The Breakup

It was so great in the beginning.

I was excited when I knew we’d see each other, which was basically every day. I was proud to tell people about it, and it felt like the first “real” thing going on in my life in a while, if not ever.  

It started out well. And I was good at it *hair flip*. Creating marketing campaigns and problem solving and dazzling customers with my boyish charm and finesse? This job was my bitch lover.

When things come easily to me, I work hard at the difficult things to make them come easily, too. I don’t take lightly to not being the best, so any threat of that was eradicated pretty quickly (like, I didn’t kill anyone, but I got sick pleasure out of proving some of the long-time employees wrong and convincing my boss to do things my way aka the correct way. LIFE’S TOUGH GET A HELMET). Needless to say, I have zero sentimental value attached to any participation trophy I’ve ever received.

Of course, the months turned into years, and it got a bit...monotonous.

Here’s the thing about long-term relationships: if they start to get stale even in the slightest, you’ve gotta freshen them up real quick, or they’ll dry out faster than Irish soda bread. You do the same thing every day because that’s what you’ve always done, and that’s what’s always worked. Everyone else was fine with working this way, but I require constant and varying stimulation.  

Because, inevitably, I know what’s “always worked” will stop working.

Boredom creeps in. Your eyes glaze over. You care less. It’s a tedium takeover.

I wasn’t excited anymore. It was just part of my routine. I showed up, took care of the same problems, had the same phone conversations, complained about the same issues to whoever wasn’t sick of hearing about them yet (Guess what?! Everyone was!). It was turning me into an asshole and I knew it.

Like I said, if something is difficult, I do whatever I can to make it the opposite. Failure and I don’t get along. And so, I was convinced it could get better. I would make it better. I was lucky to have this job! So many people didn’t have jobs! This was fixable!

Of course, then it got worse. Big changes occurred, and not necessarily of a positive nature. I know that love is blind, as I’ve ignored the shortcomings of many guys simply because I “cared about them” or some shit. The same disregard applied here. I wanted everything to work out so badly that I shut off the part of my brain that said, “Hey, this sucks, actually. Maybe do something that, you know, doesn’t suck, instead.”     

It felt like the people in charge of the big changes were doing their darndest to get me to quit so they wouldn’t have to fire me. It’s similar to when a guy treats you like shit but won’t break up with you so they don’t have to be the bad guy and you’ll dump them on your own. Yeah, people actually do that. I have their phone numbers.

Whatever the case, as things got more stressful, less organized, more illogical, and generally more clusterfucky, I became more of a monster to be around, both in and out of the office.

If someone asked me to add something to my already 50-point To Do list, they were issued a formidable death stare.

If out with friends, I complained about work the whole time.

If hanging out with my boyfriend, I was tired and pessimistic.

I was cognizantly becoming consistently cranky and negative, which was a huge jump from my typical obnoxious peppiness, and I couldn’t shake it.

It took crying every day in the office bathroom; getting ready for bed already dreading the next day; double dosing on sleeping pills only to still lie awake with my anxiety; and waking up feeling horrible to hit my breaking point. It was a fun journey, clearly.   

I had far too much on my plate, and my bullshit tolerance looked like a cokehead in a Yeezy sweatshirt: extremely thin and heavily distressed. I finally established a deadline by which time I would have either [hopefully] found another job, or I would quit.

Well, that date came and went. I had too much to do to leave. As much as I openly despised my job, my penchant for self-destructive diligence held strong. So I set another date. And another. And one more.

The problem was, I was making that money but also letting it make me, which went against everything the Ying Yang Twins had ever taught me.

Quitting meant being unemployed meant not having a paycheck meant not buying $6 Peanut Butter & Co Cinnamon Raisin Swirl like it was no big deal. And that shit is a very big deal to me.

It came down to one fateful horoscope in the back of the January issue of a random fashion magazine that ended up making all the difference. It might as well have been the rejected plot from The Devil Wears Prada 2.

My horoscope said that if I survived the first part of the month (due to planets being out of line or whatever astronomical fuckery was taking hold of my life), my luck would be improving near mid-January, with significant changes occurring during the last week which I should not question and just roll with.

Hmmm, continue thoroughly hating my life or let Star Jesus take the wheel? I opted to give it up to the universe. I really didn’t have much else to lose.

Well, Star Jesus stepped up, guys.

The first part of the month, as the horoscope outlined, was met with so many stressful situations that I almost completely empathized with 2007 Britney (didn’t shave my head, might’ve thrown an umbrella across my apartment).

In the middle of the month, I scored a phone interview. I took this interview in a secluded corner of Penn Station with a homeless man to my left cheering me on the whole time. He had several gold teeth, so I’d like to think he was a good luck charm.

I secured an in-person interview with this company the following week. It happened to fall on a day that I was planning to be out of the office anyway. Quite a convenient “improvement,” if you ask me.  

As if you couldn’t guess, the “significant change” that took place was me getting this new job. I also bought a new brand of mascara around this time, but I highly doubt that’s what the stars were referring to (Smashbox Full Exposure, by the way. Life changing).

And now, here we are.

I’m actually pleasant to be around again, something I appreciate more than anyone else because I had to live with me 24/7.

I get an extra hour of sleep every night.

   

Instead of spouting it off multiple times a day, I now reserve the phrase, “Are you fucking kidding me” for special occasions, like holidays with the fam.

Ultimately, though, I learned two tremendously important life lessons:

1. It is extremely possible to be smarter and savvier than people twice your age. Stifling how smart you are so that someone else doesn’t feel bad about being awful at their job helps no one. Don’t be a smartass, but use your smart ass to get shit done in the best way.
2. Paying your dues when you’re young is fine. Working hard to prove yourself is standard. Working harder than everyone else makes you look good. Working so hard that other aspects of your life suffer for it is not worth it. I don’t plan to ever make that mistake again.

So, am I at my dream job? No. Life doesn’t work that way.

Am I in a position that could lead me to my dream job? I have no idea, but maybe. Hopefully.

Am I excited again? Yes, about the jar of Cinnamon Swirl Peanut Butter I’m about to dive into headfirst. And everything else, too.

New Years Resolutions...for Other People

I have a lot to work on. 

Fortunately, none of these things will make it into the public space for multiple reasons. 1) Everyone is already inundated with "New Year, New Me!" posts on their Facebook timeline from the health and fitness blogger du jour, and to be perfectly honest, I didn't get fat over the holidays, so I'm good. 2) Gauging by how far I make it through others' inspirational posts about their struggles, no one would tune in for very long should I choose to flip the script and be serious for once. 3) I prefer that everyone operate under the impression that I'm fantastic and they're peasants.

Although I won't be divulging the personal changes I hope to make in 2017, you can guarantee I have plenty to tweak about other people in my life! Aren't you all lucky?!

Start Taking Vitamin C Supplements - Dear Person Who Has a Chronic Cold at Work: get your shit together. You are an adult with adult children, therefore you do not have the luxury of the excuse that your home is an incubator for germs brought home by a kindergartner. Your weak immune system is confounding, as I am aware that you sustain yourself solely on salads and green tea. I simply do not understand how you're always sick. Even in the summertime. What is the matter with you. Fuck. 

Buy an iPhone 7 - My favorite part about other people going to concerts is that they Snapchat the entire show with poor sound quality and even poorer camera control. No one wants to watch you watch Garth Brooks from the nosebleeds with your boyfriend's off-key singing interspersed with drunken "WOO GARTH YEAH!"'s wailing in the background. Get yourself a new iPhone so within 5 minutes of starting a video, your battery will drop from 60% to 2%, saving us all the headache.

Practice Saying, "No Thanks" - Do I want to get tapas and then go to a douchey bro bar in Murray Hill strictly for its entertainment value on a Friday night? Sometimes. Do I realize this is a tough sell? Absolutely. The friends that will tell me straight up, "I hate that godforsaken neighborhood and the overgrown frat bro's that reside there" are immediately at the top of my list, because they're honest and shoot me down promptly. The ones who conveniently don't receive my text until 9:45 pm, respond with, "For sure I'll let you know!" and then follow up four days later with, "Omg my night got so insane, sorry I missed you" can rot in hell. Bitch, it's Tuesday, I'm a busy adult and I've moved on. However, please note that I'm also petty and will not invite you to anything ever again. 

Make Fun of Your Child - Kids are everything I enjoy: chubby, uncensored, curious, and wobbly. Don't try to pretend that they're not. If you've given me the Hallmark Channel version of the monthly update of Avery's life, you can bet your awkwardly-posed photo shoot that you've been blocked from my social media feeds. Those that document when their kid insists on dressing up like Frankenstein from Big Daddy or giggles at curse words they don't know the meaning of are my favorite, because that's real life and real parenting. 

Forget Pescetarianism: Go Full Vegan - Sometimes, people like to microwave salmon in an office environment, or overcook sea bass in an apartment setting. These people are assholes. If you are one of these people, understand that you are not only bastardizing the culinary process but are also tormenting the senses of smell of everyone around you. Fish odor isn't bottled by Dior for a reason, and if you can't cook a filet correctly and eat it responsibly (alone, in a well-ventilated area, in a building that is yours), then you can't eat it at all. Poseidon says so.   

Savor Your Alone Time - It is not my fault that you're single and I'm not. If we're hanging out and my boyfriend texts me or I drop his name in conversation and you groan about how you're sick of being "alone," you have exactly two options: 1) Kick me out of your apartment, shower, and get out in the world to prowl around for a future mate or 2) Fucking relax and we can continue eating pizza. Desperate people who wear their desperation on their sleeve decrease their chances of attracting a lifelong partner by 64%. I have no idea if that figure (or even that statement) is remotely accurate, but if it made you realize that you need to get over yourself slash stop getting under other people in an effort to secure a long-term girlfriend/boyfriend, then take it as the gospel. Being single is fine. Worry about literally anything else. 

Establish a Stringent Hair Care Schedule - BSpears. Britney. Brit Brit. In the name of everything that is holy, fire your hair stylist. A person with a net worth of nearly $200 million should not step out of the house with such an atrocious display of acrylic extensions haphazardly whip-stitched onto their head. Either get yourself a great wig and a solid grip band, or let your mane flow free for a while as you execute every healthy habit possible to keep you from looking like trailer trash. We'll be ten years removed from 2007 this year, my dear, let's act like it.