickness on a Tuesday when I made my supervisor pull over so I could throw up at a gas station, to occasionally sleeping in my clothes so I could wake up and make it to class in five minutes, I always put on a good facade. But no one ever fell for it. Maybe it was because most of my classmates saw me out at the bar Tuesday-Sunday, or maybe it was because my housemates and I once won a $50 bar tab by winning Quizzo for which the topic was “dirty minds,” or maybe it was because I called the bar “home” as much as I called it by name. 

On the other hand, I’m horrified. Have I really reached the point where I can be wearing a Tiki mask and holding a drink which is the combination of hard cider and CINNAMON FLAVORED WHISKEY and someone still tells me I really give off the appearance of having it all together? Is it wrong that I miss when people would see me Sunday mornings and shake their head in a way that kind of said “thank god for you because you set the baseline for being a mess and I’m below it”?

Mostly though, I’m confused. I guess it’s because I’m with myself all day so I frequently catch myself in moments of not very togetherness. Like, not two minutes ago when I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “you look kind of heavy” and then grabbed myself a beer from the fridge. Or when I had to skip dinner because I was too full from eating so many cookies (which I ate because I wanted them gone so as not to tempt me in the future). Or when the guy at the liquor store stopped ID-ing me and started greeting me by name.

It’s kind of comforting to know that “having it all together” is a matter of perception. Next time you see a person who really seems to have it figured out, keep in mind that she probably goes home and strips in her living room because wearing professional clothes makes her want to cry. (Or maybe thats just me?)

**angry balls= angry orchard cider and fireball. Sicko.

Running out of wine (and how it’s kind of a metaphor for my life)

A time will come shortly after you graduate college when you’re too old to drink like you used to but you’re also too young to accept that fact. It will be during this time that you will find yourself having a glass of wine with dinner every. Damn. Night. And it’s kind of sad because you’re drinking wine because you genuinely like the taste AND it’s from a bottle not a box AND you (almost) never get a wine hangover because you’re only having a glass. It’s weird. And then the wine runs out and you find a bottle of vodka in your freezer literally LEFT OVER FROM SENIOR WEEK and you make yourself and mixie and you wonder how you got to where you are. And that’s when you write a blog.

Once when I was in London, my friends and I wanted to have beer olympics. One thing led to another and we ended up playing with Strongbow (a cider brand that should be put in jail for trying to kill me via hangover multiple times). After drinking 20 liters of Strongbow between ten people, I looked around and I weirdly had a Gyro in my hand that I didn’t remember ordering/leaving the apartment to get. One of my friends was drunkenly constructing a trophy out of Strongbow bottles while muttering “this was my life for two years,” and another friend was screaming “IT WON’T BE FUNNY WHEN I’M DEAD TOMORROW.” I was confused how any of these events had happened independently let alone how they were connected in any way. It was surreal and I couldn’t make sense of it. My point is that THAT is kind of how I feel every morning I wake up and I remember I’m not in college. Except in this scenario I don’t go home and drunkenly email my boyfriend to tell him that he has “the emotional capacity of a caterpillar” because I’m a fucking grown up and vodka just doesn’t inspire me to write scathing emails in the same way Strongbow always did.

If you’ve read this far, you’re probably currently compiling a list of AA meetings in my areas to gently send my way with the subject line “something to think about.” Well, that’s rude because passive aggressive (mostly aggressive) emails are clearly MY thing and also if you’re thinking that way you’re obviously still in college and you don’t understand how I feel. Talk to me when you graduate and you run out of wine and the wine is kind of a metaphor for your life.

…….And now I need a drink.

How to be really good at senior year

Tomorrow marks the first day in four years that my college will be starting without me in attendance. If you’re wondering how I’m coping: I’m not. Yesterday, I told my mom I would rather be dead than not go back to school but I quickly took it back when I realized I was in fact NOT going back to school and yet here I was, alive.
Because I can’t be a college student for the rest of my life (not for lack of trying), I’ve compiled some tips for how to be really good at senior year:

Call the bouncer/owner at your favorite bar “mom.” Plan to only to it when speaking about her to others, but get drunk enough that you definitely, definitely call her mom to her face at least once a weekend. Get so drunk that you actually start treating her like your mom. Cry in her arms. Hug her a lot. Ask her to take selfies with you. Apologize when you are too drunk “in her home.” Thank her when she has one of her employees make sure you “get home safe.”
I have done all of the above and it definitely pays off on your birthday weekend when the bar is too crowded and she isn’t letting people in but then she sees your face and ushers you past everyone else. It also helps to point at your crown and tell her you’re going to “lose it if I’m not home for my birthday.”

Order champagne at the bar. Nothing says “smiling through tears” like drinking $12 champagne out of the bottle. You’ll also make a ton of friends, if you consider friends to be people who disappear once the bottle is empty, which I do.

Lose your fear of dancing. It helps to embrace one move and do it to every single song no matter what. When in doubt, just spin in circles.

Make a mends. Maybe a rude lax bro made fun of you once sophomore year and you hold a grudge. Maybe a rude lax bro spread rumors about you when you were a freshman, maybe a lax bro loved you on the weekends but then ignored you during the week. Wait, I’m seeing a pattern. Fuck lax bros. Don’t make a mends, ignore them completely (unless they have a bottle of champagne in their hands…then, make a mends.)

Wednesday is the new Thursday. Tuesday is the new Wednesday, and Sunday is the new saturday. Maybe take Monday off.

When your friend asks you to go out, say yes. Literally, always just do it. Even if your friend may be developing an alcohol dependency, go out with her and just hope the habit ends after graduation.

Crying at the bar is no longer a taboo and it will actually get you a ton of free drinks.

If you feel like shit about the way you look, just put on dark lipstick.

Pregame every outing. Even if you’re going to your bar for unlimited beer, definitely pregame. Show up with all your friends way drunker than everyone at the bar. Pregame so much that people are prompted to ask how early you started drinking.

Bring a flask out with you. Add vodka to your vodka. Add vodka to your beer if you wanna remember nothing and tweet weird things when you get home. Yell at your friend who thought it would be a good idea to put vodka in your beer, pray for death when you have a weird beer-ka hangover, bargain with God and tell him you’ll never drink again, curse everything and everyone, but then half seriously suggest you add vodka to your beer every weekend because OMG I think I had so much fun.

Stand near a garbage can at the bar so you can throw up without having to stop dancing.

Cry. Cry a lot. Hug people you have never even liked. Look around the bar and think “I’ll never see a lot of these people again in a few months.” Let that fact terrify you or let it comfort you. Don’t ever let the crying get in the way of the drinking.

During our senior week kickoff party, there was this dumbass sign with that Dr. Suess quote…”Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” Quite frankly, at the time, it infuriated me. How am I suppose to not cry? Seriously? But now, I get it. Every single moment I spent in my favorite bar was perfection. Maybe you won’t know what a deductible is, maybe you won’t understand how to negotiate a salary, maybe your college education left you feeling utterly unequipped for the real world, but at least you will know how to nurse a hangover from cheap alcohol, and at least you will have friends that you can FaceTime at 7am on Sunday mornings to talk about how drunk you still are before falling back to sleep.

What even is the “real world”?

Allegedly now that I’m in the real world, I’m supposed to “have it all together.” And I think that I put on a good charade. But if we’re being honest, I don’t even know what “having it all together” entails, and I’m extremely disappointed that my “real world” includes about 89% less drinking than the MTV show with the same name. Like, where’s the Danny to my Melinda and why can’t I move out of MY house and then make a living completing arbitrary obstacle courses and having girl fights on tv?

The thing is, college prepared me for nothing except how to be a really good counselor. A few days before I graduated, I was having lunch with my favorite professor. Between her telling me what she really thought about some of my classmates and us discussing our future plans, I still found time to sob over our Indian food. “I’m equipped to do nothing” were my exact words.
And I still feel that way. I still don’t know how to balance a checkbook or my diet. I don’t know how much a house should cost per square foot and I can’t talk to the cable company on the phone without cursing/crying (can anyone?)
I don’t wanna make it sound like I learned nothing in college. I learned a lot of really valuable life lessons like wine makes most things better but wine hangovers make everything worse, or that the rule about alcohol freezing only applies to liquor. (I canNOT believe there was a time in my life when I didn’t know this but I found out the hard way that wine definitely freezes after an unfortunate Franzia situation in which the bag froze and it looked exactly like a placenta.)
I’ve also learned some things unrelated to wine, like the perfect lipstick will make weak men fear you but draw strong men to you and that Bronzer in the right places can change your whole life.
Obviously, college gave me a wealth of knowledge but is it practical? In one sense, no, because I still don’t know what a deductible is, but in a much more real sense….yes, because even though I don’t know how to set up a checking account, I do know to never trust a man with two first names. And, really, what’s going to get me further in the long run?

semi-real grown ups know commitment is important

during the last week of college i gained 20 lbs. this is not an exaggeration. people thought i was wearing dresses because i was cute and girly but really it was because none of my shorts fit me. i also don’t think anyone actually thought i was cute and girly, and if they did, that thought was promptly quashed by the sight of me double-fisting cheap wine. speaking of which, my friends and i all became convinced that the University was trying to kill us via wine hangovers. during our “senior week” kick off party, there was an open bar with wine and beer. the wine was laced with rat poison (i’m probably legally required to say that this is a joke but to be honest i wouldn’t be surprised to find out either way). we were all too scarred to drink wine for the rest of the week. i think probably we had PTSD from blacking out and waking up shaking and with fevers. it seemed that the university was trying to turn us off drinking forever so that after graduation we could become functioning members of society (LOL AT THEM). but what happened instead was that we were all turned off from wine so we did shots. on at least 2 occasions during this week i forwent brushing my teeth because i thought Fireball whiskey was just as good (i still maintain this thought process. it freshens your breath and kills germs). Ke$ha was wrong x9103810 when she claimed she brushes her teeth with jack. no one could ever do that except alcoholics. brushing your teeth with FIREBALL is much more likely and also more pleasant because then you smell like cinnamon and not liquor.

i also started insisting that i stay at the bar as late as humanly possible because it was the last week ever i’d be at this bar. I yelled at my friends when they tried to take me home. here is an actual conversation that i’m 98% sure happened:

friend: the bar is closed, let’s go
friend: the owner is kicking people out we have to go

*30 seconds later*
owner of the bar: honey, time to go home its past 2am
me: ok, thanks so much for a great time see ya tomorrow!

or something like that. it was also during this conversation that i sent my OTHER friend the following series of texts:
“please pleae come over by the bathroom eveyone is trying to make me leave please come here i’m crying i need you
“are you at 919 im coming”
“if you go lemme know and i will murder myself and drag my corpse to the late night”

I was (and still am) VERY committed to drinking.
some people may say that this is all very dramatic but i kinda think that if you aren’t willing to die and then resurrect to bring your body out to a party, you’re probably not the type of person i want to go drinking with.

My second time in the back of a cop car

I hope everyone woke up with a hangover today. The vomiting and headaches are almost worth it when you know it’s for your country.
July fourth is a great holiday because you can guilt your friends into drinking by telling them their sobriety is proof they hate America. My night started (as most of my nights do) with cheap wine and it ended in the back of a cop car.

When we got to the bar we met a gaggle of men who I estimated to be in their late twenties but turned out to be aged 30-40 with actual careers. One of them gave me a business card. These were not my type of people but also simultaneously my favorite type of people because they can buy me drinks. Lauren kissed one while I mentioned my boyfriend every 45 seconds and tried to appear interested in some guy’s alleged restaurant chain. I would have walked away but lauren was busy and I had lost Molly for the third time that evening. Also, I was getting free drinks.

Around 12:30 we decided to leave because even though it was still early we were already 2am drunk. At some point we ended up at a bar in which we were the only ones not in leather. I made a mental note that this was the weirdest part of the night. Little did I know 25 minutes later, I would be fake crying and getting a ride home from a cop.

The way we told the story this morning was that our cab driver “kept making stops” to pick up other people. In actuality he made one stop and didn’t even pick the guy up. We all got very annoyed and told the driver to please not stop for other people. we may have raised our voices. This morning, lauren admitted that “maybe” she was too hard on him. Whatever. The point is that he pulled over, told us to get out, and left us on the side of the road. Drunk Me decided our only option was to contact the police. I faked cried and maybe exaggerated what had happened but next thing you know a nice police officer was picking us up and happily driving us back to our house. I was pretty insistent that legal action be taken against the cab driver while the officer was equally insistent that no crime had been committed. but what about the mental anguish??