How to be Unemployed

Going from having a steady paycheck to not having a steady paycheck is, generally, a pretty big blow to one’s self worth. Living comfortably in New York City is no easy feat as it is--this coming from the girl who left a small bedroom with two feet of space around her bed for a smaller bedroom with one foot of space and a window facing a brick wall--and living at all when you don’t have an income is just plain shitty.

I have been in this position exactly twice in my life: first, when I moved to the city and thought I could live off of the $4,000 I saved for as long as it would take me to find my dream job. Moving costs and apartment furnishing and realizing that the price of toothpaste is three times higher here than literally anywhere else led to that $4k lasting me about a month and half.

The second time was this past summer, basically right up until a couple weeks ago.

While I volunteered for being unemployed four years ago when I quit my job and moved to NYC to “live my dream” like some character out of a fucking broadway musical, I hadn’t planned for it this time around. Getting laid off wasn’t a shocker, necessarily, but I wasn’t, shall we say, “psyched.”

I’m happy to report that I’m a hot commodity and recently accepted an offer with a company that I could not be more excited about, but getting to this point was an interesting journey. I definitely don’t wish for anyone to lose their job, but should you find yourself in that position, I have 5 tips on how to be unemployed.

1. Add an F

You’ll be adding a lot of “F”’s to your lexicon (e.g. “Fuck paying rent,” “Fuck that girl and her trip to Portofino,” “Fuck health insurance”). The most important one, however, is Funemployment.

The stressful factors associated with not having a job notwithstanding, I’ve gotta give my old boss a high five for laying me off during the summer. Everything awesome happens in the summertime: Beach trips, weddings, bachelorette parties, tanning in Tompkins Square Park with homeless people, rooftop bar happy hours--it’s ideal. The gym is empty at noon because everyone else is at work and I can book cheaper flights for off-peak days because I have nowhere to be on Monday morning. Make Funemployment your bitch.

2. Appease the people

When people find out you don’t have a job, they expect two things:

1. You should be working feverishly to find one at all times of day or else you’re just a lazy asshole without professional drive
2. You should be getting tan constantly

So I have. I’ve gotten so fucking tan. You know when it’s hard to get tan? When you’re inside an office all day. It’s much easier when you’re a waste of space with no schedule who can “take a break” and go lay outside for two hours.

People really want you to get a new job, but they want you to take advantage of being worthless even more. Give the people what they want. Get tan.

3. Wear haus couture

I will not advise you to “invest” in a house dress/outfit, because you really shouldn’t be spending money right now. However, when you’re not out at coffee shops fixing your resume and applying to 69+ jobs a day between LinkedIn and AngelList, you should be home, not wearing real clothes.

My house outfits rotated between 16-year-old Soffe shorts and a ratty t-shirt, a black bathing suit cover up sans bathing suit underneath, and a plaid sleeveless dress for the days I was feeling fancy. Bras were entirely out of the question, as was makeup (I did shower every day, because I’m not a heathen). Ultimately, the name of the game should be comfort, wearing something non-binding that feels nothing like dress pants...or pants, in general.

4. Eat it all

Lunch in an office is just another way to measure your excellence against your peers’. I’ve had several co-workers over the years who enjoyed commenting on my homemade lunches, I guess thinking that my grilled chicken and roasted sweet potatoes somehow paled in comparison to their Baconator. Who knew that being healthy and actively avoiding a fupa was a sign of inferiority?

Meal prep completely goes out the window when you’re eating at home alone. You can also eat whatever the fuck you want without criticism.

Scrambled eggs and meatballs? Sounds delicious.  

An entire brick of cheddar with an entire sleeve of Ritz crackers? Legendary.

Raw cookie dough? Why not?

There are several negative aspects of being unemployed. Eating as healthy (or unhealthy) as your heart desires without Max in Accounting remarking, “That’s an interesting choice,” is not one of them.

5. Ruin yourself

I thrive off of routine. I am Skylar of the House Korby, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Anxious, Khaleesi of the Great Skin Regimen, Protector of the Highlights, Lady Stringent of the Seven Mini Meals a Day, Breaker of Fasts and Mother of Absolutely No One Thank God.

Since I was no longer waking up at 6:45-7, getting ready to be out the door by 8:00, answering emails and writing blog posts until lunch at 12:30, taking a 30-minute after-lunch walk, eating a snack at 3:30, eating another snack at 4:30, drinking pre-workout green tea at 5:30, leaving at 6:30, working out until 8:00, coming home to watch America’s Next Top Model until 10:30, popping a Zzzquil, and falling asleep by 11:30, I had to figure out how to live my life without a built-in regimen.

It takes 21 days to form a habit. It takes two straight days of sleeping in past 7 am to realize that a 9-5 schedule is horseshit.

Let your schedule go to to hell. Eat breakfast at 9 or 11 or not at all. Go to the gym at 2. Sit around feeling sorry for yourself for 45 minutes. Watch 23 videos in a row of French bulldog puppies. Feel guilty about not enjoying the nice weather, but don’t actually act on the guilt. Do literally whatever the fuck you want, because for the last five years you’ve begun every Monday morning saying, “I really just needed a couple of extra days after the weekend” and now you have them in abundance.

The routine will inevitably return, but the opportunity to attend a sample sale in the middle of the afternoon without conflict (but just to browse--again, you really shouldn’t be spending money right now) shouldn’t be passed up.

8 Ways to Have an Original NYC Holiday Experience

You decided to visit New York City for the holiday season!

Wow!

We’re really glad you’re here...as long as you don’t stop in the middle of the sidewalk to check Google maps for the nearest Sbarro or constantly clutch your purse for fear of getting mugged like it’s still 1986.  

New York is a fucking blast --- that’s why you came here for vacation instead of hitting up a tropical locale, which would’ve been considerably warmer but cost about the same. New York around the holidays is even more of a fucking blast, because everything is decorated and pretty and incredibly over-the-top.

If you’re visiting NYC around the holidays, you’re gonna have a good time. You’ll have an even better time if you follow these eight suggestions, which will ensure you don’t have the same New York holiday adventure as the 25, 047 other people who took a kissing pic in front of the #rockefellertree.

1. Don’t eat at Rolf’s

You’re here for one weekend and you want to waste 2 ½ hours of your day waiting to eat decent-at-best German Beef Stew with Spätzle?

Cool, never mind, carry on.

Rolf’s is famous for its Christmas decorations of epileptic proportions. And, to be fair, it’s pretty phenomenal to witness. But in the interest of doing cool things that actually matter, my advice is this: Walk in, look up, take a photo, add it to your Insta story, and bounce.

Or literally just look at pics online, your life will not be impacted significantly either way.

2. Keep your mouth shut

Surprise! New York is cold in December.

Surprise! You’re here at the literal busiest time of the year.

Surprise! We walk. A lot.

Let those three revelations wash over you like a $15 Vodka Cranberry and accept them as readily as you do a homeless man’s fake sob story on the 2 train.

If you’re complaining about how freezing you are while you shuffle through the line to look at Macy’s window display, go back to South Carolina. Seriously. You currently have free internet, so the ability to check the weather and read tourist guides on Thrillist was afforded to you long before you jumped off the plane at JFK and spoke too loudly and too slowly to the cabbie who was born and raised in Queens.

3. Skip ice skating at Rockefeller Center

If this is on your girlfriend’s bucket list then I literally cannot save you. However, should the opportunity to negotiate plans arise, mention that between peak-season admission and skate rentals, you’re looking at a $45-per-person special memory that you’ll be sharing with 150 other people.

The real kicker is that you can do the same activity cheaper at Wollman Rink in Central Park or at the Winter Village at Bryant Park. Or you can just watch people [try to] ice skate for free, because let’s be honest: neither of you actually know what the fuck you’re doing out there anyway.

4. Realize that Macy’s Santa is a glorified mall Santa  

I have lovingly forced my boyfriend to see the Macy’s Santa with me for four straight years, because I’m obnoxious as fuck but incredibly cute. So I realize the hypocrisy that comes with this statement.

Admission aside, making your kids come all the way to New York to see Santa Claus at Macy’s is child abuse, straight up. That line is a three-hour-long human centipede of lost patience and abandoned family values. Santa is a stud, but no more so than the one at your local shopping center in Missouri.

5. Avoid Times Square

I recommend this at any and every time of year, but it’s especially true at Christmas.

No one that lives in New York likes Times Square.

Your friend that you’re visiting does not want to take you there.

The waitress at Olive Garden wishes you would have gone to a real Italian restaurant in Little Italy.

The other tourists who don’t know how to walk at a proper pace are annoyed that you’re bumping into them.

Dora the Explorer is going to take off her mascot head right in front of your 4-year-old niece, and she’s not going to give one quarter of a shit what you have to say about it.

In short, it sucks. Go anywhere else. Consider this tip my holiday gift to you.  

5. Keep your holiday market visits to one

Unlike American citizens, all holiday markets are, in fact, equal.

You will find the same knit scarves and Amish playthings at every market from Columbus Circle to Union Square to Bryant Park. If your boyfriend says he needs to taste the “unique fare” at each of the markets to really get in the holiday spirit, you need to return that J. Crew sweater and gift him a Planet Fitness membership instead.

If you want to visit cool shops with original artisans, take the L to Bedford Ave in Brooklyn and follow the nearest bearded modern pilgrim and/or hipster into any dimly-lit store.

6. Forget the frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity 3

 

Because it can’t be said enough: it’s cold. Why in God’s name do you want frozen hot chocolate?

Why are you waiting four hours for it?

Did you know you can buy a kit on Amazon to make it at home?

Did you know there are three Starbucks in a three block radius of Serendipity 3 where you can get a hot Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate?

Did you know Starbucks exists in every state?

Did you wait in line anyway and feel a judgement-filled eyebrow raise in your midst?

That was me.

7. Freeze your ass off for free, not at minus5 Ice Bar

Any bar that can also be visited in Las Vegas and Orlando has no place on your must-visit list.

You want me to don a rented parka and gloves while I drink out of ice glasses and sit on ice chairs and observe an LED light show set to Martin Garrix? And I’m not allowed to take photos on my own camera because you want me to look psyched for professional pics that I also have to buy because this experience wasn’t enough of a soul sucker? No thank you, please.

8. Be unique

Try to have an experience that is unique to you and your travel buddies.

The reason you can google “NYC holiday must-dos” and get 21,500,000 results that are all some version of, “IT’S NOT CHRISTMAS IF YA DON’T SEE THE ROCKETTES!” is because everyone who visits is too scared of figuring out the subway and getting yelled at by a local to actually branch out and do something cool.

This place is not your comfort zone.

It’s not anyone’s comfort zone.

It’s a clusterfuck of lights and cheap pizza and jaywalking. But if you choose the tiny Moroccan restaurant for Christmas dinner or ride the 6 up to East Harlem for no other reason than it’s not Midtown, you’ll have cooler stories than your neighbor who insisted you stop in at a little shop called Urban Outfitters because they’ve got “such rare vintage clothing.”

Spared

I’m not entirely sure what spurred my recent purge of 103 people from my Facebook friends list, but for the most part, it was easy to decide who didn’t make the cut.

Met once at a party in college and never spoke again? Delete.

You finally had the oopsie baby we all had to pretend wasn’t an oopsie baby even though you purposely wore an empire waist wedding gown to hide the bump? Baby’s cute. Excitement’s over. You’re out.

You friended me because I was quasi-dating your friend? We all knew that wasn’t going anywhere even while it was happening. I appreciate you extending the olive branch. Bye.

For some reason, though, there were some people that fell into the above categories and I still couldn’t bring myself to bring the guillotine down. So, I decided to analyze it.

I really hope the following survivors read these reasonings and message me with their blessing/agreement to go our separate ways. Help me help myself.

How ‘bout you, Eyebrows?

We’ve known each other for several years and I’ve never really had strong feelings either way about you as a person. However, I have very strong feelings about your eyebrows. You either need to dye them or learn to fill them in. They disappear in photos. It’s disconcerting.

I’m hoping to forego all of my fucks one day and just comment these feelings on a photo so you might evolve into something besides a walking five head and I can finally be at peace. Or, you’ll get so offended that you’ll defriend me, instead. Either way works!

The Switcheroo

You got married when we were, like, 20 years old. It was confusing. You definitely changed your name at that time. I still cared about maintaining relationships then, no matter how stilted they were, so I didn’t delete you even when you posted pics of you and your (much older?) hubby’s new condo. This was the heyday of Four Loko, and I was busy destroying my organs. Couldn’t care less about your adult decisions.

However, in my quest to declutter my friend list, I noticed that you had your original last name again. I haven’t kept tabs on you because, like I said, couldn’t care less, but now I’m intrigued. You’ve survived until I can dedicate the appropriate amount of time to ascertain what the fuck went wrong. I’m excited!

Family/Friend Ties

I vehemently dislike you. I’ve never liked you. This is decades-long disdain.

Unfortunately, you’re friends with and/or related to people I’m friends with. We’re going to run into each other and be obligated to participate in group pictures together which you’re going to force us all to retake because you think your tooth looks weird. Face it: Your teeth are weird. The situation won’t be rectified in a matter of minutes.

You’re hateful, hypocritical, vain, and your values are completely out of whack. I legitimately hope you get the new strain of incurable gonorrhea going around. In fact, I’m banking on it.

Christopher Columbus

You’re moving across the country soon. I’m really just waiting until you post the obnoxious status update confirming that you and your girlfriend are on the plane and then it’s over.

Silent Supporter

When did we meet? I know it was in college, but when and how? I’ve had to consider this for several people and most of them got the axe, but not you. Why? Because you’re freakishly supportive of things I post and, apparently, find me hilarious. We haven’t spoken to or seen each other in at least five years and probably never will again, and yet, without fail, there you are.

This is literally all it takes to weasel your way into my good graces. A like or a “haha” reaction? Be still my heart.  

Keep doing your thing and I’ll keep doing mine, you preciously encouraging figment of my life successes.

The Disney Princess Bride

I think you’re getting married in Disney World soon. I very much want to see the photos from this wedding because I think they’ll be magically ridiculous. If you could somehow pull off repelling down the aisle a la Tinkerbell during the nightly fireworks show instead of the traditional walk, that’d be great. Happy for you.

Rage Inspiration

You do Crossfit. Ask me how I know.

Anyway, you’ve gotten in great shape and I’m very impressed by you, so I keep you around as inspiration.

You’re also annoying as fuck.

I do not care about your workouts or your diet or your supplements or your PR’s or your delts. I definitely don’t care that you’re trying to get your Pro Card at whatever bikini/figure/spray tan competition is happening in nine weeks. Regardless, you have my respect. I’ll throw you a like every now and then while muttering, “Oh, fuck off.”

Everyone else I generally know and genuinely like, or at least find interesting, or am obligated by relationship or family to be “friends” with.

So….congratulations?

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.