I’m Not Going To Tell You How To Live Your Life, But I Will Tell You How To Make It Better.

Because I am extremely qualified to do so. Just look at my life, it’s marvelous!

And like most of my advice posts, this one is going to be heavily decorated in snacks. Because I don’t care what they say about emotional eating, it works, it helps, and it’s wonderful.

Calories you eat when you’re upset don’t count. Ask all the scientists I’ve paid off, they are forced to agree with me.

While my mother says the best way to relieve stress is to exercise, I beg to differ.  I think the best way to relieve stress is to take off your pants, get a nice, big bowl of something society would consider gluttonous, and go to town. I mean really, go to town on that bitch.

I don’t want you to think my life is great. I know that my perfectly filtered instagram photos and cleverly crafted tweets make it seem like I have it all together. In reality, I’m just waiting to go home, take my pants off, and dive nose deep into a jar of crunchy peanut butter using a reeses cup as a spoon.

Because no one really likes working. If you do, you’re lying. And if you’re not lying, you’re still in college. And if you’re still in college, you’re oblivious to the reality of obtaining your “dream job.”

And now, I present to you my list of snacks for all sorts of shitty occasions:

banana

frozen bananas smothered in peanut butter and chocolate

Fighting With Your Best Friend/Frenemy: There’s no way to evade getting into stupid fights with your friends. If it’s one of those really bad fights where you’re like, totally done with that betch, you’re going to want to serve yourself a big heaping plate of bananas smothered in peanut butter and chocolate sauce.  If you’re like every other female on the planet, you’ll spend your night spitefully wishing your ex-bestie is locked in her room wearing men’s sweats stuffing her face with Pringles and Pop-Tarts. But you’re going to come out on top, because while you’re not immune to eating your feelings, you’re going to make sure you don’t look like you got pregnant with Ben and Jerry’s baby over the weekend. It’s okay, because it’s fruit.

tequila

Break-Ups: You thought he was the one. But tragedy struck and now you’re left alone. What better way what to channel the horrors of a break up than by going shot for shot with the bartender man on East Ave. The night will parallel your relationship to the point where you’ll actually be happy you’re single. For instance, it will totally start out awkward, but after a few shots you’ll feel great and become more and more comfortable with each other.  Inevitably it will end in some bad decisions, and you’ll wake up in the morning swearing you never want to do it again so you can avoid feeling like this. You’ll learn some valuable lessons though, like never drink tequila ever in life and bartenders don’t make good boyfriends.

apples

apple sandwiches with chocolate chips, peanut butter, and caramel sauce

Going Back to School: Nothing says “I’m finding myself” like abruptly quitting your job and going back to school.  In the event that you may be entering this stage of life, there’s no better snack to help suppress those feelings of inadequacy than a good old fashioned sandwich. Relive your childhood memories wondering what you’ll be when you grow up and immediately come back down to earth when you hurt your jaw by chewing on a frozen chocolate chip. Life should be easy at this point, but it’s still pretty messy and that’s where the caramel comes in. Don’t forget a napkin, you’ll need it to clean up all those broken dreams littering your floor.

birthday cake oreos

birthday cake oreos

Getting Older: Every year there is one day in particular that forces you to remember you’re not as young as you once were. Whether it be a bad hip at twenty-five or your shocking inability to figure out simple social cues when you turn thirty, you’ll feel just fine when you plow through a sleeve of birthday cake flavored oreos. Because now that you’re getting older, people are going to expect you to start sagging in places that didn’t sag when you were eighteen, may as well give them something to work with. Am I right?

sangria

sangria

Quitting Your Job/Getting Fired: There’s not really a drink that says “I’m moving on with dignity” quite like Sangria. Whether you were involuntarily terminated from your job, or you chose to leave, pour yourself a big ol’ glass of wine with fruit inside and toast to some new beginnings. The wine will represent you, just totally getting better with age, but still trying to meander your way through those sour, fermented fruit chunks we call our inability to focus on the task at hand, clouding our vision of the future.

smores

smores with reeses peanut butter cups

Negative Bank Account Balance: All the times your mom begged you to save your allowance rather than spend it on the latest version of Dream Phone are all coming back to slap you in the face because you literally have no money. Without your parents’ support to pull you out of that financial black hole, take some time to indulge in a nice s’more. Because just like money, you’ll always want more, you’re just not really sure if you want to take the time, effort, and gather the supplies necessary to achieve your results. I mean credit card debt is totally in, right?

SIDE NOTE: Yes, these are, in fact, all things that I’ve eaten at one point or another because I suck at life a lot.

***

Are you an emotional eater? What do you eat when you’re having a bad day?

IMPORTANT UPDATE: I Am Officially Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman.

amen. preach. yup.

amen. preach. yup.

Well kids, it’s the beginning of the end; my twenty-fifth birthday is on Monday.

Yup, the big quarter-century label is coming for me faster than the cops who are hassling me to pay all my parking tickets.

I’m facing my last weekend as a twenty-four-year old and forcing myself to look back and reflect on how exactly I got here. You know, in life and stuff.

I don’t even remember anything that happened before third grade, so let’s start there.

I was six-years-old, sitting on a rock outside my grandparent’s barn holding a stray cat my uncles had taken in thinking I wanted to be a veterinarian.

It was that easy.  You just grew up, found something you loved, and did it. 

I loved animals; I owned a hamster, liked petting cats, and frequently wrestled with dogs; so I was going to be a vet.

When I was eight, I got pissed off at my parents and decided that I wanted to renounce my position in the family and live off the land like Pocahontas.  I gathered up all the belongings any eight-year-old would need, put them in a backpack, and left my house in a fury to make a statement.

My mother didn’t notice I was gone for over four hours, she just thought I was playing outside like a normal girl when I returned home for dinner because I had forgotten all about the food and shelter portion of survival outside a house. I did, however, bring an extensive collection of cds for my battery operated discman, and a slew of J-14 magazines.

At age ten, I remember falling so deeply in love with Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic to the point where I was determined to become an actress.  I joined the school play in fifth grade; I did anything I could to sabotage my family’s home videos and get experience in the spotlight.

The only issue was I had no acting talent, which was evident in my being cast as ‘stage crew,’ and my mother was not supportive in my newfound endeavor to become rich and famous before I could correctly spell the word ‘business’ on the first try.

this is how you look when you're 25. i think?

this is how you look when you’re 25. i think?

Which, in hindsight, my adolescent track record with drinking and recreational drug use would have landed me in the same position as Lindsay Lohan right now.  So thanks, Mom.  You did me a solid on crushing that fifth grade dream.

I actually blacked out all of middle school and don’t remember anything except for when Mrs. Townsend gave my friend Jocelyn and I a detention because we purposely put our left hands instead of our right hands over our hearts one too many times during the pledge of allegiance.  Apparently that was disrespectful.

All throughout high school I was almost certain that I wanted to go into marketing and advertising.  It was what my dad did.  He had season tickets to the New York Rangers and frequently used us kids as pilot testers for his agency’s commercials.  It seemed like a pretty badass career field.

I never listened when he told me how much he hated his job, never saw how overworked and overtired he was, and I conveniently never remembered how often he wasn’t there for the most formative years of my life.

It wasn’t until college that I realized I was extremely lazy and wanted summers off for the rest of my life.  The stark reality of the real life work force haunted my dreams and made me gain over thirty pounds.

That last statement was false, I gained thirty pounds because I was in college and drank handles of vodka after eating two-hour dinners at the all you can eat dining halls.  And I refused to exercise because the gym was too crowded and stretchy pants were in style.

I was twenty-one, fat, and going into my senior year at UConn when my mother pointed out how much I loved working with children.  I decided I was going to switch my major with four credits short of a Media Communications degree and pursue teaching; a field in which I had absolutely no idea what exactly was entailed.  But it had summers off.

At the end of my schooling, I had collected a Masters in Teaching, a Bachelors in Media Communications, and a Bachelors in English.  I wanted to be a middle school English teacher in Boston.  So I moved;  because finding teaching jobs in a city at a reputable school, with nice kids, and good pay is really easy to do.

It wasn’t.  I was twenty-three and unemployed.

I do have a job now, though.  And I like it.  But I didn’t use any of my degrees to get it, which is just both comical and completely depressing all at the same time.

Ultimately, I learned it was never going to be as easy as finding something you love and doing it.  

With three days left until twenty-five inevitably smacks me in the face like my hangover will on Sunday, I am humbled by all the failed dreams I’ve had, and cling to the ones I still have.  There is no way of knowing which will come true, and which, if not all, will be epic failures.

I can say wholeheartedly that I have not a goddamn clue in the world where I will be in five years.  None of my previous ambitions really panned out the way I wanted or wished, but I can only hope that with this birthday, I will magically be gifted the knowledge of what the fuck I am supposed to be doing with my life.

Until then, we can always thank the high heavens and my mother that I did not become Lindsay Lohan or Pocahontas.