“I thought, ‘If this Classics bitch can do it, I can too!’” Proof that I’m an inspiration to a generation. Or a sellout. Tomato, potato…
Week 2 of work in the bag. Is this even real? I’m still so shell-shocked from my last venture into employment that I’m still waiting for the catch. I’m waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop out and say, “Surprise! FUCK YOU!” I’m waiting for my boss to tell me that he made a mistake. Luckily, I sugar-coated my bumpy, Indiana-Jones-ride-esque entrance into finance by organizing an office gift for his (my boss’s) daughter; his first, who turns six months this weekend and who just moved to New York from England with her mother a month ago. I’m so thoughtful.
As is often the case with burn victims, I’m still expecting more to come. “What happened to your confidence, girl?” My mom asked me while I was packing in my room. I thought about it, and I think the answer is I drowned it in booze and depression when things magnificently blew up in my face (and singed my eyebrows) in Portland. I remembered thinking, “This isn’t supposed to happen! This is MY year!” In Chinese and Vietnamese lunar calendar, 2013 is the Year of the Snake, so it’s kind of a thing for me. Growing up with my sister and cousins, we very much took to our zodiac animals, and (when we were young), we resembled them a bit, too. Nowadays, unfortunately, my resemblance to a snake looks more like this:
But maybe this is actually it? Maybe—because I’m a master procrastinator—this ended up being my year after all?
My friend Dan, author of the above quote, took me out to a chicken ’n waffles joint in Williamsburg on Friday, and said something very reassuring. “You’re in New York. You’ve paid your dues.” He doesn’t understand why I’m still so skittish. Nor does he understand my inclination to ‘urban culture’, seeing as how I come from Wonder Bread, affluenza-ridden Orange County.
Honestly, I’m just hoping that I don’t find a way to fuck this up. Check back with me three months down the line, and maybe I’ll have grown back my confidence like a Duck Dynasty Chia pet enough to concede to being happy… or I’ll just be broke and unemployed again.
Still broke. Maybe even more so now because it’s expensive to make me look Wall-Street-tolerable. What’s the female version of From G’s to Gents?