SNEAK PEEK #1--How To Handle Heartache

Our tumultuous love story began in Mrs. Underwood’s 4^th grade class.  By nature, I am a go-getter and an avid planner, and this was no exception when it came to finding my soulmate before all the good ones were taken.  I meticulously browsed through the school yearbook, briefly pausing over any of my prospects and heart-circling their pictures with a metallic pink gel pen.  I only focused on my fellow 4^th graders as potential suitors—I didn’t want to risk being known as the hussy who dated up, and I definitely refused to be the desperate girl who dated down—so options were a little limited. 

At the time, I probably would’ve ranked myself as a 7, easily, on the Hot R Not scale.  I hung out with the self-proclaimed popular group and I was the rising captain to the Jr. Quick Recall team.  Almost every morning, I would steal my dad’s Jhirmack hairspray that he used on his comb over to slick back my bangs into a smooth, glossy ponytail.  I never left the house without my rainbow choker that I won at a skating party, because skating parties and chokers were definitely elementary school status symbols.  I rolled my uniform skirt and wore my socks super low, despite the fact that I was well aware of our No Ankles Left Uncovered policy.  My white Oxford, while second-hand and ill-fitting, was always pristine.  I made sure not to smile a lot, because smiling was for dweebs.  Or so I told my orthodontically-challenged, nine-year old self.  I was hot. 

In retrospect, I was a dead ringer for a shorter, red-headed troll version of Macaulay Culkin.  I was probably a 3.7, max, on the scale.  Maybe even as high as a 4 on days I ditched the Don Corleone look and opted to hold my bangs back with butterfly clips.  I had pasty little nugget legs that only looked pastier and nuggetier with my thigh-high hem line and no-show Hanes.  My parents had three girls, none of whom would ever grow past 5’4” and 120 pounds into their adult lives.  Being the youngest, hand-me-downs were a quick fix to everything, and “you’ll grow into it” was my parents’ mantra.  I still support my stance that skating parties and chokers are status symbols.

This is for You. All of You

I had an epiphany while eating lunch in the Kroger parking lot today.  Let’s not dwell on the fact that I’m pathetic enough to eat lunch alone in my car.  There are more important things here.  Focus. 

I popped off the top of my Baconator fries I had just ordered from Wendy’s, and opened the cover of Yes Please from Kelli, a girl in my office who has decided to do a book swap with me.  I realize it’s basically a mortal sin that I haven’t read it twice already, but life gets in the way.

I was halfway through the preface, licking processed cheese goop and bacon grease off my finger, when I felt something inside me swell (no, this is not going to turn into some weird 50 Shades of Gray shit.  Just let me be flowery here).  Amy writes,

“You just dig in and you write it.  You use your body.  You lean over the computer and stretch and pace.  You write and then you cook something and then write some more.  You put your hand on your heart and feel it beating and decide if what you wrote feels true.  You do it because the doing of it is the thing.  The doing is the thing.  The talking and worrying and thinking is not the thing.  That is what I know.  Writing the book is about writing the book.”

Writing is the thing.  Writing is the thing that I’ve been writing about and writing is the thing that I’ve been talking about and writing is the thing that keeps me up at night because I never know when I’m actually going to just fucking write.  And after reading this preface, it’s like all the clouded dreams and hopes and “I wish”s have become lucid.  Stop complaining about not having enough time to write.  Stop writing something and letting your brain get in the way, just to erase it and tamp down every seemingly ludicrous idea.  Stop making excuses.  Stop worrying, “will anyone read it?”  Just. Fucking. Write.

So that’s what I’ve decided I’m going to do.  Something I’ve been promising myself and something I’ve been talking about and something I’ve been putting off until “the right time,” missing so many other right times that could’ve been writing times.

I’m going to write a book. 

And I guess since it’s out there now, I can’t take it back.  And YOU, the one reading this. YOU have dragged yourself into this.  You have, whether by accident or completely on purpose, made yourself someone to hold me accountable.  Whether you give a shit about my writing or not (if not, you can just heckle me if I don’t finish the book. I’ll deserve it for making such a bold statement and then not following through), you have become part of this process.  But I can’t let you do that without thanking you first.

Thank you.  

To everyone who keeps up or has kept up with my writing, despite many hiatuses, frequent questionable posts and undoubtedly, sometimes failure to impress. 

To people who have written me personal messages telling me that my writing has impacted them or impacted someone else they know.  Because that’s my aim.  I write to relate.  Not to be superior or demand an audience.  I write because goddamnit, there’s bound to be someone else out there who has fucked up in the ways that I have and just needs someone to say “PREEEACH.” (I apologize for using that.  I only use slang ironically.  Most of the time.)

To people who have liked and commented and shared and Tweeted and Tumblred and Whateverelsed my posts.  Your support and motivation is greater to me than you’ll ever know.  Like, I don’t think you have any idea how many times I refresh Facebook and freak out about how many people have seen it and shared it.

To the people who have been there from day one.  When I was 19 years old and decided to start some idiotic, immature blog about ridiculous and serendipitous things that happened to me.  Looking back at some of the things I wrote, I want to cringe and hide and get into a bar fight with my former self for being so, well, ridiculous.  Between switching blog names and taking long, indefinite breaks, you still read what I write.  And that’s incredible to me.  There’s too many of you to even name.  Just know that I know who you are, and I appreciate everything.

To my ex-boyfriends and past frenemies who have supplied me with endless fodder over the years.  Shout out to you.  Didn’t anyone ever warn you not to clash swords with a writer?

To my high school English teachers Kelly Kirwan and Diane Darst, who both taught me there shouldn’t be any shame in writing something if it’s honest and beautiful.  Who constantly encouraged me to write past formulaic academia and let me find my own voice.

To my high school speech coaches Daniel Hamm, Woody Zorn, Jenn Watson, Bill Thompson, and Jeff Mangum, who all embraced (and put up) with my inappropriate humor and pushed me to find the persona that I put into almost all of the essays I write.

To my college professors Bill Bettler, Kathy Barbour and Kay Stokes who let me grow into myself as a writer and saw my potential to do something with it (and didn’t mind having a drink or two with me after graduation).

To Laurie Notaro, who was my first serious writing influence.  The first person who actually made me laugh out loud while I was reading, and made me say to myself “that’s what I want to do.” (I realize Laurie Notaro will probably never read this, but thanks, homegirl.  Without you, I would be hesitant about accepting my inner Idiot Girl).

To all of my close friends who have the privilege (burden?) of talking to me on a daily basis, and who make this interesting life possible.  Your friendship has been invaluable to me.  But you already know that.

To my parents, obviously, for having me.  But on a serious note, you’ve put up with a lot of shit.  I mean, a lot.  Like, day after-eating-Chinese-food shit.  And you’ve supported me in every single move I’ve made (except for all the times I got tattoos, which I’ll forgive you for).

To my sweet, patient Pat who has had to and will have to put up with my neuroticism long into the future.  For you, I am most thankful, because I couldn’t imagine what you have to endure.

Sorry for the Oscar speech.  It seems like I’m getting ahead of myself.  Now I’ll look like a HUUUUUUGE ninny if I don’t write this book.  But I just wanted to lay all of my “thank you”s out there in advance, because honestly, without a lot of the help and support and encouragement I’ve had,  I wouldn’t have had the courage or motivation to do any of this.  So I mean it.  Thank you.

With that being said, to focus on writing this thing, I will be uploading on here a little less regularly, and the articles won’t be of much weight or very personal (think BuzzFeed lists or things of the like—maybe a few funny poems or quote lists).

I will also be deactivating my personal Facebook account to put more time toward writing—but never fear!  I will be creating a Kind Of An Adult, But Not Really page so you can keep up with any updates, send messages, all that jazz (or I could create the page and absolutely no one could “Like” it, that’d be totally cool, too).

Like Amy said, I’m off to do the thing.  But I had to say ‘thank you’ first.

Dear Applicant: It Doesn't Fucking Matter

Dear Applicant,

We figured it would be best not to use your name, because that could lead to some sort of emotional or personal connection, which we truly believe is not in your best interest at this point. We never plan to have any relationship with you, whatsoever, just so we’re clear. It’s misleading and things could get kind of messy or confusing and that would just turn into an HR nightmare. So, please, let us reiterate that we only have your best interest at heart. Please keep that in mind when you go to rate us on Yelp or if the Better Business Bureau contacts you in the future. Oh, and don’t forget to Like us on Facebook!

We are contacting you to let you know that we have received your resume and application for our open position. Unfortunately, we must inform you that you do not fit the requirements for this position. You actually didn’t meet, like, half of them, so we kind of laughed amongst ourselves before we sent your materials to the head of the department. We know you had a very valid rationale for applying, and a rebuttal for any argument that you’re not qualified for the position. Actually, we don’t know that, because we didn’t read your cover letter, which you probably slaved over and worked unnecessarily hard to make as eloquent and memorable as possible. Well, that was our bad. Sorry. I guess we’re kind of too far into this rejection letter to dig into the recycle bin and retrieve it and reevaluate your credentials, and I think our pick-up was yesterday, anyway, so it’s long gone.

Your resume was very impressive! We see that you met our first requirement: a Bachelor’s degree. Not only that, but a Master’s degree—going above and beyond, that’s what we like to see. Half the people here don’t even have a bachelor’s degree, but you know, they’ve been here forever so they’ve been grandfathered in. We also see that you graduated with honors on both occasions. You must be some kind of hoity-toity bigshot, huh, trying to show everyone up with your gleaming GPAs? Just because you had stellar grades from renowned, private institutions doesn’t mean you have an advantage, okay? Slow down, kemosabe.

We noted that you spent a semester abroad, as well. Very cultured of you. But we must stress the fact that we aren’t looking for culture; we are looking for experience. On top of studying abroad, you spent a summer in South America helping build houses for the impoverished. What a great personal accomplishment! But you have to understand that you forfeited a valuable opportunity for work experience in this field—we had to mark you down for this. It looks like you were heavily involved in campus activities and community service. Well, you know, uh, that’s great! I’m sure those will come in handy somewhere. You have listed several great internships that seem relevant to this position, but again, these were merely internships, and you couldn’t have possibly learned much from them, especially in just a semester, so we don’t really count that as ‘experience.’

For some reason, you have included ‘related coursework’ on your resume? It’s nice that you felt the need to tell us that you took upward of 10 classes that directly relate to the work this position requires, but we’re just a little confused as to why you’ve involved them in this application process. You may be a bit disillusioned if you’ve been led to believe that these make a difference. Though you think that these are tantamount to a few years’ experience, you’re wrong. There’s just no possible way that semester-long research projects, case studies, in-field simulations, work-study and senior or graduate theses could be anything like the real work you would be doing for us. The idea of it is just absurd.

We must admit that your portfolio really dazzled us. One of the most impressive we’ve seen in a while. I mean, we skimmed it, but just by the amount of big words you used and the way you organized and executed your thoughts, you seem very brilliant and serious about your work. Unfortunately, all of these pieces were accumulated while you were still in school, so technically, we can’t really count them toward your work experience. In fact, we didn’t really see much work experience on your resume at all. Just a few jobs while you were in high school, some on-campus jobs from college, a few graduate school assistantships, and a starter job just doing some clerical work here and there. You seem to have such a rich and eclectic background with your schooling and all of the opportunities you pursued in between. And you must be very bright and ambitious to have accomplished many of the things that you have. We really don’t mean to discredit any of your past endeavors, applicant, but we must be frank: it doesn’t fucking matter.

We realize that you might be a great addition to our team. But here’s the problem: you’ve never worked in this industry. See, if we give you a chance to interview, we could end up really liking you and completely recognizing that you would give our company such an advantage by offering a young, cultured and tech-savvy point of view, and we could risk compromising our archaic idea that even without the required experience, you could be just as capable as someone who has been in the game for years. If we hire you, how are we even supposed to begin explaining to everyone that our new employee doesn’t have 3+ years of work experience? From a business standpoint, that just reflects really poorly on us and could create a breach in our credibility. Work experience that is specific to this position is really the only thing that matters here. We hope you understand and respect our decision.

So please, let us reiterate: we are well aware that you could be very intelligent, with great capacity and eagerness to learn this trade quicker than many other applicants. We even see the possibility of you being a joy to have in the office and your ability to really propel our company by offering your generational perspective on things. We understand that your educational background, personal experiences, and well-rounded nature could prove to be an asset. Regardless, applicant, it doesn’t fucking matter.

Thanks so much for taking the time to send us your resume and application! It’s common practice and good for our public image to tell you that we will keep these on file in case anything pertaining to your qualifications becomes available in the future. But to be honest, your submission materials are sitting in the “to shred” pile on Angie’s desk in HR.



Have a wonderful day,



“A very inspirational Ghandi or Steve Jobs quote that no one takes too seriously.”