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When I first signed myself up to write columns, I thought I would be writing about campus topics — maybe some local concerns and the occasional internet phenomenon. For a while in the fall, I did exactly that. In fact, you can go back and find a hilariously impersonal and detached article I wrote about the importance of personal branding.
Today is the first day of my post-thesis life. And already, I’ve got a serious case of the “that-wasn’t-so-bads.”
If you’re on the Career Services listserv, you may have received an email this week reminding you to (please) calm down if you don’t have a job yet and directing you to an absolutely wonderful column published in 2010 by Juliette Mullin, a College graduate from that year.
This week’s story starts at a dinner downtown for a birthday celebration. We were a comfortable crew — a pleasant mix of old friends and some girls I had never met before. If you ever go to Cuba Libre for a birthday, be sure to ask for one of the desserts with the sparklers stuck in them — they are thoroughly Instagrammable.
I didn’t hate rush.
Winter break has a weird way of annually rekindling my interest in pop psychology (read: I am mildly seasonally-affected and I love spending all my Christmas gift cards on mind-numbing self-help iBooks).
It was January of my freshman year of college. I was sitting in my psychiatrist’s office, somehow fighting my fascination with the Einstein bobblehead sitting on his desk and focusing on him.
Boys are stupid. Girls are also stupid. Maybe in another column we can explore the relative stupidity exhibited by members of each sex in hetero-normative relationships, but for now, let’s just take one of these empirically observable facts and run with it.
I’ve made a lot of good decisions this week. On Sunday, I bought some of those little floss fork things, which have thus far improved my flossing record by 100 percent. On Monday, I picked tea over coffee for my fifth caffeinated beverage of the day, effectively preventing a major coronary event.
Do you love your body? It’s a loaded question. According to a Glamour magazine survey, 97 percent of young women experience at least one body-hating thought every single day.
I do a lot of embarrassing things. Sometimes, when I feel like my life is falling apart, I procrastinate by messing around with my LinkedIn account. It fuels my fantasy that, some day, I’ll become a real person with a real job. A girl can dream.
We all have first world problems. In fact, I just chugged my pumpkin spiced latte way too fast. Now, I’m jittery, overheated and nauseous. I’m going to look like a hot, sweaty mess for the rest of the day. The logical next step is to tweet about it, right?
I’ve been in a mood. That’s the only way to describe it. Over the past two weeks, I’ve snapped at almost everyone I know and cried for no reason exactly three times.
Last week, I finally made it to Van Pelt to print out my readings for the semester. Not to read them, mind you, just to print them — remember microgoals?
It’s 8 a.m. and your alarm goes off. This alarm was set roughly six hours ago when you remembered a resolution you made to go to yoga once a week. Or perhaps you wanted to start reading for your afternoon seminar. Or pack yourself a lunch so you don’t have to overdraft your debit card (again) at Sweetgreen.
I’m not a big new year’s resolution maker. Come Jan. 1, it crosses my mind that I should stop pregaming Rosenpartytime, go to Pottruck for body pump rather than PennCashable Luna Bars, and color code my Google calendar using some scheme other than “Look, the yellow boxes make a super fat smiley face … kind of.”
Excuse me for a moment before we get into this — gotta take my earrings out and have my boyfriend hold my heels. Wait … nope. Wasn’t prancing around West Philadelphia dressed like Business Barbie. I’m good.