A Halloween-themed Happy Birthday to the Broke Bitch Blog!

The Broke Bitch Blog is now a year old!! If my relationship with my blog were a romantic one, I’d be preparing our engagement by now BECAUSE I’M INSANE.

One year ago, I was marinating in my standing-water misery of unemployment and East Coast dejection—and apparently writing some hilariously suicidal Facebook statuses enough for people to convince me that my epic word-voms were worth publishing. Tell you what. My militant Asian parents are proud (by militant I mean that they were until I eventually broke them with my dishonorable weirdness, detailed below).

WELP. It’s been a hell of a year! For starters, I’m no longer unemployed. We’ll see how long that lasts because if these company parties escalate in level of debauchery and drunken shame with every holiday then I am fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhh-cked. I don’t worry about my work. I am a good little worker bee. I do my job. What concerns is whether or not anyone respects me at my place of work, which grows ever less likely after this year’s company Halloween contest, where the recently promoted Global President saw my costume and burst into a hearty laughter that was heard above the music, above the noise of 500 people in one room, and probably across the seven seas.


New York has absurd enthusiasm for Halloween. And because I am a Miley Cyrus wrecking ball, it doesn’t take much for me to sip dat juice and get drunk off that fervor from exposure. Wardrobe changes = 3 for 2014: skeleton; Dennis in It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Episode 13, Season 4 The Nightman Cometh; Marceline from Adventure Time.

It is worth noting that I upgraded my Halloween costume from a dead Mexican panda (the original idea was La Llorona, but my sister sucks at doing costume makeup with a toddler dangling from her neck … Jesús woman, learn how to multitask) to an undecided, half-decomposed person (Merci for the makeup this year, my lovely gumdrop who shall not be named for fear of professional/reputational reprisal).

Halloween, bitches.

Occasion for Wardrobe Change #1 was my friend’s Halloween party, where we watched Nosferatu (legit, the scariest shit ever), read each others’ tarot cards, and asked the spirit world via the Ouiga board which one of us [girls] they would date had they not been viciously murdered x-number of years ago in that very apartment.

            “I’ve tried luck, trial and error, Steve Harvey’s dating book, prayers, no standards, and now I’m going to ask the spirit world why I can’t get a man.”
—Anonymous Attendee


Wardrobe Change #2: company Halloween party (sadistic shit to have all company parties on a Thursday, so you can work in shame and disease the next day). Probably not the BEST place to dress up like a man dressed initially as a baby being fondled by the Nightman before becoming the Dayman…

If I didn’t mention before, there are some smokin’ hot babes at work, none of whom will now or ever reciprocate my affections but rather will burst out laughing upon my approach (“OHHH. YOU WERE THAT GIRL!” Fuck my life). Let’s just put it this way: I was Dennis in the clip below. Pajama ensemble with a bathing suit bottom on top. When I did the onstage wardrobe change was when the heads of the company (big ballers who ride in Escalades and shit) 5 yards away at my 10 o’clock laughed at me.

We did not win (which was honestly THE LEAST they could’ve done given the effort and money we put into our costumes + ritual sacrifice of all personal dignity), so we—I—got drunk and vented our—my—frustration at innocent passersby. One of them happened to be my direct supervisor, who himself watched—and loved—the Nightman episode but didn’t compute who we were dressed up as until we sang to him (and he hates acapella, so there’s that). He did, however, give us shots before we went on stage, which may or may not have saved me from passing out from stage fright. Anyway, the important thing is that they played the Thong Song at the party, and there were at least 5 kegs in the room to tap. Always a silver lining.

After the party, my bad-bitch crew and I (plus two groupies from the Account team) went to a speakeasy above a Five Guys, and by the time we got out of there all I wanted was some grease. But I didn’t get Five Guys. I went home and made myself some sad little pasta and bitched to my roommate about how we should’ve won as he fed me Tylenol so I wouldn’t be hungover this morning. That’s love.

Wardrobe Change #3: Marceline for actual Hallows Eve (or whatever). I need to go brush out my wig and get ready for work.

Thanks for reading for one whole year of crazy broke bitchness.

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