What a fucking shitty-ass year. (Not to be confused with a shitty ass-year. Talk about a different kind of post completely…). In a conversation with one of my friends tonight, I realized that so much had occurred that it didn’t seem possible (or fair) that it was all within the last 12 months. Since I’m such a huge advocate for trying to learn from the challenges we face (and the mistakes we make along the way), I decided to take the time to jot down the madness that has been my life for the last 365 so I could let go of some of the damage it caused, and hopefully appreciate my life from the place in which I’m writing about it now.
- Nothing is scarier than an apartment with bugs and mice. When I moved into my apartment on the Upper East Side, I knew in my heart of hearts that the odds were against me, and I prayed to every higher power out there that I would be the first bitch that wouldn’t have unwanted visitors, but as luck would have it, I got mice, bugs, and the scariest of them all – my parents. The first time it happened, I pulled out my garbage from underneath the sink, and as I went to push down a new batch of crap, a mouse launched out, did a back flip somersault off my chest, and ran screaming back under the cabinets (likely over to his little mouse friends to brag about getting to first base with such a cutie). After not seeing anything for a week or so, I made myself believe that I was rodent-free, but words of advice: If you think you see something zip across your living-room floor, just for your sanity, tell yourself it’s nothing, or that it’s spots floating in your eye, or for fuck’s sake, give yourself a ghost… as long as it’s not something else running around with a tail in your apartment. And as for the bugs, well, just duct tape the shit out of every opening you can think of (and I mean every), and that should help at least a little. And when all else fails, e-mail the super and threaten the lives of his family. Just kidding. (No, I’m not bloody kidding. This works! And if you have bugs and/or mice, I’ll bet you’ll think I was weak.)
- Life doesn’t usually go as planned. This one is a motherfucker. But simply expecting the unexpected will be very helpful when everything falls apart. With that said, relax. Be fluid. If you’re lucky, life will throw you curveballs; your life won’t BE a curveball. And if you’re luckier, when the latter happens, you’ll figure out how to ride the wave. Admittedly, this last year, I did not. I was a sloppy-ass fish, splashing around and trying to stay standing as though there was nothing going on around me. Do yourself a favor – don’t do that. Maybe I’m being a little hard on myself, but I think things could have gone a little differently for me in hindsight. And while I don’t really know what those different decisions would have been necessarily, I will know better for next time what the fallout looks like when you abandon basic reasoning. (Such as waking up with a TV on your bed after your 28th birthday).
Being nice does not prevent you from getting sent to collections. Paying your bills does.
- Sometimes it’s OK to say “fuck everyone” and/or “fuck everything.” So what if “sometimes” is for a whole year? I tried to be a good friend, a good sister, daughter, a good wife (and now a really awesome ex-wife), and a kick-ass boss. But the time came for me to take my pass. I cashed that bitch in over two bottles of wine and a Friday Night Lights marathon in November, 2012, right before this year started. And you know what? I don’t even care. Well, OK, I care a little. I care that I’ve missed some important things because of what I’ve dealt with during the process, but I also know that I needed to take a step back to get myself together and that not paying attention to what your entire body is telling you to do is probably more detrimental than anything else. And I’m still not there, and I still give myself the time I need to become fabulous again (I know what you’re thinking, “Can it get any better than this?” I ask myself that every day.) But I am also aware that pretty soon that card will expire and I’ll have to repay my debts (both literally and intellectually), and that no one likes the depressed girl. Life is good. Get it together, Becky.
- Puerto Ricans are a cure-all for break-ups. If you’re coming out of a relationship where the guy wasn’t properly “giving it to you”, date a Puerto Rican. And I say the word “date” loosely. What I really mean is “have lots of really great sex with.” Hispanic guys in general (in my experience) are unbelievably passionate, and as the saying goes, “the best way to get over the last guy is to get under the next one.” All you gotta do is find a really hot Correa or Perez who takes you out to breakfast, pays the bill, opens a door or two for you, and when it’s time to give a friendly hug goodbye in the diner parking lot, he opts for pressing you up against his car, grabs your face, and makes out with you for hours while holding you in his arms. Everything about that interaction should make you know you’re getting yourself into something amazing, and for the next few months, maybe you’ll have someone to sleep with, someone to sleep next to, someone to makeout with at the movies, someone to laugh with and hold, someone to say goodnight and good morning to, who kisses you intensely as soon as he walks through your door, and above all, someone who will make you feel beautiful again. He wasn’t the right guy for me forever, but he fixed so much of what had been broken inside of me that I would never have been able to get any other way.
- Some people are just assholes. I like to think that deep down inside, when someone is being particularly difficult to deal with, that they are just having a bad day, had some trauma happen to them, or are misunderstood. In the past year, I’ve spent countless hours thinking about some of these characters – in my personal and professional life alike, and the conclusion I have come to is that some people should just be blown off the god-damn map. ‘Da fuccckkk do I care? There’s no psychology behind it, people. Save your text book analyses for those with souls or purpose – these people are just animals. You know the types I’m talking about. The ones, who come into work to the same job for 20+ years, sign in late every day, make no effort to better themselves or the position they fill, don’t respond to a single e-mail or questionnaire regarding the fate of their role, and then have the soccer-sized balls to go complain about what their company isn’t doing for them. Lucky fucks are still getting full-sized paid for a half-assed job. THAT’s what your company is doing for you! Or how about the son-of-a-bitch who takes his chronically ill wife off of his health insurance so he can feed his Chinese food addiction? Tell me THAT’s not a real man! For better or for worse? For better or for wonton soup is more like it! I guess the asshole doesn’t fall far from the tree. The moral of this section is that shitty people are out there and they are just going to do shitty things. You just have to come to realize that they are troubled and be grateful that you are able to look at them from this side of the story.
Figure out quickly who matters most in your life and keep them there.
- It’s never the wrong situation. It’s always the wrong guy. Crucial piece of information right here, and unfortunately one that I forget with each new guy I meet. Every single time, without fail, like every other girl out there, when guys start to flake, I come up with a laundry list of reasons why it isn’t working out. Do you know how much time and energy can be saved when you come to terms with the notion that he’s just not that into you? Yes, I know: easier said than done. But it matters. I’ve had it happen to me something crazy like 85 times this year, but a few stand out. And time and time again, I cried to my friends about how unlucky I was, blaming timing, their commitment issues, and my baggage (to name a few) as factors that contributed to why we were the perfect match and how the UNIVERSE got in the way of my happiness. What a joke! What I’ve come to learn is that the only thing that gets in the way of two people being together is one or both of those two people. After putting my feelers out there for the better part of a year, I’ve learned how hard it is to find someone who just makes sense. It’s the most comforting and scary feeling in the world all wrapped in one, and I think the most tragic thing is when it blossoms, and the butterflies start, and the potential is magical, and then one of the two jumps ship. And the sad part is that it really doesn’t take much – it doesn’t have to be something blatant, like an obvious conversation highlighting that they don’t think it’s worth pursuing. It’s usually something minor, where one minute they are all in, and you are all in, and you take one step, and two steps, and five steps, and he’s still calling you sweet pet names – hell, he’s still calling you at all, and then you feel the shift. That inevitable moment that wrecks the momentum. When some environmental factor presents itself, and instead of saying, “this is how we’re gonna get through this…” he says, “if only this hadn’t happened to us.” And that’s when you should know that he’s gone. It’s so easy to miss for someone who’s not paying attention, like he genuinely gives a shit that you’re bleeding out, like he didn’t have any options. But with today’s technology, there are too many fucking options.
- As I said… with today’s technology, there are too many fucking options. Back in the day when there was no Facebook or FaceTime or Skype or planes or buses or cell phones, a NORMAL relationship required the guy to get on a fucking horse and gallop his ass over to see his woman, in the rain, in the snow, while he was sick, you name it. And because of the circumstances, it wasn’t so easy for a girl to fuck with the gender roles by initiating contact or get in the way of a true courtship because I’m pretty sure the only reason she was going to hunt her man down was when she had to show up at his door with a baby and be like “you ARE the father.” At this point, unless there is some serious financial reservation (which is bullshit since you can take a bus pretty much anywhere for a dollar out of Chinatown if you wanted get laid badly enough), well, I don’t have a conclusion to this sentence because I don’t think there is any excuse for not going for it if both parties are into it. If you find someone that really gets your blood flowing who is committed to testing the waters, just fucking do it. Text her good morning, call her good night, blow her kisses through some video chats, and visit each other every other weekend. Otherwise, call it what it is. A waste of everyone’s time.
- [Online] dating is a scary, scary place. I’ve done the tango with online dating for far too many months, which admittedly has had its ups and downs (both literally and metaphorically) and it has been really difficult to find a guy with the right intentions. Am I being picky? It’s possible. But the population that’s existing out there right now isn’t borderline scary – it’s an outright nightmare, and certainly not for the thin-skinned or faint of heart. My first run through the hamster wheel was terrible, and almost a year later, while you start to expect the same bullshit, it doesn’t get much easier to cope with when a guy you’ve developed a great connection with just disappears. I’ve had my fun, but I can say confidently that I’ve yet to find a guy who has had integrity. You know, “integrity?” That little thing that supports a conscience, treating a girl with respect, having goals and ambitions? No? Nothing? I figured. So who do we blame? I want to blame someone! Because all I’m meeting are these pussy guys who don’t know how to take care of shit for themselves and they think that’s OK. And then because there are so few left who actually have ambition, those guys know they have the upper hand. They know that they can be assholes because it’s them or the alternative – wimpy, whiny mamas’ boys, and nobody wants to fuck that. It’s disgusting. So as a woman who has her shit together and doesn’t stand for nonsense, I can either date a “nice guy” who will likely bore the shit out of me, or the asshole, who will 9 times out of 10 send a dick pic to get the party started. I hate to admit it, but I think I have to go back to basics and start interacting with (gasp!) the real world.
- Allow yourself to be comforted by anything that works (ONLY until works). This one you have to be really, really careful about. If you are convinced that one more interaction with an ex is going to give you the closure you need to stop crying about his absence, just fucking do it. Don’t listen to anyone around you who tells you it’s a bad idea, because you are you, and only YOU know what is and isn’t a bad idea. And honestly, bad idea or not, some bad ideas are exactly what we need to heal and to get over shit. Of course if that conversation with aforementioned ex turns into regular booty calls and promotes even more crying, it’s time to call it quits. You need to give yourself the tools necessary to move on in a healthy way while also recognizing when those tools turn into weapons of mass destruction. If you’re lucky like me, you’ll have some friends who will keep their mouths shut while you figure out what your boundaries are and will even be there far too many times to pick up the pieces before smacking you around and saying “get a fucking grip, girlfriend.” It’s OK to eat ice cream sundae every once in a while. It’s not OK to cuddle with an ice cream sundae, ever. I will say that there are some terrible decisions I made at the end of 2012 and some of 2013 that I would take back in a second, but knowing that those things provided me a sense of security before I got to the place I am now makes them impossible to regret.
Sleep matters.
- Know who you are, and wear it well. It’s taken me almost the entirety of this year to become “Becky” again, and maybe there’s still pieces left to go, but it’s crazy to think about the barnacles that existed before. I’ve always been here underneath, which is very different than the common misconception that every person that ends a long relationship needs to move on to “find themselves.” I got so sick of hearing people say that, as if I was going rogue because I didn’t know who I was. A lot of what makes me feel like myself again, as shallow as it sounds, is the fact that I’m actually healthy again and lost a ton of weight that my sickness caused me to gain last year. When I think of how I would define myself, it would be petite, and goofy, and lighthearted, and playful. None of those things existed 40 pounds ago. There’s something so uncomfortable and disturbing about looking in a mirror and not seeing your most familiar qualities in the reflection. But once I started seeing me again, it was exciting, and comforting, and a relief to be back in my own skin. I’m a naturally thin girl – I like wearing tight pants and sexy tops and doing my hair and makeup. It’s fun to be girly and feminine and to walk into a room to show off what you’re working with. But the part that I still have to work on is figuring out how to be able to look in the mirror and find those traits about me that make me feel unique and special when they’re harder to find at first glance. Or maybe it’s about being a little easier on myself and figuring out how to show the world who I am no matter what shape I am at the moment. We are all a work in progress, and that work is never done.
Trust your gut. Your heart and your head are FUCKED up.
- A messy living space is a messy thinking space. I’ve known this one since I lived in my mom’s 18-year episode of hoarders, but this is always a good gem to have in your back pocket. With so much on my mind this past year and my surroundings changing so many times, not being on top of this one hurt me terribly. But what I’ve also learned this year is that it’s really hard to keep your physical surroundings in order when your mental thoughts are a puked up mess, which brings me to my next lesson:
- Know when to ask for help. And even better, know WHO to ask. Both are so, so important. I think there were plenty of times I could have used much more help this past year and had no idea who to ask, because in my experience of asking for help, it’s turned out to burn my ass. It started really young with my parents, constantly holding every little thing they ever did for me over my head, and making me a rebellious, independent, “I can do this my damn self” girl since I was a teenager. When you’re constantly told you can’t do something without someone else’s help, or you constantly hear that you didn’t do something without someone else’s help, it makes you want to do everything with no one else’s help. Run marathons with broken legs and pay for rent with organs if it comes down to it. But I learned this year that there are a few people in my life that are there to help me with no conditions. Albeit, very few, but the point is, they exist, and because they exist, I survived a little longer.
A house is made of brick and stone, but a home is made of love alone. (And really good sex doesn’t hurt, either).
- Being nice walks the dog. Fuck anyone who thinks that being nice is a weakness. Believe it or not, it is entirely possible to get your way with the world and not be a complete dickhead in the process. I regularly run into idiots who think it’s so black and white – you either make your way to the top by stepping on everyone around you or you sit quietly in the corner and make minimum wage. Not the case for this girl. Can I be a terrible bitch? Surely. My dad can certainly vouch for that. But it’s not how I get shit done. I find that building relationships – real, genuine, interesting relationships – is your ticket to the show. Is it possible to be a real shit and make lots of money? Yep. References furnished upon request. But talk is cheap, brotha.
And finally…
- Get your cookies while you can. This is my best advice from my best friend. You never know when the next opportunity will come to you, so get on it, boo. But this one should come with a disclaimer and some pregnancy tests. Shit gets real with this one. Real talk.
The Four Eleven 