In a relationship, it is almost guaranteed that you will get fat and happy. You will lie contentedly in her arms on your plush couch among your eclectic throw pillows and reflect on how lucky you are. You will order in and eat out. In a spirit of domestic goddess-osity, you will attempt to cook dinner from scratch, which will of course result in half the kitchen on fire and subsequent takeout from the Chinese bistro down the street.
Worry that your relationship lacks definition because you are vastly over-invested (you are) (this is the most clarity and insight you will have throughout this whole situation). Spend more time being concerned that things aren’t going to pan out the way you want them to than actually doing anything to cause them to pan out the way you want them to…
By introducing a quiet person to a group as a “quiet person,” the quiet person is instantly a) categorized without having input, perhaps ruining any chance of making their own first impression and b) denied the option of being seen as a normal social individual, in the case that today is one of the days that the quiet person is going to try to enhance his conversational output to “normal.”
Congratulations on reaching this most exciting stage in your life! In the next several weeks/months you will be working on the most fascinating projects that we could not assign to existing employees. These projects often regard analyzing details that would be important if they were actually important to anyone within this company. Do you understand this logic?
You learn the procedures, you become familiar with how the different coffee tastes and what it mixes well with. It’s not some magical set of spells and incantations that you learn over high-moon ceremonies as you sacrifice a chicken with your shift manager–it’s making god damn espresso.
Why on earth does one person own four different toothbrushes, all of which need to be replaced? Why are there quarters and dimes and nickels and pennies on the floor, in the cupboards and behind the toilet? Why doesn’t that half-eaten melted sticky tub of ice cream sitting on the kitchen counter bother him as much as it bothers you?
Ladies, we all know men are hard to figure out. They are a constantly shifting puzzle, 10,000 pieces, all sky. Perpetually finding new ways to obfuscate their thoughts and subvert their emotions into complicated interpretive dance–it is left to us to pick up the scraps and rearrange them in a pattern we can understand.
Hearing snippets of anecdotes about beer-bonging jungle juice or sleeping with two girls in the same night, one unbeknown to the other, confirmed to me that the American Pie-style high school experience did, in fact, exist – just not for me or anyone I knew. There was fun to be had here, I just wasn’t invited to it.
If you meet someone and they haven’t revealed their sexuality via a comment about the same sex or something similar, you can’t just be like, “Are you gay?” because they might be in the closet or even worse, actually straight (they’re never actually straight though).
In today’s collegiate world, being “pre-med” can mean several things to the dazed and confused undergraduate. I might be 90% wrong because I like to make radical, offensive generalizations — but here are a few ideas.
But back in the day, there wasn’t any of this “answer 1,000 nitpicky questions” and “linking to real-life-stuff in my dating profile, thus opening myself up to be Google’d at maximum” business. Online dating was like, get in chat and type “24/f/nyc.”
Someone has power over you. They have the ability to make you sublimely happy and they can also make you feel super depressed. You lose slight control over your moods. When you enter a relationship, it’s as if you sign a contract that says, “I give you 70% of my feelings. I acknowledge that you can play with them, make them feel good, and I also acknowledge that you can fucking destroy them.”
Get accepted into a “competitive” fellowship or internship or entry level lobbying position, whatever. Think this is it: it’s only a matter of time before you are saving the world (or securing a “real” job). Look on Craigslist for an apartment…see the price of a one bedroom condo by the Capitol is $2700.00. Silently squeal to yourself.
Arrive alone at a party that you ‘just kind of heard of’ even though no attendee specifically invited you. This way, when people welcoming you make casual conversation to the effect of ‘so who do you know here tonight’ in an attempt to determine their own potential connection to you, you can respond evasively or turn the question back around on the asker.
Apparently there’s this part of my brain, lodged uncomfortably somewhere between the temporal lobe and the cerebellum, that drives me against my will to start aimless conversations while drunk. No matter how unengaged the interlocutor, how uncomfortable the scenario, how forced the interaction–I’ll do it.
Sex involving two partners shouldn’t have anything to do with Victoria Secret catalogs, Penelope Cruz, or any TV/movie love/romance/sex scene that once impressed you so deeply that it’s actually become a part of your sexual repertoire. Sex doesn’t have to be loud, it doesn’t have to be graceful, and you don’t have to roll your eyes to the back of your head to show your pleasure.
After college, you’re thrusted into the real world to Find A Job and Be Self Sufficient, and in turn, you become aware that the people in this world think binge drinking after college actually = alcoholism and a potential sign that one doesn’t have her shit together.
On the most basic level, movies simply ask for a type of attentiveness that is hard to muster if you’re depressed. Cerebral films tend to have a lot of silences and moments where the spectator is encouraged to reflect on the images. That’s fine, but when you’re depressed, the only reflecting you’ll be doing is on various sad thoughts and anxieties floating around in your head.